Wyatt’s eyes flashed. Kevin’s brow furrowed.
Falcon grinned. “It ain’t gonna be me. Though, I could cook a possum over an open fire for us once a week.”
Molly flinched. She turned to Mrs. Brownley. “I’ll leave my things here, if it’s all right with you. I’ll be back next Sunday. I believe I’ll stay after church.”
“We’ll look forward to it.”
Molly got her coat and stuffed a satchel with her nightgown and a few things she’d need for a stay at the ranch. She wasn’t going to think of it as home ever again.
Seven
Molly wasn’t quite sure how she found herself cooking breakfast alone the next morning. It was odd really. Like yesterday, her escape, her job, her new future, had never happened.
Kevin had talked to her on the way home. It was a friendly talk, and she appreciated it. But it didn’t close the divide between them. In some ways it widened it because he was so clear about how much he loved her. And yet he’d started a new life without her. As was right and proper.
The talk had helped her accept the new way of things and see that nothing would or should change that.
The thumping around upstairs told her Wyatt was up. There were other sets of footfalls, so Cheyenne and Falcon were stirring, too.
It was a chilly day. There’d been snow in the night. She saw it scudding along the ground. Not deep, and it wasn’t the first snow by any means, but it was a reminder that once she got settled in town and the weather closed down the trails, she might not see her family for months. Not for Thanksgiving nor Christmas.
Squaring her shoulders, she accepted that. Parson and Mrs. Brownley would be good companions, and she’d see her family in the summer—but she refused to live out here as Win had done when school wasn’t in session. When she made her break, though they’d always be family, she wasn’t going to ever live with them again. It hurt too much for it to begin and end repeatedly. She’d learned that from being dragged home last night.
Turning her thoughts away from being separated from Kevin and Andy—as if she weren’t already—she stirred a skillet full of scrambled eggs just as footsteps sounded on the stairs. She scraped the eggs onto a platter with the sharp sound of her metal spatula on the cast-iron frypan.
She set the eggs on the table as Wyatt came in. He went straight to his chair and sat.
The bacon was done and keeping warm on the back of the stove. She set that beside him. Then she pulled her drop biscuits from the oven. She’d grated some cheese into them and seasoned them with garlic, which she’d brought along from Kansas. She’d learned to grow it and loved what it added to a meal.
She slid the perfectly browned biscuits into a small cloth-lined basket and set it on the table. Wyatt grabbed the first one before she let go of the basket.
She added a ball of butter to the table, along with sparkling purple jelly that she’d found in the cellar. It must have been made from wild grapes. She’d have to find where they grew next summer and make more.
Then she caught herself. She didn’t intend to ever live here again. Fine, she’d make jelly for Mrs. Brownley.
Cheyenne and Falcon came in next, and they all ate, singing her praises. They were acting like they wanted to make up for whatever had made her leave.
Molly cleared the table with so much help they were in each other’s way.
Then Cheyenne said, “We don’t know how long we’ll be gone.”
Molly turned from the sink and saw Falcon’s back as he followed Cheyenne outside and swung the door shut.
Blinking at the sudden departure, she turned to Wyatt, who was standing there looking like a man who was afraid he’d say the wrong thing and make Molly move out again. He held a towel and a dripping plate, but he wasn’t wiping. He was staring wide-eyed at her.
“Where are they off to? More cattle to move?” Molly asked. “And what did she mean by not knowing how long they’d be gone? I always make plenty for meals, so it doesn’t matter if they turn up at mealtimes.”
Wyatt seemed to come out of whatever strange mood of fear he’d been in. With a somewhat desperate grab at something to talk about, he said, “The house Cheyenne was born in sits on the border of Ma’s land and Grandpa’s. We’ve used it as a line shack.”
“What’s a line shack?” Ranching was eyeball deep in odd phrases.
“We have such a far-flung holding we send a man or two out to cabins we’ve built on the far edges of our property line. They live out there and can check the cattle nearby.”
“And Cheyenne and Falcon might be moving to that cabin to live?” Molly went back to washing dishes, only to find out the cast-iron skillet in her hands was the last. Wyatt made her nervous for some reason. She’d prefer to keep busy.
“They are thinking of it. It’s a nice cabin. Not nearly as big as this, but Cheyenne’s pa was a good builder, and we’ve kept it in good repair. Not sure why they can’t just stay here with me.” Wyatt frowned. It was his little-brother frown, and Molly had felt a little-sister version of it before on her own face. She suspected it’d been on there near full time since Kevin got married.
She rinsed the skillet and handed it to Wyatt, then poured the basins of water down the handy drain hole in the kitchen sink. This really was a nice house.
Thinking desperately of what to do, she filled a pot with water from the hand pump that came right in the kitchen. Then she used that to refill the wells on the stove while Wyatt dried the skillet.
She forced herself to think of the noon meal. She had a nice elk roast Falcon had brought in.
While she poured the water carefully into the wells, Wyatt reached past her to hang the skillet from the nail on the wall behind the stove. She felt him too close to her as she poured and stepped aside, splattering water on the hot stove. It sent a hissing blast of hot steam straight up toward Wyatt’s reaching arm.
He yelped, dropped the skillet with a loud bang, and jumped back.
“Oh, Wyatt, are you burned?”
He pumped the handle for water a couple of times and cool water flowed out onto his wrist. He let the water soak his shirtsleeve, then sighed in relief. “No, it’s not bad. Sorry to fuss like that.”
Molly took over the pump handle and kept the water flowing.
Wyatt kept his arm there, so she knew it must hurt.
After a few more seconds, Wyatt said, “That’s probably enough.”
Molly quit pumping. He pulled his shirtsleeve up, then the sleeve to his longhandles.
“It’s red.” Molly leaned close. “But no blisters. They sometimes raise later.”
She thought of the time her pa, in a temper, had thrown a full coffeepot of boiling water on her ma. Molly had doctored those burns and knew the different levels of seriousness.
“You need to keep something cool on it for a while though, until all the heat goes out of it. It will make the burn less serious.” She grabbed a towel off a nail and soaked it quickly, wrung it out, then wrapped it around Wyatt’s arm.
He allowed it, which surprised her. He’d often snapped at her when he was hurt and wanting to get out of his bandages so he could get to work.
“Does it hurt bad? I’m sorry I was so careless.” Her right hand rested under his left arm, holding it still, while her left hand held the cool, wet towel pressed gently on the burn.
“It’s not bad. I shouldn’t have crowded you like that.”
He shifted, so her back was to the sink, to keep her from leaning against the hot stove, probably.
Then he shifted a bit more and darned if he wasn’t crowding her again.
She looked up, and their gazes held. She had his arm, and that was all the space between them.
“M-Molly, I’ve wanted to—to say . . . thank you. No, that’s not what I wanted to say. Of course, I am thankful, but what I wanted to say is . . .” His voice dropped to a whisper. “W-waking up with you beside me, well, I have to admit I think about it now and then.”
He looked so deeply into
her eyes she felt like he could see her mind, her heart, her soul. And she could see his.
Slowly, an inch at a time, plenty of time for her to realize he was too close and realize his intention, he leaned down.
His lips met hers, and he kissed her.
And she most certainly kissed him back.
Just as slowly, just as surely, his arms came around her back. Hers slid up his strong chest and wrapped around his neck.
She vaguely wondered where the wet towel went. But it was gone for a fact. There was no space between them anymore.
One of his hands came up to cradle her face, then slid deeply into her hair. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss, and she clung to him as if fearing she’d collapse. Her knees were shaky enough she had to wonder.
Like a warning bell, the kitchen door handle rattled.
Wyatt was gone. She blinked her eyes open to see him striding toward the door, yanking it open. Kevin stood outside with Win a pace behind.
“Good. You’re here. You and Win help Molly. I’ve got work.” He squeezed past Kevin and got out before Win got in, and that was the last Molly saw because she whirled away from Kevin, wondering what she looked like. Her cheeks felt flushed. Her lips felt swollen. Was her hair in disarray? Her thoughts certainly were.
She got very busy picking the wet towel up off the floor, then the skillet. She hung both up neatly, giving her face a chance to cool. That wasn’t quite long enough, so she went back to filling the water wells. The stove would keep the water hot, and they’d have a ready supply of it all day.
How long had she been standing here, working in silence when hello or good morning was absolutely called for?
“What do—” Her voice was husky, all wrong. She cleared her throat and forged on. “What do you two have planned for today?”
The wells full, she pulled the large roasting pan out from a cupboard below the sink. Straightening, she glanced behind her all casual-like, trying to think of what she would normally do if Kevin and Win came in, and she wasn’t all woolly-headed from the kiss she’d just shared with Wyatt.
A kiss.
Her first kiss.
Kevin and Win only had eyes for each other, as always, so Molly calmed down—leastways she calmed down about being caught. She’d be a while calming down about being kissed.
“Would you like a cup of coffee? I’ll join you as soon as I get this roast on to cook.”
“I’ll pour it for us, Molly. Your coffee is so much better than mine. I wish I knew how you do it.”
“If we all three have a cup, that’ll drain the pot. I’ll show you how I make it.”
Win smiled. “Thank you, Molly.” And somehow things were normal. Win was bustling around pouring coffee. Molly was focused on her meal, which didn’t take long.
Then they sat at the table and talked like one of them hadn’t just done the stupidest thing she’d ever heard tell of any woman doing in the history of the world.
Eight
His first kiss. He’d really never thought much about kissing.
Well, some.
But honestly, there were no women around. Well, Cheyenne, but she didn’t count.
And Win had lived here off and on for the last few years, but she didn’t count, either.
Neither did Molly. What in tarnation was he thinking?
Kissing Molly, who’d shown clear as glass that she wanted to leave him, had even moved out until they’d near dragged her back. Kissing her had to be the stupidest thing a man had ever done.
And Wyatt wanted to do it again, bad.
The cowhands were so used to running the place without him while he’d been healing up from being shot that they’d spread out to do whatever needed doing without even talking to him.
And he’d have to track them down if he wanted something to do besides go charging back into the house and kissing Molly again. Right in front of her brother this time.
Oh, there was an idea fit to get a man shot.
He’d noticed Kevin, a usually easygoing farmer from Kansas, had a mean streak. Tough man. Protective. Kevin would feel bad if he shot his own brother. It might only be later, long after the gun smoke had cleared, but then he’d feel bad.
Wyatt reckoned he’d feel bad, too. And having just healed up from being shot, he had no wish to repeat the experience.
He still almost turned back. Fear of getting shot wasn’t enough to stop him, so he near ran to the barn in the brisk wind and the blowing snow. None was coming down now, but what was already on the ground danced as if it were thrilled to be here on earth.
He saddled up a pretty sorrel gelding and rode hard for Cheyenne and Falcon’s cabin. It wasn’t far, which was the thing Wyatt liked most about it, but still too far—because they should’ve just stayed put. Stayed right there in the house instead of leaving Wyatt all alone with beautiful, yellow-haired Molly.
But Cheyenne was gone with her husband, reminding Wyatt he’d lost his place in his sister’s life.
Just as Molly had lost her place in her brother’s.
It made sense that he and Molly could find what they’d lost by turning to each other.
But he didn’t know how to make her see sense.
He had two brothers. One of them had talked the prickliest woman in the whole territory of Wyoming into marrying him. The other one might shoot him just for bringing up his worries.
It was easy to choose Falcon to talk to.
Kevin would probably be cheerful enough about Molly marrying Wyatt and staying at the ranch, but he might not like all that went into bringing her around.
Wyatt was well and truly chilled by the time he got to the line shack. He hadn’t been over this way for a while. Looking at the cabin as he rode up, he was struck by it being really small. Cheyenne was used to a fine house. This cabin had a main room that Nate Brewster had built in his bachelor days, then he’d added on a single bedroom when Ma had married him. Grandpa had lived in a house of similar size. After Nate died, Grandpa built the big house and welcomed Ma and little Cheyenne home.
There was a little entry room. That room slowed down the wind and kept the cabin warmer. The cabin was tightly built. There were sturdy shutters on the few small windows, a good wooden floor. Cupboards and a dry sink inside.
A windmill spun like mad in the late fall wind, and a small barn stood behind the cabin with room enough for a couple of horses and leather. A corral was tacked onto the barn.
That was it.
Wyatt heard chopping in the nearby woods that grew on a slope heading up the hill behind the cabin. Falcon must be fetching kindling for the fire. Instead of seeing if Cheyenne was in the house, he circled the house wide enough so that Cheyenne wouldn’t notice him and rode toward the sound of the chopping.
“Falcon?” Wyatt stopped while he was still well back. He was a cautious man and had no desire for a felled tree to land smack on his head.
The chopping stopped. Falcon came rushing out of the forest, ax raised. “What happened?”
Falcon was always ready for trouble.
“Nothing happened.” Wyatt swung off his horse. “I . . . well, I thought, maybe, uh, you could . . . could use some help over here.” This wasn’t quite true, but maybe chopping wood next to Falcon would help Wyatt get his thoughts in order. Of course, his arm was still a little tender.
“You can’t chop wood the second day you have your sling off. We talked about it last night, and you agreed. So what’s the matter?”
Wyatt met Falcon’s eyes. They were a match in very few ways. They both had Clovis’s eyes and the dimple in their chins. That was all that was the same between them.
“H-how . . .” Wyatt’s throat went a little dry. He hitched his horse to a sapling and walked over to face Falcon, putting off the moment he had to speak. He wasn’t much for talking about his troubles. Truth was, until Clovis’s will, he’d’ve told you he didn’t have any troubles. Well, except for stampeding cattle and unbroken mustangs and gunslinging rustlers, and the o
ccasional rattlesnake, wolf, avalanche, blizzard, that kind of thing. But no real trouble.
He swallowed hard. “How did . . . did . . . did you, um, uh . . . talk Ch-Cheyenne into m-marrying you?”
The tension went out of Falcon’s shoulders. The furrows on his brow smoothed out. Then he grinned. “Trouble with Molly, huh?”
Wyatt felt his face heat up. Being embarrassed was stupid, so instead he got mad. He wanted to slug Falcon in the face and stomp off. But then who’d he ask?
Falcon watched him mighty close—still grinning. And Wyatt had a feeling Falcon was reading what went on inside Wyatt mighty clear.
Including the punch. And he wasn’t one speck afraid.
“Cheyenne’s gonna notice I quit chopping. We really oughta go in and talk about this with her.”
“No!” Wyatt was horrified. Cheyenne would never let him—
“What’s the matter, Wyatt?”
He spun around to look his sister in the eye. She probably saw almost as much as Falcon. She knew him mighty well.
“Having trouble with Molly again?” she asked.
“How do you both know this?”
Cheyenne didn’t smile, not like that half-wit Falcon. Instead, she came up and slung an arm around his shoulders. He wondered if Kevin and Win knew, too. He might’ve saved himself a long ride if he’d just dragged Kevin out of the house and talked to him.
“I think Molly is falling in love with you,” Cheyenne said.
Wyatt’s hopes soared.
“Nope, that ain’t right.” Falcon came up beside Wyatt but didn’t touch him.
Good thing because his words made Wyatt sick and nervous. He didn’t want to hear this.
“Molly is in love with you. No thinkin’, no fallin’. She’s all the way in.”
Maybe he did want to hear it.
“How can either of you know such a thing?”
“I’m not sure what’s going on with Molly leaving the way she did the other night.” Cheyenne’s arm tightened halfway to a hug. “We all decided different things. She wasn’t appreciated. She was working hard at a thankless job.”
Love on the Range Page 5