A Stolen Heart

by Amanda Cabot

  The women nodded, and within ten minutes, the store was empty of customers. The first crisis of the day was over.

  12

  Five hours later, Travis walked slowly around the crowd that had gathered in the park. This was the quietest time of the celebration. The parade was over, the games had yet to begin. For the next half hour, the townspeople would endure the annual speeches, beginning with his uncle’s. It was time for Uncle Matthew to perform his mayoral duty of officially welcoming everyone to the day that honored his own parents’ contribution to the town. His speech would be followed by longer ones delivered by the members of the town council. It was all part of the tradition, albeit the most boring part.

  There had been a time when Travis had hated being bored, but that was before he became sheriff. Now he cherished days with no reports of broken windows, stolen chickens, or fights in the Silver Spur. The past few weeks had been unusually quiet, so quiet that Warner had even commented on the lack of petty crimes during one of their weekly dominoes games. Both Porter and Nate had chuckled when Travis told them he was happy to be bored.

  But today boredom was chased away by the shout everyone in Cimarron Creek dreaded. “Fire!” A man’s hoarse cry pierced the crowd, and within seconds, half a dozen men were following him toward the livery, where ominous billows of smoke poured from the door and the neighs of frightened horses competed with the townspeople’s shouts. Like most of the buildings in town, the livery’s exterior was constructed of stone, but the interior had more than its share of flammable materials.

  Travis reached the building at the same time as Porter and joined the hastily formed bucket brigade. Other fires had taught business owners the value of keeping a supply of water close at hand, and Porter, knowing how fire frightened horses, kept more water than most inside the stable.

  To Travis’s relief, though the smoke was dense, the flames appeared to be confined to one part of the building, threatening Porter’s supply of feed but far enough from the horses and carriages that neither was in danger. The combination of the men’s help and Porter’s generous supply of water soon subdued the flames, leaving the blackened back wall the only sign that a fire had taken place.

  Porter had been lucky, but when he turned to Travis, his face registered a fury that matched the flames. “A fine sheriff you are.” He spat the words at Travis, seeming not to care that the men who’d helped fight the fire were listening and would undoubtedly repeat everything he said. “You can’t even keep your family safe.”

  Though stung by the unfairness of the attack, Travis said nothing but instead urged the men to return to the park. It was time for the celebration to continue.

  Uncle Matthew was in the middle of his speech when Porter approached Travis half an hour later. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.” But the damage was done.

  As he walked through the crowd, Travis heard the rumors begin, people speculating about a rift within the Whitfield family. Travis knew there was no truth to it, but he also knew truth wasn’t a necessary ingredient for gossip. Porter’s angry accusation would take on a life of its own, growing in importance with each retelling. There was no knowing what embellishments the story would have by the time Pa heard it.

  Travis tried not to frown at the thought of the tongue-lashing his father would deliver tonight. He had work to do before then. It was up to him to keep the citizens of Cimarron Creek safe.

  Fortunately, the rest of the afternoon passed without incident, unless you counted the minor scrapes acquired during the children’s games and the bowl of mashed potatoes that two of the younger boys decided would make a good shampoo. There was nothing serious, nothing unexpected. Now all that remained was the dancing. If Travis could intercept the jugs of whiskey and keep those who imbibed away from the rest of the revelers, the day would have a successful ending.

  He looked around, admiring the work the committee had done to prepare the park for the evening’s festivities. After the barbecue supper had ended, the benches had been moved to the perimeter, leaving the center of the park open for dancing. Lanterns had been strung from the trees on the perimeter, and others had been placed on poles near the improvised dance floor. The fiddlers were tuning their instruments as couples returned to the park, many dressed in clothing that would not be out of place in a formal ballroom. Combined with the glow of the lanterns and the sparkle of the stars overhead, it was a scene some might call romantic.

  But Travis was not looking for romance. He wasn’t looking for anything other than an end to this day. Or so he thought until he saw her. She was walking slowly, her arm around Aunt Bertha’s waist as if she were supporting the older woman. Her smile was more relaxed than it had been this morning, and her hair was caught up in some fancy style, but what made his gaze pause was her gown. Dark blue and shimmery, it left no doubt that she had curves in all the right places. Lydia Crawford wasn’t simply beautiful; she was stunning.

  “Good evening, ladies.” Travis approached the two women. “I’m glad to see you here.” He wasn’t going to say what was in his heart, that the sight of Lydia took his breath away. That would be wrong for many reasons, not the least of which was that he was the sheriff, and he was on duty.

  Aunt Bertha gave him one of those “I know what you’re thinking” looks that had intimidated him when he’d been a boy. “Is that all you have to say, nephew? I thought your mother taught you better. When you see a lady as beautiful as Lydia, you’re supposed to compliment her.”

  “That’s hardly necessary,” Lydia said before he could reply. “Sheriff Whitfield has much more important things to do than hand out idle flattery.”

  Though he was surprised by her formality in referring to him by his title rather than his Christian name, Travis couldn’t object. Hadn’t he just reminded himself that he was here in an official capacity?

  “I don’t flatter,” he told her. “Both of my parents instilled a respect for truth in me. The truth is, you’re looking very beautiful tonight, Lydia, and so are you, Aunt Bertha.”

  His aunt grinned. “Nicely done, my boy. There’s hope for you yet.” She turned to Lydia. “Let’s find me a seat so you can start dancing.”

  While Lydia looked as if she wanted to protest, she simply glanced around the park, her eyes lighting on a row of benches. Pointing to them, she asked, “Would you like to sit there?”

  When Aunt Bertha nodded, the two women began to walk in that direction, with Travis trailing behind them. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to accomplish. Neither woman needed his assistance, and yet he wasn’t ready to leave. But then he heard the shouts.

  “I saw her first!” There was no mistaking either Warner’s voice or the anger in it.

  “Maybe so, but I gave her the first gift.” Nate made no attempt to hide his own ire. Though the man was normally slow to anger, it was clear that Warner’s words had provoked him.

  Travis lengthened his stride, determined to reach the men before their argument could escalate. He had no doubt that Lydia was the subject of the confrontation and even less doubt that she would be embarrassed by it. As Cimarron Creek’s sheriff, he needed to prevent a brawl. As Lydia’s friend, he needed to keep her from becoming the subject of ugly gossip.

  “That’s all the more reason I should have the first dance,” Warner declared.

  “You think you can stop me?” Nate turned as if to head toward Lydia.

  “I do.”

  Travis was three yards away when Warner grabbed Nate by the arm, spinning him around, only to find Nate’s fist landing on his cheek. The fight had begun. Warner managed to get in a good punch, knocking his opponent to the ground, but the farmer was ready. Hooking his leg around Warner’s, he dropped him into the dirt. If he hadn’t been so disgusted with both of them, Travis might have laughed at the sight of two grown men acting like schoolboys, fighting over a girl and tussling in the dirt.

  “Stop it!” He reached down and pulled the men apart. When the men were once again on their feet, he s
tood between them. “It’s time for you both to leave.”

  “Not before I dance with Lydia.” Warner brushed the dust from his pants, then ran an exploratory hand over his face. Though he appeared relieved to find no blood, he grimaced at the bruise.

  Nate shook his head. “I’m not leaving without a dance, either.”

  “Sorry, gentlemen.” And Travis was. This was the worst part of being sheriff, having to administer justice to people he knew. It was one of the reasons some towns preferred to hire outsiders. But Travis had taken an oath, and nothing would stop him from keeping it, regardless of the fact that the perpetrators were his closest friends.

  He looked from Warner to Nate, his expression as steely as if they’d been total strangers. His cousin and his friend should never have come to blows, but they had, and now they had to accept the consequences. “You know the rules. Anyone who disturbs the peace—and you were definitely disturbing the peace—has to leave. Go home.”

  “But, Travis . . .”

  Travis shook his head at Warner. “Go.” He turned to the crowd that had gathered to watch the men’s argument. “The excitement’s over, folks.” He tipped his head to one side, listening to the fiddlers warming up. “It sounds to me like the first dance is about to begin. You don’t want to miss that.”

  The next hour passed quickly with no problem other than having to confiscate a jug of whiskey and send its owner home. Travis walked the perimeter, keeping watch. And if his eyes happened to stray to a certain golden-haired lady in a fetching blue gown, well . . . The point of his job was to keep everyone safe.

  “I told you she was trouble.”

  Travis swiveled, startled by his father’s voice. He’d thought Pa was on the other side of the park, spending the evening with his poker buddies.

  “Look what she’s done,” Pa continued. “She caused a fight between two men who used to be friends. I told you, Travis, you need to run the Cursed Enemy out of town before she causes any more trouble.” Pa took a shallow breath. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was behind the fire too.”

  The accusation was so absurd that Travis did not honor it with a reply. If he stayed here, he would only say something he might regret. Honor thy father and thy mother. The commandment echoed through Travis’s brain. Sometimes the best way to honor was to walk away. He spun on his heel and headed toward Lydia. That might annoy Pa, but it was better than the alternative. Besides, Travis wanted to see the woman whose beauty made his heart sing. And, for once, she wasn’t dancing. Though she’d had partners for every set before this, now she was seated by Aunt Bertha.

  “I’m not much of a dancer,” Travis said when he reached her, “but I wondered if you’d care to take a walk with me.”

  Lydia looked up, surprised to see Travis. Oh, she’d seen him from a distance all day, but other than the time in her shop this morning and the brief words they’d spoken before the unfortunate incident had begun, they’d not spoken. This was the opportunity she’d sought.

  “Yes, thank you. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  Ever since she’d heard what had happened between Nate and Warner, though she’d tried to keep a smile pasted on her face, Lydia’s stomach had been tied in knots. The only good thing she could say was that Catherine had not been here to witness the man she loved’s foolishness. Though Lydia wished Gussie had felt well enough for her and Catherine to attend tonight’s festivities, it was good they’d missed the altercation.

  Aunt Bertha had told Lydia it was nothing to worry about. “Boys will be boys,” she’d announced, but Lydia wasn’t convinced. While Aunt Bertha tried to find the best in every situation, Travis was a realist. He’d tell her the truth.

  They walked in silence until they were outside the park. It was quieter here, with less chance of being overheard, yet they were still close enough to the crowd that no one would look askance at the sheriff and the town’s candy maker walking arm in arm.

  Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get out the first word, Travis turned toward her.

  “Are you enjoying being the belle of the ball? Not every woman has two men fighting over the honor of asking her to dance.” There was a hint of humor in his voice. Ridiculous. There was nothing amusing about what had happened.

  Lydia shook her head, as much in response to Travis’s apparent amusement as to his question. “That’s what I wanted to discuss. I’m embarrassed by what happened. I knew I was making a mistake by coming here tonight, but Aunt Bertha insisted. She claimed I was part of the town now and needed to be a part of Founders’ Day.” Lydia had been a part, all right. The scandalous part.

  “Aunt Bertha was wrong. I’m not a part of the town, not yet. I know that even though they buy my candy, there are plenty of people who consider me an interloper, maybe even an enemy, because I’m a Yankee. Any progress I may have made in gaining their trust was destroyed tonight.”

  Travis was silent for a moment, all traces of humor gone from his expression. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re wrong. No one could blame you for what Warner and Nate did. That’s as silly as Porter blaming me for not being able to stop the fire. He apologized later, and Nate and Warner will too. Once they’ve calmed down, they’ll realize what happened was the result of their own idiocy.”

  “Not everyone will think that way.” She had overheard several of the women speculating that Lydia had led the men on. One had even referred to her as a hussy.

  Travis must not have heard those comments, because he continued. “Look at all the men who asked you to dance. They weren’t shunning you.”

  “That’s true, but they don’t buy much candy, either. I can’t let the store fail.” What bothered her most was the thought that Aunt Bertha’s faith in her might be misplaced.

  “It won’t fail. The scene this morning should have proven that. Almost every woman in Cimarron Creek was standing in line to buy your fudge.”

  “They could change their minds just as quickly.” The women on the train and the stagecoaches had been friendly until Lydia had spoken, but in an instant their welcome had vanished, replaced by disdain and in some cases outright enmity.

  “I can’t imagine that happening because two men got into a fight over dancing with you.”

  “They should have known better. I tried to tell them.”

  “Tell them what?” Travis tipped his head to the side, reminding Lydia of a bird listening for a worm. Only there were no worms, just the reality of her situation.

  “That I have no intention of marrying them or anyone.”

  He nodded slowly, but Lydia sensed that Travis was acknowledging her statement rather than agreeing with it. “You’ve said that before, but you’ve never explained why. Most women look forward to marriage.”

  “I’m not most women.”

  Travis nodded. “I know that. You’re stronger and braver than most women.”

  His words sent warmth spiraling through her, chasing away the cold dread that had settled deep inside her when she’d heard about Warner and Nate’s fight.

  “I still don’t understand why you’re opposed to marriage,” he said.

  Because I saw what it did to my mother. Because I almost made the same mistake. Those were the reasons, but Lydia didn’t want to admit them. Though the best thing was to say nothing, unbidden the words slipped out. “Men can’t be trusted.”

  Travis flinched and started to speak, but Lydia stopped him. “I’m sure there are exceptions. You’re probably one of them, but I’ve seen enough to know it’s true. Men can’t be trusted where love is concerned.”

  13

  She was wrong. Travis strode around the perimeter of the park, frustration making his footsteps heavier than normal. Lydia was wrong. Men could be trusted. Even his mother agreed with that. “He’s an honorable man, he kept his wedding vows, and even though he’s become harsher since the war, he’s been a good father to you and Dorcas,” she declared the day Travis had asked if Pa was the reason
she was crying.

  His eyes scanned the crowd, looking not only for signs of trouble but for an answer to his question. Lydia had refused to say anything more, and though Aunt Bertha would undoubtedly give him an earful of explanations, he didn’t want to talk to his highly opinionated aunt tonight. He just wanted to understand why Lydia claimed men couldn’t be trusted and his mother had seemed so sad.

  If everything Ma had said was true, why had she cried so often? Though she’d claimed she had sensitive eyes and that dust motes sometimes made her weep, Travis didn’t believe that. He’d recognized the despair in her sobs when he’d wakened in the middle of the night and heard her crying in the kitchen. Dust motes weren’t to blame. He knew that. What he didn’t know was who or what was responsible for his mother’s unhappiness. He’d probably never know, because Pa refused to talk about her, and Dorcas knew as little as Travis did.

  Whatever the problem was, Ma had taken it to the grave with her. But Lydia was still alive. That gave him time to change her mind once he understood why she felt the way she did.

  Abandoning the perimeter, Travis made his way to the center of the park, where couples were dancing to a lively tune. Though some of his aunts and uncles sat on the sidelines, his cousins were out in full force with the notable exception of Warner, who’d been banished, and Catherine.

  As a lemon-yellow dress caught his eye, Travis revised his observation. Catherine was here, and since she was closer to Lydia than anyone other than Aunt Bertha, she might be able to help him.

  “Evening, Catherine,” he said when he reached her side. “How’s your mother?” He’d heard that Aunt Gussie was having a bad spell today and that was the reason neither she nor Catherine had attended the earlier events.

  “She’s sleeping now.” Catherine’s voice held a note of sadness. “I wanted to stay with her, but she insisted I come. I’m not really in the mood for dancing, though.”