From afar, Cimarron Creek seems like an idyllic town tucked in the Texas Hill Country. But when former schoolteacher Lydia Crawford steps onto its dusty streets in 1880, she finds a town with a deep-seated resentment of Northerners--like her. Lydia won't let that get her down, though. All will be well when she's reunited with her fiancé. But when she discovers he has disappeared--and that he left behind a pregnant wife--Lydia is at a loss about what to do next. The handsome sheriff urges her to trust him, but can she trust anyone in this town where secrets are as prevalent as bluebonnets in spring? Bestselling author Amanda Cabot invites readers back into Texas's storied past to experience love and adventure against a backdrop of tension and mystery in this first book in a brand-new series. Amanda Cabot  is the bestselling author of  After the Shadows and Against the Wind , as well as several historical and contemporary romance series, including Mesquite Springs, Cimarron Creek Trilogy, Texas Crossroads, Texas Dreams, and Westward Winds. Her books have been finalists for the ACFW Carol Awards, the HOLT Medallion, and the Booksellers' Best. She lives in Wyoming. Learn more at AmandaCabot.com. A Stolen Heart By Amanda Cabot Baker Publishing Group Copyright © 2017 Amanda Cabot All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-8007-2756-7 CHAPTER 1 May 1880 No matter what anyone said, she wouldn't believe this was a mistake. Lydia Crawford glanced at the other passengers, wondering whether her hours of sitting here, remaining silent but keeping a smile firmly fixed on her face, had done anything to lessen their hostility. She had considered pulling a book from her bag and spending the day lost in one of Jane Austen's tales but had feared that would only rile her companions more. Though Lydia wanted nothing beyond a peaceful journey and some pleasant conversation, she suspected that was impossible. The two sisters who were traveling together and the mother and son had given her friendly smiles when they'd boarded the stagecoach in Dallas, but the moment she'd opened her mouth, those smiles had turned to frowns, the friendliness to hostility. "She's a Yankee," one of the sisters had announced. "Mebbe a sister to one of them carpetbaggers. She's sure makin' a mistake coming to Texas." They both glared at Lydia for a moment, then turned away, refusing to even look in her direction. The mother had taken more drastic action. Though she and her son had chosen seats next to Lydia when they boarded the stagecoach, once Lydia had spoken and they'd realized she was a Northerner, they'd moved to the less comfortable backless bench in the center of the coach rather than risk being tainted by her presence. Lydia had endured snubs before, but none of this magnitude. Though she'd tried to slough it off, she'd been unable. Not only had the woman's shunning hurt but it made Lydia wonder if she would face similar rejection in Cimarron Creek. Nonsense, she told herself. Edgar would have warned me if that were the case. But of course there had been no word from Edgar. The night he left, they had both agreed it would be far too risky for him to send a letter or telegram. He would go to Texas and make a home for them, leaving Lydia to join him as soon as the school could find a replacement for her. Though it wasn't their original plan, it was the only one that made sense after what had happened outside the tavern. Surely it wasn't a mistake. Lydia's gaze moved past the disapproving sisters to the dark-haired boy in the center of the coach. With little else to occupy him, he'd been staring at her. Now he leaned forward, his hand extended as if he wanted to touch her. Lydia shook her head slightly, knowing nothing good would come from encouraging the child. A second later, though his mother had been gazing out the window, seemingly oblivious to the curious looks her son had been giving Lydia, she turned abruptly and yanked him back onto the bench. "Silas, you stay right here. I don't want you talkin' to that person." She spat the final word as if it were an epithet. Lydia refused to cringe. She'd been called worse, especially once she'd crossed the Mason-Dixon line. Though the war had been over for more than fifteen years, the enmity caused by four years of bloodshed and the disastrous era known as Reconstruction remained, at least in some hearts. "But, Ma," the boy protested, "she's real purty. I nebber seen hair like that." This time Lydia did cringe, wishing she'd been Silas's teacher. The boy was clearly old enough to attend school, but his poor grammar told her that if he was being taught, it wasn't well. Silas's mother continued to frown. "You do as I say, young man, or I'll tan your hide." "Yes, Ma." But, despite his mother's admonitions, Silas smiled at Lydia. "Silas!" He looked up at his mother, his expression one of feigned innocence. "I ain't talkin'." Though Lydia was tempted to grin at the boy's cheeky response,