30

He was anxious to see Thea again. Jackson could tell himself that he was worried about her now that the Gang had found her. That was true, but it was only part of the reason his boots were pounding the boardwalk as he rushed from the sheriff’s office toward Thea’s house.

“How are you?” he asked as she opened the door. She looked as beautiful as ever, although the circles under her eyes told him she hadn’t slept well—if at all—last night.

He wasn’t surprised. Even if he hadn’t been keeping watch, Jackson knew he would have had trouble sleeping. He’d spent the night thinking about the destruction he’d seen in both Thea’s and Helen Bradford’s homes and feeling as if something important had eluded him. Even daylight, which normally cleared his thoughts, had not helped. He was as perplexed as he’d been last night.

Thea placed a finger on her lips and whispered, “I just got Stuart to sleep. He’s been cranky all day, which isn’t like him, but come on in.”

Jackson kept his voice low as he followed her into the house. After the break-in, he and Thea had agreed that keeping her safe was more important than adhering to the town matrons’ ideas of propriety and that Jackson could come inside even when Aimee was not there to serve as a chaperone.

“He probably senses that you’re upset.” Jackson looked into the parlor, where the sleeping baby lay inside his buggy. Other than a few scratches on the table, the room appeared much as it had before the intruders’ visit. There was nothing here to trigger that elusive memory.

He turned back to Thea, hoping she hadn’t realized that he’d given the room a professional scrutiny. “Babies are good at sensing our feelings, and you certainly have a reason to be upset. It’s not every day that someone breaks into your house.”

Thea’s lips tightened. “I hope not. I hope it never happens again. As it is, I feel uncomfortable being here.” She gestured around the hallway, then led the way into the kitchen. Like the parlor, it had been restored to normal. “Does it seem foolish to you that I wish I had somewhere else to live?”

“Not at all. I’d say that’s a normal reaction.” A glimmer of hope settled deep inside Jackson. As terrible as the break-in had been, the fear it had engendered just might work to his benefit.

“Would you and Stuart like to take a ride with me tomorrow? I have somewhere I need to go, and I’d like your company as well as your advice.”

Though Thea appeared intrigued, she seemed to be pondering the invitation. “Won’t you tell me where we’re going?”

He shook his head. “It’s meant to be a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

The way she was acting made Jackson wonder if once again he’d chosen the wrong word. Was “surprise” like “proposal,” fraught with hidden meanings? As Thea’s gaze darted around the room, he realized that finding her home in shambles had been a surprise, an unpleasant one. He couldn’t retract the word, so he continued. “A nice surprise.”

This time her eyes lit with pleasure, and she smiled. “Then I accept.”

“Are you certain you want to know?” Grace’s eyes, almost as deep a green as the Ranger’s, clouded as she looked at Aimee, revealing more clearly than words that her memories were painful.

Though she hated to cause Grace more pain, there was only one answer Aimee could give. “Yes, I am. I don’t want there to be any secrets.”

“It’s not a happy story.”

Aimee didn’t need the warning. She already knew that. Instead of retreating as Grace seemed to hope she would, she reached out and stroked her mother’s cheek, wanting to give her whatever comfort she could. “I know that he forced you.”

A short nod confirmed Aimee’s fears. “I was only fourteen when it happened. I didn’t see his face at the time, and I never thought I’d know who he was, but I believe God knew how important it was for me to confront the man who’d changed my life so dramatically.”

Grace poured herself another cup of tea and reached for one of the chocolate creams that Lydia had included with the light repast. “After an almost unbelievable sequence of events, I finally came face-to-face with my attacker.”

She raised her eyes to meet Aimee’s. “It may seem hard to believe, but forcing him to admit what he’d done left me free. It was an immense relief to realize that I no longer hated him. Of course, I still hated what he’d done, but I could separate the sin from the sinner.”

“Just last week Pastor Dunn preached about forgiveness and said that was the first step.”

Grace sipped her tea before she spoke. “He didn’t ask for forgiveness, and everything happened so quickly that I couldn’t give it to him, but I want you to know that no matter how I felt about him, I never felt anything but love for you.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Being here with you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I love you too.” Aimee wondered whether Grace was deliberately not answering her question about her father’s identity or whether her thoughts had simply taken a detour. Determined to get an answer, she asked, “Is he someone who lives here?”

“Lived.” A nod accompanied the single word. “He’s dead now.”

Aimee took a shallow breath, not certain whether she was disappointed or relieved that she wouldn’t encounter her father. While Grace might have been able to offer forgiveness, Aimee did not know if she could be so generous to the man who would attack an innocent young girl.

“If he’s dead, no one will be hurt if you tell me who he was.” It seemed important to know that, even though Aimee would never carry her father’s name.

“It’s not that simple. His son still lives here.”

“His son?” Aimee blinked in momentary confusion as the impact of the words registered. Though she’d guessed that the man was married, she hadn’t thought about his having a child. “I have a half-brother?”

Grace nodded. “Yes, you do.” She remained silent for a moment, giving Aimee a chance to absorb the fact that had rocked her to her core. She’d always wanted a sibling, and now it appeared she had one.

“I was shocked when you told me you were working at the apothecary and how much you enjoyed being with Warner,” Grace continued, “but I shouldn’t have been. You see, your father was Charles Gray. Warner is your half-brother.”

“Let’s go, Blaze.” Jackson urged his horse into a gallop. Perhaps the wind in his face would clear his thoughts. One thing was certain: walking had not accomplished that. He’d strode briskly around Cimarron Creek after he left Thea, but the memory that hid just out of reach refused to budge. Riding was his last hope.

He headed Blaze along the road he’d traveled the day he first came to town, hoping that would shake something loose, and it did. Jackson was only a few miles outside of Cimarron Creek when the rank smell of decaying meat assaulted him. Something, perhaps a rabbit, had been killed and left to rot on the side of the road. While normally scavengers would have found the animal and cleaned the bones, somehow they’d missed this one.

Jackson raised his bandanna to cover his nose and mouth, and as he did, the memory he’d sought resurfaced. When he’d walked through Helen Bradford’s house and seen the destruction, he had noticed a faint residue of perfume clinging to the sliced bed pillows, as if they’d brushed against the intruder’s body before being flung to the floor. There had been no perfume in Thea’s house, nor had anything been slashed. In both cases, the search had been thorough, but only Helen Bradford’s belongings had been destroyed.

Jackson remembered the gouges in Helen’s furniture and the way the pillows had been left in shreds. Whoever had searched her house was looking for more than gold. He wanted revenge. No. Jackson shook his head. She wanted revenge. The person who’d invaded Helen’s home had been a woman, and if his instincts were correct, she was the same woman who’d killed Helen, first torturing her with a knife, then slitting her throat.

Charity James.

Jackson had no doubt that Charity James had murdered Helen Bradford, just as he had no doubt that she’d been the one who’d killed Violet Baker. But, if his reasoning was accurate, she had not been the one who killed Daniel Michener. Michener had been shot. The question was, had Charity played a role in his death?

Wrinkling his nose at the odor that permeated his bandanna, Jackson knew there was no reason to ride any longer. He’d accomplished his goal. And, if he was right, Warner might be able to help him ease Thea’s worries.

Half an hour later, he strode into the pharmacy. “Do you sell perfume?”

Warner appeared startled by the question. “Does this mean the gossip is true and you’re courting Thea?”

Jackson shook his head. All he wanted was to identify a scent. If his hunch was right, this perfume was the last thing he would consider giving Thea.

“As strange as it may seem, this is connected to an investigation.”

Raised eyebrows met Jackson’s statement. Then Warner said, “I’m sorry to hear that. I thought you might have taken Travis’s advice to heart.” He resumed grinding the tablets with his pestle. “If you’re looking for perfume, check with Jacob at the mercantile. If he doesn’t have something you like, he can order others.”

Two minutes later, Jackson had his answer.

“Mrs. Allen?” Jacob Whitfield nodded when Jackson asked whether she bought her perfume here. “She’s the only woman in town who wears that scent—it’s too strong for most of them—but I always keep a bottle on hand.”

“May I smell it?”

“Sure.”

As the shopkeeper unstopped the bottle and waved it under Jackson’s nose, Jackson nodded. There was no doubt about it. This was the same scent he’d smelled at Helen Bradford’s house.

He wanted to shout with triumph. It wasn’t coincidence. He was certain of that, just as he was certain that the other woman, the one who’d caused Thea so much anguish, was a member of the Gang. And, though he had no proof, it was possible that Daniel Michener had not been unfaithful but that his shirts bore Charity James’s scent because he’d been close to her during a robbery.

Though he wanted to tell Thea what he’d learned and what he surmised, Jackson didn’t want to give her half a story. He would wait until he’d captured the whole Gang and had their confessions.

“Warner?” Part of Aimee was shocked by Grace’s revelation, but part was not. “No wonder . . .” She paused, thinking of the time she’d spent with the man who’d been both her boss and her friend.

“No wonder what?”

Though Grace had refilled their teacups, she had pushed hers away after she named Aimee’s father. Aimee took a sip from hers, hoping the hot beverage would help settle her thoughts. She had expected to learn her father’s name, but she had not expected to discover that she had a brother.

She replaced the cup on its saucer and looked at Grace. “No wonder we seem to have so much in common. I told you that I work for Warner, but I didn’t tell you that we often think alike. There are even times when we finish each other’s sentences.”

Grace smiled. “When I was growing up and used to see siblings do that, I’d envy them. I even envied them when they squabbled, because although they were angry with each other at the time, I knew they’d make up and be friends again.” She sighed. “My mother never explained why they hadn’t had a second child, but I always wished that I had a sister or brother.”

“So did I.” Aimee thought of the years when she’d created make-believe sisters and had had endless conversations with them. Though her fantasy world had entertained her, it could not compare to a real sibling.

“Now I have a brother.” The smile that had crossed Aimee’s face faded as fears assailed her. “Do you think he’ll welcome me?”

Knowing that she was related to Warner seemed wonderful to Aimee, but he might feel differently. It was possible he’d resent her, seeing her as proof of his—their!—father’s wrongdoing.

“I don’t know how he’ll react.” Grace laid a hand on Aimee’s, as if she sensed how much Aimee needed reassurance. “Warner’s aware of what his father did to me, but Travis, Lydia, and I didn’t think it wise to tell him about you, especially since we had no way of knowing whether I’d ever find you. His life had been turned upside down for the second time in less than a year, and it seemed cruel to add to his pain.”

Grace turned Aimee’s hand over and threaded her fingers through hers. “I’ve told you what happened. I’ve answered your questions. Now the decision is yours. Do you want Warner and the rest of Cimarron Creek to know that you’re my daughter?”

Aimee nodded. It was something she’d thought of many times while she’d waited for Grace to return to Texas. Once she’d learned that her mother loved her enough to search for her, she’d known that she wanted to acknowledge their kinship and—if possible—build a true mother-daughter relationship.

“I crossed an ocean to find you, and you did the same to find me. Now that we’re finally together, I want to tell everyone that I found my mother.”

Though she appeared pleased by Aimee’s declaration, Grace’s expression was solemn. “The older people will remember that I left suddenly and will know that I wasn’t married when you were born. Some of them may be cruel to you.” Her eyes misted. “I hate the idea of someone hurting my daughter. You did nothing to deserve condemnation.”

“Neither did you.” Aimee fixed her gaze on Grace. “Would you prefer that no one knows we’re related?”

Grace shook her head. “Anyone who sees us together will know that we share the same blood. It won’t take long for them to piece the story together. I’m actually surprised no one guessed before this.”

Lydia had said the same thing, then had speculated that since Grace had worn widow’s weeds for most of her time in Cimarron Creek and since no one would have expected a Frenchwoman to have a connection to anyone in town, they’d ignored the resemblance.

Aimee shrugged. “I’m an adult now. I believe I can handle whatever they say or do, if you can.”

Her mother pursed her lips. “I can, and I don’t doubt that you can, but we’re not the only ones who might be hurt. There’s Warner too. People might shun him and his store if they realize what his father had done.”

Unfortunately, though she wished it were otherwise, Aimee could imagine that happening. Warner had told her that business had slumped after his parents’ deaths. Though customers had gradually returned, needing the items he sold and being unwilling to travel to another town to buy them, many had seemed wary of him until he hired Aimee.

Somehow, having an assistant had turned the tide of opinion. But, Aimee knew, it could reverse just as easily. How she hated the thought of her boss, her friend, her brother suffering for something that he hadn’t done.

“C’est difficile.” She bit her lip at the realization that she had once again lapsed into French. “It’s difficult,” she told Grace. “I don’t want Warner to be hurt, but I want him to know that I’m his sister.”

She paused to take another sip of tea, then nibbled a chocolate, smiling faintly as she recalled Lydia saying everything looked better after a piece of candy. There had to be a way to resolve this without hurting anyone else.

Aimee swallowed, giving Grace a long look before she spoke. “Maybe the best thing is to tell everyone I’m your daughter but let Warner be the only one who knows that we share a father. What do you think?”

Grace nodded her approval. “I think my daughter is wise and caring as well as beautiful. Do you want to talk to Warner today?”

There was no reason to delay. “I’ll send him a message, asking him to come here when he closes the shop.”