The Inheritance (47 page)
I
n a room reserved for family members of defendants, McKenna surveyed the courtroom through a narrow slit in the window covering. Seeing jailers lead Robert in through a side door off to the right, her heart ached. His wrists and ankles were shackled. She couldn’t see his face from where she stood, but he looked as though he’d lost weight through his shoulders.
Over three months had passed since she’d last seen him in the jail in Copper Creek. But it felt like much longer. She glanced back to see Wyatt seated on the couch beside Emma, who was practicing letters on her slate. His head was bowed.
Fingering the handkerchief in her pocket, she thanked God again for bringing him into her life, for so many reasons. For the fullness he added to her, for the change she trusted was taking place in Robert’s heart, and for the ability to keep the ranch and raise Emma in the home Vince and Janie had built for their family.
What had seemed nothing at the time, Wyatt’s discovery of the irrigation pipes near the creek bed had led them to uncovering the truth, and had proven her instincts right about Harrison Talbot. When Vince hired a prospecting company to survey a large patch of “heavy sand” by the creek, Harrison
Taylor
was the employee they’d sent. He’d accepted Vince and Janie’s offer to stay for dinner and had gotten to know them over several days of surveying their land. That explained how Emma remembered him so well. But the company went bankrupt before the report to Vince was completed, and then Vince died. So he and Janie never received the final report of what had been found.
But Harrison Taylor knew.
And after reading a newspaper account of residents who had succumbed to cholera, he decided to pose as Vince’s brother— the strong resemblance between them only aiding his cause. But in the end, the far-reaching connections of the U.S. Marshals Office and a string of fraudulent bank drafts caught up with him. And when it came time for the auction of the property in Denver, Wyatt and Chin Li’s combined efforts in butchering the cattle themselves, then selling and delivering the meat to contacts Wyatt had made in mining towns, provided nearly enough money to purchase the homestead outright. It took slaughtering all the cattle Vince and Janie had bought, and every penny of income from the saddles, but at least they still had the land and the possibility of something more for the future.
Yet one piece was still missing—that final surveyor’s report. It was due back any day now. Finally after weeks of waiting.
“Are you ready for this, McKenna?”
Wyatt’s question coaxed her back. And hearing the trepidation in his voice, McKenna drew herself up.
“No . . . and yes.” She moved to stand before him. He looked handsome in the formal judicial robes. “Are
you
ready?”
His gaze was somber. “I didn’t ask for this case. You know that.”
She eyed the still-healing gash on his right cheek. “I know you didn’t.”
For weeks, the third man involved in the robbery with Robert had eluded the Marshals Office. Finally, they tracked him to the town of Severance. Wyatt had been called to help bring him in, but the man hadn’t come without a fight. The wound would leave a scar, but that was a small price compared to what could have happened.
“I know you didn’t ask for Robert’s case, Wyatt. But ever since he was arrested, I’ve been praying about who would decide his fate. And I’ve asked God, many times, to provide a judge who would decide for my brother what God desires be done.”
Two feet of snow had fallen in the past two days since they’d arrived in Denver. The accumulation impeded travel and, combined with the Thanksgiving holiday just around the corner, judges were scarce. This particular case had been reviewed by the Marshals Office and Wyatt’s ruling confirmed by a judge, so he was delivering the verdict today—something she’d learned the Marshals Office was called to do on rare occasions.
McKenna knelt in front of her husband, loving the way he looked at her. “So it was no surprise to me this morning when they asked you. I believe it was an answer to my prayers, Wyatt.”
He shook his head, a faint smile seeping through his seriousness. “I’ve got to stop you from praying that prayer for me, woman.” He traced the curve of her cheek, then wove a path down her neck. She loved the way he touched her in intimate moments like this, when they were alone. But even more, she loved the way she felt inside when he did.
A knock sounded on the door, and they both stood. Wyatt’s superior, Samuel Ramsey, walked in and closed the door behind him. He carried a file.
“Mrs. Caradon.” He nodded her way before turning
to Wyatt. “They’re ready for you, Caradon. They’re waiting to bring in the other prisoner until you’re ready for him. He’s still a little . . . unruly, you might say. And he for sure won’t be happy about seeing you again.”
Wyatt huffed, fingering his cheek. “I’m sure he won’t.”
“We’ve got a double guard on him, so there shouldn’t be any problem. But if there is, are you—”
“Yes, sir,” Wyatt answered, not looking in her direction. “I’m sure things will be fine.”
McKenna looked between the two men, sensing there was more to this exchange than their conversation revealed.
“Good then, I guess we’re set.” Ramsey nodded. “The Marshals Office appreciates you filling in like this, especially on such short notice.” He extended his hand, and Wyatt gripped it. “I know it’s not the first thing at the top of your list.”
“No, sir, it’s not. I turned in the names of the final conspirators for the Brinks case last week. By chance, do you know if—”
“They’ve picked up all of them but one. And he won’t get far.
They turned on each other so fast, we have all the evidence we need to convict the whole slew of them. You did well, Caradon,” Ramsey said. His voice quieting he continued, “The families of Charlie Boyd and Frank Williams are here today. They were in town for one of the convictions and heard you were holding court. Their wives want to thank you personally for tracking down the men who killed their husbands.” He looked at McKenna. “Mrs. Caradon, they’d like to meet you too, if you’ve got time. They’re waiting downstairs. You and your daughter can go down anytime you like.”
Wyatt briefly bowed his head, and McKenna could only imagine what the wives of the two U.S. Marshals slain in the Brinks robberies were going through. Wyatt had told her he’d be open to doing something other than marshaling after the Brinks case was closed. She hoped they were quickly approaching that juncture.
“One more thing.” Ramsey held out the file. “Curtis asked me to give you this. Something about a surveyor’s report. Said it was personal.”
Wyatt took the file, and McKenna caught his sideways glance in her direction. She knew by the way he wouldn’t look directly at her that he was hiding something.
Ramsey touched the rim of his imaginary hat. “Mrs. Caradon, a pleasure as always.”
She nodded. “Mr. Ramsey.” He left the room and she followed Wyatt to the door. Curious about the file, she was even more concerned about this second prisoner. “Be careful,” she whispered. “This other prisoner. He sounds dangerous.”
Wyatt ran his hands slowly down her arms and rested them about her waist. “He’s nothing to worry about. I’ll see you and Emma back here afterward.”
She hugged him, and froze when she felt the pistol on his hip beneath the robe. She looked up at him.
“It’s just precautionary, McKenna. Ramsey insisted on it. Everything’s going to be fine.”
He kissed her, not lingering like he normally did, and then knelt down and hugged Emma close before leaving the room.
McKenna watched through the curtained window minutes later, pride and concern swelling inside her as he took the judge’s seat in the courtroom. Yet in the same breath, apprehension for Robert and what his future held, crouched hidden in a far corner of her heart.
Without fail, Wyatt had visited Robert every week since Robert arrived at the Denver jail. He’d also studied the evidence against Robert but hadn’t been at liberty to share it with her. She understood, yet she still didn’t like the not knowing.
The same prayer she prayed for her brother, she now also prayed for herself, and for Wyatt, and—which often proved hardest—for Emma. Would there ever come a time when her faith would be so refined that she would whisper that hushed petition—
Break me, Lord, until I’m wholly yours
—without cringing the slightest little bit. She trusted the Lord. It wasn’t that. She simply didn’t trust Him enough. Not yet.
She’d once thought God would never intentionally hurt her. But looking back over her life, she’d had cause to rethink that. She was certain nothing touched her life that didn’t first filter through the loving hands of her heavenly Father. But she was also convinced that God sometimes wounded, in order to bind up. And that He shattered, so that His hands could heal. This was part of His inheritance she’d overlooked before, but never would again.
The formal court proceedings took longer than she’d anticipated. Fifteen minutes later, a bailiff was still reading the summary account of Robert’s trial and the evidence in the case. The walls of the waiting room started to feel as if they were closing in, and McKenna remembered the wives of the slain officers who were waiting downstairs.
She bent down and brushed a kiss to Emma’s forehead. “Please gather your things, sweetie. We’re going to take a walk.”
Emma complied. “Isn’t Mr. Wyatt coming?”
McKenna smiled. “He’s got some work to do. But we’ll meet him back here shortly.”
Their footsteps echoed down the long marble corridor as they walked hand in hand.
Passing the doors to the courtroom, McKenna was tempted to stop and peer through the window in the door, but she didn’t want Wyatt—or Robert—to glance up and see her there. Robert hadn’t wanted her present in the courtroom, and Wyatt had encouraged her to respect his wishes.
Only, now she couldn’t help but wonder if the real reason Wyatt hadn’t wanted her in there was rooted more in why Ramsey had insisted he wear a gun, rather than in Robert’s desire for her absence.
At the far end of the corridor, three men rounded the corner, and McKenna instinctively tightened her hold on Emma’s hand.
Flanked on either side by guards, a prisoner shuffled along, his shackled steps heavy, each one coerced. The chains encircling his ankles made a dull clanking noise when he walked— metal rubbing metal—and the sound echoed down the empty corridor.
The closer the men came, the more difficult McKenna found it not to stare. The prisoner looked so familiar. Had she seen him before? No, that was impossible.
His right shoulder appeared bulky, as though bandaged beneath his shirt. His face was cut and bruised. This had to be the prisoner Wyatt and Ramsey had spoken of earlier. The one Robert had been involved with in the robbery. The man Wyatt had apprehended in Severance.
Still a few feet away, the guard on the prisoner’s right, a U.S. Marshal she’d met that morning, acknowledged her. “Mrs. Caradon,” he said, face somber.
The prisoner locked eyes with her—and recognition washed over McKenna in a thick, sickening wave. The prisoner shifted his attention to Emma, and the same repulsive chill McKenna had felt that afternoon, months ago, in the barn when he’d first looked at the child, returned.
Question lit his face. “Caradon?” he whispered and looked from Emma back to her.
McKenna saw it in his eyes, the same as when he had accosted them in the barn—the intent to do harm.
A knife slid from his sleeve into his palm, and the man grinned. In a flash, he sank the blade into the leg of the guard who had greeted her. The guard went down.
Bending to pick up Emma, McKenna saw the second guard draw his gun. But he wasn’t fast enough. The prisoner delivered a swift elbow to the guard’s windpipe and the gun went off. A window exploded beside them and glass showered the hallway. Emma screamed and tightened her hold around McKenna’s neck.
The guard dropped the gun and fell to his knees, gasping, choking for air.
McKenna’s gaze went to the gun on the floor—the same time as the prisoner’s did. He lunged for it, and McKenna turned
and ran, Emma in her arms.
The hallway was empty. And suddenly seemed endless. Every step was an inch compared to the distance to the closed courtroom doors. Even holding Emma, McKenna knew she could outrun the prisoner. But there was no way she could outrun the bullet. The fleeting thought of what a bullet would feel like piercing flesh came and went. And left her body cold and clammy.
She crushed Emma to her chest. How many bullets were left in the chamber? And would her own body be enough to stop them from penetrating through to Emma?
Heart pumping, she chanced a look over her shoulder, careful to keep Emma protected.
The prisoner took aim.
Oh God . . .
She tried to pray but only one word passed her lips. “
Jesus
.”
She turned back, hearing a gunshot behind her, and fell forward—into someone’s arms.
She looked up, shaking, breath coming hard, and made out the blurred image of Robert’s face. He steadied her and Emma as another deafening blast filled the hallway.
Shielding Emma’s face in the curve of her neck, McKenna saw Wyatt standing beside them, readying to fire a second time. Chains rattled behind her. A shuffling sound. And Wyatt fired again, in quick succession this time, the tang of gunpowder thickening the air.
