The Inheritance (2 page)

Grasping her skirt with one hand, she made for the boardwalk, working to avoid numerous deposits left from animals who had passed that way. People occupying the planked walkway and those milling about the entry to the mercantile nodded when their eyes met hers. She returned their smiles when offered. Maybe she and Robert really could start over here.

Maybe Copper Creek could become home. A place where no one knew about their past.

Her spirits lightening, she stepped inside the mercantile. She’d meant to purchase a little something for Janie’s five-year-old daughter, Emma, before now, but hadn’t. Just a small gift, a token of appreciation for Emma’s willingness to share her room—only until McKenna arranged for another place for her and Robert to live. She thought of Emma’s drawings tucked safely inside her satchel. Sweetly penciled renditions of a cabin and barn that Janie had included with a recent letter. She could hardly wait to meet the little artist.

McKenna met an older couple coming down the main aisle of the mercantile and scooted aside to allow them room to pass. Catching a good-natured wink that the elderly gentleman tossed in her direction, she couldn’t miss the attentiveness he showered on the woman beside him. The way he held her steady at the elbow, his other hand cradling the small of her back. The way he anticipated the placement of her feet as she started down the boardwalk stairs. So caring. So gentle.

Watching
them, McKenna found herself smiling. How long had they been together? What manner of time and experience had fostered such closeness? A closeness so inherently personal, so endearing, it was nearly tangible. The questions nudged at a memory better left buried, and her smile faded.

There had been someone special in her life. Once. Someone she’d thought she might grow old with. But Michael’s love of honor and justice ended up taking him away from her. Honor was an attractive thing in a man. Until it crowded you out of his heart.

Unsettled by the memories, McKenna swallowed against the tightness in her throat and pulled her attention back to the task at hand.

After browsing for several moments, she finally settled on the perfect gift for Emma—a wooden toy consisting of a little cup with a ball attached by a string. She’d had something similar when she was about Emma’s age and had loved it. She paid for the item while eyeing a package of what looked to be homemade cookies on the counter. From where she stood, she smelled the sugar and spice. Her favorite.

“Would you like some cookies, ma’am? I bake them myself. Fresh every day.”

McKenna looked up at the woman behind the counter and then discreetly counted the dwindling coins in her change purse. “I’d better not today, thank you. It’s so close to dinner. But they do smell delicious.”

The compliment earned her a smile, but McKenna felt her cheeks burning all the same, sensing the woman knew her real reason for refusing. Thanking her, McKenna quickly exited the store, consoling her hunger with the knowledge that Janie would have dinner warming on the stove and a pan of her delicious buttermilk biscuits in the oven. It had been seven years, but McKenna still remembered the taste of Janie’s biscuits, along with the honey butter she served alongside.

Realizing she’d failed to ask the woman in the mercantile where the livery was, McKenna approached a gentleman on the street and made an inquiry.

“Which livery you want, ma’am? We got us three.”

Three?
She hoped Janie’s advice about which livery to contact had been sound. She needed the livery that would provide the most business for her and Robert. After the cost of traveling here, and then purchasing the horses and wagon, their funds were nearly depleted. “I’m referring to the livery owned by a Mr. Casey Trenton.”

He pointed. “Trenton’s place is on the other side of town, toward the mining camps.” The man—short of stature but with a wealth of heft about his middle to compensate—pursed his lips and eyed her up and down with improper leisure. “You just get off the stage, miss?”

McKenna caught the hint of onions on his breath and something untoward in his manner. “If you’ll excuse me.” She moved past him down the uneven walkway, ignoring his repeated attempts to pursue the conversation.

She headed in the direction he’d indicated, glancing behind her to make sure he wasn’t following. He was, but only with his eyes. She took the nearest side street. As a rule, for all their boast and swagger, men were an easily read gender consisting of too few chapters and all too common a subject.

It felt good to walk. She lengthened her stride, eager to conduct her business with Mr. Trenton, the livery owner, and find her way out to Vince and Janie’s before sunset. Which might be sooner than she expected with Copper Creek nestled so close between the mountains.
“A supply depot to nearby mining towns”
is what Janie had called Copper Creek, which McKenna hoped boded well for the use of both her and Robert’s talents.

She passed structures made of hand-hewn pine, closely spaced, as though still huddled together from the harsh winter this territory was known for. And yet, already, a liking for this place was growing inside her. She preferred it to the big-city feel of St. Joseph that she and Robert had left behind.

It would be good to see Janie again after all these years, Vince too. Janie was a cousin by blood, but more of a sister in heart. The sister McKenna had always wanted. Janie could well have had their second baby by now. She was due any day. The last letter McKenna had received had been dated two months ago, but spring was a busy time on a new ranch, not to mention when one had a five-year-old running underfoot. How well she remembered Robert at that age.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.” A young woman smiled as she passed on the boardwalk, a little boy situated on one hip and a slightly older one clutching her skirt, trailing behind.

“Good day.” McKenna grinned seeing the older boy’s short legs pumping to keep up, his smile saying he enjoyed the challenge. Robert had beamed that very same way as a toddler too, holding tight to her skirt as they’d gone to the mercantile together. She sighed. All that seemed like forever ago now. So much had changed.

She lifted her gaze to where the sun crept steadily toward the snowcapped peaks, lustering the mountains a burnished gold. Some days, admittedly, she’d wondered if she’d only been grasping at the last proverbial straw in coming to Copper Creek. But she’d prayed long and hard about it, investing many sleepless nights until finally . . . she’d felt a nudge inside. So it was gratifying to feel this deepening certainty settle inside her. Finally, a well-made decision.

She peered into shop windows as she passed—a women’s clothier and a cobbler’s shop, a bakery where the door stood propped open. The aroma of freshly baked bread and something sweet drifted through the portal and caused her pace to slow. Her stomach tightened in hunger. But she consoled herself again with thoughts of Janie waiting dinner on her, and continued on.

Cooking was a talent she possessed in fair amount, but baking was not. As a young boy, Robert had let her know that her leftover biscuits made excellent fodder for his slingshot. And he’d been right. But a woman couldn’t be good at everything. Best to learn early on what your strengths were and make the most of them. She’d been forced to learn her strengths early enough, and her weaknesses too, which were plenty.

She reached the end of the boardwalk and stepped down to the street. Some people might say she’d been forced to learn them at too young an age, but at least she’d—

Pounding hooves portended the rider only seconds before he was upon her.

McKenna dove from his path—narrowly escaping the horse’s hooves—and hit the boardwalk stairs with a thud. Searing pain shot through her shoulder and down into her left hand. The man
had
to have seen her, yet he’d made no effort to stop!

Blinking, disoriented, she finally managed to stand—only to hear the answering pursuit.

TWO

M
cKenna scrambled to move from the second rider’s path. But unlike the first man, this rider reined his mount sharp to the left to avoid her. Bits of gravel went flying as they rounded the corner. In one fluid motion, he swept aside his long black duster and retrieved the rifle sheathed on his saddle before cutting down an alleyway.

McKenna stared in the direction he’d disappeared, feeling an unpleasant pulsing in her left hand. Looking down, she discovered her left palm bloodied from a small gash at the base of her thumb. So much blood for so tiny a wound. But the cut went deep. Wincing, she reached inside her reticule for her handker—

She flinched at the sound of the gunshot.

The rifle’s report ricocheted off the mountains and reverberated in waves back across the town.

She paused, waiting, her pulse ticking off the seconds. But no more gunfire sounded.

Using the handkerchief, she stemmed the flow of blood and wrapped the delicate lace-edged cloth around the wound. Her mother’s initials, embroidered into the ivory material, quickly turned a deep crimson. She was certain of two things—the cut would need sutures to ensure proper healing. And the bloodstains would never wash clean from the treasured heirloom.

Steps on the boardwalk drew her attention, and she became aware of people who had
filtered out from shops and buildings onto the walkway. They searched up and down the street. A shuffling noise behind her brought her gaze up.

A petite woman, dark hair drawn straight back from her face and fastened in a knot at the nape of her neck, loomed above her on the boardwalk. “You hurt, miss?” Thin, black brows arched behind a razor-straight fringe of hair.

Her almond-shaped eyes were dark and probing, and McKenna’s first thought when looking into them was . . .
she’s
familiar with pain.

The woman gestured. “You hurt!” The inflection in her soft voice changed. She rose and turned, and with tiny mincing steps, she disappeared through a shop doorway and returned seconds later, clean cloth in hand.

McKenna couldn’t help but notice the woman’s gait and her shoes—blue slippers made of embroidered silk. Exquisite. So small. And so pointed.

Wordless, the woman stooped and reached for her hand. With motions that bespoke experience, she gently removed the handkerchief and rewrapped the injury with the fresh cloth, looping the material between McKenna’s thumb and forefinger, then around her wrist, with the practiced care of a physician.

Grateful, McKenna watched as she worked.

Delicate
described her best, as did
graceful
, and when the woman leaned down to tear the end of the soft cloth with her white teeth, McKenna got a whiff of something pleasant in her black hair. Her slim fingers worked quickly, tying the two ends of the makeshift bandage into a loose knot. Then she smiled and spoke in a language McKenna didn’t understand.

As if realizing what she’d just done, the woman quickly bowed her head and squinted as though searching for the words. “Better . . . now?”

McKenna glanced at the bandage. “Yes, much better now . . . thank you.” She tried moving her shoulder and grimaced. It wasn’t dislocated. Thanks to a spirited stallion a couple of years earlier, she knew what that felt like. Still, the joint would be sore for several days, not to mention bruised.

A man appeared in the doorway from which the woman had come, his countenance stern. He was shorter in stature, yet there was nothing weak-looking about him. The hair on the front of his head was shaved off above the temples, and he wore the rest in a tight braid extending down his back to his waist.

He addressed the woman in a sharp tone, and though McKenna couldn’t understand what he was saying, she got the gist of it—he wasn’t pleased.

The woman reacted immediately, grabbing the bloodied handkerchief as she rose. Instinctively, McKenna reached for it. “No, please, I—”

“I take,” the woman whispered. “I wash.” Her smile lived only a second before her expression smoothed into an unreadable mask. With hurried, stuttered steps, she moved to stand, head bowed, before the man who shared her distinctive features and clothing. She wore gray trousers, similar to his, though not as full, with a knee-length tunic of rich blue that mimicked the style of his outer coat.