The Inheritance (7 page)

“He did. He bedded down in the barn. I checked on him about an hour ago. He was sound asleep.”

“Guess he was tired from the long trip.”

Wyatt suspected the soundness of the boy’s slumber stemmed from something more than exhaustion, but he kept the thought to himself.

Dr. Foster glanced back at the closed bedroom door. “I’m afraid Miss Ashford’s welcome to Copper Creek hasn’t been a very good one.” With a last look that didn’t call for words, he closed the door behind him.

Wyatt finished his coffee and dumped the grounds from the pot outside, then washed the pot and cups and put them back in the cupboard. He figured Miss Ashford’s brother to be around sixteen or seventeen, and he didn’t have to wonder long at the tone of their relationship. From his brief encounter with Robert Ashford, he’d best describe the young man as
surly
. Not uncommon for a fellow his age, but not a good trait to wear so openly in a town like Copper Creek. A chip on a man’s shoulder was an awfully tempting thing to take a shot at. Especially a chip as large as Robert’s.

Wyatt glanced at the closed bedroom door, tempted to check on Miss Ashford. But the better part of him knew to leave her be, give her space. For now anyway. After all, too much space could be as bad as not enough.

A creaking hinge drew his attention, and he turned to see a little girl peeking at him through a slightly opened door.

He went as far as the sofa and paused, not wanting to frighten her. He half-expected her to shut the door fast against him. But she didn’t. She only watched, eyes wide and speculative. And he couldn’t help but think of the heartache that awaited the precious girl in days ahead.

He took a tentative step toward the door and knelt to be closer to her height. “Are you Emma?”

She nodded, squinting. “Does Mama know you’re here?”

He smiled, hearing her true question. “Yes, she does. I’m Wyatt.” It wasn’t exactly proper to give only his first name, but
Marshal Caradon
seemed too much for the moment, and for one so tiny. “Your mama and I are friends. Is that your room?” He indicated past her.

She opened the door wider. “Yes. But I haven’t made my bed yet.” A petite frown knit her pretty brow. “I do that after breakfast. Is my mama awake yet?”

Remembering what Dr. Foster had said, Wyatt shook his head and quickly changed the subject. “Are you hungry?”

She nodded again and briefly pursed her lips. “I like pancakes best.”

“I like them too. But I’m not sure we have what we need to make pancakes. You want to help me check?” He held out his hand.

She toddled out in her nightgown, looking decidedly younger than her vocabulary had led him to believe.

“How old are you, Emma?”

She held up five fingers. “Mama keeps the maple syrup in the cupboard. But I can’t reach it.” She climbed up into a kitchen chair and tucked her legs beneath her.

Emma was a mirror image of her mother—blonde hair and delicate features, big blue eyes. To say the child was pretty was an understatement. But she had an air about her, even at so young an age, that didn’t quite fit with the Janie Talbot he’d met, however briefly. And he couldn’t quite decide what it was.

A quick search turned up little in the way of pancake fixings, so he turned to his backup plan. “Let’s head outside and see if those chickens have laid us some eggs. We’ll have those instead.”

Emma didn’t budge. “But you said we’d have pancakes.”

He eyed her and caught a spark of challenge in the tilt of her diminutive chin. Which spoke volumes. “I said we’d
see
if we could make pancakes. I didn’t say we
would
. Now . . .” He leveled a friendly stare. “Let’s go check on those chickens.”

With a coy smile he didn’t buy for a second, she hopped down.
Cute little scamp.

It was warm enough outside, so he didn’t go looking for her shoes. Judging from the dirt between her toes, she’d already been going without them for a few days. They reached the porch steps, and he swung her up on his shoulders. She giggled, the sound impulsive and pleasant, yet he felt almost traitorous in a way. As if he were misleading her about what awaited her.

But the time for knowing her mother’s fate would come soon enough, and she’d have a lifetime to live with the loss.

A while later, he was doling out scrambled eggs when the bedroom door opened. Miss Ashford stepped out, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. She saw him and frowned. Apparently, she hadn’t expected him to still be here. Her gaze fell to Emma, who was seated at the table, fork in hand, and the many emotions accompanying the moment were easily read in her face.

Fear, dread, hurt, and exhaustion all left their mark as she saw Vince and Janie Talbot’s daughter—
her
daughter now—for the very first time.

SEVEN

E
mma looks just like Janie.
Exactly as McKenna remembered Janie as a little girl—all sweetness and goodness. The realization twisted the knife already lodged in her gut. Would Emma remember Janie? Even the least bit? Of course, Robert carried no personal memories of their mother since she’d died at his birth, but McKenna had made sure he knew about her. Everything she could recall.

McKenna determined to capture every detail of Janie that she could. She’d write them all down, starting today. Every memory, every funny moment, every dream Janie had had, and she would share them all with Emma so Janie’s daughter would never forget who her mother was. And she’d do the same for Vince, though she hadn’t known him nearly as well.

“I made some eggs, Miss Ashford . . . if you’re hungry.”

She’d hoped the deep voice she’d heard moments earlier through the door belonged to Dr. Foster. Or even Robert, assuming he’d come back, which he always did, eventually. And that Marshal Caradon would have already been on his way. When she looked at him, she couldn’t help but think of how differently things might have turned out if he hadn’t been here last night. If he hadn’t made that unreasonable promise to Janie. Something told her that her cousin might still be alive. And she’d sensed the same hope from Dr. Foster. She’d made it clear to Caradon that she hadn’t approved of his promise, and yet he’d made it anyway.

“I’m not hungry, Marshal Caradon,” she lied. “But thank you.” She glanced around. “Has Dr. Foster gone to town?”

He nodded. “It would do you good to eat, ma’am. You’re going to need your strength.” Kindness touched his mouth, something compassionate and gentle. Something unwelcome from him at the moment.

“Have you”—she glanced at Emma—“explained the situation yet?”

“No, ma’am. I was told you wanted to do that.”

That didn’t stop you from interfering last night.
McKenna started to say as much but held her tongue, knowing it wouldn’t change anything. She needed to stay in this man’s good graces, if only for Robert’s sake.

He tousled Emma’s hair. “Emma
here helped with breakfast by making the toast.”

“But not by myself . . .” Her slender shoulders slumped. She looked up at Caradon, a pout forming. “
You
wouldn’t let me.”

Eager to encourage the child, as well as introduce herself, McKenna went and knelt before her. “I’m sure you did a fine job, Emma. I bet you’re a wonderful little cook.” She took Emma’s hand in hers, grateful to see a shy smile. “My name is McKenna. I’m your mama’s cousin. The one you drew those pretty pictures for, which I’m still enjoying very much.” She brushed a wisp of hair from the child’s forehead, wondering how often Janie had done that very thing. “Your mama told you I was coming, remember?” Emma nodded. “Your mama and I were—” McKenna caught herself. “She and I are more like sisters than cousins. I love her very much, and therefore . . . I love you very much too.” She forced a smile she didn’t feel.

Emma shook her head. “I don’t have a sister. I had a brother, but he died.”

Surprised by her bluntness, McKenna seized the opportunity, suddenly feeling ages older than her twenty-three years. “Do you know what that means, Emma? To die?”

“It means you go to heaven. And that you’re not sick anymore.”

How well she could imagine Janie using those same words to explain Vince’s death. “Yes, that’s exactly right. You’re a very smart little girl.” Preferring to continue this conversation when they didn’t have an audience, McKenna stood and smoothed her skirt. “Marshal, when did Dr. Foster say he would return?”

“He didn’t say exactly, ma’am. But he left well over an hour ago.” His tone seemed to have shed a layer of warmth. “He should be back shortly.”

“Very well.” She took a seat at the table. “The toast you made looks delicious, Emma.” She kept her voice light, and noticed the girl sitting a little taller beneath the praise.

“I like pancakes better. Wyatt said we could have those, but then he—”

“Marshal Caradon, you mean.” McKenna caressed the girl’s arm. “Let’s address him as
Marshal Caradon.
”

From the corner of her eye, McKenna saw Caradon begin to speak before falling silent. Emma repeated the name but pulled her arm away. And whatever hint of a smile had been there seconds before quickly faded.

McKenna took a bite of eggs to be polite, then another because they were delicious. A U.S. Marshal who could cook. Now there was something. Realizing just how hungry she was, she finished the eggs on her plate as well as a piece of toast. Chewing, she noticed the satisfaction creeping across Marshal Caradon’s face. Yet he said nothing, and neither did she.

The front door opened and Robert strode inside, looking disheveled and perturbed. His scowl held warning, and the dark hair curling at his temples was still wet from where he’d washed, but the redness around his eyes betrayed emotion McKenna knew he would rather have kept hidden. He looked nearly as tired as she felt.

He spotted Wyatt Caradon, and his steps slowed. McKenna trailed her brother’s focus to the badge on Caradon’s vest and she rose from her seat, only then seeing the empty place setting at the table and the extra eggs left in the pan. Marshal Caradon had anticipated Robert joining them.

“Robert,” she said, gesturing. “I don’t believe you’ve had the opportunity to meet Marshal Caradon. The marshal and I met last night in town, quite by chance. He was kind enough to escort me home, then he stayed in case we needed any help.” She glanced behind her. “Marshal Caradon, this is my younger brother, Robert.”

Courtesy dictated that Robert speak first, but a cool stare was his only response.

Caradon nodded. “Nice to meet you, Robert. Though I wish it were under different circumstances.”

“Yeah, me too,” Robert finally grumbled. He glanced at the bedroom door, then back at McKenna. His eyes narrowed. “So did she d—”

“Robert!” McKenna intentionally softened her voice and inclined her head in Emma’s direction. Emma seemed watchful, wary. “If we could speak about this later, that would be better.”

His jaw went rigid. “So she did.”

McKenna glanced at Emma, who showed no sign of understanding. “Yes,” she said softly. “At daybreak.”

“So does this mean we’ll go back now?”

McKenna stared. “No, it certainly does not. I told you before that our going back isn’t a—” Catching herself, she smiled at Emma, then at Marshal Caradon. “If you’ll excuse us for a moment, please.”

Caradon rose from his chair, his attention fixed on Robert. “Take all the time you need, ma’am.”

With effort, she guided her brother out the door, mindful of the open windows. They walked a short distance before she spoke. “Janie died this morning, Robert. But before she did, she . . .” Emotion tightened her throat. “She left me—
us
,” she added quickly, “all of this. Their home, their ranch . . . everything.”

Robert looked around. “Doesn’t look like much to me.”

Trying to view, through a stranger’s eyes, the rustic homestead and barn with the few head of cattle dotting the field, McKenna understood his assessment but couldn’t share it. Not knowing how much it had meant to Janie.

“What about the kid?”

McKenna bowed her head.

Robert gave a harsh laugh. “Don’t tell me . . .”

“Janie asked me to take care of her, and I’m going to. What else was I supposed to do? I loved Janie like the—”