Montana (21 page)

A sense of well-being filled him. In one twenty-four-hour period, he'd gained a wife and family and found a home. A man couldn't ask for much more than that.

 

By the time they returned to the ranch it was after nine. Sam quickly changed out of his jacket, dress shirt and string tie into a comfortable pair of jeans and Western-style shirt. First thing in the morning, he'd move his things out of the small house and into Molly's bedroom upstairs in the ranch house. Molly might think she'd gotten a reprieve, but he had news for her. She was his wife and he wasn't planning to sleep alone ever again.

For their night in the hotel, Sam packed his shaving kit and little else. When he'd finished, he got the truck and went to pick up Molly. She was ready, a suitcase in her hand. Walt hugged her goodbye and she clung to him.

She lingered over both her children before walking down the porch steps to the truck, where Sam waited patiently. Her eyes shyly met his as he leaned across the seat and opened the passenger door.

In minutes they were on the road again.

Sam toyed with the idea of initiating a conversation, but there was only one subject on his mind and he didn't figure talking about it would help.

As they neared town, he slowed down so that he was driving well within the legal limit. Wouldn't Sheriff Maynard just welcome the opportunity to throw his butt in jail on his wedding night? Sam didn't plan to give him the chance.

The hotel was on the outskirts of town. The neon sign was old, and the
V
in vacancy had burned out. Molly waited in the truck while he went inside to sign the register.

“Well, hello there,” Bob Jenkins greeted him from behind the counter. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

“That's right,” Sam said. Although he had the key, Ginny had explained he'd need to check in before going up to the room.

“The missus put a bottle of champagne on ice for you and the new wife,” Bob said.

“That's great.” Although Sam figured they'd probably had enough champagne. “Thank you from us both.”

“Don't worry none about neighbors, either. Business has been kinda slow lately and I'll make sure whoever checks in won't be anywhere near your room.”

Sam nodded, pleased to know they'd have a lot of privacy. He signed his name with a flourish and hurried back to Molly. She was huddled against the passenger door.

He started the engine. “You aren't nervous, are you?”

“No,” she said quickly. Perhaps too quickly.

“Good.”

“I…I'm relieved we decided to do the intelligent thing and wait before entering into the, uh, physical aspect of this marriage.”

Sam frowned, recalling no such agreement. “Wait? You and me? This is a joke, right?”

“But we agreed…I assumed we had, anyway. When we spoke in the car—the day we applied for the license…You don't actually think we're going to make love tonight, do you? We barely know each other!”

Now Sam was worried. “That's not the way I understood it.”

“It isn't?”

“I told you up front that I fully expect this to be more than a business agreement, and you agreed. Not with a lot of enthusiasm, perhaps, but you did agree to become my wife in every sense of the word.”

“Yes, I know—but not right away. I thought…I believed you understood that. I wanted us to become…familiar with each other first.”

He clenched the steering wheel with a ferocity that whitened his knuckles.

“Molly, I want to make love to you tonight.”

“No matter how I feel? You said yourself you don't love me.”

“But I like you and respect you. We're attracted to each other—our kisses tell me that much. Isn't that enough?”

She took a long time answering. “No…it's not.”

P
earl wondered if wives realized how much business she enjoyed because they refused to make love with their husbands. More than one miserable man had sought her out because of his wife's recurring “headaches.” As a rule a married man went to his wife first and Pearl second. She was convinced half her clientele would rather have stayed home with their wives, if only the women had been a bit more accommodating.

The man sitting at the bar was a prime example. He looked like he was about to cry in his beer. Pearl read the signs like the pro she was. The gold band on his finger told her he was married. The scenarios ran pretty much alike: husband and wife would argue and he'd leave the house, needing time away to cool down. These couples had forgotten that making up should be fun and it should happen in bed. A few of the men went to Pearl to restore their damaged egos. Some visited her on impulse. Others craved a little tenderness even if they had to pay for it. Then there were the angry men, looking for someone on whom they could take out their rage. Those were the ones Pearl avoided.

It was difficult to tell which category the cowboy at the bar fell into. She walked over to where he sat and slipped onto the stool next to him.

“Hello, there,” she said in a husky provocative voice. “You're looking lonely.”

He ignored her.

Pearl was accustomed to the cold shoulder, but she knew how to work her way around that. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

No response.

“Al, I'll take a bloody Mary,” she called. The bartender acknowledged her order with a nod and she winked. Pearl rarely drank mixed drinks, and Al knew to make hers a virgin.

“Problems at home, cowboy?” she asked gently.

He glanced in her direction—an encouraging sign. She smiled prettily and, without being too obvious about it, made sure he got a good view of her assets. He downed his drink in short order, and Pearl noted the way his hand shook as he lowered the glass. Her guess was the argument he'd had with his wife had to do with sex. This guy was so damned hot, she could feel the heat radiating off him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, and leaned forward to suck on the colored straw.

“No.”

Ever so lightly Pearl placed her long nails on his forearm. “Want to
do
something about it?”

She had his full attention now. In no hurry, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, cold now from the iced drink and reddened from the spicy tomato juice. The cowboy didn't seem able to stop looking at her mouth.

“Nobody can take care of you better than Pearl,” she promised, and took a long exaggerated suck from the straw.

He shut his eyes.

The battle was half-won. Pearl smiled to herself.

To her surprise he slapped his money on the bar and started to leave. He hadn't taken more than two or three steps before he hesitated.

Pearl sensed that he was weakening and followed him outside. This wouldn't take long. Johns like this cowboy were ready to explode before she had a chance to remove her underwear. She considered them easy money.

“My place is right around the corner,” she told him, tucking her hands in her jacket pockets.

“I'm not interested.”

“Don't be so hasty. I'm good, cowboy, and I can help you forget whatever's troubling you. Come on, let Pearl make it better.”

“Just how good are you, Pearl?” he asked, standing outside his truck, his hand on the door.

It wasn't a question she was often asked. Generally, all men cared about was a willing body. Any sexual finesse was lost on them.

“Good enough to satisfy you, cowboy.”

He laughed once, abruptly.

She held her arms open to him. “Pearl will take care of you. Satisfaction guaranteed.”

He rubbed his face with a shaking hand. “Are you good enough to satisfy a bridegroom on his wedding night?”

She'd heard some good lines in her time, but this was a new one. “Sure, honey, whatever you need. Let Pearl take the ache away. I promise to do the job a whole lot better than a couple of aspirin.” She slipped her arms around his waist and moved suggestively against him, letting him feel the lush fullness of her breasts and inhale the scent of her perfume. She refused to use cheap perfume.

“Sorry. Like I said, I'm not interested.” He spoke slowly, thoughtfully, and put his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her away.

The regret and disappointment she heard in him tugged at her heart. Pearl hadn't really known she possessed a heart until Russell. Although she was grateful for everything he'd done for her, she didn't want to care or have feelings when it came to dealing with her customers. She provided a service, one devoid of emotion or sentiment. She was a businesswoman who appreciated her own value. Repeat business was her staple, and once she'd given a man a satisfactory experience, she encouraged him to set up a regular time with her, even offering a discount program. Monroe didn't know anything about that, not that he would've cared. All that concerned him was the money he collected from her and the other girls.

This cowboy had the potential to become the kind of customer she liked best. She could persuade him; she felt sure of it. She'd persuaded men like him before. Yet she hesitated. He was an emotional wreck. While she offered a temporary solution, sex with her wouldn't help him if his bride found out.

“Do you love her?” Pearl asked softly, barely knowing where the question came from.

The cowboy didn't answer right away. “I guess I must, otherwise that skirt you're wearing would be over your head by now.”

“Then go back.”

He shook his head. “She doesn't want me touching her. She's not interested.”

Pearl laughed. “Listen, I don't pretend to know a lot about human nature, but if she married you, trust me, she's interested.”

The cowboy wanted to believe her. Pearl saw it in the fierce way his eyes held hers. “This isn't a normal marriage,” he said, shaking his head.

“What marriage is?” Pearl wrapped her hand around his forearm, letting her long painted nails gently scrape the inside of his elbow. “Listen to me, cowboy, I don't care what led up to your marriage—she wants you.”

“That's not what she's saying.”

“I'll tell you what. You go back, and if you can't settle this with her, find me and I'll give you one on the house.” Pearl had never before made that type of offer. But if his bride wasn't a born idiot, she'd appreciate the good man she'd married and count her blessings.

The cowboy looked like he was in grave danger of smiling. “You honestly think it'd help if I went back?”

“I do.”

He gave a deep, shuddering sigh. “Then I will.” He opened the truck and bounded inside. As the engine fired to life, he glanced at her. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” But it was. Loving Russell had changed her, and she stood at a crossroads. Either she continued on with the only life she'd ever known or she changed. Russell had repeatedly asked her to marry him. He didn't understand what she was really involved in. Nor did he understand that if they were seen together, he'd be in danger. So would she. He continually told her how smart she was, but it wasn't true. If she was even half as smart as he believed, she'd find a way to marry the only man she'd ever loved.

The ice cooling the champagne had long since melted. Molly sat on the edge of the bed, more miserable than she could remember being since the judge had declared her divorce from Daniel final. A second marriage was quite possibly the only thing that could drag her this low.

For the past few days she'd actually looked forward to marrying Sam, but this evening, as the time for their so-called honeymoon arrived, she'd started to worry. Being alone in a hotel room hadn't been part of the plan. Not
her
plan, anyway. She would have preferred their first night together to be in the comfort and familiarity of the ranch. But then Ginny and Fred had given them this honeymoon night, and Molly didn't have the heart to disappoint them.

The problem was with herself, Molly realized, and her fear of letting anyone get close, even the man she'd married just hours before. Intimacy terrified her, and because she'd been afraid, because the thought of allowing Sam to touch her and hold her had frightened her, she'd sent him away.

Panic had set in when they reached the hotel. Sam had been quick to remind her of her promise to him, and an argument had immediately ensued. Molly couldn't remember everything she'd said, but whatever it was, she regretted it. Sam had dropped her off and driven away, tires squealing. And so Molly had been left to fret and wonder where he was and what he was doing.

With her arms folded around her middle, she paced the floor, feeling wretched and defeated.

For a while she convinced herself she didn't even
want
to know where he'd gone.

Like hell she didn't. This was her wedding night, and she was minus a bridegroom. Minus her pride and dignity. Every doubt she'd harbored after divorcing Daniel returned full force. He'd left her for someone else and claimed she'd driven him away. She'd protested the accusation loud and long, yet she was driving her second husband away in what appeared to be record time. It'd taken all of four years for Daniel to leave her and less than four hours for Sam to walk out.

Although it was useless to try to sleep, she made the effort, slipping between the cool sheets and hugging a pillow to her breast. The shadows from the broken neon light danced against the wall, making her desolate, reminding her what a failure she was.

She must have fallen asleep because her eyes flew open when she heard Sam. He inserted the key into the lock, opened the door and walked silently into the room. A flood of relief and gratitude washed over her. It was all she could do to keep from scrambling out of bed, throwing herself in his arms and begging his forgiveness. Nothing had gone the way she'd planned. Instead of talking about her fears, instead of reasoning everything out, she'd become defensive and unrealistic.

Sam stood uncertainly in the middle of the dark room.

“Sam,” she whispered, and sat up in bed.

“Yeah?”

Her chest hurt from holding her breath. “I'm sorry.”

She heard his sigh. “Me, too.”

“I don't blame you for leaving…” She let the rest fade, fearing her emotion would embarrass them both.

Sam crossed the room and sat on the bed. “I'm afraid you got the short end of the stick in the husband department, Molly. I don't blame you for—”

“It isn't me who's been cheated, it's you.”

He turned and stared at her in the darkness. The only light came from the neon sign outside, but it was enough to see the puzzled frown on his face.

Molly owed him the truth. “I'm afraid.”

“Of what?”

It hurt to voice her doubts aloud, to confess her flaws, knowing that his rejection now would devastate her. “Of getting hurt again. Of being vulnerable—so many things. I don't think I realized myself how frightened I was until we arrived at the hotel.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

“Yes, but not as much.”

He lifted his hand as if to touch her face, then hesitated. “Are you willing to try? You can set the pace. If you want to stop, we can.”

“Are you willing to give me a second chance?” she asked.

“More than willing,” he assured her, leaning forward to gently press his mouth to hers.

Molly's eyes fluttered closed and she slid her hands against his wide shoulders. This wasn't Daniel, she reminded herself, but Sam. He'd married her, wanted her as his wife, needed her.

When they kissed again, it was Molly who initiated the contact. She knelt on the bed and wrapped her arms around his neck. This was good. Better than good. They were both quiet when the kiss ended.

Sam chuckled and got to his feet, then began to unsnap his shirt with hurried movements. “She was right.”

“Who?”

“I met someone tonight at Willie's place.”

“The tavern?”

“Yeah. First time I've been there since the fight. I guess that tells you how bad I was feeling. Anyway, I talked to this woman for a bit and she urged me to come back.”

Whoever the woman was, Molly owed her a debt of gratitude.

Sam removed his boots, which landed with a thump on the floor. “I need you, Molly. I don't claim to be any prize as a husband, but I'll try.” He pulled off his jeans and got beneath the covers.

“It's…it's been a long time for me, Sam.”

“It has been for me, too.” He moved closer to her. “You're wearing far too many clothes for a bride on her wedding night.”

Molly rested her head on his bare shoulder and placed her hand on his lean hard chest. She could feel his heart hammering against her palm. “You think so?”