Forbidden Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Three

by Jane Bonander

  Nicolette bobbed her head from side to side, as if she couldn’t decide on her answer. “It’s funny. The other morning I woke up and decided I wanted it all. I want this baby, Margaret. I want it desperately.” She sniffed and giggled. “I also know that I want to study music. I don’t breathe without thinking about the piano and how much I love it.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. “Is that foolish? Is it possible for any woman to have everything she wants in this world?”

  Molly couldn’t hold back a sad smile. “I guess anything is possible if you want it badly enough.” Which wasn’t true in her case, but she wouldn’t burst Nicolette’s bubble.

  “Well, I’m going to stay here until the baby is born. Angelita would kill me if I let anyone else take care of me, I know that. Then,” she added on a sigh, “then Chelsea’s folks have offered to take the child and raise it for me, at least until I’m out of school. They’ve already started writing up an agreement, and their lawyer will go over it to make sure it’s all legal and everything.”

  Molly couldn’t help but wonder how this giggly, boy-crazy, scatter-brained, sweet but spoiled girl had grown up so fast. “I’m going to miss you like crazy, Nicolette.”

  Nicolette’s face crumpled into tears. “I know,” she answered, her lower lips quivering. “I’m going to miss you, too. I just wish …” She drew in a deep breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I just wish you could stay, too, but I know how much you want to see your family.”

  Molly stood and squared her shoulders. “Well, that doesn’t mean we’ll never see each other again. After all, once the baby is born, you’ll be back in San Francisco, right?”

  Nicolette stood, too. “Absolutely. Now, do you want me to help you pack?”

  “Yes. I don’t want you to leave my side for a single minute. Not until I leave for Cedarville to catch the train.”

  Arm in arm, they left the kitchen and went upstairs. Molly still felt miserable, but she was going home. Home. She felt a fluttering of hope in her chest, and a determination not to let the past drag her down.

  Once she was packed, Molly took a solitary stroll to some of her favorite places. Her first stop was the barn. As she stepped inside, all of the memories of Buck came rushing back at her. This time she didn’t try to push them away.

  She wandered through the dark, cavernous building, the smells and sounds dredging up the picture of Buck, busily currying Thunder, his broad, bare back exposed to her gaze.

  What are you doing here, brat?

  How did you know it was me? Have you an extra sensitive nose or something?

  When it comes to your scent, I have …

  Shivering, she rubbed her forearms with her hands and stepped to Thunder’s stall. A stab of anticipation gripped her, for the animal was there, laconically munching oats. That meant that Buck was around somewhere. She didn’t want to see him, but she entered Thunder’s stall, speaking to him softly.

  “I’m going to miss you, boy,” she said, rubbing his dark gray forehead. He whickered and probed her other hand with his muzzle. “So, you remember, do you?” She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a small apple, offering it to him in her palm.

  “Take care of him, Thunder. And Tomas, too.” She scratched the animal’s rump, eliciting a shuddering, sidestepping movement from the mount. She was a real dilly, wasn’t she? Talking to a horse….

  Pulling in a deep sigh, she left the barn and wandered slowly down to her hiding place among the trees. She sat down beneath one, closed her eyes and rested her chin on her raised knees. She listened to the wind. Each time she was here, she heard something different in the wind music. If she was angry, she heard Chopin’s “Revolutionary Etude.” If she was feeling wistful and sad, as she was today, she heard … She wrinkled her nose. Yes, there it was. The “Funeral March.”

  She certainly was a morose little wretch. Raising her face to the breeze, she thought about the last time she’d been here. Buck had shown up, fresh from his whore. Oh, how that had hurt.

  And try as she might, she couldn’t forget how she’d embarrassed herself, throwing all caution to the wind and deliberately finding her own pleasure in his arms. But the worst of it had been his departing remark. A little dry humping never hurt anybody. So callous. So shallow. So aggravating. So … very much like Buck. Just when she’d begun to think he’d changed, he proved that he hadn’t.

  She stood, brushed off her skirt and walked back toward the house. Angelita’s garden beckoned her. Or maybe it was just that she didn’t want to go back into the house. She stepped in among the rows of string beans, squatted and began pulling those that were ready off the vines. She made a dent in her apron and dumped the beans there, continuing through the rows until she had a lapful. Carefully drawing in the corners of her apron to make a hammock for the beans, she stood and trudged slowly toward the kitchen door.

  Her gaze caught bits of color flapping in the breeze. She turned to see someone’s wash on the line and recognized one of the shirts as Buck’s—the one she’d worn that night they made love.

  Glancing around to make sure no one was about, she crossed to the line and pulled the shirt off, rolling it into a ball and hiding it in her apron, on top of the beans. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but she felt this incredible need to have something of Buck’s with her.

  She lingered on the back steps, wondering why she just didn’t get on with things, change her clothes and leave. Of course, she couldn’t go anywhere until Sage came for her, but here she was, wandering around like she wanted to stay. She didn’t, not really. Part of her wanted to see Buck one more time. She made a grimace. Must be that part of her that enjoyed pain, she thought.

  She shoved the kitchen door open, went inside and dropped the shirt on a chair. She dumped the beans into a bowl. As she passed the window, she saw Sage drive up with the buggy. Her stomach did flip-flops; Buck was with him.

  She stood with her arm around Nicolette’s waist and glanced around the room one more time.

  “Sure you’ve got everything, ma’am?”

  Sighing, she nodded. “I’m sure, Sage.” She turned to Nicolette. “Are you coming downstairs with me?”

  Nicolette bit her lip, but it quivered in spite of her efforts to still it. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I can’t. I don’t want to see you ride away.”

  Her heart heavy, she felt a tear run down her cheek as she pulled the girl into her arms. “I understand. Oh, honey, please take care of yourself. Promise?” She felt Nicolette nod against her shoulder.

  Drawing in all of her strength, she pulled away from Nicolette and marched toward the door, unable to look back for fear she’d bawl. Properly attired in traveling clothes, she pulled on her gloves as she took the stairs. She stepped out onto the porch. Buck waited by the buggy. Her heart surged, then dropped. Continuing to dig deep inside herself for strength, she tried to give him a cool, composed smile. It faltered when she saw the faded white lines on his cheek, the remnants of where she’d scratched him when he’d rescued her. All that they’d shared came back at her in heart-stopping swells, and she vividly remembered each word, each kiss, each tender, sweet and loving touch.

  “That’s a dangerous look, brat.”

  Blinking furiously, she looked away, hating the fact that with him, she always seemed to wear her heart on her sleeve. “Not that it matters anymore,” she said bravely, “but I’ll try to remember that.”

  He stepped close enough to touch, but she clenched her fists, resisting the urge. She memorized his face—not that she hadn’t already had his image emblazoned in her mind. That had happened years ago. Still, she wanted to remember the lines that bracketed his mouth, the cleft in his chin, the cow-made dimple and his hot, black eyes.

  He reached out and touched her hair. “I’m no good for women, Molly. I’m no good.”

  Fighting the knot of tears in her throat, she looked away again. “I’m
just beginning to realize that,” she answered, knowing that deep in her heart it was a lie.

  “Go home,” he said, his voice a husky whisper. “Go home and have a life.”

  She forced herself to step back and move toward the buggy. She didn’t know what kind of life she would have without him. She knew for certain that it wouldn’t be easy to simply erase him from her thoughts. She hadn’t been able to do it before, and now, she was sure it would be impossible. She stepped into the buggy, refusing to take his outstretched hand.

  “It … it was nice to see you again, Buck,” she said, looking at him one last time. Her glance immediately slid away. It was too painful to realize that she’d probably never see him again.

  Something flared in his eyes. “Say hello to June from me.”

  She tried to smile, but had to turn away, because her mouth felt all wobbly. She sniffed. “Of course. Take care of yourself, Buck. And … and Tomas.” Praying that Sage would hurry, she kept her gaze away from both men, clasped her hands in her lap and waited to leave.

  As the buggy pulled away, she glanced up at her bedroom window and saw Nicolette gazing down at them in the yard. She could tell the girl was crying. It made her want to cry, too. So she did.

  Nineteen

  North Central California

  November 1886

  Dr. Jason Gaspard poked his head around the door to Molly’s room. “You decent?”

  She stood from the chair by the window and stretched her back. “Have I ever been?” She met Jason in the middle of the room and let him guide her toward the bed. “Do we have to do this?”

  He waited until she was on her back, then opened her dressing gown and gently probed her stomach. “Every pregnant woman I care for goes through this. Even Rachel. So believe me, you’re no exception.”

  She stared at the ceiling while he did his examination, forcing down her anticipation. “You’re sure I’m pregnant?”

  He glanced up, his expression sardonic, obviously feeling the question didn’t deserve an answer.

  Almost immediately upon her return, she’d begun to feel a bit queasy. Fortunately for her, she hadn’t suffered with morning sickness nearly as severely as Nicolette. Even before Jason had done his initial examination, she’d known in her heart she was carrying Buck’s child.

  She felt a twinge in her chest, trying to force her thoughts to focus on Nicolette alone, and not on Buck. It wasn’t possible. She had intermittent feelings of elation and despair whenever she thought about her pregnancy. Thinking about the baby made her feel warm, almost giddy—until she remembered how she and Buck had parted. It still hurt to think he hadn’t loved her enough to want to be with her.

  On the way to Cedarville that day, Sage had told her that Nita, Buck’s whore, had died. Molly had felt immediate remorse for all of the terrible things she’d both thought and said about the woman. She’d wanted to ask about Tomas, to find out for sure who his mother was, but she hadn’t been sure she wanted to hear the truth. At this point, she could have understood if it had been the whore. But if it wasn’t, then there was still someone in Texas who had a strong enough hold on Buck to keep him there.

  Jason closed her dressing gown and straightened beside the bed. “Any problems?”

  Forcing her thoughts back to the present, she gave him a light smile, hoping to hide her topsy-turvy feelings. “Other than the sad fact that you, my doctor and a happily married man, know my body better than any other man alive?”

  He glanced at her abdomen, a look that slid craftily to her face. “Apparently someone knows you quite well. I wonder if we’ll ever know who the father of this child is.”

  “You won’t know unless I tell you.” She had no intentions of doing so. She hadn’t heard from Buck, she hadn’t expected to. She knew that he periodically wrote to Dusty, and to his mother and Sky, but she seldom probed, even though she desperately wanted to know how he was doing. If she happened to be around when Shy Fawn brought one of his letters over for Anna or Rachel to read, she listened greedily, if discretely, for she didn’t want anyone to suspect.

  “By the way, how is Rachel this morning?”

  He raised a black eyebrow at her. “Clever tactics, changing the subject like that.”

  “Don’t be silly. I really want to know.” And she did. His wife, Rachel, had become one of her best friends. Although Rachel and Jason lived in town, close to his practice, Rachel brought her children out to the vineyard house often.

  “She’s doing much better.” Jason’s eyes softened; a tinge of pain entered them. “This pregnancy is a little harder for her than the other three, but I think she’s over the worst of it.”

  Molly reached up and squeezed his arm. “She’s lucky to have you … in so many ways.” She’d seen so much love in her extended family while she’d been home. Of course, it had always been there, but she’d taken it for granted. It wasn’t until her fiasco with Charles that she realized what she’d turned her back on all those years ago.

  He walked to the door. “You could have someone, too, you know.”

  Laughing quietly, she sat up and dangled her legs over the side of the bed. “I’m getting that impression.” Because everyone in her family had been busy, the new sheriff, Clint Brody, had been sent to meet her at the station the day she’d arrived from Texas. He’d come courting almost immediately.

  “He’s a good man, Molly.”

  She felt a pang of guilt. She enjoyed Clint’s company, and appreciated his attention. He was tall, well muscled, handsome, fun to be with and attentive. It was nice to be openly admired by a man again, but she hadn’t wanted to lead him on. “I know he is. And,” she said around a sigh, “his children are sweet.”

  “But …?”

  “But … I’m just not ready.” No matter how hard she’d tried, she couldn’t put Buck’s face out of her mind. How easily he’d ruined her for other men—even decent, attentive, law-abiding men.

  “He wants to marry you under any circumstances, Molly.”

  It seemed that everyone within fifty miles knew she was pregnant. She felt an angry pinch of resentment. “And that’s supposed to automatically make me feel grateful?”

  Jason shook his head and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers. “It’s not gratitude he wants, you know that.”

  Tossing him a frustrated look, she flung herself off the bed. “But don’t you understand? That’s all I’d have to offer. It isn’t fair to him.” She was quiet, remembering that Buck had told her to get on with her life. She couldn’t, because he still occupied most of her thoughts. “Marriage without love doesn’t work, Jason. I thought it could. That’s why I went to Texas in the first place. But …”

  “You’d be foolish to let him go. There aren’t many young, good-looking widowers in these parts. Clint’s being chased by every unmarried woman for miles around.”

  Closing her eyes, she pressed her fingers to her temples. “I know that. Why doesn’t he let one of them catch him?”

  “Because he wants you.”

  “He doesn’t even know me,” she spat.

  Jason sighed and shrugged. “All right. I tried.”

  “Rachel put you up to this?”

  Amusement filled his eyes. “My wife, the matchmaker”

  Molly crossed to the window. “Tell her ‘thank you, but no.’ ”

  He was quiet a long while, then said, “Buck has been informed of Sky’s condition.”

  Just the mention of Buck’s name sent her pulse pounding. His stepfather, Sky, had been ailing since the initial harvest. “Do you think he’ll come home?”

  “Does he have something to come home to?”

  She swung around and stared at him. He knew. Somehow, he knew.

  Buck reread the letter.

  Nicolette poured him a cup of coffee and motioned him to sit down at the table. “Bad news?”

  Buck sat and doctored his coffee with cream. “My stepfather is ill
. I’ve been offered his job.”

  Nicolette eased herself into the chair across from him and folded her arms across her pregnant abdomen. “Your mind hasn’t been focused on your work, Buck. I think you should consider it.”

  He slid the letter through his fingers, letting it come to rest on the table. He’d been taken by surprise a few weeks back when the Double Bar C lawyer had informed him that his old friend, Scully, had made him his heir, stating in his will that all of his holdings were to be sold off, and the proceeds to go to Buck. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was more than Buck had dreamed Scully could possibly be worth. It was more than enough to start a life for him and his son … sons. In the back of his mind, he’d been thinking about taking Tomas and going home. With the money from Scully’s estate, he’d wanted to buy some horses. Find a way to get a small spread and raise them.

  With Sky ill, Nicolas could use Buck’s help, too. He had legitimate reasons for going home. But the driving reason was still Molly. He’d discovered just how bleak his life was without her. The biggest fear he had was that she’d taken his suggestion and started a new life—without him. It would serve him right, but he was desperate to believe it wouldn’t happen.

  “Are you still considering selling the ranch?”

  Nicolette’s gaze meandered over the room. “I think it’s the smartest solution, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “Especially if you’re going back to San Francisco. You’ll have enough on your mind without worrying about this place.”

  She gave him a soft smile. “So, when will you leave?”

  “I can’t leave until I know you’re settled, Nicolette,” he argued, frowning into his cup.

  She reached across and touched his arm. “It’s already being handled. I want you to pack up and get yourself home before Christmas.” She waited a beat. “No doubt Molly’s as miserable as you are.”

  Giving her a rueful smile, he shook his head. “When did you put all that together?”