17

I’m so glad you came in,” Lydia said as Catherine entered Cimarron Sweets, seeking a few minutes alone with her friend. She was still reeling from the revelation that Grace Sims was actually Joan Henderson, Aunt Bertha’s long-lost daughter and the woman Lydia and Travis had tried to find last fall. Though Catherine longed to tell Lydia what she’d learned, she could not, for Grace had been as adamant about keeping her real identity secret as she was about hiding her scars.

The two, Catherine suspected, were related. While she did not doubt that Grace worried that her scars would alarm some people, Catherine now believed that the heavy veil was a way for Grace to keep from being recognized. Though it was possible that the attacker had died or moved away in the last twenty years, it was equally possible that he still lived in Cimarron Creek. Catherine couldn’t imagine what Grace would do if she came face-to-face with the man who’d fathered her child.

The attack was not the reason Catherine was here. Grace’s daughter was. Ever since she’d heard the story, Catherine had been searching for a way to help Grace. While she could have asked Grace for the information she sought, she didn’t want to raise her friend’s hopes only to have them dashed. The woman had already endured enough disappointment.

Lydia straightened a nonexistent wrinkle in her apron, smiling as her hand curved over her slightly rounded abdomen. “I hope you can stay more than a minute, because I need you to tell me whether this fudge is good enough for the church social.”

And Catherine needed to get some information from Lydia without appearing to pry. When she’d settled onto one of the chairs reserved for guests, Lydia handed her a plate with two pieces of fudge, then returned to the small kitchen.

“I don’t need to taste this to tell you it’ll be perfect.” The store was small enough that Catherine did not have to shout to be heard in the back room. “Everything you make is delicious.”

Lydia shook her head as she emerged with two cups and a teapot on a tray. “You’re biased. Tell me the truth, Catherine,” she said as she took her place at the small table where customers sampled her concoctions. “This is my first social, and I want my contribution to be good.” She fixed her gaze on Catherine, relaxing only when Catherine popped the smaller piece of fudge into her mouth.

“Just as I predicted, it’s delicious,” Catherine announced after she’d savored the bite. “And don’t forget that you’re not the only one bringing food. There will be a dozen cakes and at least as many pies, not to mention cookies. You don’t need to feed all of Cimarron Creek.”

When Lydia looked dubious, Catherine continued. “The point of the social is to encourage fellowship. It’s not like Founders’ Day with all those speeches. This is just an evening for us all to spend together.”

“With dancing and singing and food.”

“Exactly. What does Travis say about the dancing?” Lydia’s apron was no longer able to hide the thickening of her waist, and while the town’s midwife had decreed that she was perfectly healthy, Travis had begun to worry about every ache, pain, or even slight twinge that his wife experienced.

“He’s grudgingly admitted that if Mrs. Steele says it’s all right, we can dance, but he’d prefer that I spent the evening on the sidelines with you.” Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Or have you changed your mind about that?”

Catherine shook her head. “As the town’s teacher, I need to attend the social, but I don’t plan to dance. I want to honor my mother’s memory, and going a year without dancing is one way to do that.” So too was refusing to think about marriage, but that wasn’t something Catherine wanted to discuss today. “Tell me about the baby.”

Her eyes sparkling, Lydia patted her stomach. “The little one has been dancing inside me. Oh, Catherine, I can’t begin to tell you how wonderful it is. Travis and I are so excited about the thought of having a child. We can’t wait to see whether it’s a girl or a boy and then watch that tiny infant grow up.” Lydia’s smile faded. “I can’t imagine how any woman could give up her baby.”

It was the opening Catherine had sought. “Were you thinking about Aunt Bertha’s daughter?”

Lydia took a sip of tea and nodded. “Yes. I can’t explain it, but I keep thinking about Joan and wondering what happened to her. Aunt Bertha was certain Ruth and Sterling would have an answer for her, but they didn’t.”

“Those were Aunt Bertha’s cousins in Ladreville, weren’t they? The ones you went to visit?” Catherine wanted to be certain.

“Yes. Sterling—I guess I should call him Pastor Russell—was Aunt Bertha’s cousin. Ruth’s his wife. They’re both wonderful people, and they tried their best to help us, even put us in contact with the sheriff and the midwife. It wasn’t their fault that Joan left no clues.”

Though Lydia’s expression reflected the disappointment of that trip, Catherine was not disappointed. Instead, she was exulting over the fact that she had gotten the names she needed so easily.

“Let’s talk about happier things,” Lydia said as she refilled their cups. “What are you planning to wear to the social?”

They discussed clothing for a few minutes before Catherine announced that she had to return home. There she found Hannah helping Grace cook dinner. For everyone else, it was an ordinary evening, but Catherine found herself counting the minutes until Grace would retire for the night. Once she did, Catherine moved to the desk that occupied a corner of the parlor and pulled out her stationery.

“Dear Pastor and Mrs. Russell . . .”

They might not have learned anything more about Grace’s daughter since Aunt Bertha’s visit, but if they had, Catherine wanted to find out. She signed the brief missive, sealed it, then redoubled her prayers for Grace.

His singing was bad enough to make the horse’s ears twitch, but Austin didn’t care. He needed a way to express his newfound joy, and singing was the only way he knew. Besides, there was no one to hear him but his horse, and Dusty would tell no tales.

In just a few minutes he’d be in town, picking up Hannah for the weekend. In the meantime, Austin was rejoicing in the perfect day and all that was right in his life. A large part of that was due to Catherine. The woman was wonderful. She’d changed his life in so many ways, the most obvious of which was Hannah. His daughter was a new girl, a girl who was visibly happy, and that made Austin happy.

Then there was Seth. Though he hadn’t expected it, he enjoyed having him around. The boy was a hard worker and definitely gave him a fair day’s work, but that wasn’t why Austin valued him. It was the boy himself. Seth was intelligent and sensitive. Boone might not recognize it, but his son was a born artist. Though Seth claimed that he wanted to become a rancher, from Austin’s view, that would be a waste of a God-given talent, and he planned to do everything he could to steer the boy in a different direction.

The song died on his lips, and Austin blinked at the realization that he had begun to visualize himself and Hannah remaining in Cimarron Creek. He’d started envisioning a future—a long future—right here. What had happened and why? Though Austin could not pinpoint the timing, the reason was easy to find. What had started as a temporary place to hide from Sherman Enright had become a home because of Catherine.

It all came back to her. She was kind and considerate, wise and witty, and she filled his thoughts like no other woman. She’d done so much for him, and what had he given her in return? Not much.

Austin stared into the distance, his mind barely registering the beauty of the rolling hills and the raucous cry of a blue jay. The easy approach would be to buy her a gift. Her cousin Jacob at the mercantile would probably know what she would like. Austin could do that. But a gift wasn’t enough. What Catherine had given him was intangible, a gift of her time and caring, and that was invaluable.

Austin wanted to do something similar for her. The problem was, he doubted she’d ask for anything. If Catherine had one flaw, it was that she liked to be self-sufficient. Austin would have to play detective. And if that meant spending more time with her, that was fine. Just fine. More than fine.

He grinned as an idea popped into his mind. He’d start by asking to escort her to the church social tomorrow evening. So what if the town’s busybodies would think he was courting her? Let them talk. After all, they just might be right.

Catherine fastened the last button on her cuff, trying to ignore the way her pulse raced at the thought of the evening to come. She’d attended church socials for as long as she could remember, but she’d never taken so much time preparing for one.

Running her fingers down the smooth poplin, she smiled. Though she was glad she’d decided to dispense with mourning clothes, she still wasn’t ready to wear her apricot-colored gown. Some members of the congregation, including at least one of her aunts, would find that scandalous. There was no need to invite criticism or gossip, especially since the deep purple dress she’d chosen was equally flattering. Unlike brighter hues, purple was considered an appropriate color for the second stage of mourning.

“He won’t be able to keep his eyes off you,” Grace said as she entered Catherine’s room. “The gown is lovely. Now, let me fix your hair.”

When they’d discussed the social, Grace had insisted that Catherine needed a fancier hairstyle than her normal one. “You’re a Whitfield,” she pointed out, “and you know the Whitfields and Hendersons are supposed to serve as models for everyone else.”

It was a refrain both Catherine and Grace had heard so many times when they were growing up that they’d lost count. Their mutual discomfort with the concept of noblesse oblige was one of the many things they’d shared with each other in the days since Grace had revealed her kinship. Knowing that they were related had brought Catherine more comfort than she had expected. Though Lydia was still her dearest friend, the fact that she and Grace shared the common bond of having been raised in Cimarron Creek made their relationship special. As Mama had told her often happened, God had answered Catherine’s prayers in a way she could not have foreseen. Now she had an almost-sister as well as a dear friend.

She perched on the dressing table stool and watched while Grace wielded the curling iron, creating a series of intricate curls to frame her face. Even Mama, who’d curled Catherine’s hair when she was a child, had never made her look like this.

“Oh, Grace, it’s beautiful,” Catherine said when Grace declared her work done. “I’ve never had such an elegant hairstyle. It makes me feel different—almost beautiful.”

Grace gave her an indulgent smile. “You are beautiful, Catherine. You could dress your hair like this yourself. It’s just a matter of practice. You might not want to go to this much trouble on school days, but a girl ought to primp for her beau.”

“Austin’s not my beau,” Catherine protested.

Her friend simply smiled, those green eyes so like Aunt Bertha’s filled with amusement. “Let’s see if you say that at the end of the evening. My instincts tell me it’s going to be a special night for you and the man you claim is not your beau. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

Her face flushing at the thoughts Grace’s words had triggered, Catherine tried to compose herself. She needed to talk about something—anything—other than what Austin might or might not say or do tonight. “Are you certain you won’t come with us?” she asked Grace. “You know you’d be welcome.” Though Catherine doubted Grace had changed her mind, she wanted to be certain.

Grace shook her head. “I’m not ready yet. To be honest, I’m not sure I ever will be. Going to church is one thing. I know I’m safe in God’s house. Shopping is more difficult, but mostly I encounter other women, so it’s not too bad. But being with a group that includes almost every man in Cimarron Creek—especially when it’s dark—is more than I can do right now. Just the thought of being out after sunset makes my heart race so much that I’m afraid I’ll faint.”

“You believe the man who attacked you is still alive and living here.” Catherine made it a statement rather than a question.

A nod was Grace’s first response. “At the time, something about him seemed old to me, but as I think about it now, I suspect he was only ten or fifteen years my senior, so yes, he could still be here.” Grace shook her head again. “Don’t think about that tonight. I don’t want anything to spoil your evening, but . . .”

She paused, her expression telling Catherine she was weighing her words.

“What is it?”

Grace frowned. “It’s just me. I worry about you whenever you go out at night. In my mind, I know you’ll be safe tonight because you’re with Austin, but my heart doesn’t listen, and I still worry.” She touched Catherine’s shoulder and turned her toward the mirror. “You’re especially beautiful this evening. Every man there will see that.”

She took a shallow breath, then continued. “Do you know how to protect yourself if someone tries to hurt you?” Without waiting for a response, Grace answered her own question. “Of course you don’t, any more than I did. I never told Douglas what had happened to me, but somehow he sensed my fear. He told me there were two things I could do. The first is to raise my knee and hurt a man’s privates. If I couldn’t do that, he told me to try to gouge out his eyes.”

Catherine shuddered at the thought of having to inflict pain, even in self-defense, and yet she recognized the wisdom of the advice. “Thank you.”

“God willing, you’ll never need to do either of those things, but I’ll worry a little less now that I’ve told you what Douglas said.” Though Grace looked as if she wanted to say something more, the knock on the door stopped her. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Catherine rose and made her way to the front door, opening it to Austin and Hannah.

Hannah’s brown eyes, so different from her father’s, widened as she stared at Catherine’s hair. “You look pretty, Miss Whitfield.”

“She’s more than pretty, Hannah. She’s beautiful.”

Wishing she were able to control her blush, Catherine dipped her head slightly, hoping Austin hadn’t seen how deeply his words affected her. “You look pretty too, Hannah.” She touched the bow that decorated the girl’s neatly braided hair. “Is this new?”

Hannah nodded. “Mrs. Sims helped me pick it out. She said it was pretty.”

His nose wrinkled with feigned annoyance, Austin turned to his daughter. “What about me? Am I pretty?”

“Silly Papa. Men aren’t pretty. They’re handsome.”

And he was more handsome than ever. Though Catherine had seen Austin’s suit each Sunday, tonight she had a heightened awareness of how well it fit him, how the jacket highlighted the breadth of his shoulders, how the impeccably tailored pants emphasized his long, lean legs.

“She’s right, Austin. You’re not pretty, but you are handsome.”

Muffled laughter reminded Catherine that Grace had yet to speak. The veiled woman had been uncharacteristically silent. “Now that that’s all settled, I suggest you head for the park. Before you know it, it’ll be Hannah’s bedtime.”

The children’s events ended at sunset, and though the children of ranchers and farmers who lived outside town stayed later, sleeping on quilts at one corner of the park while their parents danced and socialized with the rest of the community, Grace had suggested Austin bring Hannah back here and let her remain overnight. She’d return to the ranch with him after church tomorrow.

Hannah’s bottom lip protruded as she glared at her father. “You said I could stay up later tonight.”

“Later, but not as late as Miss Whitfield and me. Now, no pouting or you won’t be allowed to go at all.”

Mollified, Hannah grabbed one of his hands and one of Catherine’s and began to chatter as they set off for the park. As soon as they arrived, she dropped their hands and scampered off to join her friends.

Austin gave his daughter a fond smile, then turned to Catherine. “I want to thank you again for allowing me to escort you. After what Boone Dalton said, I was afraid it might be awkward for you.”

It was the first time Austin had alluded to Boone’s diatribe that day on the swing. Though Catherine had hoped that Austin had forgotten, he obviously had not. “I don’t like gossip, but I’ve learned there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” As a Whitfield, she had lived under public scrutiny her whole life. Gossip, Mama had said, was inevitable. People would undoubtedly notice that she was with Austin and would speculate about what that meant. The truth was, Catherine didn’t care, because there was no one she would have preferred as an escort.

Grace might be wrong in calling him her beau, but the way Austin looked at her made Catherine feel beautiful. More than that, it made her feel special. She smiled at Austin, hoping he’d see the thoughts she wasn’t ready to put into words, and the smile he gave her in return seemed to say that he did. Tonight was a night to savor, the first time she and Austin had appeared in public together.

They strolled around the park, stopping to chat with Lydia and Travis, who’d been deep in conversation with Opal and her husband. To Catherine’s relief, though she saw Rachel and Luke, there was no sign of Nate. While she’d told him numerous times that she was not interested in being courted by him, it was one thing to say that, another to have Nate see her with Austin.

Catherine’s relief was short-lived, shattered by her aunt’s strident voice. “Ah, there you are, Catherine. Your uncle and I were wondering when you’d arrive.” Aunt Mary strode to Catherine’s side, the extra fold of flesh at her neck jiggling as she moved. “Warner would have been happy to escort you.”

Catherine gave her aunt a perfunctory smile. “Thank you, Aunt Mary, but as you can see, I came with Austin and Hannah. You’ve met Mr. Goddard, haven’t you?”

“I had the honor of being introduced to your aunt and uncle one Sunday.” Though Austin’s words were polite, the slight twist of his lips made Catherine wonder whether Aunt Mary had shown her acerbic side that day.

With her attention focused on Austin, Catherine did not notice her uncle’s approach until he slid his arm around her shoulders and tugged her to him. “You’re the prettiest gal here,” he announced. “Except for my Mary, of course. I hope you’ll save your old uncle a dance.”

Feeling as if she had been put on the spot, Catherine shook her head. She didn’t want to dance, especially not with the man who was holding her too close. “I hadn’t planned to dance. Remember, I’m still in mourning.”

“Nonsense, child. No one will look askance if you do.” As Aunt Mary spoke, she narrowed her eyes at Uncle Charles, glaring at him until he dropped his arm and took a step away from Catherine. “We all know how you loved Gussie. You don’t need to deprive yourself of every pleasure to prove that. Besides, she would have wanted you to enjoy yourself.”

Uncle Charles nodded vigorously. “Then it’s settled. I claim the first dance.”

And so, an hour and a half later, when everyone had feasted on sweets and the children had been put to bed, Catherine found herself being whirled around by her uncle. It wasn’t the first time she’d danced with him, so she knew from experience that what he lacked in expertise, he made up for in enthusiasm.

“You need to be careful, Catherine,” he said as the dance steps drew them close again. “I don’t like the way that Goddard fellow looks at you. There’s something about him that rubs me the wrong way.”

Before Catherine had a chance to tell him that she liked the way Austin looked at her far better than the way he did, her uncle continued. “I reckon I’d better talk to Travis again about investigating him. I wouldn’t want my favorite niece hurt by some shyster.”

“He’s not a shyster, Uncle Charles. Austin is a good, honest man.”

“Then he won’t mind Travis looking into his past.”

Though they passed the rest of the dance in silence, Catherine’s thoughts continued to whirl. Why were Aunt Mary and Uncle Charles so concerned? It wasn’t as if their family was without blemish.

When the music died, Catherine returned to the sidelines, grateful to be away from her uncle.

“I thought dancing was supposed to make a girl smile,” Austin said as he joined her for his dance.

Catherine tried to smile. She wouldn’t tell him what Uncle Charles had said, not wanting the man’s plan to put a pall on the evening. Instead, she forced her lips to curve into a rueful smile. “It’s hard for a girl to smile when her toes have been trampled more than once.”

“Would you rather sit out this dance?”

Catherine nodded. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Austin frowned slightly as he looked around the park. “Are your feet up for a short stroll? I wouldn’t mind getting away from the crowd for a few minutes.”

Though her toes ached, Catherine wouldn’t complain, not when Austin was suggesting time alone. They’d need to remain within sight of the crowd, lest tongues begin to wag, but they could go far enough away that their conversation was not overheard.

“That sounds wonderful.”

Seconds later, they’d left the park and were walking north on Main Street, Catherine’s hand nestled in the crook of Austin’s arm. Though they were still close enough to hear the music and the laughter, it was muted, and Catherine felt peace settle over her, a peace that mingled with the excitement of being with Austin.

“Thank you. This is just what I needed,” she said as they approached the bridge that marked the north end of the town.

When they reached the center of the span, Austin stopped and gazed down at the water. “I’ve driven over this bridge dozens of times, but this is the first time I’ve walked.” He gestured toward the slowly moving water. “The creek is beautiful with the stars reflecting in it.”

Catherine agreed. It was the perfect evening to be strolling here, and Austin was the perfect companion. Though she wanted to tell him that her heart was beating faster simply from his nearness, that was not something a woman should say, and so she settled on a mundane comment.

“Did you know that it was originally called Muddy Creek? The first Whitfields and Hendersons decided that wasn’t an appropriate name, even though it’s muddy half the time, so one of them suggested Cimarron. It’s been Cimarron Creek ever since.”

Though she’d expected Austin to laugh or at least chuckle, he did not. Instead he turned so he was facing her. “You’re an incredible woman, Catherine Whitfield.” His voice was huskier than she’d ever heard it, the sound sending shivers down her spine.

“Why do you say that?” Somehow, she managed to keep her voice from trembling, when all the while she wondered if he found their closeness as exciting as she did.

“Why? There are a hundred reasons, maybe more. You know so much; you’re so good with people; you always put others ahead of yourself.”

She wasn’t any of those things, and yet the fact that Austin believed them made her want to be that good, that generous, so that she was worthy of his praise.

He paused for a moment, then moved slightly so that only inches separated them. “I’ve never met anyone like you. I can’t explain it. All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re the first thing I think about each morning and the last thing at night.”

Catherine knew that feeling—oh, how she knew it—for Austin dominated her thoughts. First thing in the morning, last thing at night, and countless times in between. He was always on her mind. How wonderful it was that he felt the same way about her!

Austin moved again, bringing himself so close that Catherine could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke. “All I can think about is you and how much I want to do this.”

In one fluid motion, he spanned the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her to him. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his lips to hers.