by Laurie Paige
“Ready?” Tiffany whispered loudly. There was a titter of laughter from the guests.
Molly nodded. The play was on.
An hour later, they closed the sheets on a happy family reunion as the father of the children held their hands and they all danced around in a circle while the trees and bluebirds of the enchanted forest sang the closing song. Krissie’s voice soared above the others in a sweet, true treble.
The applause was tremendous.
“Wonderful, children,” she told them. “That was a very successful play. I am so proud of us all.”
She had to help the children out of their costumes before she could find out about Sam. She hoped the men didn’t leave before she could get to them. She’d told them to stay for cookies and punch, then they could take the gingerbread house back to the ranch.
She had a feeling there was trouble. What it could be, she had no idea. A heaviness settled in her stomach.
At last, the sheets were pulled back for the last time, and the actors mingled with the guests.
Molly went to the kitchen alcove to check on Lass, who’d shown how she felt about the play by sleeping right through it.
The baby was gone.
Startled, she glanced around, but didn’t see the child with Tiffany or anyone. She looked under the crib just to be sure Lass hadn’t slipped out of the bed, landed on the floor and rolled out of sight. Panic began to flutter through her, making it hard to breathe.
“Elsie,” she said and whirled around.
The woman wasn’t in the room. Molly, smiling at parents and trying to appear calm, hurried to the door and out onto the sidewalk. She went limp with relief.
Elsie and Lass were in the Tisdale ranch vehicle. A sharp rebuke sprang to Molly’s lips, but when she stopped by the car, it died. The older woman had tears running down her face.
“Elsie, what is it?”
Elsie wiped her eyes and turned to Molly. Lass, sitting in her grandmother’s lap, was exploring a new toy.
Molly knelt by the open car door, perplexed and concerned by Mrs. Tisdale’s ravaged face.
“I was supposed to steal her,” she said.
Molly jerked in shock. “Why? You couldn’t possibly get away with it. That would be kidnapping.”
“William thought it would prove you weren’t good parents. He thought we could show the judge you didn’t keep a watch on Lass, that anybody could have taken her.”
“Why didn’t you leave?” Molly asked gently.
Elsie shook her head. “I couldn’t.” Her lips trembled. “Lass is a happy baby. You and Sam have made a good home for her. I couldn’t snatch her away from a happy home. and bring her to ours.”
Molly shoved her hair back from her face. “Why does he hate Sam? It’s like an obsession.”
“Sam’s a success. That’s reason enough.” Her eyes beseeched Molly to understand. “Once William was handsome. He had money and looks and a fast car. All the girls were crazy about him. His father died when he was little, and his mother spoiled him. So did I. We thought, his mother and I, that the sun rose and set with him. But money… none of us knew how to make it, only spend it. Now we’re about to lose everything.”
“And William is too proud to ask Sam for help,” Molly concluded.
“Yes. He asked Sam to join operations, but Sam wouldn’t.” She hesitated. “Sam said Lass’s money was in an irrevocable trust.”
“It is. Sam has made me the trustee in case of his death. Did William think he would get the use of the money if Lass were put in his custody?”
“I think so. We stopped telling each other our plans and dreams long ago.” She sighed. “I no longer have any, and I don’t care about his.”
“Oh, but you must,” Molly protested. “It’s most often the woman who carries the dreams for the whole family, who sees everyone’s potential and encourages them. If the mother gives up, the entire family can be lost.”
Elsie looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. Molly stopped her sermonizing. “You didn’t take Lass away,” she said softly. “That proves you care about something. Lass loves you, too. She watches for you each day.”
“Don’t spoil her the way William and I did with Elise. She was a terror—defiant and rude and self-centered.” She handed the child to Molly. “But you won’t ruin Lass. I can see that already. Your love is the good kind.”
Lass patted Molly’s cheek, then leaned forward to give her a sloppy kiss. Molly’s heart squeezed into a tight knot. That often happened around Lass and Sam. She had so much love she felt her body wasn’t big enough to hold all of it.
“All love is good, but it has to be tempered with discipline and the expectation of good manners. Speaking of which, I need to find out what happened to Sam. He was supposed to be here for the play. He made the gingerbread house.”
“It was lovely. Everything was. The little girl who sang was very good. She reminded me of Elise at that age.”
Molly stood and laid a hand on Elsie’s shoulder. “Will you come back?”
Their eyes met in wordless questions and answers. Elsie nodded. “Nothing can keep me away. You don’t have to worry. I won’t do anything to hurt Lass.”
“I know that. That’s why I trust you.”
Pleased surprise appeared on Elsie’s face. “Do you? Even though I tried to leave with her?”
“You didn’t. That’s what counts. Do come back. Lass needs you. Her grandfather, too.”
Elsie shook her head. “I don’t think anyone can reach William now. He’s let things go too far—” She broke off.
Uneasiness traveled the bumpy road of Molly’s spine. “What has he done?”
“Nothing. So far. I’ll talk to him.” Her lips firmed with purpose, and she looked younger, almost prettier as she sat up straight and started the car.
“Wave bye-bye, Lass,” Molly encouraged. “Wave bye-bye to Nana.” She watched Elsie leave with a sense of foreboding. Then she headed back inside to find out what had delayed Sam.
Probably a cow with the sniffles. He practically hand-raised the whole herd. It was one of the best outfits in those parts according to the cowhands. She’d been so proud of Sam when they’d told her. She headed back inside.
Molly parked at the sheriff’s office. It was the first time she’d had an occasion to go there in the ten years she’d lived in the area. A frown, perplexed and concerned, etched itself on her forehead. The men said a deputy sheriff had come out to the ranch. He’d asked Sam to come in to town for questioning.
Questioning for what?
It sounded ominous, like something out of one of those police shows on television.
Inside she asked for Deputy Merritt and was directed to a room down a long corridor painted institutional green. She instantly disliked the place.
She knocked at the door. A burly command to “Come in” made her tense even more. Inside her gaze flew to Sam, sitting in a straight-back chair, his face giving nothing away.
“Molly,” he said in surprise. He was displeased.
She went to him, dropping into a squat to study him and make sure he hadn’t been hurt. “Are you all right?”
His grin, tough and cynical, kicked up the corners of his mouth. “Sure. They haven’t got out the rubber hoses yet.” He smoothed her hair from her temple. “I told the guys not to tell you.”
“They had to. I was threatening to turn the kids loose on them.” She tried a smile, and found she could hold it.
“That would convince them.”
“Excuse me?”
Molly looked around.
“You Ms. Frazier?”
“Yes. Molly Frazier. Why are you holding my husband? Has he been charged with anything?”
“It hasn’t got to that.”
“He’s been here for over an hour,” she reminded the officer. She knew something about the law from helping her brother study when they were both college students. “Did they read you your rights?” she asked Sam.
“No.”
She turned on the deputy, ready to read him the riot act. Sam clasped her hand and tugged on it. “Sit down and relax, Molly. They just wanted to ask a few questions.”
“They can’t charge you with anything without reading the Miranda Act rights to you, and they can’t hold you indefinitely without telling you your crime.”
“Thanks,” Sam said dryly. “When I need a defense attorney, I’ll call you.”
She didn’t think Sam was taking this with the seriousness it deserved. She knew how people’s minds worked. No matter how innocent Sam was—and she knew he hadn’t done anything wrong—there were those who thought, because he’d been picked up for questioning, that he must be guilty of something. The old where there’s smoke, there’s fire syndrome.
“Could I see you outside?” the deputy asked.
Her eyes darted to Sam, a question in them. He shrugged, his face as blank as a stone wall.
Facing the deputy detective, she shook her head. “You can ask me whatever you like, but in front of Sam.” She held out her hand. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
Sam almost laughed as the deputy and Molly shook hands and exchanged greetings as if they were at a damn tea party.
“Bill Merritt, Ms. Frazier. My niece was in your school before she started kindergarten this year. My sister says you helped Dottie a lot. She used to be sort of difficult.”
“Oh, Dottie,” Molly exclaimed affectionately. “She’s a lovely child. She needed a bit of help in learning to finish her tasks and perhaps a few social skills. I’m sure she’s going to be a fine student. She was very bright.”
Sam felt the familiar tenderness swell like a spring blossom waiting to burst forth. No wonder her students loved her. Molly looked on the bright side and saw the good in everyone.
Uneasiness washed over him. He hoped she kept faith with him after this episode with the law. Anger burned in him at the turn of events that afternoon. He’d been hauled down to the county sheriff’s office for questioning about a rustling incident.
Legally he had no “priors.” His youthful escapade, done to prevent his stepfather from stealing and selling off any more of the ranch’s cattle, had backfired. He’d been arrested for rustling when he tried to hide a small herd.
The charges had been dropped, but no one had believed in his motives or innocence, not even his own mother. As a man, he’d forgiven her for that, but it had been hard.
He glanced at Molly and away. Would she believe in him? He steeled himself for the opposite, for the disappointment that would darken her eyes to stormy gray when she realized the charges being investigated.
“What’s happened?” Molly asked the deputy in a quiet tone. Her manner implied that she understood there was a problem and she was equipped to handle it. The schoolmarm in control.
Bill shifted uncomfortably. “There was some trouble last night. A man got shot—he’s going to be fine,” he added quickly at her expression of concern. “It was out near your place, on a spread east of the Pecos. A rancher found his fence had been cut out by the county road. Some cattle were missing. He followed the tracks of a truck and found one man standing guard with the herd. Instead of going home and calling in the law, he decided to play hero and arrest the man. Got himself shot in the shoulder.”
“That’s terrible.” Molly looked from the officer to Sam and back. “But I don’t understand. What has Sam to do with this?”
“Well, uh, he was involved in a rustling operation once before, so I had to bring him in for questioning.”
“Questioning for what?”
“For the rustling.”
Sam knew the minute Molly realized that he was being questioned as the culprit. Her eyes flew open, then narrowed into spear points. She crossed her arms, shifted her weight to one hip and thrust the other out as if she might start patting her foot any minute.
“Sam didn’t do any rustling. It’s ludicrous that you think he would. He runs a very successful ranch.”
The deputy’s ears turned a dull red. “Well, there was that other time—”
“He was sixteen years old. The charges were dropped. Even if they hadn’t been, his record would have been wiped clean when he became eighteen. That’s the law.” She gave poor Bill her I’m-really-disappointed-in-you look.
Sam felt sorry for the man as he hemmed and hawed, trying to explain why he had to do his job. “Can you vouch for Frazier last night?” he finally asked.
“Of course I can.” She was in fine form now—indignant and hot on the trail of justice. “Sam was with me last night.” She looked at him. A red tide swept up her face.
Sam grew hot, too, but not from embarrassment at remembering what had happened between them. Every time he thought of last night, a fiery arrow shot straight through him, lodging in his groin where he became hard and throbbing.
“Can you give me some idea of the time you were together?” The deputy got out his notepad.
“Yes. He came in at eleven. I know because Lass has been cranky of late. She’s cutting teeth.”
Molly and the officer exchanged glances of understanding and sympathy. Sam mentally shook his head at how easily she could bring a person over to her side.
She continued. “Lass and I’d gone to sleep in the rocker in her room. Sam came in and put Lass to bed and—” she lifted her chin “—and carried me to our bed and tucked me in. We were together the rest of the night and this morning until Lass and I left for school shortly after seven.”
“You sure it was eleven when he came in?”
“Yes. I heard the kitchen clock strike the hour and looked at the clock on Lass’s wall. It was eleven.”
“And he stayed in bed the rest of the night?”
“Yes. I’m a light sleeper. I’d have known if he got up.”
“There was blood on his truck.”
She nodded. “He helped birth a calf last night. That’s why he was late getting in. I put his shirt and pants in cold water to soak out the bloodstains. You probably saw them if you went out to the ranch.”
Sam gave the man a sardonic smile. Her story agreed with his. The rustling had taken place in the wee hours of the morning. It had been pure luck that the rancher had seen the cut wires when he came in from a late poker game.
Fortunately for Sam, there wasn’t enough time for him to do the dirty deed between the time he was last seen by his two hands and the time he arrived home and found Molly asleep in the chair.
Bill asked a few more perfunctory questions, but it was clear the deputy considered Sam off the hook.
The detective hadn’t believed him, but Molly’s word was as good as gold in the bank. His attorney had been right about marrying her.
However, it didn’t set well with Sam to hide behind a woman’s skirts. His word ought to count for something.
The lawman let him go with a promise to keep them informed of future developments. Molly beamed her approval. The deputy beamed back. Sam shook his head in resignation.
Outside, he walked her to her car. “How about some lunch? I missed it during the excitement.”
“Well, I should get back to school.” She grinned up at him, looking for all the world like a teenager about to play hooky. “I’ll keep you company while you eat.” She paused and studied him before getting in the compact sedan.
He tensed and waited for the accusations to come. His mother had had the charges dropped against him, but only to protect the family name. She hadn’t believed his tale of saving the ranch. He steeled himself for the suspicion that would show up in Molly’s face.
He’d been an outcast before. He could take it.
Her eyes searched his, then she surprised him by throwing her arms around his shoulders and giving him a fierce hug. “Are you very angry?”
“For what?” He hesitated, then put his arms around her.
“For being questioned. Anyone who knows you should know you’re not a thief. You’re one of the most honorable people I’ve ever met. And the ge
ntlest. With Lass and with me. Last night, you were wonderful, simply wonderful.”
A ball of emotion leapt into his chest. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. His throat clogged up, and a terrible pressure built behind his eyes. All because this woman believed in him… really believed in him.
“You’re one of a kind, Molly,” he managed to whisper.’’ One of a kind.”
And she was his. His.
Chapter Eleven
“You said you could ride,” Sam reminded Molly at noon on Saturday. “I thought we might take a lunch and ride up the Pecos a ways. There’s a pretty spot for a picnic by the river.”
“I’d love it.” Worry nicked a frown between her brows. “What about Lass? It’s almost nap time.”
“I have a carrier.”
Fifteen minutes later, they set off, Lass strapped into a baby harness in front of Sam. He was mounted on a big, bony gelding that Molly had discovered was a prince of a horse, good-natured and easygoing. Her own steed, also a gelding, was smaller and quite feisty.
“Painter’s got a rough gait,” Sam had told her, “but he’s as surefooted as they come.”
She didn’t know about the surefooted part, but she could vouch for the rough gait. When Painter trotted, it was like sitting astride a jackhammer going full blast. She mentioned this fact to Sam after they galloped across a broad meadow. He merely grinned. The brute.
“Look, Sam, tire tracks,” she called at one point. “Were you up here in the truck recently?”
He circled back and studied the tracks when she pointed them out. They formed a faint trail through the dust and sage.
“One of the boys might have been. I don’t remember.”
She took a deep breath of the sage-scented air. “I can see why you love this place. Look at the view.”
He studied her instead, making her self-conscious about her windblown appearance. Although she wore a hat, freckles tended to pop out on her nose at the least hint of sun on her face.
