A Stolen Heart

by Amanda Cabot

  “I’m not sure what Aunt Bertha has planned, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s chicken and dumplings.”

  Edgar shook his head. “Not for lunch. Now.”

  Though Opal appeared confused by her husband’s brusque reply, she said nothing.

  “Peppermint.”

  Edgar sniffed, then nodded as he turned to Opal. “Remember how I told you the strangest things trigger memories? That’s what just happened. When I smelled the mint on Lydia’s breath, it was like I was behind the Spur again. The man who attacked me smelled of mint.”

  Blood drained from Opal’s face, and she gripped the edge of the counter as if to keep from falling. “Me too. The man who hurt me had mint on his breath.”

  Lydia looked at her two friends. “We’ve got to tell Travis.”

  “His alibi is solid.” Travis wasn’t certain whether he was relieved or disappointed. As much as he hated the idea that one of his friends might have been responsible for the attacks on Opal and Edgar, he would have welcomed the end of his search for the perpetrator.

  “Nate’s the only man in Cimarron Creek who chews mint,” Edgar had pointed out when he and Opal recounted their stories.

  Though that was true, Travis’s instincts told him the seemingly easy solution wasn’t necessarily the correct one. After all, someone had done his best to implicate Warner when Nate’s goats were poisoned.

  “You didn’t really think Nate was responsible, did you?” Lydia sat in one of the guest chairs on the opposite side of Travis’s desk, the furrows in her forehead confirming that she shared his frustration.

  Travis shook his head. “I didn’t want to believe it. I’m almost as close to Nate as I am to Porter and Warner. They’re my friends, and it’s hard to believe someone you know that well could be behind such awful crimes.”

  When Lydia nodded, Travis continued. “After you told me the date, I looked at the notes I keep about the complaints I receive and remembered a couple things about the night Opal was raped. The grippe had been sweeping through town, and a couple of the shopkeepers who hadn’t been able to open up that day asked me to keep an eye on their stores.” There hadn’t been any problems, but he’d been more tired than usual by evening and had wondered if he were catching the grippe.

  “We were supposed to play dominoes at my house, but at the last minute Nate sent a message that his sister and her husband were ill and she needed him to take care of the boys. I was more than happy to cancel the game and call it an early night. I talked to Rachel today, and she confirmed that Nate spent the whole night with them.”

  “What about Edgar’s attack?”

  “That was another game night at my house. This time it was Nate who was sick. It must have been something he ate, but he was violently ill that night. Our game broke up early, and he was in such bad shape that I insisted he stay at my house. Even if he’d had a reason to attack Edgar, Nate was too weak to do it that night.”

  And that left Travis back where he’d been before with no clues.

  Lydia leaned forward, a spark of excitement lighting her eyes. “It may only be coincidence, but I couldn’t help noticing that both of the attacks took place on your game nights. I wonder if there’s a connection.”

  It was an intriguing thought. “You think someone chose that night because they knew I’d be occupied.”

  Lydia shrugged. “How many people know you play dominoes every Tuesday?”

  “Just about everyone in Cimarron Creek. Folks make it their business to know who goes where and when.” Travis was silent for a moment, considering. “The only problem with that theory is that if Edgar and Opal’s memories are accurate, the attacks took place after the games were over. One night we didn’t play, the other we finished early.”

  “But the person who’s responsible had no way of knowing that.”

  “True. I wonder—”

  “Whether the thefts also took place on Tuesday.”

  Travis laughed as Lydia completed his sentence. “I’ve heard old married couples begin to think alike, but I never knew it would start even before the wedding. That’s almost scary.”

  “Does that mean you’ve reconsidered the whole idea of marriage?”

  Though the smile that accompanied Lydia’s words told Travis she wasn’t serious, he wouldn’t let her think—not even for a moment—that he wasn’t eager to marry her. “Never! You’re stuck with me, Lydia. Forever and ever.”

  “And I couldn’t be happier.” Lydia’s smile faded. “I just wish we could discover who’s responsible. Now, about those other incidents . . .”

  As he checked his records, Travis’s frown deepened. “Almost all took place either Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning. There’s no way of knowing when the chickens were stolen, and Mrs. Wilkins is such a sound sleeper that she didn’t hear her windows being broken.”

  “So we have a pattern.”

  “But no suspects.”

  “I can’t remember ever seeing Aunt Bertha so happy.” Catherine smiled as she and Lydia did a final check of the kitchen. Opal, who’d insisted that a woman less than a month from giving birth should not be circulating with the guests, was supervising the half dozen women who had prepared everything from roast beef to mashed potatoes and squash to feed the expected crowd.

  “I knew she’d be pleased by our engagement,” Lydia admitted. “She’s the one who told me Travis was the man God intended for me.” And, according to Travis, Aunt Bertha was the one who’d freed him from his past to pursue his future. “I have to say, though, that when Aunt Bertha said we should celebrate, I never expected all this.” As they entered the butler’s pantry, Lydia gestured toward the stacks of plates and silverware prepared for the guests.

  The whole town had been invited to the party in honor of Lydia and Travis’s engagement. When Lydia had heard the scope of the plans, she’d objected, believing the effort would be too much for the older woman, but Aunt Bertha had countered by saying she would hire women to cook and others to prepare the house.

  “Most of the guests will stay on the first floor,” Aunt Bertha had said as she directed the women to clean every nook and cranny of the house, “but some will wander upstairs. It’s been years since my house was open to the town, so there’s bound to be some curiosity about it. I don’t want anyone to find a speck of dust.”

  And they would not. Each room had been scrubbed, then polished; an enormous quantity of food had been prepared; and countless bouquets of roses from the garden had been arranged and placed throughout the house. Everything was ready, waiting for the arrival of the other guest of honor.

  Lydia smiled, thinking of the intricate planning Aunt Bertha had put into today’s party. She had been like a general preparing for battle, barking out orders as if the fate of the world hinged on this one day. What might have been a simple celebration had turned into an elaborate affair, and yet Lydia could not complain, because as Catherine had pointed out, Aunt Bertha was happy. The sorrow that had lingered in her eyes after the trip to Ladreville was gone, at least temporarily, and for that Lydia gave thanks.

  “I’m the luckiest man in Cimarron Creek,” Travis announced when he arrived. His lips curved into a grin. “Make that all of Texas,” he corrected himself. “Who else would have not one but three beautiful women at his side?”

  Though Lydia knew that the puzzle of who was responsible for the attacks on Opal and Edgar weighed heavily on him and that he would undoubtedly be watching everyone who attended today’s party, searching for clues to the man’s identity, they’d agreed to say nothing about the latest twist in the investigation to Aunt Bertha. Today was a day for celebration, starting right now.

  “Beautiful?” Catherine, who’d joined Aunt Bertha and Lydia to greet Travis, chuckled. “You need to have your eyes checked if you think I’m beautiful. Mourning clothes don’t flatter anyone.” Lydia had to concur. Though Catherine’s dress was skillfully cut, the unrelieved black made her normally milky complexion appear sallow.


  Aunt Bertha nodded. “That’s why I don’t want anyone wearing black for me. When it’s my time to go, I want you to celebrate, knowing I’m in a better place. No black.” She pretended to frown at Travis’s finely cut black suit, though the clothing did not appear funereal but merely served to accentuate the breadth of his shoulders and the ever-changing color of his eyes. The frown quickly turned into a conspiratorial smile, as Aunt Bertha and Travis shared a secret. “I even put that in my will, didn’t I, Travis?”

  He nodded. “You did, indeed. But I still say you’re a trio of beautiful women, even you, Catherine.”

  “You always were a smooth talker, Travis. I’m just glad you came to your senses and asked Lydia to marry you.” Aunt Bertha touched Lydia’s sleeve, her eyes shining with approval.

  “And I’m grateful she accepted me,” Travis said as he turned to Lydia, his smile widening as his gaze met hers.

  For a moment as their eyes met, Lydia felt as if they were the only two people on Earth, as if God’s wonderful creation had been made for them alone. It was a heady feeling, the result of the love she saw shining from Travis’s eyes.

  “You look especially beautiful today.”

  His words brought Lydia back to reality. “It’s the dress,” she said lightly, though she suspected Travis had not noticed that she was wearing new finery. “Aunt Bertha insisted I have a new one. This is the fanciest gown I’ve ever owned.”

  The town’s dressmaker had outdone herself, creating a gown of pale blue silk with royal blue trim. From the small bustle to the intricately draped skirt, it was both elegant and flattering, as was the way she’d arranged her hair. Instead of pulling it back in a simple chignon, which was practical for days at Cimarron Sweets, Lydia had swept it off her neck, leaving a few curls to frame her face. Though Travis had not commented on that, she had seen the approval in his expression.

  “Aunt Bertha deserves the credit,” Lydia said.

  “Nonsense. A dress can only do so much. Still, wait until you see what I have in mind for your wedding gown. You’ll be the most beautiful bride Cimarron Creek has ever seen.” Aunt Bertha nodded to punctuate her words.

  As Catherine left to take her place in the parlor to serve as hostess while Travis, Lydia, and Aunt Bertha moved to the front porch to greet guests as they arrived, Travis said, “Lydia would be beautiful in feed sacks.”

  Lydia couldn’t help blushing. Though her mother had told her she was pretty, no one had ever paid her such fulsome compliments. She wasn’t beautiful—she knew that—and yet when she was with Travis, his love made her feel beautiful.

  Aunt Bertha nodded briskly. “Your mother taught you well, Travis. I only wish she could be here to see this day. She’d approve of your bride-to-be as much as I do. Lydia will be a fine addition to the family.” Aunt Bertha looked down the street, her smile fading slightly. “Where’s your ornery old coot of a father? I know he went off to Austin to visit Dorcas, but he should be here today. Of course, if he were, I’d give him a piece of my mind.”

  “He probably knew that,” Travis told her. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s why he stayed in Austin.”

  Lydia knew that was not the reason, but as much as she hated the idea of having caused a rift between the two men, there was nothing she could do. Fixing a smile on her face, she greeted the first guests, and before she knew it, the house was full of laughing and joking townspeople. It seemed as if all of Cimarron Creek had accepted Aunt Bertha’s invitation.

  The afternoon was as joyous as Aunt Bertha had predicted. Once the last guests arrived, Lydia and Travis circulated among the guests, accepting more congratulations and, in Travis’s case, some good-natured ribbing about using his position as sheriff to ensure that Lydia accepted his proposal. They both laughed, as did the women who teased him.

  “We’re going to amend the wedding vows,” Travis said with mock solemnity. “In addition to promising to love and honor me, Lydia will also promise to make at least one pound of candy for me every week that we’re married.”

  Lydia joined the joking. “And Travis will promise not to arrest me if a batch of lemon drops is too sour.”

  As everyone who heard their declarations chuckled, Lydia smiled again. Today was not simply a day of love and laughter. It was a day for family and friends, and for the first time, she realized how much her position in Cimarron Creek had changed. She was no longer an outsider. She was now part of the family. It was a wonderful feeling.

  “I love you,” she whispered to Travis as they moved toward another group of well-wishers.

  “Not as much as I love you,” he replied, giving her hand a little squeeze.

  The day couldn’t have been more perfect.

  27

  It was perhaps half an hour later that Lydia noticed how flushed Aunt Bertha had become. Leaving Travis to discuss cattle prices with several of the local ranchers, she crossed the room to the spindly chair where her benefactress was holding court.

  “Are you all right?” she asked softly, not wanting to embarrass Aunt Bertha in front of her guests.

  Though she kept a smile on her face, Aunt Bertha shook her head slightly. “I’m a bit warm. Would you mind getting me my fan? It’s in the top right bureau drawer.”

  “Certainly.” Moving as quickly as she could without causing any speculation, Lydia climbed the stairs and turned toward Aunt Bertha’s room. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a woman at the other side of the hall. Though there’d been a steady stream of guests visiting the second story, the sight of this particular woman made Lydia pause. The rest of the quilting circle had come earlier, but she had not accompanied them.

  “Were you looking for something, Hilda?” she asked.

  Lydia’s best customer came closer. Though she shook her head, she appeared flustered and did not meet Lydia’s gaze. “I was just curious. I’ve never been up here. I wanted to see if the rooms were like Porter’s parents’.”

  Aunt Bertha had predicted curiosity, though when she had mentioned people possibly venturing upstairs, Lydia had not expected family to be among them. She had assumed—obviously erroneously—that everyone in the extended Whitfield-Henderson clan was familiar with Aunt Bertha’s home.

  “And are they?” While Lydia had seen only the foyer of the elder Grays’ home, she suspected that despite the similar exteriors, the interiors were quite different, if only because the Grays had built their home twenty years after the three original mansions were constructed.

  Hilda shook her head. “Not as much as I expected. I think Papa Gray must have . . .” Her words trailed off, and her eyes widened in surprise.

  “There you are, Hilda. I was looking for you.”

  Lydia turned, almost as surprised by Porter’s disapproving tone as the fact that he was approaching from the opposite end of the hallway. The last time she had noticed him, he’d been at Hilda’s side, sipping punch with his parents. Unless Porter had been upstairs for a while, he must have used the servants’ staircase. And yet, why would he? The elegant curved stairway was the direct route from the parlor to the second story.

  “Come, my dear.” Porter’s voice changed from harsh to ingratiating as he approached his wife. “I know you don’t want to miss the rest of the party, but Susan’s getting cranky, and you know how Aunt Bertha is about poorly behaved children. We’ll never hear the last of it if we let Susan disrupt anything.”

  Though he had barely acknowledged her presence, Lydia nodded. Porter’s statement explained why he’d used the other staircase. Knowing that the children would be bored by adult conversation but not wanting to exclude them from the celebration, Aunt Bertha had arranged for them to play in the summer kitchen, with three women from church taking turns supervising them. Since Porter had obviously been with his daughter, it made sense that he’d taken the servants’ stairway. That was the quickest way upstairs from the summer kitchen.

  Porter raised an eyebrow as he turned toward Lydia. “You’ll excuse us, won’t you? Our daug
hter can be a handful.” Hooking his arm with his wife’s, Porter led the way to the back stairs, leaving Lydia to retrieve the fan from Aunt Bertha’s room.

  To her relief, the simple act of fanning seemed to return Aunt Bertha’s color to normal, and though Lydia might have expected her to be fatigued by the long day, when the party ended two hours later, Aunt Bertha appeared almost as energetic as she had that morning.

  Lydia could not say the same thing about herself. Though she had enjoyed the day, she now felt drained, and judging from the subtle signs of stress she saw in his expression, so did Travis. Being the center of attention was hard work.

  Though Aunt Bertha invited him to stay, Travis threaded his fingers through Lydia’s as he prepared to leave. “Thank you, Aunt Bertha,” he said with a warm smile. “This was a wonderful party.”

  “It was my pleasure. I can’t think of anything that would have made me happier.” The older woman extended her arms to Lydia and enfolded her in a hug as she said, “We may not be related by blood, but you’re the granddaughter of my heart.”

  As tears of joy filled her eyes, Lydia looked from Aunt Bertha to Travis. Thanks to these two wonderful people, for the first time in her life, she felt complete. The spaces deep inside her that she had once believed would remain empty forever were now filled by their love.

  “I love you,” she said softly. “Both of you.”

  Her eyes shining with happiness, Aunt Bertha nodded. “And we love you.”

  Something was wrong. Lydia could not dismiss the feeling. Just before she’d wakened, she had been dreaming of Travis. They were smiling at each other as they raced through a rainstorm, trying to reach the front door of a house Lydia had never seen yet one she somehow knew was their home. Travis had opened the door, but before they could step inside, Lydia had wakened and her heart began to pound with fear.

  There was no rain. The morning was bright and sunny, but something was wrong. It wasn’t a feeling. It was a fact. The house felt empty.