The Inheritance (26 page)

He walked the short distance to the gaming hall and peered inside.

“Not bad card playin’ . . . for an old man,” Robert Ashford yelled again, his voice slurred.

Wyatt could only stare. What was the boy doing in Severance?

Seated across from Robert, a bear of a man slowly rose from the card table. Robert laughed, too drunk to realize he was about to get payback—in spades. The man’s fist was about as big around as Robert’s head, and when the two connected, Robert fell back like a two-ton stone, chair and all.

Every seat at every table was occupied, and the rabble of miners, both young and old, applauded and whooped, urging the big man on. Men on their way upstairs paused to watch, and scantily clad women leaned over the railing to get a better view, while also giving one. Wyatt purposefully looked elsewhere. Everybody in the place had apparently had their fill of Robert Ashford. And from the looks of Robert, he’d had his fill too.

Wyatt walked on in, but left Robert where he lay. Bloodied face and all.

If he interfered now, he’d draw attention to himself—not what the Marshals Office had in mind—and he might make things worse for Robert. He hoped when the kid came to, that the last fistful might’ve knocked some sense into him, and they could head on down the mountain together.

But he had his doubts.

He took a seat at the bar, near the end where he could keep an eye on things. He ordered a drink and watched Robert taking up floor space across the room. Hard to reconcile that boy being related to McKenna Ashford.

From what little he’d seen of Miss Ashford with her brother, Wyatt figured if she were here, she’d be asking him to carry Robert out right now, or would’ve dragged him out herself. She’d be tending her brother’s wounds and trying to sober him up with black coffee. Loving on him like she thought a big sister should. When really, she’d only be digging a little deeper the hole Robert had already dug for himself.

The bartender set a whiskey before him, and Wyatt sipped slowly, willing the drink to ease the dull thud inside his brain.

Sometimes you had to let a person stumble, let ’em fall flat out—no matter how much it hurt to see—before they could come to grips with how bad off they were. Because until a person realized that, there wasn’t much helping them. He knew that well enough, but doubted McKenna would agree when it came to her kid brother.

He scanned the faces in the room, most grizzled and rough from years of hard work, some young enough they hadn’t had their spark snuffed out yet.

Robert stirred on the floor, and to Wyatt’s surprise, the boy got up, righted his chair, and seated himself at the table again. The kid’s skull must be made of oak! Robert swayed for a few seconds, his eyes going wide then squinting again as though he were having trouble focusing.

Wyatt noticed the bartender motion to one of the women, who sauntered over and situated herself on Robert’s lap, facing him. Wyatt held back, waiting. If Robert headed for the staircase with her, he’d find a way to intervene. Money was one thing to squander and lose, his innocence was another. If it wasn’t already too late for that.

Focusing on the woman’s low-cut bodice, Robert dug into his pockets and came up with a few coins. Palm up, he held them out to her. She looked at him and huffed, and called him a coarse name that drew laughs from those nearby—especially the brick wall of a man sitting across from him.

Robert shoved back his chair and threw the coins on the table. One of them bounced up and hit the man in the face, and the fellow reacted. His punch sent Robert sailing again. He went down, but didn’t stay down this time.

Robert gave his head a quick shake, let out a low growl, and charged.

Wyatt shook his head. The kid was outmuscled and outmatched. He’d be sore and bruised tomorrow, and his head would hurt something awful, but so far it was just fists. He’d live to tell the tale—if he weren’t too far gone to remember.

When two more men teamed up against him, Wyatt’s concern notched up. He’d been ordered not to do anything to draw attention to himself. The assignment demanded it. Lives depended on it. But he wouldn’t stand by and watch Robert get beaten to a pulp either—despite the kid asking for it. Yet he and Robert couldn’t take on the entire room, which is what it could come down to if he jumped in now.

Robert got in a couple of respectable licks on the two men closer to his size. Even drunk, the boy held his own fairly well. Until the large man penned him from behind.

Wyatt stood up and pushed his way through the crowd.

Being cheered on, the men delivered repeated blows to Robert’s face. And with each one, Robert’s taunts grew more unintelligible. Was the kid trying to get himself killed?

Wyatt was a few feet from Robert when the cheering fell silent. All heads turned toward the staircase.

He followed their line of vision to see a man descending the stairs, a woman by his side. The man was well dressed—too well dressed for Severance—and surveyed the room below him with an air of bored distraction.

Wyatt felt like he should know him, but couldn’t place why. Maybe he’d seen a drawing of the man’s face on some poster, though he couldn’t recollect it. He did, however, get the strong impression that if there was some kind of criminal activity being headed up in Severance, this man would not only know about it, he’d be calling the shots.

At the man’s faintest nod, the men holding Robert let go.

And Robert fell to the floor, motionless.

“—And then Aunt Kenny
poked
him with a big fork, and he went away!” Emma said, acting out the scene as Mei’s eyes grew wide.

The seriousness of what could have happened days earlier was never far from McKenna’s mind, yet Emma’s dramatic retelling of the events prompted a smile. As did watching Mei who sat beside her, nodding and smiling politely as though the child were recounting the antics of a Sunday afternoon picnic.

“I think Mei understands me, Kenny.”

Certain that Mei didn’t, McKenna wasn’t about to dash Emma’s hopes. “I think Mei likes you very much and enjoys listening to you.”

Looking around Chin Li and Mei’s second-story apartment, McKenna was glad she and Emma had stopped by the bakery that afternoon. She’d wanted to share a book with Mei in preparation for their first lesson. As it turned out, Mei was just leaving and—through a series of amusing charades—invited her and Emma to follow her home. Sensing the invitation was a great honor, McKenna prepared Emma on the way, thankful Wyatt had told her about the custom of removing shoes.

But she was even more thankful that Chin Li apparently wasn’t home. She didn’t look forward to their next encounter.

Emma reached for one of the pastries Mei had offered upon their arrival. Before her fingers touched the moon cake, Emma turned in McKenna’s direction and batted her big blue eyes, her question clear.

McKenna nodded, pleased she’d sought permission.

With her sparkling eyes and honey blonde hair, Emma was a beautiful little girl, despite her stubborn disposition. A shiver worked its way up McKenna’s spine as she remembered how that man had looked at Emma. Things could have turned out much differently that afternoon, which was why she’d already made changes to their routine at the homestead—to lessen the chance of being caught unaware again.

“You . . . like?”

McKenna turned to see Mei cupping her hands to her mouth as though she were drinking something. Understanding, McKenna nodded. “Yes, thank you. That would be nice.”

As Mei left the room, McKenna’s focus trailed downward. She’d visited with Dr. Foster about Mei, and he’d told her there was little that could be done for her feet. He’d seen Lotus feet before, but not often. The Chinese were a very private people, he’d explained, especially the women. And they usually depended on physicians in their own community or counsel from
elders for their remedies.

Chin Li and Mei’s home was located above the laundry. The apartment was small and the furnishings sparse, but it was very well kept. Everything had its place. And McKenna admired the neatness, quite a difference from the cabin where boxes and crates occupied nearly every corner, still waiting to be unpacked.

McKenna looked around the room, noting the vivid colors Mei had chosen in decorating, namely a vibrant shade of red. It was in everything—the cushions on the furniture, the wall hangings, tiny statues on tables, and pottery on the mantle. Even the ornate rugs covering the plank wood floor were fringed in scarlet hues. Calligraphy adorned one wall, painted with a wide brushstroke, and below it there appeared to be an altar of some sort, with a plate of food set before it.

Footsteps sounded and McKenna looked up, expecting to see Mei returning. Instead, the front door opened. From where she sat, she couldn’t see who it was. But fairly certain it was Chin Li, she fought the urge to grab Emma and make a run for the next room.

Chin Li stepped inside, but with his back to her. Seconds passed, and she discovered why . . .

He was assisting the same elderly gentleman from before, helping him maneuver the corner, and both men were laughing with each other, obviously unaware of her presence. Chin Li’s voice sounded higher-pitched than usual. He turned and it struck her that he actually looked friendly when he smiled. Even handsome, in a fearsome warrior-ish sort of way.

But when he saw her, his smile died. Back came his customary frown. He spoke to the older gentleman, who peered at her beneath deeply hooded eyes.

She glanced in the direction Mei had gone and silently begged her friend to return. Not certain what was customary in this instance, she began to rise, then paused and sat back down again. Men were supposed to stand up when women walked into a room, not the other way around. But what if the Chinese custom was different? What if the women usually rose or bowed low when men entered the room?

Catching Chin Li’s disapproving look, McKenna decided that if she was supposed to do something other than sit there and muster as sweet a smile as she could, Chin Li would just have to be disappointed.

He bowed. “Miss Ashford.”

Surprised at how well he pronounced her name, McKenna matched his civility. “Hello, Mr. Chin.” Doubting whether either man would take kindly to one of Emma’s outbursts, she was grateful the child remained seated quietly beside her for the moment, albeit Emma’s eyes brimmed with curiosity.

With a bow, Chin Li presented the elderly man beside him. “My honorable father . . .”

He said the name so quickly, she didn’t understand it—but she wasn’t about to ask him to repeat it. It hadn’t sounded like Chin, but it had to be.

Deciding to err on the side of caution, McKenna bowed her head low to the older gentleman, and lingered there longer. “Very nice to make your acquaintance, sir.” Where
was
Mei!

The two men exchanged a flurry of words, then stared at her again, their expressions identical, easily classified as suspicious. And the silence stretched beyond uncomfortable to excruciating.

“Ah.” Mei entered the room carrying a tray, and McKenna wanted to hug her.

Mei set the tray on a low-legged table in front of McKenna then turned and bowed to her husband and his father. Her voice was soft and inquisitive, and both men responded with a nod to whatever she’d said, then walked into the next room. But Chin Li’s backward glance revealed his displeasure.

The pot from which Mei poured the hot tea—at least it looked and smelled like tea—was one of the most beautiful McKenna had ever seen. The china cups shared the same exquisite design of blue and red flowers along the sides and stem, and she wondered if they might be a family heirloom.

“This is a very pretty tea set.” McKenna gestured to the pot and cups.

“Th-thank you.” Mei smiled and briefly closed her eyes in what looked like an abbreviated bow. They drank in silence, but every few seconds, Mei glanced at the door leading to the next room.

McKenna sipped, disappointed that their first lesson had been interrupted before it had even begun. She pointed to the clock on the table beside her. “Is now still a good time?”

Mei squinted and smiled, a sure sign she hadn’t understood.

McKenna reached for the book she’d brought with her. It was one she’d purchased for Emma, but as she and Emma had read through it last night, she realized it would serve well for her first few lessons with Mei.

Deciding to simplify things, McKenna held up the book. “Learn to . . . talk better?”

Mei nodded and touched the cover. “Yes! Talk better . . . to me.” She smiled.

Enthused once again, McKenna set aside her cup and opened the book. Mei leaned close. And as McKenna had done with Emma, she turned to the page with all the letters and sounded out each one, then flipped to the hand-drawn pictures, and started with the apple. Soon she moved to the boat, the cat, and the dog—corresponding words printed below each of the pictures—and marveled at how quickly Mei learned.

Mei retrieved a pad of paper and a quill, and she took notes as they went along. Mei copied each letter—jotting a series of symbols beside each one—and then repeated each one aloud, getting it near perfect the very first time. Mei was a bright pupil and much farther along in her basic knowledge of the English language than McKenna had thought.