25

Aimee looked up, surprised to see a schoolboy entering the apothecary. While children sometimes accompanied their parents, it was unusual for one to come alone. The towheaded boy whom she guessed to be no more than ten years old looked around the store, his eyes widening at the sight of a row of bottles decorated with a skull and crossbones. Then, seeming to recall the reason he was here, he handed her a piece of paper. “This is for you, Miss Jarre. Miss Kenton asked me to wait for an answer.”

The two sentences, while hardly a speech, sounded carefully rehearsed, making Aimee wonder whether this was one of Patience’s special children. She had mentioned that several of her pupils were unusually shy and that she was trying to coax them out of their shells. Perhaps asking him to deliver a message to the pharmacy was Patience’s way of making this boy feel important.

As she unfolded the sheet, Aimee noticed that it was wrinkled, undoubtedly the result of being clutched in a nervous child’s hand. The contents were simple: Patience wanted her to come to her house once the store closed. It would have been easier to send the message verbally, but for some reason Patience had chosen the written word, perhaps because handing it to the boy in front of his classmates conferred esteem on him. Aimee was going to try a different tack.

“Please tell Miss Kenton that I’d be happy to accept her invitation.” She gave the young messenger a conspiratorial smile. “I know I don’t have to write that down, because you can remember that.”

His chest puffed with importance, the boy nodded and scampered out the door.

For the rest of the afternoon, Aimee tried to imagine what had precipitated Patience’s invitation. Normally if she wanted to talk to Aimee, she came into the shop, which had the advantage of giving her the opportunity to spend time with Warner. Something was different today. Though she said nothing to Warner, Aimee hoped he was not the reason Patience chose to meet in her home.

As she walked toward the modest house that had once belonged to Catherine Whitfield, now Catherine Goddard, Aimee’s thoughts took a different turn, and she wondered as she did each day where Catherine and, more important, Grace were. Had they reached Le Havre? Had they found passage on an ocean liner? When would they be back in Cimarron Creek? And when they arrived, what would Grace do when she learned that Aimee was already here?

As much as she longed to meet her mother, Aimee could not dismiss the fear that she would fall short of Grace’s expectations and that what Aimee had hoped would be a joyous reunion would become a disappointing and distressing moment for both of them. What would Grace think of her?

There were no answers to those questions, but as Patience opened the door to admit Aimee, she provided one answer.

“I’m so glad you came.” Patience extended her hands and drew Aimee into the house. Though her smile was as bright as ever, Aimee detected a hint of concern in Patience’s blue eyes.

“I need your opinion on something. I’m making a new dress and don’t know which trim to use.”

Try though she might, Aimee could not imagine why Patience was worried about trimming a dress. Judging from the clothing she normally wore, she had an innate sense of fashion.

Patience led Aimee to the spare bedroom that was now being used as a sewing room and pointed toward a length of sapphire-blue poplin stretched across the bed. “Which do you prefer?” She laid first a piece of white lace then one of a pale blue grosgrain ribbon on the poplin. “Jacob Whitfield was no help,” she said, referring to the man who owned the mercantile. “He told me either one was fine.”

Aimee studied the two trims. “I agree with Jacob. They’re both nice, and either one would complement the poplin. I’d say it depends on where you plan to wear the dress.” She raised her eyes to gaze at Patience. The normally unflappable teacher ducked her head like a schoolgirl, trying to hide her flaming cheeks.

“I’m hoping Warner will invite me to the church social.” Aimee had been right. Warner was the reason for Patience’s unusual behavior.

When Aimee did not reply, Patience continued. “It used to be an annual event, but I heard the congregation wants to have another one this fall.”

Aimee had heard the same rumor when she’d taken Stuart to Widow Jenkins’s home. According to the widow, the square dance had been such a success that the townspeople wanted another excuse to gather.

“In that case, I’d use the ribbon. It’s not as fancy as the lace, so you won’t look as if you’re trying to outshine anyone. You’ll also be able to wear it more places.”

Aimee fixed her gaze on Patience, her instincts telling her there was another reason her friend had asked her to come here. While she may have wanted Aimee’s opinion of the trims, the way she’d blushed when she’d spoken of Warner indicated that Patience had more than clothing on her mind. “Why don’t you tell me why you really wanted to see me?”

“We need a cup of tea and some of Lydia’s chocolates for this.” Her face still red with embarrassment, Patience led the way to the kitchen, then remained uncharacteristically silent as she busied herself making tea.

It was only after the tea had steeped and they were both seated at the table that she spoke. “You’ve probably already guessed that it’s Warner. I know he cares for me—he’s told me that—but I don’t know how to convince him that he’s the right man for me.”

Aimee wasn’t surprised that Patience wanted to talk about Warner, but she was surprised that Patience believed he needed convincing. The woman was clearly besotted with him, and Warner seemed equally smitten. As far as Aimee could tell, they were an ideal couple—well-matched and in love with each other.

“Why won’t he believe that?”

Patience set her cup down with so much force that tea splashed on the saucer. “He has some notion that he’s not good enough. He believes what happened to his parents and his brother makes him unworthy.”

Aimee struggled to keep her expression neutral. While they’d never discussed it, it appeared that a feeling of unworthiness was one more thing she and Warner had in common. He worried about Patience’s acceptance of him, and she was afraid that Nate wouldn’t want to marry or even court her if what she feared about her father was true. Though Thea had tried to reassure her, telling her she was not responsible for the circumstances of her conception, it was a fear that wakened Aimee in the middle of the night and disturbed her daydreams of a life with Nate.

She wouldn’t tell Patience that, but she owed her a response. “Do you feel that he’s not good enough for you?”

Patience’s shock seemed genuine. “Heavens no! What Warner’s family may or may not have done doesn’t change who he is. He’s an upstanding, honorable man, and I love him.”

A feeling of relief swept over Aimee. That was how she hoped Nate would react if they ever reached the stage where she felt comfortable telling him about her birth. She nodded briskly, more pleased than she could say that her friend had responded this way.

“Then tell him.”

“Are you certain?” Patience could not hide her reluctance. “It sounds so forward.”

It was. Undoubtedly, some of the matrons would be shocked if they heard Aimee suggesting such a thing and horrified if Patience followed her suggestion. Women weren’t supposed to make the first move where matters of the heart were concerned. Aimee knew that, but she also knew that sometimes a man needed a nudge.

“If you love him, do it.”

Patience gulped, but then she nodded, and her eyes became misty with happiness. Her embarrassment disappeared, replaced by the glow of first love. As she watched Patience’s transformation, Aimee’s heart filled with hope. Perhaps there could be a happy ending to her own story.

Thea stared at Jackson, not certain she’d heard correctly. They’d been talking about the Harrises’ reaction to Stuart and how he deserved more than Ethel and Angus Harris had offered. Thea knew that Jackson had been trying to comfort her, but then he’d said . . .

“Did you just ask me to marry you?”

Jackson nodded, his expression one she’d never seen before. If she’d had to describe it, Thea would have said that he looked sheepish. He’d obviously had a chance to reconsider, and in reconsidering, he’d realized that he’d made a mistake. A huge mistake. He’d had no intention of marrying Thea, not even to give Stuart a good life.

Jackson’s momentary chagrin seemed to have faded, for when he spoke, his voice was as even as if they were still discussing the hungry armadillo. “It was more of a suggestion than a formal proposal, but yes, I did say that. It seemed like a good idea to me. What do you think about it?”

Thea pulled her hand from his grasp and stared into the distance, trying to make sense of her thoughts. She didn’t know what to say. Her brain was still whirling from the horrible way the Harrises had spoken of Stuart and her fear that she would be unable to give him the upbringing he needed. As much as she loved him, Thea could not ignore her inadequacy. She had thought Jackson might have a suggestion, but never—never!—had she expected him to suggest marriage.

She blinked as she tried to corral her thoughts. On the surface, Jackson’s idea was a good one, at least for Stuart. There was no question that he loved the boy and would be a good father. Thea loved Stuart too, and she believed she would be a good mother. But a marriage simply to protect Stuart was more than Thea was ready to consider.

She looked around, her eyes focusing on a large prickly pear. It was too late in the season for it to be blossoming, and this year’s new growth had lost its pale green color, only the smaller size of the pads announcing that they’d not been there a year ago. It was an ordinary sight on a most extraordinary day.

Marriage! The thought made Thea’s stomach clench.

Though it was true that she admired Jackson, even that she was attracted to him, it was too soon to be speaking of marriage. She’d rushed into matrimony once, believing she knew the man who’d become her husband, only to discover that she’d been mistaken and that Daniel’s words of love had been as false as the name he’d signed on the marriage certificate.

Shakespeare was correct when he said, “Hasty marriage seldom proveth well.” Thea was living proof of that. She wouldn’t risk making a mistake like that again, especially since there were two other people’s lives at stake.

Knowing Jackson was waiting for an answer, Thea looked at the infant nestled in the crook of his arm as she tried to make sense of the thoughts that were tumbling through her brain.

Stuart deserved two parents, but he also deserved parents who loved each other and could teach him about love through their example. She shifted her gaze to the handsome Ranger who’d suggested joining their lives. Jackson deserved a wife he loved the way Clay loved Sarah, not a wife he’d chosen for the wrong reasons.

Swiftly, Thea turned away, lest he read her thoughts. She knew that Jackson had suggested marriage to give Stuart the future he deserved and possibly to protect her from the Gang. Those were good reasons, but they weren’t enough.

Marriage should be based on true love, nothing less. And that was the problem. If Jackson loved her, Thea would have proposed a formal courtship to give them a chance to be certain they were meant for each other, but Jackson had not mentioned love.

Swallowing deeply, Thea turned back to the man who’d somehow captured her heart. “I’m sorry, Jackson, but I don’t agree. I think it’s a bad idea.”