Molly's Hero

by Susan Amarillas

  “I don’t want water,” Ethan snapped back, his temper rising to match hers. Here he was trying to be polite and she was acting as if he’d asked her for the family silver. Well, he’d set her straight right now. “What I want—”

  “I’m not hiring.” She kept working, pushing those straps along the horse’s sweat-streaked back, doing up the buckles with shaky fingers, but doing them just the same.

  This was crazy, Ethan thought as he watched her work. The woman was a royal pain in the posterior and that was a rare thing for Ethan to think. Ethan liked women. Until about ten minutes ago, he’d have sworn that women liked him. So much for male pride. That nudged his temper up another peg.

  “Woman, did anyone ever tell you that there’s such a thing as good manners?”

  “If they did, it’s none of your business. Now get your water or get moving.”

  Just like that she walked away. The damned woman turned her back on him and walked away as if he were some ignorant ranch hand being dismissed for forgetting to tip his hat to the lady of the manor. Ha! This place was no manor and she was…Well, the lady part was up for discussion.

  He tried to remember the saying about catching more flies with honey than vinegar. He tried not to lose his temper. Why he even said the first three psalms to himself in an effort to rein in his ire.

  He failed.

  He stalked after her, grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her toward him. “I don’t want water and I won’t help you with the damned harness if it’s so all important to you. I’m here on business, and if you’d stop being so damned cussed ornery—”

  It was then that he got a really good look at her face. She was white as winter, except for her cheeks, which were flushed like summer roses. He had the sudden feeling that the sweat beading on her forehead had nothing to do with the temperature outside. With his hand still gripping her shoulder, he felt her shake, tremble, and he didn’t think it was from him this time.

  Instinct made him take her other shoulder in his hand, as though sensing she needed holding up. His temper eased off. “Lady, you don’t look too good. Are you all right?”

  She hesitated a fraction of a second, her gaze locked with his in a look that directly contradicted the words she spoke. “I’m fine.” She easily twisted free and started to lead the second horse back to the wagon.

  “You should go inside and rest.”

  “You should mind your own business.”

  Ethan caught up to her. “Hey, I know sick when I see it.”

  “You a doctor?” she snapped as she backed the horse into his place, his coat warm and damp with sweat against her hand.

  “No, I’m not a doctor. But it doesn’t take one to see you’re close to keeling over.”

  “Oh, really.” Molly had taken care of herself for a long time now and done a pretty fair job of it, too. She did not need him or Jack or anyone else telling her what to do, how to do it or when. With a toss of her hair she said as firmly as she could with a throat that was on fire, “Then we have nothing to say. Get out of my way and let me finish.”

  “Gladly,” Ethan said, his temper moved into the dangerous part of the scale. Now he could have ridden off and any other time he would have done just that, but two things kept him here. One, she was obviously sick, real sick and two, he needed to talk to her about their business.

  But he was done arguing. He could see she’d have to run her course. Which shouldn’t take long. Hell, he could see she was shaking harder than an aspen in the fall. Fever would be his guess, maybe sore throat, who knew what else?

  So he led his horse over to the corral fence and leaned against the post, arms crossed lightly over his chest. Twenty minutes, he told himself. No, ten. That’s how long he figured he’d have to wait until she gave up and asked for help.

  She kept working. He kept watching. She was tall, he noted absently, not one of those tiny little things that looked like some oversize doll. But she was thin. He usually liked his women with a little meat on their bones, a little roundness in the hips, a fullness in the breasts. Of course, in the clothes she was wearing it was tough to tell much.

  Her skirt sagged on her frame and her blouse was large enough to conceal any womanly attribute that might—he emphasized the word might in his mind—be there. Her face was dotted lightly with freckles, mostly across her cheekbones. Her eyes were dark blue like the Pacific Ocean he’d seen once on a trip to San Francisco. Other than that, there was nothing really unusual about her. Well, there was one thing. Her hair. The most beautiful shade of red he’d ever seen.

  It was loose, hanging nearly to her waist. Occasionally, the breeze would lift a few strands to drift across her face or rise in the air like a halo. All the while, the sunlight glinted and sparkled on her hair, making it the color of liquid fire. Yes, liquid fire. Those were the only words he could think of to describe it. And he wondered, just briefly, what it would be like to hold liquid fire in his callused hand.

  The first faint stirrings of lust made themselves known. He shifted awkwardly, surprised at the sudden reaction of his body to this otherwise thoroughly disagreeable, dislikable, and now disturbing woman.

  Molly was busy finishing up the harness, hooking the chains to the wagon tongue. If he wanted to stand there, then let him. He could stand there until hell froze over for all she cared.

  Trouble was, this harnessing business was getting tougher by the minute. Every time she bent down, her head whirled and spun like a carousel.

  Suddenly, his watching made her annoyed. “For pity’s sake, Mr….”

  “Wilder,” he told her for the second time.

  “Mr. Wilder. I’m not hiring. If you don’t want to water your horse, then mount up and move on.” Lord, her head hurt and her throat and just about every part of her body, from joints to skin.

  The man straightened away from the post he’d been leaning on and came toward her, his stride long and easy. “I could argue the point with you. Judging by the look of that barn and the fence, I’d say you need help all right or you need to move on perhaps. Move on to some place more…finished.”

  Molly didn’t have to think twice to know he was right. But her knowing was one thing and him knowing or, more importantly, him being audacious enough to point it out to her, that was another thing entirely.

  “Look. I’m not hiring. There’s no sense you waiting because you aren’t talking me into anything.” She had no money, at least not enough to go hiring hands.

  He closed in on her, slowly, intently, sort of like her life these days. She kept fumbling with the buckles on the straps. Just a couple of more and…

  “Mama, come see me slide down the haystack again,” Katie’s high voice called.

  “In a minute, honey,” Molly answered back over her shoulder. A fit of coughing seized her and she hugged her ribs against the sudden spasm, her forehead resting on the sweaty flank of the horse.

  Next thing she knew the stranger’s hand was on her back, rubbing. “Take a slow, deep breath,” he encouraged.

  This time Molly complied, appreciating the soothing motion of his fingers gliding up and down her spine. Yet, she couldn’t seem to stop coughing.

  “Come on,” she heard him say, his hands curling over her shoulder. “Let’s get you inside.”

  Molly balked and straightened away from the horse. “I don’t…need…” She waved him away. He didn’t go. Instead, he stood by, one hand resting ever so lightly on her shoulder in a way that was strangely reassuring.

  A breeze swirled the hem of her skirt and, she noted, ruffled the full sleeves of his blue shirt. The sun beat down from around white puffy clouds and she held on to the harness with one hand.

  “Come on. You’re sick,” he said, his voice taking on a firm tone. “I’ll help you into the house and we—”

  “Mama. Mama!” came a child’s voice again, and Ethan turned in time to see the little girl he’d seen earlier skid to a halt beside them, her calico dress smudged with dirt like her face.
“Mama?” she said suspiciously, then glared at Ethan. “What did ya do to my mama?” she demanded, her hands balled into tight fists which she held in front of her.

  “Me?” Ethan countered incredulous. He’d never been much good with kids, probably because he’d never spent time with any.

  “Yes, you!” she returned, her little jaw squared, her blue eyes sparked with anger, those small fists turned white at the knuckles.

  He tugged down on the brim of his hat. “Look, kid, I was only—”

  The darned kid hauled off and hit him. Okay, it was in the thigh and it didn’t hurt, but when she reared back and hit him again, he figured he’d better take a little defensive action.

  “Hey, wait a minute!” he shouted, and grabbed the pint-size pugilist around the waist and hoisted her into the air for safekeeping until he could get the facts straight. “Now look, kid, I didn’t—”

  Gasping for breath, Molly said, “Don’t touch her!”

  “What?” Ethan’s gaze flicked from mother to daughter and back again. He was the injured party here, but she had that mother bear protecting her cub look in her eyes. A smarter man probably would’ve backed away. Yeah…a smarter man. Trouble was Ethan wasn’t feeling smart, he was feeling angry. He’d been abused by the woman and now the kid. Enough was enough. “I’m not the one doing the hitting around here. If you can’t control your kid, then—”

  “Put her down or else.” Molly’s expression was fierce, her mouth drawn down into a thin line. The horse shied, flicked his tail and Molly lost her grip on the leather straps.

  “Or else what?” Ethan challenged, holding the kid suspended in midair, his hands clamped firmly around her waist.

  “Let me go!” the kid screamed and flailed, her feet coming dangerously close to his chin. This was getting serious. What the hell had he gotten into here?

  “Or else this!” This time it was the darned woman who swung on him. Oh, she missed him by a mile and succeeded in spinning herself around like a wooden top.

  Ethan shook his head in disgust. “You’re crazy. You know that?”

  But when she stopped turning, he saw her reach out for something and get only a handful of air. Her eyes slammed shut, then popped open again. “Oh, no…I think I’m…”

  Ethan knew she was in trouble. In one quick motion, he plunked the kid on the ground and made a grab for the woman. Somehow he managed to catch her just before her head hit the hard-packed earth. He didn’t have a clue how he pulled that off.

  Down on one knee, his grip tightened around her trembling shoulders. Her face was cloud white and her cheeks brighter than sunset. A quick touch to her forehead confirmed that the lady was running one hell of a fever. Her body was limp in his arms. “Woman. Dammit don’t you die on me,” he ordered, as if that was all it took. What did he know about fevers and such? Nothing. A broken bone or a bullet wound fine, those were things he knew about, could handle.

  The horses pawed the ground and shivered, making the wagon move slightly forward. Ethan glanced up at the cabin about twenty-five or thirty feet away. He wanted to get her inside out of the sun but she was so still he wasn’t sure he should move her. He shielded her face from the sun with his body.

  Just then she moaned. He hadn’t been so relieved since ’65.

  “Lady? Can you hear me?” He lifted her a bit more upright, his arm curving protectively around her shoulders. “Lady?”

  The little girl, who moments ago was set to fight, was down on her knees beside him, the hem of her dress dragging in the dirt. All worry-faced, she pushed at his shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

  Ethan was too busy to answer. The scent of dust filled the air as the breeze stirred the ground. With one hand he brushed the damp hair back from the woman’s face. So fire felt like silk, he thought absently.

  “Mama? Wake up, Mama!” The child reached around him to shake the woman’s forearm. When she didn’t respond the kid looked up at him, and in a voice barely audible, she said, “She’s dead isn’t she?”

  “Dead? No,” Ethan corrected, surprised by the child’s pronouncement. Why would a child so young know about death and dying? “She’s fine. Honest.” They both knew that wasn’t true but at this point he wasn’t real sure what to say. This was called a delaying maneuver.

  Think, Wilder.

  Okay, she was alive and they couldn’t stay here in the dirt. So he had to take action. His only plan was to get her inside. One thing at a time. Scooping her up took no effort at all. Hell, he thought his saddle weighed more.

  She roused and, true to form, she said, “Put me down.” He laughed. She was sick as a dog but still stubborn, still fighting. Well, she had spirit, he’d give her that much, this Wyoming flame.

  “I’ll put you down—” the cabin was only a few steps away “—inside.”

  This time she didn’t argue—another first. Instead she rested her head against his shoulder in a way that was totally unfamiliar yet nice—no, something more, much more. His body stirred. His grip tightened on her, feeling the shape of her thigh and the curve of her breast against his body.

  Wilder, you’re too long without a woman.

  Ducking his head to clear the doorway, he spotted the two beds.

  “That one,” the kid said, pointing to the larger of the two.

  “Thanks.” He put her there. A quick glance around the single room showed no sign of a pump, so he retrieved the canteen from his saddle and, using his bandanna, he wet it and dabbed her face.

  Seated on the side of the bed, he kept at his task while the little girl had wedged herself between the bed and the wall on the other side. She held her mother’s hand, patting the back lightly.

  “That’s good,” he told the child, but she never looked away from her mother’s face.

  Ethan wet his neckerchief again, squeezed some of the excess water onto the wooden floor and began again to wipe her face and neck and hands. He found himself suddenly fascinated by the slender arch of her neck as it rose from shoulder to jaw. Slowly, he caressed her face with the cool neckerchief, noting for the first time, her high cheekbones. He liked that…high cheekbones. There were always certain parts of the anatomy that attracted him to a woman: high cheekbones, big eyes and long legs…preferably in black silk stockings. His mouth crooked up in a smile at that thought.

  Business, Wilder. Get your mind on business.

  Sitting a bit straighter, he touched her forehead again. Hot. Really hot. “Lady, you’re burning up,” he said as much to himself as to her.

  She mumbled something he couldn’t understand so he turned to the child as if he were still a major giving orders. “How long has your mother been sick?” If she’d just come down with this it might not be so bad. If she’d been sick for a week, well, the outlook wasn’t as optimistic.

  What he got back from the kid was a look of panic, a quivering chin and the unmistakable glistening of tears in a pair of pale-blue eyes. Terrific. One sick and now one was going to cry. Just what the hell he needed.

  “Don’t you dare cry,” he ordered the little girl.

  She stared at him, blinked a couple of times, sniffed once and said, “Okay.”

  Finally something was going his way. He snatched off his hat and plunked it down on the foot of the bed near the woman’s shoes.

  Sloshing more water on his neckerchief, he wiped her burning cheeks again. She roused and made a small helpless kind of sound in the back of her throat. He shoved the hair back from the woman’s forehead and she blinked and opened her eyes. “What hap—”

  “You fainted.”

  “Never.”

  He made a sort of chuckle in the back of his throat. “I know fainting when I see it. Why the hell do you think I carried you in here?”

  “I…” She made as if to sit up.

  Ethan pushed her gently down. “You’re sick. Lie still and maybe you won’t faint again.”

  He wiped her face and neck and hands. But when he undid the top two buttons of her shirtwaist, M
olly grabbed his hand surprisingly hard, stopping him dead in his tracks. Her eyes met his in an unmistakable challenge. He answered her challenge with the gentlest of words, “Either you trust me or you don’t.”

  Anyone who knew Molly Murphy knew she was not a woman given to flights of fancy, but something came over her, something that made her hesitate, for a heartbeat, no more. It was enough. She wasn’t afraid anymore. Instead she felt safe, safer than she had felt with anyone in a long time. And she knew that she’d remember this moment, the look in his eyes, for all her life. Then he blinked or she blinked but the strange lightness was gone, the way a lightning bolt disappears from the stormy sky. She was breathless and a bit excited at the same time, by the man, by his nearness.

  She swallowed hard and released his hand. This was silly. She was being silly. It was the fever making her mind go off in strange directions. Whatever it was, it took her a few seconds to regain her composure—enough time to take him in more fully.

  Her vision was blurred, but she could see that his hair was black as midnight and curled around his ears and down along his collar.

  He wiped her face again. The water felt good even as it sent gooseflesh skimming down her body. She blinked again. His face was square, she could see, now that he’d taken his hat off. Dark, winged brows, chiseled cheekbones and a chin that had a stubborn tilt to it. There was a scar, a couple of inches or so long, over his right eye near his hairline and she wondered how he’d gotten it. She wondered why she cared?

  His mouth was framed by a thick black mustache, which she’d noticed earlier. The lines in his face indicated he was a man who smiled a lot, though she’d yet to see that side of him.

  Her gaze drifted up the length of him, taking in the way his well-worn denim trousers were molded to his lean legs as if they’d been put on wet and shrunk to fit.

  He turned and splashed more water on his neckerchief, then repeated his earlier procedure. Her pulse did a darned double kick again then settled down.

  All in all, the man was rugged, reasonably good-looking, but mostly he had an air about him, a presence, that would a make a woman remember him.