Open Country (23 page)

Hank watched her hands clench again and knew she was upset. He was learning to read the signs. “He’s dead?”

“Three months ago.”

“How?”

“Supposedly he shot himself.”

“Supposedly?”

When she looked up, he saw anguish in her eyes, and beneath it, a smoldering anger. “Papa would never take his own life. He was too . . .” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Focused,” she finally said. “Medicine was everything to him. His work was too important to him to leave behind.”

His work? Not the daughter who apparently gave up everything to stay by his side?
A log collapsed in the fire. Idly Hank watched sparks rise in a swirling dance and thought of his wife’s sadness and Charlie’s fear and Penny’s need for attention. Families were so complicated.

“What did he say about Mappa?” Molly asked.

Hank looked up to meet his wife’s troubled gaze. She had pretty eyes. Mysterious. They made him think if he just looked into them hard and long enough, he would know all her secrets. “He thinks the monster got him. And we’ll be next.”

“Oh, God.”

“But we can fix that,” he added quickly. “We just have to build up his confidence. Show him how to protect himself so he won’t feel so powerless.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“Oh, I’ll think of something.” No use getting her upset again. She had a tendency to overprotect the boy. He waited to see if she would argue. Molly wasn’t one to be easily led or condescended to. He admired that. And even though he wished she would allow herself to rely on him more, he understood why she didn’t. Her father, for whatever misguided reason, had done a good job of teaching her to depend on no one other than herself. But she’d come around. Already she trusted him enough to come at him head-on, not cowed in the least by his size, or manner, or probing silences. She wasn’t afraid to question him and demand her answers. And she was smart. She wouldn’t be as easy to play as Brady, and he admired that most of all. But he still expected to win most of the time.

“Before you do anything you think I won’t approve of, talk to me,” she said.

Only a fool would agree to that one, and he didn’t consider himself a fool. “If you think that’s best.” He showed his teeth in a sincere smile.

“I want your promise, Hank. Say it.”

He sighed. “I promise.” Maybe too smart. “Now you do something for me.”

She watched him, waiting.

“Take down your hair.”

Her eyes widened. The tips of her ears turned red. But she was too wise to pretend she didn’t remember his words the last time he had been in this room.

Hesitantly she lifted her arms and tugged loose the ribbon tied around the end of her braid.

He watched, hands gripping the arms of the chair, amazed that such a simple movement could be so . . . inspiring. Then her fingers combed through the loosened mass, drawing the shiny waves forward over her shoulder until the ends curled over her breast like a cupping hand. And his mouth went dry.

His gaze traveled up to meet hers. A shock of awareness shot through him when he realized that while he had been watching her, she had just as intently been watching him. And reacting, judging by that flush on her cheeks. The idea of that made his heart thunder in his chest.

He forced himself to stand while he still could. As he looked down into those almost- green eyes, he realized this woman had taken ahold of him in a way he’d never expected and in a way no other woman ever had. And he knew with certainty that whatever had passed between them before he lost his memory of her couldn’t have been any stronger than what he was feeling now.

If it was all a lie, he didn’t want to know.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Bending, he slipped his hand beneath her forceful chin and tipped up her head. He kissed her. She didn’t move, so he did it again. “I don’t know what to do with you, wife,” he murmured. Then still holding her chin, he put his mouth next to her ear and whispered, “But maybe next time, you’ll take off the robe and we’ll find out.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath. Felt the flutter of her pulse against the fingertips still holding her jaw. Felt it all the way down into his chest.

Letting his hand fall away, he straightened. “Apples.”

A moment of confusion, then that slow, sweet smile. “No.”

“Blackberries.”

“Close.”

“Thank God. I’m getting tired of waiting.” And turning, he made himself walk from the room.

 

 

THANKSGIVING WAS A JOYOUS FEAST—NO BEAR MEAT, BUT plenty of elk and grouse and even a turkey, along with an assortment of English puddings and pastries, Iantha’s “down-home vittles,” and a few Mexican dishes contributed by Consuelo. Molly had never eaten so much.

But she almost cast it all back up when well-meaning Jessica asked how she and Hank fell in love.

“Yeah, Molly,” Brady seconded in a challenging tone once Molly had stopped coughing. “Tell us all about how my little brother proposed.”

Still clutching her napkin to her mouth, Molly snuck a glance at Hank, hoping he would step in and tell his brother it was none of his business. He didn’t. And in fact, he wore as curious an expression as all the other faces staring and waiting patiently for all the sordid details.

“Yes, well.” She coughed again, mostly for effect, but also in a frantic attempt to buy time to formulate an answer. And then, happily, somewhere during the time it took to carefully fold her linen and place it neatly beside her plate, inspiration arrived—and with it came all the half-imagined daydreams that had seen her through endless bloody days and countless lonely nights.

Her perversity was beyond belief.

Nonetheless, she graced her audience with a dramatic sigh. “It was quite romantic, really. Most definitely love at first sight. I—we, that is,” she added with a smile at her rather confused-looking niece and nephew, “were standing on the train platform when I looked up and there he was.”

“But Aunt Molly—” Penny began.

“Not with your mouth full, dear,” she cut in quickly before continuing. “He was so tall and handsome—”

“You were able to tell that through all the hair?” Brady cut in.

“Hush, Brady,” Jessica admonished. “Let’s hear her tell her story.”

Oh yes, let’s.
Molly took a deep breath, let it out, then forged into fantasy.

“Later that evening, I saw him again,” she went on, the story unfolding in her head. “The children were in bed. I was too restless to sleep, so I went downstairs to get a pitcher of water. It was so hot. The air felt thick as molasses. I longed for cool water to rinse the dust and heat from my body . . .”

Her thoughts drifted. She could almost feel the perspiration beading on her neck, trickling slowly down between her breasts. Then she realized that was her hand, and the tips of her fingers were sliding down past the loosened buttons at the collar of her dress. Shocked, she pulled her hand away, but noticed that both Brady’s and Hank’s gazes remained fixed on shadowed cleavage where it had been.

“But the dining room was closed,” she went on in a voice that sounded breathless in her own ear. “So I went outside onto the boardwalk, desperate for a breath of fresh air. It was so hot and sticky, I could scarcely breathe. I felt like ripping off my clothes and sinking into the water trough in front of the hotel . . . anything to cool my overheated body. But of course, I couldn’t. Instead, I stood there, the darkness wrapping around me like a lover, the night so still it seemed a thousand crickets were singing just for me.”

She paused and looked around at the rapt faces—Jessica, smiling dreamily, Brady’s blue eyes round in his slack face, and Hank . . . dear Hank . . . he looked almost flushed. Locking her gaze on his, she smiled lazily and dropped her voice almost to a whisper.

“I didn’t see him at first, sitting so quietly in the shadows . . . watching. But I knew he was there. I could feel him”—her hand started wandering again—“feel his eyes move over my body as surely as if he’d reached out and brushed his hand over my—”

“Well, all right then,” Brady said, abruptly rising from his chair.

“How about we all go into the main room for cookies and cakes? Jessica, can I see you upstairs for a minute?”

“But I want to hear the rest of the story,” she argued as he pulled back her chair.

“No you don’t. We’ll be back in a minute,” he called, ushering her from the room.

As the children stampeded into the main room for dessert, and Dougal trotted after Consuelo into the kitchen, Molly sat back in her chair, feeling a bit unsettled and oddly short of breath. And when had the room become so stifling? she wondered, fanning her face with her hand.

“Over what?”

Pretending to be startled, as if she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone, she glanced at the other end of the table, where Hank slouched in the chair watching her, his good arm hooked over the high back. That intense look was back in his warm, chocolate eyes. His masculine energy seemed to crackle in the air like fire.

She resisted the urge to fan harder.

“You said it felt like I’d brushed my hand over your . . . what?”

She saw the laughter in his eyes and realized he was teasing her. It made her feel wicked and daring and braver than she was. Rising slowly from her chair, she sauntered toward him. “Strawberries,” she said, drawing out the word on a sigh. “Ripe, luscious, pink strawberries, so deliciously sweet on the tongue.”

His eyes widened. The teasing light in his eyes flared into something else.

Pausing behind his chair, she bent to whisper in his ear. “They’re my favorite food.”

A WEEK AFTER THANKSGIVING, A WARM CHINOOK WIND swept down the eastern slopes of the mountains, melting most of the snow and turning the road to mud. Overnight, the creek that cut through the RosaRoja Valley became a raging river, churning up rocks and brush and fallen trees before it finally crested and started back down. Two days later, the road into Val Rosa was dry enough for wagon traffic.

Taking advantage of the warm break in the weather, ranch workers checked on the cattle scattered throughout the valley, moving those that had wandered too far into the mountains back to the valley floor. As the unseasonably warm weather continued, Hank and Brady planned a trip to Redemption to check on the mines, while Jessica organized a jaunt into Val Rosa to do last-minute shopping for Christmas gifts and to arrange bonuses for Boxing Day. Having two additional children in the family to shop for had her in a dither of excitement.

Molly was reluctant to go. If the roads were passable for them, they were also passable for Fletcher. If he had tracked them to El Paso, it wouldn’t be difficult for him to learn they had left several weeks ago for the Wilkins ranch. Even now, he might be in Val Rosa, knowing it was the nearest town, and if they left, that would be where they would go.

Hank must have noted her concern. “If you’re worried about Fletcher,” he said as he stood at the kitchen table, loading rations into his saddlebags for the ride to Redemption, “you needn’t be. You’ll be safe.”

“I’m more worried about your ribs,” she said, which was partly true. But it was more than that, and more than worry over Fletcher. She’d known he was leaving for the mines that morning, and had wanted to see him before he left. She wasn’t sure why. She’d checked his arm the night before and had pronounced him well enough to travel—not that he would have remained home if she hadn’t. They’d said good-byes. He’d even given her another of those slow, teasing kisses that always left her feeling so disoriented and yearning for more. She had nothing more to say to him. Yet as soon as she awoke this morning, she had been driven to see him.

One more time.

Ridiculous, but there it was. She was becoming besotted with the man.

After buckling the strap on the bulging saddlebag, he hefted it over his right shoulder and turned to face her. He looked big and indomitable and utterly beautiful to her. Sunlight streaking through the kitchen window highlighted the strong angle of his jaw, the long corded tendons down his neck, the warm fire in those deep brown eyes. Just looking at him made her heart tremble.

“We’ve doubled the riders with your wagon,” he told her. “And Brady and I will be waiting for you when you get to Val Rosa. No need to worry.”

“I know.” It wasn’t her safety or that of the children that concerned her. It was his. What if he slipped on the ice and fell on his arm? What if it started snowing again and they became lost or stranded miles from help?

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” she said.

He reached out to brush his fingertips across her cheek. “Sweet Molly. You worry too much.”

“You give me cause.”

“I try not to.”

A mere foot separated them but to Molly it felt like an immense distance. Despite the gentle kisses and whispered words, Hank had never taken her into his arms. He always kept a space between them, held a part of himself back.