Secondhand Bride Page 9

  He’d have to stay out of Jeb McKettrick’s way, too, for now at least. McKettrick would recognize him, after their meeting in Tombstone, and he’d get his back up for sure. That might precipitate events Jack wasn’t ready to deal with just yet, much as he wanted to jump right in.

  No, sir, the bridegroom wouldn’t lay eyes on Jack Barrett until circumstances were exactly right and he was looking down the barrel of Jack’s gun. By then, it would be too late.

  Chloe would grieve a while, once McKettrick was dead, but that was all right. Jack meant to console her as only a loving husband could do.

  A nudge to his ribs made him reach, by habit, for his pistol, but fortunately, he realized it was only Farness, the Circle C foreman, and stayed his hand. Even forced a smile to his lips.

  “You ready to ride?” Farness wanted to know. There was a look of consternation in his eyes, as though he might be trying to fit the pieces of something together in his mind.

  This one’s trouble, Jack thought, but he nodded, holding on to the smile. “Lead the way,” he said.

  16

  Lizzie stood at the base of the stairs, her head tipped back so she could take Holt in with those changeling eyes of hers. She was clad in a ready-made dress from the mercantile, hastily purchased by Emmeline, since her belongings had been left behind with the stagecoach, and her dark hair, a legacy from her mother, gleamed around her face. The rest of her features were feminine versions of his own; he would have known that stubborn jaw and straight nose anywhere.

  “Are you my papa?” she asked, in a matter-of-fact tone. She was pretending to be strong, he sensed that. Wished he knew how to go about comforting her, getting across that she’d be all right from then on, because he’d see to it.

  “I reckon so,” he replied awkwardly. He could feel Angus and Concepcion and Becky and Emmeline standing behind him, listening and watchful. What did they think he was going to do? Tell the kid she’d have to make her own way in the world, that he couldn’t be bothered?

  He cast a brief, scathing look back at his father. I’m not like you, old man, he thought. It wasn’t entirely true, of course; his first impulse, after all, had been to pack Lizzie off to boarding school. What did he know about taking care of a child, especially a female? He might have followed through with his original idea, too, if it hadn’t been for Angus’s vow that he’d fetch her home to the Triple M if that happened.

  The patriarch, stern as Moses on the slopes of the holy mountain, scowled right back at him and gestured impatiently toward Lizzie.

  Holt drew a deep breath and faced his daughter again. “I’m real sorry about your aunt Geneva,” he said. And your mama, he added silently. The news of Olivia’s passing had left a hole in his insides; on some level, he’d always expected to see her again. Make things right somehow. Now it was too late.

  Lizzie hoisted her chin. “Aunt Geneva wasn’t going to stay on in Indian Rock after she got me settled,” she said. “She told me you didn’t like her, and she didn’t like you much, either. She hoped you’d be nicer to me than you were to my mama.”

  Holt felt his pa’s gaze burning into his backbone, but he wasn’t fool enough to turn around again. “I loved your mother,” he heard himself say.

  Lizzie looked skeptical, and imperious into the bargain. She was going to be a handful, that much was clear, and he didn’t have the first idea how to cope. If it hadn’t been for his pride, he’d have let Angus and Concepcion take her to raise, but he knew they’d make a McKettrick out of her, and he’d wear an apron and a bonnet before he let that happen.

  “Aunt Geneva said she’d rather eat poached snake eggs than hand me over to you, but she didn’t have a choice.”

  Holt crouched, to put himself on the child’s level, and he couldn’t help grinning a little. “Poached snake eggs, is it?” he reflected, with a shake of his head. “Geneva was always definite in her opinions. But tell me—why did she think she didn’t have a choice?”

  Lizzie paused to consider her answer, but her expression revealed nothing of what she was thinking. He figured she’d make a hell of a poker player—it ran in the family. “The doctor said she was sick. There was a lump growing inside her, and she didn’t reckon she had much time. She didn’t want me to be left alone.”

  Holt’s voice scraped at his throat as it came out. “And your mother was already gone.”

  Lizzie looked away, blinked, looked back, steady as a hangman. “Yes,” she said. “A fever took her.”

  Holt wanted to touch Lizzie’s hand then, maybe even draw her into his arms, but he hadn’t earned the right to do that, and he knew she’d balk if he tried. “When was that?” he asked.

  “Last winter.” Lizzie studied him hard, frowning. “You’ve got a house, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Holt answered, thinking of that sprawling, lonesome place, out in the middle of nowhere. He’d bought it out of spite, because he knew Angus wanted the land surrounding it, and every acre had been an albatross around his neck ever since. Dammit all to hell, if he’d just stayed in Texas, where he belonged, he might have found Olivia in time, managed to change things somehow…

  “Good,” Lizzie answered. “Aunt Geneva said you mostly slept in places where you shouldn’t have, back when she knew you.” She paused. “I reckon she meant on the ground and in barns.”

  Behind him, Angus chuckled, then made a whooshing sound, as if Concepcion had elbowed him. Bless the woman.

  “You’ll have a roof over your head, a room and a bed and all you want to eat,” Holt promised.

  Lizzie tilted her head to one side, and then proceeded to negotiate. “How about a dog?”

  Holt nearly grinned. “We can probably rustle one up someplace,” he said.

  “Old Blue just had a litter,” Angus put in. “I’ll bring one over as soon as they’re weaned.”

  “Hush!” Concepcion said.

  “And a pony,” Lizzie pressed, probably drawing confidence from the support of her grandfather. “I want a pony, too.”

  “That depends on how well you ride,” Holt said firmly. He was determined not to lose control of this situation, assuming he hadn’t already.

  “I ride,” Lizzie said, “like a Comanche.”

  Angus laughed again, and he must have dodged Concepcion’s elbow because this time there was no loud expulsion of breath.

  “We’ll see,” Holt said, as much for Angus’s benefit as for hers. If that old man thought he was going to meddle in this, he had manure for brains.

  Lizzie wasn’t through with him yet. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the kid had asked for references. “Do you have a wife?”

  Holt considered his housekeeper, Sue Ellen Caruthers, who had already proposed herself for the position. A leftover bride, she’d come to Indian Rock to marry either Rafe or Kade, he couldn’t remember which. The plan had come to naught, with Rafe already wed to Emmeline when she arrived, and Kade so besotted with Mandy that he couldn’t think straight. Sue Ellen had been testy on the subject ever since.

  He shook his head. “No wife,” he said. Sue Ellen was a fair hand at the stove, and she kept the house clean enough, but she was possessed of a peevish and contrary nature. In point of fact, he’d sooner have hitched himself to a sow bear with a toothache.

  Lizzie folded her arms, and it appeared that the negotiations had stalled. “A child needs a mother,” she said, sounding more like a forty-year-old midget than a little girl.

  Emmeline gave a soft burble of laughter.

  “For the time being,” Holt said firmly, and for the benefit of all who might take an interest in the matter, “you’re going to have to settle for a father.”

  Lizzie huffed out a little sigh. “Well, all right,” she said, with sobering reluctance. “I guess you’ll do.”

  17

  Once Jeb had gone, Chloe sat down hard on the lid of her largest trunk and folded her hands. Within her bosom, the debate raged.

  Go after him, said her heart.

  No
t a chance, her mind vowed.

  Caught between the two, Chloe gave a sigh of frustration. She might have sat there wrangling with herself for the rest of the afternoon if a knock hadn’t sounded at the cottage door.

  He was back.

  She was happy.

  She would scratch his eyes out.

  She stood up and promptly sat back down. “Who is it?” she called, taking care to sound busy, distracted, and completely unconcerned with Jeb McKettrick and his goings and comings.

  “Emmeline McKettrick,” was the cheerful reply.

  Vastly relieved and incomprehensibly disappointed, Chloe got to her feet, smoothed her hair and her dusty skirts, and went to open the door, assembling a neighborly smile as she went.

  Rafe’s fair-haired wife stood smiling on the stoop, a covered dish in her hands. “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” she said.

  Chloe realized that she was exceedingly glad of company and stepped back. “Not at all,” she said, though she knew she should have been putting away books and hanging up her clothes. There was no wardrobe, but the pegs on the wall would serve well enough. Compared to her accommodations in Tombstone, the cottage was a palace.

  Emmeline stepped gracefully into the room, looking pleasantly harried. “We’ve had quite the drama over at the hotel,” she confided, setting the dish on the table and taking in the cottage in a sweeping glance. Chloe would have bet that she hadn’t missed a single detail, for all the subtle brevity of the inspection.

  Chloe smiled. She liked Emmeline, as she had liked Mandy. They were obviously attractive, intelligent women, but they’d fallen for a McKettrick just the same. It made her feel a little better about her own lapse in judgment. “I wish I could offer you tea, but I haven’t been to the mercantile for staples—”

  “If I have one more cup of tea,” Emmeline said, “I’ll spring a leak.”

  Chloe laughed. “Sit down,” she said, even as Emmeline, a step ahead of her, drew back a chair to do just that.

  Emmeline beamed. “We finally roped in a teacher,” she said. “What a relief. I was beginning to think we’d never find anybody.”

  Well aware that Emmeline was there as much out of curiosity as neighborliness, Chloe took care with her expression and manner as she appropriated the other chair. Most likely, word of her hiring had gotten around, and everybody in Indian Rock was full of questions about the new teacher. Emmeline had probably been appointed to scout the matter out and report back.

  Chloe let Emmeline’s comment pass. “Tell me, has Mr. Cavanagh made his daughter’s acquaintance yet?” For all her own concerns, the child had been on her mind all day.

  Emmeline looked pleased, and a little sad, too. “He’s claimed her, and they’re leaving for the Circle C first thing in the morning. The poor little thing—she’s being very brave, but she did see two people murdered in front of her eyes. I hope Holt will be patient with her.”

  Chloe ached to think of the marks such an experience could leave on a little girl. Another problem occurred to her, too. She’d never been to the Circle C, but she knew it was a long way from town, farther even than the Triple M. “How will she go to school?”

  Plainly, Emmeline had not thought of that. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s more than two hours to Holt’s place, on a fast horse.” Then, as quickly as it had disappeared, her smile was back, effervescent and inordinately reassuring. “Don’t worry, Chloe. You’ll have plenty of pupils. When do you intend to open the school?”

  It was Thursday, and she had lesson plans to draw up. “Monday morning, I suppose,” she said, cheered by the prospect. Then, musing, “Perhaps I should put up a notice somewhere.”

  “No need of that,” Emmeline said. “It’s already all over town that the school will be opening soon. Doc Boylen will have seen to that.”

  Chloe shifted in her chair, suddenly certain what the next topic of conversation would be: Jeb. “Good,” she said, uneasy.

  Emmeline regarded her frankly and confirmed Chloe’s belated suspicions. “We haven’t been able to get a straight answer out of Jeb,” she said. “Are the two of you actually married, or not?”

  Chloe sighed. “Yes,” she said. “But Jeb doesn’t believe it.”

  “How can he doubt a thing like that?” Emmeline asked practically, and with some impatience. “He was there, wasn’t he?”

  Chloe hesitated, biting her lower lip. She’d told Doc Boylen just about everything, so there didn’t seem to be much point in beating around the proverbial bush. “There was—a misunderstanding,” she said, stalling so she could choose the proper words. “I was—I was married once before, for exactly one day. My former husband showed Jeb our wedding portrait, and he decided he’d been duped.” A flush climbed her neck, ached in her cheeks. “Instead of coming to me for an explanation, Jeb went straight to the Broken Stirrup Saloon and proceeded to drink, gamble, and cavort with low women.”

  “A true McKettrick,” Emmeline commiserated. “The first time I met Rafe, he was in the middle of a fistfight. I almost tripped over him in the street.”

  Chloe’s eyes widened. “What did you do?”

  Emmeline heaved a sigh. “What could I do? I thought I was already married to the man and made up my mind to make the best of things.” She smiled a little and shook her head. “We’ve had our trials, Rafe and I, but I’m awfully glad I didn’t give up on him. Mandy would say the same thing about Kade.”

  Chloe withdrew a little. “It’s different for Jeb and me.”

  “I doubt it,” said Emmeline, bracing one elbow on the table and cupping her chin in her hand. “Why didn’t you just show Jeb your divorce decree?” she asked, as a seeming afterthought. “That would convince him.”

  “He didn’t give me the opportunity,” Chloe said, irritated all over again, “and when I went looking for him, he made it plain he wasn’t interested in anything I had to say.”

  “Pride,” Emmeline said dismissively, though Chloe couldn’t be sure whether she was referring to Jeb’s pride or Chloe’s own.

  “Whatever the reason,” Chloe went on, thrusting her shoulders back slightly and stiffening her backbone, “he left Tombstone with Kade, and I tried to pick up the pieces after he was gone.”

  “You were teaching school,” Emmeline suggested, plainly fishing.

  Chloe shook her head. “I lost my job the same night I lost my husband,” she said. “I was living on my savings and trying to decide what to do next when I saw an advertisement in the newspaper. Indian Rock was in want of a teacher. So I wrote to Dr. Boylen to inquire about it. Then I—I got word that my uncle—” Suddenly, she choked up, and couldn’t go on.

  Emmeline touched her hand. “Becky told me,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Chloe. John was a fine man.”

  Chloe drew a deep, steadying breath. “It was a terrible shock,” she allowed. “But I’ll come to terms with that, too.”

  “You have all of us,” Emmeline said gently. “That’s what I really came here to tell you. Rafe and me, Angus and Concepcion, Kade and Mandy, and certainly Becky. I know you probably feel very much alone right now, but you aren’t—the McKettricks are a close-knit bunch, and until you say different, you’re one of us.”

  Chloe’s eyes burned. “But you don’t even know me—”

  “You’re John Lewis’s daughter, and Jeb cared enough to marry you. For right now, that’s all we need to know.” Emmeline pushed back her chair and stood. Her gaze fell, briefly, on the dish she’d placed on the table. “Don’t feel obligated to sit here all by yourself and eat that stew,” she said. “If you want to join the rest of the family for supper, over at the hotel, we’ll be glad to have you.”

  The rest of the family. As if she was a part of the McKettrick clan. “I think I would like to be alone,” she said softly, “just for tonight. It’s not that I’m not grateful—”

  Emmeline nodded her understanding. “Becky will be expecting you for breakfast, then.” With that, she crossed the room and let herself out.


  Chloe sat perfectly still for a long while after Emmeline had taken her leave, trying to make sense of all she felt. Then, seeing that for a hopeless cause, she lifted the lid on the dish and peered in at the stew. It looked and smelled delicious, but she had no appetite, so she covered it again and rose to her feet, on a mission.

  Emmeline had asked her about her divorce papers. High time she got them out, she decided, though the jury was still out on whether or not she would show them to Jeb. It galled her that her word wasn’t enough for him and, besides, it wasn’t as if she wanted him back.

  Did she? In point of fact, she hadn’t expected ever to see him again, after their disastrous wedding night, and now that she’d landed practically in his backyard, she would have to come to terms with the matter, once and for all.

  She found the hatbox where she’d kept every letter John Lewis had ever written to her, and they were all there, stacked according to years, and tied with ribbon. She’d have known if even one was missing, as surely as she would note the absence of a finger or a toe.

  The divorce decree, tucked away at the bottom the day she received it, and never looked at again, was gone.

  Fretful, Chloe rifled through the packets, certain she’d merely misplaced the document, but there was no sign of it. She went through another box, and another, and still another.

  No papers.

  Shadows were gathering at the windows of the cottage when she finally gave up the search, sank back into her chair, and laid her head on her arms.

  Jack, she thought, too discouraged to fly into a temper. Of course it had been Jack who’d taken them, taken the only proof she had that she was legally married to one man, not two.

  18

  Jeb had always liked his room well enough, modest though it was. As the youngest of three brothers, he was used to hand-me-downs, hind tit, and the last piece of chicken on the platter, and for the most part, it hadn’t bothered him much. If being the last-born had its drawbacks, it also had its advantages—he’d done a lot of coasting in his time, gone his own way, with nothing much expected of him. No, Rafe and Kade had been the ones to carry that burden.