Molly tried to hide her dismay. “I do wish Charles were accompanying us.”
“Oh, he’s far too busy. He says it’s just as well that we’ll be gone all day, because he’ll be too busy to even join us for dinner.”
Again, Molly tried to hide her feelings of panic, but as Buck rode toward them on his newly broken mount, she uttered a dejected sigh and followed Nicolette into the buggy.
Nicolette chattered incessantly, splitting her conversation between Sage, who sat beside her, and Buck, who rode beside the buggy. Grateful Nicolette was occupied, Molly stayed quiet in the small seat behind the other two, trying hard not to think about the tense day ahead.
They stopped by the river for lunch. Nicolette didn’t seem to be aware of how blatantly Buck and Molly ignored one another. She continued to prattle on, and finally when there was a lull in the conversation, Sage Reno took up the slack.
“So,” he began, settling his large, well-muscled frame against the trunk of an elm. “I hear you’re from California, Miss Lindquist.”
Molly gave him a tight smile. “Yes. I’m … I’ve lived there all of my life.”
“A city girl?”
She felt a twinge of alarm, and jerked her glance toward Buck. He appeared uninterested in their conversation, but Molly knew better. He was like a snake, hiding in the grass, waiting to attack. “Well, I … no. I grew up in a small community north of San Francisco.”
“Where they grow grapes, right, Margaret?” Nicolette interjected from her place beside Buck.
“Yes, my … family has a vineyard.” She glanced at Buck, who now appeared to be asleep, his Stetson pulled down over his eyes. Asleep, my foot. He was probably just waiting for an opening so he could strike at her. Snake, she thought, glowering at him.
As Reno moved to slather another biscuit with jam, the sun glinted off the bleached cap of his dark brown hair. He continued to study her. “Lucrative business, growing grapes.”
Molly lowered her head. “Well, I—”
“Yep,” Buck interrupted sarcastically. “She’s just a poor little rich girl.”
She glared at him, wishing he were struck dumb. “The vineyard provides jobs for many families. As far as I know, everyone who works there shares in the profits. It’s hardly the feudal system.” She heard Buck’s insulting snort, but ignored it.
“How do you like Texas?”
Smiling, she admitted, “I haven’t been here long enough to form an opinion.”
“She’ll have to like it,” Nicolette interjected. “She’s going to marry Charles.”
For some reason, the declaration embarrassed her. “Nicolette, we haven’t … haven’t announced it yet.”
“Well, that’s just a formality.” Nicolette settled back against the tree next to Buck, who ignored the entire conversation.
Reno nodded, giving her a thoughtful look. “Will you miss California, and your family?”
Molly pulled her gaze from Buck’s indolent form. She was grateful, at least, that he hadn’t found it necessary to take part in the conversation. “I’m sure I will.” No need to explain the grittier details, like bringing her mother down to live with her and Charles after the wedding.
“I’ve been gone from my family for many years,” he said.
Molly jumped on the chance to change the subject. “Where is your family, Mr. Reno?”
“Please,” he said, wolfing down the last of his biscuit. “Call me Sage. And I’m from Kansas, originally. My wife’s aunt is still living back there.”
“So, you’re married.” She leaned forward to show her interest. “Do you and your wife live close to the ranch?”
He coughed and cleared his throat. “Well, actually, I’m a widower, ma’am.”
“Oh,” Molly said around a sigh. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
He smiled, breaking the solemn expression. “I have a daughter, though. She’s just turned one.”
He was devastatingly handsome when he smiled. In every way, he was far more physically appealing than Buck. Strangely, she wasn’t attracted to him. “She must bring you a lot of pleasure. What’s her name?”
Sage’s face split into a wide grin. “Annie.”
“Does … does she live with you?”
He nodded. “I have a housekeeper.” He chuckled. “A tyrant, really. But I don’t know what Annie and I would do without her.”
Molly thought about how difficult it must be to raise a child alone. For some inexplicable reason, she thought of Buck’s son, Dusty, and wondered why they weren’t together. Her thoughts weren’t benevolent. Because of the circumstances of her own birth, she found anyone who rejected or neglected a child about as honorable as pond scum.
“I find that very commendable. Sometimes, for whatever reason, men are afraid to get close to their children. It’s like they don’t want to let down their guard and show any emotion, or weakness. Don’t you agree, Mr. Randall?”
Buck lazily adjusted his hat over his eyes. “Unless you have some experience with children, ma’am, I don’t think you’re qualified to have an opinion. Have a couple of your lily-white kiddies first, then we can talk.”
Nicolette turned on them with disgust. “You two have been circling each other like wary dogs all morning. I want you to be friends. Anyway, Buck, when Molly marries Charles, she’ll be around all the time. I guess you don’t have to like her, but you might as well get used to seeing her.”
Nervous perspiration sprang out between Molly’s breasts and on the back of her neck. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Nicolette. I was merely trying to include Mr. Randall in the conversation. We haven’t really spoken at all.”
Nicolette sighed. “That’s just my point. Buck is every bit as nice as Sage, and you talk to Sage like he’s an old friend. Honestly, Molly, I didn’t want to bring this up, but just because Buck is a breed—”
“Nicolette, please,” she said sharply. “Let’s just change the subject, shall we?”
Nicolette frowned again and turned away. “Prejudice is so stupid,” she huffed under her breath.
Wishing she could evaporate and reappear somewhere else, Molly busied herself cleaning up their lunch. She sneaked a glance at Sage and saw the tiniest smile playing about his lips. Buck, who had risen from his position beneath the tree, looked angry. Nicolette, for the first time all day, held her tongue and didn’t speak to Molly for the remainder of the trip into Cedarville.
They arrived in Cedarville shortly after noon. The wind had picked up, dredging the air with the malodorous smell of penned cattle. Sagebrush tumbled down the street ahead of them, coming to rest against the edge of a raised wooden sidewalk. The awnings over the store windows snapped in the breeze. On the platform of the Devries Brothers General Store, two elderly men sat on a bench in front of the windows, safely harbored from the afternoon sun.
Sage turned to Molly. “We’ve got some business to conduct for Campion. We’ll leave you off here, in front of Devries.”
Nodding, Molly glanced at Buck, who was looking at something across the street. She followed his gaze—which came to rest at a second story window of the building that housed the saloon.
Her stomach caved in. Framed in the window was a woman, wearing a bright red robe. The woman waved. Molly swung around quickly and looked at Buck. A smile cracked his mouth, and he touched the brim of his hat, returning the gesture.
The collapse of Molly’s insides continued, and the words she’d flung at Charles about Buck came back to haunt her: He’s probably the stud at some brothel. Her heart drummed uncommonly hard against her ribs, and she felt if she never ate again, it would be too soon. Her emotional response stunned her.
Buck nudged his mount toward the saloon. “I’ll catch up with you later, Sage.”
Sage looked up at the window and chuckled. “Can you finish your business in an hour?”
Buck glanced over his shoulder, first at Sage, then at Molly. A sultry smile spread ov
er his face, heating his eyes, the look piercing Molly like a weapon. “I can’t make any promises.” Then he was gone. To his whore. To his whore.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Molly scolded herself, mincing no words. It was stupid and pointless to feel this way. But damnit all to hell, every fiber of her being shook with fury at the thought of him sleeping with another woman. It was ridiculous. No, more than ridiculous. It was adolescent, foolish and just plain dumb.
She had no claim on him, and what he did shouldn’t bother her. It shouldn’t. She didn’t care, remember? She didn’t give a flying baboon’s butt what he did with his life. She’d said it, and she’d meant it. And she still didn’t give a diddly damn what he did. She had Charles. She had one of the richest, most handsome men in Texas. He was everything she’d always dreamed of.
So why, then, did it bother her so very much that Renegade Randall had a whore in Cedarville? She pulled off her gloves, stuffing them into her purse. Her feelings for Buck were a mystery to her, a ridiculous, confusing, paradoxical enigma.
“Where’s Buck going?” Nicolette’s voice shattered Molly’s ugly introspection.
To hell in a hand basket, I hope. Molly stared up at the window again. The woman was gone—and the curtains were pulled. The peculiar nausea spread through her insides, and she forced herself to look away. In doing so, her gaze briefly met Sage’s.
He gave her a curious look, then broke contact. “He’s … he’s got some business to attend to.
“Um … ladies, just have them stack the supplies outside on the platform.” His gaze drifted to the upper story window of the building across the street, then back to Molly. “I’ll be back in about an hour.”
Trying to ignore the turmoil inside her, and Nicolette’s questions about Buck, Molly steered her toward the store.
“Buck has business in the saloon? That’s where he went, you know. Into the saloon.” Nicolette frowned. “He shouldn’t be there, Molly. He used to drink, you know.”
They stepped into the general store. The smells of freshly ground coffee and baked bread hung in the air. “I think Mr. Randall is old enough to take care of himself.” Molly tried to sound dispassionate. At the moment, she didn’t care if the bastard drowned in a vat of whiskey. Actually, she mused wickedly, he’d probably enjoy that.
Pickles. He’d always hated sour pickles. She pictured him flailing around in a giant barrel of vinegar brine with a cucumber crammed in his mouth. A vindicated smile creased her lips, making her feel ever so much better.
Nicolette turned toward the door and looked back across the street, her face etched with concern. “You don’t understand. Every time we come to Cedarville, he goes into the saloon and tests himself. He orders a drink, then sits there and stares at it. One of these days I’m afraid he’ll actually drink it.”
Molly found the picture very disconcerting. She didn’t want to believe he’d become sober, which would make him honorable. “Now, why would he do something like that?”
“He’s an alcoholic, Molly,” Nicolette chided. “But he hasn’t had a drink in over three years.”
Surprised, Molly asked, “How do you know this?”
Nicolette gave her an impatient look. “Well, he does talk to me now and then, you know. I’m not a child.”
The clerk came from behind the counter and walked toward them. Molly gave him an absent smile, handed him Angelita’s list and asked that he stack the supplies outside on the platform.
“Nicolette, has he ever told you what he was doing before he hired on at the ranch?”
The girl gave her a curious look. “Why do you care? You don’t even like him.”
Molly shrugged casually and strolled toward the tiny restaurant area in front of the windows. “Just being nosy, I guess. Never mind, it isn’t important.”
“Well, if you must know, he was working for some old man who had a small spread up on the edge of the plains. I think his name was Sully, or Scully, or something like that.”
Molly took a seat at a round table, making sure she had a clear view of the saloon—and the rooms above it. She didn’t understand why she was punishing herself, but she couldn’t seem to help it. Like a homing pigeon, her gaze floated to the covered window. Her stomach pitched downward as thoughts of what they were doing lambasted her.
“Why did he quit?” With effort, she pulled her gaze back to Nicolette.
Nicolette took the seat next to her. A young girl hurried to the table and took their drink order. “The old man died, or was killed, I think.”
“Mr. Randall told you all this?”
Nicolette shook her head. “Not exactly. Some of it I’ve gotten from Angelita. He talks to her all the time.”
The daughter of the store owner put a cup of coffee down in front of each of them. Molly stared at hers, watching the steam curl into the air and disappear. Nicolette poured cream into hers and stirred it daintily.
Molly had often wondered what Buck had been up to after he’d left California. Once, when she’d returned home to see her mother, she discovered that Buck hadn’t been heard from in three years.
“How long did he work with the other rancher?”
“You mean, the old man?” At Molly’s nod, Nicolette answered, “I’m not sure. I think he was with him for years, though. Angelita told me that Buck was really a pathetic drunk when the old man took him in. He dried Buck out and treated him like a son. He’s the one who taught Buck how to handle horses. I’m really not sure of the details, but I think the old man was killed by some cattle thieves while they were stealing his herd. Buck signed on at the ranch shortly after that. He’s been with Charles since the last time I was home, which was last fall.”
Molly sipped her coffee, letting everything Nicolette said to her sink in. Again, her glance shifted to the window across the street. Before she began to feel too sorry for him she remembered what he was doing in that room. Drawn curtains in the middle of the day, in a room above a saloon, meant only one thing. It was disgusting and indecent. No one did that sort of thing during the daytime.
As hard as she tried not to think about it, the vivid picture of the woman at the window removing her scarlet dressing gown for Buck thrummed behind her eyes. And that hot, sultry look of Buck’s that marked his territory would be focused on someone else. Swiftly turning her gaze away, she sucked in a breath and realized Nicolette must have asked her a question, for the girl was looking at her quizzically.
“What, dear? I’m sorry, I was wool-gathering.”
“I said,” Nicolette responded patiently, “why do you dislike Buck so much?”
Molly looked down at her hands. “I don’t dislike him, Nicolette. I … I don’t even know him,” she lied. Then, she realized it probably wasn’t a lie. She hadn’t seen him for seven years. It was very possible she didn’t actually know him at all.
An hour later, Sage returned to the store with a young man. They loaded the supplies into the back of the buggy.
Nicolette kept looking at Sage’s companion. “I wonder who that is,” she whispered to Molly.
Molly watched the young man work. She guessed that he was at least twenty, perhaps older. He was a breed, but darker than most she’d met over the years. His cheekbones were high and sharp, his lips finely shaped and his hair straight and black, cropped to just below his ears. Tall and leanly muscled, he carried his height and weight proudly. He had an energy about him that drew admiring gazes. He was a handsome young man. Glancing at Nicolette, who couldn’t take her eyes off him, Molly guessed she thought so, too.
Sage entered the store and tipped his hat. “All packed up, ladies.”
“Sage,” Nicolette asked, her voice pointedly casual, “who was that helping you?”
“Your brother asked that we pick up an extra hand. To replace Fidel.”
Nicolette perked up. “He’s coming with us to the ranch?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sage glanced across the street, then back at Molly. �
��Um … I think we’ll be ready in five or ten minutes.”
Molly noted his discomfort. She didn’t doubt for a minute that it had to do with Buck, and his lusty male urges. Surely poor Sage felt he had to cover for Buck in front of her and Nicolette. She snorted softly. Maybe he could fool Nicolette, but he certainly couldn’t fool her. She noticed that the damned curtains at the window across the street were still drawn.
Minutes later, Buck sauntered out of the saloon. Again, Molly inspected the upper story window. A tumble of emotions hurled through her. The curtains were open, and the woman stood in her brazen red robe, waving down at Buck. She even blew him a kiss.
Molly wanted to throw up. She glared at Buck’s back as he responded to the whore’s farewell. He’d been with her the whole time. Molly wanted to run at him, screaming and scratching, demanding to know what he thought he was doing. It was a ridiculous urge, she knew it, and she hated herself for it. He had his life to live, and it certainly didn’t include her.
But somehow, she had to get over the stupid possessive feelings she had for Buck. She knew they were just leftover feelings from years before, when her youthful daydreams had centered around the bastard. She swore mildly. She’d thought she was over them. She had no claim on him, and Lord knows, she didn’t want one. She should be happy that he had someone, even if it was a whore.
Feeling old and tired, she slipped on her gloves, picked up her purse and made her way toward the door. Everything would have been fine and dandy if the bastard hadn’t gone and kissed her in the barn. She’d hated him for that. And she’d never forgive him. Ever.
Buck had just pulled himself into his saddle when she and Nicolette went outside. She glanced at Sage, who had just given Buck one of those foolish “man to man” grins.
“Everything come out all right?” Sage asked.
Buck tossed Molly a casual look, then returned the smirk. “Couldn’t have come out better.”
Molly clenched her jaw and hoisted herself into the backseat of the buggy, purposely refusing Sage’s help. Oooooh, men were such swine.
Forbidden Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Three Page 8
