A Stolen Heart

by Amanda Cabot

  Though Porter sounded like a spoiled child deprived of a toy, the light in his eyes left no doubt that there was more to Porter’s mood than simple pique. It was up to Lydia to coax the full explanation from him.

  She pulled two mugs from the cupboard and filled them with coffee, setting one in front of Porter, then placing hers on the opposite side of the table. When she’d taken a seat, Lydia picked up her mug as casually as if they were friends sharing an evening of coffee and conversation.

  “If you were sheriff, who would run the livery?” she asked. “Everyone in Cimarron Creek knows you provide the best service in three counties.”

  Though Porter’s eyes lit at the praise, a scowl quickly turned his expression sour again. “Pa doesn’t. All he cares about is Warner and that blasted pharmacy. He says Warner is respected.”

  “So are you.” It was true that Porter Gray was both respected and well liked within the community. That would change when the townspeople learned what horrible things he had done, but for the moment, he was still an honored resident.

  Porter shook his head. “Pa always said Warner was the smart one, but he was wrong. I’m just as smart as Warner. Smarter, even. He could never have done all that I have. Why, he doesn’t even know how to pick a lock, but I broke into every store in town without anyone knowing I’d been there.”

  Porter had solved another part of the puzzle by admitting that he’d entered the stores, but even more importantly, he’d given Lydia a clue to the reason for his crimes. Jealousy was a powerful motive. Though Lydia had puzzled about why he had tried to implicate his brother for the goat poisoning, now she understood the depth of Porter’s resentment and the reason. Aunt Bertha had claimed that Charles Gray favored his older son, and it appeared he did—with deadly results.

  Porter took a slug of coffee, his eyes still filled with that distant and disturbed expression. “When Pa told me the sheriff had more power than Warner, I knew what I had to do. It didn’t matter that he said my place was in the livery. I knew I had to become Cimarron Creek’s next sheriff. Then he’d see that I was the better son.”

  Lydia wasn’t certain where Porter’s twisted logic was headed, but dealing with schoolchildren had taught her to do everything she could to defuse anger.

  “Would you like a praline with your coffee?” Without waiting for a response, she rose and laid several on a plate. Placing it in front of Porter, she continued. “I always thought these looked a bit like sheriffs’ stars.”

  He stared at the candy, the frown that seemed habitual tonight deepening. “You’re wrong.” He took a bite of the confection. “This tastes good, but it doesn’t look like a sheriff’s badge. Here’s what a real star looks like.” To Lydia’s surprise, he pulled a piece of silvery metal from his pocket and extended it to her.

  She examined it closely. “It certainly is shiny, but that one point looks a little bent. What happened?” And where had he gotten it? Though Travis had said he’d asked Porter and Warner to be deputies, both had refused. Besides, this was a sheriff’s not a deputy’s badge.

  “I don’t know how it got bent. It was like that when I got it.”

  “And where did you get it?” Lydia tried to make the question sound casual, but she couldn’t forget that Travis and the judge were listening, possibly taking notes of everything Porter said.

  “I got it from Lionel Allen. He wasn’t using it anymore. I saw to that.” Porter’s laugh sent shivers down Lydia’s spine. No sane man laughed like that.

  Porter’s laugh turned into a snicker. “Everyone thought he was such a great horseman, but when his horse spooked, he couldn’t control it. I hated to hurt the horse, but the town needed a new sheriff.”

  Breaking off a piece of praline, Porter looked up at Lydia, anger once again coloring his eyes. “I never thought they’d be dumb enough to give the job to Travis. It should have been mine, but no, they thought just because he was a lawyer he should be a lawman. I had to show them they were wrong. Cimarron Creek has had a lot more crime since Travis pinned on that star.”

  Schooling her expression to hide her satisfaction that she and Travis had been right in believing the crime spree could be tied to one person, Lydia rose to refill Porter’s mug. “Were you responsible for that—the missing chickens, the broken windows, the poisoned goats, and the robbery of most of the stores?”

  “Of course.” There was pride in Porter’s voice as he pronounced the two words. “I knew that when the townspeople saw Travis couldn’t solve the crimes, they’d realize their mistake and turn to me.”

  “Very clever.” And it was, although in a warped way. “Was that why Edgar had to disappear?” Lydia was careful not to say anything that sounded like an accusation of guilt. She needed Porter to confess what he’d done.

  “No! Edgar had nothing to do with showing everyone Travis’s incompetence. He was getting too close to Opal. Until he came to town, she only had eyes for me.”

  It was another of Porter’s delusions. Lydia was certain Opal would have extended nothing more than common courtesy to him. While the other girls at the Spur might have flirted with him, Opal had told Lydia she kept her distance from the men, particularly married men.

  Porter’s grin sent a shiver of horror down Lydia’s spine. “I could see from the way she looked at me that Opal knew I was a real man. She didn’t have to say anything, because I knew what she wanted from me, so I gave it to her.”

  Struggling to keep her expression neutral, Lydia tried not to shudder at the way Porter attempted to justify his rape of Opal.

  “But then she married Edgar,” he said, his eyes flashing with fury. “I couldn’t let him have my woman.”

  Lydia could only imagine how angry Porter must have been when instead of dying in that rancher’s field, Edgar returned to Cimarron Creek. That anger would only have been fueled by the fact that Edgar and Opal were reunited and that he was now wearing a deputy’s star. It was almost miraculous that he hadn’t attacked Edgar again.

  “Would you like another praline, Porter?” Lydia slid the dish a little closer to him, encouraging him to take a piece of candy, hoping that would keep him talking. “I still don’t understand about Aunt Bertha.”

  “Push him as far as you can,” Travis had counseled her, “but don’t do anything to endanger yourself.” Lydia felt as if she were watching a pot about to boil. Sensing that Porter was close to the breaking point, she rose as casually as she could. If his anger let loose, she wanted to be able to flee.

  “I thought schoolmarms were supposed to be smart,” he said with a sneer. “You sure aren’t. Anyone with half a brain could see that Bertha stood between me and becoming sheriff.”

  This was obviously another case of Porter’s twisted logic, but this time Lydia was unable to untwist the threads. “You’re right, Porter. I’m not as smart as you. I don’t understand that.”

  He pounded one fist on the table. “She was the one who convinced everyone that Travis should be sheriff. If she was gone, they’d realize I’m the better man. Besides,” he said with another of those chuckles that sent shivers down Lydia’s spine, “after Travis watches you hang for her murder, he won’t want to stay in Cimarron Creek. I’ll take care of Edgar, and then I’ll have Opal too.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Porter.” The door behind Porter opened, and Travis stepped out. “Have you heard enough, Herb?”

  “What?” Porter’s reaction was faster than Lydia had thought possible, fueled by anger and his own madness. Before she knew what he intended, he jumped to his feet and wrapped his arm around her throat, pulling her close to him. His other hand reached behind her and grabbed the knife she’d left on the counter, placing the blade against her throat.

  “It’s all your fault, Travis,” he announced as he glared at the man who wore the star. Though the judge had emerged from the pantry behind Travis, Porter did not appear to consider the older man a threat. “If you’d let me be sheriff, none of this would have happened. Pa would have s
een that I was the better son, but no, you had to interfere.”

  Though her heart was beating at twice its normal rate, Lydia tried to keep her expression calm. She didn’t want Travis to know how frightened she was by Porter’s actions. Though the knife wasn’t sharp, if he pressed it hard enough, he could keep her from breathing.

  Travis took a step toward Porter, the tight line of his lips telling her he was battling to control his temper. “You’re right, Porter. Your argument is with me. Lydia’s no part of it. Let her go.”

  “So you can arrest me?” Porter laughed again. “I’m not stupid!”

  “We can work this out.” Travis kept his voice low and even, his technique reminding Lydia of how she’d dealt with angry children.

  Porter shook his head. “The only way we can work this out is if you let me go and forget everything you heard.” He turned toward the judge. “You too.”

  “You know I can’t do that,” Travis said, his voice still conciliatory, although Lydia noticed that he kept his hand close to his weapon. “But if you let Lydia go, I’ll do what I can to get you a lighter sentence.”

  “So I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison instead of hanging? That’s not going to work, Travis. You’ve got to let me go free.” He gave Travis a menacing look. “If you reach for that gun, I’ll slit her throat.”

  As Travis looked at Lydia and nodded ever so slightly, she knew what he wanted her to do. They had one chance to disarm Porter. Taking a deep breath, she said a silent prayer that this would work, then let out a piercing scream. “Don’t do it, Travis. I don’t want to die.”

  Startled by her shriek, Porter loosened his grip. That was all Lydia needed. She broke free and ran to the opposite side of the kitchen at the same time that Travis pointed his weapon at Porter.

  “Put your hands in the air, Porter. It’s over.”

  He shook his head. “You’re wrong again.” And as Lydia watched in horror, Porter plunged the knife into his chest.

  Epilogue

  I thought this day would never come.” Travis kept his arm wrapped around Lydia’s waist as they entered the house that was now their home.

  It had been eight days since Porter had killed himself. Though the knife blade was dull, the tip had been sharp enough to puncture his skin, and he’d wielded it with such force that he’d punctured his heart. By the time Doc Harrington arrived, Porter was already gone.

  The town had been shocked by Porter’s death and the revelation that he had been behind all the problems, but more quickly than Lydia had expected, life had resumed its normal pace, and the horror of Porter Gray’s crimes had been replaced by happier events: the birth of Opal’s son and the plans for Lydia and Travis’s wedding.

  It had been a joy-filled day, with even the weather cooperating to make the ceremony and the reception that had followed one Cimarron Creek would long remember, but now the guests had left, and Lydia was ready to begin her new life, her life as Mrs. Travis Whitfield.

  “I wish Aunt Bertha could have been here,” she said as she and Travis walked down the hallway toward the magnificent curving staircase. “I know there were some who thought it unseemly that we married so soon.”

  Travis’s voice was low and intimate, though his words were matter-of-fact. “You and I know that’s what she would have wanted. That’s what matters.”

  “I think she’d be happy that we’re both living here now.” Though she had spent months in this house, today for the first time Lydia felt as if this were truly her home.

  Travis shook his head. “I don’t think that. I know it. Aunt Bertha would say it was time a new generation enjoyed her home.”

  “And you’re sure your father doesn’t mind sharing his house with Opal and Edgar and little Abe?” When they’d decided to begin their married life here and Travis had turned his home into the deputy sheriff’s residence, Lydia had told Travis she wouldn’t mind if his father joined them, but Abe had refused, claiming that a newlywed couple needed time alone.

  “Pa won’t admit it, but he’s tickled pink that they named the baby after him. When I saw him holding Abe yesterday, he looked as proud as if he were the boy’s grandfather.” As Travis turned Lydia so she was facing him, she saw both love and amusement reflected from his eyes. “Pa also told me he’s expecting us to give him a real grandson within a year.”

  The thought of holding Travis’s and her baby filled Lydia’s heart with joy. “I hope you told him that babies come in two flavors, and he might get a granddaughter.”

  “And risk having him yell at me?” Travis’s feigned horror made Lydia laugh. “Of course I didn’t. There’s time enough for that later.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about Pa any more. In fact, Mrs. Whitfield, I don’t want to talk at all.”

  Though his expression left no doubt of his meaning, Lydia couldn’t resist teasing her husband. “What did you have in mind?”

  “This.” When Travis drew her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers, there was no need for words. God had answered her prayers, leading her to the man she loved, the man who loved her, the man who’d shown her that promises were meant to be kept.

  The women on the stagecoach had been wrong: coming to Cimarron Creek was not a mistake.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for joining me on a trip to Cimarron Creek. I know you have many things competing for your time, and that makes the fact that you invested hours to read my story all the more special to me. You truly are the reason I write.

  Were you curious about the time frame I chose for this series? Many of you asked me what happened to the people you grew to love in the Texas Dreams trilogy and told me you wanted to see Thea from Paper Roses when she was grown up, so I’m using the Cimarron Creek books to answer at least a few of your questions at the same time that I introduce you to a whole new group of people. While you didn’t meet Thea in this book, I promise that you’ll see her in the third one. She’s an adult now, with secrets and dreams of her own, and oh, does she need someone to love.

  Meanwhile, I hope you enjoyed your time with Lydia, Travis, and the other residents and that you’re looking forward to another visit to the Hill Country.

  Did your heart ache—at least a little—for Catherine and all that she endured? Mine did. That’s why I’ve given her her own story and a chance for a happily-ever-after. The last thing Catherine expects is to find herself drawn to the handsome rancher who’s caught the eye of every single woman in Cimarron Creek. As for Austin, the last thing he needs is a feisty schoolmarm in his life. But sometimes love comes when it’s least expected.

  Catherine and Austin’s story will be available in early 2018, but if you’d like a sneak peek at it, turn a couple pages, and you’ll find the first chapter. And, if you haven’t read the Texas Dreams stories, they’re all still available in both print and ebook format. While they can be read in any order, you might enjoy them more if you read them in the order they were written: Paper Roses, Scattered Petals, and then Tomorrow’s Garden.

  You’ll find information about all my books, including discussion group questions and “the story behind the story,” on my website, www.amandacabot.com. I’ve also included my email address, because I’m not exaggerating when I say that I love hearing from readers. Let’s stay in touch.

  Blessings,

  Amanda

  JANUARY 3, 1881

  It was only a dream.

  Catherine Whitfield fumbled with the lamp on her bedside table, taking a deep breath as light filled the room. There was no reason to be so upset.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and took another deep breath. This was far from the first time she’d dreamed that she was in Paris, walking along the left bank of the Seine toward Notre Dame. She’d had that dream many times over the years, but never before had it ended this way. In the past, she had awakened with a smile on her face. Tonight . . .

  Catherine took another breath, trying to calm the t
rembling of her hands as she opened her watch and stared at it. Though she had thought it no later than midnight, it was already 5:00 a.m., only an hour before she would normally rise. While school did not begin until 8:00, pupils started straggling in by 7:30, and she needed to have the building open and warm before the first one arrived.

  It was foolish to go back to bed. With the memory of the dream reverberating through her brain, she’d never fall asleep. She might as well get dressed. Reaching for the skirt and shirtwaist she’d laid out the night before, she paused. Was that the reason her dream had turned into a nightmare? Was she distressed over the thought of putting away her mourning clothes so soon?

  Catherine shook her head as she fastened the last button. Mama wouldn’t have expected her to wear black for a full year. It was only the fact that others in Cimarron Creek might not be so progressive that had kept Catherine in unrelieved black for four months. Her pupils would appreciate the white shirtwaist and the navy skirt.

  No, her clothing choice wasn’t the reason the dream had ended the way it did. More likely it was the result of the stomach ailment that had plagued her all weekend. She had thought she was fully recovered last night, but perhaps some of the illness had lingered.

  Catherine twisted her hair into a low chignon, forcing a smile to her lips. She wouldn’t think about the dream. Instead, she’d make breakfast, then spend the extra time at the schoolhouse, preparing for the week ahead.

  She had just removed the grounds from the coffee when the kitchen door swung open.

  “Are you all right, Catherine?”

  She turned at the familiar voice, and for the first time since she’d wakened, she felt peace settle over her. “I am now that you’re here,” she said as she hugged her early morning visitor.

  Though Lydia Crawford Whitfield had been gone less than two weeks, Catherine had missed her even more than she’d expected. From the day she’d arrived in Cimarron Creek, the pretty blonde who was now the sheriff’s wife had been Catherine’s bulwark, her confidante, the sister she had always wanted, and with her away visiting her husband’s family, Christmas had been dismal for Catherine. The new year was supposed to have been better, but getting sick had not been an auspicious beginning, and now there was the dream.