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Susan winced in sympathy.
Leaning on the broom, watching with transparent derision, Sam hooted out loud.
“Sam!” Molly said. She was elbow-deep in sudsy water, trying with indifferent success to focus on the task at hand rather than her sister and Will. If she was attracted to him, it was a fluke, a case of chemistry run amok, Molly told herself. Ignore it, she was sure, and it would go away. Just as he would.
“I’m sorry,” Ashley said again, lifting her foot.
“No harm done,” Will answered. “Just remember left, left, left, right.”
“I’ll never get it,” Ashley moaned.
“She’ll never get it,” Sam echoed with conviction.
“Shut up, Sam!” Susan hissed.
“Sweep, Sam,” Molly said, plunging glasses into hot water. Unable to resist, she cast the dancing pair a sideways glance. Will looked relaxed, patient—and too sexy for Molly’s peace of mind. Not that Ashley seemed to think so. It was clear that Ashley, far from being smitten with Will, was hard at work. Ashley was chewing on her bottom lip, concentrating for all she was worth on where she would next put her feet.
While Molly, Mike, and Sam were natural athletes, at ease with their bodies and good at most sports, and Molly at least loved dancing, Susan and Ashley tended to be less physically coordinated. Ashley had fallen so many times when trying to learn to roller-skate that she had eventually given up the attempt; almost every time she sat on the back of a horse she managed to tumble off; she was a slow runner, a clumsy pitcher, and a lousy batter; one year at school she had fallen off the balance beam and broken her arm. She could not do the splits, a cartwheel, or even a somersault, and gym was the only class where Molly had ever feared she might earn less than an A.
It did not look like she was going to be a natural dancer, either.
Just as it did not look like Ashley had the slightest awareness of Will as a male. Or vice versa.
“Left, left, left, right,” Ashley said, counting off the steps as she moved rigidly in Will’s wake.
“You can do it, Ash,” Susan encouraged.
“Man, this is so dumb,” Mike muttered as he passed back through the kitchen. With a last scornful look at Ashley and Will, he disappeared into the living room.
“Garbage, Mike,” Molly called after him.
“Left, left, left, right.”
“You’re doing great,” Will said.
“You look like you’ve got a poker up your butt,” Mike told Ashley as he came back through the kitchen, grabbed the garbage can, and headed for the door. “Loosen up.”
“Shut up, Mike!” Molly and Susan said in almost the same breath, then looked at each other and grinned.
“I hope this doesn’t look as stupid as it feels.” Ashley sounded discouraged as she and Will paused to untangle their feet for the dozenth time.
“It looks pretty stupid,” Sam assured her. Having finished the sweeping, he perched on the edge of the kitchen table to watch with critical interest. Clad in jeans, sneakers, and a royal blue Kentucky Wildcats sweat shirt, a drift of shining blond hair hanging across his forehead almost into his eyes, he looked as sweet in his own way as Susan did in hers.
Too bad he isn’t, Molly thought, exasperated.
“It does not look stupid,” Molly said, casting Sam an evil glance, while Susan, in the act of restoring butter and milk to the refrigerator, chimed in with “What you need is music,” and ran from the room.
“You’re doing great,” Will said to Ashley yet again. “It just takes practice.”
“She can practice till the cows come home, and it’s not gonna help,” Mike observed, passing through again on his way back to the living room. “Face it, Ash, you can’t dance.”
“Mike!” Molly snapped, but he was out of the room.
“Maybe I should just tell Trevor I can’t go.” Ashley stopped moving, disengaged her hands from Will, and sent Molly a miserable glance.
Molly scowled at her sister. “Don’t be silly, Ash. Of course you’re going. You’re going to look beautiful, and you’re going to dance as well as anyone else there, and you’re going to have a wonderful time.”
“So there?” Ashley asked with a faint smile, her hands tucked under her elbows against her sides.
“So there!” Molly echoed.
“I wish someone would teach me to dance,” Susan said enviously, returning with the small brass music box from Molly’s top dresser drawer. “Who taught you, Will?”
He shrugged. “I just picked it up.”
“Who taught you, Molly?” Susan was winding the key.
“I guess I just picked it up too. All you really have to do is listen to the music and follow your partner’s steps.” Molly rinsed the last of the plates, and started on the silverware.
Susan opened the lid of the music box. The clear, lilting melody of “Edelweiss” filled the kitchen.
“… small and white, clean and bright, every morning you meet me …”
“Try it with music,” Susan suggested.
Will held out his arms to Ashley, who sighed, rolled her eyes, and assumed the position.
“… small and white, clean and bright, you look happy to greet me …”
Will and Ashley began moving in awkward squares across the kitchen floor, while Molly, listening to the tune she loved, felt tears mist her eyes.
“Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow …”
The music box had been a gift from her mother. Every time she heard its tinkling notes, she was reminded of small happinesses and large sorrows and much that she would sooner forget. Which was why she hardly ever listened to it.
“… bloom and grow forever. Edelweiss, Edelweiss, bless my homeland forever.”
She was surprised Susan even knew where the music box was kept.
“Will you show me, Molly?” Ashley asked.
The music stopped. Molly looked around in surprise. Ashley and Will had stepped apart. Both were looking at her.
“If you’d dance with Will for a minute, maybe I could see how it’s done. I’m not getting the hang of it very well, I don’t think.”
Blinking away both moisture and memories, Molly met her sister’s gaze. The soft brown eyes pleaded.
“Show her, Molly, please,” Susan begged, her finger on the tiny button that, when depressed, stopped the music. “I want to see how you do it.”
“You gotta be better than Ash,” Sam muttered, shaking his head.
“Ashley’s doing fine,” Will said. “But it might help if she could watch someone else. Molly?”
He reached for her easily. Molly was reminded of how he had kissed her hand earlier in the day and appeared to experience absolutely no reaction, while she had received the shock of a lifetime. If, against all the laws of reason, she was attracted to him, he didn’t seem to reciprocate.
“My hands are all wet,” Molly protested. Susan, who was drying the silverware, wordlessly handed her a towel. Unable to think of another objection that would not leave her looking foolish—Will was supposed to be her boyfriend, after all, and it was only a dance—Molly dried her hands and went into his arms.
His shoulder felt hard beneath her hand. The material of his shirt was a fine, soft cotton. His fingers grasping hers were warm, strong. She could feel the firm possession of his other hand at her waist.
Her instinct was to drop her gaze, to shut herself off from him by refusing to look at him. But what would he, and her watching family, read into that?
She raised her chin, looked him in the eye, and pinned a smile on her face.
Susan lifted her finger from the music box’s button, and the evocative strains of “Edelweiss” spilled forth.
“… you look happy to greet me …”
Molly tried not to listen, either.
So caught up was she in not revealing her reaction to either the man or the music, she danced without conscious volition. She simply followed Will’s lead, her bare toes skimming over t
he floor. Thus she appeared extremely proficient at the waltz, which she had danced perhaps three times in her life.
“… blossom of snow …”
There were a few silver hairs among the gold ones above his ears, Molly noticed, and grooves beside his mouth that were deeper than the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. His lips were thin but well shaped, stretched now in a slight smile as he looked down at her.
“… bloom and grow forever …”
His eyes were bluer than Ashley’s sweater.
“Edelweiss …”
The top of her head would fit perfectly beneath his nose.
“… edelweiss …”
His throat was a brown, strong column, and despite its gold tips the hair on his chest was darker than that on his head. Molly caught herself wondering if his chest was very hairy. Probably not, she decided. Not with that blond hair.
“… bless my homeland forever.”
His body radiated heat, or something did. Whatever its source, she was absorbing heat in waves. She felt very, very warm.
The music stopped. Will swung her around in a theatrical twirl, and released her.
Molly felt dizzy. Susan, Sam, and Ashley applauded.
“You’re a good dancer,” Will said, smiling at her.
“Thank you,” Molly replied, pleased to discover that she sounded a lot more normal than she felt. “So are you.”
“Hey, the basic box step goes a long way.”
“Ashley? Your turn.” Molly walked away, leaned against the counter, and began to recover. Ashley and Will took up where they had left off, but Molly no longer felt remotely jealous. If Ashley was experiencing anything halfway near what Molly had felt in Will’s arms, she wouldn’t be able to hide it. If nothing else, her fair skin would give her away. It was clear, watching, that neither dancer was romantically interested in the other. They were friendly, and that was all.
Molly wondered how she had looked, dancing with Will. She doubted that friendly was quite the word to describe it.
Though her brothers and sisters would not have noticed anything amiss. Will was supposed to be her boyfriend, after all.
Susan screamed. The sound, loud and shrill as a siren, came out of nowhere to shatter the cozy serenity of the kitchen. The music box fell from Susan’s hands to the floor with a crash. The music stopped.
White-faced and wide-eyed, Susan stared at the small window. The homemade curtains, which never quite met in the center anyway, were open. Beyond the glass was impenetrable darkness.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” a jumble of voices, Molly’s among them, demanded.
Susan pointed a shaking finger at the window.
“There was somebody looking in!”
“Susan! Are you sure?” Again the chorus.
“There was! There was!”
“Stay here!” Will commanded, and ran outside. Mike, who had appeared in the kitchen seconds after Susan screamed, grabbed the shotgun from the corner next to the refrigerator and followed him. The door banged shut behind him.
Outside, Pork Chop began to bark. Molly scooped up the music box from the floor. Her fingers found a slight dent in one smooth oval side, and as she set it on the counter she hoped that that was the only damage. But she would check the music box later; her first priority was her sister.
Mike was back within moments, slamming the door behind him. Molly, who was comforting a shaken Susan, looked an inquiry at him.
“He’s an asshole,” Mike said through his teeth, and kicked the baseboard furiously.
Molly’s brows rose. She and Ashley exchanged questioning looks. Before they could say anything, Will entered.
“Nobody there,” he said, closing the door. Molly realized that Will now held the shotgun, and glanced at her brother’s resentful face with sudden comprehension: he must have taken it from Mike.
“There was somebody there. He—they—were looking in,” Susan insisted. “I saw them!”
“Must have been a ghost, then. Pork Chop was eating his supper when we went outside. He didn’t see anybody—but then he wouldn’t, would he, if it was a ghost,” Mike taunted her.
“He’s barking,” Ashley pointed out.
“Cat,” Will said briefly. “He chased it to the fence, but he can’t get over.”
“Oh.” Everybody knew how Pork Chop felt about cats.
Will crossed the kitchen and leaned the shotgun against the far wall.
“You shouldn’t keep this thing at all, much less where kids can get at it,” he said to Molly.
“It’s not loaded. I told you.” There was a furious, goading note to Mike’s voice.
Will gave him a level look. “It’s still dangerous. What if that had been a police officer out there? He might have shot you, thinking you were armed and dangerous.”
“Well, it wasn’t a cop. It wasn’t anyone. Just a figment of little sister’s imagination!” Mike sneered.
“Mike!” Molly rebuked him, with a quick glance at Susan.
“It was not my imagination! There was someone there, truly there was!” Susan cried.
“Maybe you saw Libby Coleman,” Mike offered maliciously. “Maybe she heard the music, and she wanted to dance.”
Susan gasped.
“Mike!” Molly glared at him, while Susan turned three shades paler.
“Who’s Libby Coleman?” Will inquired, checking the kitchen window to make sure it was locked, and peering out into the backyard beyond. Not that he would be able to see anything, Molly thought. Not even FBI agents came equipped with X-ray vision.
“She’s our local ghost,” Molly explained, striving to keep her voice light. “Except no one knows for sure that she’s dead.”
“She’s one of the faces you see on milk cartons,” Ashley added. “She disappeared, oh, more than ten years ago, when she was about twelve years old. Just disappeared.”
“Right after she’d been to cotillion,” Mike put in, with a teasing glance at Susan. “Dancing, you see. I bet she still likes to dance.”
“Shut up, Mike,” Susan said with loathing.
“It was thirteen years ago. I remember, because she and I were about the same age, and that made it scary. It was all over TV, and the papers. For months afterward, none of us were allowed to so much as set foot outside alone,” Molly recalled.
“Was that when you were living at the Home?” Ashley asked, frowning. Molly nodded. Glancing at Will, she hoped that he hadn’t noticed the reference to the modern-day orphanage where she had spent a good part of her adolescence. Though his background check on her had probably revealed that tidbit of information. But maybe not. Just the facts, he’d said. Not for the first time, Molly wondered what “just the facts” entailed.
Apparently he hadn’t noticed Ashley’s question, or wasn’t interested in following up. “Coleman,” he said thoughtfully. “One of the Greenglow Stables’ Colemans?”
Molly nodded, glad to pursue that instead of the more sensitive subject. “Their younger daughter. They had—have—an older girl, and a boy.”
“And she disappeared, after a cotillion class, thirteen years ago?” Will rubbed his chin. “That’s interesting, but I don’t think it was her at your window.”
“It was somebody,” Susan insisted. “I saw them, I really did.”
“If you did, they’re gone now. Don’t worry about it.” Will glanced at Molly. “Still, just to be safe, I’d like to check the house. Do you mind?”
Molly shook her head. Will walked through the downstairs, tugging at window sashes, testing locks. Then he went upstairs. When he came back, he spoke to Molly.
“The lock on the window in the boys’ room upstairs is broken. I shoved a piece of wood in there to hold it. I’ll fix it next time I come over.”
“Thank you,” Molly said, and smiled at him.
Mike’s expression darkened. “What is he, man of the house now?” he muttered, and took himself off upstairs. They could hear his angry footsteps echoing through the house.
For a moment everyone was silent.
“It’s a phase,” Ashley said apologetically to Will, who nodded.
“I’ve got to go,” Will said to Molly. “Unless you’re scared. I’ll stay, if you want me to.”
“We’re fine,” Molly answered, her arm still around Susan’s shoulders. “But thanks for the offer. And the chicken. You saved me from having to cook supper tomorrow night.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.” Molly retrieved his coat and tie from the bench and held them out to him. He rolled down his sleeves, slipped into the coat, and draped the tie around his neck.
“We’ll practice that box step a couple more times, and by next Friday night you’ll be a pro,” Will promised Ashley.
“I hope so.” Ashley hugged herself and smiled at him. “Thanks, Will.”
“Bye, Will,” Sam said glumly. Molly wondered when the children had started calling him Will. The intimacy sounded natural—but she wasn’t sure she ought to allow it. Given the circumstances.
Not that there was much she could do about it. They would think she was nuts if she insisted they call him Mr. Lyman. All her other boyfriends they had called by their first names.
“Bye, Sam. Bye, Susan. Don’t worry. What you saw was probably some kind of animal, a possum or an owl or something, out there on the windowsill for a second before your scream frightened it away.”
“Yeah.” Susan was clearly unconvinced.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Molly offered, thinking he probably had instructions for her.
“No.” His refusal was abrupt. Molly looked questioningly at him. He caught her hand, pulled her close, and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I didn’t see anything out there, but you never know. I want you—all of you—to stay inside tonight, and keep the door locked. Just in case. Understand?”
Molly nodded. Will still held her hand, and his breath was warm against her ear. Molly felt the heat of it clear down to her toes.
“You’ve got my number if you see or hear anything else. Call the police first, then call me, because they can get here quicker. Got it?”
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