Inheriting a Bride. Lauri Robinson

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      He’d hoisted himself into the saddle and held out a hand. Given her choices, she took it, shoved a foot in the stirrup he made ready and climbed on the big roan behind him, barely flinching at the sting the movement caused. Squirming, making a more comfortable seat out of his jumbled bedroll, she grabbed the back swells of the saddle. “Ready, Mr. Hoffman.”

      “Are you now?” he replied, sounding somewhat sarcastic.

      Kit let it slide, just as she had most of his other comments. Now wasn’t the time. Besides, his eyes had told her more than his words had, anyway. Laughter had twinkled in those blue eyes at some of her exaggerated comments, and that reinforced how good of an actress she was. Of course, she’d never acted previous to this trip into the wilds of Colorado. But she was well-read. Books were her life, had taught her many things, including the importance of gaining the upper hand.

      She wiggled a bit more. Her backside had taken to stinging again, and the bindings around her chest grew more and more uncomfortable. The strips of cotton were shrinking as they dried, no doubt, this being their first washing.

      He twisted, tossed a quick glance over his shoulder, and she flashed him a grin, a syrupy one. Clayton Hoffman was not what she had expected. He couldn’t be much older than her, seven or eight years maybe, making him twenty-eight or twenty-nine. Much too young to be her grandfather’s partner. She’d truly anticipated an old geezer with one foot in the grave. A cringe had her sending up a silent plea, No offense, Gramps.

      The smile that formed on her lips was real. She could hear his answer.

      None taken, Kitten.

      If Clayton Hoffman wasn’t sitting right in front of her, she might have talked to Grandpa Oscar a bit. Asked him how he and Grandma were getting along up there in heaven. But since now wasn’t the time or place, she was content just to smile, glad she still had this connection with the people who had raised her and loved her with great devotion. Grandpa Oscar’s trips to Colorado had been tough on Grandma Katie. She’d always fretted something terrible the entire time he was gone, and a piece of Kit was happy they were now together for eternity.

      “So, Miss Katherine Ackerman from Boston, Massachusetts, how do you know Sam?”

      She bit her lips, holding in mirth at just how ridiculous the name sounded when he said it like that. Katherine Ackerman had been her birth name, but she’d never been to Boston. “I don’t know him,” she answered, pulling up her best actress voice. It had taken practice to acquire a Bostonian accent. A woman she’d met on the train from Chicago to Denver had been her inspiration, and pride welled at how she was able to sound just like the woman had. She’d mastered it as well as the rough voice she’d used for her Henry disguise. “I want to meet him.”

      Clay Hoffman repositioned his hat before he asked, “Why?”

      “Because I want to meet a miner.” This particular miner, to whom, for some unknown reason, Gramps willed one half of his estate. It was all so frustrating. Sam’s name had never been spoken in her presence, nor a second partner ever mentioned. Clay Hoffman was a different matter. Gramps had talked nonstop about him.

      “Sam’s not a miner,” he said.

      His back had stiffened, as if he was bracing himself for her argument, and though she did want to insist Sam was a miner, and she would meet him, Kit bit her tongue to keep from arguing. Once back in Black Hawk, she’d just rent another horse and search for him again. Of course, she’d have to come up with another disguise.

      “I read a playbill on the train, about the opera house in Nevadaville,” she said, aloud. “Does it really seat four hundred people?” Having read the advertisements on the train could prove beneficial. Gramps had never mentioned the opera house, but they must certainly have a wardrobe full of costumes, and Nevadaville was only five miles from Black Hawk, by train.

      “Yes, why?” he answered, sounding skeptical, almost angry.

      “Boston has several wonderful opera houses, and I’m curious what one in the wilds of Colorado would look like.” That sounded plausible, didn’t it? Surely Boston had an opera house. Chicago did, and she truly enjoyed watching the plays. If that silly horse she’d rented hadn’t run off, she wouldn’t be worrying whether Boston had opera houses or not. She’d be finding out exactly who Sam Edwards was.

      The best laid plans of mice and men, she quoted silently, pressing a hand to her temple. Once she knew the truth, she could decide what to do. The only thing that made sense was that Grandpa had another family. One not even Grandma knew about. It was unfathomable, yet why else would Gramps have included Sam in the will, and at the same amount as her? Clay Hoffman seemed as protective over Sam’s identity as Gramps’s solicitor, Mr. Watson.

      It appeared no one wanted Kit to know the truth.

      “So, Miss—”

      Interrupting Clay, not done contemplating her thoughts, she leaned forward and whispered, “You don’t think there’s a bear or mountain lion following us, do you?”

       Chapter Two

      His back stiffened again and Kit swore she saw his neck quiver slightly.

      “No, I don’t believe there are any bears or mountain lions following us. They are few and far between in this area.”

      Gramps had never mentioned the animals, so she figured they weren’t an issue, yet he hadn’t mentioned Sam, either. “I sure do wish we’d found my amulet,” she whispered.

      “I’m sure the chief will sell you another.”

      She puffed out her cheeks, really wishing for a moment of quiet. “Oh, do you think so?” She’d come up with bears and mountain lions off the top of her head. A woman from Boston would be afraid of such things and believe an amulet from a chief would save her—and it had proved useful. Once in Black Hawk she’d ask the old Indian if he had another one. It had cost only a package of chewing gum. He’d been the one to tell her if she put a dead fish in it no one would come close to her, and had even told her where to find the fish.

      “Yes,” Clay answered.

      Thankfully, he let the conversation slip then. The scenery was quite beautiful, all lush and green, just as Gramps had explained. Her fingernails dug into the thick leather at the back of the saddle and a shiver skirted up her spine. Kit held her breath, refusing to remember how frightful the train ride into Black Hawk had been.

      Clay glanced over his shoulder, and she tried, but knew the smile on her face wobbled. He stared harder and she averted her gaze, glancing at the surroundings.

      “You doing all right back there?”

      “Um, yes,” she mumbled.

      “You sure?” Those blue eyes were frowning, and he shifted as if trying to get a better look at her. His movements had her repositioning and glancing around. The mountains weren’t as intimidating while on horseback. Zigzagging around the Rockies in that train had instilled a fear inside her like she’d never known. Grandma Katie would have been appalled to hear her talk so, but Kit had to tell the train agent how offensive the ride had been. Then again, Grandma would be upset that she’d left the house empty and embarked on this journey at all. Maybe it was a family trait—fear of train rides—for it appeared СКАЧАТЬ