Molly Darling

by Laurie Paige

  She wondered what Sam would do if she crawled into his bed. She regretted that she hadn’t slept there when he’d carried her into the house on their wedding night. By now, their marriage would have been bonded in the most elemental way.

  Sam was a sensual man, a man who took pleasure in using his body in his work. From his perceptiveness and gentleness, she knew he would be a considerate lover.

  Her pride wouldn’t let her stay with him that first time. Nor was she forward enough to suggest it now. Somehow he had to come to her, or at least meet her halfway, before this marriage would work. She’d have to make him see that.

  In the meantime, there were those feminine wiles she needed to practice on.

  Chapter Nine

  Molly stirred the jar of baby food and set it on the desk before picking up Lass and putting her in the high chair. The other children were eating while they listened to a story being read by Tiffany.

  After strapping Lass in and putting the tray across the chair, Molly took her seat and lifted the first bite toward Lass. The door to the nursery opened a crack.

  A slice of face—an eye, part of a nose, mouth and chin—appeared in the one-inch opening.

  “Come in,” Molly called in a soft voice.

  The door closed.

  Puzzled, she went over and opened it. A woman. stood on the other side. She looked so nervous, Molly was afraid she’d fall right over if someone said “boo” to her.

  “Mrs. Tisdale,” she said, putting extra warmth in her tone. “Please come in. We’re having lunch. Won’t you join us?”

  While she chatted, she laid a hand on the other woman’s arm and drew her inside. She closed the door behind them. “Come.”

  Mrs. Tisdale followed her to the desk at the side of the room. Lass waved her arms at the jars of food.

  Molly had an inspiration. “She’s hungry. Would you mind feeding her while I take care of our lunch?” She made this sound like a great favor.

  As if in a daze, Mrs. Tisdale nodded her head. In less than a minute, Molly had the timid grandmother out of her suit jacket, an apron over her blouse and the spoon in her hand.

  Molly headed for the kitchen. She prepared a plate of pasta salad and sliced vegetables for their guest. When she finished, she lingered and watched Mrs. Tisdale feed Lass.

  The woman’s hand shook noticeably at first, but she settled down after the first few bites. Lass, who hadn’t yet entered her bashful phase around strangers, smiled and clicked while she ate the vegetables and fruit.

  When the story was over, Molly helped Tiffany and the kids clean up the lunch debris, then it was quiet time. The children pushed the chairs out of the way and lay on their floor mats. The two teachers brought plates and drinks to the desk when the children were settled.

  “It’s time for Lass’s nap,” Molly said. “Tiffany, have you met Mrs. Tisdale?”

  “Uh, no, I don’t think so. That is, I don’t think we were ever introduced.” Tiffany cast Molly an uncertain glance before greeting the older woman.

  “Please, call me Elsie.”

  “Sit here, Elsie,” Molly invited, indicating the desk chair. “I’ll tuck Lass in—”

  “Oh, may I?”

  Molly hesitated, recalling her husband’s warning. Well, the woman was hardly going to grab the child and run off with her. “Of course. Do you want to change her diaper, or shall I?”

  She led the way to the crib in the corner of the room, the sleepy Lass in her arms. After placing the baby in the bed, she laid the clean diaper out, along with a damp washcloth, and left Elsie Tisdale to do the work.

  “I can’t believe she’s here,” Tiffany whispered when. Molly joined her at the desk. “I didn’t know she knew how to drive.”

  “Maybe she had someone drop her off.” Molly casually peered out the front window. “A late-model car is parked in the driveway.”

  “I’ve never seen her without her husband.” Tiffany studied the woman as she fussed over her granddaughter. “He’s a strange man. Elise used to fight with him something terrible. My dad said Mr. Tisdale has to control everyone around him. He hates anyone who doesn’t agree with him.’’

  “Maybe that’s why he hates Sam,” Molly mused aloud.

  “Their quarrel was no secret. Mr. Tisdale wanted to combine the ranch operations after Sam and Elise were married, with himself giving the orders, of course. Sam declined the offer. Rumor has it Tisdale blew his stack and ordered Sam off his place after calling him a few choice names, ingrate the nicest among them, I understand.”

  “How foolish to alienate your family like that.”

  “Yeah. Apparently Tisdale suggested it in front of some men from the bank. I guess he was humiliated when Sam said no.”

  When Elsie finally finished with the baby, Molly told her she was delighted she’d decided to stop by. “A baby needs a sense of family,” she told the woman. “I hope this won’t be the last we see of you.”

  “It won’t be,” Elsie promised, her smile shy but pleased.

  Molly’s heart went out to the older woman. She wondered what her life had been like. Surely whatever love had been in it had disappeared when her daughter died. It wasn’t right that Elsie be deprived of Lass because of her husband.

  She was pretty sure that Mr. Tisdale didn’t know his wife was visiting her granddaughter. Well, she and Tiffany were certainly not going to tell.

  On the heels of that resolution came a question. How would Sam feel about it when he found out?

  He said he’d given Elsie permission to visit her granddaughter. What if he’d changed his mind and didn’t want Elsie around Lass, what would she do?

  She’d see how things went. Maybe Elsie wouldn’t get up the courage to return. If she did, Molly could explain it to Sam when she saw how grandmother and granddaughter got along.

  Coward. She didn’t want to deprive the woman of the baby, but she didn’t want to face Sam’s wrath when she defied him in case he said no to Elsie’s visits. For defy him she would.

  Elsie Tisdale needed something to nourish her soul, or the poor woman was going to dry up and blow away like a skinny tumbleweed during one of the wind storms. Lass, with her infinite supply of love, would be good for her grandmother.

  A picture of her own dear grandmother, who’d given her a thousand shares of private family stock when she’d graduated from college, came to mind. Right now, Nana was on a cruise around the world or some such thing. Eighty-four and off on a lark.

  Molly hoped she was as active and daring at that age. At any age, she added.

  After they ate, Elsie quickly left, reminding the two teachers of a student who was afraid of missing the class bell.

  “She’s so timid,” Tiffany said in a pitying tone.

  “Do you think so?” Molly watched the car back, then pull forward and disappear up the winding driveway. “She came here even though her husband said she couldn’t.”

  “When did he say that?”

  Molly explained about the restaurant scene.

  “He scares me.” Tiffany shivered. “Anyone who hates that much and that long over something so silly, well, it scares me.”

  “Sam has left the ranch to me.”

  “He didn’t!”

  Molly nodded. “And the care of Lass.”

  Tiffany’s mouth gaped. “He must really trust you to give you everything like that. It was said he put his lawyer in control of the ranch instead of Elise when they married and that the ranch was willed to the baby in case of his death. Elise supposedly threw a fit over it. I heard she’d already planned on divorcing him and taking him for all she could after the baby was born.”

  Molly couldn’t hide her shock. What kind of people were these? She didn’t want to know. The talk was making her uneasy, even though it was gossip.

  “Well, let’s see, we need to run through the play this afternoon. Can you work with Krissie on the song she’s supposed to sing while I teach the bluebirds their dance?”

  “Sure.”


  Molly put the problem of the Tisdales out of her mind.

  Sam parked the truck near the barn. From the back, he hefted a calf and carried it inside. After putting it in a stall with clean straw to snuggle in, he trudged across the wide gravel driveway to his house.

  The windows glowed like beacons. He’d seen them miles away and had followed them through the dark until he’d arrived home safe and sound.

  Home.

  Once he’d reached a point where he’d rather sleep in the stable than return to the house. No more.

  Opening the back door, he inhaled the scent of stew, left on the back burner to cook slowly through the night. Molly was a miracle of organization. She planned and posted the weekly menus so he and the hands knew what to prepare if she didn’t get home in time to start supper during the week.

  The house looked nice in a sort of cluttered way. Molly might be organized, but she wasn’t exceptionally neat. There were books and magazines on nearly every surface. Lists of things she’d planned were tacked all over the bulletin board.

  He took off his boots and left them by the kitchen door. In sock feet, he went to his bedroom and shed his clothes, which were both muddy and bloody from birthing the calf he’d left in the barn. The mother hadn’t made it.

  He’d left the carcass in the field. The mountain cat living in the hills east of the ranch would find it. If not, the coyotes would. He wondered what Molly would think. She’d probably want to hold a wake and a formal funeral.

  Grinning, almost groaning with weariness, he turned the shower on full blast and as hot as he could stand it. When he stepped out a few minutes later, he felt rejuvenated.

  After drying and hanging up his towel—the schoolmarm didn’t approve of wet towels left on the floor-he headed for bed.

  The clock struck eleven. He paused by the window, yawning and stretching, and peered at the nightscape. The moon hung low and cast sooty shadows through the mesquite onto the rocks of the dry creek. A breeze flirted with the tree. The tree tossed its branches in a provocative response.

  He thought of Molly’s hair. It was softer than the down from the cottonwood trees that grew along the river. He tried not to, but sometimes he had to touch it… and then he’d think about how soft she would be all over.

  Whew. That wasn’t something to dwell on. Heat rippled through him, driving the fatigue from his muscles and bringing the clamor for relief from the fantasies he’d been having since their rushed marriage.

  He couldn’t deny it—he was on fire for his wife. Her scent, an article of clothing left in the bath, hell, anything and everything that was hers sent him into instant arousal. The way he was now.

  Sighing, he folded the bedspread neatly at the end of the bed and pulled the sheet and blanket back. When he lay down, every muscle groaned. Except one. It was ready for action.

  She’d been ready for him on their wedding night. He’d realized that later. He should have carried her to bed in the first place rather than trying to be so damn noble about rushing her.

  God, he’d messed up. She’d been starry-eyed then and filled with expectations for their marriage.

  He who hesitates is lost.

  Yeah, well, he’d had good reasons to hesitate. He just couldn’t remember what they were. Molly was the same person after marriage that she’d been before. She was still a lady and every inch a schoolmarm. With her disapproving stare and bright smiles, she could control an army.

  Most important, she was still a friend. Other than those glances that sometimes made his blood heat up, she acted the same, listening and questioning until she understood all about the ranch and his concerns.

  She told him about her school and her concerns, too. That reminded him, he had to load the gingerbread house on the truck and take it to town in the morning for the play tomorrow afternoon. He and the hands had worked on it every spare minute during the past two weeks. It looked nice, if he did say so.

  He turned restlessly, then realized he hadn’t eaten supper. He’d been too tired to think about it, wanting only a shower and bed. The aroma of the stew in the Crock-Pot had awakened his hunger. He tossed aside the cover, pulled on a pair of white briefs and headed for the kitchen.

  Passing Lass’s bedroom, he stopped and went in to take a quick peek at her. She was certainly happy with the new living arrangements. He paused on the threshold.

  Molly was there.

  She and Lass were asleep in the recliner-rocker she’d brought from her house in town. It was Molly-size, just right for her to snuggle in.

  That odd, fierce tenderness he’d felt only for his child before Molly came into their lives clutched his chest. He couldn’t put a name to it, but Molly invoked it just as Lass did.

  It confused him to feel this way about a woman. He couldn’t figure out what caused it. She wasn’t a child needing his care and protection.

  Bending, he lifted the baby and put her to bed. Molly didn’t stir. She was probably as tired as he was. She was up at dawn and off to the school. She’d taken over the care of the house. She’d been getting up at night with Lass for the past week, a relief for him since they were so busy with the cattle.

  He slipped a hand behind her and one under her legs and lifted her into his arms. She weighed less than some of the calves they’d been roping and branding.

  She laid her head on his shoulder and murmured against his neck. “It’s late.”

  “I know.” He carried her down the hall. Pushing the door closed behind him with his shoulder, he hesitated. The moonlight threw a square of light on the covers, all turned back and ready.

  If he laid her there, would she notice?

  Without giving himse! time to answer the question, he walked to the bed and laid her on it. She sighed without opening her eyes. He reached down to pull the covers over her. Instead he touched her hair and smoothed it on the pillow.

  “Molly,” he said.

  She opened her eyes.

  The moonlight cast the room into silver-edged shadows. It created a halo of light around Sam as he bent toward her. It made the night magic.

  Slowly, so very slowly, he moved beside her. She felt his weight on the mattress, then the contact of his thigh against hers. In the stillness that followed, she heard the beat of her heart, loud and insistent in her ears.

  “Molly,” he said, a husky whisper in the dark.

  She heard the longing in him. An answering need suffused her whole body. He hadn’t said the words, but she didn’t think they were necessary. She knew his heart.

  With a sureness borne of love, she touched him, letting her fingers meander over his chest. Her senses heightened, she was acutely aware of the crisp feel of his body hair and the warmth of his skin.

  The world condensed into this moment, this place.

  “Is the time right?” he murmured, his lips only a few inches from hers.

  “Yes.”

  His chest touched hers as he drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. A current of sensation flowed into her breasts. Her nipples contracted almost painfully.

  He placed his left hand on the bed beside her and shifted his weight to it. With his right hand, he smoothed the strands of hair from her temple, then he cupped her chin.

  She held her breath as his mouth descended. Through an eternity of waiting, his lips finally touched her. It was the sweetest thing imaginable.

  There was no need to think about her reactions. Her body acted on its own, knowing instinctively the right moves.

  She reached for him, circling his broad shoulders with her arms, running her fingers into his hair, which was cool and damp on top, but warm in the underlay-ers.

  His arms slipped under her, bringing her upright and deepening the kiss at the same time. He held her tightly, and she felt the th-thump of his heart against her, the beats fast and powerful.

  Light-headed with happiness, she skimmed her hands down his back, loving the smooth ripple of muscle under his skin, exulting in his masculine strength, se
cure in the knowledge that he would never use it against her.

  He moved his lips over hers. She opened hers, inviting him inside. He dipped lightly, the merest butterfly of a touch, again and again, then drew back to study her.

  A demand pushed its way to her throat, a soft moan of need greater than the other time she’d been in his arms. She knew what to expect. She knew what she wanted. And she wanted it now, this moment.

  “Easy,” he murmured when she stirred restlessly in his arms.

  “I want you,” she confessed.

  “You’ll have me,” he promised, a heated avowal that stirred new longing in her. He laid her against the pillow.

  She’d never felt so wild, so abandoned to her senses, so very, very right in her instincts. This was her man, her mate, and she was his. This was right.

  “Sam,” she whispered on a shaky breath as he kissed along her neck. At the neckline to her satin pajamas, he paused.

  “May I?” he asked, his fingers on the top button.

  “Yes.” She hardly recognized her own voice, it was so choked with love and the passion he invoked in her.

  He flicked the buttons open…one, then another… another… and the last one. Pausing, he looked into her eyes, his handsome face serious and filled with purpose.

  Sam ran his fingers inside the edge of the material and slowly pushed it to each side.

  A tremor glided through him, as if his world had tilted on its axis. Molly looked up at him with complete trust in her eyes. She waited for him to complete the task he’d begun. He wasn’t sure if he could go slow for her.

  The moment was breathtakingly beautiful. He didn’t want it to end. But the rush of anticipation burned in his blood, and he couldn’t ignore the need to see her, to touch her, any longer.

  Sliding the material completely off her breasts, he gazed at her, feeling like a starving man at a feast. “You’re beautiful,” he said, the words inadequate, but he couldn’t think of any others to express how he felt.

  She laid a hand in the center of his chest. “We both are. We’re beautiful together.”