The Dixie Virgin Chronicles: Molly (Book 3)

by Peggy Webb

  From: Catherine

  To: Molly, Bea, Joanna, Clemmie, Belinda, Janet

  Re: Sam Adams

  I don’t care if he is Bea’s brother. Take charge!!! OMG, Molly, of all of us, you’re the one who knows how to do this best. Use what Nature gave you, girlfriend!!! Get that man so rattled, he won’t know whether he runs a bank or a red light district! Just don’t use Nature’s credit card. Rule Four worked for Janet and Belinda, and it’s gonna work for us!!! Virgin Power!!!!

  Cat

  From: Joanna

  To: Molly, Bea, Catherine, Janet, Belinda, Clemmie

  Re: Sexy

  I saw an article about Sam Adams in Time Magazine. I think it was on America’s Top 100 Most Influential People. He’s HOT!!! Like a male version of Bea, only taller and with LOTS OF MUSCLES!!! For him, I would ABANDON rule four!!!!

  Joanna

  From: Molly

  To: Bea, Joanna, Janet, Catherine, Belinda, Clemmie

  Re: Rule Four

  Ya’ll always make me feel better!!! Clemmie, gumbo sounds great. Give little Miss Josephine a hug for me. Bea, I did call him old, and he got pissed. Janet, you and Belinda are right about genetics! Sam is as handsome as Bea is beautiful – and probably just as smart. Cat, Joanna, I’m NOT going to abandon Rule Four. Particularly not with Bea’s brother!!! What if I got mixed up with him then ended up ditching him? Bea would never speak to me again!

  Molly

  From: Bea

  To: Molly, Joanna, Janet, Catherine, Belinda, Clemmie

  Re: My Brother

  I would, too, Molly! Don’t you know? Female friends supersede everything!!!!

  Bea

  Chapter Four

  It was well after midnight when they left the Rakestraws. Glory Ethel leaned her head against the seat to relive her walk with Jed and their cozy visit in his comfortable den. They had so much in common, she could hardly believe her good fortune.

  When they got to the hotel, Samuel escorted her to her room on the third floor. Humming and smiling, she went inside and tossed her purse on the bed. This marriage was going to be the best thing that had ever happened to her family.

  Samuel watched until his mother was safely inside, then went to his room, which was just down the hall and close enough so he could keep an eye on her. This marriage was going to be the worst thing that had ever happened in his family.

  Still, he undressed methodically, as he always did. First he loosened his tie then sat in a chair and removed his shoes and socks. Next he removed his jacket, his tie, and his shirt, taking time to hang each item carefully in the closet. He finished his ritual by taking off his pants and his shorts.

  He climbed into bed and waited for the soothing coolness of the sheets to work their usual magic. He was an organized, methodical man with a routine and a schedule for everything, including falling asleep. It took five minutes usually; ten if he’d had an especially worrisome day.

  Twelve-thirty came, and twelve-forty, and twelve forty-five. At one o’clock he looked once more at the watch he’d carefully placed on the bedside table. The luminous dial mocked him.

  “Dammit.” He put the watch back on the table then pulled the sheet over his head and willed his mind to become a blank.

  Finally he drifted off. But even his dreams disturbed him. He heard the music, and then he saw her: the shiny blond hair, the bangles, the gaudy costume. She was singing Help Me Make It through the Night. A tall man was walking toward her, a distinguished man with gray at his temples: Taylor, his father. The floozy lowered the mike and he saw her face clearly. It was Betsy, the homebreaker. The man took her in his arms and started kissing her. Betsy wrapped her arms around him, dragging him to the floor.

  Suddenly, the woman was no longer Betsy, but Molly. Sam began to run his hands over her, but the skin that should have been warm was cold and hard. Molly was a statue, a perfect body captured forever in bronze for the whole world to see.

  She wasn’t his at all. She belonged to every man.

  Samuel awakened, sweating. He kicked the covers aside and sat up in bed, one hand groping for his watch. Nine o’clock. He’d never slept that late in his life.

  He ran his hand through his hair and started toward the shower when he saw the note under his door.

  Sammy, it read. Jed is showing me the city. Don’t expect me back until late. Mother.

  “Damn.”

  He wadded the note into a ball and threw it into the garbage can. It bounced off the rim and rolled onto the floor. He said another word, and bent over to pick it up.

  His knees popped. He was getting old. He felt old.

  He climbed into the shower and told himself he’d take the day to do business. He had a briefcase full of reports that demanded his attention. No sooner had he soaped his chest than he realized he wasn’t going to do business at all that day. He was going to try to visit Molly. He had to put an end to this foolishness between his mother and Jedidiah before it was too late.

  Too late for what?

  He stepped out the shower and dried himself so vigorously, the towel burned his skin. The only person in danger here was his mother. He was going to visit Molly strictly to protect her.

  o0o

  Molly always had three or four projects going at the same time. With her daddy gone for the day, she planned to repot the houseplants, clean the hall closet, update a couple of her cocktail dresses and search through her mother’s old recipe books for the chicken casserole she and her daddy loved.

  When the doorbell rang she had her hands in a clay pot full of philodendrons and potting soil.

  “Coming.” She left the pot on the kitchen table with the feathers and beads she was putting on a red satin dress and the recipe book open to the first page, and made her way to the front door.

  “My goodness.” She put her hand on her cheek and left a smudge of dirt.

  Samuel stood there, overdressed and feeling like a fool. His tie was wilting in the heat, the suit was hotter than hell, and he shouldn’t have come.

  “I don’t usually drop by uninvited.” For a moment, he got trapped in the way Molly’s eyes looked in the sunlight. “I never drop by uninvited.” Words failed, and he blamed it on the way the cute little smudge brought out the blue of her eyes.

  “I love unexpected company.” Taking his hand, she pulled him through the door. “Do come in.”

  He barely noticed that she got dirt on his hand.

  She led him through the hall, following a trail of potting soil to the kitchen.

  “I woke up this morning and thought, with Daddy gone, what a perfect day for projects. Don’t you think Tuesday is a perfect day for projects?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “What?”

  “Today is Wednesday.”

  “My goodness! I thought the morning paper had put the date down wrong. And calendars are always so confusing. You can’t even tell what’s going on unless you already know the date, and why bother to look if you already know?”

  In all his life he’d never met anybody who lived without benefit of a calendar, a schedule. He felt as if he had been dunked in bowl of marshmallows.

  “I’ve never known the date on a newspaper to be wrong, Molly. You might use it to keep track of the days.”

  “If I ever run out of exciting things to do and have to keep track of the days, I will.”

  “How do you keep your appointments?”

  “Robin.”

  “A secretary? A girlfriend? A bird?” To his amazement, Samuel was feeling positively frivolous.

  “No. A male friend. We share an apartment.”

  Samuel felt a punch in his gut that was nothing short of pure, primitive jealousy.

  “I see.”

  Molly saw the sudden stiffness of his back, the tightness of his face.

  Yesterday afternoon she would have taken issue, would have done battle. But not now, not after what Samuel had said last night: I loved a person like that once. My father.

  She p
ut a hand on his arm. “It’s not like that at all.”

  “You don’t owe me any explanations.”

  “I know. But I don’t want any misunderstandings... because of Daddy and your mother.” She released his arm and walked to the cabinet. A quick swipe with the tea towel removed most of the dirt from her hands, but did nothing for her face.

  Taking down two cups, she poured coffee, shoved aside the feathers and placed the coffee on the table.

  “Robin is a dedicated artist, a good man, a dear friend, and not at all interested in me.” Molly indicated the cups. “Coffee?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Black.”

  Samuel sat down at the table beside Molly and took a fortifying sip of black coffee. It didn’t make him feel a damned bit better. The man—Robin—was obviously a fool.

  He looked at Molly over the rim of his cup. His fingers itched to wipe away that beguiling smudge of potting soil on her cheek. Suddenly, he couldn’t even remember what business he’d come to talk about.

  “Do you pose for him?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s strictly professional.”

  “I have a hard time seeing how any man can be impersonal about your body.”

  “You’ re not an artist.”

  “No. I’m merely a banker.”

  The look on Samuel’s face reminded her of that Mickey, the most rambunctious of the two puppies, after he’d jumped on the sofa and knocked over a vase of flowers. She’d always been a soft touch for that look.

  “Samuel, let’s not fight today.”

  His smile was bittersweet. “Were we fighting?”

  “Not quite, but almost. When I really fight, I throw things.” She took a sip of coffee, then grinned impishly at him over the rim. “Cheap things, though. I’m no fool.”

  He chuckled, and suddenly he realized how easy it was to laugh with Molly. Leaning back in his chair, he relaxed a little.

  “Agreed, then. We won’t fight. I’ll be going soon, anyhow.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “I have a briefcase full of work at the hotel.”

  “Before you go would you mind doing something for me?”

  “Anything that doesn’t involve your lethal water hose.”

  “I promise; this won’t get you wet.” Feeling happy and mischievous, she set her coffee cup down and picked up the red satin dress. “Would you mind putting this on?”

  “That’s not my quite my style.”

  “You needn’t look so horrified. I don’t have kinky games in mind. I just need a dummy.”

  “The last time anybody checked me out, I didn’t qualify.”

  “A dressmaker’s dummy.” Laughing, she stood, holding the red dress out for his inspection. “See. I’ve ripped out the side seams so you won’t have any trouble at all getting into it.”

  He eyed the dress suspiciously. “And then what?”

  “And then I can tell exactly where to put all this.” She picked up a handful of beads and feathers from the table.

  Samuel had never done anything remotely connected to sewing before. And he would have been horrified if anybody had suggested he take part in a dressmaking scheme. But Molly was standing there with dirt on her face, looking expectantly at him with those big blue eyes, and he knew there was no way he would turn her down. At the moment, if she had asked him to stand on his head and recite the Gettysburg Address backward, he would have tried.

  “If word of this gets back to Florence, my reputation is ruined.”

  “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

  “Against my better judgment. Exactly what is it I’m supposed to do?”

  “All you have to do is stand still.”

  It sounded simple enough. Samuel pushed back his chair and stood.

  Molly sized him up. “I never realized how tall you are.”

  He smiled at her. “Should I apologize?”

  “No. Just bend over.”

  He ducked his head and she moved in close with the red satin dress. She smelled of rich loamy earth and fresh summer flowers and something else—something so intoxicating he forget everything except the woman standing in front of him.

  She slipped the dress over his head.

  “What is that scent you’re wearing?” His voice was muffled by the red satin.

  “What?”

  She lifted the folds of the dress and stuck her head under the skirt. They stood face-to-face under the cover of red satin. His head was slightly inclined and hers was tilted upward.

  Samuel sucked in his breath and Molly wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. He cleared his throat, and she blushed. They stared at each other, vividly aware of the currents passing between them.

  “I didn’t hear what you said,” she whispered.

  “I said...” Her eyes were so intensely blue they made him forget.

  “Yes?”

  Her breathless voice started his heart racing.

  “That fragrance. what is it?”

  “It’s called Night of a Thousand Splendors.”

  Night of a Thousand Splendors. At the moment, he could envision at least nine hundred ninety-nine of them. And all with Molly. He leaned so close he could almost taste her lips. It was his dream that saved him. Suddenly he saw himself, as besotted and foolhardy as his father, completely taken in by a beautiful, flamboyant woman.

  He straightened. “Don’t you think this dress is a little small for the two of us?”

  Her laugh was shaky. “My goodness. How like me to get sidetracked.”

  Hastily she ducked down and out of the dress and pulled it completely over his head. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed. She tugged and pulled on the dress, adjusting it to his big body, talking nervously as she worked.

  “I guess you’ll find that out about me, Samuel. I distract easily. Just one little word sets me off on a tangent. I completely forget what I was doing in the first place.” As she smoothed the dress over his chest, she felt the tensing of his muscles. A tremor started somewhere deep inside her and she had to struggle to keep it out of her voice. “The day you came—my goodness, was it only yesterday?—I was digging up the flower bed and suddenly I wound up in a water fight with the dogs. And then you came along...”

  “Molly.” He grasped her shoulders gently, interrupting her flow of words.

  “What?”

  He smiled down at her. Betsy, his father’s lover, had been beautiful—probably still was, for all he knew—but she had never been enchantingly innocent. In spite of what Molly did—posing nude and having her body sculpted and painted for all the world to see—she looked as innocent and fresh and appealing as an untouched rosebud.

  He reached up and tenderly touched her cheek. “You have dirt on your face.” Gazing deeply into her eyes, he wiped away the smudge.

  Molly was accustomed to the companionship of men. In Paris she’d had a least a dozen suitors—all handsome men who loved to dance and laugh and play lively games. But none of them were like Samuel. Not one had that haunted look in the eyes, as if all the demons in hell were in pursuit and only she could save him. And not one of them had that exquisitely tender touch.

  She closed her eyes and let the feel of his hands wash over her.

  Samuel’s hand lingered on her face. Her skin was dangerously soft. He found himself wanting to press face against hers and inhale her

  No woman had ever made him feel that way—sentimental and passionate at the same time. He’d made damned sure of that. Or had he? Had he really kept women at a proper distance in his life, or was it all fate? His mother, a woman of foolish romantic notions, had always told him that fate was just waiting for the right moment to send that one special woman his way. He’d thought it was hogwash and had told her so.

  Molly made him wonder.

  He circled his thumb against her cheek one last time.

  “There. That should do it.”

  “
Thank you.” She reached up and put two fingers on the spot he had touched.

  “Anytime.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you knew how often I dig in the dirt—and how often it ends up on my face instead of in the flowerpots where it belongs.”

  He gave her a long look that took her breath away. “Perhaps I would, Molly.”

  It took her a full two minutes to recover. Finally she backed away and picked up a pincushion and a handful of brightly colored feathers.

  “Time to get to work. Now you just hold still.”

  “That’s what you said the last time, before we got sidetracked.”

  “No sidetracking this time. It will all be strictly business. I promise.”

  She reached up to pin a feather on the neckline of the dress, and her hand brushed against his chin.

  He put one hand over hers. “Do you break promises as easily as you break rules, Molly?”

  “No. I never break a promise.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  He placed a finger on her throat where her pulse was beating the wings of a wild bird.

  “I could take that as a challenge, Molly.”

  His hand moved to her lips, and she parted them to let his finger slip inside.

  “Hmm.” Molly could no more have controlled her sound of satisfaction than a cat could control his purring.

  “My God, Molly.”

  Samuel pulled her into his arms, heedless of feathers and beads and propriety. The pincushion dropped to the floor, and pins and feathers went flying all over the kitchen.

  Neither of them heard the doggie door bang open. Mickey and Minnie, prancing into the kitchen for their usual midmorning snack, found the feathers, and the chase was on.

  They ran between Samuel’s legs twice before he even noticed them.

  Finally Mickey, blinded by the mouthful of feathers that floated up into his eyes, banged heavily against the backs of Samuel’s knees. He became aware that he’d been kissing Molly for some time now, and probably would have gone on kissing her for a very long time.

  He was clearly in danger. In an effort to save himself, he resorted to teasing.

  “If I’d known dressmaking was this much fun, I might have taken it up years ago.”