7

This is where my mother grew up?”

As Aimee looked around in astonishment, Lydia reached for Stuart. “Here, let me hold him,” she said, smiling as she cradled the baby in her arms.

When she’d invited Aimee to visit her, Lydia had insisted that she bring Stuart, claiming that she wanted to practice caring for a baby before hers was born. Practice was one thing, but the fact that Lydia had practically grabbed the infant as she opened the door told Aimee her shock was evident. Perhaps Lydia feared that she’d drop the baby as she stared at her mother’s home.

“I thought I knew what to expect, but this is so . . .” Words failed her.

While it was obvious that no expense had been spared on the exterior of the house with the massive columns and large windows, that had not prepared Aimee for the interior. She had seen other Texas houses, but none had been this elaborate, this elegant.

Un palais. She shook her head slightly, dismissing the idea. This was not a palace. Instead, the polished stone floor and the curving stairway leading to the second story reminded her of the chateau that had dominated the hill overlooking Maillochauds. Though she’d never been allowed inside, Aimee had ventured up the hill one day and had peered into the windows before a groundskeeper had chased her away, declaring that commoners had no business there.

Amazingly, that building, which her parents had told her had been built more than three hundred years ago and which was the pride of the region, was no grander than her own mother’s childhood home.

“It’s a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?” Lydia asked as she rocked the now-cooing baby.

Overwhelming was a good adjective, but not the one Aimee would have used. As her eyes continued to adjust to the relative darkness, she studied the interior. Open doorways on both sides of the expansive hallway revealed a parlor and a dining room, each tastefully furnished and large enough to accommodate several dozen people.

“I doubt I’ll ever forget my first sight of it,” Lydia continued. “I’m not sure what intimidated me most—the house itself or your grandmother. She was like a whirlwind.”

“Domineering?” Aimee tried to picture the woman who’d forced her daughter into exile so that no one in Cimarron Creek would know she was expecting a child.

“No, although she certainly knew how to get her way. She did it so nicely, though, that no one seemed to mind.” Lydia led the way into the parlor and gestured toward one of the comfortable-looking chairs. “I wish you could have known Aunt Bertha. She would have loved you.”

Though Aimee wanted to believe that, it was not easy. “She sent her daughter away.”

Lydia nodded. “You need to understand. Things might be different in France, but in a town like Cimarron Creek, unwed mothers are shunned. Aunt Bertha believed she was protecting Grace by sending her to Ladreville.”

“Thea said the same thing.” Maillochauds may have had unwed mothers in the past, but Aimee wasn’t aware of any. What she remembered were rushed marriages and babies born six or seven months after the vows were exchanged.

“The important thing is to remember that Aunt Bertha loved her daughter, and she loved you, even though she never met you. I know that may be difficult to believe, but I grew very close to Aunt Bertha during the time I lived with her, and I can assure you of that.”

“Thank you for telling me.” The warmth that infused Aimee told her Lydia was speaking the truth.

“I wish Grace hadn’t taken your grandparents’ wedding portrait with her. You’d be amazed at how much you look like Aunt Bertha.” Her smile broadening, Lydia looked down at Stuart. “I don’t know which parent he resembles, but he’s the cutest baby ever.”

“I won’t tell your son or daughter you said that.”

The smile turned into laughter. “You’re definitely Aunt Bertha’s granddaughter. That sounded exactly like something she would have said.”

Lydia tipped her head to one side, her expression saying she was considering something. “You must have inherited her sense of humor, but you certainly didn’t inherit Aunt Bertha’s tendency toward long speeches. I used to have trouble getting in a word when she was talking, and Grace is the same way.”

But Aimee was not. For as long as she could remember, she’d been quiet. Because her parents hadn’t liked noise, she’d spent most of her time at home reading. Even when she’d laughed at something she found amusing, she’d learned to do it quietly to avoid criticism.

As if she realized that Aimee needed something to dispel less than pleasant memories, Lydia rose. “Let’s go upstairs. I want to show you your mother and grandmother’s rooms. Grace’s hasn’t been used since she went to Ladreville, because she lived with Catherine when she returned, so it looks the way it did more than twenty years ago, but Aunt Bertha had her own room repapered after her husband died. She told me she needed a new look for the next phase of her life.” Lydia chuckled. “It must be contagious. I’m starting to ramble on the way your grandmother did.”

The distraction worked, and before she’d reached the second story, Aimee was laughing again. She admired the well-appointed bedchambers, although she couldn’t dismiss the tinge of disappointment that rose when she felt no connection to either her mother or her grandmother as she stood in the same places where they’d spent so much time. The rooms were lovely, but that’s all they were—lovely, empty rooms.

It hadn’t been like that in Ladreville. When Pastor and Mrs. Russell learned who she was, they’d insisted that she stay in the room that had once been her mother’s, the room where Aimee had been born. And while she’d been there, Aimee had dreamt of a woman great with child, a woman who’d cupped her abdomen as if she cherished the life growing inside her. Her head had been bent, leaving Aimee unable to see her face, but she had had no doubt that the woman was her mother. That dream had buoyed her with the hope that she’d been loved, a hope that Lydia’s stories had transformed into reality.

As she crossed the street several hours later, Stuart once more cradled in her arms, Aimee smiled. Her second full day in Cimarron Creek had been even better than the first. While she had made a new friend in Patience yesterday, today not only had she cemented her friendship with Lydia, but she had gained some insights into her mother and grandmother. What a wonderful day!

Jackson rubbed his hand across his eyes, trying to dislodge the grit that accompanied fatigue. The combination of a night with very little sleep, finding the body, and seeing the murdered woman’s resemblance to Thea had left him exhausted. He could—and probably should—return to Warner’s house and sleep for a few hours.

Jackson blinked again as he thought of the comfortable bed awaiting him. Though the pharmacist had told him to make himself at home, he was reluctant to do that without at least stopping by the pharmacy to say that he was going to the house.

His decision made, Jackson turned right and headed back to Main Street. Thea was safely inside her home, and while he did not doubt that she was disturbed by what he’d been forced to show her, there was nothing more he could do for her right now. He needed time to think about what she’d told him and to choose his next steps, but first he needed rest to clear his head.

As he entered Warner’s store, Jackson was surprised by the number of customers. When he’d come to Cimarron Creek two days ago, Warner had been alone, making Jackson wonder if business was slow. It appeared that had been only a lull, because today six women stood in line at the main counter, while two others studied the contents of one of the tall glass-fronted cabinets.

Unwilling to bother his host, Jackson waited until he caught Warner’s eye, then moved to the far side of the pharmacy. Feigning an interest in the multicolored bottles of patent medicines displayed behind the glass doors, he kept his head turned slightly so that he could observe the town’s apothecary at work. Though his customers made little attempt to hide their impatience, Warner remained unflappable.

“That’s the Ranger over there,” one of the two women who stood in front of a second cabinet announced to her companion. “I heard he’s the one who found the woman’s body just outside of town.” Though she did not shout, her words carried clearly, causing a sudden silence in the room.

Her companion, a stout woman with unnaturally black hair, shuddered. “It makes me think we ought to start locking our doors. What if this turns out to be like last year, only more serious? Killing people is worse than stealing a few things.”

The first woman laid a reassuring hand on Black Hair’s arm. “The sheriff will keep us safe.”

“But it’s only him and his deputy.” Black Hair wasn’t easily mollified. “What if we need more protection?”

“Sheriff Whitfield will call for help if he needs it. He’s promised to keep Cimarron Creek safe.”

“I suppose you’re right.” The words sounded perfunctory rather than heartfelt. “Now, which of these tonics do you think is the best?” As she pointed toward two bottles, the other women resumed their conversations.

Jackson took a deep breath and let it out slowly in a technique he’d learned would calm him. He wasn’t surprised at how quickly the news had spread or that the facts had been distorted. The body hadn’t been close to Cimarron Creek, but saying that it had been discovered hours away was less dramatic than claiming that the townspeople were in danger. Active grapevines thrived on sensational news, and people being put in jeopardy was definitely sensational.

Though he wished he could assure the women that Stuart’s mother’s death had no impact on them, that everyone in Cimarron Creek would be safe, Jackson could not. He didn’t have all the facts yet. He frowned as he realized how few facts he actually had.

The more time he spent with Thea, the more convinced he was that she hadn’t been involved with the Gang. If she was telling the truth—and his instincts told him she was—she had no idea what her husband had done under the cover of being an itinerant salesman. Jackson had to admit that it had been a good cover, yet another indication of just how canny the Gang was. Going from town to town was an excellent means of learning when wealthy people would be traveling and when shipments of gold and silver were being transported.

Jackson took another breath, trying to tamp down the frustration of knowing he was no closer to finding Micah’s killers than he’d been four and a half months earlier. And, as if that weren’t bad enough, now he had another killing to solve.

As weariness settled over him, he stared out the store’s front window. Days like today made him wonder if he was becoming too old for this life.

“I don’t suppose you’d like a new job.”

Jackson turned, startled by Warner’s words. He’d been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed that the store was now empty of customers.

“Were you reading my mind?” he asked. There was no question of leaving the Rangers before Micah’s killers were behind bars, but once he’d accomplished that, perhaps he should consider a change. The Rangers were changing—had, in fact, changed dramatically since he’d joined them. Maybe it was time for him to change too.

Warner shook his head and clapped a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “I was just feeling a bit desperate. Business seems to be picking up, and I could use an assistant.”

“You don’t want me.” Jackson raised his hands in mock surrender. “I can’t tell arnica from bay rum. And if that’s not enough to convince you that I’m the wrong man, I need to tell you that while I might be good with a weapon, my mother wouldn’t let me carry any of her china or glassware. She claimed I was the clumsiest of her boys.” He gestured toward the cabinets filled with bottles of expensive tonics. “You wouldn’t want me to touch those.”

“You can’t blame a man for asking.” Warner returned to his position behind the main counter and leaned on the wooden top. “I heard you found a woman’s body.”

“I think she was the one I was looking for, but I sure wish the circumstances had been better.”

Warner nodded, his expression solemn. “Sounds like the rumors that she was hurt pretty badly are true.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” What was also unfortunate was that someone—probably Doc Harrington—had divulged that information.

“Between you and Travis, I have no doubt you’ll find whoever’s responsible.”

He would, Jackson vowed silently. Defeat was not part of a Ranger’s vocabulary.

“I don’t know what your plans are,” Warner continued, “but you’re welcome to stay at my house for as long as you’d like.”

“Are you certain?” Though it was a generous offer and one that had the added appeal of keeping Jackson close to the intriguing Thea Michener, he didn’t want to take advantage of his host.

“Absolutely. Living alone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“I know what you mean.” Jackson’s job had been easier when he and Leander had traveled together. They’d shared responsibilities; they’d protected each other; most important, they’d kept loneliness at bay. Being a lone Ranger wasn’t fun. No fun at all.

“What’s wrong?” Furrows formed between Aimee’s eyebrows as she entered the kitchen, cradling a now-sleeping Stuart.

Thea tried not to frown. She’d thought she’d hidden her distress, but obviously, she had not. “Jackson found the woman he thinks is Stuart’s mother.” As much as Thea would have liked to have spared Aimee the unpleasant details, she knew the story would soon be common knowledge.

“Jackson?” To Thea’s surprise, Aimee fixed on the name Thea had used, not the story she was telling.

As a flush colored her face, Thea said as calmly as she could, “He asked me to call him that.” It was downright silly to be so flustered, and yet she couldn’t help it.

Her friend gave her a long, appraising look. “I see.” She turned to the baby in her arms and stroked his forehead. “And the reason you’re upset is that Stuart will be leaving us.”

Thea shook her head, shuddering as she remembered the scene in Doc Harrington’s back room. “I wish that were the case. The woman is dead.”

She wouldn’t tell Aimee about the stranger’s resemblance to her. Jackson had insisted that information was best kept confidential, and both the doctor and the sheriff had agreed. They had also agreed that if Jackson and Travis couldn’t find the woman’s family, they would bury her in the Cimarron Creek cemetery. In the meantime, she would rest in a simple closed coffin, protected from curious eyes.

Aimee tightened her grip on Stuart, waking him with her protective gesture. “It’s all right, little one,” she murmured. “But it isn’t all right, is it?” she asked, her hazel eyes filled with distress. “What will happen to Stuart now?”

“Jackson and Travis are going to search for his family. I hope they’ll be able to find them.”

“And if they don’t?”

That was the question that had weighed heavily on Thea’s heart from the moment she’d seen the woman lying on the table. As she and Jackson had walked back from the doctor’s office, even though he’d been questioning her about Daniel, she’d been unable to forget the motherless infant. While Jackson had no proof that the woman who could have been Thea’s twin was Stuart’s mother, Thea had no doubts. She’d caught the faint smell of spoiled milk when Jackson had lifted the sheet to reveal the woman’s face. That had told her that the stranger was a nursing mother. It couldn’t be coincidence.

“Travis said Reverend Dunn would see whether anyone in Cimarron Creek is willing to adopt Stuart.” Though she knew that was the second-best choice for him, the idea was surprisingly distressing. Perhaps it was because the woman looked so much like her and she felt a connection to her because of that resemblance. Perhaps it was simply that Stuart was such a lovable child. Thea wasn’t certain of the reason. All she knew was that her initial reluctance to even hold him had vanished.

“If no one steps forward, I’ll keep him.” The words popped out of Thea’s mouth, surprising her. And yet, though she hadn’t intended to say them, they felt right. Stuart wouldn’t replace Aaron—no one could do that—but he might fill one of the empty places in her heart. The question was whether it would be fair to Stuart, whether she could be both mother and father to him.

“Would you mind?” she asked Aimee. While the thought of keeping Stuart was appealing, Thea wouldn’t be able to do it without assistance.

“Of course I wouldn’t mind. I’ve already learned to love this little one.”

As had Thea. “Are you certain? It would mean that you’d have to care for him when I’m with patients.”

Aimee pressed a kiss on Stuart’s forehead before looking back at Thea. “That won’t be a problem. Stuart’s easy to care for. He and I had a good day today.”

But Thea had not. In addition to seeing the woman who looked so much like her, she could not forget the questions Jackson had asked and how they reminded her of the day she’d met him, when he’d looked as if he didn’t trust her. Why was he so suspicious?