by Amanda Cabot
Catherine jumped to her feet. “Stop it, Aunt Mary. You don’t want to do that.”
Aunt Mary shook her head. “I do.” A single shot punctuated her words.
Catherine stared in horror as her uncle slumped forward, his head landing on the small table between the settee and the chairs.
“Oh, dear God, what have I done?” The older woman slid onto the settee and cradled her husband’s head to her bosom. She stared at the lifeless eyes, then began to cry. “He’s gone. I loved him, but I killed him.” A low keening turned into a wail. “How can I live without him?” She shook her head wildly, her cries intensifying.
As Catherine moved toward her aunt, praying for a way to comfort her, Aunt Mary pressed the gun to her head.
“No!”
It was too late.
“Mrs. Sims is beautiful.”
Austin had been expecting comments ever since they’d left the church. He’d seen Hannah’s expression when she’d spotted Grace without her veil and had known that the magnitude of the change was more than she had expected. Though Hannah knew about the work he’d done in Philadelphia, this was the first time she had seen the results. Somehow she’d managed to contain her excitement until dinner was over and Seth had gone outside to sketch one of the barn cats.
“You made her beautiful, Papa.”
“Yes, I did, but remember that you mustn’t tell anyone. Papa is a rancher now, not a doctor. No one must know I used to make people look better.” No one except Catherine, Grace, and Seth. Even Travis didn’t know that Austin had been a plastic surgeon.
“Not even Mrs. Moore? I like her.”
“I know that, Hannah, but it’s important—it’s very important—that you don’t tell anyone.”
Though Hannah looked disappointed, her eyes were luminous as she remembered the woman she’d seen in church. “Mrs. Sims is almost as beautiful as Miss Whitfield.”
“I agree.” No one could be as beautiful as Catherine, but if there were a beauty contest in Cimarron Creek, Grace Sims would win second place.
“Can we visit them today?” Hannah tugged on Austin’s shirt. “I miss seeing them.”
So did Austin. Admittedly, what he missed most was seeing Catherine. Now that school was out, he had fewer opportunities to spend time with her. They usually talked for a few minutes after church, but today she and Grace had been engrossed in what appeared to be a serious discussion with her aunt and uncle. He hadn’t wanted to interrupt, and so he hadn’t heard her lilting voice or seen her sweet smile directed at him.
“I miss them too,” he told his daughter. “Why don’t I ask Mrs. Moore to pack us a picnic supper? You and Seth and I can go into town and invite Miss Whitfield and Mrs. Sims to join us.”
“Yay!” Unable to contain her enthusiasm, Hannah jumped up and down. “I love you, Papa.”
“And I love you.” Though Austin hated to dampen his daughter’s high spirits, he needed to add a note of caution. “Don’t forget that you can’t tell anyone that I operated on Mrs. Sims’s face.”
“Not even Mrs. Moore?” His daughter was nothing if not persistent.
“Not even Mrs. Moore.”
Austin grinned as he crested the hill leading into Cimarron Creek. Like the two children seated in the back of the wagon, he was excited, but his excitement was due to more than the novelty of a picnic. Its cause was twofold: the opportunity to spend time with Catherine and the satisfaction that he’d been able to restore Grace’s beauty. Seeing her in church this morning reminded him of how much he missed helping his patients and how, if his prayers were answered, he would be able to spend the rest of his life as a doctor.
As he’d ridden the range, as he’d branded cattle, even as he’d done things as mundane as shaving, he’d thought and prayed about his future. There had been no great revelations, but he’d realized that he didn’t have to practice medicine in Philadelphia. He didn’t even have to be a plastic surgeon. What mattered was healing others. Humans, not simply cattle. He wanted to be a doctor again, a doctor with Catherine as his wife.
The problem was, it was too soon for both. Until Travis’s reports confirmed that Enright no longer had a reason to search for him, Austin could not take the risk of letting the town know that he was a physician. And, no matter how much he loved Catherine and wanted to marry her, he would respect her wishes and wouldn’t begin to court her until her year of mourning ended. That wasn’t until September, more than two months from now. He might not be courting her, but nothing would stop him from spending time with her. And if they shared another kiss or two, well . . .
Austin’s grin widened at the prospect. He’d invite both Catherine and Grace to come to the ranch for supper at least once a week. While being a rancher might not have been his dream, he was proud of what he’d accomplished here. And if it was God’s will that he continue to be a rancher, he needed to know whether Catherine would be happy as a rancher’s wife.
Slowing the wagon as they entered the town, Austin looked around. It appeared to be a normal Sunday afternoon in Cimarron Creek. Though a few people strolled Main Street, it was mostly deserted. Folks usually spent Sunday afternoons at home or visiting friends, grateful for the day of rest.
As they reached Mesquite Street, Austin prepared to turn right toward Catherine’s home, but Hannah’s cry stopped him.
“Look, Papa,” she said, pointing in the opposite direction. “There’s Miss Whitfield and Mrs. Sims. They’re with the sheriff and Mrs. Whitfield.”
Though he was too far away to hear what was being said, the rigidity of Catherine’s posture and Grace’s bowed head told Austin something was wrong. And, judging from the fact that they were all standing in front of Mary and Charles Gray’s home, that something had to do with Catherine’s aunt and uncle.
Austin directed the wagon toward them, addressing Hannah and Seth when he stopped a few yards short of the Grays’ home. “You two need to stay in the wagon while I find out what’s going on.” If the situation was as serious as he feared, he did not want the children exposed to it. He would shelter them by censoring what he told them.
“Catherine,” Austin said as he climbed down and approached her. No matter what had happened, his heart still leapt at the sight of the woman he loved.
She broke away from the others and rushed to his side, the lines of strain that etched her face confirming the gravity of the situation. “What are you doing in town?”
“I came to invite you and Grace for a picnic supper. Hannah and Seth wanted to see you again, and so did I, but I’m guessing this isn’t a good time.”
Catherine closed her eyes for a second, as if trying to blot out painful memories. “No, it’s not.” She gestured toward her relatives’ house. “There’s been a tragedy. Mary killed her husband and then herself.” Her voice caught as she added, “Grace and I were there.”
“Oh, Catherine.” Austin had dealt with the aftermath of violent death, but he’d never actually witnessed it. He knew that people sometimes did and said unexpected things while they were recovering from shock. That could be the reason Catherine hadn’t referred to Mary Gray as Aunt Mary, but Austin doubted it. He suspected the reason was connected to the discussion she and Grace had been having with her aunt and uncle after church and that that discussion had somehow led to the killings.
It could be coincidence that the deaths occurred the same day that Grace had revealed her face, but Austin did not believe it. Though he wanted to know what had triggered something as seemingly senseless as a murder-suicide, that was of less importance than supporting the woman standing so close to him.
“How can I help?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do right now.” She turned toward the wagon. “I’d better talk to Hannah and Seth.”
That was the Catherine he knew and loved, thinking of others before herself. He extended his arm and escorted her to her wagon.
“Thank you both for inviting me and Mrs. Sims
for a picnic,” she said when they were standing by it. “I wish we could accept, but I need to help Mr. Gray. His parents died this afternoon, and he’s all alone.”
As if he’d heard her words, Warner Gray emerged from the home he’d shared with his parents. Though his head was held high and his shoulders were straight, even from this distance Austin could see the pallor of his face.
“Did my pa kill them?”
Austin’s heart clenched at the worry he heard in Seth’s voice, but it was Catherine who responded. “Of course not,” she said in her best schoolmarm tone. “Why would you think that?”
“’Cuz he didn’t like Mr. Gray. He said he cheated at poker and that’s why my pa didn’t have any money.”
Knowing Boone, Austin suspected that if there was any cheating, it was on Boone’s part. Still, he had no trouble picturing the scene when Boone discovered he’d lost yet another game.
“I haven’t seen your father in town all day.” Catherine reached into the wagon and laid a reassuring hand on Seth’s arm.
“That’s good,” he said.
“It’s sad that people died.” Hannah spoke for the first time, her little face solemn. “Mamas and papas shouldn’t die.” She scooted to the edge of the wagon and threw her arms around Catherine. “I miss you, Miss Whitfield.”
“I miss you too, Hannah. Maybe we can have our picnic next week.”
Her face scrunched into a frown. “The food will spoil.”
If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Austin might have laughed at Hannah’s pragmatism. “Mrs. Moore will make more. You and Seth and I will have our picnic today.” He turned to Catherine. “I’ll come back this evening, if that’s all right with you.”
“Yes.” Relief washed over her face. “Thank you.”
24
It felt like the longest afternoon of her life. Once Catherine had realized there was nothing she could do for her aunt and uncle, she and Grace had hurried to Travis and Lydia’s home. As sheriff, Travis needed to know what had happened. Even more importantly, Warner needed to be told what his mother had done.
Poor Warner! Tears filled Catherine’s eyes as she thought about her cousin. It had been less than a year since his brother’s death, and now this . . . He’d lost his entire family. Like her, he was now an orphan.
“Why?” Warner demanded when she told him, Travis, and Lydia what had happened. “Why would Ma do that?”
Catherine looked at Grace. Though Grace had said she wanted to spare Warner, Catherine had warned her that he wouldn’t be put off with platitudes. He wanted the truth. And so when Grace nodded, Catherine told the trio what Charles had done more than twenty years ago, omitting only the fact that Grace had borne a child. Both Lydia and Travis already knew that, but Catherine and Grace had agreed that Warner didn’t need to know that he might have a half-sister somewhere.
Though Travis and Lydia had been shocked by the identity of Grace’s rapist, it was Warner’s expression that haunted Catherine. She’d seen sorrow, shame, and disillusionment on his face. Unlike Catherine, he no longer had untarnished memories of his parents. He’d weathered the scandal that had followed his brother’s death, but this would be more difficult.
“No one else needs to know,” Lydia said. “Isn’t that right, Travis?”
Before he could respond, Warner shook his head. “They’ll speculate.”
He was right. “Of course they will,” Catherine agreed, “but if we ignore the gossip, it’ll die down. It’s hard to keep a fire burning without fuel.”
Travis was silent for a moment, obviously trying to balance his duty as sheriff with his desire to protect the man who was as close as a brother. “I agree with Catherine that we should do nothing to fan the flames. I suggest our story be that they argued and that the argument got out of control. That’s true, and it’s no one’s business why they argued.”
Warner had appeared relieved, although nothing could erase the grief that colored his expression. Realizing there was nothing more they could do here and sensing that Grace was on the verge of collapse, Catherine had urged her to return home. They’d no sooner closed the door behind them than Grace burst into tears.
“None of this would have happened if I hadn’t come back,” she sobbed. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but look what happened. Because I returned to Cimarron Creek, two people are dead.”
Catherine wrapped her arm around Grace’s shoulders and led her to a chair in the parlor. Catherine’s legs were wobbly from shock, and she suspected Grace’s were no stronger. “You didn’t kill Mary and Charles,” she said, wondering if she should insist Grace drink a glass of water. Austin had claimed that was important for people dealing with shock. “You can’t blame yourself, Grace. You were the victim.”
“But poor Warner. What will he do now? Even with the story Travis suggested, he’ll be subject to gossip.” Grace shuddered and gripped the chair arms, as if seeking strength from the inanimate object. “I know how this town is. That’s the reason my parents insisted I leave. They didn’t want everyone talking about me. That may have been twenty years ago, but I know nothing has changed. You saw how Mary reacted when she learned the reason I left Cimarron Creek. Until she realized Charles was involved, she was ready to visit everyone she knew to spread the news. Warner will be subjected to the gossip for a long, long time.”
Catherine did not doubt that Grace was right. She’d seen how stories circulated, and even though no one knew the details, that wouldn’t stop them from speculating. Warner would indeed suffer, unless . . .
She took a deep breath, hoping Grace would not be offended by what she was about to suggest. “If you want to help Warner, you could give Cimarron Creek something else to talk about.”
Grace brushed the tears from her cheeks. “You mean admitting that I’m Joan?”
“Yes.” There was nothing like solving a mystery, particularly one that was more than two decades old. “You don’t have to tell them about the baby. You could simply say that you ran away from the cousins in Ladreville and started a new life in San Antonio.”
The pain that had clouded Grace’s green eyes began to lift. “That would be almost as sensational as the Grays’ deaths.”
“And it would deflect attention from Warner, especially if you spent some time in Lydia’s shop each afternoon. She’ll never admit it, but I think she could use more time sitting.” Catherine remembered the tall stool Lydia had brought to Cimarron Sweets last week, claiming it gave her a place to rest when the store was empty.
“You could help by serving customers, leaving her to work behind the counter.” Once word spread, the store would be busier than ever. “The women will claim they’re there to buy candy, but the real reason is they’ll want to learn what they can about you.”
Grace was silent for a moment, perhaps considering the magnitude of what Catherine had suggested. Instead of being a veiled woman who spent the minimum amount of time in public, she would be opening herself up for inspection. The women who visited Cimarron Sweets would stare at her face, but—more importantly—they would attempt to discover what she had done during all the years she’d been away.
She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before she said, “All right. I’ll do it for a few days, but then it will be time for me to leave Cimarron Creek.”
Her words hit Catherine with the force of a blow. Surely Grace wouldn’t leave! “You can’t leave.”
Grace shook her head. “I can, and I must. I’ve loved being here with you, but now it’s time for me to find my daughter. She may not want me in her life after what I did, but I need to see her once more. I need to know that I made the right decision when I gave her up for adoption.”
But what if she hadn’t? What if the parents were neglectful or even abusive? How would Grace handle that? Oh, how Catherine wished she had heard back from Aunt Bertha’s cousins in Ladreville. They were the only possible link to Grace’s daughter.
“Where will you go?”
&n
bsp; “I keep dreaming about Paris. Maybe God is sending me a message. Maybe he wants me to go there.”
“Do you really believe your daughter is in Paris?” That seemed highly unlikely to Catherine.
“I don’t know,” Grace admitted. “All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about France. I picture myself walking along the Seine and going into Notre Dame.”
That had been Catherine’s dream for years, but for her it would have been a holiday, not a quest for a loved one.
“Please don’t make any hasty decisions.” Neither of them was thinking clearly, and the fact that Grace blamed herself intensified the effect of the tragedy.
Grace nodded. “I’ll stay until after the Fourth of July. Then we’ll see. In the meantime, I want to get out of these clothes. I don’t think I can bear looking at them a minute longer.”
They’d eaten a light supper, neither of them tasting much. When Grace went to her room, Catherine moved to the porch, waiting for Austin. She wasn’t sure what they’d say, what they’d do. All she knew was that she could barely wait to be with him again. Today more than ever before, he represented stability. And in a world that had tipped on its axis, that was more valuable than gold.
When she saw his wagon, Catherine rose and met him halfway down the front walk.
“Would you like to go for a drive?” he asked.
She had suspected he would offer that. Though the thought of even a brief escape from the town was appealing, Catherine felt a need to remain closer to Grace. “I’d rather walk,” she said, gesturing toward the west end of Mesquite. “There’s a path that leads to the creek. When I was a child, I used to go there to think.”
Austin gave her a smile that made her heart beat faster. “It sounds like a good place to talk as well as think.”
As he had once before, he took her hand in his. It felt good—so very good—to feel the warmth of his palm on hers. Though the town gossips might have been scandalized by the fact that she had not worn gloves this evening, Catherine was glad she’d forgone them and that Austin had tossed his driving gloves back into the wagon when she’d said she didn’t want to go for a ride. The touch of skin on skin reassured her as nothing had done since the moment she’d exposed Charles Gray’s scar. For a moment, the ugliness of the day faded, replaced by the pleasure of being with Austin, the man who figured in so many dreams, the man she loved.