Molly's Hero

by Susan Amarillas

  “That sounds terrible. Did she…I mean did you ever…I can’t imagine lifting a hand to a child.”

  He laughed lightly. “Well, in fairness, we were a handful and she was outnumbered. Anyway, she got the job done and no one, including me, suffered any long-lasting effects.”

  It was hard to imagine this strong, powerful man, so confident, as a small child…a child with dreams like hers, only his were about trains and hers were about homes.

  “And what kind of home was it?” she asked.

  “Oh, the place was clean and warm and they kept us well fed. What else can a kid ask for?”

  “Someone to love them,” she said quietly, reflecting back on the times her father had been too tired to talk, much less play, and her mother hadn’t been much better. At least she’d had her sister. Now even she was gone.

  They faced each other. Only inches separated their bodies. “Love is something I never thought much about…until I met you.”

  Ethan suddenly wanted more than anything to hold her. To pull her into his arms and stand there for the rest of his life and hold on to her.

  The gentle call of a night owl was startlingly loud and they both seemed to swallow hard and turn at the same time.

  “But how did you get to building a railroad?” she prompted, no longer afraid or angry—only curious.

  He chuckled. “There was a train track right behind the building and nights I would listen to the trains pass and pretend to be on one headed for some faraway…This is silly. I’m sorry to—”

  “No, it’s not. It makes perfect sense. It’s how I came to want this place so much.” So his was a childhood dream like hers.

  They walked on, the moonlight dancing between the leaves, the water making its melodious sound. The air was sweet and clean.

  “Then what?” she asked.

  “Oh, I left Pittsburgh, kicked around for a while…then there was the war.”

  “I thought you’d fought.”

  “Why?”

  “The Navy Colt. It was standard issue, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah. You know your weapons.”

  “A few.”

  She paused to sit on a rock. Ethan remained standing.

  “Let me guess, that’s where you and Billy met.”

  “That’s right. How’d you know?”

  “Your friend Billy was out here this afternoon. He’s almost as good a talker as you are.”

  “Evidently, still not good enough.”

  She shook her head. “Not good enough.”

  They were quiet for a long minute, then she said, “You were telling me about the war.”

  “We managed to get through it without being hurt.” He neglected to mention the fact that he was almost killed.

  “I take that as your way of ending the discussion.”

  “Nothing in the past worth visiting, is all. Besides, we were talking about railroads.”

  “Unfortunately, we were.”

  He ignored the gibe. “When we got out, we were offered a job on the Union Pacific. I knew then that railroads were the future. I could have a future building them so I begged and borrowed money. Friends put their reputation on the line to get me investors. It was everything I wanted. My dream. My future.”

  “And all I ever dreamed about was a little house all my own with a porch to sit on in the evenings and a white picket fence and a place—”

  “To plant your rosebush?”

  He brushed the hair back from her cheek and felt the wetness on the backs of his knuckles. He knew she was crying still.

  “There’s nothing I can do about this, Molly. The railroad is close, but not so close that I can stop it where it is. It has to come through that pass. Your ranch sits at the mouth of that pass. God help me, if I could figure another way around this, I would.”

  He heard her intake of breath, heard the muffled sob. He pulled her into his embrace, holding her. Her arms went around his waist.

  “I’m sorry, Molly. Please, please know how sorry I am.”

  She cried because she couldn’t do anything else, because it was late and she was tired. Tired of fighting, of being alone, of being afraid.

  “It’s my home,” she said between sobs. “Can you understand?”

  “Oh, God, Molly, of course I understand.” And he did. Because he’d never had a home of his own he understood what it meant to take hers.

  It tore at his gut and at his heart and before he knew what he was doing, he simply dipped his head and kissed her.

  Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she knew this was a mistake. There was Jack who’d been gone too long. Jack without a word. Jack, whom she knew deep down was dead.

  Molly knew she should stop Ethan and yet she was so tired and it felt so good to be in his arms, to feel his strength holding her as though he would hold the world back for just this little while.

  Her hands glided around his waist, then upward, the coarse cotton of his shirt rough against her fingers as they traced the hard muscles of his back.

  The sensation of his lips on hers was warm and strong and blessedly welcome. His mouth was inviting, enticing, stirring feelings in her she’d never known before. His hand slipped up to cradle the back of her neck, his fingers pulling at the fine hairs there. She knew instinctively that he was searching for the pins that held her hair in place.

  Releasing him, she answered his request by removing the four pins that dropped to the ground at their feet.

  He lifted away from her then, as her hair fell heavy around her shoulders and down her back. His breathing was hard as he looked down into her upturned face, his fingers laced in her hair.

  “Molly,” he said, softly, gently, like a plea. “I want to make love to you.” He brushed the hair back from her face again. “I want to love you until the world goes away, until there’s no one and nothing but you and me.”

  Molly understood then, looking up into his handsome face, that she wanted him to make love to her. More importantly, she understood in that instant, in that single heartbeat, that she was in love with Ethan Wilder, that she’d never loved any man the way she loved him and that she doubted she ever would. It couldn’t be wrong, this feeling. Surely the Lord wouldn’t have sent her Ethan if it was wrong.

  “Molly?” It was a question this time. “I’ve brought you pain and hurt and if you—”

  She stopped him with the tips of two fingers on his lips.

  His eyes searched her face and then a smile, slow and tentative, curved up the corners of his mouth, his beautiful mouth. His smile made her shiver in its understanding and its promise. His eyes were dark and soft and she thought there in the shadows of the night, she didn’t care about land or ranches or railroads. She only cared that she was with Ethan, in his arms.

  Lightly, so very lightly, his mouth brushed against hers again as though testing the answer to his question. Molly’s eyes fluttered closed in anticipation of what was to come.

  “Are you sure, Molly?” he asked a little breathlessly.

  She didn’t answer, didn’t trust herself to form the words, so she lifted up on her toes and kissed him, her arms twining around his neck and up the back of his head catching the back of his hat. Absently, she grabbed the brim and flung the hat aside.

  She thought she heard him chuckle. She chuckled, too. She was happy, she realized. Perhaps for the first time in so long, she was happy.

  Ethan.

  He hooked his hands under her arms and lifted her straight up off the ground until she was level with him. Then he took her mouth again, in a deep, slow, demanding kiss that left her feeling that she’d never breathe again and didn’t need to. All she needed was Ethan Wilder.

  Muscles along the tops of his shoulders tensed and trembled as he held her there, suspended above the ground. She was here, in his arms and all he knew was that he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

  “Molly, honey…”

  “Yes,” she breathed, her forearms resting on the t
ops of his shoulders. A lush smile punctuated her agreement.

  And still he hesitated. He settled her to the ground. His hands cupped the sides of her face, his thumbs hooked under her chin. “Oh, Molly, I want you so.”

  She covered his hands with hers. Tears glistened in her eyes when she said, “And I want you, Ethan.”

  It was all he needed to hear.

  This time when he covered her mouth with his, there was no holding back, no hesitation. His tongue traced her lips, teasing, demanding, igniting a fire in her she’d never expected. Her body flared to life, heat and longing the only feelings.

  When his tongue plunged inside her mouth that fire turned into a raging inferno. His arms crushed her to him and she went willingly, eagerly, anxious for all that he offered. Her hands splayed out over his broad back, feeling the muscles pulled tight there, reveling in his power.

  In and out, in and out, his tongue created a rhythm that her body seemed to recognize even if she didn’t. Her heartbeat seemed to mimic the tempo like some ancient tune and within moments her whole body, muscles, flexed and moved to the tune, like the waves against the shore.

  She trembled, nerves raw and aching and yet the rhythm continued, the tune growing stronger. She clung to him, her fingers curling to claw at his back through the fabric of his shirt.

  Yes, her mind kept chanting. Yes. Yes!

  Ethan kissed her cheeks and chin and the thin flesh under her jaw. His hands roamed her body from shoulder to hips and back again. Every part of his body was raw and alive with wanting her. Like some caged animal, he moved, flexed, ached with the longing that was quickly consuming him.

  He wanted her. He wanted her naked. He wanted them both naked and now.

  Deftly, he cast her shawl aside then reached for the front of her blouse. His fingers fumbled with the tiny buttons and eventually she had to help him, pulling the fabric free of her skirt, but she hesitated, suddenly feeling shy.

  He saw the look of uncertainty in her eyes.

  “Let me,” he whispered, kissing her lightly while he slid the fabric from her shoulders so that she hardly realized her blouse was gone until she felt the cool night breeze on her bare shoulders.

  Her eyes fluttered open and when she looked into his down-turned face, so close, he was smiling at her. He kissed her lightly again, quickly, and then worked the buttons on his own shirt.

  He was about to shrug out of it when she bravely said, “Let me.”

  He did.

  Gazes locked, he forced himself to stand very still while she put both of her hands, palms flat, on the center of his chest. His heart pounded like a fierce war drum and she must have felt it because she looked up at him.

  Never saying a word, she slid his shirt open with the edges of her hands, her palms gliding lightly, sensually over his chest, brushing the fine black hair that curved over his nipples. He thought he felt her hands tremble. His eyes slammed shut against the suddenly pounding desire her touch stirred in him.

  Slowly, she let her hands move upward toward his shoulders, testing, exploring until her fingers curled over the tops of his shoulders and she carried the shirt down and off his arms leaving him bare chested.

  He was beautiful, she thought. His body was hardened by work, and tan—as though he’d done that work without a shirt. Without thinking, she retraced the path her hands had taken moments ago, this time letting her gaze follow the path, memorizing every valley and plane, every muscle and bone.

  When he could stand it no longer, he took her shoulders in a hard grip. “Woman, do you know what you do to me?”

  Hands still on his chest, she said, “Tell me.”

  Her words were provocative as hell and she knew it. What’s more, he knew it.

  “Tell you? Hell,” he said, reaching for the ties that held her camisole closed over her breasts, “I’m going to show you.” He pulled the ties free one after another. Then repeating her act he placed both hands, palms flat on the center of her chest, just below her throat. Then slowly, oh, very slowly, he let his hands glide down and out, pushing the fabric aside with the edges of his hands while the palms brushed lightly across the sensitive skin at the tops of her breasts.

  Molly shivered then groaned in response.

  “Ethan.” She dragged in an unsteady breath. “Ethan.”

  “Yes,” he breathed, leaning in close and letting his tongue trace a path down the side of her neck. He slipped the camisole free of her shoulders and the fine white fabric fluttered silently to the ground.

  Ethan’s hands curved around the knobs of her shoulders then glided lightly down her arms, while he laved and kissed and nipped at the sensitive spot behind her left ear.

  Her hands sought him, needing something to cling to, needing him.

  He blazed a path of fiery kisses down along the tops of her shoulders, then lower, moving steadily toward the firm mounds of her breasts now exposed to him. Slowly, slowly, licking, then kissing, occasionally simply breathing on the moist spot he’d created, he teased her, heightening the longing in her, the same longing he felt himself.

  He kissed the valley between her breasts.

  “You are so beautiful, Molly,” he whispered, his lips moving on her flesh sending gooseflesh of delight skimming over her skin. “So beautiful.”

  Lower. A fraction more. Until his mouth found her nipple, already a hardened nub. He would make it harder, he thought as his mouth closed over the rosy peak.

  Instantly, she flinched, pushing at his arms, which held her tightly around the waist.

  “Ethan, what are you…”

  He sucked at the nipple, letting his tongue lave at the tender flesh, brushing back and forth, back and forth, until she stopped pushing at his arms and instead, arched back, her hands thrusting into his hair as though to hold his head there.

  “Oh, yes,” Molly moaned, as waves of pure, illicit pleasure washed through her. “More, Ethan. Please more.”

  He was happy to oblige. He took the nipple between his teeth, lightly grazing the peak, pulling, sucking, feeling her tremble, feeling her flex and move against him.

  He moved back, his body aching for the release he knew he’d find in the sweet body of Molly Murphy.

  Wordlessly, he lifted his head, kissed her once hard and fast on the lips, then scooped her up and carried her the few yards to a spot he’d seen earlier when he’d been fishing with Katie.

  In the shelter of the rocks, he laid her down on the mossy earth, sprawling on his side so that he partially covered her body with his.

  Lightly, reverently, he stroked her, caressed her, kissed her again and again and again until she pulled him down to her, holding her there while she kissed him or he kissed her…he wasn’t entirely sure, didn’t care.

  He undid the button on her skirt and pushed it down as far as her hips but there were petticoats and he silently cursed whoever had said women needed to wear so damned many clothes.

  Molly found the tie on the petticoats and pulled the cord. Together, they got her out of the skirt and petticoats until she was wearing nothing more than her pantalets and stockings. Black stockings.

  Ethan rolled onto her, letting his knee slide between her legs, then push hard at the core of her.

  Molly was already moving, and with his leg there, she moved against it, the denim coarse and rough even through the fabric of her pantalets.

  She reached for his belt and found the buckle for his gun belt instead.

  Ethan sat up and quickly shed his clothes. Molly propped up on her elbows to watch and when he turned back the hard evidence of his arousal was there, and she thought he was magnificent.

  She held out her arms to him and he went to her, sprawling partially on top of her, his bare leg back between hers again, while his naked body covered most of her. His hands played magic on her throbbing flesh, touching her in all the right places, making her nerves sing with delight and passion. Oh, yes, passion.

  She began to move, to flex, while muscles in her belly lifted and
pushed her hips against him. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, and her fingers clawed at the moss that cushioned her.

  “Ethan, I want…”

  “I know what you want, sweet Molly. I want it, too.”

  Then he did something she’d never thought about, never imagined. His fingers found the opening in her pantalets and slipped inside to touch her, there, in that place that no one had ever touched her. Not like this.

  Vaguely, she thought to protest, but his fingers, two fingers, glided knowingly over her womanhood.

  “You’re wet,” he said, as though to confirm what she already knew.

  “It hurts,” she answered, moving against his touch.

  He hesitated. “Hurts how?”

  She moved against his touch. “Aches when you stop.”

  “Ah,” he murmured. “And does this—” he slid his fingers over her again, deeper this time, more fully “—does this stop the ache?”

  “Yes,” she told him arching up, seeking his touch, “it feels so good. Do it again.”

  He did.

  He stroked her, feeling her buck with each touch, feeling her arch and move and tremble, thinking she was like no woman he’d ever known. Her head flayed back and forth and, digging her heels in, she refused to let him stop. He didn’t want to stop. He knew almost before she did, that she was peaking. Then he leaned down and took her nipple in his mouth. At the same instant he plunged those two fingers inside her.

  “Ethan, yes!” she screamed and he covered her mouth with his to muffle her scream of delight.

  He kissed her hard and stroked her harder and she worked against his fingers until suddenly she arched and lifted and grabbed his face in her hands.

  He felt her convulse around his fingers, felt her shudder, heard the wild groan of ecstasy as she reached her peak, let the rush flow over and out of her, slick and thick and wet around his fingers.

  She settled to the ground again and slowly opened her eyes. He was there, filling her line of vision.

  Wonder was reflected in her eyes, in the flush of her cheeks, in the rawness of her bottom lip that she had bitten in the final explosion of pleasure.

  He rubbed at the single droplet of blood there on her lip and she kissed his thumb. “Oh, I never knew it could be like that…that a woman could feel anything like…”