9

We need to get out of town,” Jackson told Blaze as he led him from the livery the next morning. There was nothing for him here—at least not right now. Thea didn’t need him, especially since Nate planned to court her. Jackson had done what he’d promised: he’d found Stuart’s mother. And while he wished the circumstances surrounding his discovery of the woman had been different, he couldn’t change them.

Travis had received word from the remaining towns, and—as Jackson had feared—no one recognized the dead woman. She’d be buried tomorrow in a grave with a simple wooden cross. Later, if they could locate her family and learn her name, someone might erect a stone marker, but for now she would be known as the Unidentified Woman.

Travis had arranged for the minister to offer a graveside service and had assured Jackson there was no reason for him to be present. All that remained for him to do in Cimarron Creek was to give Travis the sketch he’d made.

“Looks like you’re an artist as well as a Ranger,” Travis said two minutes later when Jackson had hitched Blaze in front of the sheriff’s office and entered the building.

“Hardly. It’s just something I do occasionally.” He thought of the sketch he’d folded and slid inside his Bible. That was one piece of paper he didn’t want to lose. “I thought you ought to have more than a description in case someone comes looking for her.” It would be awkward to involve Thea in identifying the woman.

Though Travis nodded, his words were not optimistic. “We both know it’s unlikely anyone will come, but I’m still glad to have the sketch.” After he’d spun the dial on the safe and opened it long enough to stash the drawing inside, he turned back toward Jackson. “Where are you headed today?”

“I want to check on my partner. He was badly wounded in a shootout with the Gang.” Jackson marveled that his voice remained calm. While months had passed, his insides still roiled at the memory of how he’d lost both his partner and his little brother that night. It wasn’t the first or the last time that the Gang had killed, but that night had been different. As painful as it was to admit, Jackson held himself responsible for what had happened to Leander and Micah.

“You’re coming back, aren’t you?”

He met the sheriff’s eye and shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

He was gone. Travis had told Lydia, and Lydia had told Thea. The story was simple: Jackson had left town and didn’t know whether he would return.

“I suspect both he and Travis doubt they’ll ever find the woman’s family,” Lydia had explained as she offered Thea another of her chocolate creams. “That means there’s no reason for Jackson to stay here.”

Thea knew that was true, but she couldn’t help feeling—she struggled for a word, settling on “hurt”—that he hadn’t said good-bye. It wasn’t as if he owed her an explanation. He did not. It wasn’t as if they were friends or even close acquaintances. They were strangers who’d been thrust together by extraordinary circumstances. It wasn’t as if she had any logical reason for wanting the man who sometimes appeared to distrust her to remain in Cimarron Creek. She knew all that, and yet his departure bothered her far more than it should have.

As soon as she could without being rude, Thea had left Lydia’s house and come back here, determined to put Ranger Jackson Guthrie out of her mind. Pulling a sheet of paper and a pen from the small desk in her room, she nodded. Writing a letter to her sister would do the trick.

Dear Sarah, you can stop worrying now.

But Thea couldn’t stop worrying about what Jackson was doing and why he’d left so abruptly.

Yes, I know you were worrying about whether Aimee and I would arrive safely. We did, and we’re getting settled into Cimarron Creek. Fortunately, everyone is friendly.

Except for Jackson. He was a puzzle. He’d been kind and seemingly caring when he’d taken her to see Stuart’s mother’s body. There’d been a gleam in his eyes that seemed friendly—maybe even more than friendly—when he’d asked her to use his first name. But she couldn’t forget the way he’d watched her when she’d answered his questions about Daniel. It was almost as if he were testing her, wanting to see whether she was telling him the truth.

Thea hadn’t lied. What she’d told him was the truth. If she hadn’t told him everything about her marriage, it was because Daniel’s infidelity was no one’s business except hers. Even Sarah, her sister and closest confidante, did not know about the perfumed shirts.

Thea stared at the wall, trying to compose her thoughts. The reason she’d started this letter was to keep herself from thinking about Jackson, but she hadn’t succeeded. Instead, everything she wrote reminded her of him.

It was ridiculous. The man intrigued her more than anyone she’d met. He kept her off balance, seemed to challenge her, and made her want to know more about him. All that was dangerous. Hadn’t she learned her lesson with Daniel? Of course it was good that Jackson was gone.

Thea picked up her pen, resolving to concentrate on the letter and nothing else.

The town is attractive. Oh, Sarah, you should see the house catty-cornered from where Aimee and I live. It’s one of three enormous homes the locals call Founders’ Houses. I’d call it a mansion. As big as you might think some of the houses in Ladreville are, they’re small in comparison to these buildings. This one has columns on three sides, tall windows, and a porch big enough to host a square dance.

She paused, tapping the end of her pen against her cheek as she thought of her sister’s reaction.

Yes, Sarah. I exaggerated. Just a little.

The town itself is quite different from Ladreville. More American is one way to describe it, but there’s a touch of Europe here too. Most of the stores on Main Street have window boxes filled with flowers. Lydia said to tell you she got the idea when she visited Ladreville last fall. She also sends her greetings and Travis’s.

Thea laid the pen back on the desk. Had Lydia realized how upset she was by the news of Jackson’s departure? Oh, how she hoped that wasn’t the case. She didn’t need anyone speculating on her feelings for the Ranger, especially when she couldn’t identify them herself.

Resolving to banish thoughts of the auburn-haired man, Thea dipped the pen in the inkwell.

I already have two patients. Lydia’s less than six weeks from delivering. The other one—one who wears a perfume that makes me want to gag—is in her first trimester. That’s not enough to keep me busy, but Lydia says that will change once the women on the outlying ranches hear that I’ve arrived. In the meantime, Aimee and I are caring for an abandoned infant.

Thea smiled, picturing her sister’s expression when she read that.

You can imagine how surprised I was to find a man—she wouldn’t tell Sarah he was a Ranger; that might alarm her—standing on my front porch with a baby boy in his arms. We aren’t sure what happened to him, but his mother is dead.

Thea wouldn’t give her sister any details lest she worry. Sarah was definitely a worrier.

At least for the time being, he’ll stay with us. Don’t frown. It’s all right, Sarah. Honestly, it’s all right. When I first saw Stuart, I didn’t want to hold him, because I was afraid he would remind me of Aaron, but that didn’t happen. When I looked at him, all I saw was Stuart.

He’s not a replacement for the son I lost. No one could take Aaron’s place in my heart, but even though it’s only been a few days, Stuart is finding his own place. I wonder if he’s the reason God brought me to Cimarron Creek.

Thea stopped, startled by the words she’d just written. She hadn’t been aware of thinking that Stuart was part of God’s plan for her, and yet there was such a sense of rightness to the idea. Although Aimee believed she’d been led to Cimarron Creek because it was where God meant her to make her home, Thea wasn’t certain this was her final destination. But as she thought of the future, wherever it might be, she pictured Stuart at her side.

A smile lit Thea’s face, and as she penned the final paragraphs of the letter, her heart felt lighter than it had in months.

“You look like you got caught in a stampede. Either that, or you tried to ride a bucking bull and lost.”

“That’s a fine way to greet your partner.” He’d ridden all night, and while that always took its toll, Jackson doubted he looked as bad as Leander claimed. Still, there was nothing to be gained by arguing. In all likelihood, Leander was trying to deflect attention from himself, following the adage that the best defense was a good offense.

“You look better than I expected,” Jackson told his partner. The man had always been heavyset, but five months of inactivity had added a few pounds to his middle and new creases to his face. Despite that, he looked remarkably good for a man who’d almost died. The bullets that had hit Leander had done serious damage. One had torn up his insides, the other shattered his right hand.

Leander leaned back in the rocking chair that, judging from the collection of empty bottles, crumbs, and cigarette butts next to it, must be where he spent most of his days. When they’d ridden together, Leander had joked about retiring to his front porch. It appeared he’d done that.

“The doc said I was plumb lucky to have lived, but you know that.” In the aftermath of the gunfight, there’d been nothing Jackson could do for Micah, but he’d stayed with Leander during those first critical days when his hold on life had been so tenuous.

The Gang had already disappeared, along with the gold that had cost Micah his life. Though Jackson’s captain had disagreed, he’d known there was no point in trying to pursue the outlaws. By the time he’d mounted Blaze, they’d disappeared without a trace the way they always did.

Jackson hadn’t been able to save Micah, but he wasn’t about to let his partner die, and so he’d carried him to the closest town, summoned the doctor, and watched while the man tried to repair what the Gang had destroyed.

“I can’t say that I feel lucky.” Leander held out his hand, displaying the mangled fingers. “There was nothing Doc could do to fix this. I’ll never be able to shoot a gun again.” As if anticipating Jackson’s response, Leander continued. “Don’t tell me I could learn to use my left hand. We both know that’ll take years. By then I’ll be too old to ride with the Rangers.”

There was more than a grain of truth in that. The Ranger life was not for old men.

Leander shook his head. “I don’t reckon talkin’ about what ails me is what brought you here. What’s bothering you?”

Jackson smiled. Leander had never been one to mince words. “The Gang. I keep hitting dead ends. I thought I had a chance when the bandanna slipped and I saw one man’s face.” He reached into his pocket for the sketch that he’d transferred from the Bible, holding it out for Leander’s inspection.

“Good likeness. Looks just the way I remember him. You should have been able to find him with this.”

“Turns out the man’s name was Daniel Michener. I found him, but someone else got there sooner. He was dead.”

“And not of old age.” Leander reached into his pocket for the package of tobacco that had been as much a part of his uniform as his Colt and began to roll a cigarette.

“Nope. A single shot straight to the heart. I can’t prove it, but I suspect there was a falling-out in the Gang. Daniel Michener could have been a liability once his face was seen. He also might have been the one who kept all the gold.”

“Stands to reason. What’s next?”

“That’s why I’m here. I want your opinion. You always told me two heads are better than one.” And if there was one man whose judgment Jackson trusted, it was Leander Carlton.

Leander tapped his forehead. “At least that part of me is still functioning. What have you learned about this Daniel Michener?”

As Jackson recounted the story, his partner listened carefully, his expression turning thoughtful at times, amused at others.

“What are you finding so funny?” Jackson demanded. “The way I see it, there’s nothing amusing about what happened.”

“But there is. I knew it would happen sometime. I just never figured it would be in the middle of a case.”

Jackson stared at the man who’d been almost as close as a brother. He was making no sense. Had Leander’s brains been scrambled along with his gut? “What are you talking about?”

“You.” Leander chuckled. “You’ve fallen for a woman.”

Jackson blinked in astonishment. “What woman?” He tried to recall everything he’d told his partner. “Thea? You think I’ve fallen for her?”

“She’s the only woman you mentioned other than the one who’s dead.” Leander took a deep drag on his cigarette, watching Jackson as he blew smoke rings. “I gotta say, it’s downright amusing to see the way your face changes when you talk about her. You’ve fallen, my friend. Fallen hard.”

“But . . .” The word trailed off. Jackson had no idea what to say. It was true that he couldn’t dismiss his thoughts of Thea. But that didn’t mean he was smitten, did it?

His partner gave him a smug smile. “She’s the key, Jackson. The key to this case and your future.”