Inheriting A Bride. Lauri Robinson

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Clay nodded, stepping closer and briefly assessing the woman, whose fancy bird-yellow outfit included a feathered hat with a lacy veil falling almost to her nose. Some might claim she deserved a second look, but he had no time for women, pretty or not, and turned his gaze to Stan, waiting to hear what the issue was.

      “I’m inquiring as to the whereabouts of one Samuel Edwards,” she said before Stan could speak.

      Clay’s insides froze as he narrowed his gaze on the little veil hiding most of Katherine Ackerman’s face. “Why?”

      She lifted her chin a bit higher. “That is between Mr. Edwards and me. Now if you’ll be so kind as to—”

      “No,” Clay said. The fact she’d called Sam “mister” told him all he needed to know. The kid was barely seventeen. Anyone who knew him knew that.

      “No?” she repeated. “No what?”

      Clay had a dozen questions about what a woman such as this—clearly from out East, by the sound of her nasally little voice—would want with Sam, but none of them mattered. She would never meet his ward. That, of course, should be Sam’s decision, but Sam liked his privacy and Clay knew women. This one even smelled like trouble—all sweet and flowery. He turned to the porter. “Was there something else she needed?”

      Stan, one of the finest railroad men in the territory, hesitated and then cleared his throat. “Miss Ackerman was a bit upset by the, uh … accommodations on the ride from Denver.”

      What a surprise. Train rides up a mountain were very different from train rides across the plains, and those out East, no doubt. Going down wasn’t any better. Judging by her appearance and attitude, this woman wouldn’t be happy about anything unless it was the very best, which made Clay’s spine tighten. He rerouted his thoughts. Sam had never been out of the mountains, but the kid’s father had, and a part of Clay always wondered if someone would show up, claiming to be a relative. With a single nod, Clay turned to the woman. “I apologize if your train ride was uncomfortable.” It wasn’t his usual policy, but she’d already wasted enough of his time. “Stan,” he said to the porter, “refund the passenger’s fare and give her a ticket back to Denver.”

      “Denver?” she all but sputtered. “I don’t want a refund,” she added snootily. “I want to know the whereabouts of Sam—”

      “I,” Clay informed her, nerves ticking, “am Sam’s representative. I’ll deliver a message to him for you.”

      “No,” she said. “I prefer to talk to him in person.”

      “That’s not possible,” Clay retorted, his voice just as clipped as hers. His hackles were rising by the second. Outside of a few miners, Sam didn’t interact with people much, and Clay respected that.

      “Why not?”

      “Are you a relative of his?” He might as well get to the bottom of it.

      She swallowed but didn’t answer, and the little veil made it impossible for him to see more than her chin and pert lips, which were drawn into a pucker.

      Just as he suspected. A woman after the kid’s money. “Sam’s not a social person,” he said. “If you want to give me a message—”

      “No,” she interrupted. “I—”

      “Fine,” he snapped. “Refund her money, Stan.” Clay spun around and started making his way toward the other end of town. That was the second person asking about Sam in less than twenty-four hours. A message from Big Ed over at the general store had arrived this morning, saying a trapper was asking questions about Clay’s ward, and now this woman turned up. The first incident wasn’t too much of a surprise; Sam’s father had been a trapper, and others probably wondered what had become of the boy. But a snooty woman from out East made no sense at all. The ride to Sam’s place next to the Wanda Lou was a long one, and Clay had a thousand other things to do. But Sam was his responsibility, and warning him about this woman couldn’t wait. Plus he had some business to follow up on, anyway—a miner causing a bit of trouble. Best to nip it in the bud. The kid didn’t like taking the train, preferred to borrow a mule from the mine to haul his furs to Black Hawk, and had left town only a few hours ago.

      Clay swallowed a sigh as he started up the street. Good thing he’d brought his horse with him on the train from Nevadaville this morning. The ones at the livery here were as barn sour as they came. If luck was with him, he could finish his business and still catch up to Sam before nightfall.

      Kit Becker stared at the man walking away, half in utter disbelief, half in relief. Encountering Clayton Hoffman this early in her adventure was not in her plan. She wanted to meet Sam first. Had to meet Sam first. The desire to lift her veil so she could see the man more clearly, even if it was just his back, was hard to curtail, but she kept her hands at her sides. The veil was part of the disguise she needed to maintain.

      “Right this way, Miss Ackerman.”

      It was a moment before Kit realized the porter was addressing her. She hadn’t gotten used to the name. She had used the alias so her grandfather’s solicitor, Mr. Watson, wouldn’t learn she had left Chicago. Purchasing her ticket under a different name guaranteed a bit of time in her search for Samuel Edwards. That was another name that made her want to shake her head. Why hadn’t Gramps told her about him? It just didn’t make sense. Both he and Grandma Katie knew how badly she’d always wished their family was larger, and this past year, since their deaths, her loneliness had grown overwhelming and she’d wished it even more.

      “Ma’am?”

      Turning to the man dressed in his bright blue suit with gold buttons, she sighed. “I don’t want a refund. I just wanted … oh, never mind.” The train ride that had left her wanting to kiss the ground was no longer a concern. Finding her only living relative was. She dug in the drawstring bag on her wrist, pulled out a coin to hand to the man. “I apologize, sir, for the fuss, but I’m fine now. Would you be so kind as to see my luggage is taken to the hotel?”

      “Yes, ma’am, but Mr. Hoffman said—”

      “I am not concerned about Mr. Hoffman, or his refund.” She spun around and stepped off the platform, wondering where to start her search. All she knew was that Gramps had traveled to Black Hawk. Her eyes, practically of their own accord, turned in the direction Clay Hoffman had taken. He most definitely knew where Samuel Edwards was.

      “Did I hear you say you want to see Sam Edwards?”

      Somewhat startled, and cautious, since the gruff voice had the hair on her arms standing up, Kit turned slowly. The man who’d stepped up beside her was huge and covered from head to toe in animal skins. She swallowed.

      “I’m a friend of his,” the burly man said. “Saw him just a few hours ago.”

      Kit willed herself not to shiver. People just looked different here from how they did in Chicago, she told herself. At least this one did. “Could you tell me where I might find him?” she asked, flinching at how her voice cracked.

      “He headed back to Nevadaville.”

      She couldn’t help but glance at the train. Embarking on another ride up the side of that mountain was the last thing she wanted to do. She’d seen how easy it would have been for the entire locomotive to fall over the edge, tumble end over end down into the ravine. Gramps had СКАЧАТЬ