Hours later, Kit read the letter one more time before she carefully folded it and tucked it in the side pocket inside her trunk. She would give her mind a break from wondering about her mother. It was already easier than she anticipated. Nothing else really compared to thoughts of Clay. Mr. Watson had said he’d be in town for a week, waiting for her to decide if she wanted to stay or not. Of course she was staying. A week wouldn’t change her mind.
Kit crawled into bed as a long sigh escaped her lungs. Clay hadn’t kissed her like he had last night, and she imagined it was mostly because he thought she’d leave like the other woman had. Convincing him she wouldn’t might become as frustrating as the process of discovering Sam’s identity had been.
When sleep finally pulled her in, it was filled with wonderful dreams that had her smiling brightly the next morning, and the day after. Actually, every day for the next week. Kit had breakfast with Clay and Mr. Watson, usually lunch as well—after Clay spent a few hours in his office, while she visited with Clarice and helped with the children. Then they’d eat the evening meal together, sometimes at the hotel, other nights at the society house. Every night, after Mr. Watson went up to his room, she and Clay would take a walk. Though he didn’t kiss her again, her world had never been so close to perfect, and that Saturday when she fell asleep, she once again dreamed of living in his house, complete with a Christmas tree all lit up with candles.
Sunday morning she was once again dressed in her short-sleeved blue dress and waiting at their usual table when he walked into the hotel. Mr. Watson had left the day before and today, she and Clay were going out to see Sam, which only added to her growing bliss. They’d gone out to see him a few days ago, with Mr. Watson, but this time it would be just the two of them riding side by side.
“Good morning,” Clay said in greeting, squeezing her shoulder as he sat down in the chair next to hers.
“Good morning.”
“I received a cable from Mr. Watson,” Clay said. “He arrived in Denver just fine, and wants you to know the bridges get easier with every trip.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” she answered, though she had no plans to find out for herself anytime soon. There was still a wariness about Clay, and that had her wondering about the woman who had left. Kit wanted to ask Clarice, or even Mimmie Mae, but it was Clay’s private business, and therefore she hoped an opportunity would arise where she could ask him, and convince him she was different.
Mimmie Mae delivered coffee and took their order. As soon as she walked away, Clay asked, “Are you excited to see Sam today?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Mimmie Mae is packing a picnic lunch for us to share with him.”
“I’m sure he’ll like that,” Clay said.
Kit hoped so, but even more, she hoped Clay would like it, too. Rarely did a thought cross her mind that didn’t include him, and she liked that. Liked him. More and more every day. The silly fluttering inside her body had grown, too, there was now an aching need that lived inside her, and at times, when he looked at her just right, it grew so strong that normal functions, things as simple as walking, became difficult.
Today was no different, and by the time they’d traversed the hill and spent several hours visiting with Sam, an inexplicable energy swirled inside her. Deep down she wondered if it was because she had been let out of her cage, as Gramps’s letter had described. She was a different person here from who she had been back in Chicago, and that, too, was exciting.
After they had finished their meal, Clay reached over and covered her hand with his. “I’m going over to the mine, have a look around while you two visit.”
“We can come with you,” she suggested.
“No,” he said, squeezing her hand and offering a gentle smile. “I’m sure there are still a lot of things you two wish to discuss after Mr. Watson’s visit. I won’t be long.”
Kit watched him leave, and though she and Sam talked, mostly about their mother and grandparents, her mind remained centered on Clay. She wondered how long he’d be gone. She knew it wouldn’t be long, but a connection had grown between them, and being separated even for a short time had her feeling as if a piece of her was missing.
She and Sam were sitting outside the cave, on chairs they’d carried out, sipping lemonade Mimmie Mae had provided, when a lull in conversation had Kit asking, “Are there miners at the mine today?”
“No,” Sam said. “They don’t work on Sundays. A few of them live at the shack a short distance away, though. Hoffman has them taking turns, watching the hills.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause of the dynamite that was stolen. Don’t worry, though. The only person that’s been around is old One Ear.”
“Who’s that?”
“An old trapper that knew my pa,” Sam explained. “I met up with him in Black Hawk. He stopped by last night to see how I was faring.”
She recalled the animal-skin-covered man she’d met in Black Hawk, and though his appearance had made her quiver then, it didn’t lessen the thrill of a few minutes alone with Clay. “I think I’ll walk down to the mine, too.”
“Want me to come along?”
“No. I remember the way, and I’m sure you’ll want to look at what’s in that.” She gestured to a set of saddlebags Clay had brought out to Sam.
Her brother hitched the waistband of his britches as he stood and puffed his chest out, but she saw the shine on his cheeks and the glimmer in his eyes. He’d been glancing at the bag for the past hour.
“I’m sure it’s books. He knows how much I like them.”
She checked the pins in her hat as she stood, making sure it was secure. “Well, then, you have a look at them. I won’t be gone too long.”
“If you don’t see him right away, come back and get me,” Sam said, kneeling down next to the bag. “I don’t want you wandering so far you get lost.”
She waved in agreement, as her feet were already skimming across the grass. Eventually she’d have to curb her appetite for Clay’s undivided attention. He was an extremely busy man with all his mines and businesses, but the infatuation she had for him was so strong and alive, as if there were a separate being living inside her that wanted nothing else but to be at his side, and right now it was all that held her attention.
Jittery with excitement, she hurried down the hill, around boulders and scrub, but paused when she heard a gruff and angry-sounding voice. She slowed her pace and then crouched down to ease her way around a large cluster of boulders. Her heart hit the back of her throat painfully, and she covered her mouth, holding in a scream.
Clay stood just inside the large brace beams of the mine entrance, and outside, several feet away, was a burly man with a fur vest and hat. Her lungs locked when she recognized him as the same one she’d seen all those weeks ago in Black Hawk. He was saying something, but the pounding in Kit’s ears didn’t allow her to hear what. Her eyes were fixed on the barrel of the gun he had pointed at Clay.
With her mind screaming at her to react, Kit spied a pile of boards a short distance away. Crouching, hoping the man wouldn’t see movement out of the corner of his eye, she inched her way around the boulders and toward the pile. He shouted at Clay, who responded, but Kit still didn’t hear the words, the pounding of her heart being greater than ever. But as she crept toward the planks, she kept one eye on the burly man and his gun.
Slowly, so it wouldn’t catch the man’s attention, since he was now only a few yards away, she eased a board off the top of the pile. It was heavy and long, and took all the strength she could muster to lift it high and readjust her hold.
Once it was balanced in her arms, she swung one end over her shoulder and letting out a wail that pierced her own ears, she ran forward, intending to club the man across the shoulders.
It all happened at once. The board struck, vibrating up her arms so hard she went over backward as a shot sounded, quickly followed by an explosion that shook the ground below her. Debris started hitting her, falling from t
he sky like huge chunks of hail. She rolled onto her stomach and covered her head, flinching and yelping as objects pelted her, stinging the skin beneath her clothes. The hailstorm seemed to go on forever, and when it finally slowed, she lifted her head.
Burying her mouth and nose in the crook of her elbow, she blinked away the water in her eyes, trying to make out something, anything, through the thick dust cloud.
She crawled onto her hands and knees, gasping for air and searching the area where she’d seen Clay and expected him to still be standing.
“No,” she whispered, not completely believing what she saw. As realization hit, she leaped to her feet and a scream tore apart her throat and heart. The entire entrance was nothing but a pile of boulders and rocks and splintered chunks of brace boards.
“Clay! Clay!” She raced forward and began digging at the pile of rubble. “Clay, Clay, Clay.” Tears blinded her, making it impossible to see.
Someone gripped her shoulders. The horror surrounding her was so great that she couldn’t think, and just started screaming and kicking, fighting with all the rage racing through her veins.
“Kit! Kit!”
The sound of her name, faint as it was due to the ringing in her head, finally penetrated and she slowed.
Sam had her arms pinned to her sides, and his face was an inch from hers. “Kit! What happened?”
It took a moment to decipher the images flashing through her head, playing out like a performance onstage. “I came around the corner,” she murmured, describing the pictures as they swam into her head. “There was a man pointing a gun at Clay. I hit him with a board and then everything exploded.” Breaking out of Sam’s hold, she plunged back into the rubble. “Help me, Sam!” She started tossing rocks aside. “Clay’s in here. I heard him shout my name before the explosion.”
For every rock she threw there were a thousand more that needed to be moved. The overwhelming task didn’t daunt her. She’d dig to China and back to find Clay. Fear welled in her throat, but she swallowed it, refusing to think she wouldn’t find him. She would, and he’d be just fine when she did.
“Kit! Kit!”
She ignored Sam’s shouts. Fighting the tears and anguish threatening to collapse her, she kept throwing rocks.
“Kit!”
“What?” Grabbing another rock, she threw it aside. “Don’t just stand there. We have to get Clay out.”
“We aren’t going to get him out that way. You and I will never be able to dig through all that.”
All of a sudden the pile of rubble became overwhelming. A sob escaped and a raw and crushing pain hit her chest. “We have to,” she whispered. “We have to.”
“Come on,” Sam said, tugging her backward. “That pile’s not safe. Come back here with me and I’ll tell you how we’ll get Clay out.”
She blinked at the tears and couldn’t stop the words from coming out. “What if he’s hurt, Sam? What if—”
Sam folded an arm around her. “That’s Hoffman you’re talking about. It’ll take more than a few rocks to hurt him. You gotta keep your hopes up, girl.”
He sounded so much like Gramps that Kit’s heart caught in her chest, and then her gaze went to the pile of rocks now a few feet behind them. Hope didn’t seem to be much compared to that mound.
Sam squeezed her shoulder. “Clay could change the direction the world turns if he set his mind to it. He’s just fine on the other side of the pile. Not a scratch on that pretty head of his. I ain’t got a doubt, not a one. And you shouldn’t, either.”
She attempted to keep her chin up as she asked, “How are we going to get him out?” As she glanced around, looking for some kind of aid, she frowned. “Wait, where’s the other man?”
“I saw him hightailing it down the hill. But don’t worry about him right now, we gotta get Hoffman out.”
The vision of such an event, rescuing Clay, had her heart scrambling in her chest. “How?”
Sam forced her down onto a large rock. “The miners in the shack up the track will have heard the blast. They’ll be arriving any minute. Tell them to get the mules to move the big boulders and timbers out of the way.” He started walking up the hill.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I gotta get something from my place. You stay here and keep those miners digging.”
Sam took off, sprinting, and Kit jumped to her feet, ready to plunge back to the pile of rubble to dig some more, just as three men emerged from the bushes boarding the rail tracks leading up the hill. “Thank goodness you’re here,” she shouted, feeling hope rise higher inside her.
Chapter Thirteen
So black around him he couldn’t see anything, Clay pushed off the hard ground and searched the empty space around him with both hands, groping for anything that might tell him where he was, or how long he’d been out. He kicked his legs, scattering the debris weighing him down as memories made their way through the throbbing pain in his head. One Ear Bob, brandishing a gun, and Kit flying down the hill with an old two-by-four in her hands.
Clay shot to his feet, cracking his head in the process. Slapping a hand against the sting, he felt the warmth of blood ooze between his fingers. After pulling a kerchief out of his back pocket, he tied it around his head to stop the flow, and moved forward, stooping under the low ceiling. The blackness was disorientating even when he found a wall. Using both hands, he followed it, but had no way of telling if it was the right direction or not. A single word, Kit, repeating over and over inside his head, was all he had to guide him.
Fury ate at him. In that split second between the bullet leaving the trapper’s gun and hitting the box of dynamite by the door, he’d followed the survival instincts inside him and dived. Not toward her, as he should have, but the other direction, back into the mine. Why hadn’t he dived forward? Toward her?
He slapped the wall with all the bitterness raging in his soul, but then paused, listened to the words forming in his mind. If he’d dived forward, by now he’d be buried under thousands of pounds of rock. At least this way he was alive. Just had to dig through those thousand pounds to get to her.
And One Ear Bob. Clay slumped against the wall. If the man had turned the gun on her, nothing would matter. Life wouldn’t be worth living.
In the silent doom shrouding him, something snagged his attention. Inside his head, Oscar’s scratchy old voice was talking.
“You’d like my Kit, Clay,” the old man had told him many times. “She’s a scrapper. Sometimes I look at her and can just see the energy trapped inside her. Her grandma does, too. That’s why she keeps her under lock and key. I tell Katie to ease up, that no man will ever rule Kit, but Katie’s afraid. She doesn’t want to lose her like we did Amelia.” The old man would sigh then, before he’d say, “Nope, no man will tame my Kit, but the right one, well, he’ll love her till the end of time.”
Clay cracked a smile. “Well, Oscar,” he said, as if the old man was right beside him, as he had been so many times. “You were right. I do like your Kit, and she is a scrapper. Riding the hills dressed as a boy, climbing trees, attacking trappers with two-by-fours.” Clay paused then, took a moment to press a hand to the pain in his head, but it was his heart he really felt. “Until the end of time,” he whispered. A lump caught in his throat and snagged there.
It wasn’t loving her until the end of time that got to him, it was these hills. She was city born and bred, and before long, living out here would make her feel as caged up as she claimed to be back in Chicago. Though she said otherwise, she’d want to leave Nevadaville. Someday. And that was something he wouldn’t be able to handle.
“Hoffman! Hoffman!”
Clay snapped his head around. The movement renewed the throbbing, and the pain made him unable to decipher where the sound came from.
“Hoffman!”
“Here! I’m over here!” he answered, having no idea where here was.
“I’m gonna light a match. Look for the flare.”
“Sam? Sam,
is that you?”
“Yes, watch for the flare.”
The tiniest flash of light, so faint and brief Clay wondered if he imagined it, happened at the corner of his vision. “Sam, you have to go get Kit!”
“Kit’s fine!” Sam shouted. “I gotta try another match.”
This time he saw it, a ways off, and dying fast. “I see it. Where is she?”
“She’s with the miners. Can you move?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll light another match. Come toward it. I don’t dare move from where I’m at. We won’t find the right offshoot if I do.”
Clay, crouching and waving his hands in front of him to keep from stumbling, moved toward the occasional flares of light. “Keep lighting matches, and talking. You’re a ways off.”
It took forever, but finally, when a match flared, it was only a few feet away. “Sam.” Relief welled inside Clay. “How’d you get in here?” Before the boy answered, he asked, “You’re sure Kit’s all right? One Ear didn’t hurt her?”
“One Ear did this?”
“Yes. He didn’t hurt Kit?”
“No. There’s a tunnel off the passage behind me that leads to my cave. It’s small, and I hope you’ll fit, but it’s your best way out of here.”
Sensing movement, Clay reached out and snagged the kid’s arm. “You saw her. She’s all right?” Fear burned his throat.
“She’s at the mine entrance, digging her way in.” Sam started walking, leading him through the darkness.
“She’s all right?” Clay repeated, hoping beyond hope. “Not hurt?”
“Nope, she’s not hurt. What happened?”
“One Ear Bob is the culprit who stole the dynamite, and he was in the middle of rigging the entrance. He must have heard me coming, because when I arrived I didn’t see him, just the box of dynamite sitting beside the brace beams. He already had a dozen sticks poked in around the beams, caps set and fuses linked.”
“What did he wanna go do that for?” Sam asked.
Clay didn’t believe what the trapper had said—that Sam was in cahoots with him. And fear for Kit was still forefront in his mind. “Where is he now?”
Inheriting a Bride Page 20
