The Barefoot Bride (13 page)

Molly's daughter was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen table with the raccoon in her lap, while Patch fed it scrambled eggs from her fingertips. Molly's immediate fear was that the wild animal would bite Nessie. But as she watched, her heart in her throat, she realized the raccoon was not the only threat. Sitting beside Patch was a huge wolflike creature. It turned its head to stare at her. Though it made no sound, it bared ferocious teeth at her, freezing her where she stood.

“Bandit here never bites unless he gets scared,” Patch said as she fed the raccoon a bit of egg. “Now Maverick, my dog—he used to be real mean.” She absently patted the wolflike creature on the head. “That's because he belonged to this man in town who was real mean to him. I talked to Maverick and asked him if he wanted to come home with me. He said he did, and he's lived here ever since.”

“Dogs can't talk,” Nessie said.

“You just have to know how to listen,” Patch explained. “Like Bandit here. He just said he's had enough and he's ready for a nap.”

Molly noticed the raccoon had curled up into a ball in Nessie's lap.

Patch stood and scooped the furry animal into her arms. “It's time to put Bandit to bed.” As she rose, she saw Molly, who was still frozen in the doorway. “Don't move,” Patch warned, “or she'll attack.”

Molly's eyes were riveted on the dog Maverick, so she was aware when the hackles of fur rose on its neck. It growled low in its throat.

Patch quickly dropped the raccoon back into a delighted Nessie's lap and turned to face Molly. “She's right behind you in the window, and her tail is twitching, so it isn't going to be long now. I'll to try to get to her before she leaps, so stay perfectly still.”

Molly's mind raced to assimilate what Patch had told her. In the window?
Behind her?
The eerie scream Molly heard was almost human and made the hairs stand straight up all over her body.

Patch shoved Molly aside as she intercepted the yellow blur that launched itself
from the window. Molly screamed as Patch fell, entwined with the animal that had attacked her. The two of them—Patch and a golden brown beast with teeth and claws— went tumbling over and over on the floor. Horrified, Molly screamed at the top of her lungs, “Seth!”

It was over as quickly as it had begun. Patch was sitting on the floor with what looked like a lion stretched out on its back in front of her, its paws dangling in the air. Patch grinned up at Molly while she scratched the great cat's stomach. “Her name is Rebel. Somebody shot her mother. I raised her myself. She likes to sneak up behind you and try to surprise you.”

Molly was still gasping for air, her jaw gaping, her eyes wide with fright that had not yet turned to relief, when Seth arrived at the door on the run. He was followed closely by Whit, who was trailed by Ethan. Molly flew into Seth's arms and buried her face against his chest.

“What happened?” Seth demanded of Patch as his arms tightened around his terrified, trembling wife.

“I think Rebel scared her,” Patch said innocently.

Molly tore herself from Seth's arms, her
fear rapidly evolving into fury. “You could have warned me!” she hissed at Patch. “You could have simply told me that … that … clawed monster is as tame as a tabby cat. Instead, you scared the wits out of me!”

“Now, Molly,” Seth said. “I don't think Patch intended—”

“Oh, she intended it, all right,” Molly retorted.

“Is that true, Patch?” Seth asked.

A crocodile tear appeared in Patch's left eye and rolled down her cheek. Her lower lip stuck out like a buggy seat. “I swear I didn't do it on purpose, Pa. Don't you believe me?”

“Of course I do,” he said.

Patch shot Molly a sideways look of triumph beneath lowered lashes.

The girl was a formidable foe, Molly realized. “Nevertheless,” Molly said through tight jaws, “that cat—”

“Mountain lion,” Seth corrected.

“That
cat,”
Molly repeated, “has no business being in my kitchen.” By now, Molly's fists were perched on her hips, and her legs were spread wide in an unmistakably militant pose.

Discretion was the better part of valor, Seth decided. “Maybe you'd better take Rebel
outside, Patch.” He realized the dog-wolf was also in the room. “And Maverick too.”

“And keep them out,” Molly said.

“Now, Molly,” Seth cajoled. “Patch's animals—”

“Belong outside,” Molly said firmly. “Not in the house.”

“But—”

“Do you want her to be a lady or not?” Molly demanded.

The expression on Seth's face was ludicrous. He had been well and truly hoisted by his own petard. Molly wanted to laugh but forced down the impulse, afraid it would come out sounding as hysterical as she felt. She refused to look at Patch, taking no chances that the girl's wiles would work on her as well.

Patch rose from the floor with a grace and dignity that Molly thought many a lady might yearn to emulate. She put one hand on Rebel's yellow fur and another on the silver gray hackles that rimmed Maverick's back. Ethan held the kitchen door wide as Patch made an exit worthy of a queen.

Molly shook her head in disbelieving admiration.

“I guess I should have warned you about Patch's pets,” Seth said.

“Are there any more surprises I should know about?”

“If by surprises you mean animals, there are a few more—Outlaw, Tramp, and Hermit come to mind.”

“Don't keep me in suspense. What are we talking about here?”

Seth looked sheepish. “A bear cub, a crow, and a snake.”

“Maybe you should have been a vet.”

Seth smiled, relieved to see that Molly had a sense of humor. “I have been known to treat the occasional four-footed patient. In fact, most of Patch's animals have come to her through some kind of tragedy. In most cases they would have died if she hadn't adopted them. Except for the raccoon, Bandit. He was eating my eggs.”

Molly turned to where Nessie still sat on the table with the satiated raccoon in her lap. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but he's still at it.”

Seth grinned. “Yeah, but I get first crack at them.”

Molly laughed and shooed Seth toward the door. “Go back to work. Now that I know what to expect, I'll be fine.”

He hesitated. “Patch—”

“Don't worry about Patch. We'll be fine.”

When the ragtag girl made a reluctant reappearance at the kitchen door, Molly said, “I want to do some unpacking today, and a little cleaning. I could use your help.”

“Do I have any choice?” Patch asked, glancing up at her father.

“No,” he said.

She shrugged. “Fine. Tell me what to do.”

Seth glanced quickly from Molly to Patch. “Guess I'd better get back to work.” He beat a hasty retreat with Ethan and Whit.

All afternoon, Patch was a model of cooperation. But Molly didn't underestimate Seth's daughter. She knew the clever child hadn't pulled the last rabbit—or should she say wolf, raccoon, or mountain lion—from her hat. But Molly was determined to make a lady of Patch Kendrick if it was the last thing she ever did. With the array of wild animals at Patch's disposal, she realized it very well might be.

She and Patch worked side by side through the afternoon. Molly cleaned and straightened, and it was helpful to be able to ask Patch whether something belonged to Seth or to her, or had somehow found its way into the house through one of its animal inhabitants.

Molly removed the medicines from the
sideboard and carefully restacked them in a box beside Seth's desk in the corner, where Nessie would not be able to get to them. Then she placed her mother's rose-patterned china on the upper shelves of the sideboard. The painting of James's ship in the Arctic sea she hung above the fireplace. With just those small changes, the room looked more like a home.

However, it was the two very personal items she had brought to Montana that fascinated Patch.

“What is that?” Patch asked, pointing to an ivory-colored object.

“It's a walrus tusk, carved by the Esquimaux to look like a whale,” Molly said. A spout of water shot from the whale's blowhole, and the impressive width of its tail flukes curled up behind it. It didn't surprise Molly that Patch didn't ask, simply reached out and caressed the carving.

“It's so smooth! And it feels cool, like maybe there's ice inside or something.”

“You know, I've always thought the same thing. But I felt a little silly saying it.”

Patch looked suspiciously at Molly. It was clear that she didn't want to be on the same side as her stepmother regarding anything.

Molly put the whale on the chest in her
bedroom, where she could see it each morning when she awoke. She would transfer it into Seth's room when she moved there. She didn't want to think about how soon that might be.

But it was the ship in the bottle that sent Patch into raptures. Molly placed the bottle on one side of the pine mantel above the fireplace.

“Garn!” Patch said. “Just look at that! Garn! How did that ship get inside there?”

“You'll have to ask Whit,” Molly said with a smile. “He made this with his father.”

That option obviously didn't appeal to Patch. “Don't you know?”

Molly shook her head. “James wouldn't let me watch. He said it's a sailor's secret. He taught Whit because he expected him to become a sailor.”

“Durn. I sure would like to see how that's done.”

“You'll have to ask Whit,” Molly repeated.

Although Molly had definite plans for what she could do to the house to make it more of a home, she was less certain what steps she ought to take to make Patch more of a lady. Two obvious things came to mind. First, the girl needed a bath. Second, she needed to be dressed in some feminine clothing.

But when Molly suggested the idea of a bath to Patch, she got the quick response, “Don't need one.” And when she asked where Patch's dresses were, so she might iron one for her, Patch said, “Don't have any.”

Molly considered trying to manhandle Patch into a tub or getting her to stand still while she was measured for a dress.
I'd probably come off better tangling with the mountain lion,
she thought.

But throughout the afternoon, Molly put her mind to ways she could accomplish those first two goals. She felt like a general, planning a major campaign. It took the better part of the afternoon to devise her strategy. She put her plan into action that evening after supper.

While everyone was eating dessert, she put several kettles of water on the stove to heat.

“What are you cooking now?” Seth asked, imagining something as wonderful as the dried-apple pie he was finishing.

“Nothing. I'm heating water for Patch's bath.”

“Don't need a bath,” Patch said, looking warily at Molly.

“When was the last time you had one? A bath, I mean.”

Patch frowned. “Don't remember.”

“Then it's time for another one,” Molly said firmly. She had found a large wooden tub outside the back door that looked like it doubled as a bathtub and had cleaned it earlier in the day. It was situated now in the corner by the stove. She began to fill it with warm water.

“I ain't taking a bath. You can't make me,” Patch said to Molly.

“I don't plan to try,” Molly replied. “I expect your father to do the honors.”

Patch and Seth spoke at the same time. “What?”

“Your father can do for you whatever needs done. All I'm concerned about is that you get clean. Later, I need to take your measurements so I can make a dress for you. Come on, Whit, Nessie—let's go for a walk.”

Ethan grinned at Seth and said, “Much as I'd love to stick around and see the fireworks, I think I'll join them.”

A moment later, the house was empty except for Patch and Seth.

“Are you going to let her get away with this, Pa?” she demanded.

Seth tugged one of Patch's ears forward, revealing the grime there. Then he took her chin in his hand and angled her face one way and then the other. With his thumb he
brushed at a stubborn smudge on her cheek. He took her hands and held them out in his. Molly had insisted Patch wash her hands before supper, but dirt was still crusted under her broken fingernails.

“She's got a point, Patch,” he said at last. “You do need a bath.”

“I ain't gonna do it, Pa.”

Seth's eyes narrowed. “I say you are. Now take off your clothes and get into that tub without any more of this nonsense.”

The blood bleached from Patch's face as it became clear her father had no intention of leaving the room. “I won't,” she rasped. “And you can't make me.”

If it had only been the two of them, Seth might have let it slide. But he shuddered at the thought of Molly's reaction if he couldn't get his daughter to bathe. He remained unyielding. “Get in the tub, Patch.”

She glared at him, defiant. He rose from his chair and started toward her. She jumped up and took several steps backward until her legs came up against the tub. Staring at him the whole time, she pulled off her boots and socks and then stepped, fully clothed, into the tub. Before he could get to her, she sat down.

“There. I'm in the tub.”

Seth was furious—not only at the fact that she'd thwarted him but at the way she'd chosen to do it. He didn't think, just reacted. An instant later he was beside the tub and had pulled Patch to her feet. One jerk downward in front sent buttons pinging across the wooden floor. A second jerk at the collar in back, and he had the shirt off her. Her arms immediately curled around her chest.

The only sounds were Seth's grunt as he wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her into the air, and Patch's yelp of dismay as he yanked both trousers and drawers down and off over her kicking feet. Her pants landed on the floor at the same time he dumped her back into the tub with a resounding splash.

Patch moaned and immediately curled in on herself. Her head bowed as she drew her knees up to her chest and surrounded them with her arms.

“Now wash yourself,” he commanded.

“Go away,” she mumbled against her knees.

Seth didn't hear the plea in her tone, only the words of defiance. “By God, if you won't bathe yourself, I'll do it for you!”

Patch's head snapped up, and her panicked eyes sought his. “No! Pa! Please!”