by Debra Cowan
She’d heard the gossip around town—and at their own breakfast table—for weeks. Uncle Roy had made no secret of his feelings on the matter—or on Adam Crawford.
“I can’t turn my back on money, plain and simple,” he said. “That boy Rafe said Crawford’s got company coming from back east. Investors among them, most likely. We need them here.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Molly said. She knew she was being too outspoken, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Investors in town will likely bring in more and more people, and you don’t like—”
“I’ve got things in the works,” Uncle Roy told her. He gave her a hard look. “Tomorrow morning I want you to go over to Crawford’s office and tell him you’ll do whatever he wants.”
“But—”
“I don’t want to hear another word about it,” Uncle Roy told her. “You just make sure it gets handled.”
Molly pressed her lips together, holding back another protest. She couldn’t—absolutely could not—plan a wedding for Adam. Somehow, she’d have to figure a way out of it.
Chapter Three
How could a man—one who wasn’t even a part of her life—cause so much trouble?
Molly fumed as she slipped out of her bedroom. Aunt Libby wasn’t in the kitchen but she’d be down soon. Carrie would arrive shortly to help with the morning meal.
Molly went out the back door of the Cottonwood Hotel. At this early hour here she was, up and heading out to take care of business. And she intended to take care of it, all right, though she doubted Uncle Roy—to say nothing of Adam Crawford—would be pleased.
As she’d hoped, the alley that ran behind the Cottonwood and other businesses that faced Main Street was empty. She didn’t want to be seen going to Adam’s place above the bank building. Molly figured she could get this dreaded errand over with and get back to the hotel in time to help Aunt Libby with the breakfast service.
At the corner of the hotel, Molly checked the narrow passageway between the Cottonwood and the Palmer Millinery Shop, saw no one and hurried on to Main Street. She leaned around the corner and looked up and down the street.
Down the block, the doors to every business were still closed, windows shuttered. No merchants out front sweeping the boardwalk, no horses tied at the hitching posts, no wagons rumbling through the street. Molly knew she didn’t have much time before the town came awake.
She crossed the street and slipped into the alley beside the Spindler Bank. Her feet silent on the packed dirt, she made her way to the rear of the building.
Across the back alley sat a small barn and paddock and a few outbuildings. Hardly the place a lady—one trying desperately to keep her troubled past a secret—should be, unescorted, especially at this hour of the morning. Molly was thankful that her aunt and uncle never mentioned the unsavory circumstances of her birth or hinted at the wild streak some feared she’d inherited from her mother. Yet she didn’t want to press the issue with unacceptable behavior.
Her uncle had left her no choice. He’d told her in no uncertain terms that she was to go to Adam and agree to whatever he wanted. Molly knew Uncle Roy wouldn’t change his mind, even if he knew it was a wedding party Adam wanted to hold at the Cottonwood.
Anger, annoyance—something—rose in Molly. She wasn’t happy with her uncle for forcing her to do this. In her opinion, the man was shortsighted and stubborn. She disagreed with the way he ran the hotel, even though it was hardly her place to say so. Remembering how Uncle Roy had ignored her well-intentioned suggestions caused Molly’s irritation to grow.
Maybe she’d inherited some of her mother’s wildness, after all.
She pushed the thought aside and remembered her errand this morning. She’d lain awake for hours last night in her little bedroom off the kitchen of the Cottonwood, deciding how to handle this situation. For a few moments, she’d actually considered doing as her uncle had instructed, allowing Adam to have his wedding at the hotel, spending the next two months planning every detail for him. Molly’s heart ached at the thought.
She couldn’t do it. She simply could not. For a few moments last night, Molly had allowed herself the thought that she was truly in love with Adam. For those few moments, the joy in her heart nearly took her breath away. Then, just as quickly, the reality of her situation came back to her.
As she lay in the dark, her mind frantically casting about for a solution, one had come to her—a plan so simple she’d sat straight up in the bed. She’d thought it through and planned it carefully, then drifted off to sleep.
Now, all she had to do was pull it off.
Molly straightened her hat, squared her shoulders and headed toward the wooden stairs that zigzagged up to Adam’s place on the second floor of the bank building. A smile pulled at her lips.
She was about to make Adam Crawford an offer he absolutely had to refuse.
Adam poured himself a cup of coffee. The room where he lived wasn’t much to look at. A little stove, a fireplace, a table with two chairs, a bed, a rocker.
One of the ladies who worked at the boardinghouse cleaned the place for him every week. With his permission, she’d fixed it up a little, brought in a couple of rugs and hung some curtains.
He’d had nicer, but it hadn’t made him happier.
Adam raised a coffee cup to his lips and sipped, then mumbled a curse. Too hot, too weak.
Same as he felt this morning.
Adam shifted uncomfortably, recalling the night he’d spent tossing and turning. Thoughts of Molly Douglas had plagued him until all hours of the night. Then, when he’d finally drifted off, she’d come into his dreams. Dreams that had everything to do with her, but nothing that involved her refusal to handle the wedding for him.
Adam closed his eyes for a moment recalling yesterday when he’d talked to her at the Cottonwood. He hadn’t made the best impression, he knew that. He hadn’t even presented his request in the most businesslike of manners.
How could he when she was standing right there in front of him, looking so desirable and smelling so sweet?
An urgency claimed him, as it had yesterday, as it had most of the night. Adam had never felt this way about a woman before—and it couldn’t have happened at a worse time.
He needed Molly to plan the wedding. No one else in Spindler could do it. She was from Philadelphia. She knew the proper way things should be handled. He’d been given an extensive list of requirements, and he had to make sure it was followed. And the only way to accomplish that was to turn the whole thing over to the one person in town who could do it. Molly.
Adam took another sip of his coffee, grimaced and set the cup aside. It didn’t suit him to be saddled with the wedding preparations. He’d left his home, his family behind in Charleston because he could no longer abide the rigid social standards there.
He’d made that decision the hard way.
But he’d made it and had no regrets. He was happy with his new life in Spindler. Travis was a good business partner. They’d known each other in Charleston. Both had found themselves discontent there—but for entirely different reasons—and decided to try their luck in Spindler. They agreed on most things. Business was good. Life was good.
Except now with all this wedding nonsense.
And his thoughts of Molly.
Grumbling, Adam filled the basin on the washstand in the corner. Better to get his mind on work. He was splashing the cold water on his face—and considering dumping it down his pants—when he heard footsteps outside.
At least Rafe was on time this morning, he thought. Perhaps that meant the day would get better.
Adam yanked the door open.
Molly stood outside.
Naked. He was nearly naked.
Molly’s eyes popped wide-open in horror at the sight of Adam towering over her in the doorway, clutching a towel in his hand. He had on trousers—and that was all. One suspender was slung over his shoulder, the top button of his trousers unfastened. His hair hung over his forehead and
stuck up in the back. Water ran down his face and dropped from his chin.
She gasped. She knew she should leave, but somehow she couldn’t get her feet to move. All she could do was stare at his bare chest. The dark, coarse hair that met in the center of his taut belly and arrowed downward past hard, rippling muscles, then disappeared above his—
Molly’s cheeks flamed. Good gracious, what was she doing? She’d never stared so shamelessly at a man before.
Of course, she’d never seen a chest like Adam’s before.
The notion jarred her back to reality. Molly dragged her gaze from his chest and belly, and forced it onto his face—which did nothing to help.
His whole body seemed tense, like a coil ready to spring. Color blushed his cheeks. His eyes burned with a heat that somehow shot straight through her.
She gasped. Was he looking at her for the same reason she was looking at him? Could he possibly have the same thoughts?
Leave! her mind screamed. Yet she couldn’t. Molly stood rooted to the spot completely transfixed by the smoldering heat he gave off.
Adam shook his head, sending little droplets of water flying, then dragged the towel down his face.
“Miss Douglas,” he said, holding the towel against his chest. “Come…come inside.”
She didn’t move. Heat swamped her. She knew her cheeks were red.
“No, I’d—I’d better…go,” she mumbled.
“It’s all right,” he said softly, and backed away from her. He turned then and disappeared into his room.
Molly hesitated. What should she do? Run away, as if she were a frightened child? She’d come here to discuss business, after all, at her uncle’s insistence.
She drew herself up. She wanted to get this over with. She wanted it to be done with, and the only way to do that was to face it—no matter what Adam Crawford’s chest looked like.
Molly stepped through the doorway. Her gaze landed on Adam. In the back. By the bed.
Rumpled pillows. Quilt spilling onto the floor. His back was to her as he stuffed the tail of a white shirt into his trousers and pulled both suspenders into place.
A fresh wave of heat swept her face. She turned away.
“I’m—” Molly’s voice failed her. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m sorry to intrude so early. I didn’t think you’d be—”
Nearly naked?
She pressed her lips together to keep from blurting out the words. Yet more images spread through her mind unbidden.
His chest, strong and muscular. His rippled belly. The dark hair. What would it feel like to comb her fingers through it?
“It’s fine,” Adam said.
Molly started as his voice sounded from directly behind her. Had she felt his hot breath on her neck? Or was it just her imagination?
She whirled around. Adam stood close enough to touch, and her fingers itched to do just that—even though he had a shirt on now.
“Coffee?” he asked, gesturing to the stove.
Her hands shook so badly she didn’t think she could hold the cup.
“No, thank you,” she said.
“Probably for the best. I made it myself,” he said, and grinned.
Molly’s insides quivered.
Adam stepped to the washbasin, leaned down to the mirror and dragged a comb though his hair, slicking it in place.
“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” he asked, turning to her again.
He seemed composed now, more businesslike, cooling Molly’s emotions considerably.
What was she doing looking at him, admiring his chest? He was spoken for. Engaged. Planning to wed.
What better reason to stick to business?
Molly forced her thoughts onto the plan she’d made in her bed last night. It was now or never. She pulled herself up a little and faced him.
“Since I’m unable to accommodate your wedding at the Cottonwood,” she said, “I’ve come to suggest an alternative location.”
It wasn’t at all what her uncle had told her to do. If he found out about it later—and he probably would, the way gossip ran through Spindler—he’d be furious. Yet she’d decided last night to take the risk. With so much at stake, how could she do otherwise?
“Where?” Adam asked, appearing mildly interested.
“Keaton,” she told him and put all the enthusiasm she’d rehearsed in her room last night behind the word. “It’s a lovely town, only an hour away by train. They have a beautiful church with a spacious social hall. It will be perfect.”
“No, it won’t.”
Adam didn’t even bother to pretend the suggestion suited him, which annoyed Molly a bit.
“The wedding has to be in Spindler,” Adam told her. “The party has to be at the Cottonwood.”
“As I told you yesterday, I can’t accommodate you at the Cottonwood,” she said, pleased at the way the lie rolled off her tongue.
“I’ll pay you extra,” Adam offered.
“I don’t need your money,” she told him. Another lie.
“It will bring a lot of attention to the Cottonwood,” Adam added.
“The Cottonwood doesn’t need more attention,” she said, and managed not to cringe as the even bigger lie left her lips.
Adam took a step closer. “Look, Miss Douglas, I need this thing done right. That means I need you to do it.”
“Nonsense,” she declared, tossing aside his assertion with a wave of her hand. “Anyone could do it.”
“You,” he said, with an authority that sent a hot wave crashing through Molly. “Only you.”
“Mr. Crawford,” she said, trying to sound reasonable. “Surely there’s someone in town—or in Keaton—who can execute this wedding to your satisfaction. I’m convinced of it. If I thought otherwise, then I would be happy to do it myself.”
“There’s not,” Adam insisted. “So, you’ll do it?”
Molly’s belly tingled. Her knees shook. This was the moment she’d hoped for when she’d made her plan last night. Excitement rose in her. Now, finally, she would end this once and for all.
“Yes, I’ll do it,” she said. “For a price.”
Adam shrugged, unconcerned. “Name it.”
Molly folded her hands primly in front of her.
“I want you to build a social hall here in Spindler,” she said. “And I want you to make me your partner.”
Chapter Four
Adam didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He seemed to grow larger before Molly’s eyes.
His shoulders straightened and his chest expanded. His breath grew heavier. His gaze bored into her.
A wild heat rolled off him that should have sent her running. Instead, Molly stepped closer.
Adam lunged toward her in two quick steps, laid his hands on her shoulders, bent down and kissed her. He covered her lips with his and pulled her against him.
For a stunned moment, Molly couldn’t move—couldn’t think. His warmth swamped her, robbed her strength. Adam deepened their kiss. Molly rose on her toes. She sighed. He groaned. Then, as quickly as he’d kissed her, he pulled away.
Molly hung there for a moment, her face tilted up to his. His smoldering gaze held her captive for a few seconds longer. He stepped back.
Cool air swirled between them, bringing her back to reality.
Good gracious, what had happened? What had she done? Kissed a man alone in his room? A man who was engaged to be married? What would everyone say if they found out?
Molly drew back her fist and pounded it against his chest, then stomped out of the room.
Heat, anger—something—coursed through Molly as she dashed down the stairs and into the alley behind the bank building.
Adam had kissed her. He’d held her close and kissed her—really kissed her. Not a sweet peck on the cheek, not a tender meeting of lips. The kind of kiss her cousins in Paris had whispered about.
And Molly had let him.
A hotter wave of something swept Molly as she walked through the passagewa
y beside the bank and stepped up onto the boardwalk. Another recollection raced through her mind. Not only had she let him kiss her, she’d made it easier for him.
The memory flooded her mind, slowing her steps. Rising on her toes. Leaning in. Lifting her face to his.
Molly’s insides boiled. Good gracious, what had come over her?
“We heard what happened!” someone shouted.
“Tell us all about it!”
“Tell us everything!”
Molly froze as footsteps pounded the boardwalk, running toward her. Three young women surrounded her, their eyes wide, all chattering at the same time.
Had they heard how she’d let Adam kiss her? Already? It had happened only moments ago. How could gossip have gotten around Spindler this quickly?
Molly drew back a little, wanting some distance between her and the other girls, though she knew them well. Sarah and Sally were sisters, pretty girls with sunny yellow hair, both engaged and getting married soon; Molly was handling their party at the Cottonwood. Claire Dempsey was expecting to become engaged soon and had already spoken with Molly about helping with the arrangements.
“Let me talk!” Sarah shouted.
The other girls quieted but didn’t take their eyes off Molly.
“Is it true?” Sarah asked. “Is Adam Crawford getting married?”
Relief surged through Molly. Thank goodness she wasn’t the talk of the town—for now, anyway.
Molly’s mind spun, trying to come up with a graceful way to avoid the question. She’d begun helping with weddings and planning the parties at the Cottonwood shortly after arriving in Spindler. The church, she’d learned, frowned on dancing, so she’d suggested that friends and families of the newlyweds meet at the hotel after the ceremony. She’d overseen two weddings already and they’d both been successes.
Molly kept the wedding preparations of the brides she helped to herself, usually. A marriage ceremony was personal, she thought, and it wasn’t right that she spread the details all over town.
