Open Country (40 page)

“Are you playing horsey?” Penny asked inches from his face.
God give me strength.
With a groan, Hank let his arms fall back to the bed.

 

 

MOLLY DIDN’T WANT TO ADMIT IT OUT LOUD, BUT SHE WAS as excited about Christmas morning as the children were.

Christmas with Papa had always been a sedate affair. He presented his gift to her; she gave hers to him. They opened them one at a time, traded thank-yous, then sat down to their normal Sunday breakfast of one egg, grits, and a thin slice of ham, but with the festive addition of apple fritters to mark the occasion. Then a visit to church and an afternoon at the hospital.

Christmas with the Wilkins family was a chaotic explosion of candy and toys and everyone speaking at once. Or in Penny’s case, shouting. Molly loved it.

It began with the opening of presents in the great room, and Molly took as much delight in watching everyone else open their gifts as she did in opening her own. And what gifts she got!

From Penny, a colorful watercolor painting of herself and her brother, Charlie’s dog, Buddy, and the cat she was going to name Tiger whenever Papa-Hank finally gave it to her. From Charlie, a braided horsehair wristlet Uncle Brady had shown him how to make.

From Dougal, a brooch he’d picked up during his soldiering days in India that was reputed to ward off bad dreams. And if that didn’t work, Consuelo contributed a special sleeping tonic that she guaranteed would make Molly sleep like the dead—and when Molly learned the ingredients, she wasn’t surprised—valerian, hops, and Jamaica dogwood. A potent combination.

From Iantha, a lovely bar of gardenia-scented soap to remind her of the home she had left behind. And from Brady and Jessica, a beautiful leather satchel like those that real doctors used, complete with a set of medical implements, including scalpels, tweezers, scissors, clamps, suturing needles, wire and horsehair ligatures, and jars, vials, and syringes of medicinal compounds, ointments, and restoratives.

She was so moved she almost burst into tears.

Then Hank gave her his gifts. The first were three notes written in bold script. One stated a set of medical books would arrive sometime in the next two months. The next said a saddle had been ordered, but she would have to go in for final measurements before it could be completed. In the third, he wrote that the horse the saddle was to go on should complete his training by spring. Once she’d exclaimed over his generosity, he presented her with a huge bundle wrapped in burlap and tied with double-knotted twine. Inside was a long shearling coat with a hood and a split closure up the back so she could wear it while riding, along with matching shearling boots with hard leather soles that were studded with nail heads for traction on icy surfaces. Apparently she would be spending a lot of time on horseback.

Delighted, Molly jumped up and tried on her wooly ensemble. “How do I look?” she asked, spreading her arms wide and turning in a circle.

“Like an inside-out sheep,” Brady said. “Minus the guts, of course.”

“Brady,” Jessica chided. “Don’t be vulgar.”

“Vulgar?” He shot Dougal a smirk. “Hear that, codger? She’s calling your favorite dish vulgar.”

“Haggis is no’ sheep guts. No’ entirely. There’s sommat else in there, though I’m no’ sure what.”

“I think she looks like a bear,” Penny shouted. “Growl, Aunt Molly.”

Molly growled. Ben hooted. Abigail ducked her head in her mother’s lap.

Turning, Molly found Hank watching her with an odd expression. Raising her bandaged hands like claws, she snarled ferociously at him, but he just sat there watching with a bemused look. “Doesn’t my growl scare you?” she teased, trying to force out that lovely smile.

“Not at all. In fact, I’m hoping to hear it again before the day is over. Several times.” He grinned, and added for her ears only, “But without the coat.”

Did he mean what she thought he meant? Heat rushed into her face. Probably because of the coat. It was really quite warm. “Let me hang this in the entry,” she said, hoping he didn’t see her blush, knowing it would only encourage additional rascally remarks.

“Hurry back,” Hank called after her. “I still have one more thing to give you. For now anyway.”

After hanging up the coat and setting her new boots on a shelf, she returned to her place on the couch. The teasing look was gone from Hank’s eyes, and he looked quite serious. Perhaps even a bit nervous.

“Here.” He held out a small box.

As she took it, she noticed there was no wrapping other than a loop of red yarn tied in a double knot rather than a bow. “Do this yourself?” she teased, trying to work the knots free with her bandaged fingers. Pulling a folding knife from his pocket, he sliced through the yarn then put the knife away.

She lifted the lid. Inside was a simple gold band engraved with the letters “PHW to MMW.” Molly stared at it in astonishment.

“Will you wear it?” he asked, his neck turning red.

And that was when she burst into tears.

It fit perfectly . . . once Hank adjusted the cast so she could fit the ring on her finger. She couldn’t stop staring at it. Or crying. Which she realized made both brothers extremely uncomfortable.

“Women,” Brady muttered.

“I know,” Hank agreed.

“Hush, both of you,” Jessica admonished, dabbing at her eyes.

But all three were smiling like cats in cream.

Her gifts seemed paltry in comparison, until she saw Hank’s face when he tore open the wrapping paper on the keg of parts. His grin of delight brought fresh tears to her eyes, and when Brady asked him what it was and Hank laughed and said, “The mother lode,” Molly knew she had chosen well.

The only rough patch in that glorious morning came when Hank presented his gifts to the children. To Charlie, he gave a penknife and a block of soft wood for carving—which was an instant success with the eight-year-old but gave Molly serious reservations. To Penny, he gave a striped yellow kitty, which brought squeals of delight, then a violent fit of sneezes. Remembering that Nellie suffered a similar reaction to cats, Molly knew the only remedy was removal of the animal.

Penny wouldn’t hear of it, shrieking and sneezing and coughing at the mere suggestion. Hank was nearly as distressed as the child and offered to get her a horse instead, or a dog, a bird, a bunny. But nothing would do for Penny but Tiger.

Jessica saved the day. Just after Abigail had been born, she had ordered a doll from a London doll maker. But since Abigail was so young and would have no interest in it for several more years, Jessica graciously offered it to Penny.

It was a treasure no little girl could resist. A beautiful doll with a hand-painted china face, real hair to comb, and a stuffed body with movable arms and legs onto which were sewn tiny china hands and feet. In addition, she came with her very own chair and several changes of clothing, including shoes, stockings, hats, and gloves, as well as a lacy parasol and a beaded purse.

Molly figured it would probably last a week in Penny’s sticky hands.

“She’ll take better care of it than you think,” Jessica assured her. “There is something about a special doll that brings out the best in a girl. And I daresay a doll will inflict fewer scratches than a half-wild kitten.”

After two hours of sneezing and watering eyes, Penny reluctantly traded in Tiger for the doll. Thereafter, the festivities proceeded without incident, through an elaborate feast, an afternoon of sledding, followed by hot chocolate and Christmas treats, then a light supper and finally utter exhaustion.

It was such a magical day that Molly was able to put from her mind the ticking clock and the scarred man and the threat he posed to these lovely people. For the first time in years, she felt a part of something most people took for granted. A family.

“So you like it?” Hank asked later that evening when he plopped down beside her on the couch. The children had staggered off to bed an hour earlier. Dougal and Consuelo had disappeared who-knew-where, and Brady had taken Jessica up for the night. It was just the two of them in the quiet, and it was lovely.

“I was hoping for a trick pony, but I guess this will do.” Laughing at his expression, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Of course I love it. How could I not? And how about your parts?”

He blinked at her.

“I hope you’ll be able to use them.”

Confusion gave way to laughter. “Oh, you mean the parts in the
keg.
”

She loved to hear him laugh. She had a feeling he didn’t do it often, and she took it as a sign that they were moving past the awkwardness that had lingered between them since the night of the cave-in. “What’s the P for?” She twirled the ring on her finger. “I know the H is for Henry. What’s the P stand for?”

“Patrick.”

She looked up. “As in Patrick Henry Wilkins?”

He nodded.

It was difficult to keep her face straight. “You’re named for the revolutionary orator? A man known throughout our history as an eloquent speaker? You?”

That wry smile.

“Are all of you named for American statesmen?”

All but Brady. “Sam for Samuel Adams, Jack for Andrew Jackson, and Brady for Grandpa Brady on my mother’s side. As firstborn, he carries both family names.”

She rolled her eyes. “Tell me you won’t name our first son McFarlane Wilkins.”

“You think we’ll have a son?” The way he looked at her as he said it made her skin feel hot and tight.

She shrugged. “If your parts are as useful as you seem to think . . .” Abruptly, he stood. “I’ve got to do my rounds.”

Stepping onto the porch a moment later, Hank sucked cold air into his lungs and grinned up at the night sky. Tonight was the night, and a beautiful night it was. Overhead, countless stars glittered like tinsel in firelight, and the crescent moon rising over the peaks in the east looked like a glowing ornament hanging in the indigo sky.

He’d show her how useful his parts could be. He’d erase from her mind all memory of that other time, and show them both how perfect it could be.

Humming softly, he walked the perimeter of the house, checking windows and doors. Probably an unnecessary precaution, but he and Brady had agreed that until this thing with Fletcher and Scarface was over, they’d take no chances. After losing most of their family and the original homestead to one madman, neither was willing to risk those that were left to another.

He wished it would snow and cover over all the tracks they’d made that day so they would be able to tell if anyone else was checking the house. He wasn’t worried about the French doors on the second story, since there were no staircases going up to the balconies. They’d placed ladders along the railing in case of fire, but unless someone from up there sent them down, or someone down below shimmied up a rope, there was no access from the ground.

Satisfied everything was secure, he crossed to the barn.

It was buttoned tight for the night, double slide bolts on the doors, front and back, as well as on the trap door into the loft. A guard was posted there now, the access ladder pulled up into the loft and the door bolted from inside.

“Enrique?” Hank called out. “It’s me, Hank.”

Footsteps overhead. The thud of the slide bolt, then the trapdoor lifted and Enrique Escobar peered down. “
Sí, jefe
?”

“
Qué pasa?”

“Nada.
Three, four coyotes. No
más
.”

After exchanging a few more words, Hank said good night, waited to hear the slide of the bolt, then headed back to the house.

And Molly. His wife. Finally. The thought made him laugh out loud.

WHEN HANK DIDN’T FIND MOLLY IN THE GREAT ROOM, he went up to her room. He didn’t see her when he opened the bedroom door, but he knew she was there. He could smell her, that faint lemony scent she used on her hair, and he could feel her, as if by her presence the air had somehow changed and softened. He couldn’t explain it and didn’t even try.

Moving quietly, he went into the empty dressing room, then on to the water closet, where he found her sitting in the tub, arms crossed over her upraised knees, her head resting on her forearms. Her eyes were closed.

He stood watching her, memorizing all the details—the way water glistened on the gentle curve of her back. How the wispy curls that had escaped her pins clung wetly to her neck. The tiny strawberry birthmark on her right shoulder blade and the peach-tinted color of her skin.

He needed this woman, he realized. Needed her to ease the loneliness, to laugh with, to turn to when doubt plagued him. He needed her the way he needed his next breath. And he needed her to need him that way too.

Her eyes opened, found his in the doorway, and that connection arced between them, slamming like a hand against his chest. He stood frozen, his heart beating fast and hard. Then she smiled, and that familiar calmness washed over him as everything settled into place.