by Amanda Cabot
“I was talking about the flowers,” she said, trying not to let her bemusement show.
Travis’s smile widened. “I wasn’t.”
16
Travis was beginning to believe Pa was right. Not that he was smitten. He wasn’t, despite the fact that he couldn’t forget the warmth that had flooded through his veins when he’d witnessed Lydia’s obvious pleasure over the bouquet he’d given her. When he’d remembered how happy his mother had been the first time he’d picked some bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush for her, Travis had hoped that a few flowers would bring a smile to Lydia’s face.
They’d done that and more. She was always beautiful, but as she’d arranged the bouquet in the vase, her face had been luminous, her smile so radiant that it had taken every ounce of willpower Travis possessed not to draw her into his arms and kiss her. He’d wanted to. Oh, how he’d wanted to. But he hadn’t. Friends did not kiss.
Frowning, Travis increased his pace. It was early morning, the time of day when he walked the streets of Cimarron Creek, talking to residents while he kept an eye out for anything unusual. Almost everyone knew that he also patrolled at night, trying to discover who was responsible for the problems that continued to plague the town. But last night, just like every other night, he’d found nothing amiss.
Perhaps Pa was right when he claimed that Travis was the wrong man to be sheriff. He felt as if he’d accomplished nothing. Though he told himself that Edgar might have left of his own accord and was hiding, Travis didn’t believe that. As painful as it was to contemplate, Travis believed foul play was the reason for Edgar’s disappearance and that someone in Cimarron Creek was responsible for that foul play.
If he were a good sheriff, Travis should have been able to find at least a trace of Edgar. But even if he couldn’t do that, he should have been able to figure out who was responsible for the thefts. So far he’d accomplished nothing other than realizing that the locks the shopkeepers used were easy to open.
When he’d discovered that, he’d insisted everyone replace theirs with sturdier ones. Cousin Jacob at the mercantile had been more than willing to order new locks for everyone, and Porter—whose skills extended beyond horses and carriages—had volunteered to help install them. But, though the stores now had better protection, Travis still had no idea who had broken into them and taken items with so little monetary value.
A good sheriff would have done better. The thought echoed through Travis’s brain with each step he took. Though he forced a smile when Faith greeted him as he passed the saloon, Travis’s mood was far from jovial. Even Faith’s assertion that he was a good man to have found Opal a job outside the Silver Spur did nothing to boost his spirits. That had happened weeks ago. The only thing he’d accomplished since then was making Lydia smile. While that had been satisfying, it wasn’t enough.
Knowing he would accomplish little if he remained in town, Travis crossed the street toward the livery. Perhaps a gallop on Hamlet would help clear his mind.
“Is Hamlet ready?” he asked as he entered the stable and looked for his cousin. Porter would probably be surprised to see him now, since it was usually late morning before Travis saddled up and rode outside the town itself.
“Hey, Travis! Good to see you.” Porter grinned as his obviously well-fed cat rubbed his legs. “I was hoping you’d come in this morning. There’s something I need to tell you.”
As the grin faded and Porter’s expression turned solemn, Travis knew whatever his cousin wanted to discuss, it was bad news. He looked around the livery, wondering if Porter had been the victim of robbery or vandalism.
“What is it?” Travis could see nothing out of the ordinary.
Porter picked up Homer and began to stroke his head. “You know I wouldn’t say anything if it wasn’t important, but you’re like a brother to me, and brothers look out for each other. That’s why I thought you needed to know that folks are starting to talk.”
It was what Travis had feared. Someone had noticed him carrying flowers to Aunt Bertha’s and had turned a simple act of friendship into something more serious. The next thing he knew, the women would be baking a wedding cake. He could only imagine how Lydia would react if the gossip made its way to her store.
“Just what are they saying?” It was good that Porter had warned him rather than letting him or Lydia be blindsided.
“That you shouldn’t be sheriff.”
Not Lydia. That was good, and yet though Travis steeled himself not to react, the accusation hurt. It was one thing to hear it from Pa, but knowing that the people he was trying to protect felt the same way was an unexpected blow.
“Are there any specific reasons people are saying that?” Travis wouldn’t ask who’d voiced the concerns, but he needed to know why.
Porter nodded and began ticking off items on his fingers. “You haven’t found Edgar Ellis, you don’t know who set the fire here, and you haven’t arrested anyone for stealing from the merchants.”
It was Travis’s turn to nod. “I’m doing the best I can.”
“What if it isn’t enough?”
“I always knew that boy had a good head on his shoulders, and this proves it.” Aunt Bertha waved her hand in the direction of the front door. Though there was no one there, she smiled as if greeting a favorite visitor. “Some folks in town wondered if he’d ever get married. I can’t say that I blame him for being gun-shy. You weren’t here to see it, but his parents didn’t set much of an example of a good marriage.”
The smile turned to a frown, but she continued the one-sided conversation so quickly that Lydia had no chance to say anything. It wasn’t the first time Aunt Bertha had indulged in what Lydia considered one of her speeches, and she’d learned nothing was gained by interrupting. The barrage of words would end whenever Aunt Bertha was finished and not a second earlier. Though she suspected Aunt Bertha was speaking of Travis, she wouldn’t ask. She’d simply sit here in the parlor and listen.
“I’m not surprised his sister ran off with the first man who offered her a chance to get out of Cimarron Creek,” Aunt Bertha announced. “I’d have done the same thing. Of course, that left him alone with his father. He has to be a saint to put up with him.” She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “But I’m digressing. That seems to be one of the hazards of old age. I forget what I’m trying to say and go on a tangent. Stop me if I do it again.”
Lydia nodded, though she knew the futility of trying to redirect Aunt Bertha’s conversation.
“You wouldn’t believe all the speculation I’ve heard about that dear boy. Honestly, Lydia, as much as I love this town, there are times when I could pull my hair out over all the gossip. When I heard what they were saying, I told those busybodies he was simply waiting for the right gal to catch his eye. Turns out I was right.” She gave Lydia a quick smile. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that Travis is courting you.”
“Courting?” The word came out as little more than a squeak.
“What else would you call it? He didn’t bring those flowers for me.” Aunt Bertha nodded, her expression as satisfied as a cat with a saucer of cream. “It wouldn’t make any sense for him to give you candy, but mark my words: he’ll bring you more flowers.”
“These are beautiful, Travis,” Lydia said as he handed her a bouquet of wildflowers the next evening. He’d walked home from the store with her as usual, then had returned two hours later with the flowers. “I don’t know what to say other than thank you.”
She buried her nose in the blossoms, as much to hide her confusion as to sniff the delicate fragrance. When she looked up, she found Travis studying her. Had he realized how deeply the gift would affect her? There was a hint of amusement in those gray eyes, but she also saw something that, if she hadn’t known better, she would have termed insecurity. That made no sense, for Travis was the most secure man she knew, a man who was comfortable in his own skin, one who willingly took on additional responsibility to help the rest of Cimarron Creek.
“No one’s ever been so kind to me,” she told Travis. It was true that Edgar always remembered her birthday, but he’d never brought her what Aunt Bertha would call courting gifts. “I feel like I’m being spoiled.”
“Not spoiled. Treated well.” The corners of Travis’s lips lifted ever so slightly. “You deserve it, Lydia. I want you to realize that not all men are like Edgar. Some of us can be trusted to keep our promises.”
She nodded, acknowledging the sincerity she heard in his words. Travis wasn’t like Edgar. She knew that. If he made a promise, he would keep it. “You haven’t promised me anything.”
He seemed surprised by her words. “Oh, but I have. The day you arrived, I promised to make you feel welcome.”
Lydia tried to recall everything Travis had said that day. “I don’t remember that.”
He shrugged. “Just because I didn’t say the words aloud doesn’t make them any less binding. When I saw you get off that stagecoach, I told myself it was my responsibility to welcome you. Besides, you looked like you needed a friend.”
A friend. Despite what Aunt Bertha thought, that’s what this was all about. Responsibility and friendship, not courtship. Lydia looked at the lovely flowers that she was gripping too tightly. When he’d brought her the first bouquet, she had thought it was a gesture of friendship, but then Travis had looked at her as if she were more than a friend. And he’d called her beautiful.
She’d cherished the memory of that moment, clutching it to her heart more tightly than she had the flower stems. She had dreamt about that moment, and when she’d wakened, it had been with a smile on her face as she thought of Travis and the warmth she had seen in his eyes. She should have known better. After all, Travis had told her he’d picked flowers for his mother when she needed cheering. That was what he’d sought to do—to cheer Lydia. And he’d succeeded.
Travis was her friend. Friendship was good. Of course it was.
Travis was her friend, just her friend, Lydia reminded herself the next day. As they walked to Cimarron Sweets in the early afternoon, they spoke of ordinary things. Travis told her about the dogs that had been chasing Nate’s goats and how the farmer worried that his animals would be so stressed by the encounter that they’d shed too much fur.
“I shouldn’t joke about it,” Travis admitted, “because it’s no laughing matter, but Nate is like an anxious parent. He’ll be a good father someday.”
It was an innocuous comment. In all likelihood, Travis meant nothing by it, but Lydia couldn’t help wondering whether this was his subtle way of saying Nate would be a good suitor. She didn’t doubt that. He would be a good suitor and a good husband—for some other woman. Nate was not the man for Lydia.
When Travis began to speak of Warner and how profitable the pharmacy was, Lydia quickly changed the subject. Though it might be nothing more than coincidence that he had chosen today to talk about the two men who’d asked permission to court her, Lydia did not believe it. This was Travis’s way of saying that he was her friend, nothing more.
“Is something wrong, Lydia?” Opal asked a couple hours later. The young mother-to-be’s forehead was creased with lines of worry.
Lydia shook her head, sorry that she had caused her assistant even momentary concern. Opal had enough worries without Lydia adding to them. Resolutely, Lydia fixed a smile on her face.
The smile was still there when Travis arrived to walk home with her. Though some evenings they took a longer way to Aunt Bertha’s, tonight Lydia was in no mood to dally, and so she headed north on Main Street when they left the shop.
“Did you have many sales today?” Travis asked as they passed the building that served as both the mayor’s office and the town’s post office.
Lydia started to nod but stopped as something caught her eye. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to what appeared to be a flour sack propped against the side wall of Travis’s office. Though the deep shade from the live oak that separated the two lots almost hid it, she had spotted the edge of the bag.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure it wasn’t there this morning.” As part of his early morning patrol, Travis checked all sides of each of the town’s commercial establishments.
Seconds later, they reached the bag. As Lydia had thought, it was an ordinary flour sack, one of dozens the mercantile sold each month, but the lumpy sides told her this bag no longer contained flour.
Travis gave out a low whistle. “Recognize this?” he asked as he pulled out a Blue Willow teapot.
Though she had no doubt it was hers, Lydia inspected it carefully. “It’s definitely mine.” She lifted the lid and showed Travis the interior. “I noticed the tea stain the night before it was stolen and planned to bring some baking soda to scrub it.”
Travis raised an eyebrow but said nothing more than, “Let’s take this inside.” He lifted the sack and led the way into his office. Once inside, he emptied it, placing each item on his desk, then pulling a file from the drawer. “Everything’s here,” he confirmed. “Each and every piece of merchandise that was stolen the night of July 27 is here.”
Lydia looked at the list and the contents of the flour sack, confirming what Travis had said. “Why would anyone steal all those things and then return them? It makes no sense.”
It made no sense, but then again, the initial thefts had made no sense. It was almost as if someone was playing, stealing things simply to prove that he could. But who would do that and why?
Travis had returned all the items to the flour sack and locked it in his office. Tomorrow he would return everything to the owners, but before he did that, he wanted time to think about what had happened. There had to be a clue somewhere.
Though he’d been tempted to bow out of tonight’s dominoes game, he hadn’t. That might actually hinder Travis’s investigation. He’d discovered that concentrating on something else often sparked new ideas. Perhaps that would happen tonight.
“I thought you might enjoy something sweet with your coffee,” Hilda Gray said as she placed a plate of candy on the table next to the coffeepot and four mugs that were as much a part of the games as the tiles. She gave her husband a fond look. “I know Porter will eat more than his share, so if the rest of you fellas want some, you’d better stake a claim right away. This is what’s left over from my quilting bee today.”
Travis gave Porter’s wife a warm smile as he thanked her for the candy. Though he’d been surprised when Porter had announced he was planning to marry Hilda, Travis had to admit they seemed happy together. His surprise at the betrothal was simply because Porter had always had an eye for beautiful women and redheads. Hilda’s hair was mousey brown, and her features were far more ordinary than those of the women he’d admired in the past. But she was a first-rate cook and a good mother, and she’d had a sizable dowry.
Watching the two of them together, Travis was grateful that Porter had looked beneath the surface. His cousin deserved and appeared to have found a good marriage. Though Travis didn’t envy many men, he couldn’t deny the pangs of longing that sometimes shot through him when he saw the way Hilda gazed at Porter. Would any woman ever look at him with such love?
Wrenching his thoughts back to less painful subjects, Travis reached for a piece of candy when Hilda left the small room that Porter had designated as his sanctuary.
“These chocolate creams are one of Lydia’s specialties,” Travis said as he popped one into his mouth.
“You would know. You spend enough time with her.” Though Warner was normally even tempered, tonight his voice held more than a little rancor.
“Yes,” Nate chimed in. “For a man who claimed he wasn’t ready to get himself hitched, you sure do seem to be showing a lot of interest in Miss Crawford.”
What had gotten into those two? They were acting as hostile as Widow Jenkins’s bulldog. “It’s called being friendly.” Not smitten. Definitely not smitten, though Pa had repeated the accusation the day Travis had picked the second bouquet for Lydia.
Warner grab
bed two pieces of candy and laid them in front of his place, then filled his mug with coffee, all the while scowling at Travis. “The way I see it, you’re more than friends with Lydia. Half the town is talking about how you’re courting her, the way you walk her to and from the store every day. What I don’t understand is how you can do it. You knew I was interested in her.”
“So was I,” Nate admitted. Though he eyed the rapidly disappearing sweets, he settled for putting an extra spoonful of sugar in his coffee. “Problem was, she wouldn’t have me. Said she wasn’t ready to think about getting married.”
Travis looked around the table. While both Nate and Warner were obviously annoyed, Porter leaned back in his chair, his grin as wide as the Cheshire cat’s.
“It looks to me like my cousin outfoxed both of you,” he said smoothly. When Nate and Warner bristled, Porter shrugged, then turned his gaze on Travis. “Ever since he pinned that star on his chest, Travis has been acting like he owns the town and everyone in it.”
For some reason, Porter was spoiling for a fight tonight, but Travis had no intention of satisfying him. “That’s ridiculous,” he said, deliberately keeping his voice at a conversational level. “I’m simply doing my job.” Though Travis expected Porter to voice his opinion of how poorly Travis was performing that job, he remained silent, perhaps because he’d already stirred the pot.
Warner reached for the tiles and began to mix them, the force with which he mixed them telling Travis how angry he was. “The last time I checked, your job doesn’t include courting the prettiest girl in town. You ought to give Nate and me a chance.”
Travis wasn’t courting Lydia, and even if he were, they’d had their chance. Hadn’t they both told him Lydia had refused their offers of courtship? And today, when he’d deliberately interjected their names into his conversation with Lydia, she had shown no interest in either man.