by Amanda Cabot
And anyone who defied Boone Dalton paid the price. Catherine’s heart ached at the realization that the boy who had so few pleasures was denied this one. Surely there was a way for Seth to use his talent.
4
It had been a good service, Austin reflected as he rose and turned toward the end of the pew. Even though it had made him uncomfortable, the pastor’s sermon about neighborly love had struck a chord within him. The discomfort had come with the realization that he’d been remiss. He hadn’t prayed for Boone, but that would change. Inspired by the sermon, Austin had already offered a prayer for the man and his son, neither of whom had come to church. Those prayers would continue. While Austin might not be able to open Boone’s heart, there was One who could.
“Can we leave now?” Hannah tugged on Austin’s hand, her eyes darting from one side of the church to the other in what Austin recognized as a nervous gesture. She had sat quietly during the service, but now that the congregation had risen and was making its way out of the sanctuary, Hannah was clearly anxious to be away from the crowd. Since they’d arrived in Texas, Austin’s once-gregarious daughter had become as timid as the proverbial mouse.
He shook his head. “We need to wait until it’s our turn to greet Pastor Dunn.” Unlike the large church they’d attended in Philadelphia, this one had no side door. Everyone filed out the front, murmuring a few words to the minister before they departed.
Though Austin looked forward to telling the pastor that his words had touched at least one man’s heart, he was not looking forward to what came after that. If today was anything like last Sunday, he’d feel as if he’d run a gauntlet before he and Hannah reached their wagon. They had no sooner emerged from the church last week than three women had cornered him, introducing him to their daughters, each of whom was of marriageable age, and issuing invitations to dinner. Though Austin had explained that he and Hannah were still getting settled as he refused the invitations as gently as he could, he wasn’t sure how long that excuse would hold.
“We’re almost there,” he told Hannah. Just two more pews. Austin glanced to his left, surprised that one family remained in their pew. Normally those in the back of the church exited first, but this trio had not. A man, a woman, and the inevitable daughter stood at the center aisle side of the pew.
“Good morning, Mr. Goddard.” The woman stepped into the aisle, effectively blocking Austin’s path, then nodded for her husband and daughter to follow her. Of medium height with dark brown hair and eyes, she was a moderately attractive woman, or she would have been if she hadn’t been regarding Austin with what appeared to be triumph. He tried not to sigh at the thought that the gauntlet had moved indoors.
“I didn’t have a chance to meet you and your charming daughter last week,” the woman continued, “but I told Mr. Brooks that we mustn’t let another week go by without making your acquaintance.”
So she’d positioned herself at the rear of the church to ambush him. Austin nodded, accepting the inevitability of listening to whatever she had to say. His experience last week had told him that the encounter would be shortened if he refrained from responding until the woman had completed her speech, for he had no doubt that she intended to sing her daughter’s praises and then invite Austin and Hannah to dine with them.
“I’m Henrietta Brooks, and this is my husband Henry.” The man, who was only an inch or two taller than his wife, gave Austin a look that seemed to convey his sympathy as the woman tittered. “Henry and Henrietta. Folks said we belonged together because of our names. They must have been right, because we’ve been happily married for over twenty years.”
Mrs. Brooks put a hand on her daughter’s arm, drawing her further into the aisle so that she was directly in front of Austin. The girl, whom Austin guessed to be no more than sixteen or seventeen, looked as embarrassed as her father, but the mother had no such shame. “The good Lord blessed us with the best daughter anyone could want. Anna, say hello to Mr. Goddard and Hannah.”
As the girl complied, Mrs. Brooks fixed her gaze on Hannah. “Two beautiful daughters with such similar names. Anna and Hannah sound nice when you say them one after the other, just like Henry and Henrietta, don’t they?”
Rather than respond, Hannah kept her eyes on the floor, but she grabbed Austin’s hand as Mrs. Brooks continued her monologue.
“When I heard your name, I told Mr. Brooks it was a sign and that you and Anna were meant to be together the way he and I were.”
She looked back at Austin. “We can’t ignore signs, can we? That’s why I plucked my largest chicken for today’s dinner. I hope you and Hannah will join us.”
When Hannah tightened her grip on his hand, this time looking up with beseeching eyes, Austin smiled at his daughter, hoping to reassure her. He extended his other hand to Mr. Brooks. “I’m glad to meet you, sir,” he said as he shook the man’s hand, then nodded at Anna and her mother. “I appreciate the invitation, but Mrs. Moore has prepared a meal for us. I wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”
“What about next week?” It appeared that Mrs. Brooks was not easily discouraged.
Austin gave her what he hoped was a regretful smile. “I’m afraid I can’t make any plans right now, but thank you.”
Her lips pursed in obvious displeasure, Mrs. Brooks shepherded her husband and daughter toward the minister. A backward look at him told Austin he might have won the skirmish, but the war wasn’t over. The mothers of Cimarron Creek were nothing if not persistent.
As he waited his turn to praise Pastor Dunn’s sermon, Austin took one final glance around the church. Though he tried to tell himself he wasn’t looking for anyone in particular, the jolt of excitement that raced through him when he spotted Catherine said he’d been lying to himself. Even though he’d stared at her back several times during the service, this was the first time he’d seen that beautiful face today.
Catherine had been seated in the second pew from the front when Austin and Hannah had arrived, and unlike some other parishioners who turned to see who was behind them, she had kept her attention focused on the altar. Others’ attention had been focused on Catherine and her navy dress.
“She’s out of mourning clothes,” the woman seated at the other end of Austin’s pew had announced to the man at her side.
“Who?” The question sounded perfunctory rather than triggered by curiosity, making Austin think the man was accustomed to his wife’s tendency to gossip.
“Catherine Whitfield,” the woman hissed. “It’s only been four months since her mother was laid to rest. She should still be in black, especially since Gussie was her last parent.”
If the man replied, Austin did not hear him. Instead, his thoughts had centered on the schoolteacher and her loss. Austin’s heart had clenched at the realization that Catherine was now alone in the world. Was she as vulnerable as Geraldine had been after her parents’ deaths? Austin hoped that was not the case. He also wondered why, though she had given him the history of what felt like a hundred of Cimarron Creek’s residents, Mrs. Moore had neglected to mention that Catherine Whitfield was recently bereaved.
Thoughts of Catherine had occupied Austin until the service began, making him want to offer his condolences, even though they were belated. Now she stood in the aisle, speaking with the woman who ran the candy store and her husband, the sheriff. Unfortunately, they were too far away for him to join the conversation.
As if she sensed his gaze, Catherine looked directly at Austin and gave him a conspiratorial smile, making him suspect she was aware of his encounter with the Brooks family.
How typical of her! Though he’d spent only a few minutes with her at the end of each school day, Austin had discovered that Catherine was a fundamentally optimistic person, one who tried to find something good in every situation, no matter how dismal it might seem. Her unfailing cheerfulness, so different from Geraldine’s volatile moods, must be an asset in the classroom. And when she married . . . Austin shook himself mentally. There was nothing to b
e gained by speculating about the schoolmarm’s future mate.
“Papa, I don’t like that lady.” Hannah whispered the words, and for a second Austin thought she was speaking of Catherine. She had said little about school, barely responding to his and Mrs. Moore’s questions about classes, other pupils, and the teacher. While he knew Hannah did not like living on the ranch, she had given no sign of disliking Catherine, and yet it was clear that she disliked someone. Austin was about to ask her why when he saw that Hannah’s attention was focused on Mrs. Brooks.
He took a quick breath as relief flowed through him. Though he shared his daughter’s opinion, he wouldn’t admit it. Instead, he smiled at Hannah. “At least she didn’t pinch your cheek.” Two of the hopeful mamas had done that last Sunday, much to Hannah’s displeasure.
She shook her head. “I still don’t like her. I don’t want a new mama.” And, knowing Hannah, there would be no changing her mind. It was a good thing Austin wasn’t searching for a second wife. At least not now.
“I saw Henrietta Brooks talking to you,” Mrs. Moore told Austin as she slid a sheet of biscuits into the oven. When he’d entered the kitchen, she had poured him a cup of coffee and gestured toward a chair, somehow realizing that he wanted to talk.
Austin nodded. “She invited us for dinner.”
“And you refused.”
“Of course. Hannah and I wouldn’t miss your pot roast for anything.” He took another sip of coffee, then sniffed appreciatively. Mrs. Moore might not have been able to coax Hannah out of her sulks, but she was a superb cook. If anyone could help his daughter gain some much-needed weight, it would be Mrs. Moore.
The housekeeper narrowed her eyes as she looked at Austin. “You won’t get off that easily. I’ve known Henrietta since she was a girl, and she’s not likely to give up. The way she sees it, you need a mother for Hannah, and her daughter needs a husband.”
Grateful that his daughter was still playing with a doll in her room and didn’t have to hear this discussion, he said, “Hannah and I’ve been managing by ourselves for a long time.”
They had done more than manage. Hannah had seemed happy or at least content in Philadelphia. Unfortunately, that was something Austin couldn’t say now. He wanted to believe that Hannah’s melancholy was the result of the changes she had endured and that she would recover quickly, but if she did not, he would have to seek other remedies.
Would giving Hannah a new mother solve the problem or would it merely create new ones? His marriage to Geraldine had certainly been fraught with difficulties, but despite the way it had ended and the grief he had endured, Austin could not regret it. If he hadn’t married Geraldine, he would not have Hannah, and that was unthinkable. Even now, when she was clearly unhappy, Hannah brought joy to his life.
The question was how to restore her happiness. Would a stepmother be able to succeed if Austin continued to fail? It was a question that had flitted through Austin’s brain more than once this week.
“Henrietta’s wrong about a lot of things, but she’s right about this. Hannah needs a mother,” Mrs. Moore announced.
Austin glared at his housekeeper. “I’m not going to marry just because some busybody matchmaking mother decides I should.”
What Austin didn’t say was that if there were a guarantee that a stepmother would make Hannah happy, if he found a woman he could love, and if he knew that Enright was no longer a threat, he might consider remarrying. The problem was, those were all major “ifs.” Judging from Hannah’s reaction to the women who’d been presented to them, introducing another woman into the household would worsen her moods. Austin had yet to find a woman he wanted to share the rest of his life with, and Enright, like Henrietta Brooks, was not one to give up easily.
“Anna Brooks isn’t the only girl in town.” Mrs. Moore was becoming as persistent as the matchmaking mamas.
“That’s good, because she’s not the right one for me.” Austin tried not to frown, but it was ridiculous to have to defend himself like this.
He drained his cup as he reflected that Hannah wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been impressed with the matrimonial candidates paraded in front of them. Not one had ignited even the smallest spark of interest inside Austin. Unlike Catherine, not one had seemed to have a mind of her own. Unlike Catherine, not one seemed to have any interest in Hannah. Unlike Catherine, who appeared mature beyond her years, they appeared to be young girls with their heads in the clouds. If he remarried—and Austin doubted he would—he would choose a woman like Catherine.
“You’re not the first man Henrietta’s run after,” Mrs. Moore continued. “She had her sights set on Nate Kenton as a son-in-law, but now that he’s courting the schoolmarm, you’re her best bet.”
Someone was courting Catherine? The coffee that had seemed delicious a moment ago now churned in Austin’s stomach. “I don’t think I’ve met Nate Kenton,” he said, pleased that his voice betrayed none of the turmoil that knotted his stomach at the thought of the schoolteacher as a bride.
“He raises goats and peaches. Has a farm on the other side of town.” Mrs. Moore lifted the lid on the pot roast that had been simmering all morning, then speared a piece of meat with a fork to test its tenderness. “Nate’s a mighty fine man. I always thought he’d be a good match for Catherine.” She punctuated her sentence with a nod. “They’ll probably wait until fall when her year of mourning is over, but mark my words: they’ll be married before the year ends.”
It was ridiculous that the idea bothered him. It wasn’t as if he were planning to marry again, but if he were, Austin wouldn’t choose a recently bereaved woman. He’d made that mistake once, and he had no intention of repeating it.
It wasn’t as if he harbored tender feelings for Catherine. He hardly knew her. While it was true that he liked what he knew of her, that he was grateful she was Hannah’s teacher, that she had the characteristics he sought in a friend, that was all Austin wanted from Catherine: a teacher for Hannah and a possible friend for himself. That was all.
5
What do you know about the new rancher? I heard he’s got a daughter, but that’s about all anyone knows.”
Catherine tried not to sigh. Sunday dinner with Aunt Mary and Uncle Charles was often difficult. The combination of poorly prepared food and constant criticism of others made her dread the weekly event. If it weren’t for Warner, she would never have agreed to come, but she couldn’t desert him. He and Travis were her favorite cousins, but while Travis had found his true love in Lydia, Warner was still single and living with his parents. Though she would have refused the invitation, when Warner had added his plea to his mother’s almost imperious decree that Catherine join them, she had agreed. Warner deserved an ally at least once a week, and so here she was, enduring the Sunday ordeal. The only positive aspect was that Lydia and Travis had agreed to join her.
“Hannah is six and seems very bright,” Catherine told her uncle by marriage. Though it was normally Aunt Mary who began the inquisition, today it was Uncle Charles who’d asked the question as soon as he’d blessed the food. Catherine wondered whether he would notice that she hadn’t said anything about Austin but had instead spoken of Hannah. That had been a deliberate move on her part, an attempt to deflect her sometimes cantankerous uncle’s attention.
According to Mama, when he’d first come to Cimarron Creek, Charles Gray had been a young man with an eye for the ladies. The owner of the town’s prospering livery, he’d apparently been as sought after as Austin Goddard was now. Perhaps that was why he was curious about the newly arrived rancher.
Catherine had heard various opinions about the Grays’ marriage. Though Aunt Mary claimed it was a love match, others were less charitable and maintained the reason Uncle Charles had married her was that she was a Whitfield and a woman whose position in one of Cimarron Creek’s two leading families overcame her lack of beauty. What no one disputed was that their marriage had produced two sons, one of whom was now deceased.
“Som
eone mentioned that Mr. Goddard grew up in Oklahoma,” Aunt Mary said as she passed the bowl of green beans to her surviving son.
The seating arrangement was the same each week. Aunt Mary and Uncle Charles had their customary seats at the ends of the table, with Lydia and Travis on one side, Catherine and Warner on the other.
“Is it true?” Uncle Charles kept his gaze fixed on Catherine, waiting for her response. At least he hadn’t patted her thigh today. Catherine gave silent thanks for that. Her skin had crawled the day he’d done that, and she’d shifted uneasily in her chair, wanting more than anything to leave the room. If it weren’t for Warner, she would have made excuses not to return, but she couldn’t abandon Warner.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Catherine said. “I see him and his daughter every day when he brings her to school, but I didn’t know Austin was from Oklahoma.”
“Austin?” Aunt Mary’s voice rose with disapproval. “You’re on such familiar terms with him?”
“Yes.” Though Lydia shot her a commiserating glance, Catherine refused to defend herself, knowing from experience that there was no reasoning with Aunt Mary when she became fixed on an idea. She had already told Catherine it was too soon for her to have put aside her mourning clothes. Now she was concerned about another aspect of social protocol.
“I’m worried about you, Catherine,” Aunt Mary said. “Your mother, rest her soul, claimed you had good judgment, but I’m not so sure. You’re a woman alone. That means men might try to take advantage of you. You oughta do what I do and keep a gun in your house. You need to be prepared to defend yourself. Why, I had to shoot a snake just the other day.”
Uncle Charles nodded and wagged a finger at Catherine. “Mary is right. You got to be careful about newcomers. They can be more dangerous than snakes.” His gaze landed on Lydia, who was seated at his other side.
