Clay’s gaze roamed her face, as if he was seriously examining her features. It made her cheeks warm and had her wondering if she’d been too hasty in her morning routine. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but there hadn’t been anything she could do about it. The cool cloth she’d pressed to them earlier hadn’t helped.
“You’re welcome, Kit.” A sizzle coming from the stove had him pushing away from the table. “Looks like the coffee’s boiling.” He walked over and pushed the pot off the burner before going to a cupboard to retrieve cups. “I’m afraid I don’t have any cream, but might be able to find some sugar.”
“That’s all right. I’ve had it black before,” she admitted, glad for a second to regain her equilibrium. Her heart was wishing he was her family. Someone she could love and laugh with and share whatever the future might bring.
He carried both cups to the table. After he slid one in front of her, he sat and lifted his to his lips, but stopped before taking a sip. “You know, the last time we had coffee together, I couldn’t drink it.”
“You drank your coffee yesterday morning,” she reminded him.
“But you had tea.” He set the cup down. “The last time we both had coffee was on the trail, when you stank to high heaven.”
Her cheeks caught fire this time and she glanced toward her cup. “That was awful.”
“So your coffee was appalling, too?” he asked, sounding skeptical.
“Yes,” she admitted. “It tasted like the amulet bag smelled.”
“I thought it was just me.”
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head, peering at him through her lashes.
He grinned and then picked up his cup. “Let’s hope this tastes better.” As she reached for hers, he added, “But I’m not promising anything.”
She cringed, glancing from the cup to him.
“I’ve never used that pot before.” He winked.
Relief oozed through her and she took a sip, though she had no idea what the coffee tasted like. Her insides were too busy bubbling for her to notice.
They both drank a small amount, and then he set his coffee on the table. “I think Oscar was afraid to tell you.” He spun the cup in a circle. “About your mother, that is.”
Clay’s friendliness had eased the sorrow engulfing her, allowing her to question things without sadness overtaking each thought. “Why?” She set her own cup down. “For the life of me, I can’t figure out why. He knew how badly I wanted …” she had to take a breath before saying “… a family.”
“And I think that’s why.” Clay took another drink. “It’s a long story,” he said, as if warning her, “how I came to my conclusion.”
“I have time to listen, if you have time to tell me.”
He nodded, but sat quietly for a moment, as if contemplating where to start.
She took another drink of coffee, filling the time with something, anything. What she’d said was true. She would wait until the end of time to hear what he had to say. To learn why Gramps had deceived her so.
“I was just a kid the first time I saw Oscar. Maybe eight or so, I can’t say for sure. My father was working a mine over by Georgetown. The war had just ended and men were pouring into Colorado in droves. We’d pretty much cleaned out our claim, all the surface gold, anyway, when I heard my parents talking outside our tent about moving across the ridge.” Clay paused to take a sip of coffee. “My father said he’d met a man to partner up with. That man turned out to be Oscar.”
“My grandfather,” she said, mainly to assure him she was listening and wanted to know more.
“Yes. We moved and set up camp near the Wanda Lou. I didn’t know at the time, but Oscar already had a partner, P. J. Nelson. But P.J. wasn’t interested in mining. He was only interested in spending the gold after it was found. Oscar needed someone to buy P.J. out, and figured a man with a family to feed would be more set on mining and developing the claim than a bachelor like P.J. In the end, Oscar and P.J. parted as friends. Once in a while P.J. works at one of the mines, to earn enough to get by for a time. That was a request Oscar had right from the beginning.” Clay rose from his chair to retrieve the coffeepot.
Kit quickly emptied her cup so he could refill it. “What happened to your parents?” she asked, genuinely interested.
“My mother died from mountain fever when I was twelve and Clarice eight. Clarice had it, too, but, thankfully, she survived. And my father died nine years ago. He was out checking the ice on Clear Creek and fell through. He made it back home, but pneumonia set in.”
“I’m sorry,” she offered, touched by Clay’s losses.
He nodded, but the set of his jaw told her the deaths of his parents still affected him. She wanted to touch him, just squeeze his arm as he had hers, but tightened her hold on the coffee cup instead, not really sure why.
“After my father died, Oscar asked if I wanted to be his partner.” Clay shook his head. “He didn’t have to—offer, that is. My father wasn’t one for bookkeeping or legal matters. He’d never written out a will or kept track of things. My mother had kept ledgers of every ounce of gold discovered. Oscar had shown her what to record and asked her to send him a report every few months. He’d asked me to continue filling out the ledgers after she died, and he paid me for doing so each summer on his trip out, said even a boy needed some spending money in his pocket.”
Kit smiled, warmed by memories of Gramps. He’d had friends wherever he went. If he didn’t when he arrived, he certainly had when he’d left.
“I wired Oscar as soon as my father died, and he came out here a month or so later. That was the first time we ever really talked. Sure, he talked to both Clarice and me every year when he made his annual trip out, but that time we discussed things. The mine, the business parts of it all. My father was more concerned with the work, claiming the gold from the earth, finding that big nugget, whereas Oscar was interested in the long-term outcome. The things that could manifest from finding the gold. He didn’t have to offer me a partnership. He could have claimed it all, since I didn’t have a scrap of paper proving my father’s investments. But Oscar being Oscar, he offered me the fifty-fifty partnership he had had with my father. And he asked me to become more involved. To work with the stamp mill over in Black Hawk, and the smelter in Denver, as well as the mint. He also wanted me to become more involved in creating Nevadaville.”
Clay held up the coffeepot, but she shook her head. Unable to pull her attention from his tale, she discovered her cup was still full.
“The surface mining,” he continued, setting the pot back down, “had been played out at the Wanda Lou. She still had a good vein, still does, but we were digging deeper and deeper to pull the ore out. The silver in it is high grade, too, and by shipping the ore to the smelters we could double the mine’s payouts, more so if we had our own stamp mill.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about gold mining,” she admitted, interested in learning more. “I knew Gramps owned a mine, but other than that, neither he nor Grandma spoke much ab out it.”
“I’ll take you on a tour of the stamp mill. We extract a lot of gold here, and then send the rest of the ore off to the smelters, where they refine it, separate all the minerals. Gold, silver, quartz, zinc, lead.” He paused, looking at her. “If you’re interested, that is.”
She nodded. “I’d like that. Really, I would.”
He smiled, and then continued thoughtfully, “Well, about two years ago, the miners sent word I was needed at the Wanda Lou. When I got there, they pointed out a boy that had shown up looking for Oscar. I explained to him that Oscar lived in Chicago, but the kid insisted he had to talk to him, so I brought the boy to Nevadaville and had him send a wire to Oscar. I don’t know what the wire said, but Oscar sent one back almost immediately, to me. Telling me not to let the boy out of my sight, and that he was on his way.”
The timeline clicked in her mind. “Gramps was gone over six months that time.”
Clay let out a sigh and nodded. “Y
es, he was here for a long time.”
Her spine was tingling from her hips to her shoulders. “That boy was Sam, right?”
Clay folded both his hands around hers, which were holding on to the coffee cup to keep the trembling at bay. “Yes. That was Sam.”
Taking in a breath, she attempted to comprehend it all, as she had back at Clarice’s. It seemed so surreal. She was prepared to hear Sam was her uncle, but a brother was still so hard to understand. “How old is he?” she asked.
Clay’s insides were twisted into a jumbled mess, as they had been all night. He’d thought he was still dreaming when he’d opened the door and found her standing on his porch. Now, sitting here, holding her hands, he found other things were playing into the mix.
Pulling her hands off the coffee mug so he could wrap his fingers around her trembling ones, he said, “Seventeen.” She must have a million questions zinging around in her head. “Let me finish telling you what I know. Maybe it’ll help answer some of your questions.”
She nodded and offered a tight-lipped little smile.
“Well …” It took a moment for him to decide where to start. “Oscar arrived and I took him out to the mine, where Sam insisted on staying. Sam had a necklace, the kind you carry pictures in. One of the pictures was of Oscar and Katie, the other of …” He paused to swallow. “You.”
“Me?”
“Yes, as a baby. Sam said the necklace was his mother’s. Oscar confirmed it. The way Oscar told the story was that your mother had married a Union soldier who died in a battle shortly before you were born.”
Kit nodded.
Clay sighed, relieved she’d known at least that much. “Oscar said your mother was grief stricken, and then one day just disappeared. Somehow he learned she was in Denver, and started searching for her. I don’t exactly know how it all happened, but that’s where he met P.J. and they partnered up on the Wanda Lou. Oscar said the mine was his excuse to come looking for Amelia every year.”
“Did Grandma Katie know?” Kit’s fingers, entwined with Clay’s, clutched tighter.
“Yes,” he said, “she knew. Oscar hated leaving her each fall, knowing when he got to Chicago he’d have to tell her he hadn’t found their daughter … again.”
Kit sniffled, and a single tear dropped on her cheek, unraveling all sorts of things inside him. He wiped the droplet away and then folded his fingers around hers again. There was nothing more he could give other than compassion, and he hoped it was enough.
“They always told me my mother went East, to tell him about me, and took sick and died out there. That’s why she didn’t have a grave in Chicago.” Kit shook her head slowly and met Clay’s gaze with beseeching eyes. “Where’d they live? Why didn’t Grandpa find them before …?”
He squeezed her hand again. “When Oscar arrived, he spent most of his time with Sam, asking those same questions. From what he told me, Amelia met Harry Edwards in Denver and they moved out here to mine gold, but that didn’t pan out and Harry took to trapping for furs. They lived about fifteen miles from the Wanda Lou.”
“She’d been that close all those years and Gramps never found her?”
Clay offered what he hoped was an understanding smile. “That’s what Oscar said. But you have to understand what these mountains are like. There are no roads, no trails, just miles of ridges, gullies, creek beds and unclaimed land. So much it’s impossible to search it all. Sam said he’d never been in a town before I brought him to Nevadaville to send that message to Oscar.”
“But surely my mother—”
“Don’t, Kit,” Clay interrupted. “Don’t try to understand the whys and why-nots. Oscar did that, and never found an answer.” Clay rubbed the soft skin on the backs of her hands with his fingertips. “Sam told Oscar that Amelia had died a few years before, and that Harry had gone out trapping a few weeks prior to him coming to the mine, and never came back. He said Harry told him if something ever happened to him, Sam was to go to the Wanda Lou and find Oscar, that he was Sam’s grandfather.” Clay didn’t know how else to say it. Sam had actually said his father had told him to go to the mine and claim his share of the Wanda Lou. Harry Edwards had known who his wife’s father was. That had been a bur under Oscar’s saddle, as well as Clay’s. Everyone had known how Oscar had searched for Amelia, and Clay felt certain Harry had known. Amelia, too.
He took a breath, drawing fortitude from the belief that Oscar had only wanted to protect Kit. Clay believed that, and hoped, in time, she’d understand. “When Oscar learned of Amelia’s death, he was heartbroken, yet said he was glad the search was over. He said not knowing was worse than knowing. I think that’s why he was afraid to tell you. Because he knew the frustration of looking for someone he never found, he knew how hard it was for Katie, and he didn’t want you to experience that pain. The yearly cycle of hope and disappointment. But he did try to convince Sam to go with him to Chicago. Worked at it for months.”
“Where is he?”
Clay looked up. “Sam?”
A wobbly little smile formed on her lips. “Yes, Sam.”
“He lives out by the mine.”
“I can’t believe I have a brother,” she whispered, so tenderly Clay all of a sudden wanted to slay every dragon in her past.
A series of flashes went through his mind. He couldn’t remember life without Clarice, and had to admit it would be boring without his sister. He loved her deeply, in that special way dedicated to brothers and sisters. If he was in Kit’s shoes, he’d have set out to find his family, too.
“I’ll go and get him,” he said.
“Can’t I go with you? Out to the mine.”
Denying her request was impossible, but he felt inclined to warn, “Sam can be a bit prickly.”
The tiny giggle she emitted brightened the entire room, or possibly the world. “So can I.” She settled her sparkling gaze on his face. “At times.” Shrugging, she added, “It must be a family trait.”
Allowing himself to embrace her humor was easier than he’d thought. Letting out a chuckle, he answered, “It must be.”
“You’ll take me?”
“Yes, I’ll take you.”
“Right now?”
He slipped his hands from hers and stood. “Yes, right now. I just have to go saddle some horses.” The outcome of her last ride came to mind. “I’m afraid it’s too far to walk, and the trail is too rough for a buggy.”
“I figured that.” A tiny frown appeared between her brows, as if she was puzzled about his caution.
He knew the moment she figured it out.
Lifting her chin in that adorable way she had, she said, “Don’t worry. I’m healed, and Dr. O’Reilly gave me my very own tin of salve.” Her cheeks grew pink. “In case of future outbreaks.”
She had so many charming and endearing qualities, and every one of them caught him just a bit off guard. Like bursts of southerly winds hitting the frozen mountain lakes. The warmth thawed the frozen water and renewed life after the inert days of winter. That’s what she’d done to his heart. Clay paused for a brief moment, wondering what that meant. But he’d spent the night contemplating his feelings, and didn’t need to go down that road again. The bottom line was she was his ward, not a woman he could love, and nothing was going to change that. He couldn’t give up everything he had for her, which was what would happen if he went against Oscar’s will. Too many people depended on him.
Silently, he cursed the will, then said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“I’ll go with you.” She pushed away from the table.
“No, we’ll have to ride past here again. There’s no need for you to trek up and down the hill. It won’t take me long.” He moved to the doorway. “I just have to get my hat. Have some more coffee.” He offered the last bit as an afterthought, before the door to the foyer swung shut behind him.
Chapter Nine
Too overwhelmed to do much else, Kit stared at the swinging door. Her mind and nerves were swirling faster
than fireflies in a mason jar, sparking light and fading just as quickly. Not only had her mother been alive, she’d remarried and had a son. Kit’s brother. Sam Edwards.
Add all that to the way her hands still tingled from how tenderly Clay had held them while he explained it all to her, and there was too much to contemplate. She just couldn’t. Not all at the same time. The same day.
The door swung open, and Clay, with his hat on his head and one arm in his vest, said, “I’ll be right back. Stay here.” This time he left the kitchen using the door near the stove, the one that led outside, while slipping his other arm through an armhole of the black vest he’d worn the night before. He’d come and gone so fast she barely had time to react.
He popped his head back around the door, looking at her expectantly.
“I—I will,” she stuttered, remembering his request.
He smiled, pulling the door shut, and her mind flipped about, questioning how easily she’d responded. She’d always done as she was told. Not that she was ever told a lot. Such as the fact that her mother hadn’t died when Kit was a baby. She winced at the direction of her thoughts, and the bitterness she felt. Yes, she’d always wanted a family, but at the same time, she’d never doubted being loved. Gramps and Grandma Katie had seen to that. Yet right now, she felt about as empty as a discarded can.
Kit stood and scanned the kitchen, wanting something to combat the jitters attempting to overtake her. After circling the room, in which everything was brand-new and unused, she walked to the swinging door that led to the foyer, and pushed it open. The darkness on the other side made her pause. It was such a disparity, the bright cheeriness of the kitchen compared to the other rooms shrouded in darkness. Holding the door wide, she walked as far as her arm would stretch. Beyond the front foyer, through a wide archway, there looked to be a parlor of sorts. Tiny rays of light shot up to the ceiling from behind the heavy drapes, proving windows graced two walls of the room.
Curiosity got the best of her, and she found a piece of kindling to use as a wedge under the door. With it propped open, light from the kitchen flowed across the foyer and into the large room adjacent. She maneuvered around furniture to the windows in the front wall. The drapes were heavy and several layers thick. Hooking one behind a nearby chair to let in sunlight, she turned to inspect the room.
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