The Inheritance (20 page)

Using his shirttail, Robert wiped his bloodied chin. “I saw the guy draw from the bottom, sheriff. I know I did.”

Sheriff Dunn’s stare turned appraising. “How much did you lose?”

Robert looked away, murmuring.

“Say again?” Dunn’s voice gained an authoritative edge.

“Forty bucks,” Robert said.

Forty bucks!
Wyatt could well imagine what McKenna’s reaction to learning this would be. Since when did working at a livery pay that kind of wage? It didn’t. But a few good hands at a poker table might.

Dunn shook his head and laid a fatherly hand on Robert’s shoulder. “What you’ve done tonight deserves jail time.” He sighed. “But I know you’re new to Copper Creek, so I’m willing to—”

“Sheriff Dunn, could
I speak to you for a moment, sir?” Wyatt indicated with a nod. “Outside?”

The sheriff hesitated, then gestured for Robert to step inside an empty cell and closed the door behind him. “We’ll be right back.” He followed Wyatt outside.

Aware of the open side window, Wyatt kept his voice low. “Sheriff, this is your town and you’re free to run it however you see fit. So don’t hear me saying otherwise. But I know something about this situation, and about that boy in there. And I believe that . . .” He had trouble voicing it. Not because he didn’t feel it was the right thing to do, but because he knew Miss Ashford would probably never speak to him again if she ever found out he’d encouraged this. “I believe letting the boy spend time in one of those cells would do him good. I see the path he’s headed down, sir, because I walked that very—”

Dunn raised a hand. “Marshal, I appreciate what you’re saying.” He glanced at the closed door. “But I’ve seen a lot of boys from back East come through this town. They sow a few wild oats and then manage to settle down. A firm warning goes a long way with most of them. And from the looks of things, you’ve already administered that yourself tonight.”

Wyatt looked at the bloodied knuckles on his right hand, doubting that what he’d done to Robert would even faze the boy.

“Robert Ashford’s not the felon you’re used to dealing with, Marshal. He’s young. And he’s cocky, to be sure. But I think jail time would only fuel the fire inside him right now, and it would embarrass his sister something fierce. Which I’d like to avoid, if I can. Seems she’s already been through enough since they moved here.” He leveled his gaze. “My thinking is that some of Robert’s problems stem from that. And that they’ll work themselves out, given time.”

Wyatt thought about what he’d said and considered respectfully disagreeing with him, yet he knew Dunn well enough to know the man’s mind was made up. He remembered what his own father had done to him in a similar situation, years ago. Or rather, what his father had allowed him to do to himself. Finally, he nodded. “I appreciate you wanting to help the boy, Sheriff. And I hope you’re right.”

But deep inside, Wyatt knew he wasn’t. Because some lessons just couldn’t be taught. They had to be learned. And they always came at a price.

EIGHTEEN

W
hat happened to your chin?” McKenna set the coffeepot on the kitchen table and touched the side of Robert’s face.

He flinched and pulled back. “It’s nothing. I got hurt yesterday at work, that’s all.”

“Got hurt? How?” She poured Emma’s glass half-full of fresh milk and took her seat.

“Cutting some wood,” he answered, avoiding her gaze. “A board popped up and hit me.”

Taking a bite of eggs, she eyed him, skeptical. He reached for the loaf of bread between them. It was overly browned and hadn’t risen this morning, like always. If anything, it was even more concave than usual. Whether because the yeast was old or she wasn’t getting Janie’s oven hot enough, she didn’t know. But baking bread in these mountains was presenting a new level of challenge for her. Not that she’d ever mastered the basics.

Robert picked up the bread and, after closer inspection, set it down again. He ate a piece of bacon in two bites and started in on his eggs.

McKenna sipped her coffee, trying for a casual tone. “Did you think to check the lever on the vice? Maybe it wasn’t tight enough.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It all happened pretty fast.”

“Because if it’s the equipment, then maybe you should speak with Mr. Trenton about—”

“I’m fine, Kenny! Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried, Robert. I’m only suggesting that if it’s the equipment, then perhaps you should let—”

“I said don’t worry about it!” He exhaled through clenched teeth. “And I don’t need your advice.”

She set her cup down, wondering what she’d done to elicit such a reaction. Watching him—the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes, the surly air about him—suspicions rose inside her, one after the other. She swallowed the lukewarm coffee, its taste more bitter than usual.

Two mornings ago, he’d come to breakfast with his right eye swollen and purpling. He’d told her it was the result of hefting crates onto a high shelf. One of the crates had slipped, he’d said. She’d chosen to believe him. Accidents happened—that was part of working in the livery. But something didn’t feel right about this.

Robert finished his eggs, grabbed the last two slices of bacon, and rose, shoving back his chair. McKenna hadn’t eaten any bacon yet but said nothing. She noticed Emma watching him, eyes wide. Emma scooped up the half piece of bacon left on her own plate and tucked it deep in her lap. Emma was usually more subdued when Robert was around, which was probably for the better.

Anticipating Robert’s response to her next question, McKenna readied herself. “Did you get paid yesterday?”

He paused, cup midway to his mouth, and the tension in the room thickened. He stared straight at her, which made what she was certain he was about to say all the worse.

“Trenton said he was short on funds. Said he’d pay me double next week.”

McKenna lowered her gaze to her plate, unable to connect with the familiar gray of her brother’s eyes and the telling tilt of his head. Her eggs had grown cold, like her faith in him. She kept her voice calm, not wanting to alarm Emma. “I’m going to ask you a question, Robert, and I want a straight answer.” Slowly, she raised her head, her anger bled free of compassion. “Where is the money?”

His face was a smooth mask. “I told you. Trenton said he’d—”

“I raised you, Robert . . . Don’t forget that. I know when you’re lying.” Just like he’d lied to her that night in St. Joseph nearly a year ago, when the livery two streets over from theirs— belonging to their longtime competitor—had been torched to the ground.

The muscles in his jaw went taut, and she read his thoughts as easily as if they were written on his forehead. He didn’t care if they lost this place. He didn’t care if they faced the same disgrace and humiliation in Copper Creek that they’d endured back home.

Anger rose inside her. Not for Robert—that was already there. But for their father—for him having left them this way. For his contribution to the current condition of their lives.

Despite her attempt to stop it, a single tear slipped down her cheek. She bowed her head, feeling old inside. And tired. Tired of being strong, tired of being the one who always held everything together. Who had to be responsible, no matter what. Every day they fell further behind with the farm work. Two weeks had passed, and still no one had answered her advertisement for a ranch hand. And no one would. Not with what she could afford to pay them.

The slam of the door brought her head up. She walked to the window and spotted Robert going into the barn. She waited, dabbing her face with her apron, fully expecting him to ride out on the gray dappled mare and race toward town. Again.

But when he emerged from the barn, he was leading the pair of work horses. She could only stare as he began hitching them to the hay wagon. As well as she thought she knew him, he could still surprise her. Still, he hadn’t explained where last week’s pay had gone—though she could imagine. And she still didn’t know how she was going to provide Mr. Billings with the next installment on the homestead.

“An inheritance incorruptible,
and undefiled, and that fadeth not
away, reserved in heaven for you.”

Like a familiar whisper, the fragment of scripture came softly. She’d read the passage often in recent days, asking God to make it clearer. She thought she understood about the heavenly inheritance, but the part about faith being
tried
with fire—that gave her pause. She could honestly say she didn’t doubt God’s existence. She’d seen His undeniable hand often enough to recognize His sovereignty. It was the manner in which He chose to display that sovereignty that proved most difficult for her. And the hardest to understand. Yet she was determined to remain strong, however much it seemed that, almost at every turn, she was being beaten down.

The sound of lips smacking brought her around. Emma was on her knees in a chair, pulling out chunks of bread from the underside of the deformed loaf. She dipped them in the honey bowl then slurped off the sweet syrup.

“It’s good like this,” she said, licking her fingers. “Want some?”

McKenna returned to the table, appreciating the playfulness in Emma’s tone. Hand in her pocket, she fingered her mother’s handkerchief nestled there and gained strength from it. Every stain was gone. How had Mei done that?

A thought came . . .

She knew the likelihood of its success was slim since it was Sunday. But still, the possibility offered a welcome diversion.

She pulled off a chunk of bread and dipped it as Emma had done, then popped it in her mouth and chewed. Then quickly spit it out again.

Emma giggled, wrinkling her nose. “You’re not supposed to eat it. Just suck the honey off.”

McKenna laughed softly. “
Now
you tell me.” She drank a sip of Emma’s milk to wash away the taste and then leaned forward, summoning her most conspiratorial tone. “Would you like to go into town with me this afternoon? After we finish our chores?”

Eyes bright, Emma scrambled down from her chair. “Can we go see Miss Mei? And get a moon pie?”

McKenna tousled the child’s soft blonde hair and earned a grin in return. “That’s exactly what I had in mind.”

Later that afternoon, with Emma’s hand tucked sweetly inside hers, McKenna knocked again and tried the latch on the bakery door. It was locked, as she’d suspected.

“Mei’s not here?”

She squeezed Emma’s tiny hand, appreciating the lack of whine in her voice. “No, she’s not. But that doesn’t mean we still can’t have a nice treat somewhere. The three of us!” She playfully plucked Emma’s nose, then the button nose of the rag doll. “Come on, let’s go!”

They set off down the boardwalk as though starting an adventure. And for the moment, McKenna pushed aside thoughts of Robert and chose to concentrate on the little girl beside her.

Before coming into town, she and Emma had visited the graves on the hilltop behind the cabin, and Emma had picked wildflowers to put on Vince, Janie, and baby Aaron’s graves. It wasn’t the first time they’d done that, but McKenna had been struck again by the peacefulness of the spot, nestled on a bluff overlooking the valley.

Over the past two weeks, the emotional tug of war between her and Emma had lessened. They weren’t growing closer as much as they were still getting to know each other. McKenna drew strength from something her mother had often said— that a person had to learn to walk before they could run. So she tried to view these small steps as progress, even though Emma wasn’t yet affectionate with her like she’d been with Dr. Foster. Or for that matter, with Wyatt Caradon—
Wyatt Caradon . . .

Without trying, she remembered so much about him. The commanding way he carried himself. That funny little half smile he gave when he was amused by something she’d said, whether she’d intended it to be humorous or not. And the way he’d held Vince and Janie’s precious baby boy in his arms, as though the infant had still been delicate with life.

He’d been so determined to follow through on that promise to Janie. And yet, before that night, he’d never met her. McKenna felt a twinge of conviction remembering how she’d tried to talk him out of it. Yet he’d remained faithful to his word. Recalling his resolution, she couldn’t help but question if something else had influenced him to say yes to that—