The Barefoot Bride (26 page)

“I'm sorry, Mother,” Whit blurted. “I didn't mean all those things I said. I don't hate it here. I don't want to leave. I don't even hate Patch. I get mad at her a lot, but mostly she's okay.”

“Then maybe the next time you see her, you can apologize.”

Whit's chin jutted. “It wasn't my fault.”

Molly brushed a lock of sweat-damp hair away from Whit's brow. “You weren't just a wee tiny bit to blame?”

“Maybe,” he admitted grudgingly. “All right. I'll say I'm sorry.” Under his breath he added, “But I'm only gonna half mean it, ‘cause it was half her fault.”

Meanwhile, Patch had found a secluded spot near the pond and was stripping off the tattered dress—and along with it all pretenses of being a lady. It was foolish even to try, she thought, when she was so certain of failing. She stood there fingering the feminine chemise and drawers while tears dripped off her cheeks and her nose began to run. Just as she lifted her arm to swipe it off, someone thrust a bandanna in her face.

Patch took it and blew her nose. Assuming her pa had come to tell her how disappointed he was in her, she kept her face hidden behind the handkerchief.

“I'm sorry, Pa. I didn't mean to cause a ruckus. It just happened. I never lost at marbles before. And when Whit beat me—well, I got angry.”

Patch felt a shirt being settled around her
bare shoulders, and a pair of arms comfortingly surrounded her.

“Oh, Pa, I—”

“It's Ethan.”

Patch dropped the kerchief and looked aghast through watery eyes at Ethan's sympathetic face. She shoved against his chest, pushing him away, mortified to think he had seen her standing there in her underwear. She quickly poked her hands through the arms of his shirt and tried buttoning it up. But her fingers were shaking too badly.

Ethan pushed her hands out of the way and did it for her.

Patch couldn't look him in the eye. But he wasn't content to let her suffer in peace. He lifted her chin and made her look at him.

“It isn't what you wear that makes you a lady, Patch. It's how you handle yourself around other folks. It's more than manners— although you have to learn them. It's knowing you're entitled to respect, and respecting the rights of other people. Your stepmother is that kind of lady.”

Patch bristled, but Ethan didn't let her pull away. He lifted the tail of his shirt and wiped the blood from the edge of her mouth. “You don't have to keep fighting against everyone
and everything. The people who care about you most are already on your side.”

“I can't face Pa,” Patch admitted.

“There's nothing you can do that your pa won't forgive and forget.”

Patch sighed. “I hope you're right.”

He pulled her into his arms and gave her a quick, hard hug. “You know I am.”

She looked up into his green eyes and said, “Thanks for coming, Ethan.”

He grinned. “It's a good thing I did. How were you planning to get back into the house past all those people when you're stripped down to nothing like that?”

“I guess I wasn't thinking too straight.” Patch had her arms around Ethan, and it suddenly dawned on her that the only mark on his upper body was a thin red scratch. Either Pike Hardesty hadn't wounded the Masked Marauder, or Ethan wasn't him.

“Now what's wrong?” Ethan asked as he saw her perplexed look.

“Nothing. Only, haven't you ever wondered who the Masked Marauder is?”

Ethan's lids shuttered his eyes. “Sure I've wondered. Doesn't everybody?”

Patch shrugged. “I really thought it was you. I don't know how I could have been so wrong.”

Ethan stiffened imperceptibly. “Come on, Patch. Let's get you back to my place and get you into some clothes.”

As much as Molly wanted the party to be over and their guests gone, everyone stayed until the last possible moment, squeezing the most fun and joy they could from times spent together that were too few and too far between. It was after dark and Nessie was asleep in her bed before Seth and Molly finally bade the last of their guests farewell.

“Have you seen Patch or Whit since early this afternoon?” Molly asked as she eased down onto the front-porch step.

“Ethan had a talk with Patch. She's bedding down at his place tonight. I checked, and Whit is asleep in his bed.”

Molly heaved a sigh of relief. “At least neither of them ran away.”

Seth sat down on the lower step, evoking memories of the last time they had been here together. “That's counting small blessings indeed. Besides, if you want my honest opinion, I don't think either one of them wants to run away.”

“I hope you're right.” She pulled at a stray thread on the sleeve of her cambric dress. “Seth, do you think Pike really shot the
Masked Marauder? I mean, if he had, the Marauder would have come to you for help, wouldn't he?”

“I'll tell you, Molly, even if I'd doctored the Masked Marauder, I wouldn't have said anything today.”

“Does that mean you did take care of him?”

Seth smiled. “Anything's possible.”

Molly's eyes widened. A relieved smile touched the corners of her mouth. There it was—the explanation for where Seth had been last night. He had already as much as told her he knew who the Masked Marauder was. And if the Masked Marauder had been wounded, of course Seth would have had to treat him. And the perfume—why, what more perfect hideout for the Masked Marauder than some Soiled Dove's boudoir?

If Molly was grasping at straws, well, she had made herself a haystack. She didn't want to believe Seth had lied to her about Dora. It hurt too much. Because she cared too much.

She took Seth's hand and said, “Come with me.” She grabbed a quilt hanging over the porch railing and tucked it under her arm. She led him away from the house, down toward the pond.

“Where are we going?” Seth asked.

“Someplace quiet. Someplace private.
Someplace where I can have you all to myself.”

Molly spread the quilt over the dew-soaked grass beneath a cottonwood. It was dark; the only light came from a quarter moon and the stars.

“Now,” she said. “Take off all your clothes.”

“What?”

“Well have a race to see who can finish first.”

Seth laughed and tore the buttons off his shirt as he ripped it from his shoulders. All Molly saw was flashes of white as Seth skinned out of his jeans and long Johns.

“I win,” he said a minute later. “Now I can help you.”

Molly laughed as he began tugging at petticoat strings that needed to be untied. She was breathless by the time he had unlaced her corset. He simply ripped her chemise down the front and skimmed it down off her arms.

She backed away from him, laughing as she pulled down her lace-trimmed drawers. When he stopped coming, she pulled them back up again. “Fooled you!”

A second later she was lying flat on her back on the quilt, and he was lying on top of her. His hand cupped the heart of her, and
she could feel the warmth of him through the cotton cloth.

“Seth. Make love to me.”

His mouth found hers and teased it open so his tongue could come inside and ravish her. He searched out the beauty mark on her face and kissed her there. Then his kisses went seeking and found places she hadn't known were so sensitive to the touch. A moment later, his hand was inside her lacy cotton drawers, and she moaned as he teased her with his fingertips. But soon the cotton was in his way, and he pulled the lacy garment down and off and tossed it aside.

“Molly?” Seth pulled her into his arms, and the touch of warm flesh against flesh in the cold night air was exquisite. The hair on his chest was slightly abrasive as he rubbed himself slowly against her. His mouth found the place where her neck joined her shoulders, and he kissed his way up to her ears. His breath was hot and moist, and the sensation sent shivers down her spine.

Molly wanted to return the pleasure he was giving her, so she let her hands go wandering and found the muscles across his shoulders, the crease of his spine, his taut buttocks, and his long, lean flanks. She listened for the sounds he made—the moans and groans and
hissed-in breaths of air—that taught her how to please him. As she slid her fingertips down his side, he gasped and bolted upright.

“What's wrong?” Molly asked. “What did I do?”

“I'm a little ticklish,” he said.

Molly grinned. “That's an awful thing to admit.” She reached up to tickle him on purpose, and this time he grabbed her hand at the same time he gasped.

Only it wasn't a funny kind of gasp, it was a painful kind of gasp. “Seth?”

He took her hand and brought it back to his body, then gently ran it across a scab along his ribs. “I had an accident with an ax. I didn't want to worry you. It's just a scratch, but it's still pretty sensitive.”

“You should have told me. I would have been more careful.” Then Molly grinned impishly. “I guess I'll just have to find some less-sensitive spot to handle.” Whereupon she reached over and cupped him in her hands.

Seth groaned. But there was no mistaking this as anything but a sound of pleasure. He didn't move, just let her touch him however she wanted. And Molly tried everything to see what made him moan the loudest.

Seth didn't last long before she was flat on her back, and he was deep inside her.

“Love me, Seth,” she whispered. Her body arched into his, seeking fulfillment.

His body thrust into hers, seeking the same.

And in the darkness, under the wide Montana skies, they found the peace and contentment each had been seeking.

Afterward, Seth pulled Molly into his arms and levered a leg over her to keep her close. They were quiet for a long while, listening to the katydids and frogs. “I guess I should have listened when you said Patch needs to go away to school to become a lady. I thought— I hoped she could do all her changing right here. I can see maybe it might not be a bad idea after all to send her away.”

Seth laid his head against Molly's breast, and she smoothed his hair with her hands. “It doesn't have to be right away,” she said. “And it doesn't have to be for long. Don't worry, Seth.” She kissed the top of his head. “Everything will turn out fine.”

“Tomorrow—”

“I don't want to think about tomorrow,” Molly said, kissing Seth's eyes closed. “I want to enjoy tonight.”

It was nearly dawn before they crept back into the house, wrapped together in the quilt and giggling like children.

It had been nearly three weeks since the christening party, during which time Seth had gone into town twice to treat Mrs. Gulliver. Both times, he had come home very late. Both times, he had made love to Molly after he slipped into bed. He had never again smelled of a tart's perfume. But Molly couldn't help wondering why he was gone so long, and where he went when he wasn't with Mrs. Gulliver. She might have ignored her nagging unease except for one thing: Molly was fairly certain she was pregnant.

The signs were there: tenderness in her breasts, a slight dizziness if she stood too fast, fatigue, and most telling of all, she had missed her monthly course. She wasn't sure how she felt about having another child. The thought of having a baby—Seth's baby—was wonderful. But were they—all of them— ready for another addition to the family?

Patch and Whit were speaking again, although
snarling
would be more descriptive of their communication. Patch seemed to tolerate having Nessie in her room well enough. But every night at supper, Molly waited for an eruption of the tempers that never seemed far beneath the surface.

That was why she had so much looked forward to the trip she was making this afternoon to visit Iris Marsh. She wanted to talk to the other woman and get some advice. When she had thought she might be pregnant, she had talked Seth into teaching her how to drive the buggy. Now she was glad she had.

Seth didn't want to let her go on her own. “You might get lost. Or lose a wheel. The horse might bolt. There are always Indians around. Or—”

Molly had interrupted, “I'll be fine. The trail you use to reach the Marsh place is easy to follow. And the distance is short enough that if I lose a wheel, I can walk home or to the Marshes’ whichever is closer. You taught me to drive, so you know I can handle the rig under any circumstances. And you must admit the likelihood of anything else”—she specifically did not mention an Indian attack— “happening is slim.”

It was slim, but it was there. When Seth
frowned, Molly put her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth. “You have work to do here. I'll be fine.”

Reluctantly, he had agreed.

Whit and Patch decided to stay home to help Seth and Ethan with gentling a couple of wild horses that were scheduled to be delivered to the army later in the summer. Molly settled Nessie beside her on the front seat and waved at them all as she cheerfully drove away.

Molly felt pretty proud of herself when she pulled the buggy up in front of Iris's sod house. Iris was outside leaning over an elevated tin tub, scrubbing clothes on a washboard. Her oldest daughter was working a wringer and hanging the clothes on a line that had been strung between two trees. The pig-tailed girl, Amaryllis, was sitting at her mother's feet playing with several calico kittens. The older baby, Daisy, had inched her way to the edge of a blanket and was eating a handful of grass. Molly's godchild, Lily, lay in a wooden cradle placed in the shade of the hill. Molly assumed the twin boys were with their father working in the fields.