The Barefoot Bride (23 page)

Who had shot him in the back? And why? What had he done before he became a doctor? How had Annarose Kendrick died? Why had he allowed the town of Fort Benton to think him a coward? Where had he learned to be so handy with his fists? What kind of relationship did he
really
have with Dora Deveraux? And why did he want to keep so much of his past a secret from her?

Molly had learned a great deal about patience from being married to a man who was gone to sea for years at a time. It should have been a simple matter for her to let Seth's secrets unfold over time. But the existence of
a dark, unknown side to her husband frightened her. She had already surrendered her body to the stranger beside her. Molly was haunted by the fear of committing her heart and soul to a man who was not worthy of them. She was determined to know what Seth seemed equally determined to keep to himself.

Molly cleared her throat and said, “Seth, I think we need to have a talk/’

Seth lazily ran his fingertips across the crest of her breasts. “I'm listening.”

Molly grabbed his hand to still its sensuous journey. “I want to know what you did before you became a doctor. And I want to know how Annarose died.”

He tensed. “I've told you those things aren't important.”

“They are to me.”

Seth tried distracting her by nibbling on her ear.

Molly jerked away. “Seth, please. I want some answers.”

Seth sighed and lay down flat. He raised an arm to shield his eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

“I want to understand who you are.”

“By finding out what I used to be?”

“Yes. By finding out everything I can about you.”

He sat up abruptly and leaned over her, his eyes fierce and smoldering in the light of the lantern. “What if I told you I've killed men, Molly? Not just a few. What if I told you I'm good with a gun—fast. What if I told you An-narose died a violent death? Will those answers satisfy you?”

He lurched to his feet and began stuffing his legs into his pants. He yanked on his boots and threw his shirt and long Johns over his shoulder. “Come on, get dressed.”

Molly grabbed at her nightgown and hurriedly poked her arms into the sleeves. She stood and began gathering the quilt.

“Leave it,” he snarled. “I might need a place to bed down sometime.”

As Molly followed Seth down the ladder, she realized that much of his fury had been directed at himself. Was he regretting what he had been? What he had done?

Unfortunately, the answers he had given her had only raised more questions. Tonight, when she joined him in the bedroom they would be sharing from now on, she had to decide whether to ask for more answers. Or whether to simply go forward from here, accepting and loving the man Seth was—the
man he had become, shaped by the violence in his past.

Molly had been staring out the kitchen window, and she saw Seth come out of the barn headed for the house.

She had completely forgotten about her riding lesson! She was still wearing the dress she'd put on first thing this morning. Ethan had brought her a pair of his jeans earlier in the day, and she ran to Seth's bedroom now to put them on. She hurried because she didn't want him coming into the bedroom after her.

“Molly? Where are you? Are you ready to learn how to ride?”

Molly was embarrassed by the way Ethan's pants conformed to the contours of her hips and legs. But she hadn't time to find something else to wear. She furiously rolled up the hems and pulled on a pair of boots Seth had bought for her in town. She checked to make sure Nessie was still sleeping soundly and moments later arrived breathless in the kitchen doorway. “I'm here.”

Seth whistled appreciatively. “Those jeans do more for you than they ever did for Ethan.”

Molly smoothed her hands down over her hips. “I'm hoping to get a riding skirt sewn in
another day or so. But I've been planning and cooking for the christening party tomorrow for Iris's new baby. I just haven't had time—”

“You look fine. Don't worry about it. Come on.”

The black mare, Star, hadn't looked particularly large when Molly stood beside her in the corral. However, the view was somewhat different from atop the animal. Molly was very much aware of how far off the ground she was. She clutched the saddle horn for dear life while Seth adjusted the stirrups.

“You're going to do fine,” Seth assured her. “Just relax.”

With Seth's hands positioning her, touching her at the waist, on her back, at the knee and the ankle, that was impossible.

“Just walk Star around the corral so you can see how it feels. Let your body move with the rhythm of the horse.”

At first Molly was stiff, but with Seth's encouragement she was soon surprisingly comfortable. “This isn't so bad,” she said.

The trot was more difficult, but she soon mastered it, and finally the canter, which although it was a faster gait, was smoother. Molly was loping Star around the corral, confident
in her ability to control the animal, when Bandit darted across Star's path.

Molly was thrown up on Star's neck as the mare went stiff-legged, shying away from the raccoon. Just as Molly regained her seat and her footing in the stirrups, Nessie crossed practically under Star's feet, oblivious to the danger, intent on catching Bandit.

This time Star reared. Nessie froze, suddenly aware of the animal towering over her. Molly sawed on the reins, hoping to turn Star so the animal's hooves would not come down and crush her daughter. Star backed sideways on her hind legs and jerked against the reins. For a moment it appeared the mare would lose her balance and topple over backward.

Molly's mouth was open, but the scream was caught in her throat.

Seth was halfway across the corral when he realized he wasn't going to get there in time. His heart was in his throat. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. There was nothing he could do to prevent the tragedy that was about to occur.

The mare's hooves were on their downward arc when a blur of color—Patch!— rolled under the lower rail of the corral, grabbed Nessie, and kept on rolling. Even so,
Star's hooves struck a glancing blow on Patch's shoulder.

Suddenly everything was moving at full speed again. Molly and Seth reached the two girls almost at the same moment. Nessie was sitting in the dirt beside Patch, crying. Molly dropped onto her knees and scooped her daughter into her arms. She squeezed Nessie tight, reassuring herself that the little girl was whole and safe.

Patch lay sprawled on the ground where she had landed. She inched her shoulder up slightly and groaned.

“Is she all right?” Molly asked Seth in a choked voice.

With shaking hands, Seth felt for broken bones and torn skin at the point where the mare's hoof had landed. He lifted Patch's right arm to see the range of movement, and she groaned again.

“I don't think her shoulder's broken, but she's good and bruised,” he said. He gently lifted Patch into his arms and carried her inside to her bedroom. Molly came along and pulled the covers down and took off Patch's shoes before Seth laid her down.

“Get some cool water,” Seth ordered. “A compress will help ease the bruising.”

Molly picked up Nessie, unwilling to let
her out of her sight, and headed into the kitchen.

Seth sat down beside Patch and started unbuttoning her blouse. He put a hand behind her and sat her up so he could take her shirt off. When he saw the pink ribbons on her chemise, it occurred to him that he might be embarrassing her—again.

Patch's eyes were closed, her face flushed. “I'd leave you to do this for yourself,” he said in a constricted voice, “but I expect you won't have much use of that shoulder for a while.” He skimmed the shirt off her, had her turn over on her stomach, and covered her up to the waist.

Molly returned with a bowl of cool water and several cotton cloths which Seth used to ease Patch's pain.

“Good thing I was wearing pants,” Patch mumbled against the pillow.

“What's that?” Molly asked.

“Couldn't've made it to Nessie in time if I'd been dressed up like a lady.”

Molly met Seth's eyes. “No, I guess this country isn't made for ladies,” she said. She smoothed the bangs back from Patch's face and said, “I want to thank you for risking your life for Nessie.”

“Woulda done it for anybody,” Patch said
ungraciously. She didn't know herself why she'd risked life and limb for that little intruder. But she didn't want praise for doing it. She just wanted everybody to go away. She closed her eyes and shut them out.

“I think she's sleeping,” Nessie said, leaning close and peering into Patch's face.

Molly took Nessie by the hand. “Let's leave her alone and let her rest.” She put a comforting hand on Seth's shoulder as she passed by him.

“I think I'll sit with her for a few minutes,” he said.

As Molly turned to leave the room, Whit arrived in the doorway, having just put the finishing touches on his new room. “What's going on?” he asked. “Why is Patch in bed?”

“Star almost kilt me,” Nessie said importantly. “But Patch saved my life.”

“Golly!” Whit said. “I miss all the fun!”

When Ethan showed up at suppertime, Whit treated him to an embellished version of Patch's heroic efforts to save Nessie from Star's thundering hooves. The object of all this praise was, of course, still asleep in bed.

After supper everyone marched out to Whit's new room, which had its own outside entrance as well as a door cut through to
Patch's room, which connected it to the rest of the house.

Seth had made a bed with rope springs, and a table and chair. The table already held a lantern, several books Whit had brought from Massachusetts, and a pitcher and bowl for washing. There were pegs on the wall for his clothes. It had a dirt floor right now, but Seth eventually planned to cover it over with wooden planks. A stone fireplace graced one wall and was necessary to heat the room through the frigid winter.

Molly's contribution was green-checked gingham curtains for the glass windows. Right now they were tied back to allow the last of the sun's rays to light the room.

Molly left the three men talking about whittling while she ushered Nessie through the connecting door into Patch's bedroom. “You be careful not to roll over during the night and hurt Patch's shoulder,” she admonished her daughter as she tucked her into bed.

“I won't hurt Patch,” Nessie said. “I
love
her.”

Molly looked to see whether Patch might have heard this confession, but Seth's daughter seemed still to be sleeping. “I love her,
too,” she whispered to Nessie. “Now go to sleep.”

After Molly left the room, Patch's eyes blinked open in the darkness. All this talk about love was getting pretty sickening. That Gallagher woman and her kid hardly knew her. How could they care? Only, Patch had to admit the little girl had a way of getting under your skin. When she had seen Nessie under Star's hooves, she hadn't hesitated to risk her life for the kid. It was all pretty confusing, actually.

Patch froze when she felt Nessie's fingers curl around her hand and squeeze gently. Patch grimaced. The little intruder had a way about her all right. She closed her eyes and sighed and gently squeezed back.

Molly had stepped into Whit's bedroom in time to catch Seth tucking her son—toes and all—under the covers. Ethan had already gone to his cabin. She quickly kissed her flustered son good night in front of Seth, followed Seth outside, and closed the door behind her.

“He's excited about having his own room,” Molly said as they walked around to the kitchen door. “You did a wonderful job with all the furniture.”

“I'm glad you're feeling so charitable with
me, because I'm afraid I have some bad news for you.”

“Oh?”

“Ethan dropped by Fort Benton while he was gone. Seems Mrs. Gulliver can't wait. I'm afraid I have to go see her tonight.”

“Oh.” Molly hadn't realized she would feel so disappointed. But she did. “Maybe you won't be gone long.”

“I hope not,” he said. “But don't wait up for me.

Molly managed a smile. “I'll leave a light in the window for you.”

“Thanks, Molly.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard. And just as quickly let her go. “I'll be back as soon as I can.”

Pike Hardesty had been watching in hiding for the better part of a week, waiting for the Masked Marauder to show his face. The Blackfeet had been coming and going every day, buying their firewater, with no sign of any masked rider on a big black horse. It had seemed so provoking an act to begin selling whiskey again in the exact same place that he had been sure the Masked Marauder would be back. But he hadn't come.

There was a campfire over by the kegs, where the whiskey-seller could warm himself.
But Pike was hidden up a hill behind some rocks. It was damned cold. This was the last night he planned to sit out here all alone waiting. If the Masked Marauder didn't show up tonight, he would just have to come up with some other plan to get rid of him.

When a rider suddenly appeared in the eerie light of the campfire, his black cloak flowing out behind him, Pike's skin crawled. A mask covered the man's face from the nose up, and a black hat sat low on his brow. Pike saw the metal gleam of two guns, one tied down on each leg.

Pike realized the man had picked his moment carefully. The only Indians near the campfire had already passed out from the whiskey they'd drunk. The whiskey-seller already had his hands up. If Pike hadn't been there, a repeat of the past destruction most certainly would have occurred.

But Pike was there. He raised his rifle and sighted on the Masked Marauder's heart. The way the man was silhouetted in the light of the fire, he couldn't miss. Just pull the trigger, and it would all be over. But Pike had spent a week in the cold to catch the Masked Marauder, and he ought to at least get to watch the man squirm before he died.

The Marauder had already tied up the
whiskey-seller and taken an ax to the first of the barrels of whiskey when Pike came sauntering down the hill with his rifle trained on him.