Evans spoke. “What would Wilder be doing out there?”
Bartel watched the wagon pull away. “Maybe we should find out.”
Chapter Eight
It was midafternoon by the time Ethan rolled up to the cabin. Katie was playing a few yards away, drawing some kind of designs in the dirt with a long switch.
“Hello, Mr. Ethan,” she called, running toward the wagon.
Ethan reined to a stop. “Hi, yourself.” He smiled at her. Dirty dress. Dirty face. He was getting to love this kid.
“How’s your mother?” He climbed down from the wagon seat. He figured he’d unload first then take the team and buggy back to town.
“She’s fine. She’s resting and I’m waiting for you. Whatcha bring me?”
Ethan walked around the buggy, Katie hot on his heels. “What makes you think I brought you anything?” he asked, trying hard not to smile.
He grabbed hold of the crate, his bare fingers digging hard into the soft pine as he hefted the heavy box. The cabin door was open enough that he could push it the rest of the way with the toe of his boot.
Muscles along his back and shoulders tensed as he went inside and headed for the table. Either he was getting weaker or he’d bought more supplies than he’d figured on. Maybe he should have stuck to that short list after all.
Katie danced and skipped alongside.
“You brought me something,” she told him. “You said you would. Remember?”
“Remember?” He pretended to be confused. “No, I don’t think so.” He plunked his hat down on the table beside the crate and wiped his forehead with the curve of his elbow. Sweat turned his green shirt a darker shade.
“Candy,” she announced, lifting up and down on her toes as she spoke. “You was supposed to bring me candy.”
“Are you sure you said candy? I thought you said castor oil.” He made a show of rummaging in the box as though to find the liquid medicine hated by man and child alike.
Katie made a face as if she’d just eaten a raw frog. “No,” she moaned, shaking her head adamantly. “Mama made me take that once and…” She stuck out her tongue then wiped it with the hem of her dress, revealing dirt-stained legs and pantalets. One thing Katie knew how to do was get dirty. There’d be a bath tonight, unless he missed his guess, knowing Molly as he did. Funny how he felt he did know her. Speaking of which, the lady was nowhere to be seen.
“Delivery!” he called out.
“I’ll be right there.” Her voice carried from the other side of that blanket curtain she’d apparently restrung. For a second he remembered sitting with her that night, watching her face, her deep-blue eyes, while she tried to pretend she wasn’t scared. It had been a strange feeling, being strong for her, trying to comfort her. But he’d liked it, liked that he could help.
Almost like a vision, she seemed to appear before his memory-clouded eyes and he had to blink twice to return to reality. But reality was worth the effort. As she came out of the enclosure to greet them, she was doing up the last few buttons of her green-flowered shirtwaist. Her hair was partially up, the sides were at least, tied back with a comb or ribbon he couldn’t see. Her face was soft, almost radiant. Her skin was still silver-moon pale and there were traces of shadows under her eyes. With all that, she was lovely. Lust stirred in him and he shifted from one foot to the other, surprised at the sudden reaction of his body. Perhaps not so surprised.
“Uh. I just realized I probably woke you. I didn’t mean to.”
“No.” She did up the last button and straightened her collar before her hand skimmed down the front of her shirtwaist. A simple gesture that was somehow very provocative.
“I was getting dressed,” she said.
“So I see.”
She smiled then. A gentle, lush smile, like a woman with a secret. “My fever is gone. I don’t like to lie around.” Her smiled moved up a notch.
“Are you sure? No sense overdoing.” He was almost sorry to hear she was well because it meant she wouldn’t be needing him anymore…except for the wagon repair and the barn, he amended. Yeah, that would keep him here a while.
Yeah, that’s what you need. Let’s see, build a railroad or fix a wagon?
He didn’t want to think about the lunacy of it—not just now. Maybe a little later. Maybe tomorrow.
“I’m feeling much better.” She nodded as she spoke, making her hair slide over her shoulders. Sunlight glistened in the coppery strands.
Ethan made a big mistake then. Without thinking, he went to her, touched her forehead in a way he’d done many times in the last two days. But this time, his fingers lingered a few seconds longer than necessary. This time he brushed back a nonexistent lock of hair from her cheek, feeling the silk of her skin against the backs of his work-roughened knuckles.
He saw her eyes slam shut for a heartbeat, then open quickly. As though she’d felt the sudden longing he was feeling now, she stepped clear and went around him to the table and that crate of supplies he’d hefted inside.
Ethan dragged in a calming breath, then turned to face her. “Your skin is…cool,” and smooth as wet silk, he thought to say. He kept trying to remind himself about business and goals and the lady being married. None of it seemed to take hold in his brain.
“Yes,” she agreed, barely turning her head, “I’m relieved to be past the worst, that’s for sure.”
“Mama, does this mean you’re all better?” Katie asked eagerly, her eyes wide with hope.
“I think so, honey.” Molly cupped her daughter’s chin. “I’m a little tired but on the mend. Definitely on the mend.” She coughed. “Though there is this cough and a runny nose.” She chuckled. “Runny nose. So attractive.” Now why the devil did she say that? Who was she trying to impress?
Katie hugged Molly around the hips and Molly held the child close needing the support, the reminder of who she was and what she wanted. She was Molly Murphy, she needed nothing and no one except Katie and her home. She did not need or want any handsome cowboys with midnight eyes deep enough to drown in.
What she did need was something to take her mind off the man standing enticingly close. She gave an extra squeeze to Katie against her hip and moved in on that crate parked on the table. The size of the thing dawned on her slowly. Crate? Wooden crate. Not bag. Not basket, but crate. It was filled to overflowing with cloth sacks and items wrapped in brown paper. What was all this? No way was this what she’d ordered. Why, her few requests would’ve fit in a saddle bag.
This time when she looked at him, there was nothing warm or friendly in those snapping blue eyes of hers. Ethan, being a man of some experience, knew when he was in trouble with a woman. This was definitely trouble. He sighed inwardly and braced for the inevitable. He didn’t have to wait long.
“What’s all this?” she demanded, releasing Katie and inching closer to the table until her black skirt pressed into the edge. Sunlight poured into the room through the opened door settling white and warm on the dusty floor.
“Supplies,” he replied, walking around the other side of the table and stopping in the square of light. There was a sudden chill in the room and he figured he needed a little warming, though looking at her was warming him in an entirely different way.
“I can see that it’s supplies,” she countered. “Whose?”
With the tips of two fingers, she pushed paper and cloth to one side or another, peering in, obviously reading labels and trying to decide what was concealed in the wrappings.
“The supplies are yours. Who do you think they belong to?” he said, feeling a little short-tempered, perhaps at his unexpected attraction more than her attitude.
She arched one brow in surprise. “This isn’t what I asked you to get, Mr. Wilder.”
So they were back to “Mr. Wilder” again. “I picked up a couple of things you forgot.” He emphasized the last two words. Here he was trying to help and she was getting all uppity.
Katie tugged at his sleeve, distracting him momentarily. �
�Like candy? Huh?”
“What? Oh, maybe.”
“Can I see? Huh?”
“Sure.” He hoisted Katie up so she could get a better look. “If you can find some, then…”
She squirmed in his arms and he held her while she leaned in closer still, her feet sticking out into the room, her hands rummaging in the crate’s contents. Brown paper crinkled and creaked as she pushed it aside looking for the telltale distinctive shape of candy. Never mind that it came in all shapes and sizes, children always knew where it was. He always had, when he was her age.
“There’s gotta—” She grabbed the brown wrapping paper and tore it free of the peppermint stick it concealed. “Candy!” she shouted. “Look Mama, candy! Ethan brought me peppermint candy!” With that she threw her arms around Ethan’s neck and gave him a hug. He got a clunk in the back of his head with that candy stick. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Ethan.” She shoved the candy into her mouth, her lips instantly red from the coloring. Her blue eyes danced with excitement.
“Katherine Louise,” Molly scolded. “You don’t eat candy this close to dinner. In fact—” her hard gaze flashed up to Ethan “—you shouldn’t have candy at all. Not that anyone asked me.”
Okay, Ethan had heard that tone before from more than one woman, that self-righteous indignation sort of tone that made him cringe a bit, made his temper rise. He let Katie settle lightly to the floor. Well, if the woman wanted a fight, he figured he was up for it. Maybe fighting was safer than the other emotion he’d been feeling, the one that was heating his loins.
“Katie,” he said, his gaze fixed on Molly, “why don’t you go see if you can dig up some worms by the garden so we can go fishing?”
Katie’s gaze flicked from Ethan to Molly and back again. Quietly, as if sensing there was trouble brewing, she put the candy down on the scarred table surface. “Okay, Mr. Ethan.” With that she went outside.
Ethan and Molly stared at each other for a long moment, then Molly went back to looking through the supplies. “You’re going to have to take all this back, Mr. Wilder.” She swept her hand over the crate in a grand gesture.
“Why?”
“I didn’t ask for this and I can’t afford it.” She took the flour out of the box. “I’ll keep the things I need, but the rest—”
“You need everything there and more. You need help. You need to get off this place and into a decent home and—”
“I’m not interested in your opinion of what I need or don’t need, Mr. Wilder. I asked you to do us a favor. No, I didn’t ask. You insisted, as I remember.”
“Look, your cupboards are practically bare. I got a few extra things. I’ll pay for them. I’ll pay for the whole order. In fact, I already did.” He started for the door before he said something he’d regret. He was trying to help. He was trying to soothe his guilty conscience.
She grabbed him by the arm, her fingers digging hard into the flesh just below the rolled-up cuff of his shirt. “Now, hold on there, one minute. I did not ask you to buy my food. I did not ask you to buy these extra items. I do not need or accept charity, and furthermore—”
“Charity! Who the hell’s talking about charity?”
“Evidently, you are. You said you paid for my food and I won’t allow—”
“Well, somebody better pay for supplies. What are you planning to live on? Cornmeal mush and water?”
“What I live on is none of your business!” With a flounce of black cotton, she turned back to the table. Her stomach clenched and unclenched she was so darned angry. She removed the items one at a time from the crate, sorting them out as she went, mumbling under her breath, “Who ever heard of some stranger paying for my groceries? Why I wouldn’t…I never…What the devil is this?” With sharp motions, she pulled the brown paper free, opened it and went instantly still.
“Now what?” Ethan demanded, seeing her reaction.
All she was doing was standing there, staring at the half pound of butter he’d bought.
“What’s wrong? The butter rancid?” His tone was sharp.
She didn’t answer.
“Hey, don’t tell me this is the silent treatment because if it is—”
“It’s butter,” she barely breathed and sank down in the nearest chair. “You bought butter.”
“Yes,” he snarled, “I bought butter and dried apples and cream of tartar and canned milk—”
“Milk?” she said on the thready tone again. “Milk?”
“Yes! Milk! You got something against milk?”
She shook her head, looking suddenly pale and shaky. Instantly, his anger was replaced by concern.
“Are you sick again? Is your fever back?” He touched her forehead with the back of his hand.
Molly looked up at him, her eyes luminous.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had butter?”
It was ridiculous for someone to go without some thing as basic as butter, Ethan thought. It was heartbreaking. And he realized, perhaps for the first time, how much it was costing her to stay here, in her home, the only home she’d ever had.
With the tip of her index finger she scraped the tiniest dab off the edge of the paper, not actually touching the portion itself. “Butter.”
The delight in her eyes was something close to sexual. Hell, it was sexual. He watched her lick the butter from the tip of that finger. It was a simple gesture, and provocative as hell. His hand cupped the side of her face and she leaned into it for just a second, then straightened away. In that second everything changed.
“I haven’t had butter since Christmas,” she was saying, and he realized that was six months ago. “I love butter on bread, don’t you?”
“Sure. Especially when the bread’s hot and the butter melts and—”
“—runs all down your fingers.”
They laughed together, easy, comfortable.
The cabin was very quiet. The room filled with white sunlight. The gentle call of a meadowlark carried through the open window near the kitchen. They were alone.
It seemed so natural for Ethan to drop down on one knee beside her. “I bought some honey to go with those biscuits and butter.”
There was a huskiness in his voice that drew Molly, but she was already shaking her head in refusal, of the honey or the man, she wasn’t entirely certain—and didn’t want to think about it.
Move, the voice of warning called to her. She didn’t. Instead she looked into his upturned face. Such a handsome face, she thought, all chiseled angles and carved planes. Rugged, strong, like the country, like the man.
His hand rested lightly on her knee. She tried to make conversation. “Honey is…extravagant.”
“A person needs to be…extravagant, at times.”
His voice moved over her like a summer breeze, soothing, tantalizing. She touched his face, letting her thumb trace the line of his brow and the top of his cheek down to his mouth, then follow the line of his mustache. It was soft. She’d wondered.
“Extravagant is something I don’t know much about.” Her voice was hushed.
“It’s not so hard,” he told her, taking her hand and kissing the pad of each finger. “All you have to do is let go of your fears.”
His mouth on her fingers was warm, moist, and sent tiny sparks of electricity skimming over her skin, making nerves pulse in anticipation. Her body tingled to life.
Don’t do this, the voice of reason called, but it was faint and drowned out by the pounding of her heart. Yet, somehow she managed to pull free of his grasp.
Slowly, almost reverently, she closed the paper over the butter, one corner at a time. She was surprised to see her hands shake with the movement.
He must have noticed, because he reached over and took the package away from her, putting it on the table. Then, without a word, he took her hands in his. “Later,” was all he said.
She stopped, letting him hold on to her hands, feeling so safe, so secure in his touch. Their gazes found each other and locked. Pulling
free of his grasp, she touched his cheek, brushing at his beard-roughened jaw. His eyes drifted closed. “Molly,” was all he said.
“Yes,” came her answer, the only answer she could think of at this moment.
When he looked at her again, he hesitated. She knew he was going to kiss her, knew he was giving her a chance to stop him. She didn’t want to. She was married and still she wanted to kiss this man, and so she said nothing.
She waited for the first touch of his lips on hers. His mouth was gentle, as she knew it would be. Warm, easy, his lips skimmed hers. A tasting, testing, nothing more.
His eyes were open. So were hers and a look passed between them, of consent, of acceptance, of recognizing the inevitable.
His mouth settled more firmly on hers. The kiss deepened. His hands found her shoulders, his fingers curled over the tops, turning her more fully toward him.
She went willingly. Molly was lost in the world of heat and fire that his kiss ignited in her. He kissed her long and slow and deep and wet. He kissed her forever, or at least that was what she wanted him to do. Nothing and no one had ever made her feel the things she was feeling now. Nerves pulsed with longing she didn’t know existed. Desire, blatant and lush, flashed lightning hot in her mind. Muscles tensed along her back and deep between her legs. A sort of purring sound came from somewhere deep inside her.
“Molly,” he whispered against her lips as one hand glided up her ribs and cupped her breast. Instantly, her body responded in ways she didn’t understand, ways ancient and carnal.
She gasped for breath, her mind struggling to catch up to the rampaging feelings drumming through her.
Stop this!
She struggled frantically against the desire that was drawing her in like a whirlwind, until, helpless, all she could do was surrender to the power and pray for rescue.
Perhaps it was the thought of rescue that first stirred reality in her brain. She tore her mouth from his and dragged in a long, slow breath. Their faces were mere inches apart. Passion darkened his eyes while her own body trembled with the wanting he’d stirred in her.
Yet she forced herself to take another breath and then one more. The world filled in around her, the cabin, Katie’s little bed, the realization that she was married even if the chances were that her husband was dead.
Molly's Hero Page 13
