by Jodi Thomas
Molly lifted Wolf’s tin box, planning to check his original balance and replace it. But the box was locked and the key had been left in her kitchen. She thought of trying to break the lock, but decided she could guess the amount close enough.
With her hand bandaged, it was impossible to do more than comb through her hair. Molly worked to make herself look presentable. By noon she and Callie Ann were ready to go downstairs. Carefully, Molly took each step.
When she reached the long dining room that could easily seat a dozen, the table was set for only three. Fresh flowers fanned from a bowl in the middle, amid blue and white china.
Granny set a pot of dumplings on the table and looked up. “My, my, don’t you look fine. As grand a lady as I’ve ever served.”
Callie Ann twirled. “I have new clothes, too.”
Granny made a fuss over the child, then tied a huge napkin around her so she wouldn’t spill anything on her new dress.
Molly took her seat. “I thought you had other guests staying here.”
Granny filled the plates without bothering to ask what or how much anyone wanted. “I do, but I ran them all off. I thought we needed to spend some time talking. I’ve had this place for years, and you are the first lady I’ve ever had stay here.”
Accepting her plate, Molly watched the old woman closely. She could feel something wrong. No one had been up to her room to check on her. The house was quiet. Something was wrong.
“I talked with Wolf this morning when he came down a little after dawn,” Granny mumbled as she took a bite of a biscuit-size dumpling.
“Wolf was here last night?”
Granny nodded. “He came in just before dark and didn’t leave until after sunrise. Said he sat by your bed most of the night. Didn’t you even wake up enough to see him?”
“No.” Molly felt her cheeks redden. She couldn’t believe he’d watched her while she’d dreamed. “Where is he now?”
“When he brought the last of them boxes in this morning, there were men waiting to talk to him. He took off like lightning. Ranger problem, I imagine.”
Molly tasted the bland food as Granny continued.
“I haven’t had a chance to tell you my Luther was a ranger back in the early forties when Texas was a country all to itself. He weren’t more than a kid when he rode with Sam Houston at San Jacinto.”
Granny looked insulted when Molly didn’t comment. “It was the great battle of Texas’s rebellion against Mexico. Houston and his men caught old Santa Anna napping. A few hundred men took an army of thousands. Luther said they rode in firing like wild men and yelling, ‘Remember the Alamo!’ and ‘Remember Goliad!’ Santa Anna’s men didn’t have time to form a line, much less hold it. They ran like chickens at the sound of thunder.”
Molly nodded as if she remembered.
Managing to filter in bites, Granny kept talking. “My Luther was a big fella, just like Wolf, and took to rangering. All full of gruff and spit, he was. If he ran out of bullets, he’d just frighten most troublemakers to death by yelling.”
Granny snorted. “Lord, how I miss that man! When you’re hugged by a bear of a man like that, you know you’ve been held,” Granny mumbled around another bite. “But I guess you understand that, don’t you, hon?”
In truth, she did know that. The few times Wolf had pulled her into his arms, she knew she’d been hugged. There was something warm and safe about the way he put his arms around her and lifted her off the ground. He might not be polished and handsome like Benjamin, but Wolf Hayward had a way about him that made her feel good about herself. He treated her like she was fine china, something to treasure.
“My Luther was killed down on the border one winter,” Granny continued. “He was chasing outlaws who raided ranches then ran back across the Rio Grande to hide. Luther was alone when he met up with them. There was a horrible gunfight. The men who found him said the ground was thick with spent shells. Luther took four bullets before he quit firing. They said he killed twelve of them.” She lifted the first of her chins in pride. “Imagine that! It took more’n twelve men to bring my man down.”
Suddenly, Molly didn’t want to hear Granny’s story. She didn’t want to think about Wolf fighting to the death in a gun battle. She couldn’t imagine ever bragging about such a thing in her widow days.
Finishing her meal, Callie Ann asked if she could go out to the barn with Noah. He’d promised to let her feed a carrot to the goat he kept for milk.
When the child disappeared around the corner, Granny straightened, as if getting down to business. “Some men came in this morning and told me something you need to know.”
Molly waited for what she knew was coming. Maybe they’d found who set the fire.
“That night”—Granny swallowed a dumpling without bothering to chew—“amid all the excitement over the fire at your place, two men escaped from jail.”
Without speaking, Molly watched Granny finish off another bite.
“The Digger boys. Meanest men you’d ever want to meet. They had help by someone on the outside.”
Panic made Molly’s blood rush. “Do they know about Callie Ann? Will they come after her because she’s kin?”
“I don’t think so. Far as I know, the rangers saw no reason to tell them about her. Besides, they wouldn’t care nothing about a kid.”
Molly hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath.
“Wolf rode out to try and catch them.” Granny wiped her chin. “He said to tell you he’d be back as soon as he could. He’s got to try and get to the Diggers before they kill. With them two it’s not a question of if, but when.”
Reaching across the table, Granny took Molly’s hand. “I told him you can stay with me. With most of the rangers rooming here when they’re in town, this is as safe a place as you’ll find.” She patted her apron pocket. “And I got my derringer, just in case.”
Molly tried not to look frightened. She wasn’t positive the fire had been set. It seemed reasonable that some folks didn’t like her, or might want her to leave, but they wouldn’t go so far as to kill her, not even in this wild place. Maybe a bottle spilled over and started the fire? Children, looking for money, may have destroyed her book and stayed to spill things for fun. The cowboy who shot up her place was drunk, nothing more. Wolf had to do his job. He couldn’t stay here worrying about her. She could take care of herself.
Granny stood and cleared the table. “Wolf said you had the names of those he counted as family. You could go to them if you like. They’d welcome you.” She looked over her shoulder and made a face. “Wolf also paid for Charlie Filmore to stay here. He’ll be sleeping and eating on the porch unless he gets in a bathing mood. Charlie’s about as useful as a yard dog in town, but he did save your life. I guess now he figures he’s got to keep watch over you.”
Shaking her head, she added, “Lady, you got the ugliest guardian angel I ever seen. He’d scare paint off a fence post.”
“I’ll stay here until I sort things out,” Molly whispered, almost lost in her own thoughts.
Granny smiled. “I figured you would. A wife wants to be where her man will come back to first.”
Molly didn’t have the nerve to tell Granny that wasn’t it at all. She simply refused to retreat. Somehow she had to stay and rebuild. And straighten out the mess she’d made of her personal life.
Wolf pushed himself to exhaustion. He rode after the Digger brothers at twice the speed he normally tracked. He told himself it was the need to catch the killers, but deep inside, he knew he had to put distance between himself and Molly’s dreams.
After the night by her side, he had no doubt she was in love with Benjamin. He should be elated that their chance meeting years ago had made such an impact, but all he could think of was she’d never love him as Wolf. He’d believed their friendship would have a chance to grow, but after he’d shaved and held her, he doubted it. She had her lover. Dressed as Wolf, he’d never be more than a friend.
At sunset he
stopped, knowing only a fool would try to track by moonlight. He made camp and tried to relax, but the memory of Molly so close against him kept him awake long after midnight. All he had to do was close his eyes and he was back on the third floor of Granny’s with Molly by his side.
But he didn’t want a dream lover, as she obviously did. He needed a real flesh-and-blood woman staring at him, good or bad, in broad daylight.
Yet each night the ache for her pounded through his body. He told himself it would lessen, but a week later he could tell no difference.
Two weeks passed and, still, the need to feel her by his side throbbed like an open wound across his heart. A hundred times, he fought to keep from turning back. He told himself he’d shave again and lie beside her. He’d walk into her dreams as he had before. If he could have nothing else of Molly, he’d have that.
But duty drove him on. Blind, frustrating loyalty to a course he knew was right. No matter how much he ached inside for her, Wolf knew he’d never be able to make love to her unless he first did his job. He’d never forgive himself if others died because he hadn’t tried his best to find the Digger brothers.
By the end of the third week, it was obvious the brothers were well aware he followed. They were basically a lazy pair who wouldn’t have traveled so far or fast if they felt safe. They tried to cover tracks, but their bungling made the trail even easier to follow.
Wolf concentrated on finding them. They were covering familiar ground, for the pair seemed to know this part of Texas better than he did. First, they rode west past the fort lines where roads crisscrossed the countryside. Then the outlaws doubled back and skirted the Hill Country, where hunting was good and hideouts plentiful among the rocks and uneven terrain.
If the Diggers made one mistake—backtracked because of a swollen river, or took a wrong turn into a box canyon—he would catch them. But their luck held into the fourth week.
Early fall chilled the air. Wolf pulled his saddle off, hobbled his horse, and rubbed the red down with dried grass. He stopped before dark, for once, to take time to hunt. His supplies were so low, he knew even if he caught game tonight, it would be only a matter of days before he’d have to stop in a town. The delay would cost him dearly, but he had no other choice.
After dropping a line in the spring and setting a trap in the brush for rabbits, Wolf boiled the last of his coffee and waited. He was covered in dirt from head to foot, but bathing took valuable time. Scratching his thick, inch-long beard, he laughed. Molly wouldn’t recognize him as Benjamin tonight. He knew he looked more like a wild animal than a human.
But that was a part of him, too. For every month he’d worn an officer’s uniform, he’d spent twice that time combing the woods, moving like a shadow, living off the land. Once, when he’d been caught behind enemy lines without supplies, he survived in the woods a month. He had sat, gnawing on hard roots and listening to the Yanks camped all around him. He could smell their fires, hear their jokes, almost taste their coffee.
While he waited for them to move on, he had nothing, not even a blanket. When it snowed, he’d burrowed beneath dried leaves like an animal.
Half-starved and freezing, he never allowed himself to consider giving up. He knew he could walk into their midst with his hands up. They would probably take him to a prisoner camp. Probably even give him a blanket and maybe coffee. Lord, how he had missed the feel of hot coffee sliding down his throat.
But he wasn’t a quitter—not then, not now.
Wolf took a deep breath as his coffee boiled. He would go into town for supplies. He would keep tracking. He would see the Diggers back in jail.
The rabbit trap he’d set snapped, and Wolf knew supper had arrived. With luck, there would be fish for breakfast as well.
He stood, framed against the dying sun. From the corner of his gaze, he caught a glimmer of reflected light, like a star sparkling before sundown.
It took his mind a fraction of a second to react. He jumped for his rifle.
In an instant, he saw the flicker spark and smoke. The sound of gunfire reached his ears a moment before a bullet struck, knocking him to the ground.
His fingers closed around his rifle as the world faded. No stars. No moon. Nothing.
SIXTEEN
MOLLY WALKED THROUGH THE FRAMED BEGINNINGS of her new emporium with Callie Ann at her side. True to his word, Miller had worked hard to rebuild her business this past month. Dry days and few funerals to distract him kept the construction moving along.
Since Charlie Filmore saved her life, he’d taken on a new status in the community. He’d sobered and worked regularly with Miller when he wasn’t watching over Molly. To everyone’s surprise Charlie had the hands of a craftsman.
The walls of the store would stand as before, but Molly planned to change the inside. She wanted the store part larger, with a storage room in back half the size of Ephraim’s old quarters. Then she planned one huge room upstairs to serve as an office and play area for Callie Ann.
There would be no kitchen or sleeping quarters. She’d been looking for a house nearby to rent. After what she’d been through, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to live above a store again.
Molly had thought to talk it over with Wolf. She’d tell him it was her decision to rebuild differently, and therefore, she’d bear the cost of a house that would, of course, include quarters for him. Surely he’d understand the logic. Living above the store was fine when she was single, but she was a married lady with a child to worry about now.
She watched as Callie Ann circled through the columns of wooden studs. A child, she thought. I have a child. After all these weeks, Callie was hers. Molly would fight before giving her up. At first, she’d hoped they’d find her a nice relative to live with, but as the days passed the possibility grew slimmer, and her hope broadened that the child would stay.
She had an almost-husband, who’d been gone for weeks now, and a hand-me-down daughter no one else wanted. But sometimes, in the bustle of the day, they seemed real to her, more solid than dreams on which to build.
Even in his absence, Wolf was a part of her life. Folks asked about him, told stories they’d heard of him, worried with her about when he might return. She found herself forgetting his gruffness and remembering only his kindness.
“I’d rather check with your husband about this,” Miller said as he approached, breaking into her thoughts. In his hand he had the plans she’d drawn up for the interior. “Captain Hayward might have something to say about all these changes you’re making.”
“It’s my store. There is no need to talk it over with him,” she answered. What gave the little man the idea that Wolf would know more about the workings of her store than she would? Miller reminded her of her old-maid aunts, who always had to check everything with the general, as if they had no minds of their own.
Miller insisted she pay half the money for the building up front. He wanted it all, but Molly doubted he’d finish without incentive.
“When my husband returns, he’ll expect the store rebuilt, not awaiting his approval of the plans.”
Miller seemed to chew on what she said. It was obvious he didn’t like taking orders from a woman, but he needed the work.
“Mrs. Hayward?” Josh was almost at her side before she noticed him. The young ranger walked softly, as though in a funeral procession. With a slight tip of his hat in greeting, he delivered a white envelope.
When he handed her the note, she didn’t bother to open it. Wolf had told her only bad news came written.
“What is it?” she asked.
Shifting from boot to boot, Josh said, “It’s for you, Mrs. Hayward. From the sheriff’s office.”
She checked to make sure Callie Ann wasn’t listening, then turned her stare to Josh. “What does it say?” She wanted to hear the message, let it hit her full, not read the news.
He answered as though responding to an order. “Wolf’s been shot. I don’t know how bad. A cowhand found him miles south of here. Said h
e’d been left for dead.”
Josh waited for her to react. When she didn’t comment, he continued, “The man got Wolf as far as a little settlement called San Marcos. It lies between here and San Antonio where the Blanco River crosses the road.” Josh hesitated. “He’s been there a few days, by the way the priest’s note to the sheriff reads.”
Molly had watched her father tell women of their husband’s wounds or death many times. Until this moment, she had no idea how it must have felt.
The air rushed from her lungs. Her throat blocked with tears. “Anything else?” She would not cry, she told herself, or show any emotion.
“No, ma’am.” Josh’s lips formed a hard line as he fought his own feelings. “Except it’s a pretty sure bet that it was them Digger brothers. Word came in, even before we heard from the priest at San Marcos, that the Diggers were in a saloon in San Antonio, bragging about killing a ranger. We’re rounding up every spare man to go after them now. Don’t worry, ma’am, we’ll bring them back.”
Molly didn’t care about the Diggers. All that mattered was Wolf. He might be her husband in name only, but he was a friend. A good friend. He’d been there for her when she’d needed to marry, when she’d buried Ephraim, after the fire. He’d shared his little wealth with her willingly.
“Where will I find my husband?” she asked, holding herself at full attention.
“He’s at a temporary mission set up near the springs at San Marcos until the Indian trouble’s over. But you shouldn’t go. He’s being looked after. The place is hardly big enough to be called a town.”
“I’ll be leaving as soon as possible.”
“But…” He stopped. Josh was wise enough not to comment.
She thanked the young ranger and watched him walk away. He acted like he wanted to say more, to help her in some way. But Molly showed no emotion and asked for no favor.
“I’ll need a wagon,” Molly said to Miller, who obviously had heard every word the ranger said.