Inheriting a Bride. Lauri Robinson

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СКАЧАТЬ sure?” Clay Hoffman repeated.

      “Yes,” she answered. “I’m fine. Just fine.”

      “The mountains make you nervous?” he asked, looking straight ahead, but nonetheless drawing her full attention.

      Kit squared her shoulders. “No.”

      “You aren’t a very good liar, Miss Ackerman.”

      She drew in a determined breath. Agreeing with Clayton Hoffman was not something she’d do, no matter how accurate he might be.

      Kit let silence speak for her. It was a damnable situation, as Gramps would say—this one she found herself in. Yet she’d have to put up with Clay in order to get back to Black Hawk.

      Wiggling, she repositioned her bottom on the bedroll. Her clothes were drying quickly and not overly uncomfortable, but the dampness irritated the spot on her backside that had grown tender yesterday while she’d been riding the rented horse.

      The animal, white with liver-colored spots, had been gentle enough, but slipping about in the saddle while the horse picked its way over the rough trail had been quite tedious, and the thick wool of the britches Kit had bought from the Chinese washwoman at the hotel had chafed her bottom from the constant motion. There was one spot in particular where she wondered if there was any skin left.

      It was a while later when Clay glanced over his shoulder again. “You sure you’re doing all right?”

      “Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” she lied, flinching at another sliver of pain commencing in her bottom. Tightening her leg muscles, she held her breath, hoping that would help.

      His gaze roamed over her face in such a way Kit felt as if she were a newspaper being read.

      “Are you hungry?” he finally asked. “We didn’t have any breakfast. I have some jerky and bread.”

      Would she be able to get back on the horse if she got down? The tenderness had grown stronger, now throbbed as painfully as it had yesterday when she’d climbed off her rented horse. That’s when the animal had run off, while she’d been nursing her injury, much too sore to chase after it. Kit eased her weight onto the opposite hip and held in a groan. “How much farther is it?”

      “To Black Hawk?”

      “Yes.”

      “It’s only about five miles as the crow flies, but ten or more for us.”

      A heavy dread settled on her shoulders. “That far?”

      “Yes. Have you forgotten how far you traveled yesterday?”

      No, she almost blurted, though her backside was a constant reminder. “It didn’t seem that far,” she admitted from between clenched teeth. He might as well have said a hundred miles. The way her bottom throbbed she’d be lucky to make it one, let alone ten. The horse’s gait, though smooth and even, made riding on one hip impossible. She placed a hand on the animal’s glossy-haired rump, which rose and fell with each step, and braced herself against the movement. “Maybe we could get down and rest for a while. I’m sure Andrew would appreciate that.”

      “We’ll stop at that next plateau.” Clay pointed a short distance up the hill. “There’s a set of trees that’ll give some shade. The higher the sun gets, the stronger the rays become.”

      Kit nodded, knowing full well he couldn’t see her actions. But short of groaning, it was the best she could do. Setting her gaze on the terrain, she tried to focus on something besides the pain, knowing the more she thought about the stinging, the worse it became. It was like that with most things—the harder you thought or fretted, the larger they became. Gramps said that all the time. It was true about his will, too.

      And Clayton Hoffman. A year ago, when she’d first learned of the terms of Grandpa Oscar’s will, she’d accepted everything readily enough, too filled with grief to really care. But now that she’d been on her own for a year, and the pain of her grandparents’ passing was easier to deal with, she’d discovered she needed to know the truth. Others didn’t understand the driving need inside her. How could they? They had families. She had no one. Not a single person on earth related to her. The gaping hole that left inside her was indescribable, and it seemed to be sucking the very life out of her. An old ticket stub to Black Hawk she’d found in one of Grandpa’s books had seemed like a sign, and no matter what she discovered, it would be better than not knowing.

      Mr. Watson, Grandpa’s solicitor, certainly didn’t understand. Not only did he refuse to give her any details, he said she couldn’t go to Colorado, leastwise not without Clay Hoffman’s permission—a man she’d never met, only heard about from Gramps.

      It appeared that he—Clay Hoffman—was not only her financial guardian, he was in charge of everything: her finances until she was twenty-one, and several other aspects of her life until she turned twenty-five. If she waited until then she’d die of loneliness.

      Impulsive, that’s what Grandma Katie had always called her. Kit hadn’t minded then, and she didn’t mind now. If a few hastily laid plans would reveal the truth, it would be well worth it. The spontaneous trip across the country had become an adventure for her, one that instilled a sense of excitement and freedom she’d never known.

      Other than the sting in her backside, which at this very moment was letting itself be known with renewed force, the trip had been painless—terrifying at times, but painless.

      “Here we are.” Clay drew the horse to a stop.

      A sigh of relief built in her chest, but she couldn’t let it out. Thinking of climbing off the horse instantly doubled her anxiety. The now constant ache said movement would hurt. Severely.

      The way Clay swung his knee over the saddle horn and bounded to the ground as effortlessly as a cat jumped off a branch had every muscle tightening from her head to her toes. Kit chewed on a fingertip, both to redirect the pain and to contemplate how she could manage without—

      “Oh!”

      Hands had wrapped around her waist, lifted her and planted her feet on the ground all in one swift movement. Regaining fortitude while clouds literally swirled before her eyes seemed impossible, and her breath caught inside her lungs at the smarting sting shooting down her legs. Eventually, she managed to squeak, “Thank you.”

      “You’re welcome,” he said, already leading the horse to a patch of grass. “I noticed dismounting isn’t a strong suit for you.”

      His back was to her, but the humor in his voice couldn’t be ignored. “Dismounting?” she asked, as indignation sprouted out of that fiery sting. “I’ll have you know I’m a quite accomplished rider.”

      “Oh?” He was looking at her over one broad shoulder. His grin, which was way too appealing for a man of any age or rank, brightened his entire face, and those blue eyes twinkled as if someone had dropped stardust in them. “You ride around Boston, do you?”

      Firelight, the little pony she’d had while growing up, came to her mind. The Shetland had been as white as snow, and the two of them had worn out the grass in the back paddock.

      “I assumed you’d travel about in gold carriages, complete with velvet seats and little tassels hanging off the hood,” he continued, while digging in his saddlebags.

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