“He’s in there,” the boy said, pointing.
“Let your mama know we’re here,” Molly ordered with impatience, yet she held to propriety.
The boy opened the door slowly. “Mama, we’re here.”
The boy stepped into the shanty and Molly followed. She held her breath in anticipation, both fearful and hopeful, but that very breath was knocked out of her in one frightful blow as she was shoved forcefully against the wall. A toothy man held his big beefy hand over her mouth, his body pinning her in place. He tossed the boy a coin. “Good job, kid. Now get out.”
The boy took off running.
Molly gulped fear and held back nausea, realizing far too late her mistake. Another man reached over to rip the reticule from her arm. From the little light filtering in, Molly saw him dig deep into her purse, coming up with all of the contents. “Ah, Clyde, ain’t but a few dollars in here,” he complained. “I thought you said she was rich.”
“Hell, her man’s probably holding all the cash.”
“I got me a good look at him. He ain’t one to mess with.”
“No, but we got us his woman. Bet she can ease my disappointment,” Clyde said, sliding his free hand up and down Molly’s arm. She tried pulling her arm free but he clamped on tight, holding her firm. Molly squirmed and kicked and struggled until the man had to release his hand over her mouth to hold her still. Panicked, she screamed. “Kane! Help! Help me!”
The slap to her face stung. “Shut up!” Clyde covered her mouth again. “Get the rope, Tooley.”
“Rope? I didn’t bring no rope.”
Clyde turned from Molly to glare at his partner. “I told you to bring a rope, damn it! Now, how we gonna keep her still enough.”
“You hold her down.”
Molly took her captive’s lack of attention to shove at his chest with balled fists. She spit in his face and kicked hard, right between the legs.
“Ow!” Blood drained from his face and he doubled over.
Molly ran for the door, but the other man grabbed her from behind, lifting her up as she screamed and kicked.
“Ain’t nobody gonna hear you way out here!” Then he silenced her with his hand over her mouth, holding her tight, his arm wrapped around her middle. “You okay, Clyde?”
“Hell, no,” he muttered. “I ain’t okay.”
Just then, the door burst open and Kane appeared. Taking a split second to survey the scene, he threw his knife at Clyde, striking him in the shoulder and once again he doubled over, falling to the floor and crying out in agony.
Then, methodically, Kane focused on the man holding Molly.
“Let her go,” he demanded, his voice venomous.
The man who held Molly released her instantly, but Kane didn’t stop. He approached the man with murder in his eyes. He grabbed him, tossed him against the wall and pounded him with his fists over and over again. The man raised his arms in surrender, unable to put up much of a fight, but Kane continued, bloodying his nose and Molly thought she heard the man’s jaw crack. Blood spurted from the man’s mouth, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. With the ruffian slumped against the wall, Kane continued to pummel him until Molly couldn’t stand to watch another second. “Kane!”
Her plea went unnoticed.
“Kane!” she repeated, her voice shrill. She tugged on his sleeve and pleaded. “Enough, Kane.”
He shook his head. “Not enough. He has to pay.” He landed another blow.
Tears filled Molly’s eyes. Kane’s unleashed rage frightened her. She’d never seen him lose control. She’d never seen this untamed, wild, ferocious side to him. Warrior came to mind and she envisioned him as a true Cheyenne, protecting what was his, seeking vengeance and retribution, perhaps for all that was done to him, for all those whom he’d lost.
His chest heaved with anger, his face was tight and determined—Molly knew she had to stop him. “Let him go. You’re killing him!”
“He deserves to die, for what he did to—” And then Kane stopped to look at her, a light dawning in his eyes as she pleaded with him in silence this time. He released the man, who sagged to the floor in a bloody heap.
“He didn’t kill your wife, Kane,” Molly said softly.
Kane nodded, as if just realizing that himself. Then he lifted a finger to her cheek. The sting had subsided long ago, but Molly knew her face would show the handprint of violence. Kane closed his eyes tight, as if warding off any further fury. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
Molly rubbed her arms up and down, thankful that Kane had arrived in time. She was scared—frightened half to death, if truth be known—but she wasn’t hurt. “No. You got here,” she said with a shudder, “in time. How did you know?”
“The boy. I saw you walk down an alley with him. Next thing I know, he’s running away like a wild rabbit, looking guilty. When I caught up with him, I didn’t give him much choice but to tell me where you were.”
“I shouldn’t have gone with him, Kane. But he told me Charlie was here, and hurt bad.”
“You got to stop trusting in people, Molly. Even little boys,” Kane offered, too spent to show her any anger, but Molly figured she’d get a good earful soon.
Kane swept a glance at the two men lying near death on the floor. “Let’s go.”
Kane lifted her up and carried her out of the shanty. Molly didn’t protest. Her legs had gone as weak as molasses. “What about them?”
“They’re not going anywhere. We’ll get the sheriff. He’ll deal with them, then we’re getting out of this town.”
Molly liked the sound of that.
The sooner they departed Fallen Oak, the better.
Chapter Nine
After the Fallen Oak incident, silence filled their days. Molly thought that Kane would surely lecture her on her foolhardy behavior, but nothing was forthcoming. Perhaps both learned a lesson. Perhaps Kane’s silence had less to do with Molly’s actions that day and more to do with his own.
Molly had stopped him from murdering a man. The experience weighed heavily on her conscience. If she hadn’t been so impatient, if she’d recognized the ruse for what it was, that day would have ended differently.
She remembered how they’d left town in haste and made camp when dusk had just settled on the horizon. Kane took her into his arms that night, holding her close, but oh, so carefully, one arm wrapped around her middle, the other, always gripping on to the rifle that lay beside him. Molly had never felt safer. She’d never wanted to be held so much. She’d had disturbing dreams that night, and when she’d roused, Kane had settled her back down, rubbing her arms, kissing her cheek gently, until she once again relaxed.
But that day was in the distant past. Since then, she and Kane had weathered heat that scorched their skin and soaked their clothes, winds that swirled red dust upon their bodies, and unpredictable nights that lent warmth one time and chills the other.
Molly endured it all for the sake of finding her brother. But what she couldn’t endure was the day in and day out disappointment she felt every time they left one town to find hopelessness once again in another.
They’d traveled for miles, searched many towns and inquired at ranches and farms along the way, turning up no leads. They’d come full circle and as Molly sat upon the wagon in the late afternoon, seated next to a quiet Kane, she held back tears. They had exhausted their search and were returning to the Bar J.
Molly prayed to the Almighty for guidance. Filled with despair with all hope waning, she asked for a sign, anything that might help to restore her faith. And if the Almighty listened, she had to believe his sign came in the form of quick-moving gray clouds, putting a chill in the air and darkening the once pretty blue sky.
Without warning, a storm raged, the clouds smashing into one another, booming with sound and alighting the sky with friction. Cold rain pelted down, the storm’s immediate violence more like the devil’s device than anything the Almighty would want to conjure.
Kane halted the wagon unde
r a large oak, the horses too jittery to move forward. He jumped down, and reached for her, grabbing a blanket and shoving it into her arms. “Get under the wagon, quick.”
Molly scooted under as she was told, spreading out the blanket, hoping to keep somewhat dry. Through sheets of rain pouring down, she watched Kane make quick work of unhitching the horses, leading them to another nearby tree. After tying the mares securely, he raced back to the wagon and, using two blankets, attached them to the sides of the bed, creating a tent of sorts then rolled his way under. He carried only a saddlebag, one she knew that was filled with provisions and, of course, his rifle.
Molly stared at Kane’s soaked clothes. Without benefit of the hat that had flown off his head in the storm, Kane’s hair hung in his face and dripped water onto his shoulders. Molly reached up to push his hair back, looking deeply into his eyes. He shivered from the cold, and Molly hadn’t realized that she, too, had been shivering all along. “You’re drenched.”
“So are you.”
Molly’s clothes hung like wet rags to her body. Her hair was equally as wet, the storm catching them both off guard. “What do we do now?” she asked.
“Get out of our wet clothes and wait.”
Thunder boomed directly overhead. Molly jumped from the horrific sound, and the eerie flash of lightning illuminating the ground like a quick burning match brought goose bumps. “Oh!”
Kane moved closer, realizing her fear. As a child, Molly had hated storms, but none she’d encountered had frightened her quite so much. Texas storms, like everything in this wild unruly land seemed angrier and fiercer than the ones she’d recalled from back home. “Come here, Little Bird.”
Molly moved into Kane’s arms and once again, she felt safe and protected. She trembled from cold, yes, but she also recognized the familiar tremble she sustained each time Kane held her in his arms. He began unbuttoning her dress and Molly allowed it. He’d seen her unclothed before, and funny, but she knew no shame with Kane. He was her husband and a man she had come to trust.
With all buttons unfastened, Kane slid the dress from her shoulders. He helped her pull it down along her legs and remove it completely.
“Your boots, too.” And Kane helped her take off her shoes.
Next Kane removed his buckskin shirt, lifting it high overhead and Molly took the shirt from him, marveling at its waterlogged weight. She set it in the same pile with her dress.
Molly shivered again, this time the chill seeping way down to her bones. Thunder rocked the sky with powerful force, making her feel so small at the moment, so insignificant. She rubbed her arms back and forth, the chemise she wore offered little protection from the cold.
“Let my body warm you, Molly,” Kane said, dragging her closer to him. “Turn from me.”
Molly did as she was told, grateful for any warmth Kane could offer. With her back to him now, pressed beside him, Molly gritted her teeth. “Your pants…they’re soaked.”
Kane groaned. “I hoped you wouldn’t notice.” Then he sighed. “For this to work, we need no clothes between us.”
“We need to lie naked?” Molly croaked.
“For body warmth, yes. That’s how we’ll stay warm through the storm.”
“There’s no other way?”
Again, she heard Kane groan. “There are no more dry blankets, Molly. If you know another way…”
Kane’s voice warred with another clash of thunder.
Molly jumped at the deafening sound.
Then when all was quiet again, she heard Kane’s struggle to remove his wet trousers. “May I help?” she offered, through ingrained politeness.
“Don’t turn around, Molly.”
And all too soon she understood why he didn’t want her help. Kane brought his body to hers and slowly lifted the plastered chemise from her body, thankfully leaving on her drawers, but not before Molly realized Kane’s aroused state. “Kane?”
“Shhh!” And it was as if he didn’t want to speak of what was happening between them. Instead of answering her, he wrapped his arm around her middle, tucked one leg over hers and pressed her back to his chest. Molly swallowed hard, forgetting about her chilled bones for the moment.
“Can we lie like this all night?” she asked pointedly.
“We can try,” was his honest answer. “Are you warming up?”
Oh, yes! Molly couldn’t think much beyond Kane’s inflamed state, his heat becoming hers within seconds.
“Maybe if we talked. That might ease, uh, that might make time pass more quickly.”
Kane didn’t seem to agree. He grunted.
“Tell me about the Cheyenne,” Molly said, broaching a subject she knew little about. “What was it like living with them?”
Kane seemed to relax a bit, his body’s rigid stance becoming much less tense. “You really want to know?”
She bobbed her head. “I do.”
Absently, Kane stroked her belly, his hand warming her skin and he said, “In many ways the Cheyenne aren’t so different from the white man. The children play silly games, just like white children. They play camp with miniature lodge villages and make-believe families. The boys pretend to go on hunts and use stick horses to hunt buffalo. The little girls have toy tipis and deerskin dolls. Children are revered in the tribe. Boys especially, because their birth means warrior strength.”
“Was it frightening for you in the beginning?”
“Not really. I’d been so sick when they found me, that when I finally healed, I’d become accustomed to them, and they had already welcomed me into the tribe. I had only vague, fading memories of my parents by then. Luckily for me, an elder in the tribe had worked as a guide for a wealthy adventurer. He spoke to me in English enough that by the time I’d grown to manhood, I could speak both languages.”
“Was it strange, coming back to the white world?”
“After Little Swan was killed, I didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere anymore. All I knew was that I couldn’t rest until I brought her murderer to justice.”
“You must have loved her a great deal.”
“Since I was twelve.”
“Twelve?” Molly’s heart broke for Kane, who had fallen in love with a young Cheyenne maiden, only to have her taken brutally from him a few years later. And her heart broke for herself as well, to have also married Kane, knowing him as a husband and yet not really knowing him at all. “I’m sorry, Kane.”
He became silent then, his hand still stroking her belly, and at times, his fingertips grazing just beneath her breasts. Oh, how she wanted him to caress her there, to make her come alive, to make her feel like a woman, a wife.
The rain stopped for a moment and all was quiet. It was as though she and Kane were the only two people on earth, the silence almost as deafening as the thunder.
“Are you warming up?” he asked.
Molly wanted to smile. How could she not warm to Kane’s body huddled around hers, his massive form almost enveloping her? “I’m warmer. Do you think the storm is over?”
“Doubtful. More clouds will move in. These storms usually last all night.”
Molly figured what saved them was that Kane had stopped the wagon on higher ground just under a colossal oak, its leaves helping to divert the rain somewhat.
“Close your eyes, Little Bird. Try to sleep.”
Molly couldn’t sleep, but she did close her eyes, trying to block out the emotions roiling around inside. And she found peace for a moment, a lull in her own storm, as Kane continued to stroke her arms and belly, keeping her warm.
But her peace soon shattered as an earsplitting clap of thunder boomed overhead. Molly jumped and turned into Kane’s arms, trembling in fear as lightning struck a tree just ten yards away. She saw the horrible vision through the wheel of the wagon. “Did you see it, Kane?” she cried out. “It’s coming closer.”
“No, it’s moving away. Don’t be scared.”
Molly gripped Kane’s neck and stuck her head under his chin. She clung to hi
m, wishing away her fear. He held her tight, wrapping his arms around her, and it was only once the rain had subsided again, the thunder a distant sound now, that Molly realized their intimate position.
She felt the crush of Kane’s chest to her breasts, the press of his taut belly to hers, but most of all, she felt his rigid desire and knew without a doubt that she wanted him, the way a wife wants a husband.
She kissed his chest, licking at the moist skin, then she lifted her head to plant a kiss to his mouth. Kane responded immediately, a low guttural sound escaping his throat. He took her face in his hands and kissed her back fervently, his lips taking hers like wild whipping wind, until Molly thought she would surely lose all of her breath. Kane moved his hands to her shoulders and then slid them down her arms, stroking her up and down.
Molly broke off the kiss long enough to take his hand. “Touch me, Kane.” And she placed his palm on her breast.
A shudder ran through Kane and she witnessed hesitation in his dark, hungry eyes. “If I do, there’ll be no going back,” he whispered.
His large calloused hand against her soft skin created sharp tingles that reached her toes. Molly didn’t want to go back, she wanted to go forward. She wanted to know Kane as a husband. “I know.”
Kane swept a slow glance over her naked body, then moved his hand on her, stroking her breast, flicking the tip with his thumb. A cry of pleasure erupted inside her. Molly wiggled under Kane’s hand, wanting more.
“You respond to me, Molly.”
Molly knew no shame with Kane. She made it clear with her body that she wanted him. “I always have.”
Kane kissed her then, a long slow exploring kiss that left her weak. He moved on to kiss her chin, her throat, her shoulders. And when he put his mouth to her breasts, Molly cried aloud this time, the sweet torturous pleasure almost too much to bear.
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