A Stolen Heart

by Amanda Cabot

  “Of course.” Lydia heard the sound of cupboard doors opening and closing. A few seconds later, Opal appeared in the showroom, a frown marring her smooth forehead. “The pot’s not here. Maybe you took it home last night?”

  Lydia shook her head. Though she’d stayed later than Opal yesterday, she had no reason to return the teapot to the mansion on Pecan Street. When she’d offered it to Lydia for the shop, Aunt Bertha had said the teapot brought back unhappy memories, memories Lydia suspected were of Joan.

  “Could you have put it in a different cupboard?” Lydia asked. There had been fewer than normal customers sampling candy yesterday, and she had had no need to use the Blue Willow pot. But, though she and Opal looked on each of the shelves, the teapot was nowhere to be found.

  “I’ll wait on Hilda,” Lydia said when she heard the doorbell tinkle. Somehow she’d convince the woman that tea tasted just as good from a different pot. “Would you check to see if anything else is gone?”

  But nothing was, and that was odd. If someone had wanted the teapot, why hadn’t they also taken the matching sugar and creamer? A steady stream of customers kept Lydia from dwelling on the missing china, though the questions returned when she closed the store. And, judging from the expression on Travis’s face when he met her, she wasn’t the only one who’d had at least one unpleasant surprise today.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked as they headed east on Oak Street. “You look a bit preoccupied.”

  He raised his eyebrows before nodding. “Sorry. I didn’t realize it was so obvious. I had a strange day. Four shopkeepers reported thefts.”

  “That is unusual.” Travis had told her that other than the occasional stolen chicken, theft was uncommon in Cimarron Creek. Homeowners felt secure enough that few locked their doors, and while shopkeepers did resort to lock and key, it was simply to discourage curious children from browsing through the merchandise when the stores were closed. It was probably coincidence that Lydia’s teapot had gone missing the same day that others had items stolen.

  “What was taken?” She doubted anyone else had lost items of minimal value.

  “That’s what’s strange. It wasn’t what you’d expect. Take Warner. He has expensive medicine in the apothecary, not to mention a very valuable scale, but the thief took his favorite pestle. It’s not much good without the mortar. Cousin Jacob is missing three jars of orange marmalade from the mercantile.” Travis chuckled. “He told me no one buys marmalade, even when he puts it on sale, so he can’t figure out who’d bother to steal it. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  Lydia agreed. The Blue Willow teapot was worth more than three jars of marmalade, but its value was far greater as part of the set. “Were there any signs of breaking and entering?” She and Opal had checked both doors and had found nothing.

  “Not one.” Travis paused when they reached the corner of Cedar. “That’s part of what puzzles me. I spent the day questioning everyone who might have been nearby, but no one saw anything, and as far as I could tell, the thief simply walked into those buildings.” Travis shook his head. “I could believe one of the store owners forgot to lock a door, but four on the same night? That seems unlikely. Four people wouldn’t be careless at the same time.”

  “Five.”

  His eyes widened as he stared at Lydia. “What do you mean?”

  “My Blue Willow teapot is missing, and I know the door was locked last night. You were there. You saw me lock it.” Since Opal’s feet had been bothering her, Lydia had sent her home early and had done the after-closing cleanup herself. “Plus that, it was still locked this morning.”

  “Five in one night. That’s just as improbable as the fact that the stolen items were of so little value.” A frown marred Travis’s normally handsome face. “It could have been someone who’s good at picking locks, but the fact that he locked up after himself is strange. Why would someone do that?” Travis’s frown deepened. “Maybe the townspeople made a mistake in hiring me, because I can’t imagine who’s behind this any more than I can figure out who killed Edgar.”

  Though Lydia hated the self-doubt she heard in Travis’s voice, what wrenched her heart was the thought of Edgar being dead. While she’d told herself that was possible, perhaps even likely, Opal was so convinced that he was still alive that her optimism was wearing off on Lydia.

  “You still think he was killed?”

  Travis nodded. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. A happily married man whose wife is expecting their first child isn’t likely to leave town and abandon her.”

  “Why not? That’s what he did to me.” The words were out before Lydia could stop them, and yet, though she hadn’t intended to tell anyone in Cimarron Creek about her past, she found she could not regret her impulsive statement. Somehow it seemed important that Travis know what had happened in Syracuse.

  He looked steadily at her, his expression encouraging her to continue.

  “Promise you won’t tell anyone. What I’m about to tell you would only hurt Opal, and she doesn’t deserve that.” When Travis nodded, Lydia continued. “Edgar and I were supposed to be married.”

  “I suspected as much. I figured you were one of those mail-order brides and that you came out here to meet and marry Edgar.”

  “That’s not the way it happened. I knew Edgar when we both lived in Syracuse.” Lydia could see that revelation surprised Travis. What had Edgar told him of his past? Obviously not that he’d lived in Syracuse. “He wanted to start a new life in Texas, and since I had no family back East, I agreed. We’d planned to wait until school ended, then get married and come here.”

  Raised eyebrows met her words. “So, what changed your plan?”

  “Edgar got into a fight. He was outside a tavern when he saw a man hitting a woman. By the time he reached her, the woman was lying on the ground, dead. Edgar’s temper got the better of him and he attacked the other man. I don’t know all the details, but I know the other man got the worst of the fight.” Lydia shuddered at the memory of Edgar’s bloodstained fists. “When it was over, the other man said Edgar was going to pay for what he’d done. He was the one who’d be blamed for the woman’s death.”

  Travis remained silent, as if he knew Lydia hadn’t finished. “I believed Edgar’s story, but he knew the police wouldn’t. You see, the other man was the son of one of the wealthiest families in town. They would never have let their son’s reputation be tarnished.”

  Lydia wondered what would have happened if the fight had occurred in Cimarron Creek. Would everyone have rallied around a Whitfield or a Henderson if they were involved, regardless of who was responsible? She’d heard more than one person say the founding families were overly protective of their reputation.

  When Travis said nothing, Lydia continued. “None of it makes sense. Edgar wasn’t a drinker, but there he was on a street lined with taverns, and so was Richard Hale. When it was over, Edgar knew his only chance was to leave.”

  “And he left without you.”

  The way he phrased it made Lydia wonder if Travis had somehow guessed how she and Edgar had argued that night. She’d wanted to go with him, even though it would have meant leaving the school shorthanded, but he’d been adamant. “He said he’d be able to hide his trail if he went alone and that I’d only slow him down. He told me this was only a minor change in plans. I’d join him here as soon as I could, and we’d be married.”

  “But in the meantime he married Opal.”

  “Exactly. And now he’s left her.”

  No wonder Lydia thought men could not be trusted. Travis shoved his fists into his pockets as he strode away from Aunt Bertha’s house. Edgar had told Lydia he wasn’t a drinker, but if he wasn’t, why was he in that particular neighborhood? That had to have raised questions in Lydia’s mind. Then he’d fled, leaving her to travel to Texas alone, which couldn’t have been easy. And—worst of all—he’d broken his promise to marry her.

  Somehow, though he’d claimed he wouldn’t do it, Edgar had
wound up working in a saloon. Although, to his credit, Travis had heard that Edgar hadn’t so much as touched a drop of alcohol, despite working in a place where drinking was one of the major attractions. That said something for him, but it didn’t outweigh the fact that he was now Opal’s husband.

  Why? For the life of him, Travis couldn’t understand that. Though he had to admit that Edgar and Opal had seemed happy together, Opal didn’t hold a candle to Lydia. He could almost understand the marriage when he’d believed Lydia was a mail order bride Edgar had never met, but how could a man who’d known Lydia as long as Edgar had marry someone else? It was time to send a telegram to Syracuse and learn the official version of the story.

  Half an hour later, Travis hung his hat on the hook inside the front door, steeling himself for an evening with Pa. The man had been ornerier than normal the past few days, and with the way today had gone, Travis didn’t expect anything different.

  “What’s going on in town?”

  So much for a pleasant greeting. His father scowled as he looked up from the paper he’d been reading. “I heard some folks were robbed.”

  Travis should have expected that news to spread quickly. There were few secrets in Cimarron Creek, and something as juicy as multiple thefts was certain to fuel the grapevine.

  “Nothing big or expensive,” he said, repeating what he’d told Lydia. “I can’t figure out who’d bother stealing things like that.”

  Pa didn’t bother to hide his scorn. “You could if you hadn’t let yourself be blinded by a pretty face. It’s as plain as can be that the girl’s behind it.”

  “Lydia? That’s ridiculous.”

  “No, it isn’t. Just because she makes good candy doesn’t mean she’s honest.”

  At least Pa was acknowledging something positive about Lydia, and he hadn’t referred to her as the Cursed Enemy. That was a step in the right direction. Travis ought to let the crazy idea that she was a thief go. Experience had taught him there was no reasoning with Pa when he was in a mood like this, and yet Travis couldn’t simply dismiss the allegations. “Lydia isn’t a thief. She was one of the people robbed.”

  “So she says.” The smirk that accompanied his words left no doubt of Pa’s opinion. “That’s the best way to keep you from suspecting her—pretend she’s a victim.”

  Travis didn’t bother counting to ten. He could count to a hundred, a thousand, a million and it wouldn’t lessen his anger. “Whether or not you approve, I’m the sheriff here. It’s my job to catch whoever is behind these thefts.”

  “Then do it and use your brain. Just because she’s pretty doesn’t mean she’s not guilty. Face it, son, you’re smitten.”

  Was he? The thought slammed into Travis with the strength of a speeding train. He wouldn’t say he was smitten—the very word rankled—but he couldn’t deny that Lydia was special. Never before had he met a woman like her, one who was strong at the same time she was vulnerable. Never before had a woman’s smile warmed him the way Lydia’s did. Never before had he cared so deeply whether that woman was happy.

  Was that being smitten? Travis didn’t know. What he knew was that he cared about Lydia and that he wanted her to learn that men could be trusted. Travis swallowed as he admitted one more thing: he wanted to be the man who made her happy, the one she trusted.

  He wasn’t thinking about marriage—of course he wasn’t. Travis knew he would never marry. How could he risk making a woman’s life as miserable as his mother’s had been? But he could be a friend, a good friend.

  There must be something he could do for his friend Lydia. As Travis stared at the kitchen table, a memory resurfaced.

  “Did something happen to Aunt Bertha?” Catherine asked as she settled onto the bench in the rose garden. It was Sunday afternoon, one of the few times she and Lydia had to spend together. “She looks different. Happier.”

  Though Lydia suspected that part of the reason Aunt Bertha was more relaxed was that she had finally shed tears for her daughter, she wouldn’t divulge her secret to anyone, not even Catherine.

  “We’ve been taking rides out of town,” she said. “Aunt Bertha seems to enjoy them. She claims they remind her of good times with her husband.” Lydia glanced at the sky, registering the cumulus clouds with their dark underbellies. “We would have gone again this afternoon, but it looks too much like rain.”

  Catherine nodded. “I know. I need to go home soon. Thunderstorms make Mama nervous.”

  “How is she?” Lydia wouldn’t ask about the trip to Europe, because with school starting in a few weeks, there was no time for that, even if Gussie were well enough.

  The flash of anger that crossed Catherine’s face surprised Lydia with its intensity. “She’s no better. Every time I think she might be recovering, Dr. Harrington bleeds her again. He says it’s the only way to get the bad humors out, but I can’t help thinking he’s making her worse.”

  Lydia tried not to shudder at the thought of what effect bleeding would have on a woman as weak as Gussie Whitfield. The procedure seemed barbaric, but unless Catherine’s mother refused it, the doctor would probably continue to drain cups of blood from her.

  “I wish there were something I could do. I know she enjoys the candy, but there must be more that I can do for her. For both of you,” Lydia amended her statement. Catherine might be well physically, but her mother’s illness had taken a toll on her emotionally. Lydia knew she could not heal Catherine’s mother, but perhaps she could boost her spirits. “Would you and your mother like to join Aunt Bertha and me for a ride next Sunday?”

  Catherine’s face brightened. “That could be just what she needs.” When she left a few minutes later, she gave Lydia a hug. “I’ll tell Mama about the ride. If I’m right, she’ll spend the next week practically counting the hours.”

  Lydia wasn’t counting hours. Enjoying her sole day of rest, she was engrossed in Northanger Abbey when she heard a knock on the front door.

  “Travis.” Lydia smiled at the sight of the handsome sheriff standing on the porch, one hand behind his back. Though she’d seen him just a few hours earlier when they’d left the church, she couldn’t stop her pulse from racing as he smiled back at her. “Aunt Bertha didn’t say she was expecting you.”

  “I’m not here to see my aunt. I came to see you.” His eyes darkened, and for an instant Lydia thought he was bringing bad news, but then the corners of his lips turned up. “After you told me what happened with Edgar, I sent some telegrams to Syracuse. It turns out he told you the truth. Apparently there were two witnesses. At first they were afraid to testify, but they both agreed that the killer was shorter than average and wore expensive clothes. When I asked if that description would fit Richard Hale, my sources said it would.”

  Travis shifted slightly, perhaps because he was uncomfortable with his hand behind his back. It was the first time Lydia had seen him stand that way, and though she wondered at the somewhat awkward position, it was of little importance compared to the story he was relating.

  “The official verdict is that an unknown assailant killed the woman, and since she had no family or close friends, there was no one to question it. No one is looking for that assailant.”

  The relief that flowed through Lydia shocked her with its intensity. This was more than she had dreamed possible. Travis’s report meant that Edgar no longer had to fear for his life. He was free. He and Opal could have a happy future, if only he’d return to Cimarron Creek.

  “That’s wonderful news, Travis. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  His smile warmed her more than the summer sun. “Just doing my job, ma’am,” he said, giving his lips a wry twist. “Here’s the real reason I came.” Travis brought his arm forward, revealing a bouquet of flowers clasped in his hand. “I thought you might like these. It may seem silly, since you have a rose garden here, but I always thought wildflowers were special. Don’t ever tell Aunt Bertha, but my mother said she preferred them to roses.”

  Lydia inhaled deeply, tryin
g to get her heartbeat back to normal. Travis was right. Wildflowers were special, but the man who held them was even more special. She knew he was kind—the fact that he arranged his schedule to help her carry pans to and from the confectionary was proof of that, as was the fact that he’d sent multiple telegrams to Syracuse to ease her mind about Edgar’s past—but the gift of flowers that he’d obviously picked was more than kind.

  She stared at the man whose friendship had become such a vital part of her life, wondering why he’d brought flowers. They, along with books and candy, were traditional courting gifts, but Travis wasn’t courting Lydia. Travis knew she was not ready for marriage and might never be. And, if that weren’t enough, he’d admitted that he had no intention of marrying. The flowers were nothing more than a gesture of friendship. Lydia nodded, wondering why the thought filled her with disappointment.

  Keeping a smile fixed on her face, she accepted the bouquet of multicolored blossoms. “I agree that they’re special. I love knowing that wildflowers were planted by God, not man, but if these are like their northern cousins, they need to be put in water right away.”

  As Lydia walked toward the butler’s pantry, Travis followed, watching but not commenting as she debated between two vases. Perhaps it was foolish to worry so much about choosing the perfect container, but this was the first time anyone had given her flowers, and they pleased her more than she’d thought possible. As if that weren’t enough, the faint blush that stained Travis’s cheeks was as endearing as the flowers.

  When she’d decided that cut glass would complement the flowers better than painted china, Lydia continued to the kitchen and filled the vase with water, then carefully arranged the stems. Placing the finished bouquet on the table, she smiled. “Beautiful.”

  “Yes, indeed.” The smile Travis gave her made Lydia’s heart skip a beat. Some might say it was only a smile, but it was so warm that she felt as if she were melting like the chunks of chocolate she turned into fudge. And then she realized that he was staring at her, not the flowers. Color flooded her cheeks.