18

Thea settled into the chair and picked up the book she’d started reading the day before, hoping it would distract her. Perhaps she should have gone with Aimee when she took Stuart for his evening walk, but there was only one person she wanted to see today, and he wasn’t in Cimarron Creek.

Thea wished she knew where Jackson had gone and when he would return, and so she sat here, wondering when the handsome Ranger would ride back into town and what he’d say when he heard what she’d learned today. Although it had assured her that his absence was only temporary, Jackson’s note had given no details.

Like so many men, he was sparing with his words. The single sheet of paper said very little, and yet she kept it, because it was the first and only piece of written communication that she had from Jackson. That was silly. Thea knew that, but she also knew she was not ready to throw it away.

As she had feared, the book did not hold her attention. She had been staring at the same page for minutes, unable to recall a single word. Instead, her mind whirled with memories of what had happened at the Harris ranch. Mrs. Harris’s shock, her own shock, Helen’s story, Mrs. Harris’s lack of concern for Helen’s son—the pictures rotated through Thea’s brain, overlapping and changing like the colors in a kaleidoscope.

At times, she felt as if everything had changed today, as if the ground had shifted beneath her feet, but at other times, it seemed that nothing was different. Oh, how she wished Jackson were here to help her make sense of what she’d learned. When she’d stopped at the sheriff’s office to tell Travis that Stuart’s mother had a name, she’d found it locked tight.

“He’s at the county seat, testifying against the cattle rustlers he and Edgar caught,” Lydia had explained. “Do you want to leave a message?” But Thea did not. Her news could wait until tomorrow, and maybe by then Jackson would have returned.

She looked around the parlor and wondered if she’d made a mistake in not accompanying Aimee. There was no way of knowing how much longer Stuart, the boy she’d come to love like a son, would be allowed to remain in Cimarron Creek. He now had a family, people with legal ties to him. Thea didn’t know what the law said and whether, once Travis learned about Stuart’s connection to the Harrises, he’d be forced to give them custody of the boy, even if they were not eager to accept him.

Though Thea’s instincts told her that was not the best alternative for Stuart, she had to acknowledge that she might be wrong. It could be that shock over Helen’s death had colored Mrs. Harris’s reaction. She hadn’t had a chance to meet Stuart, to hold him in her arms.

Once the Harrises saw Stuart, they might love him as much as Thea did. She doubted anyone could love him more, but if the Harrises adopted him, Stuart would grow up in a family with two parents. That was something Thea could not offer him.

She rose and walked to the window, hoping the simple act of moving would help settle her thoughts. The street was empty, the evening peaceful, but Thea’s brain continued to whirl.

Questions about Stuart’s future troubled her; so did what she’d learned of Helen Bradford’s past. Though she’d never met her, Thea felt a connection to the woman whose face and story had such an uncanny resemblance to her own. There were many similarities, but there were also differences. They’d both lost husbands, although Helen’s had died of natural causes. They’d both given birth to sons at almost the same time, but Helen’s son had lived. They’d both left their homes, planning to settle in or near Cimarron Creek. Thea had arrived safely; Helen had not. And that brought Thea to the question with no answer: Why had Helen Bradford been killed?

Jackson might know. Perhaps he’d learned something about Helen Bradford, and that was why he’d left Cimarron Creek. If only he’d return.

As she looked out the window for what felt like the hundredth time, Thea let out an exasperated sigh. Pacing was accomplishing nothing. She might as well sit down instead of wearing a track in the carpet. Maybe this time she’d be able to focus on the book. Everyone had told her that Jane Eyre was such a compelling story that they could not put it down.

But instead of worrying about what would happen to Jane and Mr. Rochester, Thea found herself thinking about two very different men. It wasn’t merely appearance that distinguished Jackson from Daniel.

She frowned at the realization that although she had loved Daniel, she had never had the same sense of certainty that she felt about Jackson. Wasn’t that odd? Daniel had been her husband, while Jackson was . . . Thea didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

Sighing, she closed the book. There was no point in continuing the charade of reading when her mind refused to concentrate on it. She needed to find something else to occupy her. She rose and looked around, trying to think of something that might settle her turbulent thoughts. Now might be the time to bake a loaf of bread. Sarah had once told her that kneading dough was a good way to release frustrations, and Thea had more than her share of frustrations tonight.

She was on the way to the kitchen when she heard a knock on the front door. Though she tried to steel herself for disappointment, she couldn’t help hoping it was Jackson. She flung the door open and smiled, her heart beginning to pound with excitement at the sight of the Ranger. His clothing was dusty and his face bore lines of fatigue, but Thea was certain she’d never seen anything more wonderful.

“You’re back!” It might be an unconventional greeting, but Thea couldn’t help it. She had prayed for Jackson’s return, and her prayers had been answered.

His lips curved into one of those smiles that lingered in her memory long after he’d gone. “I’m glad to be back. I’ve got so much to tell you.”

“And I’ve got things to tell you too. But first . . .” Thea studied him, wondering if his fatigue was heightened by hunger. “Have you eaten supper? I have some leftover ham and could make you a sandwich if you don’t mind eating on the porch.” She wouldn’t risk the townspeople’s gossip by inviting him inside.

“Ham?” Jackson’s eyes narrowed for an instant, leaving Thea wondering what about the food concerned him. A second later, he nodded. “That sounds good, if it’s not too much trouble for you.”

“No trouble at all.” Less than five minutes later, she returned to the porch carrying a tray laden with two sandwiches, a piece of cake, and two mugs of coffee. “We’ll talk after you’ve eaten,” she said and picked up one of the mugs.

As Jackson took the chair opposite her and leaned forward to reach for a sandwich, a piece of paper fell from his pocket, fluttering to the ground.

“I’ve got it.” Thea grabbed the paper before the evening breeze could whisk it away. She started to hand it back to Jackson but stopped, riveted by what she saw.

“Where did you get this?” This was not a letter but a sketch. More than that, it was an unmistakable likeness. Though the expression was one she’d never seen, hostile and fierce, there was no question that the man staring at her from the piece of paper was her husband. “Where did you get this?” she asked again.

Maybe it wasn’t Daniel. Maybe there was someone who resembled him as much as Helen did her. But even as the possibility flitted through her brain, Thea knew it was unlikely.

Jackson laid the sandwich back on the plate. “I drew it.”

Thea blinked in confusion. “I don’t understand.” Surely if Jackson had met Daniel, he would have told her before this. “When did you see Daniel?”

Jackson’s lips thinned, and he took a deep breath before responding, his reluctance to answer the question obvious. “It was the night Micah was killed. I told you one of the robbers’ bandannas slipped and I saw his face.” He pointed at the drawing. “This was the man I saw.”

It was probably foolish to be walking this way. Just because Patience had said she and Nate were going to be in town this evening to bring some goats’ milk to Reverend Dunn didn’t mean they’d be strolling down Main Street as they had the day she met Nate. Most likely they’d already come and gone.

But as she pushed the buggy and tried to pretend there was no special reason she’d chosen this route, Aimee knew she was being silly, just as she’d been silly to try to impress Nate with a fancy hairstyle and a pretty dress on Sunday. She was acting like a lovelorn schoolgirl hoping for another glimpse of the boy who’d caught her eye. The problem was, Nate wasn’t a boy and she was no longer a schoolgirl. She ought to be behaving like an adult.

“Good evening, Miss Jarre.” Widow Jenkins crossed the street and peered into the buggy. While she might pretend that she’d come to greet Aimee, Aimee knew better. The widow was as fascinated by Stuart as Aimee was by Nate.

“It’s good that you bring Stuart outside most days. Others might disagree, but I believe fresh air is important for a child.” She chatted for a few minutes, her attention clearly focused on the baby inside the buggy. When Stuart responded to her coos with a blink of his eyes, the widow grinned. “He recognizes me.”

How sad it was that Stuart paid more attention to Widow Jenkins than Nate did to Aimee. There had been times when she’d caught him looking at her with what, if she were fanciful, she would have called yearning, but he never acted on it, if indeed it was yearning. Instead, he offered her the briefest of greetings when he entered the apothecary.

Just as frustrating, when she tried to engage him in conversation, asking about his farm and his goats, Nate’s answers were stilted. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was speaking a foreign language, searching for the correct word. Aimee almost laughed at the irony. Though she was the one conversing in something other than her native language, she was not tongue-tied.

“Don’t forget that this little one is welcome at my house anytime you need someone to care for him,” the widow said as she bade Aimee farewell. “He reminds me of my Ambrose when he was that age.” Ambrose, Aimee had learned, had lost his life during what Thea called the War Between the States.

As Widow Jenkins turned to resume her walk northward, Aimee continued south on Main, pausing to admire the new clothing in the dressmaker’s window. She should probably take Stuart back now, but that would be admitting defeat. When she reached the end of Main, she’d cross over to Cedar and return home that way. And if she happened to glance down Mesquite toward Warner’s home, well . . . no one would know that she was hoping Nate was visiting his friend and that he would be outside.

Silly! Aimee shook her head as she scolded herself. This was more of that schoolgirl behavior she’d forsworn.

As she approached Oak Street, Aimee heard the unmistakable sound of Patience’s laughter and the deep timbre of a man’s voice coming from the schoolyard. She’d found them! The route she’d chosen had been the right one. Aimee quickened her pace, smiling at both the prospect of seeing Nate and the fact that Stuart appeared to be enjoying the faster ride, then stopped abruptly as she neared the schoolhouse.

Patience was with a man, but it wasn’t her cousin. The couple—that was the only way to describe the two who stood much closer than casual acquaintances—were next to the swing, gazing at each other. Patience had her face tilted toward the man, as if waiting for something, while he tipped his head to one side. As Warner lifted his hand to touch Patience’s cheek, Aimee turned, blinking away her tears.

It was a tender scene, not a reason for tears. Aimee shook her head, wishing that the sight of her friends didn’t remind her of what was lacking in her life. She was happy for Patience and Warner. This was what she’d hoped for, what she’d prayed for, but that didn’t assuage the emptiness inside her, the longing to be loved. She brushed the errant tear from her cheek and hurried down Oak Street. The sooner she reached home, the better.

You didn’t come here to find a husband, Aimee reminded herself. You came to America to find your mother. When Grace returns, you’ll have your answers. And maybe, just maybe, her love will fill the emptiness.

Thea could hardly breathe. Her heart was beating at twice its normal pace, her hands were clammy, and she knew her legs would not support her if she tried to rise. She stared at Jackson, hoping beyond hope that he’d deny what he’d just said. But he did not.

“You think my husband was an outlaw?” The words came out in short bursts. “One of the Gang of Four?” It couldn’t be true, and yet the likeness was excellent. Other than the expression, Jackson’s sketch had captured the image of the man Thea had married.

“I do.”

She shuddered, then wrapped her arms around herself to try to ease her trembling. Daniel was a robber. The thought reverberated through her brain, causing her to shudder again. A robber. Maybe worse. He might have been the bandit who killed Jackson’s brother and wounded his partner. Her husband had been a true desperado, and she had had no inkling.

Thea’s trembling intensified as she remembered the day she’d met Jackson and the way he’d looked at her. At the time, she’d thought he suspected her of something, but she’d quickly dismissed that as improbable. Now . . .

“You believed I was one of them. That’s why you came to Cimarron Creek, isn’t it?”

He took a swig of coffee before he responded. “Yes,” he admitted, his reluctance obvious, “but the moment I saw you, I knew you weren’t part of the Gang. They were all tall, including the woman.”

Relief and anger warred within Thea, and anger won the round. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this before.” She’d known Jackson for more than three weeks, and yet he hadn’t told her the truth about her husband.

Jackson nodded, accepting her anger. “I should have told you. I came close on several occasions, but it never seemed like the right time. I knew it would hurt you, and you’d already suffered so much loss that I wanted you to have a bit longer to recover.” There was no questioning his sincerity. As misguided as he may have been, Jackson had been thinking of her.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from this.” Thea stared across the street at Lydia’s home, remembering all the secrets that house had held. Now it seemed that hers did too. “I had no idea what kind of man my husband was. I was shocked that he’d broken his marriage vows, but even knowing that, I would never have imagined that he was a criminal. What does that say about me?”

Thea shuddered again as she raised her eyes to meet Jackson’s. Only a coward would continue staring into the distance, and Thea was not a coward. She owed Jackson the courtesy of a direct look. To her surprise, instead of the pity she’d expected, she saw warmth. He didn’t pity or condemn her. Instead, it seemed he was offering compassion.

“It says you’re an honest, trusting woman who sees only the best in others.”

“But how could I have been so wrong?” Thea turned away again, feeling unworthy of the confidence Jackson had placed in her. “Sarah told me I was being too hasty. She thought I should wait longer before I married Daniel, but I wouldn’t listen. What a fool I was! Everything he told me was lies.”

Jackson reached across the table and laid his hand on Thea’s. It was warm and comforting, more than she deserved.

“I never spoke to Daniel, so I can’t be sure of this, but I imagine he truly loved you. That’s the only reason he would have settled in one place.”

“What do you mean?”

“From what we can tell, the Gang traveled between heists, looking for new targets but never staying anywhere too long. The fact that Daniel married you and planned to raise a family in Ladreville says that something changed.”

“I still can’t believe it.” A mirthless laugh escaped from Thea’s lips. “If I could believe that he broke his marriage vows, why can’t I accept the proof that he was a thief? Why do I want to believe that he was what he claimed to be, nothing more than a traveling salesman who wanted to find a permanent home?”

For a moment, the only sounds were the soft soughing of the breeze and the chirping of a bird settling into its nest. Then Jackson spoke. “I suspect he was very good at showing you only what he wanted you to see. Some people are like that—they change depending on the circumstances.”

“Like those lizards that change color to blend into their surroundings.” Thea had read about them.

“Exactly.” As if he sensed that she was becoming calmer, Jackson lifted his hand from hers and reached for his sandwich. “I need to ask you a few questions,” he said when he’d swallowed a bite. “Did Daniel ever talk about two men named Will and Rob?”

Thea shook her head.

“What about a woman named Charity?”

She shook her head again. “Who are those people?”

“I learned about them when I spoke to the matron of the orphanage.” Jackson took another bite, his hunger seeming to outweigh his need for answers.

“Is that where you went, to the orphanage where Daniel grew up?”

“Yes. I’ll tell you more about that later, but what’s important is that those people—Will, Rob, and Charity—might be the other members of the Gang. I believe Daniel was the leader.” As Thea started to protest, Jackson continued. “It would explain why there have been no heists since he was killed, if he was the one who planned everything.”

Thea drained her cup of coffee and placed it carefully back on the tray. “I can’t picture Daniel as a leader. He never seemed like one to me, but what do I know? He obviously fooled me.”

She pushed the piece of cake toward Jackson, silently urging him to eat it. When he’d taken his first bite, she spoke again. “Did you learn anything else at the orphanage?”

He nodded. “His name wasn’t Michener. It was Klein. Daniel Klein.”