Renegade Wife

chapter Two


“Now, that’s a real good observation.” Kane lifted Molly’s silly feathered hat from the ground and handed it to her. She swiped at it, her eyes sharp, filled with fire.

Kane frowned, releasing a heavy sigh. Molly McGuire was a pretty woman, petite and sweet-looking, with just the right amount of vinegar to keep a man’s boots shined. She’d make someone a fine wife, to be certain. But she’d traveled all this way only to find great disappointment. Kane would blame his grandfather for that. And the sooner he explained to her that there would be no wedding, the better. “Fact is, ma’am, I didn’t know you were coming until late this morning.”

Molly’s chest rose. Her cheeks grew pink. Kane knew women well and this one was no wilting flower. “I wrote you the date and time I was to arrive.”

He shook his head. He had received no such information because it was his grandfather who had corresponded with this young lady, not Kane. “I got no such letter. But we’d best discuss this later, after you’ve had a meal and cleaned up some.”

“I’d prefer to discuss it now.”

“No.”

“No?” Her green eyes gleamed with indignation. “You’re refusing me an explanation?”

“That’s right. For now.”

Kane removed the bandana from his neck and reached around her backside, fitting the material over the tear in her gown. “Hold still,” he said when she jumped back.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked in a breathless whisper.

Kane had two choices. He could let the young woman walk down the street with her unmentionables showing, certain to entertain the townsfolk, or he could fix the problem. Other than sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her to Mrs. Rose’s boardinghouse, he figured this was the next best solution.

“Saving your dignity, Molly,” he whispered back. “Now, hold still.” He faced her then reached around to fashion the material directly over the tear in her dress. As he came close to lean over her, he caught a whiff of gardenias, the subtle scent wafting up from Molly’s throat. He savored the moment, the unmistakable scent reminding him of another time, a happier time, when he was just a boy, helping his mother tend her garden.

Kane splayed the bandana out fully, his hands wrapping around her and his fingers accidentally brushing the soft curve of one delicately rounded cheek. Molly sucked in her breath and Kane swore silently. He hadn’t been this close to a woman in a long time, and he cursed himself for wanting to touch more of her. His fingers itched to stroke the other cheek, to feel her firm softness through the material of his solid red bandana.

Kane made quick work of tying her up front, twisting a knot at her waist, tugging a bit harder than he had intended. Her body came up hard against his, the silky material of her traveling suit not barrier enough to conceal the feel of her soft breasts crushing into his chest. Kane wrapped his arms around her—to steady her, he told himself.

Molly McGuire stared up at him, lifting her chin, giving him a full view of her face. Her eyes were large, almost too large for such a small face, and the exact color of a spring meadow as morning dew settles on wild grass. Kane glanced at her pert little nose, then at her cheeks, rosy pink in the fading sunlight, but it was her mouth that had caught his full attention. Soft and full, ripe for kissing, Kane thought grimly. Her lips parted slightly, as a quiet “Oh!” whispered out and Kane’s mind wandered down a forbidden path. She felt good against him, damn good, and he thought of all the ways he could pleasure her, of all the ways she might pleasure him.

He bent his head, leaning down, beckoned by a flowery scent and a sweet mouth, but a quick sudden flash pushed through his thoughts. He saw another woman, one who’d been laughing and looking up at him the same way Molly McGuire looked at him now. Little Swan, his wife. He’d almost forgotten. He’d almost forgotten her love, and the trust she’d placed in him.

He’d almost forgotten that he’d been responsible for her death.

“No.” Then Kane realized the shout burst forth only in his mind. He pulled away from the woman in his arms, the woman he wouldn’t marry.

“There,” he said aloud. “That should do it until we get to Mrs. Rose’s.”

Molly gulped air then repeated, “Mrs. Rose’s?”

“The boardinghouse.” Kane put his hand on Molly’s back urging her forward. He noted all the questions in her eyes. Hell, Kane didn’t have the answers she wanted.

All he had was the truth.

Molly sat on the bed in her room at the boardinghouse, somewhat puzzled at Kane Jackson’s odd behavior. Hours ago, he deposited her on the front steps of the place, introducing her to Mrs. Penelope Rose before taking off as if a pack of wild wolves were after him. Mrs. Rose had shown Molly to her room, giving her some of the history of Bountiful—a condensed version that Mrs. Rose promised to elaborate on later. The landlady left to make the evening meal after spinning Molly’s head in ten different directions. Goodness, she hadn’t known a woman could talk so much or so fast.

Molly sat on one end of the four-poster bed, wrapping her arms around the base and resting her head against the wood post. Her head ached terribly and if her curiosity hadn’t been sparked, she would have given in to her exhaustion. But she’d agreed to see Kane later tonight. He’d said that they needed to talk. Molly assumed he wanted to go over the details of their marriage arrangement. Perhaps then, she could figure out a thing or two about the man she was to marry. He puzzled her. One instant Kane seemed cold and indifferent but then in the very next, why, she would have guessed from the look in his eyes that he’d meant to kiss her. Right there, in the middle of town.

Molly had the feeling that when Kane Jackson wanted something there was no stopping him. And that for one brief moment he’d wanted her.

Heavens, she remembered the way her heart had raced and her blood had warmed. She remembered how it felt to be held in his arms, the heat of his body against hers—comfort mixed with passion. But then, he’d stopped suddenly, denying them their first kiss, leaving Molly to wonder if he’d found her lacking in some way.

Perhaps, in all ways.

Molly sighed. This day had certainly not gone as planned.

She picked up a goose-feather pillow and hugged it to her chest, taking in the small but lovely comforts afforded her. Thankfully, the boardinghouse was civilized enough for an Easterner, with its polished oak and mahogany furniture, Chinese carpets, frilly lace curtains and copper tubs with built-in piping. The bathing room was something Molly thought hadn’t quite reached western towns as yet, but she’d been pleasantly surprised. She’d soaked in a tub for the better part of an hour, rinsing her hair with provided lilac-scented soap and scrubbing daylong railroad grime from her body.

Feeling quite refreshed and invigorated, Molly had dressed in a cream blouse, a pale peach skirt and combed through her unruly mass of coppery hair, leaving it down to dry in curls.

Her thoughts turned to her brother. He’d left St. Louis to find his fortune out West, eager to pursue grand dreams of wealth and adventure. He’d promised to contact Mama once he got settled, but they’d never heard back from Charlie. He’d only written once from a small town in west Texas and after Mama died, Molly had nothing left for her in St. Louis. Her only family, her younger brother, had apparently moved to Texas. She intended to find him, with the help of her new husband.

“Miss McGuire. Miss McGuire.” The loud knocking startled Molly from her musings. “Are you in there?”

“Yes, Mrs. Rose,” she offered in a polite voice. Molly decided not to open the door for fear of Mrs. Rose talking her ear off. She wasn’t up for the woman’s eternal rambling. “Am I late for dinner?”

“Heavens, no, dear. You have a caller. Mr. Jackson is here to see you. I insisted that he stay downstairs. Now, if you don’t want to see him, I’ll just shoo him away. You know, you really shouldn’t mix with the likes of him, if you don’t mind me saying. He’s not fit for a good decent woman. I don’t care how much money his grandfather has, that man is nearly a savage. Why, he was abducted as a child and raised by Indians. Cheyenne. He even married a Cheyenne maiden.”

Molly whipped the door open. She stared into Mrs. Rose’s vibrant light brown eyes. “Married? Did you say he’s married?”

Penelope Rose crossed her arms over her middle as if to settle into a long-winded discussion. “Yes, he was married. Lived with the Cheyenne all that time and married one of them.”

“Where is she now?” Molly asked, quite perplexed. Of all the things she might have expected from Kane Jackson, his being already married certainly hadn’t entered her mind.

“Dead. Some say Kane Jackson wouldn’t rest until he caught and killed the man responsible. Took him five years, but he finally found the man. Shot him and nearly hung—”

“Molly, you almost ready?”

Kane appeared in the doorway, his presence looming over the slender Mrs. Rose. The older woman swiveled her head to peer up at Kane, then cringed with awareness that he’d heard every word. Mrs. Rose folded closed like a shrinking flower once the sunlight faded. Molly glanced from Mrs. Rose’s tightly pinched face into Kane’s cold, unyielding eyes.

“You don’t have to go with him,” Mrs. Rose whispered, giving Molly’s hand a quick squeeze.

“Yes, yes I do. Mr. Jackson and I have things to discuss.”

“But you haven’t eaten, child.” The woman’s voice had come back full force.

“Dinner’s waiting for us at the Bounty Café.” Kane’s sharp gaze fastened to hers, holding her mesmerized for a moment. “I’d like you to join me, Miss McGuire.”

Molly started at those last words, spoken so softly that she had to blink back her surprise—her pleasant surprise.

“I’d love to,” she blurted without hesitation. Kane’s polite request had her forgetting about Mrs. Rose’s warning. Good judgment should have had her fearing the man, but Molly didn’t fear Kane Jackson. Secretly, she admitted that Kane’s appearance here had helped her make that decision.

He had cleaned himself up. He wore a newer black hat, which he’d yanked from his head the moment his eyes had met hers, a fresh white shirt, string tie and dark trousers. He appeared a far cry from the rough and ready buckskin-clad Texan she’d met earlier in the day. The one she’d knocked to the ground.

“I’ll be right down.”

Kane gave a quick nod. “I’ll wait outside.”

Once Kane’s footsteps died away, Mrs. Rose continued on, as if she just hadn’t witnessed their encounter.

“I told him you were probably too tired, having come such a long way and all, but some men just won’t take no for an answer. Some men are not considerate. Why, my first husband, dear Wally, he was as stubborn as a mule and twice as—”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Rose, but my mama always said it’s not polite to keep a body waiting.”

“Yes, but—”

“Thank you for your hospitality and good evening.” Molly smiled and closed the door, shutting out Mrs. Rose’s next bout of incessant babbling. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she heard Mrs. Rose finally relent and descend the stairs.

Molly glanced in the cheval mirror, giving her hair a bit of primping, before she straightened the creases from her skirt. She picked up her shawl and headed down the stairs. Dashing past the dining room in a flurry, she avoided Mrs. Rose and the other guests. Once she reached the front veranda, she found Mr. Jackson leaning against a post smoking a cheroot. He took one last long puff, then tossed it down and stomped it out with his boot heel. When he looked up, she caught a quick but brief grin. “Happy to get away from Mrs. Rose, I suppose.”

“Why, Mr. Jackson, isn’t that why you’re out here as well?”

His lips twitched and that single gesture released a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. He put a hand to her back and guided her down the street. Molly remained silent until they reached the restaurant. At least Kane Jackson had some manners. He’d escorted her inside with all the attention one would bestow royalty. He urged her forward, past the other diners to a small private room at the back of the restaurant. The room wasn’t lavishly decorated, but some effort had been made to make the room appealing. Bluebonnets filled a glass vase in the center of a table set for two. A lovely beige Irish-linen tablecloth added to the warmth in the room and matching lace curtains, parted slightly, covered the only window in the small area.

Just as he’d promised, a lavish meal awaited them when they arrived. Succulent roast steamed on the plate, enticing Molly with its flavorful aroma. Small potatoes crusted to a golden brown and an assortment of colorful vegetables completed the dish. Molly also noted a half-dozen honey biscuits sitting in a bowl and the mingling of all the luscious smells made her mouth water.

Kane pulled out her chair and she took a seat. “Hungry?”

It wasn’t at all ladylike to admit such a thing. “Famished.”

Kane took a seat across from her and smiled. The full-out flash of white perfect teeth lit his face and transformed the “savage” Mrs. Rose claimed him to be into a dashing rogue.

Molly wasn’t sure which manner of man would prove more dangerous.

“You’re honest,” he said.

“I always try to be. And I want you to know I don’t hold much to gossip. What Mrs. Rose said about you…” Molly hesitated when Kane arched one dark brow. She cleared her throat. “Until I hear directly from you, I won’t put much stock into what was said.”

Kane studied her, his smile gone. “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Molly. After the meal. Eat up. I thought you said you were hungry.”

Kane dove into his meal then, and Molly couldn’t put off the delicious aromas any longer. She ate with as much gusto as the man sitting across the table from her, holding nothing back. Truly famished, Molly gobbled up every morsel, even the split peas, which Molly had vowed never to eat again. She’d eaten enough split pea soup to last a lifetime back in St. Louis, when Mama didn’t have much else to put on the table.

For dessert, Molly ate warm pecan pie and she and Kane sipped coffee from lovely painted mugs. As the meal wound down, Molly wondered about Kane and all the warnings she’d heard. Mrs. Rose hadn’t been the only one to discredit the man. She recalled that earlier today the depot operator hadn’t had kind words for her betrothed as well.

Kane set his empty coffee mug down, braced his elbows on the table and leaned close. He spoke with slow clarity. “Everything Mrs. Rose said is true, Molly. I was raised by the Cheyenne. I spent most of my life with them.”

Molly gazed into his telling eyes, his admission something Molly had already surmised. “You never mentioned that in your letters.”

Kane rubbed his forehead. “And how many letters might that be?”

Molly hesitated, wondering about the man’s memory. It wasn’t all that long ago that they’d corresponded several times. “Over a period of five months you wrote me three times, then wired me once.”

Kane stroked his jaw tentatively then shook his head. “Molly, I never sent you any letters. I’m afraid you entered into this bargain with my matchmaking grandfather. He saw fit to go behind my back to send away for a bride for me. I only found out this morning. I suppose he would have told me sooner, but my grandfather took ill a week ago. The pneumonia has kept him down for most of that time.”

Molly gasped, her heart racing with dread. “Oh, dear.”

“I have no intention of marrying you.”

Shocked, Molly took a moment to gather her thoughts before responding. “But, I was under the impression you sent for a wife. I—I came all this way. I need a husband, Mr. Jackson. I, uh, I…have a contract.”

“I didn’t sign it. My grandfather did.”

His grandfather had signed her contract? Molly’s head pounded. His grandfather had duped both of them. She thought of all that she’d just lost in one quick fathomless second. She’d come to Bountiful to marry, to start a new life, perhaps to have a family of her own soon. She’d come with thoughts of having a mate, someone she could learn to love, someone that might just find a way to her heart. She’d come with thoughts of returning the kindness. And heaven knew that without a husband, she’d have no hope of finding Charlie. And she’d promised Mama she would. She’d vowed to find her brother at all costs.

She was nearly penniless. She’d traveled to west Texas, a land so different than what she’d known and had no prospects now, no future.

Molly stared at the linen tablecloth, her mind muddled with confused thoughts. Simmering anger churned in her belly. Seems Kane Jackson did that so well—angered her. She hadn’t a clue as to what to do. She hadn’t a plan in mind. Nothing about this day had turned out as she’d hoped. “Why would he do that?”

“My grandfather usually gets what he wants. And he wants to see me married. He wants grandchildren. Plenty of them.”

Kane stopped and his gaze raked her over, another quick, almost shocking perusal of her body. Heat rose up her neck from his blatant scrutiny. The thought of having Kane Jackson’s babies, of lying with him in their marriage bed, of sharing tenderness and passion lodged a lump in her throat.

“He wants an heir for the Bar J and I’m his only hope.”

Molly might have blushed full out but for the severity of the situation. She’d have to deal with her own delicate sensibilities later on. Right now, she had to know the truth. “It seems to me you might want the same, Mr. Jackson.”

Kane shook his head. “I don’t. It’s hard for the old man to understand that.”

Molly had a hard time understanding that as well. One day Kane would inherit the ranch. Wouldn’t he want to pass down the legacy to his own children? “But why?”

Kane inhaled sharply, then leaned in so close that Molly could see the fan of long lashes shielding his dark eyes. “I’m not the marrying kind, Molly.”

“But Mrs. Rose said that you had a wife once.”

Kane’s mouth tightened. His face turned hard like an immovable stone. He nodded and leaned back some, looking away. A moment passed, then he directed his gaze back to her, captivating her eyes with a dark solemn stare. “I lived on the Bar J with my parents as a young child. I have certain vague memories of my mother and father, but when I was five years old, I was abducted and held for ransom.”

“How awful,” Molly said, her voice an indelicate squeak.

Kane nodded, glancing away, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.

“Kane?”

“It’s not something I speak about, Molly.”

“I have a right to know. I haven’t heard much of the truth since your grandfather sent for me.”

Kane studied her for a moment then let go a long, labored sigh. He began quietly, his voice distant, his eyes dark. “I’d been playing out by the creek and two men swooped me up. I recall crying and trying to run away. They tied me up, bound my mouth. I don’t remember much after that. Just this year, when I returned to the Bar J, I learned that my father had agreed to meet the kidnappers with the cash, a large sum he carried in his saddlebags. But my father never made the destination. Some say he ran off with the money. Others say he’d planned the whole thing. And then there’s the notion that he’d been ambushed, shot and killed while trying to get to me. No one really knows what happened. The kidnappers left me in the hills far north from here, up on a ridge that nearly reached the sky. At least that’s what my childish mind recalled. I was left for dead.”

Molly gasped in horror. “Oh, that’s terrible.”

“By the time the Cheyenne found me I had nearly frozen to death. I was so sick and starving that my bones nearly poked through my skin. They took me in, brought me to their camp and nursed me back to health. Once I had regained my strength, most of my memories had faded. I remember haunting dreams where my white mother would tuck me in at night, but in the morning, I couldn’t see her face. Eventually, I forgot I ever lived in the white world. I became a true Cheyenne.”

Kane took a breath, settling back in his chair as if he’d revealed enough to discourage her from marrying him. But he hadn’t said anything shocking enough to do that. What he’d gone through hadn’t been his fault. He’d been a child, a victim, stripped of his true identity, taken from his family and the only home he’d known. Her heart bled for that little boy, for the fear and uncertainty he must have experienced. Molly wanted to know more. She had every right to know the whole story. “And your wife,” she ventured, “how did she die?”

Kane glared at her with fierceness in his eyes. “There was a small trading post near our encampment run by a local merchant named Samuel who had no problem dealing with Indians. Little Swan had rabbit pelts and beaded necklaces she couldn’t wait to trade. She was excited and happy that day, wanting to make her trades early and come home. Usually we’d travel together to the trading post, but this day, she went alone.” Kane tightened his lips, remembering the joy in her eyes, pleading with him to let her venture out alone. She promised to return early and with many surprises. Kane hadn’t the wisdom to refuse her. He’d been negligent, too wrapped up in her joy to realize the danger. “She never made it to the trading post. She met up with a drifter who decided her life wasn’t worth more than what he could steal from her. He robbed her, then…beat her.”

Kane slammed his eyes shut for a moment. When he peered at Molly once again, he spoke with quiet deadly calm. “I left the tribe then and hunted the man down. It took years to find him. I’d searched the entire territory, hiring on at ranches along the way to earn my keep, until the day came when I would finally seek my revenge. Killing him filled my head and it’s what drove me from day to day. It’s all that I cared about. I’d made it my mission in life. I finally caught up with the murderer in a saloon in a dirt hole of a town about thirty miles east of here. I called him out. Of course, he denied everything, but I knew I had the right man. He wore one of Little Swan’s beaded necklaces, the one she’d meant to trade that day. He pulled a gun, ready to shoot, but I was faster. I shot him right through the heart.”

Molly took in a deep breath, visualizing Kane Jackson as a killer, but all she saw was a man who had sought justice for a terrible crime. As awful as the events were, Molly couldn’t fault Kane for what he’d done.

“Barrel Flat’s sheriff saw fit to arrest me for shooting one of their own. The trial was a joke and I was set to hang. Pretty much had the noose around my neck, when Bennett Jackson came to town. He’d heard about me, a white man who’d been raised by the Southern Cheyenne. He’d been searching for me, never gave up and it’s a good thing he had solid hunches. He saved my life that day, paying off the crooked sheriff. We rode off together, back to the Bar J.” Kane leaned back, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “I’m more Indian than white man, Molly. I’m a killer. I have no regrets. I’d do it all again if I had to. There isn’t a decent female in the territory who would have me. I’m hardly the kind of man a woman like you would care to marry.”

Molly stared into Kane’s stony silver eyes, the rims outlined in black, as unusual a color as the man himself. She supposed any other woman would take off running in the opposite direction. She supposed she should be appalled at the man he’d become. She supposed no woman in her right mind would want to marry such a man.

Molly pursed her lips and smiled. “On the contrary, Mr. Jackson. You’re absolutely perfect.”