The Inheritance (23 page)
This time Wyatt was certain he’d heard the word “home.” Believing he understood, he indicated for the man to start on ahead with Mei, and motioned that he and McKenna and Emma would follow.
With McKenna and Emma walking beside him, they followed a few paces behind, and he kept his voice low. “I think he said he wants us to follow them.”
“You speak Chinese?” Disbelief weighed McKenna’s tone.
He laughed softly. “No, I don’t. That’s why I said
I think
he wants us to follow them. For all I know I just agreed for us to plow his field.” He smiled. “But no matter what he says, would you please let me answer for us? And if he’s inviting us to their home, it’s a great honor. Be sure to take off your shoes before you step inside. Both you and Emma. It’s part of their culture.”
“How do you know all this?”
He couldn’t explain it, but he liked having the upper hand on this woman. He had a feeling it wouldn’t happen often. “A few years back, I was assigned to investigate several complaints filed by Chinese workers against the Union Pacific.” He told her how he’d lived in their camps and had opportunity to learn something of their culture. “I picked up a little of the language while I was there.”
At the corner, Mei’s husband crossed the street and headed toward the opposite boardwalk.
Wyatt felt a touch on his arm and slowed his pace. The stubbornness in McKenna’s expression
from moments before was gone.
She paused beside him. “What happened to Mei’s feet?” She glanced at the couple ahead of them. “Did
he
do that to her?”
The bitterness in her accusation caught him off guard, and it took him a few seconds to realize who she was referring to. “No, he didn’t do that to her. It was done to her a long time ago . . . by her parents, most likely. I’ll explain more once we’re—”
“What happened to Mei’s feet, Marshal Caradon?”
At her repeated question, Wyatt guessed she wasn’t going to be easily put off. This wasn’t the best time to be discussing this, but if she and Mei were going to be friends, it was best she know. He waited for two elderly gentlemen to pass. “It’s a custom among the Chinese people called foot binding. They’re also known as Lotus feet. When a little girl reaches the age of about six . . .”
Reminded of Emma standing beside them holding McKenna’s hand, he further lowered his voice. “They take bandages and bind the girl’s toes under her feet, to prevent her feet from growing.” He couldn’t keep from wincing, remembering what he’d been told. “Eventually her toes break. And her feet become concave.”
The color drained from McKenna’s face, and he wondered if he’d done the right thing in telling her now.
“Go on,” she finally whispered.
“I don’t know much else about it. Other than, even as an adult”—he glanced to see Mei’s husband climbing the stairs to the boardwalk—“it’s impossible for a woman with Lotus feet to walk any distance without a lot of pain.”
Tears of compassion rose in McKenna’s eyes but couldn’t extinguish the fire of indignation there too. He’d reacted much the same way when learning about the practice, minus the tears.
“Aunt Kenny, you’re hurtin’ my hand!”
“Oh!” McKenna sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to.” She blinked as though trying to clear images from her mind and turned back to him. “You’ve seen other Chinese women who’ve had this done to them?”
He nodded. “Unfortunately, it’s common in their culture. Has been for years, is my understanding.”
“Can anything be done to heal her?”
“Nothing that I know of, but Doc Foster could speak more to that than I can.” He’d anticipated her concern for a woman like Mei, but not this fierce sense of protection for Chin Mei in particular.
She didn’t speak for a moment, and Wyatt had no doubt in his mind that Doc Foster would be receiving a visit from her real soon. He only hoped she’d use discretion when speaking of this to Chin Mei.
Across the street, Mei’s husband had stopped in front of a shop and was steadying Mei as she stood and gradually regained her balance. The man turned and looked in Wyatt’s direction.
Wyatt took the hint and led McKenna and Emma to join them.
Mei was the first to speak. “Thank you . . . sir.” She bowed. “You . . . good help.”
Her husband nodded as though in agreement.
Wyatt tipped his hat. “It was my pleasure to help, ma’am. Sir.”
Mei directed her attention to the man beside her and she touched his arm, her eyes shining with pride. “
Zhangfu
. . . Chin Li.”
Husband
. Wyatt recalled the word. He extended his hand and bowed briefly. “Good to meet you, Mr. Chin. My name’s Wyatt Caradon.”
Chin Li’s grip was plenty firm. “Mr. Caradon.” He pronounced the name swiftly and with confidence, then shifted his gaze to McKenna. And wariness crept in.
Wyatt curbed a smile, seeing the man had good instincts.
“My name is McKenna Ashford, Mr. Chin.” McKenna spoke with surprising grace, given her earlier accusation against the man.
Chin Li didn’t say anything but gave a curt nod, and Wyatt stared between the two of them. He’d figured they had just met. But they obviously shared a history, and he was curious to know what it was.
“Caradon,” Chin Li said, and motioned above him.
Wyatt peered up to see a wooden shingle hanging over the doorway.
Laundry
.
Chin Li pointed to the sign again. “Wash,” he said. “For you.”
Wyatt gradually gathered his meaning. There was no call for the man to offer to launder his clothes, but refusing would be rude. He bowed again. “Your generosity honors me, Mr. Chin.
Xiexie,
” he added—
thank you
—hoping again that his memory held.
A smile teased the corners of Chin Li’s mouth. “
Xiexie
.” He nodded, then looked at McKenna. His smile vanished, his lips went firm. Mei whispered something to him, and Chin Li shot back a response. Mei lowered her eyes.
“Aunt Kenny?” Emma pulled on McKenna’s shirtsleeve. “What about our treat? You promised.”
McKenna shushed her, which only encouraged a pout.
Awkwardness stretched the moment taut.
Without a word, Mei raised her chin and peered up at her husband. A subtle glance passed between them before she quickly bowed her head again. But Wyatt watched as a fraction of Chin Li’s stubbornness evaporated. A thin layer, and not without effort, telling by Chin’s furrowed brow. But the challenge in his eyes lessened. Seeing the exchange tugged on Wyatt’s emotions, and turned time back on itself. With a similar touch, Caroline used to communicate so much to him. Without ever saying a word. He missed being known so intimately by someone.
No, not just known by someone . . . but by a woman.
Chin cleared his throat and lifted his head by degrees. “Wash . . . for you,” he said to McKenna, with far less enthusiasm.
McKenna’s expression remained guarded, and Wyatt prayed she wouldn’t refuse the offer. As her silence lengthened, so did his unease.
“That’s very generous of you, Mr. Chin,” she finally said, with the same scarcity of feeling with which the gift was offered.
After several awkward bows and backward waves, Wyatt and McKenna rounded the corner—Emma filling the space between them—and Wyatt peered down beside him. “So I take it that you and Chin Li have met before?”
“Yes, we have. On the same day you nearly ran me over.”
A faint smile touched her mouth, and he listened as she told him about what Mei had done for her that day. “But that man . . .” She shook her head. “The way he speaks to her—I don’t like it.”
Wyatt chose his next words carefully. “So you understand what he’s saying to her then?”
That earned him a raised brow. “I understand his tone.”
He nodded, letting the silence answer for him.
“Don’t tell me that’s part of their culture too. For husbands to speak harshly to their wives.”
“I didn’t say that.”
She huffed. “You heard him speak to her today.”
“I saw a husband concerned about his wife. And, I’m not saying it’s best, but sometimes concern like that can come out a little harsh . . . based on how much a man loves a woman.”
McKenna held his gaze for several beats then stared straight ahead, and he got the feeling his answer hadn’t been well received. They walked in silence until they reached the corner, and she paused.
“Thank you, Marshal Caradon, for your help with Chin Mei. And for bringing Emma back to me safely. I appreciate what you did, and I . . .” She
looked at him briefly, then away. “I wish I could think of some way to thank you, but, since you’re leaving in the morning . . .”
Her expression was the picture of remorse, but unmistakable relief tinged the edges of her voice.
Wyatt eyed her, not wanting her to go. And not willing to let her off so easy. “It was my pleasure to help, Miss Ashford. On both counts.” With her sudden shyness, it felt as if they’d taken a step back in the familiarity department. Wyatt stared at his boots, juggling the nervous pangs of a schoolboy while struggling with the desires of a man. “If you and Emma don’t have plans for dinner, ma’am . . . I’d consider it an honor to treat you both.”
Emma perked up. “Dinner! I’m hungry!”
“You’re always hungry.” Her smile a mite too perfect, McKenna tapped the child’s nose. “We both appreciate the offer, but I need to get Emma home and cleaned up.”
Wyatt glanced at the child’s clothes, having forgotten about that. “Tell you what, I’ll go get us some dinner and we can eat under the trees across the way there.” He pointed to a grassy spot alongside Copper Creek. “Wouldn’t take but a few minutes, then I could see you home. Since it’ll be dark soon.”
Blue eyes wide, Emma nodded. “Yes, Kenny.
Please
, can we?”
“That’s most kind of you, Marshal. But I’ve still got a lot of work to do this evening.”
“But I’m hungry, Kenny!”
McKenna shook her head. “I’ll fix us something once we’re home.”
“Can Mr. Wyatt come with us? Please?”
Wyatt’s affinity for the child deepened, as did the humor in the moment, and he decided to let things play out. He noticed McKenna didn’t correct the child and tell her to call him Marshal Caradon, which suited him fine. Emma looked up at him, expectant, and he shot her a quick wink. McKenna seemed intent on looking anywhere but at him, which only increased his patience. And his hopes.
Finally, McKenna scraped together what looked like the remnants of a smile and met his gaze. And he knew her answer.
“I’m certain Marshal Caradon’s responsibilities keep him very busy, Emma.” She addressed the child, yet aimed the words at him. “He’s got an important job to do, and he has to get up very early in the morning to leave again. We don’t want to interfere with his plans.”
In all his years of marshaling, he’d never been shot down so fast.
Watching her, hearing what she
wasn’t
saying, Wyatt clearly heard what she meant. She said she didn’t want to interfere with his plans, but what she really meant was that she didn’t want any part of his life. And he couldn’t blame her. Hadn’t he just come to grips with that himself? His responsibilities as a U.S. Marshal left little room for anything else. Or anyone . . .
They said good-bye. And when he reached the corner, he snuck a backward look behind him, wondering if McKenna might do the same—she didn’t.
He walked to Ming’s alone and ate a too-quiet dinner at a table for four and returned to his room at the boardinghouse, dreading the deafening quiet yet unable to stomach another evening at a saloon. Not tonight. He opened the door and spotted something on the floor.
An envelope had been slipped beneath.
He picked it up. A telegram. From the U.S. Marshals Office. Groaning, he tossed it on the bed along with his hat.
He stood at the window for the longest time and stared up at the mountains. Painted in shades of molten steel, the lofty peaks gave him comfort. He didn’t know why, they just did. Maybe it was because they’d been here for so long. They’d withstood so much and still rose proudly, a testament to things that lasted. He sighed. The languid summer sun was barely touching the highest peaks in the west. Thirty minutes to sunset at least, maybe forty-five, this being the middle of July. Plenty of time for them to get back to the ranch before dark.
He’d wanted so badly for her to say yes. He hadn’t realized how much until she’d said no. He didn’t blame her. He blamed himself. For making choices in his life that had led him to this. He ran a hand through his hair, then turned back to the telegram.
He snatched it and tore open the envelope.
The Marshals Office was forever changing his orders, sending him here and there on a whim of a rumor that someone had seen so-and-so here or there, and he was sick and tired of—
He stopped. He read the brief message again. They’d given him a lead on Grady Polk, the man he’d been looking for, which was good enough. But it was the rest of the telegram that turned his mood for the better. Finally, after all these years, the Marshals Office had gotten something right. And he might just get another crack at that dinner with McKenna Ashford, and that sweet little Emma, after all.
