Susan and Sam peeked through the living room doorway. Hair tousled from being towel-dried, wearing dry pajamas (in Sam’s case) and a gown (in Susan’s), they took one look at their usually all-powerful sister crying like a child in Will’s arms and seemed to shrink. Spying them, Will lifted his head. His hands stilled in Molly’s hair.
“Is Molly all right?” Susan asked in a small voice, coming over to the side of the chair.
Will was beginning to wonder that himself. He wasn’t surprised that the thing with the horse had upset her, but her reaction seemed extreme. Molly must have realized Susan was there, that she was frightening the girl by weeping so, because suddenly her sobs were no longer as shattering. Instead her shaking increased, until she was shuddering in his arms. Her face pressed hard against his shoulder as if she was trying to stifle her anguish the only way she could.
“She’s a little upset, but she’ll be fine,” Will said with false heartiness just as Ashley entered carrying towels, a quilt, and a pink cotton T-shirt with a bunny and some writing on it. Ashley’s hair stood out around her face in a frizzy cloud. Her glasses were sliding down her nose, and she wore a blue chenille robe over what looked like the T-shirt’s twin.
“Molly, I brought you a dry sleepshirt,” Ashley said louder than was normal, looking down in dismay at her sister.
Molly burrowed closer. Will realized that she was ashamed for her siblings to see her cry, and that nothing short of brute force was going to get her out of his arms at the moment. He shook his head at Ashley.
“Leave it on the table. She’ll get to it in a minute. Dry her feet, and tuck the quilt around them. And give me the other towel for her hair.”
Ashley did as she was told. Will rubbed as much moisture from the dark curls as he could. Ashley took the damp towel from him, then patted her sister’s shoulder through the stiff twill of Will’s trench coat. Molly’s sobs had quieted down even more, but Will could feel the violent tremors that racked her body and knew that she was making a supreme effort not to frighten her siblings any more than she already had.
Looking down at her sister, Ashley’s eyes filled with tears.
“Good God,” Will said, exasperated. “Don’t you start.”
Ashley sniffed, but shook her head.
Sam and Mike, who was wearing only a pair of jeans and the ubiquitous earring, ventured into the room. Will assumed that Mike slept in his underwear, and the jeans would be shed once the kid was upstairs.
He felt uncomfortable cuddling Molly on his lap before such a young and observant audience. His hands dropped to link loosely at her back. She lay curled against his chest, trembling so much that he kept expecting to hear her teeth chatter. Despite the fact that her sobs had dwindled to occasional hiccuping gasps, she was crying still. He could feel the wet spill of her tears against his neck.
“It was the blood,” Mike said, eyes solemn as he looked from Molly to Will. “Molly can’t stand the sight of blood.”
“Hush, Mike,” Ashley said sharply.
“If she’s going to cry all over him, you ought to tell him why. He’ll think she’s some kind of nut case.”
“She won’t want us to tell.”
“Tell me what?” Will looked from Mike to Ashley.
“Susan and Sam, go to bed,” Ashley ordered.
“Do we have to?” Sam whined.
“Yes,” Will said, in a tone that brooked no argument. That seemed to clinch it. The twins left the room with only a below-the-breath mutter or two.
“So tell me,” Will said.
Ashley and Mike exchanged glances. Ashley shook her head.
“Our mom committed suicide four years ago. She got in the bathtub at her boyfriend’s apartment in Lexington and slit her wrists. Molly found her. Since then, the sight of blood flips Molly out. And tonight there was a lot of blood up there,” Mike said.
Ashley scowled at him.
“Jesus.” Will winced at the horror of it. Molly shuddered. Will could feel her mouth shaking against his neck. But she didn’t make a sound. Will suddenly, fiercely admired her for that.
She needed comforting, but he needed to be alone with her to do it. No way could he so much as whisper in her ear under the interested eyes of a fourteen-year-old boy and a seventeen-year-old girl.
24
“Mike, I appreciate you telling me. Now go to bed,” Will said. Mike looked at him, affronted. For a moment Will thought the kid’s natural rebelliousness was going to assert itself and he would refuse. But Mike surprised him by merely pursing his lips in a thoughtful way before leaving the room.
“Did you make coffee?” Will said to Ashley.
“I’ll get it,” Ashley said, and hurried out, taking the damp towels with her. Will shifted Molly into a more comfortable position on his lap and pressed his mouth to her thick mass of damp hair, and then Ashley was back. She carried an earthenware mug filled almost to the brim with steaming coffee.
“I put three spoonfuls of sugar in,” she said, setting the cup down on the table within reach of his hand.
“Good.”
“Now you want me to go to bed,” she guessed.
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Good night.”
“Good night.”
“Will?”
“Hmm?”
“Take care of Molly.”
“Good night, Ashley.” His voice was dry.
“ ’Night. ’Night, Molly.”
Ashley left. Seconds later the kitchen light went out. Will could hear Ashley climbing the stairs.
Will slid his hand beneath the thick fall of Molly’s hair to the back of her neck, stroking the velvety nape. They were alone in a pool of soft light. He looked thoughtfully at the tangled mass of coffee-brown waves that were snuggled against him, at the slender shoulders almost buried by the bulk of his coat. She wasn’t heavy. Will realized that she felt as if she belonged on his lap, and realized, too, that he was in serious trouble.
At the moment he didn’t much care.
“Molly.”
No response. He couldn’t see her face. Will brushed the hair away from her ear—the only part of her his lips could reach—and kissed it.
“Hey,” he said. “You’re scaring me.”
She drew in her breath in a kind of hiccuping gasp, then turned her head so that her cheek was pillowed on his shoulder. Her hold on him loosened. Instead of strangling him, her arms slid down to drape tiredly over his chest. She didn’t open her eyes, but at least now he could see her face. She was weeping still, her tears silent and seemingly endless. Her body trembled in his hold.
“Molly.” He pushed the hair back from her face, brushed gently at the flowing tears with a forefinger. “I want you to sit up and drink some coffee. Can you do that for me, please?”
When she didn’t respond, he slid his lips over her wet cheek, touched them to the corner of her mouth. Her lips quivered, then turned, seeking his. Will kissed her mouth, careful to be tender, surprised that he succeeded so well. For quite a while now he hadn’t been able to so much as think about her without an accompanying surge of hard, hungry desire. Tonight he found that taking care of her took precedence.
He freed his mouth before the kiss could heat up to the point where it was out of control, then took a deep breath to clear his head.
Her eyes were still closed, her head still rested on his shoulder, but one of her hands had crept up to curl around his neck.
Also, her face had a little more color to it, he decided. He fought the urge to kiss her again.
“If you don’t do what I tell you, I’m going to put you in the car and drive you to the hospital,” he threatened. “They’ll treat you for shock. Do you want me to do that?”
He interpreted the small movement of her head as a negative answer.
“Then sit up and take a drink of coffee.” He employed the same stern, brook-no-disobedience voice he had used on her siblings.
Molly shivered, and her eyes opened. Then she pushed away f
rom his chest and sat up, pulling his coat more closely about her. She didn’t look at him, but kept her eyes downcast. Will wondered if she was embarrassed, or just shy.
At the thought of Molly being shy he almost smiled. Brazen, maybe; feisty, definitely. Shy, no.
“Here.” Will handed her the cup of coffee, and watched while she drank. Her hands were unsteady, but, though he was ready to help her, she managed without spilling any.
Her hair must have a natural tendency to curl, he decided, because, damp, it formed a tumultuous halo of near-black waves around her face and shoulders. Her lashes were dense and long and darker than her hair, and still wet with tears. Her brows were thick, with only the faintest suggestion of an arch. Her nose was fine and straight, her lips soft and eminently kissable. Her chin and cheekbones were perfectly sculpted and delicately carved. The creamy smoothness of her skin was marred only by the silvery tracks of tears. Lost in the folds of his coat, she looked like a fragile, slightly bedraggled version of a Pre-Raphaelite angel. The quilt had fallen away from her legs and feet. With her legs draped over his, her feet did not quite touch the floor.
“I’m cold,” she said in a small voice, still without looking at him, and shivered.
Will remembered the wet nightshirt and took the half-empty coffee cup out of her hands.
“We’ll fix that,” he said, striving for a light tone.
Gathering her up in his arms again, he got to his feet, picking up the nightshirt Ashley had left on the table as well.
“You don’t have to carry me. I can walk.” Despite her low-voiced protest, Molly curled in his arms as if there were nowhere else on earth she would rather be.
Will looked down into her tear-washed brown eyes as he headed for the kitchen. “Just shut up and let somebody take care of you for a change, okay?”
He thought Molly fought against it for another instant, but then she surrendered with a tired sigh and rested her head against his chest. Her eyes closed and her breathing slowed. Intermittent tremors shook her as Will carried her through the kitchen into the bathroom, turning on lights as he went.
He hoped her shivers were from the cold.
Once in the bathroom, he assessed the facilities with a glance. The tub was ancient, one of the original claw-foot variety with the rubber stopper in the bottom to keep the water in. The shower attachment had obviously been rigged up more recently. It consisted of a thin brass pipe extending halfway up the green-tiled wall with a showerhead tilting down over the tub. An oval-shaped metal rod suspended from the ceiling supported a plain white shower curtain.
Hanging on to Molly as best he could, Will leaned over and managed to fit the plug into the drain. He turned on the taps. Water spurted into the tub. Will tested the temperature, waited a minute, then pulled his trench coat away from Molly’s body, dropped it and the dry nightshirt on the closed toilet lid, and lowered her into the tub.
He thought, briefly, about stripping the soaked white T-shirt with its incongruously cheerful picture of Mickey Mouse over her head, but the garment was already so wet, it couldn’t get any wetter. And at the moment, under the circumstances, stripping her didn’t seem quite the thing to do.
Her eyes opened as she turned loose of his neck. Huge and dark and lost-looking, they rested on his face. The pain in them hurt him as well. Crouched by the tub, Will caught her hand, pressed the icy fingers to his cheek, kissed her palm.
“It was Sheila,” Molly said, closing her eyes. Her head rested tiredly back against the lip of the tub. Her hair spilled behind it, almost reaching the floor. “It was Sheila.”
The words made no sense to Will. He kissed her palm again.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Everything’s all right.”
Tears spilled from beneath her lashes. She shook her head. Then she pulled her hand from his hold and opened her eyes again.
“I can manage now,” she said steadily. “Thanks.”
Will realized he was being dismissed. He looked at her, hesitated, and stood up.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Call me if you need anything,” he said, and left the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him.
25
When Molly finally got up the nerve to emerge from the bathroom, Will was leaning against the kitchen counter drinking a glass of milk. He was wearing black swear pants and a white short-sleeved T-shirt that said NIKE on the front. White sweat socks were on his feet. He met her gaze over the rim of his glass, his eyes moving swiftly from her scrubbed-clean face to her bare feet and back. She had brushed her hair and teeth and splashed cold water on her face until her skin felt tight, but still her eyes were red around the rims and swollen. Not that there was anything she could do about that, or about her nightshirt, which sported a sleepy-eyed bunny in curlers with the motto I don’t do mornings!
“Milk again?” she questioned, wrinkling her nose at him. Embarrassment had kept her in the bathroom long after she had both finished bathing and recovered her composure. What was she supposed to say to a man she had just kissed and cried all over and who had just learned one of the most painful secrets of her life?
Especially a man to whom she was wildly, crazily attracted. A man who, before tonight, had seemed determined to keep her at arm’s length.
A man there was no future in loving, even if she were stupid enough to fall hard.
“Milk again?” was the best she could do.
“I have an ulcer,” he said easily. “The doctor who diagnosed it said I don’t handle stress well.”
He took another swallow of milk, watching her over the rim of the glass. Molly realized that he had made her a present of the information as sort of a trade-off for what he now knew about her.
“Where’d you get the clothes?” She walked into the kitchen carrying his raincoat, which she placed over the back of a chair. Then she headed for the coffeepot, careful not to get too near Will. Things had gone too far between them already for one night. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice where he was concerned. One more misstep and she would fall over.
“I keep a gym bag in the trunk of the car. In case I should get a chance to get some exercise.”
He must get that chance fairly often, Molly thought with a sideways glance at him. He looked even better in sweats than he did in his expensive suits. His was the strong, toned body of an athlete. His shoulders were broad, his arms solid with muscle, his waist and hips narrow, his stomach washboard flat. His legs were long and powerful-looking. Even his neck looked strong.
“Do you lift weights?” she asked, turning to face him. She used the filled coffee cup she held as a kind of barrier between them, raising it to her lips. A jolt of caffeine was what she needed, she thought, sipping. Maybe it would shock her back to reality.
“Sure. Where do you think I found the strength to cart you around all night?” He grinned at her, a boyish grin, and Molly realized he was teasing.
“I don’t weigh all that much.” A smile trembled on her lips. It felt good, and Molly was grateful that he had provoked it. It helped push the hideous events of the night farther away, toward the black canyon where all her painful memories were buried.
“You don’t, do you?” He finished his milk and moved to the sink. Molly watched as he rinsed his glass before setting it down.
He must have caught the surprise in her look as he turned around.
“Hey, I can wash dishes with the best of them. You’ll have to try me out.”
She would love to, Molly thought. But he would be going back to Chicago soon, so she wasn’t likely to get the chance.
“You don’t believe me?”
He seemed able to read her expressions without any trouble at all.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“So where’d the smile go?”
“I guess I’m tired,” she said, setting her coffee cup on the counter behind her. She would rinse the cup out later, when he was not standing in front of
the sink. Her emotions were too close to the surface tonight. Putting them out in the open where they could get trampled did not seem like a smart idea.
“You ought to go to bed.” He was watching her steadily. Molly hoped her cheeks didn’t turn pink. Going to bed sounded wonderful, but only if he joined her—which she did not want him to do, not really. At least that’s what she told herself.
Sleeping with him when he was only a temporary visitor to her life would rank right up there as one of the stupidest things she had ever done.
“Are you leaving?” she asked, hoping she merely sounded polite.
He shook his head. “Under the circumstances, I’m going to sack out on your couch for what’s left of the night. I’ll have someone out here first thing tomorrow to install a security system for you. Until then you’re stuck with me.”
“A security system? Do you really think we need one?”
Will looked at her without replying for a moment, his expression unreadable. “No, not really. But the other night Susan thought she saw someone at the window. J.D. said someone was spooking the horses. And tonight—well, tonight. I can’t be here all the time, and I can’t do my job if I’m worried about you and your brothers and sisters. So you’re getting a security system.”
“Security systems are expensive. We can’t afford it.”
“The government protects its informants.”
“The government must have pretty deep pockets.”
“It does.”
“What if I told you I don’t want you sleeping on my couch?”
Will’s eyebrows rose. “Are you by any chance making me a more interesting offer?” A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. He was teasing again—wasn’t he?
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