“It has to be here,” Hardy said, glaring at Molly. “Tell us where it is and we’ll get out.”
“Where what is?” she asked, backing toward the stove. “What is it you’re lookin’ for?”
“The gold,” the other man said, stomping into the room.
“What gold?”
“Jackson said he found a vein,” Hardy reminded her. Molly thought back to that night, when they’d thought they were dining with friends.
“And you’re thinkin’ to steal from a man who fed you at his own table?” she asked, her gaze boring into his. Anger roared to life alongside the fear and slowly choked it back.
“Keelhaul the bastard!” Captain Blood called out, and Molly was inclined to agree.
“What the hell?” The big man stared at the parrot.
“Run ’im through,” the bird yelled, and waved its red and green wings in alarm.
“Shut it up!” the big man shouted.
“Leave him alone,” Molly shouted right back at him.
“Lower the dinghy! Abandon ship!”
“I’ll shut it up,” the man vowed, reaching for the parrot.
“Keep your bloody hands off my bird!” Molly warned him even as Captain Blood lifted off his favorite perch—Jackson’s gun rack—and swooped around the room, shouting curses and swiping at the air with his claws.
Furious now, Molly reached behind her for the first thing she could find and came up with an iron skillet. Brandishing it over her head like a claymore sword, her shriek of outrage rang out with Captain Blood’s and Hardy ducked as she came at him.
He wasn’t quite quick enough though and she caught him a glancing blow that sent him staggering, one hand clapped to his jaw. She pushed past him, shoving him into the table. The edge clipped the backs of his thighs and he toppled over, smacking the back of his head against the tabletop hard enough to roll his eyes.
“Serves ya right,” she snapped, and, with blood in her eye, went after the big man still chasing her parrot. She’d be blasted to hell and back if she’d let two such hooligans enter her home and destroy all she’d worked for.
Captain Blood dipped and swayed about the room, diving at the bigger man, swiping his claws across the top of the man’s head and coming away with a hank of hair. The man bellowed his fury and chased the parrot right out the door into the yard, gold apparently forgotten in his anger and pain. Molly was just a step or two behind him when she saw the man pause long enough to kick Bear’s side as the little dog jumped at him.
She howled and charged.
Jackson couldn’t stay away. Damn it, he’d tried. But the ranch held no interest for him. And he couldn’t bear to spend time at the mine anymore. Not since the day Molly’d brought him dinner and then kissed him until he’d forgotten his own name. She’d shattered the peace he’d always found there in the dark quiet. Now, instead of seeing threads of gold in the damp rock, he saw the gleam in her green eyes and her full lips, pursed for a kiss, or stretched into a wide smile that haunted him.
Shaking his head, he came down the path from the mine—he hadn’t been to the ranch. He’d only told Molly that in an effort to prevent another surprise visit. But the real surprise was, he missed her.
And as he neared the clearing, he heard her scream.
The sound was like a knife to the heart. Cold rushed into his veins and settled in the blackest pit of his soul. And before that scream could die away, he was running. Racing into the clearing, he spotted the parrot, swooping out the open cabin door in a flurry of green and red feathers. Right behind it came a big man, shouting curses and making futile grabs at the bird. Bear streaked out of the flower bed and the man kicked the little dog, sending it spinning off to one side where it lay still in the dirt. And right behind that man was Molly.
Eyes wide, her cheeks stained with the blush of fury, she chased after the man who was twice her size, swinging a skillet as if she meant to take his head off. And that was good enough for Jackson.
A fierce rush of pure hatred caught him in its grip. Like nothing he’d known since the war, Jackson gave himself over to it, counting on his instincts to save her, to crush what would threaten her. Wild-eyed, a haze of red blurring his vision, Jackson hurled himself at the intruder. Taking him down to the ground. Jackson straddled the big man’s chest, took a handful of dirty shirt and plowed one huge fist into the man’s face. But even the satisfaction of watching the fella’s eyes roll back into his head wasn’t enough to smash the fury raging inside. He hit him again and heard the gratifying sound of bone snapping. And with that last blow, the man passed out and Jackson lifted his head like a wild thing scenting the air, searching for another target. His gaze swept the yard, landed on Molly and the frenzied rush of violence left him as quickly as it had come.
He scrambled off his opponent and ran to where she knelt beside the little dog.
Turning her face up to his, she wiped tears off her cheeks with the backs of her hands and asked, “Is he dead, Jackson?”
He shook his head. “No. I broke his nose for him though.”
“Not him,” she said, her tone conveying how little she cared about the fate of the man lying unconscious not ten feet from them. “I meant Bear. Is he dead? He’s not movin’ and, Lord help me, I can’t look closer.”
While she kept her face turned, Jackson ran his hands over the little body and surprised himself with the relief he felt as he noticed the quick breaths heaving in and out of the tiny chest. The little dog had courage, he thought, and he silently vowed Bear would always have a home there on the mountain. When the dog curled its lips back and snarled at him, Jackson chuckled tightly, feeling the last of the rage die away. “He’s fine. Winded is all.”
“Oh, thank heaven,” she muttered, reaching to stroke the dog’s head. “Ah, you’re a fine, strong boy, aren’t you? Tried to save me, didn’t you?”
“You shouldn’t have needed saving,” Jackson muttered, throwing a quick look at the man lying in the dirt behind them.
She followed his gaze and laid one hand on his forearm, drawing his attention. “Hardy Phillips is out cold in the cabin.”
“The son of a bitch,” he snarled, pushing himself to his feet. “You stay with Bear,” he told her, and ducked as Captain Blood swooped in a low arc in front of him. “And catch that damn bird. I’ll take care of these two.”
Molly watched him stalk off, and thinking of the wrath glittering in his pale blue eyes, she almost felt sorry for the two men.
Almost.
Jackson stared down at the men stretched out on the stable floor. Bound hand and foot, and then roped to each other, they wouldn’t be going anywhere. And they wouldn’t be bothering Molly again, either. Just thinking about what might have happened if he hadn’t come home was enough to stir his blood into a raging, burning need for vengeance.
Hardy Phillips opened his eyes and looked up at him.
“You came after my wife,” Jackson said tightly, staring down into the eyes of a man he’d thought he knew.
Hardy worked his jaw, squirmed uncomfortably and said, “I didn’t want her. Wanted your gold.”
“You’re a lucky man, Hardy,” he whispered past the knot of emotion clogging his throat. “If she’d been hurt, you’d be dead. Touch her again and I will kill you.”
As he left the stable, he didn’t hear the other man’s sigh of relief.
“Scrape the barnacles off her hull,” Captain Blood screeched.
“And that’s just to start with,” Molly grumbled, while righting a tumbled chair. She’d already cleaned up most of the mess. But wiping away the stink of those men was more difficult. They’d come into her home. And who knows what might have happened if Jackson hadn’t—
“Molly…”
She whirled around at the sound of his voice. His features were tight, drawn and his eyes shone with banked fires. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
“The men—”
“Don’t matter,” he said, walking
toward her in long, purposeful strides.
“Jackson…”
“No more talking, Molly.” He took her face in his hands, his palms warm against her cheeks. His gaze raked her features as if reassuring himself that she was safe. Unhurt. “For God’s sake, Molly, no more talking.”
Then he bent his head and took her mouth with a fierce hunger that stole her breath and sent her heart galloping. His fingers speared into her hair, holding her head still, while he plundered her, branding her with his touch, his taste.
Molly reached for him, not caring what had brought him to her, only knowing that at last, she was with him again. That finally, he’d seen they belonged together. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him to her, as if afraid he might pull away.
But then he scooped her up into his arms and marched for the bedroom, never taking his mouth from hers. His hands moved quickly, feverishly, as if he couldn’t wait another moment to feel her skin beneath his.
In seconds, he’d stripped off her clothes, torn off his own and laid her on the bed. His hands were everywhere. Her breasts, her thighs, her…Molly gasped, arching her back, digging her head into the pillow. Eyes wide, she stared up into her husband’s face and read the wild passion shining in his eyes. For her, she thought, all for her. She gave herself up to him, running her palms up and down his back, over his chest and up to the face of the man she loved.
He dipped his head, taking first one nipple then the next into his mouth. She sighed and twined her fingers through his thick black hair, holding his head to her. “Oh, Jackson love, that feels…”
“You taste like heaven, Molly,” he whispered, his breath dusting across her skin, sending shivers to every inch of her body. “I’ve wanted you so long. So much.”
“I want you too, Jackson, so much it shames me.”
He lifted his head and stared down into her eyes. “There’s no shame here, Molly. Only need.”
And love, she wanted to say, but then he cupped her center, dipping one finger into her depths and her mind emptied. He worked her body, touching, caressing, exploring. His fingers moved in and out of her warmth and Molly rocked her hips with the rhythm he set. She clutched at his shoulders, whispered his name and rode the first crest of pleasure.
Jackson watched her eyes glaze, and the soft moan that escaped her throat set him on fire all over again. While she was still trembling with release, he shifted position, covering her body with his and, in one swift, sure stroke, pushed himself home. Her damp heat surrounded him and he groaned at the simple, wonderful glory in it. Here was home, his mind screamed, and though he couldn’t allow himself to admit it, he knew it was true.
His gaze caught hers and, staring down into those forest-green eyes, he gave her all he could. All that was left of the man he once was.
Chapter Eleven
He knew why it had happened. He just wasn’t sure what to do about it now.
Jackson stared up at the ceiling and only half listened as Molly talked. She was so happy, he thought, not knowing that any minute now, he was going to ruin it all. Put them right back where they’d been before he’d given in to the rush of emotion driving him since he’d seen her in danger. Pain rippled through him and Jackson clenched his jaw against it. Pain he could deal with. Pain he was used to. It was the other feelings rocking him that he couldn’t handle. Easing his arm out from under her head, he sat up and swung his legs off the bed.
“Jackson?” she asked, reaching for him, tracing her fingertips down along the column of his spine.
Desire grabbed at him again and he stood up quickly, before he could give in to it.
“Where are you going?”
He chanced a look at her and was grateful she’d tugged the sheet up high enough to cover her breasts. One more look and he might not be able to do what he had to do.
“I’m taking those two into town.”
“Now?” Surprise flickered in her eyes and was quickly replaced by suspicion. “Why now? This minute?”
“Molly—” he started, snatching his pants off the floor.
“You’re not.” Her voice sounded ominous.
“Not what?”
“You’re doin’ it again, aren’t you?” She came up onto her knees, twisting the sheet free of the mattress and yanking it tight around her body.
Grinding his teeth, he said only, “I’m doing what I have to do.”
“Leavin’ me,” she supplied. “Pretendin’ again that you don’t want me. Don’t need me.”
He bent down and stomped into his boots. Straightening up again, he said, “I can’t give you what you want, Molly.”
She pushed her hair back away from her face and narrowed her green eyes. “You can,” she accused. “You just won’t. And I think I’ve a right to know why.”
Jackson’s chin hit his chest. Nodding slowly, he slanted her a look and said, “Yeah, you probably do.”
“But you’re not goin’ to tell me.”
“No,” he said, grabbing up his shirt and tugging it on. “I’m not.”
Stalking across the room, he was almost through the door when her voice stopped him. One hand tightened on the doorjamb. His knuckles whitened as he waited.
“I won’t do this time and again, Jackson. I won’t be used and then set aside again.”
He looked back at her over his shoulder and his heartbeat staggered at the raw, furious beauty of her.
Gripping the sheet in one fist between her breasts, she clambered off the bed, caught her foot in the sheet and stumbled a bit before righting herself. She swung her hair back out of her way, lifted one hand and stabbed the air with her index finger. “I’ll not be your floozy, Jackson.”
“What?” The word came out small, tight.
But she wasn’t finished. “You don’t treat me as your wife. I’m your trollop and what’s more, you don’t even have to pay me for a visit.”
“Oh,” he told her in a heartfelt groan, as his gaze slipped to the swell of her breasts, “I’m paying.”
She saw his gaze slip and folded her arms across her chest in self-defense. “Are you so blind you can’t see what I’ve offered you? Can you not see that I lo—”
“Don’t say it,” he said quickly, cutting her off before she could finish the word that would tear what was left of his insides out.
Molly sucked in a gulp of air and blew it out again. Her chin quivered and her lower lip trembled, but she didn’t cry. And that hit him harder than a flood of tears would have.
“I’m sorry, Molly. God knows I’m sorry.” Then he left, while he still could.
After a sleepless night alone in the bed—Jackson slept on the floor in the main room after returning from town and for the first time in their marriage, she didn’t follow after him—Molly hitched the horse to the wagon and set out herself for town.
Her husband had left before dawn. “Back to his cave,” she murmured, and the horse tossed its head in sympathy. Well, while he was tucked away in the shadows of his mine, Molly was determined to find some answers to the questions plaguing her. And those answers could be found in only two places. Jackson—who wasn’t talking.
Or Lucas.
Defiance bustled in the early morning light. Merchants washed windows and swept the boardwalk. Horses, wagons and buggies rattled along the street, oblivious to the shoppers who took their lives in their hands, darting in and out of the crowd.
But Molly hardly noticed. She guided the horse toward the saloon and stopped directly in front of the place. Throwing the brake on, she climbed down off the bench seat, only catching the toe of her shoe in her skirt hem once. Jumping off the wheel onto the boardwalk, she looped the reins over the hitching post and headed for the closed door to the saloon.
Grabbing the latch, she yanked open the door, then pushed the inner bat-wing door out of her way and walked into the shadowy bar. She stopped dead to give her eyes a chance to adjust to the change of light. She didn’t want to take a chance on tripping over a chair or crashing i
nto a table. Not in her condition.
“Molly, hello!” Emily’s voice came out of the shadows.
She blinked and stared hard at the couple across the room from her. Lucas had stopped swinging his wife around in a circle but still held her, close to his chest, her feet high off the ground. Both of them were looking at her and Emily was the first to react. Laughing, she pushed at her husband’s chest and said, “Put me down, Lucas.”
“Not likely,” he told her, and planted a loud, smacking kiss on her cheek. Then to Molly, he said, “Congratulate me, Molly! I’m a father!”
“Not quite yet,” Emily reminded him with a soft smile.
“Close enough,” he said, grinning, and set her on her feet as gently as though she were made of glass.
“That’s grand,” Molly managed to say even as envy stirred inside her. “I’m happy for you both.” This is what she wanted from Jackson. Joy. Love. Lucas and Emily had found their way to each other’s hearts. A marriage that had started out as a business deal had grown into something wonderful. Was it so wrong to want the same thing for herself?
Her stomach churned unexpectedly and Molly grabbed the back of the closest chair to steady herself. Whether it was the child within, her own fatigue or the welling sadness inside her, she felt suddenly, incredibly weak. Instantly Emily crossed the room, took her arm and ordered, “Sit down, Molly. You don’t look well.”
She rubbed her forehead directly between her eyes and murmured, “I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”
Emily’s expression clearly said she didn’t believe that for a minute. She shot Lucas a quick glance, then said, “I’ll get you some tea. You just sit for a moment. Catch your breath.”
“Aye, I will. Thank you.” She was tired, in body and soul.
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