Open Country (39 page)

“You were a soldier?”

“For more years than I care tae remember, lass.”

She hadn’t known that about Dougal. In fact, she knew little about him other than he had been part of Jessica’s family in England and had followed her to America when she married Brady. But now that she thought about it, she recognized signs of his military days in the way he walked, in his stiff posture when he dressed down Brady or tried to bring the children in line. And there was also the puckered scar from a bullet wound that she’d glimpsed above his knee before he started wearing a union suit beneath his kilt. “What drew you to the soldier’s life?”

He shrugged. “I wanted tae see the world. And the only way tae dew that was indenturing meself or soldiering. Being as I’ll no’ slave for any man, I chose tae follow the pipes.” He took a long swallow and coughed.

She waited for him to catch his breath then asked, “And did you see it?”

“Aye. At its worst.”

“So why did you continue?”

He smiled at her in a gentle way, giving her a glimpse of the man who had caught Consuelo’s eye. “The same reasons ye stay wie the doctoring, I’m guessing.” He took another long swallow, coughed, then wiped a sleeve over his watery eyes. “Bad as it is, ye get comfortable wie it,” he said once he had found his voice again. “O’er time, even proficient at it. And somewhere ’neath all the ugliness and destruction, ye think maybe ye’re doin’ some guid.”

She stared into her cup. “Yet we still have nightmares.”

“Och, lass. The nightmares just give voice tae the pain, e’er wise we’d choke on it and die.” He reached out a gnarly hand and patted her arm. “I ken it’s hard, lass. But ye’re a healer. ’Tis yer gift. And using it is the task ye’ve been given.”

“It feels more like a burden sometimes,” she admitted.

“Aye.” He sat back. “But ye’ll do it anyway, because that’s just how it is.”

Suddenly the door opened with a bang that made Molly and Dougal jump. “Jesus Christ, woman!” Hank boomed. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Scared yew!” Dougal blubbered, clutching at his kilt. “I near wet meself!”

“What’s wrong?” Molly asked, her heart still hammering from fright.

“Wrong?” Hank waved a hand like he was flagging down a carriage. “You tell me a madman’s lurking around, then you disappear from your room—what the hell were you thinking?”

Molly blinked in surprise. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought a cup of tea might help.”

Muttering under his breath, he called back down the hall, “She’s in the kitchen talking to Dougal.”

“Better her than me,” Brady called back. “I’m going to bed.”

Holding open the door, Hank motioned impatiently to Molly. “You’re going to bed too.”

“I am?”

“You are. It’s late and I’m tired and I don’t want to have to worry about you wandering around the house in the dark.”

Still bemused by Hank’s odd behavior, Molly rose. “Good night, Dougal. I enjoyed our chat.”

Dougal belched, then coughed.

“You be careful with that stuff,” Hank warned the old Scotsman as he followed Molly through the door. “It’ll make you impotent.”

“Egad.”

“Will it really?” Molly asked, intrigued.

“If it doesn’t, it should.”

As soon as they entered Molly’s room, Hank crossed to the hearth and knelt to relight the fire. Taking advantage of his distraction, Molly quickly slipped out of the robe and under the covers. Stretched on her side, one hand tucked beneath her pillow, she watched him, admiring the way the firelight played over his strong features. Her wariness of him had faded over the last days. Now what she remembered most was the way his hands had felt on her body. She wondered if she would ever feel them again. “I’m sorry I worried you,” she said after a moment. “I had a dream and couldn’t go back to sleep.”

He turned his head and looked at her. “You have bad dreams?”

“Sometimes.”

“About Fletcher?”

“Mostly about patients. The ones I lost.”

He turned back to the fire. “You fret too much, Molly.”

“This from a man who almost caused a riot over an empty room.”

He was silent a long time before he spoke. “I didn’t know where you were.”

An unseen hand seemed to grip her heart. How long since anyone had worried over her, or even knew her well enough to care where she was or what she did? She smiled into the dark. It was nice.

Once the fire was going strong, Hank rose. “New rules,” he said as he began unbuttoning his shirt. “No one leaves the house, day or night, without telling me or Brady first.” Shrugging out of the shirt, he tossed it onto the chair, then sat on top of it and began tugging off his boots.

“What are you doing?” Molly asked, caught somewhere between fascination and astonishment.

He tossed the boots into a corner, rose, undid his belt, then started on his trousers. “There’ll be no trips to Val Rosa or Redemption or anywhere else until Fletcher and Scarface are caught.” He stepped out of his trousers and was starting to loosen the closure on the front of his half-unions when Molly finally came to her senses.

“Stop!”

He stopped, hands still gripping the tabs. “What?”

In the flickering light he was all shadow and rounded muscle and gold-tipped hair—strength and power and masculine grace come to life—and he was so beautiful, just looking at him stole her breath away.

“Molly, what’s wrong?”

“W-What are you doing?” she finally managed.

His hands fell back to his sides. “You don’t want me to stay?”

“Well . . . I . . . ah . . .” She wasn’t sure what she wanted. But what she
didn’t
want was a repeat of the other night.

He walked toward her. “I’m not going to jump on you if that’s what you’re worried about.” He sounded amused. Not threatening at all. “I’m too tired. But if that’s what you want, maybe after I rest some, we—”

“No! No. I’m tired too.”

Moving to the other side of the bed, he threw back the covers and plopped down, making the mattress sag with his weight. “What a day,” he said with a deep yawn. “At least we won’t be running out of firewood for a while.”

Molly stared blindly into the fire, every sense focused on the movements on the other side of the bed. “Did you talk to Brady?” she asked, needing to fill the silence.

“I did.”

“Did you tell him about Fletcher?”

“I did.”

“Was he upset?”

“He was.” Another yawn.

“Did you tell him how sorry I am to bring this trouble—”

“He knows, Molly. He’s not upset with you. Go to sleep.”

“Is he going to tell Jessica? He shouldn’t tell Jessica. She’ll just worry.”

“He won’t. Stop fretting. It’ll all work out.”

How could she not fret? Everyone in this house was in danger because of her.

The fire popped. Somewhere on the snowy flats, coyotes howled and barked. Molly tried to keep her breathing even while he rolled over, then back, then stretched and yawned. She was thankful this wasn’t one of those newfangled mattresses with the steel coils, else she’d be bouncing up to the rafters with all his tossing and turning.

Finally he grew still. Silence. Was he asleep?

She wanted to roll over and see. She wanted to move her foot and maybe accidentally brush a toe against him so she would know where he was. She wanted—

“You cold?” he asked, his sleepy rumble startling her.

“A little.” And before she realized what he was doing, he draped his thick arm across her waist and pulled her back against his chest. Molly went utterly still. Unsure what to do with the hand not tucked beneath her pillow, she tentatively let it rest against his arm.

He sighed, his breath tickling her scalp at the crown of her head. His male scent wafted around her and beneath her palm, his arm felt solid and warm and slick with fine, silky hair. Staring at the dying fire, she waited . . . expecting . . .

Then he began to snore.

 

 

HANK AWOKE TO A GENTLE SNUFFLING SOUND AND A WARM body pressed against his shoulder.
Sweet Molly
, he thought sleepily. He lifted his arm to pull her closer, and instead, encountered something damp and sticky.

Jerking his hand back, he raised his head to see Penny crowded between him and Molly, sucking her thumb and blinking at him through teary eyes. With a groan, he slumped back to the pillow. “What are you doing in here, Penny?”

“Where were you, Papa-Hank?” she accused in a wobbly voice.

“I looked in your room, but you weren’t there and I couldn’t find you and it scared me.”

Touched by her distress, he reached out and patted her arm. “I’m right here, Penny.” As aggravating as she could be sometimes, the kid did have a way of reaching right inside him and wrapping her sticky little hands around his heart.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why what?”

Rolling onto her side, she burrowed into him, one tiny hand resting on his neck. “Why are you here in Aunt Molly’s room?”

“It’s not really her room. It’s mine.”

“Then what’s Aunt Molly doing in here?”

“She’s been borrowing it.”

“Are you taking it back?”

“No.”

“Then why aren’t you in your other room?”

Looking past Penny’s blond curls, Hank saw Molly watching them, her eyes full of laughter, her cheeks tinted the rosy blush of sleep. Unable to help himself, he leaned over Penny and kissed his wife. “Morning,” he said.

“Morning,” she answered, smiling in a way that—

“You’re squishing me!” Penny yelled, thrashing between them. But when he started to straighten, she kicked her heels harder. “Me too! Kiss me too!”

After a quick scan for a clean spot, Hank kissed her forehead, then quickly drew back when he tasted something sweet and minty. “Don’t you ever bathe her?” he asked, wiping his mouth on his arm.

“Every night.”

“Then why is she so sticky every morning?”

“She wanders.”

Molly leaned over and sniffed her niece, making the little girl giggle and kick in glee. “Today, it’s peppermint.”

“Where did she get peppermint?”

“Uncle Brady gave it to me!” Penny shouted, unable to stay silent for long. “He has lots. He hides it in a special drawer in his bedroom so Ben can’t find it. But you can’t tell. He said I could have it because guess what? It’s Christmas Eve!”

“When were you in Uncle Brady’s bedroom?” Hank asked her.

“I couldn’t find you. And guess what else?” Putting her sticky mouth next to his ear, she whispered loudly, “He sleeps naked too.”

“Oh, Lord,” Molly muttered.

Hank grinned, picturing the scene. “You peeked?”

“Uncle Brady didn’t like me to.”

“And what was Aunt Jessica doing all this time?” he asked.

“Don’t encourage her, Hank.”

“I’m just asking.”

“She was laughing,” Penny said. “And guess what? She was naked too!”

“Penny!” Molly sputtered.

“And her bosoms are even bigger than Aunt Molly’s.”

Hank grinned. “Are they?”

Molly sat up. “That’s enough. Both of you.” She sent Hank a scolding look. “See what happens when you interrogate a child?”

Ignoring her aunt, Penny snuggled closer to Hank. “She must have been growing them for a real long time,” she whispered. “They’re great big—”

“Penny! Enough.”

“But not nearly as bouncy as Aunt Molly’s.”

Rolling onto his back, Hank laughed out loud. Waking up to these two was the third best way to greet the day.

 

 

CHRISTMAS DAY BEGAN WITH A BANG. FOLLOWED BY A RATtle and a thud. Then silence.

Hank turned his head on the pillow and grinned at Molly. “So far, so good.”

“You’re mean.”

“Shh. Listen.”

A few seconds later, another rattle and more thuds, this time coming from the connecting door into the dressing area. Then silence again.

Hank laughed and raised a fist in triumph. “And the foe is vanquished.”

“Foe?” Molly smirked at him. “A six-year-old. How brave you are.”

Rolling over, he grabbed his wife, pulled her over on top of him, and began nuzzling her neck. “Brave
and
smart,” he said between nuzzles. “Wiley. Clever. Too clever for a—” The French door crashed open. Hank jumped, his head colliding with Molly’s. “Holy—”

“Papa-Hank Papa-Hank!”

Something cold and wiggly bounded onto the bed, shouting at the top of her lungs. “SaintNicholascameandthere’spresentsevery where!”

Molly rolled out of his arms. “Vanquished, is she?”

“And look what I brought you, Papa-Hank! I made it all by myself!”

With a yowl, Hank lurched upright, slinging snowball remnants off his chest.

“Oh no, you broke it.”

“Penny, I swear to God—”

“Sweetie,” Molly cut in, pulling Penny out of Hank’s reach. “Why don’t you put on your robe and slippers so we can go downstairs to see what Saint Nick brought?”

“I can’t. The door’s stuck.”

While Molly rose to unlock the useless lock Hank had spent an hour yesterday bolting to the door, he stared up at the ceiling, his heart still hammering from the shock of having a ball of ice plunked onto his bare chest.

“I’m going to chain her to her bed,” he muttered after the door closed on tiny footfalls pounding down the hall. “Build a cage. Or maybe a room in the barn. No, a separate house. With bars on the windows and—”

“Good morning, Hank,” Molly murmured, bending down to give him a kiss.

Instantly anger dissolved in a wash of desire. Wrapping his arms around her before she could get away, he pulled her down for a proper kiss, then another and another. By the time they came up for air, he was ready to discard his plan to wait until Molly was wearing the wedding ring before he took her to bed again. It was a stupid plan. There was no reason to wait when—