Marrying Molly

by Linda Hope Lee

  Molly wrinkled her brow. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

  He shrugged. “The situation could be worse.”

  “Yeah,” she said, again remembering that day two years ago. Her throat tightened. “Could be worse.”

  ****

  Steve followed Molly out of the hospital and across the parking lot to his rental car. She was right; his injury could be worse. But this was no picnic, either. He had work to do in Red Rock and Denver, people to meet, and, he hoped, accounts to land. The trip was an important part of his and Jerry’s plan to expand their services all across the country. A delay such as this opened up opportunities for their competitors.

  Steve set his jaw. Too late now. He’d have to make the best of a bad situation.

  “I’ll let Jackson and Sara know we’re on our way,” Steve said as they climbed into the car. He reached with his right hand to pluck his cell from his belt. Or, rather, the belt that, along with jeans, shirt, and shoes, he’d borrowed from Jackson. Then he remembered he couldn’t use his right hand, and instead reached across with his left. He was glad he hadn’t taken the phone on the horseback ride. If so, he either would have lost it altogether, or the instrument would be useless.

  “Want me to connect the call for you?” Molly held her car keys while she waited for his answer.

  “No, thanks. I’d better learn to use my left hand as much as I can.” After fumbling a bit, he managed to release the phone from his belt. Laying it on his knee, he punched in the speed dial for Jackson’s ranch then lifted the phone.

  Jackson’s familiar voice echoed in his ear. “Hey, buddy, we’ve been waiting to hear. How’d it go?”

  Steve summarized his hospital visit while Molly started the engine and wheeled the car from the parking lot.

  “Glad to hear it wasn’t a break. We’ll see you soon. Wait, Sara wants to talk to you.”

  Jackson sounded relieved. Steve heard the phone being transferred from hand to hand, and Karli’s and Ryan’s voices in the background, and then Sara came on the line.

  “Steve? We want you to come stay at the Rolling R while your wrist heals.”

  Steve gripped the phone. “What? Stay at the Rolling R?” He glanced at Molly, just as her eyebrows shot up. “Why, thanks, but I can manage at the hotel.”

  “No, we want you to come here. Are you still in town?”

  Sara’s firm tone discouraged argument. Steve looked out the window as Molly swung the car from the hospital’s driveway onto the street. “We’re just leaving the hospital.”

  “Good. Stop by your hotel and get your things, and we’ll see you shortly. Dinner’s waiting.”

  She disconnected before he could offer any more protests. Steve hooked the phone onto his belt. “Guess you got the gist of that.”

  “Yeah, well, staying with them is probably a good idea.”

  She sounded upset. Why? He doubted their paths would often cross.

  No, something else bothered her. When they first walked into the ER, she had a stricken look, as though she wanted to turn around and run back out the door. Maybe she’d had a bad experience there, or maybe she just didn’t like hospitals. Preoccupied with his own problem, he’d set aside her puzzling behavior.

  Should he ask what troubled her? Better not. He didn’t know her well enough to probe her personal feelings.

  He peered out the window again. They were traveling along an unfamiliar residential street. “So, I guess we head for my hotel. Not sure I know how to get there from here.”

  “I know the way.”

  When they reached the Bingham Hotel, she parked in the guest parking lot and cut the car’s engine.

  He grasped the door handle with his left hand. “Instead of waiting here, why don’t you wait in the coffee shop?”

  Slipping her keys into her purse, she shook her head. “I’ll go up to your room with you. You’ll need a hand with your packing.”

  Steve didn’t argue. He probably could pack whatever he needed by himself, but the job would go quicker if she helped. Still, the thought of her visiting his hotel room unsettled him.

  Don’t be a dope. There’s nothing personal between you and Molly.

  ****

  “Come on in, Molly.” Steve unlocked the door to his third floor hotel room and stepped aside for her to enter.

  Molly stood on the threshold, clutching the strap of her shoulder purse. For the second time that evening, she found herself in a place she didn’t want to be, although for very different reasons. First, the ER had thrown her for an emotional loop. Although she’d insisted on helping Steve pack, now the moment was here, she wasn’t sure she could. Being in his room was too personal, too…intimate.

  She’d come this far, though, and she really had no choice but to continue. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped inside the room.

  The neatness of the place impressed her. Not a shirt or a pair of pants was draped anywhere. No nightstand clutter, and on the round table by the window, pads of paper and books were stacked alongside a laptop computer. His black briefcase rested on the floor nearby.

  Molly hid a sad smile. If this were Buck’s room, shirts and pants would be piled on the nearest available surface. To him, a hanger was a foreign object. And books and papers would be scattered, not stacked with the edges all aligned.

  She pushed away the memories. What was the point in comparing the two men? No point, really. But Buck was so much in her thoughts that the comparison came automatically. She turned to Steve. “What can I do first?”

  “Might as well start with the closet. If you could get my bag out and open it—” He pointed to a black suitcase on the floor of the alcove.

  “Sure. I’ll take the clothes off the hangers while you do—whatever.” Crossing the room, Molly set her purse on the round table.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Molly took out Steve’s suitcase, lifted it onto the bed, and unzipped the opening. The corner of her eye caught Steve at the dresser pulling out what appeared to be underwear. Boxers or briefs? she wondered as she went to the closet and slipped a shirt from its hanger. She mentally slapped herself for the irrelevant thought, but not before images of him in both kinds flashed through her mind. He’d look good in either. Feeling her cheeks flush, she sighed and folded the shirt. Yep, coming here had definitely been a bad idea. Packing put thoughts in her head that she had no business having.

  Twenty minutes later, Molly tucked the last pair of slacks into Steve’s suitcase and zipped it shut. She joined him at the round table where he was attempting one-handed to shove his laptop into its canvas carrying case. The case flipped and flopped around the tabletop as though it had a life of its own.

  “I’ll help you with that.” She grasped the computer and slid it into the case.

  “So easy when you do it,” he said.

  “Good thing I came, huh?”

  “Don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

  She raised her head and met his gaze. His brown eyes were serious, intent. The air in the room stilled, and her breath faltered. She forced a swallow and broke eye contact, letting her gaze sweep over the table.

  A gold-framed photo of a young woman, which she hadn’t noticed earlier, peeked from between two stacks of books. The picture captured Molly’s attention and made her forget about what had been happening between her and Steve.

  The woman had a heart-shaped face and shoulder-length hair the color of a midnight sky. Her full lips were smiling, but sadness dimmed her blue eyes.

  Although she wasn’t sure when or where, Molly had the feeling she’d seen the woman somewhere. Before she could comb her memories for the answer, Steve’s voice cut into her thoughts.

  “That’s Angie.”

  “I figured. She’s very pretty.”

  “Yes, she is—was when that photo was taken, anyway.”

  The wistful note in his voice touched Molly’s heart. He still loved Angie, just as she still loved Buck. There was a difference, though. Steve might stil
l find Angie, and, even though they were divorced, they might restore their relationship. In contrast, Molly would never see Buck again. Not in this lifetime, anyway. A wild bull had taken care of that.

  Molly allowed herself a moment more of sadness, and then lifted the black briefcase onto the table and tucked the computer inside.

  Steve added the books and papers, a handful at a time. Lastly, he slipped the photo into a side pocket.

  She gazed around the room. “Anything else to pack up?”

  “Nope. We’re good to go.”

  Half an hour later, Molly sat beside Steve at the Phillips’ kitchen table, eating the turkey casserole and green beans Sara had kept warm. Sara, Jackson, Rose, and Mike clustered around them, sipping coffee and munching from a plate of Sara’s raspberry shortbread. Ryan had been put to bed, but Karli insisted on waiting up for Molly and Steve to return. Molly expected Karli to sit beside her at the table, but instead she sat by Steve. She hadn’t left his side since he walked in the door.

  While they ate, Steve fumbling now and then with his left-handed delivery, but on the whole doing pretty well, he recounted their visit to the Emergency Room. “You were right calling it a sprain.” He nodded at Mike, who sat with his arm along the back of Rose’s chair.

  Mike helped himself to another piece of shortbread. “Still good you went in.”

  Steve’s forehead wrinkled. “Yeah, I know, but being laid up is gonna be hard. Ruins my schedule, my plans…”

  Setting down her coffee cup, Rose leaned forward. “I can sympathize. I didn’t like being confined after I broke my leg in the train wreck, either. But the ranch is a great place to recuperate.”

  Mike gave Rose’s shoulder a squeeze. “Your staying here sure worked to my advantage. Gave me a chance to convince you to start seeing me again.”

  “You preyed on my weakened condition.” Rose playfully dug an elbow into her husband’s side.

  “Yeah, I guess I did.” Mike chuckled. “But it worked, didn’t it? And here we are, married and expecting.” He leaned close and patted his wife’s stomach.

  “Yes, and I couldn’t be happier.” Rose gave her husband a quick peck on the cheek.

  As she witnessed the exchange between Mike and Rose, envy nudged Molly. She didn’t begrudge them their happiness—she just missed her own. Once, she had been a wife and newly pregnant and ecstatic, too…

  She glanced at Steve and met his direct gaze. Her body stilled. What? Surely he didn’t think she had any designs on him while he was laid up, like Mike had had on Rose.

  No. Never. Not in a million years. She broke eye contact, focusing on her plate and scooping the last bite of casserole onto her fork.

  ****

  “I sure hate to impose on you like this,” Steve said later that evening as he followed Sara up the stairs to the ranch house’s second floor.

  “You’re not. Our guestroom has been empty for too long. Besides, I wanted you to stay here from the beginning, remember?” She tossed him a grin over her shoulder. “Looks like I got my way, after all.”

  When Sara led Steve into his room, he stopped and blinked. Almost as big as the one at his hotel, the room included a sitting area with two overstuffed chairs, a straight chair, and a square table that would serve nicely as a desk. Nearby stood a TV and sound system console. Through an open door near the bed, he glimpsed a washbasin and a bathtub. His suitcase and briefcase, which Jackson had carried up earlier, sat near a large walk-in closet.

  He turned to Sara. “This is great.”

  She grinned and bobbed her head. “Glad you like it. Will you be able to get any of your work done?”

  “Some.” Steve absently touched his sling. “I can poke at the computer with my left hand. My appointments are the problem. I’ve already set up several, like the company in Denver I’m scheduled to visit on Wednesday. I’m afraid if I don’t show up, the competition will move in ahead of me.” Determined not to let that happen, he sifted through the possibilities. “I suppose I could hire a driver.”

  Sara walked to the closet, opened the door, and took a couple of pillows from the top shelf. “Molly can drive you to your appointment,” she said, adding the pillows to those already on the bed.

  Steve tensed and shook his head. “Oh, no. I don’t want to take her away from her job in the bakery.”

  “We’ll work around that.” Sara smoothed a wrinkle from the bedspread.

  Considering the tension between him and Molly whenever they shared the same space, he wasn’t sure he wanted Molly to drive him anywhere. He’d already had a taste tonight of what that would be like. “Why don’t I hire someone?”

  Sara straightened and made a dismissive wave. “Leave Molly’s schedule to me, and don’t worry.” She nodded toward his suitcase. “Shall I help you unpack?”

  “No, thanks. I’m kinda beat, and that bed looks awfully good right now. Unzipping the bag would be helpful, though.”

  “Sure.” Sara laid his suitcase flat on the floor and grasped the zipper. “What do you think of her?”

  She may have meant to sound casual, but he wasn’t fooled. Sara wanted to set him up with Molly. People were always trying to set him up. Over the past five years, many women had been trotted out and introduced. Although some lasted beyond the first date, none endured.

  He couldn’t be angry with Sara, though. For one thing, he was too tired. For another, he liked Sara and knew she meant well. Still, he couldn’t help saying, “I’m assuming you mean Molly.”

  Finished unzipping the suitcase, she stood and grinned. “Uh huh. Molly.”

  Steve struggled to choose his words carefully. “Well, she’s, ah, very smart. She caught on to the new program fast. She’s a little overbearing with Karli…”

  “I agree with you there. But what do you think of her? You know what I mean.”

  Steve raised his hand in protest. “Sara, please don’t try to fix up me and Molly. I’m not looking for anyone right now. I didn’t do so well with my marriage.”

  Sara pursed her lips and shook her head. “What happened to you was tragic, Steve. But you’re free now.”

  Free? Legally, yes. But not free from the responsibility he’d undertaken when he married Angie, or from the relentless wondering of what he’d done to drive her away.

  “How long are you willing to wait before finding your happiness?”

  Sara’s tone was gentle, but firm enough to require an answer. “I don’t know,” he said, with a solemn shake of his head. “I just don’t know.”

  ****

  “What’s the matter, honey? Don’t you like the story?” Molly laid the book on the bed and brushed a lock of hair from Karli’s forehead. She had little enthusiasm for reading a story tonight herself, but she hated to skip a ritual both she and Karli enjoyed. Besides, after spending so much of the day preoccupied with Steve and his injury, she wanted some quality time with her daughter.

  Karli shifted under the covers and looked up at Molly. Her blue eyes were solemn in the lamplight’s soft glow. “I like the story, Mommy, but I can’t con—concen—”

  “Concentrate? You mean you’re having trouble listening to the story?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. I feel bad that Steve hurt his arm. Was it my fault, Mommy?” Tears glistened in Karli’s eyes.

  Molly’s heart constricted, and she gathered her daughter into her arms. Her nose brushed Karli’s hair, soft as a chick’s down and smelling of clean shampoo.

  “What happened to Steve was an accident. An accident is no one’s fault. Steve and I were worried when we couldn’t find you.”

  Karli ran her fingers along Molly’s arm. “I know you told me not to run away. But sometimes I forget.”

  A lot of times you forget. “Can you think of anything that would make you feel better tonight?”

  “Mmmm, I guess if you stayed here with me.”

  “Of course, I will. I’ll stay with you as long as you need me.” Days. Years. Until you grow up and leave me. Molly turned out th
e light. As she snuggled down next to Karli, something jabbed her arm. “What’s that?” She raised up and pulled back the covers.

  Karli giggled. “It’s Mr. Muggins.” She lifted the doll into view.

  “Mr. Muggins.” Molly laughed and straightened the doll’s askew hat. “I should have known.”

  Later, after Karli had fallen asleep, Molly eased off the bed. Leaving the door ajar, she crept out and down the hallway to the living room. The room lay in darkness with only the moon’s silvery light drifting through the windows.

  Loneliness filled her. She hugged her arms, her thoughts crowding her mind, pushing at the seams. Her gaze strayed to the photos lining the fireplace mantel. Zeroing in on one, she crossed the room and picked it up.

  The picture showed Buck standing in front of the ranch’s barn. She remembered that day, like so many others indelibly stamped into her memories. He’d given her a new camera, and for the first week or so, she carried it everywhere.

  On this particular day, she followed him to the barn, and when he emerged, she snapped his picture. The result was a rather wide-eyed look, but the pose had turned out to be one of her favorites, and she framed it. Gripping the frame now, she gazed into Buck’s handsome face, her emotions churning like the Rolling River.

  “Oh, Buck, I love you so much! I’ll never stop loving you, and no one will ever take your place.” She pressed the photo to her chest and let the tears fall.

  She thought of Steve and how he also clung to the photo of his ex-wife, Angie. No doubt, he loved her as much as Molly loved Buck. Now, all they had left were their pictures and other mementoes. Poor substitutes, yet that was the way it was. And, probably, the way it always would be.

  Chapter Eight

  “I have an appointment in Newton this morning,” Sara told Molly the following day.

  Molly looked up from the computer where she was filling out a Forksville gift shop order for several dozen gingerbread men cookies. “Okay. I think I can manage while you’re gone. If I run into any problems, I always have my manual.” She patted the three-ring binder lying next to the computer.