How could she feel so strongly about someone she’d known for less than two weeks? She’d known Gideon for years, and while she’d been heartbroken at his rejection, she now knew she’d never felt as tied to him as she did to Roman.
Clara tried to fill her time, writing letters to Violet and her family, visiting with Emma and Caroline for tea, talking with Abigail and Deirdre, and helping Miss Darby with work around the boardinghouse. This morning, she’d gone to church, but Roman hadn’t been in attendance. Keeping busy distracted her some from just how much she missed Roman. The quick visits helped, but even as she knew he tried to be attentive, it was easy to tell his mind was elsewhere. And try as she might, it was almost impossible to keep the worry from her mind when she went to sleep at night.
It was far too easy to imagine his attention drifting. To see him finding whatever fault Gideon had seen in her before he’d cast her aside. To imagine exactly how he might be changing his mind about her. When the sun rose, it banished the fear to some dark place deep inside. But it was always there, just waiting for a delayed visit or a lull in the conversation to send her spiraling into a night of fitful, unhappy dreams.
As the days passed, Clara thought on her promise to herself that she would help him as best she could. While she could hardly fight off a horse thief or sit up with a rifle to guard the livery at night, she might be useful in some other way.
If it had happened twice, it might happen again. She knew Roman feared the word getting around town, which it most certainly had after this last time. Perhaps Clara might help by simply listening. Someone, somewhere, had to know something. The man—or men—behind the stolen horses might have spent some time in town. And if they had, they likely would have made friends, or at least made themselves known at the various businesses about town.
With that in mind, Clara paid a visit to Caroline at the mercantile, who hadn’t overheard anything, but who promised to keep her ears open. Clara highly doubted that horse thieves spent much time at fancy hotels, so she opted not to make the trek up the hill to find one of the familiar faces of the waitresses she’d seen about town. She spoke with the young boy who helped out at the depot, the smithy, and everyone else she’d met who might have the opportunity to overhear something of use.
Her tasks completed and not yet willing to return to the boardinghouse, Clara opted to follow the path she’d taken with Roman for their picnic. Maybe the fresh air and quiet by the creek would help her think of other ways she might be helpful.
The sun had lowered itself behind the mountains by the time she emerged from the trees to the shallow, burbling creek, reminding her that she’d promised to help Miss Darby serve supper tonight. She didn’t have long for her walk, and so she moved quickly, taking in the scenery as she went.
This truly was a beautiful place. The mere sight of towering peaks over the green of the aspens and pines and the sparkling blue of the creek made her breath catch in her throat. How could men such as the ones who’d stolen from the livery live in such a perfect place?
And what else could she do to help?
Thoughts wove through her mind, none of them particularly useful. Clara paused to watch a butterfly resting on a pretty yellow wildflower. She didn’t know the names of any of the flowers that grew here. Perhaps that was something she could learn.
She was about to take a step forward, around a couple of large pines that jutted out from the line of trees that traveled the creek, when the sound of a voice made her pause. A male voice.
Clara’s heart began to beat faster. She walked about town by herself, so often that it hadn’t occurred to her that perhaps she oughtn’t come down here by the creek alone. Not to mention that the only people she’d seen here with Roman were two friendly women. What sort of man was on the other side of those pines?
She swallowed hard and stood perfectly still. A second male voice answered the first, his words lost in the pounding of her heart in her ears. They seemed to be having a conversation between themselves. They couldn’t have seen her behind these trees. If she turned and quietly walked away, they’d never know she was there.
So long as they stayed where they were and weren’t strolling along the creek bank.
Clara forced herself to breathe more slowly, and just as she was about to turn to leave, her nose caught the scent of a cookfire. Were the men sleeping here, by the creek? All the more reason she should leave now. Who knew what sort of men they were?
Yet as she turned again, she caught the actual words of their conversation.
“ . . . Should’ve got more for that one. Gates is a cheat.”
“You got someone better?”
“What about that fellow we met at Murray’s?”
“The German? Nah, don’t trust him.”
“All I’m saying is he might buy at a better price.”
“Ain’t going to sell something half the county is looking for to someone I don’t trust.”
The other man grumbled something unintelligible.
Clara covered her mouth as their words sunk in. It could be nothing at all, but “something half the county is looking for” could certainly mean stolen goods.
Such as a horse.
Had she stumbled upon the thieves?
It couldn’t be. It was far too simple. They could be talking about something else entirely, and yet . . . It made too much sense.
She had to get out of there and tell Roman. If they were back, it was for one reason: to take more horses. Silently, she turned as the men resumed their conversation, this time about the food on their fire. Everything in her screamed at her to run, but Clara forced herself to step slowly and cautiously. They didn’t know she was there, and if she could remain quiet as she left, they’d be none the wiser.
The sun had slipped even lower in the sky, casting the creek in shadows. Clara watched the ground carefully as she walked to avoid stepping on branches or anything else that might make a sound. The call of an owl in a tree nearby startled her, causing her to stumble and step sideways, right onto a sizable branch.
