“Molly! Stop!”
His shouted words followed her out the door. Desperate to get away, Molly found her way to the road. Her breath hitched as she hurried along it, swiping the tears from her cheeks.
Before long, she couldn’t go on. Molly stopped beneath a pine tree, laboring for breath. A quick glance behind told her no one had followed her. Why should he? a heartsick part of her demanded. Doubtless, as soon as Marcus had realized exactly what she’d overheard, he’d understood the futility of trying to continue his lie.
With a small cry, Molly sank to a crouch, her back against the rough pine bark. Pain filled her. Heartache was, she realized in that moment, a real physical ache. It made her heart hurt, her insides feel hollow, her mind scream for relief.
Marcus had never loved her. He couldn’t have loved her.
But she had loved him. And the worst part was, no matter how she tried to deny it…she loved him still.
Marcus stood in the hallway beyond his office, sick with shock. It had finally happened. Molly had finally realized what he’d done and she would clearly never forgive him for it.
She was right not to, he told himself savagely. He had used her from the beginning. Trying to explain now would not change that truth. He’d used Molly to uncover the damned matchmaker’s identity—no matter that doing so now was a task he cared nothing for, and hadn’t for weeks.
The fact of his deception remained.
Tightening his fist on her reticule, Marcus exhaled. For another several moments, he stared at the passageway where Molly had disappeared. Ridiculous hope surged inside him. Maybe she would return. Maybe, somehow, she would be stronger than he was. Maybe she would be able to forgive him, even for the thing he could not forgive himself for.
No sign of Molly came. No fluttering of skirts, no laughter, no cinnamon and sugar sweetness. She had gone, and she clearly was not coming back.
’Twas only right, Marcus figured, feeling his expression settle into stony disregard. After all, Molly did not need him. He was the one who needed her…who had needed her, all along. By the time he’d realized it, it had been too late to take another course.
“Boss?” Smith asked. “You hear me?”
“No.” Resigned, Marcus faced his foreman. The man blanched at the sight of him. Still fisting Molly’s reticule, Marcus returned to his office. “Our business here is done for now. I have other work to do.”
It was a lie. The notion of work was laughable to him. But Marcus could think of no other way to get the solitude he craved. He longed to shut the door, to close his gritty eyes, to work past the damnable lump in his throat whenever he recalled Molly’s pain-filled eyes.
“Can’t leave,” Smith said stoically. “I ain’t showed you this yet.”
“Later.” Marcus gestured impatiently toward the door.
“Now.” With a grunt, Smith hefted the wooden barrel he’d carried inside the office from its place on the floor to the top of Marcus’s desk. “It’s waited long enough. There’s something here you’ve got to see.”
“A nail barrel?” Marcus eyed the thing with annoyance. He recognized the metallic clang of the fasteners inside as the barrel struck his desk. “I don’t have—”
“If only that little gal had stuck around for another minute, she might’ve heard what I been tryin’ to tell you all along.” Biting his lip, Smith worked at the barrel’s lid. He popped it free, then removed it with a flourish. He reached inside. “Some of this trouble might’ve been got ’round right clean.”
“Smith—”
“It’s the delectables money,” the foreman said. He grabbed Marcus’s hand and poured coins into his palm. “It didn’t seem right, the men told me, to get paid for somethin’ they all enjoyed doing.”
Marcus stared in amazement at the money in his hand. He levered upward and gaped into the barrel. It was filled near to the brim with coins. “There must be weeks’ worth of payments here.”
Smith scratched his head. His face shone with pride. “’Bout six weeks, I think. The men all want you to have it back. They’re happy to spend their own coin on Miss Molly’s baked goods, from here on out.”
It couldn’t be. Marcus fisted the coins, then used his other hand to tip the barrel toward himself. Inside, coins of every denomination shifted and rattled, speckled with occasional bits of paper currency.
“Most of ’em paid you back for them first few weeks, too,” Smith explained. He grinned as Marcus lifted his gaze from the astonishing sight. “Ever since then, they been taking your money every week—”
“And giving it straight back to you, to keep in this barrel.” The realization came quickly. “Damn it, Smith! Why didn’t you tell me?”
His foreman shrugged. “You seemed so happy to be helpin’ Miss Molly. None of us had the heart to stop you.”
Marcus shook his head. Smith didn’t understand. He had enjoyed helping Molly. It was his way. But in the end, that hadn’t mattered a damned bit. He’d still hurt her.
He frowned downward, regret pouring through him. If only Molly had stayed long enough to hear the rattle of that money-filled barrel hitting the desk. Then she would have understood exactly what she’d accomplished. Instead, it had been plain from the hurt look on her face that she’d overheard everything—and drawn all the wrong conclusions from it.
“Somebody should’ve stopped me,” Marcus said, disgustedly throwing his coins back into the barrel, “before it came to this.”
“Came to what?”
“Molly. Finding out. Misunderstanding.” He gestured toward the hallway, and the lumber mill door beyond. An ache filled him as he remembered. “Leaving.”
“What’s to misunderstand?” Smith asked, looking genuinely mystified. “You helped her. She oughtta be glad. Till you came along, that gal couldn’t have sold them petrified pies to a living soul—leastwise, not one that had all its wits about it. You done her a favor.”
“She doesn’t want my help. She never did.”
“Well, now, that’s just plain foolish.” His foreman settled in the chair opposite Marcus’s desk. He gave him a matter-of-fact look. “Everybody needs help now and again.”
“Not Molly Crabtree.”
“Pshaw. She might be a mite prickly about getting it, but she needs help. Same as you.”
“Me?” Marcus scoffed. “The last time anybody helped me, I was a babe. Maybe not even then.”
“So you changed your nappies all by yourself, did you? Got yourself off to the schoolhouse every day, and tucked yourself in at night?”
With a grunt, Marcus settled into his chair. His foreman’s nonsense didn’t deserve an answer.
“Got yourself west all on your own, eh? Started up this here lumber mill all by your lonesome, did you?”
“Shut up, Smith. You know damned well how much you helped start up this place.”
Smith’s grin was knowing. “And I know damned well the way things sit today, boss. Molly Crabtree changed you. She helped you. Whether you see it or not.”
“Humph.”
“The way I see it, the two of you needed each other.” Smith folded his arms across his chest. “Still do, I reckon.”
Marcus’s scowl deepened. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Sure do. Right now, it’s right here.” His finger jabbed downward, indicating the floorboards. “In this office.”
“You’re dismissed. Take the day off. Soak your ingrown toenail.”
“Can’t. I have to look after things here.”
“I’ll look after things here.”
Smith shook his head. Had Marcus only imagined it, or did his foreman look vaguely smug about something? Damn it all! The man was insufferable.
“I said,” Marcus muttered through clenched teeth, “you’re dismissed. Go soak your—”
“Go on. I’ll look after the mill,” Smith urged, waving toward the door. “Git after her.”
Marcus stared across his desk, his throat tight with misery. He wanted to belie
ve Smith was right…
“Go on. Make her understand what them payments were all about, afore it’s too late.”
Frowning, Marcus shook his head. He knew what those payments had been about. That was the trouble. “It’s already too late. She’s gone.”
“She’s only gone if you let her go.”
Despite everything, a flicker of hope came to life inside Marcus. Warily he agreed. “She ought to know the whole truth.”
Smith nodded.
“I never wanted to hurt her.”
“What’re you telling me for?” His foreman gave a horror-struck sound. “I ain’t near so pretty. Nor so likely to marry you next week. Now am I?”
Marcus couldn’t help it. A smile came to his lips, a small one that restored even more of the hope in his heart. “God help me.”
Suddenly decisive, he grabbed Molly’s lost reticule. He stood. “I’m going after her. Before you get to jawing about sharing a damned wedding night with you and your hairy old knees.”
Chapter Seventeen
Molly trudged onward toward town, her heart heavy. She didn’t know how long she’d spent weeping beneath that lone pine tree. It had felt like days. Eventually, though, she’d found herself longing for the solitude of her own chamber in which to cry. So she’d gotten up, dusted herself off and headed as far from the scene of her heartbreak as she could.
Every step reminded her of Marcus. She recalled how often they’d trod this path together. How he’d carried her over his shoulder that day, all masculine dominance and steadfast surety. How he’d set her down outside of town, so she could stride into Morrow Creek on her own two feet, with her dignity intact.
Today her dignity was too badly bruised for anything but a slow plodding. With her skirts dragging at her ankles, Molly doggedly moved onward, trying to push thoughts of Marcus from her mind.
It was no use, though. She seemed to hear his footsteps as though they ghosted her very own, fancied she heard his voice calling out in the wind. Tears prickled her eyes. Was there no escape from her thoughts of him?
At this rate, she would need to leave Morrow Creek behind her in order to avoid these constant reminders of Marcus. Blazes! She even thought she sensed the bay rum aroma of his hair pomade, brought to her on the same breeze that dragged strands of long hair from her chignon.
Tucking them back, she continued on.
“Molly!” came Marcus’s voice again. “Wait!”
Heavens, but her imagination had a fierceness to it. It almost had her convinced she heard a certain hoarseness to Marcus’s voice, detected a distinct regret in his called-out words. Most likely, she only wished he felt that way.
“Molly!” floated toward her, louder this time. “Wait!”
Sucking in a deep breath, she glanced over her shoulder. She would prove to her poor run-amok mind that these imaginings were nonsense, and then—
Marcus loomed at the top of the last distant rise she’d trudged over, his hair blown back and his suit coat flapping as he ran. While she watched, he wrenched the garment from his sleeves. He threw it aside. He came on, faster now that he’d shed the impeding wool.
His suit coat hit the dust and Molly’s heart skipped a beat. He’d followed her! Followed her, and without a heed for his fancy clothes or his reputation, either. Truly, Marcus risked looking utterly daft, speeding along as he was. Surely that meant he still wanted her, still needed her…still loved her. Didn’t it?
For one buoyant instant, she paused.
Then she remembered. Remembered that he was not, after all, the man she’d believed in. Remembered that he’d deceived her, made a fool of her, probably even laughed at her. Just as her family and the whole of Morrow Creek had been laughing at her and her grand aspirations for all these years. Long-overdue anger sparked inside her. Molly turned on her heel and strode faster.
“Molly! Wait!”
His words spurred her to an even faster pace. If Marcus Copeland thought he was better than silly Molly Crabtree…well, he could just think again. Chin held high, jaw set, fists pumping in time with her steps, Molly ignored her gouging stays and climbed the next rise.
The kicked-up dust blowing from behind her alerted her that Marcus had nearly caught up. Filled with dismay, Molly forced her legs to carry her faster. Hurt and indignation powered every stride. If it was the last thing she did, she would get away from Marcus, and she would stay away, too.
Suddenly he grabbed her arm. Startled, Molly glanced sideways to glimpse his flashing eyes and determined jaw. She remembered kissing that jaw just yesterday, recalled feeling its scratchy beard stubble against her cheek. Helpless love for him nearly brought her to her knees. Through force of will alone, Molly kept her reaction to a stumble.
“Listen to me,” he demanded, still holding her. “You don’t understand what happened back there.”
He wasn’t even winded, she observed with an odd sense of detachment. It was the shock she’d experienced making her feel that way, Molly supposed. The shock of that, and of seeing Marcus chase after her the way he had. His dramatic pursuit had looked a grand if addled gesture, but it clearly had cost him nothing. The realization gave her the courage to go on.
“I understand everything.” She wrenched her arm to get free. Pointlessly, as it turned out, for he did not let her go. “And at long last, too.”
“You don’t. You don’t understand. Molly, listen.”
“And be made a fool of again? No, thank you.”
Fiercely she stomped his boot. Marcus’s eyes widened in surprise. He hopped on one foot, automatically releasing her. With a righteous huff, Molly grabbed her reticule from his free hand and began walking again. Her breath wheezed from her lungs as she forced a faster pace. Keeping her back as straight as the soldiers’ posture at Camp Verde, Molly hurried onward.
Marcus did, too, his shirtsleeves flapping in the breeze. He limped a little, but he obstinately kept pace. “I never meant to hurt you.”
Stubbornly she remained silent.
“I was looking for a way to spend time with you,” he went on, “so I could learn what you knew of the matchmaker’s identity. Bringing you to my lumber mill each day seemed an expedient way to do that.”
“Hmmph.” Molly swerved around a rocky place in the road. So she’d been right from the beginning about his motivations. He had wanted to uncover the matchmaker’s identity. But knowing that now was small comfort to her, as was the realization that she, at least, had held up her part of the secret.
She hitched her chin still higher. “You sound almost as though that’s a reasonable explanation,” she observed.
“It’s what I promised to the men’s club. My honor was at stake.”
“Your honor? You mean you possess some honor? What does your ‘honor’ say about lying? About continuing to lie, over and over again? About making a fool—” Her throat shut tight with unshed tears, closing off her words. Molly struggled to continue. “About making a fool of the woman who loved you?”
“‘Loved’? Molly, no.”
Marcus caught hold of her hand, hauling her to a stop at the road’s edge. In the distance, the storefronts and households of Morrow Creek stood within the trees…but here, now, Marcus’s desperate gaze met hers. It was all she could see.
“Loves,” he urged. “The woman who loves me. Please. That hasn’t changed. We’re to be married.”
Married. How she’d wanted that. How she’d wanted to share her life with him. But how could she, now, given what she knew of him? Marcus was not the man she’d thought he was at all.
“No. Despite your efforts—” Molly drew herself up, desperate to ignore the familiar feel of his hand cradling hers “—I will not be made a fool of twice.”
Marcus felt his features harden. Clearly this woman meant to push him to the edge of his patience and beyond with her stubbornness. He’d already chased her willy-nilly through the woods. He’d already nearly fallen to his knees and begged her forgiveness. What more did she want?
“I never meant to hurt you,” he repeated tightly, as angry now as she was. “Or to make you look foolish. I did not think I’d be required to pay my men to buy your baked goods more than once or twice. After that, I assumed they would use their own coin. When I saw that they would not, I continued my scheme. How was I to know your sweets were that bad?”
“‘That bad’?” Molly whirled, trembling visibly as she confronted him. “I’ll have you know, they were good enough to earn me the Chautauqua booth I wanted!”
“The committee approved it?”
Reluctant triumph filled her face. She nodded.
“Ah, Molly.” Marcus moved forward to embrace her, their current troubles momentarily forgotten. Now, surely, she would feel happy again. “You deserve this,” he said, hugging her board-stiff shoulders. “Your booth will have the longest lines, the happiest customers—”
“I don’t want you to visit it.”
He felt his smile falter. “Of course I will visit it. Hell, I’ll build it for you.”
“No. I’ll not have it.” Molly stepped from his embrace, then faced him with her shoulders squared. “I don’t need you there, Marcus. As difficult as this may be for you to believe, I can succeed on my own, and I plan to. Without you.”
He could not speak. What had gone wrong with his explanations? Marcus recalled what he’d said, tried desperately to discover where he’d stumbled.
“I don’t need your help.” Molly looked downward, seemed to draw in a deep breath. When she again raised her gaze to his, her eyes were filled with hurt, but her expression bespoke nothing save determination. “And I don’t need you.”
Her words struck him, each one a fresh blow. This was everything Marcus had feared, happening before his eyes. Molly did not need him. She did not want him. And if she did love him, those feelings were not enough to change the truth.
He’d fallen in love with a woman who didn’t need his protection, didn’t need his strength or his money or his business knowledge…didn’t need, as she’d so plainly put it, him.
Lisa Plumley - [Crabtree 01] Page 22
