Sweet Nothings

by Catherine Anderson

  “We just rode fence line yesterday. Everything looked pretty good.”

  “Not that kind of fence. Damn, Hank, I’ve really screwed up this time. Molly finally got up the courage to get some new clothes, and I ruined it for her.”

  “Why’d you do that? If anybody needs some new clothes, she does.”

  Jake passed a hand over his eyes. “She was wearing a sweater and jeans.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “There is with Molly packed into them. Bright red.” Jake gestured helplessly at his chest. “Holy hell. I can’t have her looking like that out here on the ranch. The men won’t be able to keep their eyes off her.”

  “No harm in looking as long as they don’t touch.”

  “And what if one of them decides he isn’t satisfied with just looking?” Jake shot back. “I’d kill him. I don’t need the hassle.”

  Hank lifted the lid off the skillet to check the chicken. “Hmm. Sounds like a bad case of the green monster to me. Molly’s perfectly capable of deflecting any unwanted advances. Trust her to handle it.”

  Jake ground his teeth. Molly was not capable of handling unwanted advances. She was too sweet to tell a man where to get off, for one thing, and too unsure of herself for another.

  “You afraid somebody’ll trespass on your turf, bro?” Hank asked softly.

  “That’s a cheap shot. I’ve never had a jealous bone in my body, and you know it.”

  “You’ve never cared enough about a woman before to get jealous,” Hank pointed out. “What about all the gals you’ve dated who paraded around out here in halter tops and shorts that left little to the imagination? You never got bent out of shape when the men looked at them.”

  “That was different. They knew the score.”

  “And Molly doesn’t? Give me a break. She’s been married. I’m sure she’s got a pretty good understanding of the birds and the bees, which is undoubtedly why she chose to wear jeans and a sweater, which are pretty modest compared to the two patches of material held together by strings that I’ve seen a few of your bimbos wear.”

  “I never dated any bimbos.”

  Hank grinned. “Exhibitionists, then. Remember that blond gal—Veronica, I think her name was—who teetered around out in the yard in spike heels and short shorts last September? When she bent over, it wasn’t only her hairdresser who knew for sure. When the guys came on to her, you never so much as blinked.”

  Jake’s blood pressure was rising again. “Where are you going with this?”

  “I’m just trying to point out that jeans and a sweater can’t be that risqué by comparison, even if they are skintight. We’re all big boys. If we can’t handle ourselves any better than that, we deserve a good ass kicking, and it sure as hell won’t be Molly’s fault.”

  Jake had heard enough. Hank had never been in love. He didn’t understand anything about anything. He grabbed Molly’s parka from the coat rack. Though spring was making its debut, it still got freezing cold after the sun went down, and he didn’t want her taking a chill. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Once outside, Jake sat on the porch. Clutching Molly’s parka in his fists, he pressed the nylon shell to his face and breathed in the sweet scent of her that lingered on the cloth. Her smell made him think of wildflowers and sunshine, an essence as fresh and unpretentious as she was. Jealous? Damn Hank for saying that. Jake had never been the possessive type. If a woman wanted to be with him, then she wanted to be with him, end of story. If someone else caught her eye, he was perfectly willing to say adios without a hassle, no skin off his nose. He was not jealous.

  He pressed the jacket harder against his face, repeating the refrain to assure himself it was so. He just didn’t want Molly to get herself into a sticky situation. She was on her own out here, and he was her employer. That made him responsible for her, right?

  Wrong. Jake knew he was bullshitting himself. As much as he hated to admit it, Hank was right. He was green with jealousy, and he felt possessive as hell. Just the thought of other men ogling Molly’s body made him do a slow burn. Even worse, deep down, there was a part of him that was afraid she might find someone else. That was a scary thought.

  He loved her, damn it. He didn’t want to lose her to some jerk who wouldn’t appreciate her or treat her the way she deserved to be treated.

  Sighing, Jake pushed to his feet. He needed to go talk to her. What he meant to say, he had no idea. But somehow he had to fix the mess he’d made of things.

  She didn’t answer when he knocked on the cabin door. He knocked again. Again no answer. Since he figured he couldn’t screw up any worse than he had already, Jake walked right in.

  “Molly?”

  He heard a gasp and a rush of movement in the bedroom. Clenching his teeth, he tossed her parka on the couch and made a beeline for the open doorway. She stood before the closet, holding the red sweater to her chest. He’d caught her changing.

  Jake almost turned away. Instead he bent his head and stared at the floor. “Can you slip that sweater back on so we can talk?”

  “There’s nothing that needs saying. Give me a minute. I’ll be right out.”

  “There’s a lot that needs saying.”

  Jake lifted his gaze. The wad of red knit pressed to her breasts brought out the flawlessness of her skin. Her short-cropped curls shone in the overhead light like molten brass. And her eyes—oh, God—those eyes. They were dark with shadows that he knew he’d put there. Ever since meeting her, he had reviled Rodney. Now who was the bastard?

  “I owe you an apology,” he said hoarsely. “You look beautiful in that outfit, Molly, and I need my butt kicked for making you think otherwise.”

  She dipped her chin. The way her fingertips caressed the soft knit told Jake how very important the sweater was to her. He recalled telling her once that marriage to him wouldn’t be a prison, that he’d never dream of infringing on her personal rights.

  If choosing her clothing wasn’t a personal right, what the hell was?

  “Ah, Molly, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid you don’t understand.” She met his gaze again. “I’m changing into something else for one reason and only one reason, because you’re my employer and I’m still on shift.” Her quivering chin came up. “In my free time, I’ll dress however I like.” She clutched the sweater more tightly to her chest. “If you don’t approve, that’s your problem.”

  Looking into her eyes, Jake realized that he’d misread her. That wasn’t only hurt there but a strong dose of anger as well. He wanted to smile. Her outrage was a very good sign, and it told him more than she could possibly know, namely that she was finally starting to heal and find herself again.

  “I see,” he said carefully.

  “No, you don’t, and you probably never will. How could you?” Her larynx bobbed as she struggled to swallow. “No one’s ever owned you.”

  Jake’s heart caught at her choice of words. Was that really what her marriage had been like?

  “Before my divorce, I couldn’t even vote the way I wanted,” she rushed to add. “Not unless I was prepared to lie about it afterward, and as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’m a rotten liar. If Rodney found out I’d gone against him, he made my life hell for days, sometimes weeks, depending upon the seriousness of my transgression.”

  “Oh, Molly,” he whispered.

  “You have no idea what that was like,” she continued in a taut, tremulous voice. “No idea at all. For ten years, I did everything I could to please him.” She knotted her fist and pressed it hard against her chest. “I was only eighteen when we married. He was older and seemed so sophisticated. Whenever he wasn’t happy, about anything, it was always my fault. I was the problem. Therefore I was the one who had to change. After a while, it becomes a mindset. You fall into a trap without even realizing it, and pretty soon you don’t even think about what you’re doing.”

  Jake had no clue what to say.

  “Maybe I don�
��t look good in this outfit. Maybe I look awful in it. But you know what, Jake?”

  He wanted to refute those last two statements, but seeing that she needed to get this off her chest, he merely said, “No, what?”

  “How I look doesn’t matter. What counts is how I feel.”

  He couldn’t have agreed more.

  “From this point forward,” she went on, “things are going to change.” With one hand, she released her hold on the sweater to jab her chest. “I’m going to do what I want from now on. If you don’t like my clothes, that’s too bad. If I don’t look good in them, tough. When I’m not working, I’m going to dress however I like.” She flashed him a defiant glare. “When it’s on your dime, I’ll respect your wishes, but after hours, how I look is nobody else’s business.”

  Jake only nodded. She was fighting for her freedom, trying desperately to be an individual again and find definition. If she fell into the trap of trying to please him as she once had Rodney, she was afraid she’d end up in the same situation all over again.

  The insight enabled Jake to understand her in a way he hadn’t before. Little wonder she was reluctant to make another emotional commitment. She was only recently divorced. He was a direct, straight-shooting man with a forceful personality. It was only natural that she might dread the thought of his having any control over her.

  Jake had no intention of trying to control her. He’d tried to tell her that. Now he guessed it was time to put his money where his mouth was. He rubbed his jaw, acutely conscious of the faint rasping sound his fingers made on the stubble of whiskers.

  “Dress however you like after hours, Molly. I think that’s only fair.”

  “I will,” she said stubbornly.

  Jake couldn’t help but smile. “May I make one suggestion?”

  “Of course. I won’t necessarily follow it, but feel free.”

  “If I were you, I’d wear the outfit now.”

  She flashed him a wary look.

  “It’s not as if there’s a dress code. You’re you. Dress however you want.”

  “But you don’t like—”

  “I never said that,” he cut in. “I think that’s a great outfit, and you look beautiful in it. Too beautiful.”

  Her delicate brows drew together in a scowl.

  He cleared his throat and searched for words. “I didn’t object to the outfit because I don’t like it. The truth is, I like it a lot, and I’m afraid all the other men will as well. In short, I’m feeling a little jealous.” He swallowed. “Strike that. I’m feeling a lot jealous.”

  “Of whom?”

  “Anybody, everybody.” Glimpsing the bewilderment in her eyes, he added, “I know it’s stupid, but there it is. I don’t want other men looking at you.” That sounded so absurd that he felt heat crawling up his neck. He scratched his temple, groping for some way he might better explain. He came up blank. There was no rational explanation for the way he was feeling. “I know it’s wrong of me, and I’m sorry for reacting before I took time to recognize my feelings for what they are. My only excuse is that I’ve never felt this way before. Given time, I’m sure I’ll get a handle on it.”

  The bewilderment in her eyes had turned to incredulity.

  “It’s true,” he said gruffly. He inclined his head at the sweater. “You looked so beautiful, Molly. You about knocked my eyes out. I knew if I felt that way, some of the other men would, too. As much as it pains me to admit it, I felt threatened.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “I’m not lying, I swear. Deep down, I’m afraid I’ll lose out if a bunch of other men start coming on to you. It’s not as if I’m any grand prize.”

  He scuffed the sole of his boot over the floor, noticing how clean the boards were. After working all the hours she did at the house, he had no idea how she found time to tidy up here. But then, he didn’t know how she found time to brush Bart’s teeth and give him baths, mend clothes, and fuss over all of them like she did, either. All and all, she was an amazing lady, her finest quality being that she always thought of others before she thought of herself.

  He noticed some plastic shopping bags lying on the bed just then. The sleeve of a pretty yellow top protruded from one of them. He realized that she’d been on a shopping spree, that the jeans and sweater weren’t all she’d bought. He remembered how her eyes had sparkled when she turned to face him in the kitchen, how she’d stood with her chin high and her shoulders straight. For the first time in a very long while, she had felt pretty, and in two seconds flat, he had crushed her.

  He would never make that mistake again.

  A few minutes later, Molly stood on the porch, rubbing her clammy palms on the legs of her new jeans. From inside, she heard voices, the deep timbre of a familiar one in particular. Jake. He’d convinced her to wear the sweater, not because she believed for a minute that he really thought she looked good in it, but simply because she wanted to.

  The girl who had married Rodney Wells had been too young to know who she really was. For ten endless years, she’d drifted along, never fighting the changes because she hadn’t realized her loss. She’d been Mrs. Rodney Wells, and in that role, she’d found definition, which had seemed enough.

  Now the marriage was over, and she was faced with making choices for herself. She was supposed to be someone in her own right. Only she wasn’t. Without Rodney to give her direction, she had to think for herself, and that was frightening.

  Now she’d come to a crossroads, all because of an impulsive shopping spree and a silly red sweater. Only it wasn’t just a sweater, not to her. She’d committed mutiny in that ladies’ apparel shop today, breaking all of Rodney’s rules and spending nearly her last dime to do it. She couldn’t chicken out now. If she did, Rodney won.

  As she opened Jake’s front door and moved into the entryway, Molly had an awful feeling of impending doom. She placed one foot before the other, heading for the kitchen. She could tell by all the voices that most of the men had come in from the fields. She’d forgotten her coat at the cabin, and when she entered the room, they would see her.

  She imagined startled gasps and raised eyebrows. Her insides shriveled in a tight knot of humiliation. Her face went red hot. Her skin felt as if it were shrinking and was suddenly a size too small for her body.

  At the archway, she paused. Jake was turning from the stove and saw her first. He flashed a welcoming smile. As much as she appreciated that, it was the look in his eyes that lent her courage, a twinkling challenge that seemed to say, “You’ve come this far. Don’t stop now.”

  Holding her arms rigid at her sides, she took another step. Then another. Sitting at the table, Danno glanced up. His red eyebrows lifted as his hazel eyes moved slowly over her. Following his gaze, Nate turned to look at her as well.

  “Wow!” Nate said. “What happened to you?”

  Molly gulped. “I, um … went shopping.”

  Nate gave her a slow, head-to-toe assessment, his laughing blue eyes warm with appreciation. “A paycheck has never been better spent. You look great!”

  Levi followed that with, “You sure do, darlin’. Red is your color.”

  Shorty chimed in next. “Well, ain’t you pretty as a speckled pup.”

  Given the fact that Shorty loved dogs, Molly decided to take that as a compliment. The other men nodded to her and smiled, but no one offered further comment. That was it? No gasps of shock, no derogatory remarks? She moved to help with the final meal preparations, feeling stiff and self-conscious. The conversation quickly shifted to a discussion about horse training, and her new outfit was forgotten.

  As she began dishing up the mashed potatoes, Jake came to help hold the large pot. When she glanced up, he looked deeply into her eyes. Then he moved his gaze slowly downward. When he had finished his assessment, in a husky whisper for her ears alone, he said, “I don’t know what that outfit cost, but it was worth every cent. You look absolutely beautiful.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The following m
orning, it was already half past six by the time Jake grabbed a shower, a quarter to seven before he’d gathered his clothes to get dressed. Still half asleep and groggy as hell because he’d been up half the night tending a gelding with a spasm of the diaphragm, called the “thumps,” he yawned and tried to blink himself awake as he dragged on a clean pair of Wranglers.

  What the Sam Hill? There was something in the right front pocket of his clean pants. He dived his hand inside and closed his fingers over a familiar shape, his grandfather’s watch. His blood ran cold. Molly had promised to return it to him if she ever decided to leave. Now it had mysteriously appeared in a clean pair of his jeans where he would be sure to find it.

  Jake swore under his breath and tugged on his boots. He grabbed a shirt, not bothering to put it on before he dashed from the bedroom. As he sprinted down the stairs, he imagined her out on the highway, driving aimlessly. He knew for a fact that she had only a little money and nowhere to go. Even worse, she’d been afraid the police might have an APB out on her car. What was she thinking? Damn. He had to find her before she drove too far, had to convince her it wasn’t necessary for her to go at all. Had he spooked her with his references to jealousy? Maybe his autocratic, “You can’t wear that,” had been too reminiscent of Rodney. Sweet Lord. If the son of a bitch caught her off alone—Jake cut the thought short, unable to bear thinking about it.

  His pickup keys were kept on a hook in the kitchen. He raced through the house, trying to dress as he ran, and had one arm shoved down a sleeve by the time he reached the archway.

  “Jake? My goodness, where’s the fire?”

  He braked to a stop so suddenly that his boots skidded on the floor. Molly stood at the stove, scrubbing a burner plate. As he said her name, a piece of bread popped up from the toaster, making her jump. She flapped her hand. “My breakfast. Yours is warming in the oven. Shorty and Levi told me about the sick gelding. Bless their hearts, they volunteered their services and helped me in the kitchen this morning.” She reassembled the burner. “I saved you some eggs, bacon, and pancakes. They were like kids in a candy store, and I was their short order cook.” She smiled. “Not that I minded. They helped a lot.”