"He'll be moving in here, of course..."
He liked the way she said that, with no hesitation and a happy smile. Molly was a family kind of gal. Once she married him, he knew she would be looking out for Tucker just as if Tucker was her own brother. By the same token, Tate would be taking responsibility for Dusty and Dixie and Ray. But that was okay with him. Hell. Hadn't he already done what he could for them?
"Yeah," Tate said. "Tucker'll live here. He wants the South Wing. He said he likes that big main bedroom in back. Looks out on a little grove of pecan trees."
"Sounds nice." She nodded toward the open icecream carton. "Had enough?"
He gave her a long look, from the top of her temptingly mussed hair down over the robe she'd tossed on when they'd gotten out of bed. "I can never get enough..."
She gave him the elbow. "I meant of the ice cream, and you know it, too."
He caught her arm. "C'mere."
She giggled and squirmed—and then she gave in and let him kiss her, which he did with great thoroughness. But when he started pulling on the tie at her waist, she pushed at his chest. "You just wait a minute."
He let her go long enough to put the ice cream in the freezer. Then he grabbed her hand and hauled her back to the bedroom, where he showed her in detail how very glad he was to have her around.
An hour or so later, before they finally dropped off to sleep, she whispered lazily, "So how's the South Wing, anyway? In good condition?"
"Nothing wrong with it that I know of. Had the roof replaced a couple of years ago. And the foundation is solid."
"I meant is it all ready for your long-lost brother to move in?"
He shrugged. "Far as I know. Miranda keeps an eye on it for me. She'd have said if there was something that needed looking after."
"But just to be certain, we should check it out, don't you think, before he comes?"
We. That sounded damn good to him. "Sure. I'll have Miranda take the drapes off the furniture and we can go have look."
"We might want to spiff things up a little—rearrange the furniture, see about fresh paint in a room or two, just so it looks welcoming, you know?"
There was the we word again. They were getting closer to working things out, oh yeah, they were. In no time at all, she would be telling him yes, walking down the aisle to meet him, wearing a long white dress and a smile that said she was his for the rest of their lives.
He had the bright idea to go for it—to try once more, right then and there.
He pressed a kiss against her sweet-smelling hair, snuggled her closer in the circle of his arm and whispered, "Molly?"
She stroked his chest. "Hmm?"
"We're getting along real good, now, aren't we?"
She brushed a soft kiss in the hollow of his shoulder. "Um-hmm..."
"So...what about it? Let's stop putting it off. Let's get married. What do you say?"
Nothing. That was what she said. And he knew instantly, by the way her hand stopped caressing his chest, by the way her body tightened in his hold, that he'd jumped the gun—again.
At last, she heaved a heavy sigh. "Oh, Tate, I..." She didn't finish. Not that she needed to.
"You can cut it right there," he growled. "That Oh, Tate about said it all." He rolled his head on the pillow, so he was looking away from her.
She caught his chin, guided it back around to her. "Come on. It's only two days since I moved in."
He knew he should say something namby-pamby like, It's okay. I understand, and leave it at that. But he couldn't make himself let it be. "And we've been doing fine," he insisted. "Better than fine. I was just thinking that it ought to be pretty damn obvious to you, from how good it's been the last two days, that you don't have to be afraid of the idea of being my wife."
She only softly repeated, "Two days. It's not enough. We're still smack-dab in the honeymoon period. Sure, we'll get along for a while. That's pretty much a guarantee. We're both trying hard, on our best behavior. But we won't be able to keep that up forever. It's how we do in the long run that matters."
He looked hard into her eyes. "Two questions. How can you have a honeymoon when you're not married yet—and how damn long is the long run?"
All she said to that was, "Oh, Tate."
He swore low. "Damn you, Molly. I've heard about enough Oh, Tates for one night. And you haven't answered either of my questions, now have you?"
She didn't answer that question, either. She just pried his hand from around her shoulders and sat up.
"Get back down here," he commanded—and realized his error when she instantly swung her feet to the rug and rose from the bed. He blustered on. "Molly, I mean it. Get back here."
She sent him a look over her glorious bare shoulder. That look said what he probably should have known by then: ordering her around wouldn't get him anything but further away from his goal of getting a ring on her finger.
She started walking—around the end of the bed and toward the bathroom. He watched her go, thinking how furious she made him, how good she looked naked—and how he would be better off at this point to just keep his damn mouth shut.
At this point? Hell. He'd have been better off if he'd kept his mouth shut, period.
The door to the master bath and dressing room clicked carefully closed behind her. Tate stared at the shadow of that door for a while, feeling all cold and bleak inside, wondering if she would ever take the big leap and say yes to him.
Times like this, he had serious doubts. He was a man used to taking what he wanted, and she was a woman who didn't give an inch. What real chance was there that the two of them would ever find a common ground?
Right then, alone in his bed, with the woman he wanted on the other side of the bathroom door, he had a minute or two where he couldn't help feeling that they would never work things out.
But Tate Bravo was of tough pioneering stock— born, bred and raised to look to the future with an eye toward success. He'd never been a man to let his attitude stay negative for long.
He had her where he wanted her now, didn't he? She lived in his house and she slept in his bed. When she finally came out of the bathroom, he would treat her real gentle and force himself to grate out an apology for ordering her around.
She would forgive him. She could be a fireball— but she was trying, in her own frustrating way, to give the two of them a chance.
Right about then, the bathroom door opened. Slowly. The wedge of golden light from inside grew larger as the door opened wider.
Finally Molly peeked around it, her hair a halo of spun silk framing her shadowed face. With the light behind her, he couldn't see her expression and he had a moment of stark fear that she would tell him it was over, that she couldn't deal with him constantly pressuring her and ordering her around. She was going back to her little house on Bluebonnet Lane and they could talk about his visitation rights as soon as the baby was born.
But then she said in a teasing tone, "Is it safe to come out now?" and all at once, he could breathe again—when he hadn't even realized that for a moment there, his lungs had stopped working.
He sucked in a big, healthy breath of air and when he let it out, he said, in a growl, "Look. I'm sorry. I've got no right to go giving you orders."
She shot out that door so fast, he couldn't help but smile. She darted to her side of the bed and jumped up beside him, yanking up the covers and slithering inside. Cuddling up good and close, she kissed him on die edge of his jaw. "I accept your apology."
And then she kissed him square on the mouth.
Tate wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back, tucking her into him, pressing himself against her softness, feeling his sex start to rise. She really got to him, Molly did. One sweet kiss from her and he was ready to go—again. He sucked on her neck and she groaned in pleasure.
He began kissing his way downward, stopping to lavish attention on her full, white breasts. And then heading lower still, licking his way down the middle of her, over her rounded st
omach where his baby lay sleeping, to the nest of gleaming gold curls, so silky and inviting, at the juncture of her thighs...
A few minutes later, as he rolled her beneath him and buried himself in her softness, in that split second before all conscious awareness flew right out the window, he thought that they really were working things out between them.
In no time at all, she would be telling him yes.
Chapter Thirteen
Out Molly didn't say yes.
She remained in his house and she spent her nights in his arms. She was passionate and attentive to him and, as long as Tate didn't try to boss her, she was easy to get along with. But every time he dared to bring up the subject of marriage, he got a lot of regretful words and at the end of them, a no.
Tate didn't get it.
They worked so well together. As a team, they approached the task of making the South Wing more inviting for Tucker when he got home.
Miranda took the covers off the furniture over there and gave it a thorough cleaning. Then Tate and Molly spent a couple of evenings moving stuff around. Tate's grandmother had done most of the decorating. She had an eye for the ornate. There was way too much gold leaf—not to mention an excess of crystal chandeliers. They chose a bunch of pieces to put into storage and raided the other wings of the house for some simpler-looking stuff. Molly decided that the forty-year-old flocked velvet wallpaper had to go. She hired a crew to steam it off and then chose fresh colors and got the painters in. The wing was ready for Tucker a week before he was scheduled to arrive.
And they had some fine times.
On a hot Friday evening, they drove out to a steak-house Tate knew of in Abilene and took Dusty and Skinny along. The food was good and the conversation lively.
Dusty couldn't wait to get Molly in the air with her. "Soon as I get my license, I'm taking you up, sugar hon."
Molly cut a bite of steak and gave Dusty a worried look. "I don't think so. Not for a while, anyway."
"Well, sweetie pie, how long's a while?"
"Oh, say maybe in twenty years or so. I want to be sure my baby girl gets raised up right before I go flying with you, Granny."
Dusty leaned Skinny's way. "She says that now, but you wait. I'll talk her into it, you just watch."
Skinny nodded. "I know you will, darlin'." The look on his face said that Dusty could do anything— and he was one lucky man to be allowed to stand at her side while she did it.
Dixie and Ray had them over to dinner at the double-wide. Dixie wasn't much of a cook. They had macaroni and cheese from a box and a salad out of a bag. But the quality of the cuisine didn't matter, Tate decided. It was the company that counted, and Tate really was beginning to think of Molly's crazy family as his.
Ray smiled in quiet pride at the way things were working out at the hardware store. Why, he'd even finally got the hang of how to make change. And just the day before, Ray reported, Davey Luster had trusted him to track down a lost order of three-penny nails.
"Now I'm a married man," said Ray, "I finally got me a reason to stay focused on the job. My reason is Dixie—and our future as husband and wife." He patted Dixie's hand and they shared a moony-eyed glance. "I got you to thank, Tate, for setting me up. And Dixie and me will always be grateful."
"Yes, we will," said Dixie, granting Tate her gorgeous smile and a look of deepest appreciation.
Molly beamed at him, looking kind of dewy-eyed herself. Even Dixie's one-eyed cat seemed to regard him admiringly. Tate felt like the king of the world.
He picked up his juice glass of jug wine and saluted Ray. "Glad to be of help," he said modestly.
A few nights later, Tate took Molly to the Throckleford Country Club's annual Cattlemen's Ball. He had to admit, it wasn't as enjoyable as the evening at Dixie's or the night out with Dusty and Skinny. Some of the wives treated Molly kind of cold. But she sailed on through it and later that night, when they were home and settled in under the covers, she joked that some of those women had ice water in their veins.
"I kind of feel sorry for their poor husbands. How'd you like to climb into bed and find a block of ice waiting there every night of your life?"
Tate chuckled and allowed that he wouldn't like that one bit. He pulled her in close to him. She was all warmth and all woman. He pondered how he ever could have imagined wanting a wife like his grandmother; a woman with the right name and the right connections, one who would be queen of the country club wives.
Funny how little it mattered now that he would never have that kind of bride. Now, he only wanted one woman.
If only she would quit stalling and marry him. Time was flying by. Why now, even wearing all her clothes, if you looked twice, you could see that Molly's stomach was getting rounder....
That night, in bed after the ball, he seriously considered bringing up the subject of marriage—again. But he was getting pretty tired of being told no.
And Molly was lifting up her mouth to him, eager for his kiss. He pressed his lips to hers and put all his attention into making love to her. It worked. For a while, at least, he was able to push the ever-present question of when—and if—she would finally say yes from his mind.
On the Monday after the Cattlemen's Ball, while a freak summer thunderstorm raged outside, Molly and Tate took their places at the table in the dining room, and Miranda began serving the meal. The doorbell chimed as lightning flared through the room. After the big clap of thunder that followed, Tate tucked his napkin under the rim of his plate. "I'll get it, Miranda."
When he opened the front door, his long-lost brother blew in on a crack of thunder and a hard gust of wind.
"Whew. Never thought I'd make it." Tucker let out a laugh. "It's wild out there." He set down his suitcases and ran his hand back through his short, spiky-looking brown-gold hair.
Tate shut the door, muffling the loud booms of thunder and the hollow drumming of the heavy rain. "We wondered where the hell you were."
"We got out of LAX late, then circled the Dallas airport for a couple of hours, waiting on a break in the weather. I would have called, but my cell was as dead as yesterday's news. I keep telling myself I've got to remember to charge the damn thing."
Tucker looked good, Tate thought. He'd filled out some since the last time he'd been home, for their mother's funeral two years before. A little thicker through the shoulders and bigger in the arms—which were extended toward Tate.
"Well, big brother, do I get a welcome-home hug?"
Tate stepped forward and he and Tucker did a little mutual back thumping. When that was over, Tucker spotted Molly, who'd come to stand in the arch to the dining room by then.
"Hey." Tucker blinked, clearly puzzled. "Well, what do you know? Molly, right? Molly O'Dare. Didn't we go to high school together?"
Molly came toward them wearing her widest, friendliest smile. "You were in the class right after mine, I think. Hello, Tucker. Welcome home."
Yeah, okay. Tate knew he probably should have explained to his brother about how Molly was living with him. But he and Tucker had only talked a couple of times since Tucker decided to come back home. The right opportunity to go into the situation had never presented itself.
Tucker released Molly's hand and slanted Tate a look. "So...how's life treating you?"
"Great," Tate blustered, "just great." He took Molly by the arm and pulled her to his side, feeling as though he should say something right then about their relationship—but not knowing what.
Maybe...
Molly here's having my baby and she's going to marry me—eventually. I think...
Or...
Molly and I are living together. It's a trial run for marriage...
Uh-uh. Any way he put it, it was going to sound peculiar. Better to just save all the explaining for later.
Molly wrapped an arm around his waist and laid her other hand on his chest, in a move both casual and intimate. She seemed so...happy and comfortable about it all. She said to Tucker, "We're just sitting down to eat. Wh
y don't you leave your suitcases right here, and Jesse will carry them over to the South Wing for you? You can use the half bath off the breakfast room if you want to freshen up a little."
"Great idea. I could eat a whole herd of Herefords, Hmm...something smells like beef."
"Prime rib," Molly told him.
"Be with you in a flash." Tucker was already headed for the half bath in back.
Once his brother was out of sight, Tate tried to turn for the dining room. Molly didn't let him go. She gave a squeeze to his waist and she tugged on the collar of his shirt.
"You should have told him about me, don't you think?" She said it low, just between the two of them. And she didn't look the least upset. More like kind of sweetly amused.
That bugged him. Yeah, all right. He should have said something to Tucker. But he'd kept hoping that before Tucker arrived Molly would finally say yes, that he would be able to introduce her as his bride.
No such luck. And now she found it amusing that she refused him at every turn?
She must have known by his expression that he was not the least amused. "Whatever you're thinking," she whispered in warning, "save it for later, please."
He declined to reply to that. "What do you say we head on back to the table?"
"You bet." Her arm dropped away from his waist and she let go of his collar.
They turned—side by side, but not touching—and went in to dinner.
The meal went well enough. They ate to the accompaniment of gusting rain spattering the windows and bright lightning flashes, followed by booming rolls of thunder. Tate tried to put his newly stirred-up resentment toward Molly aside.
Molly herself was charming and talkative. Tucker praised the food and told them about his life in Los Angeles—and before that in New York and Chicago, in London and Paris and Rome.
After the dessert of apple crisp and homemade ice cream, Molly excused herself. She had a "few things" that needed "taking care of," she said.
Tate knew it was just an excuse to give him and his brother a little time alone. She got up and said good-night to Tucker and then she looked at Tate with a soft little smile.
Marrying Molly Page 14
