Free High Country Bride by Linda Lael Miller Page B

day hiding in bed, but she knew it wouldn’t work. Hers was a restless nature and, besides, she needed to use the privy.
    She dropped her head over the side of the bed and peered underneath, but there was no chamber pot. Sighing, she got out of bed.
    There was clean, if tepid, water in the pitcher on the bureau top, and she poured some into the matching basin, then washed hastily, ever conscious that Rafe might come striding into the room at any moment and catch her at her ablutions.
    She soon discovered that her brush and comb were there, too, and one of her dresses, a practical brown calico, was hanging on a wall peg, neatly pressed. At some point, Concepcion must have slipped in, taking care not to awaken the new bride.
    No doubt, she, along with the rest of the household, believed that Rafe and Emmeline had consummated their union the night before. Once again, Emmeline considered hiding out in bed, but not for long. Her bladder felt as though it would explode if she didn’t get herself to the outhouse.
    She brushed her hair quickly, plaited it into a single braid, and hurried down the back stairs.
    The kitchen was warm, filled with sunlight and delicious smells. Emmeline nodded to Angus, who was seated at the table reading a heavy tome, and to Concepcion, who stood beside the big cookstove with a pressing board set up, ironing more of Emmeline’s travel-rumpled clothes. She spared each of them a nod and a nervous smile in passing, then dashed out the back door, across the porch, and down the long path to the outdoor toilet.
    The barn was not far away, and Emmeline noticed her husband out front, saddling a horse, though she didn’t take time to acknowledge him. She was intent on the first order of business, and in no particular hurry to face Rafe McKettrick on any account.
    She had just finished when she heard a distinctive rattling sound from the plank floor. In an instant she was standing on the bench, one foot planted on either side of the hole, holding her skirt in both hands and screaming fit to rouse the dead. In the corner, a full-grown snake coiled, hissing.
    The door flew open, slamming against the outside wall, and Rafe was there in the chasm, gun drawn. The snake, distracted, struck at him, but, miraculously, Rafe was quicker. He fired, and the creature’s head splintered.
    Still terrified, Emmeline jumped down off the outhouse bench, forgetting that her drawers were still around her ankles, and stumbled into Rafe with enough force to send them both toppling onto the path outside the door.
    Rafe laughed, though she thought she saw something like sympathy in his eyes.
    “I hoped you’d come around to my way of thinking,” he said, “but this is neither the time nor the place for expressing your affection, Mrs. McKettrick.”
    Scared, fuming, and wildly confused, Emmeline pushed her way to her feet and wrestled her drawers up, nearly falling again in the process. Rafe remained on the ground, propped on one elbow, grinning up at her. “Thank you!” she shouted, and stormed off toward the house.
    Rafe scrambled to his feet and followed, catching up with her long before she reached the porch steps. He took her arm and turned her around to face him.
    “I’m sorry,” he said, but his mouth kept trying to quirk into a grin, and his eyes were bright with merriment.“Are you all right, Emmeline?”
    She drew a deep breath and straightened her spine. Her nerves, flaring like tree limbs tossed in a gale, were beginning to settle down again. Her heart, though still beating rapidly, was no longer struggling to escape her chest, and she was most surprised to hear herself laugh.“I nearly died of fright,” she admitted, running a hand over the loose tendrils of hair tickling her forehead. “That was a rattler, wasn’t it?”
    Rafe stepped back into the outhouse, emerging momentarily with the snake’s body dangling from one hand. The thing must have been three feet long, even without its head.“Yep,” he