Happily Ever After in the West Read online

  “And we’re only guessing about that,” Claire pointed out.

  Was there a woman in Keaton, carrying Adam’s baby? An unmarried woman? Molly’s heart went out to her. Adam’s baby.

  Suddenly Molly’s heart ached for herself. Selfish as it was, she knew Adam was lost to her now. Forever. But he was doing the right thing by marrying this woman, whoever she was. Adam had integrity and decency. She’d always known that about him.

  “Did you ask Molly?” someone said.

  All three of them jumped, jarred back from their thoughts as Sally’s sister joined them on the boardwalk.

  “No, not yet,” Sally told Sarah, annoyed.

  “Ask me what?” Molly queried.

  “Grandmother Hamilton sent us her wedding dress,” Sarah said.

  “It’s beautiful,” Sally said.

  “We have to decide which of us gets to wear it,” Sarah said. “So we thought you—”

  “We thought you could tell us if there’s some etiquette rule about who should have it,” Sally said.

  “I was going to say that,” Sarah told her.

  “Well, I already said it,” Sally barked back.

  Sarah ignored her sister and said to Molly, “I say the oldest granddaughter should wear it.”

  “You only think that because you’re the oldest,” Sally said.

  The last thing Molly wanted was to hear these two arguing yet again about their double wedding ceremony.

  “I’ll read up on it,” Molly promised and hurried into the Cottonwood.

  The dining room was empty, closed for the night. She passed into the kitchen. It was quiet there, too. She, Aunt Libby and Carrie had finished their chores for the night.

  Molly left the broom beside the stove, then lit the lantern on her bureau when she walked into her bedroom. She’d promised Sarah and Sally she’d read up on their wedding-dress question. She found the book she needed from the small collection she’d brought with her from Philadelphia and stretched out on her bed to read. Several chapters later, she came up with an answer—one neither Sarah nor Sally would like.

  Molly sat up. Her room felt confining, stifling. She paced the floor, as much as she could in the tiny space, as a wave of restlessness claimed her. She was used to spending her evenings alone, but tonight she couldn’t bear it.

  Her belly tingled as a thought came to her. She knew she shouldn’t do it. It was wrong—unthinkable, really. She’d been lucky she hadn’t gotten caught before. If she did—

  Well, she just wouldn’t get caught, Molly decided.

  Quickly, she changed out of the yellow dress she’d worn all day and slipped into a dark brown one. She found her black lace scarf in her bureau and draped it over her head, pulling it forward to cover her face, opened her bedroom window and climbed out.

  What the hell?

  Adam squinted into the darkness as he gazed at the rear of the Cottonwood Hotel. He kept to the shadows of the barn across the alley, not sure if he could believe his own eyes.

  Was that Molly climbing out her bedroom window?

  For the past few days he’d driven himself like a madman, concentrating on business, pushing his employees to do more, spending his evenings in his workroom behind the bank, hammering and sawing on his woodworking projects until he exhausted himself.

  None of it helped. He still couldn’t sleep at night. He tossed and turned with all sorts of visions in his mind. Finally, he’d taken to walking the back alleys of Spindler trying to clear his head and relieve the tension that kept him wound tight all day.

  Seeing Molly’s dress creep up past her knees as she slid out of the window didn’t help anything.

  But this time, worry and concern edged out his other urges.

  Where was she going that forced her to sneak out the window? At this time of night? The streets of Spindler were safe enough during the day. But after dark a young woman—especially one as pretty as Molly—had no business being out alone.

  He watched as she straightened her skirt, pulled a scarf closer around her face and hurried into the darkness.

  Adam followed her.

  Chapter Six

  She’d be sent back to Philadelphia. Molly knew she would. If anybody—anybody—caught her and realized what she was doing, Uncle Roy would hustle her onto the first eastbound train and send her back to her grandmother without a second thought.

  But only if someone saw her, recognized her and told on her.

  Molly eased between the barrels and wood crates stacked high at the back corner of the feed store. The darkness closed in around her. She’d been here two nights ago, rearranged things as best she could and made herself a little cove of sorts. She’d even positioned a barrel so she could sit comfortably.

  She settled onto the barrel. The half-moon was high overhead, offering little light in the alley. Molly felt safe. Anyone walking by—the sheriff or some drunken cowboy—couldn’t see her.

  Across the alley, through an open window, Molly peered into the Lucky Strike Saloon. Men stood at the bar, others were seated at the tables. Most had turned their chairs toward the stage Jonas Bradley had built that had caused such a ruckus in town.

  Piano music drifted. Men hooted and hollered. On the stage were six cancan dancers.

  They formed a chorus line and lifted their long skirts and petticoats in front of them like giant fans. Underneath they wore black stockings. Knees raised, they rotated their lower legs as they swept their skirts back and forth.

  Oh, how free they looked. Molly leaned forward, gazing at the dancers through a gap between two wooden crates. Her heart raced. How wonderful, how thrilling it must be to feel that free.

  The dancers broke into a series of high kicks, bringing applause and whistles from the men in the audience.

  Grandmother had taken her to Paris a year ago to visit cousins. Molly had fallen in love with the city. She’d instantly connected with two of her cousins, girls a few years younger than she. They’d taken Molly to a theater their uncle owned and had sneaked in the back. From the wings they’d watched twenty girls perform the demanding and provocative cancan.

  On the stage in the Lucky Strike, one of the dancers kicked the hat off of the head of one of the men sitting nearby, giving him a quick peek at her drawers. Hoots and hollers rose from the crowd.

  Molly envied the dancers tonight, as she had in Paris. They weren’t worried about their reputations, about what anyone thought of them or what anyone would say. The crowd loved them, and they loved what they were doing.

  Molly wished to be that free. If only she could. Watching the dancers through the saloon window she remembered the longing, the yearning she’d experienced that evening in Paris. When she and her cousins had gotten home that night, they’d made their own costumes and danced in their grand bedroom, laughing until they collapsed. The next morning, Molly had decided she had to leave Philadelphia. She’d never be free there. She’d never have a future there except to live in Grandmother’s house, on the fringe of society, and continue to watch her friends marry, have children. She would never have those things. So why not leave, be free like the cancan dancers and find a new life somewhere else?

  Inside the Lucky Strike, the dancers formed a line once more, then turned, bent over and threw their skirts over their backs. The crowd went wild.

  Molly gasped. One of the girls had a flower embroidered on the seat of her drawers. Good gracious, she’d never seen such a thing. It was—

  “What are you doing?” a man’s voice boomed.

  Molly screamed. A shadow moved through the darkness toward her. It was a man—a huge man. She jumped to her feet atop the barrel, grasped a wooden crate above her and climbed up.

  Big hands locked around her waist and pulled her to the ground. Frantic, she batted at her attacker, but he only tightened his grip. She drew in a breath, ready to scream again. A hand closed over her mouth.

  It smelled familiar.

  “It’s me. Adam.” He took his hand away.


  Her heart raced as she gazed up at him. Relief swamped Molly as she realized that it was Adam, and she was safe. She swayed against him. His arms tightened around her, keeping her on her feet.

  “You scared me,” she said.

  “Good,” he barked. “You ought to be scared, out this time of night by yourself. What are you doing?”

  Oh, goodness. She couldn’t tell him the reason she was here. What would she say?

  He didn’t give her a chance to answer.

  “Don’t you know what could happen to you?” he demanded.

  “Do you mean some man might come along and grab me?” she asked. “As you’re doing now?”

  In the dim light she saw his expression soften and his lips twitch with the need to grin.

  “Something like that,” he said. “Only another man might not be as much of a gentleman as I am.”

  There wasn’t anything “gentlemanly” about the way he held her. His arms were locked around her, holding her tight against him, her softness melting against his hardness.

  Molly eased back. He let her, but in the confines of the barrel-and-wooden-crate fortress she couldn’t move more than two steps away.

  “What are you doing out here?” Adam asked.

  “Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” Molly told him and tried to sound offended that he’d asked.

  “The hell I don’t,” he said. “From now on I’ve got a say in everything you do. We’re partners, remember?”

  Molly’s mouth flew open. “We are? You’re going to build the social hall? It will really be part mine?”

  “Let’s get a couple of things straight first,” Adam said. “If I agree to this, you’ll handle the wedding.”

  Molly’s heart thumped against her chest. “Yes.”

  “And you’ll make sure the wedding is perfect,” he said. “You’ll do everything you’re told.”

  “No.”

  He frowned. Molly wasn’t sure if he hadn’t heard her correctly or simply couldn’t believe what she’d said.

  “I can’t promise the bride will have absolutely everything she wants,” Molly told him. “I can’t help it if the roof of the baggage car leaks and the candles and flowers she’s bringing with her are ruined. Or if the yardmaster throws the wrong switch and everything she owns ends up in Kansas City.”

  Adam nodded. “But you’ll do everything you can to make it as perfect as it can be.”

  Molly’s elation over their business deal dimmed. How wonderful to be engaged to a man who cared this much about the wedding preparations.

  She forced aside the ache in her heart and nodded. “I’ll do my very best.”

  “Okay, then,” he said. “We’re partners in the social hall.”

  An awkward moment passed. Most business matters were sealed with a handshake, which hardly seemed appropriate, given that Adam had once kissed her.

  She was a little disappointed when Adam said, “I’ll walk you home.”

  Molly had wanted him to leave before he figured out what she’d been up to in the alley, but knew he wouldn’t leave her here alone.

  “Let’s hurry,” Molly told her.

  She ducked around him and struck out toward the Cottonwood. She’d gone only a few paces when she realized Adam wasn’t beside her. She turned and found him standing in the alley. He looked at the saloon, then at her hideaway, then at her. Realization dawned on his face.

  Humiliation burned through her. She struggled against it but knew her cheeks were bright red.

  What would Adam think of her? Would he cancel the partnership he’d just agreed to?

  “You were watching the cancan dancers?” Adam asked. His voice was heavy, his expression intense.

  “Well, yes,” she admitted, then added quickly, “but only because I saw them in Paris.”

  He looked shocked, as if he expected her to lift her skirt and petticoats, and high-kick her way down the alley toward him.

  Which, for some reason, she was tempted to do.

  Molly came to her senses. “If—if you tell anyone, my uncle will send me back to Philadelphia. You’ll have no one to help with your wedding.”

  Adam walked closer. He stood in front of her, inches away. Heat rolled off him again.

  That wild heat claimed Molly, robbed her thoughts and sapped her strength. He leaned down and covered her lips with his. Molly gasped as his arms encircled her, pulling her against him. His mouth moved across hers. She parted her lips. His warmth filled her.

  Adam lifted his head. She gazed up at him and saw the yearning, the desire shining in his eyes. Her heart pounded. How she wished she could be in his arms forever.

  He lowered his head once more, but she turned away.

  “No,” she whispered.

  He nuzzled her neck. Her knees weakened. She wanted his kisses, his touch. But should she allow it? This one moment with him was all she’d have.

  “We—we can’t do this,” Molly said, and pushed at him.

  He didn’t move. His breath was hot against her.

  “Please,” she said. “This isn’t right.”

  “The hell it isn’t,” he murmured against her throat.

  Molly braced her palms against his chest. “Think of your bride. Think of your unborn child.”

  Another moment passed before Adam stopped. He raised her head but didn’t loosen his grip on her.

  “My what?” he asked.

  Molly sniffed irritably. Her Paris cousins had explained that at times like this, men didn’t always think straight. But, really, how could Adam have forgotten the woman he intended to marry—and their child?

  “The wedding, remember? Your bride. The baby you two are expecting,” Molly said.

  Adam reared back. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not getting married.”

  “You’re refusing to marry her?” Molly demanded. She stepped out of his arms and swatted at his chest. “I thought you were a decent man—a gentleman. How could you leave the woman you love in a lurch, with a baby on the way?”

  “Hold on a minute,” he said, waving both arms. “What makes you think I’m getting married? Or that I have a child on the way?”

  “You came to me demanding I plan your wedding,” Molly explained.

  “And you thought I was the one getting married?” Adam asked.

  “What else was I supposed to think?” Molly asked. She paused. A little glimmer of hope rose in her heart. “Are you saying you’re not the one getting married?”

  “I’m not the one getting married,” Adam repeated.

  “There’s not a woman in Keaton who’s carrying your child?” she asked.

  “Who said anything about Keaton?”

  “Everyone knows you go there often,” Molly said.

  “So the gossips in town assumed I had a lady friend there,” Adam concluded. He shook his head. “Look, I’m not getting married, and that’s all there is to it.”

  Molly’s spirits soared. A little giggle slipped from her lips. He grinned and took her in his arms again.

  “So does that make it all right for me to kiss you again?” he asked softly.

  Molly sighed. He leaned down but she put her hand against his cheek.

  “Wait,” she said. “Who is getting married?”

  “My partner Travis. He’s marrying my sister.” Adam shook his head. “I got dragged into the middle of it because Anna and my mama don’t trust him to see things are handled the way they want.”

  “So they asked you to do it?” Molly asked.

  “To tell you the truth, I’ve about had it with all this wedding business. I left Charleston to get away from all the etiquette rules, the social requirements,” Adam grumbled. Then he shrugged. “But this is my sister and my mama asking for my help, so what can I do?”

  Molly’s heart warmed, learning of this new, unexpected side of him. What else about Adam didn’t she know?

  He didn’t give her the chance to ask. Adam kissed her again. He moved his mouth against hers a
nd she let him. His breath grew hotter, his kiss more intense. Finally, he pulled away.

  “I like this partnership of ours,” he said.

  Another moment passed and Molly thought he might kiss her again.

  “I’d better get you home,” he said.

  She looped her arm through his as they crossed Main Street and circled through the alley to the rear of the Cottonwood. Outside her bedroom he lifted her into his arms, then slid her legs through the window and sat her on the sill. She slid inside, then turned and leaned down.

  “Good night,” she whispered.

  Adam touched his palm to her cheek. “Sweet dreams.”

  Molly smiled as she watched him disappear around the corner.

  Chapter Seven

  “Molly!”

  She stopped on the boardwalk at the sound of her name and turned to find Grace hurrying toward her. The street was crowded with horses and wagons, despite the afternoon heat.

  “Is it—is it true?” Grace asked. “Adam isn’t getting married?”

  Only last night Molly had learned the truth about the pending nuptials, and already word had spread through town. She didn’t know who started these rumors since she hadn’t told a soul, and could only guess that Rafe wasn’t so careful about telling what he overheard from Adam and Travis’s conversations.

  “It’s true,” Molly said.

  “But what about that woman in Keaton?” Grace asked. “Is Adam still seeing her?”

  With a little jolt, Molly realized she didn’t know how to answer. Adam had told her he wasn’t getting married, but he’d never actually said he wasn’t calling on someone in Keaton. And if he wasn’t calling on someone there, why did he visit so frequently?

  “I don’t know,” Molly admitted.

  Grace sighed heavily, as if it were all too much for her. “I don’t know what’s happening to Spindler. The town is getting so crowded these days, it’s almost impossible to keep up on all the news.”

  “Uncle Roy doesn’t like it either,” Molly agreed.

  Grace glanced down the street. “I’d better get back to the store. Papa will have a fit if I’m not there to help out.”