The Inheritance (6 page)

Dr. Foster was about to slip the needle into the pale flesh of her arm when she suddenly stilled. Janie opened her eyes and blinked. Her breaths came staggered.

McKenna leaned closer and brushed back the limp blonde hair from her temples. “Janie, can you hear me?”

It took her a moment to focus. “Kenny?” she finally whispered.

“Yes.” McKenna gasped softly, part laugh, part cry. “It’s me. I’m here.”

“You came . . .” Janie’s hand moved over the covers, seeking hers.

McKenna clasped it and brought it to her cheek. “Yes, I came. I’m here. It’s going to be all right, Janie. I’ll take care of you.”

Janie squinted, as though trying to see beyond the temporal. “Vince . . .” Her face crumpled. “Our baby . . .”

The hopelessness in her eyes told McKenna there was no use trying to mislead her about the child. “We’ll get through this. I’ll help you. We’ll be together just like we were when we were younger.”

Janie’s eyes slipped closed again. “I’m just so tired.”

“Look at me, Janie. Look at me!”

Janie did as she asked, but already there was something different about her gaze.

McKenna’s throat tightened, and the dark hole inside her yawned wide. She cradled Janie’s cheek in her palm. “We’ll have the ranch we dreamed about when we were little girls. Do you remember that? What we used to talk about?”

Janie squeezed her hand. “I remember . . .” A smile ghosted her parched lips. “I’m glad . . . you’re here.” Her breath caught and she winced.

“Are you in pain? Dr. Foster’s with us. He can give you something.”

“No . . . I’m—I don’t . . . feel much.” Slowly, Janie’s attention moved around the bed and settled near the footboard. The smile that barely touched her mouth seconds ago somehow found new strength and bloomed. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Frowning, McKenna looked to see where Janie was staring, and something inside her gave way. No one was there.

“Where’s Emma?” Janie whispered, trying to raise her head.

“Emma’s asleep in her bed.” Dr. Foster urged her back down. “Don’t you worry about her. Emma’s fine.”

Janie sank back in to the pillow. “You’ve always . . . been strong.”

It took McKenna a moment to realize Janie was speaking to her. She shook her head, sensing what Janie was doing, and couldn’t stem the tears. “You’re going to be all right.”

“Emma’s . . . just like you, Kenny. When we were young.”

Her breath caught again, and McKenna could almost see the strings binding her cousin to this earth loosening, bit by bit.

“Take Emma . . . and make her your own.”

It wasn’t a question. And the request wasn’t something McKenna could deny, even if she’d wanted to. But surely Janie was forgetting about the letters telling her about Robert. McKenna leaned closer, wishing they were alone, and very much aware of Marshal Cardon beside her, listening. “Janie, I—I don’t know if I’m the best choice. Things haven’t turned out very well with Rob—”

“
Please,
Kenny.”

McKenna felt herself nodding and forced the words past the lump in her throat and the fear in her heart. “I will. I’ll take care of her.”

“The ranch . . .” Janie’s voice faltered. “Everything . . . is yours.”

McKenna bit back a refusal. She didn’t want it. Any of it. “Janie, I only want you here,” she whispered. She wanted this precious woman to live. The beseeching in Janie’s eyes finally won out, and McKenna nodded again.

Slowly, Janie’s gaze shifted to Dr. Foster, whose expression was gentle.

“I understand,” he whispered. “I’ll serve as witness to your last wishes, Janie. Don’t you worry about a thing. We’ll see it all done.”

Janie blinked, and tears slipped down her temples into her hairline. “Bury me . . . with my son.”

“We will.” Dr. Foster smoothed a hand over her hair. “We’ll bury you right beside him.”

With a soft cry, Janie shook her head. “No. I want Aaron . . . in my arms.”

Dr. Foster shot McKenna a look. “But he’s already buried. Beside Vince.”

Tears slipped from the corners of Janie’s eyes into her hairline, and McKenna shivered when Janie aimed the request at her.

“Promise me, Kenny?”

She couldn’t respond. Exhuming a body was sacrilege. And judging by Dr. Foster’s disturbed expression, he agreed. “Janie, what you’re asking is—”

“I don’t want him . . . to be alone.” Janie’s fingers tightened around hers.

“He’s
not alone, Janie,” McKenna reassured her. “He’s in heaven, with Vince.”

“Please, Kenny. Promise me . . .”

McKenna heard the struggle in her voice, saw it in her eyes, and a thought came . . . Perhaps this was what Janie needed to pull her through, to survive. The
fight
that Dr. Foster had been refer—

“I’ll do it, ma’am.” Wyatt Caradon leaned closer.

McKenna caught his gaze and shook her head. “No,” she mouthed. He clearly saw her and understood. She was sure of it.

Yet the marshal still took hold of Janie’s hand. “Don’t you worry about your little boy, Mrs. Talbot. I’ll make sure he’s safe in your arms.” He took a quick breath. His jaw flexed hard. “I give you my oath.”

Janie sighed, and peace gradually erased the anxiety from her features. But it was a peace McKenna neither welcomed nor shared. Not with the cost it would exact.

As the night hours crept by and Janie’s breathing grew more shallow and raspy, McKenna stayed by her side, helpless to watch, as snippets from their childhood splashed in watercolor hues across her memory. Two little girls, opposites in so many ways, yet equally kindred, skipping hand-in-hand down a wooded path toward their favorite swimming hole, dreaming of all they would be once they grew up. Their only certainty . . . that they’d be together.

Hot tears slipped down McKenna’s cheeks, and she struggled against the ache in her chest as she realized they were again walking a shadowed path. Together. Only this time, Janie was walking on ahead. And no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t catch up. She couldn’t follow.

Not now. Not yet.

SIX

D
awn’s first light spilled through an open bedroom window and gave Mrs. Talbot’s sallow blonde hair the appearance of spun gold against the dingy white pillow. Her breathing stopped— only for a second—but Wyatt sensed what was coming and slowly rose from his chair at the kitchen table.

He drew nearer to the bedroom, but stopped short of going inside.

The hush of morning lay gentle inside the small bedroom, yet from the way Doc Foster and Miss Ashford both leaned toward the bed, they too sensed the impending change. No doubt the physician had experienced this more times than he could remember.

As Wyatt watched the scene from outside the doorway, his heart settled on one memory alone. And an ache—one he’d thought long healed—rose again inside him. The weight of the memory threatened to drag him under, and he drew a needed breath. Felt the cool mountain air in his lungs. And within a slice of a pendulum’s swing—it happened.

The rasp of Mrs. Talbot’s breathing faded. Where seconds before there had been three people in the bedroom, now there were only two. The twitter of sparrows drifted in through the open window, punctuating the silence as the young mother’s soul passed from this world to the next.

Miss Ashford struggled to her feet, and for a moment, she stood motionless. Wyatt recalled the way she’d reacted last night when he’d made the pledge to her cousin, after neither Miss Ashford nor the doctor would. Clearly Miss Ashford hadn’t approved, but he hadn’t made the promise lightly and was determined to carry out Janie Talbot’s wishes.

Miss Ashford bent and pressed a lingering kiss to her cousin’s forehead, then sank down beside the bed and rested her head on the mattress. Her shoulders shook, gently at first, until a sob finally broke through. He started to go to her but stopped himself, doubting comfort from him would be welcome at the moment.

Dr. Foster had asked him to stay through the night and had left for a short time to check on two other patients—both turned out to be faring well. But he hadn’t wanted to leave Miss Ashford alone with her cousin, and Wyatt understood. He had nothing waiting on him except a cold boardinghouse bed, so he’d stayed to help in whatever way he could.

Despite his repeated offers of sustenance, Miss Ashford hadn’t eaten much of anything and had barely touched the coffee he’d made. She’d refused to leave Janie Talbot’s side for any reason, and even now she clung to the woman’s hand.

Watching her, he wondered if she was aware of the irony of the two journeys occurring in this moment—a beginning and an end brought together precisely in a splinter of time. If a person believed in the Creator, one might think He hadn’t wanted Miss Ashford to lose her cousin in the darkest hour of the night. Rather, He desired she be surrounded by the warmth of His light when that dreaded moment came. Yet Wyatt doubted Miss Ashford could see that now. Neither had he, in his moment of greatest grief.

It took distance to view loss with such perspective. And though seven years had passed for him, there were still days he questioned the why of it all. No telling how many petitions he’d piled at the foot of heaven’s throne—most of which remained unanswered. But answers didn’t always bring peace. He’d learned that along the way.

Dr. Foster walked from the bedroom and pulled the door closed. Sighing, he ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I appreciate you staying the night, Marshal.” Fatigue weighed his voice.

“It was the least I could do, sir. Especially after what Miss Ashford did for my prisoner.”

Foster poured himself another cup of coffee. “I’d have to agree with you there. Not many a woman—or man—would have attempted that.” He eased his frame into a kitchen chair and stared at the closed bedroom door. “For a while there”—he took a sip—“I thought she might pull through.”

Hearing sincerity in the statement, Wyatt also thought he’d read something different in the man’s demeanor last night. “But that was
before
Miss Ashford and I arrived. Wasn’t it, sir?”

The doctor’s attention crept back to him. “Yes . . . it was. But I see no reason in thieving a person’s hope. I’ve been wrong before . . . guessing what the Almighty might—or might not— do.” He rubbed his eyes. “The longer I live, Marshal, the more I learn about God’s character, and the more I trust Him. Yet oddly enough”—his gaze clouded—“the less I understand His ways. A childless widow of sixty-two recovers, while a young mother dies and leaves behind a daughter who, at such a young age, will likely not remember her. Or her papa.”

Doubt and assurance met in the doctor’s expression, and Wyatt shared them both. He gave a faint nod, choosing to leave the silence between them undisturbed.

“I delivered Emma in the same bed where Janie’s lying now.” Dr. Foster bowed his head. “Vince and Janie Talbot made me feel more like family than anyone else in Copper Creek. My wife died twenty-two years ago. I’ve been alone since. The Talbots used to have me out for Sunday dinner after church. Janie made the best biscuits you’ve ever put in your mouth, and she always sent me home with the extras.”

Wyatt hadn’t considered how personal a loss this might be to the older man. He moved closer and briefly laid a hand on his shoulder, unable to find the right words.

After a moment, Dr. Foster pushed to standing. He sniffed and wiped his eyes. “I’m going to go wash up outside. Then I need to head into town to look in on my patients again. I’ll check your prisoner while I’m there. Ben Slater, was it?”

Wyatt nodded.

“I told Miss Ashford I’d be gone for a while.” Foster paused by the front door. “Would you remind her to rub some of the salve I left on the bedside table onto her hand this morning? The sutures will be sore at first, but that will help.”

“Will do, sir. And thank you for going by the jail.”

“Any chance of you still being here when I get back?”

Wyatt detected a hint. “I’d
planned on heading back into town myself, sir. But . . . how does my staying around for a while work for you?”

“Works well, and I’m much obliged to you, Marshal Caradon. I’d prefer she not be alone right now. Not with being so new to town, and not knowing anybody.” He paused, looking behind him. “Emma should be waking up soon enough. Miss Ashford made it clear to me she wants to be the one to tell Emma about . . . what’s happened.” He gestured out the door. “Did the boy ever come back?”