Shotgun Grooms

by Susan Mallery

  Molly’s shoulders slumped as her temper slid from her. Staring at him, the old hurts glimmering in his eyes, she felt a twinge of regret for bringing up bad memories, no matter how unwittingly. But the war’d been over for ten long years. Wasn’t it past time for him to put aside the old wounds and pick up the threads of his life again?

  Three days she’d spent trying to reach the man she’d married and pledged her life to. But he was as much a stranger to her now as he’d been that first night.

  Instantly memories raced through her mind as she watched him. She remembered it all. Every touch. Every caress. Every new sensation that he’d stirred into life inside her. And she wanted to feel it all again.

  But the blasted man seemed determined to keep his distance. Every night, she lay alone in the bed while Jackson slept on the floor. She’d tried to argue with him about it. Pointed out that they were married and therefore supposed to share a bed. But he hadn’t listened. The man had a head like a rock. Still, he couldn’t hold out against her forever. Any man who could do such things to a woman’s body wouldn’t be able to remain celibate forever.

  Especially, she thought now with a smile, if a woman made it impossible for him to do so.

  “I’m goin’ down to the creek,” Jackson said, snatching her from her thoughts. “See if the water’s gone down enough to be passable.”

  So he was going to just put their argument aside, she told herself. Again. In three short days, Molly had learned that whenever her husband was pushed beyond his temper, he tended to take off. Even the pouring rain that hadn’t stopped until the night before hadn’t prevented his treks to the mine or the woods or wherever else he went when he left the cabin. Of course, she was in no position to throw stones at his solution to an argument. After all, when her Irish was up, instead of walking her anger off, she worked it off, cleaning and cooking.

  “And when we can cross the creek safely,” she asked, “we’ll be able to go to town for supplies?”

  Grabbing up his hat off the peg near the door, he tugged it on, pulling the brim down low over his eyes. Glancing at her, he nodded. “Oh yeah. We’ll be going to town all right. There’s one or two things I have to talk to Lucas about.”

  Jackson stretched out on the floor in front of the fireplace, his head resting on a rolled-up blanket. Closing his eyes, he tried not to think about the woman in the other room, lying in his bed. Instead, he entertained himself with visions of punching his brother dead in the face. Which is just what he planned to do tomorrow when he took Molly to town.

  And thinking her name only brought his mind right back to where it’d started. With the image of her, lying alone in that bed.

  Grumbling to himself, he threw one arm across his eyes and told himself to forget about her and try to sleep.

  It didn’t matter that they were married. Or even that they’d already slept together. He had to keep his distance, because he had a feeling that the minute he let Molly under his skin, she’d be able to worm her way into his heart.

  And that he wouldn’t risk.

  So he’d best get used to the feel of hard, wood planks beneath him.

  When the bedroom door opened with a creak of sound, he went perfectly still, keeping his eyes closed to feign sleep. What was she up to now? he wondered and lowered his arm to his side. He heard her soft footfalls as she crossed the room and his breath caught when she stopped alongside him. Her scent drifted to him and, though he knew it was no more than soap and vanilla, it twisted his insides and he knew he was in deep trouble.

  Jackson felt her gaze on him as distinctly as he would have her touch and he wished to hell she’d go back where she belonged. But he couldn’t say so, else she’d know he was awake and then no doubt start in on one of her long, rambling conversations that usually ended in an argument. And he was just too damned tired to go stalking off into the night.

  Besides, if he looked at her in that threadbare white nightgown she wore, he might be tempted to slide it off her body and treat them both to a repeat performance of their wedding night. He concentrated on breathing deeply, evenly, and hoped to high heaven she’d go away.

  Naturally, she didn’t.

  He stiffened slightly as she sank to her knees and then stretched out alongside him on the floor. Gritting his teeth, Jackson tried to inch away from her, but she just followed him, aligning her body with his. She eased his arm back and slipped beneath it to lay her head on his chest. Draping her arm across his middle, she cuddled in close, nestled her head on his body as if he was a feather pillow and settled in to get some sleep.

  His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Parts of him came gloriously alive as she snuggled in. Then she sighed, letting him know that at least one of them was comfortable. Damn it, why hadn’t she stayed in bed? And what kind of woman was it who gave up a perfectly good bed to sleep on the floor beside a man who was doing everything he could to avoid her?

  Her breath dusted warm and soft across his chest. Her hair smelled clean and sweet, as if she’d added vanilla to the soap she washed with. Her breasts pressed against his side and, even through the thin fabric of her nightgown, he felt the heat of her flesh as he would a branding iron.

  Oh, he was never going to get any sleep like this. Inhaling sharply, he told himself he’d just have to wait until she fell asleep. Then he’d move again. To the other side of the room. As far away from his wife as he could manage.

  The dying fire sent soft shadows around the room and hissed and chuckled at him as he lay there, wide-awake, trying to keep his mind off the lush, warm body tucked against him.

  Defiance, Colorado, steamed in the morning sun. Patches of mud attracted children and dogs like moths to a flame. The merchants lined the boardwalk rolling up and down the length of Main Street, sweeping the dried-up mud from in front of their stores. From the far end of the street came the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer on his anvil and loaded wagons rumbled along the rutted street, creaking and groaning like old men getting out of a warm bath.

  Molly sat alongside her husband on the bench seat of the wagon she’d rented what seemed forever ago. She smoothed the skirt of her faded green dress, then folded her hands in her lap. She smiled and nodded to the people they passed and kept her gaze moving over the town that was now her home. After all, this was her first real trip into Defiance. The day she’d been married, she’d rushed from the stage to the saloon, where she’d spent the night with her new family.

  They passed the bank, a restaurant, a dressmaker’s shop and a gunsmith before she quit reading the signs in front of the buildings and concentrated instead on the people. They seemed to be as interested in her as she was in them.

  “Do I look all right?” she asked from the corner of her mouth.

  “What?” Jackson said, then, “Yeah. Fine.”

  “Then what are they starin’ at?” she asked, smiling at a woman who stood as if lightning struck, her mouth open, eyes wide as she watched them pass.

  “Who’s staring?”

  “All of them,” she told him, and tried to sit up even straighter. She wanted to make a good impression on his friends.

  He shifted uncomfortably on the seat, flicked the reins against the horse’s back and muttered, “Nothing better to do, I guess.”

  Molly thought about that for a moment or two, then decided he was probably right. In a small town, a stranger would create a stir. But she wouldn’t be a stranger for long, she told herself and deliberately lifted one hand to wave at a man shaking his head as if coming up from under water.

  Jackson pulled the horse to a stop directly outside his brother’s saloon, climbed down and tossed the reins across the hitching post. Then he looked up at her and said, “Well, come on then. You wanted to do some shopping, right?”

  “I do,” she said, and stood up, holding her arms out to him. She watched his jaw clench, but he put his hands at her waist and effortlessly swung her down from the wagon and set her on her feet with a thud that shook her teeth. “Are you co
min’ with me?”

  Jackson tugged the brim of his hat down low onto his forehead and slanted a glance at the saloon behind him. “No. I’ve got to see Lucas about something.”

  “Right then,” she said, and something in her expression told him she was disappointed, which left him feeling vaguely uneasy. Rubbing his jaw, he was reminded once again that his beard was gone and, instantly, he stiffened. Here he was, parading through town with nothing to hide his scars, thanks to her. He supposed she’d be fine going to the store on her own.

  His gaze drifted over her quickly, from her shining red curls to the slightly frayed hem of that shapeless green dress she wore. Frowning to himself, Jackson realized that all of her clothes looked to be a little worse for wear.

  “What is it?” she asked, staring at him as if he’d lost his mind.

  “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s just…when you go to the mercantile, why don’t you pick yourself up some new dresses?”

  She stiffened and he spotted the flush of pride staining her cheeks. For the love of God, this was a touchy woman.

  “So you’re sayin’ you’re ashamed of me.”

  Unbelievable. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You might as well have.”

  “All I said was you could buy a few new dresses.” He threw his hands wide and let them fall to his sides again in exasperation. “Hell, most women’d jump up and kiss a man for sayin’ that.”

  “So you’re not ashamed of me,” she said, cocking her head and looking up at him.

  “Didn’t I just say so?” This was turning out to be a chore and a half. Just see how long it’d be before he tried to say something nice again.

  “But you want me to buy new clothes.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, “I surely do.”

  “Well then.” She jumped up and kissed him flat on the mouth and, before he could think better of it, his body answered for him. His arms snaked around her, holding her close, pressing her to him while his mouth meshed with hers, taking, giving, searing them both to the bone with the heat that erupted between them.

  And then she broke the kiss, pulling her head back to grin at him. “Now,” she said, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  “Molly…” He dropped her to her feet and took a step back for good measure. He felt as though that fever was back, boiling his blood, making his heart pound and his skin flush.

  “I’m your wife, Jackson,” she said, “and you’d best get used to that.” She lifted one hand and poked him dead center in the chest with her index finger. Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one could overhear them before adding, “And I’ll be your wife still, tonight. At bedtime.”

  That word made him tired just thinking about it. He’d spent half of last night moving all over the cabin trying to get away from her only to wake up and find she’d followed after him. Stubborn, hardheaded, viper-tongued, forest-eyed, creamy-skinned female.

  “I’ll be at the store when you’ve finished your business with your brother,” she told him with a smile, then hitched up the hem of her skirt and stepped off the boardwalk onto the still muddy street. Hopping from dry patch to dry patch, she made her way in between rolling wagons and riders on horseback. He watched her until the door to the mercantile had swung shut behind her.

  At turns, that female stirred him, infuriated him and frustrated him. But whatever else happened between him and Molly, there was one thing he had to do right now.

  Spinning around, Jackson turned, folded his right hand into a fist and went in search of his brother.

  Chapter Six

  It was too early in the day for customers in the saloon, so Jackson wasn’t the least bit surprised to find the place damn near empty. He looked around the room slowly though, just in case Lucas had caught wind of his visit and was hiding somewhere.

  The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs leading to the second story caught his attention and he moved forward. His fist tightened, then relaxed suddenly as Emily hurried around the doorway and came to a stop. Her always perfect hair was stringing down on either side of her flushed face and, even from a distance, Jackson spotted the smear of yellow paint on her right cheek.

  But his sister-in-law looked happy.

  “Jackson,” she said, pleased surprise in her voice, “I’m so glad to see you.” Crossing the floor in several hurried strides that sent the skirt of her dress snapping like a whip, she wiped her hands on a paint-stained apron before reaching for him. She gave him a brief hug that touched him with a breath of family and stepped back. “Why, you’ve shaved off your beard.”

  Grinding his back teeth together, Jackson rubbed his jaw uncomfortably. He’d almost forgotten about his naked face.

  “You know,” she said with a half smile, “without all of that hair, you’re a very handsome man.”

  Well, he’d thought Emily was a nice woman. Nice enough to tell a lie to ease a man’s discomfort.

  Then she looked past him and asked, “Is Molly with you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, she is,” he said, nodding and reaching up to pull his hat off. “She’s over at the mercantile, picking up some supplies and such.”

  “Oh good,” she said, and lifted one hand to try to fix her hair. “I was so worried when she insisted on going up the mountain in the rain. But she wouldn’t hear of us taking her and refused to wait for the rain to stop.”

  “That sounds like Molly,” he said on a sigh.

  “But Lucas told me not to worry,” Emily was saying.

  “Did he now?” Jackson wondered aloud and kept his gaze shifting over the empty room as if half expecting his brother to pop up out of nowhere.

  “Oh yes,” Emily said. She reached behind her back to untie her apron and gave the ribbons a few tugs while she talked. “We actually went up the mountain after her but found no sign that she’d had trouble. So he told me that since she was with you, she’d be safe.”

  A hell of a lot safer than Lucas was going to be when Jackson found him.

  “For heaven’s sake,” she muttered, and tried to look over her own shoulder at her apron strings. “I can’t seem to…” She flicked him a glance. “Would you mind? I’d like to go to the store to see Molly, but I’m covered in paint and—”

  “Sure thing.” As she turned around, Jackson bent to the task of untying damp, paint-stained strings. “If you don’t mind my askin’,” he said, pulling the knots free, “what’s all the paint for?”

  Emily turned around, shrugged out of the apron, balled the fabric up in her hands and tossed it onto a table. Giving him a smile bright enough to light up the gloom of the darkened saloon, she said, “I’m fixing up the rooms upstairs for my hotel.”

  “Hotel?” he repeated, giving the dark, smoke-stained room another look. “Here?”

  Women. Molly was running amok at his place and Emily was turning a perfectly good saloon into a hotel. But thankfully, this wasn’t his problem. He had enough to deal with at the cabin. Jackson only hoped that Emily was giving his little brother the kind of fits Molly was giving him.

  And on that pleasing notion, he heard himself ask, “I’m lookin’ for Lucas, Emily. Do you know where he is?”

  She paused, tapped her index finger against her chin, unknowingly depositing a drop of yellow paint there, as well, and said, “You know, he was right here a few minutes ago.”

  Jackson practically growled. The bastard had probably seen him riding into town and decided to run for cover. “Do you know where he went?”

  “No, but he did say something earlier about getting his horse shod.” She shrugged. “You might try the blacksmith.”

  “I’ll do that,” Jackson assured her, plopping his hat back onto his head and turning for the door. He held it open for the blonde already sailing past him toward the mercantile.

  While the women shopped, Jackson stalked off down the boardwalk, looking for his brother.

  The short, round woman behind the counter had graying blond hai
r, soft blue eyes and a nose that practically wiggled in her eagerness to sniff out new gossip. But she stuck out her right hand toward Molly and said, “Welcome to Defiance. I’m Martha Sutton. Me and my husband own this place.”

  “Molly MacIntyre,” she said, and took the offered hand in a brief, firm shake.

  “Good to meet you,” the other woman said, smoothing her hands down the front of her crisply starched apron. “I was thinking you’d be by sooner or later.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yes, that husband of yours never stocks up on more than flour and beans.”

  Molly smiled to herself. “We do need just about everything,” she said, her gaze sweeping across the store as Martha reached for a pad of paper and the pencil tucked behind her right ear.

  Shelf upon shelf was stacked high with every kind of merchandise anyone could possibly want. One whole wall was covered in leather goods, everything from holsters to saddles, to bridles and reins. Piles of Levi’s towered alongside what looked like a mountain of shirts. Shining glass jars lined the gleaming wooden countertop, proudly displaying a wide assortment of penny candy. There were barrels marked Pickles, Crackers, Flour, Sugar and Coffee.

  And back along the far wall were dresses and bolts of fabric and every kind of sewing notion. A purely female curl of desire pulled at her, but she fought it. She had business to take care of first.

  “Not surprised at all,” Martha was saying as she poised her pen over the paper and waited.

  “There’s flour and sugar and coffee, of course,” Molly said, wandering around the room. “And bacon, if you’ve got it and—oh!” She whirled around and asked, “Dried fruit? Do you have it?”

  “Sure thing, honey,” she said. Martha paused before adding, “You know, you don’t seem the type to marry a man like Jackson MacIntyre, if you’ll forgive me.”

  “The type?” Molly asked. She felt a quick flicker of anger sputter into life in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want to make an enemy her first day in town, but she wouldn’t stand by and let someone insult her husband, either. “Just what do you mean by that?” she asked quietly.