Inheriting a Bride. Lauri Robinson
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of that man did odd things to her. In some ways it reminded her of the giddiness she experienced when opening a new book.
“Tell me, Mr. Green, is Mr. Hoffman your boss? Does he own the railroad?” she asked, ready to declare the man had no right—
Mr. Green’s “Yes” stalled her thoughts.
“Yes to what?”
“Yes, he’s my boss, and yes, he owns the railroad.”
Startled to the point that her breathing stopped, she asked, “H-he does?”
Mr. Green was still smiling brightly, teeth and all. “Yes, he does.”
“He owns the Colorado Central Railroad?” she asked for clarification.
“Yes, ma’am.”
With a bout of fury, she picked up the ticket and ripped it in half. Twice. “Fine.” Laying the pieces back on the counter, she lifted her chin. “I’m sure there’s another way for me to get to Nevadaville.”
Mr. Green’s smile faded. “Not really, ma’am.”
She cast a severe gaze his way.
Gulping until his Adam’s apple sat on top of his tie, Mr. Green said, “Well, there’s the wagon road, but there are places they gotta tie ropes around trees and stumps to keep the wagons from tumbling over the edge, and of course, the horses gotta wear blinders, especially while crossing the bridges.”
It was Kit’s turn to gulp.
“I wouldn’t recommend traveling that way. Besides, the only wagons that traverse the road are Cl—Mr. Hoffman’s, and he most likely wouldn’t want you traveling on them.”
She spun, huffing as she took a few steps, but then stopped and stomped back to the ticket booth. “Tell me, Mr. Green, what else does Mr. Hoffman own?”
“Here or in Nevadaville?”
Hiding the surprise rippling her spine, she crossed her arms.
As if the thought just came to him, Mr. Green pointed a shaky finger. “He doesn’t own any of the saloons.”
“How honorable,” she spat, spinning on her heels.
“He doesn’t own Miss Clarice’s society house, either. She does. But he built it for her.”
Kit closed her eyes, regaining her composure. Black Hawk was more than a small town, and she could only imagine Nevadaville was similar in size. It wasn’t a city like Chicago or Denver, but it had several businesses, and the streets were made of cobblestones to keep the mud and dust down. She cast her gaze up and down, glancing at buildings of all sizes and shapes built on the hillside, while she waited for the traffic to clear so she could cross the road from the train station to the boardwalk that led to the two-story hotel she’d been staying at. How could one man own all this? Reginald Green must not know what he was talking about. Her grandfather had been a wealthy man, but not even he owned an entire town.
A slow-moving thought had her scanning the town again. Or did he? She’d read the will, several times, but all it said was all Gramps’s holdings were to be divided equally between her and Sam. That could include a town and a railroad. Clay Hoffman was Gramps’s partner. Had been for years.
Swallowing a sudden attack of sadness, wishing Grandpa was here so she could ask him, Kit squared her shoulders. Both he and Grandma had been tight-lipped about Colorado. She’d only recognized the name Black Hawk because Grandma Katie had let it slip one time. Was that because they didn’t want anyone to know how wealthy they were? How wealthy Kit now was? Grandma always said it was best for women not to know their worth, for it often drew uncouth and undesirable men. Actually, in Grandma’s eyes everything drew men, therefore Kit had never been allowed to do anything.
Her gaze landed on the old Indian sitting on the front porch of the mercantile. The man waved, and she fluttered a hand his way and then stepped back so a wagon hid her from other onlookers. Running Bear had confirmed that Clay lived in Nevadaville, and Sam as well. Naturally, it had cost her another package of chewing gum.
The traffic continued to flow by without the slightest break for her to cross the street. Another thought made her frown. Who was Miss Clarice and what was a society house? Kit’s heart skipped a few beats. Could it be a house of ill repute? Certainly Grandpa hadn’t owned one of those. He could have visited one, though, and that could be how Sam came to be. It was a disquieting thought, but over the past several months she’d thought of that possibility more than once—for ultimately, there were few other answers. Sam had to be Grandpa’s son. Her uncle. And she wasn’t leaving here until she met him, scandal be damned.
The curse had her sending up a silent plea for forgiveness—but if she had family, she had a right to know. More than that, she needed to know. She hated the feeling of being totally alone in the world.
The train whistle sounded, indicating that the locomotive pulling a passenger car, two freight cars and a small green caboose would soon leave the station and head for Nevadaville without her.
Kit turned, eyed the cars closely, thoughtfully, and then scanned the area for Mr. Green. The little booth was empty. Convinced her sudden idea was a good one, she hitched up her skirt and hurried past the passenger car, as well as the wooden freight cars. Steam shot out from under the wheels, forming a cloud around her as the whistle sounded again. It made her jump, but she kept her nerve.
The freight conductor, the one who sat in the little square pilothouse on top of the last car, was already there, looking over the tops of the cars and paying no attention to the ground below. Kit hurried forward, grabbing the metal sidebar and pulling herself onto the small platform at the very back of the train as the wheels creaked and shuddered. She tucked her skirt between her legs to climb over the rail, and then dashed through the doorway. Heart pounding, she glanced out the window as she closed the door, to assure no one had witnessed her unfashionable boarding.
Success made her smile, but moments later, when the little caboose shook as the wheels started to rumble, memories of her last train ride flashed in her mind. Her grin faded and a bubble formed in her throat. Pressing both hands over her eyes, she moaned, “Oh, no.”
Clay caught the rail of the caboose at a run and pulled himself onto the little platform. He paused, peering through the window, as his fingers grasped the door. She was sitting on the bench, but had her head hanging between her knees. He’d been watching, had seen her arguing with Reggie Green, and wasn’t surprised when she’d sneaked on board, nor was he surprised that she stayed down, not wanting anyone to notice.
Katherine Ackerman was one determined woman.
His hand went to his front pocket, where the medicine bag he’d bought from Running Bear was tucked. This morning, after leaving Sam’s cave, Clay had taken the early train to Black Hawk, claiming he needed to oversee the delivery of the new boiler, whereas in reality, though he barely admitted it to himself, he wanted to see if she had left. And again, not something he was overly willing to divulge, he was glad she hadn’t. Though he still wouldn’t let her get near Sam.
The train picked up speed, chugging and clanging, and the clatter disguised the sound of the door opening. Once inside, Clay closed the door, half wondering what to do next. Anger at how she’d scampered aboard was nonexistent. A hint of admiration was playing about inside him instead.
Small as it was, the caboose hosted only a tiny wood stove near the back wall and two long benches along the sides. The entire car swung left and right, rattling and shaking as the train picked up momentum.
Katherine let out a little yelp and one hand moved to the bench beside her knee, grasping tightly. He sat on the seat opposite her, their knees almost touching across the tiny aisle. Clay found himself wishing he could see more than the top of the little blue-and-white hat covering those glorious golden waves that had fluttered around her face and shoulders back on the mountainside. It was only four miles to Central City, and then another three to Nevadaville, but the train had to wind around the mountain to get there, making the ride a bit