Happily Ever After in the West Page 18
Although he was awfully handsome.
Molly reined in her thoughts once more. She would tell him she wasn’t interested.
And he was quite tall with very wide shoulders.
Not that it mattered, she told herself.
And her heart ached and her stomach fluttered every time she saw him or thought about him, or someone else mentioned him, or—
Molly stilled her thoughts.
She simply would not allow him to call on her. And that would be the end of it.
Adam watched his friend and business partner, Travis Vaughn, sitting across the desk from him as he read the letter Adam had just received. The two of them had been in business together for a few years and had done very well since arriving in Spindler. Now, as they sat in Adam’s office in the bank building, he knew they faced one of their biggest challenges ever.
Travis seemed to realize it, too, as he tossed the letter onto the desk and muttered, “Damn.”
Silence stretched between them. Adam could see by Travis’s frown that he was thinking over the situation, trying to figure how to handle it, or a way to get around it, just as Adam had done before Travis arrived.
“I’m paying a call on Molly Douglas,” Adam said.
Travis did a double take at the sudden change in their conversation, then said, “Molly from the Cottonwood? Roy Sumner’s niece?”
Adam nodded.
“Forget it,” Travis declared.
“It’s time,” Adam said.
“Forget it,” Travis said again. “You’ve not exactly endeared yourself to that uncle of hers.”
Adam couldn’t disagree. He was in the middle of a deal to build a hotel in Spindler, a move that would take business away from the Cottonwood. Roy Sumner had made no secret of his feelings about the project.
“She’s exactly what I’m looking for,” Adam said. “I need her.”
Travis kept quiet for a few minutes, then rose from his chair and pointed to the letter on Adam’s desk.
“I’m sorry about this,” he said. “I feel responsible, somehow.”
Adam drew in a quick breath, then let it out slowly trying to shed his irritation with the whole situation. He wanted no part of it, but nothing could be done.
Except pay a call on Molly Douglas. And nothing and nobody would stop him from getting what he wanted.
The clock in the main dining room struck one, jarring Molly out of her reverie. The ladies would arrive any minute for their luncheon and here she stood, still holding the last plate in her hand, daydreaming about Adam Crawford.
Honestly, what had come over her?
She put the plate on the table and stepped back to inspect her work. The reverend’s wife and several ladies from the church were coming to discuss the orphanage in Keaton, and Molly had to make sure everything was perfect.
She stared at the table, sure that something was amiss, but couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was. She huffed, annoyed that she’d allowed Adam Crawford to take up so much of her time and thoughts this afternoon.
He sprang into her mind again, and she imagined herself confronting him, telling him that she wasn’t interested in being called on or courted. Molly had heard he was a strong-willed man—he hadn’t gotten where he was by being otherwise—but she was strong-willed also. She could hold her own against him. Easily. And it wouldn’t matter if he—
“Miss Douglas?” a voice called from behind her.
Molly whirled and saw Adam standing in the doorway of the private dining room. Her breath caught and her knees weakened.
Good gracious, he was tall, taller than she remembered. He had thick black hair and wide, square shoulders. She’d never noticed what beautiful green eyes he had until this moment when they were trained directly on her, seeming to see straight through to her pounding heart.
He wore a dark coat over a white shirt that was open at the collar. He clasped his black Stetson hat in front of him. Handsome. So handsome.
Molly opened her mouth but no words came out. Her hands shook. Thank goodness she’d already put the plates down.
Adam stood in the doorway. His presence filled the room and somehow commanded her attention.
Wild thoughts rushed through Molly’s mind. Her dress. It was hardly her best. Why hadn’t she worn the blue one today rather than this brown thing? It felt too tight everywhere—her throat, her waist, her bosom. And her hair. She’d twisted it into a quick bun this morning—hours ago. She felt loose tendrils curling at her cheeks. She looked a mess, surely she did.
“I’d like to have a word with you,” Adam said.
Molly’s heart pumped harder. Oh, heavens, he was going to ask if he could call on her. Here. Now.
She lost herself in the warmth of his gaze and said, “Of course.”
Of course?
Molly froze. Why had she said that? What had come over her? She’d intended—she’d even practiced—sending him on his way with little more than a curt No, thank you. What was the matter with her?
Adam turned his hat over in his hand and took a step into the room. Molly wanted to back away, but she couldn’t. Some unseen force held her in place.
“I have a proposal to discuss with you,” he said.
Her heart thundered in her chest. “A…a proposal?”
Adam nodded. “I need a wedding, and I want you to plan it for me.”
Chapter Two
What the hell was the matter with him?
Adam silently berated himself as he stood in the private dining room, staring at Molly Douglas as if he’d never laid eyes on a woman before in his life.
He’d seen her here in the hotel. He’d passed her on the street a few times. He knew she was pretty. More than pretty, really.
She’d always conducted herself in a prim-and-proper manner, as befitting a well-bred young woman from a respected Philadelphia family. She’d surely suffered through hours of deportment classes learning how to carry herself, how to set a proper table, how to make respectable conversation on most any occasion.
What he hadn’t expected was that she’d look so touchable—and that he’d want so badly to do just that.
Brown tendrils of her hair curled against her cheeks, and he was nearly overwhelmed with the desire to wrap them around his fingers, feel their silky softness. Draw her near as well, and breathe in the hint of her sweet scent that floated across the room to him now.
“You’re…you’re planning a…wedding?” she asked.
The words came out in a breathy little sigh and heightened the pink flush in her cheeks, and made him want to—
Adam gave himself a mental shake. He was here on business, and he’d do well to get on with it and leave before—
He gave himself another shake, a stronger one this time, and walked to her. He pulled a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his coat.
“I need you to handle all the details. The church, flowers, food, music. Everything. It’s all written down,” Adam said, presenting it to her. “Just do what it says.”
Molly stared for a moment at the paper in his outstretched hand, but didn’t take it.
He knew she’d helped with weddings in Spindler several times, and since the church frowned on dancing, she’d hosted the wedding celebration here at the Cottonwood Hotel. The list he was trying to hand her called for something more than usual for a town like Spindler, but he knew she could do it. That’s why he’d come to her.
“It’s two months from now,” Adam said, “so you’ve got plenty of time. Make sure everything is perfect. It has to be perfect.”
Molly nodded numbly and repeated, “Perfect.”
He stood there for another moment trying to think of something else to say. He couldn’t. Yet for some reason, he didn’t want to leave.
“Well, thank you,” he finally said.
Adam laid the paper on the table beside them and headed for the door, silently cursing himself for his schoolboy behavior. Molly was from an upstanding family. She had certain
expectations. She’d probably thought he was a—
“No.”
Adam froze, unsure of what he’d heard—or who had said it. Slowly he turned.
Molly stood tall, her shoulders straight, her chin up. Gone was the endearing pink flush of her cheeks. In its place was a blaze of red. Her sweet pouty lips were drawn into a thin line—which made him want her all the more, for some reason.
“No,” she said again.
Adam frowned. “What did you say?”
“I said no,” she repeated, pushing her chin up even higher. “I won’t plan your wedding.”
“But—”
“No!” Molly swiped the paper from the table, marched across the room and slapped it against his chest. “I’m—I’m too busy. I have too much work—yes, too much work, as it is. I’m…I’m just busy!”
She whirled, head held high, and marched out of the dining room, slamming the door behind her.
Molly pressed her lips together and held her head high as customers in the dining room turned to stare. She ignored them and hurried into the kitchen, past Aunt Libby at the cookstove and into the little room that served as her bedroom.
She closed the door and fell back against it, forcing down her emotions, fighting the urge to cry.
Humiliation roiled through her. What a fool she’d been—an utter fool. Thinking a man like Adam Crawford would call on her. Thinking her past was really behind her, that she would no longer be haunted by things that were beyond her control.
Molly sank onto her bed as the most painful thought of all robbed her strength.
Adam was getting married.
“Molly? Molly?”
She glanced up from the plate she was drying and saw Aunt Libby, elbow-deep in the dishpan, watching her. Molly wasn’t sure how many times her aunt had called her name.
They stood in the kitchen cleaning up from the supper service. The room was big and warm, dominated by a cookstove and crowded with cupboards, shelves and a sideboard. A small table and four chairs were squeezed into a corner.
The dining room was closed for the night. This was a time Molly usually enjoyed, a time when she, her aunt and Carrie, the serving girl, worked together and caught up on the day’s happenings.
“What’s wrong?” Aunt Libby asked, giving Molly a kindly smile. Her aunt was a trim woman, with brown hair that showed only a sprinkling of gray.
“Nothing,” Molly insisted. She knew she’d been distracted all afternoon and evening, but she wasn’t about to tell anyone the reason, not even her aunt.
“Did you see how many slices of pie Jarvis McElroy ate at supper?” Carrie asked, whisking a stack of clean plates from in front of Molly. At sixteen years old, Carrie was pretty and full of life.
“Three!” Carrie declared, not waiting for an answer. “He ate three!”
“I appreciate a man with a good appetite,” Aunt Libby said.
“I don’t know how he doesn’t smother that wife of his,” Carrie said, with a quick grin as she stacked the plates on the sideboard.
“Carrie!” Aunt Libby declared, then burst out laughing.
The image of Adam flashed into Molly’s mind. Heat rushed to her cheeks.
“I nearly spilled coffee all over that salesman from Keaton this afternoon. Luckily, I caught myself just in time,” Carrie said. She sighed heavily. “How could I be expected to concentrate on my work after Adam Crawford walked into the dining room?”
The plate slipped from Molly’s hand. She caught it before it hit the floor.
“Adam Crawford was here?” Aunt Libby asked, giving Molly a sidelong glance.
“Molly talked to him. I wouldn’t be able to keep a clear thought in my head if that man spoke to me,” Carrie said. She heaved another dreamy sigh. “I still can’t decide who’s the most handsome. Adam, or that partner of his.”
“Travis Vaughn has turned many a head in town,” Aunt Libby agreed, scrubbing another plate.
“And he’s built himself that big house on the edge of town,” Carrie added.
“What did Mr. Crawford want?” Aunt Libby asked Molly, as she set aside another dripping plate.
“He asked about…reserving the dining room,” Molly mumbled, careful not to meet her aunt’s eye.
“Carrie, why don’t you run along home?” Aunt Libby called. “We’re about finished here.”
Carrie took a quick look around the kitchen, then nodded. “See you in the morning,” she called, as she emptied her tip jar into her handbag, grabbed her bonnet and hurried out the back door.
Molly dried the last plate and set it aside, feeling the heat of her aunt’s gaze. Since moving to Spindler, she’d grown close with Aunt Libby. She owed her a debt of gratitude for offering her the job that got her out of Philadelphia. Still, some things were hard to discuss.
“So what happened?” Aunt Libby asked, drying her hands on a towel.
Something in her aunt’s voice made Molly’s heart ache anew. The woman had never had children of her own, yet she displayed an uncanny ability to understand the thoughts and feelings of younger people.
Molly pulled herself up a little and faced her aunt. “Mr. Crawford asked me to plan his wedding.”
“His wedding?” Aunt Libby echoed.
Molly just nodded, unable to say anything.
“Oh, dear…” Aunt Libby’s kind face grew more gentle. “I know you’ve had your eye on him since you came to town.”
“No, I haven’t,” Molly insisted. But when her aunt raised a questioning eyebrow, Molly knew she was right. She’d had feelings for Adam Crawford since the first time she saw him. She’d just been fooling herself, desperate to convince her own mind that she wasn’t interested. What else could she do under the circumstances?
“Things are different here,” Aunt Libby said softly. “Not like they are back in Philadelphia. That’s why your uncle left. That’s why I came here with him.”
Molly turned away. Despite her aunt’s words, Molly knew things really weren’t so different.
“None of it was your fault,” Aunt Libby said. “You couldn’t help what your mother did.”
She’d heard those words before, but they brought Molly no comfort.
“Although, you did carry the shame of it,” her aunt said. “And suffered the consequences.”
Molly had been born out of wedlock. When she was a child growing up in her grandmother’s fine home, she’d loved her sometimes-absent mother, Frances. She hadn’t understood why her mother never attended Grandmother’s parties or luncheons, why she seldom had callers or why people often pointed at Molly and whispered behind their gloved hands.
When she was thirteen, her mother had finally told Molly the truth. How she’d loved Molly’s father with all her heart, how desperately they’d wanted to be together. But her father had died in a boating accident before they could marry.
Molly counted herself lucky that she hadn’t been given away at birth or sent to an orphanage. Her grandmother wouldn’t hear of it. She’d loved Molly too much to let the shame of her birth keep her away from her one and only grandchild.
Her grandmother had never uttered one disparaging remark about Frances, except to concede she had a wild streak in her, something she hoped Molly had not inherited.
But in the end, even her grandmother’s wealth and social standing couldn’t help Molly. No decent family, no man of consequence wanted her. After years of watching her friends marry and start families of their own, Molly had told Grandmother she wanted to leave Philadelphia. The older woman had agreed. Less than a month later, Molly received an invitation from Roy and Libby Sumner to work for them at the Cottonwood in Spindler.
Molly added the last plate to the stack on the sideboard. “Adam Crawford is getting married.”
“You’re in love with him, Molly,” Aunt Libby said softly.
She forced down her emotions, unable to admit to what she knew was in her heart.
“He’s getting married and that’s that,” Molly said.
“I don’t know.” Molly paused. “I didn’t ask.”
Her aunt’s eyebrows shot up. “The biggest piece of news in Spindler since the railroad came through, and you didn’t ask? My gracious, gossip will sweep the town quicker than a summer dust storm when word gets out. Everyone will want to know who the lucky bride is.”
The back door opened and Uncle Roy walked in. Despite the gray hair at his temples, he looked young, fit and healthy. He had a good head for business and a strong work ethic that he and Aunt Libby shared.
Uncle Roy hung his hat on the peg by the door. His gaze landed on Molly.
“What’s this I hear about you turning down business from Adam Crawford?” he asked.
A flash of anger hit Molly. Had Adam gone to her uncle and told him of her refusal?
“Where did you hear that?” Molly asked.
“Ran into that fella who works for him,” Uncle Roy said. “What’s that boy’s name?”
“Rafe,” Aunt Libby. “He told you about it?”
“He did.” Uncle Roy eyed Molly sharply. “Is it true?”
“Yes,” she said, trying to sound composed and confident. “I’m just too busy. I simply can’t accommodate him.”
Uncle Roy shook his head. “Whatever kind of shindig he wants, do it. Unbusy yourself. Accommodate him.”
Her uncle’s stern orders caused Molly’s spine to stiffen. She didn’t want to displease him, but she most certainly didn’t want to plan Adam’s wedding.
“He’ll want the entire town here,” Molly said, trying to sound reasonable. “You know how you feel about that.”
He grumbled under this breath. “People racing to Spindler like ants to a picnic since that rail stop went in. Choking the streets, crowding the boardwalks. Can’t get a decent pew at church without getting there early. All kinds of businesses opening, trying to force out all of us who got here first.”
“And you don’t even like Mr. Crawford,” Molly pointed out. “His plan to build another hotel in town will only hurt the Cottonwood.”