8

There had to be something she could do to help Thea, Aimee reflected as she dried the last of the supper dishes. It was understandable that learning about Stuart’s mother’s death had distressed her—Thea had experienced more than her share of death recently—but Aimee knew that something else was weighing on her friend. Unlike the underlying sadness that she’d sensed from the first time she’d met Thea, this seemed to be more recent.

Perhaps it was the prospect of adopting Stuart. Though Thea obviously loved the boy at least as much as she did, perhaps she also feared that he would be a constant reminder of the son she’d lost. Aimee didn’t know whether that was the problem. What she did know was that Thea needed a distraction.

“Let’s take Stuart for a walk,” she said as she hung the dish towel from a peg. “I’d like to explore the town, and it’ll give us a chance to see if he likes the buggy.” While Thea had been gone, Aimee had ventured into the attic and found a baby carriage. After only a bit of cleaning, it was ready to use.

Thea appeared dubious. “The shops are all closed.”

“That’s the best time. I won’t be tempted to spend any money.” Not that Aimee had much. The journey from France to Texas had cost more than she’d expected, leaving her funds severely depleted. She’d have to find a way to earn some money soon, but first she needed to help her friend. “C’mon, Thea. It’ll be fun.”

“All right.” It was a grudging acceptance, but at least she hadn’t refused.

Aimee rolled the buggy onto the porch and down the front steps, then took Stuart from Thea, laying him carefully in the blanket-lined body of the carriage. To her relief, the baby did not protest but looked up at her with wide eyes, as if trying to determine what was happening. He appeared content and, surprisingly, so did Thea.

Their progress was slow as they walked west on Pecan and turned to head south on Main, because she didn’t want to jostle Stuart too much, but Aimee didn’t mind. How could she when Thea was smiling again and commenting on the beauty of the live oaks and the flower-filled window boxes that reminded her of Ladreville? The day’s heat had dissipated a bit, making it the perfect evening for a stroll.

They were standing in front of the mercantile, admiring the high-buttoned shoes in the front window, when Aimee heard a familiar voice. She turned, her eyes widening at the sight of the couple who were now crossing the street.

“I’m so glad to see you!” Patience used her best schoolmarm voice, the one that carried over children’s squabbles, as she hurried toward Aimee and Thea. “I was debating whether we should stop by your house, but now we don’t have to.”

Aimee barely heard her friend’s words, for her gaze was snared by the young man who accompanied her. He was . . . As had happened when she’d entered her mother’s childhood home, words failed Aimee. Though she searched, she could not find the proper words—either French or English—to describe this man and how he made her feel.

Patience had no such problem. She gestured toward her companion. “One of the reasons we’re here is that I want you to meet my cousin.” Without giving anyone a chance to respond, Patience turned to Thea. “You must be Mrs. Michener. I’m Patience Kenton, the town’s new schoolteacher, and this is my cousin, Nate Kenton.”

“The town’s old peach and goat farmer,” the blond-haired man who smelled faintly of mint said, his lips curving upward.

He could speak. Aimee could not. But she could look, and look she did, trying to hide the fact that she was staring at Nate Kenton. She had grown up hearing Maman talk about the coup de foudre, the attraction she’d felt the moment she’d met Papa, and how in that instant she’d known he was the man she would marry. At the time, Aimee had believed it a fairy tale, but now she knew that love at first sight was possible. How could she doubt it when she’d felt the same lightning bolt that her mother had?

Nate Kenton was not the handsome man Aimee had always dreamed of, but when he smiled, his ordinary features became oddly appealing. Perhaps it was those blue eyes, so different from her own. Perhaps it was his broad shoulders or those muscular arms. She wasn’t sure what caused it, but her heart had accelerated at the sight of that smile, and it was refusing to settle down, leaving her tongue-tied and more than a little confused.

“You don’t look old to me.” Thea, who was obviously not afflicted with Aimee’s inability to utter a coherent sentence, made a show of inspecting the farmer, as if searching for wrinkles and gray hair.

“Ah, but I am.” His smile widened, and Aimee’s heart faltered. What was it about that smile that made her insides turn to mush? The man had barely glanced at her, telling her that he had not felt the coup de foudre.

“In three months, I’ll be thirty.” Nate kept his gaze fixed on Thea. “That’s old!”

Older than Aimee had thought, but far from ancient. Still, he was almost nine years her elder. Was that why he wouldn’t look at her? Did he think she was a child?

“Nate’s sister tells him he’s wasting the best years of his life by not being married.” Patience rejoined the conversation, and—unlike her cousin—she did not ignore Aimee. Instead, she gave her a conspiratorial smile when Nate’s smile turned into a frown.

“Stop telling all the family secrets.”

“That’s not a secret,” Patience insisted.

Thea laughed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you two were siblings. You’re acting just like my nephews did when they were three and four.”

Clasping his hand across his heart and feigning agony, Nate groaned. “A direct hit. And here I thought midwives were supposed to be kind and gentle.”

“We are,” Thea told him, pausing for emphasis before she added, “with our patients.”

“I’m cousin to Patience. Doesn’t that count?”

“Bad pun, Nate. Shame on you.” Patience shook her finger at her cousin, then turned to Aimee. “Where were you two heading when we interrupted?”

At least someone hadn’t forgotten her existence. Aimee shrugged. “Just giving Stuart some fresh air and wandering around town.” Now that she was not looking at Nate, Aimee had no problem speaking.

“May we join you?”

Aimee looked at Thea, waiting for her nod of approval before she said, “Of course.”

“Perfect.” Patience linked her arm with Aimee’s for a second, then settled at her side, leaving Thea and Nate to follow them. And, in typical Patience fashion, she kept the conversation bubbling as they strolled down Main Street, stopping occasionally to admire the contents of a shop window or adjust the blanket that Stuart continued to tangle around his legs.

Aimee knew it was foolish to be upset that Nate Kenton had barely acknowledged her existence. She also knew it was rude to try to eavesdrop on Thea and Nate, particularly since it meant not giving Patience her full attention, but Aimee couldn’t stop herself. While she couldn’t make out any of the words they spoke, there was no ignoring the laughter that punctuated almost every sentence.

That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Somehow Nate Kenton had dispelled Thea’s morose mood, leaving her lighthearted. That was good. That was what her friend deserved. It shouldn’t bother Aimee that Nate had hardly spoken a word to her, and yet it did.

“I wish I had more positive news,” Travis said as he riffled through the telegrams on his desk, “but so far no one has any missing women, and they don’t know of anyone who looks like our victim.”

Jackson nodded. “I’m not really surprised.” Disappointed, but not surprised. His instincts had told him this would not be easy.

“There’s still another half dozen towns. I imagine we’ll get their responses tomorrow. Maybe one of them will be what we’re waiting for.”

Though he said nothing more, the way Travis glanced at the clock told Jackson he wanted to be home with Lydia. It was early evening, past the time when Travis was normally in his office, but he’d suggested they meet here after supper to see what telegrams had come in.

Time to leave and let the sheriff go home. Jackson grabbed his hat and rose. “There’s no reason to keep you here any longer.”

Travis gave him a grateful smile and reached for his own hat. As he approached the door, Jackson glanced out the window, his attention snagged by an approaching quartet. While it wasn’t unusual to see pedestrians on Main Street at this time of day, it was unusual to see four together.

His gaze flitted over Aimee and the other woman who formed the vanguard, pushing a baby carriage that undoubtedly contained Stuart, then settled on the couple behind them. There was no mistaking their identities. Thea and Nate Kenton were laughing about something.

Jackson took a quick breath as the scene registered. They weren’t touching. There was nothing unseemly about their conduct, and yet . . . He focused on Thea and the way she gazed at Nate. She looked happy and carefree. That shouldn’t bother him, and yet . . . Jackson couldn’t explain the sour feeling that had lodged in his stomach.

He forced the bile down and turned back to Travis. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Right. Good night.”

But it wasn’t a good night, Jackson realized as he strode north on Main. His temporary home was in the opposite direction, but Jackson knew he was in no mood to talk to anyone right now. As he passed the livery, he toyed with the idea of saddling Blaze and going for a ride, then dismissed it. Blaze deserved a rest.

“What’s eating you?” Warner asked as Jackson entered the kitchen half an hour later. Warner had insisted there was no need for formality, that Jackson should consider this his home and forgo knocking. He’d chosen the side door tonight, thinking he could escape conversation, but instead he discovered his friend seated at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in front of him.

“Nothing,” he lied. “I’m just tired and discouraged. I had hoped someone would have claimed the dead woman by now.”

The shadow of a smile tilted Warner’s lips. “My ma would have said you need to be patient.”

“That’s something I was never good at.”

Before Warner could respond, the door opened with such force that it bounced against the wall, and Nate strode inside, his eyes gleaming.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He stopped in front of the table, fisting his hands on his hips.

“Tell you what?”

Nate dismissed Warner’s question. “Not you. Him.” He pointed a finger at Jackson. “Why didn’t you tell me she was so beautiful? She reminds me of one of those princesses in the storybooks my sister used to insist on reading to me.”

A princess? That was not the way he would have described Thea, but Jackson wasn’t about to say that. This was a time to keep his mouth shut.

“I tell you, fellas,” Nate continued, seemingly unconcerned by Jackson’s failure to respond, “today was the best day of my life. I can’t believe how fast it happened. One minute I was talking to my cousin. The next minute I saw her. One look was all it took for me to know she’s the woman I’m going to marry.”