The Wren Read online

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Matt said quietly, “but Molly is Molly Hart.”

  “Molly Hart?” Logan questioned, bewilderment clear on his face. “The same Molly Hart who was killed years ago?”

  Matt nodded slowly.

  “How the hell can that be?” Logan asked in disbelief.

  “I’ll tell you what I know, but keep it to yourself. I doubt Molly wants the past floating around.”

  Matt had told his pa everything earlier in the evening because he felt his father needed to know, and now he’d tell Logan because he knew he could trust him to keep his mouth shut. Hatred toward the Indians still ran deep in this area of Texas despite the fact the Comanche and Kiowa were no longer a threat. Sometimes such disgust rubbed off onto captives trying to live once again amongst their own people.

  Matt never quite understood it. Captives were often in bad shape, physically as well as mentally, and it didn’t help when the family and friends that desperately sought their return couldn’t handle what had happened to them. Especially when the captives were women.

  When Matt finished the story of Molly’s return to the living, Logan shook his head in amazement.

  “An empty saddle is better than a mean rider,” Logan said.

  Matt looked at him, confused.

  “That’s what I always thought about Davis Walker,” he elaborated. “He was always too stinkin’ mean to his horses. Someone should’ve told him so years ago. But Cale, Joey and T.J. had other things to worry about, I suppose, than puttin’ their daddy in his place.”

  “I’ll agree Walker isn’t the most upstanding citizen, but then none of us is a saint in these parts.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Logan grinned.

  “When I think of a saint, you’re definitely at the top of the list,” Matt said. Then, more seriously, “The big question is why? Why would Davis Walker hire a posse to attack the Harts, kill them and take Molly? The only motive we have is that he was supposedly sweet on Molly’s mother.”

  “Sounds like enough to me. I’ve seen worse crimes prompted by a lot less.”

  “Yeah,” Matt said tiredly, “so have I.” He just hated to think Walker could have done it. He knew the possibility weighed heavy on his pa as well.

  “Have you talked to Pa yet?” Logan asked.

  “Earlier. He didn’t have any ready explanations. He wanted to talk to Ma because he thought she might remember something. He did say Davis was never really himself after his wife died in childbirth.”

  “T.J.?” Logan asked, arching an eyebrow.

  Matt nodded.

  “Guess that would explain T.J.’s self-indulgent bent. His mama wasn’t around to set him straight.”

  “Self-indulgence is probably one of T.J.’s better qualities,” Matt said grimly.

  “Well, you’ve managed to surprise the hell out of me, and that doesn’t happen too often these days.”

  “Let’s get some sleep.” Matt stretched out on the couch. “We can figure out how to handle this tomorrow.”

  Logan sighed. “Something tells me I’m gonna be on this floor for a while. We should move to the bunkhouse until Ma finishes redecorating those rooms upstairs.”

  “Getting soft in your old age?”

  “No, just realistic. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed there are two young and pretty women sleeping in our beds right now?”

  “Stay away from Molly.” Matt’s voice was quiet, but laced with an unspoken threat. Until the words were out, he hadn’t realized how possessive he felt towards her. Taking a calming breath, he added, “Sorry, that didn’t come out right. I’m just thinking we need to look out for her until she gets settled somewhere. There must be a few young ranch hands around these parts that might make a suitable husband for her.”

  Logan raised an eyebrow. “You’re lookin’ to find her a husband?” He laughed. “When did you become her guardian angel? Because I gotta tell ya, Matt, you weren’t lookin’ at her like an angel a few minutes ago.” Logan’s drawl always increased when he talked nice but was leveling a punch where you least expected it.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothin’,” Logan shrugged. “But I’m not blind, and I know you sure as hell aren’t. I saw her standing there only wearing one of your shirts. You want to find her a husband? I don’t think that’ll be a problem. But you’d better make damn sure what you want before you start tryin’ to take control of her life.”

  “What I want isn’t at issue here. She’s been through hell. I intend to make sure her life is nothing but better from this point on.”

  “I think I’m gonna enjoy this,” Logan said, lying down on the floor.

  “Enjoy what?”

  Logan laughed again. “Watching you play matchmaker.”

  “Go to sleep.”

  His brother chuckled one last time before falling silent.

  Chapter Eight

  Molly awoke, sunlight shining through the windows. She was restless after her late-night run-in with Matt, not just because of her new awareness of him but also the fact that she hadn’t slept in a bed in ten years. It was entirely too soft. Throwing a blanket on the floor, she’d finally found sleep in the early-morning hours on the firm wooden planks.

  The images that had filled her dreams came back to her. She was at her folks’ ranch, before the night when everything had changed in a heartbeat. In the afternoon sun, she was hanging on the side of the corral, Emma beside her. Emma’s dark curls were so beautiful in the sunlight, and Molly couldn’t resist twisting them around her finger in the dream.

  It’s so good to be with you again, Emma.

  Her sister had smiled up at her, one of her cheeks dimpling. Emma’s dimple always appeared when she was very happy. The smile warmed Molly’s heart. Then a rider appeared in the corral. It was Matt, and he was trying to break a horse. Only Matt wasn’t young as he had been that summer ten years ago. This time he was older, like he was now.

  Remembering the dream made her heart ache for Emma. So much time lost. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be long before she was able to see her again. Molly rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the last fog of slumber from her mind.

  Susanna had left a simple dark brown dress at the foot of the bed, along with several white undergarments. Molly pulled on stockings, bloomers, and a light petticoat, then shrugged into a shift, buttoning here and there, slightly confused by it all. Not since she was a young girl had she dressed in this manner. Soon, the garment was in place.

  Amused to look like a female again, she twisted her hips, causing the skirt to twirl back and forth around her ankles. It had been ten years since she’d worn anything like this. The thought brought a lump to her throat and her eyes burned.

  Molly took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to cry. Reaching for her boots, she noticed how faded and dirty they were. But it was all she owned. She pulled them on, knowing they appeared mismatched with the dress, and wondered why she cared. Matt. She cared how she looked to Matt.

  Before she could dwell on that thought further, she shifted attention to her hair. It was hanging in disarray around her face. It still wasn’t as long as she would have liked, since Elijah had always insisted she keep it short during the time she’d been with him. She started to pull the curly mass behind her head then let it back down in frustration. Her experience in doing her hair in a way that might appeal to others amounted to nothing.

  In a way that might appeal to men.

  In a way that might appeal to Matt.

  Molly let out a breath of frustration. She was acting foolish. It was likely Matt would hardly notice her at all.

  Opening the bedroom door, she walked toward the front of the house. Hearing voices in the large parlor room, she paused at the threshold before entering. The conversation abruptly ended and everyone turned to stare at her. Heat crept up her neck, and her face felt flush.

  Susanna and Claire stood off to her right, Logan and Matt to her left. Matt was visible from t
he corner of her eye but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze, so instead she focused on the older man standing directly across the room from her. Molly knew it was Matt’s father, although she remembered seeing him only once or twice as a child.

  An imposing figure, Jonathan Ryan’s height equaled his sons, his shoulders just as broad, but his wrinkled face and gray hair showed the years he’d spent battling the land. His blue-green eyes—so much like Matt’s—settled on her, and his expression softened. Molly’s throat tightened as her emotions began to fall apart.

  “Molly,” Jonathan said quietly. “God Almighty. I’ve never seen someone rise from the dead, but your pa always said you had as much grit as the boys. I guess I’m not surprised you survived. Welcome home, child.”

  Molly hands shook so she hid them in the folds of her dress, twisting her fingers around the soft material.

  Jonathan walked over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You’re welcome here as long as you like,” he said gruffly.

  With a pounding heart, Molly nodded. Clearing her throat, she finally found her voice. “It’s good to see you again, sir.” It sounded as if she were a frog attempting to talk.

  Jonathan released his hold on her. “You must be hungry. Let’s get everyone some breakfast, then we can talk more.”

  Molly glanced at Claire, observing she too wore a dress, cream-colored, with her blonde hair tied with a ribbon. Claire was quite lovely but Molly felt like an unkempt rag doll.

  As everyone walked toward the dining room, Logan approached. He quickly gave her a hug, her stiff body swept awkwardly into the embrace.

  “I didn’t know who you were last night,” he said, his voice and eyes full of warmth. “I guess saying ‘It’s good to see you’ is a bit of an understatement.”

  She pulled back, beginning to relax.

  “I knew it was you last night,” she said. “You and Matt look too much alike.” Logan released her and stepped aside because Matt suddenly filled the space between them.

  Molly chanced a glance at him finally—her breath catching at the forcefulness of his gaze on her—and was surprised to see he was annoyed. She guessed it was from her appearance.

  “Yeah, but I’m the good-lookin’ one,” Logan drawled.

  Molly grinned, unable to stop the spontaneous gesture. Logan had always been easy enough to get along with, and that obviously hadn’t changed. In the next moment, however, Matt ushered him away, putting his hand on the small of her back and guiding her across the hallway to the dining room. The touch made her smile vanish.

  Matt’s presence was something she’d never considered during the days and nights—the endless weeks—that she’d contemplated returning home. She had certainly hoped to see him, but in all honesty, she’d imagined him how he was. The man who touched her now was an altogether different story, as was her reaction to him.

  Part of her wanted to turn toward him, lean close, close enough to be surrounded by his scent—soap and sun and a more subtle masculine smell—and blanket his strength around her. The other part of her wanted to run and never look back. These yearnings she was beginning to develop for him would only get her heart into trouble. Despite her inexperience with men, she knew that much for certain.

  Protecting herself from attachments had made surviving the last ten years bearable—almost. Nothing, and no one, had ever remained constant in her life.

  So much had changed, and it was clear that in no time, she’d be on her way again. She had thought Texas was her destination, but her home was no longer here. Her folks were dead, their ranch abandoned, and her sisters gone. Nothing remained except to deal with Davis Walker.

  “The only thing you’re better looking than is an armadillo,” Matt said as they entered the dining room.

  Pulling out a chair for Molly, he directed Claire into the one beside her, then he and Logan sat across from them. Jonathan settled before a large window—bright sunlight filled the room with the promise of a new day—and Susanna was opposite him at the other end. The large table, made of a dark wood with intricate carvings around the edge, was filled with shiny white plates and silverware that was clean and straight. The matching chairs were broad and heavy. A long table sat against one wall and a tall china cabinet guarded the other, filled with glasses and tableware that made Molly feel apprehensive. Eating had never been such a complicated affair for her. The previous night she and Claire had eaten in the kitchen with Susanna, suiting Molly perfectly well.

  “I’ve always thought armadillos were handsome little fellas,” Logan replied blandly.

  A sudden thought occurred to Molly. “Claire, have you been introduced to Logan?”

  “Yes,” Claire answered, leveling a cool gaze at Matt’s brother. “Just before you came in.”

  Logan grinned, then winked.

  Molly was surprised to see Claire’s cheeks become pink. Rarely did Claire react to anything.

  “Did you sleep well?” she asked quietly, leaning close to the young woman who had become her travelling companion. But Molly suspected Claire’s presence was temporary, as were all relationships in her life.

  “Yes. I was fine.”

  Molly’s discomfort was probably not half as much as what Claire was experiencing, being in a strange place with people she didn’t know.

  Matt and Logan bumped elbows as they started to eat, with Logan getting in an extra jab just for good measure.

  “I keep forgetting you’re a lefty.” Exasperated, Matt dodged another elbow. “But you don’t seem to have a problem forgetting I’m older than you.”

  “I can take you,” Logan boasted over a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “Anytime, anyplace. You name the day.”

  Susanna leaned toward Molly and Claire. “Just when I think they’re grown adult men they remind me I haven’t lost my boys yet.” Then, in a louder voice, “Will the two of you switch seats?”

  Matt moved and sat directly across from Molly. She glanced up and caught him watching her. She almost dropped her fork.

  “There’s something I’ve wanted to know all these years,” said Logan, “and now that you’re here, Molly, maybe you can answer it for me. During the summer when we were all at your pa’s ranch, who exactly stole all my clothes one afternoon after we’d broken a bunch of horses and gone swimming in the holding pond?”

  Molly coughed, swallowing her eggs with effort. “Well,” she hesitated, “that would have been Emma.”

  “Emma?” Logan asked, astonished. “Little seven- or eight-year-old Emma?”

  “My little sister,” Molly said in an aside to Claire.

  “And the sweetest little girl you could ever meet,” Matt added. “I wonder who gave her the idea to steal Logan’s clothing.” He looked directly at Molly.

  “You can’t blame me for that one,” she said defensively. “It was all her idea. Although, she might’ve had some help from Joey or Cale.”

  Susanna laughed. “What happened?”

  “Mrs. Hart eventually took pity on me and threw me a bed linen,” Logan said.

  Molly cleared her throat. “There might have been another reason Emma did it, now that I think about it. Both of us heard talk of your…well, that you have a mark, on a certain place on your body. A birthmark? I think Emma might’ve been overly curious.”

  Susanna smiled. “Yes, he was born with it. Matthew has one too,” she added conversationally.

  Matt and Logan both turned a dark shade of red. Although Logan’s birthmark didn’t interest her, she couldn’t help but wonder what Matt’s looked like, and where exactly it was located. She supposed she now had a blush to match everyone else’s.

  Molly remembered she wanted to ask Jonathan and Susanna about the death of her folks. Matt must have sensed her thoughts.

  “Have you and ma talked about the night the Harts died?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Jonathan set his coffee cup down, his expression becoming grim, and looked at Molly. “I wish I could tell you something more specific, bu
t the truth is, we were all devastated by what happened. There was no reason to suspect anyone your folks knew.” Pausing, he sighed. “Least of all Davis Walker. Although it did seem odd to me at the time that he didn’t help us investigate what happened, and he didn’t offer to help search for you. But then again, Matthew was out searching day and night.”

  “You were?” Molly’s attention shifted to Matt. “I thought you said Cale found the girl who was killed.”

  “That’s true,” Jonathan said. “Matthew got himself so worn out I nearly had to tie him down to get him to rest. That was when Cale found the body we thought was yours.”

  She supposed Matt’s perseverance shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. His eyes, ever shifting from light blue to a gray-green, met hers. For a moment, she sensed how hard it had been on him all those years ago, trying to find her and failing. She wanted to say something to him but couldn’t find the words.

  Instead, she turned to Susanna, sitting beside her. “Did my mama ever confide in you?”

  The older woman hesitated. “Well, no, not really. Matthew told us about the letter you have from Davis, written to her. I’m not sure if you ever knew this, but your mother was engaged to Davis before she married your father.”

  Stunned, Molly murmured, “I had no idea.”

  “Why didn’t anyone ever say anything?” Matt asked.

  “Well,” Susanna responded, “it just never seemed appropriate to talk about. It was in the past, after all. When we all lived in Virginia, Davis and Robert were good friends. When Rosemary became involved with Robert, an obvious strain was put on that friendship. But things seemed to sort themselves when Davis married Loretta. Of course, now that I think about it, it was strange that Davis settled so near to the Harts when we came out here to Texas.”

  Molly thought of the letter she’d retrieved from her survival kit. Had her mother been involved with Davis again while in Texas? Had she still felt something for him? But she was gone now, along with the truth about what happened all those years ago.

  But Davis Walker still lived. What would he say if she were to ask him about it? Molly decided if it came to that, she would.