The Inheritance (31 page)
She’d been so angry with Wyatt Caradon she could’ve spit nails. But as deep as her anger burned, her hurt and disappointment cut a far deeper gash. She’d wanted to trust him. She’d already made the mistake of trusting him . . . And then he’d accused her of not loving Robert! How could he even think something like that? And this after she’d confided in him about all she and Robert had been through as children, all Robert had endured, all she’d sacrificed—and still, he would say something so awful to her.
She studied her hands knotted at her waist. She was glad he was gone. She only wished she could silence that tiny part inside of her that, for some reason, kept wishing he were still here. Seeing how he’d held Emma and how tender he could be, she’d wanted to find a reason to trust him. So he could stay. So he could be the man she’d begun to believe he was. But if last night was any indication of how Wyatt Caradon would “help” Robert if he were around, then they truly were better off without him. Emma included.
With effort, McKenna pulled her focus back to the purpose of this visit. Rehashing the past never did any good, and it wouldn’t help her save Robert’s job.
“Aunt Kenny?” Emma’s voice sounded much smaller this time.
McKenna held up a forefinger. “One more minute, Emma, and then we’ll go.” Waiting for the last customer to leave, she dared broach the subject with Mr. Trenton one last time. “My brother needs this job, sir. I know you’re aware of some of the . . . challenges Robert’s personality can present. But he’s a good boy, and a fine wagonsmith, and I promise you he won’t be late again. From now on, I’ll see to it that he gets up on time and gets in here as he should. And stays until his work is completed.”
Trenton’s brow furrowed. “That’s a mighty tall order, ma’am.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He rolled his shoulders while massaging one side of his neck. “I mean that’s a tall order . . . guaranteeing another person’s word. I have a hard enough time keeping my own, much less somebody else’s.”
His voice held kindness, and yet McKenna felt a hidden barb. She couldn’t help but think of what Wyatt Caradon had said to her that morning—about rescuing Robert—which made Trenton’s statement sting all the more. But she knew from experience that some people simply couldn’t understand, because they’d never loved someone the way she loved Robert, and had quickly come to love Emma.
“If you’ll only give me a chance to make this work, sir, I promise you I’ll work hard. And Robert will be well before we know it.”
“You’re about as persistent a woman as they come, ma’am. And a right talented one, too. But you know how I feel about women working in a livery. It’s not right in my book. I think Robert’s a fine young man with a lot ahead of him—if he can get himself straightened out. But he hasn’t worked out well here. I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ve had customers complain, sayin’ he was rude to them. Or that he acted like it was interruptin’ his work to stop and help them.” He shook his head. “Without customers, ma’am, I ain’t got nothin’. You understand that, I know.”
He picked up the charred tongs and reached for another horseshoe buried deep in the fire of the forge, yet it was McKenna who felt burned. Not at Trenton’s hand, but by Robert’s. No matter what opportunity she tried to set in place for her brother, he always seemed to come behind her and set it aflame. And she was growing tired of sweeping up the ashes.
She took Emma’s hand and guided the child around the forge.
“Miss Ashford?”
She turned back.
Trenton wiped a hand on his apron, leaving a char-colored stain. “I realize I might’ve just talked myself out of working with the finest saddle maker in all of Colorado.” His smile held uncertainty. “But I sure hope I haven’t.”
“Our agreement hasn’t changed, Mr. Trenton. I gave you my word. And I’ll make good on it.” Even if she couldn’t make good on Robert’s.
Holding tight to Emma’s hand, McKenna maneuvered a path down the crowded boardwalk. She’d known the probability of Mr. Trenton accepting her proposition had been slim. But still, she’d hoped. And now she didn’t even want to imagine what might happen next.
Emma started to lag behind.
McKenna tugged on her hand. “Come on, honey. Keep up, please!” They cut across the street to avoid passing by the bank. She did
not
want to see Mr. Billings today.
Posthaste
, or otherwise. She glanced at Emma—whose head was bowed— thinking she heard the child say something. But she couldn’t be sure with the rumble of wagons and blur of conversation around them. Emma probably wanted a treat. Again. And they didn’t have money for that today, nor would they anytime in the near future.
Emma’s steps grew increasingly lethargic.
“Please, Emma, try and keep up, sweetie! I’m in a hurr—” Looking down again, McKenna saw huge tears slipping down Emma’s cheeks. She slowed, squeezing her hand. “Emma, what’s wrong, honey?”
Emma shook her head and wouldn’t look up.
McKenna negotiated a path to the edge of the boardwalk and knelt. “Tell me what’s wrong, sweetie, and I’ll try to fix it.”
The little girl’s shoulders began to shake. “I’m—s-sorry, Aunt Kenny. I-I didn’t mean to.” She hiccupped a stuttered breath.
McKenna brushed the hair from her face. “You didn’t mean to do what?”
Emma cried harder—shuddering, pitiful sobs.
McKenna gathered her in her arms and stood. “If you’ll only tell me what’s wrong, then maybe I can—” She felt the dampness on her arm, soaking through Emma’s dress, and slowly realized what had happened. “Oh, Emma, how could you—?”
Emma buried her face in the curve of McKenna’s neck and wept. “I didn’t mean to do it, Kenny.”
Her voice came out muffled and warm against McKenna’s skin, and it dawned on McKenna that the child had tried to tell her. Repeatedly.
Holding Emma tight, she stepped into the alley behind the mercantile, her own tears coming, and knelt. “You tried to tell me, didn’t you, sweetie?”
Emma’s head bobbed up and down, and McKenna closed her eyes, loathing the image of herself at that moment.
Oh God,
how could I be so selfish?
“Shh . . . shh . . . it’s all right, honey. We’ll get you cleaned up. This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. It’s my fault.” How could she have been so inattentive? So oblivious?
“You were trying to tell me and I didn’t listen. It’s me who needs to apologize to you. And I’m so sorry, Emma.”
She tried to coax the girl’s head up, but Emma refused. McKenna hugged her tighter, the blatant truth of her own self-centeredness leaving her stark and naked, without excuse. If those who’d gone on before could somehow glimpse their loved ones they’d left behind, McKenna prayed that God would shield her selfishness from the purity and goodness of Janie’s heart.
“Will you please look at me, Emma?”
Emma shook her head again.
Using the wall behind her for support, McKenna stood slowly, guilt weighing her down far more than the precious child in her arms. “We’ll go on home and get you washed up, all right?”
Emma nodded, sniffing. And as they walked back to the wagon, McKenna felt Emma’s ragged breath grow gradually calmer. They were nearly out of town when she heard her name being called. Thinking she recognized the man’s voice, she attempted to act as if she hadn’t heard him. But he proved persistent.
“Aunt Kenny . . .” Emma pivoted on the wagon seat and peered behind them. “I think that man wants you.”
“Miss Ashford! Please, ma’am. I must speak with you!”
Realizing it was futile, McKenna brought the wagon to a stop as Mr. Billings caught up with them.
“Miss Ashford!” The bank manager approached her side of the wagon, hat in hand and short of breath. “I was . . . afraid you didn’t hear me, ma’am. Did you receive the letter I couriered to your residence yesterday?”
Couriered to my residence?
“Yes, Mr. Billings, I did. And I had hoped to meet with you today, but—” She gestured toward Emma. “As it happens, Emma isn’t feeling well and we’re headed home. I’m so sorry. But I’ll be back in—”
“Miss Ashford, it is imperative that we speak today.” He stepped closer. “News of the greatest import arrived in my office late yesterday afternoon.”
McKenna had been through this process with a banker before. “News of the greatest import” likely meant that the foreclosure papers had arrived from Denver and Billings was ready to officially serve notice. “Mr. Billings, if this is about”— she lowered her voice—“the foreclosure, then please, may we meet about it in your office in the morning? I’ll be there first thing, I promise.
Posthaste
,” she added, lifting the reins.
“I must insist, Miss Ashford!”
Emma scooted closer, and McKenna covered her hand. “There’s no call to raise your voice, sir.”
He firmed his jaw. “This is about the foreclosure, yes . . .” His tone held an urgency it hadn’t before. “But not in the way you’re thinking.”
McKenna huffed, weary of his formality and of the power men like him wielded over others. “Then why don’t you tell me what it
is
about?”
“All right, ma’am. I will.” He reached up and straightened his tie. “When we first met, I inquired about Vince and Janie Talbot having other living relatives, and you answered that they had none. Do you recall that?”
McKenna nodded once. “Of course, I do.”
“So tell me, ma’am. Why was there a man claiming to be Vince Talbot’s brother sitting in my office yesterday? With a letter stating that he is to inherit
your
ranch?”
Y
ou must be mistaken, Mr. Billings. Vince Talbot didn’t have a brother. My cousin would’ve told me if he had!” Seated in the banker’s office, McKenna stared at Billings across his desk. It felt as if someone had shaken her world hard and plunked it back down off kilter.
At Mr. Billings’s insistence, she’d agreed to meet with him at his office. But first, she’d taken a chance on Mei being at home. When Mei had answered her door, McKenna relayed as best she could—pantomiming throughout—what had happened with Emma, and also that she needed for Mei to watch her for a short time. Mei’s repeated nods and flutter of singsong Cantonese indicated she understood. After McKenna cleaned up Emma in Mei’s water closet, Mei motioned her on, saying something about a moon cake to Emma—who was all smiles and waves as the door had closed.
McKenna struggled to temper her accusing tone. “Vince Talbot’s parents died a year before he and Janie got married. I don’t know who this man is who came to see you, but I can guarantee you he’s not Vince’s brother. Vince had no siblings. I’m certain of that.”
Mr. Billings sat across from her, quiet and reserved, hands folded atop his desk. “I know this has come as a shock to you, Miss Ashford. As it was to me, I assure you. I also realize that . . . due to your past experiences in Missouri, you are most likely predisposed to distrust me.” The look in his eyes grew more intent. “And I cannot say that I blame you.”
Far too late, McKenna tried to mask her surprise. “I—I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to.”
“On the contrary, Miss Ashford. I believe you do.”
Her world slipped completely from its axis.
If Billings knew about what had happened back home, there was no possibility he’d give her a second chance at keeping this ranch. Whether the stranger claiming to be Vince’s brother was authentic or not—and she knew he wasn’t. He couldn’t be— Billings was going to foreclose on her with lightning speed. He would have her and Emma and Robert off the ranch within two week’s time, and gone would be her promise to Janie to take care of Emma as Janie had requested. So here, yet again, she stood to lose everything.
She forced herself to look at him again. “May I inquire as to how you learned this information?”
“The telegraph is revolutionizing the banking industry, Miss Ashford. The world is much smaller than it once was. The foreclosure of your grandparents’ house in Missouri, the auction of your family’s livery—those events and how they came about, will, of course, have bearing on your situation here. For me to give you any other impression would be misleading. However, I give you my word I’ll be fair in my assessment.”
McKenna lowered her eyes, feeling little comfort.
God, why
are you putting me through this all over again?
She cleared her throat and reached for the glass of water Billings had poured for her when she first arrived. But her hand shook so badly, she tucked it back in her lap and let the water sit. “Most of the cattle are ready to take to market.” It was a half-truth at best. She had no idea how many were ready. “I’ll be able to make a sizeable payment then. Perhaps even a month or two in advance.”