Marrying Molly Page 5

  "Dixie," said Rosie. "She's your daughter. What do you think?"

  Dixie smiled her secret smile at Ray, who sat sipping coffee in his favorite spot at the end of the counter. Ray gave her a wink. "Molly said she wouldn't marry him, didn't she?"

  "Well, yeah, so?" Lena rattled her own cup.

  Dixie filled it. "If Molly says she's not marrying him, then it doesn't matter a bit what Tate Bravo does or anybody says. She won't be marrying him. It's as simple as that."

  "But that is plain stupid," Lena declared, rising and laying her money on the counter. "Why have a baby without a husband if you don't have to?" Lena bit her pretty lip. Everyone knew she had to be thinking about her twin sister, Lori Lee. But then she covered her own discomfort with, "No offense, Dixie." Dixie's beatific smile only widened. "None taken. And it just may be that I, personally, agree with you. But like I said, what I think or you think isn't what matters. It's Molly's decision and so far anyway, she has said no."

  Molly had just climbed into bed and turned out the light when the tap came at the window that faced the front walk. Her first thought was Tate, and she scowled into the darkness. If he kept this up, she would be looking into getting a restraining order on him. Just because he thought he had to marry her wasn't any excuse for the man to turn stalker.

  But then there was another tap—as soft and cautious as the first.

  Hmm. Soft and cautious. Not Tate's style. More like...

  Molly slid from her bed and went to pull back the curtain. Dixie stood on the other side, smiling. She held up a brown bag with the neck of a liquor bottle sticking out of it and smiled wider.

  Molly pushed up the window. "You know, you could have just—" Dixie cut her short by putting a finger to her lips. Molly finished in a whisper, "—come to the door."

  Dixie shook her big platinum-blond head of hair and whispered back, "Hon, I don't need to hear your granny go on about my sweet Ray-boy and me getting married. She wears me out, and I'm just not up for it tonight, you know?" She waved the bottle some more, causing her chunky charm bracelet—silver balls dripping with pink plastic hearts—to rattle in a cheerful kind of way. The scent of White Diamonds, Dixie's favorite perfume, wafted in through the screen. "Can I come in?"

  "What's in the bottle?"

  "Jack Black, baby girl—and I don't mean the movie star."

  "Didn't you hear? I'm pregnant."

  Dixie made a big show of rolling her eyes. "Oh, I heard. All day long, I heard."

  Though Molly had never been much of a drinker, getting blotto right then did hold some appeal. But no. She had to think of the baby. "No liquor for me."

  "Well, that's fine." Dixie leaned a little closer to the screen. "I pretty much figured you'd say that. But you know how I am. Never had a problem with being the only one drinkin'."

  Molly unhitched the screen and held it up. Dixie handed Molly the bottle and swung a leg over the sill, and Molly thought fondly about all the times she'd watched her mother climb through the window in the middle of the night.

  Once she'd slithered inside, Dixie straightened her short, tight skirt, tugged on her tank top and then held out her hand. Molly gave her back her bottle. Dixie grabbed it by the neck, still in the bag. She screwed off the top and took a swig. Scrunching up her face tight, she swallowed. "Ungh!" she exclaimed, pounding her chest with a fist. "Ooo-wa!" And then she put her hand over her mouth and giggled. "Oops. Too loud," she whispered. "Mustn't forget your granny."

  "Good thinking," Molly said dryly.

  "Jack Black," Dixie murmured contentedly as she recapped the bottle, "really hits the spot." Bracelet rattling, she grabbed Molly's hand. "Come on. Let's sit." They both perched on the edge of the bed. "So, now. How're you holding up?"

  "I'm getting by."

  Dixie smoothed Molly's hair and gently cupped her chin. "You look kinda tired, baby."

  "Yeah. Guess I am. It's all starting to get to me. Endless advice from any and everyone who comes in the shop. And some of the women in town are disappointed in me for sleeping with Tate in the first place, when he's the main one standing in the way of all the good things I want to do as mayor. Those women have let me know, in no uncertain terms, that they consider my having had sex with Tate to be nothing short of a betrayal of all I'm supposed to be standing for."

  "Oh, pooh on them. They are just jealous. Tate Bravo is untamed and all man. Just let him crook a finger at any one of them. You'd better believe the chosen one would be naked and flat on her back faster than chain lightning with a link snapped." Dixie snapped her fingers high and sharp, just to show how fast that might be.

  "Tate." Molly was shaking her head. "He's most of my problem. He keeps popping up out of nowhere to order me to marry him. He didn't show up today, but he might as well have. I stayed on edge every minute just worrying he might."

  "So you're saying you don't—" Dixie paused to take another belt from her bottle, screw up her face and swallow "—want to marry him, right?" Molly looked away. "Well, do you or don't you?"

  "It would never work."

  Dixie took her face and guided it back around. Molly pushed her hand away. Dixie sighed. "You planning on answering my question? Sometime soon would be nice."

  "I can't answer it."

  "Because...?"

  "Since it's not gonna work, it doesn't matter what I want."

  Dixie looked kind of thoughtful. "So," she said, and paused for yet another big gulp. "You do care for him, then. Am I right?"

  Molly hung her head and nodded.

  Dixie's whisper got softer. "But the way he's been acting, he's not reassuring you that he would make a decent husband?"

  Molly shrugged. "I guess. And then there's me. You know how I am. I do like to run things. And I have no idea at all about how to try to be a wife."

  "Well, baby, some things you just do, you know? You learn as you go."

  Molly looked straight at her mother. "It isn't going to work. Let's talk about something else, okay?"

  Dixie giggled—but softly, ever-mindful that Granny shouldn't know she was there. She leaned close to Molly and whispered in her ear. "I know! I've been meaning to ask you. Be my maid of honor?"

  Molly grunted out a scoffing sound and put her hand on her stomach. "Some maid."

  Dixie grabbed her hand and kissed it. "Oh, silly girl. Who's a virgin at thirty, anyway?"

  "I was...for a month or so."

  Dixie let go of Molly's hand—and then wrapped her arm around Molly's shoulders. She gave a squeeze. "Say you will."

  Molly looked up at her mother, smelling White Diamonds again—-and the heady scent of Tennessee whiskey, as well. "You know I will."

  "That's my baby." Dixie gave Molly's shoulder another squeeze. "And I might not have been much use to you while you were growing up, but maybe I can help now. I think I will have a little talk with that man of yours."

  Molly pulled out of her mother's embrace. "He's not my man—and you better not."

  "Is that a 'please don't'?"

  "It's a 'why waste your breath!'"

  Pink plastic hearts clattered together as Dixie raised her bottle of Jack Black high. "Baby, give your mama just a little bit of credit."

  It was after eleven at night when the doorbell rang. Tate was in his study going over some of the accounts. Miranda had long since retired to the apartment over the garages that she shared with Jesse.

  So Tate got up, turned off the alarm and answered the door himself. It was Molly's mother, Dixie O'Dare.

  "Tate Bravo, I was wondering if I might have a word with you."

  Since his study was right off the entry, he ushered her in there. "Sit down." He gestured to the sitting area.

  "Thank you." Dixie smiled that pretty smile of hers, but didn't move beyond the doorway. In her mid-forties, she was still a woman who turned heads. She had that fine, sweet smile and the kind of figure that got men thinking things they shouldn't. "Thank you," she said. "But I think I'll stand."

  Tate went over
to the liquor cart in the corner. "Drink?"

  Molly's mother licked her full pink lips. She had a woozy look. Tate guessed she'd already had a few. "Better not," she said. "But thank you."

  "Well, then. What can I do for you...?" Uncertain about how to address her, he let the question trail off.

  "Dixie," she helpfully provided. "You just go ahead and call me Dixie."

  "Dixie," he repeated, returning her smile, wishing that Molly could be half as agreeable as her mother.

  "So,-Tate..."

  "Yeah?"

  "I heard you want to marry my Molly."

  He went around and dropped into his studded leather swivel chair. "That's right. Molly's having my child, and I'm going to marry her."

  "Molly says you're not."

  He sat forward. "Molly is wrong."

  "See?" said Dixie. "See there, that's your problem. You're a man used to giving orders and having everyone say yes, sir. Right away, sir. Now, with a lot of women, that kind of he-man approach will work just fine. A lot of women go all weak in the knees when a real man starts bossing them around. But in case maybe you didn't notice, Molly's not like a lot of women."

  Good-looking as Dixie was, she was starting to get on his nerves. "Your point?"

  "Well, maybe you could try cozying up to her a little."

  He grunted. "Since she's not letting me near her, cozying up is not looking real likely."

  "Well, and see? That's just what I meant. How you gonna marry my baby if she won't let you near her?"

  It was a problem. He realized that. "So?" he demanded gruffly.

  "So, maybe you oughtta start by making sure you'll be welcome when you come calling at her house."

  He thought of Molly's grandmother—on the porch with the shotgun. "I could get killed trying that."

  Dixie giggled. "Well, Tate. That's why I'm here. I aim to help you out."

  He regarded her with frank suspicion. "How do you plan to do that?"

  "You know that expression, 'salt the old cow to get to the calf?"

  "Dixie, you're hardly an old cow."

  Dixie glowed with pleasure at the compliment. "Why, thank you, Tate. But I wasn't referring to myself."

  Tate understood then. He made a sour face. "Dusty? You want me to suck up to Dusty?"

  "Sucking up isn't exactly what I would have called it."

  "But it is what you meant."

  "Oh, now, Tate. It's not going to kill you."

  "Sucking up? Maybe not. But that crazy mother of yours just might."

  "You only need to know how to make up to her. You need to know her likes and dislikes. Her secret yearnings..."

  "Dusty O'Dare has got secret yearnings?" The idea kind of scared him.

  "My mother's tough as a roll of barbed wire, but she is still a woman in her heart."

  "Oh, yeah?" Could have fooled Tate.

  "Now, Tate. That there's a big part of your problem. You need to get yourself in courting mode. And courting mode means you are always polite and respectful when referring to or addressing your darlin' one or any member of her family."

  Tate wasn't sure he liked the idea of sucking up to Dusty. But he was getting the picture. "And that's why you're here? To help me make nice?"

  Dixie got a kind of wfttful look. "I could never have another child after Molly. It was a tough birth and...well, as a result, she is my one and only. I have been somewhat...distracted, when it came to being a mother. But like all mothers, I do want to see my only child happy, with a good man who'll love her till she pleads for mercy and provide her with a platinum no-limit credit card. I think you just might be that man. And I do believe that deep in her heart, Molly would prefer to be married to her baby's daddy. You say you want that, too."

  "I do want that, Dixie," Tate said quietly.

  The sad look vanished as Dixie smiled her dazzling smile. "Then grab a pen and a full-size piece of paper. This will be a long list...."

  * * *

  The next day, which just happened to be Friday the thirteenth, Molly got a lot more advice at work—and couple of expressions of deep disappointment that she'd gone, and crawled into bed with Tate Bravo, of all people

  And like the day before, she kept waiting for Tate to come barreling through the door, demanding that she many him on the spot. Also like the day before, he never appeared. Maybe, she thought philosophically, as time went by and he didn't come busting through the door, she would learn to relax a little again—if her customers would ever shut the heck up about him.

  "Molly, love, you know you really owe it to your baby to let Tate do right by you, don't you think? You have to see he's only trying to do what's best. And once you're married to him, well, you won't have to work a lick if you're not of a mind to. You can stay home with your baby. Now, won't that be nice? And you're not that old, really. You might even be able to have two or three more."

  "Molly, you hold firm, honey. Don't let him railroad you. Remember his poor mama, Penelope? Slinkin' around, scared of her own shadow? That's what comes of being raised and run by a Tate. And those awful paintings of hers... And then, how she died..." Penelope Tate Bravo had been broadsided by a semitruck while trying to pull out of the local ice-cream shop parking lot, after stopping in to get herself a double dip after church. "So very sad. And Tucker? Where did he come from? Now, think about that. Wasn't that mysterious husband of Penelope's supposed to have been long dead when Tucker came along? Not that I blame the poor woman, I tell you. If Tucker Tate the fourth was my daddy, I'd probably run off and get me something going with a stranger now and then, too. It was a pitiful life poor Penelope had. Don't let yourself or your baby fall into that trap...."

  "Molly, Molly. I have to say it. You really have let us down, and I think you know it. I hope Tate Bravo has no hold on you other than the obvious one of having fathered your child. I hope when the next town council meeting comes, you're not turning wishy-washy when it comes to the programs we have all been counting on you to put through."

  Listening to everyone go on and on wasn't easy. Molly feared she was reaching the boiling point, that the day would come—and soon—when she would yell at them all to shut up with their criticisms and endless advice, or get the hell out of her salon.

  It would be bad for business to do that—not to mention completely unfair. Molly had always encouraged her customers to consider themselves right at home when they came to the Cut. It had been part of her business plan from the first, to make a place where women could come and let it all hang out. No subject was—or ever had been—off-limits. It was because of the talk that went on at the Cut that Molly had decided to run for mayor. And it was due to the support of the very women who wouldn't shut up about her and Tate that she had won the election. Uh-uh. She refused to go changing her own rules just because she was the one on the hot seat now.

  So she exerted great effort to keep her mouth shut and her expression agreeable. It wasn't any walk in the park. It wore her down.

  She got home at seven to find Granny in her big royal-blue La Z-Boy chair, a tray in her lap and a paring knife in her hand. She was eating slices of Wisconsin cheddar on saltine crackers. The box the cheese had come out of sat open on the sofa.

  "Granny, where did you get the cheese?"

  Granny muttered something under her breath and set another slice of cheese on a cracker. Molly picked up the box. It was addressed to Granny, all right. And there was a card.

  Best Regards, Tate.

  "Oh, Granny. How could you?"

  Granny did have the grace to look somewhat contrite—as she popped the snack into her mouth. "Baby hon," she said, after she'd chewed and swallowed, "you know I never could resist a good cheddar. It came at four. I didn't know it was from him. So I opened it. I saw the card at the same time that I saw it was cheese. Well, sweetie, I cannot bring myself to throw away a fine big block of cheese. It's just not in me. I'm sorry, but it's not." Granny cut herself a fresh slice and set it neatly on another cracker.

  Mol
ly stood there, watching her granny chew. It occurred to her that Dixie must have had that talk with Tate—and that she should have told her mother more firmly not to do that.

  But then again, well, Granny did look so contented, sitting there chomping away, with bits of cracker stuck to her lip. Granny rarely got gifts—especially this kind of gift, appearing out of the blue and obviously chosen for her and her alone.

  "You mad at me?" asked Granny sheepishly after she'd swallowed.

  "Oh, Granny. It's only that I thought you hated that man."

  "Well, sure I do. I hate all men."

  "But then what are you doing eating something he sent you?"

  Granny shrugged. "Angel heart, if you'll just give me back my shotgun, I'll blow that Tate's head off. But you really can't ask me to say no to cheese."

  Chapter Six

  The cheese was only the beginning.

  To Tate's mind, Dixie had shown up at his door at exactly the right moment—about the time he was actually starting to doubt if he would ever claim Molly for his bride. What Dixie had suggested made a whole lot of sense to him. If Molly wouldn't let him near her, he would begin to move in on her by getting good and friendly with those she loved.

  And not only her shotgun-happy granny. Tate decided he would take Dixie's advice and run with it. The day that Granny got the cheese, Tate had Miranda call Jim-Denny's Diner and find out what days Dixie worked.

  "Six to two, Tuesday through Saturday," Miranda reported, and Tate then told her that until further notice, he wouldn't be needing breakfast on those days.

  He pushed through Jim-Denny's glass door at eight the next morning. A hush kind of fell over the place for a few seconds there. But then Dixie, delivering an armful of orders at one of the back tables, called out, "Tate I How are you, hon? Grab yourself a seat, and I'll be right there." The dead-on stares turned to sideways glances and the talking recommenced—if with something of a furtive, gossipy quality.

  Ray Deekins, Dixie's unemployed fiance, was sitting down at the end of the counter, so Tate strolled over and took the stool next to him.

  "How you doing there, Ray?" he asked as he reached for the laminated menu stuck in the holder behind the napkin dispenser.