Love on the Range (Brothers in Arms #3)(30)

And besides that worry, when she’d crept around the house at night, she’d worn her nightgown. In the event that Mr. Hawkins came down and found her, it would be easier to use the excuse of a sleepless night. Tonight, she did the same, but it felt so wrong to greet Wyatt in her nightgown that she wore her dress beneath it and a robe over it. Since the dress barely fit beneath the nightgown, she felt as puffed up as a stuffed turkey.

Wyatt tapped on the glass. Her heart pounding, listening for any sign Mr. Hawkins was awake, she slid open her window and let Wyatt in.

He clambered in, and she shut the window to keep out the cold night air. He took two steps, and his heavy boots creaked loudly on the floor. He froze.

“Take them off and leave them in here,” she whispered.

Nodding, he pulled them off and set them under the window.

They slipped out of the room, through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the office.

It stood empty. The fireplace cold, not a spark of light anywhere.

Molly moved carefully around the furniture in the room and closed the heavy drapes, then lit her lantern.

Without speaking, she pushed the painting aside. It swung easily, and she held it there to reveal the safe. The painting was large, a landscape signed by someone named Thomas Moran. Mr. Hawkins had told Molly how valuable the painting was, how important the artist was, he went on and on. But as he did that about near everything, she assumed he was boasting. It was a beautiful picture, but for heaven’s sake, no picture could cost that much.

Wyatt had a slip of paper in his hand. The safe combinations Hobart had given them.

Working silently, he turned the dial this way and that, then he reached for a handle and twisted. Something clunked, and the safe began to open.

A board creaked overhead. They both froze.

“Douse the lantern,” Wyatt whispered.

Boards creaked again. It might have been the sound of a foot on one of the stair treads.

Wyatt swung the door shut, spinning the dial he’d used to open it, and slid the picture back into place before grabbing her hand and rushing for the study door. “We have to get you back to your room in case he checks on you for some reason.”

Molly hurried along on Wyatt’s heels. She breathed a prayer of relief that Wyatt had shed his boots. They’d’ve never been able to move silently and quickly if he had them on. They reached her room as the footsteps on the stairs became steadier. Mr. Hawkins made no attempt to be quiet, and why would he? He wasn’t sneaking around anywhere.

“Get in bed.”

Wyatt rushed for the window.

“No, he’ll notice the cold even if you get out and get it shut.”

Wyatt’s face was visible in the moonlight, and he took a frantic look at the door.

She took off her robe as the footsteps came steadily for her room, leapt into bed, dragged the blankets over her, and rested her head on the pillow. “Take your boots and hide.”

Wyatt grabbed them and dove around her bed. She heard a solid thud, not unlike someone hitting their head on the underside of a bed.

A firm knock sounded at her door, and Wyatt quit moving. Near as she could tell, he quit breathing.

She saw lantern light beneath her door.

The knock sounded again. “Molly, I’m sorry to wake you.”

But for all he said he was sorry, he’d sure enough done it. Had he heard her moving around? What could he possibly want?

“I’m afraid I’m having a bit of trouble sleeping.”

He snored like a bull. He’d been fully asleep. And why did he think sharing his sleeplessness with her was a good idea?

“I’m coming.” She donned the robe again, still over her nightgown-covered dress. She tied the belt in a firm knot and hurried to the door to swing it open just a couple of inches.

“A sleepless night can be upsetting.” She didn’t know quite what else to say. Was that why he’d shared this news with her? He didn’t want to be upset alone?

“I have a tea that helps me sleep. The chamomile in the white tin canister. Brew me a cup, and bring it to my room.” He said neither please nor thank you, and he didn’t apologize again. Instead, he turned and headed straight back upstairs.

She frowned as he headed away, taking the light with him. She was supposed to brew tea for him? As if he were incapable of that? And bring it to his room?

Molly thought of what Rachel had told her to expect.

“He’ll ask you to do things he could so obviously do for himself that it’s strange he doesn’t. Things like asking you to pour his coffee when the coffeepot is sitting right in front of him. And he’ll expect you to do it quickly. He comments on it if you’re not grateful and demure. Mostly, he wants you to do as you’re told, and if you don’t, he expresses displeasure, first mildly, then with increasing severity. He is frightening.”

“You’re not going up there.” Wyatt had somehow gotten up and come to her side. He spoke in a whisper, but that didn’t disguise his anger. “You’re not going into his room in the middle of the night in your nightclothes.”

“No, I am most certainly not.” She considered what it might mean to defy Mr. Hawkins. “I’ll take it and set it on the table that’s just outside his door. I’ll knock, tell him it’s out there, and leave.”

She said it all, outraged at Hawkins’s nerve, as she stood there beside Wyatt in her nightclothes in her bedroom.