Inheriting a Bride

“It’s gone.”

“What’s gone?” he asked.

“My pouch. It must have fallen off in the water.” She grabbed the blanket off the ground, furiously searching its folds.

Still unaffected, he made a halfhearted effort of glancing around. “What pouch?”

“It was a little bag, about this big.” She held up a thumb and forefinger. “And brown, with little beads on the string pulling it closed.”

“What was in it?” Now, almost wondering if it held the Ackerman family fortune, given the way she searched, he scanned the earth more seriously.

“It must be in the pond.” She spun, shooting past Andrew.

The horse snorted and sidestepped, blocking Clay’s pursuit. He shoved his way around the animal and caught her arm. “You aren’t going to find it in there.”

“I have to. It must have slipped off when I dived for my hat.”

“When you dived for your hat?”

“Yes, it was sinking almost faster than I could swim.”

Clay clutched her arm a bit more firmly. “You dived after your hat?”

Her gaze scoured the water, as if she could see into the depths below. “The pouch must have slipped off my neck then.”

“I thought you were drowning.” Clay wanted to shake her. He twisted her instead, so he could glare straight into her face, upturned nose and all. “I jumped in an ice-cold pond to save you, and you were chasing a sinking hat?”

“You jumped in to save me?”

“Yes,” he all but growled.

“Why?”

“Because I thought you were drowning.” His voice rose with each word.

“That was unnecessary. I’m a perfectly good swimmer,” she replied, as her gaze went back to the pond.

The ire eating inside him was wasted on this woman, as was any more time. He let go of her arm and strode toward Andrew.

“Where are you going?”

Ignoring the urge to reply, he picked up his blankets.

“Aren’t you going to get my pouch?”

Acting calm wasn’t too hard, not when it so obviously irritated her. He folded the blankets in half and then began to roll them up to fit behind the saddle.

“You can’t leave.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Yes, Miss Katherine Ackerman from Boston, Massachusetts, I can.” He tucked the roll behind his saddle, securing it with the leather straps.

“But—but I can’t stay here, not without my pouch.”

The tremble in her voice had him turning around. Again he questioned, “What was in that pouch?”

She shrugged.

“Why is it so important?”

“Because it’s an amulet.” She glanced around and then whispered, “Without it … well, I could be attacked by mountain lions or bears.”

Laughing long and hard was in Clay’s near future, yet he held it in, considering the seriousness of her gaze. “Where’d you get it?”

“An Indian chief in Black Hawk,” she answered.

Running Bear, sitting on the front porch of Big Ed’s store, no doubt. The Indian would sell anything, including his medicine pouch, it appeared, to gain enough money to buy a few sticks of Adam’s Black Jack. The man, who was not a chief, was completely addicted to the licorice-flavored chewing gum. “Tell me, Katherine,” Clay started, a bit surprised at how easily her name rolled off his tongue. “How did he come about giving you the amulet?”

“I was at the general store, buying supplies for my …” she paused to glance around nervously “… adventure pursuing Mr. Edwards, and the owner of the store refused to sell me a gun.”

Clay held in the shudder rippling his shoulders. It appeared Big Ed wouldn’t go so far as to do just anything to make a sale. He’d have to remember to thank the man. A gun and Miss Katherine Ackerman from Boston, Massachusetts, would be a precarious pair. Lethal even. “Oh,” Clay said, while waiting for her to continue.

“Well, I was a touch miffed, you see.”

“A touch?”

“Well, a mite miffed.”

He nodded in agreement. As if a mite was more than a touch. What came next? A pinch? A bit? A tad?

“Yes, well,” she continued, “as I was leaving the building the chief was sitting on the porch. He, um, told me all about the lions and bears in this area. I asked him how his people have survived so long without being eaten by them.”

Bows and arrows, guns, knives, tomahawks, but mainly brains, Clay thought, but asked, “Oh? And what did he say?”

“He said they have secret ways. We talked a tad longer, and then he agreed to sell me an amulet that would repel bears and mountain lions.”

“A tad.” Clay nodded, knowing it would come up. It was hard to say if she was acting, or truly this gullible. Still dripping wet, she didn’t look to be a whole lot older than Sam, and nothing like the snooty woman at the train depot yesterday morning. “Tell me, did you look inside that little pouch?”

She cringed. “It didn’t smell very pleasant.”

“You don’t say?” Clay pressed a hand to the center of his forehead, right where it had started to hurt. Running Bear had probably put a dead fish in there. It was a wonder she hadn’t attracted bears and cats instead of repelling them.

Andrew let out a snort, and Clay turned to pat the animal’s neck. I know, boy. I know she’s loco. “Well, Katherine, Andrew and I have to get going. We’ll give you a ride back to Black Hawk, or you’re welcome to forge out on your own, chasing down Mr. Edwards, as you called him. It’s up to you.”

Kit was so engrossed in the way he said “Katherine,” not to mention quite enthralled that Clay Hoffman’s eyes were the exact same shade of blue as the bearded irises she’d planted near Gramps and Grandma Katie’s memorial stone, it was a moment or more before she realized he was waiting for her response, and then she had to pull up her acting voice. “Well, of course I’m returning with you. I couldn’t possibly remain out here without the amulet.”

The memory of the foul-smelling medicine bag was enough to make her shiver from head to toe. Yet she might need it again. The smell worked wonders in keeping others at bay, which was why she’d bought it.

She should be miffed at Clay for throwing her in the water as he had, but truth be told, it was amazing he’d stood the stench as long as he had. Of course, he didn’t realize she’d taken the pouch off last night and laid it near his side of the fire pit. She’d thought it would keep him on his side of the fire—which it had. Her initial fears had been more centered on coming across the fur-covered man in the wild, but a pompous gold-miner that held her livelihood in the palm of his hand was just as bad. That’s what Clay Hoffman was. And miners were a breed of their own—that’s what Grandma always said. Therefore Kit disliked every last one of them.