Secondhand Bride (30 page)

T
om Jessup stood with his hat in his hands, on the front porch of the Triple M ranch house, where Sue Ellen had a habit of sitting for long spells, wrapped in a heavy cloak and watching the creek waters frolic past.

She met his kindly eyes. “Thank you,” she said. The words got tangled, coming out, but she’d been practicing them right along, and she knew by the look on Tom’s face that he got their meaning. He’d come to call often in the three weeks since she’d escaped Jack Barrett and nearly drowned herself, and each time he’d visited, Sue Ellen had liked him a little more.

“It’s turning cold,” he said, with a good-natured shiver. “It’ll be winter soon, I reckon.”

Sue Ellen nodded. She’d be going away, as soon as she was well enough to ride a stagecoach, and even though she should have been happy to leave it all behind, she found she was sad instead.

“Mr. Kade, he’s given me the use of that cabin,” Tom said, with considerable effort. “I don’t reckon you’d ever want to go back there, on any account.”

Sue Ellen stared at him, confounded and faintly hopeful.

“It’s a good place,” Tom went on, struggling in the throes of some dear misery. He was hands down the shyest man Sue Ellen had ever met, and poor as a church mouse, but she’d have been dead, if not for him. “Just needs some fixing up, that’s all.”

Sue Ellen didn’t move.

“I can’t give you fine clothes and the like,” Tom proceeded, blushing furiously, and fairly crushing his hat in his big hands, “and I know a woman wants pretty things.” He fell silent, struggling again, then cleared his throat and pressed ahead. “What I’m trying to say, here, Sue Ellen, is that I’ve been half-crazy with loneliness, ever since my Annabel passed. I’d like nothin’ better than to marry up with you.”

What Sue Ellen felt for Tom Jessup was gratitude, not love, but she was a wiser woman than she’d been when she took up with Mr. Barrett. She freed one hand from the tightly wrapped cloak and extended it to Tom, and he took it hesitantly, and with such wonder that it might have been a treasure.

“I have two young’uns,” he said, and flushed again.

She nodded, smiled. She knew a thing or two about raising children, having brought up her brothers and sisters.

“You sayin’ yes?” Tom asked, and gulped.

Sue Ellen nodded again. Life had given her a second chance, just as Concepcion had promised it would, and she wasn’t about to turn it down. Going back to that cabin would be a hard thing, but there was a rightness about it, too, a sense of making over old things into new. She’d plant a garden, hang curtains at the windows, and learn to love Tom Jessup and his children.

“Hallelujah!” Tom shouted, and threw his hat in the air.

Holt McKettrick—he wore the name self-consciously, like a suit of foreign clothes—had no intention of getting married, even to get control of the sprawling Triple M. For the time being, he meant to concentrate on getting over his infatuation with Chloe. He and Jeb hadn’t discussed it, never would, probably, but there was an understanding between them just the same. He’d been willing to leave behind everything that mattered to him, to do the right thing, and Jeb knew that.

On the other hand, he didn’t mind letting his younger brothers think he was looking to take a wife. It was a pleasure to watch them scramble.

Thinking these thoughts, he whistled under his breath as he walked into the barn at the Triple M, looking for Lizzie. Found her just where he’d expected—with Old Blue and the puppies, in the back stall.

She looked up at him with both excitement and trepidation in her eyes. “You going to Texas?” she asked, and he could tell she was holding her breath.

He hunkered down beside her. “Nope,” he said, surveying the pups. They were big now, less interested in their patient mother than in exploring every corner of the stall. “Which one of these ugly customers did you finally settle on?”

Her small face glowed with relief. “That one,” she said, pointing to a fat little female with a ring around one eye. “Can we take her home?”

“If she’s ready to leave her mama,” Holt allowed, and then wished he’d chosen different words. The subject of Olivia still lay between them; he’d never been able to find a way through all the regret, all the wishing he’d done things differently, when he’d had the chance.

“She’s big,” Lizzie said, with confidence, gathering the puppy to her and holding it close. It squirmed and licked Lizzie’s face, and she laughed with a delight that soothed a lot of bruises inside Holt.

“Lizzie,” he said hoarsely.

Her gaze shot to his face, wondering.

He laid a hand on her back. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

“For what?” she asked, her brow crumpled.

“For leaving your mother,” he said. “For not being there when you needed me.”

She leaned forward and placed a wet, impulsive kiss on his cheek. “That’s all right,” she said, with an air of finality.

Surely a prize like the forgiveness of an innocent child could not be won so easily. Holt looked away, blinked. Looked back. “I’ll do my best to make it up to you, Lizzie. All of it.”

“I wouldn’t mind a new mother,” Lizzie speculated. “Not that anybody could replace Mama.”

Holt smoothed her hair. “When you’re ready,” he said, “I’d like you to tell me everything you remember about her.”

She smiled, nodded, then looked happily speculative. “You could send away for a wife, like Uncle Rafe did,” she said.

Holt laughed. “Don’t tell your uncle Rafe,” he answered, in a confidential whisper, “but I don’t think I’m brave enough to do that.”

Lizzie looked disappointed, but only briefly. “All right, then,” she said, with resignation, “we’ll just have to get along on our own until you find her, I guess.”

He recalled what Angus had said in that godforsaken cabin the day Jeb had put a finish to Jack Barrett, words that hadn’t come easily to the old man, and didn’t come easily to him, either. He’d had next to no practice at saying them. “I love you, Lizzie.”

She put the puppy down, threw her arms around his neck, and nearly toppled him. “Concepcion said you’d say that,” she said, into his shirt collar, “if I just waited.”

He kissed the top of her head, then stood, hoisting her onto his hip.

“I’m a pretty big girl to be carried,” she told him solemnly.

He laughed again. “I think I can manage. Let’s go inside, Lizzie. Your aunt Mandy has been baking pies. Turns out she’s a pretty fair hand at it, and all of a sudden, I’m starved.”

T
hroughout the winter, Jeb had lived in town with Chloe, in the cottage behind the schoolhouse. He rode to the ranch every morning, just after dawn, and returned around suppertime, except when a blizzard made the trail impassable, and even that didn’t generally stop him. Each night, she made supper and told him about her day at school, but he was not so forthcoming about his own efforts. She knew from Emmeline and Mandy, both of whom were as obviously pregnant as she was, that he didn’t spend much time working with his brothers, but they would tell her nothing more, and she was mystified.

The last day of school came and went, and Doc Boylen told her, as kindly as possible, that the town council would be hiring a replacement for the fall term. It was virtually unheard of for a married woman to teach, and one about to bear a child was simply beyond their capacity to accept.

Chloe was standing in the center of the schoolhouse, saying good-bye to it all, when she heard a wagon roll up outside.

She went to the open doorway and saw Jeb grinning at her from the buckboard, the reins resting lightly in his gloved hands. “Time to go home, Mrs. McKettrick,” he said.

She looked around the schoolhouse, just once more, and closed the door. Jeb had already loaded her belongings into the back of the wagon, and now he got down, took her in his two good arms, and kissed her, right there on the main street of town.

He lifted his gaze from her face to the building behind her. “I guess you’ll miss this place,” he said.

She sighed. “Yes,” she admitted.

He kissed her forehead. “One thing I’ve learned,” he said. “Never look back. Everything good is up ahead.”

She blinked away her tears, tears of happiness and nostalgia, mixed together. “You didn’t have to learn that,” she told him. “You were born knowing it.”

He smiled. “We’d best get home while it’s still light.”

She nodded, and he lifted her carefully into the wagon, a harder job than it had once been, now that she was within a month of delivering their child.

When they reached the turnoff that led toward the Triple M, Jeb surprised Chloe by steering the team in another direction.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You’ll see,” he told her.

They climbed and climbed, through stands of junipers, then pines. “This used to be Rafe’s place,” Jeb said, relenting a little in the face of Chloe’s consuming curiosity. “He got mad at Emmeline and put a torch to it.”

Chloe frowned, trying in vain to reconcile that Rafe with the one she knew. Except for the matter of the ranch, which continued to plague the three younger McKettrick brothers, each of whom was hoping his wife would be the first to give birth to an heir, he seemed an equitable man. He worked tirelessly, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his Emmeline.

A small log structure stood, alone and brave, on top of the rise.

Chloe’s heartbeat quickened. Was this to be their home, hers and Jeb’s and the baby’s? Angus had been building on to the ranch house, whenever the winter weather permitted, and she’d assumed they’d live there, with the others.

Jeb set the brake, laid down the reins, jumped to the ground, and walked around to hold his arms up for Chloe.

He gave an exaggerated grunt while lifting her down, as though the weight of her was a strain on his muscles, and she laughed and swatted at him in playful objection.

“Is this where you’ve been working all winter long?” she asked.

He nodded and, holding her hand, pulled her toward the cabin.

“It’s a little isolated,” he told her, with cheerful resignation, “but the way Pa and Holt are hiring ranch hands, I reckon this will be the middle of town before long.”

“I don’t mind living out here,” Chloe said. “Not as long as I’m with you.”

He pushed open the door, gestured grandly for her to precede him over the threshold. She was a little disappointed that he wasn’t going to carry her, but she
was
heavy, and unwieldy into the bargain.

With a sigh, she stepped inside.

Her breath caught in her throat.

There was a blackboard on one wall, with a desk placed just to one side, and facing a lot of smaller ones.

She turned, looked up into Jeb’s face.

“It’s a school,” she whispered.

He grinned. “Yup,” he said.

“You built me a
school
.”

“I surely did.” He gathered her close, bent his head to kiss her, lingeringly.

She wept, full of amazement and pure happiness. “Oh, Jeb.”

He stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. The hope in his eyes touched her heart, moved her even more deeply than the kiss had done. “Do you like it?”

He’d worked through the winter on that little country schoolhouse, built it with his bare hands, and probably alone, between ferocious snowstorms. And all this while, he’d kept it a secret, this incomprehensible gift. It was so much more than a building—it was an affirmation that she had something to offer the world, something important.

“I love it,” she said.
And I love you. Dear God in heaven, how I love you, Jeb McKettrick.

His tension eased visibly. “The Jessups live just over the hill,” he said, with a quiet eagerness that brushed against her spirit like an angel’s feather. “Now that Tom and Sue Ellen are married, Tom’s kids will be living with them, instead of Sam and Sarah. So you’ll have at least two pupils when the new term starts.” He looked worried. “Of course, it’s a long way from the main house—”

She rested a hand on either side of his face. “We’ll manage, Jeb,” she said.

“You’ll need to bring the baby along with you,” Jeb went on, still fretting a little. Then he smiled again. “I reckon we ought to build a house, right here, so you don’t have so far to travel.”

She slipped her arms around his neck. “You are a remarkable man,” she told him.

He left her to build a small fire in the shiny new stove, which stood in the far corner of the room. Evidently, they were staying a while.

Chloe went to the blackboard, picked up a piece of new chalk from the narrow tray beneath it, and wrote in large, flowing letters, I LOVE JEB MCKETTRICK.

He laughed, but his eyes were serious. He approached, laid a hand to either side of what had once been her waist. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“For a thousand things. For being a redheaded hussy and putting up with me. For carrying my child.”

Chloe arched an eyebrow. “A ‘redheaded hussy,’ am I?”

He laughed. Kissed her lightly. “That and more,” he said.

Indian Rock

J
ULY
4, 1887

A
few eager types were already setting off firecrackers, even though it was barely dawn, but Holt figured the best explosions of the day would seem like mere whimpers, compared to the blast that was bound to go off once his brothers awakened from last night’s celebratory drunk to find themselves locked up in Sam Fee’s jail.

He sighed and settled back in Sam’s chair, feet on the desk, hands cupped behind his head, grinning. They’d made it so damn easy. They’d brought their well-ripened wives to town the day before, guessing by certain signs that the babies would be coming soon, and settled them in at the Arizona Hotel, under Becky’s assiduous care. Doc had examined the mothers-to-be, in strictest privacy, of course, and announced that there was plenty of time.

The scribbled note from Emmeline was still tucked away in Holt’s shirt pocket.
Mandy, Chloe, and I are counting on
you to keep our husbands away until we’ve all delivered our children, no matter how long it takes. Concepcion will keep Angus corralled until she receives word from one of us. Please employ any means of restraint necessary, short of murder. In gratitude, E.

Holt intended to keep that little missive on his person until such time as he could tuck it between the pages of the McKettrick Bible. It was, to his mind, a piece of family history.

Behind him, a cot creaked. There was a moment of quivering realization, seeming to fill the whole jailhouse, then Rafe’s voice, bellowing. “What the hell—?!”

At last
, Holt thought, setting his feet on the floor and swiveling the chair to meet Rafe’s furious glare. He’d been waiting for this moment ever since he’d invited the boys to the Bloody Basin, the night before, for a few toasts to impending fatherhood. Ranch hands from the Triple M had helped him steer the inebriated yahoos here, when the whiskey supply was all but exhausted, and lock them up.

It would be a pure miracle if any of them recalled the journey.

Now, on the inevitable morning after, Rafe was upright again, holding the bars of the cell he and Kade shared, his grip so tight that the knuckles stood out. Kade stirred in the other cot, and Jeb in the next cell.

“Morning,” Holt said affably. “Sleep well?”

Kade stood up, groaned, and sat down again, clasping his head in both hands. Jeb muttered something unintelligible and hoisted himself to his feet, looking around, first in bafflement, then with rising irritation.

“Open this door, you ring-tailed polecat!” Rafe shouted.

Kade flinched. “Don’t yell,” he pleaded.

Holt folded his arms, but made no move to rise out of his chair. He tried to look regretful. “I wish I could turn you loose,” he told Rafe, “but I’ve got strict orders from the McKettrick women to keep the three of you penned up, and I wouldn’t dare disobey.”

The change in Rafe’s face was downright comical to watch, ranging from anger to bewilderment to horrified comprehension, all in the space of a few seconds. “But Emmeline’s about to—”

“Give birth,” Holt finished for him, lightly. He sighed, delighting in the way Jeb and Kade came to their senses, as swiftly as if they’d been yanked up hard against those iron bars.

“So is Mandy,” Kade said, bleakly outraged.

“So is Chloe!” Jeb barked, his statement tumbling roughshod over Kade’s.

Holt shook his head, struggling not to smile. “Remarkable, isn’t it? All of them coming to term on the same day? What are the chances of that?” He paused, pretended to consider the marvel. “Unless, of course, they all got pregnant at the same time.” He made a show of counting on his fingers. “Takes us back to the night Katie was born, or thereabouts. You must have been inspired.”

“Damn you, Holt,” Jeb rasped, “let me out of here! I’ve got to get to Chloe!”

“I surely will,” Holt assured him. “When it’s over.”

Kade glowered. “Who put you up to this? The women?”

“None other.”

“Why?” Rafe ground out, looking exasperated now, giving the bars a hard rattle just to expend some of that bull strength of his.

“It would be my guess that they don’t want you to know which baby was born first,” Holt answered, in moderate tones.

“How are we supposed to figure out who gets the ranch?” Kade demanded. He looked as if he might just try to chew his way out of that cell.

Holt arched an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to be the smart one, aren’t you?” he countered easily. “They’ve taken matters into their own hands, Emmeline, Mandy, and Chloe, with some help from Becky and Doc Boylen, not to mention Concepcion. I figure they want the ranch divided four ways, and they’re not going to tell which baby was born first until their demands are met.”

Kade sat down hard on the cot. Jeb kicked the wall. Rafe spat a curse.

“Where’s Pa?” Kade asked, recovering first. “He’ll straighten this out.”

“Concepcion’s probably got him hog-tied someplace,” Holt said.

Jeb strained to see the clock on the sidewall. “The babies—?”

Holt went to the stove, poured himself some coffee, drank with noisy satisfaction. “While you boys were over at the Bloody Basin last night, swilling whiskey, bragging, and making bets with each other, the ladies were getting down to business. I figure we’ll hear something soon.”

Rafe was pale with frustration, barely controlled annoyance, and fatherly concern. “It was
your
idea to pay a visit to the Bloody Basin,” he pointed out. “I seem to recall that you bought the drinks.”

Holt allowed himself a smile, took another sip of coffee, and did not bother to defend himself.

“Did you put something in that whiskey?” Jeb wanted to know, and there was an accusatory note in his voice.

Kade’s attention was on the coffee. He was powerfully fond of the stuff. “You
bastard
,” he growled.

Holt laid his free hand to his chest, splayed, in the manner of a man sorely wounded. “I’m as legitimate as you are. Just ask our dear old daddy.”

“You doctored those drinks!” Rafe roared. He was a single-minded sort, ofttimes to his advantage, but more often, to his detriment.

“I didn’t have to,” Holt said. “The way you three were throwing them back, all I had to do was watch and wait. And make sure the bartender got paid, of course.” He speculated a moment. “Your credit isn’t too good at the Bloody Basin, it seems.”

They were digesting that, his trio of recalcitrant brothers, when the jailhouse door burst open and young Harry Sussex blew in, wild-eyed. No doubt, he’d been dispatched by either Becky or Doc.

“They’re here!” he shouted. “The babies are here—all three of them!”

All hell broke loose in the cells, but Holt took his time getting the keys out of Sam’s desk drawer, opening Jeb’s cell first, then Kade and Rafe’s.

They fairly trampled him and Harry, getting to the door. From the sidewalk, Holt watched with interest as the three of them raced toward the Arizona Hotel, Jeb in the lead, Rafe and Kade gaining fast.

Harry tugged at his sleeve. “Mr. Holt?”

Holt looked down at him, questioning. Fished a nickel out of his pants pocket to reward the boy for his efforts.

“All girls,” Harry said, grinning.

Holt laughed out loud. It was a new day on the Triple M.