The Rose Legacy by Kristen Heitzmann Read Free Book Online Page A

Dom’s rein and passed. Holding the mule steady, she mounted. The sooner she was gone the less likely her tongue—
    “Miss DiGratia.”
    She reined in and turned back to him. The fact that he remembered her name was more annoying than gratifying.
    “If you need things replaced, I’ll pick them up for you.” His hair blew across his shoulders in the breeze.
    “I will find whatever I need in the stores, thank you.”
    “Not at my price.”
    “Oh, I see. You mean to profit from throwing my things over.”
    “If you buy directly from the wagon, I’ll charge you my cost only. If you go inside any store here, you’ll pay six times the rate.”
    “Do you so gouge the shop owners that they must raise the prices so high?”
    “Most of the cost of business up here is what it takes to get the goods from the train to the town. I think you have sense enough to see that.”
    “Sense enough?”
    “Well, anyone who takes up with Berkley Beck can’t have too much sense. Good day, Miss DiGratia.” He tipped his hat and went into the stable.
    Carina kicked Dom harder than she intended, and he leaped forward. He kept the pace only a short while though, then slowed to his usual plod. The noon sun was peaking overhead when Carina approached the steep, narrow strip of trail that had cost her so much. The pitch of the rocky slope dropping away from the trail made her head swim before she even neared the edge.
    Keeping her focus on the dusty trail, she made her way to the spot where the wagon had gone over. She dismounted, closed her eyes and gathered her nerve, then looked down the plummeting slope to the destruction below. Fragments of wood and fabric cluttered the rocks and sparse trees.
    She was pazza to think of going down there. What if she fainted or blacked out? What if her vision blurred and her head spun? What if she, like her wagon, plunged … Carina pressed her hands to her face, then with renewed resolution squinted through her fingers.
    Was that … it was! A crate wedged between a spindly tree and the boulder it sprang from. Could it be her books? It looked intact, and that excitement bolstered her. She pulled the sheet from Dom’s saddlebag and braved the edge. If she looked just where her feet were and no farther …
    The first step was the worst. It was the only one she had to think about. After that she moved without thinking, sliding, catching herself, and sliding again. She scraped her palm and banged her elbow before grabbing hold of a handful of scrub and stopping her fall. She was only halfway to the ridge, but already she found the remains of the rocker.
    It must have flown off before the wagon broke up. She lifted one rung and smoothed the dust off with her fingers. The ache started in her chest. They were only things. She had known when she started out she might lose them one way or another. It was just that she had come so close. And the rocker held such memories of Mamma rocking and crooning in its embrace.
    Tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked them away. Quillan Shepard. Could he not have added her things to his load? She had brought so little. Did Mr. Quillan Shepard think there was no room for even her meager lot? Would she have added so much to his horses’ toil?
    Carina ran her hands down her blouse and skirt. Small boned. Delicata . Even though her angles had filled in as her mother promised they would, she lacked her sister’s soft plumpness. She stood only five foot four inches—hardly substantial. And her trunk, her crates, her few pieces of furniture … could it have been so much?
    She sighed. She was tired and hot, bruised and scraped, and not in her right mind. But she was not going to be beaten. She would salvage whatever she could, and what was lost was lost.
    Standing, she slid away from the scrub and landed on her backside. She should stay that way, but she couldn’t risk the only skirt she had left. With her hands spread to the sides for balance, she regained her feet and