Paper Roses (3 page)

As Thea started to doze, Sarah took a deep breath, trying to find words to explain the situation without revealing too much. Had it been less than an hour since she’d assured Thea everything would be all right? How wrong she’d been.

Her mind whirling with unhappy thoughts, Sarah looked at the town that had seemed so appealing as the stagecoach had lumbered its way toward the center. Instead of the stone edifices that marked her hometown, San Antonio had adobe buildings, a vivid reminder of the city’s Spanish heritage. Those were startling enough, but even more surprising was the juxtaposition of those graceful buildings with shops of rough-hewn wood and mismatched brick, shops whose almost casual architecture bore witness to the exuberance of the Americans who had built them, just as the curved lines of the adobe buildings spoke of the more formal society that had first established the city.

When she’d entered San Antonio, Sarah had been filled with anticipation. The man she had promised to marry would be waiting for her, and soon she and Thea would begin their new life. Thea would grow up never knowing shame. Now the anticipation was gone, destroyed by the brutal reality of death. In place of anticipation came the knowledge that once again Sarah and Thea were alone, their future as uncertain as it had been the day the attorney had told Sarah nothing remained. Their father’s disastrous investments had resulted in the loss of not just Sarah’s dowry but everything he owned, including the house she called home. That was the reason Papa had taken her mother’s life and then his own, leaving Sarah and Thea alone and destitute, shunned by the people who had once pretended to be friends.

“We can’t return,” she repeated.

Clay nodded slowly, as if he understood the reason for Sarah’s refusal. “I will, of course, pay for your tickets.”

He didn’t understand. Lack of money was only one of Sarah’s problems. “Mr. Canfield, I have no reason to return to Philadelphia. Ladreville is my home and Thea’s. Or it will be, once we arrive there.”

Though she wouldn’t have the protection of Austin’s name and the respectability that came with being a married woman, somehow Sarah would find a way to build a new life for her sister. Nothing—nothing on earth—was more important than keeping the promise she’d made the day their parents died.

They were outside San Antonio now, with the two ruts that served as a road stretching straight in front of them. Clay turned toward Sarah, his face reflecting his surprise. “It pains me to state the obvious, ma’am, but you no longer have a husband waiting for you. While it’s true there are single men in Ladreville, I can’t guarantee . . .”

“I don’t need a husband. I am certain I can find a way to earn my room and board.” Sheer bravado propelled her declaration. The truth was, Sarah had no salable skills. Playing the pianoforte and being able to capture a flower’s beauty in watercolors were important assets in Philadelphia society; however, she suspected there was little calling for those particular skills in Ladreville, Texas.

“The offer of passage home still stands.”

His words were meant to be kind. Sarah knew that. They shouldn’t have stung like a rose’s thorns, and yet they did. It was obvious Clay Canfield did not believe she could play a useful role in his hometown. The thought that he might be right rankled, for Sarah had no other choices, not if Thea was to have the life she deserved.

They rode in silence. In a desperate attempt not to think about the future, Sarah darted glances at the man on the opposite end of the seat. Though his eyes were the same deep blue Austin had claimed, Clay Canfield’s hair was blond, not Austin’s sandy brown. Clay was a few inches shorter than Austin, perhaps an even six feet tall. Were his facial features the same? Sarah would never know. She glanced at the hand that had held the canteen. Odd. When he’d removed his glove, it hadn’t looked the way she thought a rancher’s hand would. There were none of the calluses she imagined ranching would create. Those heavy leather gloves must protect hands well.

Sarah choked back a nervous laugh. How could she be thinking about gloves when her fiancé had died? She didn’t even know the cause of his death.

“What happened?”

“Do you mean, how did Austin die?”

Sarah nodded. She had heard that horrible diseases swept the Texas countryside, making the yellow fever that plagued Philadelphia seem mild in comparison. Wild animals and poisonous reptiles roamed the land, seeking human prey. And then there were the Comanche, whose moonlit raids struck fear in the settlers’ hearts. Texas, she had heard, was no place for a gentlewoman. It seemed it also was not a place for Austin Canfield, since something had killed him.

Clay’s lips thinned, and Sarah saw his hands tighten on the reins. “Someone shot my brother. A single shot, pointblank in the heart.”

2

Night had fallen, bringing with it both a welcome respite from the sun’s glare and a new set of dangers. Though the moon was not full, there was always the possibility of a Comanche attack, and a coyote’s unmistakable call provided a reminder of the presence of nocturnal animals.

For what seemed like the thousandth time, Clay glanced at the woman on the other end of the seat. She appeared drowsy, with her head slumped to one side, but her arms remained tightly wrapped around the child. He hoped they were both asleep, for they needed rest. So, for that matter, did he. Clay frowned as he scanned the horizon, looking for predators. Today had been a difficult day. He frowned again. Today was only the culmination of a difficult two weeks. Why stop there? The truth was, nothing had been normal for the past year. Clay’s life had been irrevocably changed the day Pa had his stroke.

The horses plodded down the road, oblivious to the knot tightening Clay’s stomach. A year ago he had been a happily married man, renowned in Boston society for his skills as a physician. A year ago he had been convinced that he could employ those skills to restore his father’s health. A year ago, Austin had had no intention of marrying. And now? Clay clenched the reins. In the space of a year, he had lost his wife, their unborn child, his brother, and all hope of curing Pa. Now, instead of cradling his child, Clay was transporting Sarah Dobbs and her sister to the home Austin had built for them, a home his brother would not share.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

As an owl hooted, Clay tried to bite back his anger. There was naught to be gained by dwelling on all that he had lost. He couldn’t bring Patience and the baby back. He couldn’t restore Pa’s faculties. But he could—and he would—ensure that Austin’s murderer received his just deserts as soon as he had Austin’s mail-order bride and his ready-made daughter settled on the Bar C.

Clay reached for the canteen and took a swig, remembering how he’d offered water to Sarah when her face had grown alarmingly pale. He’d been certain she’d keel over, but she hadn’t. She hadn’t swooned or screamed, and as far as Clay could tell, she had shed not a single tear. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been affected by the news of her fiancé’s death. Sarah hadn’t even tried to hide her sorrow. It was simply that the way she dealt with it revealed an inner strength Clay hadn’t anticipated. The letters she had written Austin had only hinted at resilience, just as the miniature she’d sent had failed to do justice to her face.

Sarah Dobbs was not beautiful, at least not beautiful in the way that Patience had been, but she had a quiet dignity and a surprising amount of . . . Clay searched for the word. Spunk. That was it. Miss Sarah Dobbs was spunky.

Was that the reason Austin had insisted she was the bride for him? Clay forced his gaze back to the road. A man could not be too vigilant, particularly at night. Had Austin let down his guard for an instant? Was that the reason the killer had gotten so close? Clay would probably never know, just as he would never know why Austin had chosen Sarah.

Clay had disagreed with his brother’s decision, vehemently, in fact. Why, he had asked, should Austin saddle himself with a woman who not only limped but was also burdened with the raising of a small child? The only advantage Clay could find, besides her being obviously well educated, was the fact that her parents had died during an influenza epidemic. Clay didn’t wish that fate on anyone, but being an orphan meant that Sarah Dobbs would be less likely to flee when life in Ladreville became difficult, as it surely would.

Austin could have done better. He had shared the letters from all the prospective brides with Clay, and it had been clear to Clay that there were other women far better qualified to become his brother’s wife. But Austin had been adamant. God, he had insisted, intended Miss Sarah Dobbs to become the Canfield bride. Either Austin had been wrong or God had changed his plan, because that hadn’t happened. The new house was ready. The bride was here. But there was no bridegroom, and there never would be.

Clay’s gaze returned to Sarah. He wasn’t surprised to see that she was sleeping. Darkness and quiet often had that effect. Night had fallen hours earlier, but even before then, they hadn’t spoken much beyond agreeing to dispense with the formalities and call each other by their given names. Then they’d retreated into private thoughts. At first Clay had known Sarah wasn’t asleep. The irregular breathing and the occasional shudder led him to suspect she was trying to understand everything that had happened. As if anyone could! Understanding meant finding a reason, and there was no reason Clay could imagine that anyone would want to kill his brother.

Now Sarah slept, her position decidedly maternal as she kept Thea cradled next to her. She was as fierce as a bear sow protecting her cub, and that, too, was something Clay had not expected. Spunky Sarah Dobbs was full of surprises, not the least of which was her apparent determination to remain in Texas. She wouldn’t, of course. No matter what she said, Clay knew that once Sarah experienced the reality of Ladreville, she would want to return to Philadelphia. As for the notion of paying him for her room and board, anyone could see that she had no way of earning a living. In Philadelphia she might have become a companion or a governess, but those positions didn’t exist in Ladreville. No doubt about it. She’d be headed East within a month.

As the horses splashed their way into the river, Sarah wakened. Clay’s heart clenched as she dropped a kiss on her sister’s head. It appeared Austin had been correct claiming Sarah Dobbs would be a good mother for the next generation of Canfields.

“We’re almost there.” Clay kept his voice low as he gestured toward the water. “This is the Medina River. If we’d continued for another mile on this side, we’d have reached Ladreville. The Bar C is on the opposite bank.” Clay wasn’t certain why he was explaining all this to Sarah. She wouldn’t be here long enough to care.

“I appreciate your coming to meet us,” she said. “I know this has been a difficult time for you. Having to see me probably didn’t help.”

As understatements went, that one would win a prize. She had no way of knowing that the sight of a woman holding a child was painful for him, and when Thea had called him “Papa,” he’d been almost blinded with rage. Where had Austin’s loving God been the day Patience and the baby had died?

Clay swallowed deeply, fighting to regain control of his emotions. “I could hardly have left you and Thea in San Antonio.”

“You could have sent someone else.”

That was something Clay had not considered. “Austin would have wanted it this way.”

“Thank you.” Though the moon was only a crescent, it provided enough light for Clay to see the way Sarah smiled. She hadn’t done it often, but when she smiled, Miss Sarah Dobbs was downright pretty. “I’ll try to ensure that Thea and I are not a burden to you,” she said, her smile fading.

They wouldn’t be, not because of her efforts, but because Clay would not allow it. “The ranch keeps me so busy that I doubt you’ll see me very often.” From the day he and Patience had returned and Clay had been forced to assume some of his father’s responsibilities, he had resented the amount of time the Bar C demanded. Pa and Austin might find the work satisfying. Clay did not. But tonight for the first time he acknowledged one advantage to the endless chores: they would keep him away from Sarah and Thea and memories of what might have been.

They’d reached the road and were approaching the lane that led to the Bar C. Recognizing the familiar landmarks, the horses increased their pace. They were anxious to be home. So was Clay, for once he had Sarah and Thea settled in their temporary abode, he would be able to relax, knowing they were safe.

He wasn’t the only one who’d been vigilant, Clay realized when he saw Pa’s light still burning. Since the night of Austin’s death, his father had refused to sleep until he knew Clay was home. It was as if Pa somehow thought that staying awake would ensure the safety of his remaining son.

After the most cursory of introductions when Miguel emerged from the barn to care for the horses, Clay helped Sarah out of the wagon, then reached for the sleeping child. The sooner he got them settled, the sooner he could reassure Pa. Carefully he lifted Thea into his arms and turned toward the house.

As Sarah extended her own arms, Clay shook his head. “I can carry her. You must be tired.”

“I told you we wouldn’t be a burden.” There was an asperity to Sarah’s tone that surprised him, for he’d noted her unfailing politeness.

Clay continued walking. “I hardly think carrying a child up six steps and into the house constitutes a significant burden.”

The lantern on the porch revealed Sarah’s surprise. “In that case, thank you.”

Why was she so unwilling to accept even the slightest help? The combination of fatigue and her limp could have caused her to stumble, injuring her sister. That was why Clay was carrying Thea. It certainly wasn’t because he longed to hold someone else’s child in his arms. But spunky Sarah had turned as prickly as a cactus. Why? Nothing in her letters to Austin had hinted at this side of her personality.

Clay had reached the porch and was about to open the door when Thea stirred. “Papa?” she asked, her eyes widening as she stared at Clay.

“No, sweetie, that’s not Papa.” At the sound of her sister’s voice, Thea squirmed and stretched her arms toward Sarah. “You might as well put her down. She’ll only be cranky if you don’t.”