Her younger brother, Lyle, sat on the floor near the table, playing with—and eating—whatever bounty fell his way.
Jason had come out and dropped the children off, claiming they’d been wild to come out before their mother was ready. Promising to return later, he’d given Molly a chaste kiss on her worried brow, whispering that she should be brave and that Buck’s return certainly wasn’t the end of the world.
Molly had shoved at him, scolding him for teasing her. But all in all, she was grateful for the distractions. Even so, she had to purposely relax her jaw every so often, for she’d clenched it so hard, she had an ache down into her neck.
She’d just finished washing some dishes and was wiping her hands on her apron when Josh trotted in through the back door.
“They’re coming! Buck’s coming, and he’s got a kid with him.”
The tension in Molly’s neck got worse. Desperately needing to escape, she crossed to where her mother sat with Faith Twilight. “I’m going to run upstairs for a minute. I’ll be right back, all right?”
“All right,” her mother answered with a smile. “But hurry back. Buck is coming!”
After giving her mother a wan look, she rushed upstairs to the private fortress of her bedroom.
Once there, she dropped into the rocking chair, leaned her head back and briefly closed her eyes. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and it had nothing to do with her sprint up the stairs. Her stomach alternately quivered with excitement and churned with nausea.
She tried to keep herself together. For a month she’d tried to convince herself that it wouldn’t matter whether Buck came back or not. It had been a shield against further pain, and now she realized it hadn’t worked at all.
Without even thinking, she caressed the tiny bulge that pooched out beneath her clothing. Four months now, Jason had said. Yes, that was about right. Buck would find out—sooner or later. Then what?
“Buck, you son-of-a-gun,” Josh said, striding up to him and slapping him on the back. “It’s sure great to have you back.”
Buck studied the boy, amazed at how he, too, had grown. Nothing had prepared him for all the changes. His tall, handsome son who was now standing across the room, his new Stetson set at a cocky angle on the back of his head, had been the biggest shock. He didn’t know how he was going to make up for all the lost years. And he was a good kid. A damned good kid. He’d only shown brief surprise when Buck had introduced him to his little brother.
“I’m beginning to think you really mean it, Josh. That’s only the fourth or fifth time you’ve said it.”
Josh threw his head back and guffawed. “Jeez, I love family get-togethers. Say,” he added enthusiastically. “My pa and Uncle Sky are planning the next Big Head ceremony. Dusty and I get to dance this year. Will you be there?”
An intense feeling of warmth centered in Buck’s chest. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Great! I’ll tell Pa.” His mother beckoned him from across the room. “Hey, I’ll be right back.”
Buck smiled and nodded, running his fingers through Tomas’s hair. He glanced down at the top of the boy’s head. Tomas still had a tight grip on his thigh. He’d been a good traveler, curious and surprisingly patient for a child his age.
He surveyed the room. His heart swelled with love and pride. Until he’d stepped off the train and saw his parents and his son, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his people. He’d lightly teased Jason about his heroic ability to produce such fine, sturdy children, and drew Rachel into his arms, hugging her gently, seeking penance for what he’d put her through those many years ago.
Tomas clutched his leg. He glanced down. One of Jason’s boys—Lyle, he remembered—stood in front of Tomas, studying him carefully. They were very close in age. Lyle thrust a piece of fry bread at Tomas, who looked up at his father.
“Go ahead, son. I know you’re hungry.” He’d spoken English all the way home, hoping to get the child used to it. The boy was bright, a quick study.
Tomas tentatively took the fry bread, a gesture that sent Lyle back to Concetta, who gave him two apple slices. He returned to Tomas and shared.
June wove her way through the crowded room, stopped at Buck’s side and put her arm around his waist. He hugged her gently. Even now, at thirty-eight, she was still one of the most beautiful women he’d ever known. Somehow, her simplicity had prevented her from aging, for he swore she didn’t look any older than she had when he’d left.
She looked at the boys, then put her hand out, touching each of them on the head. “One, two,” she counted, then pointed toward the stairs, “three.” She repeated the sequence, always ending by pointing toward the stairs.
“What are you doing, Junie?” It still tore at his heart to see how she had to struggle with life.
“We have one baby,” she said, pointing to Tomas, “two baby,” she added, patting Lyle on the head, “and Jason says that in the spring, we’ll have another baby.” Her face suddenly lit up. “Oh, Buck. I’m gonna be a granny. Just like Anna. I’m gonna be a granny. Molly’s gonna make me a granny.”
Buck felt an odd, uncomfortable lump in his throat. There was a knot in his stomach as well. She was pregnant…. The question that arose in his mind was cloaked; he didn’t even dare think about it. “Where is Molly, anyway?”
“She went upstairs to rest. I told her you was coming, but she didn’t care.” June frowned.
A cold wash of panic spread through him. His final words to Molly had been to go and find a life. He’d meant it, although he had never considered the consequences. Now she was pregnant. The thought that it might not be his left a painful gash inside him.
He caught Dusty’s eye and motioned to him, then squatted in front of Tomas. “Will you stay with Dusty a little while?”
The child was immediately concerned. “Where you goin’, Papa?”
“I’ll be right upstairs, Tomas. I won’t be gone long.”
Dusty hunkered down in front of his new brother. “Hey, Tomas, why don’t we go out and find grandfather?”
His eyes lit up. “By the big meat?”
“That’s a good idea,” Buck answered, remembering how intrigued Tomas had been when he’s seen the roasting pig. He helped Tomas into his jacket. “By the big meat.”
Tomas started to leave, then turned and reached out his hand to Lyle. Grinning a cute little boy grin, Lyle tagged along, trailing after them. At the door, Concetta stopped him and pulled a thick, warm sweater on over his head.
Shoring up his courage, Buck headed up the stairs. He felt a hard flash of betrayal. He’d ached for Molly daily. Hourly. Ah, hell, she’d become an itch he couldn’t scratch. Every night when he fell asleep, he saw her face in his dreams, heard her laugh, recalled the love they’d shared beneath the stars.
He often remembered thinking that he’d thought having her once would slake his desire. Only a fool would think that, especially after what they’d shared. He’d felt he’d done the right thing by sending her home. At the time, anyway. And now … now when he finally had that proverbial pot to piss in, he might have lost her. What had he expected? He’d told her and showed her in cruel little ways that she’d meant nothing to him at all.
Molly had tried to leave her room many times. She hadn’t been able to do it. Suddenly she realized that her very own thoughts were holding her prisoner. The knowledge didn’t seem to help much.
Stepping to the mirror, she studied herself. She was still lightly tanned from her summer in the harsh Texas sun. She removed her combs, running her fingers through her hair and massaging her scalp. The top layer of her hair was still bleached from the sun, the layers beneath darker, variegated shades of blond and light brown.
As she worked her fingers through her hair, she felt her breasts strain against her bodice. And her nipples itched. She grimaced. Oh, the discomforts and annoyances of pregnancy.
Briefly closing her eyes, she ran a brush through
her hair, pulling the heavy mass over her shoulder. She was putting off the inevitable, hiding up here, but she still couldn’t force herself to leave.
When she opened her eyes, her gaze caught Buck’s reflection in the mirror. A rich stew of emotions swelled within her. Her pulse strummed, vibrating like harp strings. There was a wild flowering in her chest. Her hands shook, and she was suddenly unable to hold her hairbrush.
Although it had only been four months, somehow she thought he would have changed. He hadn’t. He was still tall, rangy and lean. Hard. Handsome. Dangerous. His hair was pulled back, leaving his face open and, she chose to think, almost vulnerable. There was a very slight stubble of beard on his cheeks. She bit her lower lip, the knowledge that he would never be completely tamed sending a frisson of desire through her. Everything about him took her breath away, leaving her faint, weak and deeply, hopelessly in love.
He leaned against the door frame and studied her, his gaze moving over her, stopping at her stomach.
She felt a quickening, a fluttering deep inside. She couldn’t move. He knew. Someone had told him, and he knew. He moved toward her slowly, deliberately. He stalked her. She wanted to run. He stopped, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans as he continued to inspect her.
“I hear you’re pregnant.”
She carefully put the hairbrush down on the vanity, hoping to hide her feelings. Had he been a man hopelessly in love, there would have been some emotion in his voice. Clutching the side of the table, she suddenly realized that all of her stewing and worrying about this meeting had been for nothing.
Bolstering her courage, she faced him. “Yes, I am.”
He scanned her abdomen again. “You don’t look like it.”
She allowed his blatant disinterest to nudge her worry and concern aside. As always, he got her back up without even trying. “Well,” she answered, wanting to hurt him, “I hardly think it’s any of your concern.”
Something flared in his eyes. “Then it’s not mine.”
She let out a long, harsh breath and tried to finish her hair, although her fingers were suddenly clumsy, and she shook all over. She hadn’t known what to expect, but of all the images she’d conjured up, this hadn’t been one of them.
“No,” she said sharply. “It’s mine.” She was not going to beg for his affections.
Hurrying to finish her hair, she turned back to the mirror. As she tried to loop her hair into a roll, she saw Buck move away toward the door. Before leaving, his gaze caught hers, and he burned her with a look more dismal than death.
“You didn’t waste any time, did you?”
She scowled. “What do you mean?”
He swore. “Hell, I told you to find a life. You obviously have. It’s ironic, isn’t it? You never bothered to listen to my advice before. What made you take it this time?”
Like a winter storm, cold fury raged through her. He actually believed she was carrying someone else’s baby. “You mean … you actually think …” She was so angry, she couldn’t speak. “You … you dumb, stupid ass.” She grabbed her hairbrush off the vanity and hurled it at him, missing him by inches.
“Get out of here. Get out.”
He barked a laugh. “Well, I see some things haven’t changed. You still can’t control your temper.” Though his tone was familiar, the look he gave her wasn’t. It was different from anything she’d seen before, and it pierced her skin, leaving dark, ragged scars all the way into her soul.
Buck returned to the party, forcing himself not to think about Molly. He met the new sheriff, a widower he decided was probably in his middle thirties. He reminded Buck of his good friend, Sage, for he was tall and massively built. As they talked, he scanned the yard, spying Tomas and Lyle playing in the sandbox.
“Are you planning to settle around here then?” Sheriff Brody asked.
Buck turned his attention back to the group of men. “I brought some horses with me. Had them shipped on the train. I’d like to find a spread and raise them.”
Nicolas stood with them, stroking his chin. “There’s plenty of land here that we don’t use for the grapes, Buck.”
Buck turned, interested. “If I can use it, I’ll buy it.”
“Fine,” Nicolas answered. “We’ll take a look at it soon.”
Buck had his back to the house but caught the sheriff’s smile.
“Molly.” The man’s voice was filled with pleasure.
Buck’s stomach churned. Turning, he stared as Molly made her way down the porch steps. Her beauty made him hurt like hell. When he’d seen her in the mirror, all of his feelings of love had been reaffirmed. But nothing had prepared him for the intensity of those emotions.
She met the sheriff and took his arm. So. That’s the way it was. He observed them, trying to stay impartial. That lasted about as long as the thought itself. A fierce stab of possession lanced through him. He suddenly realized that she hadn’t said, in so many words, that the baby wasn’t his. Betrayal and a bite of jealousy had colored his thinking.
He thought back to her reaction. Fury. Anger. Disbelief. She hadn’t blushed, or hung her head in shame, or even turned away. With sudden clarity, he knew the child was his. As he watched Molly and the handsome sheriff, he also knew that if he didn’t assert himself, he’d lose her and their child forever.
Giving Buck a covert glance, Molly clutched Clint’s arm. She felt no guilt at using Clint, for they’d come to an understanding weeks ago. When she learned that Buck was coming home, she’d told the sheriff where they stood. She hadn’t elaborated, hadn’t told him what was in her heart, but he had accepted her reasons for wanting to be just friends.
She caught Buck staring at them. The deep probing gaze burned a path across her skin, but she refused to let it touch her heart. The odious ass needed to learn some manners. He looked almost envious as he studied her and Clint. Good. Good. Let the ass stew. She was still absolutely livid that he could even think that she’d turn to someone else. She had told him she loved him more than once. Had he thought she wasn’t old enough to know the difference between a mad crush and deep, burning, urgent love? Just because he didn’t know what it was didn’t mean she didn’t.
She spied Tomas and Lyle in the sandbox. Tomas looked up and saw his father, nearly stumbling in his effort to get to him. He attached himself to Buck’s leg and looked up at her shyly.
The warmth she’d felt that day at Carmen’s returned. She bent down and smiled. “Tomas, I’m so happy to see you again.”
He continued to look at her, his eyes suddenly twinkling. Wrinkling up his nose, he said, “His-sik.”
“You remembered,” she answered around her smile. Glancing up, she noticed Buck’s puzzled look. “Private joke,” was all she said.
She allowed Clint to be at her side most of the afternoon and into the evening. It was safer than trying to imagine how differently things would have been if Buck weren’t such a stubborn, mule-headed dolt. What ever had made her believe that he could change?
At first, when she realized what he’d been thinking, she’d thought self-pity would drown her. It hadn’t. She’d been too shocked and angry at his response to think about herself.
Now, as she prepared for bed, she eyed Buck’s worn shirt with disdain. She could certainly do without that. Striding to her dresser, she yanked open a drawer and pulled out a flannel nightgown.
After crawling into bed, she tried to get comfortable. The heavy gown smothered her. She twisted and turned, tugged the gown down over her knees, only to find it back up around her waist.
With a sigh of disgust, she threw back her covers and groped around for the shirt. Like it or not, she thought as she changed, she couldn’t get through the night without it. It had become a crucial part of her routine. The soft, worn fabric clung to her, seductively embracing her like the arms of a lover. And because she no longer had one, it was the next best thing.
A dream, a sensual fantasy she frequently had,
awakened her. As usual, she felt an urgent need for release. Also as usual, she forced herself to ignore it. Although Buck had awakened her sexually, she was pragmatic enough to realize that these urges could be stifled. After all, before she’d met Buck again in Texas, she’d stifled them for years.
Tossing back her covers, she left the bed and put on her dressing gown. It was barely dawn. She slipped into her rabbit moccasins, remembering the day Buck had given them to her. Old memories hurt, but with so many things around her to remind her of him, she would just have to acquire a tough skin. She left her room, yet when she stepped to the landing, she heard no movement below.
She padded quietly down the stairs and hurried into the kitchen, anxious to start a fire in the stove. To her surprise, the room was already toasty warm.
Twenty-One
The kerosene lamp was lit on the table, casting a shadowy light into the room. Molly crossed to the stove and warmed her hands over the heat that rose from the surface. Suddenly a shiver darted up her spine, standing the hairs at her neck on end. She wasn’t alone. Turning slowly from the stove, she found her gaze going to the far corner of the room to the chair that sat by the window. He was there. She said nothing, felt everything. The night they’d met in the Campion kitchen those many months ago, fighting over a glass of milk, rose before her. She shuddered, automatically pulling the edges of her dressing gown together.
“I remembered it, too,” he said, his husky, sexy voice sliding at her from the darkened corner.
Turning briskly, she attempted to start a pot of coffee. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered, grabbing the Biggin coffeemaker off the shelf near the stove.
“I don’t believe you.” His voice was still hushed, but he was closer now, for all of the nerve endings along her back came alive.
Forcing herself not to shake, she put the innards of the coffeemaker together, then grabbed the tin of coffee off the back shelf on the stove, opened it and scooped the grounds on top of the finely strained bottom. As she reached for the kettle of hot water, his hand came around and stopped her.
Forbidden Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Three Page 29
