Bushedwhacked Groom (10 page)

The boys exchanged conspiratorial looks, then
Vance whined, “Ma, do we gotta be here? Zach, Matt,
Cory and me sort of had other plans for this afternoon.”

“And what are those?” their mother asked.

“Ma, it’s a secret,” put in Cory with a self-conscious
expression.

Jessica’s eyes danced with amusement. “Very well,
boys. Just clear this clandestine mission with your father.”

“Yes, ma’am,” chanted the brothers in unison.

“You boys aren’t aiming to go rob a stagecoach or a
train, are you?” demanded Cole with a suspicious look.

“No, sir,” Matt denied vehemently. “Didn’t we already
tell you we’re not involved?”

“Then where are you bound this afternoon?”

Miserably, Matt replied, “We’ll just—we’ll explain it to
you while we’re riding out to the range, all right, sir?”

“Very well,” conceded their father.

Molly gave her brothers a dubious glance, then
turned to her mother. “So, may I help out you and
Grandma?”

“Of course Ma and I would be happy to have your
assistance, dear,” Jessica responded.

Molly beamed. “And while I’m at it, I’ll just keep an eye on old Handsome here.” She winked at Lucky.

Everyone else laughed, and Lucky sorely wished he was up to riding the range.

Chapter Seven

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After the men left, Lucky lingered over a third cup of
coffee. He had to admit Molly amused him as she tried
to “help” her ma and grandma prepare dinner. Obvi
ously, she hadn’t a clue how to cook, much less ma
neuver herself around a kitchen. He chuckled as she
singed her fingers on a cast-iron skillet; he laughed at the sight of Grandma slapping her hand as she would
have dumped a tablespoon of salt, rather than a tea
spoon, into the yeast roll mixture.

But when she started washing and pitting fresh cher
ries for the pie filling, he found her actions mesmeriz
ing and all too sensual. In awe he watched her delicate
fingers dip the fruit in water to wash the ripe balls, her
teeth pluck the stems, her slender hand grip the corer she used to remove the pits. Each time she licked the
red juice from her fingers, his cock hardened and his throat tightened, especially at the thought of her lick
ing
him
that way.

Hells bells and sciatica,
as his grandma used to say. What was he doing pining after this loco woman? She
wanted to wreck his life and destroy his sanity. He’d be
better served cozying up to a black widow spider.

But fascinated he was—by Molly’s body language, the voluptuous way she moved, the little wisps of hair
clinging to her damp cheeks and brow due to the heat
of the stove. When she sashayed over, inundating him
with her sweet female fragrance, tempting him with her bright, mischievous eyes and plopping a pitted cherry in his mouth, he all but came unglued.

“Good, eh?” she purred.

“Yeah,” he barely managed, sucking on the luscious
fruit. “Sweet.”

She swung away, flashing that delectable derriere
at him.

Damn! Would the torture ever end? Remembering another adage from his grandma—”If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen”—Lucky decided he’d
best make himself scarce before he did something
foolish, like haul the siren up over his shoulder, cave
man style, carry her off and take what he craved.

Painfully pushing himself to his feet, he muttered, “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go stretch my
legs.”

All three turned from their labors to stare at him.
“Sonny, don’t you think it’s a bit soon for you to be gan
dering about?” asked Grandma. “Seein’s how you near
busted them same legs yesterday?”

He gave a shrug. “The exercise will be good for me—
you know, prevent blood clots and all that.”

“Huh?” questioned Grandma.

Molly stepped forward. “I’ll go with you.”

Lucky ground his teeth. Couldn’t this vixen under
stand that it was
her
he needed to get away from? “Including to my first stop—the outhouse?”

As Jessica and Grandma laughed, Molly blushed,
and Lucky felt a surge of satisfaction that he’d managed to embarrass her for a change.

“Molly, give Lucky a little space,” put in Jessica
wisely. “We can’t keep guard over him every second.”

“But he’ll hightail it!” she protested. “I already caught
him outside once today, like a sneaky old weasel.”

“
Hey, I wasn’t going anywhere,” Lucky protested, “ex
cept perhaps to get the heck away from you.”

“Oh!” she cried.

“In that case, granddaughter, perhaps you should
think about mending your manners so your young
man will want to stick around,” scolded Grandma.

“I’m not her young man,” Lucky pointed out with thinning patience.

Molly waved a hand in exasperation. “See what I
mean? He’s stubborn as a stuck door and determined
to fight this every step of the way.”

“Reminds me of someone I know,” quipped Jessica.

Molly frowned at her mother, and Grandma nar
rowed her gaze on Lucky. “You gonna steal one of our horses, cowboy?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then skedaddle.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Grandma!” wailed Molly.

“Granddaughter, he’s got no horse and he ain’t
gonna limp all the way to town.”

“
Ma is right,” Jessica added firmly. “Have a good
walk, Lucky.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lucky replied, not giving Molly the satisfaction of a sec
ond look as he quickly hobbled out the back door.

***

In the yard, he did glance back, saw the curtain
move at the window, then quickly slip back into place. Damn it, the little she-devil was watching him. Guess
he had no choice but to go visit the outhouse, even
though he wasn’t in need of another pit stop. But if he
went off in another direction, she’d no doubt come
chasing after him, tattling to the others that he was a lying SOB—and he’d already had his fill of her insolence
and interference this morning.

Inside the cramped little necessary, he spent a most
unpleasant and all too aromatic five minutes leafing
through the outlandish 1910 edition of the Sears, Roe
buck and Company catalog, marveling at everything
from nursing flask fittings to silver snuffboxes to cattle
dehorning clippers. Well, if these crackbrains really
wanted to convince him he was living in the year 1911,
they were leaving nothing to chance.

When he emerged, he was pleased to note the
kitchen curtains remained in place. He was eager to
explore the rest of the ranchstead—and perhaps find
some trappings of the world he’d left behind. He
limped to the front of the house and glanced around
slowly and carefully.

Damn. This was a working farm, all right, but decid
edly primitive with its stone and wood barn, the quaint
little springhouse with charming cupola, the wood
shed, corncrib, smokehouse and cellar. He strode over
to the crude pigpen, separated from the rest of the
homestead for obvious reasons, and watched the gray
and white swine wallowing in the muck. Despite the
stench, the sight of five little piglets suckling at the sow
was a sweet one to him. His gaze scanned the fields of
budding wheat and corn in the distance, the brown
and white cows grazing on spring grasses.

He shook his head, feeling the same disorientation that had nagged him ever since he had arrived here.
Nothing was making sense—not the fact that this farm
was an archaic yet fully self-contained operation, nor
the absence of any fixtures from the present, nor the
fact that all the inhabitants thought they were living in
the year 1911. And although Lucky was accustomed to
living with few frills, even he was daunted by the
prospect of never again watching HBO or driving his pickup truck or going off to town to see a movie.

Surely all of this was just a really bad joke—like the
living farm from hell. Where was his reality, his world?
How would he get back there?

And most disturbing of all, why was this hellcat of a
girl enticing him to stay here?

He remembered Molly and her ma arguing that this
was his “destiny,” that he was meant to be here now. To
be brutally honest, he should be dead now—and at
times he still wondered if he wasn’t. That breakneck
plunge into the gorge should have ended his life, or at
least rendered him a quadriplegic. Instead, other than
being sore as hell, he was fully intact. It made no
sense—but then, nothing much was making sense
right now.

Was there indeed a reason he was here? If so, the
reason seemed a curse. Was he being punished in the
afterlife for shooting up the
Broken
Buck
Motel
some
where back on earth?

***

Lucky lingered far from the house until the sun was
high in the sky. Not wanting to be late for dinner and
raise everyone’s ire, he strode back to find a curious
sight at the front of the bungalow. A throng of adults
and children was gathered around a large, horse-
drawn surrey. He recognized Cole, Jessica and Molly,
and then his gaze was drawn to the visitors, milling
in the yard, laughing and embracing other family
members.

Damn, new arrivals straight out of
Little House on the Prairie.
First there was a plump, middle-aged woman in
a nutmeg-yellow calico gown that trailed the ground;
her thick blondish-gray curls hung from beneath a
huge slat bonnet. Next to her stood a slight, silver-
haired man with sharply hewn but handsome features
and a handlebar mustache; he was dressed in an old-
fashioned brown suit with a satin vest and a red bow
tie. Around the yard scampered three tow-headed boys in overalls, homespun shirts and button-top
shoes; they appeared to range in age from around six to twelve, and were happily shrieking as they chased
the two dogs.

Then the group spotted him, and all turned to stare.

Lucky gulped. How he hated being the center of this
confounding group’s attention! But his torment was
not about to end. The large woman, whom he could
now see held a plump baby in each arm, shrieked with
joy and hurried toward him.

She spoke all in a rush in her country twang, giving
Lucky no opportunity to respond, leaving him to stare
in consternation at her pretty and still youthful, freckle-
dusted face. “Why, hey, precious, ain’t you the sweetest
thang?” she drawled. “No wonder my niece Molly is gonna marry you! Here, darlin’, have a twin!”

And as Lucky stood frozenly, a round blond infant in
a frilly pink gown was deposited in his arms. “Ma’am,
I—I can’t—”

The woman ignored him, caterwauling to Molly,
“Molly Reklaw, get your pretty self over here and take
Farley.” She winked at Lucky. “You got little Fanny there, H
andsome. After purely a dozen tries, I got me my girl
child.”

“Thank heaven,” intoned her husband, and everyone
laughed.

Lucky extended the squirming infant. “Ma’am,
could you please—”

Molly skidded up to join them, scooping up the blue-gowned baby boy with a sigh of delight, then
flashing her dimples at Lucky. “Ain’t he precious,
Lucky? Kinda reminds me of you, with his blond hair
and blue eyes. Wouldn’t you like to have one of these
yourself soon?”

Lucky blushed crimson, glowering at Molly.

“Now don’t you go embarrassing him, Molly girl,” the
woman scolded with a grin. “Why, he’s already turned
three shades of mortified.” She elbowed Lucky. “Don’t worry,
young fella. You’ll get the hang of holding Fanny there.
Whenever we come over, everyone gets a twin to pass
around.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Lucky, again extending the baby
toward her. “However, if you don’t mind—”

He was ignored as Jessica stepped up. “Lucky, let me
introduce you to everyone. This is Cole’s brother, Billy
Reklaw, his wife, Dumpling, and their sons, Abel, Jeb
and Cal. I see you’ve already met the twins.”

“Yes, ma’am. But would one of you ladies kindly—”

“Well, everyone, shall we go eat?” interjected Cole,
grinning and clapping his hands.

“Where are my brothers?” asked Molly.

Her father smiled sheepishly. “Actually, I’m not sup
posed to tell.”

“Cole, really,” scolded Jessica.

“Don’t worry, honey, this time there’s no mischief-
making involved,” he reassured her.

Dumpling batted Cole’s arm with a glove. “Then why are you keepin’ us all in suspense, Cole Reklaw?”

Amid laughter, he conceded, “Very well, I’ll confess.
The boys decided to go courting for the afternoon. The
Trumble sisters, Sally, Nelly, Bonnie and Ida May.”

“So that’s what those little devils are up to,” laughed Jessica.