High Country Bride

by Linda Lael Miller

  Becky made a game attempt at a smile, probably trying to appease him. “Yes,” she said. “We’re building on to the hotel, so we’ll be needing proper furnishings. You know, beds, chairs, bureaus, carpets—”

  Rafe thought he’d shoot right through the ceiling if he had to listen to any more prattle about household goods. “When will she be back?” he asked, rising slowly to his feet.

  Becky caught hold of his hand, urged him, with a few small tugs at his fingers and a plea in her eyes, to sit down again. He did, but only because his knees had gone soft all of a sudden. “I imagine it will take a month or so,” she said gently, as if she were soothing some great, steam-snorting beast fixing to run amok in her lobby. “San Francisco is quite a distance from here, you know. And Emmeline wanted to buy some new clothes, see the sights, have a rest—”

  “A month,” Rafe breathed. A month was forever.

  “It’ll go by in no time,” Becky said brightly, just as John Lewis strolled in from the street.

  “Well,” he said, clearly less inclined toward hospitality than Becky was,“if it isn’t Happy Home’s best customer.”

  Rafe was too tired, and far too discouraged, to lose his temper just then, but there was always later.“I’ve got to go after her,” he said, getting to his feet.

  Lewis laid a hand on his shoulder. It was an affectionate gesture, maybe a little more forceful than it ought to have been. “Come on over to the Bloody Basin,” he said. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “I don’t want a drink.”

  “Yes,” Lewis said, unruffled,“I believe you do.”

  The first stop on the route to San Francisco was at a little waystation in the middle of the desert, a wide spot in the road with the unprepossessing name of Rattlesnake Bend. There were rooms to be had for fifty cents a night, an exorbitant price for such rude accommodations, and Emmeline took one, though she wasn’t sure she’d dare to close her eyes before morning. The man running the place was a seedy drunk, with breath so foul it nearly knocked her over, and there were outlaw types in the common room, which doubled as an eatery and a saloon, swilling whiskey and sizing her up with their eyes.

  Emmeline was glad she’d brought some of Stockard’s meatloaf sandwiches and a bottle of lemonade for the journey. She was hungry, but she wouldn’t have sat with those dreadful men or sampled the fare in that establishment to save herself from starvation.

  Her room, at the back of a short hallway, offered no comfort. The walls were framed in, but not finished, and there were spiders. The mattress ticking was bare, and the print seemed to be moving. The basin on the rickety washstand was half full of grimy water, left behind by the last tenant, and the pitcherusted.

  Emmeline shuddered. She’d stayed in some economical establishments on her way from Kansas City to Indian Rock when she’d first come to the territory, but none of them had been this bad. She wondered if a person could sleep standing up, the way horses did, and figured she’d try it that night and find out.

  She was perched on the edge of the only chair in the room, a wooden one with a rung missing from the back, trying to eat her sandwich, when a brisk knock at the door nearly startled her out of her skin.

  “Who’s there?” she asked, trying to sound imperious. Becky had offered her a pearl-handled derringer before she left; now, she was beginning to wish she’d accepted it.

  “Name’s Lucy,” called a cheerful voice. “Come to make up your room. Zeb shouldn’t have hired it out before I got a chance to ready the place, but there you have it. Hasn’t been sober a day since before I took up with him, old Zeb.”

  Emmeline carefully rewrapped her sandwich in the napkin Stockard had packed it in, set it on top of her largest trunk, and went to the door. She opened it a crack and peered around the edge, relieved to see a woman standing there, smiling a gap-toothed smile and holding an armful of bedding.

  “It’s all right,” Lucy said kindly. “Nobody out here but me.”

  Emmeline stepped back to admit the woman, then closed the door hastily behind her. She’d read of ruffians forcing their way into the rooms of travelers in broad daylight, let alone when it was dark out, like now, to commit robbery and mayhem.

  Lucy made up the bed with threadbare but clean sheets, and tattered blankets bearing the legend U.S. CAV-ALRY. She clucked and shook her head when she saw the basin and pitcher.

  “This place ain’t fit for a sow bear, let alone a fine lady like yourself,” she said, with an expansive sigh.

  Emmeline certainly agreed, for her part, anyway; she wouldn’t have presumed to speak for the bear. And it wasn’t as if there were a great many alternatives, when it came to accommodations. Rattlesnake Bend was no Indian Rock, after all; she couldn’t expect to find a room and a dining hall like the ones at the Arizona Hotel in a little outpost out in the middle of the desert. “Have you lived here very long?” she asked, trying to make conversation. Lucy’s presence, such as it was, was comforting.

  Lucy collected the basin and pitcher, still tsk-tsking. “Me and Zeb put up this place about ten years back,” she said, headed for the door. “I’ll fetch you my own china wash set, don’t you worry, and be back before you can say ‘Mary Todd Lincoln.’ Mind you put the latch down, and don’t open up to anyone but me.”

  Emmeline nodded anxiously, and fixed the latch as soon as Lucy had gone. She crept over to the bed and inspected the newly supplied sheets and blankets, which looked passably clean, and decided she might be able to lie down to sleep if she didn’t take off any of her clothes.

  In a short while, Lucy returned with a chipped basin and matching pitcher, obviously personal treasures, and Emmeline was touched that she was willing to share them. There was a towel, too, but no soap, which didn’t matter, because Emmeline had brought her own.

  “Thank you,” Emmeline said, ridiculously gratef

  “You’d better put the chair back under the doorknob if you’re ready to settle in for the night. Latch or no latch, some of these fellows out here are a mite on the rough side. You been to the outhouse?”

  Emmeline reddened. She suspected there was a chamber pot under the bed, but she’d been afraid to look. And she’d rather pass the night with a full bladder than venture out into the dark alone.

  Lucy smiled.“Here, now, don’t be fretting. I’ll walk out there with you, and wait while you do your business. You travelin’ far, hon’?”

  Having no other choice, Emmeline put on her cloak and slipped her drawstring bag over one wrist, for safekeeping. Her tickets and traveling money were in that purse, and she wasn’t about to leave it unattended in her room.“San Francisco,” she said.

  Lucy took a lantern from a hook on the wall, next to the back door, lit it, and led the way to the privy, a narrow, lopsided structure looming ahead like a ruin from some ancient and dissolute civilization. “Never been any further west than right here,” she replied.

  They reached the outhouse, and Emmeline went in, holding her breath, trying not to retch. She felt spider-webs touch her hair, and heard something scurry away into a corner.

  “Can’t say as we get that many women through here traveling by themselves,” Lucy called companionably from her post outside. “You runnin’ away from the law or a man or something?”

  Emmeline did what she had to do and dived for the door. Outside, in the relatively fresh air, she gulped for breath. “No,” she said, though that was only a partial truth. The law wasn’t after her. She was running away from Rafe McKettrick and his new mail-order bride, though. She hadn’t admitted to herself, until that moment outside Lucy and Zeb’s horrendous toilet, that she might never go back. Now, she knew that had been in her mind all along; Becky had known it, too. That was why she’d tried so hard to persuade her to stay.

  Lucy held the lantern high. “All right, now?” she asked, with another smile.

  Emmeline nodded, and followed her back inside.

  It was the middle of the night, and Emmeline was lying on that reprehensible bed, wear
ing all her clothes, including her bonnet and shoes, and only half asleep, when a thunderous knock sounded at her door. This time, she knew it wasn’t Lucy who’d come calling.

  She bolted out of bed and rushed over to the door, where she had not only put the latch in place but propped the chair back underneath the knob, as Lucy had suggested. Again, she yearned for Becky’s derringer. If she’d had it, she might have fired right through the door, no questions asked.

  “Go away!” she called.“I’ve got a gun!”

  “I’m not going anywhere!” Rafe yelled back. It was his voice, wasn’t it? She wasn’t dreaming? “Dammit, Emmeline, let me in!”

  A surge of joyous chagrin brought her wide awake. “It is you!” she cried, tossing the chair aside, lifting the latch, flinging open the door with such force that it clattered against the inside wall. She flung herself into his arms. “Thank God you came, Rafe! Thank God!”

  He held her away, but not far. His blue eyes, their color discernible even in the deep shadows, searched her face. “You’re glad to see me?”

  She thought about it. “Yes,” she decided. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  “You’re not going to San Francisco and have my baby alone,” he said.“And that’s final!”

  She pulled him into the room. “What are you talking about?” she demanded in a whisper. Now that she was recovering from the shock of finding Rafe outside her door in the middle of the longest and most miserable night she’d ever spent, she was more conscious of listening ears.

  Rafe stood with his back to the door. He was wearing work clothes, and he looked as though he’d been dragged behind a horse, at least part of the way. He needed a bath, and a shave, but he still looked as though he ought to have a place on Mount Olympus, he was so handsome. “I was wrong,” he said. “I was wrong about everything, Emmeline. I love you, and I want you to come home with me. Marry me, right and proper.”

  She stared at him, her heart picking up speed with every beat. She couldn’t allow herself any false hopes, though—the fall, when reality caught up to her, would be too long and too hard. He thought she was pregnant. That was why he was declaring himself now, after all this time, when he’d never done it before. “You mentioned a child,” she said carefully.“There’s no baby, Rafe.”

  “I don’t care,” he said, and he looked so anxious that he had to be speaking the truth. “I don’t care what went on Kansas City, either.”

  “Nothing went on in Kansas City,” she said fiercely.

  He gathered her into his arms.“I love you, Emmeline,” he repeated.

  She pulled back, her head clearing a little.“What about that new bride you ordered?” she wanted to know.

  His grin was boyish.“I’m sure Kade or Jeb will take her off my hands, if she shows up at all,” he said. “Emmeline, did you hear me before? I said I love you.”

  She let her forehead rest against his strong shoulder. “And I love you,” she admitted. “Against my better judgment, Rafe McKettrick, I do love you.”

  “Then let’s go home, right now, tonight. There’s something I want to show you.”

  She laughed up at him, and there were tears of joy gathering in her eyes. “Rafe,” she said reasonably, “we can leave in the morning.”

  His grin turned into a blinding smile. “You’ve changed your mind about San Francisco, then?”

  “For now, anyway,” she said, with a little shrug and a tilted smile.“The hotel furniture can wait.”

  Chapter 19

  AS TOWNS WENT, Rattlesnake Bend did not have much to recommend it, but it did have a preacher of sorts. It took a dousing with bucket of coldiv>

  After he’d been helped to his feet, the reverend patted various pockets until he located what he sought, and brought out a soggy document proclaiming him to be a graduate of a Bible college somewhere down south.

  Rafe read it over carefully, with Emmeline peering around his arm all the while, determined not to enter into another bogus marriage.

  “Looks all right to me,” Rafe said.

  “The reverend preaches a right fiery sermon when he’s sober,” Lucy put in, with enthusiasm. This, apparently, was meant as a recommendation.

  “Well, then, we’re in luck,” Rafe said.“The last thing we want right now is a sermon.” He brought a five-dollar gold piece out of his vest pocket—Emmeline’s eyes widened at the sight of it, and so did the reverend’s—and held it between two fingers.“We want to get married.” He paused, glanced uncertainly down at Emmeline. “At least, I do. Do you?”

  She nodded, and then frowned a little. “There are a couple of conditions—”

  Rafe looked worried, and none too patient. “Emmeline,” he said, “we talked about this most of the night. What conditions?” It was true that they’d talked for hours in her seedy waystation room; they’d agreed that they both wanted children as soon as possible, and that there would be no more running away from a fight, for either of them. No lying, either by word or omission, and no secrets.

  She took his arm, pulled him aside. Reverend Deever, mustache quavering, watched the retreat of the five-dollar gold piece with longing. “I want to help Becky at the hotel,” she said. “We—well, we want to go into business together.”

  Rafe narrowed his eyes. “What kind of business?” he demanded.

  Emmeline supposed he could be forgiven for asking such a question, given past history, but she was a bit incensed, all the same. “The hotel business,” she huffed, folding her arms.

  “I’m looking for a wife, here, Emmeline,” Rafe said carefully, “not somebody who passes through every once in a while, like a circuit preacher.”

  Emmeline linked her arm through his, shook her head, and looked up at him. “I promise,” she said sweetly, “not to lapse in my wifely duties. That’s going to have to be good enough.”

  “Suppose I refuse?”

  “The wedding’s off,” Emmeline said. She spoke lightly, but her heart had come to a lurching stop in her chest.

  He stared down at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and then laughed. “All right,” he said. “We’re bound to butt heads a few times, but we’ll figure something out.”

  “Good,” she said. And then she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. The concessions he’d made were enormous ones for him; proof to Emmeline that he truly loved her.

  “Thank you, Rafe.”

  He gestured toward the bleary-eyed Reverend Deever, still pining visibly for e-dollar gold piece. “Shall we get ourselves hitched?” he asked.“This time, for real?”

  “This time, for real,” Emmeline agreed.“And forever.”

  “It isn’t going to be easy, you know,” Rafe warned. “We’re both going to make lots of mistakes.”

  She smiled. “Are you trying to back out on me, Rafe McKettrick?”

  He kissed her nose.“Not me,” he said.

  They both turned to Reverend Deever then, and the man repeated his search-and-pat process until he came up with a small black book. Wetting his finger on the tip of his tongue, he turned delicate pages until he found his place. Then he cleared his throat and began.

  “Dearly beloved…”

  Emmeline could see the new house across the creek just as clearly as if it had already been built. Riding sidesaddle in front of Rafe, she lifted her feet slightly as Chief splashed into the water to make the crossing. The sweet grass whispered in a soft summer breeze as they climbed the low bank on the opposite side.

  Once there, Rafe swung a leg over Chief’s neck, and jumped nimbly to the ground, turning immediately to lift Emmeline down after him. Her body brushed his as he set her on her feet, and she was, for a few delicious moments, pinned between him and the horse.

  “Our house will stand right here, Mrs. McKettrick,”he said, in a low rumble. They’d been making love almost nonstop since their return from Rattlesnake Bend by wagon, and Emmeline was ready, to her private consternation, to go back to their bed right that minute. They had the main house to themselve
s, a rare event, since Kade and Angus were on the range with the rest of the cowboys, and Concepcion had gone to visit an ailing neighbor.

  Emmeline smiled mischievously, but a memory touched her heart, soft as the brush of a tiny wing, and sadness flickered inside her. “Are you planning to burn this one down, as well, Mr. McKettrick?”

  He tried to look stern, and failed resoundingly, since he was already grinning. There was a glint of tenderness in his eyes. “Before I answer that, maybe you’d better tell me if you’ve got any more secrets tucked away.”

  She laughed. “None at all,” she said, resting her hands on his chest. It was, she thought, too bad they were in full sight of the house and barn on the other side of the creek. She wouldn’t have minded making love right there in the grass, with the water singing its busy summer song nearby, but there were always ranch hands around.

  “I love you,” he said. He looked so solemn that she stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

  “And I love you,” she replied. She frowned, straightening his collar.

  “But you still plan to be in town quite a bit, helping Becky get the hotel to where it’s turning a profit.”

  She caressed his cheek.“And that’s not all,” she said.

  “No?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “No,” she replied. “I want us to go to San Francisco on that buying trip—together. It can be a sort of honeymoon. And I want a real wedding, too, the kind that makes a person feel married,ne with all our friends and family right there to help celebrate.”

  He leered at her, used the fact that the horse was blocking the view of anyone who might be looking on from across the creek as an opportunity to take one of her breasts in his hand. “Actually,” he said, “I feel pretty married right now. But I’ll agree to your demands.”

  She moaned involuntarily as he chafed a calico-covered nipple with the side of his thumb. “Oh, Rafe,” she whispered.

  He chuckled and continued his nefarious work, bending his head, nibbling at her neck. “Yes?” The word was throaty, an intimate caress in its own right.