Jacob Murdock squinted into the sun, his gaze following the empty railroad track to its vanishing point between tree-topped rocky outcrops. Yanking his timepiece from his vest’s watch pocket, Jake clicked its cover open to check the time. With a muttered curse, he closed the watch and stuffed it back in its pocket. And glared down the length of the track with uncharacteristic exasperation, willing the train into the station.
He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake his guilt over his impatience. Generally, he was pretty damn easygoing and accommodating.
Still, when he’d agreed to pick up Augusta’s little orphan and deliver her back to his mother’s house, he hadn’t counted on the train being late. That was shortsighted of him but, dammit, he was raring to discharge his duty. He’d had a spot of courting in mind today. Quite firmly he’d had it in mind to see a certain someone.
Reluctantly, he conceded a visit to Jane-Ellen Fielding might have to wait. He’d just have to hope she would still be receiving callers when he finished his errand. Provided he ever did. Jake searched the tracks again, knowing damn well the sound of the train’s whistle carried on the hot, dusty wind and would reach the station before the train itself came into view.
Trying to pin his attention on anything other than this never-ending wait, he once again mulled over his mother’s decision to take in a young girl none of them had even met. Hattie Taylor’s relationship to their branch of the Murdock clan was slim at best.
Not that, other than a singular time, he’d bothered debating the wisdom of Augusta’s decision with her. His mother was an incredibly strong-willed woman. Some might say a stubborn one—although not to her face. Not if they were smart. Jake grinned, trying to name a soul brave enough to accuse Augusta Witherspoon Murdock of an uncompromising nature. That was a conversation he’d pay to hear.
Yet, “stubborn” could be Augusta’s middle name. Jake had a mental image of the imperious tilt to her silvering head as he’d seen it just the other day when he’d had the effrontery to question her decision. He shook his head, remembering.
Jake had heard out his mother’s plans in silence over breakfast, mentally filing the pertinent information. When Augusta had finished her list of arguments, he’d merely stared at her for a couple of heartbeats before quietly remarking that he wondered if she had considered the ramifications.
“You’re a smart woman, Mom, so I trust you realize what you’re proposing has a sizable risk factor attached.” Raising a silver lid from the warming dish on the sideboard, he pinched a fluffy bit of scrambled egg with his fingers and popped it into his mouth. Laughing out loud, he adroitly dodged the swat aimed at him by Mirabel, his mother’s housekeeper. The older woman was Augusta’s confidante and friend as well—and damn near a second mother to Jake. Swallowing, he turned back to Augusta. “What do you know about this kid, after all, besides the fact that from the age of six or seven, she lived in virtual isolation with a couple of crusty old miners?”
“I know she is a Witherspoon, Jacob,” Augusta replied repressively. “What else need I?”
“Her mother was a Witherspoon,” Jake corrected. “No one knows her father’s antecedents. From what you’ve said, the man was nothing but a grubby prospector.”
He sounded like a snobbish little shit. Still, the girl’s story was a strange one and her unique upbringing was bound to produce problems. Jake had a feeling his mother didn’t fully comprehend what she was letting herself in for by agreeing to raise the child.
Elmira Witherspoon, Augusta’s fourth—or maybe even fifth—cousin, had been a quiet, unassuming spinster who’d never given her family a moment’s concern. Until the day she was literally swept off her feet on a busy San Francisco street by a miner named Jeremy Taylor.
According to family scuttlebutt, Elmira had been shopping with her maid on the day in question, when she’d carelessly stepped into the street without first determining if it was safe to do so. Family lore had it a milk dray, emptied of its day’s wares, was racing down the street at a respectable clip when Elmira stepped directly in its path. Frozen at the sight of the huge draft horse bearing down on her, she had been in the midst of saying her final prayers—one could only assume—when, out of nowhere, an arm suddenly encircled her waist and swept her