Twilight in Texas (12 page)

Wolf tipped his hat to Molly and smiled. There was no one on the street who would doubt that the captain and his lady were in love.

He’d deal with her anger at his breaking their agreement later. He kicked his horse into action, in a hurry to do what he must and return. For when he returned, not only would he deal with her anger, he’d deal with the passion he tasted in her kiss.

M
OLLY LIFTED HER HEAD AND WALKED SLOWLY BACK
into her store. She’d show no shame for kissing her own husband good-bye. Not in front of the town. Not in front of anyone.

As soon as she was alone, she touched her face with trembling fingers. His beard had made her skin tingle. Now her cheek felt raw and newborn. Her lips felt slightly swollen and very much kissed.

She could tell herself the kiss had been just to make a point, nothing more, but she knew the truth. When his lips had touched hers, it was as though they both discovered at the same time that they wanted the kiss. Or maybe
needed
it would be more accurate. She’d been no victim, but a willing partner. Never in her life had she so boldly pressed herself against a man. In the few days she’d known Wolf Hayward, she’d gone from a respectable lady to a wanton hussy, kissing a man brazenly in the street.

She sat down at the table still littered with the dishes from Noma’s cafe and lifted her journal from the shelf. If she wrote down every emotion, every thought, maybe she could save all the feelings running through her right now. Then someday, when there was nothing but memories in her life, she could turn back the pages and recall how she’d felt the day she’d been kissed boldly in the street.

As she finished writing, Callie Ann came down and it was time to begin the day.

If the people of the town thought she’d acted improper when Wolf left, they showed no sign. For the first time since she’d opened her doors, folks actually came into her store. They were polite, respectful, calling her Mrs. Hayward and introducing her to others as the captain’s wife. Many expressed their sorrow at Ephraim’s passing, though most had only seen the man, never spoken to him. The young doctor who’d treated Ephraim, Frank Washburn, came by with a pie and fresh bread his wife had made. He spoke highly of Ephraim even though Molly doubted he’d had time to know the old man well.

Two gentlemen from the State Lunatic Asylum dropped in to ask if she’d be interested in providing drug needs to the hospital. It lay three miles north of the capital, which meant Molly would have to rent a buggy once a week. But with luck she could make all her calls in one evening.

Rangers wandered in to check on her as regularly as tiny soldiers on a Swiss clock. Women came by to chat and ask advice about creams and soaps. One aging doctor wanted to introduce himself and ask if she’d start filling the prescriptions he didn’t keep in his office. Even Miller stopped in, offering to hang her sign back up. He no longer looked at her strangely, but kept his eyes respectfully focused on her face.

By afternoon, the rangers had pestered her so often with wanting to help that she assigned them the task of cleaning out Ephraim’s room and building a large bed. They smiled at one another and winked, never guessing the bed would be for Wolf alone.

Ephraim’s room was military in orderliness—a few books, two drawers of clothes, and an empty
trunk. In all the years of his life he’d never owned more than could fit in a trunk. The rangers packed his things with care.

Molly lost track of the number of times she ran to the storage room for supplies. If the days to come were like this one, she’d have to order more of everything by the end of the week. Between the drunken gunslinger and the vandals most of her beautiful bottles were gone, but by carefully stocking her supplies on the mirrored shelves the store still looked reasonably full.

Callie Ann played on the stairs with her dolls, setting up little rooms on each step. She seemed a child accustomed to being alone and liked playing where she could watch people but still be out from underfoot. In many ways, she reminded Molly of herself at that age, always looking for ways to play in an adult world.

By the end of the day, Molly had experienced more business than in the entire month she’d been open. A new shingle hung outside her door with Hayward as her last name.

Exhausted, she faced the tiny kitchen where Ephraim had always waited with tea. His decline had been slow. She hadn’t realized the end was so near. Since the war and her father’s death he’d been a staple in her life, always ready to help. The only time she’d heard him raise his voice was the day she’d told her aunts she was leaving. They’d protested as if she were a child planning to run away from home. Finally, after hours of arguing, Molly was about to give in and forget the idea. Ephraim helped her stand her ground.

Ephraim wasn’t a relative or a paid employee; he was more. He’d been her second father. She never knew her mother, but she’d been lucky enough to have two fathers.

The general used to say her old-maid aunts had moved in like the plague when his wife died giving birth to Molly. They’d told her for years that they were her mothers now, but Molly never believed such a lie. Criticism was their only teaching tool.

She brushed the back of the chair where Ephraim always sat with a cup of coffee before him. A year ago he read every free moment; then, just breathing took all his energy.

Suddenly, the room…the store was too small. Molly hurried Callie Ann out the door, promising dinner at one of the fancy hotel restaurants where state congressmen and their ladies dined. Austin might be a western town, but it was also the capital. With politics came society and fashion.

The child seemed at home in the hotel dining room, not even commenting on how grand it was. She sat up straight, folded her napkin, and knew which fork to use. Molly wondered anew how such a child could possibly arrive homeless and penniless.

After dinner, they walked home holding hands as though they had done so every day of the child’s life. Molly smiled, thinking how much she enjoyed the company, when she realized Callie Ann hadn’t mentioned her invisible relative once all day.

“Is Uncle Orson following us?” she had to ask. “I can’t see him in the dark.”

Callie skipped along without missing a step. “Oh, no. He decided to sleep in today. He’s taken to his bed just like Grandma used to do.”

“Oh, I hope he’s not ill.” Molly tried to sound serious. “Should I mix him up something to help?”

“Nope.” Callie Ann walked along one board as if balancing above the earth on the single plank. “He just took to his bed. He’s old as the hills, which was the same age of Grandma, but she died.”

The sadness in the child’s eyes reminded Molly how they both had lost everyone close to them. Molly changed the subject. “I hoped you would help me watch the people again tomorrow. You can still play on the steps, but every now and then glance down and see how many people are in the store.”

“I’m a good watcher,” Callie said proudly. “I even watched Mr. Miller take a key from a nail under the counter.” She skipped along, only half interested in the conversation.

“Mr. Miller took my extra key?” Molly found that hard to believe.

“I watched him,” Callie Ann answered. “He looked up at me and gave me cricket eyes.”

“Cricket eyes?”

The child stopped and frowned, drawing her eyebrows as close together as she could. “You know, cricket eyes, like he could rub his eyebrows together. Grandma and me used to have a gardener who would do that every time I walked off the path. She told me some of his kin were probably still eating the crops every spring.”

Molly tried to frown enough to pull her eyebrows together. “Do I have them?”

Callie Ann laughed. “You can’t have them. You can’t look that way ’cause you’re pretty.”

“Thanks.” Molly took the compliment. “But I’ve never been pretty.” In her life, she could never remember anyone accusing her of being pretty. Practical, useful, efficient, but never pretty.

“Yes, you are,” Callie Ann objected. “Wolf told me you was the prettiest woman alive. I said, ‘In all the world?’ and he said, ‘Yes, in all the world.’”

“And when were you talking to Wolf about me?”

Callie looked bored with the conversation. “All the time. He talks about you like there’s nothing else to talk about.”

Shocked by the statement, Molly tried to think back to one compliment Wolf had given her. If the man considered her a beauty, he was more nearsighted than she’d thought. Her old aunts used to remind her daily that there were more important things in life than being attractive.

When they reached the drugstore door, Molly turned the knob carefully. It was locked, just as she’d left it. She pulled out her key and opened it, then touched her finger to her lips and motioned for Callie Ann to follow.

They tiptoed into the store as soundlessly as mice.

All was silent. All was in order. If Miller planned to infiltrate her business, he’d waited too long. Now, she was prepared.

While Callie played, Molly moved all her weapons into place. Her father had taught her not all defenses were guns. She strung a bell between both doors, then slid a wedge against the back door just to be sure. Anyone coming in through the back would have to knock the door down. If the front was opened even a few inches the bell should ring. If the door swung enough to allow a man through, the bell would hit the floor.

She placed all the large knives she owned on shelves where she could reach them, but Callie Ann couldn’t. Then Molly dug through Ephraim’s trunk for the Navy Colt he’d owned since the war. She’d leave it downstairs and her father’s matching gun upstairs. That way no matter where she was, she’d be near a weapon.

By the time she got Callie Ann to bed, Molly could feel her nerves tightening like a warrior ready to fight. If Miller and his friends had any plans to break in, they’d find a surprise waiting for them.

She dressed for bed and lay awake, waiting for the bell to sound downstairs. By the time anyone could step three feet into her store, Molly would have her gun in hand and be halfway down. The street lamp pushed most of the shadows away in the store, but, to her advantage, the stairs remained dark until full dawn.

As the hours passed and no one came, Molly’s mind sought the comfort of invisible arms. She curled against a vision who never slept beside her in the real world but had lived vividly in her dreams. “Benjamin,” she whispered softly from her sleep. “Benjamin.”

Over the years and through the pages of her journal Benjamin had drifted. She’d written him letters, described her dreams of holding him, and built in her mind a life that might have been.

But when her hand rose to touch his face, her dream shattered, bringing her full awake.

Molly rolled from the bed. Standing in the darkness, she took huge gulps of air, fighting away the memory of the dream. Her body was covered in sweat. She shivered as the night air circled around her.

She tried to force the real world to return, but the vision had been too strong.

Opening and closing her hand, she realized she could still feel the whiskers that had brushed her palm. In her dream it had been Wolf’s face she touched and not Benjamin’s.

Wolf rode hard out of Austin. The day grew warm, and the land flattened slightly. He changed horses at stagecoach stations along the way, promising he’d return in a few days to switch the stock. Most of the stage managers knew him and wouldn’t charge him for the feed for the horses he left behind.

Finally, after dark, he stopped to rest. The grass was tall and soft along the San Gabriel River where he staked his horse. He’d seen the river rage and spread far over its banks after a storm, but tonight it flowed lazy and quiet.

Wolf didn’t even bother with his bedroll. He stripped off his clothes and waded into the stream to wash off layers of sweat.

The soap Molly had insisted on putting in his bag smelled funny but it lathered well. How could he feel clean without the smell of lye surrounding him? If a soap didn’t take off a few layers of hide when he washed, Wolf figured it wasn’t worth much. But he couldn’t have said he didn’t want it, when she’d been running around making such an effort to help him pack.

At least the water was cool. Unfortunately, it wasn’t more than a foot deep. As he knelt to wash, he thought of how accustomed to being alone he’d become. In the war it had been necessary. When he’d entered enemy territory his only safety lay in trusting no one. He’d walked into dozens of Union camps. He’d even spent a month once in Washington.

More often than not, he’d been alone when he’d traveled north. And, always, he found himself walking by the hospital tents, hoping for another glimpse of Molly, thinking that maybe she and her father might be touring at the same time he passed.

He told himself that, even if he saw her, he wouldn’t approach her. Yet he looked, sometimes even asked if anyone knew where General Donivan was stationed. The boys in blue spoke highly of him. They talked of how Donivan’s standards never bent, never slackened. The comments only served to remind Wolf of how unwelcome he would be if he ever got brave enough to knock on Molly Donivan’s door. The general would probably have him shot for even thinking of courting her.