Winning Over the Wrangler. Linda Ford

      Chapter Five

      The next morning, Sybil made her customary notes in her journal, then tucked her writing pad and pencil into the deep pocket of her dress designed expressly to hide them, and left the house. She meant to walk a little distance from the buildings and find a quiet, secluded place to work on the story of the nameless cowboy. Only he wasn’t exactly that. He was Brand.

      But who else was he?

      Her thoughts darted back and forth among the bits and pieces of information she’d gleaned. How much could she embellish to give the impression of strength and honor she sensed in him before her story grew more fanciful than actual?

      So lost was she in her contemplations, she didn’t realize a man worked with a horse in the corral until she reached the bunkhouse, where she had an unobstructed view.

      Her feet stuttered to a stop, matching her stuttering heartbeat.

      Was that Brand? She knew the answer even before the bucking horse brought him around to face her.

      His head jerked back. Their gazes collided with such force she gasped and pressed both palms to her chest as if she could stop the frantic surging of her heart.

      Why had he come back?

      Her mind raced with a thousand possibilities, all of which ended in one question. Had he come back to tell her who he was?

      The horse bucked again and Brand turned away.

      She blinked back her surprise. She must move on before anyone wondered why she stood in the middle of the yard staring in Brand’s direction.

      Sybil hurried onward until she found a private spot and sat down, pressing her back to the sunlit poplar. She lifted the backs of her hands to her overheated cheeks and slowed her breathing to normal. Why did she feel such a peculiar leap in the depths of her heart at his return?

      She shook away her stumbling confusion. Time to forget uncertainties and get to work. She pulled out her notebook and pencil and turned to the page where she had been arranging notes on Brand’s story. “Who are you, Brand?” she wrote.

      After thirty minutes or so all she’d put on the page besides that question were a series of doodles—circles that went round and round. Exactly how she felt as her thoughts returned again and again to the cowboy in the corrals. Why had he returned?

      And why does it matter to you?

      Only because I feel like it’s an answer to a prayer if he changed his mind about being a nameless, rootless cowboy.

      And why would that matter to you?

      Annoying, persistent voice.

      Because.

      Yes?

      She closed the notebook and put it in her pocket before she answered. Because it gives me a chance to learn more about him for my story.

      Oh yes. The story. The one you haven’t added a word to in half an hour of sitting here.

      “I will.” She silenced the inner voice by speaking aloud. “I just have to learn more about him.”

      She pushed herself to her feet and dusted off her skirts. She didn’t know how long Brand would stay around, but she would find an excuse to visit him and talk to him and get the information she needed to flesh out her story.

      Right then she returned to the house to help Linette with kitchen chores. The afternoon sped by as they made pickled beets and filled dozens of jars. The kitchen grew hot and steamy. Sybil’s nose stung with the smell of vinegar.

      Finally, the bottles of burgundy beets sat in neat rows on the cupboard shelves and Linette rubbed her hands together. “These will be so tasty during the winter months.”

      Sybil was about to excuse herself when her friend pulled out potatoes for the evening meal. She couldn’t leave Linette to prepare supper on her own. They finished just as Eddie and Grady came in. Mercy followed, and they gathered around the big wooden table in the kitchen.

      Sybil joined the others for the meal. Would Brand be gone by the time she got a chance to leave the house?

      After supper there were dishes. Finally, she dried the last pot and hung the towels to dry. She looked around the kitchen. “I thought I’d go see if Brand is still breaking horses if you don’t need me for anything more.” She hoped her words sounded casual. As if it didn’t matter one way or the other.

      Mercy winked at Sybil. “I’ll help Linette if she needs anything. You run along.”

      Sybil ignored her and waited for Linette’s reply. “Yes, you run along.” And if Linette grinned at Mercy as if they shared a secret, Sybil pretended not to notice.

      As she left the house, her gaze went immediately to the corrals. No bucking horses. Was he done, and gone already? She hurried, but not enough to make anyone think she was desperate.

      Brand was still there, talking to Buster, the youngest cowboy on the ranch.