The Barefoot Bride Read online

  Molly felt self-conscious. No man had ever seen her thus. Not even James. She was grateful for the dim light that she hoped would hide the marks left by the children she had borne.

  But Seth's eyes saw only perfection. “You're beautiful, Molly.” He laid a hand reverently on her womb and let it trail down to the nest of dark hair between her legs.

  Molly started to close her eyes, but Seth said, “Look at me. I want to see what you're feeling.”

  So much. She was feeling so much. Molly groaned as Seth slid a finger inside her.

  He lay beside her, and his mouth found hers and tasted honey as he gloried in the feel of her mouth on his.

  Molly arched toward him, opened to him, felt him put another finger inside her.

  She put her hands on his face and ended the kiss. “Seth. Stop. Please.”

  He gasped with the effort, but he did. “What's wrong?”

  Molly reached down to the buttons on the front of his jeans. “Take off your clothes. So I can touch you.”

  Seth's entire body tautened at the thought of her hands on him.

  Molly smiled at the haste with which Seth's trousers and long Johns found their way to the bottom of the quilt to join her nightgown. She put a hand on his flat belly and trailed her fingers down the crease between his thigh and the place where his desire for her was abundantly evident. She surrounded him with her hand, surrounded the heat, the softness, and the hardness.

  Molly drew him toward her and led him inside.

  Seth sighed with pleasure as he pushed deep inside Molly, all the way, until there was none of him that was not a part of her. He felt her heels grasp his buttocks and pull him tight against her. He began to move, slowly, and mimed with his tongue in her mouth what his body did below.

  Molly's fingernails made crescents in Seth's flesh as she clutched him and held on, while her spirit soared and her body shuddered with its release.

  Seth's face looked more in agony than ecstasy, but his final cry was one of triumph as he spilled his seed in her and made her his wife.

  Patch was nearly asleep on her pallet in front of Ethan's fireplace when she heard him moving stealthily through the room. She opened her eyes just a crack and saw in the banked light of the fire that he was dressed in dark clothes. She tried to remember whether the Masked Marauder had ever rescued anyone at night. She didn't think so. But she couldn't take any chances.

  As soon as he was gone, she dressed quickly and followed after him, riding bareback with a halter she'd grabbed at the corral because she thought he would get too far ahead of her if she stopped to saddle her horse. After an hour of following him, Patch still hadn't figured out where Ethan could possibly be going. Patch looked on that as a positive sign that he must be the Masked Marauder. Why else would he be wandering around in the dark?

  He changed direction again, and this time Patch saw in the distance the soft yellow glow where Fort Benton was situated. He continued on through town, beyond the last warehouse on the levee to a wooden barnlike building. Patch pulled her horse to a stop in the shadows and watched nervously as Ethan went inside the darkened building. A few moments later, he came out leading a large, coal-black horse on a halter and carrying a small saddle roll. He mounted again and, leading the black, rode back the way he had come.

  Patch slipped into a nearby alley and stared with eyes rounded big as saucers as he rode past her.

  Ethan really was the Masked Marauder!

  She wondered why he kept the big black in town, where it might be found. Although the townspeople would hardly think to look for the Masked Marauder's horse right under their noses. At least, they hadn't so far.

  Patch wanted to confront Ethan with what she knew and beg him to allow her to go along on his next adventure. But if Ethan wouldn't let her go swimming in the pond after dark, he would hardly be likely to take her along when there was real danger. She didn't dare let him know she had found out his secret.

  Although he took a circuitous route, Ethan ended up right back at the ranch. Patch followed him to a copse of pine not far from his cabin, where a lean-to stood. She had never even known it was there! When he took the horse and the saddle roll inside, she turned and left, racing for the corral to return her horse before he returned and discovered it missing.

  She headed back to his cabin on foot, stripped off her clothes, lay down with her back to the door, and covered herself with the quilt. A few minutes later, she heard the door squeak as Ethan pushed it open. She marveled at how quietly he made his way across the room.

  To her surprise, he made a detour over to her. She held her breath, then realized that was sure to give her away. She forced herself to take slow, deep, even breaths as Ethan knelt beside her and pulled the covers up over her shoulders. He brushed aside her bangs, his hands gentle, his touch slow and easy, so as not to disturb her sleep.

  Patch nearly died when she felt the touch of his lips on her forehead. She fought to keep from opening her eyes to look at him. Whyever had he done such a thing? Fortunately for her thudding heart, a moment later he stood and walked away. Patch wondered if he had ever done anything like that before. She didn't understand what she was feeling, but it upset her to think that Ethan felt free to just kiss her like she was some baby or something.

  She couldn't confront him about it without revealing she was wide awake—a fact for which she had no easy explanation. Patch lay there and fumed about it for a while, until she decided what he'd done wasn't so terrible and maybe best forgotten. Except she didn't really want to forget it. In fact, she was probably going to remember it for the rest of her life.

  Patch fell asleep thinking about the best way of saving the Masked Marauder from the ambush that Drake Bassett and Pike Har-desty were planning for him. All she really knew was that the ambush was supposed to happen on the butte west of town where the two men had set up a whiskey-selling operation. She wondered whether she at least ought to let that information slip to Ethan. She decided to sleep on it and make her decision in the morning.

  Only when she woke up in the morning, Ethan was gone. And so was the big black stallion.

  Patch realized she couldn't take the chance that Ethan might slip away like that sometime and end up getting ambushed. So when he returned, she immediately confronted him.

  “I know you're the Masked Marauder, Ethan.”

  His eyes never blinked. He never moved at all. “What makes you think that, Patch?”

  “Don't try to pretend. I saw you go to town last night and get your black stallion. I saw the saddle roll—which probably has your mask inside. The reason I'm telling you I know is—”

  “You're wrong about the stallion, Patch. Your pa is paying for the use of that black for stud. That's where I was this morning. I took him up to service the mares in the box canyon.”

  “What about the saddle roll?” Patch queried.

  “Just some tack for the stallion.”

  “Tell me the truth, Ethan. It's important. Are you the Masked Marauder?”

  “You'll have to look elsewhere for a hero, Patch. I'm not the man you're searching for.” He turned and walked away.

  Patch had been so sure it was Ethan that the letdown was tremendous. Now she was no closer to knowing who the Masked Marauder was than anybody else in town. But she had information that was vitally important for the Masked Marauder to know. What on earth was she supposed to do now?

  Molly was worried about Patch. Seth's daughter had been wandering around all morning with a hangdog expression. Right now she was sitting at the kitchen table with an uneaten sandwich from lunch in front of her, turning her glass of buttermilk in circles on the tablecloth. Nessie was down for her nap, and Whit was putting the finishing touches on his room with Seth. Ethan had gone scouting for more wild horses that could be captured and sold to the army.

  “Is there anything you'd like to talk about?” Molly asked.

  Patch shook her head no.

  “Do you want to go outside for a while?”
/>   Patch shrugged. “I guess so.” She rose and scuffed her way out the door.

  Molly decided Patch's distraction was probably due to the fact that she would be moving back into her own bedroom tonight. When she did, Nessie would still be there. It was going to be an adjustment for Seth's daughter to share her room with somebody else. If Molly could have arranged things differently, she would have. But Seth had said it wasn't practical to build a fourth bedroom for Nessie when the two girls could easily share. Molly could sympathize with Patch because she had a difficult situation of her own to face this evening.

  Last night, after she and Seth had made love, they had lain for a long while in each other's arms. At first, Molly had felt content. Making love to Seth had felt right and good, and it had been more than just a little wonderful. But soon she had begun to think of all the things Seth hadn't told her about himself … and to wonder.

  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.