Her simmering anger boiled over. Molly had had one trying day, this being the last and final straw. She lifted her valise and landed a blow to the cowboy’s midsection. Surprise registered on the man’s scruffy face. Molly figured she’d stunned, more than hurt him.
“Hey!”
“Stay away from me.” She grabbed her valise to her chest and bounded with full force out the saloon doors, ignoring the laughter that followed. Fury mingled with mortification as she forged ahead, right smack into the chest of yet another cowboy. He grabbed her shoulders. Molly shoved at him with all her might, unwilling to have a repeat of the saloon debacle. Were all the men in this town prone to manhandle women? She struggled fiercely. “Let me go,” she said, just before she lost her balance as they cascaded down the steps. Both went tumbling to roll ungraciously into the dirt, the valise flying up and over her head.
The cowboy braced her fall and took the brunt of the impact on his back, while cushioning her in his arms. She lied atop him, the strength of his broad body protecting her from injury. For the briefest of moments, Molly relished the feel of him, holding her firm, but oh, so tenderly. She stared into his deep silver-gray eyes, noting the slight hint of concern. His hat had flown off in the fall, revealing raven-black hair, too long and unruly to be considered civilized. Within the seconds that ticked by, Molly took in his high cheekbones, sun-bronzed skin and strong powerful jaw. A tingle of awareness, one completely female in nature, coursed through her veins. Molly’s heart flipped over itself.
“Miss McGuire?”
Molly blinked at the deep resonating sound of the man’s voice, and certain familiar words in the letter she’d kept close at hand fluttered into her mind. Tall, not too unsightly, with gray eyes and dark hair. I hope you find my appearance adequate.
Molly swallowed hard, realizing the description more than fit. She quickly hoisted herself off of him. She brushed at her skirt, too humiliated to even think about the gaping hole in her backside at the moment. She glared down at him as he lifted up on his elbows.
His dark gaze raked her over, one sweep like a lightning flash, assessing her unabashedly. Warmth spread throughout her body from that one quick look. She didn’t know if she’d measured up or not, his expression giving nothing away. She stared back, out of curiosity now, gaining a full-length view from his position on the ground. He wore buckskin, pants tight enough for Molly to note his muscular legs and a shirt stretched across his chest pulled together by crisscrossing string. But it was the colorful beads circling his neck that told Molly there was something different about Kane Jackson, something that set him apart from other men. It had only taken one look for Molly to recognize that her betrothed wasn’t like most men. Yet, Molly couldn’t figure the why of it. She only knew it for fact. And to think, she’d been atop him in the middle of the street for all of Bountiful to see. Atop him and enjoying the comfort of his arms.
Molly admonished herself for such a notion, yet she couldn’t deny that Kane Jackson was a fine-looking man. Long in body, but broad where a man should be broad. It didn’t appear that Mr. Jackson had on ounce of softness anywhere.
She watched as he bounded up with the ease of a graceful animal and she immediately recognized that it was her own clumsiness, as well her state of agitation, that caused the fall moments ago. This was a man who held his ground.
He made his approach, towering over her by at least five inches and as he glimpsed her derriere, his lips twitched.
Molly’s fury, the anger she’d saved for this one man, rushed back with full force. She wouldn’t be standing on the street, with a torn skirt exposing her derriere, her belongings scattered about and her dignity in question if he’d been on time to greet her.
“Mr. Jackson,” she said none too gently. “You’re late.”
Chapter Two
“Now, that’s a real good observation.” Kane lifted Molly’s silly feathered hat from the ground and handed it to her. She swiped at it, her eyes sharp, filled with fire.
Kane frowned, releasing a heavy sigh. Molly McGuire was a pretty woman, petite and sweet-looking, with just the right amount of vinegar to keep a man’s boots shined. She’d make someone a fine wife, to be certain. But she’d traveled all this way only to find great disappointment. Kane would blame his grandfather for that. And the sooner he explained to her that there would be no wedding, the better. “Fact is, ma’am, I didn’t know you were coming until late this morning.”
Molly’s chest rose. Her cheeks grew pink. Kane knew women well and this one was no wilting flower. “I wrote you the date and time I was to arrive.”
He shook his head. He had received no such information because it was his grandfather who had corresponded with this young lady, not Kane. “I got no such letter. But we’d best discuss this later, after you’ve had a meal and cleaned up some.”
“I’d prefer to discuss it now.”
“No.”
“No?” Her green eyes gleamed with indignation. “You’re refusing me an explanation?”
“That’s right. For now.”
Kane removed the bandana from his neck and reached around her backside, fitting the material over the tear in her gown. “Hold still,” he said when she jumped back.
“What on earth are you doing?” she asked in a breathless whisper.
Kane had two choices. He could let the young woman walk down the street with her unmentionables showing, certain to entertain the townsfolk, or he could fix the problem. Other than sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her to Mrs. Rose’s boardinghouse, he figured this was the next best solution.
“Saving your dignity, Molly,” he whispered back. “Now, hold still.” He faced her then reached around to fashion the material directly over the tear in her dress. As he came close to lean over her, he caught a whiff of gardenias, the subtle scent wafting up from Molly’s throat. He savored the moment, the unmistakable scent reminding him of another time, a happier time, when he was just a boy, helping his mother tend her garden.
Kane splayed the bandana out fully, his hands wrapping around her and his fingers accidentally brushing the soft curve of one delicately rounded cheek. Molly sucked in her breath and Kane swore silently. He hadn’t been this close to a woman in a long time, and he cursed himself for wanting to touch more of her. His fingers itched to stroke the other cheek, to feel her firm softness through the material of his solid red bandana.
Kane made quick work of tying her up front, twisting a knot at her waist, tugging a bit harder than he had intended. Her body came up hard against his, the silky material of her traveling suit not barrier enough to conceal the feel of her soft breasts crushing into his chest. Kane wrapped his arms around her—to steady her, he told himself.
Molly McGuire stared up at him, lifting her chin, giving him a full view of her face. Her eyes were large, almost too large for such a small face, and the exact color of a spring meadow as morning dew settles on wild grass. Kane glanced at her pert little nose, then at her cheeks, rosy pink in the fading sunlight, but it was her mouth that had caught his full attention. Soft and full, ripe for kissing, Kane thought grimly. Her lips parted slightly, as a quiet “Oh!” whispered out and Kane’s mind wandered down a forbidden path. She felt good against him, damn good, and he thought of all the ways he could pleasure her, of all the ways she might pleasure him.
He bent his head, leaning down, beckoned by a flowery scent and a sweet mouth, but a quick sudden flash pushed through his thoughts. He saw another woman, one who’d been laughing and looking up at him the same way Molly McGuire looked at him now. Little Swan, his wife. He’d almost forgotten. He’d almost forgotten her love, and the trust she’d placed in him.
He’d almost forgotten that he’d been responsible for her death.
“No.” Then Kane realized the shout burst forth only in his mind. He pulled away from the woman in his arms, the woman he wouldn’t marry.
“There,” he said aloud. “That should do it until we get to Mrs. Rose’s.”
Molly gulped air then repeated, “Mrs. Rose’s?”
“The boardinghouse.” Kane put his hand on Molly’s back urging her forward. He noted all the questions in her eyes. Hell, Kane didn’t have the answers she wanted.
All he had was the truth.
Molly sat on the bed in her room at the boardinghouse, somewhat puzzled at Kane Jackson’s odd behavior. Hours ago, he deposited her on the front steps of the place, introducing her to Mrs. Penelope Rose before taking off as if a pack of wild wolves were after him. Mrs. Rose had shown Molly to her room, giving her some of the history of Bountiful—a condensed version that Mrs. Rose promised to elaborate on later. The landlady left to make the evening meal after spinning Molly’s head in ten different directions. Goodness, she hadn’t known a woman could talk so much or so fast.
Molly sat on one end of the four-poster bed, wrapping her arms around the base and resting her head against the wood post. Her head ached terribly and if her curiosity hadn’t been sparked, she would have given in to her exhaustion. But she’d agreed to see Kane later tonight. He’d said that they needed to talk. Molly assumed he wanted to go over the details of their marriage arrangement. Perhaps then, she could figure out a thing or two about the man she was to marry. He puzzled her. One instant Kane seemed cold and indifferent but then in the very next, why, she would have guessed from the look in his eyes that he’d meant to kiss her. Right there, in the middle of town.
Molly had the feeling that when Kane Jackson wanted something there was no stopping him. And that for one brief moment he’d wanted her.
Heavens, she remembered the way her heart had raced and her blood had warmed. She remembered how it felt to be held in his arms, the heat of his body against hers—comfort mixed with passion. But then, he’d stopped suddenly, denying them their first kiss, leaving Molly to wonder if he’d found her lacking in some way.
Perhaps, in all ways.
Molly sighed. This day had certainly not gone as planned.
She picked up a goose-feather pillow and hugged it to her chest, taking in the small but lovely comforts afforded her. Thankfully, the boardinghouse was civilized enough for an Easterner, with its polished oak and mahogany furniture, Chinese carpets, frilly lace curtains and copper tubs with built-in piping. The bathing room was something Molly thought hadn’t quite reached western towns as yet, but she’d been pleasantly surprised. She’d soaked in a tub for the better part of an hour, rinsing her hair with provided lilac-scented soap and scrubbing daylong railroad grime from her body.
Feeling quite refreshed and invigorated, Molly had dressed in a cream blouse, a pale peach skirt and combed through her unruly mass of coppery hair, leaving it down to dry in curls.
Her thoughts turned to her brother. He’d left St. Louis to find his fortune out West, eager to pursue grand dreams of wealth and adventure. He’d promised to contact Mama once he got settled, but they’d never heard back from Charlie. He’d only written once from a small town in west Texas and after Mama died, Molly had nothing left for her in St. Louis. Her only family, her younger brother, had apparently moved to Texas. She intended to find him, with the help of her new husband.
“Miss McGuire. Miss McGuire.” The loud knocking startled Molly from her musings. “Are you in there?”
“Yes, Mrs. Rose,” she offered in a polite voice. Molly decided not to open the door for fear of Mrs. Rose talking her ear off. She wasn’t up for the woman’s eternal rambling. “Am I late for dinner?”
“Heavens, no, dear. You have a caller. Mr. Jackson is here to see you. I insisted that he stay downstairs. Now, if you don’t want to see him, I’ll just shoo him away. You know, you really shouldn’t mix with the likes of him, if you don’t mind me saying. He’s not fit for a good decent woman. I don’t care how much money his grandfather has, that man is nearly a savage. Why, he was abducted as a child and raised by Indians. Cheyenne. He even married a Cheyenne maiden.”
Molly whipped the door open. She stared into Mrs. Rose’s vibrant light brown eyes. “Married? Did you say he’s married?”
Penelope Rose crossed her arms over her middle as if to settle into a long-winded discussion. “Yes, he was married. Lived with the Cheyenne all that time and married one of them.”
“Where is she now?” Molly asked, quite perplexed. Of all the things she might have expected from Kane Jackson, his being already married certainly hadn’t entered her mind.
“Dead. Some say Kane Jackson wouldn’t rest until he caught and killed the man responsible. Took him five years, but he finally found the man. Shot him and nearly hung—”
“Molly, you almost ready?”
Kane appeared in the doorway, his presence looming over the slender Mrs. Rose. The older woman swiveled her head to peer up at Kane, then cringed with awareness that he’d heard every word. Mrs. Rose folded closed like a shrinking flower once the sunlight faded. Molly glanced from Mrs. Rose’s tightly pinched face into Kane’s cold, unyielding eyes.
“You don’t have to go with him,” Mrs. Rose whispered, giving Molly’s hand a quick squeeze.
“Yes, yes I do. Mr. Jackson and I have things to discuss.”
“But you haven’t eaten, child.” The woman’s voice had come back full force.
“Dinner’s waiting for us at the Bounty Café.” Kane’s sharp gaze fastened to hers, holding her mesmerized for a moment. “I’d like you to join me, Miss McGuire.”
Molly started at those last words, spoken so softly that she had to blink back her surprise—her pleasant surprise.
“I’d love to,” she blurted without hesitation. Kane’s polite request had her forgetting about Mrs. Rose’s warning. Good judgment should have had her fearing the man, but Molly didn’t fear Kane Jackson. Secretly, she admitted that Kane’s appearance here had helped her make that decision.
He had cleaned himself up. He wore a newer black hat, which he’d yanked from his head the moment his eyes had met hers, a fresh white shirt, string tie and dark trousers. He appeared a far cry from the rough and ready buckskin-clad Texan she’d met earlier in the day. The one she’d knocked to the ground.
“I’ll be right down.”
Kane gave a quick nod. “I’ll wait outside.”
Once Kane’s footsteps died away, Mrs. Rose continued on, as if she just hadn’t witnessed their encounter.
“I told him you were probably too tired, having come such a long way and all, but some men just won’t take no for an answer. Some men are not considerate. Why, my first husband, dear Wally, he was as stubborn as a mule and twice as—”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Rose, but my mama always said it’s not polite to keep a body waiting.”
“Yes, but—”
“Thank you for your hospitality and good evening.” Molly smiled and closed the door, shutting out Mrs. Rose’s next bout of incessant babbling. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she heard Mrs. Rose finally relent and descend the stairs.
Molly glanced in the cheval mirror, giving her hair a bit of primping, before she straightened the creases from her skirt. She picked up her shawl and headed down the stairs. Dashing past the dining room in a flurry, she avoided Mrs. Rose and the other guests. Once she reached the front veranda, she found Mr. Jackson leaning against a post smoking a cheroot. He took one last long puff, then tossed it down and stomped it out with his boot heel. When he looked up, she caught a quick but brief grin. “Happy to get away from Mrs. Rose, I suppose.”
“Why, Mr. Jackson, isn’t that why you’re out here as well?”
His lips twitched and that single gesture released a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. He put a hand to her back and guided her down the street. Molly remained silent until they reached the restaurant. At least Kane Jackson had some manners. He’d escorted her inside with all the attention one would bestow royalty. He urged her forward, past the other diners to a small private room at the back of the restaurant. The room wasn’t lavishly decorated, but some effort had been made to make the room appealing. Blue
bonnets filled a glass vase in the center of a table set for two. A lovely beige Irish-linen tablecloth added to the warmth in the room and matching lace curtains, parted slightly, covered the only window in the small area.
Just as he’d promised, a lavish meal awaited them when they arrived. Succulent roast steamed on the plate, enticing Molly with its flavorful aroma. Small potatoes crusted to a golden brown and an assortment of colorful vegetables completed the dish. Molly also noted a half-dozen honey biscuits sitting in a bowl and the mingling of all the luscious smells made her mouth water.
Kane pulled out her chair and she took a seat. “Hungry?”
It wasn’t at all ladylike to admit such a thing. “Famished.”
Kane took a seat across from her and smiled. The full-out flash of white perfect teeth lit his face and transformed the “savage” Mrs. Rose claimed him to be into a dashing rogue.
Molly wasn’t sure which manner of man would prove more dangerous.
“You’re honest,” he said.
“I always try to be. And I want you to know I don’t hold much to gossip. What Mrs. Rose said about you…” Molly hesitated when Kane arched one dark brow. She cleared her throat. “Until I hear directly from you, I won’t put much stock into what was said.”
Kane studied her, his smile gone. “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Molly. After the meal. Eat up. I thought you said you were hungry.”
Kane dove into his meal then, and Molly couldn’t put off the delicious aromas any longer. She ate with as much gusto as the man sitting across the table from her, holding nothing back. Truly famished, Molly gobbled up every morsel, even the split peas, which Molly had vowed never to eat again. She’d eaten enough split pea soup to last a lifetime back in St. Louis, when Mama didn’t have much else to put on the table.
For dessert, Molly ate warm pecan pie and she and Kane sipped coffee from lovely painted mugs. As the meal wound down, Molly wondered about Kane and all the warnings she’d heard. Mrs. Rose hadn’t been the only one to discredit the man. She recalled that earlier today the depot operator hadn’t had kind words for her betrothed as well.
Renegade Wife Page 2
