by Amanda Cabot
The smile that lit Nate’s face turned him from good-looking to downright handsome, almost as handsome as the sheriff. He ducked his head in apparent shyness but managed to say, “I’d be mighty pleased to escort you to Mrs. Henderson’s.”
Though he’d remained silent until now, Travis shook his head. “There’s no need, Nate. I was heading that way myself.”
His smile turning into a scowl, Nate stared at the other man for a long moment before he said, “You surprise me, Sheriff. I heard you say you weren’t lookin’ to get hitched.”
“You heard right, but that doesn’t stop me from escorting Miss Crawford home.” He bent his arm, not moving until Lydia placed her hand on the crook of his elbow. “Aunt Bertha’s waiting.”
But she wasn’t.
When Lydia entered the house, she found a note saying Aunt Bertha was napping. Not wanting to possibly disturb her by going upstairs, Lydia carried the package from the drugstore into the kitchen and laid it on the table. There had to be something she could do. While the room that Aunt Bertha and her husband had turned into a library had a large collection of books, today reading held no appeal for Lydia. She needed something more active, something that would keep her from thinking about the three very different men who’d spoken to her this afternoon.
Supper, in the form of a stew, was already simmering on the stove, and it was too soon to make biscuits. Perhaps she should see if the garden needed weeding. But the kitchen drew her. As she looked around the room, Lydia remembered Aunt Bertha saying the only thing she liked better than cinnamon rolls was fudge. That was it. She’d make a batch of fudge. Unlike some confections, it required only simple ingredients. Surely the kitchen had them.
Within minutes, Lydia was stirring the chocolate concoction, watching for the telltale change in the size of the bubbles that indicated it was approaching soft-ball stage. The stirring and watching ought to have kept her mind occupied, but Lydia still found herself thinking about the men who’d made such an impression on her.
Though their approaches were different, it was clear that both Warner and Nate were looking for wives. Warner appeared to believe finding a wife was like choosing a saucepan at the mercantile, while Nate had a gentler, more traditional strategy. And then there was Travis, who claimed he had no interest in marrying. Why not? He was the most attractive of the three, and not simply because of his appearance. Unlike the others, he had the knack of making a woman feel comfortable around him. It was no wonder Catherine claimed he was such an eligible bachelor.
Lydia dipped a teaspoon into the saucepan, dropping a small quantity of the chocolate into the glass of water she’d placed next to the stove. Perfect. She lifted the pan from the stove and placed it in the large bowl of cool water, then continued beating. Though others might disagree, she’d always believed that the cool-down beating was the critical step in preparing fudge.
Within minutes, the fudge was ready to be spread in a dish, but the question of the sheriff’s disinterest in matrimony continued to whirl through her brain. He was a handsome, eligible bachelor with a respectable job. The only negative thing she’d heard about him was that he had a cranky father, but surely that was no reason not to marry. The only explanation that made sense was that, like her, he’d been disappointed in love. If that was the case, Lydia understood completely. It would be a long time, if ever, before she risked her heart again.
“Something smells delicious.”
Lydia turned, her heart pounding at the unexpected sound of Aunt Bertha’s voice. She’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard the older woman’s approach.
“I hope I didn’t disturb you with my cooking.”
Aunt Bertha shook her head. “I didn’t hear a thing, but when I woke, a heavenly smell was coming up the stairs. I thought I was dreaming, because it reminded me of a wonderful candy store back in Illinois. My mother used to take me there for a treat or when we had something to celebrate. They made the best fudge in the world, and this smells just like that.” It appeared that Aunt Bertha’s nap had accomplished its goal of restoring her, because she was back to normal, speaking for what seemed like minutes without taking a breath.
Lydia smiled at the combination of energy and enthusiasm. “I won’t claim mine is that good, but I thought you might like a piece. It’ll be ready in a few minutes—just enough time for me to make a pot of tea to go with it.”
“Oh yes.” Aunt Bertha settled into one of the chairs next to the table and nodded as Lydia prepared the tea. Ten minutes later, she bit into a piece of fudge, closed her eyes, and sighed. “Where did you learn to make that? It’s even better than at the shop back home.”
Shaking her head, Lydia said, “After what you said, I can’t believe that, but I’m glad you like the fudge.”
Aunt Bertha took another bite, washing it down with a sip of tea. “Did your mother teach you to make fudge?”
“No. When the school where I taught was closed during the summer and for holidays, I worked in a confectionary. That’s where I learned to make everything from ribbon candy to fudge.” Lydia smiled, remembering the small shop with the delicious confections. “My favorites are chocolate-covered creams.”
“You’re making me hungry,” Aunt Bertha said as she bit into a second piece of candy. “That shouldn’t be possible, not after all I’ve eaten. I love Cimarron Creek—it’s my home now—but I do wish we had a confectionary.” Without a pause, she fixed her eyes on Lydia. “Are you really going to stay here?”
“I’d like to.” She couldn’t leave without learning what had happened to Edgar, but even more than that, Lydia felt as if God had brought her here for a reason. The reason wasn’t clear, but she felt his hand leading her to this particular town at this particular time.
“Do you like making candy?”
Lydia nodded. “Even more than I do teaching.”
“And you can make chocolate creams and ribbon candy in addition to fudge?”
“Peanut brittle, penuche, and peppermint sticks too.” Lydia smiled, remembering the hours she had spent learning to make virtually every kind of candy.
“Then I have a proposition for you.”
7
Another dead end. Travis looked around his office and at the empty jail cell. He hated dead ends. The citizens of Cimarron Creek had elected him sheriff because they believed he could keep them safe, but so far he’d failed to do that for at least one person. Edgar Ellis was still missing, and Travis was no closer to finding out why.
The widow Brown had insisted Travis visit her this morning, claiming she had important information. When he’d arrived at her house, she’d given him some fruitcake so steeped in brandy that it turned his stomach, although for the sake of peace within the town, he’d eaten half a piece, then agreed to take the rest back with him. It was only after he’d suffered through the fruitcake and a cup of tepid weak tea that she’d informed him she’d seen Edgar riding out of town on his horse. There were only two problems with her story: no horses were missing, and though the widow claimed she’d seen Edgar’s face by the light of the full moon, there had been no moon the night Edgar had vanished.
As if that weren’t enough to sour the day, there’d been Nate’s obvious infatuation with Lydia. Travis couldn’t blame the man—she was the most attractive woman to come to Cimarron Creek in a long, long time—but the idea of Nate making moon eyes at her didn’t sit well with him, nor did Warner’s declaration that he planned to court her.
Though he couldn’t put his finger on the reason, Travis couldn’t picture Lydia with either of them. Even if she overcame her reluctance to marry, and Travis suspected she would once she had a chance to realize that Edgar hadn’t been the right man for her, she shouldn’t marry either Nate or Warner. He knew it wasn’t his call, but somehow the prospect of his friends courting Lydia rankled.
And now this. Travis fingered the note with Aunt Bertha’s distinctive script that Curtis Wilkins had delivered. It wasn’t the first time Aunt Be
rtha had used Curtis as a messenger. Ever since he’d discovered he could earn a penny running errands, the boy’s favorite place to play had become the street in front of Travis’s aunt’s house. When Curtis handed him the envelope, Travis had thought Aunt Bertha might be inviting him to dinner, but instead she said she needed legal advice. Surely she hadn’t picked today to decide to revise her will.
Travis rose and reached for his Stetson. He might as well go right away, because if he didn’t, he’d spend the rest of the afternoon wondering what was wrong.
“Thank you for coming so promptly,” Aunt Bertha said as she ushered him into the parlor where Lydia was seated next to a small table that held a pot of tea, three cups, and what appeared to be a plate of fudge. “We need to talk, but first have a piece of fudge.”
Travis tried not to let his annoyance show. Though he knew his aunt was lonely, surely this was going too far. He had a job to do. “Thank you, but I’d rather get down to business. Tonight is Pa’s night to host his poker buddies. I’ve got a lot to do to get ready.” If he needed another reason to feel grumpy, poker night filled the bill. The quartet of men who met for the weekly event might be relatives, but somehow they fueled Pa’s cantankerous side, with the result that Travis’s father was even more caustic than normal after they left.
Aunt Bertha shook her head, apparently dismissing Travis’s objections, as she poured a cup of tea and handed it to him along with a piece of fudge. “The fudge is business. Taste it.”
Fearful of a repetition of the fruitcake disaster, Travis took only a small bite. To his surprise, the flavor burst that hit his taste buds was so good that he quickly took another bite. He had never tasted fudge quite like this. “Whatever you put in this, it’s delicious. I could eat a whole plate.”
Aunt Bertha gave Lydia a look that seemed to say “I told you so.” Nodding, she extended the plate to Travis, offering him a second piece. Though he probably should have refused, he did not.
“I told Lydia the fudge would be a success,” his aunt said smugly. “It’s sure to be a bestseller.”
“Bestseller?” Travis tried to imagine what Aunt Bertha meant. “Are you planning to sell fudge at the Fourth of July celebration?” While some of the town’s women earned a little extra money by providing special foods during the parade and the afternoon festivities, he knew his aunt had no need of additional income.
“No,” she said, her expression telling Travis he was mistaken and should have had the sense to realize it. “We’re going to open a store—a confectionary—and sell fudge and other candies all year long. That’s why we need you: to make it legal.” She gave Lydia a fond glance as she said, “Lydia and I are going to be partners. She does all the work, and I invest a little money.”
“I see.” The truth was, Travis didn’t. He’d heard that people sometimes did strange, almost irrational things the first year after a spouse’s death and wondered if that was Aunt Bertha’s case. “Do you mind if I talk to Lydia alone?”
Though his aunt shook her head, her green eyes twinkled with what appeared to be suppressed mirth, almost as if she had read his mind and found his thoughts amusing. Her next words confirmed Travis’s supposition.
“If you’re worried that I’m off my rocker, I can assure you that’s not true. But go ahead.” She made a shooing gesture with her hands. “Have your talk in the garden.”
Though her reluctance was apparent, Lydia rose and led the way outside. When they reached the rose garden, although a stone bench beckoned visitors to tarry, she remained standing. “You’re obviously concerned by the whole idea,” she said, her face as serious as her voice. “Are you afraid no one will want to buy candy from a Yankee?”
“No.” That thought had never crossed Travis’s mind. “One taste of your fudge, and they’ll buy it all. My concern is for my aunt. What will she do when you leave? She can’t run the store alone, but she’s not a person who admits defeat easily. She’s also reluctant to ask for help. It’s a difficult combination.”
Lydia nodded, as if she’d experienced that trait, and perhaps she had. She certainly hadn’t been defeated when she’d arrived in Cimarron Creek only to discover that Edgar was missing, and she was adamant about not being dependent on Aunt Bertha. The difference was, Lydia was younger and more resilient than his aunt.
Travis tried not to frown as he said, “I’m afraid Aunt Bertha will insist on keeping the store, and it’ll be too much for her. She’s not exactly a youngster anymore.”
To his surprise, Lydia nodded again. “I agree with you completely. It would be a mistake for her to try to open or operate the store alone. There is, however, one fallacy in your thinking. The problems you’ve outlined are based on my leaving Cimarron Creek, and I’m not planning to do that.”
Travis blinked. “I don’t understand. Even though you hadn’t said it, you obviously came to Texas to be with Edgar.” Travis wouldn’t go so far as to say “to marry Edgar,” since that might embarrass Lydia. “The problem is, Edgar’s not here and if what I fear is true, he’ll never return.”
As her face blanched, Lydia took a step backward as if trying to distance herself from the possibility Travis had raised. “You think he’s dead.”
“Yes.” There was no point in pretending otherwise. Travis had searched, the neighboring counties’ sheriffs had searched, but no one had found a trace of him. “It’s the only logical explanation for his absence. I don’t believe Edgar simply vanished. It’s true that a determined man can disappear, but I don’t think he left Cimarron Creek voluntarily. Either Edgar had an accident or he was the victim of foul play.”
As Lydia closed her eyes for a second, Travis saw the anguish on her face. No matter what had happened between them, she had deep feelings for Edgar. The sheen of tears deepened the blue of her eyes as she opened them and looked directly at Travis.
“And you believe it was the latter.”
He wouldn’t lie. “I do. The question is, are you sure you want to live in a town where accidents that might not have been accidents keep happening?”
Travis hadn’t thought Lydia’s face could lose any more color, but it did. “Accidents. Plural.” She clenched her fists, then released them slowly as she sank onto the bench. “What else happened?”
Travis admired the steadiness in her voice. Though she could not hide the trembling of her limbs, somehow Lydia’s voice did not reflect her distress.
“Our last sheriff fell off his horse and broke his neck.” Travis frowned, remembering the day he’d seen Lionel’s body being carried back into town. “Everyone wants to believe it was an accident, but the fact is, he was the best horseman in the county.”
“Even good horsemen fall.”
Travis’s lips tightened. “They’re much more likely to do that if their horses are spooked. I haven’t told anyone else this.” He paused, uncertain why he was confiding in Lydia, a woman who was almost a stranger. “I found a bruise on his horse’s flank. It looked like someone was playing David and Goliath and hit him with a rock.”
“Oh.” Her eyes registered her understanding.
“So I repeat my question: do you want to live here?”
Lydia was silent for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts. “No place is totally safe. I learned that in Syracuse. You can try to run away like . . .” She paused, obviously uncomfortable with the direction she’d led the conversation, then said, “Running away doesn’t solve anything. There comes a time when you have to take a stand.” She straightened her shoulders as she took a deep breath. “It may sound silly, but opening a confectionary here is my form of taking a stand. Yes, Travis, I plan to stay.”
The knock on the door startled Lydia. She and Aunt Bertha had been sitting in the parlor, and for once the older woman had been silent, leaving Lydia lost in her thoughts.
“Would you mind seeing who’s there? I’m a mite tired.” Aunt Bertha straightened her spine, but there was no ignoring the lines of weariness that marred her face.
; Lydia wasn’t surprised by Aunt Bertha’s fatigue. Though she’d taken a nap, it had been a busy afternoon spent formulating plans for the confectionary, and the discussion had continued through supper. At first Lydia had been surprised when Aunt Bertha had summoned Travis, wondering why the sheriff needed to be involved in establishing a candy store.
“He’s not just the sheriff,” Aunt Bertha explained. “He’s also Cimarron Creek’s only attorney. Practically from the day Travis was born, my husband was determined that he would follow in his shoes. It didn’t take much to convince Abe that his son should study with Jonas—he always did want him to have an easier life than he did as a rancher. Fortunately, Travis has a mind that’s well suited for the law. Jonas wasn’t a man given to praise, but he claimed Travis had the makings of a first-rate attorney. That’s why he made him a full partner so quickly.”
Lydia had smiled, both at the enthusiasm in Aunt Bertha’s voice when she spoke of her great-nephew and at the realization that Travis was an even more intriguing man than she’d first thought. The fact that he’d agreed to become sheriff when he already had an important role within the community spoke to his concern for his hometown. It would have undoubtedly been easier to say no and remain Cimarron Creek’s attorney, but Travis had not taken the easy road.
It had been almost amusing to watch his initial impatience with what he obviously thought was nothing more than a social call turn to pure professionalism when he learned what Lydia and Aunt Bertha were planning. When he’d finished his second piece of fudge and had begun discussing the business itself, Travis had been helpful, explaining what legalities were involved. Fortunately, they were not too onerous, perhaps because almost everyone involved was part of the Whitfield-Henderson clan.
The only point of disagreement had been the store’s name. Aunt Bertha had wanted to call it Lydia’s Sweet Shop, but neither Travis nor Lydia had been comfortable with that. Though he hadn’t voiced his reasons, Lydia suspected he still doubted she would remain in Cimarron Creek. Her discomfort with the proposed name was simpler: she didn’t want to take credit for something that was only partly hers. Eventually they’d all agreed that the store would be called Cimarron Sweets.
