Cord dragged her into his room.
He let go of her hand and pulled the curtains to cover the window, but not before she'd glimpsed Toby's car at the road.
"Sit down, if you want." Cord threw the words over his shoulder, already moving to the closet.
His bed was meticulous, the covers tucked in with military precision.
Her brain kept getting snagged on superfluous details.
She didn't want to sit on the bed. She wanted to hide. To run.
Cord reached into the back corner of the closet. And pulled out a rifle. Quickly, he reached one hand up to the top shelf. A box of shells rattled as he reached inside.
He shot a glance over his shoulder at her. "You okay?"
"I'm scared."
"I'm scared."
The tremble in Molly's voice made Cord want to pull her close. He'd felt the full body shakes, and even now she was so pale that he was afraid she was going to pass out. The dog had moved to lie in the corner at Cord's terse command.
He forced himself to focus on his task. Bullets cool against his fingers as he loaded them into the magazine. Mackie had kept it for varmints like coyotes or cougars that might threaten the cattle. He'd never before considered pointing the weapon at another human being.
No one was going to get to Molly.
He loaded one into the chamber with a flick of the wrist and held the rifle loosely by the stock as he moved next to the window. He was careful to keep the rifle pointed at the floor.
He brushed the curtain aside just a fraction. He didn't want to give away their location in case Molly's stalker had a high powered weapon.
"He's gone," he said.
The red Mustang was nowhere in sight. Cord pushed aside the curtain to make sure the car hadn't come up the drive. Surely he would've heard the engine approaching.
The car had disappeared.
He looked back to Molly. She was swaying back and forth, her eyes unfocused.
He unchambered the bullet and put the safety on, then leaned the weapon against the wall in the corner. When he turned to the room, Molly was gone.
"Mol?"
He strode into the hall just as she disappeared into West's bedroom.
He stepped into the doorway and watched her pull her duffel bag from the bottom drawer. She opened it on the bed and returned to the chest of drawers, where she pulled out a small stack of T-shirts.
"Mol, what're you doing?"
"I can't—I can't stay here. I know I promised about the tractors, but—"
"Forget about the tractors for a second."
She shook her head, frantic. "He found me. I have to go."
Cord stepped into her room, blocked her when she tried to return to the dresser. Her eyes were wild as she looked up at him. She was panting.
She reminded him of a wild critter, trapped and about to bite.
He wanted to rip Toby's throat out.
"The sheriff's on his way," he reminded her gently. "Nothing's going to happen to you."
You can't run. His entire body wanted to revolt at the thought of her leaving, unprotected. She belonged here, with him.
She shook her head, that wildness in her eyes increasing. "He said… he said…"
She was still shaking so badly that the words wouldn't come.
He folded her in his arms. He'd held her passionately in the kitchen earlier. Now, somehow, she felt slighter, as if a stiff wind could blow her down.
He let one hand come up behind her head and held her close.
"He said he'd kill m-my roommate. Or any g-guy I tried to date. W-we're not dating, but you h-hugged me. And he saw."
Oh, Molly.
"He's gone," he whispered into her hair. "He left. We'll let the sheriff pick him up."
Cord had no intention of letting that creep close enough to hurt Molly. He wasn't worried for himself. He could take care of himself. In his experience, bullies were bluffing.
"The sheriff'll take care of this."
But twenty-two minutes later, he was doubting his statement.
Because it had taken that long for the lawman to show up. And he offered no apology as he took Molly's statement from where she sat on the couch.
She looked so small, tucked in on herself.
One deputy had walked out to the road, and Cord could see him using his boot to scrape the ground. What was he looking for? Tire tracks?
"I didn't see a gun," Molly said to the officer's line of questioning.
"Doesn't mean he wasn't packing," Cord muttered.
The sheriff shot him a quelling look. He scratched something on a small notepad before stuffing it in one of the pockets of his vest.
"I'm real sorry, miss, but there's not a lot we can do."
Cord stopped watching the deputy out by the road and whirled to the room. "What're you talking about? She's got a protective order against this guy."
The sheriff was stone-faced. "It looks like he didn't break the order. From here to the road is what... four or five hundred yards?"
"You've got to be kidding me!" Cord burst out.
On the couch, Molly'd gone pale, her eyes huge in her face. He couldn't forget how she'd told him the police in Austin had let the guy get close enough to hurt her.
How could she not feel like it was happening all over again?
"What about trespassing?" Cord demanded.
The sheriff was already shaking his head.
He'd known it was a long shot as the words left his mouth. Somebody who would be careful enough to stay out of the protective order's radius would be careful enough to stay on the state-owned side of the culvert.
"Look, son—"
"You're telling me that he can sit on the road and intimidate her as much and as long as he wants, and your hands are tied?” Cord slapped his hands on both thighs. “That's not good enough."
What if the jerk decided to come onto the No Name? Come after her? The sheriff had taken his sweet time to arrive—too long. Cord could only imagine the damage someone could do with his fists in five minutes. And what if Toby had a weapon?
Molly stood. Even from here, Cord could see her hands trembling. "Thank you for coming," she whispered. To Cord, "I'm going to lie down. I need…" She didn't finish, just left her words hanging.
She was terrified, and with good reason.
The sheriff headed for the door. As he opened it, Cord could hear an engine coming up the drive.
"Looks like you got company, son."
Rick. He recognized the logo of the hardware store painted onto the side of the truck.
The truck slowed, and the window rolled down as Rick spoke to the deputy who was hoofing it back toward the patrol car.
The sheriff and his deputy loaded up, heading out without a good-bye.
He stood on the porch, hatless, cold air swirling around him. The law was going to let Molly down.
How was he supposed to help her?
Rick got out of his truck and approached. "Problems?"
Cord shifted his feet. He wished the guy hadn't even shown up. "My… girlfriend"—he didn't know what to call her—"is in trouble. Somebody's making trouble for her," he amended. No need for vicious rumors to get started around town.
"Sorry to hear that." Rick rounded the back of his pickup and hefted a cardboard box. Another one waited, and Cord went after it. They put the boxes on the porch.
When Rick stood straight, he said, "Anything I can do?"
His offer of help was unexpected, and, after the nothing he'd gotten from the sheriff's department, Cord felt a rush of unexpected emotion.
This was what Sutter's Hollow could have been, if he hadn't ruined everything all those years ago.
“I don’t know yet,” he said. He was worried about Molly, so he shook Rick’s hand and sent him off with a quick reassurance that he’d let him know if they needed anything.
16
Cord didn't leave the house all day.
There'd been no saving Molly's dough, which had risen
in a giant, misshapen lump on the counter. He'd tossed it.
He'd brewed a pot of coffee and grimaced when it didn't have any kind of special spice in it. How could he miss something he hadn’t even liked?
He'd scorched her soup but eaten two bowls of it anyway. She'd made it for him, after all.
She didn't come out of her room. And by nightfall, he'd started to get a little scared.
He stood in the hall, Hound Dog by his feet, listening to her move around the room through the closed door.
What was she doing in there?
His phone pinged a message, and he walked down the hall to play it back. The bank manager's voice came from the speaker.
"Checking in on the payment. You've got until Monday to clear the overdue amount."
He punched off the app, his temper spiking. Who cared about the mortgage when Molly's life was in danger?
Not him.
It was eye-opening, the depths of his feelings for her. He stood with one hand braced against the wall.
He hadn't meant to, but he'd fallen for her anyway. Couldn't help it. If he lost No Name to foreclosure, if he had to start all over from scratch with no credit, none of that mattered.
He needed Molly to be okay.
When he couldn't stand it any longer, he went back to her door and knocked softly. "Molly? It's me."
She didn't answer.
"Can I come in?"
The door cracked. She walked away even as the portal opened.
She had a duffel bag open on the bed, spilling over with clothes.
"What're you doing?" The words came out though it was obvious she was packing. The frantic motion as she tried to stuff a pair of tennis shoes into the top of the bag worried him.
"I can't… I can't stay here."
The tremble in her voice betrayed her.
"Sure, you can."
She shook her head as she brushed past him. He stood in her room, listening to the pad of her feet to the bathroom and back. She was holding her toothbrush and hairbrush and started stuffing them in the bag, too.
He looked down at the dog, who sat next to his feet. Hound looked up at him, doggie tongue lolling. Do something, he told the dog, raising his eyebrows.
The dog hopped up on the bed, curling into a ball and putting its chin on the open duffel bag.
Seriously? He glared at the animal behind Molly's back.
Molly froze. It was small, and she quickly gathered herself and reached for a T-shirt lying across the edge of the bed, but he'd seen it. She'd reacted to the dog.
"Don't go." He reached out and touched her wrist, hoping to still her manic movements. She jumped and whirled on him.
Her eyes were wild again.
He held up his hands, surrender-style.
"You can't keep running," he said gently. "It didn't work the last time."
"I can't just stay here and wait for… wait for…" She sucked in a breath but couldn't get more words past her chattering teeth.
"He isn't going to get close to you. I promise."
She shook her head, her hair flying around her face. "You can't promise that."
He'd never shot anything bigger than a squirrel, but a spiral of violence spun through him at the thought of someone trying to hurt Molly.
Her eyes darted to the side. "We haven't known each other very long. And you don't… you don't need me anymore."
His gut rebelled at the words.
"And you're leaving, too." She crossed her arms and jutted her chin upward.
How could she think he was going to let her walk away? It hit him then. Because she knew him. Knew he'd walked—run—away from Sutter's Hollow. And he would walk away from Mackie's place if he could.
Nausea bubbled in his stomach.
She was studying his face, which made his gut churn worse.
"We kissed. And you panicked." Her voice was more even now.
"I didn't panic." His emerged uneven, and she raised her eyebrows. "I thought we talked about you coming to Houston with me."
"You talked about it." She shook her head. "I can't go back to a big city."
"You said you'd stay until the tractors were complete." He was really reaching now. She didn't owe him anything.
"Just let me go," she whispered.
No. The visceral response was immediate and flared through him like a firework bursting on the blackest night.
He nodded. And saw the flare of disappointment in her eyes.
"If you go," he said, "I'm going with you."
He turned and strode across the hall and into his bedroom. Grabbed the worn backpack off the floor of his closet and went to his drawers. He'd only stuffed a couple of T-shirts inside when Molly stormed into the room.
"You can't just walk away from the No Name."
He grabbed a handful of rolled up socks and stuffed them into the backpack. "Sure I can. You need someone to watch your back. And I did not panic earlier—"
"You did." She came closer and reached in his backpack to take out the rolled socks. She threw one at his chest. It bounced off.
He dropped the backpack and reached for her. She was still jumpy, so he took both her hands in his instead of pulling her close.
"Since the day we met, you've been teaching me to hold on." Maybe he had experienced a moment of doubt this morning after their powerful kiss. But the moment had passed. The desire to leave was nothing compared to the desire to stay by her side forever.
In her eyes he could see the walls she was struggling to keep between them. Then her chin dropped.
He stepped closer, close enough that he heard the soft catch in her breath when she inhaled. "He said… he said..." Her whisper was almost drowned out by the beating of his heart. "That he'd hurt anyone I got close to. What if…?"
She was shaking again, and this time she let him tug her into her chest.
She was worried about him. Trying to protect him.
He bundled her close, buried his face in her hair. "I can take care of myself." And you.
He didn't say the words aloud. Maybe she wouldn't believe him. He didn't have the best track record.
But he was determined not to fail Molly.
"At least stay until the morning," he said. "We can decide what to do then."
Molly allowed Cord to unpack her things. One glare from him, and Hound Dog had slithered to the floor in a pile of fur, entreating her with puppy-dog eyes.
She was too tired to argue anymore.
Except tired wasn't the right word.
Every noise, every snap of the old wood in the house, every creak of a floorboard sent her heart pounding.
And yet every muscle in her body felt weighted down, as if she were moving through molasses.
She'd felt the same way in Austin, afraid of every noise and so tired from being on alert every second of every day. She'd broken free to find solace here at the No Name. And then Toby had arrived, destroying her peace.
Cord closed the last drawer and tossed her duffel into the closet. He came close and put one arm around her shoulders. "You need to eat."
"I'm not…" She tuned in as she said the words, realizing that her stomach was, in fact, growling.
She hadn't noticed.
"Come downstairs, and I'll show you my culinary magic." He took her hand and gently tugged her out of the room, down the stairs, into the kitchen. Hound Dog padded after them, his nails nicking the wood floors.
There was no curtain to pull to cover the kitchen window, and Molly's heart thudded as she stood in the center of the room. Anyone—Toby—could lurk outside and be watching them.
Cord had released her hand and gone to the fridge. He emerged with one arm full of cheese, butter, a tomato, and cream cheese. He deposited all of it on the counter next to the stove and then started making some kind of grilled sandwich.
She slumped at the kitchen table.
He was taking care of her. From the beginning, he'd protected her. Maybe even tried to protect her from himself.
&nbs
p; You've been teaching me to hold on.
He'd convinced her to stay the night. Was it the right thing to do?
Or was it her turn to be the protector? The bruises Toby left had faded, but her memory hadn't.
Somehow, Toby had tracked her to Sutter's Hollow. If he'd come this far, he would never stop.
Cord heard Molly pad to the bathroom for the third time in an hour.
It was late, all the lights in the house were off.
And she wasn't sleeping, even with Hound Dog in her room.
She was spooked.
Earlier, he'd gone out to lug the huge metal gate closed, closing off the No Name from the road. A heavy chain and padlock had secured it, rusted though they might be. Toby wasn't driving his car onto the property. If he came on foot... well, Cord had Mackie's varmint rifle loaded and ready in the corner of his room.
But Molly...
Molly needed sleep.
As her feet padded past the bedroom door he'd left open, he cleared his throat. "Mol."
He heard her catch her breath.
"C'mere."
She was a shadow in the hallway, wouldn't see him if he beckoned her.
"C'mere," he repeated softly.
He'd gone to bed fully clothed. Everything except his shoes, ready just in case Toby made some kind of move in the night. He laid on top of the covers.
Molly slowly padded into his room.
He lifted the covers on the opposite side of the bed, holding back the spread so she could get in.
She hesitated at the edge.
"I'm not proposing anything indecent," he said softly. "You need sleep."
He got a glimpse of her sweatpants and T-shirt as she slid into the bed. He flipped the covers over her. He whistled for the darn dog. Moments later, toenails clicked on the floor.
"Lie down," he told the mutt. There was a scrabble of nails and then a whumph as Hound settled on the floor at Molly's side of the bed.
She was lying straight as a board, staring up at the ceiling, her arms at her sides. She wasn't going to fall asleep that way either, so he shifted closer, snugging one arm around her waist and nudging her at the same time.
She rolled so that her back was to his chest, his knees pressed in behind hers. The covers separated their bodies. Even so, he could feel her tension.
His Small-Town Girl (Sutter's Hollow Book 1) Page 12
