Love is Blind (Cutter's Creek Book 8) Read online

  Lucius followed him. How did he go from being hot on the trail of Emma Carlson to having tea with a town full of loons? His taste buds had often been his downfall. Maybe it was time he did something about it. Perhaps, just perhaps, he should think about getting himself a wife after this assignment.

  But before he started worrying about that, he’d try some of this Mrs. Upton’s cooking.

  2

  Two hours later Lucius was not only settled into the hotel, he was settled into tea. Sally Upton, a bright and jolly widow, had indeed made lemon scones – not to mention lemon squares, molasses cookies and some sort of berry tart he’d never seen before. If not for his current assignment, he’d be highly tempted to settle in Clear Creek.

  Unfortunately, duty called. “How many stage stops are there between here and Oregon City?” Lucius asked Mr. Van Cleet.

  “More now than there used to be. Some smaller than others.”

  Lucius plucked a lemon square off a three-tiered dessert service. “Do the wagon trains stop at each?”

  “I don’t rightly know. Like I said, most of the stage stops are newer. We didn’t even have a stage to Oregon City until about ’63 or ‘64. Even so, our stage only goes as far as the Whites’.”

  “The Whites?”

  “Mrs. White and her boys run a stop from their farm. For a long time, that was the only one between here and Oregon City.”

  “And the others?” Lucius asked.

  “Nothing more than a few farms and ranches along the route. Those folks take in extra money by fixing sandwiches for the passengers and feeding the horses. The only other actual stop is closer to Oregon City.”

  Lucius took a bite of his lemon square and thought he’d tasted the food of the angels. Consarnit, but it would be hard to leave! Maybe he could have Mrs. Upton pack him a bag of desserts? Or think long term and pack Mrs. Upton with him …

  “Are you thinking this Miss Carlson’s wagon train stopped at one of them?” Mr. Van Cleet asked.

  “Hard to say – I’d have to stop there myself and find out. Maybe somebody saw her and maybe they didn’t. But I won’t know until I ask.”

  Mr. Van Cleet sat back in his chair and studied him. “Do you like what you do?”

  Lucius stopped, the rest of his lemon square halfway to his mouth. “It makes me a living.” He popped the last of the confection into his mouth and brushed his hands together, relieving himself of the crumbs. “I’ve never done anything else.”

  Mr. Van Cleet began to drum his fingers on the table. “Have you ever had anyone not want to go with you once you found them?”

  “No.”

  Mr. Van Cleet’s fingers stopped their drumming as he sat up and leaned toward him with a smile. “Really? Not a one?”

  Lucius sat back in his chair and stared first at the fancy teacup sitting on the table in front of him, then at Mr. Van Cleet. “Most of the folks I’ve been paid to find weren’t in much of a position to argue once I found them.”

  Mr. Van Cleet’s smile vanished. “Oh. I see. And what if this Miss Carlson doesn’t want to return with you?”

  “Well, this is a search of a different sort. She’s a young woman separated from her only living relative, one that cares about her. Why wouldn’t she want to come back with me to be with him? He only wants the best for her.”

  “But I gather this woman isn’t the usual sort of person you’re sent after. What if she’s married, for instance?”

  “My sources say she’s not. She traveled west with a group of widows in search of a better life.”

  “That usually means finding husbands,” Mr. Van Cleet argued. “What about the men traveling with them?”

  “As far as I know, the women hired them as an escort to travel with them for protection, nothing more.”

  Mr. Van Cleet thought a moment. “I can understand that. I wonder if any of the women married any of the men along the way, though.”

  Lucius shrugged. “I suppose one or more could have. If Miss Carlson happens to be one of them, then I’ll get word to her brother and inform him of it.”

  Mr. Van Cleet sat back in his chair. “I don’t envy you your job, Mr. Judrow. It sounds mighty lonely, traipsing all over the country looking for people you may never find …”

  “I’ve found everyone I’ve been sent after, Mr. Van Cleet. Haven’t missed one yet.”

  Mr. Van Cleet smiled as other men began to file into the dining room. “That’s because you were hired to hunt down and bring back men. This is a woman, not some criminal on the run.” He shook his head. “I feel sorry for her brother if he’s gone to the expense of sending you to find her, only to discover she’s married and doesn’t want to go back with you.”

  “That is for Mr. Carlson to decide,” Lucius told him. “If I find Miss Carlson in a matrimonial state, I shall have her write her brother a letter in addition to my sending word to him. You can rest assured that I’ll treat the matter with the utmost courtesy to all parties.”

  Mr. Van Cleet studied him. “Very well put, Mr. Judrow. I have to admit, I didn’t take you for an educated man.”

  “I’m not – not in the way you’re likely thinking. I didn’t go to some fancy college. But I do read quite a bit, and I know people and how to act around them. If I came across as a rough, tough mountain man who ate children for lunch, Mr. Carlson wouldn’t have hired me to find his beloved sister, now would he?”

  “I suppose not,” Mr. Van Cleet agreed. He glanced at the other men now seating themselves at various tables. “But it wouldn’t stop me from having tea with you.”

  Lucius followed his gaze and studied them. Some of men looked as intimidating as his description. It was quite a sight to watch Mrs. Upton serve them as they sipped tea from delicate china cups. “This is some town you’ve got here, Mr. Van Cleet.”

  He grinned. “Yes, we know. And we’re quite proud of it too.”

  “Is that why these men stay?” he asked with a toss of his head at the rest of the men.

  “Of course,” Mr. Van Cleet nodded happily. “Like I told you, Mr. Judrow, afternoon tea is a tradition here. Anyone who wants to come can come, but it’s mostly the men. The women are home taking care of their families, though they do attend if they happen to be in town.”

  Lucius chuckled to himself. “No one back home in Kentucky would ever believe it.”

  “You’re seeing it with your own eyes.”

  He chuckled again. “Very true.” He reached into a pocket and tossed a few coins on the table. “I’ll take you up on your invitation to stay a night, Mr. Van Cleet, but I must leave come morning. I’m much obliged for the information you’ve given me – I’m sure it’ll help me in my search.”

  “Good luck to you, Mr. Judrow – I hope you find the woman you’re looking for. Oh, one other thing.”

  “Yes?” Lucius stood.

  “The Whites’ place is off the main road about a mile. There’s a sign there now – there didn’t used to be – but be watching for it or you’re liable to just ride on by.”

  Lucius tipped his hat. “Much obliged.” He turned to walk away from the table.

  “And one more thing,” Mr. Van Cleet called after him.

  Lucius turned with a sigh. “Yes?”

  “About Mrs. White and her boys – well, two of them are grown men, actually. Anyway, she’s had trouble over the years and, well, she …”

  “What about her?”

  Mr. Van Cleet grimaced. “Oh, never mind – you’ll see when you get there. Just be sure you treat that woman with the utmost respect or you’ll have her boys to contend with. Oscar, the oldest, isn’t to be trifled with. Don’t get me wrong, they’re good people, but those boys are awfully protective of their mama.”

  Lucius nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.” With another tip of his hat, he turned and left the dining room.

  It took Lucius a couple of days to reach the first stage stop, such as it was. It was just a small farm on the trail where drivers could water and fee
d their teams and eat whatever the farmer’s wife made that day. They supplemented what they made from their crops by selling food to traveling man and beast, but didn’t even have a decent bed for pilgrims to sleep in.

  Willie, the stage driver from Clear Creek, told Lucius when he questioned him that he often slept in the barns at such places, along with any male passengers. Women passengers had to make do on crude cots in the house. And apparently the next few stops were much the same. After the comparative luxury of the Van Cleet Hotel – and the ambrosial desserts of Mrs. Upton – it was a bitter pill to swallow.

  The one true stage stop, as promised, was the Whites’ – partly because they’d given up farming to take care of stagecoach passengers, horses and drivers full-time. They apparently made quite a good living at it, too, probably because Mrs. White was such an excellent hostess.

  Lucius dismounted in front of the two-story white clapboard house, tethered his horse to the hitching post, then removed his saddlebags. He was tired, hungry and wanted to settle in so he could rest. This assignment didn’t have the usual zing to it. Mr. Van Cleet was right – it was very different tracking down a woman, as opposed to a man on the run who didn’t want to be found. The latter offered a challenge and made the work exciting.

  Lucius sighed as he went up the porch steps to the screen door. He was bored, that was all there was to it. This was the last time he’d take on this kind of assignment. Trying to keep his focus on the task had him plumb tuckered out.

  “May I he’p ya?”

  Lucius stopped short, causing the screen to hit him in the derriere. He didn’t move. He couldn’t. All he could do was stand there, staring like a blithering idiot at the woman behind the counter.

  “Well?” she slurred. “Dja need a room, stranger?”

  Lucius forced himself into action. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then get over here‘n sign in.”

  He tried not to stare, but he just couldn’t help it. She was much older than him, probably in her sixties. Her hair was thin and in patches all over her head, as if someone had plucked part of it out. Her face was lopsided, which explained the slur when she spoke. But her most prominent feature was the single dark bushy eyebrow that ran across her forehead, over both eyes. He’d never seen the like of it.

  “Don’t juss stand thurr, I ain’t got all day.” She sounded as if it were literally true – like she might not survive until sundown. “I gotta cake in th’oven.”

  He walked up to the counter and gulped. The woman was almost frightening. Upon closer inspection, she had more whiskers than many men he knew.

  “I’m Mrs. White,” she said firmly. “I run a clean place here. Don’t serve no whiskey’r spirits.” She opened a guest register, spun it around and shoved it across the counter. “Sign in.”

  He glanced between her and the book. “Are you running a hotel?”

  “I like t’keep track o’who comes through. This’s just a stage stop – least that’s what some folks call it. I refer t’it as a rest stop. A place fer folks to freshen up, sit a spell, spend the night if they need to. What’s yer name?”

  “Judrow, ma’am. Lucius Judrow.” He forced his eyes to the book in front of him. He had work to do. Maybe he should thumb through it – if Miss Carlson’s wagon train had come by here, the people would have signed in, wouldn’t they?

  “Welcome, Mr. Judrow. Now sign.” She dipped a pen in some ink and handed it to him.

  For some odd reason, he felt compelled to obey her. As distorted as her appearance was, he sensed great strength in the woman and wondered what had happened to make her face the way it was. One side was perfectly normal – well, except for the eyebrow and the random whiskers. (My, but she needed a shave!) The other side, however, looked as if it had fallen, collapsed, and was now just hanging there.

  He remembered hearing about such things when he served in the war, that it was a trait of some folks who’d lived through heart troubles. For her to survive such a thing was a near miracle. If that was the case, then the woman probably didn’t care what she looked like, but was just happy to be alive – and tough as a tortoise shell.

  He took the pen and signed his name to the register.

  “How long ya gonna be in these parts?” she asked. “Just th’one night?”

  He was about to answer when a young woman burst through a door behind the counter. “Mrs. White, the cake is done! What should I do?”

  “Take it out, ‘course. Thanks f’lettin’ me know, Taloa.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She hurried back into what Lucius assumed was the kitchen. He stared after her, mesmerized. The two women standing side by side were like Beauty and the Beast: Mrs. White with her straggly thin hair, dark bushy eyebrow and whiskers, and the other with her lithe form, strawberry-blonde hair and …

  “Grey eyes,” Lucius whispered to himself. The girl had grey eyes. “Who was that?”

  Mrs. White looked over her shoulder at the door behind her. “Taloa? She’s what ya might call my ‘sistant.”

  His eyes skipped between her and the door. “How long has she been working here?”

  “Oh, few months. What’s it to ya, Mr. Judrow?”

  Lucius heard the challenge in her voice. “I’m looking for someone, Mrs. White – a young woman whose description matches that of your assistant. What is Taloa’s last name?”

  Now Mrs. White looked at the door and back. “Branson.”

  Lucius’ brow furrowed. “Taloa,” he mused. “That’s an Indian word.”

  “T’me, it’s just a name,” she said. “Supper’s at six. Don’t be late. Ya can have the first room on the right, top o’ the stairs. Ya wanna bath, it’s an extra twenty-fi’ cents.” She turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Lucius stared after her. This “Taloa Branson” could certainly be the missing Emma Carlson. But if she was Miss Carlson, why would she be living under an alias? And why stop here at the Whites’ and stay on? Of course, he could be completely wrong and the pretty young lady just happened to have grey eyes. But how many women did? It was an unusual color.

  Well, there was only one way to find out. He’d just have to stay until he could prove one way or another if this woman was Emma Carlson or not.

  3

  Taloa set the cake on the worktable, then, unable to help herself, tiptoed back to the kitchen door to get another peek at that ruggedly handsome man talking with Mrs. White. She’d never seen such a specimen of manhood before, and had to get another look now while she had the opportunity.

  Mrs. White, however, came through the kitchen door before she could. “We hafta let that cool ‘fore we can fross it,” she slurred.

  Rats, she’d missed her chance. Oh well. “Yes, I know.”

  “Ya check the bread dough?”

  Taloa looked at the covered bowl next to the cooling cake. “No, not yet.”

  “Punch it down ‘n roll’t out. We’ll braid it – ‘at makes it look real purty.”

  “Braid it?”

  “Oscar likes it ‘at way.”

  Taloa sighed. “Yes, he would.”

  “Now don’t ya make funna m’boy. He likes t’xperiment when he cooks ‘n bakes. Why, if not fer ‘im creatin’ new recipes, we wouldn’t get so many folks wantin’ t’stop ‘n stay here.”

  “Mrs. White, the stagecoaches stop here anyway,” Taloa pointed out.

  “Not what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. I’m talkin’ ‘bout folks like Preacha Dan comin ‘n stayin’ a few days to rest ‘fore he finishes his circuit. Or Logan Kincaid, the foreman out at the Triple-C. He ‘n his hands like to visit a day or two on their way back to Clear Creek after a cattle drive.”

  “Oh. I had no idea.”

  “Ya ain’t seen any o’them yet, but ya will. Preacha Dan’s due any day now.”

  “Is there a stage coming today?”

  “No,” Mrs. White examined the cake on the worktable. “T’morrah.”

  Taloa’s eyes darted to the door. “What about that man – wh
o is he?”

  “A guest. Name’s Lucius Judrow, since yer so curious.”

  “Is he on his way to Oregon City?”

  “Dunno. But where else’d he be headin’?”

  Taloa smiled, feeling a little foolish. She hoped her interest in the handsome stranger wasn’t too obvious.

  “Now stop yapping and get the dough ready,” Mrs. White ordered. “Oscar ‘n Henry’ll be back from fishin’ soon.”

  Taloa’s smile faded. “Yes, ma’am.” She turned and went to work.

  In the two and a half months since finding refuge with Mrs. White, she’d discovered no similar refuge from her three sons. Oscar, the oldest (much too old for her as far as she was concerned), was a bear of a man, as tall as the handsome stranger she’d seen earlier and much broader. He also sported the same single bushy eyebrow as his mother, in addition to a deep voice and fierce dark eyes. Yet for all his fearsome appearance, he was a gentle giant who loved to cook, and was good at it.

  His younger brother Henry was shorter and younger looking than Oscar but otherwise the same, right down to the eyebrow. But he was slow of speech and thought, his behavior often childlike – innocent, curious and uneducated in the ways of propriety. She’d caught him staring at her during meals, sometimes intensely so.

  In fact, he’d proposed to her after she’d been there a week. Mrs. White and Oscar told her to pay it no mind, saying they were surprised he’d waited that long. Usually, they informed her, he proposed after only a couple of days to any women staying there – any woman, no matter how old or young. He just liked doing it – he was in love with the idea of being in love, and practicing for the big moment when he really meant it. There were times, however, when Taloa wasn’t so sure.

  And then there was Anson, the youngest. He was called “Handsome Anson” by the drivers that frequented the stage stop, and he was. How he looked so different from his brothers was beyond anyone that knew the Whites – Mrs. White’s explanation was that he took after his father, while his brothers took after her. He had a physique like a Greek statue, and his face was the epitome of young, masculine perfection, his light brown hair and bright blue eyes swoon-worthy.