The Inheritance (27 page)
“She’s learning to read just like me, huh, Kenny?”
“Yes, just like you.”
“Can I have a turn too?” Emma asked, cuddling close.
“Yes, but I’m going to give Mei more turns while we’re in her home, because you and I get to do this when we get home later, all right?”
Nodding, Emma threw a grin at Mei and scrunched closer to McKenna.
When McKenna looked at the clock again, an hour had passed and she thought of all the work waiting for her at home. She reached the end of the page and closed the book. “That’s all for today.” She laughed softly when Mei and Emma both sighed with disappointment. “You did very well, Mei.” Far better than she had expected. “You too, Emma. I’m proud of you both.”
“Thank you,” Mei said, mastering the “th” sound that had been difficult for her at first. “You . . . good.” She pointed to the book.
McKenna smiled. “Thank you. And next time, you teach me to bake”—she made a motion like kneading bread dough— “okay?”
“O-kay,” Mei said, her dark eyes dancing.
To McKenna’s relief, Chin Li never reappeared. They said their good-byes, and by the time she and Emma returned home, precious few moments of daylight remained.
As McKenna guided the wagon up to the barn, she spotted a piece of paper tacked to the door of the cabin. It looked like an envelope, but it was hard to be sure from this distance. It was probably a note from Mr. Billings. Another
gentle
reminder about the payment due on the ranch. Or perhaps a
not-so-gentle
reminder that he was proceeding with the foreclosure in an effort to throw them off of this land. She sighed, deciding that kind of news could wait.
By the time she unbridled the horses and finished the outside chores, the sun was nearly set. Robert was working late at the livery and had told her he might not be home until after midnight. She appreciated the extra hours he’d been working recently. He seemed to be taking more of a share in the responsibility facing them, and she wanted to believe that would last.
McKenna closed the barn doors and scanned the road, the corrals off to the east, the outhouse and the woods encircling the property. She briefly touched the bulk in her apron pocket, far more aware of her surroundings these days than before.
Emma reached up and took hold of her hand. “I like it when you don’t work in the barn, Kenny.”
“Me too, sweetie,” McKenna answered, gently squeezing her tiny fingers. Another change she’d made was to push Vince and Janie’s bed to one side of the bedroom and move her supplies for finishing saddles into one of the corners. It was a tight fit, but it allowed her to keep the cabin locked when they were there alone, and prohibited Emma from constantly getting into things she shouldn’t. The change also meant she could work later into the night, with Emma sleeping in her bedroom only feet away. Making saddles faster, she could earn more money, if she could keep up with everything.
She opened the cabin door to let Emma run on inside, and tugged the envelope free from the nail. The feel of the paper— heavy and expensive—confirmed the note was from Billings. Who else in Copper Creek used such fancy stationery? Or would come all the way out here to deliver it?
She stepped inside and bolted the door behind her, and paused, resting her hand on the latch. How many times had Janie touched this lock? How many times had she latched out the world at night, feeling safe with her husband and her daughter, never knowing that the world would still manage to creep in through the crevices . . . creep in and steal everything away . . .
When Emma wasn’t watching, she removed the Derringer from her apron pocket and slipped it into a cupboard drawer. Since
that
day, she’d carried it with her, and she wouldn’t hesitate to use it if that man—or anyone else meaning them harm—ever showed up here again.
“I’m hungry, Aunt Kenny.”
“Okay, sweetie. Run and change into your nightgown, and I’ll make us some dinner.”
“Then will you read me a story?”
McKenna smiled. “After we’ve eaten.”
Emma scampered off, and McKenna moved to the front window and opened the envelope. It was from Billings. She read the note in the waning light, her brow furrowing. He wanted to meet with her—
posthaste
, was the wording he’d chosen.
He offered no particulars in the note about the purpose of their meeting, only that it was “imperative for their schedules to coincide at the earliest possible moment.”
That man . . . Were all bankers so eager to disrupt lives and remind a person of their failings? A bitter taste rose in her mouth. She slid the letter back into the envelope and laid it aside. She was doing the best she could with what she had. Mr. Billings’s pressuring her wasn’t going to change that.
R
obert didn’t move. But Wyatt could see him breathing. He needed to get the kid out of here.
The man on the stairs motioned, then looked pointedly toward the bartender. “Take him out back.” He scanned the crowd, a slow smile turning the corners of his mouth. “Drinks and girls half off for the next fifteen minutes!”
A riot of cheers erupted, and Wyatt watched as the two men dragged Robert out, facedown and body limp, through a side door. In a blink, Robert was forgotten.
Wyatt slipped out the front and skirted down the side of the building. He stuck to the shadows—easy to do with the sun now set—and spotted the men as they dumped Robert by a rubbish pile. Talking in low tones, one of them gave the boy a swift kick to the gut before they went back inside.
As soon as the door closed, Wyatt moved.
Robert was out cold, his pulse shallow but steady. No broken bones that Wyatt could tell, but he felt a lump in the right forearm. Severance didn’t have a physician. He knew because Doc Foster had mentioned making rounds up here on occasion.
Voices floated toward him on the cool night air. “I’ll finish him all right. Talkin’ to me that way, the puny little . . .”
Gritting his teeth, Wyatt heaved Robert up onto one shoulder. The kid was solid muscle! The wound on the back of his head pounded hot, and his head swam. He blinked to clear his vision and moved as quickly as he could down a side street toward Clell’s, where he’d tethered Whiskey.
With little time to act, he situated Robert across Whiskey’s broad back and swung up behind him, in time to see three men saunter from the alley. He recognized one of them as being the huge brute of a fellow from the gaming hall.
They looked in his direction.
Mounts were tethered in front of the hall, but Wyatt had no idea which one belonged to Robert. He thought he’d seen the tan palomino once before at Trenton’s livery, and maybe the sock-footed black mare on the end, but horses were easily mistaken and he couldn’t be sure. It was dark, and there was no time. And since stealing horses was a hanging offense and somewhat frowned upon for a U.S. Marshal, he decided to let it go. Robert needed to learn to clean up his own messes.
Holding on to the boy, Wyatt negotiated the steep trail downward, riding as fast as he dared. Moonlight silvered the shadows on the trail, and Whiskey hit a patch of shale and slipped, but regained her footing. Wyatt reined in, slowing their pace. Halfway down, he stopped to listen for pursuit.
All he heard was the faint keening of wind sweeping across the snowcapped peaks above, and the soft wheeze of Robert’s breath. He rode on, not stopping again until they made the outskirts of Copper Creek.
He stopped by Doc Foster’s clinic and pounded on the door. No answer. The office was dark and unlocked. He didn’t know what medicinal supplies would be needed, but McKenna would. If she needed anything to tend her brother, he could make a run back into town.
The boy began to stir, and by the time they reached the Talbots’ cabin—
McKenna’s
cabin—Robert was coming around. The front windows overlooking the porch were dark. It was well past midnight. McKenna and Emma were no doubt in bed by now.
“My head hurts . . . bad.” Robert moaned. “My gut . . . does too.”
Wyatt reined in by the porch, trying to scrape up some sympathy—and failing. Especially when imagining what McKenna’s reaction would be at seeing her brother like this. “You should’ve thought of that before, son.”
“I’m not your son,” Robert whispered low and cursed him.
Wyatt could only stare, most of him wanting to knock the kid’s head the rest of the way off. But a part of him wanted to take the boy and hold him tight, like his own father had done to him before allowing his only son to go to jail.
“How did you get up to Severance tonight, Robert?”
Robert moaned, clutching his stomach. “I hitched a ride . . . with a guy on a freight wagon.”
Wyatt shook his head. Well, that took care of having to go back for a horse. “It should probably pain me more to say this, but you’re going to feel a whole lot worse before you start to feel better.”
Robert leaned forward, groaning.“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Okay, hang on and I’ll get you—”
Robert vomited, dousing them both.
Another bout of sickness followed before the kid’s legs gave way. Wyatt managed to catch him. Supporting his weight, he started for the stairs.
The front door opened and Wyatt looked up, expecting to see McKenna.
And saw a Winchester aimed straight at him instead.
S
top right there! Come any closer and I’ll shoot!” Heart pounding, McKenna opened the door a few inches more, rifle in hand. She squinted, seeing only shadows
moving in the dark.
“It’s Wyatt Caradon, ma’am! With your brother!”
“Marshal Caradon?” She squinted. What was he doing back here? His voice sounded both familiar, and yet different, at the same time.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s me. And I’ve . . .” His breath came heavy. “I’ve got your brother. He’s been hurt.”
Hurt?
Guilt pinched a nerve.
The lever on the vice at the livery . . .
Robert had told her the contraption wasn’t working right, but she hadn’t believed him. She propped the rifle by the door and hurried out to meet them, not understanding why Marshal Caradon was bringing Robert home.
From what little she could see, Caradon was carrying her brother up the porch steps, Robert’s body limp against him, his head lolled to one side.