Stopping by Lindy’s room, then the room the boys shared, she knocked lightly, more to keep from rousing Jubal than out of concern for the children’s sensitivities.
“Up and at ’em,” she encouraged. “A new week. Chores and school.” The routine followed by her mother every morning of Molly’s life—until six months ago.
Tiptoeing past the hall that led to the boarders’ wing, Molly hurried down the back staircase, hoping to avoid seeing Jubal this morning.
Of all the things she had worried about during the long night just past, her reaction to Jubal Jarrett had remained untouched…unconsidered…pushed aside. A door in her brain had slammed on this, one more unresolvable problem.
Pray God, it would remain there until she decided how to sort out the other problems facing her. She’d like nothing better than to send him packing this very morning. Yet…
Returning to the kitchen from the privy out back, she found Sugar busily preparing breakfast—an egg each and venison. “Pour you’self some coffee an’ fix the younguns’ lunch pails,” Sugar replied to Molly’s inquiry of how she could help.
Molly eyed the venison. “Where did that come from?”
Sugar grinned. “That mister done kilt it. An’ two turkey gobblers, too.”
Molly drew a deep breath. She wished Jubal had never shown his face. Or Rubal’s face.
From the pantry she took left-over rolls, strips of jerky, and a jar of peach preserves she had put up earlier this spring. At the far cabinet she began to prepare lunches for Lindy, Travis, and Willie Joe. Even with her hands busy, her sensual nighttime muses wouldn’t be exorcised. She felt color rise to her cheeks. For months she had successfully pushed those erotic memories out of her brain. She had actually begun to believe she would one day forget them completely.
Then Jubal had showed up. From the moment she looked in his familiar face, she had been swamped by memories and feelings she hated ever having felt. But she had little—since last night it seemed no—control over her own mind. Even when she’d aimed the shotgun at him, thinking him Rubal, hating him, wishing she could fire both rounds at his muscular gut, she had experienced a thrill at seeing him again, at the warmth in his eyes, at his sensual, wide-legged stance, which seemed to say, “Come here, woman. You want me and you know it.”
Later, even after she discovered that he wasn’t the man she had thought, she still felt a jolt of desire every time their eyes met. A warmth radiated through her body whenever he was near, and when from time to time he inadvertently touched her, a tremor raced down her spine.
Then he kissed her. She would have resisted, fought him off, but he took her by surprise. She’d been angry with Cleatus and the claims he made earlier, when Jubal materialized without warning and pulled her into his arms. His lips…
Try as she had, she hadn’t been able to resist. Then, to top everything off, she exposed the sordid side of her nature by responding to him like a wanton.
Well, it really wouldn’t matter. After her confession last night, he would be quick to leave, and good riddance. He certainly wouldn’t hang around to be second in line to a twin brother.
Unless they were accustomed to sharing women.
That thought, more repulsive than anything that had ever crossed Molly’s mind in her short twenty-one years, left her thunderstruck. Sugar banged the dinner bell, calling the family to breakfast, jarring Molly’s attention back to the kitchen.
“Reckon we’ll have enough meat for supper,” Sugar was saying, “even if half the town comes by like the mister claims. But you’d best get you’self to the mercantile and see about pickin’ up wheat flour and staples.”
Molly was too engrossed in trying to sort out her reprehensible actions the night before to respond verbally. She covered each lunch pail with a clean cup towel and pushed them closer to the back door.
One by one the children arrived downstairs and went out back. Not until they were all sitting at the kitchen table did she realize that they had dressed for school—down to combing their hair and putting on shoes—without a single admonition from her to hurry.
She smiled, grateful for small favors this morning. Usually Travis was the only one who came to breakfast ready for school.
Molly patted Willie Joe’s head. “Don’t you look spiffy this morning. You’ll turn all the girls’ heads today, Little Sa—”
“Mol-ly,” Willie Joe objected. “I’m Willie Joe.”
“I know.”
He squinched his blue eyes at her. “Why do you always do that?”
“Slip of tongue. Does it bother you?”
“Naw, you’ll learn better.”
Molly grinned, turning to Little Sam, who, although he wasn’t old enough to go to school, was nevertheless dressed, except for shoes, which he wore only in cold weather or to church. His tow head was groomed as though for a special occasion.
“And look at you, Little Sam. Ol’ Squirrel won’t recognize you.”
He took his finger out of his mouth long enough to say, “I’m goin’ with mister.”
Molly stiffened at the child’s claim. At that moment Lindy skipped into the room. Molly took in her curled hair and Sunday best dress. “What’s the occasion?”
Lindy shrugged and tried to take her seat quickly.
“Stand up,” Molly ordered. “Let me see your legs.”
Lindy huffed, glanced to the doorway where Sugar stood with fists to hips, and complied.
“Get back upstairs this minute and put on your black stockings,” Molly ordered. “And while you’re at it, change into your waist and skirt. This dress isn’t suitable for a day at school.”
“Mol-ly…”
At that moment Rubal traipsed down the back staircase, which was for family use only. Molly wondered randomly whether she had pointed out which parts of the house were off limits to boarders.
Lindy fluttered her eyelids. “I look all right, don’t I, Jubal?”
Rubal heard Molly’s sharp intake of breath. He chanced a glance at Lindy, glad her feelings were no longer hurt; sorry, too. “You look great,” he told her, adding, “Why don’t you save that dress for the next dance. It’d likely drive all the fellers at school crazy.”
Molly gasped.
“We don’t have dances anymore,” Lindy pouted.
“Run and change,” Rubal encouraged. “We’ll see what we can do to fix that.”
Lindy ran up the back stairs, leaving Molly incensed. Sugar put food on the table; the children scrambled into their chairs; Molly took hers without meeting Rubal’s eyes. Her blood ran hot, and she knew only part of it was from the trouble with Lindy. They ate in silence until Travis bounded from his chair and went in search of his satchel.
Rubal rose, too, placing his napkin in his plate. “Time for me to hit the road.”
Little Sam scooted from his place. “I’m comin’, mister.”
Rubal frowned at the child, not understanding.
“You said if I got dressed without causin’ Molly no trouble, I could come with you.”
Rubal’s face softened. He knelt before Little Sam, bringing himself closer to eye level with the child. “I didn’t mean this morning, Little Sam. I have a lot of hard ridin’ to do today. If it’s daylight when I get back, we’ll run down and see how many catfish we’ve caught on our trotlines.”
Little Sam crooked his head to the side, his index finger firmly in his mouth. Rubal gently removed it, holding the little hand in his. “I’m sorry you misunderstood.” He glanced up at Molly’s astonished gaze. “I’m sure Molly has something important for you to do while the rest of us are gone.”
Little Sam looked to Molly, who stood, as though transfixed. Sugar saved the day.
“Why shore nuf, she does. Since you done dressed you’self so nicely, you can run down to the mercantile with Miss Molly soon as the breakfast dishes are done.”
Little Sam looked back at Rubal, then to Molly.
She reached for the child’s hand. “Sure you can, Littl
e Sam. You can help me carry groceries.”
Travis returned, picked up his lunch pail and started to leave. “I’m eating supper at Master Taylor’s.”
“Not tonight, Travis,” Molly began.
“Why not invite the Taylors to eat with us?” Rubal suggested.
Molly shot him an anguished warning.
Rubal shrugged. “Since you’re so all-fired anxious to eat with the Taylors,” he told Travis, “bring ’em here. Mrs. Taylor might enjoy a meal she didn’t have to cook herself.”
“All right,” Travis responded, after a lengthy pause during which Molly’s ire rose to welcome heights. Molly held her tongue until Travis was out of hearing.
“I thought you learned something yesterday,” she retorted. Rubal, too, had started to leave. He picked up his Stetson from the cabinet where he’d laid it when he entered the kitchen.
“I did, Molly.” His eyes held hers until she felt herself flush. “I sure as shootin’ learned something yesterday.” After which, he bent and kissed her.
On the cheek, to be sure, but he kissed her, nonetheless. There in the kitchen in front of Willie Joe and Little Sam and Sugar, Jubal Jarrett kissed her. And she went all feathery and dewy inside. After a moment of total blankness, she thanked her lucky stars Lindy hadn’t returned from changing clothes in time to witness it.
Later that morning, Little Sam tagged along with Molly to Osborne’s Mercantile. The child carried a small basket to which Molly added things now and again to make him feel like he was helping. Actually, he was, by providing a partial diversion from thoughts of Jubal Jarrett. Everyone in town, however, was curious about the new boarder.
“Scoutin’ a rail line, is he?” Mr. Osborne, owner of the mercantile, commented. “‘Bout time somebody took an interest in us.” The squatty, white-haired little gentleman glanced through his wire-rimmed spectacles to the far reaches of his store. Merchandise was stacked on merchandise all the way to the pressed-tin ceiling. “I’ll probably have to lay in some goods, what with the rails comin’ an’ all. Bring folks to town in droves. Wouldn’t want to be caught short.”
Extracting bills received from her new boarder, Molly paid for her purchases—wheat flour, Calumet baking powder, brown sugar, and ground coffee.
“Hear you’re servin’ up supper at the Blake House again.”
“That’s right.”
“Miss Inez over to the bank, says she’s acomin’ tonight.”
“Good,” Molly responded.
“An’ Mr. Rau says he an’ the misses are comin’. Reckon you’ll be fixin’ some of them wild berry pies like your mama used to bake?”
“We’ll try.” While the merchant rambled, Molly tried to count heads for supper. What had Jubal Jarrett gotten her into?
On the way home, she caught herself rubbing her cheek where he’d kissed her. She felt his lips there yet. By the time she and Little Sam returned from the mercantile, however, exhaustion and anxiety had taken their toll, leaving her more despondent than ever. What in heaven’s name could come of it all? Would this kiss be another memory to warm her bed and leave her cold and lonely the rest of her life?
Sugar met them at the back door. “I’ll swan,” she mused, “what a difference a few dollars makes.” She studied Molly. “Missy, you run upstairs and rest you’self. You look like you didn’t sleep a wink las’ night, and you have company comin’ for supper. Figure with the Taylors and Mister Farrington and maybeso the Petersens and the Raus and—”
“You’d better add Miz Inez,” Molly told her. “Mr. Osborne said to expect her. Jubal’s invitation made it around town quicker than news of Mrs. Whipporworth’s gout.”
Sugar’s eyes danced. “Then you better get you’self som’ rest, shore nuf. Imagine it, with all them folks, we’ll bring in money to feed a crowd next time.”
Molly grinned halfheartedly. “I hate to tell you Sugar, but this is a crowd. If Jubal Jarrett doesn’t get out of my hair—”
“Out of your hair? Says you? Why, missy, I been prayin’ ever’day and twice on Sunday for someone to come alon’ and help you outa your troubles. Looks like my prayers done been answered.”
“By the devil,” Molly muttered.
Rubal rode away from the Blake House cussin’ himself for being a danged fool. What the hell did he think he was up to? On the ride over to the Apple Springs Bank, he pondered that question and other, even more perplexing ones: Like, what did he expect to come of all his shenanigans? And, what did he want from Molly Durant? He knew what his body wanted, but that didn’t seem to be all there was to it—physical lust. What did he want in the long haul? If it was more than lust, what? The answer to that question settled like a hard rock of pure terror in his gut.
His brain came to the rescue, reminding him that after his antics on the porch last night, Molly more than likely figured him for nothing better than a perverted fool. And this morning? What did she think about this morning? Likely when he got home—home?—she’d send him packin’.
He hadn’t intended to kiss her. For that matter, he hadn’t intended to do many of the things he’d done since arriving in Apple Springs. This morning, he put down to a guilty conscience that had kept him awake the better part of the night. When he heard Molly rousing the boys, he figured to help. That was all. He’d help her get the kids off to school.
But who asked for his help? Certainly, not Molly. And what in hell prompted him to invite the schoolmaster and his wife to supper? After the folly of inviting the reverend and his wife, Rubal figured he should have known better.
He winced thinking how even now Molly would be dreading the evening meal. He spurred his mount, more determined than before to get back and help her through supper. If she let him stay.
But his guilty conscience still prodded. Then what? After supper what? After tomorrow what? And the day after? And the day after that? The bottom line was, he’d best start deciding what he intended to do with this woman, on the outside chance that he caught her.
He couldn’t run out on her again. That much he knew. Yet, when he beggared this assignment from Jubal, he had no intention of moving to Apple Springs and settling down, permanent. Permanent, as in marriage. The very word sent a chill racing along his spine.
So what the hell was he after? Another tumble in the hay? Naturally, being human and all, he wouldn’t mind revisiting that barn with Molly in tow. Wouldn’t mind, at all. Fact was, part of his brain stayed permanently affixed to that very thing.
But until he returned to Apple Springs, he hadn’t realized what that one night in his arms had cost Molly. He knew now, and knowing, he could never put her through such an ordeal again. He had taken her virginity; he had sapped her vitality; but he hadn’t intended to.
Drawing rein in front of the bank, he hitched Coyote to the post and studied the building adjacent to the one-story bank—Lutcher & Moore Timber Company. Rubal sat his horse a moment, trying to rekindle an interest in tracking down a bunch of timber thieves. But all he was able to focus on was Molly—and his own intentions toward her.
The only decent thing for him to do—and wasn’t it about time he took hold of himself and started acting decent?—was to hightail it out of here before things went any further.
But his first sight of Cleatus Farrington set that plan back. If he hightailed it, Cleatus would drag Molly before the preacher before Rubal reached Orange. What would happen to the kids, then?
More importantly, what would happen to Molly? She’d already admitted that Cleatus’s kisses didn’t light a spark inside her. And he knew for gospel fact, that his own did.
But he was a man who hadn’t given thought to settling down except for a fleeting flash in the night. A flash of guilt, that generally fled before daylight.
Nope, in the long run, he would likely do Molly a lot more harm as a husband than Cleatus Farrington ever could. Cleatus wanted to be shackled. Rubal didn’t. He couldn’t pretend otherwise.
The scene at breakfast flashed through his brain,
but he pushed it aside, unable to explain what had taken hold of him at the moment he kissed her cheek. He couldn’t recall ever kissing a woman’s cheek before. Not even his sisters’.
He stomped clay off his boots on the board steps, removed his Stetson, and opened the glass-paneled door into the bank building. All this ruminating was just that, since Molly hated his guts and everything else about him.
Well, maybe not his lips. She’d sure enough been willing to kiss him last night after…
Cleatus Farrington stepped into the foyer from an inner office. His face was stern, but then it always was. At least, the times Rubal had been around him. A second man, dressed in the bibbed overalls of a logger, followed behind Cleatus.
“There’s no way in hell I can convince my father to loan that kind of money without collateral,” Cleatus was saying.
The logger, somewhere near fifty and stocky, offered his hand, which Cleatus shook. “Looks like I’ll have to go round up some bargaining chips and come back.”
“Sure thing. Come on back, when you—” Cleatus saw Rubal then.
“Jarrett,” he hailed. “This way. I’ve got your list of sawmills and loggers.”
The logger studied Rubal. “Jarrett, you say?”
Rubal tensed. Now was no time to have his cover blown. He eyed the man, skeptical. “Jarrett,” he agreed with caution. “Jubal Jarrett.”
The stocky man turned full around, extended his beefy hand. “Haslett, here. Victor Haslett.”
Haslett. Rubal considered, didn’t recognize the name.
“You any kin to Baylor Jarrett?” Haslett inquired.
“You bet. He’s my uncle.”
Haslett shook Rubal’s hand with vigor. “A hell raiser, for sure. Last I saw of him was down in South Texas…” Haslett left the sentence hanging, finishing on a high note that indicated a question.
“Trail herdin’,” Rubal supplied. “You in the logging business?”
“Independent.”
“An independent logger,” Cleatus explained. “Anything else I can do for you, Haslett?”
Secret Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Four Page 11
