Bushedwhacked Groom (29 page)

Chapter Thirty

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Matters were decidedly tense on Sunday morning as
the Reklaws filed into the community church right as
the opening hymn began. Even as Cory saw his
grandma shoot Ezra Trumble a withering look, he ex
changed a longing glance with Ida May, and she man
aged a tremulous smile in return.

The entire group squeezed onto the front Reklaw
pew—first Grandma, Ma and Pa, Molly and Lucky, fol
lowed by the four boys. At once Zach began grousing to Cory. “Just look at old Trumble a-glarin’ at us.
Grandma’s cooked our gooses but good by giving the
geezer his comeuppance. Now he’ll never let us within a coyote’s yell of his daughters. And just watch after
church—I’m betting he’ll drag all four of them beau
ties outta here faster’n a cat can wink.”

Cory caught sight of his mother hushing them from
down the pew. “You’d best hush up, Zach. Ma’s staring daggers at us. ‘Sides, what can I do?”

“Well, I don’t expect a sissy like you to do much
a’tall,” Zach mocked back. “But as for me and your
brothers, we got something cooked up for after church.”

“What?” Cory demanded in a fierce whisper. “Please
don’t start any more trouble.”

Zach thrust a hymnal into Cory’s hands. “Hush up,
now, baby brother, and start crooning with the wom
enfolk.”

Cory had no choice but to wait in anxiety and frus
tration as the service trickled by, Reverend Bledsoe ex
pounding at length on the theme of “Loving thy
neighbor as thyself.” At last they came to the final ritu
als. When Bledsoe asked if anyone wanted to profess
his faith and join the church, Cory was stunned to
watch Zach pop up.

“I’m professin’ my troth right now,” he declared, turn
ing to the Trumbles. “I’m saying I want to marry Miss
Sally Trumble.”

As laughter and excited murmurs swept over the
congregation, Vance also stood. “And I’m proposing to
Miss Nelly Trumble.”

“I’ll take Bonnie!” added Matt with a vehement nod.

Catching Ida May’s anxious look, Cory also rose,
even though he felt ridiculous. “And I’m offering my
hand to Miss Ida May.”

Now cheers spewed forth from the assemblage.
Cory noted the girls smiling back radiantly, their father
glowering, Ma, Pa and Grandma shaking their heads in wonderment, Molly muttering tensely to Lucky and the minister grinning broadly.

“Well,” declared Bledsoe, clapping his hands. “It
seems the good Lord has indeed blessed us with the
fruits of His labor. Are we to have a quadruple wedding
today?”

Apparently no one else had taken note of Ezra Trumble
doing a slow burn. He shot to his feet, face livid,
and waved a fist at the Reklaws. “How dare you worth
less scoundrels offer to wed my girls! You’re nothing
but a passel of low-down thieves.”

At that Grandma popped up, her bosom heaving.
“Ezra Trumble, why don’t you go choke on a water
melon? I’ve had my fill of you insulting my grandsons.”

Cole also stood, wearing a murderous expression.
“So have I, Ezra.”

“Well, I don’t care!” Trumble raged. “Those hooligans
belong in the county jail.”

As the congregation listened in appalled silence,
Winky Hicks jumped up, his hastily combed straw-
blond hair jutting out at ridiculous angles. He grinned and twitched at Ezra. “Mr. Trumble, sir, if you don’t
want them lowlife Reklaws to wed your gals, the boys
and me’ll be right pleasured to take ‘em off your
hands.”

Trumble whirled on Winky. “You shut up!”

Winky wilted back into his pew, while Eula turned
her scowl on Sheriff Hackett, who sat stiffly with Dulcie
Hicks and the five Hicks cousins. “Hiram, this is all
your fault. Why aren’t you questioning the Hicks boys instead of always accusing my grandsons?”

Dulcie flounced up in her tawdry yellow satin. “You hush up, Eula Reklaw, and leave my boys out of this.”

“When they’re in the calaboose I will.”

Even as the two women squared off at each other,
the sheriff hastily stood. “Dulcie, quiet down now, ya
hear? And Miss Eula, please. I got no call to arrest the
Hicks boys as they got no history of outlawing—”

“Yeah, it’s them Reklaw boys that got that bad bush
whacker blood in ‘em!” roared Trumble with a sneer.

Features hard with anger, Cole charged across the
aisle. “Ezra, I said heed your tongue regarding my sons.”

A gasp rippled over the gathering as the two men confronted each other, obviously on the verge of fisticuffs.
The sheriff rushed between them. “Gentlemen,
please! Let’s not have a donnybrook break out in the
Lord’s house.”

“Amen!” intoned Pastor Bledsoe.

The two backed away, although the tension was
thick enough to cut. Cory watched, totally dispirited,
as Trumble quickly gathered up his daughters and
hauled them out of the sanctuary.

***

Back at the ranch after Sunday dinner, Cory lingered
in the kitchen to help his ma with the dishes. His three
older brothers had galloped away to blow off some
steam, his pa was napping, Grandma was quilting and
Lucky and Molly were outside exercising the dogs.

“I’m so sorry about Mr. Trumble’s terrible behavior at
church,” Jessica said as she passed him a wet plate.
“Your brothers may have baited him, but
really.”

Cory dried the dish with a thoughtful frown. “I know.
All that geezer has done is throw obstacles in our path.
And here I was hoping my brothers would grow up
and settle down. They do favor the Trumble girls—”

“Just as you favor Ida May.” Ruefully, Jessica con
fided, “I must admit that the sight of my four grown
sons proposing to the Trumble daughters, before God
and everyone, is not one I’ll soon forget.”

“Well, Ma, I couldn’t let Ida May be the only one
who didn’t receive a marriage proposal,” he protested.

Jessica chuckled.

In frustration, Cory added, “It’s just not fair. All we’ve
asked for is a chance with his daughters. We’ve not
done anything wrong.”

“I’m sure you haven’t, Cory. But as for your brothers . . .” She bit her lip.
“
I hate to even ask this, but do
you think it’s possible they’ve gone outlaw, as the sher
iff and Mr. Trumble keep insisting?”

Cory sighed. “Not as far as I know, Ma.”

“Well, they are on the rambunctious side, so your pa
and I can’t help worrying.”

Cory couldn’t argue there. “I know. And even if my
brothers aren’t in trouble now, I’m afraid they’re
headed for it. What can we do to keep them on the
straight and narrow? If only they could continue see
ing the Trumble girls, there might be some hope.”

“I know, and I wish I knew how to resolve this, Cory.
Maybe just give it some time.”

“And hope my brothers don’t do something desper
ate in the meantime?” he fretted. “Maybe I should have gone off with them today.”

But his mother sadly shook her head. “If they decided to break the law, could you stop them, son?”

“I could try.”

She touched his arm. “You’re outnumbered, Cory.
And besides, maybe it’s time you started making your
own way in this world. It’s always concerned me that
you’ve been such a follower. Don’t be afraid to decide
on your own what’s right—and what you believe.”

For a long moment he regarded her wistfully. “Like
believing you came here from another time, Ma?”

She gasped. “You actually believe that?”

He nodded soberly. “Truth to tell, I always did be
lieve your stories of time-travel.”

“You did?”

With a guilty grin, he confessed, “I used to hide out
side Molly’s window when you told her your bedtime stories. I was every bit as fascinated as she was. But I
knew I dared not ever discuss it with my brothers—”

“Well, you could have come to me.”

Cory smiled at his mother with deep devotion and
love. “Perhaps I could have, but I feared the others
would have found out in time. And besides, maybe I
was a mite superstitious, afraid to acknowledge the
truth. For if you could defy the laws of the universe and
come here to us, maybe those same forces could take
you away from us, too. Maybe I was afraid of losing you.”

“0h, Cory.” Jessica hugged him warmly. “Darling, you’re not going to lose me. Love brought me here and
love will hold me here—love for your father and for all
of you children. Just as love will bind Lucky and Molly
together eventually, too. They just don’t know it yet.”

“They do seem to be getting along better,” Cory con
curred. “I mean, at first they were fighting like bobcat
cubs, but now they act more like a couple of shy colts
together.”

“They’ll get there, son.”

“Yeah, and if
they
can
work things out . . .” Cory bright
ened. “Well, maybe there’s hope for us all.”

Chapter Thirty-one

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“That was some scene at church, wasn’t it, darling’?”

Sitting at her dressing table that night, Molly met her husband’s gaze in the mirror. He stood a few feet behind her unbuttoning his shirt—and looking sexy as sin in the soft lamplight. His expression was rapt as he observed her brushing her hair.

She smiled at him. “Yeah, some scene.”

“Looks like your brothers aren’t having much luck with courting.”

Molly couldn’t resist grinning at him in the mirror. “Maybe they should just learn to take what they want
like I do.”

He hooted a laugh and stepped closer, wagging a
finger at her. “Are you getting a bit big for your britches,
missy? Watch out or I’ll take you down a peg or two.”

Molly allowed Lucky the small victory of admonish
ing her; after all, she had been baiting him. Thought
fully, she remarked, “You know, for a while there I
would have cheered Mr. Trumble on in his efforts to
thwart my brothers. But now . . . well, he just seems
mean, and I feel sorry for his daughters and even my
brothers. Especially Cory. He seems so taken with Ida
May.”

Lucky shook his head wonderingly. “Are you actually wishing well for your siblings?”

She lifted her chin. “I don’t hate them.”

“You just want to win against them, right?” His ex
pression half wistful, half ironic, he touched her shoul
der, toying with the thin lacy strap of her nightgown
and making her shiver. “Or could it be you’ve decided
you’re actually happy with me and want to spread
some of that sunshine around?”

She blushed, for his words weren’t at all far from the
truth. “We seem to be getting along better lately.”

His teasing finger caressed her neck, raising goose-
flesh. “Yeah. You know, you look awfully pretty in that lacy white gown, Mrs. Lamont.”

Again she met his gaze in the mirror. Though her cheeks now bloomed with high color, she managed to
say bravely, “I—Lucky, my woman’s time is over.”

He grinned and pulled her up into his arms, kissing
her hair. “Good. Maybe next Sunday we’ll go have our
picnic.”

“Next Sunday?” Molly felt an unexpected, keen dis
appointment. Lucky had been affectionate toward her
this week but had made no move to make love to her again. Did he not want to do it with her unless they
would make a baby together? Much as she yearned for
his child—and no longer just to win the land—having
him want her only to advance his own interests
smarted terribly. And could he control his urges so
much better than she? She wanted to do it with him all
the time now—though she wasn’t about to admit it.

Meanwhile, Lucky kissed her nose and his voice
dipped in a sexy way. “Yeah, next Sunday. We’ll drive
out to the homestead again—our homestead. I want to
make our next time together very special.”

Molly flinched slightly. “Meaning you want to make a
baby then—there?”

He eyed her in perplexity. “Don’t you? Why sound so
unhappy? Isn’t a child what you’ve most wanted all
along?”

“Yes, but . . .” Miserably, Molly turned away and con
fided, “Now you’ve seen the land and . . . you want the
baby just so you can claim it.”

“And you don’t?” he countered gently, nestling her
closer. “Reckon you got caught in your own trap, didn’t you, sweetheart? But you never know. I may just have some surprises in store for you.”

As he captured her lips with his own, Molly eagerly
drank in her husband’s kiss, reveling in his nearness,
his scent. Perhaps it didn’t matter if he didn’t want her as desperately as she now wanted him. Whatever had
brought them together—whether Fate, a longing for the land or a shared physical desire—she could take heart in the fact that he was here with her now, no
longer angry with her, and more accepting of their
destiny. Even though the realization that he might
never really love her brought exquisite pain.

As Lucky sweetly kissed his bride, he reflected that
he was the one who had truly been surprised in this
marriage. Though he wasn’t ready to admit it outright,
he was falling for this girl, falling hard. Next to her,
even the land he coveted paled by comparison.

But why did he hesitate to make love with her again?
He longed to haul her off to bed with him right now, not just to make their baby but more importantly to
make them
one.
Was he waiting because he needed to
know the precise moment that their lives, their des
tinies, would become irrevocably linked? Or was it his pride, the hurts that still haunted him? Was he
still wary of sharing his heart fully with
Molly?

***

Despite the coolness of the night, Molly felt herself
burning as if with fever while she lay next to Lucky. She
longed for him to make love to her again and felt con
fused, bereft. She noted he was squirming, too; when
she reached out to touch his warm thigh, he groaned
and flipped over, presenting his backside to her. A few
moments later she heard his soft snores.

Feeling restless, she donned her slippers and wrap
per and went outside. A cool breeze greeted her,
scented of evergreen, and above her the night sky was
clear and bright, the moon full, the myriad stars glitter
ing wondrously.

She crossed the yard and went over to the barn. It
had been a while since she’d checked on Jezebel’s kit
tens, and she needed something to cuddle tonight.
First she stopped off at Sanchez’s toolbox, took out his
tobacco pouch and rolled herself a smoke. Another pleasure she’d been denied lately. Lighting it, she
climbed up into the loft. The kittens greeted her with
mewls and she petted them with one hand while blowing smoke rings out the barn’s front window.

“Woman, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Molly jumped, then turned to see her husband
standing on the ladder, looking good enough to eat in
just his jeans. “Thought you were asleep—at least from the sounds of your snores.”

“You woke me up when you left—and I repeat, what
are you doing here?”

“I’m having a smoke.” She wrinkled her nose at him.
“And I take it you’re feeling as restless as I am?”

He dodged her question while climbing into the
hayloft. “Well, it’s a good thing I woke up before you set
the entire barn on fire.” He snatched the cigarette from
her fingers. “Haven’t you heard that smoking is sup
posed to be for
after
sex?”

“Are you suggesting something?” she taunted back.

Mumbling a curse, he carefully snuffed out her ciga
rette on a wooden beam. “I can’t believe you were sit
ting here smoking in the hay. Don’t ever let me catch
you doing that again.”

“Now you’re telling me what to do?” she demanded
irately.

He plopped down beside her and glowered. “Never mind the fact that you might have set the farm ablaze.
Didn’t your mother ever warn you of the health risks of
smoking?”

“Well, yeah, of course she did, but I’m just trying it,
Lucky, not rushing off to have a draw every five minutes.”

“Trying it can be deadly,” he warned. “Nicotine is
highly addictive.”

“Nico-what?”

“Many a foolish teenager has become hooked sim
ply by experimenting.”

“Now
I’m
a teenager?”

“Well, you’re eighteen, aren’t you? And you’re sure as
hell acting like a rebellious teen at the moment. If I
catch you smoking again, you’re going right over my
knee.”

Molly was incensed. “Like heck I am! You don’t have to have apoplexy over it.”

“Molly, on this issue I won’t compromise,” he went on
heatedly. “My grandpa started smoking before they knew
about all the negative effects. He coughed and hacked
for decades—then I watched him die of emphysema.”

“Emphy . . .?”She paused, grimacing.

“A lung disease. A very nasty one.”

“
Oh, I’m sorry,” she said sincerely.

“And losing Grandpa—well, that’s what ultimately
killed my grandma, too. She just couldn’t live without
him.”

Molly’s expression was crestfallen. “Oh, Lucky, that’s
so sad. I hadn’t realized
. . .
I mean, when I came out
here, I didn’t do it to upset you.”

He sighed and wrapped his arm around her.” I know, sugar. Guess I’ve been kind of hard on you, eh?”

“Yeah. But I understand.”

“Good.” He tweaked her chin. “And besides, you
can’t possibly smoke if we’re to have a child.”

She felt her cheeks heating. “Lucky, I already told
you, there isn’t a child.”

“Not yet,” he added meaningfully. “But you need to
start safeguarding your health now—and that means no
smoking, and not a drop of alcohol, either.”

She chuckled. “Now you’re sounding like some Bap
tist preacher at a tent revival.”

He grinned. “Maybe I am. You know, my grandparents
used to take me to the
Baptist
Church
every Sunday.
Then I lost them and . . . well, I guess I lost my faith, too.”

She swallowed hard. “How are you feeling about
things now?”

He kissed her cheek. “Better. Like maybe there’s a
purpose to the universe, after all. Heck, maybe I was
sent here to keep you in line.”

“A man from the future trying to tame a woman from
the past?” she teased back. “How old-fashioned does
that make
you?”

He chuckled. “Well, even back in my own time, girls
used to call me ‘retro’ or a ‘relic.’”

“I’m sure they did.”

He affectionately rumpled her hair. “So maybe being
such a fossil, I do belong in a time like this. But the irony is, my bride seems to have come straight out of
the future.”

“Complaining, are you?” With a wistful smile, she
confided, “You know, I used to dream of going there.”

“Did you? Guess that makes sense, with your ma and
all.”

She nodded. “I’d remember the story of how my folks
met, then I’d head for Reklaw Gorge and dream of my own hero, coming from across time to rescue me.”

“You needing rescue?” he replied drolly. “Now there’s
a novel thought.”

“0h, hush.”

“So, am I your idea of a hero?”

She winked. “You’ll do.”

He regarded her quizzically. “But I haven’t exactly
taken you to the future, have I?”

“Nope.”

“Do you still want to go there?”

She shook her head. “Reckon I’d miss my family too
much.”

“Just your family?” he asked with a catch in his
voice.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Well, I allow you’re
growing on me a bit, too, Handsome.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So, guess I’ll just stay here and be a woman before
my time—”

“You and your mother—”

“And hope I don’t drive you too crazy in the mean
time.”

He touched the tip of her nose. “Honey, you already
have. Only you don’t have to smoke a cigarette to
prove you’re progressive.”

She chuckled. “Guess that’s my ma’s influence.” As he
raised an eyebrow, she hastily added, “Not that she
ever encouraged me to smoke. But she did raise me to
believe women can do anything they set their minds
to. Why, they can even be spies or outlaws, like Belle
Starr or Cattle Annie.”

“You read too many dime novels,” he teased. “Or so
I’ve heard Cory say.”

“And what do you read?” she mocked. “Shakespeare?”