A Tender Hope

by Amanda Cabot

  “And how was that?”

  “The same way a man who’s dying of thirst looks at a pitcher of cool water.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Jackson couldn’t believe how this conversation had deteriorated. He’d believed Warner was his friend, but friends didn’t make each other this uncomfortable. Did they?

  “It’s not ridiculous. I know what I saw.”

  Jackson raised the coffee mug to his face to avoid saying something he would regret. It was true that he’d watched Thea that evening, but the reason wasn’t what Warner thought. He kept remembering Leander’s declaration that Thea was the key to finding the Gang. While he no longer believed she was involved with them, he was convinced she knew something, even though she might be unaware of it. That was the only thing that made sense, the only way the clues fit together.

  The worries that had begun when he’d seen Stuart’s mother’s resemblance to Thea had only increased when she’d mentioned that the missing watch held her portrait. Jackson wouldn’t believe that was coincidence, and if it wasn’t, it could mean that Thea was in danger. That was the reason he’d watched her. The only reason.

  He drained the mug, then refilled it. He could tell himself that his sole concern was keeping Thea safe, but that didn’t explain why he hadn’t shown her the sketch and told her what he knew about her husband. There was no explanation—at least no good explanation—for that.

  Surely it wasn’t because he was attracted to her and didn’t want to distress her. Surely it wasn’t because, despite what he’d told Warner, he’d begun to entertain thoughts of courting a woman like Thea. He was a Ranger, not a lovesick boy. He was simply biding his time. That was all.

  “You must be Miss Jarre.” The woman smiled at Aimee as she entered the apothecary. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Aimee tried to return the smile. In the short time she’d been working here, she’d learned there was a rhythm to the day’s business. Customers came in waves, followed by quiet interludes. Normally, she spent the lulls talking to Warner and planning ways to modernize the pharmacy, but today Warner was not here, and the time had dragged. Though it was good to have a customer, Aimee was apprehensive about this particular one, especially since she claimed to have heard about her. What had Nate said?

  “How can I help you, Mrs. Henderson?”

  The woman’s eyebrows rose. “How did you know who I am?”

  “You look a lot like your brother.” Not only did Rachel Henderson have the same straw-blonde hair and light blue eyes as Nate, her face had the same shape. The physical similarities ended there. While Nate was muscular, his sister was not. And while he was of average height for a man, Mrs. Henderson was a taller-than-average woman, standing five or six inches higher than Aimee.

  Aimee’s customer’s laugh brought back memories of the day she’d met Nate and how he and Thea had laughed as they’d walked through town. Rachel’s was higher-pitched, of course, but there was the same little hitch that Aimee had noticed when Nate laughed.

  Stop it! Stop thinking about Nate! She’d been telling herself that regularly and had increased the frequency of the admonitions after Thea had asked her whether she’d been upset about something at Lydia and Travis’s party. Aimee had denied that anything was wrong, but she suspected that Thea had not believed her.

  “If you ever have a problem, I’m a good listener,” Thea had assured her. “I may not have an answer, but sometimes talking helps.”

  Aimee had nodded, though she had no intention of telling anyone how foolish she felt whenever she was around Nate. And now she had to wait on his sister.

  Rachel Henderson laid her reticule on the counter and leaned forward, as if she was about to impart a secret. “You mean Nate looks a lot like me. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m his older sister.” She laughed again. “I won’t tell you how much older unless you agree to call me Rachel, and maybe not even then. But I do hope you’ll let me call you Aimee. After everything Patience has said about you, I know we’ll be friends.”

  Patience. Naturally, it was Patience who’d spoken about her. Once again Aimee had been foolish, thinking that Nate might have at least mentioned her to his sister.

  “Of course you may call me Aimee.” It took an effort to keep the smile fixed on her face when inside she kept wondering why Nate had obviously said nothing about her. There was only one reason she could imagine: he had never really noticed her. That hurt.

  “What can I do for you, Rachel?” Aimee adopted her most professional tone.

  “I hope Warner still has some calamine lotion. The third of my children has chicken pox, and they’re itching like the dickens.” Rachel pretended to scratch her arm. “What a time to run out of lotion. I hated to miss church and Lydia’s party, but I didn’t want to leave the boys alone. Rebecca’s a bit better—she won’t scratch too much, because I told her that might leave scars. Still, I need to get back.”

  It wasn’t difficult to believe Rachel and Patience were cousins, the way they both chattered, but Nate didn’t seem to fit into the family, at least not when he was around Aimee. He was as silent as the proverbial stone then.

  “Will one bottle be enough?” she asked as she turned toward the cabinet.

  “I hope so, but you’d better give me two. Luke—he’s my husband—doesn’t believe he had chicken pox when he was a boy.” Rachel shuddered. “I don’t want to think about what kind of patient he’d be.”

  Aimee retrieved the bottles from the glass-fronted cabinet and placed them on the counter. “Do you need anything else?”

  “I don’t think so. Would you ask Warner to put this on my bill?” Rachel looked around the shop, obviously searching for something. “Where is Warner, anyway? I’ve never known him to leave his store.”

  “He’s making a delivery to a ranch north of town.”

  Rachel’s eyes widened. “Warner makes deliveries? When did this start?”

  “I didn’t know it was something new. He’s been doing it all this week.”

  As she placed the bottles of lotion into the cloth bag she’d brought, Rachel’s expression turned pensive. “He used to use one of the boys for deliveries. To be honest, I was surprised when I heard he’d hired you. Warner’s always been a bit of a loner, especially where women are concerned. The matchmakers have tried their best, but no one’s succeeded.”

  Rachel looked up, smiling, and declared, “This is good news. It means Warner’s changing. First, he hires you, then he trusts you enough to leave the pharmacy in your hands.” Her smile broadened. “You could be just what he needs,” Rachel said as she began humming Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.”

  “You’re wrong, Rachel.” The very idea was preposterous. Aimee wouldn’t deny that she enjoyed working with Warner, but there was nothing romantic about her feelings for him. In the few days she’d known him, he’d become a friend, perhaps even a good friend, but he didn’t make her skin tingle or her pulse race. There was only one man who made her feel like that. Unfortunately, that man had no such feelings for her.

  “Warner’s my boss.”

  “So?” Rachel’s expression was that of a woman trying to explain a simple concept to a stubborn child. “That doesn’t mean he couldn’t become something more. The man needs someone to love. He deserves happiness after what happened to his family.”

  Unwilling to indulge in gossip, Aimee refused to ask what Rachel meant, but even without prompting, Rachel continued. “First his brother died, then his parents. He has no one left. That’s one of the reasons the matchmakers are so eager to see him married. If there was ever a man who needed a wife, it’s Warner Gray.”

  Poor Warner! Aimee’s heart ached at the thought of all that he had endured. She remembered how bereft she’d felt after her parents’ deaths. It had been a difficult time, but Warner had lost more than parents. He’d also lost a brother.

  Aimee’s thoughts whirled over the revelation. Perhaps the fact that they were both alone was why she felt a special co
nnection to Warner. There was a difference between them, though. She had hope, the sweetest of hopes, to help her through the dark moments. When Grace returned from France, she would have a family. Warner was not so blessed. Still . . .

  “Being alone is not a good reason to marry,” she told Rachel.

  Nate’s sister did not agree. “Warner needs a wife. He needed one even before he lost his family. Now he needs one even more.”

  “Maybe so”—though Aimee wasn’t convinced, she saw no point in arguing with Rachel—“but I’m not the one for him.” Marriage should be based on more than a mutual need. There should be respect, attraction, and love. While she respected Warner, there were no sparks between them. As for love, there were days when she wondered whether she truly knew what it was.

  Warner’s story lingered in Aimee’s mind for the rest of the morning while she served other customers. She wasn’t a matchmaker—heavenly stars, no!—but if she could find a friend for Warner, perhaps he’d smile more often, perhaps he’d discover the sweetness of hope. Everyone could use another friend, but who was the right one for Warner?

  Aimee was rearranging the display in one of the cabinets when a face popped into her mind. She grinned, thinking about all that she’d observed. They could be friends, but maybe, just maybe, they could become something more.

  There was definitely attraction, at least on the woman’s side, because she’d spent most of her time at Lydia’s party darting glances at Warner. And, if Aimee wasn’t mistaken, he’d displayed more than casual interest in her. If it was true that opposites attracted, they were the perfect couple—quiet, reserved Warner and effervescent, gregarious Patience. Perfect! Now all Aimee had to do was find ways to get them together.

  She chuckled. Maybe she was a matchmaker after all.

  “Twins? Are you sure?”

  Thea coiled her stethoscope and replaced it in her bag while her patient swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rose. “No, I’m not certain, but it’s a possibility. Even though I could only hear one heartbeat, you’re larger than normal for this stage.”

  Lydia laid a protective hand on her abdomen as she stood, then wrinkled her nose. “I feel as big as a horse.”

  “I can assure you you’re not quite that big.”

  “At least a good-sized pony, then.” She tipped her head to one side, as if considering the possibility that she was carrying two children. “If you’re right about twins, it would explain why there’s so much kicking—four legs, just like a pony.”

  Thea couldn’t help laughing at the image. “One thing I’ve learned from my patients is that a sense of humor never hurts, especially during the birthing pains. You’ll do all right, Lydia, and before you know it, you’ll have the baby—or babies—in your arms.”

  The mother-to-be simply smiled and led the way downstairs to the kitchen, where she’d arranged an assortment of candies on a silver platter. As she poured two cups of coffee and placed one in front of Thea, she said, “I’m so glad you’ll be here to make sure everything goes right with the baby. I thank God every day that you and Aimee came to Cimarron Creek.”

  Though Thea couldn’t promise that there would be no problems with Lydia’s delivery, she would do her best to ensure the safety of both the mother and her offspring.

  Thea smiled, grateful that Lydia had mentioned Aimee. As she spooned sugar into her coffee, she asked the question she knew was foremost on her friend’s mind. “Have you heard anything from Aimee’s mother?”

  “Not yet. Catherine mailed a letter before they boarded the ship, telling me their plans, but that’s the last I’ve heard.” Lydia took a sip of coffee before she continued. “If there were no delays in the crossing, they should have reached Paris either yesterday or today. My letter about Aimee will probably take another week to get there, but it should arrive before they leave. They were planning to spend a couple weeks in Paris before going to Maillochauds.”

  Lydia took another sip. “As anxious as Grace is to meet her daughter, she told me she wasn’t going to deprive Catherine of that time. You haven’t met Catherine, but walking along the Seine has been her dream for years. When Grace started talking about going there, Catherine joked that she’d borrowed her dream.”

  Though Thea didn’t know what Aimee dreamt, she did know about her concerns. “Aimee doesn’t talk about it much, but I know she’s anxious about the reunion.”

  Lydia nodded as if she understood. “She won’t be once she meets Grace. Her mother is a remarkable woman. She’s strong and brave, and she loves her daughter.”

  “Aimee’s stronger than she realizes. She’s stubborn too.” Thea hadn’t realized that when she’d first met Aimee, but the stubborn streak—perhaps it was simply determination—had become evident since they’d arrived here. “I told her she didn’t need to pay me anything, but she insisted on getting a job.”

  “From everything I’ve heard, that’s working out well. Warner told Travis he doesn’t know how he got along without her.” Lydia picked up a chocolate cream and raised it to her lips. “We’re all hoping the three of you will stay in Cimarron Creek permanently.”

  “Three?” They’d been discussing Thea and Aimee. That was only two.

  “You and Aimee and Jackson. Travis says you’re just what the town needs. The matchmakers are even saying you and Jackson belong together.”

  As the traitorous blush rose to her cheeks, Thea lowered her head, hoping Lydia hadn’t noticed it. If she had, perhaps she would think it was caused by the praise Travis had given her. No one needed to know that she’d become flustered by the mention of Jackson’s name or the fact that the busybodies of Cimarron Creek were linking her name with his. That was silly, downright silly, and it needed to stop now.

  13

  Jackson couldn’t explain why he was so restless. He’d had a good morning with Stuart. Not wanting to remain indoors, he’d taken the boy for a walk along the creek, strapping him into the quilted carrier Widow Jenkins had given him this week.

  When she’d presented it to him, she had claimed that holding a child close to a man’s heart was better than letting him ride in the baby carriage. Jackson wasn’t convinced. Stuart appeared to like the buggy and frequently fell asleep while riding in it. But since the carrier had the advantage of letting Jackson travel over rougher terrain without jostling the baby and would be convenient when he took Stuart for rides on Blaze, he’d accepted the gift gratefully.

  Though there wasn’t a lot of water in the creek at this time of the year, the burbling had seemed to soothe the boy. It should have soothed Jackson as well, but it didn’t. Talking to Thea when he’d brought Stuart back at noon was another thing that should have soothed him, but it didn’t, either. So here he was, wandering aimlessly along the streets of Cimarron Creek and feeling decidedly out of sorts.

  The most logical reason for his uneasiness was that he’d made no progress in either catching the Gang or learning the identity of the woman who looked so much like Thea. None of Travis’s inquiries had turned up any leads about Stuart’s mother, and though he’d been reluctant to abandon the search, Travis had told Jackson there was nothing more he could do.

  That bothered Jackson, but not as much as the fact that all he had were questions. Why hadn’t the Gang struck again since that night in February when Micah had been shot? Why had Daniel Michener been killed? And why couldn’t Jackson find the answers? The questions reverberated through his brain.

  He and Leander had speculated that the lack of robberies since February was connected to Michener’s death. Since then, there’d been several Army payrolls transported through areas where an ambush would have been easy, but though Jackson had been there waiting to apprehend them, the Gang had not attempted a robbery. Why not? It seemed difficult to believe they’d simply grown tired of the chase.

  Leander had agreed with Jackson’s hypothesis that if Michener was the brains behind the operation, the remaining three might not be able to plan and execute another heist. But i
f he was the brains, why had he been killed?

  Though he had no proof, Jackson’s instincts told him that Michener’s death had not been a random robbery, particularly after Thea told him that the wagonload of supplies had not been touched. A thief might not have wanted to carry away bolts of fabric or a place setting of china, but the cargo could have included pieces of jewelry or even a watch like the one Michener had been carrying.

  The fact that the thief had not searched the wagon made Jackson believe that Daniel Michener had been the target, and that led him back to the Gang. If, as he suspected, another member of the Gang had pulled the trigger that night, why? Was it related to the missing gold or simply an argument gone wrong? Had Michener been killed in a fit of anger, or was it a deliberate act of someone who wanted to take over as leader?

  It was time to talk to Thea. She might not know anything about her husband’s criminal activities—and Jackson believed that was true—but she could tell him whether Michener had been crafty enough to plan a series of daring robberies.

  Jackson glanced down the street, grinning when he saw her walking toward Main Street with Stuart in her arms. This could be the opportunity he sought.

  “Is the carriage broken?” Jackson had never seen Thea take Stuart outside without it.

  She shook her head. “No. We’re only going as far as the livery. A woman on one of the ranches sent a message that she needs to see me. It sounded too urgent to wait until tomorrow, so I’m taking Stuart with me. Aimee’s working today, and I didn’t want to bother Widow Jenkins.”

  The opportunity had just gotten better. Though he could have offered to care for the boy this afternoon, Jackson wasn’t about to give up the chance to talk to Thea without interruptions. There was only one possible glitch. If the matchmakers heard he and Thea had left town together, they’d see it as proof that he was courting Thea.

  He wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t. This was business, a chance to learn more about her husband. And, if there was some pleasure involved once they’d finished discussing Daniel Michener, well . . . a man couldn’t work all the time.