Her lungs refused to do their job. There was no way she could ever approach this man and ask personal questions. There was something about him that threatened the locks on her heart.
You’re being silly. He is just a man. Observe. Ask questions. That’s all you need to do. He doesn’t have to know that you’re writing something about him. Besides, she’d learned people were more honest, their answers more raw, if they weren’t aware they were being interviewed. And who would suspect a woman of interviewing them for a story, anyway?
She could not let this opportunity pass. Or let her natural reticence—or as Mercy insisted, her fear—get in the way of this story.
“All you have to do is ask him questions. You’re very good at that. People seem to trust you.” Mercy flung herself back on Sybil’s bed. “With good reason. You are a good person.”
“It’s very kind of you to say so.” Sybil listened distractedly as her friend chattered on about whom she’d seen and talked to, and how she meant to pursue certain activities, until Sybil caught the words, “learn to trick ride.”
She spun around to confront her. “Tell me I didn’t hear you say you mean to learn to trick ride.”
“Okay. You didn’t hear me say that.” Mercy grinned.
“Good. Honestly, sometimes you scare me with your rash words and even rasher actions.”
Mercy regarded her with a teasing grin. “No more than you worry me with your careful way of living. Sybil, my friend, if you’re not cautious you’ll end up living a barren life, when there is so much to know and enjoy out here.” She waved her arms in a wide circle as if encompassing the world.
“I’d sooner be safe.” Sybil hoped Mercy would never learn that barrenness felt better than having your heart shredded. Besides, she experienced lots of adventures through the stories others told her. All without the risk to herself.
Mercy laughed. “And I’d sooner have fun.” She draped an arm about Sybil’s shoulders and rested her forehead against hers. “We are an odd pair and yet you are my best friend.”
“What about Jayne?” Jayne Gardiner Collins had been good friends with her and Mercy for several years...since they’d met at a tea party given by a dowager of London society. Despite their differences in nature, they got along well, and the three of them had crossed the ocean and traveled across most of Canada together. Sybil had allowed herself these friendships, knowing from the start they wouldn’t last forever. The three of them would go their separate ways. Some to marriage. Likely they would lose touch. Truth was, Sybil simply kept most of her heart safely protected from the pain she knew she’d experience by allowing any friendship to grow.
“Pshaw.” Mercy waved her hand dismissively. “She’s no longer any fun. She’s only interested in Seth. Honestly, I get tired of ‘Seth said this, Seth did that, Seth likes such and such.’”
Sybil giggled. “They’re in love. What do you expect?”
Mercy laughed, too. “I’m never going to let her forget she had to shoot him to catch him.”
“It was an accident,” Sybil protested.
They fell back against the bed, laughing at the memory. “I tried to warn the pair of you that no good would come of shooting a gun.”
“And she proved you wrong.”
“I guess she did.”
“Goes to show you should live a little dangerously once in a while. It’s worth the risks.”
Mercy left a few minutes later.
Sybil stared at the wall. Could she write Brand’s story? Yes, of course she could. The bigger question was could she do it without endangering the carefully constructed walls about her already damaged heart? The man held inherent risks for her, as she’d already discovered by her reaction to being rescued by him.
Oh, stop fretting about that. You were frightened. Snatched into the arms of a tall, dark stranger. It was an unusual experience. Of course you had an unusual reaction.
She made up her mind. She’d write the story, keeping her eyes wide-open to both her initial, surprising response and her prior knowledge that he didn’t mean to stay. Eddie said the man never did. He was a born wanderer. Forewarned was forearmed. This time, unlike her unfortunate experience with Colin, she knew what to expect.
She pulled out pen and paper and wrote a letter to the publisher.
I have exactly the man for the assignment you’ve offered. He is a bronc rider, a quiet loner, a strong and mysterious man. Certainly bigger than life in a world that is full of strong, bold men.
She would find ways to get information about him without letting her silly reaction to being rescued cloud her good sense.
Chapter Two
Her resolve to pursue a story about this man firmly in place, Sybil went to the kitchen.
“Are you sure you weren’t hurt?” Linette asked as she bustled about the large room. A big wooden table filled one corner; cupboards and shelves occupied the opposite corner. East windows on either side of the outer door allowed them to enjoy the sunrise as they ate breakfast. Another door opened to a spacious, well-stocked pantry, and a third doorway opened to the hall that led to the rest of the house. Another door, always closed, hid the formal dining room, which Linette refused to use.
Even though she expected a baby in a few months, it didn’t slow her down. She never seemed to stop working.
“Frightened is all, but I’m fine now. What can I do to help?”
Mercy sliced carrots into a pot.
Roasting meat filled the room with enough aroma to make Sybil’s mouth water. Food certainly tasted better when it came fresh from the garden and when she had a hand in preparing it. Something she’d never done before her arrival at the ranch.
Meeting a man like Brand—big, strong, bold—would have never happened back in England, either. The men she’d been acquainted with would pale in comparison.
Mercy paused. “That bronc buster is a fine-looking man.” She gave Sybil a glance that demanded a response.
“Can’t say I really noticed.”
Mercy laughed. “Hard to see much with your face smashed against his shirtfront.”
“He was fast enough and brave enough to rescue me. I thank God for that.” Except she’d forgotten to thank Him and she made up for it on the spot, uttering silent thanks.
“I join in thanking God,” Linette said as she poured water from the boiled potatoes, saving it in a jar to use later, when she made bread.
Sybil watched everything Linette did. She’d found so much satisfaction in learning to cook meals, bake bread and cookies, and even preserve garden produce for the approaching winter months. She’d only meant the trip to western Canada as a chance to start over, to rebuild her heart and strengthen the barriers around it, but she’d found so much more. She’d found purpose in doing useful things.
