by Mary McBride
“Bet you were engaged, though, right?”
“No,” Molly lied.
“That surprises me. A sharp-looking woman like…” The phone rang, cutting Raylene off in mid-sentence. “S’cuse me a sec, hon. That’s probably Barb Fyler wanting to come in for that permanent after all.”
After the hairdresser picked up the phone, Molly couldn’t tell who was on the other end of the line. The conversation on Raylene’s end was mostly yep and all righty and, finally, okeydokey, bye now.
She hung up and returned to her scissorwork, saying, “That was Danny with his shorts all in knots because you left and didn’t tell him where you were going. My Lord. I could be gone a week before Buddy even realized I wasn’t there, and then he’d probably only notice because his sock drawer would turn up empty one morning.”
Molly frowned in the mirror, not knowing whether to be flattered or slightly appalled by Dan’s possessiveness. Or even a bit afraid. If the Marshals office in Houston hadn’t assured her they had indeed hired him to make repairs, she might have been suspicious that Dan had terrorist links.
“He said to keep you right here, hon, and he’ll be by for you in about fifteen minutes. I oughta be able to finish you up by then.” She snipped another lock of hair. “Looks like somebody just can’t stand to have you out of his sight, Molly girl.”
“I wouldn’t exactly describe it as my shorts being in knots,” Dan said in his own defense after he’d walked Molly out of Raylene’s and put her in his car. “I just didn’t know where you were. That’s all.”
“This is Moonglow, Dan, for pity’s sake. How far could I have gone?”
He started the car. “So, what did Raylene have to say about Ginny Hoke?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You probably didn’t have to,” he said. “I suspect the news is all over town by now.”
“Well, Raylene said it’s old news. She said that everybody always knew the truth about Ginny’s daughter. And…” Molly added with a little chuckle, “she said you were always renowned for your—how shall I put it?—precautionary measures.”
That reminded Dan that he ought to slip over to Idella in the next county and pick up a few precautionary measures just in case the fire in Molly’s eyes burned out of control one of these nights. If he so much as glanced at a condom in the drugstore here, the town criers would have a field day. The fact that he wasn’t planning to sleep with Molly, anyway, if he could help it, just made him all that more conscious of her reputation. He didn’t want to hurt her in any way.
“Why don’t I take you out to dinner?” he asked, heading the BMW down Main Street. “There used to be a nice little Italian place out on Route 4.”
“Palazzo’s,” Molly said. “It’s still there. In fact, I had dinner there the first week I was in town. It’s pretty good.”
“Not New York, though.” He wanted to cut off his tongue the minute the words left his mouth. Not only did references to her past make Molly edgy, but he didn’t want her asking what a ne’er-do-well handyman was doing eating Italian in New York.
“No, not New York,” she said quietly. “At least, I wouldn’t imagine so.”
“Me, neither,” Dan said, putting an end to that little blunder.
Palazzo’s was Texas Italian, with strings of red chili-pepper lights strung across its dusty parking lot and a pair of longhorns nailed over the front door. Inside, the tables were covered with red-and-white checkered cloths and lit with candles in red votives.
“This is nice,” Molly said as she slid into a high-backed booth.
It was even nicer, Dan thought, when their waitress turned out to be not a day over twenty-one with no possible memories of him, for better or for worse. He was so relieved, in fact, that he forgot he wasn’t drinking for the duration, and he promptly ordered a bottle of Chianti for himself and Molly.
It wasn’t until they were halfway through their spaghetti and garlic bread and second bottle that Dan realized his dinner companion was well on her way to becoming blitzed. He refilled his glass to the rim and dripped just a few polite sips in hers.
“Drink much, Molly?”
She sucked up a long, maverick strand of pasta, then laughed as she wiped her chin. “Not lately,” she said.
“Yeah. I didn’t think so.”
“I’d like to propose a toast,” she said, lifting her glass and cocking her head toward Dan. “To Moonbeam.”
“You mean Moonglow.”
“That’s what I said.”
“To Moonglow,” Dan said, clinking his glass against hers, then bolting its contents so he could pour out the remainder of the bottle before she got it.
In the meantime, Molly had begun pawing through her big straw handbag, making disappointed little clucking noises with her tongue.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“My wallet. I’ve decided, since I’m the professor and you are but a lowly carpenter, I really ought to pay for this dinner. And I would, if I could just find my stupid wallet. Now, where do you suppose it could be?”
God, she was pretty, even several sheets to the wind.
“I don’t know, Professor.” Dan angled his hip to reach for his own wallet just as their waitress brought the check.
“I’ll take that,” Molly said.
The young woman looked at Dan, as if to ask if that were all right. He nodded, deciding he’d rather fight Molly for the bill privately than have her drag the poor waitress into the fray.
“I know it’s in here.”
She began to empty the bag, item by item, onto the table, something he couldn’t imagine her doing in a sober state. Once the bag was nearly empty, she did all but climb inside it for a final inspection. With Molly so preoccupied, Dan slid his credit card out of his wallet and handed that and the check to the waitress.
“I’ll be right back, sir,” she said, winking, seeming somehow relieved that the natural order of things had been maintained.
Molly surfaced from the depths of her purse. “How can I pay the bill if I can’t find my wallet?”
“I got it, Molly. I’ll tell you what. You can owe me.”
“Okay.” She picked up one of the myriad notepads and a pen that she’d produced earlier. “How much?”
“Thirty-eight dollars and fifty-eight cents.”
She wrote it slowly, with the pronounced dignity of someone who doesn’t want anybody else to know they’re snockered. Dan was way too familiar with that. “Is that with the tip or without the tip?”
“With,” he said, even as he was peeling a five from his wallet and sliding it under his plate.
While he signed the receipt, Molly refilled her bag with the same determination with which she’d taken it all out.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
She blinked. “Are we done?”
“One of us, babe. Let’s go.”
Dan had to brush the rolls of wallpaper off the bed and wrench back the covers before he slung a boneless but very happy Molly onto the mattress. She landed with a breathy little oof, which she then turned into an elongated sigh while her arms still clung around his neck.
“Let go, Molly.”
Instead of letting go, she tightened her grip, pulling him closer.
“Do you think what Raylene said is true, Dan? About you being the best kisser in the history of the world? Is that even possible?”
“Probably not.” He reached up around his neck with one hand but couldn’t break her iron grip.
“I think we should try it and see.” She turned her head so their noses nearly collided. “What do you think?”
“I think you should get some sleep,” he said. “That way you’ll be rested enough to deal with the headache you’re going to have tomorrow.”
“Just one little kiss. Come on.” She loosened one arm in order to aim a finger at her mouth, missing by an inch. “Just one little smoocheroo. Right here on the old kisser. One teensy little peck right here on the old pecker.” She dissolved into soggy
giggles.
“One kiss and then you’ll go to sleep?” he asked.
“I swear.” She sketched a messy cross over her chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die. Stick a needle—”
“Shut up, Molly.”
He covered her wet lips with his. Somebody gave a deep-throated moan, and Dan was fairly certain it was Molly, although it could quite easily have come from him. Her mouth melted at his touch, and her tongue slid against his, sending hot sparks throughout his bloodstream.
“Molly,” he breathed.
“Don’t stop.”
For a moment, as his hand moved up under her soft tunic, up over her delicate ribs, Dan didn’t think he could stop. The satin and lace of her bra barely disguised the firm warmth of her breast. His teeth practically ached to test its succulent delights. Lucky for him that Molly lurched sideways just then.
“Dizzy,” she whispered.
Dan was, too, but not from the Chianti. “Here. Lie down.” He settled her head against the pillows.
“That’s better,” she sighed. “Don’t go. I’ll be better in a minute.”
She was sound asleep in a minute, and Dan lay beside her, knowing that, at least for this night, his dreams would be good ones, filled with sweet, seductive Molly.
Chapter 5
Molly woke up by degrees. First there was a slight consciousness, a pale dawning, accompanied by something that felt like a hatchet buried in her head. Then there was a vague but not unpleasant memory of wine and red-and-white-checked tablecloths. Finally, after she pried open her eyes, there was the stunning realization that she hadn’t slept alone. Dan was snoring peacefully just a few inches away.
My God! She shot to a sitting position only to wind up having to hold her head with both hands. A bleak, sidelong glance at the clock on the nightstand confirmed one of her fears. It was nine-thirty. She had overslept by two and a half hours.
Her other fear seemed to be confirmed when Dan ran his hand along her thigh and mumbled, “Good morning.”
Molly dropped back onto the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. “Tell me we didn’t,” she moaned. “Did we?”
“You were great,” Dan said.
“Oh, my God. We did.”
He edged up on an elbow, chuckling as he gazed down at her. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”
“I doubt it,” she said. “If it had been, you’d think I’d have even some dim recollection.”
“Are you telling me you were faking it? All those cute little gasps? Those soul-wrenching sighs and moans?”
Molly closed her eyes. “Oh, my God.”
“Molly,” he said, sounding serious now. “Nothing happened. Look. You’ve still got all your clothes on.”
She opened her eyes, lifting her head just enough to see that it was true. She did have all her clothes on. Even her sandals. She wiggled her toes just to make sure they were her own feet and not some figment of her aching imagination. A quick glance revealed that Dan had all his clothes on, too.
“Thank you,” she whispered heavenward. After a moment of silence while she pondered the plaster pattern on the ceiling, she asked, “You kissed me, though, didn’t you?”
“Well, only because you asked me to.”
“Damn.” Even as she cursed, she smiled. “And I missed it. Now I’ll never know whether Raylene was right or wrong about your world-class status as a kisser.”
“You weren’t too bad yourself.”
“Really?” She let out a mock sigh of relief. “That’s a comfort to hear. I’m considerably out of practice.”
Dan lifted a lock of her hair, then brushed it against her cheek. “You probably shouldn’t take my word for it, though. I’m pretty rusty myself.”
Molly didn’t say so, but she found that hard to believe. Her headache suddenly evaporated, and her heart caught in her throat at the prospect of kissing Dan. Not Danny Shackelford, the greatest kisser north of the Rio Grande. But Dan.
“Maybe we could try it again sometime,” she suggested. “You know. Just so we don’t lose our ability altogether.”
He touched her cheek. “We could do that. Sometime.”
“I guess we’d be wise to wait until we brushed our teeth, huh?”
“That’s always preferable.”
Molly was just about to get up and race for the mint-flavored toothpaste when a knock sounded on her front door. Damn. Her headache sprang back. “Buddy Jr.,” she said with a sigh. “I’m not sure I’m up to misplaced commas and dangling participles this morning.”
“Go to it, teach,” he said, giving her a little shove. “You’ve got to get out of here, anyway. I’ve got some serious wallpapering to do.”
Dan was in serious trouble an hour later when Buddy Jr. stuck his head in the door and mumbled, “Stripping wallpaper, huh?”
“Not so’s you’d notice,” Dan said irritably. “Whoever put this paper up in here must’ve used goddamned superglue.”
After at least forty-five minutes of trying, he’d managed to pull no more than a square foot of old paper from the walls, and that square foot was scattered in inch-long rips and tears on all four walls. Molly’s bedroom looked as if it had been attacked by locusts.
“You need some stripping chemicals,” the kid mumbled.
“What?”
Buddy Jr. quit looking at his shoes and eyed Dan instead. “I said you need some stripping chemicals, and then a spackling blade or a good putty knife.”
“You know about this stuff, kid?”
“Oh, sure. My mom changes wallpaper about as often as she changes the color of her hair.”
Dan could almost feel the warmth from the imaginary lightbulb that suddenly appeared above his head. “How’d you like to make a hundred bucks, Buddy?”
The boy peered into the room with a bit more interest. “Pretty big room,” he said. “Probably fourteen by twelve. Lotta wall space, too. And trim. I’d do it for two hundred, I guess.”
“Sold!” Dan wanted to hug him. He wanted to fall down at the kid’s dirty sneakers and weep. “When can you start?”
“Tomorrow, I guess. I could stop by Cooley’s and pick up some stripper. She won’t be able to use this room for a while ’cause of the smell and the mess. Is that okay with her?”
“Is what okay with her?” Molly appeared behind Buddy Jr., sounding more skeptical than curious.
“I’ve just taken on an apprentice,” Dan said. “Hell, Molly, in a week you won’t even recognize this place.”
Molly looked from one ripped portion of her bedroom wall to another and another. “Good,” she said.
After Buddy Jr. was gone and Molly drifted back into her office, Dan came to the conclusion that he hadn’t been so clever after all. He’d promised the kid two hundred bucks, but he didn’t have a clue how he was going to pay him. He had about nineteen dollars in his wallet, his ATM card had disappeared weeks ago, and his checkbook was buried somewhere in the chaos of the Airstream. Even if he could find it, there was no way he wanted to cash a check here in Moonglow that featured his Washington D.C., address so prominently in the corner. It would take about five seconds for that little tidbit of information to get back to Molly.
For a minute he considered calling Bobby in Houston. Hell, Dan was on the job, wasn’t he? The service could damn well come through with some petty cash for an emergency. But then, considering what his record looked like right now, Dan really didn’t want any more red flags clipped to it, drawing attention to his deficiencies, monetary or otherwise.
He sighed, pulled off a couple more strips of wallpaper for good measure, then headed down the hall toward Molly’s office, where he knocked softly on the door.
“Am I interrupting?” he asked, looking at the text displayed on her computer screen. “I can come back later if…”
“No. It’s fine.” She leaned back in her chair and ran her fingers through her long blond hair. “Young Buddy certainly didn’t inherit his mother’s ability with words. I’m not sure I even k
now how to begin to help him.”
“Molly, can I borrow three hundred dollars?” Dan had already decided there was no point in beating around the bush. Anyway, she already considered him pretty much of a deadbeat.
She sat there, her eyes on the screen, not saying anything.
“I’m just a little short at the moment,” he added.
“Sure,” she said softly. “Three hundred? I can do that.”
“I’ll pay you back. You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll sign an IOU, if you want to write one out. In fact, I insist.”
“I don’t have to, Dan. I trust you.”
You shouldn’t, he thought. And not just about the money, either.
She smiled up at him. “I can write you a check, or if you’d rather, I’ll just go down to the bank and get you the cash.”
“That’d probably be better,” he said. “God only knows the stories that would start up with a check. If I know anything about Moonglow, I’d say it would take about two, maybe three hours for word to get around that I was blackmailing you or something.”
“Impossible,” she said with a not-so-convincing little laugh. “I don’t have any secrets.”
“Yeah. Me, neither.” Dan’s laugh was just about as convincing. “What you see is what you get.”
“That’s a lot of money, Ms. Hansen.”
The teller’s nameplate read “Doris Breedlove” and the woman was peering at Molly over her glasses as if she’d just been handed a scribbled note demanding all the cash in her drawer.
“Let me just check your balance.”
While Doris Breedlove’s fingers tapped at her keyboard, Molly said, “Fourteen hundred sixty-five dollars and eighty-five cents.”
“Yep. That’s what it is, all right. Most folks come in here without any notion what they’ve got in their accounts. You’re a right smart cookie.”
“Well, I should be. I…” Molly stopped herself before she mentioned her Ph.D. in business administration. “I’m real careful when it comes to money,” she said instead.
“Good girl. Now, how do you want that? Twenties all right?”
“That’ll be fine.”
