The Inheritance (44 page)

Fear looped another knot in her stomach. But at least Wyatt had saved her from another conversation with Judge Hawkins. She looked down at her dress.
Purple
. She cringed. What a color to be married in. If she’d known she would be getting married that day, she would have chosen something else that morning.

“This union was instituted by God to provide a place wherein a woman is to be a helpmeet to her husband, and wherein a man is to love his wife as Christ loved the church. God designed this relationship to be shared between a man and woman for their mutual edification and for the purpose of procreation . . .”

McKenna’s face heated at the word, then at how her imagination began filling in the blanks in her mind. But her imagination ran out long before all the blanks were penciled in, and she swallowed hard, clenching her eyes tight at what remained unknown.

“Marriage is intended to last a lifetime . . .”

She stared at her hands resting in Wyatt’s. His were warm, large, and rough, browned by the sun. A rancher’s hands, familiar with work. A puckered scar ran the length of the top of his left thumb. She’d never noticed that before. The skin looked long healed. Perhaps it was something from boyhood . . .

His thumb began to make slow, patient circles over the tops of her fingers, and the effects of his tenderness spread throughout her entire body. Her thoughts took a backward skip to Judge Hawkins’s comment about procreation, and she blushed as her thoughts penciled in another blank.

“Wyatt—” Judge Hawkins stopped. His brow knit. “What is your full name, Marshal Caradon?”

“Wyatt Thomas Caradon, sir.”

“Wyatt Thomas Caradon,” Judge Hawkins continued, “do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward . . . ?”

McKenna glanced beside her. His middle name was Thomas? She hadn’t known that. There was so much about this man she didn’t know. Oh God, what was she doing? Her heart started pounding. A ringing filled her ears. She was famished, yet she couldn’t have eaten a bite at that moment if she’d tried. She cared deeply for Wyatt. But caring for a man and loving him the way a wife should love her husband were two very different things. Maybe she was making a mistake. Maybe she should—

A quick glance over her shoulder at Emma seated on the front pew beside Mei, Chin Li, and Dr. Foster bolstered her decision. Again. Emma waved, and McKenna smiled back, knowing she couldn’t live without this child. And she wouldn’t risk having Emma live with someone else for weeks on end, with the possibility that Judge Hawkins might change his mind at any time. And she could never live with herself knowing she’d let Janie down.

She faced forward again.
Janie, I’m keeping my promise . . .

“I do,” Wyatt said, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

He didn’t sound as nervous as she was. In fact, he didn’t sound nervous at all. McKenna slid her eyes to the right and stole a furtive glance, trying to see his face. But she couldn’t, not without being obvious.

“Miss Ashford?”

“I do,” she forced out, trying not to wince as she said it. Then she met Judge Hawkins’s stern gaze and realized she wasn’t supposed to have said that yet.

“State your full name, please, Miss Ashford.”

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry. It’s—” She hesitated, cringing. “
Agnes
McKenna Ashford.”

Wyatt sighed beside her. Or had it been a laugh? She couldn’t be sure.

“
Agnes
McKenna Ashford,” Judge Hawkins repeated with the same emphasis, his gaze weighed with displeasure. “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward? For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health? Do you pledge yourself unto him, and him only? Do you promise to love, honor, and obey him as your rightful head in the sight of Christ?”

My rightful head? Honor and obey?
A cool wind of reality swept through her. She thought of Chin Li and Mei, and didn’t think she could ever be that subservient to a man. Would Wyatt Caradon expect her to be? He certainly wouldn’t expect her to bow to him, but what might he expect of her in other ways? And what if— Wyatt’s grip suddenly tightened and she looked up.

He was smiling. Only it wasn’t a full smile. It was one of those ghosted little grins that masked a secret. And it gave her a glimpse of what he must have looked like as a little boy.
Adorable . . .

Her gaze inched upward to his eyes and all traces of boyhood vanished.

A wave of desire, powerful and unexpected, swept through her. Her memory traced a path back to the way he held her in his arms earlier that day, and of his kiss. He hadn’t been the least bit shy then, and at the slightest bit of encouragement, had grown undeniably bolder.

“McKenna.” Wyatt’s voice was soft.

She blinked, and recognized the earnestness in his eyes.

“Will you take me as your husband?” he whispered, indicating the judge with a tilt of his head. “He has a stage to catch.”

She thought of Emma, and of Janie. And of all she’d done wrong with Robert in her life. Then she thought of what little she knew about this man before her. He already loved Emma, and Emma loved him. He was a man of honor, kind and— “Yes,” she whispered, forcing the words over the
tick-tock
of the imaginary clock. “I do.”

Judge Hawkins closed his Bible, his sternness only slightly less diminished. “By the power vested in me by the State of Colorado, I now pronounce you man and wife. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. Mr. Caradon, you may kiss your bride.”

McKenna froze. What if he kissed her here like he’d done when they were alone in the church foyer? His hand covering hers urged her toward him. Readying herself, she turned.

His smile was gone and in its place was a look she couldn’t define. If she hadn’t known better, she might’ve thought they were alone. He leaned down. His lips brushed hers, and lingered. His mouth was soft against hers, and so sweetly tender that her worries began to lose their footing. A man who could ride and shoot like Wyatt Caradon ought not be able to kiss like this.

He drew back before she was ready for him to, and when she opened her eyes, that smile of his was back in place. Only with a wicked little gleam this time. She forced her gaze elsewhere, knowing she’d have to be careful not to encourage him in this area. Until she was ready anyway . . .

Kissing was one thing. But what lay beyond that was another. And knowing the mind of a man as she did, she knew Wyatt would want the “what lay beyond” to come sooner rather than later.

She remembered that night on the porch steps when she’d accused him of having been with cheap women. He’d told her then that he’d never been with a woman like that, and she’d believed him. She still did.

What was even more reassuring was knowing—when the time came for them to truly become husband and wife—they would share that experience for the first time . . . together. Just as God intended.

FORTY-TWO

D
raped in dusk, the homestead came into view as Wyatt guided the wagon down the road. McKenna saw it all so differently—the cabin, the barn, the corrals—and sorrow settled inside her. She thought she’d prepared herself for what this moment would feel like—when she knew with certainty that the ranch was no longer hers. Between Mr. Billings’s foreclosure notices and his visit with Harrison Talbot, reality should have sunk in by now.

But it hadn’t.

With Emma asleep in her arms, it hit her full force that this precious child would not grow up in the home Vince and Janie built for her. Nor would she inherit the land her parents worked so hard to keep. But she
would
grow up knowing she was loved. McKenna could guarantee that, so would Wyatt, she knew. And Emma would know how much Vince and Janie had loved her too.

Wyatt pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the cabin, climbed down, and came around to her side. Wordless, McKenna handed the child down, and warmed at the way he cradled Emma in his arms.

“I’ll carry her inside,” he whispered.

Nodding, McKenna started to climb down too, but he turned back.

“Wait here, please,” he said softly, that semblance of a smile returning. “Agnes.”

Seeing the mischievous gleam in his eyes, she bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. She kept her voice low. “I’ve always hated that name.”

“And I’ve always loved it. It’s my mother’s name.”

“It’s not!” she mouthed.

But he nodded and winked.

Watching him walk into the cabin, she felt a nervous tickle reawakening inside her. They’d eaten dinner at a place in the Chinese Quarter called Ming’s. The food was delicious, though not the type of fare she’d dreamed of having at her wedding reception. Nothing about this day had been as she’d dreamed. Having Chin Li, Mei, and Dr. Foster’s company kept conversation between her and Wyatt to a minimum, as had Emma falling asleep on the way home.

Just then, her thoughts were interrupted as Wyatt took the porch steps by twos. She suddenly felt conspicuous sitting there, waiting for him. So she quickly folded her hands in her lap then changed her mind and put a hand on the bench seat and one on her reticule. Her fourth finger on her left hand was bare. No time to buy a ring, if Wyatt planned on making that purchase. Not every wife wore one, nor could every husband afford it.

Seeing the way he stared up at her, a wedding ring was suddenly the least of her concerns.

“May I have the honor . . . Mrs. Caradon?”

Mrs. Caradon. Mrs. Wyatt Caradon.
She leaned down and he lifted her into his arms. She kept her eyes averted as he carried her up the stairs and across the threshold of the cabin, yet she was aware of every place their bodies touched, and of where his hands were on her—chaste and proper—which only accentuated what he was probably thinking about. And what she was trying her best not to.

Emma’s bedroom door was closed. Vince and Janie’s wasn’t.

Wyatt lowered her to the floor, then paused, his hands on her waist. “McKenna?”

His breath was soft on her face. “Yes?”

“You can look at me, you know. I’m not going to bite.”

Something about the way he said it made her smile, and she lifted her gaze. The room was cast in shadows, and she could make out only the faintest outline of his stubbled jaw. She fought the sudden urge to touch his face.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For making me your husband.” His hand moved, ever so slowly, around her back. “And for giving me the chance . . .” He nodded toward Emma’s bedroom. “To be a father to that sweet little one in there.”

The anxious tickle expanding inside her, McKenna matched the softness of his voice. “And thank you for making me your wife, Wyatt. For allowing me to keep her, and to keep my promise to Janie. It was very . . . honorable of you.” She was achingly aware of the progress of his hand on her lower back as it moved upward.

As though acting on its own volition, her hand rose to cradle his face.
This man
was her husband. This man was
her husband
! He pulled her closer. The rise and fall of her chest met his, and the cabin suddenly seemed overly quiet. And dark.

He leaned down and she sucked in a breath.

He kissed her forehead and the curve of her cheek. “I love you, McKenna. I have for some time now. And when Hawkins mentioned the option of you marrying today . . .”

He brushed the hair from her temple and kissed her there. Twice. A weakness settled in her knees.

His laughter came soft. “It wasn’t hard for me to know what I wanted to do. So just to be clear . . . honor had little to do with my actions today. They were mostly selfish at heart.”

McKenna let out a held breath. Her hand trembled against his face. He kissed the corners of her mouth, and lingered. His breath was warm and his question clear. She answered by turning toward him, and he drew her into his arms and kissed her full on the mouth.

After a moment, she grew heady with being so close to him, and with the possibilities that lay beyond this moment. How could she want two such opposite things at the very same time? She wanted to be close to him, exactly like this, with his arms around her. Maybe even closer. Yet she wasn’t ready for . . .
more
. Not now. Not yet.