Molly's Hero

by Susan Amarillas

  Have you lost your mind, Molly Murphy?

  Ethan leaned toward her again and she knew he meant to kiss her. Lord help her, she wanted him to kiss her more than she’d ever remembered wanting anything in her life. But from somewhere, from strength she didn’t know she had, she managed to say, “Don’t.”

  He went very still, his gaze locked with hers. She had to get away from him, from the desire he created in her before…before she did something she’d regret.

  She pushed at his chest, which was like pushing on a slab of granite. “We can’t.”

  His grip loosened enough for her to twist around so that she no longer faced him. She only wished she could step clear of the heart-pounding longing that pulsed in her blood.

  “We did,” he countered.

  “Don’t do it again.”

  “Why?” he said, one side of his mouth quirking up in a semblance of a smile. “Didn’t you like it?”

  His smile was a touch too arrogant, a touch too confident. It sparked her temper and she fanned the flames with every gulp of air. She needed that temper. “No, I didn’t,” she lied, relieved that her voice was strong.

  He sat back on his haunches. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about kissing me. Don’t do it again. I don’t like it. I won’t stand for it!” This time she moved toward the back wall near the kitchen as though searching for an escape, which was silly since she had nothing to fear…except perhaps her own quicksilver feelings.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he said, his expression incredulous.

  “Absolutely.”

  He stood. His powerful presence seemed to fill the room, her room, dammit. No one intimidated her in her own house, especially not sable-eyed cowboys.

  “I didn’t do anything that you didn’t know I was going to do, anything that you didn’t want me to do.”

  What Molly wanted right now was to call him a liar, to deny what he’d said. She couldn’t, and they both knew it. She could have stopped him. She should have stopped him.

  The fact that she hadn’t was bad. His knowing it was worse.

  She was determined to bluff it through. “I never did any such thing.”

  Ethan gave a harsh excuse for a laugh. No way was he going to let her get away with pretending this was all his fault.

  “Woman, you and I…” He rifled one hand through his hair. “You and I—”

  “There is no ‘you and I,’ Mr. Wilder. I’m a married woman, remember?” she asked, clinging to what seemed only a faint memory.

  “Yeah, I remember. I wish to hell I didn’t.” He knew he shouldn’t have kissed her. He knew she was married and he respected her and the marriage and, aw, hell, he just should’ve controlled himself better. But when he’d walked in here, seen her looking more fragile and more tempting than original sin, he couldn’t help himself. And neither could the lady, no matter what she said now.

  “Mama! Mr. Ethan! Look at this!” Katie barreled into the room and skidded to a halt right in the middle of the ever widening chasm that separated them.

  “In a minute, Katie,” Ethan mumbled, his gaze fixed on Molly, on the look of shock and shame that shone tear-bright in her eyes. In a calmer tone he said, “We’re not done talking about this.”

  She never acknowledged him at all. It was as though she were looking right through him, as if he’d ceased to exist.

  Katie bobbed up and down like a rabbit on a string. “Look, Mr. Ethan. I got them worms.”

  She wiggled a dirty hand with two worms clutched in it in front of him. Ethan spared her a glance and a pat on the head, but he wasn’t seeing worms or little girls. He was seeing one very beautiful woman—one he wanted very much. One he couldn’t have, no matter what he did.

  Sadness replaced his earlier lust and even anger.

  “I’m sorry, Molly,” he said, speaking to her as though there were no one and nothing else in the room or the world. “I never meant to…”

  Molly went to Katie, cutting off all chance of further conversation. She bent down to inspect the worms. “Uh, nice, Katie. That’s, uh, nice.”

  “See, Mr. Ethan?” Katie ordered. “Aren’t they the best worms?”

  “Yes,” Ethan agreed absentmindedly. “The best.” He was still trying to find a way to tell Molly, to explain.

  Wilder, sometimes you can be an ass.

  Katie tugged on his sleeve again. “Can we go now?”

  “In a minute. I need to talk to your mother.”

  “Go now. Now is a good time,” Molly said softly but firmly.

  “Come on, Mr. Ethan.” Katie had him by the hand and was pulling him toward the open door.

  “Later,” he said as he went out the door, Katie leading the way. “I’ll see you later.”

  Molly stood motionless for a long time. At least she thought it was a long time, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that when Ethan Wilder had kissed her it was as though her whole world tipped on its axis.

  She wandered over to the table and the crate of supplies still scattered there. Her hand lightly skimmed the package of butter where he’d put it on the table. It intrigued her, pleased her, that the man had thought to bring butter and milk. She picked up the can, inspecting the stark white label. They hadn’t had milk for months. Jack had sold the cow to raise a stake to go back to the gold fields.

  Poor Jack, he’d said he’d strike it rich in no time—two months at the most—and buy them two cows, three—a hundred. Fool’s dreams. Just like her father. Both fools. Selfish fools because neither one cared about what happened to those around them.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t figured this out until after she’d married Jack. When he’d ridden out, she made up her mind that she didn’t need a man, couldn’t trust a man. That plan had worked fine until Ethan Wilder.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. She touched her hand to her lips and felt foolish so she let her hand drop away. But the memory of the kiss lingered. Ethan was all the things she’d thought a man couldn’t be. He was all the things she’d ever dreamed of.

  No one else would’ve stayed and cared for a sick woman, just because she had no one else. Lord, the man had not only taken that task he’d also looked after Katie, which was a full-time job all in itself. He’d watered animals and plants, fixed the corral fence, and the wagon, and cooked. The man had cooked for them!

  No man she’d ever known had cooked, at least not more than opening a can of beans and dumping the contents in a skillet. Ethan had made biscuits.

  A delicious shiver scampered up the backs of her legs. No. She could not be attracted to him.

  Too late, her conscience countered.

  Very well, then. She was attracted to him but she was not going to act on that attraction. Yes. That was the difference between honor and disgrace.

  Oh, she was going to honor her wedding vows even if her marriage wasn’t much more than a sham. She’d only married Jack because he was lonely and winter was coming and he wanted her. She had wanted to make a family for Katie and he had this piece of land. They both had their own reasons, she knew, but she’d hoped they would work them out together.

  That had been her first mistake. Jack was never interested in families, just in a warm place and a warm woman for the winter.

  She glanced out the window at the stream and the grove of cottonwood trees. To her eyes it was the most beautiful spot she’d ever seen. Clean and fresh. But as much as she loved this land, Jack hated it. He hated trying to repair the barn, fix the fences, work on the cabin. He grumbled and groaned and spent most of his time in town talking to anyone who would listen about gold and the latest strikes.

  She’d kept hoping these last few months that Jack would come back, rich or poor. She told herself that she could still make this marriage work.

  In truth, she didn’t know if Jack was even alive. It had been four months since he’d left and she hadn’t heard a word since. Why, for all she knew Jack was dead somewhere in a gulch and t
here’d be no one to tell her she was a widow…she was free. Free to be with someone else, someone like Ethan.

  She snatched back the thought. No matter what, she didn’t wish Jack dead. No. Never that.

  She straightened and turned up her chin determinedly. Could that be possible? Just for a moment she let herself imagine if there was no Jack, only Ethan. The thought settled well with her but then she snatched it back.

  No, she would not disgrace herself or Katie. As for that kiss, well, it was a mistake. An error in judgment. People made mistakes all the time. The important thing was to learn from them and move on. No sense fretting over what’s done.

  Ethan would leave. Probably not today since it was late and he and Katie were fishing together. Tomorrow. She was on the mend. He wasn’t needed. She’d send him away…tomorrow. In the meantime, she would simply go on as if nothing had happened.

  She and Ethan would go back to being…friends.

  Chapter Nine

  Two steps outside the cabin, she saw the dust cloud on the road before she heard the hoofbeats of several horses. As the men came into sight, Molly wondered if they were coming to her house or just riding past. The breeze caught her hair and whipped it across her face, blinding her for a moment before she pulled it free.

  Shading her eyes from the sun, she could see that the riders were headed straight for her.

  A few more seconds and she singled out Ed Bartel as the leader of the group. Normally, she wasn’t a suspicious person, but a group of men, riding hard into her yard, indicated that this wasn’t a social call.

  She edged back toward the doorway and that shotgun she kept there. Better to err on the side of caution.

  She knew Ed Bartel from when she and Jack had first arrived in town. He’d made a show of welcoming them. Of course, neither he nor his wife had called on them since.

  Bartel reined up a few yards away, dust swirling around the horses as he did. With him were Evans and Foster and three more men she didn’t know by name but had seen around town a couple of times. Her throat ached from the dust which she had to fan away to get a good look at the men.

  “Mrs. Murphy,” Bartel said by way of hello, she supposed. He raked her with an appraising look. “Are you ill? You look under the weather.”

  “A little, Mr. Bartel.” She brushed at the dust clinging to her skirt and shirtwaist.

  Bartel made to dismount.

  She stopped him. “As you’ve already mentioned, gentlemen, I’m not at my best. If you wouldn’t mind coming back some other time…Bring your wives,” she couldn’t resist adding. “I’ll make tea.”

  “Well, Mrs. Murphy,” Bartel said, settling back in the saddle. “I appreciate the invite. And sure we’ll do that…sometime.”

  “Sometime,” she repeated knowing that meant never. Molly was not part of War Bonnet society and she knew the chances of them and their wives coming out here for tea were as likely as the moon turning pink with yellow spots.

  Bartel’s smile stayed fixed firmly on his face. “Now, Molly…Can I call you Molly?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I feel as if we know each other.” He thumbed his hat back. “Like I was saying, Molly.” That smile got a touch bigger. “We actually came out here because it’s come to our attention that you haven’t sold your land to the railroad that’s coming through here real soon.”

  He rested his hands lightly on the saddle horn, the reins held loosely in his stubby fingers. In a voice that was calm and polite, he said, “Now, we know this is an oversight and we’re sure you will be cooperating—”

  “Why?”

  His expression drooped a bit. “Why, what?”

  “Why would you assume that I’d want to cooperate?”

  Bartel lost all pretense of a smile. “Because them railroad folks will pay you nicely for your land, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

  “It isn’t worrying me at all. I’m not interested in selling.”

  “What do you mean you aren’t interested in selling? Everybody’s sold.”

  “I’m not everybody. This is my home, Mr. Bartel. I like it here. I don’t want to go somewhere else.”

  “You could move—”

  “Not interested.” This was the only home she’d ever had and, good or bad, it was hers. She’d put her whole self into making this a decent place to live. For the first time in her life, she had roots, she felt secure. She did not want to wander again, to be a gypsy the way she’d been all of her life.

  “Now, look, lady.” His tone was hard. “We need this land for the railroad.”

  “Are you threatening me, Mr. Bartel?” Molly took a half step toward that shotgun leaning just inside the doorway. Briefly, she wondered when Ethan and Katie would return.

  “Woman, you can take it any way you want. All I’m telling you is that we ain’t leaving here without this land.” He reached in his jacket pocket and produced a folded piece of white paper. She figured it was a bill of sale.

  “I want you to sign this,” he told her. But this time when he made to dismount, she picked up the shotgun and held it cradled in her arms, the barrel pointed downward.

  “I have no intention of signing your document, Mr. Bartel. I couldn’t if I wanted to. This land belongs to my husband.” For the first time she was glad the land was in Jack’s name, not hers.

  “Get your husband out here!”

  “He’s not here,” she took great pleasure in saying.

  “When’s he coming back?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She cocked her head to one side. “My husband’s not here now.”

  Molly let her eyes move across the group of men, lingering on each man until settling on Bartel again.

  His expression got tight and angry. “Now look, lady. This town needs that railroad and that railroad needs this land. It’s that simple. They are gonna pay you and—”

  “Get off.”

  “What?” Bartel looked confused.

  “You heard me.” Molly lifted the shotgun higher. “Get off my land. Now.”

  “There’s no call for waving guns around,” Evans spoke up.

  “I’ll be the judge of that. When I get confronted by a bunch of men, all wearing guns, who tell me they want what’s mine…” She let the implication linger.

  Disbelief was reflected in the faces of the men gathered. Bartel stiffened but made no move to leave. “I want you to sign this land over, do you hear me. Just sign your husband’s name.” He waved the document at her. “I’ll pay you myself. Name your price.”

  “That wouldn’t be legal,” she told them in a sweet tone that held no warmth.

  “Ain’t no one here gonna say it was different, are we boys?”

  There was a general sort of nodding and mumbled agreement.

  “No.” She pulled back the hammers on both barrels.

  “Now, Mrs. Murphy. Molly. All we want is for you to sign this deed for the railroad. That’s all,” he amended with a sly smile. “You know you aren’t going to shoot anyone.”

  Molly’s expression remained fixed, her fingers curled around the triggers. She didn’t know whether she would fire or not. She didn’t think she could actually kill anyone, but she was enjoying watching the uncertainty on their faces.

  The moment stretched tight between them and she was afraid they were going to put her to the test. But the test never happened. A male voice from off to her right intervened.

  “She might not shoot you, but I sure as hell will.”

  Molly saw Bartel’s eyes move over to the direction of the voice and she turned. Ethan was there, leaning casually against the side of the cabin. In one hand he held his Navy Colt. She actually sighed with relief. Ethan was here.

  Molly saw the surprise in Bartel’s face but strangely he didn’t seemed worried.

  “Wilder. Thank goodness. Maybe you can talk some sense into her. After you left today, we checked at the land office and discovered that hers was the only land not s
old, and when you said that you had unfinished business we naturally figured—”

  “Don’t say another word, Bartel.” He closed on them in five angry strides. “Just turn and ride out of here.”

  “What? Why? She’s a stubborn one. We’ll back you up.”

  “I’m handling things. Now get the hell outta here.” Ethan could see she was watching, listening. He saw her head come up sharply at the mention of the railroad. Lord, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  Bartel seemed to consider this for a moment, then a look of understanding softened his features. “Ah. Sure.” His smile came back. “I see what’s happening.”

  He turned in the saddle. “Well, men, I think we’d better go and let Mr. Wilder here handle this. If anyone can get this straightened out it’s the owner of the railroad.”

  He touched two fingers to the brim of his hat. “We won’t trouble you again, ma’am.” He jerked his horse around and rode out, the others following.

  Molly focused on the dust cloud and avoided looking at the man coming toward her. The owner of the railroad. The truth settled somewhere in the pit of her stomach, hard and cold and tight as a noose. Ethan Wilder owned the railroad.

  Suddenly, he was there, in front of her, close. “Molly, we need to talk.”

  She put the shotgun down against the side of the house before she skirted around him and paced out into the yard. “There’s nothing to say, Mr. Wilder.”

  “I think there is. I’d like to explain.”

  “About the railroad?”

  He sighed. “Yes. I never meant for you to find—”

  “—find out that you were here for your railroad? Too bad that Mr. Bartel let it slip. And just when you were so close, too. What was your plan? To sweet-talk me, kiss me, make love to me?” Molly’s hands curled into tight fists. Muscles down her back knotted with barely controlled anger and shame. “How far were you planning to go with your little plan, Mr. Wilder?” She gave a harsh laugh. “Foolish question, huh?”

  She strode in the direction of the corral because it was away from him. She didn’t want to see him, to hear him. She didn’t want to remember what she’d felt minutes ago.