Walking back to the house with Rubal at her side, Molly soon shook off her brief bout of melancholy over Cleatus. Life was neither fair nor perfect. She’d learned that much in the last year and a half. But when she squeezed Rubal’s hand, reassuring herself that tonight was real and not a dream, she knew she had come about as close to perfect as a person could get.
“The Rangers said you were going to California.”
He winked at her. “And leave you behind?”
Her knees felt weak, and she held him tighter. “Jeff and Lindy got our marriage license?” She wondered suddenly how they had accomplished such a thing, and whether it was legal.
“I knew we couldn’t get there in time.” He grinned. “And I figured this time I’d better take the bull by the horns and do the right thing first.”
Happiness bubbled inside her. Giddy, uncontrollable happiness. Little Sam held Rubal’s free hand, skipping to keep up, while Willie Joe walked with Lindy and Jeff, and Travis rode Rubal’s horse.
“What’s in the envelope you handed Jeff?” she asked, the reality of the last couple of hours returning gradually.
“The reward money.”
“Oh!”
“The part he agreed to, enough to set him and Lindy up with some property out west. The rest we’ll put in the bank to use for the kids’ education.”
Her feet came to a halt in the middle of the road. “You thought of everything.”
Freeing himself from Little Sam’s grip, he took her face in his hands. “Dang it, Molly, I love you.” Then he kissed her. Right there in the middle of the road with the winter moon lighting the little clearing of Apple Springs as though it were a stage set.
Lifting his lips he whispered. “If I’ve forgotten something, we’ll take care of it later—together. There isn’t anything in this world we can’t do together.” He kissed her again, while the busybodies of Apple Springs, who were returning to their own homes late this Christmas eve, suffused with Christmas spirit and the romantic afterglow of having witnessed not one but two weddings, applauded around them.
When Rubal held the yard gate for her, Molly noticed the “Closed” sign hanging on it. Inside the house, she learned that even Sugar had been a willing ally in the subterfuge. Returning from her own service, Sugar grabbed Molly in a bear hug, her black eyes misting. Then she shook Rubal’s offered hand. “Now, maybe, this child will stop mopin’ aroun’, jumpin’ down ever’body’s throats.”
Rubal caught Molly around the waist, drawing her close, kissing her softly. “Did you miss me, really miss me, Molly love?”
“If the children hadn’t carefully paved your way, Rubal Jarrett, I would probably have shot you straight off this time.”
He kissed her again. “Come on, it’s time for dinner—and then…” The sentence hung suggestively, while he kissed her lips, leaving her aflush and still a bit dazed by all that had happened.
During dinner there was so much to tell, and to hear, that Rubal drew up an extra chair and insisted on Sugar joining them at the table. In no time she lost her reticence and the family solidified itself in many little ways.
“I’m working for L&M full time now,” he told the group. “Scouting the railroad, for real. After that they’ve agreed to consider me for Oscar Petersen’s post. He’ll be leaving early next year.”
Molly sat quietly listening to the chatter around them. Rubal sat to her left, having exchanged places with Willie Joe. He was so close she felt giddy. She recalled how Lindy had sat beside Jeff the night he returned, her hand holding his arm as though to prevent him from leaving ever again.
But Molly didn’t have that worry tonight. Tonight, for the first time since she had known him, she was confident that Rubal Jarrett would never leave her. Tonight he had taken her for his wife.
She studied the beaming faces of Willie Joe and Little Sam, the proud air of Travis, the cocky sensuality that sizzled between Lindy and Jeff. She felt it, too. The sizzle, the giddiness. But more than that, she felt secure.
Secure in the home she had planned to sell. Secure with the family she had planned to cast to the four winds. Secure with the man she had despaired of ever seeing again.
When Sugar rose to fetch the Christmas syllabub, Rubal stopped her.
“Why don’t we save dessert for later? Come on into the parlor.” He tugged Molly to her feet. “You, too, Sugar. All of you. Let’s see what Santa Claus brought.”
“It’s a tradition in this family, Mister Rubal, to serve syllabub with the gift openin’.”
“All right, then. Let’s do it.”
“I helped ’em, mister,” Little Sam said.
“You did?”
“Yep. Travis taught me to milk the cow. I got two squirts in the bowl.”
“That so?” Rubal’s grin brought tears to Molly’s eyes.
“An’ I poured in the whiskey,” Willie Joe said proudly.
Before Rubal could respond, Little Sam was talking again. “Jeff helped us cut the tree, mister.”
“It’s a beauty, for sure,” Rubal admired, his eyes on Molly instead of the decorated, candle-bedecked tree.
“Can we go fishin’ tomorrow?” Willie Joe asked.
Rubal winked at Molly over her little brothers’ heads. “Maybe not tomorrow. But soon. I promise you that.”
Sugar served syllabub in the silver cups that had belonged to Molly’s family for four generations. Molly sat in the place of honor beside the tree, where Rubal had deposited her. She cradled the icy-cold cup in her hands, warmed by the stunning events of this night. A night for miracles. Cleatus had said she shouldn’t expect one. She watched Rubal pass out the gifts he brought her family—now his family, too.
Never again would she stop believing in miracles.
A quill pen and a box of writing paper for Lindy and Jeff. With the admonition, “We expect to hear from you two.”
A journal for Travis. “You’re head of the family, Travis. Use this to keep the financial records up to date.”
“What financial records?”
“Before you go back to school, we’ll sit down and talk about that.”
The little boys received the grandest gifts of all—according to them. Rubal brought each of them a brand-spanking new pair of shoes.
“I wasn’t sure of the sizes,” he told them. “You may have to stuff paper in the toes for a while.”
Sugar received a new apron, and Molly got a new weeding bonnet.
“Ringgold came back and told me how you’ve been going over to town in that ragged old thing of yours.”
She laughed. “I’ll use this one for weeding. But I’m not throwing the other one away. If the occasion warrants, I’ll wear it to town again.”
But that wasn’t Molly’s only gift. He saved one package until last. Dropping to a knee in front of her, he set the box on her lap, and placed a kiss on her lips. “Merry Christmas, Molly love.”
She looked wistfully at the gaily wrapped package. Something in the way he grinned, told her she’d better not open it in front of the family. “I don’t have anything for you. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“We did!” came a chorus of replies. And with that the children rushed forward and began pulling packages from under the tree.
Lindy and Jeff gave him a scarf, which Molly recognized as coming from one of James Blake’s trunks in the attic.
Travis handed Willie Joe a package, and the little boys nearly knocked each other over trying to be the one to hand it to Rubal—a fishing hook and sinker they’d made from a couple of old square nails.
“Travis helped us use the anvil and file,” Willie Joe explained.
Molly watch Rubal’s eyes mist. Obviously he gave gifts with much more ease than he accepted them.
She hadn’t realized Sugar had left the room, until she returned carrying three knapsacks. “Come on, boys. Time to go.”
“Go?” Molly rose from her seat, clutching Rubal’s still unopened gift to her bosom.
“The
boys are comin’ home with me for a couple of days.”
Molly blushed.
“We’ll be back to keep care of the big house while the two of you are off in New Orleans.”
“New Orleans?” Molly looked at Rubal.
He shrugged. “Thought you deserved a wedding trip.”
“A wedding trip? Me?”
“Us. I have a sister living there. Her name’s Delta. From what I understand, her house is big enough for this whole family to get lost in.”
Molly had just regained her emotional balance, when Jeff and Lindy returned downstairs carrying a tapestry traveling case.
“We’ll be back in a few days,” Jeff announced in a voice made shrill by self-consciousness.
Molly and Rubal followed them to the door, said good-night, and closed the big door behind them.
“I didn’t even have the sense to ask where they’re going,” she sighed.
Rubal backed her up against the door. His hands were already busy undoing her fancy hairdo, tossing hairpins this way and that. “Jeff’ll take care of her.”
He ran his fingers through her hair. His lips covered hers. God, she felt good. So good. To think, he almost lost this woman. And now she was his. His wife.
Without parting their lips, he scooped her in his arms and strode toward the staircase.
“Wait.”
“Wait?” He halted, while Molly struggled to her feet.
“My present. I haven’t opened my present.”
So while he watched, she retrieved the bright red package, and, sitting on the hall tree in her made-over wedding gown, she tore into the paper with the enthusiasm of a child. Rubal watched her, dazed by all that had transpired so quickly. And yet, it hadn’t been quick at all. It’d taken him over a year to come to his senses. A year filled with pure pain for Molly.
“Oh!” She held up the silky white nightgown that was more lace than cloth. Lifting it to her face, she peered through it, as through a film of gossamer, into his grinning face. “OH!”
Unabashed he gathered Molly and her nightgown in his arms and carried her upstairs. “I’m ready for you to put that nightgown on,” he whispered. “So I can take it off.”
But at the door to the bedroom, he came to a halt. His arms tightened around her. She watched him stare at the bed and knew he was recalling the last time he had seen it.
“It’s feather,” she prompted, trying to draw his mind away from the dreadful scene the day she sent him away.
But he stood as though frozen to the spot. “I’m sorry I left that day, Molly.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Me, too.”
“But that’s what I planned all along.”
“To leave me?”
“After I told you the truth. Give you time to come to terms with it, before I came back.”
“But I thought—” Her voice broke, and she felt tears gather in her eyes. “I thought…if you loved me enough, you would have stayed.”
“Dang it, Molly, I treated you so bad. I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for it. I swear.”
With persistent fingers at his nape, she pulled his head toward her, meeting his lips softly. “There’s nothing to make up for. Tonight we start fresh. We’ll be grateful for the past, Rubal, it brought us together.”
He stared with wonder into her loving eyes. “You don’t know how good it is to hear you call me by my name.”
She smiled then, happy. So very happy. “I’m glad you’re you, Rubal Jarrett.”
He kissed her. “Me, too, Mrs. Rubal Jarrett.”
He sat her down, watching her disappear behind the dressing screen to change into the filmy white nightgown. One lamp burned at the far side of the bed, casting a dim shimmer of light across the darkened room. Instead of the gaily colored crazy-quilt coverlet, the bed was dressed with an ecru lace spread, its very color designating it a family heirloom. Rubal discarded his tie, opened his collar, and tossed his jacket to a green damask chair. He felt his pulse jump erratically. He listened to the soft sounds of Molly undressing behind the screen. He glanced again at the bed he supposed Lindy had dressed for her sister’s wedding night. Lindy, now his sister-in-law. He recalled the night he’d thrown Jeff out of the house. The night he proposed to Molly.
What a danged fool he’d been, barging in, taking charge, never giving serious thought to the consequences of his actions.
Then Molly emerged from behind the screen, and the sight of her took his breath away. She laughed at his perusal, extending her hands toward him. “Who bought this for you?”
“I did.” He patted his cheeks, admitting, “I’m likely still red-faced.”
The nightgown concealed nothing, Rubal noted uneasily. Why the thing had so danged many holes, the little boys couldn’t even use it to seine minnows. Her bosom heaved with her labored breathing; the rosybrown tips of her nipples protruded in passionate invitation.
Suddenly Rubal felt like the worst kind of fool. What had possessed him to buy something like that for his wife? His wife. “Dang it, Molly, I’m sorry. I didn’t think…I mean, I’ve never had a wife before…I didn’t think how a nightgown like that would look on a…on a wife.”
Dismayed, Molly glanced down at the revealing wisp of a garment. Soft as silk, gossamer thin, it fluttered sensuously around her calves. “You don’t like it on me?”
His pulse raced. “Yeah, I mean, of course. But it’s not fittin’. You’re my wife, not some dance-hall floozy.”
Molly fingered the soft lace. “You mean you generally give such beautiful garments to floozies?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I’ve never given anyone anything so…anything.”
“I’m glad.” She held out her hand. He took it like a timid child. His cheeks were mottled with red splotches, his eyes skittered aimlessly, avoiding direct contact with hers.
Suddenly Molly understood the problem. Or thought she did. It was the bed. Her bed. The only time he’d been on it, she had sent him away. She drew him toward the bed. When they stood beside it, she turned loose his hand and climbed into the middle of the big walnut four-poster, sinking into the feather mattress. She sat with both arms extended toward him.
“Rubal, I’m glad we waited to use this bed until now…until we’re married.”
His chest heaved. He met her eyes, holding her prisoner with a mixture of passion and embarrassment.
“Come,” she invited. “Come to my bed. After tonight, it’ll be our bed.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. Without releasing her from his sights, he moved toward the bed, sitting gingerly on the edge, as though at the bedside of a sick person. She reached over and cupped his cheek.
“I was born in this bed.” She grinned. “My parents probably conceived me in it.” His eyes widened.
Moving her hand, she traced his lips with tender fingers, letting him take her finger in his mouth. Her heart lurched at the unexpected sensations that rocked her when his tongue rubbed against her finger.
“This is where we’ll conceive our children,” she ventured, pausing dramatically. “Aren’t you ready to get started?”
He moved then. Scooting closer he took her in his arms, crushed her to his chest; ran a broad palm down her back, while his other hand cupped her face to the crook of his shoulder.
“Molly, Molly, I’m sorry about the nightgown.”
“You don’t like it on me?” she asked again.
“I love it on you, but…I mean…you’re my wife. My wife. And I bought you a frilly, see-through thing that belongs on a floozy.”
Freeing her head, Molly reached up and kissed him, open mouthed and wet, passionately, persistently, until she felt his body react against hers, until he reciprocated. When they came up for air, she grinned. “I may be your wife, Rubal Jarrett, but I didn’t hear anything in the marriage service that said we can’t enjoy it.”
And enjoy it, they did. Her passion released his; her joy freed him. And for the longest time he pleasured her senses, her heart, her body
. His large hands roamed freely over the wisp of lace, thrilling at her enticing curves and heated skin beneath it. Her nipples hardened against his hand, and he suckled them through the fabric. And when at length, he released her, leaning back, perusing her flushed face and swollen lips in the undulating lamp light, she could tell his inhibitions had vanished.
But when his fingers went to his shirt buttons, she stopped them. “Let me.” While he watched with undisguised yearning stiffening his features, she undid his buttons and slipped the shirt over his shoulders. He shrugged it off. She ran her hands over his chest, her fingers through the mat of brown hair. She felt the rigid tips of his nipples, and of a sudden, she recalled her curiosity that day so long ago. Burying her face in his chest hair, she ran her tongue around his nipple, then took it in her mouth.
His shuddering response answered her question.
Lifting her face to his, she smiled. “If you didn’t want a floozy for a wife, you married the wrong woman.” His smoldering gaze took her breath.
“I married the right woman, Molly love. Let me show you.” And with that he stripped the lacy nightgown over her head and laid her back on her mother’s feather bed and loved her like he’d never loved a woman before.
Laving her with kisses from head to toe, he suckled at her breasts, licked her belly until she squirmed, and brought her to an earth-shattering climax with his mouth and tongue delving, scintillating, exploring to the very core of her.
And when he reclaimed her lips and entered her body, he knew he had come home, home to the only place he had ever belonged, home to the only place he ever wanted to be.
“How ’bout we stay right here forever?”
“And miss New Orleans?” she teased.
“I wouldn’t miss New Orleans.” His breathing labored as his thrusts accelerated and deepened. “Not here…in your arms…in your body…together.”
Afterwards they lay limp and damp in each others arms. And Molly knew it had been worth it. All the pain and uncertainty. Everything that combined to bring them this close together, forever.
He kissed her face with languid pecks. “I always liked feather mattresses,” he murmured.
“Why?”
“Oh, I guess because you sink into them and they come up around you.” He kissed her lips more passionately. “Leastways, that’s why I liked them before tonight.”
Secret Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Four Page 34
