High Country Bride (22 page)

At that point, the room went so silent that Rafe figured he could have heard a feather hit the floor.

Angus folded his arms, still powerful, even at seventy-five, and studied the floor for a good long while. When he looked up, his eyes were full of old sorrows. Rafe, who had always thought he knew everything there was to know about the old man, was taken aback by the suspicion that, in fact, he’d known almost nothing.

“My first wife and I had a son,” Angus went on when he was ready. “She died the day he was born, and I named him Holt, for her side of the family.” Simultaneously, Jeb and Kade sat down, Jeb in the chair by the window, Kade on the raised hearth of the fireplace. Nobody said anything, though, so Angus huffed out a despairing sigh and commenced talking again. “The long and short of it is, I left Holt behind, with his aunt and uncle, and later on I signed papers so they could adopt him.”

“You’re saying,” Rafe marveled, grasping the arms of his chair and leaning forward, “that that fella upstairs is our half-brother?” He was certain he must have misunderstood.

Angus took his time answering, looking long and hard at Rafe, then Kade, then Jeb. “Yes,” he finally said. “That’s what I’m saying.”

Jeb looked flushed, and his eyes were hot with anger. “And you’re just getting around to telling us about him
now?”

To his credit, Angus held his youngest son’s gaze, though Rafe could tell he wanted to look away. Hell, the old man looked as if he might fold right up.“Yes,” he said.

Kade was looking at the floor. “Did Ma know?” he asked.

Angus nodded. “She did,” he confirmed. “She wanted me to tell the three of you, right along, but I guess I was ashamed of leaving my own flesh and blood behind for somebody else to raise. Then, when your mother died, well, you were still just boys, and I didn’t want any of you thinking I was about to abandon you, the way I did your brother.”

“I reckon this changes things,” Rafe said. He wasn’t sure what he felt concerning Angus’s long-standing lie by omission, but one fact troubled him greatly.

He was no longer the firstborn son.

E
MMELINE WAS OUT IN BACK
of the house, arms raised, taking down the last of the day’s laundry, when Rafe found en your She looked like a sprite of some sort, gilded in the light of the failing moon, and she whirled, startled, when he said her name, nearly dropping a ghostly white sheet into the grass at her feet.

She smiled then and caught her breath, and though he knew she was genuinely glad to see him, it was obvious that she was anxious about something, too. Maybe she’d already learned the truth about Holt Cavanagh, but, it seemed unlikely that she’d be bothered about that. To her, it would be an unimportant rustling in the branches of the family tree. To him, it was much more: He felt as if he’d lost his way in a strange country, where he neither knew the customs nor spoke the language. All his life, he’d been Angus McKettrick’s eldest son. Now, that had turned out to be a lie, and he wasn’t sure
who
the hell he was.

“Rafe,” she said. Her chin wobbled a little, and her eyes were soft, and yet it didn’t waver or wane, that different
something
. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

A wound-up placed inside him unbent at her greeting, despite his uneasiness, and he wanted to lose himself in her, or perhaps, find himself there. Trouble was, he wanted almost as badly to ride in to the saloon in town, play some cards, fight a little, and get so drunk he couldn’t tell his left hand from his right.

Completely confused, he put out his arms, and she sprang into them, hugging his neck.

He kissed her, but just lightly, mindful that they were in the backyard, with the light of the moon and the kitchen window spilling over them, making them visible to anyone who took the trouble to look.

“It’s a little late in the day to be doing wash, isn’t it?” he asked, the scent of clean, sun-dried linen rising all around, better than any perfume. His voice came gruffly from his throat, but it was tender, too.

She smiled up at him, but that cautious look lingered in her eyes, and he couldn’t help wondering, again,
still
, what it meant. Right then, he didn’t know as he could stand any more surprises, good or bad. Maybe that was why he didn’t question her.

“Conception and Phoebe Anne did the washing earlier,” she said. “There was a lot to do inside, with Mr. Cavanagh feeling so poorly, though, and we both forgot about this last batch of sheets until a few minutes ago.”

He helped her unpin the remaining bedclothes and other items from the line, and together they started for the house. He felt a strange desire to take Emmeline away, far away, right then. Just to hitch up a wagon and head for the home site, on top of the mountain. The two of them would live within the unfinished walls of their house, with the earth for a floor and the starry sky for a roof, keeping to themselves, and it wouldn’t matter a whit what went on in the outside world.

Before Rafe could find words to frame what he was thinking, Jeb came slamming out the back door, headed for the barn, his strides long and angry. He was carrying a bedroll and wearing his canvas duster, and he didn’t so much as glance in their direction.

Emmeline touched Rafe’s arm.“What—?”

Rafe sighed, watching as his brother vanished through the barn doorway. He suspected it would be a while before any of them laid eyes on Jeb again, and even though the kid got under his skin on a regular basis, the thought made him feel sad. Jeb had alwayd the quickest temper of them all, and his feelings had always been outside his skin. If there was one thing Jeb couldn’t abide, it was being lied to, directly or indirectly. Rafe couldn’t blame him for that, since he felt the same way.

“Turns out Pa’s been keeping a hell of a big secret,” he said.

She waited. They’d stopped, the two of them, their arms full of clean laundry, the deep grass rippling around their feet in the evening breeze.

Rafe tilted his head back, searched the sky, and finally met Emmeline’s gaze. “It seems that stranger sleeping up in the spare room isn’t a stranger after all,” he told her, at some length. “Holt Cavanagh was born Holt McKettrick. He’s a half-brother to the rest of us.”

Emmeline looked stricken, but not precisely surprised, though Rafe didn’t take special notice of that, right then. “That’s why Jeb is so angry?”

Rafe nodded.

“You can’t let him go,” she said. “What if something happens? What if he never comes back?”

He heaved a sigh. “I can’t stop him from leaving, Emmeline. The fact is, right this minute, I’d probably ride out myself, if it weren’t for you.”

“You would? You’d just leave?”

He thrust a hand through his hair. “Sometimes, that’s the only way a man can sort things through.”

Just then, Jeb led his horse out of the barn. Rafe handed his armload of sheets to Emmeline and strode over to his brother. He put a hand on Jeb’s arm, something he would have known better than to do if he hadn’t been so distracted by Emmeline’s presence, and Jeb whirled around and landed a haymaker right in the middle of Rafe’s belly.

The wind was knocked out of him, but he didn’t go down.

“What the hell was that for?” he gasped, when he could talk. He sensed Emmeline hovering somewhere close-by, and he didn’t like knowing that she’d seen somebody get the better of him like that.

Jeb looked like a wild man. He tossed his hat aside, then the Colt .45 he wore whenever he left the house, then his lightweight jacket. His fists were knotted tight, and his teeth were bared. “That,” he growled, “was for twenty years of being ‘Little Brother’!”

“Well, I’ll be goddammed,” Rafe said, stung to fury. An old-fashioned donnybrook would feel good, he decided, and there was no getting around it. “You want to fight? Is that what this is about—Little Brother?”

Jeb lowered his head and rushed at Rafe, catching him in the stomach again, this time dropping him to his knees.

Emmeline fluttered at the blood-red periphery of Rafe’s vision, flapping her arms like some demented butterfly.“Stop!” she kept saying.“Stop!”

“Emmeline,” Rafe said, never looking away from Jeb, “go in the house and stay there.” He got to his feet and went after Jeb, landing a good uppercut in the process. Jeb went wheeling backward, and just when Rafe was about to tan his hide in earnest, Emmeline struck from behind, jumping onto his back and flinging both arms around his neck.

Jeb, bleeding from one corner of his mouth, laughed out loud.

Re seethed. He shrugged Emmeline off, took her by the shoulders, and brought her around to face him. “
Go inside
now!” he commanded.

She blinked at him. At least two dozen cowboys had gathered, out of nowhere, to watch the fracas.

“Now!” he bellowed, lowering his brows when she hesitated.

She backed slowly away, her eyes wide. “You cannot talk to me like that, Rafe McKettrick,” she sputtered.

“I just did,” he pointed out.

The cowboys whooped and applauded.

“Fine!” Emmeline spat. “You and Jeb can just kill each other. See if I care!” She whirled and stomped into the house.

Rafe took a couple of deep breaths, and his ribs felt as though he’d just been kicked by a mule. He hoped they weren’t cracked, since the night was still young.

He felt a tap on his shoulder—Jeb—but he had a fist ready when he turned around, and he sent his brother rolling across the barnyard. Jeb came up hard against the horse trough, and was back on his feet in a heartbeat.

They went at each other like two bulls—his little brother, Rafe thought ruefully, had grown up while he wasn’t looking, and acquired himself a mean punch—and finally had to call the thing a draw. The two of them were evenly matched.

“Buy you a drink?” Jeb asked, breathing hard and bleeding, as he put an arm around Rafe’s shoulders.

“Don’t mind if you do,” Rafe replied.

The cowboys cheered that, too, the fickle bastards. Then one of them brought Rafe’s horse out, saddled and ready to ride. He found it harder than usual to swing up onto Chief’s back, but since Jeb was having the same problem with his mount, his pride didn’t suffer.

Kade appeared, riding Raindance, as unruffled and smoothly turned out as if he’d just been to church.

“Where the hell were you when the fight was going on?” Jeb wanted to know.

Kade grinned. “Watching,” he said. “Rafe, that woman of yours is going to skin you if you go to town. You know that, don’t you?”

Red handed up Rafe’s hat, and he settled it on his head at a go-to-hell angle. “If I stay,” he said, “Emmeline and I are bound to have harsh words. It wouldn’t be gentlemanly of me to take a chance.”

Jeb laughed. “Last one past the Indian graveyard buys the whiskey,” he said.

And the race was on.

Emmeline gathered the discarded sheets from the grass, grabbing them up haphazardly, bunching them in her arms. Her eyes burned with furious tears but she would not cry. By God,
she would not cry.

When the last of the bed linens had been collected, she marched into the house with them, the laughter of the cowboys, long since silenced, ringing in her ears. She had never in her life been so humiliated as when Rafe had sent her away like a child, then ridden off to town with his brothers.

There was no telling what they’d do when they got therean>

She sniffled and raised her chin when she found Concepcion there in the kitchen, waiting for her. She’d already brewed a pot of tea and set out two cups.

Emmeline deposited the sheets, which would probably have to be laundered again, since she’d hurled them onto the ground in her rush to stop the fight between Rafe and Jeb.

“They nearly killed each other,” she said, when she trusted herself to speak without losing her dignity completely.“And then they rode into town together!”

Concepcion smiled calmly. “I heard,” she said, pouring the tea.

“I’ll bet they’ll be gone all night,” Emmeline fretted.

“Probably,” Concepcion agreed.

“There is certain to be more fighting.”

Concepcion spoke mildly. “Is that what you’re really worried about?”

Emmeline sat down hard on the bench. “No,” she admitted.

“I thought not. Don’t fret so, Emmeline. Rafe married you, even it was by proxy, and that means something to him. He’s building a house for you. He’ll come straggling in sometime tomorrow, probably, beat-up, hungover, and otherwise pure as the driven snow.”

A sweet, fierce hope rose in Emmeline’s heart. “Well,” she said, “he needn’t think he can get away with treating me the way he did.”

Concepcion patted her hand. “Drink your tea,” she said sweetly.

*   *   *

Holt sat upright in bed, eating the scrambled eggs Concepcion had made for his breakfast. She stood just inside the door now, while Angus drew up a chair.

“I told them,” Angus said. The old man looked gaunt.

Holt didn’t trouble himself to hide the bitter satisfaction he felt. “I gathered that,” he said, “when I heard that row in the yard last night. Tell me, did the three of them kill each other, leaving me an only child?”

Concepcion let out her breath, muttered something in Spanish.

Holt made no attempt to translate; her tone communicated all he needed to know.

“They took the news moderately well at first,” Angus said, with a long sigh.“I should have known all hell would break loose once they had time to think it over.”

Truth to tell, Holt wasn’t really all that concerned about his half-brothers’ hurt feelings, not at the moment, anyway. His leg felt like it had been beaten to a mash with a sledgehammer and then set on fire, and the walls of that bedroom were closing in on him, inch by inch. The one bright spot was sweet little Emmeline. Damned if she wasn’t married to the son and heir.

He smiled a private smile. “You’ll forgive me, Mr. McKettrick,” he said, “if I don’t wax sentimental over my brothers’ sad plight.” After all, Rafe, Kade, and Jeb had enjoyed the luxuries of a fine home, a birthright, and a family.

If they had to do some fancy thinking now, well, so be it.

“There are bound to be some hard feelings,” Angus said. He cleared his throat, glaed at Concepcion, probably seeking courage, and went on. “It’ll take time for everybody to come to terms with the situation. Still, you’re bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh, and there’s a place for you, Holt, right here on the Triple M.”

Holt had already weighed the meaning of the ranch’s name in his mind, having little else to do besides stare at the ceiling and grit his teeth against the pain. He was planning on passing the morning ahead by counting leaves on the oak tree outside his window. “The Triple M,” he reflected aloud.“I reckon that’s a reference to your three sons.” He put just the slightest emphasis on the word
three.

“Yes,” Angus said, leaning forward in his chair. “That’s what it means. But a name is just that—a name. Do you mean to stay on when your leg heals up, or not?”

The bottle of laudanum rested on the bedside table. Holt reached for it, yanked out the cork, and drank. He’d asked for morphine a few minutes earlier, and Concepcion had refused, saying he couldn’t have another shot for a couple of hours yet. Now, he could see her out of the corner of one eye, looking as though she’d like to snatch the medicine from his hand and put it somewhere out of his reach. He set it back on the bedside table.