Josiah's Treasure Read Online Free PDF Page A

uncle had made good in the Black Hills, although not as much as Josiah had told his family.
    She looked at the man standing in her doorway. Daniel Cady must think she was stupid if he believed an old telegram was any sort of proof. “All this proves is that you obtained a telegram Josiah sent to his family in Chicago. Hardly a birth certificate or a baptismal record.”
    The sapphire blue of Ah Mong’s thigh-length tunic caught her attention. Coming quickly to check on her, the boy had reached the middle landing on the steps leading to her house. “Miss Sarah?”
    “I’m all right. This gentleman is leaving.” Sarah folded the telegram and handed it to him. “Aren’t you.”
    It wasn’t a question, and a muscle along Daniel’s jaw ticked. “Not until you tell me how to reach Josiah.”
    “You can’t reach Josiah.” Sarah felt her nostrils flare as she gulped in air. “Because he passed away earlier this year. After a long illness.”
    He reached for the door frame’s support. Fleetingly, his gaze registered his hurt. She doubted he realized how clearly she could see it. “You could have told me . . .” He gripped the wood, his knuckles turning white.
    “I am sorry.” Her hand hovered, ready to comfort him. Sarah dropped it to her side. “I am. That was careless of me to just blurt it out.”
    He straightened and dragged shaking fingers through his thick, black hair. “Let me come inside, Miss Whittier.”
    “There really isn’t any reason for you to come in.”
    “I need to sit down. For just a minute.”
    Sarah let her hand slip off the door. She was going to trust him, an utter stranger whose green eyes reminded her of Josiah’s. Her willingness went beyond any resemblance to Josiah; it washer weakness, taking in stray cats and girls whose need flickered like a flame in the dark, or a man whose tailor-made suit had been worn past its respectable worth. She couldn’t help them all, tabbies with crooked tails, young women with bruises and tarnished reputations. She certainly shouldn’t pity him, a man who might or might not be telling the truth.
    But she did.
    Sarah nodded at Ah Mong, waiting patiently. “Ah Mong, would you come into the house and help Mrs. McGinnis prepare some tea for my visitor?” She raised her voice. “Mrs. Brentwood, I hope you don’t mind if I borrow Ah Mong for a short while.”
    Her neighbor scowled at the man blocking access to Sarah’s front door. “Most certainly. Keep him as long as you need.” Meaning as long as Daniel Cady took up space in Sarah’s parlor, recovering.
    “Thank you.” Sarah eased the door open. “Come inside, Mr. Cady.”
    “You’ve decided to believe I’m who I say I am?”
    “I have decided I don’t know what else to call you.”
    He nodded and stepped into the hallway, trailing the citrus tang of lime shaving lotion. Ah Mong glared menacingly as he darted by Daniel, which prompted another lift of an eyebrow.
    “Is it common to have Chinese working in the house?” he asked, stopping in the center of the entry hall, noting the boy’s hasty disappearance into the kitchen.
    “It is in San Francisco.”
    “An interesting place.” He slid the brim of his hat through his fingers as he examined his surroundings. Standing there, in the shadowed light of the hallway, he did look like Josiah. Just a bit. Enough to force her to reconsider what Josiah had told her about his past.
    Daniel scanned the paneled woodwork and the heavy wallpaper above it, her watercolor of the farm and the crystal chandelier suspended over the curving staircase, the patterned carpetclimbing the treads, seemed even to make note of the polish on the floor. And her pair of discarded boots. Sarah flushed and curled her stockinged toes beneath the hem of her dress.
    “Very nice.” His tone was admiring, possessive, and the first tingling of alarm shuddered down Sarah’s spine. If she hadn’t been so stunned by his announcement on her doorstep, so be-mused by her