by Amanda Cabot
She settled back in the swing, watching for the dust that signaled an approaching rider. Soon, she told herself. He’d be here soon. And he was. When she recognized the rider as Austin, Catherine stepped off the porch and walked toward him, her walk turning to a run when he dismounted and opened his arms. Seconds later she was enfolded in his embrace.
This was where she wanted to be—close to the man she loved. Like hers, his clothing was bloodstained. Like hers, his face was lined with fatigue from the day’s ordeal. Like hers, his heart beat faster now that they were together, and that was how it should be.
“Oh, my love,” Austin murmured against her hair, “I was so afraid I’d lost you.”
Catherine tipped her head back so she could smile up at him. It was the first time he’d called her his love, and oh, how wonderful the words sounded.
“I’m safe and so is Hannah. She and Seth are playing checkers, if you can believe it.” The words were prosaic, but Catherine heard the tremor in her voice as she looked at the man she loved so dearly, the man Sherman Enright had planned to take from her. Austin wasn’t the only one who had feared the loss of his love.
His eyes were solemn as he looked at her. “I never thought I’d be grateful for a checkers game, but I am. I wanted to talk to you before I saw Hannah and Seth. There are some things we need to discuss.” Though Austin’s words sounded ominous, the corners of his mouth lifted in a small smile of reassurance.
Slowly, he lowered his arms, as if he were reluctant to release her, but then he reached for her hand. “Will you come with me where we can have a little privacy?” he asked, gesturing toward the shade of an oak tree.
Catherine nodded. Didn’t he realize she’d go anywhere with him?
When they stood beneath the canopy of the oak’s branches, once again Austin’s expression turned somber. “I know I promised to wait until your mourning was complete, but what happened today changed everything. It reminded me that life can end without warning. Catherine, my love, I don’t want to wait any longer.”
He’d said it again. It hadn’t been a slip of the tongue or an aberration. The day they’d walked by the creek Austin had told her he loved her, but calling her his love was different. It felt more intimate. “My love” was the kind of endearment a husband would use with his wife. If she was right—and how Catherine hoped she was—Austin was about to ask the question that could have only one answer. As her heart began to pound, she realized he wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to wait.
“I love you, Catherine. I love you more than I knew it was possible to love a woman.” His eyes gleamed with love and tenderness, the expression so sweet Catherine’s breath caught in wonder. Her prayers were being answered; her dreams were coming true.
Austin tightened his grip on her hand as he spoke. “Will you make me the happiest man on Earth? Will you marry me and be a mother to Hannah and any children God gives us?”
A bird chirped as it landed on a branch above her; a rabbit scurried through the grass; Dusty neighed at the horse still hitched to the buggy. They were ordinary sounds, proof that there was a world beyond Catherine and Austin, but for the moment all that mattered was being here with him.
“Yes, Austin, yes.” Her heart overflowing with happiness, Catherine smiled at the man who’d offered her the future she’d dreamt of, a life of love and laughter, a life where family and faith combined to bring true happiness.
His smile matched hers, and then he found a better use for his lips, touching them to hers in a kiss that sent tingles down her spine. When at length he ended the kiss, the smile that curved Austin’s lips was mischievous.
“Hannah will be almost as happy as I am. She keeps telling me she wants you to be her mother.”
Catherine snuggled closer to Austin, resting her head on his chest for a moment before she looked up at him again. This might not be the time for her next question, but Catherine had to ask it. As Austin had said, today had changed everything. “Being your wife and Hannah’s mother will be wonderful, but I can’t help worrying about Seth. I saw Boone’s body. I don’t know what happened, but I know he was dead.”
Austin nodded. “That’s the next thing I wanted to discuss. You’re right. Boone is dead. Tucker shot him. While I don’t condone murder, Boone’s death makes one thing easier. If you agree, I’d like us to adopt Seth. I know it’s asking a lot of you to take on two children as well as a husband, but Seth deserves a better life than he had with Boone.”
And she and Austin could give him that. Though she hadn’t thought her happiness could increase, it did. “I think it’s the perfect solution. I’ve done what I could for Seth, but you’ve done more. You’ve been a better father to him than Boone ever was.”
“You’re selling yourself short, Catherine. You’re the one who saw Seth’s talent and encouraged it.”
Catherine closed her eyes, remembering the consequences of her decisions. “I shouldn’t have done that. Look at all the pain that caused. It’s because of my encouragement that Seth was so badly beaten and that Sherman Enright found you.”
When she saw the confusion on Austin’s face, she realized he didn’t know. “Tucker saw Seth’s drawing in the magazine. That’s how he knew you lived here.”
Austin raised his hand and cupped Catherine’s chin, tipping it so she was looking at him. “Don’t blame yourself for any of this. It wasn’t your fault. Boone was always looking for an excuse to vent his anger. If it hadn’t been the drawing, it would have been something else.”
Though Catherine did not feel exonerated, she knew there was some truth to Austin’s words. Boone Dalton had been an angry, cruel man, but Tucker’s bullet ensured that he would never again hurt his son. Catherine nodded at Austin, accepting what he had said.
“It seems I was deluding myself when I thought Enright would abandon his search for me and seek out another physician. He isn’t used to anyone refusing him and had no intention of letting me be the first. One way or another, he would have found me. What angers me is that he hurt you.” Austin touched her neck. Though the pain had subsided, there were still tender spots where Enright’s fingers had dug into it.
“It will heal. It already feels better,” Catherine told him. “At least now you don’t have to worry about Enright any longer. You don’t have to hide the fact that you’re a doctor. You could even return to Philadelphia.” And though she knew she would miss her family and friends in Cimarron Creek, Catherine would go with him. Her future was with Austin, wherever he chose to live.
He shook his head. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I realized I don’t want to go back East. It’s true that I miss my patients, but we both know Cimarron Creek could use a new doctor. What do you think about being a doctor’s wife?”
Catherine pretended to consider the question. “It might be all right, if . . .” She paused, hoping he knew she was teasing.
“If what?” he asked.
“If you’re the doctor. It doesn’t matter to me whether you’re a rancher or a doctor. You’re the man I love, no matter how you earn a living.”
She lifted her hand and traced the outline of his lips with her index finger. “I love you, Austin Goddard. I always will.” And then she placed her lips on his, returning the kiss he’d given her.
“I like the way you show your love,” he said when they broke apart, both a little breathless, “but it makes waiting difficult. Do you still want a September wedding?”
Catherine shook her head. As Austin had said, what had happened today changed many things, including her perspective. “Not anymore. I think we should marry as soon as possible.” It would take a few days to arrange the ceremony, but if Austin agreed—and she was certain he would—they could be married within the week.
“Mama would have been the first to tell me not to waste a day. She always wanted me to find a love like she and my father shared, and now that I have, she wouldn’t have wanted us to wait.”
His eyes filled with happiness, Austin stro
ked Catherine’s cheek as he said, “All that leaves to settle is our wedding trip. We’ve talked about my accompanying you and Grace to Paris, and I still like that idea. Although . . .” His lips curved into a grin. “Grace would actually be accompanying us. The problem is, I don’t feel comfortable leaving Hannah and Seth behind for as long as it will take to go to Europe. It won’t be conventional, but what do you think about taking them with us?”
“Oh, my love,” Catherine said, repeating his endearment, “who cares about being conventional? That sounds like the trip of a lifetime. We can show Hannah the city where she was born, and think of all the sketches Seth will be able to make. Even better, we can help Grace find her daughter.”
“And she can watch over the children when we want to be alone.” The way Austin was staring at her lips told Catherine he was looking forward to their time alone as much as she was.
“It will be perfect.” Catherine smiled again. “Thank you, Austin. You’re making all my dreams come true.”
As Austin lowered his head for another kiss, a familiar voice called out from the porch. “Papa, are you kissing Miss Whitfield? Does this mean she’s going to be my mama?”
His eyes reflected his amusement as Austin turned Catherine so they both faced Hannah and Seth. “Come over here, Hannah. You too, Seth. Catherine and I have something we want to tell you.”
Author’s Letter
Dear Reader,
If you’re like me, you enjoy learning why an author chose a particular setting for her book or a specific profession for her characters. You probably already know that the Hill Country is one of my favorite parts of the country, so my using it as a setting for another book shouldn’t have surprised you. Austin’s profession might have. Did you wonder why I decided to make him a plastic surgeon?
When I started plotting the series, I knew that Catherine’s experiences with the local doctor made her fear the entire medical profession. From her point of view, Austin was absolutely the wrong person for her, but as the author, I knew he was exactly the man she needed. Austin had to be a doctor to help Catherine overcome her fears. Why a plastic surgeon? That sounds too modern, doesn’t it?
Writers’ inspiration can come from almost anywhere. When a close friend told me she was considering cosmetic surgery, I was curious and started researching the subject. Since I’d always thought of plastic surgery as a twentieth-century branch of medicine, I was surprised to learn that it had its origins far earlier than that and that the ancient Egyptians—a culture that valued beauty as much as modern society does—had developed rudimentary techniques. Just as importantly, they performed what we would call dermabrasion to reduce scarring.
That was one of those “aha!” moments for me, because it meant that Austin could have been a plastic surgeon in the nineteenth century and that he could have known how to repair the damage smallpox had wrought on Grace’s face. Once I knew that, the rest of the book fell into place.
If you’re wondering, as some of my early readers did, whether a doctor in the nineteenth century would have used the term “plastic surgeon,” the answer is yes. While we think of plastic substances as being modern inventions—and they are—there’s no plastic involved in plastic surgery. The adjective “plastic” was used for almost three hundred years before plastic (a noun) was invented in the early twentieth century.
If you enjoy learning the origin of words as much as I do, you probably already know that the English word “plastic” comes from the Greek “plastikos,” meaning to mold or shape, which is, of course, what reconstructive plastic surgery does.
As for “plastic surgery,” although the procedures have been practiced for thousands of years, it wasn’t until the early nineteenth century that the word “plastic” was used to describe them. A German surgeon, Karl Ferdinand von Gräfe, is credited with the first published use of “plastic” in this context when he released his 1818 book Rhinoplastik, in which he described his work reconstructing noses. Once he used the term, others followed his lead, so by the time Austin became a physician, the term “plastic surgery” was one a trained surgeon would have known.
I know that’s a long answer to the question, but since I’m always annoyed by anachronisms in historical fiction, I wanted to assure you that “plastic surgery” was indeed a nineteenth-century term.
I hope you enjoyed Catherine and Austin’s story and that you’re looking forward to returning to Cimarron Creek next year when A Tender Hope is released. The town’s in for a lot of changes. Between the arrival of a new midwife, a new teacher, a lovely Frenchwoman, and a Texas Ranger with a mission, not to mention an abandoned infant, it’s definitely not business-as-usual in that part of the Hill Country.
A year is a long time to wait, so I’ve included a sneak peek at the story. Just turn the page, and you’ll find the first chapter.
While you’re waiting for A Tender Hope to be released, I invite you to read my earlier books. If this is your first Cimarron Creek book, you might enjoy A Stolen Heart, Lydia and Travis’s story. And, if you’d like to learn a bit more about Thea, the heroine of A Tender Hope, pick up a copy of Paper Roses.
I also encourage you to visit my website, www.amandacabot.com. You’ll find information about all of my books there as well as a sign-up form for my newsletter. I promise not to fill your inbox with newsletters, because I only issue one when I have important news to share, but it’s a way for us to keep in touch. I’ve also included links to my Facebook and Twitter accounts as well as my email address. It’s one of my greatest pleasures as an author to receive notes from my readers, so don’t be shy.
Blessings,
Amanda
1
AUGUST 8, 1881
She was free.
Thea Michener smiled as she checked the harness, then climbed into the buggy. Within minutes, she would be leaving the only home she could remember. As much as she loved Ladreville, whose half-timbered buildings and Old World charm made visitors declare it to be one of the prettiest towns in the Hill Country, it was time for a change. While others might have trembled with fear over the thought of leaving family, friends, and all things familiar, the prospect filled Thea with relief. A new town, new possibilities, a new life beckoned her. Although a year ago she would not have dreamt of it, that was a year ago. So much had changed in the past year, most of all Thea.
“But you haven’t changed, have you, Maggie?” Her smile widened into a grin as she looked at the bay mare that had carried her on countless journeys. The horse was the one part of her old life that she was taking with her, that and the tools of her trade. What she was leaving behind were the need for secrecy and the fear that someone would discover the truth she had tried so hard to hide.
Waving good-bye to the liveryman who’d cared for Maggie whenever Thea’s business brought her into town, she set off down the street. It was time to be gone. The sun was already high in the sky, although a layer of clouds promised some relief from the heat of a Texas summer. Not for the first time, Thea was grateful for her buggy. The padded seat that some in Ladreville had considered an extravagance would make the long journey more comfortable, while the top—another extravagance according to the town’s more frugal residents—would block most of the sun’s rays.
“You sure you won’t change your mind?” the mayor’s wife asked as Thea passed her home. Though she had hoped to escape last-minute farewells, that hope was stillborn. A number of the town’s matrons were outside their homes or strolling along the main street, apparently waiting to say good-bye to Thea or perhaps, like the mayor’s wife, hoping to persuade her to remain.
Thea shook her head. Though she would miss the friends she had made, not to mention her sister, brother-in-law, and their children, she wanted—no, she needed—a complete change. Cimarron Creek would provide that.
Thea smiled as she waved at another woman, then smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt. Another change was coming. Tonight, when she was miles away from those who would look askance at her
action, she would remove her black garments for the last time. Just the thought brought Thea a sense of peace, as if she’d shed a heavy burden. She knew she would never stop mourning her husband and son and the dreams that had died with them, but the outward trappings weighed her down, both literally and figuratively.
Not only did she hate black clothes, but the sight of them wasn’t good for her patients. Women who were enceinte, to use the French word that sounded so much more genteel than the English “pregnant” with its harsh consonants, needed no reminder that not all babies were born healthy and that not all fathers lived to hold their sons in their arms. They didn’t need the reminder, and neither did she.
Thea took a deep breath, trying to block the painful memories. She wouldn’t dwell on what had happened. Not today. Today was a day to celebrate the beginning of a new life, a day to put the past behind her.
Less than a minute later, she reined in Maggie in front of the parsonage.
“Bonjour, Aimee,” she said as a blonde woman, only a couple inches taller than Thea’s own five foot two, hurried from the building and stowed the modestly sized valise that contained all her earthly belongings in the back of the buggy. Thea was surprised that Aimee, the woman who’d explained that her name was pronounced eh-MAY, not Amy, was alone. She had expected the couple who had been her hosts during her time in Ladreville to accompany her to the buggy. Evidently, they’d said their farewells in private.
Aimee returned the greeting in the same language, then shook her head and said, “Good morning. We should speak English, though. I need to get in the habit.” Her hazel eyes held a note of apprehension, perhaps at the prospect of going to a town where English was the only language. Cimarron Creek did not share Ladreville’s history.
Though almost everyone in Ladreville spoke English now, the town had been founded by immigrants from Alsace, and when Thea and her sister had arrived almost a quarter of a century ago, most of the residents had spoken either French or German. As a result, Thea had grown up trilingual. It was a skill she rarely needed now that her generation had adopted English as their primary language, but it had proven helpful the day Aimee Jarre arrived. The woman had been so exhausted from her journey that she had struggled to find more than a few English words.
