A Tender Hope

by Amanda Cabot

  “Then, what’s wrong?”

  If she were still in France, Aimee would have found a diplomatic way to phrase her question, simply hinting at the problem, but Thea had told her that Americans were more direct. That was why she’d tried to rehearse her next sentences.

  “I need to earn some money,” she said bluntly. “Thea insists I don’t owe her anything, but I want to at least pay for my expenses. I wondered if you knew of anyone who might need help.”

  There was a moment of silence, and the expression in Warner’s blue eyes suggested that he was shocked by her plea. A second later, shock transformed itself into a broad smile. “God was listening to me,” Warner said, his voice reflecting his pleasure.

  “What do you mean?”

  He gestured around the store. “It’s rare for the store to be this empty. Most days I’ve got people lined up in front of the counter.”

  Aimee knew that was true. Those crowds were one of the reasons this was her last stop. Each time she’d passed the apothecary, there had been at least half a dozen customers. She’d delayed coming inside, waiting until she would have privacy.

  Furrows formed between Warner’s eyes as he continued, “Normally pleasant people become impatient when they have to wait too long. That’s bad enough, but some of the ladies aren’t comfortable asking me about certain remedies.” He tipped his head toward a cabinet filled with patent medicines.

  “They don’t want to talk about female problems with me. That’s why I’ve been praying for God to send someone to help me. And he did.” Warner leaned forward, his expression earnest. “It’s no coincidence that you’re here. Would you like to work for me?”

  It was more than she’d expected—much more. Aimee had thought she might find a family that needed someone to help care for children or perhaps perform household chores. She hadn’t dared hope that she would find a position in a store, even though that was what she knew best.

  “Truly?” She couldn’t mask her incredulity.

  “Truly. Do you want the job?”

  “Mais oui!”

  “I’m glad you’re here.” Lydia tried to hug Thea but settled for squeezing her hand when her increasing girth made a hug awkward. “Travis wouldn’t have agreed to the party otherwise.” She waved her hand in the direction of the parlor, where Travis was moving furniture. “He’s such a worrier. When I told him I wanted everyone to come for an evening of fun and games, he was certain that would harm the baby. Believe it or not, my worrying husband was adamant that this was a bad idea until I reminded him that you’d be here to look after me.”

  Thea studied her patient and friend for a moment. Although Lydia’s face was slightly flushed, perhaps the result of being in an overly warm kitchen, Thea saw nothing of concern. “You look like you’re doing well without help.”

  “Of course I am, but now Travis can relax a bit. I assured him there’s nothing strenuous about charades.” Lydia frowned, as if assailed by an unpleasant thought. “Do you suppose Aimee knows how to play?”

  “I most certainly do know how to play charades,” Aimee assured them when she entered the kitchen a minute later, announcing that the rest of the guests had arrived and Travis needed his wife to act as hostess. “Maman used to claim the game was invented in France. I don’t know whether that’s true, but we played it often.” She glanced at the doorway. “Allons-y.”

  “She’s telling us we need to go with her,” Thea explained when Lydia raised an eyebrow. Aimee must be more nervous than Thea had realized if she was reverting to French. She’d done that the first few days in Ladreville, but since they’d arrived in Cimarron Creek, her lapses had been infrequent.

  “Let’s go.” Thea gave Aimee’s words a literal translation.

  As she entered the parlor, she looked around, trying to see it from Aimee’s eyes. Was she still in awe of the beautiful house where her mother had grown up? Even though there were now ten people in the room, it was not crowded. As Thea had told Sarah, this was a mansion. In addition to Lydia and Travis, there was one other married couple—Opal and Edgar Ellis. Thea had met both of them briefly and had learned that Opal was Lydia’s partner at the candy store, while Edgar served as Travis’s deputy.

  It was thanks to Opal that Stuart had a place to stay tonight. When she’d heard about Stuart, she had assured Thea that Widow Jenkins, who cared for Opal and Edgar’s son, would be happy to watch both children tonight.

  Aimee’s new friend Patience had been invited, along with her cousin Nate, who was also Travis’s childhood friend. Nate’s sister and brother-by-marriage, Rachel and Luke, had been unable to come, but Lydia had declared that they still had enough people for a good game. Rounding out the group were Travis’s cousin Warner and Jackson, who now made his home with Warner.

  “It’s a combination of Travis’s oldest friends and our newcomers,” Lydia had explained when she invited Thea and Aimee. “We want to welcome you two and Patience to Cimarron Creek.”

  And so here they were, dressed in their Sunday best as befitted an evening in one of the town’s mansions.

  “All right, everybody. Let’s get started,” Lydia said when she’d greeted her guests. She picked up two small baskets, each with five pencils and a number of slips of paper in it.

  Travis winked at the group. “The sooner we finish, the sooner you can have some of my wife’s candies.” His gaze moved from Thea to Aimee and then to Patience. “You ladies who are new to Cimarron Creek may not know this, but there was almost a fight over some of those candies last Founders’ Day.”

  “We won’t fight tonight,” Nate promised, “as long as she and Opal made enough for all of us.” He smiled at Lydia and Opal, then extended the smile to include Thea and Patience. Oddly, when his gaze would have reached Aimee, he turned away, his expression telling Thea something about Aimee bothered him.

  Could it be that she was a foreigner? Lydia had admitted that the townspeople had been wary of her when she’d arrived, but so far Thea had seen no evidence of prejudice against Aimee. Perhaps she’d been mistaken about Nate. Thea hoped that was the case.

  “You don’t need to worry, Nate.” Opal flashed him a conspiratorial smile. “I made a batch of mint fudge just for you.”

  Nate may have been a simple farmer, but the bow he gave her was worthy of a courtier. “You have my undying gratitude, Mrs. Ellis.”

  Aimee, who’d been watching the exchange with unconcealed curiosity, raised an eyebrow. “Menthe? I’ve never tasted chocolat avec menthe.”

  Thea hadn’t tasted the combination of chocolate and mint, either, but that was of no interest to her. What intrigued her was Aimee’s second reversion to French and the way her hands trembled. This was more than simple nervousness. Aimee was clearly upset by something, but what?

  “I thought we’d play ladies against gentlemen,” Lydia said as she handed one of the baskets to her husband.

  “Wonderful! We’ll win for certain!”

  Patience’s enthusiasm was not shared by her cousin. “Don’t be so sure,” Nate cautioned her. “I don’t like to lose.”

  “Nor do I,” Aimee said, her face flushing ever so slightly as she looked at Nate. Though the man glanced at her, he averted his gaze as quickly as if he’d laid his hand on a hot stove.

  How odd. Aimee couldn’t have helped notice the gesture, which verged on rudeness. Was Nate the reason for her uneasiness? Thea resolved to ask her friend once they returned home.

  “Tonight’s theme is book titles,” Lydia announced, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents between Aimee and Nate. “Each team needs to choose five for the other team to act out. We’ll give each team two minutes to figure out the title.” She placed a small hourglass on the table separating the two groups. “The team with the most wins gets to fill their plates first.”

  “Now I know we’re going to win.” Nate slapped Jackson, his closest teammate, on the back. “We’ve got a real incentive.”

  Five minutes later, the game began. There was goo
d-natured ribbing as Warner had difficulty getting his team to guess Tom Sawyer, but they succeeded with only a few grains of sand to spare.

  When Aimee chose the first clue for the ladies’ side, she smiled and held up five fingers, indicating that the title consisted of five words. She wasn’t smiling two minutes later when the sand had run through the hourglass and no one had guessed the correct title.

  “A Tale of Two Cities,” she announced when Travis declared the round over, leaving the women’s team with no score.

  Patience didn’t bother hiding her annoyance. “I should have guessed that one. It was only yesterday that I decided to have my older pupils read it this year.”

  “Better luck next time,” Warner said as he handed the basket to Jackson. “I hope you’re not too hungry, ladies, because my partners and I have mighty big appetites.”

  “But you’re gentlemen,” Patience protested, her eyes flashing with what appeared to be anger, although Thea could not imagine anyone becoming truly angry over a mere game.

  “It sounds like you’ve already admitted you’ll lose,” Warner taunted her.

  “Never!” Patience turned toward Thea and the other women. “We’ll show them next time.”

  When Thea looked up, she was surprised to see Jackson looking at her. He winked slowly, then unfolded the piece of paper he’d chosen. Though Thea had thought this title might stymie the other team, Jackson had no difficulty in getting the men to guess Moby-Dick.

  When the game ended in a tie, with each team guessing four titles within the time limit, everyone moved to the dining room, where Lydia had arranged a collation of ham sandwiches, potato salad, an assortment of cakes, and four varieties of candy from Cimarron Sweets. Though it was not a formal dinner, Lydia had provided place cards, explaining that she wanted to be sure everyone had a chance to get acquainted.

  Thea was grateful to find herself between Jackson and Warner, because it gave her a chance to tell the pharmacist how excited Aimee was about the prospect of working for him.

  “Her parents owned a small shop in France,” Thea explained, “so this will be perfect for her.”

  “And for me.” Warner flashed a smile that seemed somehow familiar to Thea, then turned to Patience, who was seated on his other side, leaving Thea no option but to talk to Jackson.

  There was no reason to feel awkward. She’d seen him several times since the day they’d spoken of Micah, and each time she’d managed to keep the conversation light. She could do that again.

  “You did well,” she told him.

  Jackson’s lips curved into a smile. “It was pure luck. I’ve never played before.”

  “Really?” The skill with which he’d portrayed the whale had convinced Thea that he was well acquainted with the game, and she’d found herself wondering if he’d whiled away rainy days playing charades with Micah, the brother who’d died so tragically.

  “Really.”

  She stared at him for a second before the words slipped from her. “You’re amazing.”

  12

  Amazing. It had been five days since Thea had called him that. Jackson scraped the last whisker from his face and stared at his reflection. The word had shocked him then, and it still did. The only thing that was amazing was that he hadn’t confronted her with the sketch he’d made of her husband. He’d had every intention of doing that, and yet he hadn’t.

  “Breakfast is almost ready.”

  At the sound of Warner’s reminder, Jackson toweled his face and descended the stairs to the kitchen. Though the house boasted a formal dining room, the day Jackson had arrived Warner had explained that he never ate there. Not his style, he’d said. Not Jackson’s either. The kitchen with the table that sat six was fine with him.

  “Have I told you lately how glad I am you came to Cimarron Creek?” Warner frowned as he dished slightly blackened scrambled eggs onto two plates. It wasn’t the first time he’d burned them. While the town’s pharmacist might be adept at mixing prescriptions, his culinary skills were lacking.

  Jackson bit back a smile. “You’re glad because I cook breakfast half the time?”

  “That’s a bonus,” Warner agreed. “Your bacon and eggs are definitely better than mine, but that’s not the best part of having you here.” He pulled four slices of perfectly browned toast from the oven and smiled at the evidence that he could cook at least one thing. “You’ve taken the pressure off me.”

  Once they were seated and had given thanks for the food, Jackson raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean about relieving pressure?”

  Warner picked up an overly crisp piece of bacon, studying it as he might an herb that he was prepared to grind with his mortar and pestle. “It’s pretty simple. Ever since my parents’ deaths, the town’s matchmakers have been trying to find me a bride. You’d think they’d realize that I’m still mourning them and leave me alone, but—no—they’re convinced that every single man needs to be married. They even quoted Aunt Bertha—she was Cimarron Creek’s matriarch—and how she despised the outward signs of mourning.”

  Jackson wasn’t certain where all this was leading, but he found himself intrigued by the town’s somewhat unconventional attitude toward mourning. Was that why Nate was ready to pursue Thea? The thought shouldn’t rankle, and yet it did.

  He forked some of the overcooked eggs, choosing not to comment until Warner had finished whatever it was he planned to say.

  When he’d swallowed his bite of bacon, Warner fixed his gaze on Jackson.

  “Nate and I haven’t made the matchmakers’ jobs easy. There hasn’t been anyone who caught my eye, and Nate—well, you know Nate—everyone catches his eye.”

  The feeling of relief that washed over him at the thought that Nate’s infatuation with Thea was nothing more than a passing fancy surprised Jackson with its intensity. Warner had alluded to Nate’s fickleness before, and he certainly knew the man better than Jackson did, so it was likely that Nate wasn’t serious about courting Thea.

  Jackson realized that Warner was waiting for a response. He wouldn’t talk about Thea. Instead, he said, “Seems like every town has its matchmakers.”

  “Ours are pretty determined. Fortunately, you’ve taken the pressure off Nate and me.”

  “How?” This conversation was becoming stranger by the minute.

  “The matchmakers have changed their focus. They want to ensure that you become a resident of Cimarron Creek.”

  “I’m a Ranger. Rangers don’t get to pick where they live. Besides, Cimarron Creek already has two lawmen. They don’t need another. And why would the matchmakers care about that, anyway?”

  Warner crushed a piece of bacon and stirred the bits into his eggs. “It’s not you they’re worried about. It’s Thea. From what I’ve heard, they think that if Thea marries again, she’ll be less likely to look for a position in another town. Making certain that Cimarron Creek keeps its midwife is at least as important to them as finding husbands for every bachelor.”

  Jackson tried not to frown at the thought of Thea with a new husband, though he told himself that anyone in Cimarron Creek—even Nate—would be better than Daniel Michener. As far as he knew, Nate had no criminal background.

  “Just how do I fit into this picture?”

  “The matchmakers see your marrying Thea as killing two birds with one stone . . . or something like that. One less bachelor plus a permanent midwife. That’s why they’re happy you’re courting Thea.”

  Jackson nearly spat out his coffee. It might be true that he was intrigued by Thea, but he wasn’t courting her, and he certainly had no plans to remain in Cimarron Creek.

  “I’m not courting Thea,” he said firmly.

  Warner merely smiled. “So you say.”

  Though Jackson wanted to wipe the smirk off Warner’s face, he realized that he’d accomplish nothing by that. Warner was only the messenger. Instead of responding to the smirk, Jackson seized on another part of the story, wanting Warner to confirm what he’d said about Nate.
>
  “I’m surprised the matchmakers are picking on me. I thought Nate had met the woman he was going to marry. You were here when he said that, same as me.”

  Warner shook his head and lifted a forkful of eggs toward his lips. “Nate says that at least once a year. I’ve learned to discount those declarations, and I suspect the matchmakers have too.”

  “He sounded pretty serious.”

  Warner shrugged. “He always does, but either he falls out of love or the lady falls in love with someone else. I’m not saying he’s fickle, but he does change his mind.” After he’d taken another slug of coffee, Warner continued. “I figure you’re different. I can’t picture you being fickle. You wouldn’t court a woman unless you were sure she was the one.”

  Which brought them full circle. “I’m not courting Thea.”

  A skeptical look was Warner’s first response. “What else would you call taking care of Stuart? The surest way to a woman’s heart is through a child.” Warner spread jam on a piece of toast and waved it in Jackson’s direction. “Three different ladies told me that.”

  That might be true, but it wasn’t Jackson’s motivation. “The next time you see those ladies, you can tell them they’re wrong. The reason I’m spending time with Stuart is that I feel responsible for him. I’m the one who found him.”

  Jackson knew he’d never forget the sight of that squalling, sunburned baby lying next to the prickly pear or the way the child’s plight had touched his heart. He hadn’t been able to save Micah, but he was determined that the abandoned child would live.

  “Caring for Stuart can’t be easy for Thea. No matter what she says, he must remind her of the baby she lost.” As he pronounced the words, Jackson realized that he’d never heard the child’s name. Perhaps Aimee could tell him. While it would be easier to simply ask Thea, Jackson didn’t want to do anything that would cause her more pain.

  Warner appeared unconvinced. “You can say what you want, but I saw the way you were looking at her at Travis’s house the other day.”