Gerrity'S Bride (20 page)

“Yes, ma’am, we’ve even been sleepin’ on real beds for several years now,” Matt said soberly as he finally returned the pressure of Emmaline’s fingers. “Quit beddin’ down in front of the fire a while back, in fact.” Opening the screen door, he waited for Clara to enter.

Emmaline cast a look of entreaty at her grandfather, who nodded in tacit understanding and followed his wife into the cool interior of the living room.

“Humph...must have made some improvements since my daughter lived here.” Clara looked about her, and then her gaze settled on the tall rancher who stood proudly by Emmaline’s side.

“We do try to keep up with the times,” Matt agreed, willing to cool the embers of the confrontation he’d kept aflame out of hurt pride.

The thick walls and the wide overhang were features that had been incorporated into the building of this home with one purpose in mind—that the cool night air be held through the daytime hours and the sun’s rays be kept from the interior by the wide roof. As a result, except for the hottest summer days, the high-ceilinged living area of the house was a welcome respite from the heat.

“You have a lovely home, Emmaline,” her grandfather said with warmth.

“Matt’s mother had a lot to do with it, I think,” Emmaline answered haltingly. “Grandmother’s right. I don’t think this was nearly as beautiful when I was a child.”

“Can we find someone to help carry in our things, child?” Jonathan asked. “Perhaps I can help sort out the bags and boxes and get your grandmother’s carpetbag for her.”

Matt moved to the door. “I’ll get a couple of the men to do it,” he offered, appeased somewhat by Emmaline’s words. She’d come to his defense, he realized. In her own way, she’d set herself on his side of the line. As he opened the door and stepped onto the porch, a look of satisfaction curled his lip.

* * *

Maria had outdone herself, Emmaline decided as the evening meal came to a close. Matt had been taciturn, offering little to the general conversation, his eyes heavy-lidded and veiled. Olivia was quiet, answering in single syllables the few questions tossed in her direction, her gaze measuring as she watched the visitors.

Emmaline was flushed and harried, though they had managed to eat without any major crises. But between ensuring that the conversation focused on the food and the trip from Lexington and helping Maria with the additional work of serving guests, she was at a fine pitch of exhaustion by the time dessert was served. She had helped with it, choosing to make this part of the meal as traditional as possible for her grandparents’ benefit. Dried-apple pie was a safe bet, she’d decided, and although Maria groused about fussy eastern folk, she’d allowed Emmaline to cajole her into line.

With a grunt of farewell and a nod to the ladies, Matt took Jonathan to the barns, finally ready to supervise the settling-in of the four new horses and, in the bargain, listen to the older man talk at length of his own place in Kentucky.

Grudgingly he’d admitted that Emmaline’s grandfather had more substance to him than a fancy suit of clothes and an overabundance of dignity. Beneath the stiff and starchy ways, lay a loving grandparent, Matt suspected. That he was not able to express his affection for Emmaline posed a conundrum. Maybe the old lady had him toeing the line, playing the part of the Kentucky gentleman to a fare-thee-well.

“You’ve a fine place here, Mr. Gerrity.” The words interrupted his thoughts, and Matt looked up in surprise.

“I expect you could settle for Matt, if you’ve a mind to. ‘Mr. Gerrity’ sounds a mite dignified for a ranch hand.”

The keen blue eyes moved over him in a slow appraisal. “I hardly think you qualify as a mere ranch hand,” Jonathan Rawlings mused. “The man who talked my granddaughter into marriage on the basis of such brief acquaintance must be possessed of qualities that far surpass those of a simple rancher.”

Matt’s mouth twitched as a smile threatened to curl his lips. “Well, there’s a little more to it than that. Maybe one of these days, I’ll let you in on the whole shootin’ match, but for now, we’ll just call me mighty persuasive.”

“Emmaline appears to be reasonably satisfied with her life here,” the older man ventured.

Matt nodded his agreement. “Hope you’re not plannin’ on coaxin’ her back east with you, ‘cause I’d say she’s not too unhappy with her situation.”

“Got any close neighbors?” Jonathan asked as they headed out of the barn and toward the corral that flanked it.

“Yeah,” Matt grunted. More’s the pity, he thought.

“Someone, another woman, perhaps, for Emmaline to cultivate as a friend?”

Matt’s snort of derision was spontaneous. “Not hardly. Deborah Hopkins and her daddy own the next spread, and they’ve been plottin’ for years to put it together with this one.” He leaned on the corral fence, his arms folded atop one rail as his boot lifted to hook over another. “There’s been some hard feelings between us, what with Emmaline showin’ up here and then us gettin’ married so quick-like.”

“The girl wanted you for herself?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Matt agreed, amused at Deborah’s being described as a girl. The word was too innocent and youthful to suit Deb; she merited another, but at the moment he couldn’t come up with one suitable.

“There’s a townful of women who’ll befriend Emmaline,” he assured her grandfather. “They took to her real well, kinda took her under their wings, so to speak.”

“She’s been raised to be a lady,” Jonathan said. “I expect it’s been a real turnabout for her, living without the luxuries of home.”

“Dunno,” Matt muttered, his speech deliberately curt. “I probably wouldn’t recognize a lady if I walked into one. Emmaline managed to get over her snooty ways in jig time. She fits in pretty good, now.” His eyes were cool, the tightening of his jaw the only sign of anger he revealed.

The dry chuckle that split the dead silence came as a surprise, and Matt turned to face Jonathan Rawlings. His lined face was lit by merry eyes, and his mouth was bent with a wry grin. He offered an ungloved hand in a gesture of truce.

“Guess I sounded a bit pompous, didn’t I? You have to understand that Emmaline is all we have, Matt.”

“Well, she sure doesn’t feel like a very valued possession, the way I see it.” He reached reluctantly for the man’s hand, shaking it briefly, unwilling to play at being friendly. “Emmaline is right where she belongs,” Matt said finally. “We got married for our own reasons, one of them being our little sister. If she’d never heard from you and her grandmother again, she’d have lived through it. Since you’ve showed up and brought her those highfalutin horses, I guess you’re welcome here. Just don’t cut her down for choosin’ to live on her daddy’s place, and don’t go makin’ her feel any less a lady because she quit wearin’ those harnesses under her dresses.”

The white-haired man nodded his head slowly and straightened to his full height. “I think we understand each other, Matt. Perhaps we’d better go back to the house and serve as buffers for a while. I suspect Emmaline’s grandmother is out to do some reforming, and I’m not sure my granddaughter is in a pliable mood.”

“It’s about time to close up for the night, anyway,” Matt agreed. He glanced at the sun, which hovered just above the western horizon, its rays spreading in a glorious display of color against the wispy clouds. Not enough to forecast any rain, he noted stoically. A summer shower was too much to hope for, at least here on the flatlands. They’ll probably get some up in the high country, he thought, his mind turning to the herd of horses that were summering to the north.

* * *

“Does he do his own evening chores?” Clara Rawlings asked with guarded horror. “Surely he has hired help to tend to such things.”

Seated on the comfortable sofa in the living room, Emmaline struggled to be friendly. “Matt likes to oversee everything around here, Grandmother. I’m sure they’ll be in directly.”

The older woman looked about her with a critical eye. “I must say, the western influence takes away any chance of your home being conducive to formal entertainment, doesn’t it?” she remarked. “It’s too bad that at least this room couldn’t have been a bit more...formal, perhaps.” She looked about and shrugged delicately.

“Stiff and starchy, you mean?” Emmaline supplied helpfully. “I like this room—in fact, I like the whole house. It suits me,” she stated with quiet finality.

“Well, you know where your home is, Emmaline. When all this...” She waved her hand expansively about the room. “When it’s become too much for you to tolerate any longer, the train runs back to Lexington, the same way it made its way here.”

“There’s nothing for me in Kentucky,” Emmaline said quietly. “My place is here, with Matt and Tessie.”

“But we are your family, my dear,” Clara said with emphasis. “Your bloodlines go back for generations. The name of Rawlings has meant something in this country for almost two centuries.”

Emmaline shook her head. “Matt and Tessie are my family now. Tessie is all I have of my father.”

“And that was no great loss.” Clara sniffed in a dainty manner, touching her nose with a lacy handkerchief. “A roughneck from the beginning. How he ever persuaded your mother to come to this godforsaken place has always been a mystery to me.”

“But she did come,” Emmaline answered. “I wish now she’d never left.”

Her grandmother raised her eyebrows in delicate dismay. “How can you utter such a hateful statement? She’d have died here in this miserable place.”

“She died in Kentucky,” Emmaline reminded her softly. “I don’t think she was any too happy there, either.”

“If it hadn’t been for that hateful man, she’d still be alive, probably married to one of our own kind.”

“She chose him. She must have loved him once,” Emmaline said. “He was my father, and I loved him.”

“He didn’t have the time of day for you,” Clara declared bluntly. “Spent his days riding around tending to horses and cows and left my poor child to wilt in this terrible climate.”

“He had time to write letters to me after my mother took me away from him.” Emmaline’s gaze lifted to meet that of her grandmother.

“Did he?”

“You know he did,” Emmaline told her. “He sent me letters for years. The only problem was, they were never given to me.”

“There was no sense in keeping things stirred up, Emmaline. When you’re older, you’ll understand. Your mother wanted to protect you from his influence.”

“I don’t believe you.” She spoke the words quietly, and with a total lack of emotion.

Clara Rawlings paled and rose to her feet. “I resent the implication, Emmaline. Your mother knew what was best for you. It was her decision.”

“I don’t think my mother ever made a single decision once she got back under your roof, Grandmother. She just became your little girl again, till the day she died.”

“You think I kept these supposed letters from your father away from you?” Clara asked, her tone challenging. Her cheeks had flushed, and her eyes sought relief from Emmaline’s steady gaze.

“I know you did. Matt told me.”

“It’s come down to that? You’ll take a stranger’s word over that of your own flesh and blood?” Clara had come close to losing her well-disciplined temper, embarrassed at being caught out in the lie she’d been weaving for years.

“Matt is my husband, Grandmother. He’s far from a stranger. If he says so, I believe him.”

“Well! In that case, I’m sure you won’t be wanting us under your roof any longer than necessary. We had planned on visiting for a few days and then stopping along the way home to do some sight-seeing. But this certainly has changed our plans. I’ll tell your grandfather he can rearrange our traveling schedule when he comes in the house.”

Emmaline bowed her head in acquiescence, her heart aching for the love that had never been and would never be. She’d had a modicum of approval from the woman before her, but the love she craved had been withheld, and the breach made between them today might never be mended.

* * *

“Is she my grandma, too?” Tessie asked plaintively as Emmaline buttoned up a nightgown that fell only to midshin on the child.

“No, I’m afraid not.” Emmaline turned Tessie before her to brush the long hair into a single handful. Separating it deftly, she braided the dark length, tying the tail with a short piece of yarn.

Tessie pouted, her lower lip protruding a bit as she pondered the situation. “She’s not very smiley, anyway,” she announced after a moment. “I think grandmothers are supposed to be nicer than that.” Her chin lifted in a determined gesture. Clearly, if this was not her own kin, she was willing to face the truth of the situation.

“You’re probably right, Tessie.” Her fingers soothed the child’s head as Emmaline tucked her against her own breast. The reluctance was in the past. A caress, a hug, even a moment of close contact like this—it was all becoming more and more common between them, and her heart rejoiced as Tessie’s hand patted with sisterly affection against the arm that surrounded her.

“I don’t need a grandma. I got you, Emmie,” the child said stoically. She smothered a yawn and settled closer against the warmth of her sister’s breast. “An’ we both got Matthew,” she whispered with satisfaction. “Don’t we, Emmie?”

A memory of dark, unsmiling features and stiff, unbending posture, all bearing Matt’s image, popped into Emmaline’s mind, and doubtfully she quoted the words her little sister had pronounced with such assurance.

“Yes, we both have Matthew,” she said quietly, hoping in her heart of hearts that it was true.

“S
orry you folks can’t stay for a few days, Jonathan,” Matt said cordially.

The change in plans had been announced before breakfast, and had been duly noted and accepted, as if nothing untoward had occurred.

“Clara finds the climate here to be enervating. She’ll feel better when we get into higher country,” the older man said, with a smile for Emmaline.

Matt looked quizzically at the Rawlingses, then cast a questioning look in Emmaline’s direction. Something’s escaping me this morning, he thought warily. The old lady’s sure got a bee in her bonnet over something.

Clara picked at her food, a look of distaste drawing her mouth down at the corners. She sighed deeply, laid her fork aside and wiped her fingers with delicacy. Her eyes swept over her granddaughter. “I noticed that you’ve left off mourning, Emmaline.” Mildness notwithstanding, the words were an accusation. Delivered as they were, in a casual tone, they caught Emmaline off guard, and she swallowed her mouthful with haste.

But before she could gather her thoughts or open her mouth to reply, Matt gently nudged her with his foot, and the glance she chanced in his direction was apprehensive. He was tight-lipped, and the movement of his head was almost imperceptible, effectively silencing her before she could formulate a reply.

“I asked Emmaline not to wear the black dresses she brought with her,” Matt said briskly, his demeanor daring the older woman to start an argument.

Emmaline smothered a gasp of incredulous humor. Asked, indeed! He’d ordered her, was what he’d done. And there he sat, lying through his teeth.

“The climate here is too da—too doggone hot to wear the sort of stuff she hauled out here,” Matt explained, faltering as he censored his blunt language. “Emmaline went to town and got some yard goods, and between them, she and Maria put together some comfortable things for her to wear. And then, when we got married, we thought you would be sending her things to sorta fill in the gaps in her wardrobe.” His manner defied argument, and his hand moved across the table to cover Emmaline’s small fist, which curled in a gesture of defiance by her plate.

I can speak for myself,
she thought with a flare of temper. And then the warmth of that big hand cradling her own with such heated comfort penetrated her budding anger, and she looked up at the man who sat beside her. His brows were furrowed—it was a state that had seemed to be permanent for the past day—and his eyes were intense with a foreign emotion as he pierced her with his gaze.

Be careful, Emmaline. Don’t be feisty this morning,
he demanded silently.
Let me keep her off your back, at least in this, sweetheart.

As if she read his mind, as if his thoughts penetrated the agile workings of her brain, she relaxed her fingers within his grip and unfurled it.

“Matt felt it was best to honor my father in other ways,” she said quietly. Her chin lifted as she faced her grandmother, and she endowed the words she spoke with gentle defiance. “I like the clothing I’m wearing, and I appreciate Maria for being kind enough to show me how to put together skirts and blouses so quickly.”

That Matt had been the instigator and had chosen the light fabrics she wore was a part of the truth she was loath to reveal. Indeed, his trip to town and the displaying of his purchases had been a battle of wills between them. Only his threat to burn her mourning clothes had allowed her to concede defeat with a measure of grace. That she reveled in the loose clothing and the freedom it afforded was a secret she hoarded, lest she give him a victory to tease her with.

“Well, I’m sure your father wouldn’t have cared either way,” Clara Rawlings said snippily. “He didn’t have much regard for the niceties of life, as I understand it.”

“You got that right, Mrs. Rawlings,” Matt drawled. “Old Sam Carruthers didn’t give two hoots for such fripperies. He wouldn’t care what Emmaline wore, and my mother doesn’t need a black armband worn in her behalf, either. She’s alive in my mind, and that’s all that counts.”

Emmaline looked up in surprise at his words. That Matt should be so eloquent was a shock. Actually, now that she thought about it, those were the first words he’d spoken about his mother since the day they’d ridden north toward the high country, weeks ago. She smiled at him, eager to banish the chill from his demeanor, willing to take the first step in healing the strange breach in their fragile relationship, one that had formed with the coming of her grandparents.

He met her look, apparently in ignorance of the olive branch she offered, and ran his gaze over her with cool, dark-eyed intensity. She was doing all right, he decided. So long as she managed to keep the old lady at bay for just a while longer, Jonathan would have the woman hustled back to Forbes Junction and well on her way to Lexington. Then he’d get Emmie back to normal.

Except for the violet shadows beneath her eyes, she looked like she was managing...tired, but holding her own. He’d thought she was asleep when he crawled in beside her last night, but then it had occurred to him that she was playing possum. It had piqued him to think that her aloofness probably stemmed from the fact that her family was in the house. It would all be settled up in a day or so, he reckoned, rising and preparing to leave the table, casting one more glance at Emmaline. She met his eyes, and he was pierced by the unspoken plea that beckoned him. It was all he could do not to snatch her up from where she sat and haul her off to their bedroom to hold her and cherish her with tender touches. Later, he thought with resignation and more than a trace of anticipation.

Turning to the older man, he smiled, waiting patiently as he listened to Jonathan’s compliments to Maria on the abundant breakfast she had served. “I declare, if we didn’t already have two cooks in residence, I’d be offering you a fine position at our place in Kentucky, ma’am.”

“Not on your life,” Matt said with humor. “I’ll remove the temptation, Maria, and take him with me,” he told her as he rounded the table toward the door.

“Foiled again,” Jonathan said playfully. “What are the plans, Mr. Gerrity?” he asked as he followed Matt toward the door.

“Thought we’d go for a ride, Mr. Rawlings. I’m headin’ out to check with some of my men to the north of here.”

“It’s a beautiful ride,” Emmaline put in eagerly. “Perhaps we could go along, Grandmother.”

“I’m not sure you have an extra sidesaddle available, do you, Mr. Gerrity?” the older woman asked, wiping her mouth with the napkin from her lap and laying it precisely at the side of her plate.

“Hell’s bells, I don’t even have one of those goofy things,” Matt said with honest scorn. “You’ll have to ride with a real saddle out here, ma’am.”

“I brought your riding costume, Emmaline,” the woman said with a sniff, deigning to ignore Matt’s burst of profanity.

“I wear a split leather skirt that belonged to Matt’s mother,” Emmaline said quietly. “I’ve been riding several times without my sidesaddle, and I’ve found it to be much more comfortable, Grandmother.”

“I’m sure you managed to ride in sufficient comfort with a lady’s saddle at home,” the woman answered sharply.

Emmaline couldn’t find it in her heart to lie. “I did ride astride, more than once, before I came here.” she confessed, her voice subdued.

“Indeed?” The single word spoke volumes.

“Yes...the trainers let me when I rode the three-year-olds in the ring. It would have been confusing for them to have my weight unevenly distributed, when they were used to the men riding them astride.”

“I think there were several things going on that I was not privy to,” Clara said coldly.

“Well, I think there were several things goin’ on that Emmaline was not privy to, also,” Matt said smoothly, turning back toward the dining room table.

“Matt!” She turned to him, her eyes pleading.
Don’t make a fuss,
she wanted to say.
Don’t bring up the letters. I can’t face another session with my grandmother,
she thought in despair.
Please Matt,
she begged silently. Her mouth quivered as she looked up at the tall man who stood before her.
Not now...not now...

He understood. His head nodded, and he drew in a breath as he reined in the irritation that the gentlewoman from Kentucky managed to rile up so easily. Emmaline was riding the edge, he realized as he watched her blink back the tears that had risen to shine within the depths of her blue eyes. Her lips were trembling, and she was all in a fuss. The least he could do, he realized with a deeply drawn breath, was to keep his mouth shut and his thoughts to himself.

“You wanta come along, Em?” he asked gently.

She hesitated for but a moment, and then better manners prevailed. “No, I’ll stay here with Grandmother. Will you be back for dinner?”

“I certainly need to be here by noontime, if that fits in with your morning, Matt,” her grandfather interjected with an apologetic look. “Emmaline’s grandmother and I should be heading back to Forbes Junction this afternoon, in order to get the evening train.”

Matt nodded. “We’ll only be a couple hours. Tessie will be busy with her schoolwork this morning, won’t she, Olivia?” His attention turned to the young woman who still sat at the table with her charge.

“Do I hafta, Matt?” Tessie piped up, wiggling in her chair as her dark eyes glittered with excitement. “Can’t I have a holiday today and be with Emmie?”

“I think it will be all right,” Olivia said, her gaze veiled as it lifted to meet Matt’s. “I have some things to do in town. Perhaps I’ll take the light buggy in, or ask one of the men to drive me.”

Matt nodded, satisfied for the moment that his household was in order. “That’ll be fine all around,” he said, heading from the house, his boots noisy against the wooden floor of the hallway.

Behind him, Tessie slipped from her chair and rounded the table to clasp Emmaline’s hand with her small fingers. “We’ll have fun, won’t we, Emmie?” she asked, with a look of hope lighting her fragile features.

A brisk nod was her answer, and with a giggle of delight, the child tugged at her sister, eager to enjoy her hours of freedom.

* * *

They were gone, and it was as if they had never been here. Emmaline’s mind wove past each moment of her grandparent’s visit, seeking one particle of comfort from the event. It was not to be. They’d left in the middle of the afternoon, leaving her numb with defeat. Finally, only the ceaseless chatter coming from Tessie’s direction had been able to penetrate the dull lassitude that enveloped her. Only Tessie’s pleading, jump rope in hand had brought a glimmer of interest to her blue eyes and caused her to put away her disappointment. She’d smiled her agreement, and taken up the lesson with her usual vigor.

The afternoon sun blistered the sandy ground, the heat rising in waves that forbade walking barefoot in the courtyard. Emmaline sat on a wooden bench tucked beneath the overhang, one tingling foot clutched in her hand, her fingers brushing quickly to remove the grains of sand that clung to her tender sole.

“I told you not to skip rope barefoot,” Tessie reminded her airily. Parked beside her sister, she smothered an arrogant grin as she repeated her warning.

Emmaline cast her a glance that took in the amusement her small sister attempted to conceal. “I sure wish you hadn’t been right,” she said mournfully, leaning closer to inspect the damage. The flesh was pink, but her sprightly movements had been quick enough to prevent actual burning, she was pleased to note.

“I never saw you move so fast, though,” Tessie said, with twitching lips that struggled to hide her amusement. “You only jumped twice, but they sure were high jumps, Emmie.”

From behind them, a chuckle announced a hidden watcher. “Yeah, that sure was some fancy steppin’ you did, Miss Emmaline,” said the man who lingered just inside the open terrace doorway.

Glancing over her shoulder, Emmaline dropped her foot to the ground, assuming a posture of indolence as she brushed at the sand on her skirt. “Spying, Gerrity?”

He was in shadow, but she sensed the difference in his mien, the subtle shading in his tone, the absence of the strain that had veiled his every word and phrase during the past day. A surge of emotion brought a quickening to her breath as Emmaline looked back at him once more. He’s been protecting me, she thought, afraid they’d hurt me. The pleasure that welled up within her suffused her cheeks with a pink stain, blurring her eyes with unbidden tears as she considered the knowledge of her love for this man.

So quickly it had come, like a bolt of summer lightning, this overwhelming sureness that Matthew Gerrity owned her heart. She’d known, she’d really known, that it was all right before now, that she felt good about being his wife, she realized, aware that his gaze held her in thrall. But it was more than that, more than just “all right.” She hadn’t known this was how it felt, to love...to love.

She rose slowly, and Tessie reached for her skirt, small fingers tangling in the soft fabric.

“Where you goin’, Emmie?”

Her smile was distracted as she looked down. “I thought I’d go indoors for a while, Tessie. It’s pretty warm here.” The words were breathless; indeed, she sensed a strange lethargy as she looked up once more at the man whose dark gaze seemed to pierce her to her depths. Lifting her hands to her mouth, she blinked at him from swimming eyes. Her lips compressed as her fingers moved upward against her face, until both palms were pressing against the flush that played across her cheekbones. Beneath her fingertips, she felt a trickle of moisture as a tear slid past the barrier of her lashes.

“Em?” His voice was low, but his movement was rapid as he straightened from the lazy stance he’d taken against the wall. “What’s wrong, honey?” he asked quietly, his eyes intent on the glistening blue eyes that viewed him through a veil of tears. His hand touched her arm as she walked past him, but there was no hesitation in her step.

“I just need to wash my face, Matt,” she muttered, intent on escaping to her bedroom.

“Emmie, are you cryin’?” Tessie asked in a wobbly little voice. She stood slump-shouldered, looking forlorn and abandoned as she watched her sister brush past. “You shouldn’ta teased her like that, Matthew! You made Emmie feel bad!”