The Wren

by Kristy McCaffrey

“Do you think the bones Cale found are the men who attacked?”

  “I don’t know.” Matt picked up the potatoes and carrots with his fingers instead of using a fork, quickly consuming them. “He didn’t find anything more that would’ve been useful in identifying who they might’ve been. But if they’re the same men, then someone went to an extra effort to conceal the bodies. That means someone early on in the search got out there and disposed of them before the rest of us came along.”

  “Do you remember who that might’ve been?”

  Matt shook his head. “No. Honestly, it could’ve been anyone.”

  She fell silent.

  “Logan said Claire is leaving in the morning,” Matt said, popping pieces of torn chicken meat into his mouth.

  “It would seem so.”

  “You thinkin’ of goin’ with her?”

  “No, I thought I should stay a bit longer yet. I’d still like to know what happened to my folks.”

  “We may never know that.” Matt wiped his greasy fingers with a cloth napkin, then pushed the tray aside. He’d managed to eat the large meal so swiftly.

  “I realize that.” Frowning at the empty plate, she asked, “Do you want more food?”

  “No.” His unrelenting gaze focused on her, making her uncomfortable.

  “Then maybe I should leave.” She stood.

  “You don’t have to,” he said quietly, “unless you want to.”

  Hesitating, she replied honestly. “I’m not sure what I want.”

  She stepped toward the bed, then shook her head and turned to flee but Matt reached for her. His large, callused fingers burned the skin around her wrist where he held her. Her heart pounded and she swayed, light-headed.

  “Molly.” His deep voice caressed her. The sound of her name on his lips was enough to ignite a desire in her body so sharp she almost gasped aloud. “I don’t have any answers for this.”

  “I don’t recall asking a question.” Her voice, husky and full of wanting, didn’t seem to be her own.

  “You’re young, and I have far too much experience to understand what this is.”

  She still couldn’t look at him. “So, you prefer women with experience?” Claire had said men came to the brothel to pay for sex, preferably with women who knew how to give pleasure. Did Matt frequent such establishments? And if he did, how could she ever hope to live up to such expectations?

  “Molly,” he said more urgently, pulling her around to face him. “What I prefer has nothing to do with this. You’re a beautiful young woman who’s been through hell and back the last ten years. It’s my job to look out for you.”

  “Since when?” Good Lord, she sounded almost petulant.

  “Since ten years ago,” he responded impatiently. He took a deep breath before continuing.

  His large, tanned hand still held her. She thought to pull away, but his thumb grazed her knuckles, moving back and forth in a way that felt far more than friendly. It dawned on her then that maybe Matt wasn’t sure of what should or shouldn’t be between them; maybe he was as confused, as attracted, as she. It was that very thought that made her feel bold, almost reckless, and she seized the feeling and the moment before common sense stopped her. Leaning forward, she kissed him.

  One kiss, lips to lips, then she stopped, her mouth inches from his. Matt didn’t move. Disappointment struck hard. It had been too forward, and now she’d humiliated herself. Indecision kept her frozen in place.

  “I’m sorry—”

  Matt’s mouth covered hers, hard and unyielding. His hands dug into her hair, holding her in place while he kissed her. She fell against him and gripped his shoulders as his lips devoured hers. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, she could only hold on while the storm between them exploded.

  Molly started to tremble, overcome by the strength of Matt’s desire. Her heart raced, her skin felt flushed, and her breasts reacted to the slightest movement of his body. Deep within her abdomen awakened a longing, a need that overcame reasonable thought…

  Without warning, Matt stopped.

  Molly opened her eyes, completely bewildered.

  “This is dangerous,” he said, his rapid breathing mingling with her own. “I’m not a saint, Molly. You make me forget right and wrong.”

  Reluctantly, Molly withdrew from him. She felt exhilarated, but also apprehensive at what had just occurred. Her innocence was distressingly apparent to her. Matt’s lust was that of a man, and she kissed him in the artless way of a naïve young girl, but that was exactly what she was. Maybe Matt was right in denying what was between them. His kiss demanded a completion that left her filled with longing, but also uncertainty.

  It would seem she wasn’t ready to meet the demands of the flesh between a man and woman.

  She stood, amazed her legs even held her upright. She walked around the bed and took the tray holding his dinner dishes, then hastily left the room.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Matt had only himself to blame for his restless, miserable night of sleep. He didn’t know what hurt more, his foot or his own persistent arousal. He never should have kissed Molly, but once he had, he could think of nothing else.

  She had lured him with one chaste kiss, obliterating his self-control and making him forget why he shouldn’t touch her. With frustration, he knew touching her wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning of a longer struggle to keep her at arm’s length.

  If there was any consolation in the situation, it was his certain knowledge that keeping his distance wouldn’t be difficult. It was painfully obvious he’d overwhelmed Molly last night, and she’d likely want nothing to do with him while she remained at the SR.

  Damn, that was why he’d struggled to stay away from her in the first place. His hunger had gone beyond proper and delicate in a flash. He would have gladly undressed her and learned every innocent inch of her. Innocent. That was why he couldn’t touch her. She deserved better than a lustful encounter that Matt wasn’t even sure he could control anymore.

  He could marry her.

  The thought stopped him cold.

  He’d never wanted to settle down. Did he really want to now? Or were the recent longings for an anchored home life just fleeting desires? He had roots. The SR provided that.

  Matt hesitated to act on impulse, for it went against his nature. Wait, watch, listen. That was what he’d always taught his men, in or out of battle. And patience. It could save a man’s life.

  Molly had left his room last night stunned to her very toes. It was clear she felt the pull between them, but it was also obvious she was nowhere near ready to face it. He really couldn’t blame her.

  Perhaps he needed to practice what he had so often preached—patience. Molly needed time to become accustomed to him. He needed time to decide if he could truly make a commitment to her, because anything less would be unacceptable for her situation. They needed a chance to get to know each other again.

  Awaking at dawn, he decided keeping her at arm’s length wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  * * *

  Molly hugged Claire as she prepared to leave. They stood outside, in the early-morning light, while Jonathan and Lester Williams, an older man with a purposeful face, prepared the horses. Logan and Susanna also waited nearby.

  “Send word that you’re all right,” Molly said, “and how I might reach you.”

  Claire nodded.

  “We’ll see each other again,” Molly predicted.

  “I hope so,” Claire replied sincerely. Smiling past the awkwardness of the goodbye, she said quietly, “Matt didn’t get hit in the head with a rock, but his injured foot puts him at a disadvantage. I hope it works out the way you want it to.”

  Molly shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s such a good thing anymore.” Thoughts of where their kiss might have led had haunted her sleep all night long.

  Claire looked at her in surprise. “Then you can avoid him, and he can’t chase you down?” she asked uncertainly.

  �
�I suppose there’s that, too.” Molly laughed as tears unexpectedly filled her eyes. “I’m going to miss you.”

  Claire squeezed her hand, pausing for a moment before she mounted her horse. Logan moved to help her. Susanna stood next to Molly. “Have a safe journey, Claire,” she said.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Ryan. You’ve been very kind to me. Mr. Ryan, I appreciate everything, truly I do.”

  “Well, you come back and visit, you hear?” Jonathan said.

  Logan stood back to let her and Lester leave.

  He slapped the rump of her horse, then walked several yards away from the main house to watch them as they rode toward the west.

  Soon, Molly would be riding away in the same fashion. The knowledge only left her feeling confused. She and Matt were obviously mismatched. Why would leaving upset her?

  It was the uncertain future, she told herself. That’s what it had to be. Because the other option filled her with trepidation…and excitement. It meant giving her body to Matt, sharing with him something she had only imagined. If that happened, then what?

  Leaving would break her heart.

  So, was her only choice to avoid Matt until she moved on?

  Standing near Susanna, Molly almost turned to the older woman for advice. She certainly needed some, but the words caught in her throat.

  “Molly, dear,” Susanna said, “Claire will be fine. Lester has been with us for years. He’s honest and trustworthy, a fine man. He’ll see her safely home.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.”

  Matt’s mother gazed at her intently. “Is something else bothering you?”

  Molly forced the words out in a rush. “Mrs. Ryan, what does a woman do when a man is interested in her?”

  Susanna looked surprised. “Is one of the ranch hands bothering you?”

  Molly shook her head. “No. Not exactly.”

  “Well, if the man is worth his salt, he would court you, then propose marriage.” Susanna paused. “In these parts, however, there are exceptions to that, but a woman should be certain of her situation before letting…certain liberties be taken.”

  “Liberties?”

  “Hmm.” Susanna frowned. “Who is it, Molly? That boy, Howie, from the Callahan Ranch? I could have Jonathan have a talk with him.”

  “Oh, no. That’s all right.”

  The older woman grasped Molly’s hand. “You’ve been away from this way of life for some time. It’ll take a while to readjust, but you’re also a very lovely young woman. I don’t doubt you’ll receive a lot of attention. From men, that is.”

  Molly nodded.

  “Just remember,” Susanna continued, “you can take the time to choose. Men are not all created equal.”

  Logan joined them. “What makes you say that, Ma?”

  “A woman’s choices can haunt her all her life.”

  Logan grinned. “Right. Isn’t the same true of a man’s choices?”

  “Yes, of course,” Susanna said. “Just take your time, Molly. There’s no rush. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. And if you’d like me to invite Howie for dinner, I’d be happy to.”

  Logan raised an eyebrow.

  “No,” Molly said, “that’s not necessary.”

  “If you change your mind, let me know.” Susanna released her hand, then returned to the house.

  “Would you like some advice from an unequal man?” Logan asked.

  Molly laughed. “I don’t know.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t let Matt think it was his idea.”

  “Why?”

  “I probably shouldn’t say this.” Logan’s face was so much like Matt’s—hard planes and dark hair and the same blue-green eyes—but his personality was far more relaxed and open. “He seems to think he should be plannin’ your life for you, to make up for the last ten years of missin’ out.”

  “I suppose he’s just trying to help.”

  Logan put an arm around her shoulders and walked back toward the house with her. “Matt would never admit it, but he’s happier than a possum eatin’ a yellow jacket to see you.”

  “Matt? Happy? That’s not what I’m getting from him.”

  “Yeah, that’s my point.”

  “I appreciate the advice, but I’m not sure I understand your point.”

  “Give ‘im a run for his money. Make him earn it.”

  She shook her head in confusion.

  Logan turned to face her. “He’s determined to see you married and settled to ease his guilty conscience, to make sure there’s a good man lookin’ out for you, that you’re happy and safe. But I don’t think that’s what you want, and I don’t think that’s what he wants, either.” He knocked her shoulder with a friendly thump of his fist.

  She went slightly off balance.

  “I could always do that to you as a kid, too.” Logan walked back toward the corral, leaving her on the front porch.

  Still not completely clear about what Logan was trying to tell her, she did know she couldn’t avoid Matt. The truth was, she really didn’t want to. She marched into the house and went straight to his bedroom.

  * * *

  Matt was finishing the large breakfast of eggs, bacon, potatoes, and biscuits Rosita had brought him when a knock came on his door. Thinking it was the elderly Mexican woman returning for the tray, he was surprised when Molly entered after he yelled, “Come in.”

  He didn’t know what to say. Surely she would want to avoid him after last night. And evading him wouldn’t have been hard, considering his injured foot.

  She appeared…well, pretty. He couldn’t stop staring at her. The calico dress hugged her curves in all the right places. Dark, chestnut hair framed her face and her blue eyes sparkled with determination.

  “Claire and Mr. Williams just left,” she said in a rush. “I told Rosita I’d fetch your tray.” She came around to his side of the bed and stood next to him. As she leaned over he caught her scent, a hint of roses and fresh air. In a fog, he handed her his breakfast dishes.

  “I’ll be back once I deliver these to the kitchen.” In a flurry, she left the room.

  Matt didn’t have a chance to collect his thoughts before she returned. She carried a wooden crutch. “Dawson just finished this. Get up and get dressed,” she commanded. “You should go outside for a while.”

  She moved to his bureau and pulled out a dark blue shirt and a pair of brown trousers.

  “I can dress myself,” he said hoarsely, still surprised she was giving him the time of day.

  Walking toward him, all flushed and full of feminine energy, she frowned. “I don’t think so. Would it be all right if I cut a slit up the right side of these pants so we can get them over your foot?”

  “I suppose.” He was trying to keep up with her rapid train of thought.

  She left again in search of scissors. When she returned, she put her hands on his thighs to help him swing his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Molly.” He flinched in surprise. Trying to remove her fingers, he did his best to ignore the heat of her palms.

  “You need help.” She pushed his hands away.

  Involuntarily, he groaned as his injured leg left the comfort of its pillow.

  Once he was upright, Molly moved quickly to put the shirt on him, feeding his arms through the sleeves, then rolling the cloth to his elbows. As she shifted to the front buttons, he stopped her.

  “I can do this myself.” If he didn’t, he was afraid he might grab her and do more than kiss her this time. Diverting his attention to the pain throbbing in his foot helped to cool the urge.

  Holding the pants up, she leaned down to fit his legs into the holes.

  “Molly.” He pulled the trousers from her hands. “Give a man some privacy.”

  “I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” she calmly replied.

  “I think I can manage.”

  “I can assure you, I won’t see anything I already haven’t. Comanche men wore very little, especially on the war path.”
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  Matt stared down at her; she gazed right back. What was she up to? She wasn’t giving him an ounce of space. And the thought of her surrounded by scantily clad men needled him.

  “I wonder how they put up with you,” he muttered, leaning over to put his good leg into the trousers.

  She laughed. “Sometimes I think the Kwahadi wondered that too. They didn’t like snakes in camp, but I did have a knack for catching them.”

  He struggled with his injured foot. She crouched down to help, and he reluctantly let her. Their hands touched.

  “You’re going to get killed one day if you keep messin’ with snakes.”

  “It’s mostly the harmless ones. Believe it or not, I do know the difference.” She stood. “Can you pull them up now?”

  He glared at her. She threw her hands up. “I won’t look.” She turned around and rested her hands on her hips.

  He glanced again at her backside, noting the nice flare of her waist. Balancing on his good foot, he yanked the trousers up.

  “I was actually bitten by a rattlesnake when I was twelve or thirteen,” she said casually.

  Matt sat down on his bed again, having accomplished his goal of getting dressed. “What?”

  “There was this cave. Running Water and I were playing, and she ran inside. When I came up behind her there was the biggest rattler I’d ever seen in my life, coiled and ready to strike. He was the meanest-looking thing I’d ever seen.”

  Matt felt cold. “You can turn around.”

  “Oh.” She faced him again and smiled. “Everything buttoned and tucked?”

  “Yeah.” Morosely he asked, “What happened with the snake?”

  “I tried to save Running Water. When I turned to push her out of the cave, the snake bit me in the heel of my foot. I still have a scar. Would you like to see it?” She lifted her right foot.

  “That’s all right. Obviously you didn’t die.”

  “Obviously.” She grinned, and the room seemed brighter. “But I was quite ill. The shaman, Esa-tai, prepared great medicine to save me. But honestly, I think I must have received very little poison. The snake had struck me through thick moccasins. There was much talk when I recovered to change my name to Snake Charmer instead of Cactus Bird.”