Open Country (38 page)

When she had finished, he didn’t speak. The silence grew, broken only by the snapping of the fire and the raucous call of a raven hopping along the balcony railing. Uneasy under Hank’s probing gaze, but unwilling to speak first, Molly looked out the French door. Everything looked so clean and pure—the white-shrouded valley giving way to timbered canyons that stretched up to rocky peaks now softened by a new topping of snow. The sky was such a bright intense blue it almost hurt her eyes.

Somewhere out there a madman waited. And she had shown him the way.

“You have no idea what this book is that Fletcher wants?”

She turned back. “No. But it must be important if he’s willing to kill several times over to get it.”

“Who has he killed besides Ezra?”

She looked down at her bandaged hands, wishing she could clench them to relieve the tension. “He caused the cave-in. And there could be more incidents at the mines. He’s capable of anything.” She looked up, feeling again that stab of regret that she had brought such trouble to this family she had grown to love.

Love.
How odd that now, after all these years, she would find it in such an improbable way. “He says he’ll kill you too. Then your brother, the children—” Her throat constricted and her voice rose in that high, trembly way it did when she was about to cry. She waited a moment then tried again. “He’s coming back in a month. If I don’t have the book Fletcher wants, he’ll . . . he’ll . . .” This time she couldn’t hold back the tears. “I’m so sorry, Hank. I never wanted to bring this trouble on you and your family.”

“Molly.”

“I’ll go. Try to lead him away. The children can stay here where they’ll be safe. It’s not them he wants—”

“Shut up.”

She realized he had moved and was now hunkered beside her chair. He looked calm and unperturbed except for the muscle dancing in his cheek and the feral gleam in his eyes. “I’ll take care of it.”

“How? What are you going to do?”

He gave her a smile that would strike fear into Satan himself. “I’ll think of something.” Then before she could question him further, he rose and left the room.

 

 

“WHAT WAS THAT?” JESSICA ASKED, GLANCING UP FROM THE tiny night sack she was sewing. “Was that the front door?”

Brady set aside the veterinary pamphlet he’d been reading and rose from his chair in their bedroom. Crossing to the window overlooking the front of the house, he wiped frost off the glass and peered out to see his brother headed toward the barn.

“Hank. He’s upset.”

“How can you tell?”

“He’s stomping.” Brady could guess why. Molly had him running in circles.

Jessica made a derisive sound. “I’d think he’d be feeling better after taking out his anger on your poor face.”

“He had reason.”

“Nevertheless, brothers shouldn’t fight.”

“I’ll tell him that the next time he comes at me.”

As Brady suspected, Hank continued past the corrals and into the woodshed. A moment later he came out with an ax and stomped to the snow-covered mound of log rounds piled beside the shed. After kicking snow off the splitting block, he set a round on top, stepped back, and swung. The log exploded into kindling. He picked up another, set it on the block, and swung again. “I guess Molly told him how she hurt her hands,” Brady said. “And he didn’t like hearing it.”

Jessica moved up beside him. He lifted an arm to fit her against his side and pulled her close, enjoying the soft warmth of her body against his, and the gentle stroke of her hand on his back.

She studied the figure toiling in the snow. “I thought it was an accident.”

“Maybe.” Brady didn’t mention Ezra Cooper or Molly’s odd behavior.

“Could he still be that upset about the marriage? Surely he understands why Molly felt compelled to do what she did.”

Brady glanced down at her. “You knew, didn’t you? From the beginning.”

“Of course I did. She had children to protect. She needed money and she did what she had to do to get it. It’s what any mother would do.” A frown brought her copper brows together. “What I don’t know is if your brother is too hardheaded to accept that and forgive her for it.”

Hearing the note of worry in his wife’s voice, Brady turned her away from the window and pulled her close against his body. Or as close as he could with that ever- growing belly between them. “You slept better last night, didn’t you?”

She tipped her head back to give him a teasing look. “How do you know? Do you lie awake watching me?”

Brady didn’t want to admit that he did. Or that he hardly slept a night through anymore, fretting the hours away worrying about her, and his brother, and the mines . . . and her. “Just trying to keep the spiders off.”

He felt her body tense. “Spiders?” Eyes wide, she glanced at the ceiling then around the room. “You saw spiders?”

He put his lips against her ear. “Shh. You’ll upset little Thomas Jefferson.”

“Nigel, you big dolt. And stop teasing me.” Shoving away from him, she went back to the chaise and folded the night sack into her sewing basket. “Have you finished attaching the tree to the wall?”

“I have. Two stout ropes high enough that he can’t reach them.”

“That’ll go lovely with my imported tinsel.” She crossed to the door, waggling fingers in farewell. “I’m off to make gingerbread houses. Wish me luck.”

“You’ll need it. Don’t overdo.” As she disappeared into the hall, Brady turned back to the window.

Hank had taken off his jacket but showed no sign of tiring. His brother did some of his best thinking at the blister end of an ax, and Brady knew he’d keep at it until he’d worked through whatever was troubling him, no matter how long that took. He was sorry Hank was upset, but he surely didn’t mind having the extra firewood.

 

 

HANK SPLIT WOOD FOR MOST OF THE AFTERNOON, STOPPING only when his weak arm started cramping so bad he could no longer hold on to the ax handle, and his ribs were burning like a sonofabitch. After returning the ax to the shed, he picked up his jacket and headed to the house.

Brady met him as he came through the front door. “Should I send the boys to cut more trees?” he asked with that smirky grin.

“I need to talk to you,” Hank said as he hung up his jacket and hat.

Brady’s grin faded. “My office or yours?”

“Yours. You’ve got the whiskey. Ten minutes. Bring food.” He started up the staircase, stopped, and turned back. “Don’t bring Jessica.”

Hank found Molly sitting in her chair by the fire, an unopened book in her lap. He stopped before her, feet braced, hands planted on his hips. “You’re not leaving. The marriage stands. We’ll work this out. No more discussion.”

She blinked up at him. “Did we discuss? I thought normally in discussions, both sides get to participate.”

“Say your words then. But don’t think to argue with me about this, Molly.”

“Yes, but—”

“And don’t worry about Fletcher or his henchman. He’s one man against two dozen, and we have the advantage of knowing when he’s coming.”

“I never—”

“We’ll take care of him, don’t worry about that. Meanwhile, keep looking for the book Fletcher wants. Can you do that?”

“I’ll try, but—”

“Good.” He put on a smile. “Anything else?”

“Else?”

Was that sarcasm? Hank studied her, wondering if pain was making her snappish. “You look tired.”

“I am. Probably all this discussing.”

Definitely sarcasm. Which baffled him. What had he done now? “Did you eat? If not, I could get you something.” He always got cranky if he didn’t eat.

She sighed. “I’m fine. But I think I’ll turn in early.”

“Good idea. Stand up and I’ll unbutton you.”

She looked down at the buttons on her shirt, then at her bandaged hands, then sighed again. “This is getting tiresome,” she muttered as she rose.

“Not for me.” He undid the skirt first, let it slide over her hips, then held her arm while she stepped out of it. He removed the blouse next, then two petticoats with little lacy bows, than a short vest-corset thing with lacing up the front. Finally she was down to a knee-length underdress that was so sheer he was amazed it stayed together. And more than a little disappointed that it did. Especially when she wouldn’t let him take that off as well.

Surprised to find that his palms were sweating, he wiped them on his shirt and stood back to admire the wonders he had uncovered, enthralled all over again at how beautiful she was and how perfectly formed and how her skin glowed in the firelight.

“You’re doing it again.” She turned, giving him an inspiring view of her butt, which shimmied like two armadillos doing a slow dance under a silk scarf as she walked toward the bed. The woman did know how to move.

“Doing what?”

“Staring.”

He laughed. “Jesus, how could I not? You prancing around halfdressed—”

She looked back with a laugh that set off a chain of motion beneath that flimsy underthing that made his tongue curl. “Good night, Hank.”

“No hugs?”

She slipped under the covers, but not before he saw her smile. “Good night, Hank.”

 

 

MOLLY AWOKE TREMBLING AND NAUSEATED, HER THROAT aching with unshed tears. Rolling onto her back, she stared blindly up at the ceiling, where firelight shadows danced over the rafters like demon figures cavorting in the flames of hell. “Leave me in peace,” she whispered.

Irritated at her own imaginings, she sat up. The room was cold, making the ache in her hands even more pronounced. Her stomach felt sour and empty. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep and feeling suffocated by the very emptiness of the room, she pushed back the quilts and rose. After donning her borrowed robe and using her teeth and fingertips to tie the sash, she stepped into her slippers and left the room, not sure where she was going but needing to move.

As she descended the staircase into the entry, she saw lamplight shining beneath the kitchen door and another light coming from Brady’s office. She turned toward the kitchen. Pushing open the door with her elbow, she looked inside.

Dougal sat at the long kitchen table, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, a half-filled glass in the other. When he saw her in the doorway, he gave a jerk then let out a huff of air when he recognized her. “Ye shouldna go sneaking up on an auld man that way, lass. My heart near stopped.”

She sent him a smile as she crossed to the cupboard. “I’m sorry I startled you.”

Using her splinted hands like tongs, she lifted a cup from the cupboard and carried it to the table, then went back for the tea caddy. Luckily there was a spoon already in it. Wrapping a cloth around her hand to protect it from the hot metal, she hooked the unbandaged tips of her fingers under the handle of the kettle and carried it to the table.

When she started to pour, Dougal, who had watched her efforts with blurry-eyed interest, finally felt moved to help. “I’ll do that, lass, e’er ye scald us both.”

At her direction, he also added a spoonful of tea leaves and stirred in the requested amount of sugar. Standing by the table, she lifted the cup in both hands and took a sip. Perfect.

“Can’t sleep, lass?”

“No. You?”

“Nae.” A deep sigh. “Consuelo’s off tae her sister.” He held up the bottle, showing a drawing of a woman on the label. “Just me and Hannah Goodman.”

“May I join the two of you?”

He squinted at the face on the bottle and burped. “She says aye.”

Molly settled onto the bench across from him. Sipping her tea, she looked around. Even though she wasn’t much of a cook, she loved a well-appointed kitchen, and this was certainly that. A huge combination cookstove, cabinets and cupboards galore, running water in sinks at either end of the long room, window vents high on the outside walls to draw out the hot air in summer, and a waste chute that emptied directly into a covered barrel outside. With the vent windows closed for winter, the kitchen was comfortably warm and filled with the lingering scents of cooking. It was a space full of life and energy, and the perfect refuge against the lonely chill of her empty room. Sighing contentedly, she looked over to find the old man studying her from beneath his bushy brows, no doubt wondering what she was doing afoot in the middle of the night. She saved him the bother of asking.

“Bad dreams,” she said with a wry smile.

Dougal nodded sagely. “Aye. I ken it.”

“You too?”

“A soldier’s curse,” he said, rolling his R’s even more than usual.