"I can see it in how you look at me; you think I'm disgusting. Well, I didn't want to be here, either."
His face turned into a scowl. "Hold on, there."
"Am I ugly or something?"
"No."
"Then what is it? Am I doing something wrong?"
Blake leaned back and sighed.
"What?" She held up her hands in loss.
"When I saw you this morning, I was shocked."
"Shocked at what? My hair? Am I gross to look at?"
He shook his head harder. "No, you looked like you really needed to eat."
Molly rolled her eyes to the ceiling and coughed. "Too fat, too thin, a woman never wins."
"You're so pale; it looks like you're malnourished."
She sighed heavily. "I guess that's what happens when all you can afford is saltines."
His eyes took on a look of sadness. "At first I was hesitant to trade my truck…"
"Trent will return it."
"But now I'm glad I did."
Molly went silent.
Blake rubbed his lips together. "I didn't know things were that bad."
"There's just no work to be had around here. So much for all the hyped hope and change. The job situation got worse."
He made a face. "Things get worse no matter who's in office. It's planned that way and the presidents play their part."
Molly didn't care. When there wasn't a job to be had, who cared who won the political football game? At least Trent found something.
"Your husband is a good man; even at rock-bottom, he kept up hope."
She lowered her gaze to her lap. Save us, my love. I hope you sleep well tonight.
~ ~ ~
The bed was warm and so very comfortable. The knock on her door startled her awake. Chasing away remnants of a dream about her husband eating raw, stinky beef, she said, "Yes?"
Blake opened the door and poked his head in.
She turned on the lamp.
"Sorry if I woke you, but I get up at three." He glanced over to the dresser and frowned. His eyes scanned the room, then back to her. "I like to eat at six, if that's okay."
She moved and rubbed her eyes. "Oh, okay. I'll get up then."
"I have coffee going."
That sounded wonderful to her and as if the thought of it was enough to summon it, she smelled the drifting aroma of coffee being brewed. At least he found my Annie not polluting his dresser.
~ ~ ~
Showered and awake, she went about making breakfast.
He was sitting, watching her. "Did you sleep well?"
"Not really."
"Ah, sorry to hear that."
"I miss Trent."
"I bet."
"You get used to sleeping next to someone – feeling the warmth of their body." She flipped the eggs.
A smile was on his face and a teasing note in his voice. "Did you sleep with your doll?"
"Hmm? No, I put her in the drawer."
"Huh? Why?"
"I saw you scowl at her. Messing up the dresser or something, I'm sure."
He was shaking his head, a look of indignation in his eyes. "Um, no. I thought it was sweet. Put her back."
She turned to him fully, studying his face. I can't figure this man out. But do I need to? Cook and clean, while Trent gets the green. I just need to last a few months. Easy work.
He drew his eyebrows together. "I mean it, put her back."
She let out a breath and relaxed. "Are you sure?" I don't want you all pissed off because my doll is soiling your dresser.
"Quite. I liked seeing it there."
Suddenly confused with conflicting emotions, she spun around to resume her cooking.
CHAPTER 6
Molly read the letter with a shaking hand. She was sitting on the bed, Indian style.
Dear Molly,
I hope you're doing well there, I miss you.
Work here is exhausting – I throw around a lot of rebar everyday. Technically, I'm a floorhand, but they call us worms – the lowest of the roughnecks.
I passed out on the first day and that led to a friend of mine I made here loaning me some money to eat. I thought I was going to get fired, but Tom's a good guy and helped me up really quick. So I had some real food almost right away. Already paid him back.
I included a new phone for you and put my number in it. I'll try to call on my lunch hour in a couple days.
She had been at Blake's for almost a month now. Cook, clean, and spend a lot of time doing nothing. She had been reading her Bible.
I have so much in my bank account now I don't know what to do with it.
She shook her head. "Don't do anything with it. Save it and come home." Only Annie heard her.
I've been buying lottery tickets…
"Oh my god."
…but only won a few bucks. We can certainly afford a lot more tickets now. We're going to hit the big times, I promise.
Tell Blake his truck is fine. I've decided to get one of those small RV type vans and when I do, I'll make sure he gets his truck back.
I love you.
Trent
She read it again, searching for more. But there wasn't any more. She picked up the phone and charger. "I guess we're finally getting somewhere. I have a phone once again."
A clang from the kitchen perked up her ears. What's that man doing? I'm the cook. She glanced at the clock; it was still an hour until lunch. She had already cleaned the two showers and tomorrow she would be finishing the bathroom floors. Monday would start the whole routine again with vacuuming.
She folded the letter and slid it into her Bible.
Dropping her feet down to the floor, she padded silently in her socks to the kitchen. Blake was indeed starting something – a loaf of bread and a block of cheese out. She put fists to hips. "Hey."
He glanced at her with a sneaking look, then away.
She frowned. "Hey, what's the deal? I'm the cook here."
He shrugged. He glanced at her again – at her jeans. "I've had enough. Things are about to change." His voice sounded odd.
What's this? "Um, like what? What's going on?"
"It's those jeans."
"Yes, I know, they're horrible."
He glanced at her quickly again. "Er, no, it's not that. They're not…horrible. I've decided to take you to get new clothes. Call it a bonus."
"If they're not horrible, then why get me new ones?"
He looked again, a haunted look in his eyes. He whipped his head back to the cheese he was unwrapping. "They're, um…very distracting."
"Distracting? What? Would you stop with the food? Let me do it." She pushed at him and grabbed the block of cheese. "What are you making?"
"I thought grilled cheese before we go shopping would be good."
"Get out of my kitchen."
"It's my kitchen."
She pushed harder at him. "Why are my jeans distracting?"
He didn't want to budge. He grabbed the block of cheese back from her. "They're driving me nuts; I can't handle it. They're sexy."
A fuzziness flooded her. Did I hear that right? She pushed on him and pulled on the cheese.
He had been kind to her and appreciated all that she did. He had been the perfect gentleman, listening when she needed to talk and sympathizing with her plight. They had moved about each other with respect and with an ease that created within her a puzzling sensation of tension.
She hadn't understood that.
He jerked on the cheese block.
She yanked back, still trying to break through the sudden block of fog in her thoughts. They had went to the store together once each week, working with each other to stock the house with the food they wanted. He had understood when she would leave the store before he checked out. She would wait for him outside.
There was a silly struggle over the cheese. She ground out through her teeth. "Gimme that."
Blake's eyes were unfocused. "I can cook it."
"No."
"Y
es."
"Why am I here?" If not to cook?
But the thoughts and words were torn from her in an insane instant. He grabbed her and she let go of the cheese. His arms gripped her to him as she found herself clutching desperately to him in return. Her head went numb and her heart pounded in her chest. With a trembling hold, she clung to Blake as if clinging to life. Warmth flooded her and she gasped in breaths that did not alleviate her need for air.
She was so dizzy with senseless feelings that she wasn't sure which way was up. She hugged him tighter, panting against his shoulder – her head turned away to avoid seeing that she was hugging this man while her body shivered with something between shock and excitement.
Her knees shook and threatened to sag limply. Here she was getting something she had so missed: the strength of a man to hold her and smooth away her worries.
I'm…hugging him and it feels good. Why does it feel so good?
They breathed against each other, and she could feel his breathing getting stronger – his heart thumping harder against her.
A hug, that's all it is. Just a hug. Trent can't fault me for giving Blake a hug, can he? But she broke away from that in her thoughts and also pushed Blake away from her in their embrace.
He let go. His eyes searched hers, looking at one and then the other and back and forth. He looked at her eyelashes, her lower lids, her right eye and left. He looked at her lips.
She backed away, pursing the object of his gaze.
Blake's look was intense. But his words were uncertain. "I…uh…"
Grilled cheese sandwich. The thought focused her. "Get away from the counter and I'll make them." Her words sounded harsh. Get away from me.
He appeared indecisive for but a few seconds. He retreated to the chair at the table and sat.
She nodded to herself. He was in his place, much like the pan was in its place on the stove. Neat, orderly, and where he belonged. Nothing to see here; move along. She prepared the grilled cheeses, carefully steering her mind away from thinking about the hug. It was just a hug, check the bread. There was no feeling there, flip it over. The excitement was just shock, flip the other one. Simple.
She took down two small plates and ignored the trembling in her arms. I must be hungry. But she wasn't. She deliberately cast away the memory of his strength – that manly certainty and solidness that had held her up when she would have fallen.
She emptied her mind and sought solace in the void of thoughts – the void of feelings. She watched the two sandwiches with unfocused eyes. A longing emptiness in her complemented the emptiness of her mind. Maybe I am hungry.
She set the two plates on the table while studiously avoiding Blake's searching eyes. She could tell he was in that pose – a barely contained coil of tension ready to spring into action, but he didn't move.
They ate in silence, the hug all but forgotten between them.
~ ~ ~
Molly shook her head in the Jeep. "I don't really need new clothes."
Blake was in full dense-man-mode. "Too bad."
She coughed a sigh. "I'm just going to be cleaning in them. Why would I want to wear new clothes?"
"Like I said, your jeans are distracting."
She looked down at her knees poking through the holes. "What? These stupid holes?"
"Yes."
She laughed. "So you can see my knees? How can that be distracting?"
"It's not just your knees."
"Huh?" She looked at him but felt a swell of something she wanted to avoid. She turned her head quickly and watched some blonde-haired, overdone bimbo driving her huge, bloated Suburban while concentrating on her cell phone. The insanity struck her.
He said, "Your butt is fraying, too. I can't help looking."
Her head snapped back to him. "My what?" She felt her eyes large and round and her breathing became puffs of panic.
He grimaced. "I'm sorry; I can't help it. And you're married, too. I know, I know, I shouldn't be looking."
Eight different thoughts assaulted her thought processes. She was married to Trent and Blake shouldn't be looking. They had hugged, but hugging wasn't so bad. Her jeans were fraying in the seat? Blake was distracted looking because he thought it was sexy? Someone thought she was sexy? She hoped there wasn't skin or panties showing. She felt an excitement creep in and crowd out the panic. Would Blake lie about it to make her feel good?
She realized her mouth was open and she was staring at the side of his face. His sandy hair might have been neatly trimmed, but it was full of boyish life, hanging in a textured tangle over his forehead. She realized she had an urge to ruffle his hair as she would a puppy. "Um…" She said it to clear her thoughts. It didn't work.
He looked at her briefly with a grave look. "Sorry about the hug. I don't know what came over me."
Me either. Her pulse began to race and an uncomfortable ache twisted inside her.
Looking forward and avoiding her eyes, he said, "A couple pairs of new jeans and you'll be set. Or a skirt, even."
"A skirt?"
"Yeah, one of those ankle-length things that hides everything."
She laughed abruptly, surprising herself. "Do you…really think my jeans are sexy?" I can't believe it.
He cast a glance at her again. "Not your jeans. You."
She dropped her mouth open, unable to speak. She felt the blush rushing up her face. The pounding of her pulse increased and a ringing began in her ears. She heard herself saying, "You're kidding."
His tone was stony. "I'm not a liar."
No, I didn't mean that. This isn't coming out right at all. She took in a shaky breath. "I guess…I'm flattered."
He jerked the wheel over and the Wagoneer swerved angrily into the drive of the shopping center.
Why is he mad? Is he mad at me? The blush left her face and was once again replaced by the customary paleness. If anything she thought she might even be whiter than normal. She felt the icy cold of uncertainty.
CHAPTER 7
Molly watched him yank his keys from the ignition.
He said, "Let's go."
She got out, trembling. It was chilly outside, but it wasn't the cause of her shaking.
He reached over and pushed down the door lock, then got out.
She scurried to him as he walked with a will towards the doors of the store. "Are you mad at me?"
"Mad?" His word was sharp. "At you? No. I'm mad at myself."
She could see then the struggle within him and the determination to control himself. So strong.
He pushed into the doors as if to fling them.
Molly followed, as scared as a mouse.
The clothing section wasn't huge like the big cities, but it had a better selection than Walmart, if more expensive.
He looked at the shelves of jeans. "I don't know what size you wear."
She looked down at what she was wearing. "These are a size three."
"Maybe you should get a bigger size."
She blinked in fear. "Why, am I getting fat?"
He blew out a breath. "No, you could stand to put a little meat on your hips." He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut, and turned away.
"Do my clothes smell bad?"
"What?"
"You're acting like you smelled something bad."
A young woman gave her a curious look, walking by slowly.
Go away.
He said, "No, I'm trying to wipe the image from my mind."
"Of me being fat?"
He sighed tiredly. "No, of your hips. Just find some you like."
She looked down. "Sorry."
He was there in an instant. He lifted her chin with his curled finger. "Sorry for what? Being sexy? It's me that's being weak." His words came gritty, filled with guilt.
The trembling intensified in her. Her chin vibrated from his touch, sending shaking shivers down her insides. Her pulse thumped in response to the contact. I've been in his home a month. Why does he affect me so? What's going on w
ith me?
His eyes were locked on hers.
She could see his own racing pulse and the deep breathing of someone who was ready for action.
He removed his hand and the strange sensations went with it.
She felt as if her body fell – suddenly drained of energy. She turned away languidly, her eyes passing over the jeans without really seeing them.
He said something about skirts that she didn't register.
Molly thought of Trent. Come back and save me. A sick feeling coiled around her core, filled with fear and war – a war for her identity. She realized she was standing and staring. She didn't know for how long.
She picked up a pair of jeans and held them out and up.
Blake came and stood beside her, looking. He was holding a skirt on a hangar. He said, "Why not try the size five?"
"Because my hips are getting meatier?"
"No, because the bigger ones will hide more."
A surge of sensuality sent her spinning like a ballerina on the dance floor of her mind. Holding up a pair of jeans with Blake at her side, talking about how to hide what he thought was sexiness seemed like a secret shared that could not be shared with others. Heat built in her and she leaned slightly closer to him while she held them out. "Are you sure? These fit better."
"They show off too much."
A flash of fire spiked up her middle and she realized she didn't want to hide anything. She could feel his heat radiating from his arm and she fought fiercely not to lean just a little closer to touch… A little brush – just an accident. Trent couldn't be mad at that, could he? Her breathing was getting faster.
He moved away.
She lowered the jeans as if tired of holding them up – the loss of his proximity to her sending the tension away. Why am I feeling so strange in a department store? This is ridiculous. But she couldn't deny the feelings flowing through her.
He was holding up the skirt. "What do you think?"
It was a voluminous thing with pleats that would cover every inch of her from her waist down. She grimaced. "That would be a little harder being on my hands and knees."
My Husband Traded Me Page 3