A Tender Hope

by Amanda Cabot

  “Did Maillochauds look like this?” To Thea’s eyes, Cimarron Creek was Texan, not French, but she had no way of knowing what the town where Aimee had been raised looked like.

  Aimee gave her head a vigorous shake. “Oh no—not at all. The buildings in France were older and . . .” She paused, obviously searching for a word, settling on “grayer.” “It’s simply that I feel as if this town is welcoming me.”

  Thea hoped that would be the case. Aimee had been through a lot in the past months—first learning that she had been adopted, then traveling halfway around the world and practically starving when the cost of transportation proved more than she’d expected. All she’d wanted was to learn the truth about her birth, but she’d uncovered more questions than answers. Cimarron Creek was her last chance.

  “Do you mind waiting in the buggy?” Thea asked as she hitched Maggie to the post in front of what was clearly the sheriff’s office. There hadn’t been time to send a letter to Travis Whitfield, the man who’d been instrumental in hiring her, to say she was bringing a companion. Though Thea doubted he’d object, she didn’t want Aimee to be embarrassed if he did, particularly when she seemed so taken with the town.

  While Thea had to admit that Cimarron Creek had its share of charm, she refused to make a hasty judgment. She’d done that last year, let her heart overrule her head, and the results had been disastrous. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  “Of course I’ll stay here.” Aimee settled back in the seat, apparently content to watch passersby.

  To Thea’s surprise, the sheriff’s office was locked. So much for the warm welcome she’d hoped for. She started to turn back toward the buggy when a man emerged from the building next door, his expression radiating curiosity.

  “Are you Mrs. Michener?”

  Thea nodded.

  “I’m Matthew Henderson, mayor and postmaster for this fine town.” The man straightened his shoulders as he continued. “Travis and his deputy are out chasing some cattle rustlers right now. Travis said to tell you Warner would give you the key to your house. That’s Warner Gray. Mighty fine man if I say so myself. His ma was a Whitfield, you know.”

  Thea wasn’t certain why that mattered, but she nodded as politely as she could. Both she and Aimee were tired of traveling and had been looking forward to a quiet afternoon in their new home, but it seemed that the self-appointed welcoming committee was not finished.

  “It’s a shame what happened to his family, but I guess what my ma used to say about every cloud having a silver lining is true. If it weren’t for the Grays’ problems, you wouldn’t have a house to live in.”

  Trying not to sigh at the realization that the man seemed to have a penchant for gossip, Thea raised an eyebrow. “Where might I find Mr. Gray?”

  The mayor gestured to the right. “He’s at the apothecary. It’s the second building past Mesquite.”

  Rather than drive half a block, Thea walked the short distance. Five minutes later, having made the acquaintance of the town’s apothecary who was, thankfully, less inclined to chatter than the mayor, although he’d given her an appraising look, she climbed back into the buggy, the key in her hand, directions in her head.

  “We’re almost there,” she told Aimee. “Pecan’s the second street. Mr. Gray said our house is on the corner of it and Cedar.”

  “I wonder what it looks like. I just know it’ll be perfect.” Once again, Aimee was filled with enthusiasm.

  As they rounded the corner, Thea’s eyes widened in surprise. It seemed Aimee’s predictions were accurate. Thea hadn’t expected a three-story house with a turret and a wide front porch, but that’s what she saw on the corner. Instead of the simple cottage she had thought she was being offered as part of her pay, this house had more than enough room for her and Aimee. Why, she could invite Sarah and Clay and her nieces and nephews and still have plenty of space left over.

  And then there was the house catty-cornered from it. That could only be described as a mansion. While the buildings they’d passed on Main Street had been attractive, nothing had prepared Thea for this grandeur.

  Though the houses astonished her, what caught and held her gaze was the man standing on the porch of her new home. She might have believed him to be part of a welcoming committee had it not been for the baby in his arms. As a midwife, Thea was accustomed to women visiting her with their children in tow. Occasionally a worried father-to-be would accompany his wife, but she’d never had an unaccompanied man seek her services.

  A frisson of unease made its way down her spine. Who was this man, and why was he here? There was only one way to know.

  “Looks like we’ve got a visitor,” she said to Aimee as she climbed out of the buggy. Though Aimee looked as startled by the man’s presence as Thea was, she followed Thea toward the house.

  “Mrs. Michener?” The man’s voice was deep and firm. While he did not raise it above normal speaking volume, there was no question that this was a man who was accustomed to giving orders. His posture spoke of both competence and confidence.

  “Yes, I’m Thea Michener.”

  This close, Thea could see that the man was an inch or two taller than her husband had been, which made him at least six feet tall. Unlike Daniel, who’d had brown hair and eyes, the stranger had auburn hair paired with the most vivid green eyes she had ever seen. Right now, those eyes reflected both surprise and what appeared to be disappointment. How odd. Never before had a man or, for that matter, a woman had that reaction to her.

  “I’m Jackson Guthrie,” he said. “A Texas Ranger.” He pulled a tin star and a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handed them to Thea.

  As she examined the page that established Jackson Guthrie’s credentials as a Ranger, Thea felt the blood drain from her face. One of her questions had been answered. She knew who the stranger was. But that only raised a dozen more, including why he appeared to be watching her so carefully. She’d met dozens of men in her life, but none had ever subjected her to such scrutiny.

  Did he know something about Daniel’s death? Thea hadn’t thought the Rangers involved themselves in a simple robbery and murder, but perhaps she’d been mistaken. And then there was the baby. Though she kept her eyes averted, she could not forget that the Ranger held a child.

  Ranger Guthrie turned his gaze from Thea back to the infant in his arms. Though the child had not begun to squall, from the way it fidgeted, Thea suspected it would be only minutes before it let out a cry.

  “There’s no easy way to say this, ma’am, but this baby needs you. I found him abandoned next to a cactus about an hour out of town. There was no sign of his mother.”

  Thea heard Aimee gasp when the Ranger extended his arms, as if he expected Thea to take the baby from him. He had no way of knowing that what he’d asked her to do was akin to telling her to cut out her heart while it was still beating. It was one thing to deliver other women’s babies—she’d managed to do that twice in the three months since her son’s death—but caring for a child as if he were her own was far different.

  “I’m a midwife, Ranger Guthrie, not a nursemaid,” Thea said in a voice that was surprisingly even. Somehow, she had managed not to betray the way her heart had clenched at the very idea of holding this infant. “I deliver babies; I ensure that they are healthy; but I am not a nanny.”

  Though she should have known better, Thea darted a glance at the child in the Ranger’s arms. Blue, not brown, eyes stared at her from a face that was sunburned, not waxen white. The baby’s cheeks were full, his lips plump. He bore no resemblance to Aaron, and yet he was a baby—a baby boy probably the age Aaron would have been if he’d lived.

  There was no way she could hold him, much less care for him, without being reminded of all she’d lost. She could not—she simply could not—let herself be so vulnerable.

  “It looks like you need to make an exception this time, unless you’re willing to let this boy die,” the Ranger said, his voice as matter-of-fact as if he were asking
Thea’s opinion of a new kind of string bean.

  At her side, Aimee gasped again. “You can’t do that, Thea.”

  Aimee had heard the story of Thea’s stillborn son and knew that she had not recovered from the loss, that she doubted she ever would. Coming so soon after Daniel’s death, the day Thea had held her baby for the first and last time had been the most painful of her life. The last of her dreams had died the morning when the midwife who’d trained Thea had placed the lifeless body in her arms.

  “There must be someone else.” There had to be another answer. While Thea had been in Cimarron Creek only a few minutes, she knew from her correspondence with Travis Whitfield that it was a friendly town. Surely one of the residents would be willing to care for an abandoned baby.

  The Ranger shook his head. “This little one’s going to need special care for a while. My guess is even the most well-meaning ladies won’t have time to give him that.”

  “And you think I will?”

  The reply came quickly. “Yes, ma’am, I do. At least for the next couple days.”

  He was probably correct in believing that Thea would have free time for a while. When he’d outlined the job’s responsibilities, Travis had said that the first baby she’d deliver, the one he and his wife were expecting, wasn’t due until late September.

  Aimee touched Thea’s hand and waited until Thea met her gaze before she said, “We can do it for a few days. If you show me what to do, I can care for him.” She lowered her voice so that only Thea would hear her say, “I hate the idea that he was abandoned.”

  Thea nodded, realizing that the baby’s situation reminded Aimee of what had happened to her. Though there were differences—Aimee’s mother hadn’t left her next to a cactus, and she had known her daughter would be adopted the next day—she had fled Ladreville in the middle of the night, leaving no trace. When Aimee had learned what had happened, she’d felt as if she’d been abandoned.

  Thea nodded again. No matter how painful it might be for Thea to hold a baby that wasn’t Aaron, she would do nothing to cause Aimee distress.

  “All right, Ranger Guthrie.” She tried not to make her acceptance sound too grudging. “We’ll take him for now, but I expect you and Sheriff Whitfield to do everything you can to find his mother.”

  “You can be sure of that, ma’am.” The Ranger’s green eyes darkened with an emotion Thea could not identify. Regret? Determination? Something else? The only thing she knew was that Jackson Guthrie appeared to be as affected by the child as she was.

  As he placed the baby in her arms, Thea stared down at the tiny infant and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. It felt so right—and so wrong—to cradle a child again.

  “The baby’s still asleep.”

  Thea nodded as she gazed at the infant curled up in a dresser drawer that Aimee had lined with soft flannel. “The salve Warner recommended seems to be helping his face.”

  It might have been the coward’s way out, but Thea had left Aimee with the baby while she took Maggie and the buggy to the livery. Once they were safely boarded, she had returned to the apothecary for burn ointment and had stopped at the mercantile for bottles, diapers, and a few ready-made garments.

  While she’d been at the pharmacy, Warner—he’d insisted she call him that rather than Mr. Gray—had explained that the house the town had given to Thea as part of her salary had once belonged to his brother. Though he did not mention the problems to which the postmaster had alluded, a shadow had crossed Warner’s face when he’d spoken of his brother. A second later, he’d nodded briskly, as if shedding his unhappy thoughts, and told Thea that his sister-in-law had left some of her daughter’s baby clothes and toys when she’d left Cimarron Creek and that Thea was welcome to anything she found in the attic.

  Tomorrow would be soon enough to explore the attic. Before Thea had left to do her shopping, she and Aimee had taken a quick tour through the first and second floors of the house and, at Thea’s suggestion, had chosen bedrooms on the opposite sides of the building.

  “I’ll keep the baby in my room,” Thea had told Aimee. “He’s likely to cry at night, and there’s no need for both of us to be awake.”

  Aimee, obviously in awe of the grandeur of the house with five bedrooms, not to mention a parlor, formal dining room, and kitchen, had agreed. “Once you show me what to do, we can take turns,” she had volunteered.

  It was a kind offer, but by then Ranger Guthrie would have found the baby’s family. That was the thought that had sustained Thea while she unpacked her trunk, leaving Aimee to watch the sleeping infant. Now she was back in the parlor where her new friend hovered over their young charge.

  Aimee’s smile was sweet as she touched the baby’s forehead. “The salve may have helped him sleep, but a full stomach didn’t hurt, either. I know I sleep better when I’m fed.” Thea’s first lesson for Aimee had been how to determine when milk was the proper temperature and how to coax a child to drink from a bottle.

  “Is that a hint that we should start supper?”

  “Maybe,” Aimee agreed, “but there’s something else we should probably do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Give the boy a name.”

  Thea chuckled at the evidence that she and Aimee had been thinking along the same lines. “How did you know that I was going to tell you that? Even though it’ll only be for a few days, we can’t keep calling him ‘the baby’ or ‘the boy.’ What do you think of Stuart?” Though Thea couldn’t explain why the name had popped into her head, once it had, it refused to be dislodged.

  Aimee tipped her head to the side for an instant before grinning. “I like it.”

  “Then he’ll be Stuart until the Ranger finds his family.” Thea refused to consider the possibility that Stuart’s family was either dead or had no intention of coming for him. Caring for him was a temporary measure. Strictly temporary. “Now, what shall we eat?”

  They were washing dishes after a simple meal when Thea heard someone knocking on the front door. Seconds later she ushered a tall man with a star on his chest and a lovely blonde who was greatly with child into the house. Though they both smiled, the woman’s eyes widened at the sight of Thea’s clothing. In all likelihood, she’d been expecting widow’s weeds.

  “You must be Sheriff and Mrs. Whitfield,” Thea said as she gestured toward the most comfortable seats in the parlor. One of the attractions of this house had been the fact that it came completely furnished, and while the elaborately carved horsehair settee and three side chairs would not have been her choice, they saved her from having to buy furniture.

  “Please call us Lydia and Travis,” the woman said as she settled into one of the chairs. “One thing you’ll discover is that we’re not too formal here.”

  Another thing Thea discovered was that Lydia spoke with a northern accent. Though she was curious about the reception Lydia had received when she arrived and hoped that her obvious acceptance by at least one influential person in town meant that Aimee would also be welcomed, this was not the time to ask Lydia about that.

  “And I’m Thea.” She decided to address the question of her clothing directly. “You both know I’m a widow, so you’re probably wondering why I’m not in black.”

  Lydia inclined her head. “I didn’t realize the people in Ladreville were as progressive as Aunt Bertha.” When Travis laid a hand on hers, Lydia explained that Aunt Bertha had been Travis’s great-aunt and the original owner of the mansion across the street where Lydia and Travis now lived. “She was insistent that no one wear black in her honor. She claimed we should celebrate her life rather than mourning its end.”

  Thea couldn’t claim that that was her reason for eschewing black clothing, so she merely nodded.

  Travis filled the momentary lull in conversation by saying, “I apologize for not being in town when you arrived this afternoon.”

  Grateful that no one asked about Daniel, Thea gave the sheriff a questioning look. “I hope you caught the rus
tlers.”

  “We did.” He started to say something else, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a baby’s cry. “I heard you had a surprise waiting for you.”

  “You mean Stuart?” News traveled quickly in small towns, and the fact that Travis was the town’s sheriff meant that he was probably one of the first to learn when anything unusual happened in Cimarron Creek. In all likelihood, Ranger Guthrie had reported what had happened, which meant that Travis already knew about Aimee too. He didn’t appear upset or disapproving, but Thea needed to be certain.

  “Is that his name?” Lydia tipped her head to one side as if trying to decide whether she liked it.

  “Temporarily.” It was time to talk about Aimee. “I hope no one objects—” At the sound of footsteps, Thea turned toward the doorway. She had waited too long. Now Aimee would witness Travis’s reaction. Thea could only hope it would be favorable.

  “I hope no one objects,” she repeated as Aimee entered the room, “but I brought a friend with me. This is Aimee Jarre.”

  A gasp echoed through the room, and the blood drained from Lydia’s face so quickly that Thea feared the expectant mother might faint. Her eyes wide with shock, Lydia stared at Aimee. “You’re Aimee Jarre?”

  3

  Tell me about her.”

  Jackson glanced at the man who’d barged into Warner Gray’s residence as if he lived there. An inch or so shorter than Warner, the man bore no apparent resemblance to Jackson’s host. His hair was blond rather than Warner’s light brown, his eyes a lighter blue than Warner’s, his build more muscular. As he spoke, the aroma of mint filled the room, making Jackson suspect the man had been chewing mint leaves. Perhaps he suffered from dyspepsia the way Grandpa Guthrie had. One thing was for certain—he’d disturbed the peaceful evening Warner had promised when he’d offered his home to Jackson.