High Country Bride

by Linda Lael Miller

  Chapter 15

  ON INDEPENDENCE DAY, the official start of the party, which was expected to last three days and nights, wagons and buggies began arriving just after noon, burgeoning with excited passengers. Men came riding mules, as well as horses, and many made the trek on foot. Angus personally greeted everyone, including those Concepcion pointed out to Emmeline as his biggest rivals, when it came to ranching and grandfathering, with an exuberant handshake and a resonant, “Welcome!” Even Mr. Chandler, who had fallen into disfavor by selling his sizable ranch to Holt when he’d promised it to Angus, was received cordially.

  The two women, looking on from the spare room, which was now equipped with several hastily constructed cots to accommodate the more delicate guests, smiled at Angus’s obvious delight in the occasion.

  “He is so proud,” Concepcion said, with affection.

  Folks had already begun erecting tents in the field east of the house, while others clearly planned to sleep in or underneath their rigs. This gathering was undeniably the biggest social event of the year for many miles around. Horses and mules were unhitched and unsaddled, then turned out to pasture in the high grass down by the creek. Women in calico and Sunday bonnets greeted one another with laughter and embraces, and children ran in the tall grass, stretching their legs after the long ride.

  “It looks almost like a gypsy camp,” Emmeline remarked, filled with excitement. She imagined dancers in colorful skirts, cavorting wildly around the campfire in the night, and old women with warts, telling fortunes from cards so timeworn that the images barely showed.

  Concepcion smiled. “Yes,” she said. “See that family over there, with the Conestoga wagon and the flock of red-haired children? They’re the O’Learys—their homestead is closer to Tucson than Indian Rock, so they’ve probably been on the road for several days.”

  “My goodness,” Emmeline said, impressed. She marveled at the distance the O’Learys had traveled, in a wagon drawn by oxen; she had journeyed many more miles, it was true, coming out from Kansas City, but she’d had only herself to look after, not a whole family, and trains and stagecoaches, as uncomfortable as they could be, made considerably better time than a dilapidated old Conestoga.

  “They’ll have persuaded a neighbor to tend their stock while they’re gone,” Concepcion said, her gaze fond as she watched the O’Learys greeting Angus and some of the other guests. “It isn’t often that there’s a party like this. Folks won’t want to miss a minute of it, no matter how far they have to come to get here.”

  “It will be wonderful,” Emmeline said, with confidence. She and Concepcion and even Red, from the bunkhouse, had been cooking and setting food by in the pantry and out in the springhouse for days. There was a whole beef roasting underground, in a special pit lined with stone, raising a luscious aroma, and the carcasses of two pigs, bought from a farmer on the other side of Indian Rock, were hanging in the storage shed, to be cooked when the beef ran out.

  The dance floor had been sanded, and the Chinese lanterns, which Emmeline and Concepcion had hung themselves, swayed red and blue and orange and green in the sultry breeze of that summer afternoon. The cowboy band, recruited from the bunkhouse and calling themselves the Triple M Three, had been practicing their limited but lively repertoire every night for a week. Emmeline and Rafe had danced together in the moon-washed grass just outside the back door whenever there was music, practicing for the night of the party, the anticipation building with every moment that passed.

  Now, at long last, the waiting was over.

  When Becky arrived, in a wagon driven by Marshal John Lewis, with Clive and an older woman, who was probably his mother, and, of all things, a nun, all perched in the back, Emmeline could contain herself no longer. She jumped to her feet and ran out of the spare room, fairly leaping down the steps. Such was her haste that she reached Becky’s side of the wagon before the other woman could even alight.

  Emmeline’s heart climbed into her throat when she got a close look at Becky; she’d lost weight since she’d seen her last, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her smile, however, was as brave and as confident, even impudent, as ever. When the marshal had helped her down from the wagon, she opened her arms to Emmeline.

  Emmeline embraced Becky, squeezing hard, but taking care not to crush her, too. She looked as though her very bones would crumble if Emmeline held her too tightly. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said.

  Becky kissed her cheek. “You are a sight for sore and weary eyes, Emmeline,” she said. Then she began making introductions, while the lawman stood quietly at her side, and the other passengers assembled behind her. “My niece, Mrs. Emmeline McKettrick,” she said grandly, smiling at Emmeline. “You know Marshal Lewis, I believe,” she went on.“And Clive, too. This is his mother, Mrs. Hallowell, and here—” she paused, gripped the nun’s sleeve, and pulled her gently to the fore,“here is Sister Mandy.”

  Sister Mandy? Emmeline set the name aside to puzzle over later, and concentrated on shaking each person’s hand, even Clive’s clammy one, and welcoming them all, in turn, as she had seen Angus doing from the upstairs window. Mrs. Hallowell, mother of the redoubtable Clive, was a likable soul, small as a child, with lively brown eyes and a sweet smile. The nun was so covered up in black serge that only her face was visible. She had beautiful blue-green eyes, the lashes long and dark, high cheekbones, a bow-shaped mouth, and clear skin. Her hair was completely covered by the wimple, and might have been any color. She smiled slightly at Emmeline and murmured,“Hello,” but would not meet her gaze.

  Emmeline glanced at Becky, in silent inquiry, but Becky merely raised her eyebrows as if to say, Don’t ask me.

  “Let’s get you three ladies settled in the spare room,” Emmeline said brightly, taking Becky’s arm. “Marshal, I’m sure you and Clive will want to say hello to Angus. He’s over there, by the barbecue pit.”

  Mr. Lewis smiled and tipped his hat, and when his glance lit on Becky, it was solicitous as well as respectful. “We’ll go over and present ourselves properlike right now,” he said.“Come on, Clive.”

  He and Becky looked at each other for a long moment, then the marshal strode away, with Clive following rather reluctantly behind him.

  “He’ll be just fine,” Becky said kindly.

  By then, she and Emmeline had linked arms. Emmeline was eager to ask Becky about the state of her health, but she knew she would get a smart set-down if she brought up the subject in front of other people.

  Becky sat down in the kitchen to take tea with Concepcion, who greeted her warmly. Mrs. Hallowell joined them, while Emmeline and Sister Mandy trooped up the rear stairs with the bags.

  “Aren’t you roasting to death in that habit?” Emmeline asked forthrightly, when she and the young nun had reached the spare room. The cots, with their rope springs and straw-stuffed mattresses, had been made up with crisp sheets, plump pillows, and blankets. “I could lend you a calico dress.”

  The girl tried to smile, and almost made it. There was something so forlorn about her—she was barely more than a child, for one thing—that Emmeline found herself wanting to take her under her wing. She had no doubt that Becky felt a similar sympathy, which was why “Sister Mandy” was a part of her entourage. “I’m supposed to wear this,” she said, indicating the habit with a graceful motion of her hands. “I reckon God expects that.”

  Emmeline frowned, finding the remark odd, to say the least. She didn’t want to commit a mortal sin by persuading a nun to break some sacred rule, but neither could she see the harm in the young woman setting aside those grim and heavy garments for just one night. “Perhaps God would understand,” she replied quietly, “if you dressed modestly, and honored your vows.”

  Sister Mandy lowered her eyes, shook her head. “No,” she said.“But thanks.”

  Emmeline suppressed a sigh.“Well, then, now that you know where you’re to sleep, let’s go downstairs and have some tea.”

  Mandy hesitated, then set her
small bundle of possessions on one of the beds, the one farthest from the window and wedged into a corner. “All right,” she said, and followed meekly when Emmeline led the way.

  The night sky gleamed, studded with stars, and the great bonfire, built well away from any structures or trees, blazed gloriously. People milled everywhere, enjoying roasted beef, baked potatoes, and beans cooked up with molasses and brown sugar, in great crockery pots, all of it served up on plates they’d brought themselves, in wagons and buggies, saddlebags and reticules. The cowboy band was tuning up, having just finished several helpings of supper. Emmeline, standing at the study window in her new green party dress, her hair upswept, an extra pair of Becky’s earbobs brushing her cheeks, looked out on the scene in wonder.

  “You look very nice,” a voice said from behind her. She stiffened, because she knew that voice, and because it wasn’t Rafe’s.

  She turned, very slowly, to face Holt. He was still using a crutch, of course, but with some help from Kade and Rafe, he’d gotten himself spruced up for the celebration, and he looked handsome in his suit, one pant leg altered to cover his splints without binding, a string tie at his throat.

  “Thank you,” she said politly but without warmth.

  “I hope you’ll save me a dance,” he replied. His face was in shadow, the study being lit by just one lamp, and she couldn’t make out his expression. He spoke quietly, and his tone revealed nothing.

  She simply nodded, for there was no graceful way she could refuse, and it would not have been kind to point out that dancing would be awkward, if not impossible, for him.

  He offered her his arm, and she took it, and so it was that Mrs. Rafe McKettrick was escorted to her husband, already at the bonfire, talking with neighboring ranchers, by the very man with whom she had compromised herself.

  She was barely able to meet Rafe’s eyes when they reached him.

  He grinned at her. “You are something to behold, Emmeline,” he said, taking her hand, nodding coolly to Holt, who stood a little distance away now, looking on in silence. She could feel him watching her and Rafe, and she wondered when, or if, he would betray her. To lose Rafe, and her place in this community, would be devastating, and to look at the other McKettricks, or Concepcion, and see censure in their eyes would be nearly as bad.

  She curtseyed slightly.“Thank you, Rafe,” she said very softly.

  The music had begun, and Rafe led his bride toward the dance floor, into the spill of colored light from the Chinese lanterns, and they swept around and around in each other’s arms, with the dance floor all to themselves. The guests clapped and cheered when the waltz ended, and Rafe gave his wife a brief, tender kiss.

  She wanted to take his hand then, as he had taken hers, to lead him away, somewhere quiet, and tell him everything, reveal every secret, regardless of the consequences. He would probably scorn her, once he knew that she’d spent the night with a man, his own brother no less, in return for a stack of coins, but there was also a chance, remote though it was, that he might understand, and find it within himself to overlook her mistake. After all, for all their strife, they had found much happiness together, she and Rafe. They had plans, and a beautiful house nearly finished. When they made love, they knew a wild, strange, soaring joy, far too intense to be ordinary. Perhaps he would not be so quick to throw all of that away.

  Alas, she could not bring herself to speak of the matter on that night of nights, with all the music, the laughter, and the dancing to serve as a backdrop for what she had to say. She decided to wait until they could be truly alone, which probably wouldn’t be for several days yet. In the meantime, she would enjoy the gathering to the utmost, knowing that it might well mark the high point of her life, with everything going downhill after that.

  She danced. Oh, how she danced.

  With Rafe first, of course, but then with Angus, and then Kade, and then, calling upon all her inner resources, with Holt, who moved with surprising grace, if not speed or agility, holding her loosely in one arm and keeping time with the music. She thought she saw bewilderment in his eyes, once or twice, but she dared not look too closely, nor would she risk asking.

  For all intents and purposes, this man was her mortal enemy. If indeed he intended to blackmail her in some way, well, he’d soon find his plans thwarted. Neither he nor anyone else would ever be able to hold the past over her head again, once she’d told Rafe the whole truth.

  After Holt, Emmelindanced with Rafe again, and that calmed her nerves. Her smile, shaky while she was in Holt’s arms, came naturally in Rafe’s.

  He took her aside for a glass of sweet punch, and she enjoyed a few minutes of badly needed rest.

  “Are you enjoying the party, Emmeline?” he asked, as they sat together on a bale of hay covered with a horse blanket. He sounded as though her answer truly mattered to him.

  She was flushed, and little breathless, and the stars overhead were so bright, she was sure she could reach up and snatch one for a keepsake and tuck it into her evening bag.“Yes,” she said.“What about you?”

  Out on the dance floor, the Milldown sisters, newcomers to the community, were dancing happily with one man after another. They might have been considered plain, wherever they came from, but in and around Indian Rock, Arizona Territory, they were sought-after beauties. Rafe watched them for a moment, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth, then turned to look at Emmeline.

  “I reckon that right now, in this moment, I’m about as happy as a man has a right to be, this side of the great beyond,” he said, with sweet solemnity.

  Emmeline’s heart did a little flip, and tears burned behind her eyes. “Oh, Rafe,” she said. She almost told him everything then, despite her earlier decision to wait, because she wanted to tear down the last barrier between them, for better or for worse, once and for all, so that she never had to be afraid again.

  He straightened her lace shawl, draped loosely over her shoulders, and leaned over to kiss her just beneath one ear. She shivered, closed her eyes tightly, and he chuckled at her response.

  “I do like it when you say ‘Oh, Rafe,’” he teased in a gruff whisper. “Do you suppose anyone would notice if we sneaked into the house, you and I? I’d like to take off your clothes, Mrs. McKettrick, one garment at a time, until all you’re wearing are those earbobs of yours. And I’d like to—”

  She was falling under his spell, and that simply would not do. No lady left her own party to make love with a man, even if that man was her husband. “Rafe McKettrick,” she scolded, her cheeks hot, her backbone stiff, and all her senses rioting for more of the very thing she was refusing with such spirit.“Stop that, this instant!”

  He laughed. “All right,” he said, “but when I get you alone—”

  She scooted over a little way on the hay bale, in order to put some space between them, and when she saw Becky and the marshal coming toward her and Rafe, she was so relieved that she bolted right to her feet and almost stumbled over the hem of her dress, hurrying to meet them.

  It wasn’t until she got closer that she noticed the strain in the marshal’s face, and the alarming pallor in Becky’s. She was leaning on John a little, a very un-Becky-like stance.

  “Is Doc Boylen around anywhere?” the marshal asked, holding Becky with a firm gentleness. She looked as though she might swoon.

  Rafe, bless his heart, was close behind Emmeline, and he immediately took charge.“You take Mrs. Fairmont on up to the spare room, John,” he said. “Emmeline, you go along, too, and see that she’s comfortable. I’ll find the doc.”

  John lifted Becky easily into his , against her muttered protests, and the concerned crowd parted, whispering, as the three of them made their way into the house.

  Angus claimed the last waltz of the evening with Concepcion, who, like the other women present, fat and skinny, plain and beautiful, wives and spinsters, had barely gotten a chance to take a breath, for dancing with cowboys and prospectors, farmers and ranchers. Only the little nun had sat idle, but
he’d seen her toes tapping under the hem of the church getup she wore.

  Concepcion was breathless, and flushed, and very beautiful. So beautiful that it fairly made Angus’s old heart turn right over in his chest. He tightened his embrace a little, missing more than one step as the dance progressed, and stared down at her as if he’d never seen her before.

  She smiled up at him.“What is it, Angus?” she asked.

  “Have you always been beautiful?” he countered, frowning.

  She laughed. “You old fool,” she said, “you’ve had too much dancing and too much whiskey. I have never been beautiful.”

  The words sounded garbled to Angus, as if he’d stuck his head in the horse trough and come up with water in his ears. Good Lord, how could he have failed to notice Concepcion’s grace and humor and, yes, her beauty? He was stupefied by the scope of his oversight.

  Concepcion tilted her head to one side. Her lush dark hair, wound into an elegant chignon at her nape, glittered in the starlight and the flickering crimson glow of the bonfire. Her eyes caught the reflections of the colored Chinese lanterns and held them in their dark depths, like fragments of a gaudy rainbow.

  “Angus?” she prompted, sounding a little worried now. “Are you all right?”

  He felt like five kinds of an idiot. “Of course I’m all right,” he grumbled. Maybe it was the moonlight getting to him. Folks said it could drive a sane man mad, if the circumstances were right.

  She lowered her eyes, then raised them again, meeting his gaze.“It is a fine party,” she said.“You can be proud of yourself, Angus, and of your sons, and your lovely daughter-in-law.”

  “Of course I’m proud of them,” he said, barking out the words without meaning to, feeling like some young whippersnapper, still wet behind the ears, he was so nervous. “I don’t see much point in being proud of myself, though—all I did was pay for this shindig. It was you, you and Emmeline and that little Pelton gal, who did most of the real work.”