Paper Roses (38 page)

If he’d ever doubted that he loved Sarah, the sight of her standing there, obviously in pain but determined to escape, would have destroyed his last doubt. He loved her; he wanted to protect her; he wanted to marry her. But first he had to discover who had tried to hurt her.

“I don’t understand it,” Clay said, venting his frustration on Zach. Once he’d assured himself that she had no broken limbs, Clay had insisted Sarah return to the cabin and rest. She’d had her hands full, quieting Thea, for the child had been distraught over the sight of her sister in the pit, but eventually Thea’s eyes had closed. If they were fortunate, they would both sleep now. Clay knew he would not. He paced the main room of the ranch house, ranting at Zach. “God must be punishing me by taking everyone close to me.”

Though Clay had expected a vigorous remonstrance, Zach’s expression was calm. “God didn’t kill Austin. A human did that,” he said quietly, adding, “I thought your wife died of food poisoning.”

“She did. Although . . .” Clay’s thoughts began to race again as he thought of the day Patience had died. “I wonder if the poisoning was deliberate. It seems strange to me that the only other person who was ill was Mary.” He’d heard how the other women hadn’t wanted to taste the fish chowder. At the time Clay had been too distraught to question the story. Now he did. Didn’t courtesy demand that everyone sample each dish, even if the serving were small? Perhaps the chowder hadn’t been to blame. Clay grabbed his hat and headed toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Into town. There are some questions that need answers.”

“And they can’t wait until morning?”

“No.”

Zach appeared resigned. “I’m going with you.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I think I do.”

Within minutes, they had saddled their horses and were heading toward town.

“She’s a wonderful woman.” Though they’d been riding silently, Zach seemed to feel the need to talk while they forded the river.

“Sarah?” As far as Clay was concerned, there was only one wonderful woman in the state of Texas. “I thought Austin was crazy when he decided she was the bride for him. A woman responsible for a small child, a woman who can’t ride a horse—I couldn’t picture such a woman on the Bar C, but Austin insisted. Now I can’t imagine life without her.”

“You love her.” Zach made it a statement rather than a question.

“The whole idea fills me with guilt.” Clay didn’t bother denying that he loved Sarah. Zach knew him well enough to recognize a lie. “Sarah was supposed to be Austin’s wife, not mine.” And that was the crux of the matter. Though Clay had written the letters, he’d done that for Austin, not himself. It was Austin who should have been Sarah’s husband and Thea’s father.

Zach was silent for a moment before he said, “From everything I’ve heard about him, your brother would have wanted you and Sarah to be happy.”

Clay couldn’t deny that any more than he could deny his feelings for Sarah. “It still seems wrong, as if I’m cheating both of them.” That was why he’d made no mention of love to Sarah, no matter how often he’d longed to make his courtship official.

Zach gave him a sidelong look as they left the river. “I’ll pray that you find the answer.”

He should have been used to it by now. Zach talked about God and prayer as much as Austin had. Perhaps on another day, it wouldn’t have bothered Clay, but today wasn’t another day. Today was the day someone had tried to harm Sarah. “A fat lot of good that will do.” He spat the words at Zach. “You and Austin put a lot of store in your God. Look what that got Austin: killed. He was so sure God meant Sarah to be the Canfield bride that . . .”

As the words echoed, Clay lost his train of thought. Was it possible? Had Austin somehow known he wouldn’t live to wed Sarah? Surely not! Clay searched his memory, trying to recall the times Austin had spoken of Sarah. “That’s how he always described her,” he mused. “The Canfield bride. Austin called her the Canfield bride, never his bride. I wonder . . .”

Though Zach appeared thoughtful, he shook his head. “You’ll never know why he said that. Don’t even try to find a reason. You’ll only make yourself crazy.”

Clay accepted the wisdom of Zach’s advice. “You’re right. I have more important things to do. Somehow, I will learn who killed my brother and who hurt Sarah.”

When they reached Herman’s house a few minutes later, Clay pounded on the door.

“I’m going blind, not deaf,” the older doctor groused as he opened the door, admitting Clay and Zach. “C’mon in. I can use the company.” He pointed toward a couple chairs. “Although, judging from the thundercloud on your face, this is not a social visit.”

“I wish it were.” Briefly, Clay explained what had happened to Sarah. “There have been too many accidents,” he concluded. “I can’t believe they’re coincidence. That’s why I want to talk to you about the day Patience died.”

“It was food poisoning. The fish chowder was tainted.”

“Possibly. My question is, what if it wasn’t bad fish? Could the poison have been deliberately added to Patience’s portion?”

Blood drained from the older doctor’s face. “It’s possible,” he admitted. “The only other person who said she ate the chowder was Mary.”

“Did she exhibit the same symptoms as Patience?”

“I can’t say. I didn’t see her until the next day, and she was apparently recovered by then.”

“Mary didn’t summon you immediately?” Though Clay had not been with Patience that afternoon, Herman had described the symptoms as severe. He couldn’t imagine anyone in such agony not calling the doctor.

Herman shook his head. “That woman was never ill a day in her life. You know the reason she’s summoned me so often over the past year has nothing to do with her health. I went to the Lazy B the next day, simply because one of the other women told me Mary had eaten a bowl of the chowder and I wanted to check on her. Judging from her condition, she must have ingested far less than your wife.”

Clay did not like what he had heard. “So someone could have deliberately killed Patience.”

“Based on what you’ve said, I can’t dismiss the possibility.”

Though Herman spoke softly, to Clay the words sounded like nails in a coffin. The anger he’d been struggling to control raged like a wildfire, filling every sinew of his body.

“Patience, Austin, and now Sarah.” Clay looked at Zach. “I swear by the God you hold so dear that I will find whoever’s responsible, and I will make him pay.”

18

She couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt as if she were falling again. It had taken only an instant to reach the bottom of the pit, and yet in her mind she was tumbling for minutes, perhaps hours, before she crumpled in a heap. Shock, fear, and regret mingled with the pain that shot through her leg. Shock that she had fallen. Fear that she might not live to care for Thea. Regret that she had not told Clay she loved him. Over and over, the images haunted her.

It was useless. Sarah tossed the blankets aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Sleep wasn’t simply eluding her; it had fled and was probably miles away. Sliding her feet into slippers, she reached for the cane Clay had given her. Though the injury had made her limp more pronounced, she was able to walk so long as she placed most of her weight on the cane. Slowly and deliberately she made her way into the cabin’s main room and sank into the rocking chair. Perhaps the rhythmic motion would soothe her nerves. Perhaps it would help her make sense of what had happened.

She closed her eyes, and this time she saw Clay’s face as he reached the hole. When she’d landed, she’d soon realized that escape was impossible. Though the pit was only seven or so feet deep, that was enough that she could not reach the top. Whoever had dug it had been careful to remove rocks and roots that might have helped her climb out. The trap had been meticulously planned and constructed, with only one flaw. The digger must not have known that Clay accompanied Sarah to the garden most evenings. It was the knowledge that he would be coming soon and that he would be able to pull her out of her prison that kept Sarah from panicking.

She’d heard them coming. Thea was singing the garden song at the top of her lungs, and Clay was laughing as she mangled the words. If she hadn’t been so worried that Thea might tumble into the pit, Sarah would have laughed too. As it was, she shouted to Clay to hold her sister.

A second later, he was staring into the trap, his eyes dark with anguish. “Sarah! What happened?” His expression softened somewhat when he pulled her out and assured himself that she had broken no bones, but there was no mistaking Clay’s barely controlled anger. He’d lifted her into his arms and carried her to the ranch house, walking slowly so Thea could keep pace. And as he’d walked, he’d recited a litany of reassurances. Sarah wasn’t certain whether they were for Thea’s benefit, hers, or his own. All she knew was that they rang false. When he told Thea it was an accident and that Sarah would be safe, Clay was mouthing words he didn’t believe.

He’d wrapped her ankle and found a cane somewhere. Though Sarah longed to talk to him, he’d cut off every attempt, nodding in Thea’s direction as if reminding Sarah that her sister needed reassurances, not questions.

“Just rest tonight,” he said as he carried her to the cabin. “Everything else can wait.” The fact that he and Zach had ridden out only minutes later gave lie to his words. As for resting, that was something Sarah could not do. It had taken close to an hour to coax Thea into sleep, and now . . . now even rocking was doing nothing to soothe Sarah’s worries.

Someone wanted to hurt her. There was no denying that. Though Clay had refused to discuss it, she’d heard him mutter “wheel” and suspected his thoughts had taken the same path as hers, reaching the conclusion that someone had tampered with the wagon’s wheel. The reason wasn’t difficult to find. The only thing that had changed recently had been Sarah’s approach toward Austin’s death. She’d seen discomfort on several of the townspeople’s faces when she’d asked what they knew about the day he died. Though they denied having any idea why someone would have wanted to kill Austin, Sarah didn’t believe them. Someone knew something. And what happened today told her she was getting close to uncovering the murderer.

When her ankle began to throb, sending waves of dull pain up her leg, Sarah slowed the rocking. She closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, considering the possibility that she would soon know who had killed Austin. If that happened, tonight’s pain would have served a valuable purpose, for if the killer were brought to justice, Clay would be able to rest. Sarah bowed her head and said a silent prayer that she would be the one to unmask the murderer. That was the only way she knew to prevent Clay from exacting vengeance. “Please, Lord, let me help him.”

Once more at peace, Sarah rose and entered Thea’s room. Her sister was sleeping. If only she could do the same. She thought for a second, then wrapped a light cloak around her. When she’d been young and had difficulty sleeping, her mother had given her warm milk. Perhaps the childhood remedy would work tonight.

She was in the main house kitchen, stirring milk, when she heard Clay and Zach return. Though she thought they might come into the kitchen, they were evidently so engrossed in their conversation that they didn’t see the light or attributed no significance to it. She would not interrupt them. As soon as the milk was ready, she would return to the cabin. There was no reason for Clay and Zach to know she was here. But . . . Sarah’s hand paused as the words echoed through the kitchen, the men’s voices so loud she couldn’t help overhearing.

Oh no! Please, God, no!

“We need to talk.” Zach grabbed Clay’s arm and propelled him toward the ranch house. Though he’d been silent on the ride back from town, Clay had sensed his friend’s disapproval.

“There’s nothing to say. I know what I have to do, and I’m going to do it.” The anger that had been surging through him all evening continued unabated. One way or another, he was going to stop these attacks on people he loved.

Zach sank into a chair and gestured Clay toward another. Clay knew he might as well sit. One thing he’d learned about Zach was that, for a normally taciturn man, he could be surprisingly long-winded when he was agitated. He was agitated now.

“Finding Austin’s killer is one thing,” Zach said. “Imposing your own idea of justice on him is something else.”

Clay stared into the distance. While it was normally true that he valued Zach’s opinion, he had no desire to listen to a sermon tonight, and that appeared to be what Zach had in mind.

“Killing is wrong,” Zach said in a voice that belonged in a pulpit. “It doesn’t matter whether you call it just deserts or vengeance, it’s still killing, and it’s still wrong. If you go ahead with your plan, you’ll be as much of a murderer as he was. Is that what you want?”

It wasn’t the first time Zach had voiced this opinion, but it was the first time he’d been so vehement. Clay fixed his eyes on the man who was more friend than foreman. “I want him to pay for my brother’s death. Is that too much to ask?”

“No, it’s not.” Zach’s capitulation surprised Clay. When Zach continued, Clay realized he should have known his friend wasn’t finished. “The killer
will
pay. God tells us that. He also tells us that vengeance is his.” Zach leaned forward, his eyes darkening with emotion. “Let God take care of Austin’s killer. He will.”