Twilight in Texas (3 page)

Only once in her life had a man been swept away with her beauty. When he didn’t come back from the war, she made up her mind that once was enough. She carried the memory of a perfect moment and all the dreams of what might have been to keep her warm. She’d not lower her standards or hide her intelligence to draw men. Her father taught her to stand alone. And her aunts had often reminded her that
that was exactly what she’d do if she didn’t change her ways.

She gazed once more at the reflection of a woman dressed in black and wondered if the ranger had any idea that he was the first man in years brave enough to ask her out. She’d stopped others before they could finish the question.

But Captain Hayward had asked directly, without plying her with compliments or poorly hidden innuendoes. He was nothing like the fortune hunters back home. Hayward could know nothing of her finances, for all he saw was a tiny shop smaller than her bedroom in Philadelphia.

“I can have the glass delivered in a few hours if they’ve a piece the right size,” the undertaker said, interrupting her thoughts.

“Fine,” Molly answered, noticing as Miller lowered his gaze to her shoes then slowly returned it to her face.

“I could come over tonight and install it for you.”

“That would be fine.” Molly kept her voice even, polite. “Ephraim will be here.”

The undertaker glared at the old man sweeping up glass near the door. In frustration Miller opened his mouth round and wide like a fish, but nothing came out. He didn’t know her well enough to ask questions. He never would.

Tension eased in Molly’s shoulders when Miller finally left—after having made several comments about how much easier life would be for her if she had a man around.

By noon, Ephraim had cleaned up the last of the broken glass. He’d taken on the project with his usual slow steadiness, which somehow always managed to get everything done. He might be old and frail, but he seemed his happiest when he knew he was helping Molly.

She’d inherited Ephraim after her father died. He’d been her father’s assistant for twenty years at the hospital in Philadelphia. When the war broke out, Ephraim had been too old to enlist, so he’d followed Dr. Donivan from hospital to hospital.

He’d always been in the background, taking care of things. When the general was shot in a medical tent pitched too close to the fighting, Ephraim caught him before Molly’s father hit the ground. He’d kept the general alive for two days, then brought the body home for burial.

Now, at almost seventy, he had no duties but was always around, ready to help Molly. He lived in a room at the back of the store; Molly occupied one of the rooms above. As he had done when she was a child, he looked after her.

When he passed with the last dustpan of broken glass, she looked up from a cream she was mixing. “Quite a mess. Thanks for cleaning it up.”

Ephraim nodded. “Shall I save you a bowl of soup tonight?”

“No, thank you. I’m having dinner with the hairy giant who wrecked the shop.” She couldn’t help but smile.

Ephraim looked like she’d just promised to mud-wrestle in the street. “Shall I accompany you?” He straightened his bony frame, but he looked tired.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Molly answered as calmly as she could. The thought of Ephraim chaperoning her and Captain Hayward was hilarious. The man could probably blow Ephraim over with a deep breath. “We’re only going down the street to dinner, nothing more. You need to rest.”

Ephraim didn’t say another word all afternoon, but she knew he was as flustered as a mother hen who’d misplaced her one chick. In the four years since her father’s death, he’d hardly let her out of his sight during waking hours. When she’d decided to move to Texas, he hadn’t said a word. He just packed. He would never have allowed her to make the trip if he’d known part of her reason was to move him to a warmer climate.

Molly wished there were some way to put his mind at ease. She had a feeling that Captain Hayward, despite his appearance, was gentleman enough for her to dine with.

While she concentrated on her mixture, needed for a toothache, shadows darkened the store. The oil of cloves she used flavored the air, drifting from her marble workstation and in and out of the hundreds of bottles and boxes surrounding her. The smells of the mixtures always made Molly feel at home, for they were the aromas of her father’s office.

“Smells good.” Captain Hayward’s deep voice startled her.

Molly glanced up. His huge frame blocked the door, closing out any remaining sunlight. He stood tall and proud, but, as predicted, the man didn’t clean up much prettier. His clothes were freshly washed, but he was still the odd mixture of gunfighter and mountain man. His hair had been cut several inches, but remained touching his wide shoulders. The beard was shorter, but so thick it looked like dark underbrush threatening to take over the few inches left clear on his face.

“Sorry, it’s not food.” She closed the mixture into a tin. “It’s for old Mrs. Hollard’s toothache. I can make a potion or powder to cure everything from a headache to head lice, but I can’t cook anything worth eating.”

Molly marked the tin and looked up at her company when he didn’t reply. He was a man whose presence would frighten most folks into becoming law-abiding. Wide shoulders, well armed. And, to her disbelief, nervous.

“Captain Hayward.” She removed her work apron. “My, don’t you look nice.” The lie in her words made her grin.

Wolf breathed as though he’d been waiting for permission. “Thanks, ma’am. I soaked through three tubs of water hoping I’d get clean enough to be seen with you at dinner.”

“And the weapons?” Molly looked down at the twin Colts strapped to his powerful legs.

Wolf misunderstood. “Oh, I left most of them in the hotel room. But I’ll go back for them if you think we might run into trouble.”

“No.” She lifted her shawl from the hook, wishing she’d taken time to change. “We should be safe enough crossing the street.”

Wolf started out the door, then stopped and backtracked. When he reached her side, he offered his arm. “Shall we go?” he said with a slight bow.

Molly fought down the first urge she’d had to giggle in years. She couldn’t believe she was stepping out with Captain Hayward. Her father, if he were still alive, would surely think she’d lost her mind. The general never allowed even a button to tarnish. He would have a hard time understanding someone who looked more like his nickname than a law officer.

She took Wolf’s arm and let him lead her past the undertaker. Miller stared at them with his open fish-mouth. Molly may have insisted earlier that they were just going to dinner, nothing more, but she knew it would appear as more to all in town.

“If it’s all right with you, Doc, I thought we’d eat at Noma’s.” Wolf didn’t look at her as they moved down the street, but stared straight ahead as though marching in formation. The muscles of his arm were tight as iron beneath her touch and the slight scent of lye soap surrounded him.

“Noma’s is fine.” Molly relaxed and wished he would. She was glad he’d picked a cafe and not a fancy restaurant in one of the hotels.

He didn’t say a word as they entered the cafe. A waitress showed them to a table in the middle of the crowd while a young girl hurried to the kitchen. As Molly unfolded her napkin, the girl set two slices of pie in front of Wolf.

“Heard you were in town, Captain. Have your pie ready.” The waitress nodded politely and hurried
away, not expecting an answer.

He looked at Molly, and she almost believed he blushed beneath all that hair. “I haven’t had a meal that wasn’t cooked on an open fire for over a month.” He watched the desserts. “Noma knows I like pie.”

Molly saw him stare at the pie once more, but he didn’t lift his fork. His glance was as transparent as a child’s. “Go ahead. Have your dessert first, Captain. I wouldn’t want to upset your pattern.”

Wolf winked at her and forked a third of one of the slices in his mouth.

Noma’s place looked like several others she’d seen in the West. The menu was posted on a slate at the front door. Everyone who entered was served the same meal within minutes after taking a seat.

Slowly, as they talked and ate, Wolf relaxed. He asked questions about her business, and Molly found herself telling him details and problems she’d never talked over with anyone. He was easy to talk to. A man more interested in knowing than telling. She found herself wondering if he’d used such a skill all his life, but she didn’t ask.

He ate everything on his plate except the beans. Each time he finished a slice of pie, another appeared on the table. All kinds, creams, chocolates, fruit, chess. He cut each in thirds then inhaled it along with the rest of the meal.

Finally, Molly could remain quiet no longer. “I’m sorry. I know it’s impolite to comment, but to my count you’ve eaten two pies.”

Wolf wiped his beard. “I know. I’m saving the third one for dessert.”

She laughed so hard several heads turned in her direction.

She couldn’t remember when she’d had such a good time. Wolf proved a perfect gentleman beneath the layers of hair and leather. They talked of Austin, the weather, and her world. If she’d expected him to brag of the men he’d captured or killed, she would have been disappointed. Like many men in Texas, he avoided discussing his past. A few years ago, the thought that he might have fought for the South would have bothered her, but she’d finally let the prejudice of war go. After all, she lived in Texas, where men from both sides tried to start over.

As they walked back to her store, Molly leaned naturally against his arm, feeling his strength along her side.

“Thank you for having dinner with me,” he said as his huge hand covered her fingers where they rested on his arm.

“You’re welcome,” she answered. “I enjoyed it.”

He slowed his pace. For the first time all evening, neither knew what to say.

Finally, Wolf cleared his throat and faced her. “I don’t know what to call you. Doc? Miss Donivan? Molly?”

The way he said her name sounded like an endearment, as if he’d said it millions of times in a prayer. She couldn’t hide a smile. “What would you like to call me, Captain?”

“Molly,” he whispered, “if we are to be friends.”

She offered her hand. “I’d like that. And what should I call you?”

He took her hand in his but didn’t shake it. “I’ve been called Wolf for so long I probably wouldn’t answer to anything else.”

He moved his thumb slowly over her palm. Molly felt the warmth all the way to her toes. Beneath his rough exterior, Molly guessed, dwelled a man who knew how to please a woman. Yet his hesitance made her wonder how many women he’d taken the time to know.

“I’ll be here for three more days.” His warm dark eyes captured her. “Then I’ll be back to eating my own cooking. Will you have dinner with me again before I have to go?”

“As friends, Captain? I’m not looking for anything more.”

“Friends it will be then,” he answered.

She tried to pull together her feelings for him. He was not the kind of man she’d ever thought she’d talk to, much less have dinner with. She’d learned a long time ago to depend only on herself and no one else. She never fit in with women. She’d never known a mother to tell her how to act.

Ephraim and her father had brought her up and taught her much but they’d also forgotten to warn her. When she’d been a child, men treated her kindly, thinking it entertaining that she knew so much about medicine. When she was a young girl, they’d flirted and teased her as if her interests were a joke. As she’d matured, the men around her saw her as a threat. Something unnatural to be dealt with.

But this ranger fit none of the categories. He seemed to see her as a real person.

“You’ve told me nothing of you.” His face was in shadows now, but she sensed his nervousness once more.

“Nothing I could tell you would be of any importance.”

She liked the way his low voice had an easiness about it. Sometimes she thought she could hear the Mississippi in his slow words.

She also felt a strength about him that had nothing to do with the size of his body or the hardness of his muscles. This man’s character had been fired in more than one blaze of courage.

As they walked on, she decided she wanted to know more about Wolf Hayward. She doubted his suggestion that there was nothing to tell.

When they neared her store, Molly saw movement through the new glass. Her fingers tightened slightly along his arm.

“What is it?” Wolf whispered, sensing trouble.

“Someone’s in my store.” She could see the shadows of several men moving around inside the tiny space.

Wolf slowly released her hand and pulled his jacket back to clear the path of his Colts if needed. “What about the old man I saw with you?”

“Ephraim? He turns down the lamps at sundown and goes to bed. He’s never up this late.”

Wolf met her stare in the lamplight. “Would I be wasting my breath asking you to stay here?”

“You would.” She appreciated the fact that he made no attempt to order her.

“Stay behind me, then, Molly? It’s probably nothing, but just in case there’s trouble, I’d like to have your word.”

She thought of arguing but reconsidered. “It may be some of the businessmen who swore I’d be gone by now. Maybe they only want to talk again. They’ve stopped by a few times to inform me my space is needed for more important businesses.”

Wolf slipped his revolver from its cradle. “Then they should have come during business hours.”

She nodded, knowing he was right. She hadn’t told even Ephraim about the veiled threats. She’d noticed open hatred in a few eyes when she’d promised to clear the town of opium dens at the first town meeting she’d attended.

Wolf walked across the street, staying well within the shadows. He took one quick glance into the window and let the tension ease.

“It’s all right,” he said as he slipped his Colt back in place. “They’re rangers.”

Slowly, Molly moved past him and opened the door to her store. Rangers lined the counters.

“What’s going on?” Wolf asked as he followed Molly inside.

“Shhhh!” Josh Weston ordered in none too soft a tone. “We finally got her asleep.”