High Country Bride

by Linda Lael Miller

  She looked pleased.“So you noticed,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said, still dancing, and feeling as if he’d grown a third foot.

  Concepcion arched one perfect eyebrow. “And did you notice my dress?” she asked, with a mischievous note in her voice.

  She could have been wearing a burlap feed sack, for all Angus knew. When he looked at Concepcion, he realized that, whether on this magical evening or on an ordinary day, he didn’t see her clothes, or even her body, for that matter. He saw her fine, strong spirit, her endless competence, her generosity and readiness to laugh even when crying would have made more sense. He saw the woman who came to his bed some nights, and held him, asking nothing more than to be held

  “Yes,” he lied.“Of course I noticed your dress.”

  She placed her hand under his chin, quick as a jackrabbit, so he couldn’t look down.“What color is it, then?” she challenged.

  He couldn’t even guess, and she laughed when she saw the dilemma reflected in his face. “Just as I thought,” she said, but she sounded triumphant, not angry.

  He all but fell into her eyes, headfirst, rolling end over end like a cowboy flung from a bronco’s back. It seemed as if he’d never land. “I believe I love you,” he said, amazed by the revelation, since he hadn’t known it himself until a minute or so back.

  She smiled up at him. “Has that just occurred to you, Angus McKettrick? I’ve known it for a long time.”

  Angus managed to break his metaphorical fall, and glowered down at her, stopping in his tracks, right out there in the middle of the dance floor, with his friends, neighbors, and favorite enemies whirling all around them in a colorful blur.“You have?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said, sounding smug.

  “Well, I guess we’d better get ourselves hitched, then.”

  She smiled again.“In time,”she said.“There is no hurry.”

  He frowned harder. He couldn’t follow her reasoning; he was seventy-five, and might turn up his toes any day now. If that wasn’t reason to make haste, he didn’t know what was. “Do you love me, Concepcion?” he heard himself ask, and his face flamed, because he hadn’t put a question like that to a woman since he’d proposed to Georgia, better than thirty years back.

  “Yes,” she said.“I do.”

  “Then why not tell the world?”

  “This time belongs to the young people, Angus. To Rafe and Emmeline, to Holt and Kade and to Jeb, wherever he is.” She paused to cross herself at the mention of his youngest son, and he loved her even more for that.

  “You and me, we can go to the mission and get married, if that’s what you truly want, but let’s keep it to ourselves for a while, if we do.”

  “How can we do that?” Angus boomed, and was shushed for his trouble. “How can we do that?” he asked again, more quietly. “We’ve got a houseful, in case you haven’t noticed, and I’ll be damned if I’ll take myself a wife and then sleep apart from her.”

  Concepcion’s eyes flashed, not with anger but with the quiet passion of a woman secure in her charms.“I did not suggest sleeping apart,” she said, softly but with no lack of meaning. “There are things happening around us, Angus, in la familia. Very important things, written in the stars long, long ago. We might upset the balance, and ruin everything, if we are not careful.”

  Angus didn’t understand, and he didn’t pretend to, but he was willing to concede the point, whatever it was, because it seemed so important to Concepcion. “There must be a preacher somewhere in this bunch,” he said. Now that he saw a way out, he realized how tired he was of being alone. He’d been a widower for so long; now, as far as he was concerned, it was time to let this bronc out of the chute and watch it buck.

  She raised her eyebrows. “s that your proposal, Mr. McKettrick? Because if it was, well, it’s God’s own wonder that you ever managed to land one wife, let alone two.”

  He led her off the dance floor, through the crowd, into the moonlit darkness, well away from the bonfire and the other guests. Then, knowing he might not be able to get up again without help, Angus McKettrick got down on one knee and took both Concepcion’s hands in one of his.

  “Maybe it’s the moonlight,” he said. “Maybe it’s the whiskey Denver Jack poured in the punch. Whatever it is, Concepcion, I love you, and I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?”

  She smiled down at him. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, Angus, I will marry you.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now, help me up, and I’ll go round up a preacher.”

  They became man and wife in secret, half an hour later, in the hay-and-horse-scented privacy of the barn, with Denver Jack and one of the Milldown sisters for witnesses, both of them sworn to secrecy.

  Emmeline sat beside Becky’s cot, holding her mother’s hand tightly, her eyes bright with tears of concern. Doc Boylen had finished his examination, advised quiet and rest, along with a shot of whiskey at regular intervals, and returned to the party. John Lewis and Rafe lingered, both of them as worried as Emmeline, and trying hard to hide the fact.

  “You scared me half to death,” said Emmeline, who felt no compunction to hide anything at the moment.

  Becky patted her wrist. “Well, now, you can just calm down. You heard the doctor. I had just a little too much dancing, that’s all.” Her gaze strayed to the marshal. “John, maybe Rafe wouldn’t mind showing you where the whiskey is. I do believe a drink would do me some good right about now.”

  The marshal nodded, and he and Rafe left the room together. Becky waited until she heard them on the stairs before speaking again.

  “I don’t mean to die before I have a grandchild,” Becky said in a near whisper, clinging hard to Emmeline’s hand.

  “That would make up for a lot, holding your baby in my arms. So don’t you be fretting, thinking I’ll be hopping aboard the glory train anytime soon, because I won’t be.”

  Emmeline took a few moments to compose herself. She glanced back over her shoulder, at the closed door, and then turned to Becky again. Her mother. The only person in the world she dared confide in, without fear.

  She’d deceived Rafe, and the burden was getting harder and harder to bear with every passing moment. The reason for that was simple, much more than a matter of conscience: She’d fallen in love with him. Somewhere along the line, between her arrival in Indian Rock, when he’d rolled out of the saloon and landed at her feet, and this splendid night, she’d given him her heart, and she knew it was for good, too. Even if Rafe washed his hands of her, cast her out like a painted Jezebel, she would never care for another man the way she cared for him.

  “What on earth is the matter?” Becky whispered, her face pinched with concern.

  Just about the last thing Emmeline wanted to do was get Becky upset, particularly in her present condition. Why, if she’d had the remotest suspicion that Becky was ill, she never would have hooked up with that marriage brokerage and traveled all the way to Arizona Territory to marry Rafe in the first place. She’d have stayed right there in Kansas City, to look after Becky. So many things would never have happened at all, if she’d done that….

  “Emmeline,” Becky persisted.

  Emmeline glanced at the door again. “That night—in Kansas City—before I ran away—”

  Becky stroked Emmeline’s hand, her touch gentle and reassuring. “Oh, baby,” she said. “You haven’t told him about that, have you? You haven’t gone and told Rafe?”

  Emmeline shook her head. “No,” she said, and dashed at a tear with the heel of one palm, “but it’s eating me alive, keeping a secret like that.” She didn’t, couldn’t, bring herself to say that the man she’d spent the night with was none other than Holt McKettrick, though she suspected Becky might have guessed.

  “Now, you listen to me,” Becky said fiercely. “It’s none of Rafe’s concern what you did before you came here. Did he tell you about every woman he’s ever bedded? I think not.” The sound of male footsteps could be heard mounting the front s
tairway. Rafe and John Lewis were coming back with the medicinal whiskey.

  Emmeline considered taking a shot of the stuff herself.

  “You keep what happened that night to yourself, do you hear me?” Becky hissed, practically crushing Emmeline’s fingers with the strength of her grip. “No good can come of Rafe’s knowing. None at all!”

  Emmeline bit her lower lip. If only it were that simple, she thought, but Holt knew. Dear God in heaven, Holt knew, and he was holding the secret over her head, too. Any day now, he might make some improper demand on her, and what would she do then? Refuse? She didn’t dare. Comply? She couldn’t do that, either. She’d made more than her share of mistakes, but she still had a conscience. And she loved Rafe McKettrick, as hopeless as that made her feel sometimes.

  The door opened then, and John came into the room, carrying a crystal glass with a double shot of whiskey in the bottom. Rafe loomed in the doorway, handsome in his good clothes.

  Emmeline stood, so that John could take her place in the chair and help Becky sit up, and hold the glass to her lips. She took small, steady sips.

  Rafe held out his hand to Emmeline, without speaking, and she went to him. She wanted to lie naked in his arms, to murmur his name over and over again, to soar past the farthest star on the joyous swell of his lovemaking. She wanted to forget that anyone, or anything, existed in all the natural world, besides Rafe McKettrick and herself.

  There were two kerosene lanterns lighting the room, and she could see in his eyes that he understood her need for solace, even if he couldn’t possibly know the reasons behind it. She lifted his hand, kissed the backs of his fingers.

  She looked back, saw Becky watching her.

  “You’ll send for me, if you need anything?” Emmeline asked her. “You’ll tell Mrs. Hallowell or Mandy to come knock on our door?”

  “Yes,” Becky said, “but I’ll be just fine. This whiskey will help me sleep, and John will sit with me until I nod off, won’t you, John?”

  He nodded. “ be right here,” he said, never looking away from Becky’s face.

  Rafe said good night to Becky and the marshal; then, still holding Emmeline’s hand, he drew her out into the darkened corridor, walking slowly toward their room.

  “Shouldn’t we say good night to our guests?” Emmeline asked.

  “No,” Rafe said flatly, opening their door, pulling her inside, closing the door and turning the key in the lock. He stood her in the shaft of shadow-partitioned moonlight pouring in through the windows, and drew in a sharp breath. “Lord, Emmeline, but you are a fine-looking woman. I must be the luckiest man who ever drew breath, sending away to some outfit in Kansas City and getting you back.”

  Her heart ached in her throat, and her chin wobbled. She couldn’t have said a word for anything, right then.

  He came to her, drew her shawl off her shoulders and set it aside. Then he unfastened her earbobs and laid them carefully on the bureau top. Emmeline knew what was coming, of course, and she trembled with the wanting of it.

  Rafe turned her so she was facing away from him, but still bathed in moonlight, and began unfastening the buttons at the back of her dress, one at a time. That done, and it took a very long time, he smoothed the whispery fabric away from her shoulders, down her arms. The dress caught at her hips, and he sent it gliding to the floor in a pool of emerald. Her petticoats followed, with all their ruffles and ribbons, and he took away her camisole, baring her breasts, leaving her wearing only her pantaloons, the garters and silk stockings beneath, and her dancing shoes. He knelt, like Prince Charming in a fairy tale, but unlike the prince, he wasn’t trying to put a slipper on her foot, he was taking one off. His hands were strong, yet gentle, stroking one calf, then the other.

  He reached up to caress her breasts with his hands, giving a low groan as he stroked the nipples. She tilted her head back with a sigh of surrender, and her hair tumbled, of its own accord, down over her spine and shoulders to tickle the soft backs of her thighs.

  Rafe supported her—she would have fallen if he hadn’t—and slowly drew down her pantaloons. Only the garters were left now, and the stockings. He kissed the soft swell of her thighs, above the tops of the stockings, nuzzled the center of her femininity, now bared to him.

  She groaned, entwining her fingers in his hair. “Oh, Rafe,” she whispered.

  He parted her, nibbled. Outside, the band played a lively tune, and the dancers stomped and clapped, making more than enough noise to cover the involuntary cry Emmeline uttered.

  Still enjoying her, Rafe unfastened one stocking and rolled it slowly down the length of her leg. He did the same with the other.

  “Rafe,” she pleaded.

  Somehow, he maneuvered her to the edge of the bed, laid her down gently, and draped her legs over his shoulders.

  “Rafe!” she cried again, more loudly this time.

  He murmured some response, never taking his mouth from her, and she clutched at the covers of their bed, certain that she would go hurtling through the roof and far beyond the borders of the night sky itself if she didn’t hold on tightly. And sure enough, a few glorious minutes late, she was spinning, somewhere beyond the moon, all her fears and worries left far behind in the world of ordinary mortals.

  Chapter 16

  THE PARTY LASTED for three days, and by the time the last of the guests had straggled off for home, Becky was well rested. Color bloomed in her cheeks, and, since Concepcion and Emmeline had been feeding her at every opportunity, she had even filled out a little. John Lewis, along with Mrs. Hallowell, Clive, and the mysterious Sister Mandy, had gone back to Indian Rock early, for they all had jobs to do.

  Emmeline, watching in thoughtful silence as the other woman rocked contentedly on the front porch of the ranch house, might have thought that nothing was wrong, indeed, that nothing had ever been wrong, to look at her aunt now, so marked was the change.

  Becky, fanning herself with a copy of Godey’s, gave Emmeline a sidelong glance and smiled. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “That you’ll surely live to be a hundred and ten,” Emmeline answered, without any hesitation at all.

  Becky laughed. “A hundred and ten? God forbid! Can you imagine what I’d look like? All shriveled and wrinkly and toothless, like one of those dried-apple dolls, with tiny black seeds for eyes, that’s what.” She fanned herself more vigorously.“No, thank you!”

  Emmeline, leaning against the rough-hewn railing of the porch, smiled at the picture Becky had painted in her mind. “Are you in love with John Lewis?” she asked. The question had been lurking in the back of her mind since Becky’s near collapse, the first night of the party, but she’d managed to hold it in check until now.

  Becky sighed, gazing not at Emmeline but at the creek, sparkling in the near distance. The acres beyond that stream seemed especially beautiful to Emmeline, a land of milk and honey, gently sloping down toward the water, every inch thick with verdant grass. She knew, from Rafe’s brief accounts, that his mother had planned on homesteading there, all on her own, before Angus McKettrick came along and swept her off her feet. She must have been a spirited woman, Angus’s Georgia, and Emmeline wished she could have known her.

  “I’m not sure what I feel for John,” Becky answered, after due consideration. “He’s a fine man, and strong. I like him very much. The fact is, it scares me a little, finding out that I’m inclined to lean on another person. I’ve made a point of getting by on my own for a long time, you know.”

  “Yes,” Emmeline agreed softly, thinking of the years Becky had run her business, answering to no one but herself. She had made a great deal of money, but it had surely been a lonely struggle in many ways.“I know.”

  “And it’s not as if I’m any kind of great prize,” Becky went on, and only then did she look at Emmeline again, her gaze direct and unflinching. “Oh, I don’t mean because of what I did for a living all these years; he knows about that, and he understands. Has a few things postedin the liability co
lumn himself, John does. No, I’m talking about this temperamental old heart of mine.”

  Emmeline was silent, sorting through the things Becky had said one by one, and putting them in their proper places. Finally, and carefully, she said, “You just told me you were going to live for a long while yet, didn’t you?”

  Becky sighed. “I reckon I will, but that’s no cause to think a good man like John ought to be tied down to a wife whose going to be swooning like some silly debutante at a cotillion every five minutes, now does it?”

  “Swooning aside, I guess that should be his choice,” Emmeline reasoned, smiling a little. “Whether or not he chooses to be married, and take the good with the bad, I mean.”

  Becky laughed, waving the magazine at her. “Emmeline McKettrick,” she said, “I declare you could have been a lawyer, you argue so well.”

  They were quiet for a while, comfortably so, enjoying the summer weather, with its soft, fragrant breezes and pale blue sky.

  “You told John about the boardinghouse,” Emmeline ventured presently, now that she’d had time to digest the implications,“and he wasn’t angry or upset?”

  Becky shook her head. “I was so scared, but I did it. Thought he’d walk right out and never spare me so much as a nod again, but he didn’t, bless his soul. He listened, and he held me in his arms, and he told me some things he’d done that he wasn’t proud of. Nothing really changed between us, except that we got closer.”

  Emmeline looked down at her feet. She was wearing her everyday black lace-ups, and she missed her dancing slippers a little. “Maybe it would be like that with Rafe and me, too. If I told him what happened.”

  Becky’s glance was sharp. “It’s different for the two of you,” she said, lowering her voice, even though they both knew Rafe was miles away, with a crew of men, working on the new house. “You’re young, and Rafe’s young, and that changes things, Emmeline.”