A Stolen Heart

by Amanda Cabot

  “Neither am I.”

  “The women of Cimarron Creek will be eternally grateful for that.” The soft chuckle that accompanied her words told Travis that Catherine was remembering the times he’d attempted to dance but had accomplished little other than mashing his partners’ feet.

  “Since neither of us is interested in dancing, may I escort you to the refreshment table? The punch is better than normal.”

  Catherine nodded as she placed her hand on the crook of his elbow. “What is it you want to ask me?”

  “What do you mean?” Had Catherine somehow read his thoughts?

  “I’m a teacher, Travis. I’ve learned to read little boys’ expressions. You look exactly like one of my pupils did the day he asked me where babies came from.”

  Travis couldn’t help laughing as he wondered how Catherine had gotten through that potentially embarrassing moment and whether there had been others that were just as bad. Maybe being sheriff wasn’t the worst job Cimarron Creek had to offer.

  “I assure you I wasn’t going to ask you that.”

  “Good, because I had no intention of answering. What do you want to know?”

  He had planned to ease into the subject, but now there was no need. “Do you believe men can be trusted?”

  Catherine’s grip on his arm tightened, telling Travis he’d hit a sensitive nerve.

  “In general or about something specific?” she asked.

  “Something specific. Do you believe men can be trusted where love is concerned?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I heard I missed the excitement yesterday,” Catherine said as she took a seat at the marble-topped table.

  “The fire was out almost before it started.” Lydia poured a second cup of coffee and handed it to her friend. “I heard that Porter was angry and even went so far as to blame Travis, but by the time I danced with him, he was as calm as could be.”

  Catherine nodded. “That’s Porter for you. He has a quick temper, but it subsides as fast as it flares. I wasn’t referring to the fire, though. Half a dozen people told me about the fight.”

  The fight. If there was one part of Founders’ Day that Lydia didn’t want to recall, it was that. And the worst part was that Catherine had had to hear about it from someone else. Lydia had planned to tell her what had happened when she saw her this morning.

  “I’m sorry, Catherine. I hope you know I didn’t do anything to start it. If I’d known you were coming to the dance, I would have stayed and told you about it myself.” As it was, when Aunt Bertha had admitted to being tired, Lydia had used that as an excuse to leave the festivities. She had been gone before her friend arrived.

  “I know that. Nate and Warner were being like schoolboys. To tell you the truth, Lydia, seeing how Nate’s been acting has opened my eyes.” Catherine stared into the distance for a moment. “Mama told me there are two kinds of love. One is when a woman gives her heart to a man. That’s good, but she said it’s even better when he steals her heart. That’s the kind of love that lasts a lifetime.”

  Love was something Lydia and her mother had rarely discussed, and not once had Mama spoken of stolen hearts. That was understandable, for Mama’s experience with love had been far different from Gussie’s.

  “Did Nate steal your heart?”

  Catherine shook her head. “I thought so at first, but now I know it wasn’t so. I can see that the Nate I thought I knew was a figment of my imagination and that what I believed was love was nothing more than my longing to be married. The real Nate is not the man I want to marry. That would have been a mistake.”

  Lydia looked up from the fudge she was stirring. “I know what you mean. I almost made the same mistake.”

  “With Edgar.”

  Lydia couldn’t hide her surprise. “How did you know? I haven’t told anyone.”

  “As I told Travis last night, I’ve learned to read people’s expressions. Yours told me there was more than friendship between you and Edgar.”

  There was no point in denying what Catherine had seen. “Was. Past tense. When I learned that he’d married Opal, I realized I didn’t really know him. If he could fall in love with someone else so quickly, he wasn’t the right man for me.”

  “But the right man will come. God will send him.”

  “Maybe.”

  Travis reached to the ceiling in a vain attempt to overcome fatigue with a stretch. What he needed was a solid ten hours of sleep, but that wasn’t going to happen any more than Lydia was going to admit that she might be mistaken. He stretched again, then poured himself a cup of the now-cold coffee he’d made when he’d returned from the night’s patrol.

  Grimacing as he took a big swig of the beverage that would probably do little to keep him awake, Travis shook his head. He might not know why his mother had been so sad, but he did know one thing, and that was that he didn’t want Lydia to become like Ma. She deserved to be happy. Right now the store made her happy, and though it might not be part of his official responsibilities to the town, Travis had every intention of doing what he could to ensure that happiness continued.

  He swallowed the last of the coffee and rose. It was time to see what was happening on Main Street. Placing the empty cup next to the pot, he tried to convince himself that the only reason he spent time with Lydia was his concern for her success. It had nothing to do with the way her smile made him feel as if he were ten feet tall or that even an innocent brush of her fingers against his sent waves of pleasure through his veins. That was foolishness, and Travis Whitfield was not a foolish man.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Sheriff.”

  Travis spun around at the sound of Opal Ellis’s voice. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard the door open. That was not good. Not good at all. He needed to be alert every minute of the day.

  “Morning, Opal. What can I do for you?” Though he believed he knew the answer, Travis felt compelled to ask the question. There was always the possibility that she was here on Faith’s behalf.

  “I wondered whether you’d learned anything about Edgar.”

  Opal’s slender fingers pleated her skirt in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture, drawing Travis’s attention to her abdomen. In the more than two months since her husband had disappeared, Opal’s unborn child had grown to the point where even an unobservant man could not ignore it.

  “I’m sorry, Opal, but every lead has turned out to be false. No one has seen Edgar since the night he disappeared. The only encouragement I can give you is that no one has found his body. That means he could still be alive somewhere.” It was a faint hope, and Travis knew it. So did Opal, for though she nodded, she looked as if she were about to burst into tears.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Opal’s hands cupped her abdomen in a protective gesture. “Faith won’t let me work at the Silver Spur any longer. She says it’s bad for business. She says I can stay there until the baby’s born, but I need to pay for my room and board. How can I do that when I’m not working?” Opal shook her head, her face contorted with distress. “Edgar was going to find us a house, but now . . . I don’t know what to do.”

  The words came out in a torrent, and then she did it. She burst into tears. Travis tried not to frown as the thought came to him unbidden that Lydia might have been right. Perhaps men—or at least Edgar—weren’t to be trusted. Opal had put her trust in Edgar, and now she was alone with a baby on the way.

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff,” she said between sobs. “I know it’s not your problem.”

  But it was. Travis couldn’t help believing that if he’d been on patrol that night, he might have been able to prevent Edgar from leaving. “I wish I had better news for you,” he told the young woman as she tried to staunch her tears.

  Opal looked at him through red-rimmed eyes. “You’ll find him. I know you will.”

  If only Travis shared her optimism. When Opal left, he resumed his afternoon routine, stopping in the town’s business establish
ments, ensuring that the proprietors and their customers knew he was looking out for Cimarron Creek’s residents.

  Knowing how important it was to not be predictable, lest thieves or vandals use that information to their benefit, he varied the order that he visited the shops, and while he didn’t enter every home, he took the time to stroll down each of the streets whether or not it housed a business. The townspeople had a right to protection, and he was dedicated to providing it.

  Today he listened to two women complaining that their chickens weren’t laying as many eggs as normal and another declaring that her cow’s milk production was only half what it had been last month. Though he had no idea what the women expected him to do about their problems, he nodded sympathetically. At least they weren’t weeping.

  By the end of the afternoon, every bone in his body ached from fatigue, but his step was lighter as he approached the candy store. The time he spent with Lydia had quickly become the highlight of his days. Despite her protests that he had other, more important responsibilities, Travis had started stopping at Aunt Bertha’s house every day at noon to help Lydia carry the newly made candy to Cimarron Sweets. He returned each afternoon at six after she’d closed the store and completed her cleanup so that he could escort her home. While the empty pans weren’t too heavy for her, they were bulky.

  “You look tired,” he said as he entered the store through the rear door. The sweet smells of chocolate and peppermint made his mouth water. If he was fortunate, she would offer him a piece of both.

  Lydia raised an eyebrow. “What kind of greeting is that?”

  “An honest one.” And one from a man who was too tired to remember his manners. “I told you I don’t indulge in flattery. Are you getting any sleep?”

  She shrugged as she handed him a plate with four pieces of candy on it. “Probably more than you are. You can’t patrol all night and then expect to stay awake all day.”

  “And you can’t cook all night and every morning, then expect to be ready to serve people all afternoon.”

  While Travis devoured the fudge as if he hadn’t eaten for days, Lydia said, “I’m not cooking all night. It’s only a few hours after supper—never more than four or five.” Lydia tipped her head to one side, smiling as she said, “I don’t want to disappoint my customers. They’ve bought more candy than either Aunt Bertha or I thought possible. It’s worth losing a little sleep.”

  He understood the feeling. “My night patrols have stopped the vandalism.” No matter what the women said, Travis was not taking any responsibility for too few eggs or too little milk.

  “But you can’t continue this way.” Lydia slid the now empty plate into a bucket of soapy water, then rinsed and dried it. Though she said nothing more, Travis saw the way her hands trembled slightly as she placed the plate on the shelf. Three weeks ago, that would not have happened, but three weeks ago, she had gotten more than four hours of sleep a night.

  “Neither can you. Have you considered hiring an assistant?” As the idea popped into his brain, Travis knew it was no coincidence that Opal had visited him today.

  “To make candy?” Lydia looked as if he’d suggested she rob a bank.

  That had been exactly what he’d thought, but it was obvious she wouldn’t agree. “How about someone to cut the fudge, do all the weighing, and box the candies?” He knew that was how she spent her mornings. “If you didn’t have to do that, you could sleep another hour or two.” And if she agreed, he would have found a solution to another problem.

  Though he’d expected an immediate refusal, Lydia looked as if she were pondering the suggestion. “That might work, but who would I hire? Several of the girls might be interested, but they’ll be going back to school soon.”

  Travis spoke slowly, remembering her reaction the day she’d arrived in Cimarron Creek and had first met Faith and Opal. “Opal Ellis isn’t going to school, and she could use a new job.”

  Blood drained from Lydia’s face so quickly that Travis feared she might faint. “Opal? You want me to hire her?” Horror tinged every word.

  Travis nodded. “If you’re worried about what your customers would say, everyone knows all she did at the saloon was sing and dance. Faith didn’t even let her serve drinks.” When Lydia seemed to be relaxing, Travis continued. “The problem is, she can no longer dance, and she needs a way to pay Faith for her room and board.”

  Though color was making its way back to her cheeks, Lydia did not appear convinced. “I don’t know.”

  “I won’t pressure you, but I think this would be a good solution for both of you.”

  Obviously fighting a yawn, Lydia reached for one of the bags of empty pans and headed for the door. “All right. I’ll think about it.” She turned, her eyes serious as they studied his face. “You need to find a way to get more sleep too.” Lydia gave him a small smile. “You might take your own advice and hire a deputy.”

  “Maybe I should.”

  It wasn’t a bad idea. In fact, it was a good one. The problem was, hiring help felt like admitting failure. The previous sheriffs had never needed a deputy. They’d single-handedly kept the peace in Cimarron Creek. Was Pa right in saying Travis wasn’t meant to be sheriff?

  “He’s asking too much.” Lydia hated the way her voice had turned shrill, but she couldn’t seem to stop it. Though she ought to be making a fresh batch of peanut brittle and one of taffy, she’d been so distressed by Travis’s suggestion that she’d abandoned the kitchen and headed for Catherine’s house, hoping her friend could help her.

  “Is the problem hiring an assistant or hiring Opal?” Catherine asked. She’d led Lydia into the parlor and pointed toward the settee. Once Lydia was seated, she’d settled in next to her and put her arm around Lydia’s shoulders.

  “It’s Opal. I don’t know how I can spend every day with her. Whenever I think about her, I remember that she’s Edgar’s wife and will soon be the mother of his child.”

  Catherine was silent for a moment, leading Lydia to suspect that she was choosing her words carefully. “When I look at you, I see my friend, not the woman who caught Nate’s eye.”

  A wave of shame washed over Lydia. She’d been thinking of no one other than herself when she should have remembered that she was not the only one who’d been disappointed in love. And even though she and Catherine had suffered disappointments, their pain was far less than Opal’s. She’d lost more than the promise of love; she’d lost her husband, and her unborn child had lost its father.

  “Some Christian I am,” Lydia said. “I certainly failed at the ‘love thy neighbor as thyself’ commandment.”

  Catherine’s reply was instantaneous. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re only human.”

  “But so is Opal, and she needs help.”

  Once again Lydia found herself ashamed. When she’d arrived in Cimarron Creek, though she was a total stranger, Aunt Bertha had offered her a home. More than that, she had given Lydia the protection of the Henderson name and then—without Lydia having to ask—had helped her establish the confectionary. How could Lydia refuse to offer a helping hand to a woman whose need was even greater than her own?

  She nodded, knowing Travis had been right. “I’ll give her a chance.”

  14

  Oh, Miss Crawford, I don’t know how to thank you. I never dreamt I could work in a place like this.” Opal’s eyes shone with pleasure as she looked around Aunt Bertha’s kitchen. She had responded to the message Lydia had sent and had come to the house early this morning, eager to try out for the position as Lydia’s assistant.

  “This is so beautiful,” Opal said, stroking the marble-topped table, “and the candy is as good as everyone claims.”

  Lydia was tempted to smile. Opal’s youthful enthusiasm was appealing, and there was no doubt that she was a quick learner. Not only had she demonstrated an aptitude for cutting fudge into precise squares, but she’d proven adept at folding boxes. As long as Lydia avoided looking at the ring adorning Opal’s left hand an
d the obvious thickening of her middle, she could admit how much help the young woman would be.

  Lydia took a deep breath as she reminded herself that it wasn’t Opal’s fault that Edgar had married her rather than Lydia. As far as she could tell, the girl had done nothing to snare him other than being her sweet self. And she was sweet. Lydia could tell that from the hour they’d spent together. It was no wonder Faith had hired her to sing and dance at the saloon. Opal must have been a refreshing change from the jaded women who sought to attract customers with their painted faces and low-cut gowns.

  “I hope you’re still excited after you’ve been here for a week or so,” Lydia said. “There’s nothing glamorous about the work.”

  Opal looked up from the box of fudge she’d placed on the scale. “There’s nothing glamorous about the Silver Spur, either, Miss Crawford. At least men won’t be staring at me here.”

  “That’s true.” Even if Opal worked at the store itself, she would encounter few men. With the notable exception of Travis, Warner, and Nate, few men ventured inside. “I thought you might be able to help in the back room,” Lydia said, voicing a thought that had popped into her mind when she’d seen Opal’s efficiency. “You’d be in charge of washing dishes, making tea, and boxing special orders. That would mean an additional five hours of work each day. Do you think you could do that?”

  The smile that crossed Opal’s face turned her from pretty to almost beautiful. “Oh yes, Miss Crawford. I’m not afraid of hard work.”

  Lydia nodded. “Good. We’ll start tomorrow. And, Opal, please call me Lydia. Miss Crawford is too formal for people who are going to be working together.” Just as importantly, the use of her Christian name would mean that Lydia wasn’t constantly reminded that she was still a miss, while Opal was Mrs. Edgar Ellis.

  “Of course, Miss . . .” Opal shook her head at the realization that she’d already forgotten the admonition. “Lydia,” she said with a shy smile. “I’m glad you came to Cimarron Creek.”