High Country Bride (17 page)

Rafe finally snapped. “What?” he barked, tossing the brush he’d been using into an old bucket full of similar items, and forcing Jeb to step back by opening the stall gate.

“I reckon we’ll be starting on that house of yours soon,” Jeb said.

Rafe glared at him, suspicious. “You’re up to something,” he said.“What is it?”

Jeb tried to look injured.“Me?” he asked, thumping his chest with both hands. “If anything, Brother, I’m stricken with admiration. Who’d have thought you had such a way with women?”

“What way is that?” Rafe asked in a very low voice, glowering. He was taller than Jeb, so he made a point of looming a little.

Jeb reached out, patted the lump on Rafe’s chest where the bloomers were stashed. Unbelievably, he’d forgotten all about them. “That must have been some picnic,” he said.

Rafe lunged for him, but Jeb was quick as a rabbit, and he got out of the way. He gave a hoot of laughter and Rafe went over the edge, chasing the little bugger clear out of the barn and around the horse trough. When he got his hands on Jeb, he meant to drown him.

The ruckus drew a crowd from the bunkhouse, including Kade and the new man, Cavanagh.

“What’s that in your shirt, Rafe?” Denver Jack wanted to know.“You fetch home a pup or something?”

Jeb found the inquiry uproariously funny and let out another guffaw. Rafe saw red. He knew Jeb was just ribbing him, and normally he wouldn’t have let him get under his hide, but he was mighty sensitive where Emmeline was concerned, and he didn’t want the whole bunkhouse speculating on how she’d come to be separated from her knickers.

Jeb took to dancing around, dukes raised like a prize-fighter. He’d always been a show-off, and he loved an audience. “Come on, Rafe,” he urged good-naturedly. “You know you want to throw a punch. Let’s see your best.”

S
MOKE ROILED DARK
and greasy against the sky, and Emmeline hurried anxiously to meet Rafe as he rode in, the morning after their trip to the mountaintop. “Rafe,” she gasped,“what—?”

His face hardened slightly—or had she imagined it? “Don’t worry,” he said.“It’s just the Pelton place.”

Emmeline stared at him.“What do you mean,‘just’ the Pelton place? Are you telling me that fire was deliberately set?”

Rafe swung down from his horse in front of the barn and gave the reins to a ranch hand. “I set it myself,” he said. “There are men watching it, keeping it under control, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“How could you?” she whispered, horrified.

“I told you before,” Rafe said, plainly losing patience.

“That’s McKettrick land. The last thing I want is another bunch of squatters moving into that cabin.”

Emmeline clenched her hands at her sides, glanced back toward the ranch house, where preparations for the party were going on. The party celebrating their marriage. And Phoebe Anne was in there, too, resting up for the long trip home to Iowa; Phoebe Anne, who had buried her dreams just a few hundred yards from that cabin.“You had no right!” she said.

“I had
every
right!” he retorted.

The extent of his insensitivity was breathtaking. “The least you could have done was wait until Phoebe Anne left for Iowa!”

Rafe glowered down at her, eyes narrowed. “You’ve got a lot to learn about living out here. We don’t set a whole lot of store by
waiting
to do anything that needs doing. Furthermore, if I let every hard-luck farmer who took a fancy to this place slap up a cabin and hoe himself out a vegetable patch, there’d be no room left to graze cattle!”

Emmeline stood on tiptoe, her face as close to Rafe’s as she could manage.“Rafe McKettrick,” she said,“that poor woman lost her husband and her baby, in the same day. Now you’ve burned her home to the ground.e you no trace of human kindness or understanding in you?”

He pulled back, ever so slightly, as if she’d slapped him. “First of all,” he said evenly, “the place
isn’t
her home and it never was. And second, she doesn’t mean to live there anyhow!”

“Seth and the baby are buried on that land! Did you just let the flames rush across their graves?”

Rafe threw his hat to the ground.“Hellfire and damnation,” he bit out.“What kind of man do you think I am?”

“I believe I have made that clear,” Emmeline replied. Then she turned and stormed back to the house.

Angus, who had business with a neighboring rancher, was taken aback to find his eldest son standing in the barnyard with one foot planted in the middle of his own hat. He reckoned he shouldn’t have been surprised, though, since he’d just passed Emmeline on his way out of the house. She’d been in such a steaming rage that she hadn’t even said howdy.

“What’s the trouble, Son?” he asked, slapping Rafe on the back. He felt charitable. Today, he meant to buy the Chandler place, just north of the Triple M, and double the size of his holdings. Now that
one
of his boys had taken hold and landed himself a wife, Angus had hope for the future.

Rafe looked exasperated, and a little embarrassed, too, as he stooped to recover his ruined hat and slapped it distractedly against one thigh. “We’re burning the Pelton cabin,” Rafe said. “Emmeline isn’t taking it too well. I explained that it was on Triple M land in the first place, but—” He spread his hands, then let them fall to his sides. Enough said.

Angus sighed. “Women don’t usually put so much stock in deeds and titles and the like as we do,” he said, and shook his head. He’d always found the female of the species purely confounding, and never pretended otherwise.“They seem to reckon that if somebody comes along in a broken-down wagon, hangs up some curtains and builds a chicken coop, that’s claim enough.”

Rafe thrust a hand through his hair. “There’s no reasoning with that woman,” he muttered, staring at the house intently as if he hoped to see through the walls.

Angus laughed. “Don’t even try,” he said. “You’ll save yourself years of suffering.”

Right then, the new cowhand rode in, mounted on a big sorrel gelding, one of the finest pieces of horseflesh Angus had ever seen, which was saying something, since he’d been around horses all his life. He’d heard about this Cavanagh fella, but this was the first time he’d actually laid eyes on the man, and something in his bearing gave Angus a jolt. Without thinking about it, he laid a hand to his heart, half expecting it to give out on him, right there in the barnyard.

“You must be Cavanagh,” he heard himself say. He felt odd, as though he were sleepwalking, but with his eyes open.

“Yes, sir,” came the reply, as the wrangler swung down from the saddle. His gear was good, like his horse—better than a man making thirty dollars a month and three squares a day ought to be able to afford. That saddle was Mexican, if Angus wasn’t mistaken—and he seldom was, when it came to good tack or anything else that had to do with ranching. Silver conchas gleamed in the richly tooled her on the canticle, and the bridle fittings and breast strap were just as fancy.

Angus put out a gloved hand. “Angus McKettrick,” he said, frowning.

There was something cocky about the man’s grin, and a little familiar, too. That was the most disturbing thing of all—the sense that he ought to know this fellow.“Yes, sir,” drawled the newcomer.“I figured that’s who you were.”

Angus ruminated on that. “I knew some Cavanaghs once,” he said. “They were neighbors to my first wife’s people, down in Texas.”

“That so?” the younger man allowed. “Truth is, I just took on the name because I didn’t care for the one I was born with.” He turned his attention to Rafe. “We found some dead steers up there in the ravine, the one overlooking the springs. Looked like wolves got them.”

Rafe swore.“How many?” he asked.

Angus could barely keep his mind on the conversation. There was an odd thrumming inside him, like a far-off drumbeat rising from an enemy camp. He hoped he wasn’t about to keel over in some kind of codger fit and make a damn fool of himself. “You put me in mind of somebody,” he said, thinking out loud.

“That so?” said Cavanagh, real breezy-like. He didn’t ask whom he reminded Angus of, and that was fine, because Angus couldn’t have answered with any certainty anyhow.

“You planning on staying around awhile, or are you just passing through?”

By then, Rafe was studying Angus as though he feared he’d lost his mind, and little wonder. Any other time, those dead cattle would have been the only subject he cared to talk about. He’d have gone out looking for the thieving scavengers himself, with a loaded rifle and plenty of spare bullets.

Cavanagh looked at Angus for a long moment. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Sometimes I get the yen to put down roots someplace.” He paused and grinned.“Other times, I just want to see what’s on the other side of the next rise.”

Angus nodded. He’d been like that, too, when he was younger. He’d thought he’d be in Texas forever, when he got married the first time. Raise a whole flock of children there, build a ranch. But then his young wife had passed on, trying to give him a son, and he’d been wild with sorrow for a long time after that, unable to light anywhere, always moving. He followed the herds for a long while, before settling in the Arizona Territory, sending a bank draft for the boy’s keep whenever he could scrape the money together.

It saddened him to think of that child, for he’d missed him sorely, more so after the other boys came along, rather than less, like he might have expected. He still did, sometimes.

“What do you want to do about those dead cattle?” Cavanagh asked, turning to Rafe, when the silence lengthened.

“We’d better bury them,” Rafe said, with an exasperated sigh. “Let’s hitch up a wagon and load some picks and shovels. After that, I mean to see if I can track that wolf pack.”

Cavanagh nodded and led his horse to the barn.

Angus watched him, still shaken.

Becky almost collided with Marshal John Lewis on her way out ty ndian Rock’s one and only bank that fine sunny morning. She had already visited the telegraph office and sent the necessary wires to Kansas City, and her mind was busy with staffing decisions. She meant to keep the cook, but that Clive fellow would have to go; he was about as cordial as a rattlesnake sealed up in a lard can, and it took diplomacy to work in a hotel. She had to hire at least one maid and one waiter, as soon as possible, though she could handle the registration desk and the ledger books herself.

“Mornin’, ma’am,” said the marshal, tipping his hat. His hair was thinning, and his face was long, and a little gaunt. For all that, Becky thought, he was an attractive man, if you liked the rough and rugged type.

She smiled winningly. “Why, good mornin’ to you, Marshal,” she said. She wasn’t flirting, she told herself silently. If she was going to conduct business in this town, she had to be on cordial terms with the locals, that was all.

Lewis smiled. “I hear you’ve bought the Territorial Hotel from Angus McKettrick,” he said, falling into step beside her as she proceeded along the uneven wooden sidewalk, a ruffled parasol shading her delicate skin from the sun.

“That’s true,” she said. His eyes were watchful and a little shrewd, even though he kept on smiling, and for one terrible moment, Becky wondered if he knew who she really was, and how she’d earned her living in Kansas City.“I mean to change the name, and spruce the place up a bit.”

The lawman grinned. “Angus never took much of an interest in the hotel business, far as I could tell,” he said. “Picked up the whole shootin’ match for a song when it went for taxes a few years back. I don’t believe that man’s ever passed up a bargain if he could help it.”

Becky decided she was being fanciful, worrying that somebody would recognize her. Kansas City was a long way from Indian Rock, and even if the marshal
had
been there, it didn’t mean he’d ever frequented the boardinghouse. She brightened her smile and twirled her parasol once, for effect. “He must be an astute businessman,” she allowed. “From what I’ve seen, Mr. McKettrick has done very well for himself.”

“That he has,” Lewis allowed, unruffled. His expression turned serious. “You want to be careful, ma’am. You being a woman alone and all. Indian Rock is a real nice town, and all, but we get our share of drifters and gunslingers.”

“I assure you, Marshal,” Becky said, “I can take care of myself.”

“Be that as it may,” said the lawman, undaunted, his strides lengthening a bit as Becky picked up her pace. “You’ll want to have a care.” She didn’t mind his company, but she had a great deal of work to do if she was going to make a success of the hotel, and she wanted to get started. “You have any trouble, don’t hesitate to send Clive for me. Any hour of the day or night.”

She stopped, there on the sidewalk, and looked up into his craggy face, squinting a little in the band of sunlight that found its way under the fringe of her parasol. “I promise you that I will not hesitate to summon you if the need arises, Marshal,” she said. “I intend to discharge Clive, however. He has a poor disposition for working with the public.”

Lewis grinned. “I wouldn’t be too hasty, ma’am,” he advised, taking her arm. Just like that, they were strolling again.“About showing Clive the road, I mean. He’s a mite ty sometimes, it’s true, but that’s only because nobody’s ever taught him how to deal with folks. He’s a bright kid, real good with numbers, and he and his mama depend on what he earns.”

“I will reconsider, then,” Becky said, after weighing the marshal’s words for a few moments. They had reached the front door of the hotel, and stood there looking at each other.

Lewis tugged at his hat brim again. His gaze was steady, his eyes clear. He needed a shave, but on him, a scruffy countenance was oddly attractive. “I’d like to buy your supper tonight, Mrs. Fairmont,” he said. He grinned a slanted, outlaw’s grin. “Course, your dining room is the only place I could take you.”

She was charmed, and that troubled her not a little. For a long time, she’d seen men as hardly more than varying combinations of suits, cigars, and fancy hats, opponents to be outwitted and, whenever possible, relieved of excess funds. Now, after all this time, here was Marshal John Lewis, wanting to take her out to supper.

He chuckled, evidently amused that she’d been struck speechless. “If you’re inclined to refuse,” he said, “that’s fine. No hard feelings. But you look surprised, ma’am, if you don’t mind my saying so, and that puzzles me some. A beautiful woman like you must get a lot of social invites.”

Becky opened her mouth, closed it again. Narrowed her eyes.“Have you ever been to Kansas City?” she asked.

He shook his head.“No, ma’am. Got as far as Independence one time, though. Why?”

She took out her fan, popped it open, and waved it under her chin.“No reason,” she said.“I was just wondering.”

He waited, cleared his throat. Smiled.“About supper?”

“What about supper?” Becky snapped, wondering when she’d turned so short-tempered.

He leaned in a little, lowered his voice. “Are we taking supper together tonight, or not?” he asked.