by Gina Wilkins
Chapter Three
It was all Molly could do not to rush to help Kyle into the kitchen. As the minutes crept by after he disappeared into the other room, the urge to check on him was almost overwhelming. Only the memory of the glare he had given her kept her in her chair.
He had looked hard and sort of aggressive, and she suspected most people would have been intimidated. Maybe a little annoyed that their instinctive offer of help had been so coldly rebuffed. Molly’s reaction had been just the opposite. Her heart had twisted in sympathy for him, an emotion she had known better than to let him see.
A lifetime of experience with angry and bitter young men had made her quite skilled at reading pain—physical and emotional. She had seen both when she looked into Kyle’s eyes.
A good fifteen minutes passed before he returned, carrying two cans of caffeine-free cola. Most of the color had returned to his face, she noted, but his eyes were still dark. Deep lines had settled in around the corners of his mouth, as though he held his facial muscles clenched.
She wondered what it was costing him just to keep moving. She would bet that if she wasn’t there, he would be flat on his back and moaning right now.
Her knowledge of the male ego kept her from voicing any of her concerns aloud. She thanked him for the soda, then pretended to read again while he walked with carefully measured steps to the recliner.
She let a few more minutes pass, and then she yawned delicately, but audibly. “Gosh, I’m getting tired. It was such a long trip here.”
After a pause, Kyle said almost offhandedly, “I’ll go back to my room so you can get some rest in here.”
She kept any hint of satisfaction out of her voice when she replied, “I don’t want you to miss your game.”
He shrugged. “It’s pretty one-sided, anyway.”
Pleased that she had come up with a way to send him to bed without a loss of pride—and making him think it was his idea in the process—she said, “Just don’t leave on my account. I can wait until you’re ready to turn in.”
He gave her a look that might have held a hint of suspicion, but she kept her expression as unrevealing as her voice. His shoulders seemed to relax when he nodded. “I’ll get you some sheets and a blanket. You can bunk down here on the couch, and I’ll read in my room until I’m ready to turn in.”
A very short time later, Molly lay on the couch listening to the rain that fell more gently against the roof now. With only a very brief “good-night,” Kyle had retired to his room. She hadn’t heard a sound from that direction since.
She hoped he had gone to bed—and that he had taken a pain pill or two while he’d been in the kitchen earlier. She knew he had some; she had seen the prescription bottles on his counter.
She supposed she would head back to Texas first thing tomorrow. If she left early, she might make the trip in one day. She would be worn-out when she got home, but satisfied that she had done absolutely everything she could to make sure her parents’ anniversary party was perfect. She wasn’t content with the results of her efforts, of course, since Kyle still refused to attend-but she had given it her best shot. That was all she could do.
Shane had accused her of being obsessed with Kyle Reeves during the past few weeks, so determined to convince him to attend the party that she couldn’t think straight. This impulsive trek to Kyle’s home probably proved her brother right about her mental condition. But now that she had made the trip and had a definitive answer, she should be able to put it behind her.
The funny thing was, now that she had actually spent time with Kyle, she seemed to be even more obsessed with him than she had been before.
Kyle’s first thought when he woke the next morning was that the pain had mercifully subsided to a more manageable—and all-too-familiar—dull ache. The sleep and medication had done their stuff, letting him get out of bed with a minimum of discomfort and grumbling.
It was only when he reached the closed bedroom door, which he usually left open at night, that he remembered he wasn’t alone in his house. Grinding out a curse, he turned back toward the dresser to pull out a pair of gray sweats. He doubted that Molly would appreciate the sight of him in his underwear first thing in the morning.
Grateful to find the bathroom empty, he showered, but didn’t bother with shaving. He had just shaved the afternoon before, and he saw no need to do so again.
Dried and dressed, he moved toward the kitchen. He found himself walking with much the same quiet caution he’d used in the military when he’d been braced for a surprise attack. Maybe he would find that observation amusing later. After Molly was on her way.
He stopped in the doorway of the living room. Molly was still asleep on the couch. Her long, red hair tumbled around her face and onto the pillow he had provided for her. She had kicked off her blanket, revealing the fact that she had slept in her clothes, removing only her shoes and socks.
It couldn’t have been comfortable spending the night in her shirt and jeans. He should have offered her something to change into—a big T-shirt or something. But the thought of Molly sleeping on his couch wearing nothing but one of his shirts made his entire body clench.
Maybe it was just as well that he hadn’t offered. He reminded himself of who she was, and the way she had looked the last time he’d seen her. But, damn, it was hard to visualize a little girl when Molly was lying on his couch all warm and flushed and curvy. Those full lips that could go so quickly from sexy pout to blinding smile were slightly parted in sleep, and he could imagine all too well how sweet they would taste.
She sighed and nestled into the sofa cushions, drawing one leg up into a more comfortable position. Which, of course, only made him imagine how comfortably those long legs would fit around him.
That jarring mental image made him stumble backward, a near panicky retreat. He must have made some sort of sound. Molly stirred and opened her eyes. She smiled when she saw him. “Good morning.”
Between the effects of her smile and the sleepy huskiness of her voice, it was all he could do to respond without stammering. “Morning,” he said curtly. “Sorry I woke you.”
With a rather feline stretch that drained the last of the moisture from his mouth, she swung her bare feet to the wood floor, then quickly lifted them again with a little yelp. “Cold floor,” she explained.
He scowled toward the front door. “The weather stripping is shot. I keep meaning to work on that.”
She had already retrieved the chunky clogs she’d worn the day before. Sliding her feet into them, she stood, tugging her shirt down over the waistband of her jeans. “You look as though you slept well.”
He was glad now that he’d taken the time to shower and comb his hair. He hadn’t liked showing any weakness in front of her the night before. “Not bad. You?”
“Surprisingly well,” she said cheerfully.
The rain had stopped during the night and sunlight streamed through the east-facing windows. Kyle figured she could safely be on her way at any time, since the water ran quickly down the mountain once the rains ended. Cheered by the awareness that he would soon have his house to himself again—and would be spared any more inappropriate fantasies about Molly Walker— he decided he might as well feed her before ushering her out.
“Want some breakfast?”
She nodded eagerly. “Sounds good. Just let me freshen up and I’ll help you prepare something.”
“I can handle it. Take your time. There are clean towels in the bathroom cabinet if you want a shower.”
Because just the passing thought of Molly in the shower was enough to make him sweat again, he turned toward the kitchen. He needed to busy his mind and his hands. Immediately.
Mesmerized by the beauty of the washed-clean mountain scenery around Kyle’s cabin, Molly was tempted to linger for a while outside when she retrieved her bag from her car. The air was chilly, but so fresh and clean it was almost intoxicating. Pearl-gray clouds hung low over the mountaintops, clearly demonstrating why the
y were called the Smoky Mountains. Rushing water tumbled over huge boulders in the creek that ran alongside the gravel road leading away from the cabin, and a full orchestra of birds performed in the treetops.
Forcing herself back inside, she showered and dressed quickly. As she checked her reflection in the steamy mirror over his bathroom sink, she mused that she could certainly understand why Kyle had chosen this place to hide himself away and heal.
She hadn’t brought many clothes with her on this hasty trip, but she was satisfied that the pumpkin colored, three-quarter-sleeve T-shirt and low-slung, boot-cut jeans flattered her. Not that she was trying to impress Kyle or anything, she assured herself as she fluffed her freshly washed and dried hair and checked her makeup.
By the time she joined him in the kitchen, he had breakfast already on the table. Her tummy rumbled in response to the scent of food filling the room. He was just setting out a container of orange juice when she walked in.
Something about the way he looked, standing there with the morning sunlight washing over him, his shaggy brown hair tumbling onto his forehead, his too-thin-but-all-male body encased in a gray sweatshirt and loose jeans, made her brain shut down. Before it kicked back into gear, she heard herself blurting, “No coffee?”
She answered herself as she belatedly remembered what he had said the night before. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t drink coffee.”
“No. But I can make you a cup of herbal tea, if you want.”
“Orange juice is fine.” She crossed the room and slid into the chair he indicated for her. “I’m not all that crazy about coffee, anyway. I just drink a cup in the mornings out of habit. Daddy, now, has to have his coffee—entirely too much of it. Mom finally talked him into switching to decaf after noon.”
She was babbling again. And as far as she could tell, Kyle hadn’t heard a word of it. He had already started eating his simple breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.
Molly drew a deep breath to steady herself and reached for the condiments he’d set out. Her spirits rose when she saw the container of Cajun seasoning—a mixture of salt, black and red peppers and garlic.
She reached for it eagerly and sprinkled it over the fluffy scrambled eggs. “Obviously you learned a few things while you were on the ranch—like how to season eggs.”
“I learned a lot more than that.”
She would have liked to follow up on that mumbled response with a barrage of questions about exactly what lessons he had learned from her parents, and about the memories he had carried away with him, but she knew better. Kyle would volunteer what he wanted her to know and that, apparently, wasn’t much.
“Don’t push them,” her mother had once said when Molly asked how Cassie managed to connect with so many emotionally withdrawn young men. “You have to treat them like wild animals, in a way. Respect their fears and suspicions, knowing they’ve come from experience. Show them kindness and let them come to you in their own time.”
It had worked for Cassie, as she’d had amazing success with her foster sons. Yet Molly had heard that Cassie’s strategy had been a bit different when it had come to another wary, emotionally guarded male. According to Molly’s aunts, Cassie had gone after Jared with a relentless, single-minded determination, giving him no choice but to fall in love with her and make her his wife.
Molly studied Kyle across the table, free to do so because he was pointedly not looking at her. If—hypothetically, of course—a woman wanted to catch Kyle Reeves, which method would be more effective? The patient, wait-until-he-comes-to-you approach? Or the no-holds-barred pursuit?
“Eat your eggs before they get cold,” he muttered, letting her know he was aware of her scrutiny.
“I’m eating.” She forked another bite of spicy eggs into her mouth to prove her point, then swallowed them hastily so she could ask, “Just one more question?”
He sighed. “What?”
“Don’t you ever get lonely up here on your pretty mountaintop?”
“I’ve only lived here a little more than five months. Haven’t really had time to get lonely yet.”
“And when you do?”
He shrugged. “If I do—I’ll find some company. In the meantime, I’m considering what to do now that I’m out of the Marines earlier than I’d planned.”
It sounded as though he had planned to retire from the military. “Do you have any other ideas yet?”
“A couple.”
When it became clear that he wasn’t going to expand on that, she spoke again. “Do you plan to stay here in Tennessee or will you go back to Texas eventually?”
“There’s nothing for me in Texas,” he said bluntly. She tried to recall what she had been told about his past. She remembered that his mother had died when he was a teenager, and that he’d had no other family willing to take him in. She didn’t know anything about his father.
She thought he’d been assigned to a couple other foster homes before he’d come to the ranch. Cassie had said that Kyle was never a behavioral challenge, just so deeply withdrawn and introverted that his social worker had thought it would do him good to be placed with the easygoing and gregarious Walker family.
“When will you—”
“I thought you said there was just one more question,” he cut in before she could finish asking more about his plans for the future.
“Sorry. I’m just curious about you,” she admitted. He grabbed his breakfast dishes and stood, his chair rattling against the floor. “Trust me. I’m not that interesting.”
She didn’t believe that for a minute. But she knew when to back off—at least, for now—so she pushed the rest of her questions to the back of her mind and gathered her own plate and fork. “Please let me do the dishes. It’s the least I can do to repay you for your hospitality.”
He looked for a moment as though he was going to argue, but then he nodded shortly. “Fine. Just leave them in the drainer to dry. I’ll put them away later.”
He didn’t stay to keep her company while she worked. A few minutes later, she heard the television come on in the other room. It sounded as though he had tuned in a cable morning news program. She wouldn’t have thought he was the type to be interested in politics. Maybe he would just prefer to listen to the Senate majority leader than to deal with any more of her questions.
The kitchen was spotless when she had finished. She tossed a damp paper towel in the trash can beneath the sink, unable to find an excuse to delay any longer. She might as well be on her way. She had a long trip ahead of her today.
She had just walked into the living room where Kyle was settled into his usual chair when someone knocked on the front door. Trying to hide her curiosity, she perched on the couch while Kyle crossed the room to answer. A stocky, gray-haired man stood on the doorstep, holding a large cardboard box in his hands.
“Morning, Kyle.”
Kyle didn’t seem surprised by his caller’s identity. “Morning, Mack.”
“I told Jewel I was coming up to see if you rode out the storm okay, and she sent a couple of casseroles for you to put in your freezer.”
Kyle reached for the box. “Tell her thanks for me. She knows I’ll enjoy them.”
“Her cooking has put a couple of pounds back on you, but not near enough,” the older man observed, eying Kyle critically.
Molly frowned. Kyle had gained weight? Wow, how thin had he been before?
“Come in, Mack, while I set these in the kitchen.” Kyle stepped out of the doorway, and Molly wondered if she was correct in thinking he did so a bit reluctantly.
“I wouldn’t turn down a cup of that herbal tea you like so much. It’s right chilly this morning.” Mack had gotten all the way into the living room before he spotted Molly. “Well, hello.”
She stood, giving him a friendly smile. “Hi.” “Molly Walker—Mack McDooley.” Apparently considering the introduction complete, Kyle disappeared into the kitchen with the casseroles.
Looking in the direction in which Ky
le had just disappeared, Mack chuckled wryly before turning back to Molly. “Kyle’s not much for conversation.”
Molly laughed softly. “No, he’s not.”
Waving her to the couch, Mack took the nearest recliner and crossed his right leg over his left knee, looking completely at home. He wore a gray plaid cotton shirt and neatly pressed jeans with black socks and brown suede shoes. His skin was weathered, and his eyes were as gray as his hair and brows.
Molly guessed his age to be early to midsixties— maybe a couple of years older than her own father. Also like Jared, this man looked as though he was no stranger to strenuous physical labor.
“So, have you known Kyle long?” Mack asked, using a jovially paternal tone probably meant to soften the blatant curiosity behind the question.
“Since I was a child, actually.”
“Really.” That had obviously taken him aback. “I didn’t think Kyle had any living family members.”
“Oh, we’re not family—exactly.” Because she wasn’t sure how much Kyle told anyone about his past, she wasn’t comfortable mentioning that he’d once been in foster care. “Just friends.”
“I see.” But he obviously did not.
Figuring one good question deserved another, Molly asked, “Are you Kyle’s neighbor?”
“Not exactly. I live in Gatlinburg with my wife, Jewel. She just about fretted herself silly last night worrying about Kyle up here alone in that storm. She was half convinced a tree fell on him during the night, crushing him in his sleep.”
“Jewel shouldn’t worry so much,” Kyle said, coming back into the room. “It isn’t good for her.”
Mack reached for the steaming cup of tea Kyle offered. “You know how she is. Especially when it comes to you.”
Though he hadn’t asked if she wanted one, Kyle had brought tea for Molly, too. He handed her the mug, then settled into his recliner. She noted that he hadn’t brought tea for himself, and that he sat rather stiffly, self-conscious in his role as host—a role she would bet he didn’t play very often.