The Wren Read online

  As Matt left the room, he lingered on Molly’s lovely face. A slight sunburn reddened the freckles scattered across her petite nose. Her blue eyes watched him with apprehension and concern, undoubtedly cloaked with thoughts of the past.

  A past unresolved, full of pain and loss and heartbreak.

  Molly’s heartbreak, he told himself. What he had felt then—what he felt now—was secondary to the welfare of the woman before him.

  The woman.

  No longer the little girl who had lived for years in his memories, she was a real flesh-and-blood woman who tugged at him in ways others never had. He didn’t understand it, but angry common sense refused to let him dwell on the remarkable significance of her return into his life.

  * * *

  The men decided it would be better to ride out to the location of Molly’s abduction in the morning. Cale left for the Walker ranch, but agreed to return at dawn to help them pinpoint the exact locale, since it was he who’d found little Adelaide’s body in the first place.

  Matt avoided dinner. In fact, Molly noticed Matt had managed to evade her completely since they’d returned that afternoon. She supposed he had things to attend to around the ranch. She really shouldn’t be so sensitive.

  Leaving her bedroom—she and Claire were now on the second floor in the spare rooms Susanna had recently redecorated—she tiptoed next door in her ivory nightgown and robe to Claire’s room and knocked.

  The door opened.

  “I could use some company,” Molly said. “You weren’t sleeping, were you?”

  Claire shook her head. She wore a similar gown, her blonde hair braided and hanging over one shoulder. “Come in.” She stood back from the doorway. “I was just reading a bit. Susanna has been so nice to let me borrow from the collection in Mr. Ryan’s office.”

  Molly sat down on the edge of the bed, covered by a lacy coverlet. Claire’s room was as lovely as her own, the décor very soft and inviting. A large poster bed consumed half of the floor space, opposite a stone fireplace. A dresser, two nightstands, and a narrow desk completed the furnishings. Light green cotton curtains hung across the window on the far side.

  Molly liked her room, as well as Claire’s, but felt a wistful longing for Matt’s quarters. She supposed he was back sleeping in his own bed. Best not to think about that right now.

  “How are you?” Molly asked. They hadn’t had much of a chance to talk lately.

  “Fine.”

  “Have you given any thought to returning home?”

  Sitting in a chair across from her, Claire nodded. “Yes. I’m thinking of leaving very soon.”

  “I thought as much.” Molly was surprised Claire had stayed with her as long as she had. “Do you want to talk about what happened before I found you?”

  Claire hesitated. “You have more important things to think about. Do you think Davis Walker was really responsible for the attack?”

  Molly hooked her bare heels on the frame of the bed, and rested elbows on knees, her chin in one palm. “I don’t know. That man, Whitaker, he definitely was the one who grabbed me that night. His voice was very distinct. And then Matt and I saw Davis as we were riding back last night.”

  “What happened?”

  “It was quite by accident. Matt wanted to avoid him altogether, but he saw us.”

  “Did he know who you were?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “What do you plan to do?”

  She bit her lip. “Stay here for now. I have nowhere else to go, at least not until I hear from Mary or Emma. Then, I suppose I’ll visit one of them.” Looking at Claire, she said, “If you want, I’ll return to Santa Fe with you. I owe you that, for coming here with me.”

  “Actually, I’m from a town east of Santa Fe called Las Vegas. It sits right on the Santa Fe Trail.”

  “Well, then I’ll go there with you.”

  “That’s not necessary. Mr. Ryan has arranged for one of his ranch hands to escort me. Besides, it’s very comfortable here with the Ryans. You should stay put.”

  “Yeah, comfortable,” Molly mumbled.

  “Is something wrong? Has something happened?”

  Pausing, Molly tucked her hair behind an ear. “A misunderstanding.”

  “About what?” Claire moved to sit beside her on the bed.

  “Matt and I, well, we were alone together last night, and…”

  The look of shock on her friend’s face stopped Molly short. “Oh no,” she continued, “it wasn’t like that. I mean, I think Matt thought I thought it should be like that, but it wasn’t.”

  “I’m not sure I’m following.”

  “Me neither. Do you think Matt is handsome?”

  “I suppose. Do you?”

  “I…think so.”

  “I understand.”

  “You do?” Molly wasn’t accustomed to girl-talk.

  “Have you ever been with a man before?”

  Molly shook her head. “Have you?”

  “No, but let’s just say I probably have more knowledge on this subject than you.”

  “How could that be?”

  Claire hitched her feet on the bedrails as well. “I have this dream. It’s farfetched, really.”

  “What is?”

  “I want to be a doctor.”

  “That’s not farfetched,” Molly said.

  Claire grinned sheepishly, then shook her head. “I have no money, and I’m a woman. I can’t enter medical school with either of those strikes against me. And there’s something else—I was raised in a brothel.”

  “You were?” Molly didn’t know what women in brothels acted like, but she was fairly certain quiet and soft-spoken Claire wasn’t one of them.

  “Please don’t say anything to the Ryans,” Claire said quickly.

  “Is that why you were beaten?”

  “It’s a long story. My mama runs a saloon, and…there are always men in and out. Some are the good sort. Some aren’t. Promise me you won’t tell the Ryans. They’ve been good to me, and I would hate for them to think the worst.”

  Molly squeezed her friend’s hand. “I promise.”

  Relief played across Claire’s features. “Now, back to your dilemma. From what I’ve observed, most men—men like Matt and Logan—prefer women who aren’t too fake.”

  “Too fake?” Molly frowned.

  “Well, they haven’t stuffed their gown to make their bosom appear bigger than it really is, or put so much rouge on their cheeks that they look like a candied cherry.”

  “How is this supposed to help me?”

  Blowing out a breath and leaning her chin into a palm, Claire sighed, “I have no idea. Men come to the saloon and pay for sex. It’s a pretty simple transaction. Did anything like that occur with the Comanche?”

  “Not that I know of, but then, most men claimed several wives. I suppose if a wife displeased a warrior, he would simply move on to another one.”

  “That’s convenient, for the men at least. What about the women?”

  “It wasn’t for a woman to decide,” Molly said.

  “It never is, is it?” Claire pulled her braid over her shoulder and began to fiddle with the ends. “Do you want Matt to notice you?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, there is the issue of pregnancy to consider.”

  “Pardon?” Molly asked weakly.

  “You do understand what happens between a man and a woman, don’t you?”

  Molly thought of the dogs mating in the Kwahadi camp. Of course, during harsh winters, most of those dogs were eaten. “I have some idea.”

  “If you have sex with Matt, you could become pregnant. Do you think he would marry you?”

  Molly shrugged. The thought had never occurred to her.

  “There are ways to avoid pregnancy,” Claire continued, “but men are particular about women they intend to marry. If you make love with Matt, then leave him, another man might not be so willing to wed you. Even worse, you could end up with a child
outside of matrimony.”

  So many complications, Molly realized, and none she’d considered. But perhaps Matt had. He undoubtedly had more experience in these matters.

  “But if you decide it’s still worth it, then it might not hurt to drop some bait.”

  “What do you mean?” Molly asked, intensely curious.

  “Make him want you, more than reason will allow.”

  “How?”

  Claire sighed. “Well, sex is probably at the top of most men’s desires, but you should safeguard that. To be certain, he can get that anywhere.”

  That was a disconcerting thought. A stab of jealousy of every nameless, faceless woman Matt had ever encountered, or would encounter, filled Molly.

  “What about making him jealous?” Claire asked, as if reading her thoughts.

  Molly shook her head. “I know little about attracting men, let alone making them jealous. And honestly, does that work?”

  Claire shook her head, thinking again. “Probably not. What if you play hard to get?”

  “He’s happy to avoid me of late. If I play hard to get, I may never see him again.”

  Claire laughed.

  Molly smiled, too. Nothing had changed about her situation, but she definitely felt better having talked about it with someone.

  “Maybe you should take him away, get lost in the wilderness, just the two of you,” Claire suggested. “If he can’t find his way back, he’ll be forced to rely on you. Maybe if you don’t feed him, in his weakened state he’ll realize he can’t live without you.” Claire clearly warmed to the idea.

  Molly giggled, something she hadn’t done in such a long time, not since the days with her sisters. “He’s a Ranger, Claire. How lost do you think I could make him?”

  “Maybe if he hit his head on a rock.”

  More laughter ensued.

  “Will you promise me something?” Claire asked.

  Wiping her eyes, Molly nodded.

  “Will you tell me if you find something that works?” Her friend’s expression was almost wistful. “I’d love to hear a happy ending.”

  Molly sobered. “Yeah, so would I.”

  A happy ending. Such things didn’t exist in either of their worlds.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next morning, following breakfast, they set out. Jonathan and Susanna, Logan and Claire, Cale, and Matt. Molly took the lead, but Cale helped when her memory faltered. Matt stayed close. Molly tried to ignore his presence, but he was always at her heels.

  Maybe he really did have feelings for her, Molly considered, warmed by the thought. Maybe Claire’s suggestions weren’t as ridiculous as they had sounded the previous night. Perhaps Matt simply needed nudging in the right direction. Molly dwelt on that during the long morning ride west into land that had long been the stronghold of the Comanche.

  She recognized the scenery and memories tugged at her. She wore a dark blue cotton dress with a full skirt, at Susanna’s insistence, though she found the clothing tight and somewhat constricting. Molly had the sudden urge to strip down to her chemise and ride bareback. She had done as much while with the Kwahadi. How startling it was to wish, even for a moment, that she was back with them. But the yearning was there, pulling her into a past she had thought long dismissed in her own mind.

  As Pecos climbed a low hill, Molly scanned the horizon from beneath the brim of her hat. “I think this was where the Comanche attacked.”

  “I found the girl’s body about five miles from here, to the north,” Cale said.

  Molly glanced at Cale Walker. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and as solid as Matt. His facial features were fairer, but she saw the same unyielding look in his light blue eyes. She knew he was close in age to Matt—twenty-seven, twenty-eight?—but, like Matt, he seemed much older, hardened by life and heartache. She wondered what sadness Cale carried within him.

  “Let’s spread out and have a look,” Matt suggested.

  “I think I’ll ride to where I found the body,” Cale said. “I’ll meet y’all back here.”

  “Agreed,” Matt replied. “Logan, why don’t you and Claire scout the southern part of the valley. Pa, you and Ma take the east. I’ll follow you, Molly.”

  Everyone nodded, then set off in their respective directions.

  After she and Matt had ridden for a time, they entered a thicket of juniper and mesquite trees on the valley floor. Matt moved his horse beside hers. She couldn’t help remarking, “If you’re trying to avoid me, you’re not doing a very good job of it.”

  Matt glanced at her, his gaze sharp. “I’m not trying to avoid you.”

  “You don’t have to worry. When this is all over, I’ll probably go to my Aunt Catherine’s in San Francisco. I suppose I can find myself a good husband there and have a bunch of babies. Does that reassure you?”

  She couldn’t be certain, but she thought she heard him swear under his breath. “That is what you want for me, right?” she pressed.

  “I just want you to be happy.”

  “I’m not sure happiness is a possibility anymore. Is it possible for you to be happy? What are your hopes for the future?”

  They rode in silence while he reflected on her question. At length, he finally answered, sounding somewhat bewildered. “I guess I’ve never had any long-term goals, now that I think about it.”

  “You joined the army, that was a goal,” she prompted.

  “In a way.”

  “What about the Rangers?”

  “It served a purpose.”

  “Which was?”

  “To help the helpless.”

  “That’s an admirable dream,” she said.

  He shook his head. She took the chance to steal a good look at him. Steadfast and powerful, he was a force to be reckoned with, and he was so easy on the eyes that it made her heart ache. The strong lines of his profile, the lanky ease of his body as he rode—the visions burned themselves into her head and her heart. He was but a dream to her, a dream of masculine strength and beauty, a man and a vision of a man. So close, yet completely out of her reach.

  “For the last ten years, Molly,” his eyes met hers, “I think I’ve been running from you.”

  His admission confused her. “I don’t understand.”

  “When I thought you died,” he said slowly, precisely, “something inside of me died. We were friends back then, I think you know I cared a great deal about you. You can’t imagine how devastated I was when Cale brought that body back, when everyone thought you’d died in such an inhumane and agonizing way. It killed something inside of me. And for ten years, I’ve run from it, trying to hold it at bay, trying to keep it from tormenting me.” In a ragged breath, he uttered, “The guilt tore me apart.”

  Molly listened and began to understand. It filled her heart, knowing how much he’d cared, but emptiness followed close behind, because it was clear now why he would never touch her.

  “I won’t use you to heal my wounds. You’ve suffered enough, but I’ll do everything in my power to help you find your own happiness.” His words and his gaze pierced her.

  What had happened to him? It was as if he believed in nothing anymore.

  “You’re wrong,” she said angrily, refusing to let the damn man off so easily. “I suppose it’s true I’ve suffered, but not as much as you. Despite everything, I still believe in the power of the human spirit. You obviously don’t anymore. And if that’s true, then you’re not the Matt I remember, because the Matt I knew would never give up. He would’ve lived life, embraced it. There is cruelty in the world—I suspect you’ve seen far more of it than I have—but what’s the point in living if we let it beat us? You asked me how I survived all these years. It really boils down to one word—hope. Without that, I would have lain down and died during those early days with the Comanche. But I refused to accept that. And I came back.”

  “But to something much different than you thought,” Matt said, his tone frustrated.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “That’s true.
But the Kwahadi did teach me something. The world is ever-changing. The land, the seasons, they always brought something new. If you couldn’t adapt, you died. It was as simple as that. You can’t fear change.”

  But what she saw in his eyes was fear. “What happened to you?” she demanded, startled by her own level of resentment with him. “Why are you so afraid?”

  “If you must know, it’s not fear, it’s regret. You come back and throw my entire life upside down. You look at me with the innocent longing of a child.”

  “I’m not a child,” she replied abruptly.

  “That’s the problem. I’m doing my damnedest to do right by you, but you’re determined to needle me about it.”

  “So, I’m nothing more than a pest to you?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  It was childish, but Molly kicked Pecos into a gallop and left Matt behind. It would seem they couldn’t even have a conversation anymore without arguing.

  As Pecos broke through the surrounding brush, she abruptly reared, nearly throwing Molly to the ground. Holding tight, Molly glimpsed a flurry of movement, animals everywhere. Pecos took off at a dead run.

  Molly thought it was a bear she saw. Yipping and barking filled the air. Chancing a look over her shoulder she saw not a bear but a stampede of cattle behind her, behind them a pack of coyote or wolves at their heels. Pecos darted back and forth, avoiding cactus and brush. Molly’s hat went flying from her head. The frightened animals continued running hard.

  Gunshots rang out but Molly couldn’t be certain from which direction. Pecos ran at breakneck speed to the south. On a slight rise before her, Molly saw Logan and Claire still atop their horses, watching her. Claire, her brown riding dress blurring with that of her chestnut-colored mount, was trying to contain her agitated horse while Logan aimed a rifle in Molly’s direction.

  “Get down!” he was yelling. “Get out of the way!”

  Molly would have tried, but she had little control over the path her horse chose. The animal ran on pure instinct. Without warning, Pecos cut to the left, throwing Molly to the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of her, but she struggled to stand, aware she was in danger afoot.