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“It’s an impressive weapon.”
Susannah grinned at him. “Didn’t scare you off, though, did it?”
Parker relaxed and enjoyed the sheer pleasure of watching her smile. “It would take something mighty powerful to warn me off a lady as pretty as you, Susannah. Though if your father had been behind the barrel, I might have had to think it twice.”
Susannah’s expression became thoughtful. “Well, now, there you go. I guess what Molly says is true.”
“What’s that?”
“That the only things men take seriously are other men. They won’t believe a woman is ever a threat.”
“I didn’t mean—” Parker began in apology, but Susannah interrupted him.
“I can assure you, Parker, if Molly had thought you represented a danger to us, she’d be fully capable of sending a ball spinning right through your middle.”
Her smile had faded, and Parker realized that, while she was not as tough as her older sister, there was a little more than spun sugar to Susannah herself.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he answered sincerely.
Susannah smiled again. “Not that Molly’s ever actually shot anyone, you understand. I just know that she’d do it if the moment came. Molly always does what has to be done, no matter what.”
“An admirable quality.”
She gave a pretty little shrug. “I guess. But that’s enough about Molly.” She flounced down on the side of the bed. “You’re not too tired, Parker? Do you want me to stay awhile?”
He reached for one of her slender hands. “I’d be honored, Mistress Hanks,” he said with exaggerated reverence.
Susannah giggled and gave a little bounce on the bed. “Oh, Parker, it’s been gloomy and dull around here since Papa died. I’m so very glad you’ve come.”
By the next day Parker had recovered sufficiently to leave his bed, at least to take care of the most urgent of his personal needs. Once he had regained consciousness, it had at times been agony awaiting the appearance of Smokey so that he could ask for help in using the night jar that sat discreetly tucked under Mr. Hanks’s carved washstand. But he’d be darned if he was going to start his stay on the Lucky Stars by involving any of its three owners in such matters.
He’d spent a few moments musing over what he’d do if Smokey rode off somewhere for several hours. Asking Mary Beth was out of the question. She hadn’t ventured within five feet of the bed, and mostly watched him as if he had arrived from another planet. Although the few times she did send a shy smile his way, it had been mighty sweet.
He’d have to choose between Molly and Susannah. He reckoned Molly would be downright belligerent about having to deal with such intimacies. On the other hand, Susannah, even though she was what his mother used to call “a decent girl,” gave the impression that she would be willing to get that intimate and more, if he led the way. As he lay helpless on his back, he wasn’t sure which scared him more.
Fortunately, it never came to the test. He was up and around, still dressed only in an old nightshirt of their father’s that Molly had pulled out of the big mahogany wardrobe and given to him without comment.
Susannah poked her head in the door. “You’re walking!”
“Like a hundred-year-old man,” Parker said with a scowl. “I can’t seem to get my strength back.”
“You were very ill, Parker. Give yourself a little time.” She crossed the room and pulled his arm through one of hers. “Lean on me. We’ll take a stroll.”
With Susannah supporting him, they slowly walked to the end of the narrow upstairs hall. Parker looked down to watch his unsteady footing as they made their way along the Persian runner that covered the center of the polished wood floor. It was an elegant carpet, darkly patterned, that suited the dark wood of the paneled walls. Parker wished his sister could be here to see this house. It might change her opinion of the Wild West. She’d seen only two homes in her short stay in the Black Hills—his crude log cabin and Mattie Smith’s place. Mattie’s had been nice enough, but nothing like the Lucky Stars ranch house. And besides, it was a brothel, which meant that poor Amelia had spent most of her visits wondering which direction not to look.
“You have a lovely place, Susannah,” he said.
“Papa was proud of his home. Some of the things here have come all the way from the Orient.”
“And now it all belongs to you and your sisters?”
Susannah looked reflective. “Even though I grew up here, I always felt as if it belonged more to Papa than to any of us. And now to Molly.”
“But you inherited it equally, you said.”
“I suppose. I guess we just all assume that Mary Beth and I will leave here some day, whereas Molly won’t. Molly will never leave the Lucky Stars,” she added more firmly.
They had reached the end of the carpeting and started back. Parker would be glad to hit the bed again. A great hired hand he was turning out to be—he could walk all of fifty feet and then he had to sit down. “Anyway, it’s a wonderful place.”
“One of the biggest ranch houses in “Wyoming Territory,” Susannah said with a touch of the pride she had attributed to her father.
“I don’t doubt it.” He gazed up at the huge carved beams of the vaulted two-story ceiling, then he slipped his arm out of Susannah’s to lean on the railing that overlooked the imposing living room. He hoped it appeared that he was examining the impressive architecture of the house, but actually he just wanted to rest a moment. The balustrade would take more of his weight than he was willing to throw on Susannah’s slender arm.
As he took in a deep breath, there was a pounding on the front door beneath them. Susannah joined him at the railing and they both peered down as her older sister crossed under them to answer the door.
“Why, Jeremy, what a surprise.” Molly did not sound too enthusiastic. “To what do we owe the honor of two visits in two days?”
Jeremy moved a step forward, expecting Molly to usher him into the house. When she didn’t move, he was forced to retreat slightly. “I’m always eager to see you, Molly, if that’s what you mean. But today I came to be sure that cowboy was out of your father’s room.”
Molly cocked her head. “Why am I having trouble understanding how that is any of your business, Jeremy?” Her voice had a restrained calmness that Parker had already come to recognize as more dangerous than her explosions of temper.
Evidently Jeremy could also read her mood. He took yet another step back—all the way onto the porch—took off his expensive hat and spoke with a cajoling tone. “Now, Molly, my dear. You know that I care about everything that goes on with you and your sisters here at the ranch. Why, Pa and Ned and I feel as if we owe it to poor Charlie, rest his soul, to watch outfory’all.”
When Jeremy Dickerson started in with his y’alls, Molly knew that he wanted something. The Dickersons had been Southerners long ago before the move to Wyoming, and Jeremy could pour on the honey when he had a mind to. Molly didn’t know why it riled her so, or why she should be upset that he had come to check up on her. It was, in fact, a neighborly thing to do. None of them knew Parker Prescott. He might be a thief or a scoundrel. He could have murdered them all in their beds by now. She gave a little laugh at the absurdity of the idea and stepped back to let Jeremy enter. “Well, as long as you’re here, come sit awhile.”
Jeremy smiled, evidently pleased that his charm had smoothed Molly’s prickly disposition one more time. But then he unwisely returned to his first topic. “Honestly, my dear, I don’t like that new man of yours. I can read people, you know, and he’s not the sort you want around here.”
“You mean I should hire one of the dozens of others I have clamoring on my doorstep?”
“I’ve offered to lend you workers,” he reminded her.
“I don’t want to borrow from you, Jeremy. I thought I’d made that clear. I’ll run this ranch on my own and I’ll have my own help. Hiring Mr. Prescott is just a start.”
“I don’t like him,” Jeremy repeated.
From above them, Parker and Susannah listened in amused silence. Parker leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Your neighbor doesn’t like me, Susannah. Should I be devastated?”
She smiled broadly, causing two tiny dimples to appear in her smooth cheeks. “Isn’t he an overbearing prig?” she whispered back.
“I guess that’s as good a word as any.”
Susannah leaned her head back and gave Parker a long look. “Let’s play a little,” she said slyly.
Parker looked puzzled at her suggestion, but she only smiled, pulled his arm off the railing and draped it around her neck. Then she moved close to him. He shifted self-consciously. Parker wasn’t sure if Susannah was aware of how her breasts pressed against the thin lawn of his nightshirt, but he certainly was.
“You see, Parker,” she said loudly. “You’re getting so much stronger. I barely have to hold you.”
Molly and Jeremy turned their heads in unison to look up to the second-floor balcony. From their position beneath the railing, Parker and Susannah’s posture must have looked even more intimate than it felt. “Susannah!” Molly gasped.
Susannah turned her head casually, then gave a wave down to the onlookers. “Oh, hello, Molly… Jeremy. I was just helping Parker take a little walk. Doesn’t he look so much stronger?”
Her voice dripped. Parker had finally caught on to Susannah’s definition of “play” and had trouble restraining a smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Dickerson,” he called down, meeting the neighbor’s glaring dark eyes with a calm stare.
“Susannah,” Molly said angrily, “if Mr. Prescott is that much recovered, I’ll send Smokey up directly to see that he gets some clothes on and gets moved out to the bunkhouse.”
Susannah’s pretty lips turned down. “You can’t put him out there yet, Molly. He’s still recovering.”
“He can recover outside,” she snapped.
Parker, his bout of weakness gone, pulled Susannah away from the edge of the railing. “It’s all right,” he said to her in a low voice. He leaned over the edge one last time. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Dickerson,” he called. Then he guided Susannah toward the master bedroom. “I’m feeling quite good, actually.”
Susannah frowned. “Molly’s such a stick at times. I’m afraid I’ve made a muddle of things. She’s making you leave because of the show we put on out there.”
Parker grinned. “It doesn’t matter. It was worth it to see the expression on Dickerson’s face when he looked up and saw you in my arms.”
She giggled. “It was funny. I thought he was going to swallow his tongue. Well, I guess I should leave you alone to get dressed,” she concluded reluctantly, and left the room.
The fickle November weather had turned seductive once again. The light breeze felt almost warm as Parker made his way with Smokey out to the Lucky Stars bunkhouse. The snow was slippery and wet under their boots. In the sunlight the drifts were shrinking into hard, icy mounds. A small waterfall of snow melting from the roof cascaded down alongside the door of the Spartan wood bunkhouse. No Persian rugs here. He followed Smokey inside, ducking to avoid the cold drips.
“Home sweet home, lad. It’s not as comfortable as up at the house, but I guess you’ve probably seen worse in your day.”
Parker made no reply. Though his parents had spent most of the family money trying to convert the world to their various causes of abolitionism, temperance and so on, the money from his father’s bank had been enough that the Prescott family had lived in considerable luxury compared with most of the rest of the country. Except for his few months in the Black Hills, Parker had never awakened in the morning without stepping on a carpet, never had to go out the back of the house in the middle of a January freeze to relieve himself. He’d never gone to sleep in a room without real windows with linen drapes and a real bed with a silk coverlet. “I reckon this will be just fine, Smokey,” he said, surveying the barren room. There were five bunk beds lining the walls and a big round table in the center. In one corner of the room was a stack of wood piled next to a rusty iron stove.
“You can light up the stove,” Smokey said. “And I’d take the bunk right next to it, if I was you. This thaw’s not going to last, and it can get colder’n a whore’s heart in here.”
Parker grinned at the old man.’ “Now, just what would you know about whores, Smokey?”
The cook scraped a boot along the dusty wood floor. “I know a thing or two about them, you young whippersnapper. Just because I’m long in the tooth doesn’t mean—”
He stopped his sentence dead and stared over Parker’s shoulder.
“I see you’re making Mr. Prescott comfortable, Smokey,” Molly said in a voice that was as frosty as the room.
“Shucks, Miss Molly. You shouldn’t sneak up on a body like that. We was having a conversation not fit for a lady’s ears.”
Parker had the fleeting impression that Molly had set her face in those stern lines in order to keep from laughing, but when she started to speak again he decided he must have been mistaken.
“There’s not a conversation that goes on around this ranch that’s not fit for my ears, Smokey. I’ve told you that before.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Smokey did not seem to take the dressing-down too seriously.
“If you’re finished here, I’d like to speak with Mr. Prescott.”
Smokey looked from her to Parker, then gave a nod and made his way around her and out the door.
Parker waited for Molly to speak, but she seemed to be uncharacteristically at a loss for words. She looked at the ground, then back up to his face with a sweep of long eyelashes several shades darker than her light brown hair. Her eyes were as blue as her sisters’, he noted. More so. Or perhaps it was just the difference in intensity. Finally he said, “You wanted to talk to me?”
She bit her lip. “How are you feeling, Mr. Prescott? I mean… ah…. are you sufficiently recovered to…”
“To be cast out into a freezing bunkhouse?” Parker finished for her, amused at what was apparently a rare attack of conscience.
“I just wanted to be sure you wouldn’t get sick on us again,” she said stiffly.
“I don’t think I’d dare risk it, ma’am.”
“And why’s that, Mr. Prescott?”
“Because, ma’am,” he said respectfully, “I might end up staked out for buzzard meat in Copper Canyon.”
Molly gave a half smile and the lashes swept down again. “I did mean the warning about my sisters, Mr. Parker.”
“I know that, Miss Molly. May I call you that?” He ducked his head a little to catch her eyes, then gave her one of his made-for-charm smiles. “Seeing as how there’re three Miss Hankses, it could get confusing around here if we insist on all the formalities.”
Molly took in a little gulp of air. She would rather swill the pigs on a ninety-degree day than admit it, but she reckoned that Parker Prescott was just about the handsomest thing she’d ever seen. There’d been a heap of cowboys who’d come and gone at the Lucky Stars since Molly had been old enough to notice, but there’d never been one like him. Of course, Canyon City was hardly the place to find the pick of the crop. But even when she’d traveled to Denver with Papa, where one might expect to find other “gentlemen,” as her sisters described them, she’d not seen the like. He was waiting for an answer. What had he just asked her?
“Ah… three Miss Hankses. Yes, I see your point. I suppose Miss Molly would be acceptable, Mr. Prescott.”
Parker leaned back against the table, crossed his arms and studied her. “So then…I guess you’ll have to call me Parker. Or else it would be too impertinent of me to call you Miss Molly.”
Molly felt as if the entire conversation was out of her control. It was an unaccustomed sensation, and one she was not sure she liked. “Fine. Names aren’t of that great importance out here, anyway, Mr.—Parker. I suppose back East you pay more attention to those things.”
“I suppose.”
“You are from the East?”
Parker nodded. “New York.”
Molly’s eyes widened. “New York City?”
“Mmm,” he confirmed with another nod.
She wanted to say, What in tarnation are you doing in Canyon City, Wyoming, Mr. Parker Prescott? But the unwritten law of the West was you didn’t ask about things that were none of your business. So instead, she said, “Well, I just wanted to see if you were settled in.”
“And to see if I was healthy enough to sleep out here in the cold.”
Her brief moment of remorse or whatever it had been appeared to be over. “There’s a wagonload of wood out there. As soon as you’re feeling up to it, I suggest you start chopping.”
Parker let his grin break through. This was the real Molly Hanks. He was beginning to consider it a challenge to see how riled he could get her without risking losing his job. It was an unfair contest, really, because he knew that she wouldn’t have kept him on at all if she hadn’t needed him desperately. “I’ll do that, ma’am,” he told her.
“So you do feel recovered?” She took a step closer to him. He unfolded his arms and grasped the edge of the table as she reached up to touch one of his ears. The swelling had gone down, but their color was still far from normal. Her hand was surprisingly gentle. She smelled of saddle soap.
Suddenly she seemed to be aware of how close their bodies had become. She backed away with a little stumble and her voice once again lost its power. “If you start to feel dizzy or anything, you let us know.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She looked uncertainly from him to the cold stove. “Can you get a fire started in that thing?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
