The Inheritance (36 page)

W
hat do you mean you lost Patch in a card game?” Rage shot through McKenna’s body and her hands began to shake.

Inclined on the sofa, Robert cocked his head and gave her a look she wanted to slap right off his face.

During the past week, his cuts and bruises had healed considerably and, according to Dr. Foster, Robert could return to work.
If
he had a job. Which he didn’t, and he’d shown no initiative in trying to get another one either. He was in a perpetual foul mood and had done little—even inside the cabin—to help out in recent days.

“I think it’s clear what I meant, Kenny. I lost . . . the horse . . . in a game . . . of poker.” He spoke the sentence slowly as though she were dull-witted.

McKenna closed her eyes, imagining what it would be like for her fist to connect with that disrespectful mouth of his. The depth of her anger frightened her, and thoughts of retaliation shamed her. Especially after everything he’d been through. But his attitude shamed her too.

A quick glance at Emma, who sat at the kitchen table, a hunk of cheese in hand, confirmed the child was listening to every word. McKenna would never voice it aloud, but she sometimes wished Robert would just leave. That had to be better than his hanging around here all day—sullen, argumentative, and underfoot—acting this way in front of Emma.

Her gaze went to the letter on the table, and she felt her blood pressure rising again. It had arrived moments ago via courier from Billings. The circuit judge would be in Copper Creek on August tenth. One week from today! Billings offered no other instructions on how to prepare for the meeting other than for her to be on time.

Time . . . that was something she needed more of.

Yesterday she’d met with Mei for an English lesson, their second that week. While each visit was no less than two hours— hours she could spend working—she considered time with Mei something she did for herself. Being around Mei was calming, and the woman’s ability to learn was remarkable. Following Mei’s, she and Emma visited the livery where Trenton gave her orders for four more saddles, which was good. Her business was growing. But she simply couldn’t make the saddles fast enough. It was the first week of August, and she had enough work right now to last her through Christmas. Yet Trenton needed the saddles delivered by Thanksgiving.

Fortunately, having Wyatt on the ranch to help with chores and the cattle felt like having three of her. He simply saw something that needed to be done, and he did it. Without question or badgering. She’d seen him in recent days, but only from afar or when he was leaving in the afternoons. He seemed busier than when he’d first arrived and seemed to leave earlier every day. A part of her wondered if he might intentionally be avoiding her. Did he regret having been so tender with her last week? She kept telling herself that wasn’t the reason, that having two jobs was the real culprit. Something she could certainly understand.

The smug look on Robert’s face drew her back to the conversation at hand. Wanting to run away, she’d let Robert
get away with too much for too long. He had to be dealt with.

“Robert,” she said softly, feeling like a simmering pot with its lid stuck tight. “Three days after you got back from Severance, you
told
me you’d put Patch in the lower pasture, by the creek. Do you remember that?”

He stared, unblinking and unapologetic. “Stop talking to me like I’m a child. I knew you’d be mad and you wouldn’t understand, so I—”

“You’re right I don’t understand! And yes, I’m angry! It wasn’t your horse to bet. And it wasn’t your money to bet either!”

He came to his feet. “It
was
my money! I earned every penny! I worked from dawn to dusk for Trenton, and I was tired of it. I’m glad he fired me.”

Her body trembled at his admission.

Remembering Trenton’s confirmation that Robert repeatedly came in late and left early without finishing his work, another emotion bled through her fury. Disappointment welled up inside her until a physical ache formed in her chest. She thought she’d modeled what it meant to work hard, to take pride in your accomplishments.

It was sobering to stand face-to-face with someone she’d poured her life into, someone she loved with a love she sometimes couldn’t even understand, only to have them throw everything right back at her.

Tears slid down her cheeks. She didn’t wipe them away this time. She didn’t care if Robert saw. She was tired of being the strong one.

His expression hardened. “I didn’t mean to lose the horse, Kenny. It just happened! I was winning. The other guy must’ve been cheating, because that’s the only way he—”

“I’m going outside for a while,” McKenna said, voice hushed. She turned to Emma and held out a hand.

Emma slipped from her chair, grabbed Clara, and followed.

Robert spat out a curse. “It’s just a stupid horse, Kenny!”

Hand on the latch, McKenna turned back, then looked pointedly at Emma. “Don’t use that language in front of her. Ever again!” She thought of the night Wyatt had brought him home from Severance, and of the days since. “That was Janie’s horse, Robert. She raised Patch from a filly. But what hurts the most is that you knew that . . . because I told you.” She shook her head. “Why did you take her that night?”

Robert stared at her for a long moment, varied emotions playing across his face. And in his eyes, for an instant, McKenna caught a glimpse of the infant she’d rocked at night after warming the bottle, then the little boy she’d cuddled close when storms came.

Too quickly, the images faded, and the eyes staring back at her now . . . she didn’t recognize.

His stare was dark and fathomless—and frightening. “I took her . . . because I knew you wouldn’t want me to.”

Wyatt glanced up in time to see the pretty twosome rounding the side of the cabin in the direction of the hill out back. As he watched them, McKenna’s determined stride told him something wasn’t right. That—and she was going up the hill to the bluff overlooking the valley. He’d quickly learned that’s where she went when needing to sort out her thoughts.

Whatever had been bothering her in recent days had only become worse. Her increased anxiety showed in her reticence and in a frown she never seemed to put away. He’d wanted to ask her about it, but working two jobs was making time scarcer than he’d thought. Which wasn’t all bad. After the night they’d shared last week in which they’d talked, and he’d held her until the sun had risen, Wyatt found it harder and harder not to want more from McKenna when he was with her.

He finished nailing the new rails to the fence posts, then gathered his tools and headed to the barn. He’d catch up with her and Emma and see if he could find out what was wrong.

He was quickly coming to covet his mornings spent working the ranch—where there was enough work for two full-time men, at least—while dreading his afternoons and nights spent moving from one gambling hall to the next. Bixby, Severance, and Copper Creek, the towns the Marshals Office had assigned him to scout, were all within a two-hour ride of each other. That made coming and going easier, but the vagabond life had long ago lost its allure. Even time spent riding the mountain trails wasn’t as enjoyable as it used to be.

Already, he’d supplied the Marshals Office with one conspirator’s name and had a lead for another that he intended to follow up on tonight. To his favor, liquored-up men were loose in the tongue and easily baited. Intentionally throwing a few hands of poker did wonders for lowering their guard. He prodded their egos until their pride pushed back and they started boasting about what they’d seen and done.

He stowed Vince Talbot’s tool crate in the barn, knowing he’d have to hurry if he was going to catch McKenna and Emma before it was time to leave for Severance. He was on his way out of the barn when he collided headlong with Robert.

Wyatt reached out and steadied the boy. “Sorry, Robert. I didn’t see you.”

Robert jerked away, mumbling something Wyatt didn’t catch but figured wasn’t worth asking him to repeat. He’d seen little of Robert throughout the week. The boy had probably been hiding out somewhere, avoiding work. Or avoiding him. He could tell Robert didn’t like having him around.

Wyatt had hoped for a chance to talk to him and, as much as he wanted to see McKenna before he left, maybe this was his opportunity.

Robert pushed past him.

Taking into account the boy’s scowl and McKenna walking to the bluff, Wyatt figured they’d had another argument. He could set his pocket watch by their squabbles. The boy knew exactly what to say and do to trigger her temper. McKenna’s anger would flare, she’d apologize, and then try reasoning with the boy. What the boy needed right now wasn’t reasoning. He needed a good swift kick in the behind.

But Wyatt knew what kind of response McKenna would have if he tried to offer counsel. She’d made it clear she didn’t desire his help in that area of her life.

“You’re looking better, Robert. How’re you feeling?”

“Just dandy, Marshal Caradon.”

The kid’s sarcasm was thick—and familiar. Wyatt was reminded of himself at that age, and wondered how his father had ever kept from knocking his impudent head clean off his shoulders.

“That’s good to hear! Then you can start lending a hand around here again. There’s a lot to do, and I’m sure your sister would appreciate your help.”

Robert huffed. “I’ll bet she would.”

“A woman shouldn’t be made to do a man’s work, Robert. Not when there are men around to do it. They
are
the gentler sex, after all.”

“The gentler sex . . .” Robert raised a brow. “Is that right?”

The boy’s tone held humor Wyatt didn’t catch.

Robert walked back to the stalls and started casually toeing through the straw with his boot. But the boy wouldn’t find what he was looking for. That bottle was long gone. As were two others Wyatt had found—one in the grain bin, the other in the loft.

Wyatt came up behind him. “Heads up!”

Robert turned and Wyatt tossed the pitchfork at him, tines downward.

Reflexes sharp, Robert caught it, his eyes wide. “What are you tryin’ to do?”

Wyatt shrugged. “Thought you might want to use that instead of your boot. It’ll make the job go a whole lot faster.”

The kid laughed. “I didn’t come in here to muck out stalls.”

“I know what you came in here for, Robert. But the bottles are gone.”

The boy’s eyes darted from one hiding place to the next, then hardened. “You had no right to do that!” Robert turned the pitchfork in his hands.

Seeing the curved tines facing him, Wyatt slowly smiled. He read the boy’s thoughts and almost wished he would try something.

Robert eyed him. “I know why you’re here. U.S. Marshal just happens to show up in Copper Creek same time I do?” He leveled his gaze. “I’m not stupid.”

Wyatt hadn’t seen this coming. Did Robert think he’d tracked him all the way out here? If so, then the kid had a much bigger ego than Wyatt had attributed to him. Or maybe, a more serious past.

It also told him Robert had experience with the Marshals Office, the kind a young man Robert’s age shouldn’t have. Wyatt trailed that thought, and it led him to a possible explanation as to why McKenna had seemed so eager to get rid of him when they’d first met. And why that still might be her goal, if not for her desperate need for help with the ranch.

He decided to help the conversation along, see what he could learn. “I never said you were stupid, Robert. But it certainly wasn’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done either.”

The boy got red in the face. “What did they tell you?”

Wyatt only stared. Guilt riddled the boy’s expression, telling its own story.

Robert shook his head. “No one was supposed to be inside. We were only going to mess things up a little and then go. It wasn’t my idea to start the fire. I didn’t even know Keller had matches with him until he—” He clamped his mouth shut, and winced. “It wasn’t my idea! Did the judge tell you that?”

Having no clue what the boy was talking about, Wyatt could still guess what was coming, having had plenty of experience filling in the blanks in these situations. “In the end, a person’s intent only goes so far. Then what a judge looks at is what happened to the victim due to the direct result of your actions. Or your lack of action. Meaning . . . how you might’ve helped this Keller do what he did simply by not trying to stop him. Responsibility remains, Robert, even when you choose to do nothing.”

Robert raked a hand through his hair. “You can’t arrest me for that again!” He raised the pitchfork and stabbed it deep into a pile of straw. “The judge in Missouri said I wasn’t guilty. He said the charge wouldn’t follow me out here!”

Standing in the doorway of the stall, Wyatt sensed a desperation in Robert Ashford that hadn’t been there before, and suddenly the young man’s behavior became a whole lot clearer to him. The Missouri judge had apparently acquitted him of his part in whatever crime had been committed. Arson, most likely. That was enough to satisfy Wyatt’s curiosity on that point. But the judge, however well-intentioned, had misled the boy.

“The judge did you a disservice, Robert, by saying the charge wouldn’t follow you. Nothing could be less true. Until you’re ready to face what you’ve done and make amends, guilt always follows a man. No matter where you go. I’d think you would’ve learned that by now.”