Read Online Explaining Herself by Yvonne Jocks - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Yvonne Jocks
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Maybe I can help you."
He shook his head and started walking again, his spurs jangling with each step, so she followed. Light from the rising half-moon bounced off the creek and lit them from two sides. She found herself noticing Laramie's denim-clad backside.
She guessed she should think of him as Ross now, after how she'd clung to him earlier.
It should seem strange to admire that part of a man. Maybe she just felt ready to admire all of him, after this evening, and that's just the part she was facing. He was tall, after all. And his dungarees were still drying.
When he reached the big rock, where they'd meant to meet in the first place, he sank onto it and she decided the front half of him was fairly admirable, too. Then, hitching one foot up so that his tapering fingers could reach the top of his wet boot, Ross drew his long knife from it and distractedly began to dry it on his sleeve.
Dangerous.
Victoria leaned back against a tree while he chewed over whatever he'd gotten riled about, happy to watch. "When do you suppose they'll meet?"
His lashes lifted as he looked up at her again.
She persisted. "The rustler and the ranch hand?"
"He was no rustler." Oh no. Not the type.
"Likely tomorrow night," she guessed. "Maybe the night after. They'll need time to make arrangements, won't they?"
He shrugged.
"You'll tell me what you find out, won't you?"
"Shouldn't involve you," he insisted, looking right at her with those haunted eyes.
"I want to help. And I'll be curious whether you tell me or not. Maybe if you do, I'll get in your way less."
His troubled gaze sank back to the knife, which he was caring for like a boy would fuss over a favorite toy.
Victoria went over to the rock and propped her elbows on it, then leaned over her arms to be closer to him. It felt right, being closer to this man . . . maybe because of the safety being close to him had already carried, just this evening. "And if you tell me what you're doing, I'll tell you what I'm doing, and maybe you can help keep me from putting myself in danger."
Goodness, but that was one big knife.
Ross was looking at her again, somehow reluctantly.
"I don't put myself in danger on purpose, you know," she insisted —almost by rote, considering how often she'd had to explain it to her father, her mother, her older brother, her sisters. Her brothers-in-law. Her teachers. Her editor, Mr. Day. "I just want to know things."
"To write about them?" he challenged.
"Partly. But I've had to know things long before I worked for the paper. I need to know because, well. . ."
Did he really want to hear this? He was watching her as if he did, so she forced herself to consider it.
"It's almost like it hurts, not knowing something," she tried explaining, pressing a fist to her chest. "In here. Not book learning; if that were it, then I would want to go to college like Thad. But the things I want to know aren't about far-off lands or scientific inventions or even books. The things I want to know are about people, and what they're doing, and why they're doing it."
At least he wasn't caressing his knife anymore, though he hadn't put it away. He'd drawn his knees up, where he could drape his forearms across them, and continued to watch her as if what she had to say really mattered.
For once.
She reached down and fidgeted with her skirt, though it and her petticoats were finally starting to dry. "Some secrets seem to hurt people. Have you ever noticed that? Not like us meeting here," she added quickly, when his cheek worked in that way she'd begun to think of as a ghost smile. "Big secrets, about important things. Like the bad times Thad mentioned, after the Die-Up. I was only five or six, but I remember sensing things had happened that we weren't allowed to even know, much less talk about."
Ross Laramie's eyes narrowed, and again she thought: Dangerous. But she had to be wrong. Why would her father hire a dangerous man?
She didn't know how to explain those bad times,
He shook his head and started walking again, his spurs jangling with each step, so she followed. Light from the rising half-moon bounced off the creek and lit them from two sides. She found herself noticing Laramie's denim-clad backside.
She guessed she should think of him as Ross now, after how she'd clung to him earlier.
It should seem strange to admire that part of a man. Maybe she just felt ready to admire all of him, after this evening, and that's just the part she was facing. He was tall, after all. And his dungarees were still drying.
When he reached the big rock, where they'd meant to meet in the first place, he sank onto it and she decided the front half of him was fairly admirable, too. Then, hitching one foot up so that his tapering fingers could reach the top of his wet boot, Ross drew his long knife from it and distractedly began to dry it on his sleeve.
Dangerous.
Victoria leaned back against a tree while he chewed over whatever he'd gotten riled about, happy to watch. "When do you suppose they'll meet?"
His lashes lifted as he looked up at her again.
She persisted. "The rustler and the ranch hand?"
"He was no rustler." Oh no. Not the type.
"Likely tomorrow night," she guessed. "Maybe the night after. They'll need time to make arrangements, won't they?"
He shrugged.
"You'll tell me what you find out, won't you?"
"Shouldn't involve you," he insisted, looking right at her with those haunted eyes.
"I want to help. And I'll be curious whether you tell me or not. Maybe if you do, I'll get in your way less."
His troubled gaze sank back to the knife, which he was caring for like a boy would fuss over a favorite toy.
Victoria went over to the rock and propped her elbows on it, then leaned over her arms to be closer to him. It felt right, being closer to this man . . . maybe because of the safety being close to him had already carried, just this evening. "And if you tell me what you're doing, I'll tell you what I'm doing, and maybe you can help keep me from putting myself in danger."
Goodness, but that was one big knife.
Ross was looking at her again, somehow reluctantly.
"I don't put myself in danger on purpose, you know," she insisted —almost by rote, considering how often she'd had to explain it to her father, her mother, her older brother, her sisters. Her brothers-in-law. Her teachers. Her editor, Mr. Day. "I just want to know things."
"To write about them?" he challenged.
"Partly. But I've had to know things long before I worked for the paper. I need to know because, well. . ."
Did he really want to hear this? He was watching her as if he did, so she forced herself to consider it.
"It's almost like it hurts, not knowing something," she tried explaining, pressing a fist to her chest. "In here. Not book learning; if that were it, then I would want to go to college like Thad. But the things I want to know aren't about far-off lands or scientific inventions or even books. The things I want to know are about people, and what they're doing, and why they're doing it."
At least he wasn't caressing his knife anymore, though he hadn't put it away. He'd drawn his knees up, where he could drape his forearms across them, and continued to watch her as if what she had to say really mattered.
For once.
She reached down and fidgeted with her skirt, though it and her petticoats were finally starting to dry. "Some secrets seem to hurt people. Have you ever noticed that? Not like us meeting here," she added quickly, when his cheek worked in that way she'd begun to think of as a ghost smile. "Big secrets, about important things. Like the bad times Thad mentioned, after the Die-Up. I was only five or six, but I remember sensing things had happened that we weren't allowed to even know, much less talk about."
Ross Laramie's eyes narrowed, and again she thought: Dangerous. But she had to be wrong. Why would her father hire a dangerous man?
She didn't know how to explain those bad times,
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