A Stolen Heart

by Amanda Cabot

  Travis turned to Nate. “I thought you had feelings for Catherine.” Admittedly, Nate had never said anything to him, but Travis had seen the way he’d looked at Catherine, as if the sun rose and set on his cousin.

  “I was, but then I saw Miss Crawford.”

  Fickle man. Just like Edgar Ellis. It was still difficult to believe that any man could prefer Opal, but there was no ignoring the fact that Edgar had broken his promises to Lydia and married the redhead.

  Fixing his attention on Warner, Travis said, “It seems to me the only reason you were interested in Lydia was that your father was pressuring you to get married. Don’t you think she deserves a man who cares about her, not just the fact that she’s a pretty, single female?”

  “And you’re that man?” Warner chose to answer Travis’s question with one of his own.

  “I told you I’m her friend.”

  Porter’s laugh echoed through the room. “You did. The question is whether any of us believe you.”

  17

  Ouch.” Opal winced as she cupped a hand under her expanding belly. “He got in a good kick that time.” The wince turned to a smile, the same sweet smile that Opal always wore when she spoke of her unborn child.

  “Maybe she was running.” Though Opal insisted her baby would be a boy, Lydia couldn’t resist teasing her, occasionally reminding her that babies came in two varieties. Lydia stifled a yawn. Normally she would still be asleep, but Hilda Gray had placed an extra order for chocolate creams, so Lydia had come downstairs earlier than normal to help Opal box the candies.

  “He’s an active one, especially at night. I just wish Edgar wasn’t missing all this.” The smile that had brightened Opal’s face faded. Though she continued to arrange the pieces of candy in the box, Lydia saw the way her lips tightened. “I know the sheriff thinks he’s dead, but he ain’t—isn’t,” she corrected herself.

  Lydia nodded her approval. When Opal learned that Lydia had been a teacher, she’d asked her to help her speak correctly and had proven to be a good pupil.

  “I don’t care what anybody says. I’d know if Edgar was dead.” Opal laid her hand over her heart. “I know in here that he’s alive. I just don’t know where he is.”

  For Opal’s sake, Lydia hoped she was right. She picked two more candies from the cooling area on the table and placed them in the box she was filling. This one would go to Catherine and her mother. As Gussie’s health continued to fail, Catherine claimed that sweet treats were one of the few pleasures she had.

  “Can you think of any reason why Edgar might have left?” Lydia turned her attention back to Opal. “Did he fight with anyone?” It was likely Travis had posed these same questions, but Lydia couldn’t stop herself from asking.

  When she’d first learned of Edgar’s disappearance, she had wanted to learn what had happened for her sake. Now she was more concerned about finding him for Opal and Travis. Opal needed to know where her husband was, and Travis needed to solve the town’s biggest mystery to prove to himself and the increasingly skeptical townspeople that he was a good sheriff.

  Cimarron Creek was buzzing with the story that the stolen merchandise had been found. Though publicly Travis speculated that someone close to the thief—perhaps even a family member—had found the cache and returned it anonymously to protect the thief, he’d told Lydia that his instincts said the thief himself had been responsible for the return. That had left them both puzzled about the type of person who would do such things.

  “Fight?” Opal looked at Lydia, her eyes widening with surprise. “Edgar wasn’t a fightin’ man. That was one of the reasons Faith hired him. He wouldn’t let no one—sorry, anyone—fight in the Spur. At the first sign, he’d throw the men out.” Opal closed the now-filled box and wrapped a tie around it. “Before he came, Faith was always replacing broken glasses. All that changed when Edgar was around.”

  This was the first time Lydia had heard that story, and it warmed her heart. “Maybe one of those men decided to pay him back.” It wouldn’t be the first time an angry man became violent.

  Opal shook her head. “I don’t think so. Folks here don’t hold grudges, at least not too many. Besides, I don’t reckon those men remembered much the next day.”

  “But there had to be a reason Edgar left.” Men didn’t simply disappear for no good reason.

  Her eyes shining with tears, Opal shook her head again. “I heard some folks say he didn’t like being married. That’s not true, Lydia. Edgar loved me, and he loved this baby, even if it isn’t his.”

  As the words registered, Lydia felt the blood drain from her face. “What do you mean?” She steered Opal to a chair, then took the one next to her. The candy could wait. What mattered now was learning the truth about Edgar, Opal, and her baby.

  Opal clasped her hands together, her expression leaving no doubt that she regretted her unplanned revelation. “No one knows what happened, not even Faith,” she said slowly. “You’ve got to promise you won’t tell anyone.”

  Lydia nodded. If there was one thing she was good at, it was keeping secrets.

  “It happened a few days after Edgar came to town,” Opal said. “It was a slow night at the Spur, so I went outside. Edgar wanted to come with me, but he couldn’t leave. A couple of the regulars were short a man for poker, so he was playing.” The tears that had been welling in Opal’s eyes began to trickle down her cheeks. “I should have waited,” she said as she brushed the tears aside. “I know that now, but I wanted some fresh air. I figured I’d walk up to the bridge and back—wouldn’t take more than ten minutes.” Opal’s lips trembled, and Lydia wished she’d thought to pour her a cup of coffee. The simple act of sipping might help calm her.

  “When I got to the park, a man came out of the shadows. It all happened so fast I don’t remember much other than the pain.”

  Though Opal hadn’t said the word, the meaning was clear. Lydia wrapped her arms around the girl and drew her close. “He violated you.” It was a woman’s worst nightmare.

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t know who it was.” In a town this size, Lydia would have thought Opal knew almost everyone, but the fact that she had not named him told Lydia she had not recognized her assailant.

  “No. It was too dark to see much, and he didn’t say anything. He knocked me to the ground and stuffed a bandana in my mouth so I couldn’t scream. Then he . . .” She paused for a moment, perhaps gathering the courage to pronounce the ugly word. But instead, Opal said, “When I went back to the Spur, Edgar saw I was upset. I didn’t want his pity, so I wouldn’t tell him what happened. But when I realized I was gonna have a baby, he was the only one I could trust.”

  When Opal met Lydia’s gaze, her eyes shone with pride. “He said we’d get married. That way he could protect me and the baby. It was more than pity, Lydia. He told me he loved me, but he didn’t think he had anything to offer me. That’s why he hadn’t said anything before.” Opal pursed her lips. “Edgar loved me and the baby. He wouldn’t have left us. I know he wouldn’t.”

  Her story rang true. Lydia knew Edgar had a chivalrous side. His desire to avenge the woman outside the tavern had been the reason for the fight that had driven him from Syracuse.

  She had no trouble believing Edgar had wanted to protect Opal. As for loving her, that part also rang true. Opal was a very loveable woman. It wasn’t difficult to imagine Edgar falling in love with her. But what had happened after that made Lydia cringe. Poor Opal! Lydia’s heart ached at the thought of all she had endured: first rape, then the loss of her husband.

  She looked directly at the young woman and said, “You should tell Travis what happened. The man who did this to you is probably still in town. It’s possible he’ll attack someone else.” For the first time, Lydia wondered if the reason Travis escorted her to and from the store was out of concern for her safety. He’d never hinted that he thought she was in any danger, but perhaps he knew more than Opal realized.

  Opal shook her head. “I d
on’t want to talk about it. Besides, there’s nothing the sheriff can do now. I told you I don’t know who it was.”

  “Still, he needs to know. You wouldn’t want any other woman to suffer the way you did, would you?”

  Opal closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, the tears were gone, replaced by determination. “All right. He can know, but you have to tell him.”

  As the door opened, Travis looked up from the wanted posters he’d been studying. While Cimarron Creek had its share of crime, at least there had been no stagecoach robberies and no more mysterious fires. Though Porter claimed otherwise, Travis was convinced that the Founders’ Day fire at the livery had been the result of someone—probably Porter himself—dropping a still-smoldering cigar on a bale of hay. But thoughts of fires, mysterious or otherwise, vanished at the sight of his visitor.

  “This is an unexpected pleasure,” Travis said as he rose to greet Lydia.

  “You might not say that when you hear why I’ve come. I’m here on business—sheriff’s business.” Though she took the chair he offered, her smile seemed strained, and he noticed that she had not removed her apron. As far as Travis knew, Lydia never left the store wearing it.

  “Did you have another robbery?” As he’d feared would be the case, Travis had found no clues to who had taken the items from the Main Street businesses. The flour sack could have belonged to anyone, and the stolen merchandise had no telltale threads or smudges to help identify the thief.

  “I wish it were that innocent.” Lydia leaned forward, placing her clasped hands on the edge of his desk. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m going to be blunt. Someone raped Opal early last February. Edgar’s not the father of her baby.”

  Travis took a deep breath, trying to absorb the implication of Lydia’s announcement. Though his first concern should have been for Opal, he found himself wondering how Lydia had reacted to the knowledge that Edgar had married an already pregnant woman. Did she feel betrayed, or did she understand? He wouldn’t ask such a personal question, though his own esteem for Edgar rose a notch. It took a strong man to step forward under those circumstances.

  Nodding slowly, Travis asked, “Why didn’t Opal come to me when it happened?”

  “I’m not completely sure,” Lydia admitted. “She says she can’t identify her attacker, but I suspect that’s only part of it. I imagine she was ashamed and afraid everyone would think she’d somehow encouraged the man.”

  Knowing the feelings many of the town’s matrons had for the girls who worked at the Silver Spur, Travis suspected Opal’s fears were well founded. Still, the attack had occurred, and even though it had happened six months earlier, Travis’s job had just become more complicated.

  “So now we have a rapist as well as a thief, a vandal, and a possible murderer in Cimarron Creek.” He tried to keep his voice light, when all the while his mind was whirling with the realization that his hometown harbored yet another secret. “And to think I once believed this was a peaceful place.”

  Lydia’s expression left no doubt that she shared his concerns. “Do you believe there’s a connection between Opal’s rape and Edgar’s disappearance?”

  He did indeed. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. First Edgar’s girl is attacked; then he vanishes. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

  Travis saw the question in Lydia’s eyes and realized it had appeared when he’d referred to Opal as Edgar’s girl. “I hate to say this, knowing what happened between you and Edgar, but everyone in town knew he was smitten with Opal the minute he set eyes on her, and she was just as infatuated. What if someone else had his eye on Opal and wanted to stake a claim?”

  “By forcing himself on her? That sounds extreme. Why not simply court her?”

  “You know the answer, Lydia. Opal worked in a saloon. Some men would claim that made her fair game. They’d say you don’t marry a saloon girl. You just pay for her time.”

  “But this one didn’t give her a choice. He took what he wanted and left her lying in the park like a bag of garbage.”

  The image made Travis clench his fists and wish it was the rapist’s throat he was squeezing. “When I find him, you can be sure he’ll pay for his crime. In the meantime, you and Catherine and all the other women need to be extra careful. If anyone tries to attack you, scream as loudly as you can and run. You may not get far, but the scream will alert others. That may be enough to discourage the attacker.”

  The alternative was one Travis did not want to consider.

  “This chicken is delicious.” Lydia smiled as she took another forkful of the succulent meat. Aunt Bertha had roasted it with a variety of herbs and served it with tender carrots, green beans, and fluffy mashed potatoes. “I don’t know when I’ve had such a good meal.” It was just what she needed after a drama-filled day.

  Lydia’s head was still reeling from Opal’s revelation and the fact that Travis believed there was a connection between Opal’s attack and Edgar’s disappearance. Lydia couldn’t have explained why she had asked the question, but once the words were spoken, she’d realized how right they felt, and when Travis had agreed that it was no coincidence, an unexpected warmth had flooded her veins. The circumstances were horrible, but it felt good—so very good—to be working with Travis. It made her feel that they were not simply friends but were also partners.

  Their discussion was something she had shared with no one, not Aunt Bertha and certainly not Opal. Though Lydia had told Opal that she’d reported the rape to Travis, she had not told the young woman of their concern. There was nothing Opal could do, and if she believed she was somehow responsible for Edgar going missing, she would only fret. That wouldn’t be good for either her or her baby. And though Aunt Bertha would undoubtedly have had an opinion, it was best for everyone if Opal’s story remained a secret.

  Lydia nodded at Aunt Bertha as she swallowed a bite of chicken. “You’re not only the town’s matriarch, you’re its best cook.”

  “Thank you, my dear. I—” Abruptly Aunt Bertha dropped her knife and grabbed her chest. Though a moment earlier she’d appeared healthy, her breathing turned rapid and shallow.

  Lydia’s heart began to pound with apprehension. “What’s wrong?” She’d seen Aunt Bertha out of breath, but never had she seen her face so pale, and never had she seen her hands tremble like cottonwood leaves in a summer storm.

  “My heart.” The older woman struggled to speak. “Too fast.” She pushed her plate to the side, then laid her head on the table. Though Aunt Bertha’s pallor and trembling had alarmed Lydia, the sight of the oh-so-proper woman’s etiquette breach filled her with fear. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

  She jumped to her feet. “I’ll get the doctor.”

  “No. Not him.” To Lydia’s relief, Aunt Bertha’s voice sounded stronger. “All he’ll do is bleed me.” She raised her head slowly, as if testing her neck’s ability to support it. Though she was still pale, color was returning to her cheeks, and her hands were steady. “See. It’s over now.”

  Lydia reached for Aunt Bertha’s water glass and held it to her lips, urging her to take a sip. “Has this happened before?” she asked when the older woman managed to drink an ounce of the cool liquid.

  “Not this bad.”

  That meant this wasn’t the first time. For a second, Lydia felt herself grow lightheaded, and in that moment she realized just how dear Aunt Bertha had become to her. She couldn’t let her suffer and possibly die. Lydia’s experience with illness had centered on measles, chicken pox, and whooping cough—maladies that had afflicted her students. She knew little about diseases of the heart, but what she knew was that they were serious and needed to be treated.

  She put her arm around Aunt Bertha’s shoulders. “We have to do something about this. Are you certain you don’t want me to summon Dr. Harrington?”

  “Positive.”

  Having seen how quickly Catherine’s mother was declining under the doctor’s care, Lydia understood Aunt Ber
tha’s reluctance. Still, there had to be something she could do. Lydia thought quickly, nodding when she found a possible answer. “Why don’t we see what Warner would suggest? You trust him, don’t you?”

  Though Lydia had expected resistance, Aunt Bertha’s expression brightened as if she recognized the wisdom in Lydia’s suggestion. “Of course.”

  Afraid that if she delayed even a few minutes, Aunt Bertha might change her mind, Lydia grabbed her hat and gloves and practically ran to the Grays’ house. Fortunately, it was less than two blocks away from Aunt Bertha’s home. Located next to one of the original three mansions, Charles and Mary Gray’s home had the same classical style but only half the size of the house Jacob Whitfield currently owned.

  “No imagination,” Aunt Bertha had declared when she’d described the house Charles had built, “and Porter’s just as bad. Their homes are imitations of Ellen and Thomas’s. Ellen and Evelyn and I knew better,” she said, referring to the wives of the founding fathers. “We insisted that each of our houses be unique.”

  But architecture didn’t matter now. What mattered was finding a way to help Aunt Bertha. Taking a deep breath to slow her pulse, Lydia knocked on the front door of the house Warner shared with his parents. A few seconds later, Mary Gray opened the door.

  “Is Warner home, Mrs. Gray? I need to talk to him.”

  Though Lydia’s words came out more sharply than she had intended, the woman with the same light brown hair and blue eyes as both of her sons smiled. “Come in, Lydia. We were just finishing supper, but if you’d like to join us for a piece of pie, I believe there’s one left. I put some of your peanut brittle in it.” Like her daughter-in-law Hilda, Warner’s mother was a regular customer of Cimarron Sweets, though she favored peanut and pecan brittle over chocolate concoctions.

  “I’m sorry, but there’s no time for that.” Even though Aunt Bertha appeared to have recovered from whatever ailed her, Lydia wasn’t comfortable leaving her alone. The little she knew about heart problems included the fact that another attack could come without warning.