Lauri Robinson - Inheriting a Bride

A tic tugged at Clay’s brow as he shook his head, causing him to press a finger to his temple. The eerie sensation had him saying, “Kit Becker?”

Clay’s mind was spinning, as was his stomach. He took the stairs leading up to his office above the Land and Claims Office two at a time and threw open the door, his heart skipping several beats.

Kit.

Katie.

Katherine.

Kit.

Damn .

Katherine Ackerman was Kit Becker.

“Aw, hell,” Clay muttered as he fell onto his desk chair.

What was she up to, pretending to be someone else? A growl rumbled out of his throat. What was he up to? He’d kissed her. Kissed his ward. And furthermore, while holding her on the train, he’d thought about doing a whole lot more than kissing.

LAURI ROBINSON’s chosen genre to write is Western historical. When asked why, she says, ‘Because I know I wasn’t the only girl who wanted to grow up and marry Little Joe Cartwright.’

With a degree in early childhood education, Lauri has spent decades working in the non-profit field and claims once-upon-a-time and happily-ever-after romance novels have always been a form of stress relief. When her husband suggested she write one she took the challenge, and has loved every minute of the journey.

Lauri lives in rural Minnesota, where she and her husband spend every spare moment with their three grown sons and four grandchildren. She works part-time, volunteers for several organisations, and is a diehard Elvis and NASCAR fan. Her favourite getaway location is the woods of northern Minnesota, on the land homesteaded by her great-grandfather.

Previous titles from Lauri Robinson:

UNCLAIMED BRIDE

HIS CHRISTMAS WISH

(part of All a Cowboy Wants for Christmas )

Also available in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:

WEDDING NIGHT WITH THE RANGER

HER MIDNIGHT COWBOY

NIGHTS WITH THE OUTLAW

DISOBEYING THE MARSHAL

TESTING THE LAWMAN’S HONOUR

THE SHERIFF’S LAST GAMBLE

WHAT A COWBOY WANTS

Behind every book is a story, and here’s the one behind INHERITING A BRIDE.

What first came to me was the scene of Clay tossing Henry into the pond. Over the next few days I realised Henry wasn’t Henry, but Kit, and that intrigued me, had me wondering why Kit was pretending to be a boy. As the story started to unfold I came to the conclusion that I needed to know a lot more about gold-mining in the 1800s before I could put pen to paper, so I started researching.

The internet is marvellous, but unless you know where you’re going it can be like throwing a dart. Lucky for me, one of my searches landed on the amazing website of a ‘hobby’ miner. It provided me with a vast amount of information, but I was still floundering. I needed specific questions answered in order to grasp an understanding of the process so I could import the needed bits and pieces into my story. Not because the book explains gold-mining in the 1800s, but because if I understood the process, and all that went along with it, I could then gain a deeper understanding of Clay and the issues he faced in becoming the guardian of his partner’s wayward grandchildren.

I emailed Mr Ralph, the owner of the website, and asked if I could interview him. Bless his heart, he not only agreed, and spent a considerable amount of time on the phone answering my questions, he sent me several e-mails with links to amazing sites, including videos.

I wrote Clay and Kit’s story, but Chris Ralph gave me the backbone—the information I needed to get to know my characters and really tell their story. Without him—a man I will probably never meet in person—I would have never been able to write INHERITING A BRIDE.

Life is like that—it puts people into our lives just when we need them. Strangers or not. Remember that, believe it, and you’ll see it in your life, too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy Kit and Clay’s story.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Chris Ralph, for so generously sharing

all of his knowledge and insight on gold-mining.

Northern Colorado, 1885

A variety of passengers scurried across the wooden platform of the Black Hawk depot, but only one held Clay Hoffman’s attention, or better yet, his irritation. Women had a way of annoying him, and this one was in a tizzy, waving her hands, gesturing toward the train as she spouted off to Stan Thomas, the porter. Though he had no doubt the man could handle the situation, Clay moved to the depot door. Perhaps her luggage had been damaged or something. Loads had been known to shift during the ride up the mountain from Denver. That was why he was giving this woman, dressed in her canary-colored finery, the benefit of the doubt. His sister insisted he needed to do that once in a while. Therefore he was trying, but in reality, not getting too far. Old habits and all that.

“Clay?” Stan motioned for him to approach. “This is Miss Katherine Ackerman from Boston, Massachusetts.”

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?”