“Oh.” Molly’s response was nothing more than a whispered breath accompanied by wide eyes.
“I said you were lucky, and it seems I was right.” Wolf slipped a finger under the bracelet and tossed it to her. The light touched the stones again before they landed in Molly’s lap.
Molly stared down at the bracelet, and finally lifted it carefully with both hands, as if it were a fragile flower that could be crushed in careless fingers. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
He wasn’t surprised that this was a weakness Molly shared with others of her sex. He’d seen women who had everything a lady could ask for capitulate for something as rare and brilliant as the bracelet she’d won, and Molly, from what he’d seen, didn’t have much. She’d certainly never held anything like her winnings.
She cradled it in her hands for a moment, and then she placed it carefully beside the spread cards. “But I can’t keep it.”
“It’s yours, you won it,” Wolf insisted.
Rid of the bracelet, Molly smiled. “And if it were mine, what would I do with it? Wear it to church on Sunday? I don’t think it’s appropriate, especially since it would be ill-gotten if I were to keep it.”
“Ill-gotten goods are to be savored.”
Molly smiled brightly, as if he’d been jesting with her. “Is that how you came by such a treasure? Did you win it in a card game?”
“It was my mother’s.”
Molly’s smile faded, and she tipped her head to one side quizzically, sending those red curls falling softly over her shoulder. “That’s another reason I cannot accept it. It’s a family heirloom. What would your mother think if she knew you would gamble away something so precious?”
“I’m the last of the Trevelyans,” Wolf muttered, wondering how this conversation got so turned about. “There is no family. Take it.” He tossed the bracelet to Molly again, angry that she hadn’t reacted as he’d been certain she would, and she stood quickly so that it fell to the blanket, landing with a thud there where she’d been sitting.
“I have to be going now,” she said quickly, picking up her basket and moving past him. Today she didn’t leave the path, but stepped across the blanket and over his legs.
“Red,” he called, standing quickly as she moved down the path.
She stopped, and turned to watch him warily.
“Sorry I snapped at you,” he said, not looking at her.
“That’s all right.”
“I wanted you to have it, that’s all.”
He knew she harbored no hard feelings when she smiled at him. “You’re very sweet.”
Wolf lifted his eyebrows. “Sweet?” No one had called him sweet in . . . no one had ever called him sweet.
Molly turned away and was stepping quickly down the path. Her hood was down, and so that enticing hair danced behind her. She didn’t ask if he would be here again the next day. Perhaps she knew he couldn’t resist.
Why had she refused the bracelet? And if she were going to refuse, why play the game at all? It occurred to him, belatedly, that perhaps she had wanted to lose.
“Stay on the path. Red,” he whispered as she rounded a corner and disappeared into the woods.
“Did you love Grandpa?” Molly asked, trying to keep her question and her face as innocent as possible.
Grandma had finished her meal, though in Molly’s mind she hadn’t eaten nearly enough. “Of course I did. He was a good man.”
It was as unsatisfactory an answer as her mother’s vague ‘you’ll just know.’
“But how did you know?”
Grandma left the table, gathered her woolen shawl and cane, and made herself comfortable by the fireplace. In many ways, Molly was closer to her grandmother than to her own mother. Mary Kincaid had always been overly protective, since Molly was her only child, and so many times Molly had turned to her grandmother for advice instead of facing her mother. Grandma Kincaid was a sensible woman who never hesitated to speak her mind, and besides, sometimes Molly found it was easier to be forthright with the older woman than with her mother.
“It didn’t come all of a sudden,” Grandma said softly as she rocked rhythmically in her favorite chair.
“It didn’t?”
“The marriage was arranged by our families. I barely knew Michael when we married.” Grandma stared past the parted lace curtains, to the forest beyond.
“So you didn’t love him when you married?”
Grandma was silent for a long moment, and Molly was reluctant to interrupt her thoughts. “I respected him greatly, and I knew he would make a good companion, but no. I didn’t love him then. That came later.”
Molly sat on the floor at her grandmother’s feet. “But when it came, how did you know it was real true love?”
Grandma turned suspicious eyes to Molly. Eyes that, it seemed, saw everything. “You are certainly inquisitive today. Why all the questions about love?”
“I’ll want to marry someday,” Molly said defensively. “I should understand these things. Shouldn’t I?”
Grandma smiled. “You should. Unfortunately, there are no easy answers to your questions. Love is different for everyone. It comes slowly and with a lightning bolt. Strong and soft. And then, there are some poor souls who never find love at all.”
“That’s very sad,” Molly said, and she shivered. What if she never found true love? Had Wolf Trevelyan ever found love?
As if her grandmother had read her mind, she answered one of Molly’s doubts. “But you don’t have to worry about that,” she assured. “You have so much love within you that it shines from your eyes. And no man who is the object of a love like that can turn away from it or restrain himself from returning it.” Her soft smile died. “Your mother and I have not been fair with you, child. We’ve depended on you too much in the past, when you should have been searching for a life of your own.”
“You need me.” Molly placed a hand on her grandmother’s knee. “And difficult as you are,” she teased, “I love you both.”
Molly felt thin, fragile fingers in her hair. “Perhaps it’s time we began a conscientious search for a husband for you, child. You’re so beautiful, it shouldn’t be a chore.”
It sounded so unromantic and businesslike. A search. A chore. “I guess I thought I’d just . . . just stumble upon the right man, when the time came. Look at him and know, at that very moment, that he was the right man for me.”
“Only in fairy tales, Molly,” Grandma whispered. “Only in fairy tales.”
Molly stayed longer than she should, and when she left her grandmother’s house she practically ran down the footpath. There was bread to be delivered, and mending to do. Perhaps today she’d make better progress than she had the evening before, when she’d wasted hours on Mr. Hanson’s shirts.
But she was certain to be as distracted tonight as she’d been since she’d met Wolf. It had been foolish to play his game, but she’d so wanted to lose that last hand.
How did a girl go about getting a man to kiss her? That was one question she couldn’t ask her mother or her grandmother, but she desperately needed to know. It would be much too forward simply to ask Wolf to kiss her. Heavens, what would he think of her?
If Wolf kissed her, perhaps she would know if what she was feeling for him was really love.
She was almost to the road when she heard something. A rustle, deep in the woods, that shouldn’t have been there. Instead of running, Molly stopped and faced the dark shadows of the forest and the direction of the sound. She could see nothing but trees and shadows and a few blooming asters close to the ground.
Placing the empty basket on the ground, Molly stepped off of the pathway. With a hand against a white pine, she leaned forward, straining to hear the sound again, but there was nothing.
“Wolf?” she whispered.
For the span of a heartbeat, Molly knew he was out there somewhere. Watching her. She would give anything for another five minutes, even for another glimpse of him before she had to r
eturn to Kingsport. It was an amazingly strong impulse that forced her, momentarily, from the path. What explanation could there be for her fascination? Was Wolf Trevelyan her one true love?
Wolf always told her to stay on the path, and the truth of it was her sense of direction was so poor she’d surely get lost if she didn’t.
So she scooped her basket up and ran from the unidentified sound. It might have been a wild animal, one of the beasts Wolf had been hunting. It might have been her imagination.
It might have been Wolf.
“Will that be all, Mr. Trevelyan?”
Larkin’s quiet question startled Wolf, so much so that he nearly jumped from his chair.
His supper was untouched, but his wine glass had been refilled several times. Wolf lifted his hand, and the still full plate was taken away. Once again, he was alone in a dining hall that was meant for a large family.
The table was monstrously long, the chairs that lined it monstrously empty.
Of course, he had come here to be alone, to escape the crowds and the bustle of the city.
The bracelet Molly had refused was sitting before him, sparkling in the candlelight, teasing him mercilessly.
She’d wanted it. Damn it, he was certain Molly had wanted that bracelet with all her heart. Her eyes had lit up, and she’d handled it almost reverently. She found it beautiful and still she spurned it. Ill-gotten, she’d said — and quite seriously.
There had been a moment, as he’d watched Molly head for home, when he’d stepped on a twig and she’d heard the resulting soft snap. She’d actually left the path before hesitating and turning back.
A few more steps into the forest, and she would have seen him. He didn’t think she would have been surprised. Hadn’t it been his name she’d whispered when she left the path?
Molly couldn’t be had through strong drink, and she couldn’t be bought with sparkling jewels. She seemed to be as innocent as she had first appeared to be.
So why wasn’t she afraid? Why didn’t she run from him?
Perhaps all she wanted was exactly what he needed more and more each day. Wolf refilled his glass again and watched the play of candlelight through the red wine. By now all the servants had retired to their third floor rooms, all but Larkin, who would stay awake and alert until Wolf decided to retire for the evening, and who would be awake and alert when Wolf rose in the morning.
Wolf had often wondered if the old man ever slept, ever caught a cold, ever lost his temper. Perhaps while Wolf was in New York the staff of the house at Vanora Point slept late and drank wine from the house stock and carried on illicit affairs on the third floor.
That thought made Wolf smile. Larkin and the cook — what was her name? The stable boy and the girl who was supposedly an upstairs maid, but fluttered around and squealed endlessly whenever Wolf was home. All he had to do was look in her direction and she fell apart.
This place was a colossal bore, but if Molly would consent to be his mistress, he might spend much more time on the family estate.
Wolf toasted the empty room. “To Molly Kincaid.” The words echoed off the high ceiling. “May she be as delicious as she appears to be.”
Molly’s basket was filled with loaves of bread, but her mind wasn’t on the delivery route. Mrs. McCann waved as Molly passed, stepping from the mercantile and smiling brightly, but it was a moment before Molly remembered her manners and waved back. The smile was not a problem. She had the silliest grin plastered on her face, and she wasn’t exactly sure why.
It had to be Wolf. He was on her mind all the time, and Molly found herself contemplating such notions as love and kisses and irregularly pounding hearts.
If she didn’t tell someone she was going to bust. Hannah and Stella were her very best friends, but Hannah had never kept a secret for more than ten minutes.
Molly made a delivery to Mr. Hanson’s house, and she smiled and gave all the right answers when he inquired after her mother. Orville Hanson was not very tall, but then neither was Mary Kincaid. He had a slightly rounded belly, but his face was rather handsome, in the way an older man’s face might be.
It was soft, though, she noted as she nodded and listened to his endless questions about her mother’s health and well-being. And his eyes, while kind, were rather soft. Not unfocused, exactly, but not sharp and exciting like Wolf’s dark green eyes.
When she left Mr. Hanson’s house, Molly found herself diverging from her usual path and heading toward Stella’s house. Stella’s husband was a fisherman, like many of the local men, and he was usually gone until late afternoon or early evening.
Generally Molly didn’t have time to stop and visit, but today was different.
Stella greeted her enthusiastically, as she always did, but Molly couldn’t help but notice how two years of marriage had changed her friend. Stella’s pale brown hair was piled haphazardly on top of her head, and her apron was stained from what had already been a long day.
Wallace, Stella’s husband, was a gruff but good and hard-working man. That was all most of the local girls wanted and expected in a husband, but Molly suspected there was more.
“Come in,” Stella whispered, opening the door wide for Molly to enter her little house. Stella’s house was much like the one Molly shared with her mother. A main room, a small separate kitchen, a single bedroom. The baby slept in the main room, just as Molly always had.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Stella whispered. “I never see you anymore.”
Molly felt guilty for taking the time to visit her friend only when she needed someone to talk to.
Stella led Molly to the kitchen, grasping her hand and pulling her along with a smile, and Molly deposited her basket on the table. She still had three deliveries to make, so she couldn’t stay long.
“I have to tell you,” Molly began, but she was interrupted by a loud wail from the baby’s bed.
Stella’s face fell, and big tears welled up in her eyes. “I can’t believe it. He just went to sleep a few minutes ago.”
Molly couldn’t believe her friend was getting so upset, and just because the baby was waking up too soon. Little Wally was a cute boy, just now a year old and the picture of his father, with pale hair and a round face.
“Let me get him for you,” Molly offered, and she went to fetch Wally from his bed. The little cutie stopped crying the very moment she picked him up.
When she returned to the kitchen, Stella was seated at the table with her head in her hands. “What am I going to do?” She lifted her head, and Molly was certain she had never seen such despair. “He never sleeps any more, not in the day time, and now I’m going to have another one.”
Stella’s wail was as pleading as Wally’s had been.
“Another baby?” Molly asked, taking a seat and bouncing Wally on her knee. “That’s wonder —” Stella’s loud sniffle stopped Molly’s congratulations.
She couldn’t possibly ask Stella about Wolf. Not now. Molly listened to Stella’s woes, and nodded her head when her friend complained about getting no sleep and being sick in the morning, and never finishing her work.
There was nothing Molly could do but tell Stella to take a nap while she finished her deliveries with Wally on her hip.
He was a good baby, and listened attentively as Molly extolled the virtues of a man everyone else seemed to hate. He even listened attentively to her lengthy discourse on love and her fledgling theories about exactly how it is to be found.
Wally didn’t seem at all bored at her prolonged description of Wolf’s green eyes, nor was he shocked when Molly revealed that she had actually hoped to lose that last hand, when there’d been a kiss at stake. As if he understood completely, Wally clasped a fat hand over his mouth and laughed brightly.
The fact that Molly made faces at the baby as she opened her heart to him might have had something to do with his delight.
By the time Molly finished her deliveries and returned to Stella’s house, her exhausted friend was sound asleep in the
cool bedroom.
Molly cleaned Wally up, and gave him a cracker, and set about trying to straighten Stella’s kitchen, quietly, of course. She started a pot of stew, which was no trouble since Stella had all the fixings ready, and she even mended a shirt that had been thrown across the back of a kitchen chair.
Wally was good company, and a wonderful listener even after Molly lowered her voice to a whisper, and by the time Stella woke from her nap Molly had satisfied her need to tell someone about Wolf.
Chapter Four
She had known Wolf would be waiting, but as always he surprised her. Today he carried no rifle, no knapsack, and there was no blanket spread across the path.
Wolf leaned against a white pine, his stance casual as he blatantly watched the path for her. In one hand he held a small and rather ragged bouquet of wildflowers, blue and yellow and white.
His face was partially in shadow, but she could see that his mouth was grim and his eyes were hard. She felt as if everything inside her tightened, a physical reaction that was akin to fear but different. Lighter. Somehow the sight of Wolf exhilarated her.
“Since you refused your ill-gotten winnings yesterday, I thought you might like these instead.” No greeting, no insolent “Hello, Red.” Just the oddly reluctant offering of wildflowers.
“They’re beautiful,” she said as she took the bouquet from Wolf, being careful not to touch his hand. “Where did you find them? I don’t think I’ve ever seen these growing in the forest.”
He didn’t answer immediately, but stared down at her diligently.
“They grow far from the path, near a stream.”
“Oh.” Molly bent her head to smell the wildflowers, and to escape Wolf’s piercing gaze for a moment. Today there was nothing between them. No loaf of bread, no deck of cards. She missed the safety of a clear division of some sort.
“And you always stay on the path, don’t you, Red?”
Molly lifted her face from the wildflowers and looked up at Wolf. There was no humor in the harsh set of his lips, no brightness in the hard eyes he glared at her with. He looked, at that moment, as predatory as the residents of Kingsport had always accused.
Big Bad Wolf Page 4
