The Inheritance (41 page)

Silence answered back, and she bowed her head, wondering if she was wrong to have come here.

“That may be true on the baking part, ma’am. But . . . from what I hear . . .”

Something in his voice drew her gaze.

“You make right fine saddles.”

Her eyes widened. How did Dunn know she made saddles? She’d given Casey Trenton her word she wouldn’t tell anyone she worked for him. If she lost this job at the livery . . . “I–I’m sorry, Sheriff Dunn. But I’m not quite
sure I understand your meaning.”

His sheepish smile held mischief, and looked out of place on such a seasoned man of the law. “Let’s just say I heard it from someone who’s right proud of you, ma’am.” He glanced again toward the hallway. “Even though I’m not sure he realizes how true that is just yet.”

“Thank you, Sheriff Dunn.”

He grabbed a set of keys from his desk. “Come on, and I’ll take you back.”

The short corridor was better lit than she imagined and had a dank smell. Three cells lined up on the right. The first two were empty. A straight back chair sat lonely and isolated at the end of the hallway. Wyatt had told her that since Robert was under Dr. Foster’s care, he’d stay here in Copper Creek, at least until Dr. Foster declared him fit to travel. She suspected Wyatt had pulled some strings for that to happen and was appreciative for it.

He was due home tonight and had said he’d do his best to get back before her meeting with the circuit judge. She hoped he did because she needed him. First to bear witness, along with Dr. Foster, to Janie’s last spoken wish and testament. And second, to stand beside her. She couldn’t imagine going through tomorrow without him.

Robert lay flat on his back on a bunk, eyes closed. He didn’t look up when Dunn announced her, nor when the sheriff unlocked the door and let her inside.

“I’ll be at my desk, Miss Ashford.” Dunn placed the chair inside the cell. “Call me when you’re through.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and heard the lock in the door tumble solidly into place behind her. It was a cold, final sound and made her wish already that she was on the other side of those thick steel bars. She looked at her brother. At least she could leave here with one word to the sheriff. Robert, on the other hand . . .

“Hello, Robert. I hope it’s all right that I—”

“I don’t want you here, Kenny.”

His voice echoed in the small space, bouncing off the mortared rock walls and meeting itself again. He rested his hands on his stomach, his right hand covering his bandaged left.

She hadn’t expected this to be easy. Nothing was easy with him anymore. But she was determined to bridge the gap between them. “I brought you some things from Ming’s Bakery.” She considered placing the basket on the edge of the bed, two steps away, then decided against it, thinking he might well kick it off. She set it on the floor between them instead. “Chin Mei baked them herself.”

“I
don’t
want you here.”

He didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t move, other than to speak. There was a flatness to his voice. Gone was the rebellious undercurrent that had so punctuated his tone in recent months.

The chair beside her looked as if it had served its purpose in this life, and the next, so McKenna sat carefully, in stages. “How is your hand feeling?” she asked, once certain the chair would support her weight. “Dr. Foster told me you should heal well, and that you’ll still have use of the fingers—”

His eyes came open.

She didn’t finish the sentence.

He stared straight up at the ceiling, unblinking.

She looked down at her own hands, trying to imagine what he must be feeling and thinking right now. And she couldn’t. As well as she’d once known him—or thought she had—Robert was like a stranger to her now. But she thought she could reach him, if she just didn’t give up.

“Emma’s doing well,” she tried again. “She asks about you.” That was actually helping the truth along some. What Emma had asked was if Robert was ever coming home again. McKenna knew the child liked it better there without him. And she couldn’t blame her. “I meet with the circuit judge in the morning. He’ll determine whether—”

Robert was up off the cot in the space of a breath. “Sheriff!” He picked up the basket and dropped it in her lap.

Dunn appeared in the hallway. “There a problem?” He looked to McKenna for a response.

She didn’t know what to say.

Robert peered through the bars. “Don’t I have the right to refuse visitors, Sheriff?”

Dunn hesitated. “Yes, son. You do.”

“Then I’m refusing this one.”

McKenna rose, numb and unsure. She avoided Dunn’s gaze as he unlocked the door. What had she done to Robert to make him hate her so?

The door clanged loudly as it shut behind her. Dunn clicked the lock in place and she followed him down the hall.

“Don’t come back here, Kenny . . .
please
.” Robert’s voice was tight with emotion.

She turned and saw a single tear roll down his cheek. She hurried back to his cell and tried to cover his right hand gripping one of the bars. But he pulled away before she could. His face twisted. He was trying so hard to stuff down the emotions, just as he’d done as a little boy.

“Robert . . .”

He stepped back. “Promise me, Kenny, that you won’t come back here.”

Throat aching, eyes burning, she shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But I can’t make a promise like that. I’ll be here for you, Robert. I love you too much to ever leave you alone.”

But as she left the jail all she could think about was that one, solitary tear rolling down her brother’s cheek, and what Wyatt had said about time apart from her being good for Robert right now. And about it being best if she not come here.

After seeing him, she couldn’t help but wonder if Wyatt hadn’t been right.

THIRTY-EIGHT

W
yatt arrived at the Copper Creek jail at dawn the next morning, certain that what he was doing was for the best. Even Sheriff Dunn agreed . . . now.

The wound in his leg still tender, Wyatt followed Dunn down the short corridor to the third cell. Each step, a prayer. A prayer he’d been praying for Robert for weeks now. And one he’d prayed for himself for years.
Break him, Lord, until he’s
wholly yours.

He found Robert seated on his bunk.

“Morning, Robert. You ready to go?”

Dr. Foster had examined the boy late last night and declared him fit to travel. And that’s all Wyatt needed. Robert was being transferred this morning to Denver, under escort of a U.S. Marshal. Wyatt had felt in his heart that the plan he’d already put in place this week was the right one. But after McKenna told him about her visit to the jail yesterday, he was absolutely certain.

He’d considered telling her about it last night, but decided to wait until the meeting with the circuit judge was over today. No need in adding to her list of worries.

Robert stood, cradling his bandaged left arm close to his body.

Dunn unlocked the door. “Let’s go, son.”

Robert walked out, then paused, looking at the handcuffs Wyatt held.

“Are you taking me?”

Wyatt shook his head and was almost certain he saw Robert’s shoulders fall.
Break him, Lord, until he’s wholly yours.
“I’m staying with your sister to attend the circuit judge meeting today. But I’ll be in Denver next week.”

Robert nodded. “Does she know?”

“No. I’ll tell her later, once the meeting is over.”

Robert
held out his arms. “I didn’t shoot him, Marshal Caradon.”

Wyatt snugged a handcuff around his right wrist, then fitted the next more carefully around his left.
Break him, Lord, until
he’s wholly yours.

Dunn led the way out of the jail.

Robert fell back a step, and then looked over at Wyatt. “When will the trial be?”

“A month from now. Maybe two. You did good in telling us the name of your accomplice.”

When they got outside, Wyatt helped Robert up onto the horse. “Robert, this is Marshal Dalton. He’ll see you all the way to Denver.”

Mindful of his leg, Wyatt climbed into the saddle and rode with them until they reached the turnoff where he headed back to the cabin. Nothing was said. Dalton and Robert just kept on riding. And Wyatt kept on praying.
Break him, Lord, until he’s
wholly yours.

As soon as Wyatt saw Circuit Judge Stewart Hawkins, he knew things would not go well for McKenna. The man went strictly by the letter of the law, to the extent that he often trampled the spirit of the law. The judge possessed no margin for compassion and had even less use for women who insisted on pursuing a “nontraditional role,” as Hawkins had stated on more than one occasion. He was the last man Wyatt would have chosen to preside over this ruling.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” McKenna whispered beside him, mirroring his own thoughts.

Mindful of Dr. Foster and Judge Hawkins standing nearby, he led her from the church sanctuary where the meeting was being held, out into a small foyer that afforded some privacy. With no courthouse in Copper Creek, the church building served a dual purpose as town hall.

He was grateful to Chin Li and Mei for agreeing to keep Emma this morning. McKenna couldn’t afford to be distracted today. Although he didn’t want to frighten her, he
did
want her to understand the seriousness of what she faced. “Just remember what we discussed. Answer the questions as briefly as you can. Don’t wander in your response, and try not to give answers that prompt more questions. Be sure and—”

“I remember everything you said, Wyatt.” She offered a tiny smile. “You were very thorough.”

He nodded, wishing it were him being questioned by this man, instead of her.

A degree of optimism faded from her expression. She glanced back inside the church. “Do you know something about Hawkins? You said you’ve worked with some of the circuit judges before . . .”

Wyatt debated whether to say anything. If he warned her, she would be even more nervous than she already was. But if he didn’t, and she inadvertently said something that ended up costing her the ranch—or worse, Emma—she’d never forgive him. And he’d never forgive himself. She deserved the truth. “Judge Hawkins wouldn’t have been my first choice to preside over this ruling. I don’t know him personally. I only know his reputation. But his rulings—the ones I’m familiar with—have been harsh. As is often his manner. And he doesn’t think highly of women who seek to live more . . . independent lives.”

She eyed him. “What does that mean?”

“You know exactly what it means, McKenna. Women who take on the world and never back down. Women whose hearts have so much love, they give even when that love isn’t returned.” He was reminded of what he had in his vest pocket for her—the thank-you gift for his saddle. The gift had since turned into the peace offering for missing dinner that night, and now represented so much more . . . Now that he knew how much she cared for him. Even though she might not be able to voice it, or even want to admit it to herself. But he would forever remember the moment she looked up outside the doc’s office, thinking he was dead, and found him alive.

The timing hadn’t felt right to give it to her then, but it did now. He reached into his pocket. “I’m talking about a woman who faces life with a courage and a persistence that astounds me. Who has endured so much difficulty in her life and yet keeps pushing on with stubborn grace, step-after-step, day-after-day.” He softened his voice. “A woman who, at first, didn’t trust me.” He touched the side of her face. “But a woman who might just be beginning to trust.”