Paper Roses (7 page)

As the wagon rolled by the Bramble ranch, he stared at his neighbors’ home. “There may be another answer.” Clay gestured toward the two-story house and adjacent barn. “Mrs. Bramble might be able to help you. She doesn’t do any of the ranch work, so she’d have time. And”—this was the trump card—“her son David was Austin’s closest friend. She might consider caring for Thea an act of friendship.”

Sarah appeared pleased by the suggestion. “Could we stop there now?”

Clay had no intention of spending time listening to two women chatter. “Wait until tomorrow. Today’s your first lesson in driving a wagon.” And, if Clay was a good teacher, her last. Once she could control the wagon, they could go their separate ways, and he wouldn’t be bothered by a woman and a little girl who reminded him of dreams that would never come true.

He didn’t mind the horses, Clay reflected as he smoothed wrinkles from the saddle blanket and reached for Shadow’s saddle. Although he disliked almost everything else associated with the ranch, he didn’t begrudge the time he spent with the horses.

Clay tightened the cinches and led Shadow out of the stable. The sky was the faultless blue that he associated with the happy days of his childhood. It would be the perfect weather for a ride, if Clay were a child again. But he was not a child. Those carefree days were over, replaced by adult responsibilities, the foremost of which were hundreds of what Pa used to call “gold on the hoof.” Clay had other, far less complimentary, terms for the cattle. To him, the animals Pa thought were so valuable were nothing but a source of endless work. The roundup was bad enough, but there was also the branding, the constant culling out of the sick and injured, the feeding of orphan calves, and the worry that a sudden storm, drought, or rustlers would wreak destruction.

“No, sirree,” Clay muttered as he mounted Shadow. Raising steers was not the life he would have chosen, no matter how lucrative it could be. He never had understood why Austin and Pa found ranching so rewarding. They spoke of freedom, of the wide-open spaces, of not being at someone’s beck and call. Ha! What was ranching other than being at the beck and call of a herd of ornery black steers? There was more satisfaction to be found in setting one broken leg than in all the money that the Bar C reaped from selling those critters.

Shadow whinnied, as if he agreed. “Who do you suppose set Sarah’s leg?” Clay asked. It was probably crazy, talking to his horse, but there was no one else around. A man might not crave the constant chatter females provided, but he did like to exercise his vocal cords occasionally. “Whoever it was, he must not have been very skilled. She shouldn’t limp that much.”

Clay shook his head while his eyes searched the horizon, looking for anything out of the ordinary. There was no point in thinking about Sarah Dobbs. Even if she did remain in Ladreville for more than a week, it wasn’t as if Clay could do anything about her limp. Not now. He had read about rebreaking and setting bones that hadn’t knit properly, but it was reported to be a very painful procedure with no guarantee of success. Clay wasn’t the man to try that or any other surgical procedure. Not anymore.

Cattle were his future, and they would be until the day Austin’s murderer paid for his deeds. On that day, Clay would pack up Pa and head East, knowing that his brother’s death had been avenged. When Clay shook the dust of Ladreville from his boots that day, it would be for the last time. Then and only then would he think about doctoring.

He flicked the reins to turn Shadow. “Let’s go, boy.” When he reached the highest point on the ranch, Clay slowed the horse to a walk. Though Shadow loved to run, there was no point in exhausting him when they had another section of the ranch to cover before dinner. They’d rest here on Clay’s favorite vantage point for a few minutes, then continue in search of those pesky cattle.

Clay needed to clear his head, and this was one spot that never failed to do exactly that. From here, he could see the road, the neighboring ranch houses, and the entire town of Ladreville. From this distance, there were no cattle in sight. From this distance, the town and countryside appeared to be a scene of perfect tranquility. Best of all, from this distance, there was no hint that a murderer walked the streets or that ancient rivalries divided the townspeople.

Taking a deep breath, Clay started to turn, then stopped. When he had first arrived on the bluff, he had noticed the doctor’s buggy crossing the river. It was such an ordinary occurrence that Clay had attached no significance to it. But now, if the horse’s casual grazing was any indication, the buggy wasn’t moving. That was odd. Normally Herman drove quickly, knowing that even apparently mild symptoms could turn dangerous in a short time and that when people summoned the doctor, they wanted him there that very moment. Clay squinted. There was no doubt about it. The horse, the buggy, and Dr. Herman Adler were going nowhere.

“C’mon, Shadow.” Clay’s horse needed little encouragement to gallop, and within a few minutes, he had reached Ladreville’s only practicing physician. As Clay had feared when he’d seen the motionless buggy, something was wrong. Herman was slumped in the seat, the reins fallen from his hands.

“Herman, are you all right?” The older man’s face had lost its normal ruddy hue, and his gray hair was disheveled, as if the doctor had run his hands through it. That bothered Clay almost as much as his colleague’s pallor, for Herman was a notorious dandy.

The man winced. “It’ll pass. It always does.”

With a trained eye, Clay assessed the man’s color, the grip he maintained on the edge of the seat, and the way he refused to open his eyes. “Where is the pain?” Clay asked, seeking confirmation of his diagnosis.

Herman winced again. “Behind my eyes.” He took a deep breath in an obvious attempt to lessen the pain, then added, “It’s worse today than before.”

Repetitive incidents. Increasing severity. Clay frowned, grateful that Herman’s eyes were still closed. One of the first rules he had learned in medical school was the importance of allaying patients’ fears by never showing them your concerns. Herman was a good enough doctor that he probably recognized the symptoms, but if he didn’t, the middle of an episode was not the time to discuss diagnosis and prognosis, especially when both were grim. If what Clay thought was true, it wasn’t only he and Herman who should be concerned. All of Ladreville would suffer when its doctor could no longer practice.

“We’re going to the Bar C,” Clay said in a voice that brooked no dissent. “You can rest there.” Quickly dismounting, he tied Shadow to the back of the buggy and took the reins from Herman.

“I can’t,” the older man muttered. His shuttered eyes and the creases bracketing his mouth attested to the pain’s intensity. “Mrs. Bramble is expecting me.”

“Mrs. Bramble is the healthiest person in the county.” Far healthier than Herman at this moment, although Clay forbore mentioning that particular fact.

A faint smile crossed the older man’s face. “It’s true that I’ve never found anything wrong, even on her most urgent calls.” The color was returning to Herman’s face, and he had lessened his grip on the seat. Though it appeared the worst of the attack was over, the man still needed to rest, especially if his next patient was Mary Bramble.

“I reckon she’s set her cap for you.”

Herman’s eyes flew open, revealing an expression of pure terror. “That’s absurd!”

“Is it?” The diversion was having its desired effect. “Everyone in the county knows Mary Bramble doesn’t like being a widow. She used to bring my father cakes and pies practically every week until Pa told her he had no intention of remarrying.” Clay chuckled at the memory of the woman’s scarlet face the last time she had come to the ranch. “I hate to say this, Herman, but it looks as if you’re next on her list.”

Dr. Herman Adler grimaced, and this time Clay knew it was not from physical pain. “And to think I believed the headaches were my worst problem.”

Clay was right, Sarah mused. Driving the wagon wasn’t difficult. The horses seemed not to mind that her grip on the reins was tentative. They moved in the directions she wanted; they stopped when she told them to. The hardest part of driving was controlling Thea. That was why, in anticipation of her sister’s inclination to squirm, Sarah had tied her to the bench. Though Thea protested not being able to peer over the edge of the wagon, she was safe.

Fortunately, it wasn’t much further to the Brambles’ ranch. Once they reached it, Thea would be able to run. Then would come the hardest part of the visit—seeing whether Mrs. Bramble was willing to care for a child as active as Thea and whether Thea would like the woman.

Sarah had hardly slept last night, thinking about everything she’d seen in Ladreville and how, if she saved her money carefully, she would be able to buy one of those fairytale houses for herself and Thea. They’d be independent then, and there’d be no need for a horse, even one attached to a wagon. But no matter how much Sarah might want to work at the mercantile, Thea’s needs came first. If Sarah couldn’t find the right woman to care for her, she would have to find another way to earn the money they needed.

“We’re almost there.”

Larger than the house at the Bar C, the two-story building that formed the center of the Lazy B ranch was also surrounded by more outbuildings than the Bar C. According to Clay, Mrs. Bramble had once tried to be self-sufficient and had employed a farrier as well as ranch hands and enough men to till the acres she’d devoted to farming. Though she’d abandoned farming once Ladreville’s residents began selling their produce, the extra buildings remained.

As the wagon rattled its way up the lane, the front door opened and a woman stepped onto the porch.

“Come in, my dear.” Mrs. Bramble greeted Sarah with such enthusiasm that it appeared she and Thea had been expected. It wasn’t the welcome and the broad smile that gave Sarah that impression but, rather, their neighbor’s clothing. Sarah didn’t claim to be an expert on Ladreville fashion etiquette, but surely the navy silk with white lace trim wasn’t something a woman wore unless she was going to church or expecting important visitors. Perhaps Clay had stopped by the ranch earlier this morning to say that Sarah would be coming.

“Good morning, Mrs. Bramble.” Sarah climbed down from the wagon and lifted Thea into her arms. “I’m—”

“Sarah Dobbs, Austin’s fiancée.” The tall woman whose dark hair was only lightly threaded with gray gave Sarah an appraising look, her brown eyes seeming to take in every detail of Sarah’s appearance. “I reckon you’re even prettier than your miniature,” she said at last. “And this must be Thea.”

To Sarah’s surprise, when Mrs. Bramble reached for Thea, her sister went willingly into the older woman’s arms. At home—in Philadelphia, Sarah corrected herself—Thea was normally shy with strangers, but she’d displayed no reticence around Clay and now with their neighbor. Sarah felt the knot of tension that had caused her head to ache begin to unravel. The first hurdle was passed. Thea had not taken an immediate dislike to Mrs. Bramble, and the older woman appeared to like children.

“Your sister’s gonna be a beauty when she grows up, just like you.”

Sarah blinked in surprise. Mama had been beautiful. Papa told her that every day. But not once had anyone claimed Sarah was beautiful. When people described her, it was as “that girl with the unfortunate limp.”

“Don’t fret none. You’ll find yourself another suitor soon,” Mrs. Bramble continued. “Why, my David will be sorry he missed you. There ain’t many pretty girls in Ladreville, you know.”

Sarah didn’t want another suitor. Though love hadn’t been part of the plan, on the long journey West, she had admitted to herself that she was more than halfway in love with the man who’d written those wonderful letters, the ones she called her paper roses. As she’d traveled, she’d dreamed of happily-ever-after. Sadly, those dreams had died along with Austin, and now that she’d had a brief taste of love, Sarah knew that marrying someone else was something she’d consider only if she could find no other way to protect Thea.

She gave Mrs. Bramble a noncommittal smile.

“What kind of neighbor am I, leaving you standing on the porch?” Mrs. Bramble ushered Sarah inside. “Come and visit for a while. I have some cool tea and a coffee cake ready.” It hadn’t been Sarah’s imagination that Mrs. Bramble had been expecting visitors. Clay must have been here.