Twilight in Texas (26 page)

About dawn, Wolf decided she was mad, and it was contagious. If he had an ounce of sense left in his battered brain, he would’ve made love to her. Hell, he imagined it so often, the act should’ve been routine.

Only nothing had been routine since the day he found her in Austin. Why should the new day be any different? He rolled out of bed.

He knew she watched him. She was no more asleep than he had been all night. But he acted as if he were trying carefully not to wake her. He even picked up his jacket and boots and backed from the room without a sound, so she wouldn’t guess he knew.

Aunt Henrietta sat in the hall chair like a guard. Wolf glanced up, and the surprise of seeing her so close almost made him drop his belongings.

“Do you always tiptoe out of a room at dawn, Captain Hayward?” Henrietta had a way of asking questions that reminded him of an interrogation.

“Old habits are hard to break.” He winked.

She fought it, but a smile cracked her face into a thousand tiny wrinkles. “I guess it’s none of my business, is it?”

“I’d say you’re a very wise woman.” On a good morning he woke up grumpy. This morning, without sleep, he was downright irritable.

Henrietta, however, seemed to be enjoying herself for the first time since she arrived. “I always have a respect for someone more blunt than me.”

“I would guess, madam, you respect very few people.”

This time she laughed out loud. “Truer words were never spoken. The world is made up of fools and nitwits. It’s my job to point out the differences.”

He groaned. He had to make an effort with Molly’s aunts no matter how crotchety they were. After all, they were her only kin. “Care to accompany me down the street where we can have some breakfast?”

Her smile widened. “It’s been a long time—a very long time—since a gentleman has asked me out. We might as well, Captain. It appears everyone else in this house plans to sleep ’til noon. A habit I find deplorable.”

Wolf pulled on his boots without comment.

“You
are
planning to change clothes, sir?” She raised an eyebrow so high it almost disappeared into her hairline.

“I am not,” he answered. “They wouldn’t recognize me at the cafe if I dressed any differently.”

“Then you’ll shave,” she responded. “A clean-shaven man is an honest man.”

“Why do people keep asking me to shave?” Wolf mumbled. “No, Miss Henrietta, I do not plan to shave or change my habits to please anyone in this household. Do you wish to decline my invitation?”

“No.” She glared at him as if he’d challenged her.

He wouldn’t put it past her to sneak into his room one night and try to shave him to teach him a lesson.

He offered his arm and they marched down the stairs in silence. Ten minutes later they were eating at Noma’s. Wolf ordered a half-dozen eggs and a pound of bacon with all the trimmings, including cinnamon rolls. Henrietta ordered one boiled egg and dry toast.

She was from the era when ladies ate like birds. Wolf noticed that when his basket of biscuits was delivered, she reluctantly took one after he insisted, then two, then one with gravy just to try Noma’s cooking, then one with just butter and jam to be polite because he was still eating.

By the time the cinnamon rolls arrived, the bird appetite had flown. They split the basket.

An hour later, they walked home with a plate of rolls for the sleeping household. Henrietta took his arm but didn’t try to make conversation. Wolf couldn’t help but wonder what she’d be like if he took her to a saloon one night. But he figured even if he could get her to go, Molly would probably kill him.

For a moment, he saw the girl beneath the years. He could almost picture what she must’ve been like with her young lover. Wolf thought he saw sadness still etched into her eyes from the day she had to give up her Herbert.

As they reached the house, a thought rolled around in his mind. If he could charm Henrietta, surely he could do the same to Molly. He was older and wiser than he’d been on that train platform all those years ago. If he tried, he could make her love him and forget all about Benjamin.

Molly awoke gradually, feeling the warmth of the noonday sun in the shadowy bedroom. Someone had drawn the curtains and let her sleep.

She jumped out of bed as if she’d been caught in a crime. Minutes later, she desperately tried to tie up her hair as she ran down the stairs.

“Good morning, Molly,” Aunt Alvina’s voice sang from the parlor where she sat surrounded by quilt squares.

“Good afternoon,” Henrietta added.

“I’m sorry.” Molly felt like a child again, facing her aunts. “I overslept.”

“It’s quite all right,” Alvina assured her. “Your husband said you needed rest.” The way she said the word
rest
seemed to be asking a question. “He told us to help Early look after Callie Ann.”

“Told us, mind you. Ordered us to ‘keep it down’—as if we were drunken troops and not two
ladies. How much noise does he think we’ll make piecing quilt squares?” Henrietta snapped. “And Alvina, stop hinting about Molly resting. It’s too early in the marriage for that kind of thing to happen.”

“The first one can come anytime, I’ve heard. It’s the second one that takes nine months.”

Molly couldn’t believe they were talking about her as if she weren’t standing in the room.

“Besides, it’s the woman who has mood changes, not the husband.”

“His mood hasn’t changed,” Henrietta retorted. “He’s the bossiest man I’ve ever seen. Ordering us around.”

“He did?” No one had dared give the aunts an order since her father died.

“He left you a note.” Henrietta handed her a sealed envelope. “Didn’t mention what was in it.”

Molly slowly opened the note, almost expecting words of farewell. She wouldn’t blame him. What kind of wife doesn’t even know the color of her husband’s eyes?

“What does it say?” Henrietta asked. “That is, if you don’t mind us knowing.”

Alvina frowned. “It wouldn’t be proper for us to know, if it’s a love letter.”

Henrietta shook her head. “Why would a man who just left the woman two hours ago write her a love letter?”

“Why would he write one at all when he knew we’d be standing right here to tell her anything that needs telling?”

“Excuse me,” Molly whispered as she turned back to the stairs. “I’ll only be a minute.”

She hurried to her room and closed the door. She would read no further with her aunts watching her. If he were ending their relationship, her aunts would be able to see it in her face. She couldn’t bear that.

Wolf’s handwriting was as bold and powerful as the man. “Dear Molly,” he started. There were several lines where he began sentences and stopped, crossing out words. Halfway down the page a note read, “If either of us is to survive this marriage, we have to talk, alone. You said you can drive a team. I am counting on that being the truth. Follow the directions closely, and
be alone
.” The rest of the note contained carefully laid out instructions.

When Molly returned downstairs, the aunts bombarded her with questions, but she only said that all was in order and she had to meet Wolf concerning business. For once, they didn’t push.

She stepped onto the porch, putting on her gloves. Charlie waited beside a borrowed buggy. Since the fire, she’d noticed him slowly sobering up, as if it took weeks to dry out after all the years of drinking. People respected what he’d done, saving her life. With that respect came responsibility. Folks even spoke to him on the street, and he was expected to answer. A man who’s a hero has to act the part.

He told her Wolf had asked him to have a wagon or buggy ready for her when she came outside.

Molly climbed in and headed west toward a place called Barton Springs. The horse pulling the buggy was an old nag. She had to keep a firm grip on the reins to turn. Molly guessed Charlie chose the horse because there was no question of such an ancient animal running away with the buggy.

On the road to the springs, she passed wagonloads of folks who’d spent the noontime enjoying a swim. She barely glanced at them. Wolf wouldn’t be in the crowd. Whatever he planned to say, he wanted to say in private, or he wouldn’t have struggled over the note.

Finally, the road became little more than a trail winding between trees with branches that touched the ground in heavy summer growth. She spotted Wolf standing alone on a rise a quarter mile past the springs. His hands rested on his hips, his feet wide apart. He looked like a giant facing her as if about to go to battle. He wore black trousers covered to the knees with the strange moccasins and a white shirt that made his shoulders seem even broader than usual.

Molly pulled the buggy into the shade and walked slowly toward him. She’d face what he had to
say head-on. It was long past time they talked.

The warm breeze caught loose curls around her face. She could hear people splashing in the water. She was too far away to understand words, but their laughter drifted on the air.

He waited until she was within a few feet of him before he spoke. “I thought we could talk here.” He sounded almost gruff. “There are things that need saying between us. I tried to write them, but I couldn’t find the words.”

“I agree,” she answered, wondering if he could say the words any easier than he could write them. “But could we move to the shade?”

He nodded and apologized for not thinking of it.

To her surprise, he took her hand and led her slowly into the shadows, as if they were on a Sunday walk and not about to decide their futures. A fallen trunk offered a natural bench beneath a canopy of green. She sat down, thinking of how the shade softened everything around her. Maybe it would soften his words.

He straddled the log and waited as though she was the one who’d called the meeting. He looked tired and she guessed his head must still pound. Instinctively, she brushed her hand across his hair. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes.” He closed his eyes, not wanting her to see how much he enjoyed her simple touch.

“Where do we begin?” she asked.

Wolf watched her. He didn’t want to begin at all. He only wanted to hold her, but they had to talk. “I’ll be thirty next year.”

“I’ll be twenty-seven. But don’t tell the aunts I’m out giving away my age. If twenty marks old-maid status, I must be considered more dead than alive.” She continued to move her fingers through his hair.

“We’re not kids, Molly. Too old to be making fools of ourselves.”

“I agree.”

“Do you want this marriage to end?” He could barely make himself say the words.

Molly lifted her chin. “No,” she said simply.

Wolf relaxed at her side. “Neither do I,” he admitted. “But, after last night, I wasn’t sure.”

“I know,” Molly whispered. “Wolf, I need to talk to my friend.”

Wolf watched her closely. “Who?” As far as he knew, she had no close friends in town.

“You,” she answered. “I need to talk to my honest and true friend about…”

“About anything,” he promised.

“About my husband.” She smiled.

“All right. Let’s talk about the scoundrel.”

“He’s not a scoundrel, he’s a good man. The best man I may have ever met. Only he doesn’t want to sleep with me.”

Wolf heard the sadness in her voice and it shattered his heart.

She stared at her hands as she continued, “He thinks I don’t love him, but I respect him. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Wolf’s hand covered hers. “But why him?” He spread his fingers wide as she threaded her hands through his. He couldn’t help but wonder if she liked touching him as dearly as he loved her touch.

“He makes me feel alive. All my life I’ve daydreamed about life. He makes me want to experience it. He takes big bites out of life.” She looked up. “How do I make him want me?”

She met his eyes, his brown eyes. How could she have not noticed them a thousand times before?

“You wouldn’t have been making love to me last night, Molly, but to just someone.”

His words stung. Suddenly, she wished there were somewhere to go, something to do other than stare at him. Maybe it was better to miss life. To be an old maid. To never have a lover. It couldn’t be more painful than what she was going through. “You said you wanted me, but you didn’t.” The memory of the way he’d turned away from her still hurt. “When it came time and I said yes, you didn’t touch me.”

She stood. She couldn’t bear to relive the rejection all over. The one time she’d offered herself to a man and he’d turned her down.

Wolf caught her arm and pulled her back so quickly, a cry escaped from her. She landed across his legs, locked in his arms.

“I wanted you!” he said as he stopped her protest with a powerful grip. “I still want you. I need you so badly my entire body aches for you, Molly.”

“Don’t lie to me.” No man had ever made her feel less wanted.

His mouth closed down on hers so quickly, she didn’t have time to say more. His kiss was hard and demanding, as though he planned to prove his point with actions and not words.

She struggled against him, fighting his advance, but he grew more determined. He held her hair in a tight fist, while his other hand roamed over her body, branding her with his touch as no man ever dared.

Anger fired her protest. She tried to jerk away, more furious than frightened. This wasn’t the way she wanted to be loved. This wasn’t the way Benjamin would have done it. Wolf had it all wrong.

Wolf didn’t bother to hold her arms. The hits she pounded over him hardly registered. When she kicked at his leg, he shifted and her shoe only struck the log.

He’d prove his passion to her. He pulled her tight against him so that she could feel his need for her. His kiss was wild and hungry, demanding, leaving no doubt of his desire.

She jerked suddenly and pulled her mouth free. “Stop!” she yelled as her slap landed hard against the side of his face. “Stop!”

It took a moment for her cry to register. Wolf let her go so fast she tumbled backward. His arm caught her before she hit the ground. Gently, he lifted her up.

She shoved his hands away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I was kissing you with passion. I thought that’s what you wanted.”