The waitress returned with a bottle of champagne and four glasses.
Walt peered at the label. “Where’s it from?” he asked as though he was some kind of connoisseur. Sam hid a smile.
“You never could see worth a damn without your glasses,” Ginny said, pulling out a chair and making herself at home. “It’s domestic—from California.” She took Molly’s discarded menu and read through it.
“My eyesight’s good enough to know you’re an interfering old woman,” Walt complained.
“Gramps!”
“Well, she is. No one invited her to dinner.”
“I did,” Molly said.
“When?”
“Just now. Please join us, Ginny. I apologize for my cantankerous ill-mannered grandfather.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Walt growled.
“I brought a wedding present. From Fred and me,” Ginny said, changing the subject before a full-blown argument broke out, which it often did when Ginny and Walt were together. Sam used to wonder why these two fought so much, but over the months, he’d come to realize they enjoyed sparring with each other. He had to admit Walt showed more life when Ginny was around than any other time.
“A present?” Molly sounded delighted.
Sam wanted to kick himself. He should have bought Molly something. Not that he could afford much, but he should’ve picked out some little gift just to reassure her that he wasn’t a heartless cold-blooded bastard marrying her for a piece of land.
“I figured,” Ginny said, “neither Walt nor Sam would’ve done anything about a honeymoon.”
“We couldn’t afford one,” Molly explained, making it sound as if they’d carefully weighed the decision. In reality, not a word had been uttered by either of them.
Once again Sam felt lacking. He hadn’t been a husband more than an hour and already he’d failed Molly. Not once, but twice!
“Well, you’re gonna have a honeymoon now,” Ginny said, grinning sheepishly. She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a key. Holding it up, she let it swing a couple of times before handing it to Sam.
“What’s that?” Walt asked, frowning.
“The key to a hotel room, what else? I booked the best room available, so Molly and Sam can celebrate their wedding night in private.”
Gramps glared at his neighbor. “I wasn’t planning on making a video recording of it, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Gramps!”
“All right, all right,” he muttered, looking none too pleased.
“It was a very thoughtful thing to do,” Molly said. When she realized Sam was watching her, she lowered her gaze.
Sam wondered if anyone else noticed how the tips of her ears turned as red as her hair. So she was a bit hesitant. That was fair; he had a few qualms of his own. It’d been a long stretch since he’d last made love.
Just then the waitress brought the promised platter of appetizers—tiny ones, no more than one bite each, in Sam’s opinion. Things with shrimp and smoked salmon and a white substance that was apparently goat’s cheese. Molly and Ginny loved them, Gramps complained about the size and what he considered odd ingredients, and the boys wolfed down a bunch, surprisingly without comment. Sam ate a couple, finding he wasn’t all that hungry.
“Can I order the lobster?” Clay asked once the appetizers were gone.
“Not now,” Gramps answered. “You can order it when Sam’s buying, not me.”
Clay closed the menu. “I don’t see anything else I’d like.”
“I’m sure there’s something,” Molly said and read off a number of entrées Clay had apparently enjoyed in the past.
The boy repeatedly shook his head. “Can I have chocolate cake and cherry pie, instead?”
“Sure,” Sam answered.
“You most certainly may not,” Molly said at the same time.
Clay frowned. “Can I or can’t I?”
“You’d better not,” Sam answered.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt you this one time,” was Molly’s response.
Again they’d spoken simultaneously.
Sam looked at her and she at him, and they both laughed. It felt good. As far as he was concerned, laughter was something this family could use.
The meal was ordered and the champagne was drunk. With great fanfare Gramps asked for a second bottle to accompany their entrées. He proposed a toast that brought tears to Molly’s eyes, wishing his granddaughter and her husband a marriage as happy as his own had been.
Ginny wasn’t the only one who came to offer congratulations. Twice during the meal, businessmen stopped by their table to shake Sam’s hand and to offer their best wishes. The Wheaton name had been part of the Sweetgrass community for a lot of years. In other circumstances Sam might have resented the intrusions, but not now. He was being welcomed. He’d become part of the community, no longer a drifter, a man without roots. This marriage made people feel differently about him; he understood that. It meant he’d made a commitment not only to Molly but to a vision of the future. Sweetgrass was where he belonged and where he intended to stay.
A sense of well-being filled him. In one twenty-four-hour period, he’d gained a wife and family and found a home. A man couldn’t ask for much more than that.
By the time they returned to the ranch it was after nine. Sam quickly changed out of his jacket, dress shirt and string tie into a comfortable pair of jeans and Western-style shirt. First thing in the morning, he’d move his things out of the small house and into Molly’s bedroom upstairs in the ranch house. Molly might think she’d gotten a reprieve, but he had news for her. She was his wife and he wasn’t planning to sleep alone ever again.
For their night in the hotel, Sam packed his shaving kit and little else. When he’d finished, he got the truck and went to pick up Molly. She was ready, a suitcase in her hand. Walt hugged her goodbye and she clung to him.
She lingered over both her children before walking down the porch steps to the truck, where Sam waited patiently. Her eyes shyly met his as he leaned across the seat and opened the passenger door.
In minutes they were on the road again.
Sam toyed with the idea of initiating a conversation, but there was only one subject on his mind and he didn’t figure talking about it would help.
As they neared town, he slowed down so that he was driving well within the legal limit. Wouldn’t Sheriff Maynard just welcome the opportunity to throw his butt in jail on his wedding night? Sam didn’t plan to give him the chance.
The hotel was on the outskirts of town. The neon sign was old, and the V in vacancy had burned out. Molly waited in the truck while he went inside to sign the register.
“Well, hello there,” Bob Jenkins greeted him from behind the counter. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“That’s right,” Sam said. Although he had the key, Ginny had explained he’d need to check in before going up to the room.
“The missus put a bottle of champagne on ice for you and the new wife,” Bob said.
“That’s great.” Although Sam figured they’d probably had enough champagne. “Thank you from us both.”
“Don’t worry none about neighbors, either. Business has been kinda slow lately and I’ll make sure whoever checks in won’t be anywhere near your room.”
Sam nodded, pleased to know they’d have a lot of privacy. He signed his name with a flourish and hurried back to Molly. She was huddled against the passenger door.
He started the engine. “You aren’t nervous, are you?”
“No,” she said quickly. Perhaps too quickly.
“Good.”
“I…I’m relieved we decided to do the intelligent thing and wait before entering into the, uh, physical aspect of this marriage.”
Sam frowned, recalling no such agreement. “Wait? You and me? This is a joke, right?”
“But we agreed…I assumed we had, anyway. When we spoke in the car—the day we applied for the license…You don’t act
ually think we’re going to make love tonight, do you? We barely know each other!”
Now Sam was worried. “That’s not the way I understood it.”
“It isn’t?”
“I told you up front that I fully expect this to be more than a business agreement, and you agreed. Not with a lot of enthusiasm, perhaps, but you did agree to become my wife in every sense of the word.”
“Yes, I know—but not right away. I thought…I believed you understood that. I wanted us to become…familiar with each other first.”
He clenched the steering wheel with a ferocity that whitened his knuckles.
“Molly, I want to make love to you tonight.”
“No matter how I feel? You said yourself you don’t love me.”
“But I like you and respect you. We’re attracted to each other—our kisses tell me that much. Isn’t that enough?”
She took a long time answering. “No…it’s not.”
Eleven
Pearl wondered if wives realized how much business she enjoyed because they refused to make love with their husbands. More than one miserable man had sought her out because of his wife’s recurring “headaches.” As a rule a married man went to his wife first and Pearl second. She was convinced half her clientele would rather have stayed home with their wives, if only the women had been a bit more accommodating.
The man sitting at the bar was a prime example. He looked like he was about to cry in his beer. Pearl read the signs like the pro she was. The gold band on his finger told her he was married. The scenarios ran pretty much alike: husband and wife would argue and he’d leave the house, needing time away to cool down. These couples had forgotten that making up should be fun and it should happen in bed. A few of the men went to Pearl to restore their damaged egos. Some visited her on impulse. Others craved a little tenderness even if they had to pay for it. Then there were the angry men, looking for someone on whom they could take out their rage. Those were the ones Pearl avoided.
It was difficult to tell which category the cowboy at the bar fell into. She walked over to where he sat and slipped onto the stool next to him.
“Hello, there,” she said in a husky provocative voice. “You’re looking lonely.”
He ignored her.
Pearl was accustomed to the cold shoulder, but she knew how to work her way around that. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
No response.
“Al, I’ll take a bloody Mary,” she called. The bartender acknowledged her order with a nod and she winked. Pearl rarely drank mixed drinks, and Al knew to make hers a virgin.
“Problems at home, cowboy?” she asked gently.
He glanced in her direction—an encouraging sign. She smiled prettily and, without being too obvious about it, made sure he got a good view of her assets. He downed his drink in short order, and Pearl noted the way his hand shook as he lowered the glass. Her guess was the argument he’d had with his wife had to do with sex. This guy was so damned hot, she could feel the heat radiating off him.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, and leaned forward to suck on the colored straw.
“No.”
Ever so lightly Pearl placed her long nails on his forearm. “Want to do something about it?”
She had his full attention now. In no hurry, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, cold now from the iced drink and reddened from the spicy tomato juice. The cowboy didn’t seem able to stop looking at her mouth.
“Nobody can take care of you better than Pearl,” she promised, and took a long exaggerated suck from the straw.
He shut his eyes.
The battle was half-won. Pearl smiled to herself.
To her surprise he slapped his money on the bar and started to leave. He hadn’t taken more than two or three steps before he hesitated.
Pearl sensed that he was weakening and followed him outside. This wouldn’t take long. Johns like this cowboy were ready to explode before she had a chance to remove her underwear. She considered them easy money.
“My place is right around the corner,” she told him, tucking her hands in her jacket pockets.
“I’m not interested.”
“Don’t be so hasty. I’m good, cowboy, and I can help you forget whatever’s troubling you. Come on, let Pearl make it better.”
“Just how good are you, Pearl?” he asked, standing outside his truck, his hand on the door.
It wasn’t a question she was often asked. Generally, all men cared about was a willing body. Any sexual finesse was lost on them.
“Good enough to satisfy you, cowboy.”
He laughed once, abruptly.
She held her arms open to him. “Pearl will take care of you. Satisfaction guaranteed.”
He rubbed his face with a shaking hand. “Are you good enough to satisfy a bridegroom on his wedding night?”
She’d heard some good lines in her time, but this was a new one. “Sure, honey, whatever you need. Let Pearl take the ache away. I promise to do the job a whole lot better than a couple of aspirin.” She slipped her arms around his waist and moved suggestively against him, letting him feel the lush fullness of her breasts and inhale the scent of her perfume. She refused to use cheap perfume.
“Sorry. Like I said, I’m not interested.” He spoke slowly, thoughtfully, and put his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her away.
The regret and disappointment she heard in him tugged at her heart. Pearl hadn’t really known she possessed a heart until Russell. Although she was grateful for everything he’d done for her, she didn’t want to care or have feelings when it came to dealing with her customers. She provided a service, one devoid of emotion or sentiment. She was a businesswoman who appreciated her own value. Repeat business was her staple, and once she’d given a man a satisfactory experience, she encouraged him to set up a regular time with her, even offering a discount program. Monroe didn’t know anything about that, not that he would’ve cared. All that concerned him was the money he collected from her and the other girls.
This cowboy had the potential to become the kind of customer she liked best. She could persuade him; she felt sure of it. She’d persuaded men like him before. Yet she hesitated. He was an emotional wreck. While she offered a temporary solution, sex with her wouldn’t help him if his bride found out.
“Do you love her?” Pearl asked softly, barely knowing where the question came from.
The cowboy didn’t answer right away. “I guess I must, otherwise that skirt you’re wearing would be over your head by now.”
“Then go back.”
He shook his head. “She doesn’t want me touching her. She’s not interested.”
Pearl laughed. “Listen, I don’t pretend to know a lot about human nature, but if she married you, trust me, she’s interested.”
The cowboy wanted to believe her. Pearl saw it in the fierce way his eyes held hers. “This isn’t a normal marriage,” he said, shaking his head.
“What marriage is?” Pearl wrapped her hand around his forearm, letting her long painted nails gently scrape the inside of his elbow. “Listen to me, cowboy, I don’t care what led up to your marriage—she wants you.”
“That’s not what she’s saying.”
“I’ll tell you what. You go back, and if you can’t settle this with her, find me and I’ll give you one on the house.” Pearl had never before made that type of offer. But if his bride wasn’t a born idiot, she’d appreciate the good man she’d married and count her blessings.
The cowboy looked like he was in grave danger of smiling. “You honestly think it’d help if I went back?”
“I do.”
He gave a deep, shuddering sigh. “Then I will.” He opened the truck and bounded inside. As the engine fired to life, he glanced at her. “Thanks.”
“Not a problem.” But it was. Loving Russell had changed her, and she stood at a crossroads. Either she continued on with the only life she’d ever known or she changed. Russell had repeatedly
asked her to marry him. He didn’t understand what she was really involved in. Nor did he understand that if they were seen together, he’d be in danger. So would she. He continually told her how smart she was, but it wasn’t true. If she was even half as smart as he believed, she’d find a way to marry the only man she’d ever loved.
The ice cooling the champagne had long since melted. Molly sat on the edge of the bed, more miserable than she could remember being since the judge had declared her divorce from Daniel final. A second marriage was quite possibly the only thing that could drag her this low.
For the past few days she’d actually looked forward to marrying Sam, but this evening, as the time for their so-called honeymoon arrived, she’d started to worry. Being alone in a hotel room hadn’t been part of the plan. Not her plan, anyway. She would have preferred their first night together to be in the comfort and familiarity of the ranch. But then Ginny and Fred had given them this honeymoon night, and Molly didn’t have the heart to disappoint them.
The problem was with herself, Molly realized, and her fear of letting anyone get close, even the man she’d married just hours before. Intimacy terrified her, and because she’d been afraid, because the thought of allowing Sam to touch her and hold her had frightened her, she’d sent him away.
Panic had set in when they reached the hotel. Sam had been quick to remind her of her promise to him, and an argument had immediately ensued. Molly couldn’t remember everything she’d said, but whatever it was, she regretted it. Sam had dropped her off and driven away, tires squealing. And so Molly had been left to fret and wonder where he was and what he was doing.
With her arms folded around her middle, she paced the floor, feeling wretched and defeated.
For a while she convinced herself she didn’t even want to know where he’d gone.
Like hell she didn’t. This was her wedding night, and she was minus a bridegroom. Minus her pride and dignity. Every doubt she’d harbored after divorcing Daniel returned full force. He’d left her for someone else and claimed she’d driven him away. She’d protested the accusation loud and long, yet she was driving her second husband away in what appeared to be record time. It’d taken all of four years for Daniel to leave her and less than four hours for Sam to walk out.
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