Paper Roses (4 page)

When it was evident that Thea would no longer tolerate being carried, Clay complied. “I’ll take you to the cabin.” Though he could have walked around the perimeter of the main house to reach the cabin that would have been Austin and Sarah’s home, the shortest distance was through the house.

Sarah gave him a rueful smile. “I’m afraid Thea won’t sleep for a while now.” She held the child’s hand in an obvious attempt to restrain her enthusiasm. “If he’s still awake, I’d like to meet your father.”

Clay tried not to frown. He had hoped to postpone the inevitable, at least until morning. Now even that slight reprieve was impossible. A difficult day had just grown worse.

“My father’s room is this way.” Clay ushered Sarah into his home. Though constructed of rough timber like the neighbors’, the house his parents had built was smaller than either neighbor’s, containing only one large central room that served as a gathering space as well as a place to eat. That room was flanked by a modest cooking area and two bedrooms, one on each side.

Hoping he was successful in concealing his worries, Clay led Sarah to the bedchamber on the right. This was where Pa had spent most of his life for the past year, the walls imprisoning him as surely as a Mexican jail once had. And now this woman—this stranger—would see him and pass judgment on him.

As they stood in the doorway of his father’s room, Clay tried to view it from Sarah’s perspective. Though the massive bed and bureau dominated the chamber, Clay was certain Sarah’s attention was drawn to the man in the chair. A year ago he had been a tall, sturdy man with gun-metal gray hair and blue eyes that sparkled with enthusiasm when he spoke of his beloved ranch. Today, only the hair was unchanged. The blue eyes were dull with pain, and the rancher who once strode confidently across a room or a paddock now sat slumped in the chair, the right side of his face twisted in a horrible caricature of a once vibrant smile.

Though he wished with every fiber of his being that he could spare his father the indignity of the next few minutes, Clay could delay no longer. He gestured toward the woman who stood on his right, her hand clasping Thea’s. “Pa, this is Miss Sarah Dobbs, the woman who was going to marry Austin.” Not wanting to see pity or revulsion on her face, Clay refused to turn toward Sarah as he continued the introduction. “Sarah, may I introduce you to my father, Robert Canfield?”

There was a moment of silence before Pa spoke, his words so badly slurred that Clay was certain only he understood that Robert Canfield was welcoming Sarah to the ranch. Stiffly, Clay waited for Sarah’s reaction. Would she turn and run, as Patience had that first day? Would she mutter words of sympathy to Clay, as if Pa had lost his hearing along with his ability to speak? The neighboring ranchers had done that. Would she simply stand immobile, frozen with horror? That had been the response of the churchwomen.

Sarah did none of those things. Instead, she murmured something to Thea, something that made the little girl smile. Together they walked across the room, Sarah’s limp more pronounced than ever. Clay stared, astonished, as Sarah knelt next to the wheeled chair and took Pa’s left hand in hers. “I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Canfield, although I wish the circumstances had been different.” Her voice, low and melodic, sounded sincere. “You see, I lost both of my parents less than a year ago, and I’ve been looking forward to having you as my new father.”

For the first time since Austin’s death, Clay saw a spark of hope in his father’s eyes. But Pa wasn’t looking at Sarah. His attention was focused on the little girl at her side.

“Grandpa!” Thea punctuated the word with a giggle.

Sarah probably thought it was a grimace, but Clay knew the truth. By some miracle, his father was smiling.

Clay wasn’t smiling the next morning, but, then again, he couldn’t recall smiling very often in the past year. The notable exception had been the day Patience had told him her suspicions were confirmed and they were going to be parents. For days afterward, Clay hadn’t been able to wipe the grin from his face. He hadn’t even tried. But today, other than the fact that Nora seemed completely recovered, Clay saw no reason to smile.

“C’mon, girl,” he said, leading the mare out of her stall. “Another day of rest, and then I’ll let you run.” Clay was reaching out to give Nora a gentle pat when he heard it. A shriek. Definitely human, but so brief that he could not tell whether it reflected pain or pleasure. He spun around, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of Thea running toward him. What on earth was she doing? Her pigtails sailed behind her, and beneath the white skirts of what had to be her nightclothes, Clay saw bare feet. Bare feet! Surprise turned to fear, and Clay’s own feet flew as he raced across the ground to sweep her into his arms.

“Papa!” Thea laughed and touched his face as if they were playing a game. This was no game.

“No, Thea,” he said sternly. “My name is Mr. Canfield.” She shook her head. “Papa,” she insisted, tightening her grip on his neck.

There was no reasoning with a two-year-old. Clay wasn’t sure why he had even tried. Thea was Sarah’s responsibility. He would let Sarah explain that Clay was not and never would be Thea’s papa. Though Austin had been eager to assume the role of adoptive father, reminding Clay that they’d both recognized Pa’s need to know the ranch would be passed on to another generation of Canfields, Clay did not share that enthusiasm. Those pudgy arms and those brown eyes so like her sister’s might have melted another man’s heart, but they had no effect on Clay’s. Thea was Sarah’s responsibility and Sarah’s alone.

Where was she? Miss Sarah Dobbs had a lot to answer for this morning, starting with the fact that she had let her sister come outside clad this way.

“Horsey!” Her attention now focused on Nora, Thea was flailing her arms. Though her vocabulary might be limited, there was no doubt that she wanted to touch the horse.

“She
is
a horse,” Clay said as he started walking toward the house. “Her name is Nora.” And the little girl in his arms was not going into the corral. No, sirree. A horse, even one as gentle as Nora, was not an Eastern child’s plaything. Texas children were raised around horses. They knew the dangers. Thea did not. Sarah should have realized that. She should never have let Thea go outdoors alone.

“No-rah.” Thea tried out the new word, giggling as she repeated it. As Clay continued striding away from the paddock, Thea batted his face with a tiny fist. “No-rah. Want No-rah.”

“Thea!” Though alarm and relief mingled in Sarah’s shout, Clay felt nothing but relief when he saw her emerge from the cabin. Her limp more pronounced than normal, Sarah hurried across the yard, her gaze never moving from Thea’s face. Sarah’s feet, Clay noted, were sensibly shod, but why on earth was she wearing a heavy woolen cloak? The temperature was close to eighty. As the cloak parted slightly, revealing a froth of white ruffles, Clay had his answer. Like her sister, Miss Sarah Dobbs was still in her nightclothes. Thea must have escaped while Sarah was asleep.

“Oh, Clay, I’m so sorry.” The palpable relief that her sister was safe had changed to regret. Clay could almost hear Sarah’s thoughts, thoughts in which the word
burden
figured prominently. When she reached him, Sarah extended her arms. “Come, Thea. Come to Sarah.” Thea had other ideas. Turning her head into Clay’s neck, she ignored her sister. Sarah frowned slightly, then continued her apology. “I must have been more tired than I realized, because I didn’t hear her waken.” As Thea began to babble about horses and papas, Sarah raised her voice slightly. “She’s never done that before—leave me, that is.”

Sarah touched Thea’s shoulder again. Though the child protested, she drew her into her arms. Clay was surprised at how empty his own felt. Perhaps that was why his words were harsher than he’d intended.

“She came to no harm, but that’s not to say that she couldn’t have. You should never let a child go outside with bare feet,” he continued. “We have rattlesnakes and the occasional cottonmouth.” Clay tried not to picture Thea’s leg swollen with venom. “Texas is far more dangerous than Philadelphia.” Not just because of the snakes. Texas also harbored murderers. Sarah’s face paled and she tightened her grip on her sister. “It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

After a quick glance at the sky, Clay pulled out his watch. “Martina should have breakfast ready in a few minutes.” That was Sarah’s cue to return to the house and leave him to more pleasant thoughts than small children being bitten by poisonous snakes and brothers being shot by friends.

She must have missed the cue, because instead of hurrying back, Sarah turned to Clay. “Will you be joining us?”

He shook his head. “I already ate.” For some reason, she seemed disappointed. That surprised Clay as much as the question itself. “Was there a reason why you wanted me to join you, other than the dubious pleasure of my company?”

Sarah nodded. “I wanted to talk to you.” She gave her attire a rueful glance. “This isn’t quite the time or place I would have chosen.”

“All right. A second helping of Martina’s flapjacks sounds good.”

As he watched Sarah return to the small house Austin had built for her, Clay considered the possible reasons she wanted to talk to him. If he was lucky, it would be because she had come to her senses and realized that the best option—the only reasonable option—was for her and Thea to return to Philadelphia on the next stagecoach.

Less than half an hour later, Clay realized that luck was not with him. As Sarah cut Thea’s food into small pieces, she asked, “Is there a general store in town?”

Clay nodded. Though it wasn’t the question he had expected, perhaps there was still hope. Perhaps she required supplies for the return trip.

“I need some thread and a few other things,” Sarah said as she passed the plate to Thea. “I wondered if there was anything I could get for you while I was there.”

It was a thoughtful offer. Going to the mercantile was not Clay’s favorite activity. “I can’t think of anything,” he said, “but Martina may need some staples. You might ask her. As soon as we’re finished here, I’ll have Miguel saddle a horse for you.” Judging from the way she had reacted yesterday, Clay was confident that, whatever other skills Sarah possessed, driving a wagon wasn’t one of them.

Though her eyes widened slightly with something that, had he not known better, Clay would have called alarm, Sarah’s voice was even as she said, “That won’t be necessary.”

Perhaps he’d been wrong. Perhaps she could handle a team of horses. “Then you’d prefer the wagon.”

Sarah paused, a piece of pancake halfway to her mouth, and shook her head. “Thea and I will walk.”

“I beg your pardon.” His ears must have deceived him. Surely she wasn’t proposing what he thought he’d heard.

“A walk,” she said, her lips curving into a sweet smile. “It’s a fairly basic concept. You put one foot in front of the other.”

“I’m familiar with the concept. It’s just that . . .” He tried not to look in the direction of Sarah’s feet. How did a man refer to an obvious physical impairment without seeming callous?

Sarah’s brown eyes met his, the amusement in them startling Clay more than her request. What kind of woman would laugh at her own infirmity? Patience certainly would not have. “You mean because I limp?” Sarah shrugged. “I know I lurch when I walk, but it doesn’t hurt. In fact, exercise is good for me.” She helped Thea spear a morsel. “I believe you said it was about a mile into Ladreville. That won’t be a problem. I’ve walked farther in Philadelphia.”

She didn’t understand. “This isn’t Philadelphia. Besides the snakes and the occasional alligator, there’s the not inconsequential matter of the sun. To put it bluntly, walking anywhere in Texas is not like a casual stroll in a Philadelphia park. The sun and heat can be as deadly as the reptiles. And then there’s the river. Were you planning to wade across it? We have no bridges.” Clay looked from Sarah to the child. He wasn’t sure which surprised him more, the fact that a woman with her obvious disability thought she could walk or that someone as protective of her sister as Sarah would even entertain the notion of taking the child that distance. “Horse or wagon,” he said firmly. “The choice is yours.”

The blood drained from Sarah’s face, leaving it even whiter than it had been earlier when he’d enumerated the dangers to Thea’s bare feet. Perhaps Sarah finally understood how different life was in Texas.

“I’ll walk.”

Though her voice signaled determination, she was no match for Clay Canfield. “You will not,” he countered. “Do you prefer to ride or take the wagon?”

Oblivious to the tension that flowed between the adults, Thea continued spooning pieces of pancake into her mouth. Somehow she managed to leave at least half the food on her face, a fact that appeared to please her. Had he not been so annoyed with Sarah, Clay might have found the child’s obvious satisfaction amusing.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” Sarah said. “I told you that we wouldn’t be a burden, and I meant that. It’s simply that I don’t know how to drive a wagon. As for riding . . .” She hesitated, and something about her expression told Clay she was choosing her words carefully. “Did Austin mention that my limp is the result of a riding accident?” When Clay nodded, Sarah continued. “I haven’t been on a horse since then.”