by Debra Cowan
But looking at the faces of the three young women surrounding her now, Molly knew she couldn’t possibly keep this news to herself.
“Yes, it’s true,” she said.
All three of the girls gasped. Their eyes widened in shock.
“I don’t believe it!” Sally declared.
“How could this have happened?” Claire demanded.
“How could we not have known?” Sarah asked, bewildered.
Then all three of them paused and asked in unison, “Who’s the bride?”
“I don’t know,” Molly admitted.
They all gasped again.
“How could you not know?” Sarah asked.
“Aren’t you planning their wedding?” Sally said. “I heard you were.”
“It’s all over town,” Claire added.
Further discussion of Adam was the last thing Molly wanted, yet she knew she had to say something.
“Mr. Crawford and I have discussed it,” Molly said, “but we’ve come to no agreement yet.”
“Who could he be marrying?” Sally asked. “He hasn’t courted a woman in Spindler.”
“I saw him talking to Ruth Pauley outside her boardinghouse the other day,” Claire said.
“He wouldn’t court her,” Sarah insisted. “She’s too old. He was probably there because that’s where Mr. Vaughn lives.”
“Oh, Travis Vaughn is so handsome,” Sally said wistfully.
“You hush that kind of talk,” Sarah told her sister. “You’re engaged to be married.”
“I just said he was handsome,” Sally snapped. “There’s nothing wrong with saying a man’s handsome. Besides, Travis doesn’t even live at the boardinghouse anymore since he built himself that big home.”
“It must be someone outside of town,” Claire suggested. “One of the ranchers’ daughters, maybe?”
“But which one?” Sally asked.
“I think I know,” Sarah declared.
Everyone fell silent and turned to her. She leaned in and lowered her voice.
“I was in the bank last week with Papa and I heard someone say that Adam had gone to Keaton for the day,” Sarah said. Her brows rose. “From what I overheard, it seems Adam goes there quite often.”
All the girls gasped.
“That must be it,” Claire said. “He must be marrying someone in Keaton.”
Sally’s eyes widened. “What if he moves there?”
“Stop talking that way,” Sarah told her. “You’re almost a married woman. You should be thinking about your own husband-to-be.”
“I’ll think about whomever I want,” Sally told her. “Why don’t you worry about yourself and keep your nose out of what I’m doing?”
“I’m not going to let you make a fool of yourself and ruin our family name in the process,” Sarah shouted.
“How dare you suggest that,” Sally shouted back. “Just because you’re a year older than me doesn’t give you the right to…”
Molly slipped away and dashed across the street. Sarah and Sally argued like—well, like sisters. Molly had listened to them carry on for weeks over their weddings.
Their father had insisted they have a double ceremony to save money, which suited neither of the girls, of course. They couldn’t agree on anything. Molly was almost willing to spend what little money she had for two ceremonies just so she wouldn’t have to listen to the girls complain and argue.
When Molly opened the back door of the Cottonwood, the delicious smell of baking biscuits wafted out of the kitchen. She hurried inside. Aunt Libby was at the stove tending a pot of oatmeal, a pan of gravy and a skillet of frying eggs. She made it look effortless.
“You’re out and about early this morning,” Aunt Libby called.
Molly tossed her hat and handbag into her room and grabbed an apron from the peg beside the door.
Aunt Libby gave her a questioning look. Could the older woman somehow tell that Molly was different? That she’d been kissed?
“I wanted to speak with Mr. Crawford,” she said, hoping she sounded casual. “Uncle Roy insisted.”
“And?” her aunt asked.
Molly was saved from answering when the door to the dining room swung open and Carrie came in.
“The mayor wants to see you, Molly,” she said. “He wants to use your private room this morning. He’s with Jonas Bradley.”
Aunt Libby’s brows rose. “The mayor and the owner of the Lucky Strike Saloon are having their morning meal together?”
“Looks serious,” Carrie said.
Molly took off her apron and hurried into the dining room. It was almost filled already. Mayor Hawthorne and Jonas waited at the doorway to the hotel lobby, both looking grim.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Molly said with a smile. “Let me check my book and make sure no one is using the room this morning.”
She hurried past the men into the lobby, then slipped behind the registration desk and opened the door that led to Uncle Roy’s office. The room was small and windowless, barely big enough for a desk, chairs and a cupboard. He’d grudgingly allowed Molly to use one of the drawers.
She pulled out her book, silently cursing herself—and Adam. If he hadn’t kissed her she wouldn’t still be so flustered she couldn’t remember if anyone was using her private dining room this morning. She flipped the pages, saw it wasn’t reserved.
“I’ll have it ready for you in a minute,” Molly promised the men as she breezed past.
“We don’t need anything fancy,” the mayor told her. “We’re talking business this morning.”
“Serious business,” Jonas added.
Molly made quick work of changing the tablecloths to blue and laying out the table settings. The men, more impatient than hungry, she guessed, walked in just as she was finishing.
“I can’t have this,” Jonas said, as he sat down.
“I know, I know,” the mayor agreed.
“I paid a lot of money to get those girls here for the week, and I can’t have this kind of trouble with the church,” Jonas said.
Mayor Hawthorne glanced at Molly. “Bring us breakfast—whatever you have this morning. And we need to use this room again later today, us and the reverend. Take care of it, will you, darling?”
Molly ducked into the kitchen. Both Aunt Libby and Carrie turned to her.
“Trouble?” Carrie asked.
Molly nodded. “The mayor wants to use the room again this afternoon—along with Jonas and Reverend Holcomb.”
“It’s those dancers at the saloon,” Carrie declared.
Aunt Libby nodded. “I’ve heard the talk. The ladies in town aren’t happy about Jonas hiring them.”
“They dance like those French girls,” Carrie said. “I heard they lift up their skirts and show their drawers—onstage.”
Molly pulled in a quick breath. “There are cancan dancers at the Lucky Strike?”
“You’ve heard of them?” Carrie asked. “So it’s true? They really dance that way?”
“Molly, weren’t you and your grandmother in Paris awhile back?” Aunt Libby asked.
Molly didn’t want to talk about Paris.
“The mayor says they’ll eat whatever you’re cooking this morning,” she said. “I’m going to make sure the room is available for them this afternoon.”
She threaded through the dining-room tables and into the little office off the lobby.
He wanted her.
Adam sat behind his desk in his office at the Spindler Bank ignoring the papers spread out in front of him. He couldn’t think—about business, anyway. All that occupied his thoughts was Molly.
Her sweet breath. Her tender lips. The taste of her. The feel of her. Her softness against his hard chest. He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted Molly—even though it made no sense.
No woman had ever meddled in his business before as Molly had. No woman had ever had the nerve to demand a partnership. And sure as hell, no woman had ever punched him in the chest for kissing her.
<
br /> Somehow, that just made him want her more.
Adam shifted uncomfortably as his desire for her made itself known again. If he didn’t get himself under control he wouldn’t be fit to walk out of his office.
When she’d shown up on his doorstep this morning, he’d been surprised but pleased to see her. The sight of her in the early hours had taken his breath away, as had her demand that he make her his partner in a social hall, of all things.
Molly Douglas, it seemed, was full of surprises.
Which only made him want her even more.
“Damn…” Adam grumbled.
He sat up and sifted through the papers on his desk. A lot of things needed his attention. He’d received the plans for the hotel he wanted to build from the architect in New York. Travis wanted him to look at a piece of land that was for sale. He had to get this wedding situation settled once and for all.
Plus, he’d need to make another trip to Keaton soon.
A quick rap sounded on his office door and Rafe Watkins walked in. The boy was nearly twenty years old, tall and lanky, with an unruly shock of brown hair. He worked for Adam and Travis, running errands, taking care of things. Rafe was smart and a quick learner.
“This just arrived at the express office,” Rafe said, placing an envelope in the center of Adam’s desk.
Adam sat back in his chair, uninterested in yet another item he needed to attend to today.
“I think you’d better open it,” Rafe said.
“I’ll get to it later,” Adam said.
Rafe slid the envelope closer. “If you don’t mind me saying so, I think you’d better open this one now.”
Adam picked it up and mumbled a mild curse. Even Rafe recognized the elegant swirl of the handwriting—and knew what it meant.
Adam ripped open the envelope and drew out the letter. He read it quickly, then shoved out of his chair.
Rafe fell back a couple of steps. “Another problem?”
“You’re damn right,” Adam said.
He grabbed his coat and hat from the rack in the corner. Seemed he was going to build a social hall after all—with a partner.
Chapter Five
A wave of heat covered Molly like a warm blanket. A scent, familiar yet not, tickled her nose. She looked up from the ledger atop Uncle Roy’s desk and her heart lurched.
Adam stood in the doorway.
Her thoughts scattered. Random notions popped into her head. The hard muscles of his chest—she knew what they looked like now. The tenderness of his lips—she’d tasted them herself. His strong fingers—she’d felt them on her shoulders.
Would he kiss her again?
Good gracious, what was she thinking?
Molly slammed the ledger closed. She should have been mad at him. He’d taken a considerable liberty with her. And here she was hoping he’d do the same thing again.
Molly took a deep breath. “What do you want?” she asked.
Adam twisted his lips as if trying to hide a grin. “I’m here to talk business.”
Her heart seemed to skip a beat. “You are?”
Adam dropped into the chair on the other side of the desk and laid his hat aside. His presence filled the entire space. His wide shoulders and long legs took up all the room.
“Aren’t you happy working here for your uncle?” Adam asked.
His question took Molly by surprise. He looked sincere, concerned.
“I appreciate Uncle Roy allowing me to work here, but—” Molly stopped and glanced at the open door. She certainly didn’t want her uncle to overhear their conversation.
Molly stretched across the desk. Adam leaned toward her until their faces were inches apart.
Goodness, he smelled lovely.
Molly pushed the thought away. “I don’t agree with the way Uncle Roy runs the hotel,” she said softly.
“How so?” Adam whispered.
“Of course, he’s had a great deal of experience running a business—far more than me—and I do appreciate how hard he—”
“Stop being nice.” Adam made a spinning motion with his hand. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
His honesty stunned her but brought an odd sense of relief that she could say what she felt, and that he wanted to hear it.
“He refuses to open the restaurant on Sundays to take advantage of after-church diners,” Molly said. “I think he should advertise the hotel in newspapers back east. With all the folks coming west these days, it’s silly not to. He won’t even put up a sign at the train station.”
Adam shrugged. “Those seem like good ideas to me.”
“Really?” she asked, her spirits lifting.
“What else?” he asked.
Molly glanced at the doorway once more, then strained to lean even closer.
“Uncle Roy doesn’t pay me very much,” she whispered. “I’ve brought in quite a bit of extra money since I opened the private dining room, and he doesn’t give me a cent of that money either.”
Adam sat back a little. “That was your idea?”
Pride rose in Molly. “So was the idea of holding wedding parties here. I’ve done two already with three more scheduled.”
His expression hardened. “What do you know about running a social hall?”
Molly’s stomach did an odd little flip. If he was asking this question it could only mean he was taking her demand seriously. He might really take her on as a partner.
Her excitement plummeted. It would also mean that she’d have to arrange his wedding. Work with him—and his bride—on every little detail. Sit in the church and watch them exchange vows, then pretend to rejoice in the celebration of their union at the party she would have worked two months to prepare.
And after it was over, she’d be left to clean up—and think of the two of them on their wedding night.
Despair settled around Molly’s heart. She didn’t know how she’d manage to do it. Didn’t know how she could put herself through it.
But what choice did she have?
She desperately wanted her own business. With it, she’d be free. No more relying on her grandmother’s good name. No more worries that her uncle might become angry with her and turn her out without a dime. No sleepless nights wondering what her future would hold.
She would make her own future. And she’d be good at it. She knew she would. Then, if someone learned of her shameful past, it might not hurt so much if she had a business she could be proud of.
Molly gazed across the desk at Adam, still waiting for her answer. With everything she had, she forced away her feelings for him.
If she was going to run her own business, this was what she’d have to do. Business was business. She’d have to learn to separate her personal feelings from her professional commitments. Adam’s wedding would certainly do that.
She had two months to prepare for that walk down the aisle. Two long months to harden her heart, distance herself from him emotionally, convince herself that the path she’d chosen was for the best.
Just as well to start now, she decided.
Molly raised her brows. “I’d think, Mr. Crawford, you’d already know the answer to your question, given your own decree that no one within a day’s train ride of Spindler could plan this wedding of yours but me.”
Adam reared farther back in his chair. He grinned. Then he chuckled. Molly’s heart melted. She’d never heard him laugh before. It rumbled in his big chest and filled the room like music, making Molly giggle, too, binding them together somehow.
When he finally settled down, Adam said, “Besides weddings, what did you have in mind for the social hall?”
Molly sat up straighter as all her ideas filled her mind. “Traveling shows are quite popular, as you know. Spindler is growing and the folks here are desperate for entertainment.”
Adam didn’t say anything, so she hurried on.
“I could have performers come from back east. Poetry and dramatic readings. Dance companies. Actors could present plays,” Molly sa
id. “It would be the center of town. I’d have festivals and celebrations. Weddings and parties. All sorts of things.”
Adam didn’t respond, just looked at her. She couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. His expression offered no clue whether he liked her ideas, which irked her.
“Really, Mr. Crawford,” she said. “If we’re going to be partners, you’re going to have to tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I’ll think it over,” he said.
Adam pushed out of his chair and headed out the door. Molly scrambled to her feet. She caught his arm.
“Wait,” she whispered.
He rounded on her, his gaze knifing straight through to her heart.
For a moment Molly thought he would kiss her. For a moment she wanted him to do just that.
Heat rolled off him, covering Molly. Or maybe it wasn’t from him. Maybe it was her. Good gracious, what was happening to her?
“I’ll think about it,” Adam said. “You think about this.”
Now she had no trouble reading his expression. Molly braced herself.
“The wedding needs to move up,” Adam said. “I need it done right away.”
“Molly? Molly!”
She paused near the front door of the Cottonwood, broom in hand. Evening shadows stretched across the street. The town was closing for the night. Reluctantly she pulled her gaze from the Spindler Bank and saw Sally and Claire rushing down the boardwalk toward her. An odd knot coiled inside her. She knew what they wanted.
“Is it true?” Claire asked, her eyes wide.
“Is Adam really hurrying up his wedding?” Sally wanted to know.
“Is it because—” Claire asked, then stopped herself.
Molly had known it was just a matter of time before news of Adam’s quick wedding would break. Gossip would be rampant. The scandal would be fierce. After all, there was only one reason to rush a wedding.
“I don’t know any more than you,” Molly said.
It was true. She hadn’t seen Adam in days, not since their meeting in Uncle Roy’s office. She wondered if he was still thinking over her idea for the social hall.
Or perhaps he had a bigger problem on his mind.
“We still don’t know who the bride is,” Sally said. “Except that she lives in Keaton.”
