“Well,” he boomed, “is she your wife, or do I need to send a hand down to the mission to fetch back the padre?”
Jeb studied the distant horizon for a few moments, then heaved a great sigh. “It would seem,” he said, “that Emmeline is Rafe’s bride. Got here on today’s stage.”
At last, at last, Angus smiled. In fact, he beamed so that Emmeline felt almost restored by his regard, and warmed, as if she were standing before a blazing hearth. “Well, now,” he said. “Well, well. Why are we all standing out here in the wind? Come on in. We’d best get you settled in.”
The invitation apparently didn’t include Jeb, who sighed again, adjusted his well-worn hat, and began unloading Emmeline’s baggage. Emmeline, meanwhile, allowed his father to squire her into the rustic but spacious house.
“Concepcion!” he shouted, as soon as they were over the threshold, causing her to start. “Come have a look at our girl!”
Emmeline did not mind her father-in-law hers gruff way. Angus McKettrick seemed to see her presence as cause for celebration, and that was a nice change from being snubbed or simply going unnoticed in Kansas City.
A tall, slender woman appeared in an inner doorway, her dark eyes bright with speculation and welcome, and Emmeline liked her immediately.
“Concepcion, this is Rafe’s bride,” Angus said, as proudly as if he’d assembled her himself, from bits and pieces.
Concepcion greeted Emmeline warmly, taking her arm, leading her through the entry and into a long corridor. “Welcome,” she said. Then, glancing back at Angus, who was following, she added, “And where, may I ask, is Rafe?”
Emmeline’s joy, understandably fragile, wobbled a little. Her throat closed up tight, and she found herself unable to answer.
“I reckon he’ll be along,” Angus said.
“You’ll want a nice bath and a long rest,” Concepcion said when they reached the kitchen, patting Emmeline on the shoulder in a matronly way. “You just sit down, though, and I’ll make you some tea first.” Her next remark was clearly directed at Angus. “There’ll be time enough for getting acquainted later, won’t there?”
Emmeline seated herself, and Angus stood gazing down at her as though she were the eighth wonder. Concepcion gave her the promised tea, along with toasted bread and a thick slice of cheese.
“That Rafe,” Concepcion muttered once, glancing toward the window, as if expecting to see him riding in. “What will I do with him?”
“The last time I saw him,” Emmeline said, with careful dignity, “he was smashing through the doors of an establishment called the Bloody Basin Saloon.”
Concepcion crossed herself; Angus swore under his breath.
“Come,” Concepcion said, when Emmeline began to nod over her cup, which had been refilled twice, “you must rest.”
Emmeline allowed herself to be escorted upstairs and installed in an airy room with a view of the creek, a glittering golden ribbon shot with crimson and blue in the last fierce light of day. There were lace curtains at the windows, and the crazy quilt on the bed was worn but appealing.
“Is this—?” Emmeline began, and stopped, blushing.
“This,” Concepcion said, with gentle understanding, “is the spare room. Rafe sleeps down the hall.”
Emmeline was relieved. Her knees sagged, and she left the window to sit gratefully on the thick feather mattress, stroking the pretty quilt with one hand.
Concepcion rummaged through several bureau drawers and produced a flannel nightgown and a damask towel. She laid them on the foot of the bed, then headed for the door.“I’ll bring you some hot water. You can wash and then get into bed and sleep.”
Emmeline yawned. “Thank you,” she said, and she was dozing when Concepcion returned with a steaming basin and a bar of soap.
Rafe led his gelding, Chief, into the barn, slipped the bridle off, and hung it over the stall gate. Then he began brushing the animal down, the
Jeb studied the distant horizon for a few moments, then heaved a great sigh. “It would seem,” he said, “that Emmeline is Rafe’s bride. Got here on today’s stage.”
At last, at last, Angus smiled. In fact, he beamed so that Emmeline felt almost restored by his regard, and warmed, as if she were standing before a blazing hearth. “Well, now,” he said. “Well, well. Why are we all standing out here in the wind? Come on in. We’d best get you settled in.”
The invitation apparently didn’t include Jeb, who sighed again, adjusted his well-worn hat, and began unloading Emmeline’s baggage. Emmeline, meanwhile, allowed his father to squire her into the rustic but spacious house.
“Concepcion!” he shouted, as soon as they were over the threshold, causing her to start. “Come have a look at our girl!”
Emmeline did not mind her father-in-law hers gruff way. Angus McKettrick seemed to see her presence as cause for celebration, and that was a nice change from being snubbed or simply going unnoticed in Kansas City.
A tall, slender woman appeared in an inner doorway, her dark eyes bright with speculation and welcome, and Emmeline liked her immediately.
“Concepcion, this is Rafe’s bride,” Angus said, as proudly as if he’d assembled her himself, from bits and pieces.
Concepcion greeted Emmeline warmly, taking her arm, leading her through the entry and into a long corridor. “Welcome,” she said. Then, glancing back at Angus, who was following, she added, “And where, may I ask, is Rafe?”
Emmeline’s joy, understandably fragile, wobbled a little. Her throat closed up tight, and she found herself unable to answer.
“I reckon he’ll be along,” Angus said.
“You’ll want a nice bath and a long rest,” Concepcion said when they reached the kitchen, patting Emmeline on the shoulder in a matronly way. “You just sit down, though, and I’ll make you some tea first.” Her next remark was clearly directed at Angus. “There’ll be time enough for getting acquainted later, won’t there?”
Emmeline seated herself, and Angus stood gazing down at her as though she were the eighth wonder. Concepcion gave her the promised tea, along with toasted bread and a thick slice of cheese.
“That Rafe,” Concepcion muttered once, glancing toward the window, as if expecting to see him riding in. “What will I do with him?”
“The last time I saw him,” Emmeline said, with careful dignity, “he was smashing through the doors of an establishment called the Bloody Basin Saloon.”
Concepcion crossed herself; Angus swore under his breath.
“Come,” Concepcion said, when Emmeline began to nod over her cup, which had been refilled twice, “you must rest.”
Emmeline allowed herself to be escorted upstairs and installed in an airy room with a view of the creek, a glittering golden ribbon shot with crimson and blue in the last fierce light of day. There were lace curtains at the windows, and the crazy quilt on the bed was worn but appealing.
“Is this—?” Emmeline began, and stopped, blushing.
“This,” Concepcion said, with gentle understanding, “is the spare room. Rafe sleeps down the hall.”
Emmeline was relieved. Her knees sagged, and she left the window to sit gratefully on the thick feather mattress, stroking the pretty quilt with one hand.
Concepcion rummaged through several bureau drawers and produced a flannel nightgown and a damask towel. She laid them on the foot of the bed, then headed for the door.“I’ll bring you some hot water. You can wash and then get into bed and sleep.”
Emmeline yawned. “Thank you,” she said, and she was dozing when Concepcion returned with a steaming basin and a bar of soap.
Rafe led his gelding, Chief, into the barn, slipped the bridle off, and hung it over the stall gate. Then he began brushing the animal down, the
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