Clay nodded.
“She was asking other people, too. You don’t think Oscar never told her he’s her brother, do you?”
Without responding, Clay pulled open the door. He was going to have to get to the bottom of it, that’s all there was to it. Putting things off was not normal for him, but every time he started to talk to her, all he could think about was kissing her, and that had made him cut short both of their meetings today.
Jonathan followed him out the door. “She’s going to the matinee with us today.”
Clay paused on the narrow steps and tossed a look of disdain over his shoulder. “Why would you want to see The Three Little Pigs?”
“It’s not that I want to see it. I promised Clarice I’d help her with the children. Keeping ten of them corralled isn’t easy.”
Arriving at the base of the steps, where one door led into Jonathan’s land office and the other into James’s accounting space, Clay paused. “Kit asked to join you?”
“No, I invited her to join us.” Jonathan pushed open the door to his office. “I’d ask you to join us, too, but I don’t think you’d enjoy it.”
The man disappeared before Clay had the chance to tell him, no, he wouldn’t enjoy the play. Opening the door to the accountant’s office, he found a thought taunting him. He wouldn’t enjoy a performance created for children, so why did he have the sudden urge to go?
“The new boiler’s a dandy,” James said, climbing off the high stool behind the counter. Young, not quite twenty, the accountant was ramrod thin, with knobby wrists and elbows and permanent ink stains between two fingers on his right hand.
“Yes, she is,” Clay answered, glad to talk about the boiler. “I’m counting on her to pay for herself quickly. It was quite an investment.” He laid the telegrams on the counter.
James slid the papers closer, arranging them into a neat stack. “If my calculations are correct, she will in three months’ time. I’d say that’s a good investment for something you’ll get at least five years’ use out of.”
“Five years?”
“Yes, that’s how long you had the last one,” the accountant said. “Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week takes its toll.”
“Yes, it does,” Clay agreed. That’s why he ran three eight-hour shifts a day, with rotating days. He didn’t want tired mill workers any more than he wanted tired machinery. He smacked a hand on the counter. “I’m going out to take a look at the boiler, and then I have some things to take care of. I may be gone awhile.”
James laid a hand on the telegrams. “If I see anything out of the ordinary in these I’ll leave a note on your desk.” His cheeks turned red. “I, uh, I promised Caroline I’d take her to see The Three Little Pigs today.”
Clay bit back a smile, knowing James was embarrassed enough. “All right, anything else?”
“There was a trapper to see you. Said he’d be back later this afternoon.”
“Did he tell you his name?”
“No, just that he had to talk to you.”
There was no doubt it was One Ear Bob. Clay had often wondered if someday Sam’s father would show up, wanting a piece of Sam’s share, but now it seemed the man may have sent a friend instead. “I’ll let you get to work, then, so you can get out of here by noon,” he said.
“I’ll see you on Monday, sir.”
Clay nodded and left. On the front walkway, he turned toward the stamp mill, but something had him pivoting, looking down the road.
He wasn’t going to get much work done until he got things settled with Kit, so he might as well do it now.
Huffing out a sigh, he headed toward the hotel.
The bell jingled overhead as he shoved the door open, and the sound mingled with a lilting giggle, one he instantly recognized as Kit’s.
“Well, Clayton Hoffman,” Mimmie Mae said in greeting. “I declare, I simply don’t recall the last time you were here twice in one day.”
The hotel owner, as jolly as she was round, always made him grin, and today was no different. He gave her a nod before admitting, “I need to speak with Miss Becker.” His gaze went through the open doorway, and his grin faded at the way his heart decided to throb against his rib cage.
“Go on in,” Mimmie Mae said. “There’s no one else in the dining room. I have to get back to the kitchen. Once those trains start rolling in for the matinee it’ll be so crowded you won’t be able to walk through here.”
A muffled thud said the hotel owner had slipped through the door behind the front desk. Clay’s eyes had never left those of the woman staring at him from the dining room. She certainly looked more like a Kit than a Katherine. He didn’t know what that came down to, but was glad one thing had settled in his mind.
“Mr. Hoffman,” she said, moving to the doorway, probably because he hadn’t walked into the room. His feet had grown roots upon seeing her. He hadn’t wanted to admit it before, but even while dripping wet, she’d had that heart-stopping beauty few women ever achieved naturally.
He gave a nod of his head, indicating a table behind her. “Shall we sit for a moment? I’d like to speak with you.”
“You’re sending me back to Chicago, aren’t you?”
“Why do you say that?” he asked. The gloom on her face had him stepping forward, taking her hand.
“Just assuming, I guess,” she answered. “You look upset.”
“I’m not upset,” he said. “I’m, well, I’m confused.” The scent of summer flowers floated in the air, made him recall the train ride, and kissing her, and that, of course, sent his desires reeling. Trying to get past the effects she had on him was becoming useless, yet he had to remember he was her guardian. Oscar had entrusted him with her livelihood, and that had to come before his emotions, no matter how tangled they became each time he looked at her.
“Shall we?” he asked. When she nodded, he led her to a table and pulled out a chair. Once she sat, he took the seat beside her. “Did you run away from Chicago because Mr. Watson didn’t approve of a beau?”
“A beau?” She shook her head. “I’ve never had a beau. Grandma refused to allow me to encourage gentlemen callers.”
A sigh of relief much larger than appropriate eased out of Clay’s lungs. Pulling his mind back to Sam helped him gain control of his wayward thoughts. “I need to protect Sam’s interests, Kit. Therefore, I need to know why, out of the blue, you ran away from Chicago and showed up here, looking for him.”
She wrung her hands in her lap as her face filled with sadness. Clay wanted to reach out in comfort. Instead, he laid both of his hands on the table, where he could watch them, control them. “I’d like the truth, Kit. Why’d you pretend to be someone you aren’t?”
Her sigh was so long and heavy it hung in the air for several moments before she spoke. “I was named after my grandma Katie. Her real name was Katherine, but Gramps always called me Kitten, and shortened it to Kit as I got older.”
Clay nodded. Oscar had told him all that, and he sensed she was trying to find a way to explain everything—to herself as much as to him.
“My birth name was Ackerman, but both my parents died shortly after I was born. I went to live with my grandparents, and since everyone assumed my last name was Becker, when I was ten Gramps had my name legally changed. That’s why I used Katherine Ackerman as an alias.”
A frown formed as Clay listened, but he held in another thought to ask, “Why did you need an alias?”
She bit her lip as she glanced around the room. When her gaze, worried and sad, met his, she softly said, “Because Mr. Watson refused to allow me to travel out here, and I was afraid you wouldn’t tell me the truth, either, if you knew who I was.”
“The truth about what?”
With a slight shrug, she said, “Everything. Mr. Watson says you’re in charge of everything. He gave me a copy of Grandpa’s will. Your name is listed as the overseer, but other than that, all it says is everything is to be divided equally between Grandpa’s heirs.” Confusion
filled her face as she held up two fingers. “Two heirs. Me and a man named Sam Edwards.”
Clay’s stomach churned as he asked, “So, Oscar never told you about Sam?”
She shook her head. “I’m an only child, and I thought my mother was, too, but …” Sighing again, she asked, “Is Sam Edwards my uncle?”
“Your uncle?”
She nodded.
A chill ran over Clay. He had to think this through before he could explain everything. “No, Sam’s not your uncle.”
“Then who is he?” she asked. “I came out here to …” She blinked several times, as if holding in tears. “Why doesn’t anyone want me to know if I have a family?”
An urge to fold her in his arms overtook him, but Clay settled for reaching out and wrapping his fingers around hers. “What did Mr. Watson tell you when Oscar died?”
“He read the will to me. Told me he’d oversee my welfare in Chicago, and that if I wanted to travel out here I had to have your permission.” She sighed heavily.
Her sadness was eating at Clay, had a string tied around his stomach and was pulling it tighter and tighter. “Why didn’t you contact me? Ask me?”
“I don’t know. I never really thought about that, I guess,” she said. “At first I was too focused on losing Gramps and Grandma Katie, and then I saw an old ticket stub of Grandpa’s and … No one would tell me the truth about this Sam Edwards.” She shook her head. “I’ve just made a mess of everything.”
Clay wanted to tell her she wasn’t the one who’d made the mess, but then he’d have to tell her everything. Tell her she had a brother she never knew about. A mother who hadn’t died, but had instead deserted her as an infant. Hell, Clay would rather fight off two grizzlies and a mountain lion than be the one to tell her that. All he really wanted to do was hold her close, protect her from the pain of it.
She leaned forward, as if to make sure no one would hear. “You can tell me if Sam is illegitimate. It won’t shock me. I know Gramps was out here every year for as long as I can remember, and though I don’t agree with what may have happened, I could understand.”
Clay shook his head, half in disbelief, half in awe at her honesty. His heart was going out to this girl like it never had to another soul. “Sam’s not your grandfather’s illegitimate son,” he assured her.
“Then who is he?”
He took one of her hands, squeezed it reassuringly. “I’ll tell you, Kit,” he said. And he would, but not here in the hotel dining room. She’d need some privacy afterward, and comfort. Thankful more than ever for having a sister, he said, “But right now, we need to get ready for the matinee.”
“The matinee?”
“Yes, you were invited to go with Jonathan and Clarice, weren’t you?”
She shook her head briefly, but then nodded. “Yes, they invited me.” Looking at him keenly, she asked, “You’re going, too?”
That hadn’t been the plan, but it was now. Anyone in town could tell her who Sam was; it was a miracle it hadn’t been accidentally blurted out already. Reaching in his pocket with his free hand, Clay pulled out the glasses. “I have to give these to Liza Rose. They’re for her doll.” The tips of his ears practically caught fire. “She lost them at school the other day.”
For the very first time in her life, Kit was speechless, or maybe just too thrilled to talk. Her insides were erupting with happiness, though she wasn’t exactly sure why. It was exciting to know she’d soon find out who Sam was—maybe he was adopted? She’d never thought of that, but that would still make him her uncle, wouldn’t it? Drawing a breath, she decided to give her mind a break. She was finally going to get to hear the truth.
When Clay had left her standing outside the Children’s Society House, he’d been angry. She’d seen it in his eyes, and had truly expected him to escort her to the train station. But right now, there was nothing but compassion on his face.
She and Mimmie Mae had been talking about the play when he’d entered the hotel. The woman had said three trains would roll in before one o’clock, bringing people from as far as Denver to watch the play.
Today’s showing of The Three Little Pigs and the Big Bad Wolf was a first. Put on just for the children. Mimmie Mae said it was Clarice’s idea, and all of the proceeds from the event would be used to buy clothes and such for the children at the society house.
Realizing she’d yet to respond, Kit offered an understanding smile. “Clarice told me about the teacher, that you had to fire him.”
Clay gave a simple nod. “When did you meet Clarice?”
Kit stopped shy of saying after he’d left her standing by the tree. “This morning, at the society house. Jonathan was there, too. That’s when they asked me to attend the matinee.” She glanced down, remembering why she’d returned to the hotel. “I came back here to get my jacket. I’m supposed to join them for lunch at Clarice’s.”
Clay stood and grasped the back of her chair. “Well, go fetch it, then, or we’ll be late.”
“I’ll be only a minute,” she assured him. As she left the dining room, her footsteps were light as feathers, and by the time she started up the steps, the smile on her lips couldn’t stretch any wider. Minutes later, when she hurried back down the stairs to see Clay standing at the bottom, waiting for her, her heart skipped a beat. Ever since meeting him, finding Sam had seemed to fade into the depths of her mind. She still wanted to meet him, discover who he was, but a stronger, more poignant desire had grown inside her, one that was focused on Clay. She kept hearing Grandpa Oscar’s voice, talking about him over the years.
“Ready?” Clay asked.
She nodded and took his hand as she stepped off the stairs.
“So,” he said, holding the door open for her to exit the hotel, “what else have you done this morning, besides climb a tree to rescue a cat?”
Her footsteps still felt light, and she couldn’t help but grin. “Well, I had a tour of the society house, and Clarice told me all about it.”
“I’m sure she did,” he answered.
The grin on his face had Kit’s heart jumping in her chest, and that left her so unbalanced she almost tripped over her own feet. He caught her arm, and continued to hold it as they walked toward the edge of town. She shouldn’t be surprised to feel so giddy. This was probably how most every girl felt on their first outing with a man. Not that this was really an outing, but yet it was. Grandma had never allowed Kit to accept invitations from boys. She’d always said Grandpa would have to approve first, and since Grandpa was usually in Colorado, by the time he returned the boys had found someone else to court.
Kit hadn’t been overly upset by it at first, but as the years had gone by, fewer and fewer boys had asked, and this past year she hadn’t received a single invitation. Though she was only twenty, her friends from school were all married, and in some ways, looked upon her as a spinster who’d go on living alone in her grandparents’ house forever. No friends. No family. No longer being that solitary person was enough to make her giddy in itself.
“Here we are,” Clay said, pushing open the gate.
He took her arm again as the gate swung shut, and didn’t let it loose until he lifted a hand to knock upon the door.
“Hi, Kit,” Liza Rose said brightly, before her big eyes turned to Clay. “Hello, Mr. Hoffman.”
“Good afternoon, Liza Rose,” he said, kneeling down to her height. “You are just the person I came to see.”
“I am?”
Kit had to grin at the brightness that glittered in the child’s eyes.
“Because I found something I believe belongs to you.” He tapped the doll’s round head. “Or Mrs. Smith, that is.”
“What is it?” the child whispered, clearly in awe.
Kit’s heart swelled as she imagined the happiness the little girl would soon experience. Clarice had told her how Liza Rose had taken Mrs. Smith to school for sharing, and another child had teased her about the doll. The two had scuffled, and not only had the doll’s glasses b
een broken, but the children had been switched for fighting. Another shower of warmth spread over Kit, and she conceded it must be pride for how swiftly Clay had acted. His sister had said he’d fired the teacher this morning, and told the man to be on the noon train.
Clay had pulled the glasses from his pocket and now held them in his open palm, and Kit watched the child closely while he folded back the protective cloth.
“These,” he said.
“Mrs. Smith’s spectacles!” Liza Rose grabbed the glasses and dropped the doll, which bounced once, landing on the porch with her cloth arms and legs sprawled in all directions. “She’ll be able to see again, Mr. Hoffman. She’ll be so happy.” Falling to her knees, the child worked her chubby fingers, trying to get the little frames hooked over the doll’s miniature ears.
“Here,” he offered. “Allow me.”
Kit knelt beside the two of them, patting Liza Rose’s back as they watched Clay wrap the tiny wires around the doll’s ears. When the glasses were secured, he picked the doll up and handed it to the girl.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Hoffman.” She hugged the toy closely, and then hooked her arm around his neck. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome,” he whispered, returning her hug. “You’re very welcome.”
Liza Rose stepped back and held out the doll. “Mrs. Smith would like to hug you, too.”
Kit giggled inwardly as he glanced her way.
He took the doll, then tucked Mrs. Smith under his chin and gave her a big hug. The sight was so touching Kit wanted to hug him herself.
“She says thank you, too,” Liza Rose explained.
“Aw,” he said. Holding the doll out, he looked directly through the little glasses at the painted eyes. “You are most welcome, Mrs. Smith.”
Liza Rose took the doll when he handed her back, and spinning on her heels, thrust it toward Kit. “Look, Kit, Mrs. Smith got her glasses back!”
“Indeed she did,” Kit answered, running a finger over the tiny frames. “And I must say, they look beautiful on her.”
The child hugged the doll again. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Hoffman. Thank you.”
A woman’s laughter had Kit glancing into the open doorway. “Hello, Kit,” Clarice said, before she took hold of Clay’s arm. “And you, you big lug, have to be about the nicest brother a girl could have.”
Inheriting a Bride Page 10
