High Country Bride Page 4

  BRIDES WANTED was the headline, printed in bold type with exclamation points aplenty.

  Ladies! Don’t wait for that proposal, for it may never come! Start a new and exciting life in the American West! Plenty of opportunity and adventure for everyone! No fee for qualified applicants, all expenses paid! Our fine agency represents men of moral substance and ample means only! Marriages performed by proxy, before departure! Visit Happy Home Matrimonial Service, 67 Fremont Street, Kansas City.

  Emmeline sniffled, her imagination stirred, buzzing like a hive full of excited bees. Five minutes later, she pressed a cold rag to her face, donned her best bonnet and her most becoming dress, which was dove gray with black piping around the collar, cuffs, and hem, and marched herself down to the corner, where she stepped aboard the streetcar, paid the one-cent fare, and resolutely took her seat.

  She had begun that fateful morning in proud disgrace. When she returned to the boardinghouse, after two hours spent at the Happy Home Matrimonial Service, she was riding in a hansom cab, and she had vouchers for train and stagecoach fare in her drawstring bag, along with a marriage license, signed by a judge and duly recorded at the courthouse.

  She was Mrs. Rafe McKettrick, in the eyes of God and man.

  She stood stiff-shouldered in the doorway of Becky’s office, her trunks hastily packed and waiting on the porch, and announced that she was a married woman now and was leaving to make a new start in the Arizona Territory.

  Becky went white at the news. “Good God,” she gasped, trying to rise from her desk chair and failing. “You’re not serious!”

  Emmeline raised her chin a notch. “I have a train to catch,” she said.

  “This is utter nonsense,” Becky said. “You can’t just marry yourself to some stranger and take off for the wilderness!”

  “I can,” Emmeline told her stiffly, holding up the marriage license.“It’s quite legal.”

  “I’ll have it annulled!” Becky pleaded, on her feet now, groping around the edge of the desk to face her niece. “Emmeline, I know I was angry—I struck you and I said things—”

  Emmeline shook her head slowly. “None of that matters,” she said, somewhat dully. She had a strange, dreamlike feeling, as though she’d fallen into an unseen river and been borne away on the current. There was no going back.“I can’t stay here anymore. Not after—” She paused, swallowed hard.“I just can’t stay, that’s all.”

  Becky took a desperate, almost bruising hold on her shoulders. “Don’t be an idiot, Emmeline! The west is a cruel, uncivilized place, and you can’t know what that man is like. Suppose he mistreats you?”

  “He won’t,” Emmeline said. She didn’t feel as certain as she sounded, but she probably had Becky fooled. “If he does, I’ll leave him.”

  “And do what? How will you support yourself if this ‘husband’ of yours turns out to be something less than a prince?” Tears glimmered in Becky’s eyes.

  “I can teach school,” Emmeline replied. “Or maybe dance in a saloon.”

  Becky’s face tightened, filled with grief. “That wasn’t funny,” she said.

  “I didn’t mean it to be,” Emmeline answered. Then she kissed Becky’s cheek, albeit stiffly. “Goodbye,” she said. “And thank you for—for everything.”

  “Emmeline!” Bcky called after her.

  But Emmeline kept walking.

  “Don’t think you can ever come back here!” Becky cried.“You leave, and you’d better stay gone for good!”

  Tears sprang to Emmeline’s eyes, but she didn’t reply, didn’t look back.

  The carriage driver was already loading her trunks into the boot of his cab when she reached the porch, where she stood for a few moments, struggling to recover her composure, watching the shadows of a million leaves dance over the lawn and the stone walkway.

  “I’ll write,” Emmeline said, without turning around, because she knew if she faced her aunt now, she would surely lose her courage and stay. If that happened, she might as well join the business.

  Becky didn’t speak.

  Emmeline descended the porch steps, proceeded down the walk and through the gate. The driver handed her up into the cab, where she arranged her skirts on the cushioned leather seat and kept her eyes straight ahead.

  There was a raw spring wind blowing when Emmeline Harding McKettrick finally stepped down off the stagecoach in Indian Rock, Arizona Territory, clutching a satchel in one hand and all her brave, foolish dreams in the other. She pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders ders and looked around for a welcoming face amid the rowdy-looking strangers, but it soon became apparent that no one had come to meet her.

  Battling the tears she’d been able to hold back throughout more than two weeks of grueling travel, she straightened her spine and glanced up at the crudely carved sign nailed above the door of the stage depot, thinking perhaps she’d alighted at the wrong stop.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t.

  “Miss?” A young, fair-haired man came across the muddy road, his blue eyes alight with kindness and a sort of good-humored mischief that she sensed was as much a part of his makeup as the beat of his heart and the breath in his lungs. His build was lean, agile, and there was a quiet confidence about him that Emmeline found very reassuring.“Isn’t anybody meeting you?”

  All the weariness, all the fretting, all the jolting and jostling over countless rough miles very nearly caught up with her when he asked that simple question, despite a staunch effort at shoring up her spirits. She swayed a little, blinked rapidly. “My—my husband,” she said. “The agency was supposed to send a telegram—”

  The cowboy grasped her elbow quickly. “Here, now,” he said.“Have a seat on the edge of this water trough. Get your bearings.”

  Before Emmeline could protest that she’d been sitting down quite long enough, between the trains, stagecoaches, and even freight wagons she’d ridden to reach this wilderness outpost, and wished to stand instead, raucous shouts of glee erupted from the saloon next door to the depot. The team of dusty horses hitched to the stagecoach nickered and fretted in their harnesses, and the driver, busy unloading Emmeline’s trunks, shouted a profane reprimand at the poor creatures and then spat copiously for emphasis.

  Just then, the swinging doors of the drinking establishment parted with a reverberating crash, and a man burst through them, hurtling backward through the air, almost flying, then landing in a graceful roll from shoulder to hip to back. He lay supine for a few moments instead of coming directly to his feet, shaking his head once. Then he swore and raised himself onto his elbows.

  Emmeline’s eyes widened as a truly terrible premonition struck her.“Who is that?” she asked.

  “That,” said the cowboy, with affectionate resignation, “is my brother, Rafe McKettrick.”

  Emmeline’s knees sagged; she nearly fell into the water trough.“No,” she said.

  “Yes,” said the cowboy, regretfully.

  She stood, took one step toward the man lying in the street, then another, until she was standing over him.

  “Mr. McKettrick?” she inquired, in profoundest despair.

  He looked up at her, squinting against the bright midafternoon sunshine, shook his head again, as though he believed he’d imagined the encounter, then scrambled to his feet and catapulted himself back through the saloon doors, where he was greeted by a round of jeers and huzzahs.

  “Oh, no,” she said.

  The fair-haired man, her self-appointed knight in shining armor, came to her side and gently guided her out of the street. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “Do you have business with my brother?”

  She gave a little cry, pressing one hand to her mouth, and turned to face the beneficent stranger. “Yes,” she replied.“He’s my husband.”

  “Well, hell,” said the cowboy, flinging his hat to the ground.

  Emmeline took a step back, wide-eyed.

  “I’m sorry if I startled you,” the man said, bending to reclaim his hat and slapping it ag
ainst one thigh as he straightened. A small muscle pulsed at the edge of his jaw, and he plunked the hat back on his head before putting out a hand. “Welcome to Indian Rock, Mrs. McKettrick,” he told her, without smiling.“My name’s Jeb and I’m your brother-in-law.”

  Suddenly the saloon doors sprang open and Rafe came flying through them again. He got up, without so much as a glance in her direction, and rushed back into the fray.

  “That sneaking, low-down skunk,” Jeb muttered. Then he rallied to his former good cheer, gave a low whistle of exclamation, and turned a wicked grin on Emmeline. “Well, now,” he said, smooth as buttered taffy. “It looks like my brother has other things besides his new bride on his mind at the moment. Suppose we load up your things—that’s my buckboard right over there—and head for the Triple M. My pa’s going to be real pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Emmeline had neither the means nor the strength to get back on the stagecoach and travel on in hopes of finding herself in a better situation, which meant that her options were severely limited. Jeb McKettrick seemed polite enough, and he was her husband’s brother, which made him family, for all practical intents and purposes. She decided to trust him, and hoped her instincts about him were reliable.

  “Thank you,” she acquiesced, hiding her reluctance as best she could, and ducked her head a little.

  Jeb curved a finger under her chin, lifted her face, smiled down at her. She was cheered by the warmth and humor she saw in his eyes. “You’re safe wit me,” he said. “I promise you that.” He offered his arm, and she laid a hand on the inside of his elbow. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “There’s a dining room inside the hotel if you need something to eat. The food’s nothing special, but it’ll hold you until we get home.” Before she could answer, he went on.“The mercantile down the street carries a few ladies’ things. Is there anything you need before we set out?”

  Emmeline blushed. “I couldn’t eat a thing,” she said honestly.“I’d like to—to freshen up a little, though.”

  He smiled his understanding. Pointing to the alleyway between the saloon and the stage depot, he said, “There’s a privy out back. You’ll find water and soap for washing up on the bench around the side.”

  Emmeline’s heart sank. She’d tried to prepare herself for the frontier, during the long trip west, giving due consideration to all manner of possibilities, both cheerful and sobering, but not once, in all those flights of fancy, had she reflected upon the probable state of the plumbing.

  She hesitated, then collected herself and marched into the alley.

  The privy was a true abomination, built of weathered wood and tilting distinctly to one side, but nature would not be denied. Holding her breath against the stench, Emmeline entered beneath a sign that read CLOZ THE DOR, worked the latch, and attended to her business with all possible haste. She came out gasping, and perhaps a little green, minutes later, and hastily washed at the community bucket.

  When she gained the main street again, still shuddering a little, she saw that Jeb or the stagecoach driver had loaded her belongings into the bed of a small wagon, drawn by two sturdy black horses. She checked to make sure everything was secure, cast a look of resignation toward the saloon, where her bridegroom evidently preferred to pass his time, and turned to Jeb, who helped her up into the box, rounded the wagon, and climbed deftly up beside her.

  I will not cry, she promised herself sternly.

  Jeb indicated the freight in back with a toss of his head. “Looks like you’re pretty well outfitted,” he said, probably to make conversation.“That’s good, since you’d have to send to San Francisco if you wanted anything fancy.”

  She smoothed her skirts, patted her hair. Nodded to let him know she was listening. She didn’t trust herself to speak just then, for she seemed to be wearing her emotions on her sleeve. She did not wish to make a poor impression on her new family.

  “You’re sure you don’t want something to eat before we leave?” Jeb persisted gently. “It’s more than two hours to the ranch, and that’s if we don’t run into any kind of trouble along the way.”

  She shook her head, straightened her spine, and fixed her eyes on the road ahead.“I’ll be just fine,” she said, and tried with all her might to believe it.

  The fight over, and his opponent snoozing on the billiard table, Rafe watched as Charlie Biggam, the stagecoach driver, stepped into the saloon and started toward the bar.

  “Evenin’, Rafe,” Charlie said.

  Rafe nodded.“Evenin’.”

  Charlie glanced toward the billiard tale, where Jake Fink was starting to come around, groaning a little. “You and him get to bickering over fencing off the open range again?” he asked.

  Rafe set his jaw, swirled his beer around in the mug. “Damn sodbuster,” he said.“If Jake had his way, the whole territory would be crisscrossed with barbed wire.”

  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 char
m 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.