by Laurie Paige
He lingered, wanting a response from her, but she simply stood still, as if waiting for him to finish so she could get on with her chores. He pressed harder. Her lips moved slightly.
Fighting the urge to haul her into his arms, he jerked his hat down firmly on his head and headed outside. A friend, he reminded himself. Not a lover. A friend.
“No, no, I’m sorry, but this isn’t right. Let’s move it back.” Molly lifted her end of the table.
Sam hefted the other. They moved the heavy drop-leaf table back to its original position. He waited, for her next command.
She realized what the problem was. The sitting room in the master suite was the perfect place for Sam’s desk, not the formal dining room. The modern computer furniture didn’t fit in with the carved walnut set.
However, until she moved out of the room, Sam could hardly claim it for an office. And she wasn’t moving out, not until something changed between them.
Until he wanted her for herself.
“Okay, that’s it. You can escape back into the great outdoors,” she said, maintaining the light tone she’d managed for the past six days.
She hesitated, then went to him, unsure of what she was going to do. The week had been a tense one. Even the two cowboys had sensed it as they helped move furniture from her cottage to the ranch house.
It was difficult to maintain a facade of happiness in the face of Tiffany’s probing interest. And the pastor’s wife. They were keeping an eye on her, watching for signs of trouble.
She wasn’t going to confess her marriage was on the rocks before it had even sailed out of the harbor.
But one thing she’d resolved. Her husband was going to know she was there, a part of his life whether he wanted her or not. He’d tried to avoid her all week, getting up and out of the house before the sun rose each morning, appearing only for meals, then again at bedtime. It was like being married to a ghost.
That had to change. Going to him, she put a hand on his shoulder and leaned against his arm companion-ably, making no demands one way or another. Under the cambric shirt, she felt his muscles tense and hold.
There was an attraction, and she was going to make the most of it. She liked touching, she’d discovered. It hadn’t been a momentary madness. She was more sensual than she’d known.
And if it drove him crazy, so much the better.
She took pleasure in the strength and warmth of his body. She liked his bigness and no longer felt intimidated by it. A man who could handle a child the way he handled Lass was no threat to a woman.
In their six days of marriage, she’d learned more about herself than Sam. One thing—she wasn’t the patient person she’d thought she was. A second thing-she wasn’t above using those feminine wiles she’d read about on him.
Leaning into him, she let him take a bit of her weight, knowing he could also feel the warmth of her body along his side as she did his. Then she moved away and let him go.
When he walked out without saying a word, she followed him. She went over to the paddock where the red mustang munched on the few blades of grass that pushed through the compacted soil. After gathering several handfuls of grass, she leaned over the railing and held it out to him. He lifted his head and tweaked his ears toward her.
They stayed that way several minutes.
At last the stallion couldn’t stand it. He ambled over and sniffed at the offering. Finally he decided to eat it.
Molly held her hand flat so the horse didn’t accidentally chomp on a finger. When the grass was gone, she wiped her hand on the side of her jeans.
“Here’s a bucket of feed,” Sam said, coming out of the stable. “Hold it and let him eat from it.” He handed it to her and stepped back from the fence.
She did as directed. The big horse stuck his head in the container and whuffled in delight. The sound of corn and oats being cracked between strong teeth made her a bit nervous.
The bucket was awkward and too heavy to hold over the railing for long. Finally she climbed up two rails and was able to lower her arms to a more comfortable position.
“Hang the bucket over the post and stroke his neck,” Sam called softly.
She hung the wire handle over the support post. The stallion followed as if he were a trained pet. She gingerly touched its neck. The powerful muscles twitched. She flinched in nervous reaction, then tried again.
The horse hadn’t allowed her to touch it since she’d swatted it on the nose, then fed it the grass to say she was sorry. The mustang had galloped to the far side each time she’d paused by the fence and talked to it. Now it stood still, listening to her voice while it ate.
Laying her hand flat on the beast’s neck, she rubbed down to the shoulder, then did it again. Feeling bolder, she ran her fingers under the heavy mane and through the rough hair, smoothing out some of the tangles.
The stallion shook his head and rolled his eyes.
“That’s enough,” Sam told her. “He’s getting nervous. The bucket’s empty. Move slowly and bring it with you.”
She unhooked the handle and lifted it to her side of the fence. She climbed down to- the ground, then walked toward Sam. He was grinning as if she’d done something great. She did feel a bit cocky about her success.
When she stopped in front of him, he hooked an arm around her shoulders and took the bucket from her. “You’re going to tame him yet,” he exclaimed exultantly.
Their eyes met. The smiles of triumph disappeared.
They stopped outside the stable door. Around them, tree frogs and crickets sang to the coming night. To her, it seemed like a love song. A shiver chased over her.
“It’s getting cold,” Sam murmured, his gaze on her mouth. “You’d better go in. We’ll be ready to eat in a half hour.”
She nodded. They lingered in the twilight.
Slowly he bent his head. Her breath came out in a shaky sigh. Begin as you mean to go on. She raised one hand and touched his cheek. Very gently. As if he were the stallion that needed taming.
She saw desire flame in his eyes and felt an answer in herself, that slow-fast buildup of heat and longing. His muscles bunched and she waited for him to take action.
For a heart-stopping moment, she thought he might overrule caution and carry her inside as he’d done that first night, but he simply heaved a deep breath and let her go.
It was extremely frustrating. If he wanted her, why had he insisted they needed time to get to know each other?
She went inside to see if Lass was awake. She was.
“Hi, fussy thing,” she said with a sympathetic smile at the child when she went into the bedroom and flicked on the light.
The baby was teething. Top and bottom teeth were erupting almost simultaneously. Lass was irritable. Her sleeping habits had become unpredictable. They had hardly slept two hours in a single span for the last four nights.
Molly decided she’d give the child some baby pain reliever when she went to bed for the night. “Come on, we’ll have some dinner before Da-da and the men have theirs.” She lifted Lass from the crib and carried her to the kitchen.
When Sam and the cowboys came in, Lass had more food on her and the high chair than in her tummy. She whimpered and waved her arms on seeing her father, knocking the spoon from Molly’s hand and sending pureed apples across Molly’s shirt and the floor, which had already been mopped twice that day.
Her success with the horse wasn’t being repeated with the child. Lass was as cross as a sore-tailed coyote and didn’t want anything to do with her.
“I’ll take care of it,” Sam said. He swiped up the floor with a damp paper towel. He handed another one to Molly after glancing at the apples sprayed across her chest.
While she wiped her shirt, Sam worked on Lass, getting most of her supper down her by teasing and playing with her.
Molly felt the foolish press of tears. She had set the table when the two ranch hands came in, washed and ready for the meal. Five minutes later, they sat down to eat.
> When Lass started crying, she sprang to her feet, but Sam was already up. He held Lass and paced the floor while Molly and the men ate.
“Getting hot now,” Tom told her. “The hay is coming along. We’ll be able to cut the first lot by the end of May if the weather stays this warm.”
She’d asked so many questions about ranching that the men, especially Tom, who she suspected was a little sweet on her, automatically filled her in on what they were doing and what was coming up. Sam scowled and said nothing.
When Sandy finished his meal, he took Lass and walked up and down the kitchen floor with her, keeping her quiet. When Molly finished, she took her turn.
Sam cleaned up the kitchen after sending the men to the bunkhouse for the night. Molly gave Lass a teething ring and put her in the high chair.
“You look tired,” Sam commented.
She pushed a strand of loose hair out of her face. “I never realized what a blessing it is to send children home with their parents, at the end of the day.”
He nodded. “I thought I was going to lose my mind that first couple of months with Lass. She seemed to cry all the time. One night I couldn’t stay awake any longer. I fell asleep in front of the TV. When I woke at dawn, I realized Lass had either slept all night or cried herself back to sleep if she woke up. At any rate, she slept all night from then on. It was a relief.”
“I can imagine.”
“She’s been a good baby, otherwise.”
“She’s adorable, but it does make me anxious when she cries. I feel I have to do something for her right away. Being a parent isn’t as easy as it sounds in the books.”
“Ah,” he drawled, “the wisdom of experience.”
She smiled. Between rearranging her time and running the nursery school, getting herself and her personal items settled in the ranch house, and taking over some of the care of Lass and the house, she felt as tired as a new parent.
“I’ve found someone to do the housework,” she told him.
“Who?”
“A Mrs. Stevens. She helps in the nursery at church sometimes. She’s a widow.”
“I don’t know her.” His face hardened. “You’re not to let anyone around Lass without my approval.”
She was dumbfounded by this order.
“Her grandfather—” He stopped abruptly.
“Surely you don’t think Mr. Tisdale would try to kidnap her, do you? He couldn’t possibly get away with it.”
“I don’t trust him. Lass isn’t to be left alone with anyone at any time.’’
“I leave her with Tiffany at school when I have errands.” She reminded him rather stiffly.
He frowned. “I guess that’s all right. Make sure Tiffany knows not to go off and leave those teenagers in charge.”
“The nursery is my responsibility. I’ll handle my staff.”
He started to say something more, something harsh she was sure, but he refrained. “Just make sure they know about Lass. No one, but no one, takes her anywhere but me or you.”
“I’ll see that they understand the rules.”
“I…” He raked a hand through his hair, which was developing lighter streaks from his days in the sun. She’d often seen him with his hat and shirt hanging on a post while he worked at branding the calves, a task she couldn’t watch.
“Yes?” she asked, coolness in her tone.
He sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I know you’ll watch over Lass.”
“Did you ever think that you might win your former father-in-law to your side if you tried a different tactic with him?”
His scowl returned. “Like what?”
“Inviting him over to see Lass. Acting friendly. Making the first move. The flies and honey trick.” She ended on a lighter note, seeing his frown deepen.
“There are some things that can’t be changed,” he told her in a voice like ice shards. “I don’t want him near Lass.” He caught her arm. “Don’t try any of your schoolteacher tricks on him. They won’t work.”
She didn’t say anything. His distrust of people rose like a wall between them.
Chapter Eight
“Are you sure you want to sign this?”
Sam nodded. He had no choice. “Yes.”
His attorney gave a resigned shrug and pushed the document across the desk.
Picking up a pen, Sam flipped to the second page and signed his name on the line. Of all the uncertainties in his life, this wasn’t one of them.
If anything happened to him, his wife, Molly Clel-land Frazier, would inherit the ranch free and clear. She would also become a cotrustee of Lass’s fortune, along with the lawyer and the bank.
He’d also given Molly his living power of attorney in case he became incapacitated for some reason.
“Are you going to let Molly adopt Lass?” Chuck asked.
Sam looked at him blankly.
“If she becomes Lass’s legal mother and you two get a divorce, she’ll have equal rights to custody.” The attorney looked worried. “She might anyway.”
“Molly doesn’t believe in divorce.”
“Yeah, and lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place.” Chuck gave him a sharp glance, then picked up the will, looked it over and replaced it in the file folder. “Does she know she’s your chief beneficiary, and that she holds the power of life and death over you?”
“Not yet.”
“Maybe you’d better not tell her until you see how things go. You might change your mind. I’ve seen more than one man make serious mistakes in the throes of… uh, early marriage.”
Sam didn’t care for the cynical remarks. Besides, Chuck didn’t know the half of it. Since there was no sex between them, he wasn’t in danger of losing his mind because of it.
However, he might due to the lack of it.
Something had changed, but he didn’t know what it was. If he hadn’t known her better, he would swear Molly was acting the temptress. Only she was more subtle about it than any woman he’d ever known. There was something so naturally innocent about her. She couldn’t have a conniving bone in her body.
But sometimes, when she looked at him in a certain way… Well, it stirred the blood and made him dream of nights with her in his arms. Sometimes he thought she did it deliberately.
No, he knew Molly. She wasn’t a vamp. Neither was she out for the main chance. She had a comfortable nest egg put away, and her nursery earned a darn decent living. She didn’t need anything from him.
“You were the one who told me to marry her,” he reminded the other man.
Chuck gave him a severe look. “Yeah, but I didn’t tell you to put your life and fortune in her hands.”
“Who else have I got?” Sam pushed up from the chair and headed for the door. He paused before leaving and gave his friend a cynical grin. “My lawyer and banker? Most people would tell me to watch out for you two, not my wife.”
Chuck snorted in disdain.
With a laugh, Sam went out, closing the door before the paper clip the attorney threw at him could land. He heard it plink against the wood. He nodded at the secretary, who was on the phone, and stepped out into the mild spring afternoon. The streets of Ros-well were crowded with going-home traffic.
Hurrying now, he drove out the road toward the ranch, but that wasn’t his destination. He’d decided to stop by the nursery and see if his girls were there.
His girls. Molly would probably deliver a lecture about the male possessive attitude and the reference to her as a girl, but that’s the way he thought of her and Lass. They were his, and he dared anyone to try to take them from him.
Loosening his grip on the steering wheel, he considered the past seven days. It still gave him a pleasurable shock to come in at the end of a hard day and see the lights on at the house, to know they were there, waiting for him.
Molly and Lass and the two cats. His girls.
He turned off in front of the church and drove down the winding road to the nursery. Through the open curtains, he
could see the children inside, all as busy as bees in a clover patch.
Molly was there, too. She was reading a book to several children gathered around her on the floor. Lass lay on a mat beside Molly. Another group of kids worked on some project with the other teacher at the back of the room.
As he watched, a knot formed in his chest. Breathing became difficult. The problem happened frequently of late. It worried him. He wasn’t sure what it meant.
Shaking off the feeling, he climbed down from the truck and went into the colorful room. There were pictures of flowers everywhere, plus some real ones growing in pots around the room.
“Hello. Come join us,” his wife invited. She moved over a space so he could sit on the cushion beside her. “We’re almost finished with this story. Can someone tell Sam what has happened so far?”
Sam folded his legs in front of him and plopped down. He listened while six kids tried to tell him about the story.
“Okay, I got it,” he said, recalling the story from his childhood days.
Molly called for quiet and began reading again.
Sam smiled at Lass. His daughter gave him a drooling grin, turned over on her stomach, bunched her knees under her and crawled into his lap.
“Oh, look, children,” Molly exclaimed. “Lass has learned to crawl. Good girl, Lass.”
The kids cheered and offered encouragement. Sam felt the squeezing sensation in his chest again. Inhaling deeply, he caught a whiff of Molly’s soap and cologne. It was as familiar to him as the smell of his shaving soap.
She took a shower in the morning. He took one at night when he came in from the ranch work. He looked forward to Sunday. He’d like to linger in bed and listen to the sound of running water, his imagination steaming up his thoughts as he pictured her in the shower, which was roomy enough for two.
Fighting back the images this called forth, he lifted his daughter into a comfortable position. Lass made gurgling noises while Molly resumed reading.
When the story was over, Molly and the children talked about the tough choices the young hero of the tale had had to make. Sam realized the reading session was also a lesson on ethics.