High Country Bride (12 page)

My own child.

Now it was Emmeline’s turn to be stunned. She had considered the possibility before, of course, but always dismissed it. It was as if the sky and the earth had just changed places; nothing, whether Rafe ever learned what she’d done or not, would ever be the same. She put one hand to her mouth.

“I didn’t plan to tell you this way,” Becky said, her usually straight shoulders stooping a little. She met Emmeline’s gaze steadily, even proudly, but with a sheen of tears glimmering in her eyes. “Not so bluntly, in any case. But now I’ve said it, and there’s no turning back. You’re my child, Emmeline.”

Emmeline hardly dared ask.“My father—?”

Becky smiled sadly. “Charles T. Fairmont III,” she said. “I get a small measure of satisfaction out of using his name whenever I need an alias, as you know. He was a business associate of your grandfather’s. A sophisticated, older man, very charming and handsome. I thought he would marry me when I told him about you.” She sighed and, for a moment, an old grief shadowed her eyes.“I was wrong. He had already married someone else, and of course he promptly denied any involvement with me. My father pronouncd me a trollop and threw me out of the house for good.”

Stricken to silence, Emmeline could only stare at the other woman. Her mother. On one hand, she felt pity for that long-ago girl, frightened and spurned by her family as well as her lover. She had made some terrible choices in order to make a home for herself and for Emmeline. On the other hand, Emmeline resented, bitterly, all the years she’d been led to believe that she was an orphan.

“You kept your secret for so long,” Emmeline managed, after some time had passed.“Why?”

A knock sounded at the door, and both women fell silent. Becky rose and admitted Clive, who was carrying a tea tray. “Mr. McKettrick said he’ll be along in a while,” the anxious little man said. “He’s gone to do some business at the Western Union office.”

Emmeline closed her eyes, almost dizzy with relief. She would have to face Rafe eventually, but she was grateful for a brief reprieve.

Clive went out, after glancing curiously at each of the women, and Becky made a ceremony of pouring tea. A minute, two minutes, the silence seemed to go on forever.

“Why, Becky?” Emmeline repeated.

“Why didn’t I tell you sooner? I guess I was afraid—I thought you’d be ashamed to have a—to have me for a mother.”

“There’s something more,” Emmeline said. She had always been perceptive where her aunt—
her mother
—was concerned, but apparently not perceptive enough.

“Yes,” Becky admitted. “A great deal more, but quite enough has been said about the past, for one day. I should like to speak of happier things.”

Emmeline was not content to let the matter drop just yet, even temporarily. “What about your—your boardinghouse?” She had never known Becky to take a holiday from her business, no matter what the emergency. Emmeline used to dream that they’d go far away to the shore for a few weeks, or even a whole summer, she and her aunt, where no one knew them, and there, in that magical place, they would be treated as ordinary people.

“I’ve sold it,” Becky said. “Lock, stock, and barrel. A share of the money has been put in trust for you, in my bank in Kansas City.”

“What are you going to do without your business?” Emmeline asked, unable to take it all in. She would be assimilating these revelations for some time, she knew, and she did not look forward to the process.

Again, Becky was silent. Just when Emmeline was certain she couldn’t bear it for another moment, her mother replied. “Well, it depends whom you ask,” she said, with a shaky little smile. “If you ask me, well, I’m going to start all over again, maybe in San Francisco or Denver, somewhere like that. Have myself a respectable life, so far as possible.” She paused, and a tiny frown creased the smooth skin between her eyebrows. “If you ask my doctor—”

Emmeline was out of her chair and on her knees at Becky’s side within the space of a heartbeat, panicked. “Your doctor? What are you saying?”

Becky patted her shoulder. “Now, now, it’s nothing to get so worried about. It’s time I slowed down a bit, that’s all. Had a change of scene.”

Emmeline had taken Becky’s hands in her own, their tea footten on the small table between their chairs. “It’s something serious!” she fretted.

“A few fainting spells, that’s all,” Becky said wryly, and laid a gentle hand to Emmeline’s cheek, wiping away a tear with the pad of her thumb.“Listen to me, Emmeline. I will never betray you. Still, this is a small town and by now it’s all over the place that you and I are related. If my past were ever to come out, yours might, too. Can you live with that?”

Emmeline, so shaken by the morning’s events that she was dizzy, rose awkwardly to her feet, groped for her chair, and fell into it.

A few more sips of tea revived her to some degree; although she was still in shock, she was no longer teetering on the verge of hysteria. They sat in silence, Becky and Emmeline, and, in time, Rafe arrived.

The dark-haired woman was tall and handsome, elegant in her well-made and probably costly clothes. Rafe had learned, while filling Concepcion’s grocery order over at the general store, that the marshal was already sweet on her, and now, meeting her, he could see why. Yes, indeed, she was a looker, if a little past her prime.

“Mr. McKettrick,” she said, putting out one hand.

He didn’t know whether to kiss that hand or shake it. He made a decision and shook it, glancing uncomfortably at Emmeline, who sat in a chair, teacup in hand. He noticed that it rattled a little against the saucer.

“How do you do, ma’am,” he said, and bowed a little.

“My name is Mrs. Fairmont,” the woman said, smiling, “but you can call me Becky. Your wife is my niece.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emmeline relax a little.

Emmeline had mentioned having an aunt back in Kansas City, so her appearance was no great shock to Rafe, but his wife looked shell-shocked, sitting there. Rafe wondered if there was bad blood between the two women.

“I came to Indian Rock to meet her husband,” Mrs. Fairmont went on pleasantly. “I do hope you are treating my girl well, Mr. McKettrick. If you do not—well, I cannot be responsible for my actions.”

Rafe liked Emmeline’s aunt. She was as straightforward as he was, which meant that the two of them would understand each other. “So far,” he said, glancing again at his wife and stretching the truth a little, “we seem to be doing just fine.”

Emmeline stood and took a step toward him, then stopped, and her hesitation made him wonder again. It made him uncomfortable, too.

“I just rented room 2, downstairs,” he said, perhaps a mite too loudly.“I thought Emmeline and I would stay in town tonight. Sort of like a honeymoon.” He reddened, realizing, too late, the implications of the word
honeymoon.

Mrs. Fairmont—Becky—smiled. Emmeline bit down on her lower lip and looked away.

“Will you be staying on in Indian Rock?” Rafe asked, looking for a way to hold up his end of the conversation. He wasn’t much of a talker, any way you looked at it, and there was no sense in trying to pretend that he was.

“Probably not,” Becky answered. “I’ve lived in Kansas City most all my life. I expt I’d be happier in a bigger place.” She looked around ruefully. “Which is not to say that this hotel isn’t suitable, though it
could
use a new owner. It’s dismally mismanaged, you know.”

Rafe grinned. “My pa will be sorry to hear that,” he said.“I believe he owns it.”

Becky looked chagrined, but only mildly so.“He ought to pay more attention to the way it’s being run,” she remarked.

Emmeline had, by this time, made her way to Rafe’s side. She took his arm, and he felt a surge of protective pride go through him. She didn’t say anything, she just stood there next to him, like a cat ready to race up a tree at the first sign of trouble.

What the devil was going on?

“I imagine the two of you have business to attend to,” Becky said. “I won’t keep you any longer. Perhaps, though, we could have an early supper together?”

“That would be fine,” Rafe said. He liked Becky Fairmont; she was a bit outspoken, but he considered that a positive trait. A man liked to know where he stood and what was what. No mincing words, no pussyfooting around. “You’re sure you don’t want to help Emmeline pick out the material for a party dress or something? I’ve got some business at the bank, and down at the feed store.”

“Why would I need a party dress?” Emmeline asked, almost suspiciously.

“I figure it’s time we threw a shindig,” Rafe said, although he hadn’t, until that moment, figured anything of the sort. The thought had simply erupted, full blown, in his mind.“To celebrate you and me being married and everything. We could all use some cheering up, it seems to me.”

A look passed between the two women and Rafe indulged in a private smile. He was right proud of his quick thinking.

“Suppose we go our separate ways, then,” Becky said, “and meet here at the hotel later on. Say around four o’clock?”

Rafe looked questioningly at Emmeline, and she smiled, nodding.

He was at once relieved to be spared the shopping junket and let down at the prospect of being separated from Emmeline, even for a few hours. He knew he didn’t love her, they hadn’t known each other long enough for that, but he surely enjoyed her company, and missed her sorely when they were apart.

“It’s settled, then,” he said, somewhat expansively. “I’ll walk you ladies to the mercantile and leave you to planning the party.”

He deposited them, with a tug at his hat brim, in front of the general store, and walked away whistling.

“I love a party!” Becky confided, quite unnecessarily, as she and Emmeline entered the store. The place was surprisingly well stocked, Emmeline thought, for a country mercantile, with goods everywhere, in barrels, on shelves, burdening long wooden tables. The windows were dirty and fly specked, and the floor was littered with sawdust, but the items for sale were of adequate, if unspectacular, quality.

“Morning, Mrs. McKettrick,” said the storekeeper, a skinny woman with gaps between her teeth and an avid expression.“I’m Minnie.”

Emmeline put out her hand to Minnie and sed. “I’m glad to meet you,” she said, in all truth. In Kansas City, due to her association with the boardinghouse, she’d been a social pariah. Merchants there had never greeted her in a friendly fashion; instead, they’d watched her closely, as though expecting her to steal something, and were visibly relieved when she made her purchases and left. “This is my—my aunt, Mrs. Fairmont,” she added, when Becky nudged her.

The look Minnie gave Becky was more of a sizing up than anything else.“How do you do?” she said.

“Just fine, thank you very much,” Becky said.“And how do
you
do?”

Minnie looked disconcerted, as if she didn’t know quite what to make of Becky’s friendliness. No doubt there had been considerable speculation about this new woman in town, so beautiful, so bold, and so finely dressed. And traveling alone. “Well—I—just fine, I reckon.” She turned her attention, with some relief, to Emmeline.“Now, how can I help you ladies?”

Emmeline related what she knew about the forthcoming party, which was precious little. “Of course, you and your husband are invited,” she finished.

Minnie beamed. “This town could stand some good news,” she said. “We’d be right proud to join the festivities, Mrs. McKettrick.”

Emmeline loved being called “Mrs. McKettrick.” She fairly floated over to the bolts of fabric lining a table set well away from the windows. “To start with,” she said, running her hand over silks, brocades, velvets, woolens, and cottons of various weights, “l should like material for two gowns, Concepcion’s and my own.”

Minnie’s eyebrows shot up.“Concepcion? Ain’t she the Mexican housekeeper?”

Becky made a humming sound, under her breath, and Emmeline knew she was trying to hold her temper. Perhaps because she’d experienced so much prejudice and snobbery herself, Becky tended to be exceedingly tolerant.

“Yes,” Emmeline said quickly, anxious to avert even the possibility of social disaster. “Concepcion is the housekeeper and she does hail from Mexico. She is considered a member of the family.”

“Hmm,” said Minnie. “Well, you just look over them yard goods and let me know if you need help.”

“I will,” Emmeline said sweetly.

“This green brocade would look wonderful on you,” Becky said, fingering a lovely silk and narrowing her eyes. “Puffy sleeves, I think, and a fairly low neckline. Not too low, of course.”

Emmeline liked the green brocade, but she wanted to extend the expedition for a while. On the drive into town, Rafe had told her to buy whatever she wanted, and he’d settle up with the storekeeper when she was finished. She’d been too nervous to think about shopping then, with the reunion with Becky still ahead of her; now, she planned to splurge on a book, and perhaps a box of marzipan, in addition to the fabric for her dress and Concepcion’s. She would bring back something for Phoebe Anne, too, of course.

She insisted on looking at everything, every fabric, every thread, every button and trim. In the end, though, she bought the green brocade, yards and yards of the stuff, along with thread and small, plain buttons, to be covered with the same cloth. She selected a silvery gray silk for Concepcion, and pretty pearl buttons. The marzipan was next,hosen piece by delectable piece, and she took her time selecting a book, too, knowing she would read it many times. She finally chose a novel about a French noblewoman who became a pirate. For Phoebe Anne, she purchased a simple blue dress, very likely the first ready-made garment the young widow would ever own.