The Barefoot Bride (8 page)

Molly flushed. “I had no idea Montana
would be so—so violent. Even what you do when you're not doctoring—breaking horses —isn't that kind of dangerous?”

He flashed a quick grin. “It can be. But I have a man who helps me, Ethan Hawk. You'll meet him at the wedding. Anything else you want to know?”

“Do we have neighbors?”

“Sure. Iris and Henry Marsh live about five miles west of my place.”

Molly's jaw dropped. “Five miles!”

Seth grinned. “That's a stone's throw here in Montana. You can ride that distance in no time.”

“On what?” Molly asked with asperity.

“A horse.”

“I don't know how to ride.”

“Don't worry. I'll teach you.”

They heard voices inside the stateroom, and sounds like furniture being moved.

“We'll talk more after the wedding,” Seth said. “I'll be back to pick you up as soon as I find Patch.”

He bowed slightly before he turned and walked away. For a moment Molly was too stunned to do anything but stand there and watch him. No wonder he had said Montana was lonely. Imagine, neighbors no closer than five miles away! And to be twelve miles
from the closest town was unthinkable. What had she gotten herself into? Why hadn't she asked more questions before she jumped into this with both feet?

To Molly's surprise, when she opened the door to her stateroom, Patch Kendrick was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the four-poster bed. The girl started guiltily and slanted a warning look at Whit, who wore an equally guilty expression. Molly stepped back outside to tell Seth she had found his daughter, but he had already disappeared into the crowd on the levee. When she came back in, both children looked as innocent as angels.

“Your father's looking for you,” she told Patch.

“I told Red Dupree where I'd be, so Pa can find me. I was just getting to know Whit,” Patch replied. “After all, we're going to be family.”

Molly's eyes narrowed suspiciously. This reasonable speech didn't sound at all like it came from the same person who had mercilessly shoved a perfect stranger into the muddy Missouri. What was the girl planning now? Molly shook her head. What an imagination she had, to think that this freckle-faced child was hatching some plot against her. After all, there wasn't much one little
girl could do to interfere with her plans. Most probably, Patch had simply accepted the inevitable.

Molly gave the girl the benefit of the doubt. “I have to get dressed now. You're welcome to stay and visit if you like. Your father will undoubtedly be back here in a little while to escort us all to the wedding.”

Patch exchanged another quick look with Whit. “Uh, well, okay. If you don't mind, I think I will.”

“Why don't I take Nessie for a walk?” Whit offered.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Molly agreed. “Just stay where you can hear me when I call you.” She turned her back on them to sort through her trunks for the dress she planned to wear.

Molly carefully unfolded the dress of violet silk that she had packed as her wedding gown. It had been a gift from Aunt Hattie on her twenty-eighth birthday. The color was appropriate for the mourning she was still observing, but the hem was embroidered with a decorative design of grape leaves. It had a simple bodice that buttoned up the front with a foulard at the neck and a lilac mantilla scarf to be worn around the shoulders.

Molly stepped behind the screen in the corner
of the room. Once she heard the door close, she began stripping off the still-damp gray silk dress that had been ruined when she fell into the river.

“Do you mind if I watch?” Patch asked.

Molly nearly jumped out of her skin. She had naturally assumed that Patch had left the room along with Whit and Nessie. Obviously she had not. Patch sat on the corner of a trunk staring at Molly with wide, innocent blue eyes.

Molly's first instinct was to shoo the girl out. But she had promised Seth Kendrick she would treat the child as her own, and Nessie had often sat and watched her at her toilette. After all, that was how a child learned, by example. What better way to begin to make a lady of Patch than to show her the proper attire she must soon begin to wear?

“Of course I don't mind,” Molly said. She finished unbuttoning her dress, which was trimmed with black corded fringe and small pewter buckles. Perhaps she could salvage some of those for another garment, she thought as she set the dress aside.

“What's that thing?” Patch asked.

Molly followed Patch's pointing finger. “It's called a tournure. It's made of crinoline and
supports the bustle of my dress, along with several petticoats.”

“I know what a petticoat is,” Patch said with disgust.

Molly arched a brow. “Then you usually wear one?”

“I didn't say that.”

Molly gave an unladylike grunt of relief as she untied the white satin corset and let it fall. “I must say, I never did much appreciate the restrictions of a corset. But every lady wears one.”

“I ain't gonna,” Patch muttered.

Molly was left wearing a low-necked pointed basque-waist, lace-trimmed drawers and white stockings, all of which were a great deal the worse for their dip in the Missouri.

Patch appeared fascinated. “I had no idea you were wearing so much rig.”

“There are certain rules of fashion that every lady must follow.”

Patch snorted. “You won't catch me in none of that stuff. Couldn't hardly move wearing that durned getup.”

“You'll learn,” Molly said.

Patch grimaced but didn't argue.

“You'll have to get up a minute,” Molly
said. “I need some things from that trunk you're sitting on.”

Patch stood beside the trunk fidgeting while Molly sorted through it for fresh un-derthings.

“Uh … those shoes of yours would dry quicker if I put them out where they could catch the breeze/’ Patch offered.

Molly was touched by the girl's thoughtful-ness. Why, Patch could be sweet when she wanted to be. Molly quickly closed the trunk and sat down on it to remove her black kid boots. “I appreciate you doing this for me,” she said, handing the boots to Patch.

“It's my pleasure.” She beat a hasty retreat before Molly had a chance to consider the reason for the brief appearance of that familiar impish grin.

Molly took advantage of Patch's absence to skin out of her underthings and put on new ones, blessing the foresight that had caused her to bring extras of the items she had thought might be harder to find in the west.

Once she was dressed except for her shoes and stockings, Molly came out from behind the screen and sat down at the dressing table to fix her hair. She parted it down the center and created two thick braids. The end of each braid was fastened under the beginning of
the other and secured with hairpins. Small wisps of hair escaped around her face, softening what would otherwise have been a severe look. Last, but not least, Molly added a fetching crape bonnet the same lilac color as the mantilla scarf.

Molly was just adjusting the angle of her bonnet when someone knocked and the door was thrust open.

Seth Kendrick stood there. “Red Dupree said Patch was here.” He looked around the room, but when he didn't see his daughter, said, “I should have known she'd send me on a wild-goose chase.”

Molly hurried toward him. “She was here. She's just—” Molly looked past Seth out the door of her cabin and spied Patch standing at the rail of the steamboat. The girl held Molly's boots in her outstretched hand. While Molly watched in disbelief, Patch stared her straight in the eye and let go. Molly's precious kid boots dropped into the river like two big black stones.

There was not a speck of remorse on Patch's face. The little girl marched back to the door and stood beside her father, clearly daring Molly to say anything.

Molly was amazed at the sheer gall of the child. And devious! Patch Kendrick could
teach a corkscrew to curl. She opened her mouth to vent her spleen and snapped it shut again when she realized she would be doing exactly what Patch wanted her to do.

Molly gritted her teeth and fought to control her Irish temper. Several words that James had brought home from the docks came to mind—but found no voice. Molly Gallagher wasn't going to let a mere child provoke her into making an unladylike scene in front of Seth. Neither was she going to let the fact that she and Patch could look forward to
years
of such confrontations change her mind about marrying the girl's father.

“Are you ready to go?” Seth asked, completely unaware of the war of wills going on between his daughter and his future wife.

‘Til just be a moment.” Molly headed for the trunk where she had packed a second, older pair of boots. She had to take nearly everything out to get to the bottom of the trunk. When she did, the boots weren't there.

Molly's spine straightened with a snap. She whirled to confront a grinning Patch. The girl was positively
gloating.

At that moment, Whit arrived in the doorway with Nessie and shared a conspiratorial glance with Patch. Then he turned and stared at Molly. One look at her son's outthrust jaw
told Molly the whole story. Whit must have told Patch about the second pair of boots. He might even have helped Patch find them. How could he do such a thing?

Molly's throat tightened until it hurt to swallow. What chance did this marriage have if their children were so set against it? How angry they must be, how frightened and confused, to connive so desperately to prevent it! She looked around the room but had no idea what she was looking for.

She sought out Seth's gray eyes but found no answers there—only more questions. There was admiration in his gaze and, more disturbing, desire. His eyes were haunted, hungry.

Molly had no idea it was her breathless-ness, her pinkened cheeks and the spark of fury in her brown eyes that had excited Seth. She felt a stirring deep within her, a response to his magnetism that was raw and primitive. It was unsettling to want a man—a perfect stranger—this way. She balled her fingers into fists to hide the fact they were trembling. The constriction in her throat eased, replaced by the thrumming of her pulse. She couldn't drag her eyes away from the man standing before her.

Seth gave her an encouraging smile and
said, “You look beautiful, Mrs. Galla—Molly. I can't imagine what more you could need to do. Shall we go?”

Molly curled her naked toes against the varnished deck. She couldn't very well admit she hadn't any shoes to wear without explaining what had happened to them. She couldn't do that without causing the confrontation Patch so clearly desired. For better or worse —and both despite and because of the children—she made her choice. She cleared her throat and said, “I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be.”

Molly felt the first stirring of satisfaction when she saw the astonished look on Patch's face. If Patch Kendrick thought being barefoot was going to slow Molly Gallagher down, she had another think coming!

Patch followed glumly behind her father and his mail-order bride as they headed down Front Street toward Schmidt's Hotel. Whit had been shooting dark looks at her ever since they left the
Viola Belle.
Dang it all! It wasn't her fault Whit's mother was still going to marry her father. Patch had done her level best to give Molly Gallagher a disgust of her, but the ding-dang woman had been too dumb to take a hint. She had
thought pushing her father's mail-order bride into the Missouri would be enough to send her packing. That had backfired when Whit shoved her father in after the woman.

She had hoped Molly Gallagher might be one of those women who fainted at the sight of blood. But she hadn't been that lucky. From what Patch had been able to see through the plate-glass window of the Medicine Bow Saloon, Molly Gallagher had passed her nursing test with flying colors.

That was when Patch had devised the plan to leave the consarn woman barefoot, certain that no
lady
would ever think of crossing a portal unless she was completely dressed. Durned if that plan hadn't failed as well!

Patch was good at using her wits to get what she wanted. She had hoped to provoke the detested Mrs. Gallagher into making a scene about being barefoot. Her father would be disgusted by the woman's ranting and raving and change his mind about marrying her. But that Mrs. Gallagher was danged smart. She hadn't fallen for the trap.

Instead, at this very moment Molly Gallagher was walking barefoot up the main street of Fort Benton on Seth Kendrick's arm. And Patch couldn't say a word about it without getting herself into trouble!

Patch wasn't about to admit she had met her match. Molly Gallagher might marry her pa, but that didn't mean they had to stay that way. And they wouldn't. Not if she had anything to say about it. She would find a way to make Molly Gallagher call it quits. Before the brief Montana summer was through, those Gallaghers would be long gone.

Molly stared at the simple gold band on her finger in awe. She had worn James's ruby and diamond family ring for eleven years. Now it was gone, replaced by a circlet as elemental as the wilderness to which she had come. She looked up into the face of the man who had just become her husband. His gray eyes were somber.