The Inheritance (16 page)

M
cKenna watched, cringing inside, as Casey Trenton inspected the saddle. She held her breath as he ran a hand along the cantle, then slowly over the side skirts and braids.

For some reason, making this saddle had been excruciating for her. Perhaps it was the pressure she’d put on herself to make it her best—for each stitch to be perfectly spaced, for each braid to be cut to the precise measurement, twisted in like pattern, and tied off at exactly the same angle and length. Or maybe it was everything else going on in her life that had made it so hard to concentrate for any length of time. Whatever the cause, she’d wanted this particular saddle to be better than any before.

And slowly . . . it dawned on her why—

Because in some odd way, this saddle represented the life she hoped to build here in Copper Creek. For
both
her and Robert, no matter what he’d said the other night about this move being only for her. And now this new life also included Emma—who kept yanking on her skirt. McKenna peered down.

“I’m hungry, Aunt Kenny,” she said in a loud whisper.

McKenna shot her another warning glance, having told her before they entered the livery to be quiet and not to touch anything. Sore from an earlier mishap in the barn that morning, she reached up to rub her shoulder and caught Casey Trenton studying her stitching. He shook his head, and her anxiety spiked.

“Miss Ashford, this saddle . . .” He sighed, and laughed under his breath. “This is even finer than the first one you sent me by mail.”

She exhaled, too relieved to speak.

“I tell you, I’m half tempted to keep this one for myself, ma’am. But I’m sure the fella who ordered it is worthy. And he’ll be well pleased with your work.” He withdrew some bills from his apron pocket. “I’ll pay you for it now. Then I’ll collect the money from him when he passes back through.”

“But what if he doesn’t come back for it?”

“Then I’ll do as I’m tempted and keep it for myself.” His wink said he would do just that. “But he gave me his word, and I’ve known this man for a while now. If he says he’ll do something, he does it. Now you go ahead and take the money.

You’ve earned it, Miss Ashford.”

She only hesitated for a second. “Thank you, Mr. Trenton.” She slipped the stack of bills into her reticule, already knowing where most of the money would go—straight to Mr. Billings.

She glanced toward the rear of the livery, where Robert was working on a wagon. He’d scarcely acknowledged her when she arrived and hadn’t looked up since. At least his behavior was consistent. He rarely spoke to her at home either. She lowered her voice. “I’m wondering how my brother is doing. Are you pleased with his work?”

Trenton didn’t answer right off, and she detected dissatisfaction in his pause.

“He’s a talented young man, Miss Ashford.” His subdued tone matched hers. “He has the same streak of giftedness in him as you do. Only his is for carpentry, like you said. He can build about anything and has a way of knowing how things are put together.” He gestured for her to follow him to the front of the livery, and McKenna drew Emma along with her. “My only complaint,” he said once they were outside, “which I’ve already spoken to him about—is that he’s late for work. And sometimes takes off without finishing an order that’s due.” He opened his mouth as though he might say more, but apparently decided against it.

“Is there something else, Mr. Trenton?”

He ran a hand along the back of his neck. “I’m not sure it’s anything, ma’am, but . . . The other day a fella came in. Don’t know him personally, don’t even know his name. But he didn’t strike me as the type of man your brother would be spending time with. Or that you would want him to.”

McKenna stole another glance across the shop at Robert, who looked up at that precise moment. Straight at her. She tried to keep the disapproval from her expression but knew she’d failed when his scowl deepened. He turned back to his work, pounding a nail with such force she was certain the wood would split.

“And you said you didn’t know this man’s name?” she whispered.

Mr. Trenton gave a shake of his head. “No, ma’am. And it’s just a hunch on my part. I could be wrong about the man.” But his demeanor said he didn’t think so.

And McKenna tended to trust that intuition. Trenton struck her as being a fair judge of character, which only deepened her concern. “I’ll speak to Robert at home. I’ll gently broach the subject and remind him that this behavior won’t be tolerated long term.”

Mr. Trenton studied her for a beat. “That’s all good and fine, Miss Ashford. But I’ve already . . .
broached
the subject with him.” He said the word as though it didn’t suit him. “Though I can’t say I was real gentle about it. As his employer, I felt it was within my right. I told him that if he was late again, I’d let him go. With his skill level . . .” He glanced behind him, and it was all McKenna could do not to interrupt. “He should’ve been done with that wagon two days ago, when it was promised. My patron was understanding this time, but he’s also got work that needs to be done on his ranch, and I can’t afford not to meet the commitments I make to my customers. I know you understand.”

Thinking of how she’d barely finished this saddle in time, McKenna took the admonition to heart. “Of course I do. And I’ll be sure to reinforce that at home too. Both Robert and I appreciate the opportunities you’re giving us, and we’ll work hard not to disappoint.”

“I’m not worried about you, ma’am. Your word is your bond, I can tell.” He glanced down at Emma, and his sun-wreathed features softened. “And you’d at least have an excuse. How are things going for you . . . with the little one?”

McKenna schooled a smile. “They’re going very well, thank you. We’re all getting along quite well.”

As if on cue, Emma whined, “Aunt Kenny, I’m hungry. You promised!”

Shushing her, McKenna tried to give her an endearing pat on the head, but Emma squirmed from her reach. Looking at Mr. Trenton, McKenna pretended it didn’t bother her. “Actually, we’ve already had breakfast. But she hardly eats enough to keep a bird alive.” She didn’t want him to think she was starving the child.

“That’s cuz your biscuits are
hard
.” Emma held up her doll. “Clara didn’t like ’em either.”

Mr. Trenton laughed softly.

“Kenny knocked over the milk pail too.” Emma’s bottom lip pudged out. “So we didn’t have no milk.”

Embarrassed, McKenna grasped Emma’s hand, despite the child’s attempt to avoid her. “So we didn’t have
any
milk,” she gently corrected. “We had a bit of an accident this morning is all, Mr. Trenton. Everything is fine. I’ve milked cows before. I just need to get to know Summer a bit better.”

Emma nodded. “Cuz she kicked you real good, huh, Aunt Kenny?”

“The cow kicked you, Miss Ashford?” Mr. Trenton frowned. “Are you all right?”

“Oh . . .” McKenna waved him off. “I’m fine. I’ve worked around animals all my life. An ornery cow isn’t going to get the best of me.” Though it nearly had this morning. She resisted the urge to rub her shoulder. The same one she’d hurt when she first arrived in town. The cow had given no warning and, before she knew it, she was on her back in the hay, staring up at the rafters with the wind knocked out of her. And with shards of pain shooting down her arm and back. A bruise was already forming—again.

Bidding Mr. Trenton good day, she and Emma took their leave and were headed in the direction of the laundry where she’d met the Chinese woman when a delicious aroma drew them off course.

Emma sniffed the air. “I’m hungry.”

“Yes, I know. I am too.”

Hand in hand, they set off down the boardwalk and paused in front of an open door.
Ming’s Bakery
. Whatever was baking smelled of cinnamon and sweetness, and seeing the anticipation on Emma’s face, McKenna decided to take advantage of the situation.

She knelt. “Emma, if you promise to be a good girl and to do as I say today, I’ll get you something special from the bakery. Do you promise?”

Emma’s eyes went wide. Her head bobbed up and down.

“All right then.” McKenna extended her hand and Emma took it without hesitation. This was more like it.

They stepped inside and were immediately met by waves of heat coming from an oven somewhere in the back. No one worked the front counter, but fresh-baked goods occupied every inch of shelf space. Loaves of bread all fluffy and tall, not a fallen one in the bunch. Along with crusty-looking rolls whose golden sheen promised soft, airy textures within, unlike the
hard
biscuits McKenna had made that morning. She gave Emma a sideways glance.

The cute little urchin . . .

She’d wanted to wring Emma’s tiny neck when she’d said that about her biscuits to Mr. Trenton. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought Robert had put her up to it as a joke.

But Robert didn’t kid around like that. Not anymore . . .

A pounding drew her attention, and she stepped to one side to peer through an open door into the kitchen. A dark-haired woman stood with her back to them, an apron cinched about her tiny waist. She raised a balled fist and brought it down with surprising force.

She did this repeatedly, and it took McKenna a few seconds to realize what she was doing. She was kneading dough. Pounding it into submission was more like it. And she talked while she worked, except McKenna couldn’t see anyone else in the room, and she didn’t understand the language.

She took a step forward. “Excuse me?”

The woman kept pummeling the dough, then picked up the complacent lump and slammed it down again. Flour plumed white around her, and the sound of her voice grew more ragged.

McKenna stepped closer. There was no one else in the kitchen, and if not mistaken, she guessed the woman was crying. Not knowing what to do—whether to go or stay—her hunger made the final decision. “Excuse me, ma’am?”

No response.

She tried a third time, louder this time, and the woman jumped and turned, her dark eyes going wide.

McKenna recognized her instantly, and the grief she’d only glimpsed in the woman’s face on her first day in Copper Creek now shone undeniably. Tears streaked her cheeks, leaving lines in the flour that dusted her flawless complexion. Remembering the Chinese man she’d been with—her husband?—McKenna couldn’t help but wonder if the woman’s tears stemmed from something having to do with him. He’d seemed a stern man, and not an easy partner to live with.

She tried offering an apologetic smile, feeling very much an intruder at the moment.

The Chinese woman removed her apron, brushed the flour from her clothes, and made her way toward them with the same short, measured steps McKenna remembered from before. And she bowed repeatedly. “Most sorry, ma’am.” With movements smooth and graceful, she tucked errant strands of straight dark hair back into the bun at the nape of her neck and moved behind the counter, where she could barely see over the top. “Serve, please?”

Her voice was soft. What few English words she spoke, she did with clarity and perfect pronunciation.

McKenna motioned behind them, including Emma in the gesture. “We smelled your bread from the street and couldn’t resist coming inside.” She realized she was speaking louder than normal and purposefully quieted her voice. “Something smells delectable.”

The woman squinted ever so slightly. “De-lec-ta-ble?” She glanced at the array of baked goods and shook her head.

McKenna breathed in. “They smell
delicious
.” She licked her lips. “
Mmm
. . .”

“Ah.” The woman’s face lit. “De-li-cious.” She patted her stomach. “
Haochi.
”

McKenna repeated the words, butchering both the pronunciation and the voice inflection. But with accustomed graciousness, the woman gave an affirming nod, and a smile gradually dispelled the sadness from her features. McKenna felt an instant connection with her, as she had the first time they’d met. But there was something else too . . .

Being in her company made her realize how much she missed Janie. And she wondered if the ache inside her—the wound left at Janie’s death—would ever fully heal.

Staring at the Chinese woman before her, McKenna questioned whether the woman remembered who she was, then caught the answer in her gesture.

“All . . . better now?” she said, dark eyes expectant.

McKenna held out her left palm. “Yes, all better now. Dr. Foster stitched it up for me and it healed with barely a scar.”

Again, uncertainty fogged the woman’s countenance.

McKenna mimicked threading a needle and pretended to sew her hand.

Understanding slowly dawned. “Ah . . .
Xian
.” The woman made a similar stitching motion. “
Thread
,” she said, pronouncing the “th” with purposed care.

“Yes, very good!” Enjoying the exchange, McKenna felt a tug on her skirt.

“I want that one, Kenny.” Emma pointed to a pastry on a lower shelf. Something similar to a cake, except small like a muffin, and round. Symbols of some sort were imprinted on the top, along with what looked like a half moon.

The woman moved from behind the counter and knelt, matching Emma’s height. “Moon cake.” She held a hand out toward the pastry Emma had indicated. “You . . . like?”

Emma nodded and plucked at Clara’s yellow yarn hair, summoning a most pitiful look. “I’m still hungry.” She peered up briefly. “Kenny’s biscuits aren’t very good.”

McKenna resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Quite the little stage actress—like Janie used to accuse
her
of being when they were girls.
Emma’s just like you, Kenny. When we were young.
The words reached out to her from Janie’s deathbed, and only in that moment did McKenna begin to see the similarities between herself and Emma.

The child mirrored Janie’s lithe build and fair coloring, but she also possessed an independence that had never described Janie Talbot. And for once in her life, McKenna began to question whether that particular characteristic was as admirable a trait as she’d thought when applied to herself.

The Chinese woman brushed a finger against Emma’s cheek, and Emma gave her a smile reminiscent of an angel.
Unbelievable . . .