Love on the Range (Brothers in Arms #3)(18)

Wyatt listened and wondered.

“You should ask her about it.” Cheyenne shook her head while she gave advice.

Wyatt didn’t think she noticed her head shaking, but he figured her head was being more honest than her mouth. “You never want to talk about anything that upsets you. Molly won’t either.”

It was hard being the youngest. As the man, he should’ve been the leader of his home, but Ma and Cheyenne were both stronger and smarter and faster at everything than him.

And now here he was asking his big sister personal questions. He said, “I know she’s too skilled at healing.”

“Did she learn that during the war?” Falcon asked.

“I don’t know. Around the farm, I think. Were her parents hurt because of the war? How did they die? Was it in the war, or were they killed by men taking revenge on her pa’s night riding?”

“Maybe Kevin would talk about it,” Falcon said.

“I’m not talking to Kevin.” Wyatt didn’t know a thing about sparkin’. But he knew sure as shooting that talking to Kevin would be stupid.

“Maybe Win knows,” Cheyenne said. “I could ask her.”

That sounded like a good idea. Wyatt wouldn’t have to do any more talking. He was worn clean out from all this talking.

“If she’s determined not to marry, I doubt you can change her mind. Prob’ly best to give up and go looking elsewhere for a woman.” Falcon shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Big brother, you’re not a lot of help. Between possum skinning and giving up, I should’ve just gone out looking for stray cows to herd in.” Wyatt decided to do that right now.

“Now, Wyatt, let me talk to Win. I can at least ask. And you know what? You oughta take Molly somewhere. Take her riding.”

“Too cold.”

“Take her to town for a meal at the diner. You could do that today.”

“She’s a better cook than Hogback.” The man who owned the diner called himself that and nothing else. No one knew his name.

Everyone knew he was a terrible cook.

“Um . . . I don’t know where a man takes a woman here to court her.” Cheyenne scratched her head. “I’ll talk to Win and give some thought to how to woo Molly. In the meantime, it’s cold, either come and help me sweep out the cabin or go home.”

Falcon turned to the woods, his ax slung over his shoulder. Cheyenne gave Wyatt a kiss on the cheek. Something she’d hardly ever done before. Well, maybe when he was little, and maybe when he’d been shot, but he’d been mostly out of his head with fever so he wasn’t sure.

“You’re going soft, Cheyenne.” He kissed her back.

He heard her chuckling softly as he swung up on his horse. She was halfway back to the cabin by the time he rode out of the yard. Back to the home he’d just run away from.

Molly’s parents.

Her pa was no great pillar of decency. What did that even mean?

Then he thought, if he asked her about her parents, she could ask him about Clovis. And Clovis Hunt was a sidewinder if ever there was one. He’d also broken Wyatt’s heart regularly when he was little, until Wyatt learned not to care. Or at least not to show he cared.

Did he have the nerve to ask her?

And if she asked back, did he have the nerve to answer?





Nine




Molly enjoyed cooking with a well-stocked pantry, and the RHR had a fine stove. But she’d just run off to town, and her excuse had been that she wanted to do some other job. Now here she stood, sliding a baked chicken out of the oven and sliding a pan of cinnamon rolls in.

An oversized rooster had fallen into her hands this afternoon, one who’d taken to sleeping in the rafters of the barn and had thereby escaped plucking. She’d made him up like a Thanksgiving turkey with stuffing.

Lifting the lid off the roasting pan, she saw the bird was done and browned perfectly. It would be ready to serve at the same time the cinnamon rolls came out of the oven. She had potatoes boiling, soon to be mashed. There were carrots, baked and glazed. It was a fine meal, and she enjoyed thinking of the nice fuss they’d make of it.

Win and Kevin would come, she’d asked them specially. She doubted Cheyenne and Falcon would be back, but there was plenty if they made the long ride. It wasn’t impossibly long, but long enough if they were in the middle of repairing the cabin.

Andy, he liked it too much with the working men.

And Wyatt. She paused. Instead of lifting the chicken from the pan, she touched her lips. She could still feel the kiss. The heat of it. The intrigue. The sweetness.

Shaking her head, she said out loud, “No. I’m not getting married.”

Not that Wyatt had asked. No, he’d run like a scared rabbit.

But if he had, the answer was no. She had no wish for marriage. No interest in binding herself to a man. Her own pa was reason enough. Her ma marrying badly twice made it worse. And knowing how a man could steal a woman’s property was the final blow. She had plans to work, teach school. Starting next Monday, she’d be earning money, and it would be hers to keep. Maybe in a couple of years, when she was twenty-one, she could homestead, build a small cabin. Kevin and Andy would help her. If there was a place near Bear Claw Pass left to claim, she could work as the schoolmarm and set up a decent kitchen at her own home and cook for herself.