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He escorted her to within a few feet of the door. “Good night,” he murmured. His instinct was to run down the hill, throw himself on the back of his horse and leave, while he still had an ounce of good sense left. But he was through running from the Duggan name and his fears. He’d go only if someone made it clear he should.
In the meantime, he didn’t intend to walk away until Sybil was safely indoors.
“Good night,” she whispered, her hand brushing his arm. “I enjoyed the evening.”
Before he could pull a word or question from his brain, she stepped inside. Did she enjoy the evening because the children played tag with them or because of their moonlit walk?
Perhaps it was best not to know. That way he could allow himself to dream a few dreams.
* * *
Sybil’s thoughts tangled like knotted yarn. Did Brand care about her? How could she make him understand how she felt?
Hoping to sort out her troubled thoughts, she reached for her Bible. The book fell open at Proverbs, but she continued to turn pages until she reached the Song of Solomon...a lover’s song. Surely it would answer her questions.
But after a few minutes she closed her Bible, as mixed up as ever. She wrote in her notebook. I need wisdom from above. God, please guide my path.
She pulled out her notes on Brand. She had so many questions, but the answers weren’t for her story. They were for her heart. She studied the pages. It was a good story. One her editor would like. But she couldn’t bring herself to send it. What she knew about Brand seemed like a trust he’d given her. She didn’t want to dishonor that.
She put the pages back in the drawer, then lay back on the bed, recalling every moment of the evening. Playing tag had been so much fun. Seeing the children enjoying each other...
A story idea sprang into her head, and she grabbed paper and pencil and wrote for two hours before turning out the lamp and crawling into bed.
Brand had asked her about her dream of publishing her stories. She’d thought the dream had died, but found it had lain dormant as it grew and matured.
Over the next couple days Sybil found it impossible to explain this drive in her, this urgency to see Brand, to spend as much time with him as possible. She stopped trying to justify it to herself and others. She stopped trying to make excuses, and simply rushed down the hill every evening to where he waited.
Sometimes the children came out and played tag with them. Always she and Brand walked. And she asked questions. What was his favorite color?
“Gold,” he said. “The same shade of gold as your hair.” His answer brought pleasant warmth to her cheeks.
She wanted to know the name of every place he’d worked or lived.
He hesitated at first, then told her of the many places. Some where he’d wished he could stay longer but hadn’t dared. Others where he couldn’t wait to move on. Only when she pressed did he admit that not everyone welcomed a stranger who wouldn’t reveal his last name.
“It didn’t matter to Eddie,” she said.
“Eddie is a good man, a fair boss.”
Then she wanted to know about every injury he’d incurred, no matter how minor. “Like the banging your leg took when Cal brought in that outlaw horse.”
Brand laughed, draped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her close. “Sybil, bumps and bruises are an everyday part of my work, and ranch life in general. I don’t take note of such minor things.”
She turned to observe his face. “How about the major ones?”
At first she thought he would give the same answer, then his mouth twisted in a wry grin. “They only count if they mean I can’t ride.”
“Do you mean ride wild horses or ride away?”
He nodded. “Yup.”
She laughed and nudged him in the ribs.
He groaned and pretended to be hurt.
“How many times have you been unable to ride?”
“Twice.” She heard the regret in his voice. “Once I cut my foot on a tin can someone had carelessly tossed into a pasture. It got infected and I had to rest a few days. Even when I left, I couldn’t put my boot on. Carried it over the saddle horn.”
She joined him in laughing about the situation, though her insides tightened at the idea of his suffering and the risk he took riding with an unhealed foot. “And the other time?”
