Page 29 of Fairest of Heart

Penelope inhaled an audible breath and straightened away from the bookshelf she’d been examining. “That story centers around an orphan, too, doesn’t it? A boy named Pip?”

“That’s right.” Enoch pulled the book from the shelf and handed it to Penelope.

It took a moment for her to unlock her hands from behind her back, but she managed the feat and accepted the book from his hand. She stroked the cover with reverence, a smile blooming across her face.

“You’re sure I can borrow this?” Her face tilted to meet his gaze, wonder dancing in her eyes.

Enoch chuckled. “I’m sure, lass.”

“Thank you.” She hugged the book to her chest. “I’ve always had a fondness for stories about orphans making their way in the world. They give me hope that my own story will turn out well.”

“With the kind heart and strong work ethic you possess,” Enoch said, pushing the words through a sudden thickness in his throat, “I’m certain it will.”

Lord, may it be so.

She smiled at him as if he’d bestowed a great gift when in truth he was the blessed one. Ever since losing Tate, he’d distanced himself from his family. Not because they blamed him for the loss, but because he felt undeserving of their forgiveness. Why had God made him a healer if he couldn’t save the people who mattered most? First his wife. Then his grandson. Yet being around Penelope this past week and learning some of her history reminded him that family was a precious commodity that shouldn’t be wasted.

This sweet child had been abandoned by her parents, raised in a school where she was treated more as a servant than a pupil, then thrown out into a world that abused and abandoned her again. A longing for connection and belonging radiated from her like heat from an oven. She hungered for the very things he’d thrown away.

Perhaps it was time to reach out to his son and attempt to mend a few fences. Maybe invite him and his wife to visit. Introduce them to Penelope. She was sure to charm them as thoroughly as she had the entire Diamond D. Including Titus.

Thoughts of his grandson had Enoch easing away from the cabinet. He reached for one of the cookies she’d brought and took a bite while he watched her flip through the opening pages of Great Expectations. The wheels in his mind spun as if they’d just been oiled.

The girl was a beauty, no question, but it was her heart that shone brightest. Exactly the attribute needed to penetrate Titus’s reserve. The boy didn’t trust women, especially pretty ones. He had his reasons—valid ones—yet he’d taken his distrust to an unhealthy extreme. Even so, there had been something about Penelope that had breached his defenses. Titus hadn’t left without saying good-bye to her because he was in a hurry to return to Ranger headquarters. No, he’d left to keep himself from getting entangled. As practiced as Enoch was with the avoidance technique, he easily recognized its deployment by another. Titus was attracted to Penelope, probably against his will, but the spark existed.

Maybe the Lord had led Penelope here for more than just protection. Enoch leaned a hip against the edge of the desk and took another bite of his cookie. He’d never been one to play matchmaker, but this seemed to be a night for turning over new leaves.

13

Titus had spent a fortnight traveling across Texas, interviewing the gentlemen on Captain Bill’s list and hunting for patterns. All the men were wealthy, but beyond that, they didn’t share much in common. Different ages. Different political parties. Some inherited their wealth, while others had manufactured their fortune themselves. Some were married. Others were single or widowed. Many had children, but not all.

Titus shoved his notes across the small desk and pushed to his feet. He needed to move. Change the scenery. Something. The walls seemed to be pushing in on him. Shrinking the hotel room. Trapping him. He strode over to the washstand and splashed some water on his face. The coolness helped. A little.

Big cities made Titus itch. Too many people. Not enough space. Austin was better than Houston, but even here he found it hard to relax. The fancy furnishings of this upscale room added to his discomfort. Chairs with spindly, untrustworthy legs. Rugs he avoided walking on for fear of tracking mud. A painting on the wall of a stern-faced woman whose judgmental gaze seemed to follow him around the room. He would have preferred a cot in a vacant jail cell. Men of Hathaway’s standing, however, only conducted business at fine establishments. Especially if they happened to own one. As proprietor of this particular hotel, Mr. Hathaway had insisted on putting Titus up last night to facilitate an early morning meeting. Hence Titus’s lack of choice in accommodations.

He should have taken a walk after his breakfast tray arrived instead of going through his notes for the hundredth time, but it was too late to change tactics now. He was due to meet Hathaway in twenty minutes. Titus strode back to the desk, picked up the tablet, and flipped through his notes from the other interviews he’d conducted. Interviews with victims, lawmen, and any ancillary parties like servants or family members who hadn’t already been questioned by the local law. As he scanned the contents, his eyes lit on words he’d underlined in his hunt for commonalities, threads, and oddities. He’d drawn a full box around Hathaway’s name on the last page. His situation represented the biggest oddity yet.

Nothing notable linked the victims, meaning the thefts were crimes of opportunity, not targeted attacks. Therefore, the pattern lay with a thief who had been making his way across Texas in a methodical fashion. Houston, Brenham, Giddings, Austin, Cameron, Waco. All cities along railroad lines. All cities containing at least a handful of affluent citizens.

It made sense. The railroad offered a quick escape and a level of anonymity. One could blend in with other passengers, hide stolen property in luggage, and move easily between towns, thereby making it harder for lawmen to connect the crimes together into a single string.

The thief could work for the railroad or be a peddler or other frequent traveler. A theory Titus would subscribe to if the most recent theft had happened in Hillsboro or Cleburne. But it hadn’t. It took place in Eulogy, a small town off the Brazos River. Nowhere near a railroad. It broke the pattern. Which meant they either had two thieves and the Eulogy case was unrelated to the others, or something beyond the railroad linked these crimes.

Titus doubted there were two crooks roaming Texas with a penchant for nabbing expensive male accessories. One such criminal had been strange enough to draw the attention of the Rangers. The chances of there being two were extremely slim. Unless the two were in cahoots. But even if that was the case, the thefts would still have to be connected. Therefore, there had to be a link between the crimes that Titus wasn’t seeing. Something only Hubert Hathaway could reveal.

If Titus asked the right questions.

Ask. Seek. Knock.

When Titus had first joined the Rangers, those three words had become his motto. To find truth, he needed to ask questions and never make assumptions. Once he had his answers, he’d seek his target until the criminal was found. Then he’d knock down any obstacle that stood between him and enacting justice. The motto kept him objective and focused, and drove him to finish his task. Yet as those three words rose in his mind this morning, they didn’t fire his determination as they usually did. No, they tugged him in a different direction. Toward the One who’d spoken them on a mountain centuries ago.

Titus slid into the desk chair and bowed his head as Christ’s words filled his mind.

“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: For every one that asketh, receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.”

“I seek truth, Lord,” Titus whispered, “and ask you to help me find it. Give me the right questions to ask today. Questions that will open doors to knowledge. Give me eyes to see and ears to hear. Grant me wisdom and understanding and the courage to follow wherever the truth leads. May I be an instrument of justice in your hands.”

A knock tapped on Titus’s door. He opened his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips at the irony. It shouldn’t surprise him, though. The Lord was famous for his uncanny timing. Titus rose from his seat and opened the door.