21

The healing is complete,” Austin said as he finished his examination of Grace’s face. When he’d told Catherine he wanted to check the results of the surgery, she had suggested they meet at her house during the lunch break. The schoolchildren were accustomed to being on their own then, and there’d be enough time for Austin and Catherine to combine a quick meal with the examination.

Austin’s smile confirmed his satisfaction with the healing. “In another week or two, you can go outside without your veil.”

Grace rose and began to dish out bowls of stew. “It’s a big step. I’m not sure I’m ready.” Though both Travis and Lydia had added their arguments to Catherine’s, Grace was still reluctant.

“Why not? You’re beautiful.” Austin glanced at the portrait of Grace that had been taken more than twenty years ago. Though she hadn’t divulged Grace’s secret, Catherine had wanted him to see the daguerreotype so that he could see how successful the surgery had been.

“You look almost as young as you did then,” he told his patient.

Though Grace flushed at the compliment, she continued cutting squares of cornbread to accompany the stew. “That’s thanks to you and Catherine.”

“We’re not the ones to thank. It was God who gave you your beauty. All Catherine and I did was help restore it.”

“And I’m grateful—more grateful than I can say.” She laid the plates on the table, then took her seat. “Let’s give thanks for this food and for the many blessings we’ve received.”

When the prayer ended and Austin and Catherine had taken their first bites of the stew, Grace looked up from the cornbread she was buttering. “I was worried, but now I know that coming back to Cimarron Creek was the right decision.”

“Back?” Though Austin had a spoonful of stew in his hand, he paused with it halfway to his mouth. “That sounds as if you lived here before.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he kept his gaze fixed on Grace. “I’m guessing it’s no coincidence you look so much like the Hendersons and Whitfields.”

He turned his attention to Catherine, cataloging the resemblance between her and Grace. Though Catherine had hated keeping Grace’s true identity secret from him, it was not her secret to reveal. She said a silent prayer of thanksgiving that Grace had chosen to confide in Austin.

“You’re right. I’m a Henderson,” Grace admitted, “but I left more than twenty years ago. Like the prodigal son, I wasn’t sure I’d be welcomed back. Fortunately, being here has been better than I dared hope.”

And while her newly restored face was part of that, Catherine knew it wasn’t the only factor. She’d seen how Grace blossomed when Lydia and Travis shared stories of her parents. Her spirit was healing as well as her face.

Catherine glanced at the clock as she finished her last bite of cornbread. “I need to get back to school.”

“And I promised Mrs. Moore I’d pick up some supplies for her,” Austin added.

Grace nodded. “Of course.” She started to rise, then frowned. “Oh, Catherine. I’m so sorry. I forgot to stop at the post office this morning.”

“That’s all right.” Catherine knew Grace didn’t like to leave the house in the afternoon when more people were out and about. “If I hurry, I can stop there on my way back to school.”

“Grace seems happy,” Austin said two minutes later as they made their way toward Main Street.

“She is, and so am I. What you were able to do is almost miraculous.”

“I told you. I’m only the tool.”

Though Catherine appreciated Austin’s modesty, she said, “You’ve been given a marvelous talent. I wish you didn’t have to hide it.” Just as she wished Grace didn’t feel the need to hide her past.

“This is a temporary hiatus. That’s what I tell myself.”

He held the post office door open so that Catherine could enter. She blinked, trying to accustom her eyes to the relative darkness. “Good afternoon, Cousin Matthew,” she said, greeting the man who stood behind the counter. “Do you have any mail for us?”

“Nothing for Austin, but there’s something for you. Actually, it’s for Seth Dalton.” Matthew raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were getting his mail.”

Mama had once told Catherine that as postmaster, Matthew Henderson was privy to many of the town’s secrets, and that what he couldn’t surmise from the return addresses on letters and packages, he often embellished with speculation. Though that would probably happen today, Catherine had no intention of satisfying his curiosity. If she had mail for Seth, it must be the results of the contest he had entered. She said a quick prayer that the news was good.

“Here you go.” Cousin Matthew handed her a large envelope bearing the name of the magazine. “Looks like he ordered some magazines. Reckon he didn’t want Boone to know he was spending money.”

Catherine kept her expression noncommittal, though her heart was singing with happiness. The entry form had said that finalists would receive several copies of the magazine. “Whatever it is, I’ll take it to Seth now. Thank you, Cousin. I know we can rely on your discretion.”

Matthew nodded. Though he might like to speculate about his customers’ business, he would not gossip if someone specifically asked him not to.

“What was that all about?” Austin asked when they were once again outside.

“I encouraged Seth to enter one of his drawings in a contest. This is the answer. Oh, Austin, I hope he won. The boy has so much talent.”

“And you don’t want him to hide it under a bushel basket.”

“Exactly.” She clutched the envelope to her chest. “I’m fairly certain he’s a finalist, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if he won first prize?”

Austin’s lips curved into a smile. “There’s only one way to know.”

Though she normally would have preferred to linger with Austin, Catherine increased her pace. When they reached the schoolyard, the children were still playing outside.

“I’ll say good-bye to Hannah, then leave.”

Catherine nodded her approval of Austin’s plan. She approached one of the groups of boys and laid her hand on Seth’s shoulder. “I need to see you. Please come inside.”

He followed her into the schoolhouse, his hunched shoulders bearing witness to his apprehension. “What is it, Miss Whitfield?” he asked as soon as they were inside. “Did I do something wrong?”

Though her heart ached at the further evidence that Seth’s life was one of criticism rather than praise, Catherine gave him a reassuring smile. “Not at all. I have some mail for you.”

As she handed the envelope that she’d been holding at her side, as hidden by her skirts as possible, to Seth, he stared at it, comprehension sending color to his cheeks. “It’s from the magazine. What do you think it says?”

“Open it and find out.” Catherine reached into her desk and withdrew a pair of scissors, knowing that while other children would rip the envelope, Seth would not.

He slit one end, his hands trembling the way hers had the day of Grace’s surgery, then paused before he withdrew the contents. As Catherine had surmised, the envelope contained half a dozen copies of the magazine as well as a letter.

Seth stared at the letter, not noticing the piece of paper that fluttered to the floor. His eyes scanned the carefully penned words once, then again, as if he couldn’t believe what he was reading. Then a grin as wide as the state of Texas creased his face.

“I won! Miss Whitfield, I won!” He held out the letter for her perusal. “That’s what this says. Do you believe it? I won!”

He laid all but one of the magazines on the desk before opening the remaining one. “Page eleven. They said to look at page eleven.” When he reached the page, his grin broadened. “There it is! It’s my drawing!” He held the magazine so Catherine could see the picture.

The picture was beautifully rendered, but what was even more beautiful and what filled her heart with joy was the sight of Seth’s happiness. She’d never seen him with such unfettered emotions.

“That’s wonderful news,” she said, giving his shoulder a brief squeeze. “But don’t forget this.” Catherine bent down and retrieved the paper that had fallen to the floor. “This is your prize money.”

He stared at the bank draft as if he’d never seen one before. In all likelihood, he had not. As Catherine watched, he swallowed deeply, then smiled again. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and it’s because of you.”

A dead end. Tucker kicked the gravestone, wincing as his foot connected with the large marble slab topped with an equally large angel. Another dead end. He stared into the distance for a moment before giving the stone another kick. The problem was, if his luck didn’t change, something else would be dead—him. He’d be as dead as Austin Goddard’s family.

Wiping the sweat from his face, he looked around the cemetery and wished he was somewhere—anywhere—else. He’d come all the way to Oklahoma, sure he’d find the doctor or at least someone who knew where he was holed up. Instead, he’d discovered that the Goddard ranch had burned two years after Austin left. His parents were burned to a crisp, or so the owner of the mercantile said.

The man had been eager to share the details. According to him, when the doctor had learned what happened, he hadn’t bothered to come back for the funeral. Instead, he’d sent word they were to sell what was left of the ranch and use the money for a gravestone.

The man was a fool, but Tucker already knew that. He should have kept the money instead of wasting it on a monument. His family wouldn’t have cared, and he’d have had an extra couple hundred dollars. Most men would have realized that marble monuments were a waste of good money. But Austin Goddard wasn’t most men. He’d vanished, and no one knew where he’d gone.

It was another dead end, and this time Tucker had run out of ideas. All he knew was that he couldn’t go back to Enright without the doctor.

Tucker gave the cemetery one final look, then strode toward the entrance. Maybe he should follow the doctor’s example and disappear. He hadn’t told Enright he was coming here. All he’d said was that he had a good lead and was following it.

For the first time since he’d heard about the fire that had ended Austin Goddard’s family’s life, Tucker felt a surge of hope. No one would look for him out here. Disappearing wasn’t a bad idea, not a bad idea at all.

Austin pulled out his watch and looked at it for what felt like the hundredth time. Half past eight. Where was the boy? Seth was an early bird, arriving no later than six each morning, but today there’d been no sign of him. Worry sent prickles down Austin’s spine. Shaking his head at the futility of worry, he straightened his shoulders. There was only one way to find out why Seth hadn’t come to the ranch.

“Kevin, I’m heading over to the Dalton farm to find Seth,” Austin told his helper. “I wanted us to check the area by the creek today, but you don’t need me for that.”

“No, sir.” Though Kevin was Austin’s senior, he insisted on addressing him formally. “I’ll make sure the calves are all right.” Last week one had caught its leg in a gopher hole and broken it so badly that Austin had known there was no point in trying to set it. They’d dined on veal for days afterward.

Compelled by an urgency that startled him, Austin saddled Dusty and raced to the farm, covering the distance in half the normal time. As he barreled down the poorly maintained lane, he saw nothing amiss, and for a second he wondered if he’d been mistaken in his worry. There was no one out and about, but that wasn’t unusual. Seth had told him his father slept late most mornings when he’d visited the Silver Spur the previous night. Boone was probably trying to sleep off too much whiskey, but that didn’t explain Seth’s absence.

Austin dismounted and looked around. A cow’s plaintive mooing made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. This was no ordinary morning sound. He sprinted toward the small pen outside the barn. Sure enough, there was the Daltons’ sole cow, a heifer in obvious need of milking. No wonder the poor critter was bawling.

Austin clenched his teeth at this further evidence that something was wrong. Milking the cow was Seth’s job. He would never neglect that.

“Seth!” There was no answer. “Seth!” he called again. This time he heard what sounded like a moan coming from inside the barn. It was so faint that Austin wasn’t certain he’d heard it, but he pushed the door open and entered the ramshackle structure, trying not to gasp at the sight of a form lying on the ground. His years of training and his work in Philadelphia’s most dangerous neighborhoods had shown Austin the effect of men’s brutality, but nothing he had seen had prepared him for this.

“Seth.” He recognized the shirt, though the boy’s face was so battered as to be virtually unrecognizable. He lay curled in a ball, a mangled mass of flesh where his right hand had once been. The rest of his body appeared to be in little better shape. Rage, deeper and more intense than he had ever experienced, filled Austin with the desire to inflict the same pain on the man who’d done this.

“Seth, can you hear me?” Austin knelt next to the boy who’d been so brutally beaten that he was barely breathing. He was a doctor, a healer. What mattered now was helping his patient, not seeking vengeance.

Seth moaned.

“Who did this?” Though Austin was certain he knew the answer, he needed the confirmation.

“Pa.” The word escaped through lips that were twice their normal size.

“He won’t ever do that again.” Austin wasn’t certain how he’d prevent it, but he would find a way.

Austin’s hands moved quickly, cataloging the damage the man had done. A few more blows, and he might have killed his son. But, Austin suspected, Boone hadn’t wanted Seth to die. His goal had been causing the maximum amount of pain a body could sustain without shutting down. And, it appeared, he’d accomplished that. Though the pain must be excruciating, Seth was still alive. Thank you, God.

“I’m going to take you home with me,” Austin told Seth. The sooner they were out of here, the better. Though the boy was still alive, his shallow breathing told Austin that Seth’s grip on life was tenuous.

Austin rose and glanced at the Daltons’ wagon. As dilapidated as the barn itself, the wagon was unlikely to withstand the trip to the ranch. The best answer would be to bring his own wagon and transport Seth in that, but Austin had no intention of leaving the boy unprotected. As painful as it would be, he’d tie Seth onto Dusty and take him home that way.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said as he lifted Seth from the ground and carried him to his horse. Fortunately, before he began to strap him onto Dusty’s back, the boy lost consciousness. Thank you, God. For the second time in less than a minute, God had answered his prayer.

Austin mounted Dusty and was heading away from the barn when Boone staggered out of the farmhouse. “What’s goin’ on?” The way the man slurred his words confirmed Austin’s assumption that he’d drunk too much whiskey yesterday. “What you doin’ with the boy?”

“I’m taking him somewhere where he has a chance of living.” It took every ounce of self-control Austin possessed not to leap down from Dusty and pummel Seth’s miserable excuse for a father.

Boone shook his head, then frowned, obviously regretting the pain the simple act had caused. “You ain’t got no right.”

“And you’ve no right to kill.” Austin kept his hands on the reins. Though they were moving slowly to avoid injuring Seth further, each step Dusty took brought the boy closer to safety. “You’re lucky I got here when I did. Another hour and the sheriff would have been stringing you up for killing your son.”

Boone’s shrug said he would have had few regrets. “He had it comin’. A man’s gotta teach the whelp a lesson.”

Though Austin wished he could teach Boone a lesson, now was not the time. Instead, he asked as casually as he could, “Just what did Seth do that you thought deserved a beating?”

“He made the fellas laugh at me. One of ’em pulled out some magazine. Showed me a drawin’. It had the boy’s name on it, plain as could be. Seth Dalton of Cimarron Creek.” Boone’s eyes narrowed, and he clenched his fists in remembered anger. “I tole the boy he weren’t supposed to waste his time drawin’. I tole him what would happen if he did. He ain’t gonna be doin’ that no more.”

Boone took a step toward Austin. “And don’t you try blamin’ me. You wanna blame someone, look in the mirror. It was your picture the boy drew.” He shook his fist at Seth’s battered body. “This is your fault.”