Renegade Wife

by Charlene Sands

  Molly blinked.

  She shook out her ears.

  And stared at Miss Deidre for all she was worth.

  “Excuse me,” she began, her mind filling with myriad thoughts. “But did you say, Roper McCall?”

  “Yes, yes. I’m sure of it. Miss Lacey went on and on about him. She’s hoping for a beau and you know how young girls are. Why, I get half my business from gals trying to gain a boy’s favor.”

  Deidre glanced at Penelope Rose. The older woman’s face drained, as if she were guilty of some forbidden act. Molly thought it strange, but she couldn’t dwell on that. She had to get to the bottom of this Roper McCall person.

  “Did she say what he looked like?”

  Deidre put a hand to her head in a mock swoon. “Oh, yes. He’s the most handsome boy of all,” she said with a sigh. Then her voice changed to an even pitch. “Aren’t they all at that young age?”

  Molly’s heart pounded against her chest. All of a sudden she felt light-headed and if the afternoon had been a tad warmer, she might have fainted. But hope settled in her heart. Dear, dear sweet hope.

  “Roper McCall,” she rushed out, turning to Mrs. Rose, “was one of the dime novel heroes my brother was always reading about. He worshipped him! Could it be?” But Molly knew it had to be. It all made sense now. She hadn’t been able to find Charlie McGuire anywhere in west Texas because her runaway brother had changed his name.

  Beyond excited, Molly asked the proprietor, “Tell me, how can I find Miss Lacey Shannon?”

  “Why, her father owns the Lazy S Ranch, but Lacey might still be in town. She left my shop just half an hour ago.”

  Molly hugged Deidre tight then did the same to Mrs. Rose. “You buy that dress now, Mrs. Rose,” she said. “Even if you’re not trying to entice a man, you deserve something new and pretty!”

  Mrs. Rose nodded, seeming to take her advice and keeping strangely quiet for longer than Molly had ever recalled.

  Molly dashed out of the shop, searching for Kane. And if she couldn’t find him, then she’d set out to search for Miss Lacey Shannon on her own.

  One way or another Molly would have news of her brother today!

  Chapter Eleven

  “No, I’m not going to take you to Kansas!”

  Kane glared across the wagon seat at his wife and shook his head adamantly. With fire in her green eyes, Molly returned the look with a heated one of her own, but he didn’t much care. She’d been irrational about this subject since the moment he’d spied her nearly accosting Miss Shannon at the diner.

  The young gal was having a meal with her father, and Parker Shannon hadn’t much appreciated Molly’s interruption. If Kane hadn’t intervened on Molly’s behalf, the rancher might have lost all patience with her. But darn, if Molly didn’t get exactly what she wanted—affirmation that Charlie McGuire had indeed assumed the name of Roper McCall. At least his description fit and Parker pretty much confirmed that the boy he’d hired was as green as they come. He’d labeled him an Easterner, but a hard worker and someone smart enough to do the job.

  “But Charlie’s headed there,” Molly argued, “and if he doesn’t return to Bountiful, I’ll lose track of him.”

  “You heard what Parker Shannon said. Roper McCall has a place at his ranch, if he wants it. And judging by the way Lacey’s eyes lit just mentioning his name, I’m sure that your brother’s returning.”

  “But why won’t you take me to him?”

  “He’ll be home in two weeks, maybe less.”

  “An eternity!” Molly folded her arms and pouted, tears stinging her eyes.

  The wagon lurched forward and Kane slapped the reins urging the horses to move faster. The sooner he got Molly back to the Bar J, the better. No telling what thoughts swam around in her head at the moment. “You ought to be glad,” he said, watching her pretty face change expressions from angry, to sad, to angry again. Kane had never met a more fired-up woman. “At least you know your brother’s alive.”

  “I am glad. But Kane,” Molly pleaded, turning to face him again. “What if something happens to him? What if he decides not to come back? What if I never find him again?”

  Kane rubbed his nose, hiding a grin. Wouldn’t do to let Molly see that she’d humored him. “And what if the sun decides never to shine again?” Kane shook his head and looked directly into her eyes. “Let it be, Molly. He’ll come back. He has a job and a woman waiting for him. That’s more than most men have.”

  Molly sank back in the wagon seat, folding her arms and pouting her lips again. Her chest, heavy with anxiety, heaved up and down and Kane took note. His wife had womanly attributes he couldn’t ignore. And each night, as he held her close, those female qualities had tempted and teased him. He’d vowed not to make love to her again, but his body seemed to be ignoring that command.

  He wanted her.

  And that fact irritated him no end. He couldn’t stay away, having to hold her close and breathe in her scent, listen to the throaty, sexy sounds she made in those moments before sleep claimed her. And once she slept, then Kane, too, found the solace he needed.

  Molly mumbled again, refusing to give up. “You’re not holding up your part of the bargain, Kane Jackson. You agreed to help me find my brother, if I pretended to be your wife.”

  “You are my wife,” he said, surprising himself. “Right now anyway,” he added. “But I can’t leave the ranch now. Not with my grandfather’s health the way it is.”

  Kane slanted her a look. He didn’t trust Molly to listen to reason. “And you’re not going without me, understand?”

  “But I could take the stage or maybe the railroad goes—”

  “No.” He put as much force in that single word as he knew how. “Remember what happened to you in Fallen Oak?”

  Molly shivered. Even though he hated the reminder, Molly had to understand the danger of her traveling alone. “You and I both know what would have happened if I hadn’t showed up when I did.”

  Molly closed her eyes. “I know.”

  Kane had gone a little bit crazy that day, and Molly believed he’d been acting out his revenge against the man who had killed Little Swan. But while those thoughts are always with him, that day and at that time in Fallen Oak, when those men had brutalized Molly, he had been acting on her behalf and her behalf alone. The thought of either of those men touching her, hurting her or worse, had spurred on murderous impulses. Kane had wanted to kill them.

  And he might have, if Molly hadn’t stopped him.

  “Molly, I need your word you won’t run off the ranch, searching for your brother.”

  Molly made no attempt to agree.

  “Molly.”

  She took another deep breath and Kane noted her generous chest again. Half the time he reprimanded her and half the time he lusted after her. No other woman had had this effect on him, leaving Kane befuddled most of the time.

  “I’m asking for your word,” he pressed.

  When she didn’t respond, Kane halted the horses abruptly and the wagon jerked to a stop. He turned and looked her squarely in the eyes, waiting. All was silent, except for the whinny of the horses, each at different intervals, perhaps in complaint as the sun beat down with unrelenting force.

  Molly held his attention, her lips trembling, her eyes moist with unshed tears. And finally, she confessed, “It’s just that I miss him so much.”

  Kane understood too well the emptiness that consumes a body when their loved one is gone. He knew of Molly’s desperate desire to reunite what family she had left. And he also knew, as she did, that soon Bennett Jackson and the Bar J would no longer be her home. “I know, Little Bird.”

  Kane bent his head and kissed her trembling lips tenderly. Molly responded as he might have predicted, returning his kiss in a fashion that simply asked for more. He cupped her face, his fingers going into her silky sunset tresses. And when she moaned into his mouth, Kane swept his tongue inside, tasting her once again.

  Molly threw her arms about
his neck, and in rhythm with each other, they moved closer. There were so many things Kane wanted to say to her, so many things he might confess, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t, for he and Molly had made a pact, as unholy as it might seem. Very soon, Kane would set her free.

  But for now, he took pleasure in her, sliding his hands along her slim frame, caressing her breasts, following the hollow of her slight waist and squeezing her womanly hips.

  His hands roamed freely, touching her in places that created sighs of delight, and when he cupped her buttocks, bringing her fully up against his swollen manhood, Molly didn’t pull away, but rather slid her body to his in invitation.

  “Kane,” she whispered into his mouth.

  “Molly,” Kane said, ready to lay her down in the bed of the wagon. Ready to strip off her clothes and bare her skin under the glistening sunlight. Kane was ready to do all that, but, and with every ounce of his willpower, he did not.

  Instead, he pulled away, breaking off their intimate connection. He stared into Molly’s questioning eyes, knowing full well what she had wanted. What he had wanted.

  But Kane had no answers. He had only the truth of their bargain. And making love to Molly again would only give her hope that would be unfounded.

  Kane picked up the reins and urged the horses on.

  From the corner of his eye, he noted Molly’s slump back into the seat, her arms folded, perhaps her heart damaged with disappointment.

  Kane knew that same disappointment. And tonight would be a true test of his will. For turning Molly away on an open road during the light of day was one thing.

  Turning her away during a moonlit night within the cozy confines of their bed was another thing entirely.

  Molly paced the bedroom. She’d been restless and angry the better part of the day. Kane had made a promise to her, and he’d fully backed out. And now, as night fell, with Kane nowhere in sight, Molly had nothing to do but fuel her anger with undisguised fury.

  The bargain she’d made with Kane had reared up to kick her in the backside. His refusal to take her to Charlie hurt. His rejection this afternoon killed. She simply couldn’t fathom how he could be so tender and giving one moment, then cold and unyielding the next.

  Molly couldn’t understand how Kane could hold her lovingly, drink from her lips like a man dying of thirst, touch her where no man had ever dared, making her very senses come alive, and then as easy as peach pie, turn away from her.

  Did ice run in his veins?

  Or was he still mourning Little Swan’s death?

  Neither alternative could have improved her mood.

  Molly strode to the window and, parting the curtain, stared out into the starlit night. It was truly a night to behold, with freshness about the air and thousands of stars shining above.

  Molly felt caged, cooped up in a lonely room.

  She’d read to Bennett this afternoon, the only bright spot in her day, keeping him abreast of Charlie’s whereabouts, his name change and all. Gently, he had agreed with Kane. She would be smart to stay put, and let Charlie come home to her. Molly hadn’t agreed with either of the Jackson men, but she’d given her word.

  Or had she?

  Molly shook off that perplexing thought, trying as well to shake off Kane’s rejection of her this afternoon. Too unsettled and fidgety to sleep, Molly grabbed her shawl and dashed out of the room.

  She needed a diversion, something to quell her anger.

  And ten minutes later, under the protest of Bernardo, a ranch hand she’d nabbed as he walked out of the bunkhouse, Molly sat atop a mare named Sweet Pea. The ranch hand assured her the horse was the gentlest in their remuda.

  Molly knew how to ride, although it had been a while. Back in St. Louis, each time her mama took sick, Molly would borrow her neighbor’s mare to fetch the doctor. Clumsy at first, soon she’d learned how to stay atop the old mare without too much difficultly. She’d promised Bernardo. She would ride along a well-worn path and return shortly.

  Already, Molly’s anger eased some. She breathed in crisp evening air and rode quietly, away from the Bar J and all that had upset her today. The horse knew the terrain, which aided Molly greatly, and she granted the mare her trust. They headed north to a part of the Bar J that Molly had never seen—a place with less grassland, less open spaces, where the earth was interrupted by foliage, low-lying scrubs and trees.

  Molly rode along a brook, the waters neither calm nor rushing, but somewhere in between, the steady flow lapping over rocks. And as Molly looked ahead, she spied a shadowy figure coming out from behind a tree.

  Her heart stopped.

  A sense of dread enveloped her.

  The eerie shadow became more visible and Molly shrieked her surprise, completely stunned by the sight of the Indian. Molly’s disturbance startled the mare. She spooked, twisting her head and rearing up on her front legs.

  Molly couldn’t hold her balance. The mare jolted her up from the saddle, and Molly flew through the air, landing hard on the solid packed earth. She hit her head on something sharp, and as she struggled to remain conscious, a blurred vision appeared right before her eyes.

  She stared into the curious eyes of a young Indian girl.

  Then all went black.

  Kane cursed and at the same time sent up a prayer for Molly’s safety. Bending over her still form, he didn’t know what God to summon, having been born into Christianity but raised by the Cheyenne and their beliefs, so Kane sent up the prayer anyway, for anyone willing to listen.

  “Molly,” he said softly, laying his palm on her cheek. “Molly, can you hear me?”

  She moved her head slightly and with eyes still closed, she returned, “Kane?”

  He heard a note of pain in her voice and his gut tightened with fear. “Molly, can you open your eyes?”

  She tried. He saw movement, squinting and blinking until finally, she opened her eyes. “There’s two of you. No, three. No,” she said, closing her eyes once again. “Give me a minute.”

  Kane waited and when Molly reopened her eyes, she looked up at him again. “Now, there’s only one of you.”

  Greatly relieved, Kane tamped down his anger. For now. Seems no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t keep Molly from trouble.

  “That’s good, Little Bird.” He pressed his kerchief to the side of her head. “You’re bleeding. You must have hit your head on this rock.” He lifted the small piece of granite up for her to see. “Lucky for you, the rock is small and your head is hard.”

  Molly attempted a smile, then her expression changed to concern. “There was a little Indian girl.”

  Kane nodded.

  “I’d never seen an Indian before. Not up close like that. And I was alone and well, seeing that Indian girl surprised me more than anything. I screamed and, well, I guess Sweet Pea isn’t used to female screams.”

  “No, I don’t suppose she is. Can you sit up?”

  “Yes,” she nodded, and made an attempt. Kane held her carefully, lifting her slowly to a sitting position. He waited while she adjusted, focusing her eyes once again. When Kane noted a pained look on her face, he didn’t hesitate. He scooped her up gently and carried her to his horse. “I’ll see to your bruises once I get you back to the ranch.”

  Kane managed to hold her and mount his mare. There, he set her across his lap and spurred his horse on.

  “What about my horse?” she asked.

  “Sweet Pea knows the way back.”

  Molly bit down on her lip. “You’re awfully quiet, Kane.”

  He made no attempt to answer.

  “Are you angry?”

  Again, he kept silent. In truth, he was furious with his renegade wife. She knew nothing of the dangers of living out here in the West. She took thoughtless chances with her life, driven strictly by emotion. She was as impetuous as she was foolish.

  They rode back to the ranch in silence, Kane holding Molly in his arms, wondering how she would fare in this world once he set her free. But with that, came
another thought. Pretty Miss Molly McGuire wouldn’t be alone too long. In a land where men outnumbered women by handfuls, she’d be certain to find a beau, perhaps a husband, in a short time.

  The thought did not grant him solace.

  And he turned that unwelcome thought inward, hiding the sentiment within the layers of his anger and frustration. Once they reached the Bar J, Kane dismounted with Molly in his arms. He set her on the front porch, and once he was assured she could stand without aid, he took his mare’s reins. “Get some rest,” he ordered, none too gently. “I’ll see to the horses first, then I’ll be up.”

  Molly took a big swallow and agreed.

  Ten minutes later, Sweet Pea appeared, snorting loudly by the barn, letting her presence be known. Kane took time with both horses, grooming them down, then corralling them. With a deep sigh, Kane stood in front of the large ranch house, staring up at their bedroom window. A dim light glowed and the golden hue beckoned him to his wayward wife.

  Kane was a man who’d always been certain of his deeds. He was a man who could always, without doubt, control his needs. Yet, he climbed the stairs with great reluctance, his anger warring with desire.

  And for the first time in his life, Kane didn’t know which response would win out.

  Kane took one look at Molly, laying across his bed, her silken hair flowing over the pillow, fully dressed but for the boots she’d removed, appearing peaceful and serene amid her bruises, and held on to his anger.

  With his back against the wall, he shook his head. “You could’ve been killed, damn it.”

  Startled, Molly sat up and blinked.

  “Even a fool knows not to go riding alone at night. Especially if she’s as inexperienced as you.”

  “But I—”