The Inheritance (32 page)
He inclined his head and smiled at her as though she were Emma’s age. “We, meaning not only this bank but also the larger bank in Denver that owns us, consider our lenders carefully. In recent years, droves of people moved West thinking they’d find better lives. Most have, I think. Those willing to work hard.” He laughed softly. “And those who don’t mind numb toes from October to March.”
McKenna didn’t respond to his attempt at levity. Did he think he could humor her out of the dire straits in which she found herself?
“But our bank also loaned a great deal of money to people whose dreams didn’t work out, due either to their lack of initiative or to circumstances beyond their control. Too many loans remain unpaid.”
Melancholy layered the seconds.
McKenna sighed. “Which brings us full circle, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid it does.”
The whinny of horses and the muffled clomp of hooves drifted through the open window from the street outside.
“The foreclosure papers arrived yesterday on the stage from Denver. I was going to hand deliver those to you yesterday, until the gentleman showed up in my office claiming to be Mr. Talbot’s brother.”
“What is the
gentleman’s
name?”
“Mr. Harrison Talbot. He seems a nice enough fellow, younger than Vince Talbot by a few years, I’d guess. After I explained the situation to him, he requested to meet you.”
McKenna shook her head. “What makes you think any of what he’s saying is true? And even if it is, don’t Mrs. Talbot’s last wishes count for anything? You’ve spoken to Dr. Foster. He acted as witness on my behalf. You said so yourself.”
He nodded. “Yes, yes, this is all very true. Unfortunately, in cases like this—as I mentioned to you during our initial meeting”—his brow rose as if punctuating the reminder— “when multiple living relatives are involved and no written will exists, awarding the inheritance can become tedious. However, it doesn’t fall to me to make that final decision in this instance.”
She waited. “To whom then does it fall?” she asked, matching his formality and loathing it.
“I wired the bank in Denver this morning and, as we speak, the request for a circuit judge who will travel to Copper Creek is being forwarded to the courthouse. It will fall to that judge to make the final decision. He’ll speak with you at length while here, of course. As well as research the facts with utmost care.”
McKenna felt as though she might be ill. When Billings stood, she followed suit.
“Would it be convenient for me to bring Mr. Talbot out to the homestead sometime tomorrow morning, ma’am? To meet you? And to see the ranch?”
No, it wouldn’t. I don’t want that man anywhere near there.
She nodded. “Yes, that would be fine.” She could hardly refuse under the circumstances.
Billings escorted her through the lobby to the front double doors. “Will the child be there as well? Mr. Talbot indicated an interest in seeing his niece.”
McKenna’s heart skipped a painful beat. “He wants to see Emma?”
“Yes, ma’am. He made a special inquiry to that end.”
The questions bombarding McKenna’s mind were almost too much to take in. What if Vince really did have a brother? What if he wanted Emma?
She offered a hasty good-bye and left the bank as swiftly as possible. On shaky legs, she climbed into the wagon and, minutes later, found herself at Mei’s, not remembering how she’d gotten there.
What if this man wants Emma?
Numb, she knocked on Mei’s door. Mei answered with Emma holding her hand—both of them smiling—and McKenna hugged the child extra long. She politely declined Mei’s invitation to stay for dinner, and they set up a time for another of their lessons that week. Emma chattered the entire way home, and though McKenna pretended to be listening, she barely heard a word Emma said.
Thanking Dr. Foster for staying with Robert, she also promised to reward him for his kindness, and knew just how she would do that.
After Dr. Foster left, she finished the chores, made dinner, and saw to Robert’s and Emma’s needs before finally crawling beneath the cold bed sheets well after dark. She thought she’d known what desperation felt like. To feel so fragile inside that the slightest bump would break her into thousands of tiny shards. But this pain went far deeper. She reached for the pillow beside her and hugged it tight against her chest, letting it muffle her cries.
Some time later, she awakened to pale fingers of sunlight stretching through the curtains billowing in the breeze. Turning onto her side, she caught the scent of the lavendar Vince had planted for Janie beneath the window and was reminded of the morning Janie had died. It felt like a lifetime ago.
A rooster crowed and McKenna pushed herself from bed, knowing there was more work to do today than she could do in a week. Slipping into her robe, she hesitated, her gaze involuntarily going to the end of the bed.
The night before Janie died, Janie had seen something—or Someone—in that same space. Believing it was God’s presence her cousin had seen, McKenna wished she could see Him now. And she envied Janie being in His presence.
Something compelled her to crawl from bed and sink to her knees beside the bed. Unsettled by the uncustomary prompting, she bowed her head.
It wasn’t that she didn’t pray. She prayed often enough. But she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on her knees before Him. Her heart was overflowing with requests and petitions and pleas, and they all came out in a jumble, one atop the other, and with such desperation that she wasn’t sure where one started and the next began.
After a while, with her knees aching on the cold wooden floor, she lifted her head, hoping . . .
She sighed, halfway smiling. The space at the end of the bed was empty. Had she really expected Jesus to appear? To grant her prayers so fully? So quickly?
She found Robert asleep on the couch where she’d left him, his soft snores hinting at a peacefulness she knew was absent from his life. She opened Emma’s door and crept to her bedside, careful not to make the loose plank squeak. She covered the girl back up and kissed her hair. So precious . . .
The water in the coffee kettle was nearly boiling when she heard something outside. She peered through the curtain and saw nothing. Surely it was too early for Mr. Billings and that man to—
A knock sounded on the door.
It couldn’t be! She glanced at Robert to see if he’d awakened, but the laudanum she’d administered to him before bed was working overtime. She pulled the coffeepot to the side of the stove so it wouldn’t boil over. She ought to have known Billings would show up at the crack of dawn. He’d already proven his timing to be atrocious.
She hurried to the door, cinching her robe, smoothing her hair, and asking God to guide her conversation with the man claiming to be Vince’s brother—whoever he was. She opened the door.
“Good morn—” She frowned, unable to explain the tiny spark of irritation, but even greater sparks of joy, she felt. “What are you doing here?”
“Good morning, Miss Ashford. It’s nice to see you again too, ma’am.” With a wry smile, Wyatt Caradon tipped his hat and held up the ragged-looking advertisement she’d posted at the mercantile weeks ago. “I’m here in answer to your notice, ma’am. I’m hoping you can still use a ranch hand.”
S
melling the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, Wyatt was relieved to know he hadn’t gotten McKenna straight out of bed. But he didn’t think she’d been up long. She still had that just-awakened look about her, a softness that made him wish he’d earned the privilege of touching her face, of tracing a feather-soft path from the curl at her temple down the smooth plane of her cheek. His gaze went to the modest opening at her neckline . . . Remembering the tender passion found only in a woman’s arms didn’t help his train of thought.
With deliberate intent, he looked away and focused on the piece of paper in his hands. “I hope the position’s still open, ma’am.”
She stared as though uncertain whether or not he was serious. Or perhaps she was still angry with him. Highly likely with the way things had been left between them.
He shifted beneath her attention, the same schoolboy awkwardness overtaking him as when he’d invited her and Emma to dinner. “I’ve had experience with this kind of work.”
He tried throwing in another smile. “And I can provide references, if needed.”
Her frown lessened a fraction. “References?” She gave a half-smile and leaned against the doorframe, sizing him up. “Don’t tell me you’ve turned in your badge and decided to settle for a dullard’s life on the farm?”
Her sarcasm was gentle—more probing than pointed—and he relaxed a mite, taking no offense in it. “No ma’am, I’m still with the Marshals Office.” He edged back his vest to reveal the badge beneath, pinned to his shirt. “They’ve got me working out of Copper Creek for a while, so I’ll be around.” He indicated the barn with a nod. “I had such fun mucking out your stalls . . .” He shrugged. “Thought I might try doing it on a regular basis.”
She eyed him, the subtle shake of her head saying she wasn’t buying it. But that’s all he was giving her. For now, at least.
Meeting with Ramsey to discuss the details of this case had confirmed something Wyatt had hoped—that he’d have a few hours each morning to help out here. It’d push him, for sure, what with spending late night hours scouting one gambling house to the next. But considering the woman in front of him, she was worth it. He wanted to make a difference in her life and prove to her that not every man would up and leave when things got rough.
“So tell me, Marshal . . . do you have those references of yours handy?”
She had the upper hand, and she knew it. And he didn’t mind in the least.
Feigning a pained expression, Wyatt slipped off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, feeling a film of road dust. “That all depends on your definition of
handy
, ma’am.”
She laughed and a sparkle lit her eyes, then just as quickly extinguished. “You know the pay I advertised, Marshal Caradon. I can’t afford much. Actually . . .” She shook her head and looked away. “Until I get the cattle sold at market, I can’t pay you a single penny. So if it’s extra money you’re looking to earn, then—”
“No, ma’am, I’m not doing this for the money.” He didn’t plan on taking one red cent from this woman, but he knew her well enough to know that if he said that now, she’d send him packing.
She had a streak of pride in her, but it wasn’t one of vanity. It was the kind of pride that made it difficult for her to accept help, that made her always want to be in control. Or at least give that appearance. It was a pride he understood and had wrestled with most of his life. But time had a way of flattening out a man’s pride. Not that a man ever lost it entirely. No fellow he knew, anyway. It just seemed that, with time, a man became more aware of that pride—of what it had cost him—and he learned to view life despite it, instead of through it.
He let the silence draw out, enjoying the suspicion creeping into her face, followed by open curiosity.
“Just why are you applying for this job, Marshal? It’s not for the money. And it’s certainly not for the excitement.”
How honest should he be? Seeing her eyes narrow ever so slightly, he decided to chance a slice of truth. “Ever since you moved to Copper Creek, ma’am, and even before that,” he added more softly, “you’ve been dealt a difficult hand. I’d just like to help out, if I can. Ease a little of the burden. For however long I’m around.” Which he hoped was for a long while.
She opened her mouth like she was going to say something. Then hesitated, as if she might regret it if she did. “I can certainly use the help. But the only accommodations I can offer are in the barn.”
“I’ve sampled those already, and they’re more than satisfactory. This’ll be a nice change from the boardinghouse.”
“You’re welcome to take meals with us, but I can’t promise they’ll be as tasty as the ones you get in town.”
“I’m fine with that.”
“And my bread never rises.”
He curbed a grin, seeing she was serious. “I’m fine with that too, ma’am. I make fairly good biscuits when called on to do it.”
She nodded, as though considering that. “All right then.” She gave an airy laugh that sounded more like a young girl than a grown woman. “Would you care to come inside for a cup of coffee?”
