Braham turned away from Cullen. He put both hands on the railing, leaned forward, and rocked slightly on the balls of his feet. “It’s not the advice I gave ye almost two decades ago.”
Cullen ran his hand through his hair. “Goddamn it. The situations are completely different.”
“I still love her.”
“Then ye should have gone four years ago. It’s too late now.”
The French doors opened, and Melissa and Kit joined them on the porch. “There you are, darling.” Melissa kissed Braham on the cheek, then looked from one man to the other, and flitted her hand about her head. “I feel the remnants of a serious conversation in the air. Would this be about you running for governor, or something else of great import?”
Kit gave Cullen a probing stare, and raised an eyebrow, giving her husband a signal Braham had seen her use before.
Cullen switched his focus to Melissa. “Ye’re too astute my, dear. Shall we go inside? I need a drink.” He took Melissa’s elbow and smoothly guided her through the doorway, leaving Braham and Kit on the balcony.
“I get the feeling you’re trying to solve the problem of world hunger again. I might be able to help.”
Braham opened his arms and Kit melted into his bear hug. He rested his chin on top of her head. “Ye’ve always been able to read me.”
“It’s because we’re so much alike.” She pulled away from him and looked up into his eyes. “Whatever’s going on with you has nothing to do with Melissa or running for governor. What is it?” Instead of waiting for an answer she said, “It has to be Charlotte.”
He fell silent, astounded as always by Kit’s insightfulness. There was no point in denying it. She’d badger him until he confessed. “What gets me—what surprises me, is the way thoughts of her catch me so unaware.” He bowed his head and stroked his furrowed forehead with the tips of his fingers. “Once she’s in my head, she’ll stay there for hours, and I’ll relive every moment we had together.” He dropped his hands and looked again at his cousin. “As the years go by it happens more often, not less.”
Kit took his hand in hers. “When you came home from the war, you were a broken man. Cullen and I both worried about you. The first harvest was heartbreaking to watch. You looked over your shoulder constantly. I don’t know if you were expecting the enemy or Charlotte to surprise you, but you were on guard. It wasn’t until you had faith the grapes would grow again on empty vines that your soul was able to heal, but it didn’t heal your heart. And that’s why Charlotte’s on your mind. She’s still holding pieces of it.”
He chuckled. “Not pieces. Chunks. And I want my heart to be whole again, too.”
“If you’re feeling the tug to go to her now, don’t let Cullen or anyone else stand in your way. Not only should you go. You must go.”
97
San Francisco, California, 1869
A week later, Braham entered Cullen’s office at the law firm on Montgomery Street and dropped a signed last will and testament on top of the open book on his desk. “I made ye executor of my estate. If anything happens to me, liquidate all my assets, convert the cash into gold, and bury it.”
Cullen leaned back in a swivel desk chair, fingering the steel-and-gold dip pen in his hand. “Should I draw a treasure map so ye can find it in the afterlife?” A fleeting smile crossed his features.
Braham sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk from his childhood friend. This was going to be a hard sell, but Cullen couldn’t stop him from doing what he truly wanted—no, needed—to do. Although he hoped for Cullen’s blessing, Braham was prepared to leave without it. “If ye follow my instructions, I won’t need a map.”
Cullen picked up the document and perused it quickly. “According to this, Kit is yer sole beneficiary.”
Braham crossed one leg over the other, and when he did, the crease stayed straight. “I want her to sell everything I own, except the vineyards and the horses. Those she’s to keep. Liquidate the rest, then turn the cash into gold.”
Cullen harrumphed. “And bury the gold?”
Braham nodded. “In my casket.”
After a few seconds of silence had elapsed, Cullen remarked in a sarcastic tone, “I take it yer remains won’t be in yer casket.”
“No, they won’t.”
Cullen tossed the document onto his desk, and stood, pounding the top with his fist. “Don’t do this.”
Braham uncrossed his legs, put his hands on his knees, and got to his feet, pressing his fists at his hips to keep from slugging Cullen. “Nothing ye can say or do will change my mind.”
“We’re too old for fisticuffs.” He strode to the sideboard and poured two glasses of whisky. “Kit hasn’t spoken to me in a week. She told me if we didn’t work this out, she’d take the kids and go with ye.” He handed a glass to Braham.
Braham took a restorative gulp and followed it with another. “Since she hasn’t left yer sorry ass by now, she’s not going anywhere.”
There was an awkward silence. Then one corner of Cullen’s mouth curved up in wry acknowledgement. He sat on the edge of the desk, sipping his drink. “Except for the years ye were gone during the war, we’ve been together every day since we learned to walk. I can’t imagine growing old without ye.” His voice was soft now, wistful. “Why are
