24
Jackson studied Thea as he settled back in the buggy. Once again, she’d surprised him, this time by agreeing so readily to his accompanying her whenever she left Cimarron Creek. Though he’d expected an argument, despite the fact that she had obviously been shaken by what he’d discovered in Leakey, she’d simply nodded, her face white with shock. And now, four days later, he’d helped her into the buggy as if it were an everyday occurrence for him to travel to a patient’s home with her.
But it was not normal, not yet, and today’s destination was anything but normal. This morning she was calling on Ethel Harris, Helen Bradford’s cousin and the woman who might become Stuart’s adoptive mother. Though it had to be difficult, Thea gave no sign of nervousness. She was a strong woman, stronger than she realized.
“Are you certain you don’t mind my driving?”
Jackson smiled as he looked at the woman who occupied so many of his thoughts. She might be strong—and she was—but she also had insecurities. Not for the first time, Jackson wished Daniel Michener were still alive so he could take him to task for what he’d done to Thea.
“I consider this a luxury,” he told her. “It isn’t often I can relax.”
The truth was, he wasn’t relaxed. There was no possibility of relaxing when he knew Thea might be in danger, so he kept a lookout for anything unusual. Not having to control the horse let him do that as well as admire his companion.
Today, dressed for work, Thea had her hair pulled back in a chignon and wore a simple white blouse and deep green skirt. While he preferred the loose curls and pretty dress she’d worn the night of the square dance, Jackson knew she could never be anything but lovely. Lovely, strong, and ever on his mind.
He shifted his position so that he could look in both directions without alerting Thea to what he was doing. As he’d ridden back from Leakey, Jackson had worried about how to break the news of what he’d discovered to Thea and how she would react.
Anyone would be distressed by what had happened to Helen Bradford, but for a woman already dealing with a number of shocking revelations, the knowledge that another woman had been killed simply because of her resemblance to her must have been almost overwhelming. Yet, Thea hadn’t fainted. She hadn’t even cried, though he’d seen tears hovering on her eyelashes, waiting to be blinked away. She hadn’t surrendered to fear. Instead, her expression had become determined, as if she refused to let the Gang change her life.
Jackson did not believe that she had underestimated the threat—Thea was too smart to do that—but she would not be cowed by it. What an amazing woman!
His smile broadened as he remembered that Thea had once called him amazing. She was wrong; he was an ordinary man, but she was an extraordinary woman. She’d survived tragedy and disillusionment and appeared to be thriving. Amazing!
Jackson looked down at the boy in his arms. Though he’d fussed for a minute when Thea had picked up the reins, Stuart now seemed to be entertained by the sight of his hands, which he was waving furiously in front of his face. “Stuart seems to enjoy riding in your buggy.”
A sweet smile crossed Thea’s face as she darted a glance at the baby. “I think he likes any kind of motion. That’s one of the reasons either Aimee or I take him out in his carriage most nights.”
“So that’s why Nate has been spending so many evenings in town instead of out with those goats of his.”
Jackson was still embarrassed by the memory of how he’d mistaken the object of Nate’s affections. The first few times Warner had teased Nate about his ladylove, Jackson had merely gritted his teeth, not wanting to think about Thea being courted by another man. Now, in hindsight, he knew he should have realized it was Aimee who’d caught Nate’s eye, not Thea. Instead, Jackson had let his own attraction to Thea cloud his judgment. He’d tried to deny it, but the truth was, he’d been attracted to Thea from the day he met her.
Forcing his gaze away from the woman who dominated his thoughts, Jackson glanced in all directions. When he’d reassured himself that there was no danger, he turned back to Thea.
“I probably shouldn’t say this about my friend, but Nate seems besotted with Aimee.”
“I probably shouldn’t say this about my friend”—Thea chuckled as she repeated Jackson’s words—“but it’s mutual. Cimarron Creek’s matchmakers must be gloating about their success: Nate and Aimee, and Warner and Patience.”
“Whoa!” When Thea’s horse stopped, Jackson shook his head. “That wasn’t meant for Maggie. I was telling my brain to stop whirling. Did you say Warner and Patience?”
Thea’s smile widened as she flicked the reins. “According to Aimee, they’re on the verge of becoming a courting couple.”
“And he never said a word to me.”
“Do men talk about things like that?”
It was a good question. Jackson couldn’t remember ever hearing his brothers discuss the women they married, but perhaps they’d confided in each other. “Nate did, but he might be the exception.” After all, Jackson hadn’t said anything about his growing feelings for Thea.
To his way of thinking, she should be the first to know, but even though the image of Thea as his wife seemed to have been indelibly etched on his brain and even though it popped into his thoughts when he least expected it, Jackson knew Thea wasn’t ready to hear that he harbored tender hopes with her as their centerpiece.
First steps first. Thea needed to recover from the wounds Daniel had inflicted, and Jackson needed to capture the remaining members of the Gang. Only then could he move on to the next stage of his life.
At least now he knew what the Gang members looked like. Matt Driscoll’s telegram had confirmed the description Thea’s sister had shared. The couple who’d visited both Ladreville and Leakey were brown-haired with brown eyes. That would have made them unremarkable, but the woman was taller than normal, and the man had a jagged scar on his forehead. When Jackson came face-to-face with them, it would not be difficult to identify them. But first he had to find them.
The silence that followed his assessment of Nate was broken when Thea pointed toward a creature waddling across the road. “An armadillo. I didn’t know they came out during the day.”
“They don’t normally. Maybe this one is hungry.” Jackson looked around, studying the countryside, searching for any other reason that the armor-plated critter might have left its burrow. Nothing seemed unusual, and he had no sense of danger. As if to confirm his assessment that the armadillo simply wanted to eat, Stuart began to whimper. It was, Jackson knew from experience, the predecessor to the “I’m hungry” cry that frequently came at this time of the day.
“It looks like the armadillo isn’t the only one who wants to eat. What do you have for Stuart today—pot roast with carrots and onions or chicken with green beans?” It was a silly question, designed to make Thea laugh, since Stuart was too young for solid food.
As Jackson had hoped, Thea chuckled and inclined her head toward the bag she’d placed on the floor between them. “We ran out of pot roast, so he’ll have to make do with milk. There’s a bottle in the sack.”
When Stuart latched on to the nipple, Jackson shifted the child so he could drink more easily. “Stuart’s a better eater than Micah. We had to give him goat’s milk.”
The instant the words were out of his mouth, Jackson regretted them. Why had he brought up Micah today? He’d wanted this to be a happy day for both of them, and speaking of Micah was not the way to ensure that. Sorrow mingled with guilt rose up to ambush him.
For a moment, Jackson thought Thea might let his comment pass without a reply, but he was not so fortunate. “That’s happened with a few of my patients,” she said. “They can’t tolerate human or cow’s milk, but for some reason, goat’s milk agrees with them.”
She turned her gaze from the road to Jackson. “Do you mind talking about Micah?”
To Jackson’s surprise, he shook his head. As much as he’d avoided speaking of his brother, somehow it felt right to discuss him with Thea. “What would you like to know?”
She gave him a reassuring smile, as if she knew he hadn’t planned to agree. “Why did your parents name him Micah? It seems that the rest of you were named for presidents.”
“You’re right. Quincy, Jefferson, and I owe our names to presidents my parents admired. Micah did not like being different. At one point, he demanded that we call him Washington. That didn’t last long.”
“Why not?”
“Our father, who’s a no-nonsense man, informed Micah that he had a perfectly good name and that was what everyone would use.”
Thea winced as if she shared Micah’s unhappiness over the decree. “I can’t imagine that he liked that.”
“He didn’t, but then our mother told him she knew he would be a special child, and that’s why she gave him a special name.”
“Did that satisfy him?”
Jackson nodded. “The real story is that my mother was studying the book of Micah when her labor began, and that’s how she chose his name.”
“It’s a good story.” Thea glanced at Stuart, then returned her attention to the road. “What was Micah like when he was growing up?”
That was an easy question to answer. “Micah was the most curious person I’ve ever met. It seemed he was always getting into trouble. Not deliberately, but because he wanted to discover something.”
Thea raised an eyebrow, seemingly unconvinced. “Give me an example.”
“He was fascinated by our windmill and decided to climb it, because he wondered what it would feel like to touch one of the blades while it was spinning. You can guess what happened.”
“He fell off.”
“And broke both arms.” Jackson shook his head, remembering how worried their mother had been when she’d seen what Micah had done to himself. “Can you imagine what that was like for an active five-year-old? He couldn’t even feed himself.”
“Were you the one he turned to then?”
“Yes. How’d you guess?”
The smile Thea flashed at him said the reason should be apparent. “You once told me you’d cared for him when he was an infant. I assumed you’d continued being more than just a big brother.”
She gave him a look so filled with admiration that it made Jackson’s heart swell. It had been months since thoughts of Micah had brought him anything but pain, but Thea’s questions had resurrected happy memories, reminding him of all that he’d shared with his younger brother.
“Micah was lucky to have you. Not all brothers would have been so kind, especially given the age difference.”
Jackson nodded, acknowledging the truth in her observation. Quincy and Jefferson hadn’t been particularly sympathetic when he’d sprained an ankle and couldn’t compete in the three-legged race at the fair. Perhaps that was part of the reason he’d volunteered to help Micah.
“Don’t make me out to be a saint. There were times when I considered him a pest and did everything I could to shake him, but he was like a sand burr and wouldn’t be shaken off.”
“But you loved him.”
“I did.”
Seeing that Stuart was no longer interested in eating, Jackson placed the bottle back in the sack and stared at the road ahead. Micah was not what he’d wanted to talk about, and yet he couldn’t deny that these memories of his brother were pleasant ones that left him feeling more at peace than he had since Micah’s death. It felt good to remember and even better to share that portion of his past with Thea. If she was going to be part of his life—and Jackson hoped she would—she needed to understand what had made him the person he was, and he needed to learn more about her.
“Tell me about your childhood,” Jackson urged Thea. She did, entertaining him with stories of Sarah and Clay and how they’d taken the place of her real parents, and before he knew it, they’d arrived at the Harris ranch.
Thea’s carefree smile changed to apprehension as they approached the farmhouse, reminding Jackson that she was not looking forward to what might transpire here. She had told him she felt duty-bound to ask the Harrises to consider adopting Stuart, but her heart ached at the thought of giving up the baby she’d grown to love.
“Would you watch Stuart for half an hour?” Thea asked as she stopped the buggy. “After my appointment with Mrs. Harris, I’ll come for him. I want her to meet her cousin’s son.”
“You sure this is Helen’s boy?” Ethel Harris stared at the infant in Thea’s arms, shaking her head when Thea asked if she wanted to hold him. “He don’t look like her.”
Taking a deep breath, Thea willed herself not to let her frustration show. The official part of her time with Mrs. Harris had gone smoothly. The expectant mother’s pregnancy was proceeding as expected, her size and symptoms confirming Thea’s belief that the baby would be born in approximately four weeks. It was only when she told Ethel that she had brought Stuart that her patient had started to frown. Though she’d said nothing when Thea had announced that she wanted her to see the child, her frown had deepened when Thea returned to the house with Stuart in her arms.
“He’s still a baby,” Thea said as calmly as she could. “At this age, it’s hard to tell what he’ll look like when he grows up. And, of course, it could be that he resembles his father.”
Ethel gave Stuart another glance, her lips thinning as she said, “I tole Angus about him. I know it’s our Christian duty to take him in if’n nobody else wants him. ’Course, I gotta tell you I ain’t gonna be nursin’ him. I gotta save my milk for my son.”
She shouldn’t have been shocked, not after the way Ethel had treated Stuart so far, but Thea was appalled by the woman’s cavalier attitude. There was nothing Christian about it. This baby—this wonderful little boy—should have two parents who loved him the way Jesus loved the children who gathered around him.
Thea took a breath and tried to calm herself. She owed it to Stuart to find him a good home.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Harris.”
“I tole you to call me Ethel. Did you fergit?”
“I’m afraid I did.” That wasn’t all she’d forgotten. Thea had almost forgotten her manners and had been tempted to shriek that this woman didn’t deserve a boy like Stuart. “What I started to say was that you don’t need to worry about feeding Stuart. He’s accustomed to a bottle.”
Though she’d expected Ethel to show some relief, her patient pursed her lips again. “That’s more work, ain’t it? I gotta wash them bottles.”
“Yes, you do. And heat the milk too.”
The woman frowned. “’Pears that my cross just got heavier.”
Feeling as if her heart were about to break, Thea rose and turned toward the door. “I’ll be back next Monday. Now that you’re this close to delivering, I want to check on you every week.” And next week she wouldn’t make the mistake of bringing Stuart with her.
“What happened back there?” Jackson had given her an appraising look when she’d emerged from the house but had waited until they’d reached the main road before he spoke.
Thea turned to face him, hoping she could keep her tears at bay. Though she’d tried to control her emotions, not wanting to add to the burdens Jackson was already carrying, it seemed she’d failed. “Oh, Jackson, it was horrible.”
As tears began to stream down her cheeks, he reached over to take the reins. “Whoa, Maggie.” With the buggy stationary, Jackson extended his other hand to clasp Thea’s.
Even through her driving gloves, she could feel the warmth of Jackson’s hand, and it reassured her as nothing else had done today. Jackson, she knew, would never look at a baby the way Ethel Harris had. He wasn’t Stuart’s father any more than Thea was his mother, but Jackson lavished love on the orphaned boy.
“Tell me what happened,” he urged.
“She called Stuart her cross to bear.” Anger and sadness melded into outrage. “He’s not a cross. He’s not a burden. He’s a little boy who’s lost his parents.” Thea brushed the tears away as she shook her head. “I can’t let them take him.”
“I agree.” Jackson’s voice was so calm, so matter-of-fact, that it startled her. Whatever she’d expected him to say, it wasn’t that.
“You do?”
He nodded. “While you were inside, I talked to Mr. Harris. The way he looked at Stuart told me this wasn’t the right home for him, but he didn’t wait for me to figure that out. Harris made it clear that he didn’t agree with his wife’s suggestion that they adopt Stuart. He said he planned to talk her out of that nonsense—that was his word.”
Thea reached over to stroke Stuart’s head. “I don’t know what to do. My head tells me children should be with their family—if not their parents, then with someone who’s related. I can’t imagine what my life would have been like if Sarah and Clay hadn’t wanted to raise me. I was blessed.”
Thea raised her eyes to meet Jackson’s, hoping he’d understand. “That’s what I want for Stuart, but no matter what my head says is best, my heart tells me the Harrises are not the right people for him.”
Jackson loosened his grip on Thea’s hand, then threaded his fingers through hers. “I understand, and I agree with you that that’s what Stuart deserves, but I’m a little confused. I thought you said you’d adopt him if you couldn’t find his family or a couple who wanted him.”
Thea nodded. Oh, how she wished everything were black and white, not shades of gray. “I did, but once again my head is warring with my heart. My heart tells me I love Stuart as much as I did Aaron, but my head says that children—especially boys—need a father.”
She was silent for a second, composing her thoughts. “There are times when I wonder if the reason Daniel turned to crime was that he had no men to serve as good examples. He told me that the only adults at the orphanage were women, the matron and her assistants, and it doesn’t sound as if they gave him much love. I don’t want that to happen to Stuart. I want him to have both a mother and a father.”
Jackson’s expression had grown progressively more solemn as she’d spoken, but now his frown cleared and his eyes shone like blades of grass after a spring rain. “There’s a solution to the problem.” He paused for an instant, then tightened his grip on Thea’s hand. “You could marry me.”