13

Miss Whitfield, Miss Whitfield!” Rebecca shrieked as she raced into the schoolroom. “Come quick! Roger’s hurt his arm!” Even without the final statement, Catherine would have known something was seriously wrong. Rebecca prided herself on her proper grammar. The fact that she’d said “quick” rather than “quickly” was an indication of extreme stress.

The cause of that stress was apparent the moment Catherine stepped outside. Rebecca’s brother lay on the ground under the swing, cradling his right arm. Though Hannah knelt by his side, his older brother stood, an expression of horror on his face. Today was April Fool’s Day, and it seemed the boys had been fooling around more than normal.

“What happened?”

“He jumped off the swing.” Hannah’s disapproving tone left no doubt of her opinion of that particular act. The girl who had once spent most of her free time on it looked at the swing as if it was singlehandedly responsible for Roger’s pain.

Catherine knelt next to the boy, trying to assess the extent of his injury.

“It hurts, Miss Whitfield. It hurts real bad.” Though Roger tried to maintain a stoic expression, he failed. “Everything went black when I landed.”

And that, Catherine knew, was a bad sign. One of the medical books she’d read had said that loss of consciousness often meant a bone was broken rather than simply bruised. She helped the boy to his feet, being careful not to touch his injured arm. “Let’s go inside so I can see what needs to be done.”

Fortunately, classes were over for the day, and only four pupils had remained in the schoolyard. It was Friday afternoon, which meant that Hannah was waiting for her father to come for her. As had been the case ever since he’d started working for Austin, Seth had left on the horse Austin had told him he could consider his for as long as he worked at the ranch. Normally Hannah would have been the only pupil in the schoolyard, but for some reason Rachel Henderson was late in picking up her trio.

“Should I fetch the doctor?” Sam, the eldest Henderson child, asked. Like all of Rachel’s children, he was blond with blue eyes. Today he also wore a decidedly worried expression, making Catherine suspect that the unauthorized exit from the swing had been his idea. It wouldn’t be the first time a boy had challenged a younger sibling to do something dangerous.

“There’s no need for the doctor,” Catherine said firmly. Jumping from the swing, even if it resulted in a fractured arm, was less dangerous than being treated by Doc Harrington. “I’ll take care of your brother.” She gave Roger a reassuring smile. “It’ll be all right, Roger. You can lean on me.”

Hannah tugged on Catherine’s skirt. “My papa could help you.”

Though the thought of seeing Austin again made Catherine’s heart skip a beat, she doubted he would be of any assistance in treating a sprained or possibly broken arm. She at least had the benefit of her medical books. Still, it was only natural that Hannah, who obviously idolized her father, would believe him capable of anything.

“That’s nice, Hannah, but your father’s not here now, and I am.” Keeping her arm around Roger’s waist, Catherine moved toward the schoolhouse. “Roger and I are going inside. The rest of you need to stay in the yard.” The last thing Roger needed was to have his siblings view his pain. Despite Catherine’s declaration that Roger did not need Doc Harrington, if Sam and Rebecca heard him crying, one of them might decide to summon the town’s physician. She couldn’t let that happen.

“You’re a brave young man,” she told Roger as they entered the schoolhouse.

The thirteen-year-old nodded, obviously pleased that Catherine had referred to him as a man rather than a boy. Seconds later, she had him seated in the chair next to her desk and had begun her examination. Biting his lip to keep from crying when she rolled up his sleeve, Roger muttered, “That hurts.”

It would. Catherine could see the outline of the radius in two distinct sections. Though the bone hadn’t punctured the skin, this was obviously a serious fracture.

“Can you move your fingers?” When Roger tried but failed to wiggle them, Catherine nodded. “It appears that you’ve broken your arm.”

“I thought so. I heard a crack just before it all went black.”

Catherine took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves. Though she’d handled a variety of injuries and illnesses, she had never before been called on to set a bone. The medical book she’d bought when Mama had become so ill indicated that the process was straightforward. Fortunately, she had brought it and some basic medical supplies to the schoolhouse when she’d vowed that Doc Harrington would not treat any of her pupils while they were in her care. The question was whether or not Catherine could steel herself to push the bone back into alignment. She had to. She simply had to.

“Setting the bone will hurt,” she told Roger, “so I’m going to give you something to ease the pain.” Though she hated what laudanum had done to her mother, there were times when it was needed. She gave Roger a spoonful of the powerful liquid, then bade him lie on the floor. While it would have been easier to set the arm if he’d been awake and could keep it on the desk, Catherine wanted him unconscious when she tugged on the bone.

As the boy drifted into sleep, she pulled out her medical book and turned to the section on fractures. She was studying the diagrams when she heard footsteps.

“I heard you had an injured pupil. Can I help you?”

Catherine tried to ignore the frisson of excitement that rushed down her spine at the sound of Austin’s voice. He was her friend—her good friend—and there was no denying the comfort that simply having him at her side provided. Even though he probably knew as little as she did about setting a broken bone, she was no longer alone, and that felt good.

“Roger broke his arm when he jumped off the swing.”

As Austin knelt on the floor next to her and looked at the arm, she was grateful that her voice had not betrayed the excitement she felt at having him so close.

“I’m glad to see it’s not a compound fracture.”

Catherine felt herself stiffen with surprise. While she knew from her reading that a compound fracture was one where the bone protruded through the skin, surely Austin didn’t have a medical book at the ranch. “I’m surprised you know the term.”

He shrugged, as if the reason should be obvious, the motion wafting the faint scent of leather and soap into the air to tantalize Catherine’s senses. It was silly to be acting like a schoolgirl, noticing the masculine scents that clung to Austin when she had an injured boy who needed her help.

“Cattle break bones too. A rancher’s got to know what he’s dealing with and whether there’s a chance of saving an animal.” Austin looked at Catherine, his blue eyes serious. “Will you let me help? I know better than to suggest you call Doc Harrington.”

“You’re right about that. I’d be afraid he would want to bleed Roger as well as set his arm.”

“Surely he wouldn’t do that. I’ll admit I haven’t heard many good things about him, but I can’t imagine any physician believing that bleeding would help a broken arm.”

Catherine wasn’t certain of anything concerning the doctor other than that she would do everything she could to keep him away from her pupils. The man who’d killed Mama would not have the opportunity to harm them. “I’m not taking any chances.”

Austin nodded. “Then may I assist you? It’s often good to have two people dealing with a fracture this serious.”

He sounded so confident that Catherine felt herself begin to relax. “All right.” It would be a relief to have another adult with her. Maybe Hannah had been right when she’d said Austin could help her.

He glanced at the book that she’d been consulting. “Do you have plaster for the cast?”

Catherine shook her head. “This is the first time I’ve had to do this.”

Though Austin’s mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, he closed it. A second later he said, “I’ll send Sam to the apothecary. When I was in there, I noticed that Warner had plaster and bandages. I’ll be back in a minute.”

As Austin rose to his feet and strode toward the door, Catherine moved to the chair behind her desk and gave a silent prayer of gratitude that Austin was here. It felt good to have him with her, and not just to help with Roger’s arm. She no longer tried to deny how much she enjoyed his company. Every time she saw him, her heart beat faster, the air seemed fresher, the colors more vibrant. It was as if she’d gone through life half asleep, but when Austin was near, she felt alive.

Catherine couldn’t explain it. All she knew was that she’d never before felt this way and that none of the books she’d read had given her any clues. Perhaps she should ask Lydia, but Catherine was reluctant to do that. With her current bent toward matchmaking, Lydia might claim that Catherine was in love.

Though Catherine missed her mother’s presence each day, the sense of loss was greater today than it had been in weeks. If Mama were here, she could help her make sense of her feelings, help her understand why she felt so strongly about Austin.

“Sam’s going to get the supplies,” Austin said as he reentered the schoolhouse, “and he’s not going alone. Apparently, Rebecca and Hannah think this is some kind of grand adventure and insisted on accompanying him. He’s not happy having two girls tag along.”

Catherine smiled, as much at the evidence of the progress Hannah was making as at Sam’s discomfort. A month ago, Hannah wouldn’t have spoken to him, much less insisted on going to the apothecary. “These are children we’re talking about,” she told Austin. “It is a big adventure. Roger will be the center of attention next week, and Sam will have his part in the story.”

“Then let’s make sure it has a happy ending. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” As ready as she would ever be. Catherine returned to kneel next to the unconscious boy, waiting to see what Austin proposed to do while they waited for the plaster.

He gave her medical book another brief glance. “The first step is to reposition the bone. Can you hold him steady while I move it? I’m afraid that even with the laudanum, he may struggle.” When Catherine nodded and positioned herself on Roger’s opposite side, gripping his arm and shoulder to prevent movement, Austin moved swiftly and confidently. Within seconds, the bone was back in place. Austin ran his finger along its length, then nodded.

“What does your book say to do next?”

“Wrap the limb in a soft cloth.” Catherine pointed to the strips of flannel that she kept in her box of supplies.

“That sounds like a good idea. It’ll keep the plaster from irritating the skin.” As Austin wound the flannel around Roger’s arm, he tipped his head to one side. “I think our adventurers have returned.”

Seconds later, Sam entered the schoolroom, followed by his sister and Hannah, all of whom appeared fascinated by the sight of Roger lying on the floor with two adults at his side.

“Is he sleeping, Papa?”

Austin nodded. “Miss Whitfield gave him a medicine that makes him sleep. That way it didn’t hurt when we set his arm.”

Catherine almost smiled at the plural pronoun. She’d done nothing more than assist, while Austin had performed the actual work.

Austin rose and took the packages from Sam. “Did you tell Mr. Whitfield to put these on my account?”

As the boy nodded, Catherine began to protest. “I can pay for them.”

“And so can his parents. Consider this my contribution to the adventure.” He turned to the children. “I believe Miss Whitfield instructed you to remain outside.”

“But we want to help.”

Though Hannah gave Austin her most persuasive look, he shook his head. “You’ll help by being outside.”

As the children filed out, their slumped shoulders announcing their disapproval of the edict, Austin poured water into the metal bowl Sam had brought and set it to warm on the stove. When it reached a temperature he found acceptable, he poured plaster powder into it and began to stir, nodding when it started to thicken.

“Does your book tell you how many coats of plaster we’ll need?” he asked.

Catherine shook her head. “It sounded as if one was all that was required.”

“We’ll see.”

Catherine watched, mesmerized by the assurance with which Austin worked. She had no sense of how much time had passed before he said, “All done. By the time Roger wakens, it will be dry.”

She studied the now casted arm. “It looks just like the drawing in my book.”

“And you’re surprised?”

“A bit. I would have thought that your first attempt would be more . . .” She paused, searching for the correct word, settling on amateur.

The grin Austin gave her made her flush with pleasure. “Haven’t you ever heard of beginner’s luck? C’mon. Let’s get off the floor.”

As he extended his hand and helped her rise, the door opened with such force that it banged against the wall.

“Will he be all right?” Rachel demanded as she raced toward her son.

Catherine smiled and laid a reassuring hand on the woman’s arm. “Yes, thanks to Austin. He’s the one who set the bone and applied the cast.”

Rachel looked from Catherine to Austin and back again, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she studied them. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

It was Austin who answered. “Just make sure he keeps the cast dry. He’ll need to wear it for six weeks.”

“I remember. This isn’t the first time one of my children has been injured.” Rachel knelt next to her son and inspected his arm. “Doc Harrington couldn’t have done a finer job. Sam broke his arm when he was only two, and the cast wasn’t this smooth.”

Though Catherine said nothing, Rachel’s comments confirmed her opinion of the town’s doctor. “I’m thankful Austin was here. I doubt I could have done as well.”

Looking oddly uncomfortable, Austin touched the cast, pronouncing it dry enough to move, then turned to Rachel. “I’ll carry Roger out to your wagon.” He scooped the boy into his arms and headed outside.

When the door closed behind him, Rachel raised an eyebrow. “I was wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

The pretty blonde leaned against the desk as she faced Catherine. “I thought Nate was the right man for you, but now I see that he wasn’t. My brother’s a wonderful man, but he’s not the one for you. Austin is.”

Catherine felt as if the wind had been knocked from her. “You’re mistaken, Rachel. Austin and I are friends, that’s all.”

Rachel’s smile was almost a smirk. “So you say. So you say.”

Rachel’s words lingered in Catherine’s mind, popping to the foreground to surprise her at the least opportune times. She had tried to dismiss them, but here she was more than two weeks since the day Roger had broken his arm and his mother had made her outrageous declaration, and the words were just as powerful as they had been then.

Catherine moved slowly toward her destination. It was Easter Sunday, and the day was as beautiful as anyone could wish, with the clear blue skies and soft warmth of spring. The service had stirred Catherine’s heart as it did each year, reminding her of the priceless gift God had bestowed on his children, the promise of eternal life. The breakfast that the congregation had shared afterward had been as joyous as ever, the special yeast breads and egg dishes commemorating the risen Lord and the season of rebirth.

Though Easter was normally Catherine’s favorite day of the year, she could not ignore the emptiness inside her. The cause was easy to find: she missed her mother.

She had known that this first Easter without Mama would be difficult, but it had been harder than she’d expected, in part because Lydia and Travis had gone to Dallas for a meeting of attorneys. That had left Catherine the sole visitor at Uncle Charles’s and Aunt Mary’s table. Even though Warner had tried to interrupt, Aunt Mary had been more caustic than usual, and Uncle Charles had patted Catherine’s thigh twice. By the time the meal had ended, she had been almost frantic to escape. But now she was alone, walking through the cemetery, planning to plant flowers next to Mama’s grave.

Catherine had smiled when she found pansies blooming in a corner of her garden three days earlier. They’d been the last flowers Mama had planted before she’d become so ill, and they’d seeded themselves, their cheerful blooms brightening Catherine’s day. She had smiled that day, and she’d smiled again today as she dug up a plant, knowing where it belonged.

When she reached the grave, Catherine knelt beside what the minister had called Mama’s final resting place. Mama wasn’t here. Catherine knew that, just as she knew her mother couldn’t hear her. But that didn’t stop her from whispering.

“I’m so confused, Mama. I don’t know what to do about Austin and the way he makes me feel. I told Rachel that he’s my friend, and he is, but the truth is, I’ve never had a friend like him. I think about him all the time. That never happened with Nate.”

Catherine traced the letters carved into the headstone. “Did you know that Nate wanted to court me? I never talked about it, because I was afraid something would go wrong, and it did. He turned out not to be the man I thought he was. Austin’s different. When he smiles at me, my heart races. When I see that distant look in his eyes, all I can think about is helping him overcome whatever it is that’s making him so sad. Mama, I care about him in ways I never cared about Nate. Is this love?”

There was no answer, but Catherine hadn’t expected one. She might not know whether what she felt was love, but there was one thing she did know: Austin was hiding something from her. There were times when she felt as if he was on the verge of telling her whatever it was, but then he’d draw back. He had secrets, and that worried her almost as much as her feelings for him, for Mama had told her that if a man and a woman truly loved each other, they would harbor no secrets. How could Catherine even consider loving a man who wasn’t honest with her?

She closed her eyes, wishing there were someone who could advise her. And then she realized that there was. Mama might not be here, but there was One who was. Slowly, she bowed her head.

“Come see, Miss Whitfield.” Hannah’s voice carried across the hallway. “There’s a strange woman in the cemetery. She looks lonely.”

Catherine entered what was now Hannah’s room and looked out the window. When she had agreed that Hannah could live with her, Catherine had decided she should stay in the guest room. Not only was it less crowded than Mama’s room, but it was also closer to Catherine’s. If Hannah had a nightmare or needed her, Catherine would hear her cry out.

One glance was all it took to confirm Hannah’s words. A black-clad woman, her face obscured by a heavy mourning veil, was moving slowly through the cemetery, pausing at each of the gravestones to read the inscriptions. She was a stranger—Catherine was certain of that, for there had been no recent deaths in Cimarron Creek—and yet something about the way the woman moved seemed familiar. Who could she be? There was an easy way to answer that question.

“I want you to stay here,” Catherine told Hannah. “I’ll see if I can help the lady.”

And so, only a day since she had prayed at her mother’s grave site, Catherine headed back to the cemetery.

“Good afternoon,” she said when she reached the woman. “Can I help you?”

The stranger, who was two or three inches shorter than Catherine, wore traditional mourning clothes, a black gown trimmed in black, a black veil covering her head and face. Though the garments were well tailored, they bore traces of dust, making Catherine suspect the woman had arrived on the stagecoach an hour or so ago. She could distinguish little of the woman’s features through the thick veil, but a stray hair on her sleeve told Catherine that the stranger was a blonde.

The woman shook her head. “It’s kind of you to offer, but I don’t think anyone can help.” Her voice was pleasant and well modulated, the voice of an educated woman. Though that combined with the style of her clothing led Catherine to believe she was from a city rather than one of the neighboring towns, it did not answer the question of why she was in Cimarron Creek. The last person who’d come to the town unannounced had been Lydia, and the cemetery had most definitely not been her destination.

“I came to visit . . .” The woman hesitated. “Friends,” she said at last. “It seems they’ve died, so there’s no reason to stay.”

The despair in the stranger’s voice made Catherine’s heart clench. This woman sounded the way she had felt when Mama had died, so bereft that she could barely think. Catherine had been fortunate that Lydia and Aunt Bertha had helped her through those terrible first few days, but this woman appeared to be alone.

“You’ll need a place to spend the night,” Catherine told the stranger. “The next stagecoach doesn’t come until tomorrow morning. That’s the eastbound one. The westbound arrives in the afternoon.” When the woman said nothing, perhaps because she was overwhelmed by the combination of her loss and being stranded here, Catherine continued. “Cimarron Creek has no hotel, but you’re welcome to stay with me.”

Still, there was no response. “Oh, I’ve forgotten my manners. I’m Catherine Whitfield. The town’s schoolteacher.”

The woman nodded and extended her hand, her gesture as graceful as her walk had been. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Whitfield. I’m Grace Sims, and I’d be grateful for a room.” As she gripped Catherine’s hand, pressing it between both of hers as if she were drawing strength from it, she said, “My husband passed away recently. I came to Cimarron Creek, because I’d hoped to find a home here. Now . . .” She let the words trail off.

Catherine took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as thoughts swirled through her mind. When she’d walked through her backyard and into the cemetery, her only thought had been to help this woman find the grave she sought, but hearing Grace Sims’s story had changed everything. Catherine nodded. It might be impulsive, but what she was about to propose felt right.

“You’re welcome to stay with me as long as you’d like,” she said. “If you decide to remain in Cimarron Creek, you don’t need to be in a hurry to find your own home.”

“That’s more than generous of you.” Catherine saw the woman’s relief reflected in the angle of her shoulders. They no longer looked as if they were carrying an immense burden. “Thank you, but I’m not sure I should impose.”

“It wouldn’t be an imposition,” Catherine insisted, “though I need to warn you that one of my pupils boards with me during the week. She’s a very sweet little girl, but if you’re not used to six-year-olds, her exuberance can be overwhelming.” There was no need to tell Mrs. Sims that that exuberance was a welcome change from the Hannah who had first entered the schoolhouse.

Mrs. Sims released Catherine’s hand and took a step backward. “A child. I see. I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”

“Don’t you like children, Mrs. Sims?”

“Indeed I do. The problem is, they often don’t like me.” Slowly, she raised her veil.