Inheriting a Bride

by Lauri Robinson

  “Kit, stop it,” he whispered, but his hand said something completely different as it bunched the layers of her skirt upward. At last, beneath the layers, he found her, warm and moist. While Kit, being as bold as she was beautiful, found him as well, hot and throbbing against the buttons of his pants she unfastened. He held his breath as her fingers wrapped around him, and swallowed the groan rumbling in his throat.

  “Still want me to stop?” she asked into the cavern of his mouth.

  “No,” he growled, capturing her mouth. They kissed and fondled one another until the tumultuous demand pulsating through him had to be released. Just then, Kit pulled away—her lips, her body, her hands. He groped for her, catching nothing but material. Discovering she was stripping off her pantaloons, he wrestled his britches down beneath the blankets still covering them, and then caught her leg, pulling it across his hips.

  Her velvet softness accepted him with absolute perfection, and the drawing, the in and out as he lifted and lowered her hips onto his, was flawless—the perfect amount of friction and pressure. Divine satisfaction as well as pure torture. The heavenly kind. The kind he never wanted to live without.

  They soared as one, never leaving the ground beneath the mountain sky overhead, yet with all the magnificence of eagles in flight over the mountains. His release grew imminent, and he grasped her hips tighter, holding them in that exact spot as her body shuddered and her mouth raced over his face. Fulfillment was so vast he trapped her lips between his. Kissing her was the only way to muffle the cry of ecstasy shooting up his throat that would surely echo across the mountain all the way back to Nevadaville.

  He continued to kiss her as the aftershocks left them both quaking, and then, while regaining his ability to breathe, he buried his face in the curtain of her hair.

  She bit his earlobe. “Now, aren’t you glad I didn’t stop when you asked?”

  One hundred percent in agreement, he admitted, “Yes.” Easing her off him, he added, “And now it’s time you get some sleep.”

  “All right,” she agreed.

  As she righted her clothing, Clay did the same, and then, when she snuggled up against him, he wrapped both arms around her, encouraging her to use his chest as her pillow. The ground was hard and the air brisk, but he wouldn’t have traded places with anyone—not for all the gold in Colorado. And that had him declaring, “Kit, we can’t keep doing this.”

  She kissed his cheek before asking, “Why not?” Propping an elbow on his shoulder, she cupped her chin in her palm. “I love you, Clay.”

  “I love you, too,” he said, not the least surprised by how easily it came out. “And I want to marry you.”

  Her nose nuzzled his. “I want to marry you, too.”

  “But we can’t.”

  Sitting up, she stared at him, aghast. “Why not?”

  He ran a hand into her hair, cupping the side of her face. “Because the will clearly states that if you marry before you’re twenty-one, you lose your inheritance.”

  “No, I won’t—”

  “Yes, you will,” he interrupted. “It’ll go to P.J., and right now I don’t have enough cash on hand to pay him outright. That could mean—”

  “Oh, good heavens,” she said, plopping down. Once her head was settled on his shoulder, she pulled the blanket over them. “For a smart man, you’re not very bright.”

  “Kit—”

  “I’m going to sleep, Clay. We’ll talk about it in the morning. Maybe by then your senses will have returned.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The sun had barely peeked over the mountain when Sam came rushing into their camp. “Hoffman. Boy, am I glad to see you. You got a rope?”

  Clay, thanking his lucky stars that he and Kit had righted their clothes before going to sleep, leaped to his feet. “Yes, I have a rope. Why?”

  “Come on. I’ll explain on the way. It’s not far.” As if it was an afterthought, Sam nodded. “Morning, Kit.”

  “Hi, Sam,” she said, already folding blankets. “Why do you need a rope?”

  “‘Cause I gotta save my dog,” he said, grabbing the ropes from both saddle horns before taking off down the trail. “It ain’t far.”

  Half an hour later, Clay would have given all the gold he had to be somewhere else, doing something else.

  He shook his head, for the umpteenth time. “No, Kit. You’re not going down there.”

  “I have to,” she insisted, pointing to the edge they stood on and the deep ravine below. “I’m the lightest one here, and the weakest.”

  “She’s right, Hoffman,” Sam said, peering over the edge. “It’s gonna take all the strength you and I have to lower her over and pull her back up.”

  Frustration tore at Clay’s throat, leaving a burning path and emitting a snarl that could have come from a mountain lion. He stomped back to where Sam had slept the night before, less than half a mile from where he and Kit had made their camp, and kicked at a rock. There had to be another way down there. But his gaze, making a full circle of the ridge and ravine, said there wasn’t. The cliff had an angled overhang, leaving nothing for him to climb down or up.

  “How’d your dog get down there, anyway?” he growled.

  “I done told you, he must have wandered too close to the edge in the middle of the night. He’s just a pup.” Sam, lying on his belly, shouted over the edge. “Don’t worry, Massachusetts, we’ll save you.”

  A single yelp echoed off the mountains.

  “You went all the way to Georgetown just to get a dog?” Clay asked, drawing in another deep breath that didn’t calm his nerves any more than the last one had.

  “No, I was tracking One Ear.” Sam sat up. “I caught him, too. I knew some things about him. Things my pa told me that would put him behind bars. Figured he needed that after what he did to you. So I tied him up and escorted him into Georgetown.” Sam’s gaze went back to the ledge. “That’s why I didn’t have a rope. A man doesn’t travel in the mountains without a rope. Anyhow, the lawman there, he offered me a reward for catching One Ear, but I said no, I wouldn’t take no money for it. But they had a batch of pups, right there in the sheriff’s office, so I said I’d take one of them. He’s got a black mouth and nose. Smart fella. I’m sure he’ll never get too close to another edge after this.”

  “Clay,” Kit said, coming up behind him.

  Her touch, the way she ran a hand along his back until it hooked on his hip, had the love he held for her increasing his fears.

  “We have to get that pup.”

  He knew it, and that was the problem. Turning, he folded her in his arms. He’d never known such fear. Nor such love. In a way, he’d always loved her, from Oscar’s stories, and what he felt toward her now overpowered anything he’d ever imagined knowing about love. “I don’t want you lowered over that edge.”

  She rested her head against his chest and squeezed his waist. “It’s the only way.”

  The emotions racing through him had the ability to cripple him, but didn’t. In the way only love can do, it doubled inside him, made him grow in strength and gave him the courage to admit, “I’m scared, Kit. What if something happens to you?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me. You’ll be holding the other end of the rope, and I know you won’t let me fall.”

  The poignancy of her words struck him in the core. His arms tightened around her, never wanting to let go.

  She lifted her head. “I trust you, Clay. I always will.” Her mouth quirked with a smile, and her eyes grew radiant. “And I love you very, very much.”

  He understood then what she’d said about her mother not wanting to live without her father. “I don’t want to live without you.”

  “And I don’t want to live without you,” she replied.

  Framing her face, he kissed her long and sensually, not caring if Sam saw or not.

  When the kiss ended, leaving him somewhat unsteady, she—in her unique way that was so adorable—squared her shoulders and stepped out of his
hold.

  “All right, then,” she said with a determined nod. “We’ll need both ropes.”

  Back near the edge of the ridge, she tucked her skirts between her legs and started looping one of the ropes around her thighs and waist.

  “What are you doing?” Sam asked with a deep frown of confusion.

  “I’ve climbed a lot of trees in my life,” Kit said, now tying slipknots in the rope. “And Gramps made me wear a safety rope on some of the taller ones.” Her gaze included Clay. “He showed me how to tie knots so they won’t let loosen.”

  He still wasn’t sold on the idea, but understood there were no alternatives. Stepping forward, he inspected every knot on her makeshift harness. Unable to stop himself, he said, “But you’re afraid of heights.”

  “No,” she said, “not really. They only get to me when I’m on a train and it travels over bridges. Other than that I’m pretty good.”

  Even with fear sloshing in his veins she had the ability to make him smile. Seriousness quickly overcame him when he felt her tremble. “If it’s too much, just tell us and we’ll pull you back up.”

  “Don’t you dare,” she said sternly, “pull me up until I have that pup in my arms, no matter what.”

  Clay secured the other rope to the harness around her waist, and then, knowing the time had come, he kissed her lips swiftly before stepping away to loop the rope around a tree that looked as if it had been planted in that spot for just this purpose.

  “Sam,” he snapped, his nerves eating at his skin. “Help her over the edge, then grab the rope behind me.”

  Sam stepped up and took Kit’s waist. “Ready?”

  Her eyes met Clay’s once more, and he tried his damnedest to include encouragement in his gaze.

  She nodded and turned to Sam. “Ready.”

  It was probably only ten minutes from start to finish. But having her suspended over the edge of that ravine was the longest and scariest length of time Clay had ever experienced. He prayed, he pleaded and he concluded he, too, was facing the greatest fear of his life—loving someone more than anything else. Anything. Ever.

  When she finally reappeared near the rim, he pulled her over the edge and carried her as far away from the edge as possible before he set her down to unfasten the ropes. She handed him the dog, a yellow ball of fluff that he instantly passed on to Sam, so Clay could get her out of the ropes and into his arms, where she belonged.

  As soon as he let go of the final piece of rope, let it coil with the rest near her ankles, he grasped her upper arms. “You are going to marry me as soon as we get to town. I don’t give a damn about the will. P.J. and Sam can have it all. And we can live anywhere you want.”

  Kit, too happy even to remember that moments ago she’d dangled in midair, looped her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. “I knew you’d come to your senses. And we’ll live in Nevadaville.”

  “Senses?” Sam said. The dog was licking up one side of his face and down the other. “I think I’m the only with any sense. You ain’t givin’ me all that, Hoffman. I don’t want no part of running a mine. I done told you that a hundred times.”

  “Don’t worry, Sam,” Kit said, before kissing Clay briefly. Enough for him to focus his attention on her. “This is what Gramps wanted,” she told him. “You and me. The will says so.”

  Clay was smiling, but also shaking his head. “I’ve read that will a hundred times over, and every stipulation. It doesn’t—”

  She stopped his rant with another kiss. “Did you read between the lines?”

  He frowned.

  Looping her arm through his, she started walking up the trail, to where they’d left the horses. “Well, Clay,” she started, knowing she sounded a lot like Gramps. “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 might come to you.”

  He stopped her in her tracks. “Between what lines? The will says—”

  She sighed and kissed him again. “That you have to approve any man I marry before I’m twenty-five. Well,” she said, grinning. “You approve of the man I’m marrying, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but if you marry before you’re twenty-one—”

  “The will says to see stipulation two, right there,” she said.

  His frown grew deeper, but the grin on his face told her he was thinking, rereading the will in his mind as they walked. She grinned, too. Gramps hadn’t been a fool. He knew exactly what he’d been doing when he wrote that stipulation.

  He was giving her a family.

  Epilogue

  Kit paused at the top landing, gazing out the window at the snow floating to the ground like dandelion seeds, barely a dusting, but a perfect match for the fluffy flakes that had fallen and piled up yesterday. Ideal for Christmas Eve. Movement, or maybe just instinct, had her turning toward the bottom of the stairs.

  Clay, dressed in a black suit, stood there, near the large decorated tree, and as he caught her gaze, he held up one hand. Her heart tumbled sweetly, and she lifted her burgundy skirt high enough to glide down the steps. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles as she arrived at the bottom.

  “You look lovely,” he said in that husky way that sent her senses askew.

  “You have to say that,” she teased. “You’re my husband.”

  “Which means I get to appreciate your beauty more than anyone else.” His gentle kiss was one of those she cherished the most. The tenderness made her insides hum like a lullaby.

  “How long until the children arrive?” she asked, almost breathless when his lips left hers.

  “Not long enough for what you have in mind,” he said, running his hands down the length of her back.

  She giggled. “You’ve gotten so good at reading between the lines.”

  He laughed as he drew her farther into the vast parlor of their house. That beautiful, wonderful house on the mountainside, where love percolated in every room.

  “Sam sent a message with the miners,” Clay said. “He’ll be here for supper.”

  “Wonderful,” she said. “I hope he’s bringing Massachusetts with him. I had Mr. Wilson save a ham bone just for him.”

  Clay laughed. “His cabin is done, too. If the weather holds, we can ride out so you can see it.”

  She nodded, but didn’t instantly agree, knowing he might very soon change his mind about allowing her to ride up the mountain. Switching subjects, she pointed to the packages piled beneath the tree. “I hope the children like the gifts we picked out.”

  “How could they not?” Clay replied. “You bought practically everything they asked for.”

  Kit placed her hand on her stomach, thinking of the gift she’d wrapped and tucked under his pillow in their bedroom upstairs. She could barely wait for him to open it tonight. Afraid he might be reading her mind at this very moment, as he had the uncanny ability to do, she said, “Well, thanks to Adeline, the meal will be perfect. She left a short time ago, to help Clarice get the children ready.” Feeling her cheeks warm, Kit added, “There will be no burned biscuits for our Christmas Eve dinner.”

  “I don’t mind burned biscuits,” Clay said, kissing that sensitive spot beneath her ear he knew drove her crazy.

  Giving him a gentle, teasing shove, she said, “Only because you’re too kind. You’ve endured eight months of my terrible cooking without saying a word. You would rather eat burned food than hurt my feelings.”

  “You’re learning,” he said. “And it hasn’t been that bad. Besides, you make up for it in other ways.”

  Her mind flashed again to the gift upstairs, and her hand was back on her stomach. The spot where a miniature Clay—or possibly Kit—Hoffman grew. It had been hard to contain, especially once she knew for sure, but she wanted to keep the secret until he opened the package. She’d bought the frame in Denver, on one of their trips there. Inside the private car he’d had refurbished just for their travels, she held no fear of traveling over the bridges. Actually, Clay kept h
er so occupied while the train rolled along, she never knew when they crossed a bridge.

  The hinged frame was for his desk, and had space for two pictures. She’d put a picture of the two of them, taken shortly after their wedding, in one side, and in the other she’d slipped a piece of paper with a penned message. A large question mark, followed by the words due to arrive summer 1886.

  “What,” Clay said, running a finger down the side of her face, “are you thinking about so hard?”

  The desire to tell him had her nerves jittering.

  “Your cooking is—”

  She kissed him, stopping him from praising something that was awful. He was the most wonderful man on earth. Another subject popped into her head. “I received a letter from Mr. Watson today.”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “You did?”

  “Yes. He’s sold the house in Chicago.”

  “He did?” Clay kissed her brow. “You’re still sure about that?”

  She nodded. “Yes. There’s nothing in Chicago I need. Never really was. It was all out here.” Kissing his lips, she added, “Just like Gramps always knew it would be.”

  Clay took her arms, held her gaze with one filled with love and care. “Some days I wonder how I could have missed exactly what that stipulation said.”

  “Gramps wrote it that way, so neither of us would know what he was doing.”

  “The old matchmaker,” Clay said, kissing her nose. “Though I’m still glad Watson confirmed we were reading ‘see stipulation two as it pertains in direct relation with stipulation one concerning specific marriage of said heir’ correctly.”

  The way he quoted the will made her laugh again. “He knew exactly what specific marriage Gramps was referring to.”

  “I guess I was just being cautious.” Clay tugged her hips against his. “I’d already been robbed.”