Ty chuckled. “That’s right. It rarely happens. Nothing to worry about, miss.”
She nodded, but Clay sensed it was out of obligation, not belief.
“We’ll only be here a few minutes,” he assured her.
The conductor pointed toward the little overhead door. “You want to ride in the pilothouse? You can see forever up there.”
Clay wanted to shake the man.
“No. No, thank you,” Katherine said nervously. “The caboose is just fine.” She tugged at the high, ruffled neckline of her white silk blouse. “D-down here. Down here is just fine.”
“All right,” Ty said, shrugging his massive shoulders and giving Clay a nod that said he’d tried. “We’ll be heading out in another minute or two. Just had to drop off the mail here in Central.”
“Thanks, Ty,” Clay said, nodding toward the pilothouse door.
Right on cue the screeching whistle blew, and the man swung around to grasp the ladder again.
“How long will it take us to get to Nevadaville?” Katherine asked in a shaky whisper.
“It’s only a couple of miles,” Clay answered, as an overwhelming urge to grasp her waist and pull her closer to his side had his fingers moving over the blue velvet of her dress again.
“Course, we gotta go all the way around before we stop,” Ty added, with one foot on the bottom rung of the ladder.
“Around?” she asked.
“Yeah. Nevadaville is the end of the line. The track makes a loop at the top of the mountain so we’re headed back in the right direction.”
“Thanks, Ty,” Clay repeated, slipping his hand down to the small of her back as her shivers returned. He nodded toward the trapdoor again, half wondering how the conductor couldn’t sense how deeply afraid she was.
Smiling brightly, the man said, “Some folks get scared on account of all the bridges. They’re loud but they’re safe. Built real solid. Ask Clay, there. He’ll tell you.”
“Bridges?” Her voice was a mere squeak.
“Yeah,” Ty answered. “We gotta cross Clear Creek a few times and—”
“It’s time you got back in the pilothouse, Ty,” Clay said sternly.
With a dip of his hat, the man climbed the ladder and closed the door.
Clay scooted a bit closer, inching his arm all the way around her until his palm cupped the swell of her hip. “There isn’t anything to worry ab out.”
The whistle sounded once more, and with a bout of hissing steam floating past the windows, the train, clanging and banging, pulled away from the station. Clay waited until the chugging grew smooth again before asking, “You haven’t ridden on many trains, have you?”
She shook her head. “This is my first trip anywhere.”
There was more than a hint of loneliness in her tone, and that made the desire to hold her close grow stronger. Clay was a caring man; he understood that. Had to be, with Oscar’s demands and Clarice’s overflowing heart. Yet the immediate attraction and level of desire he felt for this woman was uncanny. His past had left him with very little trust for any woman.
A frown formed as she continued to gaze up at him. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought you were in Nevadaville.”
“I’m having a new boiler delivered. I came down on the morning train to look it over.” The tale flowed out easy enough, after all the times he’d repeated it to himself.
A thunderous, echoing rumble signaled the start of one of the bridge crossings, and with a nervous screech Katherine burrowed into his side. “Shh,” he whispered, liking the feel of her next to him probably more than he should. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she answered timidly. “The nothingness below us.”
He grinned and, holding her close, set a knuckle under her chin, intending to pull her face up and assure her the train wasn’t going to derail. Yet when those big brown eyes peered up at him, a completely different thought overtook him.
Kit’s heart landed in the back of her throat and the air in her lungs sat right there, unable to move, just like the rest of her body. She knew they were still on the train—the rumble beneath her said that. But Clay’s hands softly holding her, and his eyes looking at her in a mesmerizing way, seemed to transport her into some kind of dreamland where thinking coherently grew impossible.
He moved then, slightly forward, and his lips brushed over her forehead, as soft as a feather. Yet they sent a hum through her body. A clump of air left her lungs and rattled in the back of her throat as his lips dropped lower, touched her eyelid, which had somehow closed.
His lips brushed her nose next, then her cheeks, and by then her entire body was humming. Instinct told her to move, and she did. She tilted her head up and pressed her lips to his. The connection was unique, and tantalizing.
It happened several times, their lips meeting. Each touch was gentle, unhurried and so tender it drew her full attention. There was excitement in those kisses, too, and they set off a spark inside her, yet even that was soothing in a fascinating way she couldn’t describe. She nestled closer, not wanting the kisses to end, and gladly immersed herself in an absorbing journey that took her to a fantasyland not even books had told her about.
When he lifted his head and tucked hers beneath his chin, she was still floating in that once-upon-a-time place, and unwilling to leave, she snuggled against his broad chest, swaying with the gentle rocking beneath them. Never before could she remember feeling so content and safe, almost as if this was the one place she’d always been searching for.
It wasn’t until the train rolled to a stop that Kit lifted her head, still half-dizzy or dazed in the stardust world she’d entered. Add that to the smile on the handsome face peering down at her and it was almost impossible to remember where she was. Who she was.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked.
“No, it wasn’t bad at all,” she answered, not quite sure what he was referring to.
With a thud, Mr. Reins seemed to drop down from the ceiling, grinning broadly. “There, now, lass,” he said kindly. “I told you not to worry. The bridges are strong.”
The narrow wooden bridges she’d traversed on the way to Black Hawk, crossing never-ending ravines that seemed too deep to host bridge supports, came to mind. She hadn’t noticed one on this trip. Her gaze went to Clay and her mind took to wondering if they had kissed, or if it was some kind of fantasy her fear had conjured up so she wouldn’t have to face the terrifying experience of crossing the bridges again.
“Come on,” Clay said, taking her hand and helping her to her feet.
He led her to the door and gently guided her down a set of metal steps she hadn’t noticed before. Once her feet hit solid ground, her composure returned—somewhat—as did her awareness of her state of affairs.
“I left my luggage in Black Hawk.” She flinched, wondering why that had leaped to the front of her mind.
“Ty,” Clay said, “collect the lady’s luggage, would you? It’s at the hotel.”
Mr. Reins nodded. “Sure thing, boss. I’ll bring it over on the six-thirteen.”
“Thanks,” Clay said, before leading her off the platform. “This way. Let’s get you settled in The Gold Mine. It’s the best hotel on the entire mountain. Mimmie Mae will have some tea she can brew up for you. How’s that sound?”
A cup of hot, fortifying tea sounded downright heavenly, especially considering all the confusing thoughts popping in her head like a sinkful of soap bubbles. While many disappeared as quickly as they formed, a couple stayed, causing her to turn abruptly. “Mr. Reins,” she called, stopping the man from climbing into one of the cargo cars.
“Yes, ma’am?”
She swept her gaze to the little lookout on top of the caboose. “You be careful riding up there.” Thinking about the railroad man gave her mind something to do while thoughts of Clay and how he still held her arm continued to rattle and crash into one another.
Mr. Reins grinned a
nd tipped his striped hat. “I will, ma’am. I will.”
Kit returned his smile and, feeling more like herself than moments ago, turned to the man at her side. “Why are you being so nice to me?” She cringed at how that sounded. Clay had been nice to her before, but today it felt different. In a way she couldn’t put her finger on, but it certainly was lovely.
“Nice?” he asked, steering her around a parked wagon.
The cobbled street echoed below their heels, and each footfall had her senses returning. “Yes, the amulet, the train ride …” Her mind went to the kissing, but a part of her still questioned the reality of that. She was under duress—the train had done that the minute the wheels started to turn—therefore she may have dreamed the kisses. He didn’t seem to remember that. Leastwise he didn’t mention it or act any differently. She didn’t have any experience kissing men, but surely one who’d just kissed you would act differently from before.
“I said I was sorry for losing your first amulet,” he said, with a sincere expression. “And I remembered you were quite fearful of heights.”
She nodded. Had to. What he said was true. A quiver gripped the bottom of her spine and crept up until it reached her shoulders and had her gaze turning up. The smile that was still curving the corners of his lips had a lump forming in her throat. Had he discovered she was Kit and not Katherine? He was her guardian, so therefore would certainly have to be nice to her. Gramps would have insisted upon that. Leastwise until he sent her back to Chicago.
Clay nodded, toward the door he held open. “After you.”
She grimaced and, feeling the weight of the world settling upon her shoulders, entered a room painted a sparkling gold color.
Chapter Four
A short time later, Kit’s fortitude was fully restored. The tea served its medicinal purposes, and Mimmie Mae, a buxom woman with bright red hair and a booming voice, turned out to be an angel in disguise. Clay had barely ushered Kit through the door before he’d been summoned back to the train, and Mimmie Mae had taken over getting her settled in a room.
Room 202 to be exact, on the second floor of The Gold Mine, where there was a rust-colored starburst quilt covering a bed that had both a headboard and a footboard of tubular metal painted a sparkling gold, and a real mattress with clean sheets. Kit had checked for herself. Grandma Katie had always insisted the accommodations wouldn’t be fit for the two of them—another reason they couldn’t travel out here with Gramps. The diseases Grandma claimed one could obtain from dirty linens grew each time Grandpa made the trip. Kit had always felt the list was a bit exaggerated, but questioning Grandma’s reasons was not something anyone did. The past few months, while attempting to discover who Sam was, Kit had wondered if perhaps Grandma hadn’t wanted to come because of what she might discover.
Kit sat there on the starburst quilt, pondering that thought, just as she had for months back in Chicago. Pushing off the bed, she moved to the window. Grandma had always said there were no towns where Grandpa went. Nevadaville had been incorporated as a town only four years ago, Mimmie Mae had told her, but the mines had been there for years by then. Maybe Grandpa had been married before Grandma Katie, and Sam was his child from his first wife. Though it filled Kit with mixed emotions, it was the only other explanation she could deduce, as unlikely as it seemed.
She hadn’t asked the hotel owner about Sam—mainly because she was too preoccupied with lingering thoughts of Clay—but Sam was why she was here, and if Clay had discovered her real identity, she needed to meet Sam quickly before being sent back to Chicago. If he truly was her half uncle—as all signs indicated—Sam should be her guardian instead of Clay.
Her heart did a little waltz inside, and standing there, staring down at a roadway bustling with people, she tried to make sense of things that just didn’t add up. The hope of having a family again was what kept her going. The loneliness of the past year was still so overwhelming it left her aching. Yet, pressing a hand to her chest, she had to question if it was the thought of Clay that made her heart flutter. Not only had his young age surprised her, his kindness—both today and on the trail, when he had discovered her ailment—amazed her, and that had guilt rising up inside her. He would surely be upset to discover she was Kit Becker and not Katherine Ackerman.
Which meant she had better find Sam Edwards, fast.
Spinning from the window, Kit checked her reflection in the dust-free, round mirror attached to the polished chest of drawers, and repinned a few hairs that had escaped during her travels. She adjusted the half-moon-shaped hat with its white lace trim to once again tilt slightly to the left on top of her heavy tresses, and turned her head both ways, checking for any out-of-place curls.
Her gaze caught on the amulet around her neck. Clay had kissed her. She hadn’t imagined it, yet she couldn’t fathom why he’d have done such a thing. But goodness, it had been amazing. Her hands smoothed her skirt and one hand rested on the spot that had been so tender two days ago. Not even a tad irritated. That salve certainly had worked wonders.
His kiss had been a lot like that salve he’d given her. Healing, calming. She could still smell the leather of his vest, the spicy scent of the soap he must use. A tremendous sigh built in her chest, then gushed out with all the force of a north wind. The way he’d delivered her to this hotel was almost identical to how he’d escorted her to the one back in Black Hawk two days ago, and each time he’d left, she’d felt a part of her mourn his absence.
A smile tugged at her lips as she recalled how Michael O’Reilly, M.D., had arrived at her hotel room back in Black Hawk and insisted on examining her backside, claiming Clay had sent him. She’d given in after he’d started talking about gangrene. As it turned out, it wasn’t as bad as she’d expected—neither the examination nor his diagnosis. The salve had done its job, as had the pad Clay had provided for her to sit on the rest of the ride. Dr. O’Reilly said those two things contributed to why a boil hadn’t formed. He’d left her some salve of her own, and suggested she not ride a horse for a few days.
Kit spun around. Land sakes, but this trip was turning out to be perplexing in so many ways. She gave her mind an inner shake. Sam was who she had to focus on, not Clay. Mimmie Mae would most likely know all there was to know about Sam. After a final glimpse in the mirror—during which she gave herself an encouraging nod—Kit left the room.
A niggling thought occurred as she made her way down the hall. If Mr. Reins noticed the name on her trunks, her disguise would be over for sure. She’d miss being Miss Katherine Ackerman from Boston, Massachusetts—had enjoyed playing the part of a courageous heroine. It made her forget who she really was, and the isolation she’d known most of her life. The tingling sensation in her insides as she recalled the way Clay had said “Miss Katherine Ackerman from Boston, Massachusetts” almost as if it were one word, caused a frown, which she abruptly shook off.
The alias didn’t matter. He’d discover who she was soon enough—if he didn’t already know. She just had to find Sam before seeing Clay again. That was the bottom line.
Clay had just overseen the unloading of the new boiler, a monstrous machine that was as expensive as she was large, but would pay for herself within a few months once they got her installed, when Ty Reins flagged him down, waving a little blue bag over his head. Now, holding the small satchel open to peer at the name embroidered in the silk, Clay felt an eerie sensation grip his spine. “This was in the caboose?”
“Yeah,” Ty repeated. “I didn’t know that was Oscar’s Kit sitting with you.” The pilothouse conductor grinned broadly. “She sure is a cute little thing, ain’t she?”
A tick tugged at Clay’s brow as he shook his head, causing him to press a finger to his temple. The eerie sensation had him repeating, “Kit Becker.”
“You want me to run it over to the hotel?”
Theodore Watson would have wired him if Oscar’s other grandchild was on her way here—leastwise the man should have. Then again, perhaps he had. Clay ran a hand
through his hair and spun on a heel, heading toward his office. “No, I’ll give it to her.”
“I’ll bring the rest of her luggage over this evening,” Ty yelled.
Clay nodded, but his mind was spinning, as was his stomach. He took the stairs leading up to his office above the Land and Claims office two at a time, and threw open the door, his heart skipping several beats. Kit was Oscar’s pride and joy. The man had come to love Sam as well, but nothing could ever have compared to how Oscar and Katie felt about Kit.
Katie.
Katherine.
Kit.
Damn.
Rifling through a stack of telegrams, he came upon several marked urgent, but read only the one from Theodore Watson. It not only asked if Kit Becker had arrived, but requested an immediate response. Gritting his teeth, Clay pulled open the bottom drawer and dug until he came upon the picture of Oscar, his wife, Katie, and their granddaughter, Kit.
She was younger, since the picture was several years old, but it was her. Katherine Ackerman was Kit Becker.
“Aw, hell,” Clay muttered as he fell into his desk chair. That picture was how he thought of Kit. A young girl. Not a woman. What was she up to, pretending to be someone else? A growl rumbled out of his throat. What was he up to? He’d kissed her. Kissed his ward. And furthermore, while holding her on the train, he’d thought about doing a whole lot more than kissing. Matter of fact, he’d imagined their next interlude the entire time he’d been unloading the boiler.
“She’s a beaut. A man can’t help but fall in love with that one.”
“What?” Clay asked, snapping his head up and quivering from head to toe.
Raymond Walker grinned from the doorway. “The new boiler. She’s twice the size of the old one.”
Clay cleared his head with a shake and rose. “That she is,” he responded, dropping the picture and the little satchel in the drawer and kicking it shut. Kit Becker would have to wait. “Are you ready for her?”
“Yep. By this time tomorrow she’ll be working at full steam, dropping those stampers twice as fast as the old one.” Raymond had a grin a mile wide on his face. The man was not only the best engineer in Colorado, he treated every load of gold as if it were his very first.
Inheriting a Bride Page 6
