Open Country

by Warner, Kaki

  It was an infectious laugh, with a throaty, sexy quality that made him want to tickle her to keep it going. He appreciated that she didn’t even try to stifle it. And appreciated even more the jiggle of motion it set off under her shirt.

  Penny was right about the bouncy bosoms.

  He waited until she had finally regained control of herself, then walked closer and said, “I like to hear you laugh, Molly. It’s the second-best way to greet the day.” Bending forward, he nuzzled the soft skin below her ear. She smelled like lemons. Why did she always smell like lemons? “At least I think it is,” he added, sliding his lips over her cheek toward her mouth. “You’ll have to refresh my memory. Soon.” He kissed her, felt her lean into him, and kissed her again.

  “Morning, wife,” he whispered against her lips. Then in a louder voice, “Morning to you, too, Charlie.”

  She jerked back.

  Straightening, he smiled over her shoulder. “Had breakfast yet, son?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Better get to it then. I suspect we’ll be leaving shortly.”

  As soon as the door closed behind the boy, he reached for his wife. “Now where were we?”

  She sidled away. “I was packing. I don’t know what you were doing.” “Fending off your niece. Where is she, by the way?”

  “The Garcia sisters took her down to breakfast a while ago.” Retrieving a garment from a pile on the couch, she carefully folded it and slipped it into the open valise by her feet. “I’m surprised they haven’t quit already.”

  “Brady pays them a fortune.” Moving to the upholstered chair beside the window, he sat, crossed his outstretched legs at the ankles, and settled back to watch her. “He’d have to with Ben to tend.”

  Having finished with the clothing, she moved to the bureau and began sorting through hairbrushes, bottles with glass stoppers, jars of this and that. “Oh, he’s not that bad.”

  “If you like tyrants.”

  That throaty chuckle. “Well, he is Brady’s son.”

  An odd comment, Hank thought, since in actuality Ben wasn’t Brady’s son and Molly surely knew that. But he lost that thought when she bent over to pick up her medicine basket and the action hiked her skirt up the backs of her calves. The woman did have a nice pair of legs.

  She straightened, moved the items on the bureau to the basket, then studied her reflection in the mirror. Apparently, she saw flaws undetectable to the male eye. With a frown, she leaned forward to thumb a smudge from the corner of her mouth, then straightened to pat a few hairs back from her temples and smooth a brow.

  The rituals of women. They enthralled him. Having grown up in a predominately male household, he didn’t often get a chance to observe them, and when he did, he was completely captivated. All the little gestures—the stroking, dabbing, patting, smoothing—each movement so alien and feminine and so quick to draw his eye. And when she raised her arms to repin the coil of hair at her nape, lifting for his contemplation those round, bouncy bosoms he and Penny so admired, he was lost.

  “What are you staring at?” she asked, her eyes finding his in the mirror.

  “Nothing.” He tugged at the knees of his trousers, then recrossed his legs. “I was just thinking I sure miss my memories.”

  A shadow crossed her face before she masked it with a wistful smile. “Is it so bad?” she asked, turning to face him. “Having to start over and make new ones?”

  He thought about it for a moment then shook his head. “It’s the not knowing. Like I’ve lost something important and I don’t know how to get it back. Makes me feel . . . stupid, I suppose.”

  “Oh, Hank.” Her eyes clouded. “I’m so sorry.”

  Regretting that he’d upset her, he pasted on a smile. “I’m alive. And I still have you and Penny and Charlie to help me make new memories. I’m a lucky man.”

  And he was. Looking at his beautiful wife, he had no doubt of that. But still it bothered him, that last niggling doubt that something more was missing than just a few memories, and things were not exactly as they should be. It was like looking into a flawed mirror and getting back a distorted reflection of himself. He didn’t like distortions. They were almost as bad as lies.

  THEY WERE AN HOUR OUT OF VAL ROSA WHEN THE FIRST flake fell. And by the time they rounded Blue Mesa, there was enough accumulation that they had to stop and bolt on the sled runners. After switching horses twice with the outriders to relieve the flagging wagon teams, they rode under the arched gate ahead of a howling wind that sent snowflakes into such a swirling frenzy, visibility was reduced to mere feet. They covered the last half-mile at a crawl, nearly blind in a world gone eerily white, and finally reached the house ten hours after leaving Val Rosa.

  The Wilkins brothers thought it a grand adventure, Jessica was pale with exhaustion, and Molly near ill from worry. The children slept through most of it.

  The snowstorm lasted three days, and when they awakened to clear skies on the fourth morning, the landscape had been redrawn into a rolling white vista that sparkled in the sun. “Oooh,” Penny breathed, pressing her face to the frosty window by the grand fireplace. “It looks like sugar. Or fairy dust.”

  “Hellfire,” Ben seconded, earning a look from Dougal that sent him scurrying from the room.

  Muttering something in a language Molly didn’t know, Dougal hiked his jacket to toast his backside at the roaring fire. “And I gave up Scotland for this?”

  He may have given up Scotland, Molly noted from her place on the couch, but not his kilt, under which, in deference to his rheumatism, he now wore jaunty red unions and high-topped woolly boots. An eye-catching ensemble.

  “Looks like we’re snowed in for a while,” Brady announced, entering from the porch with an armload of firewood. “Buck says there’s another storm on the way. Dougal, if you want roasted nuts,” he said, elbowing the Scotsman aside so he could drop the wood on the stone hearth, “there’s store-bought in the pantry. No need to cook your own.”

  While Dougal and Brady traded barbs, Molly looked past Penny at the unbroken white landscape beyond the porch railing. Maybe by spring Fletcher would give up and call in his trackers. Maybe by spring this deception would be over and all would be forgiven and they would never have to leave.

  The couch groaned as Hank eased down beside her, favoring his sore ribs. “Don’t suppose you play poker,” he asked with a hopeful grin.

  “Sorry. But if you’re bored, stop by my room later”—she leaned toward him to whisper into his ear—“and I’ll teach you how to knit.”

  When she drew back, she found him studying her in amused speculation.

  Dusting his hands, Brady rose from the hearth. “Charlie,” he called toward the library end of the room, where the boy sat reading. “Get your coat. There’s something I want to show you.”

  “Can I come?” Penny shouted.

  “Not this time, imp.”

  “Why not?”

  Brady gently thumped her head. “Don’t be so nosy. It’s Christmas.”

  Dejected, Penny watched them leave then crawled onto Hank’s lap. She thrashed around, making Hank flinch and groan, before finally settling down against his chest. “What’s an imp, Papa-Hank?” she asked, idly plucking at a few dark chest hairs showing at the vee of his shirt collar.

  “A squirmy little kid with sharp knees and elbows who likes to sneak into people’s rooms when they’re sleeping. That tickles.”

  “I’m not little. Aunt Molly, am I little?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “See, Papa-Hank? I’m not little.”

  He reared back to study her. “You’re right,” he finally said. “You’re very big for your size. And heavy.”

  “Maybe pretty soon I’ll be too big to sit on your lap.”

  “One can only hope,” Hank muttered, deflecting a knee from his groin. “Hadn’t you better go see how the hot chocolate’s coming along?”

  “Hot chocolate,” Penny shouted, bounding off Hank’s chest and chargi
ng toward the kitchen. “AuntJessicaismyhotchocolateready?”

  Dougal grimaced and rubbed his ear. “That lass could wake the dead.”

  “She does have a gift,” Hank allowed. He sent Molly a scolding look. “And some pretty disgusting habits you might want to work on.”

  “Oh, dear. Not of a digestive nature, I hope.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Be grateful.”

  After lunch, the brothers, Dougal, and Charlie left on the Christmas Tree Hunt, another all-male affair, which had Penny in a pout until Jessica herded her and Ben and Abigail into the kitchen, where they joined several of the younger ranch children to make Christmas treats—drop cookies, gingerbread men, cut-out cookies, taffy, and little cakes with sugar and butter frosting. Even with Iantha, the Garcias, and several other mothers on hand, it was chaos. Molly hadn’t had so much fun in years.

  But Jessica didn’t seem to be enjoying herself, Molly noted. Her face was pale and a frown of worry—or pain—furrowed her brow.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked quietly, not wanting to alarm the others.

  Jessica lifted a shaky hand to her brow. “Simply tired, I think.”

  But Molly could see the strain of fatigue around her mouth, the worry in her eyes. “Perhaps you should stretch out for a bit.”

  “Yes. Perhaps I should.”

  Quietly motioning Iantha to take over, Molly took Jessica’s arm and steered her from the room. Once out of the kitchen, Jessica’s steps slowed and she leaned into Molly for support. “I don’t know what’s come over me,” she said, clinging to the railing as they slowly mounted the stairs. “I just feel so out of sorts. None of my other pregnancies was this exhausting.”

  Trying to keep the concern from her voice, Molly asked, “Have you been sleeping well?”

  “Not particularly. Nothing specific. Simply restless.” On the landing she stopped and turned to Molly. “Please, don’t tell Brady. He worries so, the dear man. And I’m sure this is not beyond normal for a woman in my condition.”

  When Molly nodded, they continued down the hall to Jessica’s room. After settling Jessica on a chaise by the fire, Molly moved across the hearth to sit in an oversized wingback chair that had to have been Brady’s. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on her thighs and clasped her hands together. “Now tell me what’s wrong. And don’t think to hide anything from me, Jessica. I’m a nurse. I can see something is bothering you. Perhaps I can help.”

  Jessica took a long time to answer. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Molly. Nothing physical, at any rate. I just worry.”

  “About what?”

  Sadness clouded her eyes as she stared into the flames crackling in the hearth. “Ben was a twin, you know. The other baby was a girl. Victoria. She died inside me long before the birth.” She met Molly’s gaze. “You mustn’t say anything to Brady, but I saw Dr. O’Grady when we were in Val Rosa. He thinks I may be carrying twins again.”

  Molly tried to keep her expression from betraying her concern. She knew how dangerous bearing twins could be. She had never assisted in a multiple birth, but she’d read of complications in Papa’s medical papers. “What happened last time?”

  “They came early. Dr. O’Grady said that was not unusual with twins. Ben was small but healthy. But Victoria . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “And you think that will happen again?”

  “I don’t know. I worry that it will. It was difficult losing Victoria.”

  “Well.” Clapping her hands to her knees, Molly straightened. “It won’t happen this time. That’s why I’m here.”

  “You’re here because my husband coerced you.”

  “He’s concerned.” But Jessica’s words sparked a sudden shocking realization in Molly’s mind. It wasn’t just because of Hank that Brady had forced her here. It was because of Jessica too. That liar.

  “And we’ll not add to his burden, will we?” Jessica said pointedly.

  “Promise me you won’t say anything to Brady unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  Oh, she had plenty to say to Brady. And all of it necessary. But not wanting to worry Jessica, she pasted on a smile. “On one condition.”

  Jessica arched one coppery brow, haughty as a banker’s wife. If Molly hadn’t known better, she might have been intimidated. “And what would that be?”

  “You must do everything I tell you.”

  “A rather broad edict, wouldn’t you say?”

  If not for the British accent, Jessica could have passed for a Southern lady of quality. Steel wrapped in velvet, draped with a smile. “Just let me do the worrying,” Molly told her. “And before you know it, there will be two more beautiful babies for you to fuss over.”

  For the first time, Jessica smiled. “Won’t that be lovely?”

  Molly was determined that it would be. She owed this family so much. She knew she hadn’t the right, but she felt they were her family, too, and even though delivering babies was not part of her usual nursing tasks, she would do everything she could to see that this delivery was perfect.

  “Now that we have me taken care of,” Jessica said. “Let’s tend to you.”

  “Me?”

  Jessica gave her a speculative look. “How goes it with you and Hank? I’ve sensed a bit of awkwardness between you. Is all well?”

  Uncomfortable under Jessica’s probing gaze, Molly rose and walked to the window. It was another beautiful sparkling day. Spun sugar clouds floating above a diamond-crusted earth. So white, so pure, so untainted. A fairy tale.

  If only . . .

  Irritated at her own imaginings, she turned away. “You know him better than I. Do you think he’s happy in this marriage?”

  “I wouldn’t say I know him better. Longer, perhaps. Hank isn’t that easy to know, since he shares so little of himself.”

  “Why is that?” Molly asked. “He does seem guarded.”

  Jessica shrugged. “Perhaps because he’s the middle brother and is easily overlooked. Especially around Brady and Jack. Those two seem to draw all the energy from a room.”

  Molly wasn’t sure she agreed. She didn’t know Jack, but it was her observation that more often Brady revolved around Hank, much the way the quicksilver moon circled the larger, stabler Earth. Besides, how could anyone overlook a man like Hank? Beauty aside, the man filled a room with his indomitable presence, charging the air with his male energy and creating an aura of safety that drew people like moths to flame. Drew her, anyway.

  “I met the woman from the fort when we were in town,” she said. Jessica’s eyes widened. “Melanie? What was she doing in Val Rosa?”

  “I’m not sure. Hank sent me back to the hotel while he spoke with her.”

  “Surely she didn’t think to rekindle his interest.”

  “I don’t know. But he assured me he didn’t harbor feeling for her.”

  Jessica waved a hand in dismissal. “Well, how could he, really? Melanie is a lovely girl but utterly cowed by her mother—a vicious woman at best—and certainly no match for Hank’s sharp mind. He would have been bored in a month.” She arched that brow. “And he certainly never looked at Melanie the way he looks at you.”

  Molly felt a blush of pleasure inch up her throat. She had often felt Hank’s gaze on her. Sometimes puzzled, sometimes amused, sometimes showing that intensity that sent her heart into chaos and left her feeling confused and anxious and wanting . . . something. Forcing a bright smile, Molly pushed those thoughts aside. “Back to you.” Donning her nurse persona, she said in a firm, no-nonsense voice, “Naps twice a day, small frequent meals, and no lifting. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  “Excellent.” As Molly turned toward the door, Jessica’s voice called her back.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Molly,” she said, her eyes suspiciously bright. “And not solely because of your excellent nursing skills. But because I need a friend. A woman friend. They add so much to one’s life, don’t you think?”

  Molly felt
an answering sting in her own eyes. “Indeed they do.” Especially to one who had been blessed with so few.

  Later that afternoon, the men returned with a fifteen-foot-tall spruce, which, with a great deal of muttering and cursing, they set up beside the grand fireplace. Molly waited until the task was completed and Hank left to tend chores in the barn, then as soon as she saw Brady head toward his office, she marched after him.

  “You lying scoundrel!” she accused, charging into the room on his heels.

  He looked around, his face showing surprise. “What’d I do this time?”

  “It’s not just because of Hank you blackmailed me into coming here! It’s because of Jessica too! That’s why you wouldn’t tell him the truth. You were afraid if he knew what I’d done, he wouldn’t let me come, and then there would be no one to tend Jessica!”

  His look of surprise gave way to a wary look. “As I recall, it was you blackmailing me,” he said, easing down into his chair. “Something about three hundred dollars to get you out of my brother’s life.”

  “You really are a bastard, aren’t you?”

  “I told you I’d do anything for my brother. You think I’d do less for my wife?”

  “God.” Sinking into a chair in front of the desk, she propped her elbows on her knees and dropped her head into her hands. “He’ll never forgive me or trust me again. He’ll hate me.” She thought of Melanie, and how easily Hank had put her from his mind. Would he do that with her too?

  “Not if he doesn’t find out,” Brady said, almost as if he knew her thoughts.

  She lifted her head and frowned at him. “He already suspects the truth, Brady. He’s not stupid. He’ll realize we’ve been lying to him all along.”

  “Where’s the lie? You did marry him. Beckworth showed me the certificate that proves it. So where’s the lie?”

  “He was unconscious. I doubt the marriage is even legal.”

  “How will he know if you don’t tell him?”

  Molly stared at him, not seeing the reaction she’d expected. No surprise. No fury. Not even confusion. “You knew,” she said in startled disbelief. “You knew he never proposed, that it was all a sham from the beginning, didn’t you? You knew!”