The buckboard rattled over the ground as I signaled the mare to trot out smartly. I felt as if I might jerk myself to pieces, but that was the last thing on my mind.
First the Barstows would look all through town, then—finding nothing—would turn to the farms. I had no place suitable for hiding a man, and I figured the gang might tear the whole place apart if they thought there was a chance I was hiding the man they sought.
Toby’s safety, not his pride, was foremost in my mind. He would have to leave me to face them alone.
He stood in the open doorway as I drove into the yard. He grinned brightly and stepped out to welcome me home, expecting my answer to his proposal. I climbed down from the buckboard and loosed the hound.
“Toby, they’re here. In town.”
Color fled from his face. “The Barstows?”
I nodded, shoving hair out of my face. “We haven’t got much time. You unhitch the mare; I’ll pack some food.”
He caught my arm as I started past and swung me around. “Wait a minute! What are you saying?”
“You have to go.” I stared into his incredulous face. “Toby, they’ll come here when they don’t find you in town. You must leave now, while there’s time.”
“I’m not going anywhere!” he exclaimed. “And leave you here alone? Don’t be a fool!”
I gritted my teeth. “You’re the fool if you stay!” His hand tightened on my arm. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Toby!”
“I won’t run from them.”
Desperation clogged my voice. “You did once!”
He released me and stared at me, coloring. “Once. Before. But I won’t do it again.”
I pleaded with him. Me—who never pleaded with anyone. “Toby, please—you have to go. These aren’t men you can run a bluff against. I’ve got no place to hide you.”
“I don’t intend to hide.” He reached out and grabbed both my arms, holding me in one place. “What kind of a man would I be if I left you here to face them?”
“A live one.”
“You said once I never stood my own ground—that I always ran out on things I didn’t like. This time I won’t, understand? I’m staying here with you.”
I was so frustrated I banged at him with my hands, trying to free my arms. “Dead heroes don’t mean a damned thing to me! They’ll kill you if they find you!”
His eyes searched mine. “Don’t you see? I’ll take my stand against them. I’ll do whatever I have to do. I’ve never done it before—now is a good time to start.”
“And you’ll be killed for it!” I cried bitterly.
His voice dropped to softness. “You can’t handle them by yourself. No matter how stubborn you are. At least with me it means two of us against them.”
“It means two graves,” I said numbly. “No more than that.”
He released my arms, staring at me in dawning pain. “You want me to run away. You.”
“You have to! You’re no coward, I know that. But it’s pure foolishness if you say.”
“Lonnie….”
Suddenly I fell on a new approach. “Toby—listen to me. If they find you here they might kill me for hiding you and lying to them. If you go now, and they find no one, they’ll leave.”
“They could kill you on a whim.”
I swallowed, recalling Rainmaker’s sudden end. “I know. But I think they’ll be in too much of a hurry to do it. And I’m only a girl. I’m no threat.”
His face was blank as he stared at me, but I had learned to read his eyes. He was hurting, and I’d done it to him. I watched the conflict in his eyes and wished I could take it back.
“Lonnie—is this the only reason you want me to leave?”
“Oh, Toby.”
He heard the horrified anguish in my voice. Wordlessly he reached out and pulled me into his arms, holding me against his chest. I felt safe and secure and comfortable, and for a moment I pushed away thoughts of the Barstows and the danger they brought.
“More than anything, Toby, I want you to stay. I’m no good at telling you, but it’s a fact. I want you alive and safe so you can come back when things are done.” I pressed my head against his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist. “If you stayed and they killed you—well, it would destroy me. I couldn’t face losing someone I loved all over again.”
He laughed softly. “You—who never admit emotions to anyone—admit to loving me?” I took in a deep, trembling breath, knowing the time was slipping away, knowing I had to tell him.
“Well, if love is caring enough for someone to change a part of yourself, and caring enough to want them to share what you have, and being willing to share a whole life with them—well, yes. I love you.”
I heard and felt him let out a long breath. His arms were tight around me. “You have no idea how you’ve made me feel.”
“Stop feeling it and leave,” I said sharply, embarrassed by my words though I meant each one. “I refuse to see you dead.”
He pushed me away and stared at me, smiling crookedly. “You’re about as romantic as a fence post.”
“Toby—”
“I know.” He tugged gently at my braid. “You’re right about what they might do to you if they found me here. I’ll go. I hate it, but I’ll go.”
I sighed, relieved. “I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself. Even you have to admit that.”
He smiled quickly and nodded, but his eyes were far from happy. He pulled me back against his chest. “That’s so, Lonnie Ryan, but I care too much to shrug away my worries. You can’t take that from me.”
“I won’t try.” I stepped away from him. “Will you go? There’s no telling when they might show up. I want you as far from here as that mare can take you.”
“Not the mare. You need her.”
“No,” I said, rushing my words as my anxiety rose. “There’s no reason for me to go anywhere for a while. The saddle and bridle are in the shed; you rub her down, grain her, water her. I’ll pack the things you need.” Before he could launch another protest I was off for the house, running to gather supplies for him. Cans of beans, vegetables and other edibles went into an old flour sack, and I added a small bag of coffee too. I ran down to the spring house and sawed off chunks of venison, ham and beef. A double handful of jerky went in as well.
I found my pa’s old canteen, extra mug and a coffeepot, and dumped a plate and utensils into the sack. Now I needed to get him a bedroll and extra clothes.
I stripped Toby’s bed of quilt and sheets, spreading them on the floor. I put a change of my pa’s clothes in the middle and added a big canvas coat he’d worn. I tied the rolled bundle up as small as I could and hurried outside.
Toby cinched the mare and dropped the stirrup down. I halted abruptly, suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that he was going. Here I’d finally settled on having a man for myself, and now he was going away. Because I told him to.
Toby looked at me starkly a moment, as if he felt the same things, then led the mare to me slowly. I handed everything over to him and he tied them to the saddle. When he was done he stopped, leaning against the mare’s side as if asking her support. I stared down at the ground and watched my toes make idle prints in the dust.
Tracker sat at my left side, waiting for the word he could go with Toby. To the hound a ride was a pleasureful thing, for he’d gone often with my pa, but I wouldn’t let him go this time. I needed him.
Patch came trotting through the dust and headed straight for Toby, then came to me instead to avoid the mare. He wound around my ankles and under Tracker’s low-slung head, talking up a storm.
Toby pushed off the mare and turned to me. I summoned up a weak smile. “You’ve got everything you need.”
“Yes.”
“You should have food enough for a little bit.”
“Oh God, Lonnie, I don’t want to go,” he said in a groaning voice.
“You said you would.”
“I know. I will. I just don’t want to. I hate leaving you here.” He grinned ruefully. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into coming with me?”
I smiled wistfully. “No.” He stopped smiling and fastened me with a piercing stare. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“No.” I had to laugh at his expression. “Toby, I’ve got Tracker and the rifle. That’s all I need. I’ll do just fine.”
His eyes were anguished. “You’ve never faced anything like this.”
“I figure I can handle it.”
He nodded and sighed. “I know you probably can. But I’ll still worry.”
A part of me longed to ask for help, somehow. I wanted him to stay; I wanted him to go; I wanted to be with him. Instead, I made myself sound unconcerned.
“Do your fretting elsewhere. You’d best go.”
Wordlessly he stepped forward and pulled me into his arms. I clung to him like a wilted flower, despising my weakness, welcoming the depth of feeling I’d denied so long. I was a woman after all, with a woman’s longing for a man. And he was a man willing to let me be myself.
At last he released me and stepped back, but I refused to meet his eyes. If I did he’d see the anguish sweeping into my soul and the loneliness creeping back in, and he’d never go.
“Please go,” I whispered hollowly.
He mounted and gathered up the reins. The mare arched her neck and bobbed her nose, snorting. She seemed a little snuffy, but I figured I owed it to her. She’d been nothing but a plow horse and harness animal for two years.
Toby drew his fingers down the side of her neck soothingly and spoke a gentle word, quieting her. He stared down at me longingly, but I found myself speechless.
“Goodbye, Lonnie.” Still I said nothing. Abruptly he put heels to the mare and spun her, putting her toward the road. It wasn’t until they crested the rise that I sucked in enough wind to cry out.
“Toby!”
He halted the mare quickly and turned back, features shadowed and indistinct. I wanted to tell him to come back, stay with me, face the Barstows next to me—but I couldn’t. I lifted my arm in a stiff wave.
“Goodbye!”
He answered with a wave, then he and the mare dropped below the rise and disappeared.
Tracker pressed against my leg, whining. I dropped my hand to his head and stroked it, seeking solace in the silk of his skin.
The hound lifted his muzzle and licked at my hand. I glanced down at him blindly, then dropped to kneel with him, cradling his speckled head in my hands. His brown eyes were incredibly deep.
“I know, Tracker. I’ll miss him too.”