25

This is the nicest Fourth of July I can remember.”

Austin stared at the beautiful woman seated next to him. If he was going to stay in Cimarron Creek, he needed to buy a carriage. Catherine deserved to ride in something nicer than an ordinary wagon.

“I agree,” he said. Philadelphia had had more elaborate parades, and the fireworks were more spectacular, but there’d been nothing to compare to the pleasure of spending the day with Catherine. They’d watched the parade together, listened to the seemingly interminable speeches, and laughed at Hannah and Seth’s attempt to run a three-legged race.

Though the boy’s hand was still in a cast and his ribs were still taped, making breathing difficult, he’d done his best when Hannah had declared that the thing she wanted most was to enter the race. She had claimed she didn’t care about winning, which was fortunate, since a six-year-old girl and a gangly thirteen-year-old boy were hardly ideal partners. But Seth had done his best, enduring what had to have been a painful fall, all to make Hannah’s wish come true. The boy would do anything for Austin’s daughter, just as Austin would do anything for Catherine—including returning to Paris.

He tipped his hat at Kevin as the man drove past them. When they’d planned the day, Mrs. Moore had suggested everyone return to the ranch for supper and had decreed that Kevin would drive a second wagon so that no one would be crowded. With Kevin, his mother, and Grace on the seat and Hannah and Seth in the back, that wagon was far more crowded than Austin’s, but he wasn’t complaining. Being alone with Catherine was a reason to rejoice, not complain.

It had been a wonderful day, because he’d had Catherine at his side. But the pleasure Austin had experienced wasn’t due solely to Catherine. As the day had progressed, he’d realized that he felt as if they all belonged together—Hannah, Seth, Catherine, and himself. Even Grace. She’d spent much of the day discussing recipes with Mrs. Moore, the two women acting as if they were lifelong friends rather than new acquaintances.

Austin took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet smell of the wildflowers that dotted the countryside. For the first time since Geraldine’s death, he felt as if he were once again whole and part of a family. As dearly as he loved Hannah, he needed more. He needed a wife and perhaps another child.

“I can’t believe the change in Seth.”

Catherine’s words brought Austin back to the present, and he smiled as he glanced at the wagon ahead of them. Both Seth and Hannah were laughing, looking like the carefree children they deserved to be.

“Seth’s broken bones are healing well. He has the resilience of youth on his side. I haven’t told him, because I don’t want to raise his hopes and then have them dashed, but I think there’s a possibility that eventually he’ll be able to do a few things with his right hand.”

Though Catherine appeared pleased by the prognosis, she shook her head. “That wasn’t what I meant. Of course, I’m glad that he’s healing and that he may regain some use of his hand, but it’s more than that. Seth’s more relaxed and happier than I’ve ever seen him. He’s talking more too. He even told me that his bed is soft.”

What a strange thing to confide in his teacher. “It’s an ordinary mattress, but compared to sleeping in a barn, it probably feels like down.” Austin closed the small distance between him and Catherine and laid his hand on hers, wanting the reassurance that touching her always brought. “I keep praying that Boone will relinquish his rights.” Though Austin was grateful he was able to keep Seth safe while his wounds healed, he hated the knowledge that the situation was temporary.

Catherine turned her hand so that they were palm to palm. Even with gloves between them, he could feel the warmth of her skin, and it filled him with happiness.

“So do I,” she said. “It would be wonderful if he could live with you permanently.”

Though Austin wanted to amend her wish, changing “with you” to “with us,” he did not. It was too soon. He’d promised he wouldn’t rush her, and he would keep his promise.

It had been a wonderful week, knowing Catherine loved him, knowing there was a good chance she would marry him before summer’s end. That had buoyed his spirits more than he’d thought possible. Even the solemnity of the double funeral had not destroyed Austin’s happiness. If only Enright would give up his search, his life would be complete.

“I keep telling myself to be patient, that God’s timing is perfect.”

Catherine’s eyes filled with understanding. “But it’s hard to wait, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Your daughter shares your impatience. She said you promised her a new dress for school, but she doesn’t want to wait. I think she’s afraid you’ll forget.”

“I won’t.” Austin had made himself a note to visit the mercantile the week before school opened and select a dress for Hannah.

Giving his hand a little squeeze, Catherine said, “I know, but two months feels like forever to a six-year-old. I thought I might be able to help. If you wouldn’t mind, she could spend next Monday with me. We’ll buy material for her dress and start making it. That way she’ll be part of the process. If she enjoys it, we can sew together every Monday until it’s finished.”

It was a generous offer and one Austin knew Hannah would appreciate. Just this morning she’d told him for what felt like the thousandth time that she wished Miss Whitfield were her mother.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Catherine gave him one of those smiles that made him feel as if he were the most interesting man on Earth. “It would be my pleasure. I may not be a great cook, but I can sew. It’s time Hannah learns how.”

“Perfect.” The plan was perfect, and so was Catherine.

As towns went, he’d seen worse. Tucker rode slowly down the main street of Cimarron Creek, looking at his surroundings. The trees were a nice touch, and that candy store sure smelled good. The proprietor had left the door open, letting the smell of fudge fill the air all the way to the street. Tucker dismounted and tied his horse to a hitching post. It was time to do a little exploring on foot.

He looked in the window of the candy store. A man could use a piece or two of fudge, but he wouldn’t find his answers there. He needed a saloon. Most likely it was at the other end of the street. Folks in towns like this usually put their saloons on the edge of town where the old biddies who didn’t appreciate a fine glass of whiskey didn’t have to look at them when they came into town to do their shopping.

He might mosey back to the candy shop when he’d found what he needed, but first things first. He needed to see whether Enright had sent him a telegram. That was why he’d left his horse here, close to the post office. Chances were the man who ran the post office also handled the town’s telegrams.

“Welcome to Cimarron Creek,” a friendly voice said as Tucker entered the building. He’d heard Texans were neighborly, and though this man’s eyes narrowed as if he realized Tucker was no ordinary visitor, he kept smiling. “What can I do for you?”

“Name’s Tucker. I’m checkin’ to see if you got a telegram for me.”

“Yes, sir.” The smile didn’t falter. “It came in a few days ago.” He riffled through a small stack of papers, pulling one out. “Here you go. Will there be a reply?”

Tucker scanned the few words and shook his head, though the content surprised him. Don’t lose package. He’d expected that. Am on way. Hadn’t expected that. He’d figured he’d be taking the doc back to Philadelphia so he could fix Enright’s face there. Something must be going on back East if Enright was coming all this way.

“Thanks.” He spun on his heel and headed toward the door. He needed to find out where Austin Goddard was holed up, but he couldn’t ask this man. No, sirree. The man knew his name. That was all he was gonna learn. Enright had taught him good. Tell folks only what they needed to know, not a bit more.

Tucker swung his leg over the saddle and headed north on Main Street. Just like he’d figured, the saloon was on that end of town.

“Welcome to the Silver Spur. What can I get you?” The woman was a looker with all that red hair and the streaks of silver near her ears. On another day, Tucker would’ve wanted to get to know her better, but there was only one thing he was gonna do today.

He gestured toward the shelves behind the bar. “Your best whiskey. A whole bottle.” Another thing Enright had taught him was that the surest way to learn something was to wet someone’s whistle.

While the woman retrieved the bottle, Tucker looked around, grinning when he saw a man seated by himself, his expression as forlorn as an abandoned pup’s. Unless Tucker missed his mark, Mr. Lonely would have loose lips.

“Mind if I join you?” Without waiting for a response, Tucker grabbed the chair on the opposite side of the table and plunked the bottle on the table. “I’m new to town. Lookin’ for a friend to share a drink or two.” He turned the bottle so the man could read the label. When Mr. Lonely’s eyes widened with respect for the fine liquor, Tucker spoke again. “Folks call me Hunter.” It wasn’t the name his pappy had given him, but it was a good name. After all, he was a mighty fine hunter.

The man’s greedy eyes moved from his empty glass to the bottle. “Name’s Dalton, but you can call me Boone.” Boone held out his glass. “Fill ’er up.” He downed the liquid in one slug, then slid it back for a refill. “What brings you to town?”

“Thinkin’ about staying here. Need a place to stay for a few days. Nothin’ fancy, mind you. Just someplace quiet. I like privacy, if you know what I mean.” Tucker gave the man a wink. “You know any place like that?”

Boone nodded. “I reckon I got a place for you. Ain’t fancy, but it sure has got all the privacy a man could want. Wouldn’t nobody know what was goin’ on there, if you know what I mean.” He returned the wink Tucker had given him as he repeated Tucker’s phrase.

“Where is this place?”

Boone drained his glass and reached for the bottle, frowning when Tucker kept it in his grip. “Corner of my farm. A couple miles out of town.”

“No one’s livin’ there now?”

“Nope. Cabin’s been empty for a year or two.”

The way Boone looked at the floor when he said that told Tucker it had been more than two years since anyone had called the cabin home. Except maybe varmints. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and at this point, Tucker was a beggar. The less time he spent in town, the less chance the doc would find out he was here. The timing had to be perfect.

“How much you chargin’?”

The man who was eyeing the bottle of whiskey like a drowning man would eye a boat quoted a price that almost made Tucker laugh. Did he think he was dealing with a fool?

“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll give you half today, the rest in a week.” That was safe enough. Within a week, he and Enright would be long gone.

“You give me half and another bottle of whiskey and we got ourselves a deal.”

Tucker pretended to consider the offer. “Another bottle of whiskey and you’ll need a doctor.” If he said so himself, that was a mighty clever way of getting the man to talk about doctors.

Boone shrugged. “Doc Harrington wouldn’t do nothin’ but laugh.”

“Harrington?” That wasn’t what Tucker had expected. “I thought somebody said your doc was named Goddard.”

The man who was swigging whiskey like it was water looked up, his gaze steely. “You got it wrong. The only doc is Harrington. Goddard . . .” He spat on the floor, his disgust apparent. “He ain’t no doctor. He’s the lily-livered coward what stole my boy.”

A memory teased Tucker’s brain. Dalton. Boone had said that was his name. And Dalton was the name of the boy who’d done that drawing. Tucker practically shouted with glee. Lady Luck sure was on his side today. Boone Dalton was just the man he needed, a man with a grudge against the doctor who’d refused to help Sherman Enright.

Tucker pretended to study his glass. “Sounds like somebody oughta run this Goddard fella out of town.”

“You’re dang right about that. Problem is, he’s got himself some allies, includin’ the sheriff. Ever since he started sparkin’ the schoolmarm, everybody thinks he’s some kind of hero. He ain’t. I can tell you that.”

Tucker lifted the glass to his mouth to hide his smile. This just kept getting better and better. If Austin Goddard had a sweetheart, Enright had two pieces of . . . Tucker scratched his head. What was the word? Leverage. That’s what Enright had said. A man needed leverage, and Boone Dalton had just given Tucker some of it.

“Guess I better make sure I don’t cross tracks with him. Where does this Goddard fella live?”

Boone took another swig of his drink, his lips curving into a sneer as he said, “Right next to me. He stole the ranch just like he stole the boy. I sure wanna see him get his comeuppance.”

If Lady Luck continued to shine on him—and Tucker was sure she would—Boone just might get his wish.

“Here, have another drink.” The man deserved that. “Now, tell me more about this schoolmarm.”