A Stolen Heart

by Amanda Cabot

  Though Lydia tried to brace herself, she was not prepared for her first sight of Mrs. Edgar Ellis. The woman who emerged from the back bore little resemblance to what Lydia had been expecting. She’d expected a woman at least as old as herself, maybe even closer to Edgar’s nine and twenty years. Instead, his wife was very young, probably only eighteen or nineteen. She was also very tall, only an inch or so less than Edgar’s height. Though no one would call her beautiful with her carroty red hair and a face covered with freckles, her light green dress highlighted eyes of the same shade.

  Lydia tried to keep her eyes from drifting lower, registering what she’d seen the second Opal Ellis had entered the room, but she failed. The pretty green dress highlighted more than Opal’s eyes. It also accentuated her swollen abdomen. Opal wasn’t simply Edgar’s wife; she was also the mother of his child.

  This had to be a nightmare. Any moment now Lydia would waken and find herself back in Syracuse. But as desperately as she wished it were otherwise, she knew this was no dream.

  You’re the only woman I’ll ever love. Edgar’s promises echoed through her mind, and for a second Lydia thought she might be ill. The man she’d believed loved her had been as false as her father, promising everlasting love, then marrying another when his fancy strayed.

  “You okay, miss?” Edgar’s wife asked, her eyebrows knitting with concern. “You look like you seen a ghost.”

  The ghost of her dreams. They’d been killed as surely as if someone had thrust a sword through them.

  “I had hoped to see Edgar, but the sheriff told me he’s gone.” Though Lydia could see the questions in Opal’s eyes, telling her she had expected to marry Edgar would only cause pain. It was best to say as little as possible.

  “I don’t know what happened. Some folks say he run away, but he din’t. He was happy about the baby.” Opal laid her hands on her stomach, as if to protect the life within, and as she did, Lydia saw she was wearing the ring Edgar had bought for her.

  “Edgar would never abandon us,” the young woman declared.

  But he’d done exactly that to Lydia.

  3

  The woman had secrets. Travis’s instincts told him there was more to Lydia Crawford’s relationship with Edgar Ellis than she was admitting. If they were cousins, she would have mentioned that to Opal, but instead she’d just stood there, as stiff as a fence post, while Opal told her what little she knew about her husband’s disappearance.

  Travis had the impression Miss Crawford was afraid to move lest she shatter like one of Aunt Bertha’s china figurines. It was only when it was obvious that Opal had nothing more to say that he’d taken Miss Crawford’s arm to lead her outside and across the street.

  Though she had been visibly shaken by the sight of Opal, Miss Crawford’s distress had begun before that. She’d said nothing, but Travis knew he hadn’t been mistaken in thinking she’d been uncomfortable entering the saloon. The truth was, he shouldn’t have taken her there, at least not to the front door. Even Aunt Bertha, who felt free to go anywhere within the borders of Cimarron Creek, avoided Faith’s establishment. Travis should have used the rear entrance, where their arrival would not have been so public. It was too late to change that. Now he’d have to try to undo the problems he’d unwittingly caused.

  When they reached the other side of the street, Miss Crawford took a deep breath, then let it out in ragged little pants that told him as surely as a blue norther chilled his skin that she was still upset. More than upset. She looked physically ill. This was worse than when he’d told her Edgar had disappeared. He wasn’t sure what to do other than keep an arm around her while he figured out what to do next.

  Doc Harrington might be able to help her, but Travis had heard enough from Cousin Catherine to fear that the doctor could just as easily harm Miss Crawford. Like it or not, she was Travis’s problem. He may have only been the messenger, but he was the reason the smile had left her face. Now it was up to him to make her time in Cimarron Creek as pleasant as possible and to unravel her secrets. The first was his duty as a gentleman, the second his responsibility as sheriff.

  Travis glanced down the street as he tried to form a plan. There was no sign of the schoolboys, nothing that needed his attention other than Miss Crawford. He didn’t want to let her go anywhere until he discovered the reason for the inconsistencies in her story. She claimed to be from Syracuse, but Travis was certain Edgar had said he was from Dayton. One of them was lying.

  And then there was the timing. It could have been coincidence that Miss Crawford arrived here so soon after Edgar’s disappearance, but Travis wasn’t one to believe in coincidences. No, sirree. If he were a betting man, he would have bet there was a connection between her arrival and Edgar’s sudden departure. The way he figured it, Edgar hightailed it out of Cimarron Creek at about the same time Miss Crawford left Syracuse. Assuming, of course, that Edgar had left voluntarily. That had yet to be determined. In the meantime, Travis had a decidedly uneasy woman on his hands.

  “We need to find you a place to stay tonight,” he said as kindly as he could. “It’s my responsibility to keep everyone in Cimarron Creek safe, and that includes visitors.” The way she nodded told Travis his words were barely registering. The visit to the Silver Spur had shaken her more than he’d realized.

  “The northbound stagecoach is due in at noon tomorrow.” By then he should have some answers. He’d telegraph the authorities in Syracuse to see how much of her story was true. And while he was doing that, he’d check on Edgar too. There’d been no reason for Sheriff Allen to contact anyone in Dayton when Edgar arrived, but matters had changed. Sheriff Allen was gone and Edgar was gone, leaving Travis determined to learn what he could about the young woman who’d come in search of a missing man.

  She looked up at him, her beautiful blue eyes filled with determination. “I’m not leaving tomorrow.” A light breeze teased the curl that had come loose from her chignon, bouncing it against her cheek. Seemingly oblivious to the way it softened her face, she flattened her lips as she said, “I won’t leave until I know what happened to Edgar.”

  Travis was surprised, and yet at the same time, he wasn’t. For as much as Miss Crawford seemed fragile, he sensed a strong will underneath that apparently soft exterior.

  “It could be weeks, even months, before we find Edgar.” When she didn’t so much as flinch at the thought of spending that amount of time in Cimarron Creek, Travis continued. “I don’t mean to pry, but do you have the funds to stay that long?” The town had no hotel, and though he might be able to find someone who’d allow her to board with them, it was unlikely anyone in town would take a stranger—especially a Northerner—without expecting to be paid.

  Miss Crawford inclined her head slightly. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I’m not destitute, if that’s what you were thinking.”

  It wasn’t what Travis had been thinking. Her clothing was well made and, though slightly dusty from travel, appeared to be new. Still, if she’d expected Edgar to provide a home, and Travis suspected that was the case, she might have brought little more than her personal belongings. Those trunks were probably filled with nothing more than clothes and the frippery women seemed to prize.

  “I can work,” she continued. “I used to teach school.”

  Travis bit back a smile at both her slightly imperious attitude and what it revealed. He now recognized the starch he’d seen in her. Every teacher he’d known had been determined. Unfortunately, although he’d begun to like Miss Crawford, he was going to have to disappoint her again.

  “We already have a teacher.”

  Another woman might have wept or at least clenched her fists in frustration. Miss Crawford was not one of those women. “I’ll find something else to do.”

  She was determined; she was probably a hard worker, but that didn’t mean she would succeed. Though Travis hated to dash her expectations, he wouldn’t hold out false hopes. As far as he knew, none of the storekeepers needed an assistant, and if th
ey did, they would be reluctant to hire a beautiful single woman who was likely to get married the next month. It would be difficult for Travis to convince anyone to hire her, even if she were a native-born Texan. As for a Yankee . . .

  “There’s not a lot of opportunity,” he told Miss Crawford. “Most of our girls marry as soon as they’re out of school.”

  The blood drained from her face, then rushed back, and he saw unmistakable pain in her eyes. “Marriage is the last thing I want,” she declared.

  It was odd that she protested so vehemently. Most women wanted to marry. In fact, Travis couldn’t think of a single one who didn’t. He’d bet anything that Miss Crawford was lying.

  As the wheels began to spin, Travis realized there was a perfectly logical reason for her arrival in Cimarron Creek: she had come to marry Edgar. If she was one of those mail-order brides he and Warner had discussed, the fact that she was from Syracuse and Edgar from Dayton made sense. What didn’t make sense was that Edgar would marry Opal if he had a lady like Miss Lydia Crawford coming to be his bride. Opal was a nice enough girl, but she couldn’t hold a candle to Miss Crawford. Even if they hadn’t exchanged likenesses, Miss Crawford’s letters would have shown Edgar that she was educated and genteel.

  Travis wouldn’t think about marriage and how the woman standing so close to him was exactly the kind of bride Warner claimed he wanted. Warner might be as close as a brother, but somehow the thought of him marrying Miss Crawford seemed wrong. Besides, she said she wasn’t looking for marriage.

  “Be that as it may, we need to find you a place. I doubt you’d want to stay at the saloon, even if Faith had room for you.” Miss Crawford was obviously uncomfortable around Opal.

  “No, I wouldn’t. What about a boardinghouse?”

  “We don’t have one.” There’d never been a need, because unlike some towns, Cimarron Creek had few temporary residents.

  “Who needs a boardinghouse when we’ve got those three big houses?” Pa had demanded one night. Though Pa had always been disdainful of the houses the first generation had built, claiming they were pretentious, Travis suspected it was a case of sour grapes, that Pa wished he’d been the son to inherit his parents’ mansion instead of it being passed to his older brother, while he’d been left living outside the town limits on the family’s ranch.

  “Look at Bertha rattling around all by herself. It’s a sin, I tell you,” Pa had said that same night.

  Travis didn’t believe it was a sin any more than he believed it was coincidence that particular memory had resurfaced at the precise moment he was trying to find lodging for Miss Crawford. Pastor Dunn had preached a whole sermon about how what many believed to be coincidence was actually God’s hand at work. This was the perfect example of that.

  “I have an idea,” Travis said slowly as he tried to consider the thought from every angle. This might be just what both Miss Crawford and Aunt Bertha needed. His aunt didn’t need money, so that wouldn’t be an issue, but she did need something to occupy her time. And if Miss Crawford lived with her, Travis wouldn’t worry about his aunt so much. He could stop by every day and check on both of them. He almost grinned at the prospect of seeing Miss Crawford every day. No doubt about it, having her live with Aunt Bertha was a good idea, maybe even a great one.

  “My aunt—great-aunt, actually—has a large house,” he explained. “I think she might agree to let you stay with her. She’s been living alone since my uncle died last year, and though she won’t admit it, she’s lonely.”

  Miss Crawford’s shoulders sank in relief, but she said, “I don’t want to impose on anyone.”

  “You won’t.” Travis could promise that. “If Aunt Bertha doesn’t want you to stay, she’ll tell you.”

  “Of course you can stay.” Mrs. Henderson, the woman Travis had claimed treasured her role as the matriarch of Cimarron Creek, nodded vigorously. With her silver hair and green eyes, her patrician nose and a jaw line that was still firm, she was clearly a force with which to be reckoned.

  As for the house, Travis had not exaggerated when he’d described it as large. It wasn’t simply large; it was magnificent. Lydia’s breath had caught at the sight of what could only be described as a mansion. Two stories high with six columns on the front and four more on each of the sides, it dominated the corner of Cedar and Pecan.

  When Lydia had gasped, unable to hide her surprise, Travis had laughed. “If you look down Cedar, there are two more equally big houses. When the two Henderson brothers and their brother-in-law founded Cimarron Creek, they each built a house large enough for a dozen children. As it turned out, there were only nine children among the three of them, but the houses remain as monuments to their dreams of a dynasty.”

  Lydia’s awe increased when Mrs. Henderson opened the front door, revealing an expansive foyer and a curving staircase.

  “I’m glad Travis brought you here,” Mrs. Henderson said when he’d explained Lydia’s situation. The three of them were seated in the parlor. In keeping with the size of the house itself, this room was larger than the main gathering room at Lydia’s former academy, and that had been designed for two dozen pupils, three teachers, and the headmistress.

  “Everyone in this town has told me on at least one occasion that this house is too big for one person,” Mrs. Henderson continued. Somehow she managed to speak without pausing to breathe. “Why, Xavier Cready even went so far as to say I ought to marry him just so I didn’t have to live alone. Imagine that. Me married to Xavier Cready.”

  Though Lydia had no idea who Xavier Cready was or why anyone would consider the thought of his marrying the sheriff’s great-aunt to be ludicrous, one thing she did know was that she had never met a woman like Bertha Henderson. Lydia might not have seen a tornado, but she’d read about them and how they flattened everything in their path. This woman was like a whirlwind. Woe to anyone who stood in her way.

  “You’ll be part of the family,” Mrs. Henderson had announced a minute earlier. “That means there’s no need for formality. You may address me as Aunt Bertha, and my nephew is Travis. I trust you won’t object if we call you Lydia.”

  Though Lydia had been raised in an establishment that valued etiquette and would never have dreamt of addressing a woman of Mrs. Henderson’s stature as “aunt,” she merely nodded her agreement. She liked being called Lydia, and it was certainly easier to think of the tall dark-haired man who’d been so kind to her as Travis rather than the sheriff.

  “I don’t know Xavier Cready, but I believe a woman should not marry unless she’s in love and is sure the man loves her,” Lydia said as calmly as she could with Travis Whitfield standing only a few feet away, his gray eyes seeming to catalog each move she made. Though he’d said nothing after performing the introductions and explaining Lydia’s dilemma to his aunt, he showed no signs of leaving. Lydia should have had no reason to feel uncomfortable, and yet she couldn’t dismiss the feeling that Travis had looked inside her head and knew she’d come to Cimarron Creek expecting to marry Edgar.

  “Exactly.” Aunt Bertha inclined her head in a gesture that would have made Queen Victoria proud. “I knew the minute I set eyes on you that we’d get along. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”

  “Are you certain you want me to stay?” Though Lydia had felt an instinctive liking for Travis’s aunt, she did not want to take advantage of the woman’s loneliness. “I’m sure you can tell that I’m from the North.”

  “What of it?” the older woman demanded. “So am I.”

  “Most of the people on the stagecoach weren’t exactly welcoming. They seemed to think I was a carpetbagger.”

  Aunt Bertha lifted one elegantly clad shoulder. “The carpetbaggers left an unpleasant legacy. No doubt about that, but don’t you worry. The Henderson name wields a lot of power here. It was my husband, his brother, and their sister’s husband who founded this town more than forty years ago. We’re all from Illinois.” But that had been before the war. Much had changed since then.
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  Aunt Bertha changed the subject without taking a breath. “You can blame the men for the name. I tried to tell them that the Cimarron River didn’t flow through Texas, but they wouldn’t listen. The minute they set eyes on the creek, they decided to rename it Cimarron and call the town after it. The only thing I can say about that is that Cimarron Creek sounds a whole lot better than Muddy Creek.”

  She smiled at Lydia. “But you’re not worried about names, are you? You needn’t worry about the townsfolk. Once you’re living with me, no one will dare say a word against you.” For the first time, Aunt Bertha paused for half a second before she amended her statement. “Except for Abe.”

  “And who might he be?” Having been forewarned, Lydia would do her best to steer clear of him just as she’d steer clear of the saloon. Not only were saloons places no decent woman frequented, but Lydia had no wish to see Opal Ellis again. That would only remind her of what should have been hers.

  “Abe is Travis’s father. He’s a stubborn coot who’s as ornery as the hills are old.” Aunt Bertha gave her nephew a look that challenged him to disagree. “Don’t bother trying to deny it. You know there’s no excuse for his rudeness.”

  Lydia wasn’t certain which surprised her more: Aunt Bertha’s outspokenness or the fact that Travis merely nodded. Apparently Lydia wasn’t the only one who bent to Bertha Henderson’s will.

  The older woman narrowed her eyes as she fixed her gaze on Travis. “I imagine you’ve got some sheriff’s work to do. You don’t need to worry about Lydia anymore. Just make sure someone brings her trunks over here.”

  As Travis headed for the front door, Aunt Bertha rose from her chair and gestured toward Lydia. “Come along, my dear. Let’s find you a room. You’ve got ten to choose from. Once you’re settled, we’ll have a cup of tea and get to know each other.”