Larkspur by Dorothy Garlock Page B

swollen eyes she was pretty. Spunky too. Maybe too spunky for her own good—like Yarby.
    “You are inviting me to come back to your house, Mr. Lenning. I have to take your word that it is yours.” As miserable as she was she was still defiant.
    “It is my house,” he said more gently than he had said it the first time. “This is Yarby’s house and Yarby’s land. He and I lived here for a couple of years. I wanted you to see it and get down off your high horse so that we could talk.”
    “I’m completely at your mercy. I’ve nowhere to go.” Her eyes were full of tears, and she drew her lips between her teeth to keep them from trembling.
    “I suppose that is true. I’ve no way of getting you back to town . . . at least for a few days.”
    “I couldn’t go back there if you did. They’ll be furious at me because I didn’t stay to sign their papers. Cletus thought they might do things like twist my arm or break my fingers. After I had signed away my inheritance, they’d have gotten rid of me. It wouldn’t do to let me hang around. People might find out that they had bought my land for two thousand dollars.”
    Buck whistled through his teeth.
    “That much? Generous of him. It might be best for you to go home and let a lawyer handle your claim.”
    “I’ve nothing to go home to.” It was an admission she regretted making the instant the words left her mouth. Lenning’s knowing her circumstances made her more vulnerable.
    “Forsythe is determined to get the Larkspur one way or the other. You could find yourself in the middle of a war for possession.”
    “I’m aware of that. He’s hired killers.”
    “You picked up a lot of information during the time you were in Big Timber.”
    “I was lucky.”
    “Well . . . luck is a fickle thing.”
    “What do you mean?” She hugged the bag tighter to her chest.
    “Not what you’re thinking. You’ve nothing to fear from me, Miss Anderson, ma’am.” There was a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. “You’ll not need the pistol. I’m not that desperate for a woman.”
    “Especially an . . . old maid.” The words were out before she could stop them.
    He laughed . . . before he could stop it. Kristin rushed into speech to hide her embarrassment.
    “Colonel Forsythe said you were a saddle bum who had drifted in and rustled off Uncle Yarby’s cattle. Cletus said you were an honorable man. So did Mrs. Gaffney. She thought I’d be safer here than in town. I really don’t understand it all. Is there no law here in Montana?” Her throat choked with bitterness. She turned her eyes away from him, only to have them swing back of their own accord.
    “You met Rose?” His face changed completely when he smiled. He looked years younger; not so wild and . . . dangerous.
    “She’s a dear lady. She helped me at great risk to herself.” Kristin got to her feet.
    “You met some of the most decent folks in Big Timber.”
    “I met Bonnie and Bernie Gates, too. Bernie has a peg leg. Also at great risk to himself and his sister, he came at two in the morning and took me to the freight wagons.”
    “I’m surprised Glazer brought you out.”
    “He was very nice. All the men were.”
    At the urgent barking of the dog Buck became instantly alert. He stepped away from the doorway.
    “Come on,” he called over his shoulder.
    He loped through the grove. Although Kristin tried, she could not keep up with him. When he reached the spot where she had dropped the box, he reached down and picked it up, hardly breaking his stride.
    Sam continued to bark.
    When Buck came out of the grove, he could see the dog fidgeting and looking toward the creek. He hurried across the yard, dropped the box near the back door as he passed it and broke into a run. He cursed himself for lingering to talk to the woman, forgetting to lock the door and allowing Moss to wander away. If Forsythe’s spies were about, they would surely see him.
    Moss was heading for the creek through the knee-high grass