Eventually, because she trusted him, Pearl told him her most shameful secret—that she’d never learned to read. Pearl had never written a check, never become engrossed in a good book or followed a recipe. She’d wept and hidden her face after he learned the truth. Unlike others who’d snickered and called her stupid, Russell had kissed away her tears and said he’d teach her himself. That was the day her entire world changed.
They had become lovers, but not right away. Not for several weeks. He was a considerate lover, passionate and caring. It was with him that Pearl made love for the first time in her life. Afterward she wept in his arms and he’d held her against him and wept with her.
They never talked about what she did at night. The subject was as taboo as the future.
Pearl didn’t know if this was love. All she knew was that she felt something for Russell she’d never felt for anyone else. She lived for Sundays, for their time together. Although she’d never been much of a housekeeper, she discovered how much she enjoyed cooking. Each week she tried out new recipes, cooking and serving him gourmet meals. Pearl liked to pretend this was her real life, these few stolen hours away from Sweetgrass, and everything else a bad dream from which she would eventually awake.
Two a.m. Friday, after she’d finished for the night, Pearl heard the back door open. Adrenaline shot through her blood, and she stiffened. Only one person had a key to her back door; only one person would dare to come to her this late. The man she hated. Monroe, Russell’s cousin. How could any two men be less alike? Monroe controlled her and a dozen other women in a number of small towns across northwestern Montana. He kept her customers in line, supplied her with condoms at a discount and made frequent use of her body himself.
“Pearl.” He slurred her name, his voice demanding and impatient.
She closed her eyes and cringed. He’d been drinking. Sometimes he was a mean drunk, and it often took a week for the bruises to fade. Other times he was like a child. A few months earlier, when he’d been drunk, he’d tied her to the bed, and by the time he’d finished with her, she’d been frantic, certain he intended to kill her.
“Pearl.” He called for her again, sounding now like a little boy who’d had his toy taken away. A little boy in need of his mother. Pearl’s shoulders sagged with relief. The little boy she could handle; the mean drunk frightened her.
“I’m here, baby,” she replied softly, slipping into character.
She heard him make his way down the dark hallway and forced herself to smile when he stood in her doorway looking lost and forlorn in the soft haze of her bedside lamp.
“Do you want Mama to make it all better for you?” she murmured sympathetically.
He unhitched his belt buckle and nodded.
“I’ve been waiting all night for you.” She said the well-practiced line as she untied the sash to her silk robe. “You know how very special you are to me. Come to Mama, and let me make it all better for you.”
“That’s why I’m here. Make it better, Pearl. Make it better.”
She managed a smile—more of a grimace—as he crossed the room and fell on top of her, crushing her with his weight. He smelled of hard liquor and cigarettes. She barely had time to fit him with a condom before he was gasping and moaning, his head thrown back and his teeth clenched.
Pearl closed her eyes and turned her head away, praying he’d finish soon. With her eyes shut she could dream of the day she’d be free of him and all the other men like him.
Walt smiled slightly at the identical looks of shock on Molly’s face and Sam’s. If he hadn’t been serious, he might have laughed outright. But the suggestion that they get married made sense to him. A lot of sense. To be fair it had only occurred to him recently, so he couldn’t blame Molly or Sam for overlooking the obvious when the idea was almost as new to him as it was to them.
Sam stared at Walt in a way that implied there was more wrong with him than a bum heart. Molly’s eyes were the most telling; they snapped like fire on wood too green to burn properly.
“Gramps.”
“Walt.”
“Let’s sit on the porch a spell,” Walt said. He’d always loved the peacefulness of a summer evening. He liked to imagine his Molly rocking at his side, and in a spiritual way he believed she’d never really left him. He felt her presence far more than her absence these days, and suspected that was because he’d be joining her soon. No doctor needed to tell him his days were numbered. Walt felt it himself, and difficult as it was to leave his granddaughter and her boys, he was ready to go.
Easing himself into the rocking chair, he waited for one or other of the pair to raise the first objection. He chuckled softly when he realized they were still too dumbfounded to speak.
“You think this is funny, old man?” Sam asked in a hard voice.
His foreman generally didn’t use that tone with him, but Walt forgave him, considering that Sam had spent most of the past three days in the saddle, chasing cattle.
“Gramps, I don’t think you understand what you’re saying,” Molly offered next in gentler tones.
“You think I’m senile, girl, is that what you mean? I realize this is something of a shock, but let’s be realistic. I’m not going to be around much longer and—”
“Don’t say that,” Molly interrupted, more comfortable with her denials than facing her fears.
A sigh rumbled through Sam’s chest. “You’re talking nonsense, old man.”
Walt’s amusement didn’t fade. He hadn’t expected either of them to take to his idea right off. The first time it had popped into his mind he’d immediately assumed it wouldn’t work, either; on closer examination, however, the wisdom of it became apparent. He sincerely hoped these two had enough common sense to recognize that. To see the advantages.
“You takin’ that job offer?” Walt asked, pinning Sam with narrowed eyes.
“I already explained. I don’t hand out charity and I don’t expect any, either.” Sam’s expression was as unyielding as his voice.
“Molly can’t manage this place on her own,” Walt continued. “What I’m asking you, Sam, is this: are you planning on walking out on her and the boys the minute I’m six feet under?”
Sam didn’t respond, not that Walt blamed him.
“I don’t need him,” Molly said defiantly.
“That pride of yours is going to get you into nothing but trouble, girl,” Walt said. “Without the right kind of help you’d lose the ranch inside a month. Are you ready to wipe out four generations of history because you’re too damn proud to admit you need Sam?”
“I need someone to manage the place, I’ll admit that, but a husband I can live without.”
“I’m not looking for a wife, either,” Sam snarled. He crossed his arms, leaned against the porch railing and stared down at the newly painted wood-plank floor.
“It wouldn’t be a real marriage,” Gramps said. He’d mulled this part over, and he figured that if they weren’t interested in a normal marriage, a business arrangement might be the best solution. Although he suspected that this marriage of convenience wouldn’t remain merely a convenience for long….
In the months since Sam had come to work for him, Walt had grown fond of him. His own son was long dead, and because he loved Molly, he worried about her future and that of his great-grandsons. In his view, she needed a man, and he could think of no better man for her than Sam Dakota.
“You’re talking about a marriage of convenience?” Molly asked, folding her arms. “You mean to say people actually agree to that sort of thing in this day and age?”
“It makes sense,” Gramps said mildly.
“Not to me, it doesn’t,” Sam muttered. “When and if I marry, it isn’t going to be any business arrangement. My wife will share my life and my bed.”
Molly’s chin rose a defiant notch at the mention of his bed. “This entire thing is out of the question.”
“If you’d both quit being so damn stubborn and hear me out, then maybe you’d l
earn something.” Walt knew his strength was limited, and he didn’t want to waste it arguing with two stubborn fools. He inhaled deeply and started again. “First of all, Sam, you should be able to appreciate Molly’s concern. For all either one of us knows, you’ll hire out somewhere else. You’ve already started looking.”
“Exactly.” Molly glared at Sam as if to say she doubted she’d ever be able to trust him; Sam frowned back at her. Walt shook his head, but he understood their need for defenses far better than they realized.
Sam’s mouth thinned. “Walt, what makes you think marrying Molly would help?”
“Because you’d have a vested interest in keeping this ranch in the black.”
“Are you suggesting I’m not giving one hundred percent right now?”
The fact that he was nearly dead on his feet said more about his commitment to the ranch than any statement he could have made. “It’s because you have worked hard that I’m prepared to make you this offer,” Gramps replied quietly.
“Offer?” Molly exclaimed. “Exactly what is it you’re suggesting?”
Walt liked how she drove straight to the point. His own Molly had been like that, but her ways were more subtle. The hard edge around his granddaughter’s heart was because of the divorce. She’d made one mistake in judgment and intended to punish herself for the rest of her life. Yes, the more he thought about it, this marriage would be good for her. Good for Sam, too.
Walt loved Molly, loved Tom and Clay. His blood flowed in their veins. They were all he had left in this world, other than the land his father had handed down to him. Persuading them to go along with this marriage might be the last thing he could do for her. The last way he had of protecting her future. And dammit, that was important.
“I was thinking…” Gramps’s voice was almost a whisper, so depleted was his energy. It was a task to find the right words. “I’d feel better leaving your care in the hands of someone I trust.”
“I already told you, Gramps—I don’t need someone to take care of me! And I don’t need a husband.” She glanced at him sharply. “Gramps, you’re tired!” When he shook his head, she sighed. “Look,” she began, “let’s say we were to agree to this preposterous idea. There’s nothing to prevent Sam from walking out on me after we’re married.”
“Not if he’s got something of value at stake.”
“Like what?” Sam asked. He uncrossed his arms and rested his hands on the railing, leaning forward slightly.
“Five hundred acres and fifty head of cattle.”
Molly gasped and her face turned a deep shade of red. “You’re offering him land and cattle to marry me? A dowry? Now, I know they don’t still do that.”
“I’m offering Sam what he’s always wanted,” Gramps explained. No use wrapping it up in a silk bow. It was the truth, as plain and simple as he could make it. “A man will fight to the death for land and cattle.”
“And dump a wife and family in a heartbeat!”
“You appear to hold a low opinion of men,” Sam stated matter-of-factly, revealing none of the emotion Walt knew simmered below the surface. Molly was at a disadvantage; she hadn’t known Sam nearly as long as he had. The adage “still waters run deep” had been coined for men like him.
Sam hadn’t said much about his background, but Walt trusted him. Completely. He’d handed over the management of his ranch, and when it would have been easy to steal from him or cheat him, Sam hadn’t. Not by so much as a penny. He worked hard, and Walt couldn’t ask for more than that.
Only, he was asking. He wanted Sam to marry Molly. To be a father to Molly’s sons. Walt yearned to know that when they carried him to his grave his family and his land would be in the hands of a man who’d take care of them.
“What you make of the marriage is up to you,” Gramps said, glancing from one to the other. Weary now, he closed his eyes. He almost wished he could be around to see the battle. Molly would put up a good fight and so would Sam, but he’d wager a year’s income that it wouldn’t be long before they fell in love.
His biggest regret was that he wouldn’t know their children or hold them close to his heart.
“Walt?” Sam’s voice caused his eyes to flutter open.
“You are tired.” Molly spoke softly. She sounded so much like his Molly that Walt was confused for a second.
“Let’s help him inside,” Sam was saying.
Molly must have agreed, because the next thing Walt knew the two of them had escorted him into his bedroom. It was the only one on the main floor; the other five were upstairs. “Get out of here,” he said, using the small reservoir of strength that remained. “I can undress myself. You two go talk.” He aimed his look in Molly’s direction. He felt that of the two, she was the one who needed convincing most.
“Talk some sense into her, boy,” Walt advised.
“I think you’re both crazy!” Molly cried. “Get this straight right now, Sam Dakota. I’m not marrying you. I’d be a fool to agree to anything so…so…”
“Ridiculous,” Sam supplied.
Molly’s mouth sagged open and she nodded. “That’s exactly the word I was searching for. It is ridiculous. That my own flesh and blood would suggest such a thing…”
“Perhaps we should let Walt rest now,” Sam said as if fed up with the subject.
It would take an extraordinary man—a strong and honest man—to handle his granddaughter, Walt decided. He was convinced Sam was that man.
Now all he had to do was convince Molly.
If he hadn’t heard it with his own ears, Sam would never have believed that Walt had actually suggested he and Molly get married.
Molly appeared none too pleased with the idea, either. “I want you to know up front that nothing you say is going to change my mind,” she said the minute she walked out of her grandfather’s bedroom.
“I didn’t say I was interested in marrying you,” Sam returned.
“You didn’t have to.” She marched into the kitchen, grabbed the kettle and stuck it under the faucet. “It’s nothing personal, but I have no desire to marry again.”
“Fine.” He wasn’t in any mood to argue with her, although in all honesty the sound of those five hundred acres and fifty head of cattle appealed to him. He’d be a liar if he claimed otherwise.
But if he’d wanted to get married, he’d have done so long before now. Still might. But like he’d told Walt, he wouldn’t enter into any marriage of convenience; he and his wife would sleep in the same bed.
He had to admit it, though—for a moment insanity had taken hold and he’d been tempted. Damn tempted. Land and cattle were a hell of an incentive.
Feeling wearier than he’d ever been in his life, he headed out the door. It banged shut behind him, the sound echoing in the silence of the night. Tom met him halfway across the yard, followed by Boris, the father of Natasha’s litter. The Stetson was a good fit, shading his youthful face. Tom hitched his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans the way Sam did and walked with a stride that suggested a swagger. A cowboy stride.
“What’d Gramps have to say?” the boy asked.
“He, uh, had an idea.”
“For what?”
Sam grinned, wondering what Tom would say if he knew. Well, damned if he was going to be the one to tell him. “Ask your mother.”
“I know she won’t tell me, but I was thinking you might.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Tom walked up to the corral and braced his right foot on the bottom rail.
Sam stood beside him and experienced a sort of twinge. A strange feeling. One he had difficulty defining. The tiredness had seeped into his bones, and he was ready to call it a night. But he lingered, looking out over the property. He could see it clearly, despite the darkness and the wan moonlight. And he knew that without him, without someone like him, it would all come to nothing.
A coyote cried in the distance, and Sam’s gaze returned to the boy at his side.
Sam had wasted a lot of year
s on the rodeo circuit, chasing an empty dream. Killing himself one bull ride at a time. In the end all he had to show for it was a bad back, a pretty belt buckle and a broken-down truck. It wasn’t long before he’d added a prison sentence to his list of accomplishments.
Tom looked up at him and grinned. “It doesn’t get any better than this, does it?”
Sam laughed. “You’ve been watching too much television, kid.”
Tom’s face fell, and Sam could see he’d offended him. He cut his laughter short and patted Tom’s shoulder. “It’s late. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Okay.” The boy’s eagerness was undisguised, and Sam was relieved his thoughtless amusement hadn’t damaged their relationship. As Tom loped off, Sam glanced over his shoulder and grinned at him.
“I would’ve been proud to call you son,” he murmured.
The light on the porch behind him suddenly came on, and he turned to see Molly standing there, watching him. She was a fine-looking woman, too stubborn for her own good, but then he was far from perfect himself.
In time he suspected she’d remarry. Probably someone like that attorney. Well, no denying it, Russell Letson would make her a hell of a better husband than he ever would.
For the life of her Molly couldn’t sleep. She’d tossed and turned so many times that the sheet had wrapped itself around her legs, binding her at the knees.
Groaning, she reached for the lamp on the nightstand and switched it on. Light flooded the room, and Molly squinted until her eyes adjusted, then glanced at the clock radio.
Three a.m.
She wouldn’t do it. That was all there was to it. Marriage was never intended to be a business arrangement. It still irked her, the way Sam’s eyes had lit up at the mention of land and cattle. Gramps hadn’t a clue how badly he’d insulted her! He would never intentionally hurt her, of that Molly was certain. But his suggestion had opened her eyes to the truth.
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