Chapter 5

R obert stopped, blocking the way through the trees. Not that doing so was his intent.

"Ruby, I wasn't suggesting you were selfish. I only?—"

She lifted her dewy gaze to him.

"Oh, Ruby. I'm sorry." He wasn't sure what he saw only that he regretted making her feel judged. "Your upbringing has been so different from mine. I assume you've always known home and security, while I got used to fleeing under cover of darkness. I longed for a home that lasted more than a few months. I find it hard to think of leaving behind what you have."

As she nodded, the misery seeped from her eyes. "I suppose because I have always known where home was, I feel free to spread my wings. Home will always be there for me."

"You are most fortunate." A heavy sigh released from his chest, perhaps revealing as much as his words. "I've told you more about my family life than I've ever told anyone else."

Her gaze searched his face. A smile widened her mouth. "And you, of course, know more about me than anyone else." She tapped her notebook to indicate what she meant.

"You and me holding each other's secrets. You know, it feels rather good."

The two of them leaned on nearby trees, smiling at each other.

"Now we have another thing in common."

His brows rose in question. "That being?—?"

"We're secret keepers."

A laugh rumbled up his throat. "I like that." She smiled into his eyes until he almost forgot why they were standing in the middle of green-smelling trees. "I haven't forgotten. I have many things yet to show you. Are you up for a bit of a walk?"

"Are you forgetting I've walked much of the way from Manitoba?" Her voice grew bubbly, so his question amused her.

He grinned. "You're such an itty-bitty thing. I have trouble imagining that."

"Itty-bitty?" She sputtered. Then, she drew herself up taller. "I'll have you know that, as the youngest in the family, I learned at an early age to stick up for myself."

"Somehow, I doubt that. I know Carson would run to defend you, and I'm quite sure your sisters would as well. Am I right?"

"Maybe to a degree, but—" Her words slowed. Her eyelids fluttered. "It was Pa who rubbed my bruises and picked me off the ground when I fell down."

"Tell me about your father." He enjoyed hearing of a family such as he wished he'd had. But they weren't moving fast enough, and he caught her hand and urged her on. At a moderate pace, for sure. One that allowed her to talk as she walked.

"I miss Pa. He passed away over a year ago, but we lost him before that." Her voice shattered. "He suffered so with pain."

He put his arm over her shoulders. "That would be hard."

"Harder than you can imagine. Ma was strong, though. She cared for him right to the end." A shudder shook her, and he squeezed her closer. "Poor Bertie had the hardest time. How do you explain death to someone like him?"

"He doesn't seem sad."

"This trip has been good for him. Do you wonder why we're traveling by wagon rather than one of those steel trains that would take us there in much less time?"

"I hadn't thought of it, but why?"

"Because of Bertie. He's afraid of trains and strangers. And when he's afraid, he often runs off."

"Aha. So that's why he was under the wagon the first time I went over there?"

"It is. And why we've camped a distance from everyone else. Thankfully, there aren't a whole lot of people coming and going."

They'd reached the incline leading to the place he wanted to show her, and he dropped his arm to take her hand so he could help her climb toward the spot where he could point out the hillside. "See the rocks? That scientist fella told me this proves the area hasn't been touched by a glacier. Now I can't remember why he said so." He chuckled. "I didn't know there'd be a test, or I would've paid closer attention."

"It's all gravel and stones." The words came out in little puffs, betraying her breathlessness as they climbed. She touched the exposed cliff. "It's hard."

"Cobbles. There, I remembered that."

They continued onward to the top.

She gasped. "I can see forever. I didn't realize how thick the trees were. And there's a river. What are those buildings?"

She meant the remnants of the original fort. "I'll take you there later."

"I must draw." She slid her notebook from her pocket, plunked to the ground, and opened it to a blank page. In sure, quick strokes, she captured the two pine trees poking up from the valley below their feet. The details she added amazed him.

"When did you become so fascinated with plants and why?"

Her head came up to study the scene. Then she bent over the page again. "I had a teacher by the name of Mr. Elliot. He told us about David Thompson and read passages from articles written about him. And he brought a book with the names of many of the flowers." Another look at the trees. More scratching of her pencil.

He wasn't sure what the explorer had to do with drawing pictures, but maybe she'd tell him because when she was distracted by—or did he mean focused on?—her work, she seemed more inclined to talk.

"I started to notice the flowers around me. I'd sketch them and bring them to class to see if they were in the book. Often, they weren't. Mr. Elliot encouraged me to keep a record of them. He said sooner or later I'd learn more about them." She turned to him, her eyes wide as if she'd discovered something. "I hadn't realized he is responsible for this urge to catalog the flora I see."

"Too bad that scientist fella wasn't around. He was full of book learning. Guess he'd be able to help you."

Her attention returned to the page on her knees.

His patient waiting yielded no explanation about Thompson. Finally, he probed. "I don't see how hearing about David Thompson spurred you on to drawing flowers."

Her pencil grew idle, her gaze distant. "The two things always seemed connected in my mind." Her breath whooshed out. "Maybe because I realized how his descriptions and maps and everything made others see the new world." A one-shouldered shrug.

The explanation didn't make Robert understand, but it didn't matter.

"That's done." She eased the notebook closed, returned the pencil to its place, and leaned back on her elbows. When he turned to rest on one arm so he could study her, she tipped her face to the sky. "It's so peaceful here."

"Hasn't always been. Do you know the history of the North-West Mounted Police?"

"I think so."

"Then you know their first fort was here. Fort Walsh. And the force was formed because of how whiskey traders caused problems and because of the Cypress Hills massacre."

"Yes. Carson made sure we knew the reasons for the police force. It was a sad time for the Natives. Oh, wait—" She pointed. "Is that where Fort Walsh was?"

"It is."

"Are we going down there?"

"That's the plan. Though there's no rush. I thought we could enjoy this view a bit longer."

"Fine." Her gaze returned to the scene before her. She inhaled deeply.

"It smells even greener than down there, doesn't it?"

Her eyes lit. "Look at you, smelling color. Does that seem like something a big, strong Mountie should be doing?"

"Look at you, calling me big and strong." He puffed out his chest and sat up tall.

"What? You weren't aware of it? Have you never looked in a mirror or seen your reflection in a lake?"

"I've seen my reflection many times, mostly in rivers, and I'm all wavy-like." He jiggled his chin back and forth to indicate what he meant.

Laughter rolled from her mouth and bounced back from the trees. Her eyes sparked reflections of the sky.

He braced on an elbow, enjoying the view—not of the landscape but of the gal. Too bad their time together was so limited. Any day, the horses would arrive, and he'd have to leave. Indeed, the wagon train might resume travel before he did.

Perhaps that was a good thing. His plans meant settling down with deep roots. Hers meant going to Banff and joining a group intent on exploration. So, he'd enjoy her company for the few hours they had, and then they'd part ways. He'd cherish these hours making his delay so enjoyable.

When was the last time she'd enjoyed someone else's company like this? Yes, she liked being with her family, and often, they laughed together over something. But normally, she enjoyed her solitude. And she would again when they parted ways. In the meantime, why not appreciate having him show her around?

He pushed onto his feet and offered his hand. "Let's go look at the ruins."

Her hand was small in his much larger one. His warm, firm grasp reached deep inside and made her?—

Nope. She was not about to detour down a path that had them spending more time together. And no, she was not thinking of seeing him in the future. That simply wasn't part of her plans. Nor of his.

The path led downward. She clung to him as they kept up a steady pace. Knowing he would hold her up, she didn't pay attention to where her feet trod, being far too interested in the things around her.

"I should draw the cliff." She tugged at him.

"Yes, you should." They stopped, and he stood aside as she withdrew her sketchbook, chose the position with the view she wanted, and sat to capture the scene.

Robert sat cross-legged beside her. "I remember something else the scientist said. He called the cliffs conglomerate. When I asked what that meant, he reeled off a long, complicated explanation."

Strange how just yesterday, seeing his feet as she drew, bothered her, and now it didn't. She didn't even mind him talking, which was a good thing as he continued.

"The only other thing I remember about it was something about the Romans building cobble roads."

She sensed rather than saw his shrug.

"Guess I don't remember that too well either."

Drawing round rocks in such mass proved challenging. She chewed the corner of her mouth in concentration.

Robert pushed to his feet and wandered to the edge of the hill.

Her gaze followed him until he stopped. Then, her attention returned to the task. When her fingers cramped, she flexed them to relieve the tension. "There. I believe I've got it. What do you think?"

The page fluttered as she held the book aloft.

Robert strode back to her side and bent over. "That's amazing. Thank you for showing it to me."

Slowly, she closed the book and pressed it to her chest. "You're welcome, and thank you for bringing me here." The words sounded stilted in her ears, and her heartbeat seemed to jitter. Wow. She'd not only allowed him to watch her drawing but also invited him to look at it. Apart from those earlier sketches she'd shown Mr. Elliot, she'd never done that before.

And yet, it felt right perhaps because he was only here a short time and would soon be gone. Or perhaps because they laughed at the same things. Or because he said a scent was green.

"Come and see what I found." His invitation pulled her from her wandering thoughts.

Her sketchbook tucked safely in her pocket and her silly thoughts shelved safely in the back of her mind, she followed him.

"Flowers." He pointed.

"Oh!" At the base of the rocky cliff, a smattering of yellow flowers interspersed with others in sapphire blue. A hue she had not seen before. "If only I had color."

"Maybe someday you will."

It felt like a promise—one he wouldn't be able to fulfill—yet it brought a smile to her lips. "Maybe I will. In the meantime…" The sketchbook was open on her lap before she wondered if he wanted to move on. "Do you mind? I've never seen those blue flowers before."

"I like watching you draw."

"I should be self-conscious. No one has ever watched me."

"But you aren't? Why is that?"

She twirled the pencil between her fingers as she contemplated her answer. But she couldn't find one. "I don't know."

His legs folded as he sat beside her. They studied each other. Was he looking for the reason?

"It's because you feel safe with me." His deep voice and slow smile said he liked to think that.

She opened her mouth and closed it again without saying a thing. It was true. Then she thought of her answer. "You're a Mountie. Shouldn't I be safe with you?"

His eyes darkened to midnight. His gaze delved way past her usual barriers. She couldn't stop him. Didn't try. Even when a smile curved his mouth.

"Ruby Woods, you are safe with me and not because I'm a Mountie. You can trust me with your secrets. With your hopes and plans." At that word, he pulled back. Not that he moved away, but his eyes shuttered.

"Thank you." Her pencil drew lines almost of its own accord. Yes, she did trust him. And that was comforting.

Forcing her thoughts back to the page, she focused on drawing the flowers.

He watched her, a fact that neither disturbed nor distracted. It took concentration to get the flower right. And yet, her thoughts went on their own journey, exploring why she enjoyed his company. Didn't resent it. Didn't just tolerate it. But enjoyed it.

Satisfied at last with her rendering of the flower, she sat back.

"It looks good." He unfolded from his position and helped her to her feet.

"Thanks. By the way, how did you learn to be so patient?"

His hand tightened slightly. Her question must've surprised him.

"Patient?"

"Robert, you didn't move once while I sketched. You didn't sigh or moan. Your patience amazes me and, frankly, surprises me."

"Surprises?"

She stopped, forcing him to do so as well. "And now you're reduced to echoing my words. Why? Is it something I said? Or did? I hope not."

His throat worked. His gaze went past her. Past their surroundings. As if his thoughts took him far away. He cleared his throat. "I never thought about it. My pa taught me how to remain motionless and patient."

Shouldn't it be something he was grateful for? Appreciating what his pa had done? But even without the tightening of his fingers on hers, she would have known it wasn't true by the strain on his face.

"Robert?" She tugged his hand until his gaze returned to her. "How did he teach you?"

His dark, hollow-eyed gaze held hers. His Adam's apple bobbed. "I told you Pa drank."

"After Timmy's death."

"Truth is, he drank before that, just not as often or as bad. Henrietta and I learned to listen for his boots on the wooden step. We could tell how steady he was and know if we needed to hide. No matter where we lived, we would find a spot where we hoped he wouldn't find us. Sometimes, it was under the stairs or in a dark closet. Sometimes in the coal bin or in the cold, damp basement."

Sensing how painful his memories were, she caught his other hand and held tight.

"We huddled together. Never making a sound. Never moving until we knew it was safe."

"Oh, Robert."

He lifted a shoulder in a gesture so full of weariness that she thought of holding him like she often did Bertie when he was upset. But Robert was not Bertie, nor was he her brother.

"Your ma?" The word barely escaped her lips, but she wanted to know. What had the woman endured? What had the children witnessed?

"Ma stayed with him, trying her best to soothe him. Mostly, she succeeded until Timmy died. After that…" His breath shuddered in and out.

"Why didn't she leave?"

"How was she to live? I always said I would get a job and take care of her, but then we'd move. I'd go along and do what I could to help Ma. And then?—"

She nodded. And then she was gone. "Robert, how did you turn out to be such a good man?"

His smile erased the harsh lines. "What makes you think I'm a good man?"

"Because you're a Mountie. Because you're Carson's friend and—" A little imp of mischief suggested a third reason. "And because you say a certain scent smells green."

Her answer brought the desired effect as he burst out laughing.

"You're good for me." He hugged her, then stepped away. "I'm sorry. I had no right to do that."

"You're forgiven." But she didn't regret it. Not for one second. Even knowing her pa would have objected. "You can make up for it by answering my questions."