by Laurie Paige
“I’m ready to go. Are you heading for the ranch?” she asked him after she stood and dismissed the kids for a play period.
“I thought we might eat out tonight.”
Her gaze drifted over him. He’d cleaned up before coming to town. Instead of jeans, he wore dress slacks. He’d even put on a tie with his white shirt. However, he’d drawn the line at adding a coat. The temperature was in the seventies, although the air would cool with the coming of night.
“That would be nice. I’ll tell Tiffany I’m going.”
While she told her assistant goodbye, he walked outside with Lass. They looked at a yellow lupine growing near the driveway.
“Da-da,” Lass said and touched his face.
“She knows who you are,” Molly said, coming up behind them, her purse and jacket in her hands.
She looked trim and stylish in green slacks with a white blouse striped in the same green. He’d noticed she wore pearl studs in her ears. She’d explained she didn’t wear dangly earrings around the children. It was too easy to get one yanked out by accident.
On her left hand, she wore the wedding band and pearl ring that had been his mother’s engagement ring. Tiny diamonds formed arcs around the pearl. It was an old-fashioned design. He’d offered to have it reset or to get something different, but Molly had been delighted with it.
Nine days and she still seemed pleased and interested in everything at the ranch. She and the cats. They, too, were curious about everything. Now that Molly let them outside—she hadn’t the first week—they were as likely to appear in the stable as the house. One of them had taken a shine to Sandy.
Things were working out. He’d give Molly a couple more months, then see how she liked it. A cold, wet winter like the last one, slogging through the mud and muck to check on five hundred hungry cows, could change a person’s romantic views real fast.
But there was no way he could wait until winter. She’d have to make up her mind about staying before then. He forgot the cynical advice when she stooped and studied the lupine with them.
“It’s a pea flower,” she said.
“Yes.” He drew in the sweet essence of her. This close, he noticed the texture of her lips and the tiny scar that marred the perfect outline of one.
“Does that mean it’s a legume?”
He didn’t really hear the question. “Yes.”
She stood. “I need to stop by the grocery store. Would you rather take Lass to the truck stop and wait there or go to the market with me?”
Standing, he lifted Lass into the air a couple of times while she squealed with delight. “We’ll save you a seat at the restaurant.”
“Now why did I think that would be your choice?” She smiled, gave Lass a kiss on the cheek, then left.
Sam watched her for a second before buckling Lass into the truck and heading toward the truck stop. It would be crowded on Friday night, which was good.
The few times he’d gone to town since the wedding, everyone from the bank teller to the guy at the gas station had asked how Molly was. He wanted the townsfolk, especially the gossips, to see their darling teacher so they’d know she’d survived the first seven days of marriage to him.
Molly squeezed into the parking place next to Sam’s truck and hurried inside the restaurant. She spotted Sam and the baby easily. He was the best-looking man in the place.
She admitted she might be a little prejudiced in his favor, but he really was handsome. She slid into the other side of the booth. “Hi. I made it. Have you ordered?”
“No, I was waiting for you.” He signaled the waitress after Molly looked over the menu.
The girl brought a cup of coffee for Molly and refreshed his cup. They gave their orders, then Molly suggested he give Lass some crackers and juice.
“Damn,” Sam muttered under his breath.
She looked up in surprise. She’d rarely heard him use any swear words. She twisted around to see who he was watching.
It took a couple of seconds, but she connected a name with the faces. The older couple taking a seat at the one empty table in the place was Mr. and Mrs. Tis-dale, Sam’s former in-laws.
She observed Sam while he watched them. A grim frown etched a furrow between his eyebrows. He nodded his head toward them.
Glancing around, she saw the other two had seen them. It didn’t take a genius to recognize the animosity between the two men. Mr. Tisdale was a large, beefy man, probably handsome in his younger days but running to fat now.
His wife was a tiny woman, so scrawny she reminded Molly of a wet cat. The woman was gazing. their way like a starving person left out of a banquet. Molly realized it was Lass that held Mrs. Tisdale’s gaze while her husband glared at Sam.
Her heart went out to the older woman. She settled in her seat. “You should take Lass to visit them,” she told Sam. “Mrs. Tisdale is dying to know her granddaughter.”
Sam flicked her a glance that warned her off.
She wasn’t a person who could sit back and do nothing when she saw a situation that needed attention. “We could invite them over for dinner one night.”
“Let it go, Molly. Tisdale better not set a foot on my land. He’s liable to get it shot off. He feels the same about me, and I sure as hell am not going over there.”
His tone was so cold, she was taken aback. “My gosh, I can’t believe two men can be so stubborn.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” he said with a sarcastic edge.
“That poor woman,” Molly said in heartfelt sympathy, feeling a kinship with Sam’s former mother-in-law.
Sam’s snort mocked her feelings. She glared at him.
“I told her she could visit Lass at my place, but she has to come alone.” He glared at her.
Lass made a snubbing sound, a sign that she was getting ready to wail to the high heavens.
“Now see what you’ve done. You’ve upset the baby.” Molly crooned to Lass and played pat-a-cake until the tears dried up.
Sam prayed for patience. He didn’t want to quarrel with Molly over his former in-laws. A quiet dinner with his wife and kid. Was that too much to ask?
Over Molly’s head, he could see Tisdale glance his way once in a while. Besides marrying Elise and turning down an offer to merge the ranches into one operation with Tisdale the boss, Sam wondered what else he’d done to make Tisdale hate him.
The man reminded him of a trapped fox he’d once seen, its eyes cunning and desperate. He looked at Molly and Lass, worry eating at his insides. He’d do whatever was necessary to protect them. A fierce tenderness rushed over him. They were his, and he’d not let anyone hurt them.
When their food came, he tried to follow his wife’s dictum for table manners. “How did things go today?”
She glanced at him with a preoccupied air, her thoughts obviously miles away. She was a quiet person, introspective and reflective in her nature. He wondered what she did alone in her room at night. She usually retired early.
“Fine,” she said. “We’re going to put on a play next weekend. We could use a hand with the props.”
He’d never been much of a social mixer, but with her gaze on him, fully expecting him to volunteer and, more than that, to enjoy it, he couldn’t refuse. “What do you need done?”
They talked about the play for the rest of the meal. He found himself agreeing to make a gingerbread house out of plywood for Hansel and Gretel to find. Watching Molly’s face while she talked about the project, he wondered why he’d ever thought she was plain or prudish.
Enthusiasm sparkled in her eyes as they talked. Her smile was frequent and natural the way it had been before they married. A flush highlighted her cheeks.
He watched her lips move while she explained her plans for the event. He barely listened as she spoke of the social hour that would follow the play.
With those eyes like moonstones, that delicate complexion and little cat face, she was really very pretty. The difference between her and other women was that she didn�
��t act pretty. She wasn’t impressed by her own or other people’s looks. She expected courtesy and decorum from people. And usually got it.
They finished just as Lass was getting cranky. He was relieved to be going. A squalling kid could make a nervous wreck out of a Tibetan monk.
Molly held Lass while he paid at the register. Carrying the baby seat, he took his wife’s arm to guide her out. They had to go past the Tisdale table.
He knew what was going to happen. Molly dug in her heels and wouldn’t be urged forward no matter how he tried to ease her past the older couple.
“Mr. and Mrs. Tisdale,” she said cordially. She could drip honey when she wanted to, he noted. “I’m Molly Frazier, Sam’s wife. Sam,” she said sweetly, “look who’s here.”
She gave him one of her bright looks. He nodded. Her mouth screwed up. He forced out a “good evening,” but she wasn’t going to coax a smile out of him.
“And this is Lass,” she continued as if they were all the best of friends. “I hope you’ll come visit her soon.”
“Oh, yes,” Elsie said. She reached out. Lass grabbed her finger. “Oh, my, she’s strong.”
Sam was aware of the other diners avidly listening while pretending to eat their dinners.
“You can bring the child to visit us,” Tisdale spoke up.
The light seeped out of his wife’s eyes. She moved her hand away when Lass let go. “Perhaps we will visit,” she said in a squeaky but stubborn voice. “One day.”
Sam was surprised at the woman’s spunk.
Molly beamed at them. “Good. We’ll plan on it. If you have time, stop by the nursery. We’re putting on a play next Friday. Hansel and Gretel. Do come if you have time. The children love to have guests to show off for.”
With her usual warm manner, she said good-night to both the Tisdales and walked out. Sam heaved a sigh of relief. Tisdale was a dangerous man.
In the truck, he waited until Molly and Lass had pulled out onto the road, then followed behind them at a safe distance. He felt like a sheriff from the Old West, riding shotgun for a stagecoach of important passengers.
So he was. Molly and Lass were the two most important people in his life.
Molly drove in her usual careful manner, staying right on the speed limit. Sam usually drove about ten miles over, but fifty-five was fast enough on the highway. It was too fast when she turned off on the ranch road. She slowed to forty.
At the house, she parked in the garage while Sam left the pickup outside. He helped her carry in Lass and the groceries.
The two cowboys had been in and had supper, she assumed. She’d left a bag of homemade cookies on the counter with a note to take them to the bunkhouse with them. The bag was gone.
“I’ll give Lass her bath,” Sam volunteered when she started putting the groceries away.
She nodded. Her mind stayed on the scene at the restaurant. For some reason, she felt sorry for the Tis-dales. She’d sensed resentment in the grandfather. Some people couldn’t accept growing old. She thought he was one of them.
Elsie Tisdale had once been a very pretty woman, probably something like her daughter, but now she was as crinkly and dried as an oat husk. The longing in her eyes when she’d gazed at Lass had wrung Molly’s heart.
Something was going to have to be done about that. It wasn’t fair for Lass to miss out on having grandparents who lived practically next door.
She finished putting things away. Yawning, she stretched wearily and tried to decide what to do next. She should wash a load of clothes so they wouldn’t pile up, but she was too tired.
Tomorrow, she thought. She’d get home early and do it then. Thank goodness Mrs. Stevens had agreed to take care of the house. With Lass fussy and not sleeping well, Molly didn’t have the energy to think about the house, much less clean it.
There was something to be said for a tiny cottage, she continued the line of thought as she went to the bedroom.
Without thinking, she opened the door and walked in. She stopped on the threshold and stared.
Sam stood by the closet.
Naked.
She’d never seen a naked man before.
Not in person, only movies. And never like this.
Her mind had switched to slow motion. She could only think of one word or phrase at a time. She clutched her throat while tingles cascaded down her skin like spilled champagne.
He turned slowly and faced her. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his magnificent form. He was fully, flagrantly erect.
A man for all seasons, she thought, forcing her gaze upward. She swallowed as her nerves knotted into a ball and lodged in her chest. Meeting Sam’s eyes, she could only stand still while his eyes searched hers as if looking for something that only he knew.
“Excuse me,” she said and lit out for her room, scooting inside and closing the door like a rabbit leaping into its hole.
She fell onto the Greek lounge, her legs trembling, her breath uneven and harsh, like a runner’s at the finish line.
If she lived to be a hundred, she’d never forget. That powerful masculine image burned behind her eyelids. She couldn’t close her eyes without seeing it…
Pressing her hands against her eyes, she tried to block out the shock and, she admitted, the pleasurable awe of seeing her husband without his clothes. She didn’t think she could face him again. She’d blush, and he’d know what a ninny she was.
She heard his step outside the door and froze.
“I’m going to watch a program on TV,” he called out. “If you need the bathroom, it’s free.”
“Thank you,” she replied, sounding as stuffy as her mother had once said she was when she hadn’t laughed at a guest’s risqué story about the time he’d visited a nudist camp.
When she heard the outer door close, she changed to her pajamas and pulled on the matching robe and scuffs. As quick as a cat burglar, she finished her ablutions and returned to the safety of her room.
Once inside, she paced restlessly, then picked up a favorite novel she’d started reading over the weekend. She’d read it several times over the years. The story was a beautiful romance, one involving a teacher and a tough rancher. Two hours later, she finished the book and laid it on the table.
She compared her circumstances to those of the hero and heroine in the book. They’d known practically from the first moment that they loved each other. They’d stood by each other through all their troubles. That was the way love should be.
She didn’t know what Sam wanted from her. He was her husband. She’d seen desire in his eyes that past week, but he held himself aloof, refusing even physical gratification.
He said they should wait until she was sure this was what she wanted, but she thought he was afraid of involvement.
Had his first marriage been awful?
Guiltily she repressed the surge of hope this thought produced. She’d never wish for happiness at another’s expense.
She surveyed the titles of her beloved romance books. Some of them were marriage of convenience stories. She realized that was what she and Sam had. A marriage of convenience. It sounded feudal, medieval … Victorian at the very least.
And it was damn inconvenient as far as she was concerned!
This waiting was ridiculous. Making love was one of the most bonding of human endeavors. If more people realized that and paid attention to it in their marriages, the divorce rate would drop drastically.
Her mother had explained it. “A woman needs to feel loved to make love,” she’d said. “A man needs to make love to feel loved. Make sure he feels loved. Tell him that you need to feel the same. Marriage is about two people giving and taking equally, not one doing all the giving while the other takes.”
Molly believed that. It was the basis for friendship, too. Both had to get something from the relationship for it to last.
Now all she had to do was figure out a plan to make her husband overcome his scruples, or something like that.
Tomorrow she’d s
tudy on how to become a femme fatale.
Removing the many throw pillows from the daybed, she turned back the covers and slipped between the sheets. Every bone in her body sighed wearily. She fell asleep.
The wail seemed a part of her dream at first, then Molly realized it was Lass. She flicked on the lamp, leapt out of bed and dashed for the door. Sam had his light on when she entered his room. He paused by the bed and looked up.
This time she could only register his nakedness. She. hadn’t time to dwell on it. “I heard Lass,” she said.
She went to the crying infant and lifted her into her arms. “There, darling, there now. Are those ol’ teeth bothering you again? Poor baby.”
Wiping the tears and runny nose with a tissue, she sat in the rocker and began to hum. Lass quietened and finally stuck her thumb in her mouth and laid her head on Molly’s shoulder.
Sam entered carrying the medicine dropper. “Let’s give her some of this. The pediatrician said it would help.”
She held still while he gave the medicine to Lass, then began to rock again. Lass settled down, an occasional snuffle catching her breath.
Sam left with the medicine dropper. Molly heard him washing it in the kitchen. He returned in a minute and watched while she rocked and hummed to the baby, his shoulders propped against the doorframe.
After a while he pushed upright and crossed the room. “She’s asleep now,” he murmured.
He lifted the sleeping baby and deposited her in the crib. After covering her with a blanket, he patted her back, then motioned for Molly to leave when he went to the door.
Going down the hall, she realized she was in her pajamas, her feet bare. Sam was also barefoot. He’d pulled on a pair of jeans. The zipper hung open partway down his abdomen. She was acutely aware of this fact all at once.
“After midnight,” he murmured. “Maybe she’ll sleep until dawn. Do you have to go in early tomorrow?”
“Yes.” It was hard to speak past the tightness in her throat. Their footsteps made hardly any sound on the Spanish tiles in the hall.
The entire house seemed to be holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen.