"I'll see you later..."
"Yeah," he said, still put out with her, though not as much as before.
They had a good thing going, and he knew it. He just wanted to make it better, make it legal—and make it right. When would she see that?
He and Tucker retired to his study across the entry hall, leaving the table for Miranda to clear. Tate poured them each a snifter of brandy and they moved to the sitting area, getting comfortable in a pair of leather wing chairs, with their feet propped up on the wide tufted ottoman that doubled as a coffee table.
They talked about Tucker's prospective partnership with Leland Hogan. The three of them—Tucker, Le-land and Tate—would be having dinner at Tres Erisos on Wednesday night. The meal would give Leland and Tucker a first chance to take each other's measure, up close and personal.
"I'm excited about this," Tucker said. "I think it could work out, be a good thing for both Leland and me."
Tate agreed.
They got to talking about the South Wing. Tucker joked about their grandmother and her love of the ornate.
And Tate said, "Molly and I have been working on that one. We had most of the brocade-and-gold-leaf stuff hauled out of there. And the flocked wallpaper is gone, too. I'm guessing you'll want to make more changes. But it's a head start, anyway."
"I appreciate that." Tucker looked into his snifter. "You know, it was something of a surprise, finding Molly O' Dare here..."
Tate grunted. " 'Something of a surprise.' By God, Tuck, you've gone and gotten diplomatic. When did that happen?"
Tucker settled deeper into his chair. "I'm as diplomatic as the next guy—as long as I get answers to the questions I ask."
"Well, you didn't used to be. Time was, you rarely opened your mouth without inserting your foot."
Tucker nodded. "I remember. I was always giving Ol' Tuck another reason to lay his belt to my backside. And, Tate?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you going to tell me about Molly, or not?"
Tate toasted his brother with his brandy glass. "Now, there you go. That's more like the trouble-making little brother I remember. If it pops into your head, just open your mouth and let it out. Never, under any circumstances, hold back. Never give a thought to the fact that the subject in question might be none of your damn business."
A smile pulled at the corner of Tucker's full-lipped mouth. "Why am I getting the feeling you don't want to talk about Molly?" Tate let a grumbling sound be the answer to that. "She's living here with you, right?"
"Do you ever take a hint?"
"Well. Is she?"
"Yeah," Tate gave out grudgingly, wondering when the hell his brother would finally butt out—and also, on a deeper level, kind of thinking he wouldn't mind discussing the problem with someone he could trust.
Tucker kept after it. "I'm a little confused. This is just not your style."
"What's not?" As soon as he asked the question, Tate wished he hadn't—seeing as how Tucker went right ahead and answered.
"It's not your style to live with a woman you're not married to, and to do it openly, too, right here in 01' Tuck's house."
"It's not Grandfather's house anymore, it's my— er, I mean, it's our house."
Tucker chuckled. "Better watch it. You might end up saying what you really think."
Tate felt kind of small, then. The truth was, deep in his heart, he did think of the house as his. "Sorry. You've been gone a long time."
Tucker looked at him levelly. "I know. And I guess you got a right to a feeling of ownership. You're the one who stayed here, stuck with it, took care of things..."
"A feeling ain't reality. Fact is, this place is yours as much as it's mine." Outside, the rain had stopped. But in the distance, Tate heard the rumble of thunder as it rolled on across the flat, open land. In the silence that followed the thunder, he told his brother, "In spite of your tendency to nose around in things that don't concern you, I'm glad you came back. And I'm hoping you mean it when you say you plan to stick around."
"Thanks..." Tucker's voice was soft, with a thoughtful note. He had a faraway look in his eyes.
Tate sipped his brandy, enjoying the mellow feeling it brought, listening to the distant thunder. He figured his brother had more to say—and he would speak up when he got good and ready to.
Eventually Tucker said, "You know, I spent a lot of years wandering the world, looking for something I never could quite name..." Tucker's voice trailed off again.
Tate sat forward. "Well? Did you find it?"
"No, I didn't."
"So you've given it up—whatever it is?"
"No. I'm still looking. And the last few months, I've started to believe that, whatever it is I'm looking for, it's a lot closer to home than I ever imagined. I'm beginning to understand that what's always been missing from my life isn't out there in some fabulous ancient city halfway 'round the world. I'm thinking— the more I think about it—that it's right here, in the town where I grew up, and that it's been here all along." Tucker nodded. He looked pretty pleased with himself. "So the way I look at it, moving home is the first step, and I've taken it. I'm finally in the right place to find what I've been searching for."
Tate sank back in his chair again and recrossed is legs. "Well, now, Tuck, that's great news. But I do kind of wonder..."
"What?"
"If you don't know what it is you're searching for, how can you be sure it's here in the Junction?"
Tucker pondered that question for several long seconds. At last, he replied, "I don't know how I'm sure, I just know I'm right to be sure. It's here. I know it is. I can feel it in my bones."
"Ah," said Tate, since ah seemed like the right thing to say at that moment.
"Yeah," said Tucker. "I'm going to figure this mystery out, just you watch."
Tate shook his head. "I hope for your sake that you do—but I've gotta admit, it all sounds a little too damn deep to me."
Tucker didn't argue. "Yeah, I imagine it does."
"Anything I can do to help, you let me know."
"Thanks," Tucker said. "I will."
Tate got up and got the decanter from the liquor cart. He splashed another shot or two into both of their glasses. When he settled back into his chair and put his feet up again, he held out his glass and Tucker tapped it with his. "Whatever the reason, it's good that you're home. A man needs a place to call his own." He gave Tucker a wink. "Even if his brother holds half the deed."
"It's a big house," Tucker said helpfully.
"It damn well is," Tate agreed. By then, the brandy had him feeling relaxed and easy. He realized he was ready to talk about the exasperating woman who shared his bed. "And I guess I should bring you up to speed on what's happening with me and Molly."
"I'd appreciate that."
"Save your gratitude. It's not as though I have any real choice. You know this town. If I don't tell you tonight, tomorrow morning someone else will."
"Fire away."
Tate made it as short and to-the-point as possible.
"Molly's having my baby. I want her to marry me. She keeps putting me off. She's got her doubts, she says, that either of us is marriage material."
"But you did talk her into living with you?"
Tate made a scoffing sound. "Nobody talks Molly into anything. The two of us living together was her brilliant idea. She's calling it a trial run. Can you believe that? We're trying out being married—and after three and a half weeks of trying, she's still not willing to even discuss taking a chance on the real thing."
"But you're getting along all right—I mean, overall?"
"We get along great. That is, except for the times when I ask her to marry me and she says no. Those times aren't all that terrific, if you want the truth."
Tucker swirled his brandy in the snifter, wearing the charming troublemaker's grin that always drove the ladies wild. "I've got something I want to say, but I'm afraid you might punch me out if I do."
Tate couldn't help but
laugh. "The possibility of me punching you out never stopped you in the old days."
"Good point. So then I guess I'll just go for it— having first made it clear that I always thought Molly was one hell of a gal. I looked twice at her myself, back in the day, before I fell so hard for Lena Lou." When Tate glared, Tucker put up a hand, palm out. "Not that Molly ever gave me a look. Molly never gave any guy a chance, as far as I can remember. Till you, apparently..."
Tate couldn't resist remarking, "Speaking of Lena Lou."
Tucker winced. "Now, see. I knew it was a mistake to mention her name."
"She's getting married to some car salesman from over in Abilene."
"I hope she'll be very happy."
"You still got a thing for her?"
"Hell, no. That's long over—and don't think you can distract me. We're talking about you and Molly, not some girl I used to date over a decade ago." Tate grunted in a resigned sort of way. And Tucker went on, "Like I just said, I think Molly's a hell of a gal. But she's not the kind of woman I pictured you marrying. I thought for sure, when the time came, you'd hook up with someone kind of like—"
Tate said it before Tucker could. "Grandmother?"
Tucker dipped his head. "You got it."
Tate admitted, "Before Molly, I thought the same thing. But now...well, I've realized I don't want some perfect, well-bred, soft-spoken rich man's daughter for my wife. I want Molly. And she wants me, too. I just can't get her to take the leap and make it legal."
Tucker was staring at him, shaking his head.
"What?" Tate demanded in a low, threatening growl.
Tucker heaved a heavy sigh. "You poor sucker. You are gone, gone, gone."
Tate grabbed for the brandy carafe. "You better have another drink. And while you're having it, you should try to remember that this poor sucker can still kick your ass."
Tucker smiled wide then. "Same old Tate. Don't ever change."
Chapter Fourteen
It was Tate who got the bright idea to make over three of the rooms upstairs into a new master suite and nursery.
By the time he suggested the project to Molly, two weeks had passed since Tucker's return home and the sign outside Leland Hogan's law office read Hogan & Bravo, Attorneys at Law.
The August town council meeting had come and gone. Like the meeting in July, it had been pleasant and productive. And Molly's plan for indigent and shut-in care was now in place.
On the Tuesday following the meeting, Molly went to the doctor for her four-month checkup.
Her appointment was at two, and Tate was at work in his study about an hour later, when she showed up at home. He leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself, as she swore at the alarm box to the accompaniment of the piercing warning beep: She finally got it right and the beeping stopped.
By then, Miranda had come running. He heard her voice from over by the stairs. "Everything all right, Miss Molly?"
Molly made reassuring noises. Then her heels tapped his way, and a few seconds later, she stood in the open doorway, looking rounder and riper than ever. In the past couple of weeks, the baby was really starting to show.
"Hey," he said by way of greeting.
"Working hard?" Something wasn't right. Her smile tried to tease him, but didn't quite make it. It quivered at the corners.
"What's the matter?"
"Oh, Tate..." She kind of sagged against the door frame, shaking her head.
He jumped up and got around the desk and at her side in four strides. Wrapping a steadying arm around her thickening waist, he herded her toward the sitting area. "Come on. Take a load off your feet." He guided her down into one of the wing chairs. "There. Better?"
She looked up at him and frowned. "Oh, I've gotten you all worried now. Don't be. It's really nothing bad. It's only that I was so surprised, that's all."
He suggested, hopefully, "Surprised about...?"
"Tate, it's okay. You don't have to look so anxious."
"Sorry." He tried his damnedest not to look worried.
And while he was trying, she had another request. "And will you please not loom over me like that? You're making'me nervous."
He was making her nervous? Carefully he backed around the big ottoman and sank slowly into the other chair. "Molly."
"What?"
"How about this?"
"Yeah?"
"Just tell me what it is that you're so damn surprised about."
She gulped. "Two heartbeats."
"Two heartbeats," he repeated, more lost than ever. "And that means... ?"
She threw up both hands. "Dr. Mendoza said she heard two heartbeats."
He was starting to get it. "Two...you mean...?"
She was nodding. "That's right." She put her hands on her seriously burgeoning belly. "It's why I'm getting so big now. Because we're having—"
He knew then. "Twins?"
Her smile bloomed wide. "I still need an ultrasound to be absolutely certain, but Dr. Mendoza seemed pretty positive about it."
He wasn't really sure what an ultrasound was. "When?"
"The ultrasound?"
"Yeah."
"Thursday."
"Thursday." Two days away. Damn it. He wanted to know now.
"Oh, Tate. On Thursday, we'll know beyond a doubt. Dr. Mendoza said she couldn't understand why she didn't pick up the other heartbeat sooner. But that's how it goes. Sometimes they just can't tell for a while."
He still couldn't quite believe it. "Twins..."
"I don't know why I'm so happy."
"Well, why the hell wouldn't you be?"
Her face got all soft and hopeful. "You like the idea then?"
He found he was grinning. "As far as I'm concerned, one's perfect. Two's two times that."
"Oh, Tate." She beamed at him, and he felt like a million bucks. "You do have your moments."
"Well, thanks. I think."
"But it's going to be a challenge, don't kid yourself it won't. Twins mean twice the work. Twice the dirty diapers, twice the nights without sleep, twice the holding and feeding and burping and Lord knows what all else."
"We'll manage. You'll see."
"Yeah," she said, all shiny-eyed. "I know we will." She sank back in the chair and chuckled. "I guess I kind of scared you, huh? I'm sorry..."
She looked so sweet and happy and...his. He couldn't stop himself. He sat forward, braced his elbows on his spread knees and folded his hands between them. "Damn it, Molly. Marry me. Marry me now. Our babies need that. You know that they do."
He saw the minute the words were out what her answer was going to be. He saw it in her fading smile, in the regretful frown that creased her brow.
It was the same as always.
"Oh, Tate..."
"Don't." He stood. Fast. And he told her flatly, "It's great—the twins, I mean."
She took in a shaky breath. "Well, like I said, we won't know for sure until—"
"Thursday. Got it." He gestured toward the computer waiting on his desk. "Listen, I've got a few things I'm working on here..."
"Oh. Well, yeah. I know you're busy." She pushed to her feet. "I guess I'd better get on back to the Cut, myself." She came around the ottoman for a goodbye kiss. He put his hands on her shoulders—holding her slightly away from him—and they shared a quick peck. Once their lips had met, she had the good grace to step back. "I'll, um, see you tonight, then?"
He nodded. "Tonight."
"Tate, I..."
He shook his head. "Don't."
She drew herself up nice and straight and pointed that round stomach of hers at the door. Long after he heard her pickup start up out in front, he just stood there, staring at the place where she'd been.
At dinner, Tate's brother did most of the talking. Lately Tucker was happy as a heifer with new fence post to scratch on. He and Leland got on well. He liked the view from his bedroom window. He'd hooked up with a few high school buddies and they had a running weekly poker game.
"I've been thinkin
g," Tucker said. "I've always wanted a dog. All those years I moved around so much, it wouldn't have been right to try dragging a pet around with me. But now I'm home to stay, well, why not?"
"A dog demands a lot of care," Tate warned. And that had him thinking, just like twins. God in heaven. We're having twins....
About then, Molly sent him a hopeful look. Tate pointedly turned away from her.
"I think I'm up to it," Tucker declared. "I want something big and friendly—with short hair."
"A black Lab?" Molly suggested. "They're usually sweet."
"Yeah," said Tucker. "I've been thinking maybe a Lab."
Tate tuned them out as they discussed breeds.
Why the hell wouldn't she marry him?
It was five weeks now. Count 'em. Five.
Five weeks since she moved in with him, five weeks of playing at being married. Five weeks of a merry-go-round of building up the nerve, asking— and getting turned down. Even a confident man could only take so much of that kind of treatment.
Deep inside, he had a secret fear. And that fear was growing stronger all the time. The fear had a voice and it whispered in his ear.
She'll never marry you. She'll dump you again. Just you wait. She'll be out of here for good one of these days and those twins she just told you about will be bom without your name.
It was right then, while the fear whispered hard words in his ear and Molly and Tucker chattered on about how maybe Tucker ought to get himself a golden retriever—in spite of the longer hair, they had the perfect temperament—that the idea to fix up the rooms upstairs occurred to him.
She'd had a good time, hadn't she, getting the South Wing ready for Tucker? She really got into it, switching out the furniture, choosing the paint, hiring the workers and making sure they did a good job. No reason she wouldn't enjoy making over the rooms upstairs so they could have the baby's room—correction: babies' room—right next to theirs.
It was a good idea, he thought. A practical idea. There was no room downstairs for a nursery. And she would want to be on the same floor as the babies.
Plus, if she said yes, it would be a good sign— wouldn't it? After all, there was no reason she would get involved in planning a nursery if she didn't intend to be here to see the babies use it.
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