Molly Darling

by Laurie Paige

  Mrs. Liscomb eyed him with the same interest she’d give a scorpion who climbed in her lap. Molly looked at him, her heart in her eyes. He swallowed. There was no way in hell he could disappoint Molly. She was just so damn kindhearted. To hurt her… well, a man had to live with himself and his conscience.

  “Yes, darling, I do,” he dutifully responded.

  Her eyes widened at the endearment, then she beamed at him as if he’d given her a wonderful gift. Her hand squeezed his.

  He wished they were home so he could make love to her. Only when he was lost in her magic did he forget the world and that it thought he was a thief and a liar. Only with Molly did he find ease from a pain deep inside at a place he hadn’t realized contained a sore spot. Only since she’d married him, or maybe since she’d told him of her love did he look forward to a future for them. Only with Molly.

  He didn’t know whether she loved him or not. He was no longer sure what love was. But if it was loyalty, she loved him. If it was faith, she loved him. If it was everything true and good, then she loved him. Because she’d given him all those.

  “I’m glad the rain slacked off,” he continued casually. “I’ve been riding the back ridges, looking for clues to the thieving that’s been going on for the past month or so and keeping an eye on my herd.”

  A bubble of silence surrounded them at his words. He glanced around, meeting the eyes of neighboring ranchers, letting them know he knew the gossip about him and that his place hadn’t been hit because he was taking care it didn’t.

  “There’s Tiffany and Bill,” Molly said. “We’re joining them.” She wished the reverend and his lady a good evening and pulled Sam over to another table, where she took a seat. “Well, this is nice,” she remarked.

  “Right,” he said sardonically. He arched an eyebrow at the deputy, who smiled widely.

  The man had been in on the conspiracy to get him into town and have him seen with friends whose reputations were as solid as a brass door knocker. Instead of making him rebellious as it once might have, the experience gave him that tight, squeezed feeling inside he often got around Molly and Lass.

  He’d been a loner for years. For a few months, six in all, there’d been a sexual, mindless joy in his first marriage. That hadn’t lasted long. With Molly, he’d found the true pleasure of friendship. It was nice. Real nice.

  Even Tiffany had come over to his side. She smiled and chatted without one wary glance his way. He wondered how much the deputy had to do with her change of heart.

  Love. It was in the air.

  He was intensely aware of Molly beside him. She looked especially pretty tonight in a pair of black slacks and a black-and-gold top. The black high heels were so damn sexy he wanted to kiss her toes… and work up from there.

  “Right, darling?” she asked.

  “Uh, right.”

  The other three laughed.

  He grinned. “What was the question?”

  “I asked if dancing wasn’t your favorite pastime.”

  Hardly. His favorite pastime was making love to his wife. “As long as it isn’t more complicated than the two-step.”

  “I don’t know how to do the two-step,” she admitted.

  “I’ll teach you.”

  She smiled with delight at her husband. With Molly, no task was impossible. Look at the headway she was making with the mustang. He would stand for hours while she brushed him, which she liked to do. She was spoiling the horse.

  After the meal, the four of them went to a night spot that featured Western music. Sam ordered a pitcher of margaritas.

  “I’ll go to sleep,” Molly warned, lifting her glass for the first sip.

  Sam leaned close. “Not for long,” he promised.

  She laughed and tried a sultry glance from under her lashes.

  “Keep that up and we’ll go home now.” He took her hand and swung up from his chair. “There’s our song.”

  He showed her how to do the basics of the Texas Two-step. After she had that down, he taught her several variations. By the third dance, she was trying out her own steps.

  “Hey, wait for me,” he called, catching up when she spun off on her own. He caught her in his arms.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and danced in close, her body plastered all along his. She sighed happily. “I love dancing,” she told him.

  “It has its moments.” His voice was husky as he tightened his arms around her.

  Leaning back, she gazed into his eyes. She shook her head so her hair fell back behind her shoulders and swung out when he spun them around. “I feel incredibly sexy.”

  His chest lifted against hers. “You are, darling.”

  “You called me that earlier. At the restaurant. It was the first time—”

  “Not the first.” He corrected her.

  “I meant, in front of other people, not just when we’re making love.”

  “Shh,” he cautioned, but he was smiling. “Okay, here we go.” He twirled her around, then into a dip as the song ended.

  Molly laughed happily. The night was magic. She was soaring. She could touch the moon…but touching her husband was so much nicer. She nibbled on his ear when she had the chance.

  “Stop that, or we’ll have to go home now.”

  By midnight, she’d learned the Electric Slide plus two other line dances. “You’re really good,” Tiffany said. “It took me ages to remember the steps.”

  “After all the reels and folk dances we’ve taught at school, these are a snap.”

  “It took me ages to remember those, too,” Tiffany complained with a mock sigh. “Fortunately we rehearsed a lot.”

  Molly sipped her margarita. She looked at her glass in surprise. It was full. “Is this glass magic? I was sure I’d drunk half of it.”

  “The waiter refills them when he comes by. Don’t worry. I’m keeping an eye on you,” Sam said with a lazy grin.

  She gazed at him solemnly. “I’ll try not to embarrass you.”

  “You couldn’t.” He met her gaze.

  She became lost in the compelling depths of his eyes while love consumed her in its gentle flames. She’d be glad when they were alone so she could touch him completely. Thinking of his hands on her, stroking and coaxing her to greater heights of bliss, her breath caught in a rapturous sigh.

  “Come on, let’s dance,” Bill invited Tiffany. “These two need to be alone.”

  Molly straightened. A blush climbed her face.

  Sam touched her cheek. “I like it when you look at me that way,” he murmured for her ears alone. “As if I’m the only man in the world you see.”

  “You are.”

  He swallowed hard. “I know. Come on. One more dance, and then we’ll mosey along.”

  When she came into his arms, so sweetly willing, he fought a losing battle with his conscience. He no longer cared if it was lust that drew her to him. Whatever they shared, it was good, and that was all that mattered.

  Tenderness stole over him. It reached right down to that sore place in his soul, pressing hard so that it was both painful and satisfying. He couldn’t explain the sensation, only knew that it was there and it was because of the woman in his arms.

  His wife.

  “One more song,” he murmured before they sat down. “Wait.”

  Molly watched him go to the band leader. Money exchanged hands. Sam had requested a song. She smiled dreamily when he came back to her. They were the only couple on the floor.

  When the music started, Sam reached for her. They danced, alone on the floor, alone in the world as far as she was concerned. Tears filled her eyes as love filled her heart.

  “Do you love me, Molly darlin’? Let your answer be a kiss,” Sam sang softly to her.

  Cupping his face in her hands, she kissed him.

  Whistles and thunderous clapping brought her out of her daze. She looked around the dim room. Everyone was laughing and applauding them. She smiled and blew kisses.

  “Come on, dream girl. I
t’s time to go home.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Easy, boy,” Sam said to the gelding.

  The big horse flicked one ear toward Sam. He shook his head, showing his impatience at being reined in.

  Sam pulled firmly, stopping the horse under the shadows of a juniper where it would be harder to spot them, in case anyone was looking. Lifting binoculars, he searched the area thoroughly.

  Nothing.

  But something had the big gelding excited. Could be a herd of wild horses, of course. Or maybe there was someone else on his land, such as cattle thieves. They would have to be on horses in this country. It was too rough for vehicles.

  He rode on after a spell of sitting and watching. Ahead of him was the big arroyo. It was a quarter-mile long, dropping down to the river from the mesa.

  During hard storms, water rushed along its rocky seams so fast it could kill a man. One of the wild horses that roamed the area had been found in the bottom last year. It had drowned.

  He checked the sky. Not a cloud in sight.

  Some cautionary instinct caused him to dismount before he showed himself at the rim. There, backlighted by the sky, he’d be an easy target, if someone was in the mood for practice.

  After tying his mount to a young mesquite, he walked to the edge of the dry wash, keeping a heap of boulders between him and the rim. Climbing over and between the rocks, keeping his head low, he eased out onto the ledge and peered over.

  His eyes widened in surprise. The arroyo, which should have been lush with grass from the spring rains, was trampled, the grass eaten down to the ground.

  Someone had kept a herd of cattle in there.

  There was only one way out—up the sloping end of the arroyo itself. Unless they swam the Pecos. Cattle weren’t inclined to swim a river any more than they were inclined to climb a rocky slope unless driven to it.

  Anger boiled in him. The deputy had been right. The cattle thieves were using his land for their staging area. But how the hell had they taken the cattle out?

  Backing from the edge, he mounted and scouted the land until he found what he was looking for. An old cattle chute down in a pine thicket told of days past when some dreamer had tried to made a profitable ranch out of the rough tract.

  His father had bought the land for back taxes, afraid that a shifty land developer would come along and put in a resort. Next thing they knew, his dad had told him, the Pecos would be dammed and people would be water-skiing on it and complaining about the cattle polluting it and scaring the tourists who picnicked or hiked along its banks.

  A resort might help his cash flow. He smiled. His dad was probably turning over in his grave at the idea.

  Leaving the gelding ground-hitched in a shady patch of grass, he inspected the ground around the chute. Pine needles littered the area, but they didn’t obliterate the signs of trespassing. He found a boot print, several cow patties, which weren’t all that old, and a tire mark where a truck had backed and turned. The rustlers were using his land.

  All he had to do was figure out who they were, then catch them in the act. He retrieved a camera from his saddlebag and snapped several shots of the prints and the chute.

  Finished, he settled on a log in the shade and ate an egg sandwich he prepared that morning and washed it down with a cup of black coffee. He’d take some pictures of the arroyo, then head home and call Bill Mer-ritt with the information.

  Home reminded him of Molly. He’d left her asleep that morning. She deserved a break.

  Peace settled over him like a warm blanket. He’d been out on the range for hours last week, not getting in until his wife was in bed and asleep. Until last night, he hadn’t made love with her in five days.

  His body stirred in memory. His wife—prim schoolteacher that she was—had gotten tipsy at the dance. She’d declared she wasn’t when he mentioned the fact to her. Okay, she’d been very happy, he’d conceded.

  She’d agreed to that. Then she had proceeded to attack him in the most erotic manner. It had blown his mind… and his control. They’d made love in one of the bedroom chairs, on the floor and finally in bed.

  He’d been a little tipsy himself. Not on alcohol—he’d watched his intake carefully—but from Molly. When she’d asked him to sing to her again, he had.

  “My song,” she’d whispered, caressing him all over as if she couldn’t get enough of touching. “Sing my song.”

  When he’d gotten to the part where he’d asked if she loved him, she kissed him as if there was no tomorrow.

  He let out a ragged breath. He’d thought life’s greatest moments had come with his daughter, and they had. However, Molly had brought her own special joy to his life. Long after Lass was grown and on her own, he would have Molly.

  He liked that idea—him and Molly, growing old together. They’d have their grandkids out to the ranch for summers and holidays. With Molly, life would be good.

  He trusted her as he had no other person since his father had died. He’d come to think of her as a friend. He wanted her as a woman. She seemed to like him, too.

  Tossing down the rest of the coffee, he rose, repacked and mounted, eager to finish and go home so he could see his wife, and maybe make love when Lass had her nap. Remembering the photos, he headed the gelding toward the arroyo once more.

  He smiled. Everything was working out—his life, his problems on the ranch. He was even willing to see what he could do to help his former father-in-law. Molly would give him a gold star when he told her that.

  Arriving at the ledge, he reached back to unfasten the saddlebag and retrieve the camera. Before he could, a rattle warned him of another’s presence. The gelding screamed, then reared and spun in a tight circle, lashing out with his forelegs.

  Taken unawares, Sam fell backward from the saddle. When he hit the ground, pain spread through his side, his head and his shoulder. The startled snake slithered off into the safety of the rocky crevices.

  The gelding, reins flapping behind him, took off. Sam watched the world grow dark and knew he was on the brink of passing out. He fought the blackness. He had to catch the gelding. Standing, he gave a piercing whistle. He clutched at air as he lost his balance and pitched over the ledge.

  His last thought was of Molly. He wished he’d said the words…

  Molly watched the two cowhands moving around the stable and outbuildings. She’d already fed the mustang. While it was eating, she’d laid a saddle blanket on its back. It hadn’t moved a muscle.

  She’d put a halter on it two weeks ago. It had accepted the bit after a few snorts and tosses of its head. Later the stallion had let her lift its hooves and check them. At the present, it had its head over the railing while it watched the men, too. Probably hoping for another bucket of feed.

  She finished setting the table and removed the corn bread from the oven. Tonight she’d grilled a pork loin along with kabobs of peppers, onions and potatoes. After slicing the corn bread into wedges, she placed it in a cloth-lined basket and put it on the table.

  “Where is your father?” she asked Lass, who had crawled off her blanket and was inspecting the legs of her high chair.

  “Da-da.”

  “Right.” She scooped the child into her arms and placed her in the high chair. Although Lass preferred table food, Molly prepared her a plate of baby food. “Nothing you can eat but potato tonight, my girl.”

  The men came in shortly thereafter. They helped themselves while Molly finished with Lass, who had four teeth now and liked to bite on the spoon.

  “Did you see any signs of Sam?” She cast a worried glance at the darkening sky. She liked him home in the evening.

  “No. He lit out on the gelding right after first light this morning. Didn’t take the truck and trailer this time.”

  She gave Lass a cracker to chew on. Lass smiled and clicked her tongue, then settled down to eating.

  “He went alone?” She didn’t like that. Usually he and Bill worked together for a few hours each day, then Sam
returned to the house and the ranch work.

  “Guess so,” Tom said.

  Sandy, as usual, didn’t say much of anything. He kept his eyes on his plate as he helped himself to butter and corn bread and another slice of meat.

  Molly stifled her irritation with the men. Sam would be in when he got there. He could take care of himself.

  This evening she didn’t ask questions about the men’s plans for the next day. They didn’t volunteer their work schedule. The meal passed in an uneasy silence.

  She glanced up once and caught Tom watching her. A funny sensation crawled over her back. He smiled and went back to eating. She listened for hoofbeats.

  “We thought we might go to town,” Tom said while rinsing and putting his plate in the dishwasher.

  She nodded. They usually went to town on Saturday night. It was a big night out for cowboys from all the ranches while Friday was the entertainment night of choice for the townsfolk. She wondered briefly how the tradition got started.

  After cleaning up the kitchen, she gave Lass a bath, then played and read to her until it was time for bed. Later, after getting into her pajamas, she roamed the house, lonely for Sam and unable to sleep.

  Where was that man?

  Sam woke to the cold ache of the night. He tested his side but didn’t find any ribs sticking out. They were cracked maybe, but they weren’t broken into pieces. He examined his shoulder.

  A gash there, but not too bad. A trace of blood had dried to a crusty patch on his shirt. He was lucky the rattler hadn’t sunk his fangs into him.

  He’d live, he concluded. As a kid, he’d had a bite from a rattler. That had been a real pain.

  His head hurt, but he didn’t have any trouble focusing. No concussion. Thank God for small favors. He checked the sky.

  Evening was coming on. Molly would worry.

  He’d roused a couple of times during the afternoon, but he hadn’t had the energy to try to make it out. Since no one had found him, he’d better make an effort to get home.