Inheriting a Bride

by Lauri Robinson

  Chapter Twelve

  Kit had never, ever felt so good. Her insides were singing, her heart was filled with joy and her mind, well, it thought of only one thing. Mr. Clayton Hoffman if you please. She did please, all the way through putting on a lightweight cotton dress with short puffy sleeves and a square neckline. It was dusty-blue with tiny white flowers and trimmed with delicate lace—one of her utmost favorites she saved for special occasions. “Such as today,” she said to her reflection, followed by a giggle that just couldn’t be contained.

  While she pulled the sides of her hair to the back of her head and secured them with combs, leaving the rest hanging down her back, she hummed a tune. A jaunty one she must have heard somewhere along the line, but had never recalled before.

  She skipped down the stairs and was fully prepared to bypass breakfast until a flittering bout of guilt caught her when Mimmie Mae waved.

  “I have your breakfast ready, Kit,” the woman called.

  Strolling into the dining room, she told herself she was a fast eater, and probably should give Clay time to get to his office.

  The hotel owner was busy with other guests, so it didn’t take Kit long to eat the eggs and toast, nor drink the little pot of tea. “That was wonderful, Mimmie Mae. Thank you,” she said, floating toward the front door.

  “Where are you off to in such a rush this morning?” the woman asked, balancing four plates in her hands.

  “I have to talk to Clay.” Kit couldn’t wipe the smile from her face, so she quickly added, “About some of Grandpa’s affairs.”

  Mimmie Mae lifted an eyebrow. “I still need to have a word with that man.” A genuine smile formed on her lips. “Tell him I said that.”

  “I will.”

  “Oh, and Kit?”

  She turned back. If anything, Mimmie Mae’s smile had grown. Her eyes twinkled, like a kid who held a secret she couldn’t wait to share. “Have fun.”

  “I will,” Kit assured her, skipping out the doorway as a whistle blew, signaling the first train arrival of the day.

  Nothing had really changed since yesterday, except for the fact that Clay had kissed her again, and said he liked her. Liked her. Those had to be the sweetest words anyone had ever spoken to her.

  The brilliant sun, shining down with all the glory it held, filled her already blossoming insides with more radiant light than one could possibly hold, to the point she wanted to hug everyone and everything in sight. Instead, she lifted her arms over her head to absorb more of the wonderful sunlight for a moment, and then started up the street.

  People were already out on the walkways, sweeping their sections and carrying supplies in and out. She’d met a goodly number of townsfolk at the matinee, and yesterday, when Jonathan brought her back from Sam’s, so she returned waves from across the street, including Ty Reins’s, from his spot atop the train, in the pilothouse.

  “Morning, Kit,” the mercantile owner called as she passed his shop a block up the road from the hotel.

  “Good morning, Mr. Glasso,” she responded.

  “Beautiful day,” he said, propping the door open with a chair.

  “That it is,” she agreed, strolling along.

  “Hello, Kit. Lovely morning,” the next shop owner said before she even got near the door.

  “Yes, it is, Mrs. Williams.”

  “And that’s a lovely dress you have on. I believe I have a hat that would match it perfectly,” the woman responded.

  Kit paused. She was in a hurry to see Clay, but she did want to look her best when she arrived at his office. “You do?”

  “Yes, I do. Come in and I’ll show you.”

  It was the better part of an hour before Kit was out the door, sporting a straw hat with blue silk ribbons and white flowers. She continued her route toward Clay’s office, greeting shopkeepers and customers along the way as if she’d lived in Nevadaville her whole life. Giddy, her feet barely touching the ground, she felt her smile grow as she came closer and closer to the steady pounding of the stampers.

  “Good morning, Kit,” Jonathan said, opening the land office door as she arrived at the building. “You look extraordinarily lovely today.”

  “Thank you,” she said, nodding her head. “It’s the new hat. I just bought it from Mrs. Williams.”

  “The hat is lovely as well,” he said.

  Her cheeks warmed, and a gnawing feeling started in her stomach. “Jonathan, I’m sorry if I was rude yesterday. I—”

  “Think nothing of it.” He reached out and squeezed her hand briefly. “I’m glad you were all right. Actually, from the looks of things I’d say you’re better than all right.”

  “I am,” she readily agreed.

  “Meeting your brother must have been exciting,” he said.

  “Yes,” she replied. Meeting Sam had been wonderful, but nothing could compare to what had happened last night. Her gaze went to the door she knew led to Clay’s office.

  Jonathan patted her shoulder. “He’s in. Been here since early this morning.”

  She couldn’t think of a response, so remained quiet.

  “Go on,” Jonathan said. “His eyes were as bright as yours are this morning.”

  A tiny giggle escaped as she all but bolted toward the open door. The staircase was narrow and steep and rather dark near the top, since the only light was from the doorway behind her. A splattering of nervousness raced over her, but she shook it off, hitched up her skirt and began to climb.

  At the top she let out the air in her lungs, took a fresh breath and then paused. Should she knock or just walk in? Questioning herself, she turned around, and glanced toward the bottom of the stairs, where Jonathan stood.

  He grinned and waved a hand, as if to say go on. She spun back around, grabbed the doorknob and pushed open the door.

  Her heart pitter-pattered so hard she swore her dress moved in response as she caught sight of Clay sitting behind his desk.

  He smiled and rose to his feet, but his gaze didn’t stay on her; instead, it moved to one side. She followed it, to a man sitting in one of the chairs in front of Clay’s desk. Her heart fell. Landed in her stomach right next to where the gnawing started up again.

  The man in a three-piece suit, with graying hair, rose to his feet. “Miss Becker.”

  “M-Mr. Watson.” Half fearing his answer, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “Well,” he said, in that drawn-out way he always spoke to her. “When you unexpectedly left town without a word, I took it upon myself to find you.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed the lump forming in her throat before glancing toward Clay. His expression wasn’t far from Mr. Watson’s frown. Feeling thwarted, she still found the gumption to say, “That really wasn’t necessary.”

  Clay maneuvered around his desk and took her arm, leading her to the chair beside Mr. Watson. “He was worried about you. Rightfully so. He is your guardian.”

  She sat. Was actually very thankful for the sturdy chair, since her legs were no longer of much use. Returning to Chicago was not what she wanted, no matter who was her guardian.

  Mr. Watson cleared his throat. “Well, I was your guardian as long as you lived in Chicago. Now that you are out here, and if you intend to stay, Mr. Hoffman will take over my role.”

  Kit could have sworn she heard relief in the man’s tone, but the look on Clay’s face didn’t give her a clue as to how he felt about it—or her—this morning.

  Clay lowered himself onto the chair behind the desk and rubbed his chin thoughtfully before he said, “Perhaps it would be best if you returned to Chicago, Kit.”

  A clash of sorts happened inside her, quite painfully. “But I don’t want to return.”

  “This may all be a wonderful adventure right now, Kit,” Clay said solemnly, “but you’ll soon grow tired of the remoteness, want the things Chicago has.”

  “Where do you plan on living, Kit?” Mr. Watson asked. “Staying at the hotel will soon grow costly. You’ll need Mr. Hoffman’s per
mission to increase your living allowance.”

  Clay’s jaw had taken on a stern set and didn’t relax as he stared at her, and all of a sudden she was reminded of the woman who had left him. Had she grown tired of the remoteness? Clay was comparing the two of them?

  “I’m not leaving,” she insisted. “I’ll ask Sam if I can move in with him.”

  “You’re not living in a cave, Kit,” Clay said.

  “Why not? Sam does. It didn’t appear to be too uncomfortable.”

  “Kit,” Mr. Watson started. “Neither of your grandparents would want you living in such conditions. You can return to—”

  A knock sounded and the door opened. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Hoffman.”

  “It’s all right, James,” Clay answered. “What do you need?”

  “There’s trouble at the mine, sir. Word just arrived that you’re needed.”

  Kit’s heart landed in her throat as Clay’s expression grew hard.

  “What’s happened?” he asked, heading toward the door.

  James, the accountant she’d met at the matinee, stepped aside, allowing Clay to pass through the doorway. “Jester Wilke is downstairs,” James said, following close on Clay’s heels.

  “Hold up, Kit.” Mr. Watson grabbed her arm as she started to follow.

  “But—”

  “I’ll go see what’s happening. You stay here.”

  Something snapped inside her. “No,” she said, “I won’t. I don’t mean to sound rude, Mr. Watson, but I’m done having people tell me what to do. I won’t wait here, and I’m not returning to Chicago.” Head up, she marched out the door and down the steps, and then she had to hitch her skirt ankle high to run toward the stable Clay was entering.

  Upon arrival, while still catching her breath, she asked, “What’s happened?”

  Clay was already cinching the saddle on Andrew’s back. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  Just like moments before, when Mr. Watson had dictated she stay put, something cracked open inside her. “Yes, it is. It’s my mine, too.” Stepping forward, she persisted, “Furthermore, I’m not going back to Chicago. Never again will I sit around and have people dictate to me what I can and can’t do. I wasn’t just lonely the last year, but my whole life, and I won’t go back to that. Grandma refused to leave the house empty, and I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere by myself. Do you know what that meant?” she asked, while the frustration that had let loose continued to flow. “It meant I never went anywhere. I never had a say in anything. Well, that’s over. Right here and now. You want to know what else? That’s the real reason I came out here—to get away from it all. And I’m not going back. Ever.”

  The last bits of air left her chest and she refilled her lungs, drawing a cleansing breath.

  “Are you finished?” Clay asked.

  “Finished?”

  “Yes. Did you get all that off your chest, or is there more?”

  She let out a sigh, briefly examining how there was no pressure left inside her. “No, I think I’m done.” Stepping forward, she added, “I’m not leaving. My family is here.”

  The air seemed to take on a sizzle as they stood staring at each other. There was no way to know if he believed her or not, but she felt a connection of sorts that had her insides flipping end over end.

  Finally, he let out a long sigh. “I have to go. I’ll let you know as soon as I get back, and we can finish talking with Mr. Watson.”

  It wasn’t until he rode off that Kit realized her initial intention had been to go with him to the mine. Rachel stood in the stall, and the notion of saddling her had just occurred to Kit when she heard her name being called. Recognizing Mr. Watson’s voice, she sighed as she turned to the doorway.

  “Let’s go to the hotel, where we can talk,” he said. “I’ve brought something your grandfather wanted you to have.”

  It was several hours later when Clay returned to the stable, and though a good portion of his mind was on the mine, Kit was still at the forefront. As he unsaddled and rubbed down the horse, he couldn’t help but grin at how adorable she’d looked, standing there with a straw hat covered in flowers sitting cockeyed on her head as she bristled about going back to Chicago.

  He took a breath and held it to a count of ten, telling himself he should insist she go back. Even though Theodore said Oscar had claimed Kit would head out here the first chance she got, Clay knew she’d eventually grow tired of it. Had to. She was used to the city. Had lived there her entire life. Her departure would leave an emptiness greater than Miranda’s had if he didn’t watch out.

  “Clay?”

  As he spun around, the expression on Kit’s face turned his insides into a mush. He already was in deeper than he had been with Miranda. That was a given.

  “I saw you ride in,” she said.

  He crossed the space and took her upper arms. “What’s happened?” The little hat was gone and her eyes were dull. Both of which had his nerves on edge.

  “Nothing.” Holding up a single sheet of paper, she added, “Just this. It’s a letter Gramps wrote me. Mr. Watson gave it to me.”

  Taking the note with one hand, he used the other to guide her out of the stable. “We’ll go to my office,” he said.

  Once there, he took her into the back room and sat her down on the cot. Taking a seat beside her, he asked, “What’s this say?” The paper burned his skin like hot metal. Oscar had already left enough stipulations and secrets. What else could there be?

  “You can read it,” she said. “If you want.”

  Holding in a sigh, he unfolded the sheet of paper.

  My Dearest Kit,

  So you’ve made it to Colorado. Beautiful, isn’t it? I always knew you’d like it there. If you’re reading this, you also know about your mother. I’m sorry, Kitten. I just couldn’t tell you. I suspect now you understand why Grandma could never leave the house empty. She was afraid Amelia would come home and no one would be there.

  Please don’t be angry about Grandma keeping you caged up like a bird. She was just afraid you’d fly away, too. And, Kitten, if you have to blame someone, blame me, not your momma. Amelia wanted to take you with her, but I couldn’t let both of you go, and she loved your father so much she couldn’t stay where everything reminded her of him. You’ll understand that one day. Might already.

  Well, darling, I just had to tell you how sorry I am, and I hope by the time you’re reading this, you’ll have started a new life in Colorado. Clay was the son I never had, and I know he’ll be good to you. Trust him. I do.

  You’ve also met your brother, Sam. My greatest wish is for the two of you to get to know each other. He’s a good kid, and I love him. I told him that, but I’d be obliged if you’d say it again for me.

  I won’t ask you to take care of Grandma because I know you will, and since you’re reading this letter, Grandma’s either right there beside you or up in heaven next to me and the angels.

  Well, Kitten, your old gramps is gonna sign off now. I just had to find a way to let you know how sorry I am, that I love you, and that I know you’ll be happy in Colorado.

  Love,

  Your grandfather, Oscar P. Becker P.S. I gotta say, writing this here letter lightened my old soul, Kitten, just like your grandma said it would. Don’t look back, Kit. Look ahead and soar with the eagles flying over those mountains.

  Clay cleared the roughness out of his throat. He’d almost heard Oscar’s voice as he’d read the words, and that brought a sting to his eyes. “That’s a nice letter,” he said, unable to come up with something better.

  “Yes, it is.” She took the paper and sat staring at it for some time. “I know what it says, but I still don’t understand how she could have left me behind.”

  “Well, Kit,” he started, and the smile on her face said she was thinking the same thing he was. Oscar almost always started a sentence with “well.” He grinned and gave her a one-arm hug. “Oscar once told me that sometimes we can’t understand things because we�
��re thinking about them too hard. If you let it go for a while, then the answer will come to you.”

  She laid her head on his shoulder. “I remember him saying that, too.”

  The moment was tender and quiet, yet his insides started stirring like they did every time she was near. He needed to take Oscar’s advice and quit thinking about her so much. Maybe then it would stop.

  Sitting up as if startled, she said, “The mine. What happened?”

  The trepidation in her eyes made him disguise his concerns. “Just some things had been stolen.”

  “Stolen?”

  “Yes. I sent some men out to find who did it, so there’s nothing to worry about.” He’d do enough of that himself. What One Ear Bob wanted with two cases of dynamite would keep Clay up at night. It was only his suspicion that it was the trapper; there was no proof yet. He’d set up extra guards around the mine and watching out for Sam. Though he’d had to be discreet in that. The kid took his self-reliance seriously and had once again balked at the suggestion he move into town.

  Between Sam and Kit, Clay might never sleep again. Especially when she looked at him as she was right now. Those big brown eyes were sparkling like gold nuggets, pulling him in and igniting a fever. Then she smiled. Her petal lips curled up sweetly, reminding him just how delicious they tasted.

  “Where’s Mr. Watson?” he asked, in an attempt to detour his thoughts. Or maybe he just wanted to make sure no one would walk in on them.

  “At the hotel,” she said, lifting her chin, bringing her lips closer to his. “I think he was as afraid of the bridges as I was.”

  Not kissing her was no longer an option, and the way her smile widened as their lips touched sent a flare up inside Clay. Maybe it was fate, or Oscar manipulating things from the other side, but just as Clay’s lips were about to brush over hers again, a knock sounded on the door.

  Pulling back, he took a moment to catch his breath before he dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Come on, we had better go find Mr. Watson.” The best thing would be for her to return to Chicago.