DID YOU OR DID you not pay off my loan as we agreed, Mr. MacGregor?” Kathryn’s anger at discovering his possible deception had steadily mounted through the day, and when he arrived home late that evening, she struggled to keep her voice even.
MacGregor took off his coat and tossed it over a chair. A look of annoyance flashed in his eyes before he smiled. “Kathryn, how wonderful to see you this evening. I wish I could be sayin’ you look well, lass, but I’m afraid you appear a bit agitated. And that’ll hardly do for someone in your condition.”
His blatant patronizing only incensed Kathryn further. A servant passed through the foyer and into the study. “Just answer my question,” she insisted, not caring at the moment who heard or that he was her employer. If MacGregor’s actions matched her speculations, she wouldn’t be working here much longer anyway. “Did you or did you not—”
MacGregor took hold of her arm and guided her to the stairs. “Let’s discuss this in my office, shall we? I’d prefer we not have an audience, my dear.” Kathryn preceded him upstairs, and he quietly closed the office door behind them. “I don’t know what’s happened to upset you, Kathryn, but I assure you everything is in order as we agreed.”
“That’s not what Miss Stacey said when I visited the bank this morning.”
He came to stand before her in front of the desk.
“There is no notice of payment in my file. No record listing the transfer of funds. Nothing!” A sharp stitch in her midsection brought a gasp. She put a hand on the desk for support.
“You’d best be calmin’ yourself, lass. Like I said, it won’t do for you to be gettin’ yourself upset over nothin’. Perhaps the notice simply hasn’t been put in your file yet.”
“You gave me your word that the deed to my property would be put in my file.” She pressed a hand to her abdomen as the pain subsided. “The last thing put in my file was an auction notice for my land to be sold the day after tomorrow. If you can’t produce the deed to my land, Mr. MacGregor, I’ll be forced to take my copy of the contract to an attorney in town first thing tomorrow morning.”
All civility vanished from his expression. “You go see whomever you like in the mornin’, dear. I’ll drive you there myself.” He laughed and shook his head. “And were you referrin’ to the copy that you kept in your trunk, by chance? The trunk in the corner of your bedroom? Come now, Mrs. Jennings, did you really think I would loan you that kind of money? I told you the night we had dinner what a risk you were.”
A chill snaked through her. “You lied to me? The entire time?”
His mouth tipped in a smirk. “Hard to believe, isn’t it, Mrs. Jennings? And me bein’ such a fine gentleman and all.”
Kathryn felt like the fool she’d been. But her injured pride lashed out. “Perhaps I’ll contact an attorney I know and ask him to investigate this for me. Maybe suggest that he inquire about Berklyn Stockholders.”
MacGregor’s eyes went dark. “You may contact whomever you like. I told you ranching was no business for a woman. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.” He jerked his chin toward the door. “You can show yourself out now. I’ll give you till tomorrow afternoon to have your things removed from Casaroja, or I’ll have them removed for you.”
Numb, Kathryn closed the office door behind her. What a fool she’d been. Matthew Taylor’s suspicions had proven right—she never should have trusted MacGregor. She felt her way down the darkened staircase, and even though the pains had receded, she still had trouble catching her breath. Her throat ached with emotion and her cheeks were damp with tears. All she could see was Larson’s face. His dream was ruined, and it had been her doing. I’m so sorry, Larson. Please forgive me.
Wanting to avoid any servants who might still be awake, she left by way of the front entrance. The cool night air hit her face, and she gulped big breaths of it. Her first instinct was to go to the stable, but it was late—even the bunkhouses were dark.
Besides, Jacob wouldn’t welcome her anyway. Not after last night.
Kathryn locked the door to her cottage, wedged a kitchen chair beneath the doorknob, and crossed to the bedroom. She noticed the trunk in the corner and, on impulse, bent and began rummaging through the clothing, searching. If only she could remember, if only she could . . .
Growing frantic, she shoved the top layers of clothing aside. Then she felt it. She held the shirt to her face and breathed in. Her throat constricted. Only the smell of cedar. Nothing else. She pulled another of Larson’s shirts from the trunk, and another. But his scent was gone.
Kathryn crawled into bed fully clothed. She took the music box from her pocket, turned the key, and lifted the lid. As the Christmas tune played, random images filled her mind. The cabin draped in each of the four seasons, the towering blue spruce standing sentinel outside the kitchen window. She pictured Larson returning from having bathed in the stream, his damp hair reaching to his shoulders, droplets of water clinging to his muscled chest. She saw her mother’s smile and could almost remember the sound of her laughter. Almost . . .
The images faded, and another face came into view. One with a timid, misshapen smile that communicated a tenderness words never could. She closed her eyes and could almost feel her hand being covered by his smooth, scarred one.
The land was lost to her now, but strangely that wasn’t what hurt her most. This pain went far deeper. Somehow, it felt as though she were losing Larson all over again. The music box fell silent on the bed beside her, its last notes sounding appropriately hollow and desolate in the silence. Kathryn turned onto her side and pulled a pillow close to her chest, weary for sleep but needing even more to escape.
A pounding on the door brought her fully awake. She blinked to clear the fuzz from her mind and ran a hand over her eyes. Sunshine streamed in through the bedroom window. It must be morning, but it felt as though she’d only drifted off moments ago. She pushed herself up off the bed and made her way to the door.
More pounding. “Kathryn, are you all right?”
Jacob. Hearing his voice triggered relief. Kathryn removed the wedged chair and opened the door to see Jacob and Miss Maudie standing on her doorstep. Worry clouded Miss Maudie’s expression. Jacob simply looked her up and down.
“Are you all right?” he repeated. The gentleness in his voice gave Kathryn hope that perhaps their friendship might be repairable after all. It was surprising how deep the hope of that bond ran through her. “Miss Maudie came to get me when you didn’t show up this morning.”
“I’m fine, Jacob. Miss Maudie,” she added, nodding. If Maudie hadn’t been there, Kathryn might have been tempted to walk straight into Jacob’s arms.
Miss Maudie held out an envelope. “This just came for you, dear. The clerk said it was urgent.”
Kathryn took it. Willow Springs Bank was stamped on the outside. She ripped it open, already anticipating the contents. As she’d suspected, Mr. Kohlman was requesting a meeting with her. Urgent, the note said. How urgent could the meeting be when she’d already lost her property? Nothing can snatch me out of your hands, Father, she reminded herself. I’m trusting in that.
Jacob stepped closer. “What does it say?”
“It’s a request from Mr. Kohlman to meet him at the bank this morning as soon as possible.”
“I’ll get a wagon from the lower stable and be back shortly.”
As Jacob hurried away, Miss Maudie laid a hand to her arm. “Kathryn dear, perhaps you need to leave this business for later and get some rest for you and your baby.”
Kathryn ran a hand through her hair. A tempting thought, yet Kohlman’s request sounded pressing. Besides, the pains she’d experienced had stopped, and if the baby came while in town, Doc Hadley would be there to help. Kathryn searched Miss Maudie’s face, deciding that MacGregor hadn’t told the woman about his ordering her to leave Casaroja. Kathryn debated whether to get the dear woman involved, but what could Miss Maudie do? Besides, it would only create tension between them, and Maudie had been nothing but kind.
Kathryn forced a smile. “I’ll head into town and see what Mr. Kohlman wants first. Then I’ll come back. I don’t think I could go back to sleep right now anyway.”
Miss Maudie’s eyes lit. “Have you had any signs of the baby’s comin’ yet?”
“Just a few pains last night.”
“If you feel up to it, you and Jacob should stop by the harvest festival in town later today. The whole town turns out for it. Mr. MacGregor hosts a barbecue, and I’ll be helpin’ with that most of the day.” She patted Kathryn’s arm one last time. “If you need anything, send Jacob for me.”
Thanking her, Kathryn spotted Jacob leading a team of horses from the stable. She quickly changed into a fresh dress, ran a brush through her hair and, for the baby’s sake, ate a piece of bread slathered with butter. A heaviness weighted her chest as she thought of the day ahead and of having to face Kohlman again, but the thought of having Jacob by her side made it bearable.
She’d done her best to keep the land, but her best wasn’t good enough in the end, and she knew she had to let it go. Nothing she could say to Kohlman this morning would change that.
Wagons already cluttered the field behind the church and choked the streets of town, even though the festival supposedly didn’t start until noon. Miss Maudie had been right—it looked as though everyone in the surrounding area would be in attendance, along with every cowboy in the territory.
Kathryn glanced at Jacob sitting on the wagon bench beside her, glad he was there. “I see it fits well enough.”
He reached up and touched the cap she’d knitted for him. “Like a glove,” he answered, laughing softly. “I’ve been wearing it.”
“I’ve been noticing.”
He shot her a quick look. “And I’ve been thanking God for its maker.”
Kathryn sat speechless even after he’d turned around, wondering exactly when this gentle man had stolen so quietly into her life and captured her heart. Looking down, she twisted the gold band still adorning her left hand. How could she love two such different men with such unquestionable certainty?
“This is about as close as we’re going to get to the bank.” Jacob set the brake and climbed down. “They have the road roped off ahead.”
He offered Kathryn his hand and steadied her full frame as he lifted her down. Unlike that day at church, his hands didn’t linger about her waist this time. As though I still have a waist, she thought with brittle humor.
“Would you like me to go in with you? Or . . . I can wait outside.”
Looking up at him, Kathryn caught her faint reflection in his glasses and couldn’t help but think of Sadie. Sadie had seen a part of Jacob that remained hidden to her. “I’d love for you to come with me, if you don’t mind,” she said, taking his proffered arm. Warmth spread through her as he drew her close and maneuvered a path through the crowded streets.
When they entered the bank, they found the lobby unusually quiet. Kathryn counted five employees and even fewer customers. She spotted Miss Stacey, Kohlman’s secretary, across the lobby.
Miss Stacey rose as they approached. “Good morning, Mrs. Jennings.”
Kathryn greeted her, keenly aware of the moment the woman looked at Jacob, because a frown replaced her smile before she hastily looked away.
“I’ll let Mr. Kohlman know that you’re here.”
“Thank you, Miss Stacey,” Kathryn answered, then turned to Jacob.
He smiled.
Clearly he’d grown accustomed to this reaction from people. Kathryn regretted, again, her first response at having seen his face. But as she looked at him now, admiration for him filled her, and she wanted only one thing. She’d already seen past his scars to the heart of the godly man within; now all she wanted was to look into Jacob’s eyes.
Harold Kohlman rose from his desk, his brow creasing in obvious disapproval. “Mrs. Jennings, this meeting is of a most personal nature. Perhaps this man would prefer to wait outside.”
Larson bristled at Kohlman’s tone. “The name is Jacob Brantley, and Mrs. Jennings prefers me to stay.”
He hadn’t expected such a strong physical reaction toward Kohlman, especially since so much time had passed. Larson knew the man’s first concern was managing his bank, but for some reason, a resentment rose inside Larson when he thought of Kohlman foreclosing on his land. He glanced at the clock on the office wall. Tomorrow at this time, the land he and Kathryn had worked for the past ten years was going up for auction to the highest bidder. And somewhere along the way, Kohlman had signed the papers enabling that to happen.
Larson led Kathryn to one of two chairs situated before Kohlman’s desk. Kathryn turned, and he followed her gaze to a man looking out the window. Dressed in a tailored gray suit, the gentleman reminded Larson, from the back anyway, of businessmen he’d seen back East years ago.
“Very well. Let’s get started,” Kohlman huffed, clearly displeased. “Mrs. Jennings, if you’ll be seated. Mr. Childers, if you’ll join us, please.”
The man at the window turned, and Kathryn let out a soft gasp. “Mr. Childers!”
She rose and went to him. He embraced her as he might have a daughter. Larson stared, not knowing what to make of it. He didn’t remember ever having met the man, but looking more closely at Childers, he couldn’t help but be reminded of William Cummings, Kathryn’s father.
“Kathryn, child.” Mr. Childers’ smile came softly. “Well, hardly a child anymore, I see.”
Kathryn hugged him again, then drew back. “What’s brought you all the way from Boston?”
“You, my dear. You are what’s brought me here.” His smile dimmed, and sadness accentuated the fine wrinkles lining his face. “Your father sent me.”
Kathryn’s expression simultaneously showed joy and shock. Larson took a step forward, unable to fathom that Cummings had finally decided to pursue a relationship with his daughter. After all these years . . .
Quick introductions were exchanged. Larson shook Childers’ hand, and then Childers led Kathryn back to the chair and sat in the one opposite hers.
“How is Father? I wrote to him a month ago, thinking that perhaps he might want to see me again now that . . .”
Larson’s throat tightened as Kathryn let her sentence trail off. Now that she’s alone and with child, and that her husband he never approved of is dead. She’d paid a high price in so many ways for marrying him. She’d left so much behind to follow his dream—a dream that now lay in ruins.
“Actually, your missive to your father is what prompted my visit.” Childers sighed deeply. “When we received your letter, I immediately contacted the bank here in Willow Springs, and an employee was kind enough to confirm that you did indeed still live here. I arrived by stage this morning and came directly here to the bank, where Mr. Kohlman graciously offered to send for you.”
Childers looked to Kohlman, who sat behind his desk, hands clasped over his thick middle. “Thank you for the use of your private office, Mr. Kohlman. As you mentioned earlier, this meeting is of a most confidential nature, and I appreciate your keeping knowledge of this conversation restricted to the parties present.” He turned back to Kathryn. “Your father wrote a letter to you, Kathryn. I know he would have liked to have delivered it himself.”
“Is Father still in Boston? Is he well?”
Childers carefully gathered Kathryn’s hands in his and shook his head. In that moment, Larson knew the purpose of Childers’ visit.
“Your father died this past December, Kathryn. A poor heart is what the physicians said. It wasn’t a lengthy illness.”
Larson saw the shock ripple through Kathryn’s body, and he went to stand beside her.
“My father is . . . gone?” she whispered.
“Yes, child, I’m so sorry.” Childers pulled an envelope from his pocket. “He wrote this letter for you. I believe a portion of this was intended for your husband, although I was saddened to learn from your letter that your husband, too, has passed on. You have my deepest condolences, Kathryn.”
She nodded as silent tears fell. Guilt needled Larson at seeing them, and Annabelle’s voice replayed in his mind. “Kathryn always told me you weren’t dead. She said she felt it—in here. Do you have any idea what she’s been through?” But he had only to remind himself that what he was doing was best for Kathryn in order to silence the voice.
Then a thought struck him, and he wondered how it had slipped by him. William Cummings had been quite well-to-do, and though he’d been an estranged father at best, caring far more about his investments than his family, no doubt the man would’ve been compelled to leave his inheritance to his only child.
“Kathryn, as you know, your father was a very wealthy man,” Childers continued quietly, as though responding to Larson’s thoughts. “He wanted you to have the best of everything and he spent his life working to that end, making sure you and your mother had every comfort. Not long after your mother died, your father invested in the mining industry. Silver, specifically, and within months the investment had exceeded even his highest expectations. Within a couple of years your father finally achieved the wealth he’d always sought after, however . . .” A sigh escaped Childers, both heavy and troubled. He took Kathryn’s hand. “He had no one to share it with. Which leads to the reason I’m here today, to talk to you about your father’s estate and the inheritance he left you.”
Kohlman’s chair creaked, and Larson turned to see the man standing behind his desk, his ruddy complexion now gone ashen.
“My inheritance?” Kathryn gently shook her head, and Larson read the question in her eyes. Though never having stated it outright, William Cummings had, by his lack of interest and communication, severed all ties with his daughter years ago, after Kathryn had married.
Kohlman made a noise in his throat, at which they all turned. “If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Jennings, Mr. Childers, I can see this is a . . . most delicate moment, so I’ll leave you to finish this meeting in private. But please, use my office as long as you like.”
Kohlman’s hasty exit didn’t bother Larson—it was the look of urgency in the man’s eyes as he closed the door that roused suspicion.
Childers reached into a satchel by the desk and withdrew a document. “Before I disclose the contents of your father’s last will and testament, Kathryn, I feel a need to remind you that I’ve been your father’s business partner since you were a child. I’ve seen your father through many stages of his life, and his career, so what I’m about to tell you is trustworthy. I was frequently at William’s bedside during his last days, and despite what I’m about to tell you, he was not at all a bitter or unhappy man in the end.”
Kathryn swallowed convulsively, her attention riveted on what Childers would say next.
“As I said, the mining investment made your father a wealthy man. However, his other businesses were suffering, and several of his newer ventures did not yield to his advantage. Then the mine went bust last year. Almost overnight. All the money, the investments, the houses . . . everything, was gone.”
Larson cleared his throat and dared ask the question. “But you said Kathryn’s father left her an inheritance?”
Childers smiled. “And that he did. It’s just not the one that he’d originally intended.”
None of them spoke for a moment, and finally Kathryn lifted her head. “Did my father say anything about me to you before he died? Did he give any reason why he never contacted me?”
“Though very intelligent, your father was a misguided man most of his life, Kathryn, and that by his own admission. Toward the end he told me you’d written him after your mother’s passing. Once or twice, is what he recalled.”
Childers paused, and from the look on the man’s face, Larson found a well of protectiveness rising within him for Kathryn.
“Your father confided to me one night that he’d always intended to find those letters again and read them.”
“You mean . . . he never read them?” Kathryn’s voice came out small and breathy, like a girl’s.
Childers shook his head, then lifted his shoulders and let them fall. “When the time came and he realized all that he’d missed in his life, when faced with the grave mistakes he’d made, it was too late. He was very ill by that time, near penniless. The houses and furniture had all been sold, along with his personal belongings. Your letters were lost to him forever, just as he thought you were.
“I hired someone to try to locate you last winter. All your father knew was that you were in the Colorado Territory, but our search turned up nothing.” The seriousness in his countenance slowly lessened. “Then when your latest letter arrived, I finally knew where you were. Your father’s greatest regret, Kathryn, was that he was not the father you deserved, nor the husband he wished he’d been to your mother.”
Childers started to say more, then apparently thought better of it. He pointed to the envelope in her hand. “But lest I paint too bleak a picture for you, child, again, your father did not die a bitter man, and his prayer was that you would not be so toward him. In truth, he did indeed leave you something of great importance.” He rose. “I’ll be in town for a few days. Take time to read the letter, and we’ll meet to discuss the details later. I’ll be staying at the hotel. Contact me when you’re ready.”
Kathryn stood with him. “Thank you for coming all this way to tell me.”
Childers took a moment to study her face. “I didn’t want you hearing the news by telegram or post. Plus, selfishly, I wanted to see you again. You’ve grown into a beautiful woman, Kathryn. When you first walked into the office, I thought I was looking at your mother. If I may be so bold,” he said, his tone hesitant, “what is the expected date of your child’s arrival? A Thanksgiving baby? Or Christmas perhaps?”
She smiled softly. “Actually it’s within the month.”
Larson read the surprise in Childers’ expression, but it in no way matched the bolt of shock slicing through him. Surely she couldn’t be that far along. She wasn’t large enough. He looked down at his wife’s body, his own tensing with a flood of disbelief. He thought back to last Christmas, then rapidly sped forward through the months, counting. Could it be that . . .
“After all these years, God has seen fit to bless me with a child,” she told him. “I only wish that Larson were still here to see the birth of his son or daughter.”
Larson stifled a quick intake of breath and gripped the back of the chair beside him. Could it be true? God, is this what you were trying to get me to see? But Kathryn’s still so small. He thought of the brothel, of Matthew Taylor. He’d seen her there, he’d seen her with Matthew Taylor, overhead their conversations. He’d thought that . . .
Larson looked into his wife’s face, into her eyes, and saw a purity there that he wanted to believe in. That he wanted to believe in with all his heart.
“I promised William something,” Childers said, dragging Larson’s attention back. The older gentleman tipped Kathryn’s chin upward with his forefinger as though she were a little girl. “I promised him that I would find you and deliver his letter, and that when I did, I would give you a token of his love.” Childers framed Kathryn’s face between his hands and gently kissed her forehead. Once, twice.
“My father’s last gift, and his best,” Kathryn whispered.
As Jacob guided the wagon down the road to Casaroja, Kathryn couldn’t help but see the place through different eyes. While grand in its own right, Casaroja didn’t begin to compare with the modest cabin that Larson had built. MacGregor had built Casaroja on greed and deception. Larson’s foundation had been love and years of honest hard work.
She ran a hand over her belly. Larson’s child wouldn’t inherit his father’s land. He would inherit something far better, something Larson had always wanted, and had always possessed in Kathryn’s eyes—an honest name.
Jacob pulled the wagon in front of the cottage. He’d been unusually quiet on the ride back, and she’d caught him staring at her several times.
“Are you sure you want to leave this afternoon, Kathryn? Maybe you should wait until Miss Maudie comes back so you can tell her good-bye.”
“No, I want to leave now, today.” She wanted—needed—to be gone before MacGregor returned and found her still there.
Jacob considered her for a moment, then climbed from the wagon and came around. He offered her his hand and helped her down and then stood close, his hand still holding hers. Kathryn stared up at him, her pulse quickening.
He let go and nodded toward the harnessed team. “One of the horses is limping. I’ll hitch up a fresh team from the lower stable and be back up to help you shortly. Wait for me, though. Don’t try to carry anything out yourself.” He walked her as far as the porch.
Kathryn shaded her eyes in the afternoon sun so she could see his face. A cool breeze rippled the cottonwood branches overhead. “Jacob, do you think we could have some time to talk later tonight, once we’re back in town? I’d like to explain some things, if I can put my thoughts into words.”
Though his eyes were hidden, his smile led her to believe he understood.
She watched him pull away, then looked at the letter in her hand, still unopened. Her father had loved her after all. That meant more to her than anything else.
The inheritance he might have left her, if his businesses hadn’t failed, would have seemed like a godsend a few months ago. It would have allowed her to keep the cabin, the ranch, Larson’s dream. Yet it could never have replaced the relationships she’d lost or the years she’d forfeited. Years lost with her father through his pursuit to give her everything, when all she’d wanted was him. And years forfeited with Larson by looking past the man he was to some nonsensical dream of the man she wanted him to be.
Kathryn tucked the letter into her coat pocket. She’d waited years for this word from her father and wanted to be able to savor it unhurried. She could wait a little while longer. Right now she wanted to get off this land and to be far away from Donlyn MacGregor.