The Barefoot Bride (9 page)

“You can kiss the bride, Doc,” Reverend Adams said with a wide grin.

Seth's hands framed her face, and she felt his breath on her cheek an instant before his lips brushed hers. Oh, the softness, the sleek dampness of his mouth! She stared, stunned, as Seth let her go and stepped back.

“Congratulations, Doc,” the reverend said. “That's a mighty fine-looking woman you got for yourself.”

“You're a beautiful bride, my dear,” Mrs. Adams concurred.

Molly blushed as Seth murmured his
agreement. An instant later, she was gathered up in a bear hug by the man Seth had introduced as his partner and best friend, Ethan Hawk. She recognized him as the man who had removed her hat after her dousing in the river.

“Seth deserves a little happiness,” Ethan whispered in her ear. He chuckled and added, ‘I'm sure you're just what the doctor ordered.”

Molly found the young man so approachable that she led him aside to ask, “Do you think you could arrange to buy a pair of shoes for me?”

Ethan immediately looked down. From his startled expression, Molly knew he had detected her bare toes peeking out from beneath her skirt. “What happened to your—” “Shhh! I don't want Seth to find out.” Ethan raised a brow in speculation, then grinned and said one word: “Patch.”

Molly couldn't help laughing. “How did you know?” “I know Patch. How'd she manage it?” “With great aplomb,” Molly said. “I promise to tell you the whole of it later. Would you —could you buy me a pair of shoes so that
when we leave here I don't have to do it barefoot? I have some money—”

“Keep your money. It'll be my wedding gift to you, Mrs. Kendrick. Just let me have another quick look so I can figure out a size.”

Molly felt self-conscious as Ethan took her hands, stood back at arm's length, and looked her up and down.

“Don't worry,” he said. “I'm a pretty good judge where these things are concerned. I'll be back in a heartbeat.” He winked mischievously before he turned and slipped out of the hotel parlor.

Seth scowled at the sight of Ethan leaning close to his wife. His eyes narrowed when Ethan took Molly's hands in his. He knew Ethan with women. The man could charm the feathers off a duck. Well, Ethan could just find somebody else to charm. Molly belonged to him!

Seth snorted in disgust at his idiotic musings. The feelings of possessiveness that rose in his breast were unfamiliar and left him feeling foolish.

He had married Molly Gallagher to have a mother for his daughter, not to have a wife to warm his bed. And yet whenever he looked at her—at the curve of her bosom, the flare of
her hips, the velvety brown of her eyes, and the soft, pink lushness of her lips—he found himself painfully aroused. He had visions of his body mantling hers, of holding her in his arms and feeling her soft breasts nestled against his chest, of his hips thrust in the cradle of her thighs.

He deeply regretted the inference in his letters to her that this was to be merely a marriage of convenience.

So why not renegotiate the terms of your agreement?

The thought hadn't been far from his mind since the moment he had laid eyes on Molly Gallagher. And why not? They were married. It wasn't wrong for him to desire her. Or for her to desire him.

He licked the small drops of sweat from his upper lip, conscious of the flare of excitement he felt at the thought of making love with his wife. He let his eyes find her again. She was beautiful in the violet dress, but he would rather have seen her in a brighter color. It had been nearly a year since her husband's death. Surely by now she was ready to set aside the memories of another man.

Only now that he thought of it, in her last letter to him, nearly every sentence had been
written to reflect her relationship to her late husband: “James thought.” “James believed.” “James said.” He had to admit that didn't sound like a woman who had permanently laid her first husband to rest.

But she would. He wasn't asking her to love him; he didn't expect to love her. His late wife held his heart in a grip that was as strong as it had been the day she died. No one could ever touch him that way again. Of that he was very sure. The stone wall around his heart was firmly in place.

But that didn't mean he couldn't
want
another woman. He very much wanted the woman he had made his wife. She might have memories of James Gallagher, but he would be the man sleeping in her bed tonight.

The tug on his pants leg surprised him. When he looked down, he met a miniature pair of brown eyes like Molly's. “Hello, Nes-sie,” he said. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Are you going to be my new da?” the little girl asked.

Seth cleared his throat to give himself time to think. “I suppose so,” he said at last.

“Will you pick me up?”

When she reached up, he grasped her at
the waist and lifted her into the air. A burble of surprised laughter escaped her lips. Seth marveled at how light and fragile a four-year-old could be.

And felt a small crack in the stone around his heart as he settled her in his arms so they were eye to eye.

“Whit doesn't like you,” Nessie promptly announced.

“He doesn't?”

“No. He didn't want you to marry Mama.”

“Oh?”

“So he helped Patch find Mama's boots.”

“Why would he do that?”

“So Patch could throw them in the river, of course.”

“Of course,” Seth said. His eyes sought out his daughter, and he found her sulking in a corner of the parlor. “Why would Patch want to do a thing like that?” he asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

“Patch said no lady would ever go barefoot to her own wedding.”

Seth thought about that for a second and asked, “Are you saying that your mother is barefoot?”

“Well, of course she is,” Nessie replied as though he were a particularly slow student,
to whom things had to be explained twice. “Patch threw her boots into the river.”

“Of course,” Seth repeated in a slightly stunned voice. He searched for Molly and perused the hem of her skirt. He hadn't really thought much before about the fact that it dragged on the floor. Then Molly took a step, and he distinctly saw several toes beneath the violet fabric.

As he watched, Ethan returned to the room with a small brown-paper-wrapped package, which he handed to Molly with a grin.

Shoes,
Seth realized.

A series of feelings assaulted Seth, leaving him shaken. First, there was embarrassment that his daughter would do such an awful thing, in defiance of all propriety. Second, there was disappointment that Molly would go to Ethan for help instead of coming to him. Third, there was certainty that he had chosen the right woman for his wife. Raising Patch to be a lady was going to be a considerable challenge. It appeared that Molly Gallagher would be equal to the task.

When Patch saw her father pick up Nessie Gallagher, she felt sick to her stomach. Nessie had attached herself like a leech, and her pa seemed more than willing to hold the little
intruder. Patch couldn't remember the last time her father had held her in his arms like that. Not that she wanted him to, mind you. Or would let him if he tried. But he was
her
father. And she didn't intend to share him!

Patch glanced over to where Molly Gallagher Kendrick stood
barefoot
drinking punch and laughing with Ethan. For the first time, Patch admitted a grudging respect for the formidable adversary who was now her stepmother. Molly Gallagher Kendrick had gumption all right. But that didn't mean Patch had to like her—or obey her.

“I thought you said Mother wouldn't come to the wedding barefoot,” Whit muttered into Patch's ear.

Patch turned wrathful eyes on him. “A
real
lady wouldn't have come.”

“What are you saying?”

“Figure it out for yourself!”

“You take that back,” Whit hissed.

“Make me!”

Patch was spoiling for a fight, and it appeared Whit was willing to give her one. She was two years older and wiser, but he was a good three inches taller. As far as she was concerned, that made them about evenly matched. Only, when she put up her fists, Whit just laughed.

“I can't fight a girl/’ he protested.

Her knuckles rapped him in the nose and rocked his head backward.

He yelped in surprise as blood spurted down his face. “Hey! Stop that!”

Patch walloped him in the stomach with a fist, bending him over double.

Whit forgot chivalry and fell on Patch like a tomcat in an alley fight. Only, when he swung, she stepped out of his path and his fist floated through thin air. He sagged as she belted him again in the stomach. He grabbed for her and used his greater weight to force her down. He heard her cry out in pain when her head hit the wooden floor.

Abruptly, the two combatants were yanked apart. Ethan held Whit by the shoulders, while Seth pulled Patch to her feet. Reverend Adams and his wife stood staring in disapproval. Molly was stuck holding Nessie, who'd been thrust into her arms by Seth as he ran to stop the fight.

“Oh, Whit! How could you?” Molly cried.

“What's going on here?” Seth demanded in a harsh voice.

“See, Pa!” Patch said. “I warned you he'd be trouble.”

“She started it!” Whit shouted.

“I did not. I was minding my own business—”

“Liar!” Whit said.

“I am not! I—” Patch suddenly crumpled. If Seth hadn't been holding onto her, she would have fallen.

He lifted her limp body into his arms, thinking that she was pretending. But she couldn't be faking the total lack of response he now felt in her body. “She's unconscious,” he said with astonishment. “What did you do to her?” he demanded of Whit.

“I didn't do anything,” Whit said in a tremulous voice. “She hit her head when she fell.”

“A concussion?” Ethan speculated.

Molly saw that Seth was rattled. He hadn't moved, and he hadn't taken his eyes off Patch's motionless, pale face. He was acting more like a parent than a doctor. Molly found that the most encouraging sign she'd yet seen that he would make a good father for her children.

“Seth,” she said in a calming voice, “take Patch over to the settee and lay her down.” Once she got him started in the right direction, he was fine.

Molly turned to the preacher and asked, “Reverend Adams, could you and your wife
please have the hotel manager arrange for me to get a bowl of cool water and a cloth?”

As the preacher and his wife left the room, she turned to Whit and said, “Go sit down on that chair beside the settee. Tilt your head back and pinch your nose until it stops bleeding. Ethan”—Molly tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear while she thought what else needed done—”can you find Seth's medical bag?”

“It's in the buggy. I'll go get it,” he volunteered.

“What about me?” Nessie asked. “What can I do?”

“You can give me a hug,” Molly said. Nessie was more than willing to comply. Molly found the feel of Nessie's tiny arms around her neck a comfort. She could imagine the horror Seth must be experiencing as he watched over his unconscious daughter.

“Nessie, it would be a big help now if you would go and stand by Whit and make sure he keeps his head tilted back. Could you do that for me?”

“All right,” Nessie said as Molly set her down.

Within moments, the hotel parlor was bustling with people. The manager appeared with the items Molly had requested, and
Ethan delivered Seth's medical bag. Once Seth saw the bag, he seemed to wake from his shocked stupor. He checked Patch's eyes and realized that although she might have a slight concussion, it wasn't serious. Ethan knelt beside the settee, his hand gently brushing Patch's tousled hair away from her forehead in concern.

Meanwhile, Molly put the damp cloth to work cleaning the worst of the blood off Whit's face and fingers.

Seth waved some hartshorn under his daughter's nose, and the ammonia smell brought her coughing and sputtering to life. Patch's first words, once she was fully conscious, were “I want to go home, Pa.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Ethan said to Seth. “Unless you get started soon, it's going to be dark before you get there. I'll ride ahead and make sure there's a fire in the stove and some hot coffee waiting for you,” he offered.

Molly met Seth's eyes across the room, and she nodded her agreement.

“I appreciate your offer, Ethan,” Seth said. “We'll be leaving as soon as I can get the Gallaghers’ trunks loaded on the buggy.”

“I'll give you a hand,” Ethan said.

Once the two men had left the room, a pall
descended. Molly had no intention of stirring up dust that had barely settled. She took advantage of the peace and quiet to rinse her muddy feet in what was left of the bowl of water.

Mrs. Adams stared bemused for a moment before asking, “My dear, is there some reason you came barefoot to your own wedding?”

Molly wasn't about to tell her the truth, so she made up a tale. “Oh, it's an old Irish custom, Mrs. Adams.”

“It is?”

“We always start our marriages the way we intend to go on.”

“I don't understand,” the preacher's wife said.

Molly leaned over and gestured Mrs. Adams closer so she could whisper in her ear, “Barefoot and pregnant.”

Mrs. Adams gasped and drew back from Molly as though she were contagious.

“Of course, I'm not in the family way,” Molly explained, finding it hard to keep a straight face. “But with Seth being such a virile man, I'm sure it won't be long before I am.”

Flustered beyond words, Mrs. Adams excused herself and left the room.

Molly looked up at Him and asked for forgiveness. Then she used the peace and quiet to open the package Ethan had given her. She smiled with delight when she discovered that besides shoes—a delicate pair of kid boots with patent leather tops—he had also purchased white stockings. And he hadn't lied. Both shoes and stockings were a perfect fit.

Ethan Hawk was obviously a man who knew a lot about women. He had made her feel perfectly at ease from the first moment she had met him. She wasn't a tenth so comfortable with the man she had just married. Whenever she got near Seth, she felt a strange tension, a feeling of expectation, of excitation, that she couldn't explain. Molly hoped that as she and Seth got to know each other, these inexplicable feelings of agitation would ease.