He slumped back against the pillows and glared at his breakfast. "I just don't like it."
She let the sheet slip lower to reveal her beautiful bare breasts, and she looked at him with her eyelids droopy and her mouth all soft, lips slightly parted...
He felt the covers start to tent beneath his tray.
No, he thought. Down, boy. He folded his arms over his chest. "I suppose you think you can get me to do anything—just by flashing me a little skin and giving me that come-and-get-it look."
She canted over close and whispered in his ear. "We will be together. Right here. In your house. Every night. And weekends—and in the mornings, like now. We'll do our very best to make it work between us. And then, well, in a couple of months, if we find out that we're—"
"Hold it."
Droopy-eyed and sleep-rumpled, the covers down around her waist, she waited for him to continue. Damn, but she knew how to work him when she put her mind to it....
He ordered his libido to keep the hell out of this— where was he? Oh, yeah...
"A couple of months? You'll be practically ready to have the baby by then."
"Five months along is hardly ready to have the baby—and anyway, maybe it'll be sooner. Maybe we'll find that it's all working out and—"
"How?"
"Er...what?"
"How will we know that it's working out? What's going to make you decide you're finally willing to take the big plunge and marry me?"
She pulled the sheet back up so he couldn't see her pretty, puckered nipples anymore. "Well, Tate, I don't know yet. I'll just...know that I know, when I know..."
Tate grabbed his coffee and took another sip—a big one, and wished he'd told Miranda to pour a little whiskey in it. He plunked the cup back on the tray. "Has it ever occurred to you, Molly, that you've got something real strange going on in your head when it comes to the prospect of saying those two little words, T and 'do'?"
She fiddled with her toast, picked up her tea again and then set it down without drinking from it. "You know, you're right. Having never really known what marriage is, I find it pretty terrifying to think of letting myself get locked into one. I've got this scary kind of certainty inside myself that I'm going to be really bad at it."
He could hardly believe it. She'd just admitted he was right about something. Remember this moment, he thought reverently. With Molly, moments like this won't be coming around all that often.
And even if she'd agreed with him on this one tiny point, her agreement didn't bring her any closer to accepting his ring on her finger, now did it? In fact, it only pushed the possibility further away.
"Please, Tate..." She leaned in close again. Her breath smelled of peppermint tea. Her skin had a velvety, rose-petal kind of glow. "Can we try this? Please? I do want to make it work with you, in a forever sort of way. I just... I need to kind of slip into it slow."
He looked at her tempting mouth—and then up into her hopeful, shining eyes.
He was weakening and he knew it. He was thinking that if he went along with her on this, at least she would be here. In his bed. In his house...
No, it wasn't all he wanted from her. It wasn't all their baby needed from her.
But it was better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, now wasn't it?
He reached for her, hooking his hand around her neck, spearing his fingers up into her tangled hair and bringing her adorable face right up to his. "Say I agreed to this..."
Her eyes went all dewy. "Oh, Tate..."
He tightened his fingers in her hair. "Just say I did. You'd move in today?"
"Yes. I would. This very afternoon. I have to work from eleven to four. But after that, I'll go right home and pack up some things and... Oh, no." She pushed away from him, frowning.
"What's the matter now?"
"I forgot all about Granny."
Dusty. Now, there was an angle he hadn't tried yet. "Yeah." He put on his most somber expression. "She might not like it, you and me living in sin..."
This time the snorting sound Molly made wasn't delicate in the least. "Oh, knock it off. Living in sin? I don't believe you said that."
It was kind of overboard, he admitted to himself. Living in sin. Like something his grandfather would say during one of his tirades—and damn. If Ol' Tuck was still above ground, there would be one level-five tornado of a tirade about now.
Oh, yeah. Ol' Tuck would've raised holy hell about this entire situation. He would have been furious when he learned that Tate had gotten Molly pregnant. And then thoroughly scandalized at the idea that the Tate heir would even consider proposing marriage to a lowly O'Dare. And that Molly should come to live at the ranch house—and sleep in Tate's bed—without benefit of matrimony...
It would have been one Texas-sized battle between Tate and his grandfather over that one, no doubt about it.
And even without his grandfather around to stir the pot, there were still going to be lots of local citizens with their two cents to add.
"Molly, folks are gonna talk."
"Let 'em. I'm an O'Dare, remember? Most of the gossips in town think my family's main purpose in life is to give them something to yammer on about. I learned a long time ago not to let them get to me— and never, under any circumstances, to allow what they say to change my way of doing things. And as for my granny, well, we respect each other, or we wouldn't be living in the same house together. She doesn't try to run my life and I don't try to run hers— but I am worried that she'll be lonely, on her own at the house."
He hauled her over close again and kissed the tip of her nose. "If that's all you're worried about, there's plenty of room here."
She pulled away and gaped at him, clutching the sheet to her breasts. "You mean it?"
"Hell, yes. She can have a whole damn wing to herself if she wants one. We've got two to spare."
"Tate Bravo, you do have your moments."
"That's a compliment, right?"
"Yes. It is." She added softly, "Thank you."
He hooked his finger under the sheet, down into the little hollow between her ripe breasts, and gave a tug. She let the sheet drop. "Come here," he said, and crooked that finger. "You can show me how grateful you are."
"I have to be at work in—"
"You can show me fast." He reached for her.
She giggled and let him drag her close. Her tray rattled as she hit it with her knee. "Oh, no. What about these trays?"
He laughed and nuzzled her hair. "Not a problem. You can show me very carefully..."
"Well, sugar love," Granny said that afternoon when Molly told her she was moving in with Tate. "You'll do what you think is right. I know that."
Molly couldn't help asking, "Do you think I should marry him?"
But Granny didn't fall into that trap. "Like it matters a lick what I think. Uh-uh. This is your decision." They were sitting on the sofa, side by side. Granny reached over and patted Molly's knee. "You'll be fine, don't you worry. Just keep true to what you know is right."
"Well, I don't want to rush into this, that's all. I'm nervous about marriage. I really am."
"Honey baby, that's okay. Maybe, in a while, you'll get to like the idea."
"I'll be working on that."
"Well, good. Keep your mind open all the time— and your mouth shut at least fifty percent of the time. You'll do just fine."
Molly took her granny's skinny, age-spotted hand. "We'd like it very much if you came and stayed with us. It was Tate's suggestion. He says you can have a whole wing to yourself if you want it."
Granny leaned close to Molly and kissed Molly's forehead—and then gently pulled her hand free. "Well, that's real sweet. But you know what? I wouldn't mind at all having this fine house of yours to myself for a while—that is, if you don't mind my stayin' here."
Molly started to argue that Granny would be happier with her and Tate—but then she noticed the twinkle in Granny's eyes. "Granny. What have you and Skinny Jordan been up to?"
&nbs
p; Was that a blush on Granny's lined cheeks? Sure did look like it. "Skinny Jordan is a fine man. Agreeable and down-to-earth and loyal as they come..."
"A little like Andy Devine?" Molly suggested softly.
"That's right," said Granny. "A whole dang lot like Andy Devine."
Tate and Molly had dinner in the formal dining room that night, just the two of them at the long, heavily-carved beechwood table with its sixteen leather-seated nail-head-trimmed chairs. Tate had instructed Miranda to put out the best china and his grandmother's treasured sterling.
Molly laughed when she saw that Miranda had set the two places at either end of the table. ' 'Hellllloooo down there!" And then she picked up her plate and water glass and carried them down to his end, returning to her end to get the silver and her napkin. "There now." She shook out the napkin and smoothed it on her lap. "Isn't that better?" Tate had to admit that it was.
They ate a leisurely meal and then retired to the master suite to make slow, lazy love.
When he woke Sunday morning, there she was. Right beside him.
He could get used to this, he decided. Oh, yeah. He certainly could.
Molly wanted to go to church. So they went and listened to Pastor Partridge drone on for over an hour about the rewards of forgiveness and the milk of loving-kindness. Long sermons always made Tate feel kind of drowsy. But every time he started to drop off, Molly would give him a gentle nudge in the ribs and he would snap to again.
All in all, it wasn't that bad. Yeah, folks stared— and then put on big, wide smiles and nodded all friendlylike when Tate caught them doing it. But he didn't let the stares get to him. He just smiled and nodded in return. Once he and Molly were married, all the gossip would die down and folks would find something else to stare at.
That night, Molly had one of her committee meetings. Tate worked in his study until about nine-thirty, checking on the income from the leases. Most of the quarter-million acres that had once been the Double T Ranch were now leased out to other ranchers, to oil companies and farmers. Tate made a hefty profit off those leases.
About nine-thirty, the phone rang. He picked it up.
"Tate Bravo here."
"You don't say?"
"Tucker?" Tate sat up straighten "That really you?"
He heard the familiar wry chuckle. "Last time I checked, it was."
"I don't believe it. How long's it been?"
"Too long."
Tate braced his elbows on the desk and frowned. "No problem with the money, is there?"
"None at all. It shows up in that account you set up for me every month, regular as clockwork, and plenty of it, too. I live like a damn mogul—not bad for a man who's never had a job to speak of."
Tate didn't approve of his brother's wandering ways. But he knew what was fair. As the one who stayed home and took care of business, it was Tate's responsibility to see to it that Tucker always got his share. "Half of what Grandfather left behind belongs to you. Any time you need more than you're getting—"
"Stop right there. I've got plenty of money and that's not why I'm calling."
"So what's up?"
"You sitting down?"
Tate felt his frown return. "Sitting down? What's the problem?"
"Relax. It's good news—or at least, I think it is..."
Tate had just hung up with Tucker and was still shaking his head in disbelief over what his brother had told him, when Molly arrived home at ten. He heard her let herself in the front door and then a series of beeping sounds as she struggled to reset the alarm.
After that, he heard her heels tapping on the granite floor, moving his way. And then there she was, leaning in the doorway, faking a scowl. "I may have to dig out Granny's shotgun and eliminate that alarm."
He sat back in his chair and drank in the welcome sight of her. "You'll get used to it."
"You'd better hope I do, or one of these days you'll be dealing with a missing alarm box and a big hole in the wall. I just don't see the point in those things, I truly don't."
"We had some idiot break in here a while back. No real harm done but scared the hell out of Miranda. Can't have that. And then there's the fact that if I caught someone at it, they would have a hole in them from the .38 I keep in the bottom drawer of this desk. Uh-uh. Better if the alarm just scares them off."
Molly peeled herself off the door frame and came sauntering toward him, detouring once she reached his desk and crossing around behind him. At his back, she bent down and wrapped her arms around his neck. As always, her scent tempted him, and the feel of her soft arms around him caused a tightness in his chest— not to mention in his trousers.
"Making lots of money?" she asked into his ear.
He let out a low noise in the affirmative, turning his head so he could capture her lips. They shared a long, deep kiss. He held her mouth as he slowly spun in his chair, guiding her back out of the way with his hands at her waist and then pulling her close once he was on his feet.
"Well," she said, looking up at him all lazy-eyed, when they finally broke for air. "That was about the nicest welcome home I ever got."
"I can do better."
And with that, he swept her high in his arms and carried her straight to the bedroom.
Later, they raided the freezer and sat at the kitchen counter eating ice cream from the carton, sharing a spoon. She told him about her committee meeting, and he told her that his brother, Tucker, had called.
"Finally got his law degree," Tate said. "He actually passed the bar—and that's not all."
She scooped up a bite of ice cream and offered it to him. He took it off the spoon. She predicted, "Either he's getting married—or he's decided to move back home."
He swallowed and took the spoon from her. "How did you know that?"
She laughed. "Just guessing—and you didn't say which one it was."
He scooped out another bite and held it out for her. "Well, as far as I know, he's not getting married."
She opened her mouth and he slid the spoon inside. "Mmm," she said and swallowed. "I love chocolate. So. Your baby brother is coming home to stay."
"Yeah—or at least, that's what he says right now. He has been prone, over the years, to change his mind. So I won't really believe it until I see it." He stared off toward the central island. "I always thought it kind of.. .mixed him up, you know? Never knowing who his father really was..." He looked at her again, watching to see if he'd hit a nerve with that one.
But she seemed to take it well. She teased, "Oh, I get it. So since I don't know who my daddy was, that would make me mixed up, too?"
"Now, I didn't say that."
"Maybe not. But I think you meant that—at least a little." Before he could think of a comeback, she added, "Didn't your mother always claim that your father was Tucker's dad, too?"
He made a low sound. "Come on. Since my father died before I was born, that doesn't seem real probable."
"Yep, that is pretty odd."
"Molly, it goes beyond odd and straight through to impossible. The story was that she—"
"Your mother?"
"That's right. My mother. She saw her long-dead husband at an OU-Texas game that Grandfather and Grandmother dragged her to. When she spotted him, she told Ol' Tuck she had to use the rest room—and then she never came back to her seat in the stands. She vanished. For two weeks. And then she showed up here with some wild story of how she'd been off with her husband. Then, nine months after that, Tucker was born."
"Hmm. Romantic. Like a passion that could never die."
"Romantic. Right. About as romantic as a train wreck. My take is, she maybe saw some guy who looked like my father. Maybe she even convinced herself that the man she saw was the husband she'd lost five years before. Who knows what went on in my mother's head? Logic was a concept foreign to her nature. I think she ran off with this guy who looked like my father and eventually he dumped her—or she decided she wanted to head back home.
Whatever. She wouldn't let go of th
e idea that Tucker was my father's son, too."
"I still think it's romantic."
"Call it whatever the hell you want. We're never going to know what happened for certain. All the people who might know are gone, now." He felt her big toe, tickling its way up the side of his leg. "Watch it," he warned.
She fluttered her eyelashes. "Oh, I do intend to...and I think you are a little bit smug, Tate Bravo. Just because you're sure your mama married your daddy before you were born, you think that makes you less mixed up than me or your brother."
"Smug? I am not. But I do believe that kids have a right to parents who are married."
She leaned close enough that he could smell the chocolate on her breath. "I have an idea. Let's not go there, okay? Not tonight."
"Humph," he said.
"Tell me more about Tucker. Please? What's made him decide to finally come home?"
He let several seconds of silence elapse before he gave in and answered her question. "He said he's seen enough of the big, wide world. He wants to come home and hang out a shingle over on Center Street."
"Well, well. Start his own law practice in his hometown?"
"Yeah. But then I remembered that Leland Hogan was getting close to retiring." Leland had been the Tate family attorney for as long as Tate could remember. "I figure Tucker could go in with Leland, pick up the slack at first, and then take the reins once Leland's ready to work on his golf game full-time. Good for both of them. Tucker gets a head start on his practice, and Leland gets a way to keep his clients in the firm he started when he goes."
She took the spoon from him, and dipped up a bite for herself. "Did your brother go for the idea?"
"He's interested. I'll talk to Leland, then hook up the two of them. They'll take it from there."
"When will Tucker be here?"
"Three weeks. He's got to wrap things up in Los Angeles, he said—that's where he lives now, for the past year or so."
Molly fed him another big bite. Then she stuck the spoon upright in the carton of ice cream and propped her chin on her fist. "Who would have thought it? The famous wandering Tucker Bravo, coming on home, at last."
Tate swallowed the icy treat and shook his head. "I can't believe it, myself."
Marrying Molly Page 13
