Robin Lee Hatcher Read Online Free Page A

Springs. She owned her land and her sheep and her home. She had Sawyer to love, and she had McGregor and young Ronald, trusted friends. Nobody owned her. She wasn’t trapped in a loveless marriage to a godless man.
    Drawing a deep breath, she filled a bowl with broth, placed it on a tray, and carried it back to the bedroom. She needed to get Mr. Walker well and on his way—and the sooner the better.

Three
    IF REMINGTON DIDN’T KNOW BETTER, he would have thought Libby had spent her entire life doctoring men in the back-country instead of hobnobbing with the sons and daughters of New York’s Knickerbocker families. Still, he was glad to take over tending his own wounds after one week of her excellent care. It didn’t seem right, having her do it. Not when he knew what he intended.
    Remington’s injuries would take time to heal, and even though he couldn’t afford to lose that time, neither did he relish the prospect of walking with a limp the rest of his days. He suspected that might happen if he tried to leave the ranch too soon.
    He clenched his teeth as he cleansed the wound on his thigh. Stabs of pain shot up and down his leg. To distract himself, Remington thought about Libby. He had memorized the tiny wisps that curled at her temples, the unusual color of her pale rose-gold hair, her tiny shell-shaped ears, the small point of her chin. He recalled the sweep of her thick eyelashes, the delicate arch of her golden brows, and the smoothness of her skin. He decided he even liked the splash of freckles over her nose.
    What made you run, Libby Blue? Why did you leave a life of ease for this?
    He thought of Northrop Vanderhoff, standing behind his large cherrywood desk, a glass of brandy in his hand, his thick gray eyebrows drawn together as he had glared at Remington.
    “I hear you’re the best, Walker.”
    “If she can be found, I’ll find her,” Remington had answered, his gaze never wavering, his expression hiding the bitterness that seethed in his chest. It galled him that Northrop either didn’t know Remington was Jefferson Walker’s son or didn’t care. Or perhaps Northrop had forgotten Remington’s father altogether. After so many years, why should he remember a man he’d helped ruin? Jefferson Walker hadn’t been the first nor the last casualty of Northrop Vanderhoff’s greed.
    Well, Northrop might forget, but Remington never would. Never. Not until he evened the score.
    “I want my daughter returned to me,” Northrop had continued. “I’ll make it well worth your time. You find her and bring her back.”
    At first Remington suspected Olivia Vanderhoff ran off with a man her father didn’t approve of. It wasn’t unheard of for girls of good breeding to do that. But his investigation hadn’t turned up a mystery lover.
    So what made you run, Olivia, if it wasn’t love?
    Half an hour later, when Libby came to collect the soiled bandages and washbasin, Remington decided to seek the answer to his question. “Has this ranch always been your home, Miss Blue?”
    A strange expression flickered in her eyes as she lifted her gaze to meet his. “I came to live with Aunt Amanda over six years ago.”
    Remington knew she had no aunt, living here or anywhere else. “And before that, where did you live?”
    “San Francisco.”
    That much was true. San Francisco was where he’d picked up her trail.
    Libby dropped the bandages into the basin that she held in the crook of her arm. “I’ll bring you something to eat. Porridge might sit well on your stomach.”
    He made a face. He hated oatmeal.
    She laughed, a light, airy sound that filled the room.
    “Mr. Walker, you and Sawyer have something in common. He doesn’t think much of my porridge either. But Aunt Amanda said it was good food for the sickbed, and she was seldom wrong. So I’ll fix it, and you’ll eat it.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    Still smiling, Libby left the room.
    Remington grinned too. At least he wouldn’t be bored during his