The Barefoot Bride Page 9

  “One night, I took my hunting rifle and a bag of food and set out to enlist in the army. I didn't get far before I ran into a band of cutthroat Mexican outlaws. Those bandidos had my rifle and my horse, and I was saying my final prayers when my father showed up to fetch me home.

  “I'd never been so glad to see anyone in my life. He'd been a Texas Ranger, my pa, and he knew how to fight bandidos. When the shooting stopped, what Mexicans weren't dead had turned tail and run. But my pa had been mortally wounded. He died on the trip back home.”

  Seth didn't say that he'd always blamed himself for his father's death. Or that remorse over that one incident had shaped a great deal of his life. “My pa was one brave hombre,” he murmured.

  “I saw my da fight once on the waterfront,” Whit said in a wistful voice. “He was a brave man too. I want to grow up to be just like him.”

  “That's a good goal, Whit. A man can't wish for more than to have his son grow up following in his footsteps.”

  Only Whit's father was dead. And the only footsteps for Whit to follow would be Seth's. Suddenly, the immensity of what he had done, the responsibility he had accepted, struck Seth. Would the boy see who he really was? Or would he only see the man Seth must pretend to be?

  “I miss Da,” Whit admitted in a choked voice.

  “You always will,” Seth said. It wasn't much, as comfort went, but it was all he could offer. “It'll get easier as time goes on. You'll always have your memories of him, of the good times you had together. They'll stay with you the rest of your life.”

  “Da used to tuck me in at night.”

  Seth held his breath. Was Whit asking him to do that? Would he let him? Not if Seth asked. The boy had too much pride for that. Seth didn't say what he was going to do, didn't ask permission that the boy couldn't, or wouldn't, give. He just sat up and leaned over and tucked the covers firmly around the boy, up one side, and down the other.

  “You forgot my toes.”

  Without a word, Seth leaned down and tucked the blankets firmly under Whit's long, narrow feet. Then he lay back down and turned on his side away from the boy. “Better get to sleep. Dawn comes early.”

  Whit closed his eyes, unaware of how he had found solace, only knowing he had. Almost as good as Da, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

  When Seth walked into the kitchen the next morning, Molly greeted him with a smile that took his breath away. He remembered the night past, the taste of her, the feel of her lips. He wanted to kiss her good morning, to start the day with the feminine softness of her in his arms. But she had turned back to the stove the instant she saw him, sending a message loud and clear without saying a word.

  She was wearing simple clothes this morning—a white shirtwaist and dark brown broadcloth skirt, covered by a faded red apron that he recognized as one from the sideboard—that made her seem more approachable. But though she was apparently not angry over what had happened last night, she was keeping her distance.

  When he started to sit down at the kitchen table, she asked, “Aren't you going to shave?”

  Seth felt the day's growth of whiskers. It was a small sacrifice. “Sure. I'll be out back.”

  But as he started out the door, she handed him a bowl of warm water. “For shaving,” she said.

  Seth stared down at the bowl and then back up at Molly. “Thanks,” he said as he took it from her. He would never have heated water for himself, but as he held a warm-water-soaked cloth to his face to soften his beard, he realized there were a lot of things about having a woman in the house that he'd forgotten about.

  When he came back inside, Molly smiled at him and waved him to the table. “Have a seat. The coffee's nearly ready. I had to scrub the pot before I could start. There must have been three days’ worth of grounds in it.”

  Seth opened his mouth to say it took three days’ worth of grounds to make a decent cup of coffee but snapped it shut again. It was another of the changes he'd have to accept.

  But there were compensations, he thought as he watched his wife busy herself at the stove. Her absent-minded humming made a nice accompaniment to the sounds of coffee perking and the sizzle of frying bacon. He loved to watch her move, enjoying the feminine grace of each gesture.

  “What's that I smell?” Seth asked, sniffing the air. “Are you baking something?”

  “You must mean the biscuits,” Molly replied. “I found some flour and I thought— you don't mind, do you?” She lifted the lid on the Dutch oven on top of the stove. Seth got a glimpse of the most beautiful, fluffy golden-brown biscuits he'd ever seen in his life.

  At that moment, Patch appeared in the kitchen doorway and announced, “I always make Pa's breakfast. And he hates biscuits.”

  Seth couldn't deny that he hated Patch's biscuits. They were hard as shoe leather and half as tasty. His mouth watered as Molly served up a dozen aromatic biscuits into a straw basket and set them on the table in front of him. He wanted one of those biscuits so bad, he could already taste it, loaded down with butter and blackberry jam. But eating one of those biscuits was going to be a diplomatic nightmare, after the way he'd disdained Patch's efforts.

  “I … uh … think I ought to have one just to be polite,” he said to Patch, grabbing one from the basket.

  “That's not necessary,” Molly said, lifting it right out of his hands and setting it back in the pile. “I'll toast some bread for you instead.”

  Seth swore under his breath. “No, really,” he said, picking up another biscuit. “I don't want to put you to any extra trouble. Bis-cuits'll be just fine.”

  This time Patch took the biscuit out of his hands. “You know you can't abide these things, Pa.”

  Patch sat down to the right of her father and began to slather the biscuit with butter.

  “What can I get for you to drink with that?” Molly asked Patch.

  “A cup of coffee.”

  Seeing Molly's surprise, Seth explained, “We don't have a milk cow.” He found himself adding, “But there's no reason why we couldn't get one.”

  “Good. Then I could make some buttermilk,” Molly said.

  Seth shuddered at the thought. He couldn't think of a worse-tasting thing to swallow, but he kept his mouth shut and counted his blessings—her biscuits—instead.

  “Look what I found out back.” Ethan stood in the kitchen doorway holding Nessie. The little girl was still dressed in her nightgown and curled up like a teddy bear in his arms.

  “Can't that baby even walk by herself?” Patch snapped. Her chin jutted in response to Ethan's frown of disapproval. “Durned Gallaghers,” she muttered. “Troublemakers. All of them.”

  “Patch,” Seth warned. “Watch what you say.”

  Ignoring the hostile undercurrents in the room, Ethan asked, “Is breakfast ready? Something sure smells good.” He looked around the table and saw that there were only five chairs—the swivel desk chair had been pulled up to the table. Clearly, Molly had made accommodations for her children but hadn't been expecting him.

  Seth tensed, unsure whether Ethan's presence at the table would result in another confrontation with Molly, like the one they'd had the previous day over sleeping arrangements.

  “Ethan always has breakfast and supper with us,” Seth said cautiously. “We're usually out working at noon, so we take something along to eat while we're gone.”

  “That's fine,” Molly replied, equally cautiously. “I'll be sure to set an extra plate from now on.”

  Ethan set Nessie down in one of the three empty chairs at the table. But the child was too small for the chair. Her chin barely reached the edge of the table.

  Seth reacted first. He simply leaned over and lifted Nessie into his lap. As though it were the most normal thing in the world, the little girl settled back against his chest and accepted the biscuit he handed to her. “Go ahead and sit down, Ethan,” Seth said. “There's room now for you at the table.”

  Patch stared at Nessie in disbelief.

  So did Molly.
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  Within moments, Molly turned back to the stove; Patch turned purple. She jumped up and said, “Pa, I told you that baby would be a bother.”

  “She's no bother,” Seth replied as he met Patch's troubled blue eyes. “She hardly weighs a thing.”

  Patch struggled for words, but nothing came. Her lips thinned as she watched her father dandling the Gallagher girl on his knee. “I've got to go feed my animals,” she said at last.

  Seth looked at the nearly untouched plate of food sitting before his daughter. “You didn't finish your breakfast.”

  “I'm not hungry.” Patch turned and shoved her way past Whit, headed for her bedroom.

  Seth wondered how long Whit had been standing in the doorway like that. “Come in and sit down, Whit.”

  “I'd rather not,” he retorted.

  Apparently, in the bright light of day, their bedtime talk was forgotten.

  “It's a long time betwixt breakfast and supper,” Seth said. “We'll be working hard. You'll need some vittles to make it through the day.”

  “I'm not hungry,” he insisted, eyeing his mother's biscuits with the look of a starving coyote.

  “Suit yourself,” Seth said with an apparently careless shrug. But a muscle in his jaw worked as he gritted his teeth against saying something provoking that he would regret later.

  The tension eased some when Molly suggested, “I'll pack a few biscuits for you, Whit. You can eat them later when you're feeling hungry.”

  “That's not a bad idea,” Ethan said as he slathered blackberry jam on a second biscuit. “I wouldn't mind having a few extra of these myself for a midmorning snack.”

  Seth sighed heavily. Not only was he being denied Molly's biscuits at breakfast, he was going to have to watch Whit and Ethan enjoy them later in the day. He threw down his fork and said, ‘Tve got work to do. The sooner I get started cutting down logs to build that extra bedroom, the sooner it'll be finished.”

  Seth handed Nessie to Molly on his way past. At the kitchen door he turned and said, “Meet me out in the barn when you're done, Ethan. Bring Whit with you. And tell Patch I expect her to work inside today with Molly.”

  Molly took one look at her son's rebellious face, handed Nessie to Ethan, wrapped several biscuits in a cloth napkin, and started out the door after Seth. She was breathless by the time she caught up to him in the barn. He was leaning back against a stall, his spread legs braced out in front of him, the heels of his hands pressed hard against his eyes.

  “Seth?”

  His hands came down immediately and rested in balled fists on his thighs; his gray eyes looked bleak. Molly walked up to him and stood between his outspread legs. “I'm sure things will get easier as we go along.”

  Seth snorted. “They couldn't get much worse.”

  “Perhaps not/’ Molly agreed with the beginning of a smile. She laid a hand on one of his fists, and it unfolded and his fingers entwined with hers. She brought his hand up and drew his knuckles across her cheek. “Thank you for being so patient with Whit.”

  “He doesn't make it easy,” he grumbled.

  “I know.” She brought his hand down from her face and opened his fingers, setting the napkin in his palm.

  “What's this?”

  She grinned. “Biscuits. For someone who doesn't like them, you seemed awfully anxious to have one.”

  “I was. I am.” He grinned wryly. “Thanks.” He leaned over and quickly kissed her on the mouth.

  Startled, Molly's hand came up to caress the dampness on her lips. She looked up into his eyes and saw the hunger there—and not for biscuits, either.

  Slowly, carefully, Seth curled his hand around her nape and drew her face up to his. Slowly, gently, he laid his mouth on hers, feeling the softness of her lips under his.

  Molly felt her body tensing, felt the slow curl of desire wind its way upward. She parted her lips slightly and felt him do the same. She opened her mouth wider, and—

  “Pa! Where are you?”

  Seth snapped upright as though a bullet had hit him. He looked down at himself, and then up at Molly. There wasn't any hiding how his body had reacted to her. And his daughter would be here any second.

  Molly hid her trembling hands in the apron. She turned her back to him, letting the width of her skirt over several petticoats conceal Seth's problem. Moments later, Patch came hurtling around the corner and into the stall.

  “I don't want to stay in the house,” she said to her father. “I want to work with you.”

  Seth put a hand on Molly's shoulder. “I want you to help Molly in the house.”

  “But you need me,” Patch protested.

  “Ethan and I will manage. And I've got Whit to help.”

  “Whit Gallagher doesn't know a blamed thing about anything.”

  “He will by the end of the day,” Seth said, cutting her off. He turned his back on her to take down two axes and several wood saws that hung on the barn wall.

  Patch was just getting warmed up. “Why, that boy couldn't tell skunks from housecats! He's grass-green and brain-shy. He'll be no good to you at all, Pa. Why, he's a scatterbrained lumpkin, a want-wit who—”

  Seth took one look at Molly's shocked face and realized maybe he'd been too tolerant of Patch's tirades in the past. “Go back to the house, Patch,” he said firmly.

  “But, Pa—”

  He ignored the desperation in her blue eyes and said, “I want you to spend the day with Molly and watch what she does. It's time you stopped acting like some tomboy and started acting like a lady. I'll see you at supper, and you can tell me what you've learned.”

  Molly thought for sure Patch was going to argue. Instead, the girl hung her head and said, “All right, Pa. I'll see you at supper.” She ran out of the barn as abruptly as she had entered it.

  Molly turned to Seth and said, “She's very attached to you. Maybe it isn't a good idea to change everything all at once.”

  “I want her to be a lady. A lady doesn't spend her day chopping down trees.” He hesitated, then gave Molly a quick, hard kiss on the mouth. A moment later, he stepped into the sunshine carrying an assortment of lumbering tools.

  Molly stood in the barn, which smelled of hay and horses, and stared at her husband's retreating figure. She didn't understand her strong attraction to him. And she couldn't help feeling guilty for it. James had been everything to her. She could never love a man the way she had loved him. So what, exactly, was it that she felt for Seth Kendrick? Molly was very afraid it was something much less honorable, much more visceral. What kind of woman did that make her? A woman very much alive, who must learn how to survive in new and very different circumstances.

  One of the most difficult of those was being a stepmother to Patch Kendrick. The most Molly realistically hoped for was some sort of truce between herself and Seth's daughter. Seth seemed to think Patch would accept her banishment to the house. Molly wasn't so sure. Patch's head had been bowed when she accepted her father's will, but her lips had been pressed flat and her arms had been rigid at her sides. Was it any wonder Molly had the feeling Patch wasn't going to be anywhere near as agreeable as her father thought?

  As Molly crossed to the house, she passed Ethan and Whit on their way to join Seth. Ethan had a hand on Whit's shoulder and was speaking in a voice too soft for Molly to hear. Whit was listening so intently, he didn't even see her as they passed each other. Molly felt suddenly bereft. James had been gone to sea so much that she had often had Whit to herself. It appeared those days were gone. Molly knew she could not cling to the past. She must allow Whit to change and grow, and she must change and grow as well.

  But that brief, wrenching moment when it felt as if she were losing Whit gave her tremendous insight into what Patch must be feeling. And made her much more tolerant than she might have been of the situation she found when she arrived in the kitchen.

  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!”