High Country Bride (5 page)

Charlie signaled to the bartender, who brought him his usual, a double shot of whiskey. “Brought in an interestin’ passenger today,” he remarked.

Rafe’s mind snagged on the woman he’d seen out in the street, right after Jake had sucker punched him. She was a pretty little thing, he recalled now, working his jaw to make sure it wasn’t broken. He wondered if she was taken.“A lady?” he asked.

Charlie nodded, smiling a little.“Nice-lookin’,” he said. “You done real well for yourself, Rafe.”

Rafe straightened. An awful feeling settled heavily in his belly. “What the hell are you getting at?” he demanded.

“Name on the ticket was Mrs. Rafe McKettrick,” Charlie told him. “Came all the way from Kansas City. I didn’t know you’d taken yourself a wife.”

Rafe muttered, slapped payment for his drink on the bar, and started for the door.

“No hurry,” Charlie called benignly.“Jeb loaded up her things and the two of them set off for the Triple M half an hour ago.”

Rafe stopped, turned. Jake sat up on the billiard table, hawked, and spat out a tooth.

“You dirty sum’bitch, McKettrick,” the sodbuster growled,“I ought to carve out your gizzard.”

“What did you say?” Rafe rasped, and he wasn’t talking to Jake Fink.

Charlie chuckled. “I reckon old Jake here must have loosened your eardrums,” he said. Charlie considered himself a wit, and nobody enjoyed his jokes quite as much as he did. “I said Jeb took your mail-order bride on home, since you was otherwise occupied. Right brotherly of him, I’d say.”

Rafe cursed. He’d sent for a wife nearly two months before and forgotten all about her. The least those people at the Happy Home Matrimonial Service could have done was notify him that they’d filled his order.

“Come on back here and fight!” Jake said, swinging both legs over the edge of the table and promptly crumpling to the sawdust floor.

Rafe peeled off a couple of bills and thrust them at Jake’s partner, Pootie Callahan.“Get him over to the doc’s office,” he said, distracted. Then he turned and hurried out of the saloon.

He was halfway to the livery stable when he realized he couldn’t ride after his bride looking the way he did. He was filthy, his clothes were torn and bloodied, and he needed barbering. He’d made a hell of a first impression as it was; she was a city girl, most likely, and if he didn’t take the time to clean up a little, he’d scare the devil out of her.

No, sir, everything was riding on this, and he had to handle it right.

Charlie Biggam had a mouth on him, and it soon became obvious that most of the town knew about his new wife, who was even now riding toward the ranch with Jeb. No doubt he was pouring on the charm, Jeb was, and the thought made Rafe’s collar feel tight. He was legally married to that woman, whatever her name was, but he knew enough about the law to figure out that the deal wouldn’t be bolted down until he’d bedded her, and so did Jeb. All she’d have to do, if she changed her mind, was see a lawyer and ask for an annulment.

Rafe wasn’t going to let that happen. Though he didn’t have Jeb’s charm or Kade’s talent for spouting pretty words, there were things to recommend him. He’d just have to ponder awhile, that was all, and figure out what they were.

He stormed across the road, and people parted for him, those afoot and those on horseback alike, accurately reading the expression on his face. Anyone who trifled with Rafe McKettrick now did so at his own peril.

Over at the general store, he exhausted his line of credit, buying a new black suit, a white shirt with a celluloid collar, a derby hat, a pair of gold wedding bands, and a frilly white nightgown that would look just fine on his wife.

He ignored the chuckles and whispered speculations as he left the store and headed down the road to the hotel, where he bought himself a bath, a shave, and a room to change clothes in. By the time he’d done all that, and was ready to set out for home, the sun was low in the western sky and a chilly breeze was sweeping down from the high country, up there above the timberline.

Rafe knew that Jeb and the new Mrs. McKettrick would have covered considerable ground by then, nearing the ranch if they hadn’t broken an axle or had a horse go lame. He stewed, imagining Jeb’s fancy talk. Words came so easily to him, and to Kade, but they generally caught in Rafe’s throat like thistles.

He refused to hurry, for all his concern. He was a deliberate man, usually, the sort who took his time, thought things through before he acted. It was just plain bad luck that he’d run into Fink in the saloon that afternoon and they’d gotten on the subject of barbed-wire fences.

He sat up tall in the saddle, raised his coat collar against the wind, and rode on at a steady, even clip. While he traveled, he thought of many things, the first and foremost of which was his brand-new bride. If he had his way, they’d consummate the marriage that very night; that way, they could get on with the business of being married.

He chewed awhile on the possibility that the towns-people were laying bets on which of Angus McKettrick’s sons would prevail in this contest—cowboys gossipped, and word of the proclamation would have traveled fast. It galled him to think of anybody betting on Kade or Jeb. As far as he knew, neither one of them had even tried to find himself a decent woman, save a few flurries of effort right after Pa’s birthday. In fact, they’d gone right on carousing, his brothers had, right through the winter, acting as if they hadn’t a worry in the world.

Now, in retrospect, Rafe realized that he might just have underestimated both Jeb and Kade, just as they’d probably hoped he would do. Hell, they could have brides of their own due to arrive any day now. Why, they might even have answered the same advertisement in the back of the
Cattleman’s Journal
.

Just the possibility made him feel downright grim.

He sighed, settled deeper into the warm folds of his coat. He tried to reassure himself; after all, he and what’sher-name were already married, and that was an undeniable advantage. Why, she’d probably be in the family way before morning.

He smiled. Sure she would. Hadn’t he bought her a wedding band, and a real pretty nightdress?

Emmeline’s spirits rose a little when she saw the long log and timber house, facing the sparkling creek and framed by towering red rock bluffs. Oak trees, still bare of leaves but sprouting green buds, towered along either side of the stream, starkly beautiful. Junipers thrived on the distant hills, melding with tall pines that seemed to climb to the sky.

She drew in her breath as Jeb brought the team to a halt on the far side of the creek. He smiled down at her.

“You like the place?”

She nodded, strangely moved.“It’s beautiful,” she said.

Jeb released the brake with one foot, slapped down the reins, and drove the team straight into the creek. The whole rig shifted and swayed violently, as if it would surely capsize, spilling Emmeline and all her earthly possessions into the water. She grabbed the edge of the seat with both hands and held on for all she was worth.

Then, to her enormous relief, they were jostling up the opposite bank, and a tall, white-haired man had appeared in the tall grass in front of the house, leaning on the hitching rail and watching as they approached. She could have measured the width of his shoulders with an ax handle and still fallen short by an inch or two, and he held his head at a proud angle, despite his age.

Jeb’s expression turned thoughtful as he brought the team to a stop, set the brake again, jumped down, and rounded the dripping rig to lift Emmeline down by her waist.

“Pa,” he said, “this is Emmeline. Emmeline, my father, Angus McKettrick.”

Solemnly, his eyes shining, Angus put out a brawny hand. There was a careful tenderness in Mr. McKettrick’s grasp, and Emmeline liked him.“How do you do,”he said, in a great, Zeus-like voice.“Welcome to the Triple M.”

She inclined her head, at a loss for words. She’d done rather a lot of talking on the way out from town, chattering about inconsequential things and revealing little or nothing about her life in Kansas City, using herself up. Now, she felt empty.

Angus regarded his son impatiently, eyes narrowed in that craggy face. “Well,” he boomed, “is she your wife, or do I need to send a hand down to the mission to fetch back the padre?”

Jeb studied the distant horizon for a few moments, then heaved a great sigh. “It would seem,” he said, “that Emmeline is Rafe’s bride. Got here on today’s stage.”

At last, at last, Angus smiled. In fact, he beamed so that Emmeline felt almost restored by his regard, and warmed, as if she were standing before a blazing hearth. “Well, now,” he said. “Well, well. Why are we all standing out here in the wind? Come on in. We’d best get you settled in.”

The invitation apparently didn’t include Jeb, who sighed again, adjusted his well-worn hat, and began unloading Emmeline’s baggage. Emmeline, meanwhile, allowed his father to squire her into the rustic but spacious house.

“Concepcion!” he shouted, as soon as they were over the threshold, causing her to start. “Come have a look at our girl!”

Emmeline did not mind her father-in-law hers gruff way. Angus McKettrick seemed to see her presence as cause for celebration, and that was a nice change from being snubbed or simply going unnoticed in Kansas City.

A tall, slender woman appeared in an inner doorway, her dark eyes bright with speculation and welcome, and Emmeline liked her immediately.

“Concepcion, this is Rafe’s bride,” Angus said, as proudly as if he’d assembled her himself, from bits and pieces.

Concepcion greeted Emmeline warmly, taking her arm, leading her through the entry and into a long corridor. “Welcome,” she said. Then, glancing back at Angus, who was following, she added, “And where, may I ask,
is
Rafe?”

Emmeline’s joy, understandably fragile, wobbled a little. Her throat closed up tight, and she found herself unable to answer.

“I reckon he’ll be along,” Angus said.

“You’ll want a nice bath and a long rest,” Concepcion said when they reached the kitchen, patting Emmeline on the shoulder in a matronly way. “You just sit down, though, and I’ll make you some tea first.” Her next remark was clearly directed at Angus. “There’ll be time enough for getting acquainted later, won’t there?”

Emmeline seated herself, and Angus stood gazing down at her as though she were the eighth wonder. Concepcion gave her the promised tea, along with toasted bread and a thick slice of cheese.

“That Rafe,” Concepcion muttered once, glancing toward the window, as if expecting to see him riding in. “What will I do with him?”

“The last time I saw him,” Emmeline said, with careful dignity, “he was smashing through the doors of an establishment called the Bloody Basin Saloon.”

Concepcion crossed herself; Angus swore under his breath.

“Come,” Concepcion said, when Emmeline began to nod over her cup, which had been refilled twice, “you must rest.”

Emmeline allowed herself to be escorted upstairs and installed in an airy room with a view of the creek, a glittering golden ribbon shot with crimson and blue in the last fierce light of day. There were lace curtains at the windows, and the crazy quilt on the bed was worn but appealing.

“Is this—?” Emmeline began, and stopped, blushing.

“This,” Concepcion said, with gentle understanding, “is the spare room. Rafe sleeps down the hall.”

Emmeline was relieved. Her knees sagged, and she left the window to sit gratefully on the thick feather mattress, stroking the pretty quilt with one hand.

Concepcion rummaged through several bureau drawers and produced a flannel nightgown and a damask towel. She laid them on the foot of the bed, then headed for the door.“I’ll bring you some hot water. You can wash and then get into bed and sleep.”

Emmeline yawned. “Thank you,” she said, and she was dozing when Concepcion returned with a steaming basin and a bar of soap.

Rafe led his gelding, Chief, into the barn, slipped the bridle off, and hung it over the stall gate. Then he began brushing the animal down, the way he always did after a long ride. Jeb was there, repairing one of the wagon wheels by the light of a kerosene lantern, and he barely looked up.

“Where the devil have you been?” he asked.

“Where is she?” Rafe asked.

Jeb kept working. “I guess you mean Emmeline,” he said.“Your wife.”

Emmeline. So that was her name. It had a nice, womanly sound, and he liked it. “Long as you have that straight,” he said.“That she’s mine, I mean.”

“She’s a woman, Rafe, not a horse blanket or a pair of boots,” Jeb remarked tightly.

“I didn’t know you were such a modern thinker,” Jeb said. He fetched grain and hay and came to stand facing his brother, his arms folded. “Next thing, you’ll be out stumping for Women’s Suffrage.”

“Could be,” Jeb said. He wasn’t smiling.

Rafe didn’t speak again. He just went back into the stall, picked the small stones and mud from Chief’s hooves, then headed for the house, carrying the parcel from town in one arm. His pa was waiting in the backyard when he got there.

“I ought to take a horsewhip to you,” Angus growled, mean as an arthritic bear waking up in a den full of slush. “Leaving your own bride stranded in town! Why, if your brother hadn’t been there—”