Josiah's Treasure Read Online Free PDF

impulsive urge to aid him, she would have realized earlier what his arrival meant to her. And to the girls.
    “If you still need to sit, we should go into the parlor, Mr. Cady,” she said, corralling her galloping nerves. If he really was Josiah’s son, alive and breathing, this house and all its contents, the property in Placerville, the deed to a spent mine in Grass Valley she’d rather forget about, even her dwindling bank account could be claimed by him. His very existence could topple her dreams like a nudge to a procession of dominoes.
    I will not let that happen.
    “Mrs. McGinnis will serve us tea in there, and then you can leave.”
    Sarah crossed the entry hall, careful to give him a wide berth. Rufus had returned from wherever he’d been hiding to trot ahead of Sarah, his bent tail held proudly aloft.
    “How long have you lived here?” Daniel asked, his scrutiny of the house’s interior continuing as he strolled into the parlor. Rufus, the traitor, happily rubbed against his leg.
    “Nearly four years, ever since I left Arizona to work as Josiah’s nurse-companion,” she answered with seamless effort, thankful he was more engrossed in the room’s crown molding than in searching for truth in her eyes. Few people knew she was actually from Los Angeles, a place she wanted to forget more than that mine in Grass Valley. “He and my uncle were friends, and I was glad to tend to him. My aunt and uncle, whom I’d been living with since my own family passed away, were even gladder to be rid of the expense of caring for me.” Though not for the reason most people assumed when she made that statement.
    “You didn’t return to your relations after he died.”
    “I love this city, and I have found a satisfying life here.”
    “As an unmarried woman alone?”
    “I’m not the only one in San Francisco in that situation.”
    Sarah pulled open the shutters of the bay window, sunlight slitting the crimson and cobalt Brussels carpet. Outside, the robust figure of Mrs. Brentwood patrolled the sidewalk. She paused occasionally to rise on her toes and study the windows of the house. The gossip that a strange man—Mrs. Brentwood would undoubtedly embellish the story by mentioning he was good-looking in a dark and dangerous sort of way—had visited the unconventional Miss Whittier would be all over Nob Hill by nightfall.
    Sarah set her back to the window. Daniel Cady had moved on to examine a series of watercolors she’d painted, scenes of Golden Gate Park and the beach near Seal Rocks, that hung above the ultramarine brocade settee. Ignored, Rufus had stalked off. “These are quite good.”
    “They’re mine.”
    He glanced over at her. “You’re a painter?”
    “You don’t have to sound so astonished, Mr. Cady. There are many professional female painters in San Francisco. At Josiah’s suggestion, I started selling my landscapes right after I came here, though I prefer to work in miniature.” Why she had explained her preferences to him, she couldn’t fathom. “I intend to open an art studio to showcase my work and the work of my students. Also something that Josiah encouraged.”
    “You were fond of him.” He sounded as though he couldn’t comprehend such an emotion.
    “He was the kindest man I’ve ever known.” The one miracle God had granted her in a life filled with loss and regret. “He not only employed me, but he gave me a home when I had nowhere else to go. Josiah believed in me and cared for me like a father. Cared more than any of my blood relations ever did.”
    Sarah hadn’t meant to tell him that, either, but acrimony was a difficult sentiment to shed. She had proven an utter disappointment to Aunt Eugenie. Her aunt had taken in an orphaned niece, a surrogate for the children she’d never borne, and believed rigid discipline and harsh punishment were adequate substitutes for love.
    Daniel’s hat resumed its circuit through his fingers. “He cared about you, did