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  She rested a hand on either side of his face. “We’ll manage, Jeb,” she said.

  “You’ll need to bring the baby along with you,” Jeb went on, still fretting a little. Then he smiled again. “I reckon we ought to build a house, right here, so you don’t have so far to travel.”

  She slipped her arms around his neck. “You are a remarkable man,” she told him.

  He left her to build a small fire in the shiny new stove, which stood in the far corner of the room. Evidently, they were staying a while.

  Chloe went to the blackboard, picked up a piece of new chalk from the narrow tray beneath it, and wrote in large, flowing letters, I LOVE JEB MCKETTRICK.

  He laughed, but his eyes were serious. He approached, laid a hand to either side of what had once been her waist. “Thank you,” he murmured.

  “For what?”

  “For a thousand things. For being a redheaded hussy and putting up with me. For carrying my child.”

  Chloe arched an eyebrow. “A ‘redheaded hussy,’ am I?”

  He laughed. Kissed her lightly. “That and more,” he said.

  61

  Indian Rock

  JULY 4, 1887

  A few eager types were already setting off firecrackers, even though it was barely dawn, but Holt figured the best explosions of the day would seem like mere whimpers, compared to the blast that was bound to go off once his brothers awakened from last night’s celebratory drunk to find themselves locked up in Sam Fee’s jail.

  He sighed and settled back in Sam’s chair, feet on the desk, hands cupped behind his head, grinning. They’d made it so damn easy. They’d brought their well-ripened wives to town the day before, guessing by certain signs that the babies would be coming soon, and settled them in at the Arizona Hotel, under Becky’s assiduous care. Doc had examined the mothers-to-be, in strictest privacy, of course, and announced that there was plenty of time.

  The scribbled note from Emmeline was still tucked away in Holt’s shirt pocket. Mandy, Chloe, and I are counting on you to keep our husbands away until we’ve all delivered our children, no matter how long it takes. Concepcion will keep Angus corralled until she receives word from one of us. Please employ any means of restraint necessary, short of murder. In gratitude, E.

  Holt intended to keep that little missive on his person until such time as he could tuck it between the pages of the McKettrick Bible. It was, to his mind, a piece of family history.

  Behind him, a cot creaked. There was a moment of quivering realization, seeming to fill the whole jailhouse, then Rafe’s voice, bellowing. “What the hell—?!”

  At last, Holt thought, setting his feet on the floor and swiveling the chair to meet Rafe’s furious glare. He’d been waiting for this moment ever since he’d invited the boys to the Bloody Basin, the night before, for a few toasts to impending fatherhood. Ranch hands from the Triple M had helped him steer the inebriated yahoos here, when the whiskey supply was all but exhausted, and lock them up.

  It would be a pure miracle if any of them recalled the journey.

  Now, on the inevitable morning after, Rafe was upright again, holding the bars of the cell he and Kade shared, his grip so tight that the knuckles stood out. Kade stirred in the other cot, and Jeb in the next cell.

  “Morning,” Holt said affably. “Sleep well?”

  Kade stood up, groaned, and sat down again, clasping his head in both hands. Jeb muttered something unintelligible and hoisted himself to his feet, looking around, first in bafflement, then with rising irritation.

  “Open this door, you ring-tailed polecat!” Rafe shouted.

  Kade flinched. “Don’t yell,” he pleaded.

  Holt folded his arms, but made no move to rise out of his chair. He tried to look regretful. “I wish I could turn you loose,” he told Rafe, “but I’ve got strict orders from the McKettrick women to keep the three of you penned up, and I wouldn’t dare disobey.”

  The change in Rafe’s face was downright comical to watch, ranging from anger to bewilderment to horrified comprehension, all in the space of a few seconds. “But Emmeline’s about to—”

  “Give birth,” Holt finished for him, lightly. He sighed, delighting in the way Jeb and Kade came to their senses, as swiftly as if they’d been yanked up hard against those iron bars.

  “So is Mandy,” Kade said, bleakly outraged.

  “So is Chloe!” Jeb barked, his statement tumbling roughshod over Kade’s.

  Holt shook his head, struggling not to smile. “Remarkable, isn’t it? All of them coming to term on the same day? What are the chances of that?” He paused, pretended to consider the marvel. “Unless, of course, they all got pregnant at the same time.” He made a show of counting on his fingers. “Takes us back to the night Katie was born, or thereabouts. You must have been inspired.”

  “Damn you, Holt,” Jeb rasped, “let me out of here! I’ve got to get to Chloe!”

  “I surely will,” Holt assured him. “When it’s over.”

  Kade glowered. “Who put you up to this? The women?”

  “None other.”

  “Why?” Rafe ground out, looking exasperated now, giving the bars a hard rattle just to expend some of that bull strength of his.

  “It would be my guess that they don’t want you to know which baby was born first,” Holt answered, in moderate tones.

  “How are we supposed to figure out who gets the ranch?” Kade demanded. He looked as if he might just try to chew his way out of that cell.

  Holt arched an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to be the smart one, aren’t you?” he countered easily. “They’ve taken matters into their own hands, Emmeline, Mandy, and Chloe, with some help from Becky and Doc Boylen, not to mention Concepcion. I figure they want the ranch divided four ways, and they’re not going to tell which baby was born first until their demands are met.”

  Kade sat down hard on the cot. Jeb kicked the wall. Rafe spat a curse.

  “Where’s Pa?” Kade asked, recovering first. “He’ll straighten this out.”

  “Concepcion’s probably got him hog-tied someplace,” Holt said.

  Jeb strained to see the clock on the sidewall. “The babies—?”

  Holt went to the stove, poured himself some coffee, drank with noisy satisfaction. “While you boys were over at the Bloody Basin last night, swilling whiskey, bragging, and making bets with each other, the ladies were getting down to business. I figure we’ll hear something soon.”

  Rafe was pale with frustration, barely controlled annoyance, and fatherly concern. “It was your idea to pay a visit to the Bloody Basin,” he pointed out. “I seem to recall that you bought the drinks.”

  Holt allowed himself a smile, took another sip of coffee, and did not bother to defend himself.

  “Did you put something in that whiskey?” Jeb wanted to know, and there was an accusatory note in his voice.

  Kade’s attention was on the coffee. He was powerfully fond of the stuff. “You bastard,” he growled.

  Holt laid his free hand to his chest, splayed, in the manner of a man sorely wounded. “I’m as legitimate as you are. Just ask our dear old daddy.”

  “You doctored those drinks!” Rafe roared. He was a single-minded sort, ofttimes to his advantage, but more often, to his detriment.

  “I didn’t have to,” Holt said. “The way you three were throwing them back, all I had to do was watch and wait. And make sure the bartender got paid, of course.” He speculated a moment. “Your credit isn’t too good at the Bloody Basin, it seems.”

  They were digesting that, his trio of recalcitrant brothers, when the jailhouse door burst open and young Harry Sussex blew in, wild-eyed. No doubt, he’d been dispatched by either Becky or Doc.

  “They’re here!” he shouted. “The babies are here—all three of them!”

  All hell broke loose in the cells, but Holt took his time getting the keys out of Sam’s desk drawer, opening Jeb’s cell first, then Kade and Rafe’s.

  They fairly trampled him and Ha
rry, getting to the door. From the sidewalk, Holt watched with interest as the three of them raced toward the Arizona Hotel, Jeb in the lead, Rafe and Kade gaining fast.

  Harry tugged at his sleeve. “Mr. Holt?”

  Holt looked down at him, questioning. Fished a nickel out of his pants pocket to reward the boy for his efforts.

  “All girls,” Harry said, grinning.

  Holt laughed out loud. It was a new day on the Triple M.

  Epilogue

  AUGUST 18, 1887

  Angus McKettrick stood beside Georgia’s grave, high on the ridge overlooking the ranch they’d built together. A few yards away, Concepcion sat on a blanket spread in the grass, nursing little Katie. The sight of her stung Angus’s eyes and set the back of his nose to burning. For one man to have so much, well, it was past understanding.

  He took off his hat, touched the stone angel guarding Georgia’s resting place with the rough tips of his fingers.

  “I came to tell you that you don’t need to worry none about any of our boys,” he said quietly. He heard the baby laugh, a sweet sound of celebration, a call to travel on, in good spirits, toward whatever lay in store.

  “They’re all three married now, with babes of their own,” Angus went on. “Rafe and Emmeline, they called their girl Georgia, after you. Kade and Mandy’s is Rebecca, and Jeb and Chloe drew a little red-haired bit of a thing. Named her Anne. Said it was as close as they could get to Angus. I just thank God that baby wasn’t a boy.”

  He felt Concepcion’s gaze on him, turned his head to acknowledge her.

  She smiled, nodded ever so slightly.

  “Holt’s come home, too, where he belongs. I know you always wanted that, just like I did. You’d like him, Georgia. He’s strong, maybe because he mostly raised himself once Ellie died and I left him, and he’s good to that little daughter of his. Lizzie, she’s called. She’s a pistol, I’ll tell you. I wish you could have met her.”

  A soft breeze ruffled his white hair, thinning now that the years were catching up, and he would have sworn he felt Georgia touch the center of his heart. He used to get the same feeling sometimes, when they were alone and she smiled at him in a private way.

  “I reckon you’re wondering about the ranch,” he said, turning his hat in his hands. “Well, I divided it among them, four ways. Equal shares, right down the line. Emmeline and Mandy and Chloe, they wouldn’t have it any other way. Birthed those babies of theirs upstairs at the Arizona Hotel, on Independence Day, mind you, and not a dern one of them will say who crossed the finish line first. Swore Doc and Becky to secrecy, too.” He chuckled, shook his head, put his hat back on. “It devils me considerable, wondering how it all would have turned out if they hadn’t pitched a petticoat rebellion.”

  He looked out over the land again, miles of red dirt and sparse grass, land soaked with his own sweat. He loved every grain of it, every rock, rabbit hole, and cactus. It was his legacy, and he was proud to pass it on.

  Finally, after some wide traveling, his gaze settled back on Concepcion. She had finished feeding the baby and undertook to fasten her bodice up again, her fingers brown and slender and graceful.

  “Finished?” she asked, her eyes tender.

  He smiled, loving her, not more than Georgia or Ellie, but not less, either. In a new and different way, that was all.

  “Just beginning,” he answered.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Epilogue