Free Robin Lee Hatcher by Loving Libby

talking, Libby, my dear. And pride cometh before a fall, you know. At the very least, you’d best leave it up to God if He wants you to marry.”
    Marry? What was she thinking? When she ran away from her father’s choice of a husband for her, she’d made the decision to remain untethered.
    But if I truly love Remington . . .
    She drew in a ragged breath, then opened her eyes and started Lightning forward again. What did it matter what she felt? Remington didn’t love her, and he wouldn’t stay for long. He had a home and stables and wealth in Virginia. She had a home and sheep ranch and practical poverty in Idaho. He would ride out of her life as abruptly as he’d ridden into it, and when he was gone, she would look back and laugh at her foolishness.
    Foolishness. I’ll laugh at my foolishness. Libby repeated those words to herself often in the next hour. She repeated them so often she almost believed them. Then she arrived at the Blue Springs, saw Remington step through the back doorway, and knew she wouldn’t laugh when he left her.
    She would want to die.

    Remington felt a surge of relief when Libby rode into sight. Strands of hair flew free of her braid. A fine layer of dust covered her shirt and trousers. Dirt smudged her right cheek and the tip of her nose. She looked tired and sweaty.
    She looked adorable.
    Leaning on his crutch, he hobbled to the corral. She glanced at him as she dismounted, then looked away as she looped the reins around the top rail of the fence and loosened the cinch on Lightning’s saddle.
    “Did you find McGregor?”
    “Yes.”
    “Everything okay? They haven’t had trouble?”
    “No. No trouble.” She glanced toward the house. “Where’s Sawyer?”
    “He took Misty and the pups down to the creek.”
    Remington leaned against the fence, taking weight off his bad leg. He thought of the dresses in the bottom drawer of Libby’s dresser and wondered if she ever wore them. He watched as she lifted the saddle off Lightning’s back and set it on the corral fence. In a swift, easy motion, she removed the sweaty blanket and laid it bottom side up over the saddle. Then she slipped the bridle from the horse’s head, replacing it with a halter and rope.
    During his years in New York, working first for Pinkerton and then opening his own agency, Remington made use of his business connections and family background to gain acceptance among Manhattan’s privileged set. Although he purposefully avoided the Vanderhoffs—easy enough to do with his moderate income—he knew his share of debutantes and society matrons. He sat at their supper tables and was entertained at their Newport estates and danced at their charity balls.
    He even knew his share of unusual women, those who rebelled against fashionable mores. But none of them were anything like Libby.
    He suppressed a chuckle.
    As if sensing his amusement, Libby turned. Suddenly Remington
didn’t want to laugh. He wanted to kiss her.
    And she wanted him to kiss her.
    He felt that truth in the air like the crackle of electricity during a thunderstorm. He read it in her eyes as easily as he could read the stars on a clear summer night.
    Libby moved to the opposite side of the horse, hiding herself from his view, breaking the spell. Lucky for him. Who knew what stupid thing he might have done otherwise?
    He cleared his throat. “I’ve got stew for supper. I’d better check on it.” He started away.
    “Remington.”
    He stopped and glanced over his shoulder.
    “Thank you,” she said softly.
    “For what?”
    “For watching after the place while I was gone. For keeping an eye on Sawyer.” She shrugged. “For staying to help.”
    The desire to kiss her returned with a vengeance.
    She offered a tentative smile. “It’s nice to have someone here I can trust.”
    Her words doused his ardor like a splash of cold water in the face. Trust him? She didn’t know how wrong she was.
    “I’ll check on our supper,” he replied gruffly, angry