Molly's Hero

by Susan Amarillas

  “No one’s keeping you here, Mr. Wilder.” She shaded her eyes with her hand as she looked up at him, his face lost in shadow. “In fact, I’m telling you to ride—”

  Katie’s high-pitched voice cut across her words. “Mama, can I take him with me?”

  “What?” Molly looked down. It was as if she were seeing Katie and the cat for the first time, she’d been so distracted by this man who kept bossing her around. More annoyed at the man than the child, she snapped, “No!”

  It was hard to think. It was impossible to carry on two conversations at once. She decided she didn’t want to carry on any. So, teeth gritted in determination, she shouldered past the man, hitched up her skirt, and managed to hook one foot on the wheel hub. But the world spun dangerously again and before she knew what was happening he had her around the waist and wordlessly lifted her onto the seat.

  She muttered a quiet “thanks,” then settled on the seat, adjusting her skirt down around her ankles. The breeze made her shiver. The sunlight made her eyes water. The man made her temper boil. If he wouldn’t leave then she would. It was as simple as that.

  “But I wanna take the kitten,” Katie piped up, wagging the week-old cat in Molly’s general direction, the poor cat’s feet flailing in the air while it made a pitiful meowing sound.

  Molly looked hard at Katie, blinking to make her eyes focus, to make the scene sink in. There was Katie and the kitten that was too young to be away from its mother, and there was the cowboy. Oh, yes, by all means let’s not forget the cowboy. Mustering all the calm and control she had she said, in what she thought was a firm but kindly voice, “No kitten.”

  That got her a pout that would have made Lotta Crabtree envious.

  “But, Mama—”

  So much for calm and control. “Katherine Louise, put the cat back!” That cost her throat dearly, and she rubbed from the outside as though it would help, which of course it wouldn’t. Nothing would. She’d be sick for the rest of her life, she knew it. If only Jack were here. If only she had some help. If only…

  A steady look proved that Katie hadn’t budged an inch. She still had the kitten cradled in her arms like a baby, rubbing its little tummy.

  Contrite, Molly said, “Put the kitten away and come climb up here with me. We have to go.” She patted the spot on the seat beside her, the wood split and rough from the weather.

  Katie was shaking her head. “Why can’t I bring the kitten?”

  Exhausted, Molly relied on the old standby that her mother had used so many times on her. “Because, I said so.”

  Katie’s chin got all stubborn and she made a show of digging the toe of her black leather shoe into the hard-packed earth. She clutched the kitten and she wasn’t moving. Sunlight caught in the fine blond strands of her hair making it seem nearly white. Ten yards away, a dust devil lifted in the dirt near the barn door hurling pieces of hay into the air before it dashed across the corral and disappeared like a magician’s trick.

  In the meantime, the Wilder man had grabbed the horses’ halters. He stood there taking in her predicament as though he were waiting to see who’d win this tug of wills. Well, he was dead wrong if he thought Katie was going to win—or him, for that matter.

  “Put the kitten back,” Molly ordered one more time. “Do it!”

  “Oh, okay,” Katie muttered in one of those tones that bordered dangerously on disrespect. Head down, like a prisoner on her way to the gallows, she walked back to the barn.

  Molly’s gaze was fixed on Katie when she heard Wilder’s whiskey-rich voice close up. When she turned he was standing right beside her seat, one hand curled over the iron trim. “Look lady—”

  “Stop calling me ‘lady.’ I’m Molly Murphy.” The breeze shoved her hair across her face and she snatched it aside. “Mrs. Molly Murphy to you,” she repeated with a strong emphasis on the missus part.

  “I never—”

  “Just stop. Mostly, I want you to stop telling me what to do.” She blinked hard against the ache behind her eyes. “When I want your advice, Mr. Wilder, I’ll ask for it.”

  Son of a bitch was the first and only thought in his mind at that precise moment. Here he was trying to help her—had helped her by God—and this was the thanks he got? Head down so he didn’t have to see her, he gave the brim of his hat a hard tug as the only visible show of temper because he was trying like hell to remember that she was sick.

  “All right, Mrs. Murphy, then—”

  “Katie, hurry up!” her voice cut him off. The woman was more stubborn than a big yellow dog he’d had once. Every time he’d said “Sit” the damned thing would stand.

  Yellow dogs and flame-haired women who wouldn’t do what was good for them if they heard it, and she had heard it, definitely tested his sanity. He wondered, not for the first time, what he was still doing here. Why the hell hadn’t he ridden out when he’d seen she was sick? Why didn’t he ride out now? He actually turned away and took a step.

  But then he glanced back over his shoulder at her perched up there on the wagon seat, all alone. Aw, hell, was he really gonna ride off and leave her out here, with a kid to look after? He sighed, one of those sighs that’s more resignation than willingness.

  Moving up to the wagon again, he rested his hand on the wheel. “Mind telling me how far is it into town?” He was pleased his voice sounded so…controlled.

  “Twelve miles, give or take.” She twisted away from him and faced the barn more fully. “Katie!”

  The little girl appeared in the doorway and inched her way toward the wagon, still pouting.

  “Twelve miles,” he said, tugging on the harness straps as he checked them for tightness. She had done a good job. He’d give her that much. “That’s quite a distance. You make the trip often?”

  “No.”

  Well, that was blunt. Looked as though the conversation was dwindling. About that time, Katie finally made it to the wagon. He didn’t wait for instructions, just grabbed the little actress around the waist and plunked her down on the seat beside her mother. “There you go.”

  “Thank you.” Katie beamed. “You’re strong.”

  Ethan chuckled. Why was it kids had a way of getting around people, especially when they didn’t want to be gotten around?

  There he stood looking at the two of them silhouetted against the ever darkening afternoon sky. Any idiot could see that they were never going to make it into town—not without help.

  Common sense told him that she didn’t want his help, that this was not the time to talk about business. And, to be blunt, he didn’t owe them a thing. Nope, not a thing.

  So why the devil was he climbing up on the wagon seat? The metal springs creaked with his added weight. A sliver of sunlight glittered in his eyes, forcing him to squint.

  He reached for the reins just as Molly did. Their hands touched for the briefest second and he looked at her over the top of Kate’s head.

  “What are you doing?” Molly released the reins and slid her hand free of his.

  “I’m taking you to town.”

  “I didn’t ask you.”

  “I know. I have the feeling you don’t ask for much of anything, do you?” Before she could answer, Ethan shifted the reins to his right hand and, tucking the thumb and forefinger of his left hand in the corners of his mouth, he whistled, a sharp, shrill sound that made Molly wince.

  His gelding trotted up alongside the wagon, ears up. “Let’s go, boy.” He slapped the reins hard on the team’s rumps and the wagon lurched off.

  The trip was slow going. All she could do was keep her head down, hug her ribs and will herself not to shake, not to cough and not to be sick. It wasn’t working.

  The team plodded along at a turtle’s pace, churning up choking dust with their heavy steps. The sky was gray, dotted with white clouds. She was praying it didn’t rain before they got to town. Why was it trouble always came in bunches? First Katie had had the sniffles last week and now Molly felt like death warmed over. She’d never f
elt like this before. Nothing even close. It scared her—she’d seen people die of fevers in the mining camps. Her own mother.

  Was it something fatal, something contagious, something she’d already given to Katie?

  Thoughts turned to fear and then panic. What if the medicine didn’t work? What if she couldn’t drive home? What if she drove home and then got worse? Oh, Jack, why aren’t you here? I need you. Jack had been so good when her father died.

  The wagon rumbled on. She didn’t know what hurt more, the occasional splash of sunlight or the jolting and jarring.

  “Watch out for the ruts,” she snapped, taking her misery and frustration out on the man seated close to her. In truth, a very secret truth, she was glad he was here, gladder still he was driving. She wasn’t telling him that, but she was.

  The wagon creaked and groaned like an arthritic old man and made her grab on to the side of the seat, the weathered wood rough and splintery against her fingertips.

  Overhead a pair of red-tailed hawks circled, gliding on the wind currents and in the distance she could see the green ribbon strip of cottonwood trees that snaked down the side of the mountain along the creek that eventually made its way to her cabin.

  The harness jingled with every movement, the horses’ tails swooshed back and forth against the constant buzz of flies. Molly tried to think of something pleasant, something good. She consoled herself with promises that she’d be fine in a few days, a week at most. She had her garden to tend, chores to do.

  Suddenly, there was a loud creak. A shudder moved through the wagon. A louder snap and the wagon tilted precariously to the right. The horses stopped dead in their tracks. Katie banged into Molly’s side and she grabbed the child and held her against her shoulder.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Ethan was already swinging down off the wagon seat and heading for the back of the wagon. Of course, he didn’t have to look. He knew the answer. “Wheel’s broken,” he called out.

  The breeze fluttered his sleeves and the bandanna at his neck and he turned more into the wind. About that time he saw her pivot in the seat, saw that same breeze lift the hem of her skirt, revealing bare legs from the tops of her black leather shoes to the ruffle on her pantalets. Nice legs, he thought. He was a man, after all.

  She pushed the skirt back in place and said, “The wheel can’t be broken.”

  “Yes it can, and it is. The rim has come off and three of the spokes have split.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Evidently not. Didn’t your husband take care of the tires?”

  Though Jack had tried, his heart wasn’t in ranching. “I couldn’t say,” was all she answered.

  “Didn’t you soak the wheels?” he chided.

  “Oh, sure, every day.” Her fever and her fear fueled her temper. “I jacked up the wagon and took off all four wheels.”

  “Look, lady, this isn’t my fault, you know. It’s your wagon,” Ethan muttered. Mother and daughter stared at him as if they expected him to say, “I’ll have it fixed in a minute,” which he couldn’t, not here and now, anyway. Back at her place, with some tools, sure, he could fix it, at least enough to get them to town and a replacement.

  With a sigh, he walked up to them, to her—the stubborn redhead. “Well,” he said, “so much for going into town.”

  Molly grabbed up her skirt and before he knew it she climbed out of the wagon. He helped her because he thought she’d fall flat if he didn’t. Ignoring him, she went back to inspect the wheel as though looking at it would somehow make it not broken.

  He helped Katie down. “Come on, kid,” he said, and the little girl leapt into his arms, her small feet banging lightly against his ribs. He settled her on the ground, and next thing he knew, she’d shoved her hand into his. It was kinda nice, he thought as they went to join the stubborn Mrs. Murphy.

  Molly stood there staring at the shattered wheel. It had fallen apart as suddenly as her life these past few months. She was alone and trapped once more. The panic rose in her, making sore muscles tense. Now what? It was too far to walk to town in her condition—she’d never make it and there was Katie to consider.

  A cough erupted and she had to steady herself on the wheel until the spell passed.

  “I’m taking you back to your cabin.”

  Molly shook her head in adamant refusal.

  As soon as the coughing stopped she said, “We’ll ride the…horses.”

  He stared at her a moment, then, without a word, he lifted Katie and plunked her down on the saddle of his gray gelding. Thank goodness. Finally, the man was going to do what she asked. She didn’t know what she’d done or said but she was grateful, very grateful.

  Katie was busy being Katie. “What’s your horse’s name, Mr….”

  “Ethan. Call me Ethan. My horse’s name is Four.”

  “Four? You mean like the number?” She patted the horse’s neck and giggled as the animal twitched in response.

  “Yes.”

  “Just Four? How come?”

  “After the first three were shot out from under me I gave up naming them.” Turning to Molly, he said, “I’ll help you up…that is if you agree.”

  Molly eyed the stirrup and the horse. “I can manage.”

  Well, she did manage to get her foot in the stirrup and bounced a couple of times trying to get some momentum going to propel her onto the horse. Nothing. She was as weak as that kitten Katie had been holding earlier.

  Suddenly, he was there looking all smug. “Help?”

  She answered with one sharp nod. Instead of giving her a leg up, he scooped her up in his arms and deposited her on the horse. This was getting to be a habit, this being in his arms. Trouble was, she was beginning to like it.

  No. That was wrong. She did not like it.

  He was looking up at her in an odd way, sort of quizzically, his hands resting on the saddle very near her thigh. This time she refused to thank him so she busied herself with adjustments, blouse, hair, skirt—anything that kept her from looking at this man who was making her feel things more than just anger.

  “I’ll get the team,” he finally said, and walked away.

  She was relieved.

  A minute to unhitch the team, and he led them back to where his own horse waited with Molly and Katie on board. Without a word, he grabbed up his horse’s reins and, leading all three animals he started walking—south!

  Molly couldn’t believe it. “Wait. You’re going the wrong way! I don’t want to go back to the cabin. I want—”

  “To go to town.” He never even turned to look at her. It was as if he were speaking to some empty space on the road. “You’ve made that abundantly clear, but War Bonnet is too far and I’m not walking ten miles in this heat.”

  This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. Molly needed some medicine, needed to get into town on the off chance that she got worse. She couldn’t leave Katie alone at the ranch.

  Desperate, determined, Molly reached around Katie and grabbed a handful of the horse’s mane, intent on countermanding his intentions. “Now look, Wilder, I’m going to town and that’s the end of it.”

  The horse shied and bobbed its head.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Ethan told her, “not unless you want to get bucked off.” She released her hold. He kept walking.

  “Stop this horse!” she ordered. “I’ll walk to town.” It was ridiculous, but at that moment she was frightened enough to try.

  “No. End of discussion.”

  “Why you son of a—”

  “You shouldn’t cuss in front of the kid.” Ethan kept walking. He never looked back, mostly because he was kinda enjoying this victory of his.

  Oh sure, he could have ridden into town, or let them ride Four. But it was ten damned more miles…on horseback. Judging by Mrs. Murphy’s condition, they didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of making it. They’d get another couple of miles and she’d pass out—then he’d really have trouble on his hands
. Nope, this was the best way, the only way, as far as he was concerned.

  “Don’t you see?” she called to him. He kept walking. “I can’t take care of Katie. I have to go to town.”

  “Yes, I know. You want to go to town and hope some stranger will take pity on you.” He spoke over his shoulder.

  “Not pity. Help. I need help.”

  Ethan glanced back at her, the sunlight glinting red-gold in her hair, her delicate face ashen and drawn. Finally they agreed on something. She did need help, which was probably why he’d hung around for so long—that and the fact that she was so stubborn, so determined and so damned helpless.

  It was the helpless part that tugged at his gut. He knew what it was to be alone and scared. Before he had time to think on it more he said simply, “Then you’ve got it.”

  “Who?”

  “Me.”

  Chapter Three

  Fortunately they weren’t all that far from the cabin, about two miles or so Ethan figured, judging by the way his new boots were making themselves known. Boots were never made for walking no matter how worn in they were.

  The woman, the one causing him so much trouble, had been quiet. He’d kept looking back to make sure she was there, upright. She was. Arms wrapped around the little girl, they were both quiet. Occasionally he’d hear her say something to the child, but it was too soft, meant for the child alone to hear. Probably reassuring her, he thought.

  He wished like hell someone would reassure him. What the devil had he gotten into?

  Ethan Wilder was a man who looked out for himself, for his friends, of which there were damned few except Billy, who was like a kid brother, and a couple of others.

  He heard her cough and he turned. She was still in the saddle but for how much longer he wasn’t sure. “Stubborn redhead,” he muttered under his breath and yet, in a funny way they were alike, he and the woman. Both alone, both making it on their own, both too stubborn to admit what they were up against.

  Hell of a thing she was trying to do, living out here by herself. Which reminded him, where the hell was her husband? The land was registered to Jack Murphy, but by the look of the place he hadn’t been around for a while. What kind of man goes off and leaves a woman and child to fend for themselves?