Secondhand Bride (11 page)

O
nce 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.

Not 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.

J
eb 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.

Now, with Chloe miles away, in the cottage behind the schoolhouse, and the kiss they’d shared still reverberating through his body, he was more conscious of being alone than ever before.

Rafe and Emmeline were across the creek, in their fine house, probably making love.

Kade and Mandy, down at the far end of the hall, in the big room that had been Angus’s private domain until last spring, were most likely doing the same.

Hell, even Concepcion and the old man, having moved to Rafe’s former quarters, had each other, and pretty soon, they’d have a baby, too.

And here he was, Jeb McKettrick, ladies’ man, poker player, bronc buster, fast-talker and even-faster-gun, sprawled on top of his lonely bed with all his clothes on, staring at the ceiling and wondering exactly when the rest of the world had packed its saddlebags and gone right on without him.

He cupped his hands behind his head and crossed his feet. Concepcion would have his hide if she knew he was still wearing his boots, for she was a choosy housekeeper, and the thought brought a thin smile to his lips. It was a small comfort, this minor rebellion, but a comfort, nonetheless.

It didn’t last.

Guilt rose up inside him, as surely as if Concepcion had been standing right there, with her arms folded and one foot tapping. He’d been young when his mother died, and Concepcion had filled the role admirably since then, cooking, cajoling, encouraging, and scolding, keeping them all going when it would have been a sight easier to give up. With a put-upon sigh, he heeled off one boot, then the other, letting them hit the floor with a thud. What he ought to do, he decided, was saddle up his horse and ride out. Never even look back.

Start fresh, somewhere else. Make something of himself.

He knew, even as he entertained the thought, that it was pure fancy, the leaving part, anyway. Hopeless as things seemed, given that Rafe or Kade would most likely inherit the lion’s share, he loved the Triple M as much as his pa or either of his brothers did. Oh, he’d tried to break away a couple of times, riding for other outfits, as far away as Colorado and Montana, but he might as well have been tethered to a Joshua tree in the center of the ranch, for the place always drew him home again, calling to him in his sleep, howling through his soul like a storm.

His mind turned to Chloe. He wondered if she’d latched the cottage door, if she was troubled and wakeful, like he was.

He gave a mirthless laugh. Like as not, she was dreaming peacefully.

He rolled onto his side, turning his back to the wide, glowing moon intruding at his window, and purposefully closed his eyes. His body ached for sleep, but his mind was covering ground as fast as a wild stallion on a dead run.

Finally, with a muttered curse, he got up, opened his door, and made his way down the back stairs, into the kitchen. He lit a lamp, poured himself a cup of lukewarm coffee left over from supper, and sat down at the table to ponder the many and diverse ills of Creation.

He’d been there maybe five minutes when Kade joined him, shirtless and barefoot, with his pants misbuttoned and a look of silly satiation on his face.

Jeb scowled a greeting.

“Howdy, little brother,” Kade said blithely, on his way to the pantry. He came out with half a cherry pie still in the pan, and rummaged in the silverware drawer for a fork.

“I guess love makes a man hungry,” Jeb observed, somewhat testily.

Kade laughed and swung a leg over the bench at the far side of the table, intent on finishing off the pie. “You remember that much about it, do you?” he gibed.

Jeb took a sip of coffee and set the mug down with a thump. “Very funny,” he said.

Kade chuckled, his mouth full, and gestured with the fork. “You know,” he said, when he’d swallowed, “I could have told you this would happen.”

Right
, Jeb thought. Not so long ago, Kade had been in such a tangle over Mandy, he didn’t know his ass from a gopher hole. Now, suddenly, he was wise counsel in the court of love. “Spare me,” Jeb said, rolling his eyes.

Merry as a friar in Robin Hood’s camp, Kade plunged his fork back into the pie, stopped with a chunk of cherry filling and crust halfway to his mouth. “You must not have been listening,” he observed, “back when Ma used to read to us from the Good Book every Sunday. ‘As you sow, so shall you reap.’ ”

“Now you’re a preacher,” Jeb grumbled. If he’d had anyplace to go, he would have left, right then.

“All those women you trifled with,” Kade marveled, his eyes dancing with delight. “Old love-’em-and-leave-’em Jeb. You’ve met your match in Miss Chloe Wakefield, haven’t you?”

“Is there a point to this,” Jeb demanded, through his teeth, “or are you just amusing yourself?”

“That
is
the point,” Kade said. “I think this is damn funny.” He put the bite of pie into his mouth and commenced to waving the fork again, like a conductor in front of a band. “If I live to be a hundred,” he went on, “I will never forget the sight of you hightailing it across that creek, wanting Rafe and me to hide you.” He paused for a hoot of laughter. “Scared as you were, I half expected to see Geronimo and a few hundred Apaches after your scalp, instead of one redheaded woman with a buggy whip and fire in her eyes.”

Jeb threw up his hands, then let his palms slap down hard on the table top. “All right,” he said. “I made a fool of myself! I admit it. Are you satisfied?”

Kade was still shoveling in pie. “Yup,” he said, ruminating on the memory with obvious pleasure.

Before Jeb could formulate a response to that, a commotion broke out upstairs, and Angus appeared on the upper landing, his white hair wild around his face, his eyes as big as cow pies.

Overhead, a lusty wail rent the air. Concepcion was getting down to business, and the old man looked horrified. Never mind that he’d had most of nine months to get used to the idea of a baby coming; he was in a panic.

“It’s Concepcion!” he yelled. “Her time’s come—she’s never done this before—get the doc!”

“Sounds like it’s too late for that,” Kade decided, pushing the pie tin away.

“I suppose it’s the same as with a cow,” Jeb agreed, getting nervously to his feet and running his hands down his thighs.

Mandy showed up then, leaning around the upper railing, clad in a flannel nightgown. “One of you, go fetch Emmeline. The other, keep Angus out of the way. And somebody put some water on to boil!” With that, she vanished again.

“I’ll get Emmeline,” Jeb said, easing toward the door. Suddenly, he felt a powerful need for fresh air.

Concepcion let out another whoop. She was no coward, so it must hurt something awful, having a baby. Jeb shuddered.

“Land sakes,” Angus boomed, “I’ve killed her!”

Kade took their father’s arm and led him the rest of the way down the stairs. He was the practical one, and right then, Jeb was grateful.

“Sit, Pa,” Kade said calmly.

There was another scream, and Jeb bolted.

When he came back, half an hour later, Rafe and Emmeline were with him. Emmeline, wearing a nightgown and shawl, rushed up the back stairs. Kade had made coffee, and there was a whiskey bottle in the middle of the table, already half-gone.

Concepcion shrieked, and swore in Spanish.

“Well, Pa,” Rafe said, hitching up his suspenders and helping himself to coffee
and
whiskey, “are we going to have to wait for this one to grow up before you decide who gets the ranch?”

“It might be that long before any of you gives me a grandchild,” Angus grumbled, adding a generous dollop of firewater to his mug. He paused, considered. He’d calmed down considerably in the time Jeb was gone from the house. “Of course, Holt’s got a daughter. I reckon
that
puts the matter in a new light. I ought to give him the Triple M. Serve the rest of you yahoos right.”

Jeb’s gaze collided with Kade’s and Rafe’s.

Rafe recovered first. “Tell me that’s a joke, old man,” he said, in a dangerous undertone.

“He
is
my firstborn son,” Angus said, drawing grim enjoyment from the situation.

“He wasn’t part of the deal,” Kade pointed out, unamused.

“Only because he wasn’t around at the time,” Angus countered calmly. “He’s as much my flesh and blood as any of you.”

Jeb’s knees felt wobbly, so he sank onto the bench, next to the table. “Pa,” he said, in what he hoped was a reasonable tone of voice, “in case it’s escaped your notice, he hates your guts.”

“Maybe he’s got a right,” Angus pontificated.

Emmeline sprouted on the landing. “Where’s that hot water?” she cried.

Concepcion let loose with another scream, but the old man didn’t turn a hair. He was on a roll, and he’d had plenty of hooch to calm his nerves. Jeb figured he’d be crowing like a rooster by the time that baby finally came.

“I’m getting it,” Rafe told his wife, and slammed buckets around, emptying the pots of steaming water Kade had set on the stove to boil. “It’s the whiskey talking,” he said, to himself as much as anybody. If Angus
did
give the ranch to Holt, Rafe would take it the hardest, since he was foreman.

“Son of a bitch,” Jeb fretted, glancing at the ceiling when Concepcion yelled again. Something about randy old men and the back acre of hell, he thought, though his Spanish was a little rusty.

“Holt is my son, and he did give me a grandchild,” Angus reasoned.

Kade slapped a hand on the table, making the old coot start and nearly spill his doctored coffee down the front of his long johns. “But he isn’t married,” he said triumphantly. “That was part of the deal, Pa—remember?”

Angus frowned. “Damn,” he said. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Rafe, Kade, and Jeb replied, in one voice.

The room went silent after that, but then there was a new sound. A baby’s insulted squall.

Angus forgot the argument and stood up, looking baffled and hopeful and scared to death, all of a piece.

Mandy’s head popped around the railing again, but this time she was smiling. “It’s a girl,” she exulted. “Ten fingers, ten toes, and a healthy set of lungs!”

Rafe was partway up the stairs with the hot water, a bucket in each hand, when the old man blew by him like a gust of wind.

“Glory be!” he shouted. “A daughter!”