Emmeline was flattered, whether he’d meant the remark to be a compliment or not, and she even reflected that, in time, she might come to like this husband of hers, perhaps even love him.
They reached the creek, and Rafe led her to a fallen log, where they sat, side by side, a foot of space between them. He’d released her hand, and now he gazed at the water.
She took that opportunity to study his profile. He was a handsome man, in a rugged, outlawlike way, and just the thought of sharing his bed made her head whirl and her stomach do flipflops. She wasn’t sure what she felt, precisely, but it was part anticipation and part mortal dread.
“What made you sign on with the Happy Home Matrimonial Service?” he asked presently. The breeze ruffled his dark hair, which had been barbered since she’d first encountered him in town, sprawled on the ground in front of the Bloody Basin Saloon. His knuckles were scraped, though the fisticuffs had left his face blessedly unmarked.
She wasn’t about to tell him the whole story—that she’d grown up in a brothel, slept with a stranger for money, and fled in a fit of disgrace and wounded pride after the confrontation with Becky—so she related another facet of the tale.“It seemed to me that every day was just like the one before it,” she said quietly, watching the moon’s reflection splinter upon the water of the creek. “I wanted a change. I wanted something big to happen, and I knew it wouldn’t, unless I made it.” She paused. “What about you?”
He sighed. “I needed a wife,” he said, “and fast. I didn’t figure it would take all winter for them to send somebody—they sure didn’t hesitate to cash the bank draft, though.”
Emmeline swallowed. The bank draft.
For the first time, it occurred to her that she’d sold her soul to Rafe McKettrick, as surely as she had her virtue, back in Kansas City, earning herself a few gold coins and a lifetime of secret recrimination. The terms were a little different now, that was all, but a bargain had been struck, money had changed hands, and she was the goods.
She sat up a little straighter on the log, sick with the full realization of what she’d done.
“They might have sent a picture,” Rafe went on, unaware, of course, that she was crumbling beside him, fighting not to double over, not to drop to her knees in the grass, weeping, “or at least told me you were on your way.”
Emmeline bit her lower lip, willed some starch into her backbone. What was done, was done. Like many, many women before her, she would have to make the best of things. “Are you disappointed?” she heard herself ask. She’d never had her likeness taken, and therefore she hadn’t complied with the marriage broker’s request for a daguerreotype, which would, most likely, have been forwarded to Rafe for his approval. “In my appearance, I mean?”
“Nope,” he said flatly.“I reckon you’ll do.”
Emmeline’s last hope for romance died a painful death. Everything was utterly unlike what she’d imagined. True, the large house and thriving ranch had come as a pleasant surprise, but she’d expected to be wooed, perhaps even cherished. Instead, it seemed she was to be little more than a brood mare.
She drew in a long breath and released it slowly. “You brought me out here because you wanted to say something to me, Mr. McKettrick. What was it?”
The answer was blunt. “I sent for a wife—sent for you—because I need to father a child right away. If I don’t, I’m going to wind up as little more than a hired hand.”
She stiffened, barely hearing the last of what he’d said. “Right away?” she echoed. Wasn’t Rafe going to court her at all?
He nodded.“Sooner the better,” he affirmed.
Emmeline had never been intimate with a man, at least, not that she remembered, and she was unnerved by Mr. McKettrick’s size and vitality, to say nothing of his rowdy nature. Still, she was here, wasn’t she, with nowhere else to go, and if the Texan had indeed made her pregnant, as she feared, then here was her chance to make her child legitimate, with no one the wiser. The baby would simply arrive a trifle early, that was all.
“I see,” she said, and just then she didn’t like herself very much.
“Have you ever made love, Emmeline?”
These westerners were so straightforward. She shook her head, but she couldn’t make herself look him in the eyspan>
He took her hand again, interlaced his fingers with hers.“That’s good,” he said.
She sat in silence for a long time, struggling with her conscience. It wasn’t right to deceive Mr. McKettrick, but she didn’t dare confide in him, either. “Why didn’t you just marry someone from around here?” she asked finally. “Instead of sending all the way to Kansas City for me, I mean.”
“Nobody here to marry, save a few whores and Daisy Pert,” he said with a shrug, “and none of them would make a fitting wife.”
She flinched, but only slightly, and again he didn’t seem to notice. “I guess you wouldn’t marry a—a fallen woman, even if you loved her?”
“Love?” he scoffed. “Maybe folks have time for that nonsense where you come from, but this is rough country, Emmeline. Out here, marriage is a practical matter, a sort of partnership, and love has damn little to do with it.” He paused, regarded her solemnly. “I want a family of my own, like I said, and a man doesn’t have children with a prostitute.”
Emmeline had a strong urge to bolt to her feet and run fast and far, maybe all the way back across the mountains, plains, and valleys she’d crossed to get here, but she sat still as a stone. “A partnership?” she countered, feeling more than a little testy now that her dream of being someone’s beloved wife had been thoroughly shattered. She’d been reading about Suffrage in the newspapers, during the endless train and stagecoach rides, and the things she’d learned in the process nettled her brain and her spirit like briars. Why, she would have painted a sign and marched for the cause if there had been a parade passing by. “I’d hardly call it that. Once a woman is married, she becomes her husband’s possession, the same as a dog or a buckboard. If she’s got money or property, he can take it away and then turn her out into the snow. He can work her like a mule, run her right into the ground, wear her out having babies. He can beat her, if he likes, put her in an insane asylum, and give away their children like kittens from a litter—”
“Whoa,” Rafe said, laughing and shaking his head. “If that’s what you think it means to be a man’s wife, why did you sign on in the first place?”
It was a good question, but the answer was too embarrassing to share. She hadn’t bothered to consider the potential drawbacks of marriage until it was too late. Now, she held her tongue, since her only other option was to beg for mercy.
“I don’t mean to do any of those things to you, Miss Emmeline,” Rafe said, very reasonably, when she didn’t speak. “What I’m suggesting here is a kind of contract, since you obviously don’t care for the word partnership. Here it is, plain and simple: You make a home with me, and give me children, and I’ll see that you never lack for anything for the rest of your life. I’ll expect you to cook for me, of course, like any wife, and certainly to share my bed. I won’t abide lying, and God help you if you shame me with another man.” He smiled, pleased with himself, spreading his hands to indicate that he had finished stating his terms. “Seems like a fair deal to me.”
Emmeline was glad she wasn’t armed. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, tried to be sensible. Now was the time to tell him about Holt, about the baby she might or might not be carrying; if those things came out later, she was certain he would never, ever forgive her. Even knowing that, she couldn’t bring herself to say what she knew she must; she didn’t have the courage and, besides, she was too furious.“Suppose you shamed me, by keeping company with another woman?” she challenged.
He looked at her with consternation. “That’s not the same,” he said.
Emmeline’s self-control snapped. She shot to her feet, which were beginning to feel damp, since she was wearing a pair of Concepcion’s slippers in place of her
own sturdy shoes.“I beg your pardon? Are you telling me, sir, that you do not intend to honor our wedding vows?”
His handsome face hardened slightly. “A man has needs—”
Emmeline didn’t let him go one word further; she put both hands on his chest and, before he had time to brace himself, shoved him, hard. He tumbled backward, landing on his rear in the moist grass, with the heel of one boot snagged on the log.
Emmeline made no move to assist him. Indeed, she was sorely tempted to spit square into his face. “I do believe I have made a serious mistake,” she said.
Rafe rose slowly, and with dignity, brushing himself off.“That you have,” he replied in a cold voice.“I have half a mind to turn you across my knee and show you who’s the boss in this family.”
“You try it,” Emmeline responded, drawing on conversations she’d overheard in the corridors of Becky’s place, “and I’ll whack off your privates with the first sharp knife I can find!”
His mouth dropped open in shock, then he narrowed his eyes.“Madam,” he said,“you are no lady.”
Those words wounded Emmeline more deeply than anything else he might have said, but she would have died before she let him know that. She whirled on one heel and started for the house at a run. When she looked back, to see if he was giving chase, she stepped in a hole and fell headlong into the grass.
Rafe, reaching her within a moment or two, chuckled at her plight, though he did extend a hand to help her up.
She slapped it away.“Don’t touch me, you ruffian!” she cried.
“Why, you little spitfire,” he said, annoyed again.
Emmeline scrambled to her feet and backed away.
He moved in, undaunted, and hoisted her over his shoulder as though she were a sack of barley.
“Put me down!”
“I’d love to,” he replied. “Right in middle of the creek. I’d do it, too, if I didn’t think you’d catch your death and make me a widower before I got my money’s worth out of you.”
Emmeline saw red, but she kept her voice calm. “I’ll scream,” she told him.
“Go ahead,” he said cheerfully. “Things have been pretty quiet around here lately, and that would surely stir up some excitement. Both my brothers would most likely rush to your rescue, too, and then, of course, I’d have to shoot them.”
She didn’t believe he would actually shoot Kade and Jeb, not for a moment, but she definitely wanted to be rescued. She drew in a deep breath, fully intending to emit an ear-splintering shriek, but the air went whooshing out of her when he tookother step, causing her middle to bounce hard against his shoulder.
“Put—me—down!” she repeated.
He gave her a hard swat on the bottom. “Hush,” he said, quite jovially. “Did anybody ever tell you, Miss Emmeline, that you talk too much?”
She doubled up both fists and pummeled his back with them.
“Little hellcat,” he said, and this time he sounded amused, which made her madder still. “I like a woman with some spirit.”
They reached the kitchen, where Emmeline hoped for salvation, but there wasn’t a soul around. Just her luck.
“Where,” she whispered fiercely,“are you taking me?”
“Straight to bed.”
Emmeline gasped in horror.
He started up the back stairs.
“Help,” she said, but it came out as a whisper, which was quite the opposite of what she’d planned.
Rafe laughed. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Mrs. McKettrick. This is a big house, and the walls are chinked logs, more than a foot thick in most places.”
They were moving along the corridor now, passing the spare room where she’d napped earlier. At the end of the hallway, Rafe pushed open a door and strode into a darkened room. His room, she knew.
She began to kick, but he clamped one steely arm across her legs, effectively stilling them. He shouldered the door shut, then crossed the floor and dropped her, from what seemed a very great height, onto the bed. The pleasantly masculine scent of him wafted from the covers.
Emmeline struggled to sit up, but he placed a hand on each of her shoulders and held her down easily.
She kicked, and he sidestepped the assault without releasing his hold. She lay still, biding her time, but he wasn’t fooled. He bent down, so his face was less than an inch from hers.
“Behave yourself, you little wildcat,” he said moderately,“or I swear by all that’s holy, I’ll bare that lovely little bottom of yours and blister it.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she breathed.
“Try me,” he said.
“I will not,” she conceded haughtily. “It’s obvious that you’re nothing more than a ruffian. Perhaps you would stoop so low as to strike a defenseless woman.”
“Defenseless, hell,” he scoffed, still holding her down. His eyes were very blue, almost indigo, she noticed, quite against her will, and his teeth appeared to be perfect. “I’d sooner wrestle a she-bear.”
“Then go and find one and leave me alone!”
He laughed.
She jutted out her chin. “Go ahead,” she hissed. “Ravish me. I’ll tell the world what a scoundrel you are!”
His eyes danced. “The world,” he drawled, “will not be at all surprised.”
Incredibly, at that worst of all possible moments, he kissed her. Not roughly, as she would have expected, but very gently, and with exquisite thoroughness.
A blaze roared through her blood, and her back arched slightly, of its own accord. A humiliating moan escaped her, and when Rafe drew back, she could only stare up at him with wide eyes, her lips still tingling from the contact. She had been kissed only once before in her life—by the man called Holt—but that experience had left her singularly unmoved. Rafe’s kiss, on the other hand, had changed her in some profound and utterly mysterious way.
Rafe tasted her mouth again, at his damnable leisure, then straightened. Emmeline lay completely still, as though stricken by some strange, delectable paralysis.
If he had undressed her then, and made love to her, she wouldn’t have, couldn’t have, made a move to stop him. Knowing that about herself was bad enough; seeing that he knew it as well was mortifying. Or at least it would be, once he released her from whatever spell he’d cast.
He turned away from the bed.
“Where are you going?” she asked very quietly. Only moments before, she’d wanted him to leave. Now, the mere prospect of his going weighed upon her as nothing had ever done before.
He looked back at her over one shoulder. “Town,” he said.
She turned her head, so he wouldn’t see the tears that came to her eyes. Waited to hear the bedroom door open, then close again. The sound didn’t come.
“Emmeline?”
She sniffled.“What?”
The bed gave a little as he sat down. From the sounds, and the shifting of his body, she knew he was kicking off his boots. “I’ve never forced a woman to make love, and I don’t intend to start now.” He sighed.“All the same, this is my bed, and you are my wife, and I’m going to sleep right here, so you might as well move over.”
She sidled toward the wall, keeping her eyes averted. “Very well,” she said stiffly.
He chuckled, moving again, probably shedding his clothes. Then he crawled into bed beside her, settled himself, and sighed contentedly. “Good night, Mrs. McKettrick,” he said.
She didn’t answer.
Chapter 4
EMMELINE HAD NOT PLANNED to sleep, but exhaustion won out. When she awakened, many hours later, the sun was up and she was alone in her marriage bed. She heard voices drifting up through the floorboards, the words indistinguishable, the tones ordinary, companionable.
Recalling the events of the night before, particularly her involuntary responses to Rafe’s kisses, Emmeline blushed and covered her face with both hands. Rafe had been right, as they’d sat beside the creek, when he’d touched upon her deepest and most private fear.
> She was no lady.
She longed to pull the covers over her hea spend the whole day hiding in bed, but she knew it wouldn’t work. Hers was a restless nature and, besides, she needed to use the privy.
She dropped her head over the side of the bed and peered underneath, but there was no chamber pot. Sighing, she got out of bed.
There was clean, if tepid, water in the pitcher on the bureau top, and she poured some into the matching basin, then washed hastily, ever conscious that Rafe might come striding into the room at any moment and catch her at her ablutions.
She soon discovered that her brush and comb were there, too, and one of her dresses, a practical brown calico, was hanging on a wall peg, neatly pressed. At some point, Concepcion must have slipped in, taking care not to awaken the new bride.
No doubt, she, along with the rest of the household, believed that Rafe and Emmeline had consummated their union the night before. Once again, Emmeline considered hiding out in bed, but not for long. Her bladder felt as though it would explode if she didn’t get herself to the outhouse.
She brushed her hair quickly, plaited it into a single braid, and hurried down the back stairs.
The kitchen was warm, filled with sunlight and delicious smells. Emmeline nodded to Angus, who was seated at the table reading a heavy tome, and to Concepcion, who stood beside the big cookstove with a pressing board set up, ironing more of Emmeline’s travel-rumpled clothes. She spared each of them a nod and a nervous smile in passing, then dashed out the back door, across the porch, and down the long path to the outdoor toilet.
The barn was not far away, and Emmeline noticed her husband out front, saddling a horse, though she didn’t take time to acknowledge him. She was intent on the first order of business, and in no particular hurry to face Rafe McKettrick on any account.
She had just finished when she heard a distinctive rattling sound from the plank floor. In an instant she was standing on the bench, one foot planted on either side of the hole, holding her skirt in both hands and screaming fit to rouse the dead. In the corner, a full-grown snake coiled, hissing.
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