Finally a Bride (10 page)

“Happiness is all he’d want for you, too, Mom. Go ahead, be happy,” she urged. “And don’t feel guilty about it.”

Her mother sighed, then lifted her shoulders a little higher as if a weight had been lifted from her. “I’m glad you’re back home. I really have missed you.”

“I’m not home,” Molly pointed out. “You won’t let me come home.”

Her mother glanced around the small cabin, then winked at Molly. “You’re home. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

E
RIC HAD INTENDED
to leave, to pack some things and stay with his friend in Grand Rapids. And yet, having overheard bits and pieces of Molly’s conversation with her mother, he hadn’t been able to leave. Not until he made sure she was all right.

Once her mother’s minivan pulled away from the driveway, he stepped through the slider into the kitchen. Molly stood near the counter, her back to him and her shoulders shaking as if she was weeping.

His heart clenched, accepting her pain as if it was his own. “Molly…” He settled his hands on her shoulders to offer support. “Are you okay?”

“My mother’s dating.”

“I know,” he admitted. “Rory told me.”

“So you two talk when you’re fishing?”

“Yes.” Despite all his siblings, Rory really needed someone to talk to. Right now, so did his oldest sister.

“Do you know
who
she’s dating?”

“Mr. Schipper.”

Molly turned toward him, her eyes streaming tears—of laughter. “Mr. Schipper? One of our old high-school teachers? Can you imagine—Mom and Mr. Schipper?”

He faked a shudder. “No.”

“Remember how he always wore those sweaters with the patches on the elbows and smelled like tobacco smoke?” Molly shuddered, probably for real. “He must smoke a pipe. Mom hates smoke.”

“I remember how much you loved him.” Eric reminded her of her feelings for their old English teacher. “He was your favorite teacher.”

“Yes, but he’s not my dad.”

Eric pulled her into his arms. “No, he’s not. He knows that, Molly. He won’t try to be.”

She sniffled against his shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out Wednesday night.”

“What? We?”

“We’re going to dinner at his place.”

“We’re?”
His pulse quickened. For so many years he had wanted nothing more than to be a
we
with Molly. But he’d resigned himself a while ago to being only an
I.

“I’m not going alone,” she said, her eyes bright with panic.

“What about your brothers and sister?”

“Mom hasn’t told them.”

Of course, she would have told Molly first. Mrs. McClintock had always been closest to her oldest daughter, probably because they were so much alike. “Well, Rory figured it out on his own. You don’t think Colleen and Clayton have, too?”

“I think they’re a little busy with their own lives right now. Clayton resisting his attraction to Abby. And hopefully Colleen resisting the questionable charms of the best man.”

“Are you okay with this?” he asked, more concerned about her than her siblings. “With your mom dating?”

She expelled a shaky breath that brushed warmly across his throat. “I think it’s more serious than dating.”

“Oh.”

“That’s why I need a friend along.” She gazed up at him, her dark eyes intense, and asked, “Are we still friends, Eric?”

“We’ll always be friends,” he insisted. He had accepted long ago that that was all they would ever be. But every once in a while he needed a reminder—like the engagement ring on her finger.

“I thought you lost that thing in the Dumpster,” Eric said, tweaking the brim of Molly’s straw hat as they walked down the sidewalk on Main Street.

She shook her head. “No, it missed the Dumpster and fell on the ground.” And she had picked it up after Pop had left them in the alley Saturday night—four long days ago.

Guilt pulled at her. She hated hiding out, but Mom was right. Clayton and Abby—and Brenna and Josh—needed time to fall in love. She glanced up at Eric, walking close beside her, his bare arm brushing hers. She worried that
she
hadn’t needed any time to fall in love.

“Well, if anything should have stayed in the Dumpster, it’s that hat,” he murmured as he held open the door to Carpenter’s Hardware Store, his hand splayed against the glass above her head.

Molly ducked under his arm, her gaze immediately going to his bicep and the barbed-wire tattoo stretched taut around the impressive muscle. When they were in high school, she hadn’t understood his wanting the barbed wire despite its popularity. Their tattoos were supposed to have meant something to them. Now she knew what his meant. He’d closed himself off, and the barbed wire was his way of keeping everyone out.

Except her. No matter how much he might like to, he hadn’t been able to turn his back on their friendship. As they stepped into the store he caught her around the waist, pulling her between shelves.

“Wha—”

He pressed his palm over her mouth and dragged her behind some boxes Mr. Carpenter had left in the paint aisle. Molly peered around the cardboard, catching a glimpse of bare legs and a blond ponytail swinging against a slender back. “Abby…”

Her heart shifted. She missed Abby so much. With Abby moving away and Molly spending so much time in school and studying, she hadn’t seen nearly enough of her friend for many years.

The door swung shut as Abby left the store. “That was close,” Molly murmured.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Eric said.

“But we need lightbulbs.”

“I could have gotten them myself,” he said. “You didn’t need to come along.”

Despite what she had claimed in her note, Molly really didn’t want time alone. For some reason she much preferred spending her time—all her time—with Eric. “But I’m the one who burned out the bulbs,” she reminded him.

“I was kidding,” he insisted. “You haven’t actually been reading that much.”

“I have,” she admitted. “At night.” Since she couldn’t sleep, being just a few yards away from Eric’s bed, she read instead. From the dark circles beneath his gray eyes, she suspected he hadn’t been sleeping a whole lot more than she was.

“I can buy lightbulbs without you,” he pointed out. “I’ve been doing it for years.”

He had been doing a lot of stuff without her. He didn’t need her—not in the way that she was afraid she needed him. “The hardware store is right on the way to Mr. Schipper’s condo.”

“And right in the middle of town, where everyone’s sure to see you.”

“Good thing I have my hat,” she said, tweaking the brim herself.

He sighed and stepped out of the aisle.

“That’s who I heard,” Mr. Carpenter said, his hearing aide screeching as he fiddled with the controls. “I thought someone came in while I was busy with Abby Hamilton.”

Because she’d once driven her car—accidentally, of course—through the front of his store, there had never been much love lost between Abby and Mr. Carpenter. Yet the old man’s face softened with affection. “Look at that, she’s not doing a half-bad job on my windows.” He shook his head, looking bemused.

Molly whirled back to the storefront. She thought Abby had gone, but instead the blonde was pushing a sponge up and down the glass, streaking the windows with soap.

“Molly McClintock?” the old man boomed. “Is that you hiding under that hat? For a minute I thought you were Rosie Hild.”

“Told you so,” Eric murmured.

“You should let Abby know you’re here,” Mr. Carpenter said, gesturing toward the front window. Fortunately the glass was too streaky for Abby to see them. “She’s been worried about you. All your family has been.”

Molly shook her head. “Not my mom. She’s known where I’ve been the whole time.”

“Your mama is a sharp one. You’ve always taken after her the most, until…”

Until she’d jilted a groom? “Please don’t tell Abby—or anyone else—that you saw me.”

The store owner nodded. “Of course I can keep a secret. I’m not a gossip like
some
of the people in this town.”

Since Mr. Carpenter hadn’t known where Molly was, she doubted Mrs. Hild was the gossip she’d always been called.

“Of course you’re not,” Molly agreed.

“Have you talked to your guy yet?” he asked, obviously prying for information.

Molly automatically glanced to Eric, whose jaw had grown so tense that a muscle jumped in his cheek. “My guy?”

“That doctor—the one who makes you pretty?”

“What?” Josh had never made her pretty. She had thought he might make her happy, because she wouldn’t have had to risk her heart. Then comprehension dawned. “Oh, you mean he’s a plastic surgeon.”

“Yeah, that one,” Mr. Carpenter said, shaking his head as if dumbfounded about why she had always been called the smart McClintock. “You know—your fiancé?” The old man glanced down at her hand, as if checking for the ring.

With a glance of his own at her hand, Eric walked off—the pressure back in his chest that had been there since Molly had announced her engagement to another man. She had called him so casually with the news—as if he wouldn’t care or, worse yet, as if he’d actually be happy for her. Then she had asked him to stand up in the wedding party, and he’d believed she really had forgotten all about
that
night so long ago.

Until she’d kissed him. Now he could think of nothing else.

He found the lightbulbs and carried a box toward the cash register. Mr. Carpenter, never one to miss a sale, followed him back.

And so did Molly, proclaiming, “He’s not my fiancé.”

“You’re still wearing his ring,” Mr. Carpenter pointed out as he rang up Eric’s purchase.

Why was she still wearing Towers’s ring? Unless she really had deeper feelings for the guy than she was willing to admit? It looked as if she wasn’t quite ready yet to let the doctor go.

“I’m going to give it back,” she said, her face hidden beneath the hat as she bowed her head.

“You should do that pretty soon,” Mr. Carpenter said. Pitching his voice a decibel lower, he added, “If you don’t want it, I think he might have need of it for someone else.”

The hat brim bobbed as she lifted her head. “Really?”

The shopkeeper dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He and Brenna Kelly have been spending a lot of time together.”

“They have?” Molly asked.

“Oh, my, don’t that beat all?” Mr. Carpenter said, his eyes wide with shock as he handed back Eric’s change. He gestured toward the front of the store.

Some streaks had cleared from the window, so they could see clearly. Abby’s back was pressed against the glass as Clayton McClintock passionately kissed her—just as Eric had kissed Molly in the sand the other night.

And as he had kissed her every night since. In his dreams.

“T
HEY NEVER EVEN NOTICED
us walking right past them,” Molly said with a laugh as she helped her mother set salad bowls on Mr. Schipper’s—Wallace’s, as he insisted she and Eric call him now—dining-room table.

Despite being a bachelor his whole life the English teacher had a lovely home, roomy, with sturdy furniture and bookshelves filled with many, many books. “Can you imagine, Mom? My uptight brother making out with Abby Hamilton on Main Street?”

“I always knew she’d be good for him,” her mother said with a smile of vindication. “Even your father thought so.”

Molly’s smile faded as sadness tugged at her along with the memories. “Yes, he did. He loved Abby, too.”

“Before he died, he gave your brother my old engagement ring. The one he gave me before I had this anniversary ring.” Her mom glanced down at the diamond band that symbolized twenty-five years of marriage—twenty-five years of her life. “I think he hoped Clayton would one day give that ring to Abby.”

“Hopefully he will.”

“With a little more time, he will,” their mother insisted, her voice strong with certainty. Then she glanced toward Mr. Schipper—Wallace—who talked with Eric in the living room and that certainty faded from her face, replaced with a guilty flush.

“That’s all you need,” Molly said gently. “Just a little more time.” It would take time for her, as well, to get used to the idea of her mother dating.

“He’s been waiting for me for quite a while already,” her mother whispered back. “I’m not sure if he’s willing to wait much longer.”

“If he loves you, he will.”

Mom touched her chin, pointing Molly’s face toward Eric. “What about him? How much longer are you going to make him wait? He’s loved you since the second grade.”

Molly sighed. “You, too? Everyone says that, but they’re wrong. He wouldn’t have left for the Marines if he loved me.”

“I could say that, too,” her mother pointed out. “That your father wouldn’t have left me either, if he loved me, but we all know better.”

“Daddy didn’t have a choice. He died.” Eric could have died, too. From his scars, it was pretty clear that he almost had.

“Do you think Eric had a choice?” her mother asked, her voice as firm as if she was defending one of her own children. “He was raised by a soldier. Ever since the second grade he wanted to be a soldier, just like his great-uncle.”

“Because he thought that was what his uncle wanted for him,” Molly said. He really had been a hypocrite when he’d accused her of only wanting to please her father.

Mom shook her head. “I think his uncle was as worried about him enlisting as you were. Eric became a Marine because it was what
he
wanted. He wanted to be a hero.”

He had always been hers—even before his growth spurt.

Molly shrugged. “People grow up. They change. In second grade I wanted to be a librarian,” she remembered.

“That’s fitting,” Mr. Schipper said as he joined them in the kitchen. Even during summer vacation he dressed like a teacher, in khakis and a button-down shirt. “I remember that as well as being homecoming queen you were class valedictorian. You would make a wonderful librarian, Molly. You’re still the best student I ever had.”

“Hey,” Eric protested as he walked in behind the older man. “What about me? I was in your class, too.”

“You spent more time studying Molly than any of your reading assignments, South.” Their former teacher teased them with a wide grin. “I still can’t understand why you two went to the prom with other people.”

Molly’s face heated as she remembered the evening, fighting off her date, an overamorous jock she had gone out with that night only. But she hadn’t had to fight him long before Eric had intervened, bloodying the guy’s nose.

“I got you thrown out of prom,” she said to Eric, as she remembered.

Mr. Schipper shook his head. “As chaperone, that was my duty.”

“I don’t know who was more ticked off over what happened,” Eric mused with a grin. “Your date or mine.”

“Mine,” Molly insisted. “You broke his nose.”

“And you also broke Miss Sneible’s heart,” Mr. Schipper added. “Yes, you two should have gone to prom together. I think your dates would have both been happier.”

Mary McClintock patted her boyfriend’s arm. “That’s what I always thought, too.”

Mr. Schipper covered her hand with his, entwining their fingers. “I doubt there’s much about which we disagree.”

Mary pulled away, her face flushing with color. “Well, shall we eat before everything gets cold?”

“We cooked, so you two clean up,” Molly called out, just as she might have called “shotgun” before a road trip.

“That’s good. Because I can’t stay,” her mother said. “Clayton’s taking Rory and the team—and Lara, too—out for pizza after the soccer game. But I want to beat them back to the house.”

“So Colleen and Rory won’t know where you’ve been,” Mr. Schipper commented, sadness dimming his eyes.

It appeared that the mother snuck around like the daughter, Eric realized, hiding her relationship from everyone in town. Not that he and Molly had a relationship. Despite the kisses, they were only friends.

An hour later Eric stood at the sink, elbow deep in water. As he passed the older man a plate to dry, Mr. Schipper sighed and asked, “How have you done it?”

“Done what?” he asked Wallace.

“Waited so long for Molly?”

Eric glanced over his shoulder, but she wasn’t in the kitchen or dining area. So he laughed. “I’ve hardly been waiting for Molly. I left Cloverville the same time she did. I’ve only been back a couple of years.”

Yet only part of him had come back. Another part of him had stayed behind with the comrades he’d lost, and that included the part of him that thought he deserved any happiness.

“You joined the Marines,” Mr. Schipper said with obvious awe. “The whole town is so damn proud of you, boy. You’re a hero.”

“No. I’m no hero.” He pulled his hands from the sink and dried them on a towel. “I just did what I had to do—what anyone else would have done.”

And it hadn’t been nearly enough. Guilt nagged at him. He should have reenlisted. If not for Uncle Harold’s deteriorating condition, he would have. But the old man had been there for him, so Eric had to be there for the major now.

“I suspect that’s not entirely true,” Mr. Schipper said, his expression as stern as when Eric or Abby had tried to sell him an excuse for not doing their homework. “Just like your claim that you didn’t wait for Molly.”

“I didn’t.”

“You haven’t married anyone else,” the older man pointed out.

“So?” Eric shrugged. “I’ve dated.”

“Anyone seriously?”

“It could have been,” he lied. “But she dumped me.”

“No one wants to be with a man who’s hung up on someone else.”

Eric, unwilling to admit the fact that his old teacher was probably speaking the truth, stroked a finger over his scar. “No one wants to wake up to this face every morning.”