Chapter 7

R obert would have to be asleep on his feet not to notice how Ruby had gone from laughing and teasing to sober-faced and from grabbing his hands or his arm to practically tripping on the grass alongside the trail.

As if she didn't want to be associated with him.

Ignoring the hurt catching at the edges of his thoughts, he tried to think why. Was she embarrassed? Or afraid of being teased?

He stilled the smile racing to his mouth. That was it. She'd been open with him, sharing secrets. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth to hold back his amusement. For some reason, she didn't want her family to know about her drawing or her plans. And that likely extended to her friendship with him.

It wasn't hard to think of explanations for her feeling that way. He could imagine them trying to talk her out of her decision and telling her to be practical.

She trusted him with her secrets. Perhaps out of necessity, not choice, but he would honor their agreement. Even more, he would support her decisions, though once they left this place, he would see little of her. Oh sure, as Carson's friend, he might visit from time to time. Might even share a meal or two.

On second thought, wouldn't she be gone? Off to Banff to draw pictures for The Society.

"Ma, sorry for being late."

Ruby's apology to her mother stopped Robert from wandering too far down what the future might hold.

"We ate a cold meal. Help yourself. You too, Robert." Her ma waved them toward the wooden table covered with platters and pots and crocks.

Ruby got a plate for each of them. "Looks like you've been cooking." She lifted the lid on a pot of beans and added a scoop to her plate, two to his. From a platter of biscuits, she took one for herself and four for him. She speared a dill pickle for herself and another for Robert. There were cold, sliced venison and boiled eggs.

"A feast for a king," Robert said, his comment meant for Mrs. Miller, but his gaze stalled at Ruby.

A teasing smile tugged at her mouth. She leaned close to whisper, "Think you'll manage not to starve to death."

Bertie trotted to her, his dog at his heels and his goat bouncing at his side. "Ruby, where you go?"

"Robert showed me where the old fort once stood. Look what he found." She pulled the shiny button from her pocket.

Bertie touched it almost reverently. "It be Carson's?"

"I don't think so." The button disappeared into her pocket. "Soon, we'll see him, and you can touch his buttons."

Bertie nodded hard. "I like that." He followed them to the log stools where they all sat. "Mr. Robert taking you again this afternoon?"

"I think so." She glanced at him.

"I go too?"

Robert's hand stilled halfway to his mouth, the biscuit forgotten. There was no reason he should mind Bertie accompanying them, and yet he did. He chomped on the biscuit. Found it dry and downed a gulp of water.

"Bertie, if you go, your pets will follow. Do you think it's a good idea for them to wander around?"

Robert didn't know how reasonable Ruby's excuse was, but Bertie scrunched his face. "Ma not want them leave camp. I stay."

"That's very wise."

Mr. and Mrs. Miller sat by the nearest wagon, seemingly content in each other's company.

"Ma," Ruby called. "Where is everyone?"

"Joe and Cecil have gone hunting. We need to prepare meat for the rest of the trip. Walt is with the oxen. I expect Irene is with him. Hazel and Louise took the little boys on a walk."

"Angela?"

Gabe answered, "She went to the trading post to look around."

"Ma, if you don't need me, I'd like to explore some more. Robert has kindly offered to be my guide." Before her mother could answer, Ruby hurried on. "If Joe and Cecil return with game, I'll come back and help you can it."

"Go enjoy yourself. There's nothing urgent to deal with. Joe says the oxen need another day or two to rest."

"Thanks, Ma."

Robert tucked a smile into his thoughts at how eagerly she'd arranged for them to spend the afternoon together.

Ruby cleaned her plate, and seeing his was empty, she reached for it. But rather than set it back on the table, she circled the food, putting more of everything on his plate, then handed it to him. "No need to rush away."

Although her tone was mild, he wasn't unaware of the teasing light in her eyes.

"Thanks. This might take a while." Would she recognize that he teased back as he took tiny little bites of the biscuit?

"Take your time." She waved her hand airily and perched beside him, watching his hand move from plate to mouth.

"It's hard to eat when you're so attentive." He kept his voice low, the words for her ears only.

"Oh? Sorry."

But she didn't leave off her intense interest.

He regarded her through narrowed eyes. "I know what you're doing?"

"Oh, really?" Her eyebrows galloped toward her hairline. "What am I doing besides waiting patiently for you to finish?"

No one seemed interested in them, so he leaned closer until they were almost nose to nose. "You are trying to make me self-conscious about my appetite and maybe even about my size."

She jerked up, her eyes round in denial. "Or maybe I'm admiring both." Color flooded her cheeks, but she didn't break eye contact.

He almost choked on his muffled laughter. He consumed the rest of his meal in record time, and they hurried away.

"Where are we going?" she asked as soon as they were away from the camp.

"Uh?" He didn't have a plan but wasn't about to admit it. "Your pick. We could visit the cemetery or climb a hill overlooking the river or look through the trees for more flowers."

"I think you know which I will choose." She patted the side of her dress, thudding her notebook.

"The woods it is." Not that he minded. He could sit and watch her draw, and she'd talk. Did she realize how much she talked when she was distracted?

They entered an aspen grove. The air was cooler and scented green.

He laughed. "Do you smell it?"

Lifting her face to the sky, she sniffed. "What?"

"Green."

A grin split her face. "I certainly do. Now lead on, Mountie man."

Fallen leaves crackled underfoot. Two crows protested the intrusion, and from the branches came the "sweet baby" call of a chickadee. They ducked past low branches and were rewarded with a mass of white flowers. He inhaled deeply. "There's something about walking in the woods."

"Fairy bells." She sat on the ground, her notebook on her knees, and began drawing.

"The quarter I'm planning to get has wooded areas on it. Lots of people would say to clear the land, but I aim to keep some of it wild and untamed. Like this." He breathed deep, filling his senses with the sights and smells, then sat beside her, watching the feathery petals take shape.

She lifted her pencil. "Carson plans to file on a homestead as well. Are you going to be neighbors?"

"He's looking more for grassland, but we plan to be close enough to visit. Does Carson know of your plans?"

Another pause from drawing as she gave him a look full of disbelief. "Of course not. He thinks I'm a little girl running around with paper and pencil and scribbling crude pictures."

"I'm sorry someone thought your drawings weren't wonderful, but I can't believe they were ever crude. In fact, I'm guessing you were born with a pencil in your hand and even before you could talk, you could draw a cat that looked like a cat— not two balls on top of each other with triangles for ears."

Laughter rang out from her. Sweet, happy laughter.

He leaned closer. "You never ever drew a cat like that, did you?"

"Not that I recall." Her attention returned to the page.

He imagined her as a child trying to draw things. He formed a nice picture of a little girl with blonde hair fluttering about her face, her tongue pressed to her upper lip as she drew. "What was the first thing you can remember drawing?"

The pencil paused midair. She frowned straight ahead. "I don't remember a time I didn't draw. In fact—" She laughed. "I do recall getting scolded for drawing on some important papers." She bent over the page again and then stopped to look at him. "Come to think of it, the first thing I recall drawing that I was pleased with was the tree outside my window. I watched it every night. A bird built a nest where I could see it. I drew the branch with the nest and in it two hungry little birds with mouths open."

"What did you do with the picture? Did your mother keep it?"

"Ma never saw it."

"What? Why not?" His eyebrows drew together. "Surely you weren't afraid to show it to her." He'd met her mother, and she seemed a kind, understanding woman.

Ruby's shrug did not convince him it didn't matter.

"Things happen."

"Care to explain?"

Although her head remained bent, her pencil didn't move. In fact, not a single muscle moved. He couldn't even see her breathe. He touched her shoulder. "Ruby?"

Her neck muscles twitched. "I was about to show Ma, but she was searching for Irene. I wasn't worried. Irene had a habit of disappearing. But she always came home. But it was dark, and she wasn't back. Hazel was crying. I was maybe five, so she'd be like ten or eleven. She kept saying it was her fault. Ma was grabbing jackets and getting ready to head out to search for her."

Ruby drew in a shuddering breath. "Pa stopped her. Told her to stay with the children. He'd find her. Ma clung to Hazel, crying and praying while poor Bertie rocked and fussed. Ma had to keep him from running out the door. When I saw how distressed they all were, I got really scared, and I promised myself I'd never do anything to upset them like that."

"Showing them your drawing is hardly in the same category."

She shrugged. "It was also not very important."

"Irene was found safe and sound?"

"Yes, they found her. She'd discovered a baby rabbit and was playing with it. Wanted to bring it home but was afraid Bertie would take it from her. I guess Pa persuaded her to let it go."

Robert stretched his legs out to their full length and leaned against a tree, staring into the patch of sky visible above the treetops. Why did it bother him so much that Ruby hadn't shown anyone her drawing? That, as a five-year-old, she'd felt she must be careful not to cause trouble? Not that such a decision was wrong in and of itself. But thinking of her wanting approval from her parents and not getting it twisted a knot inside him. It wasn't that they didn't care. That was obvious…at least to him.

He jolted to his feet and made three strides before she called.

"Robert, what's wrong?"

He ground around to face her. "I feel like I should hug you."

"What? Why?"

He slowed his breathing. "Because no one admired your drawing when you were five years old." He squatted in front of her and looked into her face.

Half a dozen different things raced through her expression. Surprise. Disbelief. Maybe a touch of gratitude and then peals of laughter rolled from her.

"Robert, I am fine. It doesn't matter. Truly, it doesn't. I'm happy with the work I do now. I'm looking forward to a future of drawing pictures The Society might use in their cataloging of flora."

"Still. I can't help but think how disappointed and hurt you were at five." He pulled a leaf from the nearby branch. "I remember being five and how much things hurt."

Her warm fingers brushed the back of his hand. "Maybe it's you who needs a hug."

Their gazes locked as they studied each other, allowing the other one to see their deep hurts.

He lifted a hand and brushed his knuckles against her cheek. "You're right. The five-year-old has grown up. I'm happy with my plans for the future."

"As am I." She closed the notebook. "I'm done here for now. Shall we move on?"

Somehow, her question seemed to mean far more than venturing further into the woods. It hinted at the future. Moving on. Leaving the past behind. Leaving the present behind as well. The thought jarred his happy musings.

Their plans for the future took them in different directions.

He allowed himself a moment of regret, admitting how much he enjoyed Ruby's company, and then led the way through the trees.

Her thoughts in a tangle, Ruby followed Robert. Why was she always sharing things with him she'd never before confessed to anyone? It didn't make sense. Except maybe it did. Perhaps when he'd discovered her secret—or did she mean secrets?—something inside her loosened. Like a lock falling from a door and a breeze easing it open.

Should she be concerned? Maybe. But she wasn't. Her secrets, her confessions were secure with Robert and not solely because he was a Mountie or because he'd given his word. No, something about him informed her she was safe with him.

Besides, they would soon part ways. A thought that should have promised relief. Instead, it settled into her heart like a heavy rock.

She pushed aside her unwelcome musings. Today might be all they had. And she meant to enjoy it.

They left the wooded area, climbed a hill, and drew to a halt.

"The view!" The words breezed from her lips as she shaded her eyes and looked from the dark pines at her feet to rolling green hills descending into faded grass. She inhaled. "Sage. I smell sage."

"As a color or a plant?"

His deadpan expression and his flat words did not fool her. He was teasing her. She shoved on his shoulder, which didn't move him so much as an inch. He stood as solid as a boulder.

She pushed a little harder.

He didn't budge. Instead, he raised his eyebrows as if asking what she was trying to do.

It sent her into laughter. "Takes a lot to move you, doesn't it?"

His brows quirked. "More than an itty-bitty thing like you."

"Itty-bitty?" She wanted to protest, but her amusement didn't allow her to. Grinning, she turned back to the scene. "How far do you think we can see?"

"Twenty miles maybe?"

"Nah. I think we can see tomorrow over the horizon." She tented a hand over her eyes and stared. "That's west, right?"

"Yes. Where we're headed. Where our future lies."

She didn't want to talk about the future or think about it. Today was enough. To her right, wildflowers scattered like an unseen hand had broadcast seeds along the hill. She made her way toward them. Yes, there was one she hadn't seen before, and she pulled out her sketchbook, sat down, and set to work.

Robert followed, sitting nearby, his legs crisscrossed in front of him.

She turned to a blank page and, with a few deft strokes, captured his likeness. It was a basic outline. She studied it a moment. Plants were almost the only thing she'd drawn since Mr. Elliot had shown her his book of flowers. Yes, she occasionally drew other objects of nature like the rocky cliffs she'd done in the morning. But she'd not drawn people since…

Since she was in grade one and drew a rough sketch of the teacher. Not Mr. Elliot. Nor would she ever forget that particular purveyor of wisdom—Miss Newman. Ugh. An old maid with an old maid's warped view of the world. Or at least, that's how Ruby saw it now. Miss Newman noticed Ruby's drawing. Wiped it from Ruby's slate. Then, in a voice cold enough to freeze the water in the nearby bucket and sharp enough to cut the resulting ice into spears, she berated Ruby for wasting time and informed her, in no uncertain terms, that she must never, ever draw someone without their permission.

The tips of Ruby's ears burned now even as they had back then, and she covered Robert's likeness with the next page. He must never see it.

She turned her attention back to the dainty yellow flowers at her knees. Woodenly, she finished the picture.

Robert lay stretched out on the grass.

Had he fallen asleep?

Easing closer, she watched his chest rise and fall. Indeed, he slept. Careful not to make a sound, she watched him. Still careful, she plucked a feathery head of grass, leaned close, and tickled his nose.

With a quickness that caught her unaware, he captured her wrist, pulling her off-balance. She fell against his chest. Her breath whooshed out. Her heart stalled. Or at least, it felt like it did. His bottomless dark-blue eyes reached into her soul with the power to leave her unable to move.

"Ruby?" Her whispered name carried a hundred promises.

She edged closer. Her breath joined his in sweet unison.

He caught the teasing stem of grass. "What were you planning to do?"

Her thoughts righted with a crash. Not kiss him. That was for sure. She sat back. Sighed with exasperation. "You were sleeping. I meant to wake you."

"You succeeded." He sat up. "Are you finished the picture?"

Hadn't he said he liked watching her draw? Sure, didn't sound like it. "Are you done sleeping?"

The stem of grass was still in his hands, and he tickled it down her cheek, causing a shiver to run across her shoulders. "I'm sorry I dozed off, but the sun is so warm and inviting."

"I guess I'll forgive you."

"Well." He exhaled loudly. "That's a relief."

Try as she might—and the truth was she didn't try very hard—his answer amused her. She chuckled.

"Good." He jumped up. "If you're done here?—"

"I am." She took his offered hand. "Where are we going now?"

"Shall we head into tomorrow?" He indicated the west.

Did he mean more than a few hours in his company? And if he did? It was tempting. So very tempting. But she couldn't lose sight of her plans, so she patted the sketchbook she'd stowed in her pocket. "Let's walk along the hilltop."

As they meandered onward with no goal except to enjoy the afternoon, they talked. She gave in to an urgency to learn more about him before their time together ended.

"Tell me about some of the places you lived." Her heart twisted when he said they were a blur.

His long exhalation sounded weary. "Sometimes, we lived in a shack that did nothing to keep out the rain and the wind. A couple of times, Pa was offered a decent house in exchange for work." Neither his shrug nor his bland voice convinced her the constant moving hadn't been upsetting for him.

"But there was this one time." His chuckle rang with warmth, so he must've remembered something that gave him pleasure. "I got a job working with horses on a farm. I loved that work and was good with the animals. The farmer talked to me about settling down. Said he wanted to keep me on. I really liked the idea." The joy in his voice vanished, and he grunted. "But then Pa had to move on. Ma wasn't doing well, and I couldn't let her go without me. So I moved on, too. Ma died a few months later after two more moves."

"I can understand how important a permanent home is to you."

He barely acknowledged her comment. "When I have my own place, I am going to raise horses. The Force is always needing good stock, and new settlers will be needing riding horses as well as draft ones."

She stopped so she could study him, liking the way his eyes flashed with pleasure when he talked about the animals he planned to raise. "It's nice to see your enthusiasm."

"I'm sorry for rambling on."

"No. I enjoy hearing about you and your plans."

He scrubbed at the back of his neck, probably finding it a little uncomfortable to tell her so much. "Tell me more about yourself."

"There isn't much left to tell."

"How did you get connected to this group in Banff?"

"I read a news article about people who were going to catalog the flora of the mountains." They continued walking, although she paid little attention to the ground at her feet. "I thought that's what I'd like to do, so I sent them a sample of my work and asked if I could be of use. They responded enthusiastically." She lifted one shoulder. "Of course, you know that, having seen the letter."

If anyone else read it, she would've been defensive, but she didn't mind that it was Robert. It provided her the opportunity to spend these hours with him showing her around the area.

They walked or, alternately, sat on the grassy slopes, taking in the view, and they talked. About anything and nothing. They teased and laughed.

Never had she enjoyed an afternoon more. As the shadows lengthened, she anticipated another day together tomorrow. Joe said the oxen needed more rest. She meant to spend it in Robert's company. Unless he objected, and why would he? He seemed to like her company as much as she appreciated his.

They headed back toward camp, pausing often to point out the scenery. Or was it because they got lost in talking? When he told about how Henrietta teased him when they were children, pretending to lose something of his, then producing it and laughing, Ruby caught his hand.

"I can't tell if that's a good memory or not."

"It's good. We learned to watch out for each other."

"Then why do you sound sad?"

"I didn't mean to. But I suppose it's because I miss her."

Ruby tipped her head to study Robert. Sadness lingered in his smile. "You could always write her and tell her how much you miss her. I mean, once a year is not enough to keep in touch with the only family member you have."

He rocked back on his heels. "I suppose I could."

"Is she married?"

"Yes, for three years now, and she seems happy. She was hoping to start a family soon."

The timbre of his voice warmed pleasingly.

"Say, would you do me a favor?" His eagerness made her agreeable, but having older siblings, she knew better than to agree to something without knowing what it was.

"Depends what it is."

"Will you draw a picture for me to send to her?"

No one had ever asked that of her. "Of flowers? Maybe of some orchids? Sure, I can do that."

"Ruby, I would like it if you drew something about the place. Maybe the wagons." He looked away and back again. His voice grew husky. "Maybe you could draw me."

The saliva in her mouth dried up. Had he seen her rudimentary sketch of him? Was he testing her to see if she'd confess? But his expression was open and honest. Granted, she didn't know him well, and yet she didn't think he would be devious.

"I don't usually draw people. I don't know if I'd be any good at it."

"I've no doubt you will do well." He planted a big hand on her back. Its warmth and comfort made her want to do whatever she could to accommodate his request.

"Very well. I'll try." It would give her an excuse to spend more time with him.

And if every hour spent in his company made it harder and harder to think of saying goodbye, well, it would be worth it.