Marrying Molly Page 7

  "Tres Erisos. What is that? Doesn't eriso mean 'hedgehog' or something?"

  "Yes, Molly. I believe it does."

  "Well, then, I've always wondered—what's that about? Three Hedgehogs? We don't have hedgehogs in Texas. Three Rattlesnakes. That's what they should have called this place."

  Tate said nothing. He only looked at her, patient as Job.

  Was she being the itch-word that began with a b? Oh, probably. "All right, all right." She made herself sit up a little straighten

  He looked at her from under lowered brows. "You keep sighing like that, you'll blow the dishes right off the table."

  "Sorry..." What was she doing here? What was the point? "I mean it." She leaned in and spoke in a whisper. "I'm not marrying you, so don't think, since I let you buy me dinner, that I will."

  He drank more whiskey. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe you said that before."

  She slumped back in her chair. "I'm just afraid that you're not listening, that's all."

  "Pick up your menu," he ordered softly. "Decide what you'll have."

  For once, she didn't take issue with his commanding ways. She opened her menu, scanned the choices and set it back down. "Okay, I'm ready."

  At a mere glance from Tate, Adela hustled over. They ordered. Their salads arrived and their steaks soon after. They ate in silence—well, once or twice Tate tried to revive the dead-and-buried conversation, but Molly only shook her head and cut another bite of steak.

  As Adela removed their plates, the waitress attempted to brightly inquire, "Desser—?"

  "No, thanks," Molly replied before Adela even got that second syllable out of her mouth. After Tate signed the check and laid down a big cash tip, they were out of there.

  His Cadillac waited at the curb, gleaming in the fading light of the glorious purple-and-pink Texas sunset. He ushered her over to it and pulled open the passenger door. Molly didn't duck inside. She stood frozen on the sidewalk, staring at that open door. There was...a tightness around her chest, had been since the moment she'd taken the seat across the table from him in Tres Erisos. It was all so strange, to be openly sharing a meal with Tate, right out in public for anyone to see, and now to be standing on Center Street, bold as you please, about to climb inside his big, fancy car. Never had she believed anything like this would happen.

  Feelings of yearning and loss, of hope and mistrust swirled around in her. Those feelings were not comfortable ones. They tightened her stomach, made her heart beat fast and hurtfully under her ribs.

  "Just get in," he said. "Please."

  She opened her mouth to say something rude—but then changed her mind. Really, he'd been a perfect gentleman all evening. Maybe that was what scared her the most.

  "Please," he said again, low and way too careful that time.

  Since she couldn't think of a single valid reason not to, she stepped up and slid inside. He shut the door and went around and got behind the wheel.

  They drove to her place without speaking. He stopped the car at the foot of her long driveway—and turned off the engine and the headlights. This was it, and she knew it. He was going to start in about how she had to marry him, and she wasn't sitting still for that.

  She leaned on her door, a hasty thank-you rising to her lips.

  He spoke before she could. "What's it gonna take?"

  On the thousand-to-one chance he wasn't talking about her marrying him, she asked, "To...?"

  He was staring straight ahead, into the evening-shadowed trees that lined the driveway. He lifted one big shoulder in a half shrug. "To get you to talk to me? To get you to cut me a half an inch of slack?" He sounded so...hurt. Hurt and kind of lost and forlorn.

  The scariest thing happened to her then. She felt tenderness. Toward Tate. It was warm and it was sweet and it was flooding all through her. She gulped. "I...well, we got in the club and I just didn't want to be there."

  "You could have said so."

  "And if I had?"

  "We'd have got up and left."

  She shook her head. "I'd said I'd go out with you. I wanted to keep my word. But I was having second thoughts."

  "About going to dinner with me?" he asked, though it really wasn't a question. "Yeah," he said and made a low, pained sound, eyes straight ahead. "I got that message pretty clear."

  She shifted in the plush leather seat, so she was facing him more fully. "We aren't suited. You know we're not. You're forever barking orders—and I'm not a woman to do what any man tells me to. I'm not going to marry you, Tate. You have to believe me. It would be a disaster for both of us, not to mention for our innocent child."

  He looked at her then, a hot kind of look that burned right through her. "Have I said one damn word about marriage this whole god-awful evening?"

  She looked down at her hands. "No. But I know you're going to. I keep waiting for the other boot to drop."

  "Then you can stop waiting. It's not going to happen."

  Hope rose within her. "You mean you're not going to bring it up?"

  "Not tonight, that's for damn certain."

  "Promise?"

  "On the graves of my ancestors." He looked very serious—even bleak.

  And suddenly, she was giggling. "You mean that? You swear on all four generations of Tucker Tates?"

  He nodded. "Every hard-nosed one of them." The bleak look had faded. Now, she could almost swear she saw a smile trying to pull at the corners of his mouth.

  She allowed, "I guess you've convinced me."

  "Good." He did smile then. And somehow, she realized, they had both leaned toward each other across the console. The scent of him came to her: leather and manliness and pricey aftershave. "Kiss me, Molly," he whispered.

  "Urn, ahem," she said softly. But she didn't move back.

  "Come on. Do it..."

  "Tate..."

  "Kiss me..."

  That tenderness she'd been feeling? It was changing. Growing hotter. Turning molten inside her. Burning into desire. "Tate. The thing is..."

  His wonderful lips were very close. She could feel his warm breath across her cheek. "Kiss me."

  "You're not, uh, listening."

  "Aw, Molly. I am. You just said I wasn't listening. And you said my name. And you said, 'um' and 'uh' and 'ahem.'" He stole a quick one, his lips brushing hers in a searing, too-short caress. "Did I get it right?"

  "Oh, you..."

  "Did I?"

  "Yeah." She smiled. How could she help it? "I guess you pretty much did."

  "Now, about that kiss?"

  "Tate, I'm not going home with you tonight."

  "I know."

  "Er...you do?"

  He was nodding. "Just a kiss..."

  "Oh." She looked at his beautiful mouth. How could she help herself? "Well..."

  "What?"

  "Yes." It kind of slipped out. And then she wondered...

  Had she really said that?

  Apparently so. And what was she doing now?

  Why, craning across the console.

  Such a very short distance. A mere inch or two...

  Her lips met his. Molly sighed and so did Tate. He reached out those strong arms and pulled her closer against him. Oh, he smelled so lovely and manly. And his muscled body felt so good against her softer one. And his mouth...

  Oh, Lordy. That mouth...

  If the console hadn't been in the way, she'd have eagerly scooted right onto his lap.

  But it was in the way and maybe that was a good thing. It kept them from going beyond his mouth on hers and his tongue sliding, wet and insistent and slightly rough, along the crease where her lips met.

  Well, and why not? she asked herself and didn't listen too closely for the answer. She opened, sighing some more. His tongue dipped in and he kissed her deeply as his big hands roamed her back.

  Oh, it really was heaven, to be in Tate's arms again. Too much of heaven, it honestly was....

  With considerable reluctance, Molly put her palms flat against his hard
chest and gave a firm push.

  He lifted his head and whispered her name.

  She put her fingers against his lips. "Now, why did I do that?" He only grinned. Wouldn't it be nice, she found herself thinking, to sit here forever with his big, strong arms around her? He moved those soft lips, nibbling on the tip of her middle finger. Really, now, how could those lips of his be so soft—when the rest of him was so very, very hard?

  Oh, my. Better put a stop to thoughts like that. She removed her fingers from his mouth and put both hands on his chest again. Gently she pushed. He let her go.

  Say something. Now, she ordered herself. "Uh. Sorry I gave you such a hard time at dinner." It came out in the most ridiculous, breathy, yearning little whisper.

  Time to go and then some. She felt for the door handle behind her.

  He sent her a look that melted her midsection. "Make it up to me."

  She was not going to ask. "How?"

  "Dinner and a movie. Friday night. We can go into Abilene."

  "Abilene?" She repeated the word as if she'd never heard of the place.

  "What time can you be ready?"

  She shouldn't answer that. "I could, uh, be home by six..."

  "I'll pick you up at six-thirty."

  "Er, six forty-five?" Now, how had that slipped out?

  "Six forty-five, it is," he confirmed with a nod.

  Dinner and a movie, she thought dazedly. Dinner and a movie with Tate. Friday night.

  Had she just agreed to that?

  Oh, yes, she had. And though his mouth was silent, his eyes were still talking. And the things they were saying...

  Oh, my. She licked her lips and he watched her do that, his sexy grin widening and those dark eyes sparking with heat.

  If she didn't get out of that car immediately, who knows what kind of promises she'd be making him next?

  "Molly..." His eyes offered all manner of delights if she'd only scoot back over there toward the driver's side.

  "Uh, Tate."

  "Urn?"

  "You know, I've really got to go in."

  He frowned. "But it's not even nine o'clock."

  "Yeah. But...uh. It's Tuesday. A work night. I need, you know, a good night's sleep. So. Gotta go."

  He caught her hand then. She blinked and stared as he raised it to his lips and kissed the back of it and a shimmer of heated wonder spread all through her, starting at the point where his mouth touched her skin.

  Now, how did he do it? A tender touch. The brush of his lips against the back of her hand...

  And she was putty. Mush. A pitiful puddle of molten desire.

  "Gotta go," she whispered, as if she hadn't already said it several times before.

  "Good night, then." He actually released her hand.

  Now, she thought. Go. Now. She leaned on her door so hard, it popped wide open. Her upper body kind of fell out into the silky, humid evening air. "Oops." She let out a silly, throaty giggle and pulled herself back into the seat, beaming Tate one last wide, dazed smile. "Uh. Bye."

  "Bye, Molly."

  She swung her feet to the ground and stood. Her knees wobbled at first, but then she remembered to stiffen them. Quickly, before she could find an excuse to jump back in that car with him, she shut the door and hurried off into the gathering dark, hustling fast toward the safety of her own little house.

  Tate watched her go, smiling. "Molly, Molly, Molly," he whispered under his breath. There was, apparently, much to be said for what Dixie had called courting mode.

  Things were looking up. Yes, indeed. They certainly were.

  Chapter Seven

  As expected, Molly received more than her share of criticism and advice the next day. By noon, everyone knew that she'd been to Tres Erisos with Tate.

  "I think it's a good thing, Molly. He is the father of your baby and whatever happens, it's important that you try to be on speaking terms with him."

  "Don't like it. Hated to hear it. Did you know he's been hanging around at the diner, too? Makin' up to Dixie and that Ray? I'm beginning to think that man will stop at nothing to bend you to his will."

  "Watch out, Molly. He'll be sliding a diamond on your finger before you know it."

  "Oh, Molly. I know you'll end up marrying him. Isn't it romantic? Tate Bravo. Hunka, hunka."

  Strangely, she was rinding, all the interest in her private life didn't bother her as much since last night. Maybe it had to do with being on slightly better terms with Tate.

  And no, she did not plan to marry the man—no matter what any of them thought. But it did make her feel better, that she and Tate had managed to talk for a while without shouting at each other. That tense and awful as their dinner had been, at least it had been right out in public, proudly and with dignity. No slinking around and no lying to anyone.

  As for that kiss they'd shared...

  Well, it was only one. And she would watch herself on Friday. She was not going to end up in his bed, naked and moaning and begging for more....

  "Molly, sweetie pie, it's getting in my eyes."

  "Oops." She grabbed a towel and handed it to Emmie so she could dab the Serendipitous Sable 4 out of her left eye.

  "You were daydreaming, weren't you?" Emmie accused, both eyes narrowed now. "Daydreaming about—"

  Molly didn't let her say it. "I certainly was not. Now sit still, and let me finish you up."

  When Molly got-home, Granny had Bob Wills blaring. She stood in front of the brass-framed mirror that hung over the living room's miniscule mantel, admiring herself in a brand-new brown leather bomber jacket.

  Molly grabbed the remote and turned the music down enough that the windows stopped rattling. "I guess I don't need to ask where that jacket came from."

  Granny turned her back to the mirror and sent a flirty glance over her shoulder. "My, oh my, I do look good, now don't I? You notice the resemblance?"

  Molly folded her arms and tapped a foot. "What are you talking about?"

  "Come on, honey love. It's obvious. Stop and look. Really look."

  Grudgingly Molly did. And what do you know? "Butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Amelia Ear-hart."

  "You got it."

  Molly couldn't help grinning. "You do look like her. You truly do." Granny had the same short wavy hair—with maybe a touch more gray in it. And the face...

  No doubt about it. Amelia Earhart, with an extra wrinkle or two.

  "She was before my time, acourse. But I've seen the pictures." Granny turned to the mirror again and lifted her chin high, stretching out all signs of sagging. "In my most secret heart, I have always dreamed of flight..."

  All unbidden, Molly felt a knot of emotion tighten her throat. She swallowed it. "Kind of hot out for leather, though."

  Granny sent her a reproachful look. "No sour grapes, now, sugar plum."

  Molly blew out a breath. "You're right. I'm sorry." She added softly, "You look just like her, you honestly do."

  Granny turned right and then left, and then fiddled with the collar. "Gonna get me some of those wide-legged pleated pants with the cuffs on them. I think I will do that. I definitely will."

  * * *

  Tate rang the doorbell right on time.

  Granny got there first and flung the door wide. "Tate!" she exclaimed with such glee and excitement, you would have thought Andy Devine had climbed from the grave, freshened up a little and come to call. "Come on in." She pushed the storm door open and he stepped through, all spit and polish in tan slacks and a dark polo shirt.

  "Dusty." He granted Granny one of those slow, sexy smiles of his. "You do look handsome in that jacket."

  Granny preened shamelessly. "Well now, I do, don't I? And what's this?" He handed her a small brown bag. She peeked inside. "Candy corn. Now, how did you know I was just about out?"

  Tate made a low, modest noise in his throat. "I had a feeling you might be running low."

  They ate at Spanos, where the fine food and service inside belied the strip-mall exterior. They t
alked and laughed together, sharing a new ease that made everything fun. Tate had chicken parmesan, and Molly cleaned up her plate of shrimp primavera—leaving so little room in her stomach, she was forced to say no when it came time for dessert.

  Tate ordered Chocolate Wonderful, Spano's famous chocolate-cinnamon Bundt cake with hot fudge sauce and whipped cream.

  She watched him eat it and teased him about Granny. "I know what you're doing. You are buttering up my granny."

  He put on a noble face. "She's the baby's greatgrandma. Of course I'm going to treat her right." Now, why did that make her silly heart beat faster? He offered her a bite. She looked at the tempting bit of fudge-drizzled cake extended toward her on his fork. "Have some," he said in a voice that sent hot shivers slithering up and down her spine.

  How could she resist? She opened her mouth and he slid that fork in, the tines kind of kissing the top of her tongue, the cake and hot fudge sauce instantly melting.

  Oh, it was heavenly. She tasted the dreamy mingling of sweet flavors and swallowed. Then she smoothed her napkin. "That's enough of that, now." She sent him a chiding look.

  He already had another bite ready. And the look in his eyes... "Just one more," he coaxed.

  Snap out of it, she silently commanded herself. A woman should have sense enough not to eat right off a man's fork—that is, not unless she was sending him a seductive message about what she intended to be nibbling on later.

  Uh-uh. Molly wouldn't be doing any nibbling of that nature. She shook her head.

  The hot light in his eyes faded a little, but he didn't press the issue.

  The movie was one of those heist flicks. Lots of action and high-tech burglar devices and beautiful actresses in slinky evening dresses. Molly enjoyed it. And when Tate's hand settled gently on hers, she couldn't quite bring herself to push it away. By the time the hero kissed the beautiful movie star in the red sequined evening gown, Molly had twined her fingers with Tate's.

  They drove home through the sultry night. Tate had some soft music on the CD player and the beautiful, powerful car hummed along the highway.

  When he pulled in at the bottom of her driveway, turned off the engine and switched out the lights, she found she had a problem.