Nan Ryan (14 page)

The spirited charmer who now shared his home never ceased to amaze and amuse the reserved professor. From the night he had opened his front door to find an ill-kempt, sunburned young face looking up at him, his quiet, orderly life had been turned upside down by the most exasperating, adorable, stubborn, changeable, shocking, impressionable, engrossing creature he had ever known. His role as her teacher was for a him a delight, although there were times he had the distinct feeling that it was she who was teaching him.

He now saw life and the living of it afresh through her inquiring, eager eyes. The desert sun seemed a bit brighter because its splendor so overwhelmed the intense, appreciative Mollie. Food, plain ordinary food, took on added flavor with her at his table rolling her violet eyes and exclaiming how delicious everything tasted. Poetry and literature, his grand passions, had deeper meaning and afforded extra enjoyment with her listening, enraptured, her ever-changing emotions marching across her pretty face, as he read aloud.

Like her father before her, Mollie was open and outgoing, lusty for life and its pleasures. Daring and unpredictable—exactly like the young, dashing Cordell Rogers—Mollie possessed the same magnetic quality, the same irresistible charm. And she had her mother’s fair, blond beauty.

Professor Dixon’s smile broadened.

From the kitchen, Mollie’s clear, strong voice raised slightly when, as though she had just learned the evening’s menu, she complimented Louise on her choices. Obviously Mollie had forgotten that it was she who had rushed in out of breath yesterday afternoon, floating right past him, blowing a kiss, and hurrying into the kitchen. There she had excitedly informed Louise that the most important guest ever to visit would be dining at the mansion in twenty-four hours and she thought it would be appropriate to begin the momentous meal with mock turtle soup. The soup should be followed with filet mignon, asparagus spears, boiled potatoes, stewed parsnips, and green peas. And, oh yes, for dessert those delicate little French pancakes filled with that delicious banana sauce and covered with the mouth-watering chocolate syrup that she, Louise, made like no one else on earth.

Even the formidable Louise Emerson had fallen victim to Mollie’s youthful charms. The straitlaced middle-aged widow no longer cast disapproving glances in Mollie’s direction. Louise had been won over and was eager to please the lovable, sunny-dispostioned Mollie. The undemonstrative woman had grown very fond of the uninhibited girl. The professor had caught the look of embarrassed joy in Louise’s eyes when Mollie—pleased with a special meal Louise had cooked or a pretty dress she had chosen—impulsively threw her arms around the older woman and gave her a bone-crushing hug.

And he knew, without being able to see her plump, florid face, that Louise was at this very minute beaming happily as Mollie praised her culinary talents.

Napier Dixon’s twinkling eyes lifted to the tall grandfather clock standing beside the door. He shook his head. If Mollie didn’t soon go upstairs and get dressed, she was not going to be ready for her young man.

The professor was impressed with the courteous Lew Taylor. Yesterday the young horseman had come to the professor’s office to introduce himself and ask if he might call on Fontaine. Graciously supplying answers to questions before being asked, Taylor said that he had come from a big ranch in the New Mexico Territory, where he had worked for years. He was in Maya to take the horse trainer’s position at L. J. Willard’s ranch. The two of them had talked for several minutes, and the professor found Lew to be pleasantly frank and forthcoming. And truthful. He had quietly checked up on Lew Taylor shortly after the young man had registered at the Nueva Sol. He had learned that Taylor had credentials and letters of recommendation from his former employer. Nothing seemed amiss. Permission to call on Fontaine was granted.

Rising from his chair now, the professor hurried into the kitchen to inform Mollie that the hour was growing late.

“Seven-forty-five?” she squealed, hands flying to her cheeks. “It can’t be. Why, Lew will be here by eight, and I’ll—”

“Still be in your dressing gown if you don’t get on upstairs,” cautioned the professor.

Mollie looked down at herself. “Jesus, Joseph, and Mary!” she exclaimed loudly, sailing across the kitchen. At the door she skidded to a stop, whirled and apologized. “There I go, swearing after I promised never to do so again. I am sorry, truly I am.” She spun about and was gone while two heads wagged back and forth and two pairs of smiling, forgiving eyes looked after her.

A bottle of Medoc from the hotel’s wine cellar in one hand, a fancy wrapped box of bonbons in the other, Lew Hatton stepped onto the broad front porch of the Manzanita Avenue mansion at exactly one minute before eight. Professor Dixon answered the door, took the wine, and shook Lew’s hand. He ushered the younger man into the drawing room, explaining that Fontaine was running a little late, but would join them shortly.

Both men rose when, twelve minutes later, Mollie swept into the room looking stunningly beautiful in a new dress of vivid rose silk. Handmade imported Fortaleza lace, delicate as a cloud, edged the shimmering garment’s low-cut bodice and tiny puffed sleeves. The fine fabric whispered as the slender blond beauty crossed to the tall, dark man, her hand thrust out, her violet eyes aglow.

“We’re so happy you could come, Mr. Taylor,” she said calmly, and Professor Dixon, watching, wondered if this could be the same girl who only moments ago had stood in the kitchen in her wrapper with her hair askew.

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Gayerre,” Lew responded evenly and, taking her hand, held it warmly in his for a long moment.

Mollie, looking into his summer blue eyes, was again struck by the smoothness of his tanned face, the flash of his straight white teeth. Dressed in an elegantly cut suit of dove gray, a starched white shirt, black silk cravat, and gleaming black boots, he was even more handsome than when they had met.

Holding her soft hand in his, Lew looked into Mollie’s huge violet eyes, which were ringed with thick lashes as black as his own. He noticed the tiny pinpoint mole near the left corner of her pink-lipped mouth and the shadowed valley between her full, high breasts. Her gleaming golden hair was parted down the middle, brushed back, and held in place with matching oyster-shell combs. She was even more beautiful than he had remembered.

“Shall we all sit down?” The professor suggested and from the way both their heads snapped around, he knew that they had forgotten he was present.

“Yes, Mr. Taylor,” Mollie managed, taking her hand from his, “this chair is most comfortable.” She indicated one of a matched set of yellow brocade-covered wing chairs.

Lew nodded, but waited until Mollie settled herself on the long navy velvet sofa. Ignoring the suggested chair, he took a seat beside her, handed her the box of bonbons. Thanking him, she swallowed nervously when he smiled and raised a long arm up behind her to rest along the sofa’s humped camel back. He sat so close the fabric of his jacket sleeve brushed her bare left shoulder. She shivered. He didn’t seem to notice the contact, but she could think of nothing else.

Hardly able to breathe, Mollie turned and placed the box of bonbons on an end table while Lew fell into easy conversation with the professor. Hands folded in her lap, Mollie stole glances at Lew’s handsome, harshly planed face as he talked. His thick, dark eyebrows lifted not at all as the professor fired questions at him that Mollie thought bordered on rudeness.

“Tell me again, Lew, what was the name of that
rancho
where you worked in New Mexico? That’s right, I remember now. And the owner’s name? Yes, yes, the Poyner brothers. You were there how long? I see, I see.”

“… and I wanted to be closer to my sister down in Tucson,” Mollie heard Lew calmly explain.

Lew, quietly sizing up the slender, silver-haired man questioning him, correctly suspected that Professor Dixon—whatever his tie to this girl who called herself Fontaine—was going to prove extremely protective of her. There would be no overnight seduction of the blonde beside him. Her aging mentor would have to be won over before a hand could be laid on his beautiful protégée.

So Lew Hatton sat there on the sofa and answered every question, surprised at the ease with which he lied. He told himself he had no choice. He couldn’t admit that his name was Hatton and that he had come from Plano Pacifica. If this girl was indeed Mollie Rogers, she would recognize the Hatton name. Nor would it have been safe to pretend he had worked at Pascual Castillo’s
rancho
. The Texas Kid might have learned Teresa’s name before he …

Lew shifted, bringing his arm down from the sofa’s back. The movement caused the small cross beneath his white shirt to move and fall onto the flat muscles directly above his heart. Fleetingly he wondered if Mollie’s desperado lover had worn the cross around his neck when the two of them made love. Had Mollie, on horseback just outside the coach, been with the Kid while he raped the helpless Teresa? Had she been jealous, or had she laughed at the Kid’s playfulness, or had she cared not at all?

Lew made a mental note to leave the cross in his foot locker in the future. If Mollie saw the crucifix, it might well give him away.

Mollie, looking at him from beneath lowered lashes, saw a turbulence in Lew’s expressive blue eyes despite his easy banter and relaxed manner. She was wondering what was going through his mind when Louise appeared to announce that dinner was ready.

The meal was a pleasant affair, with Lew eating heartily and offering his compliments to the cook. He was charming and talkative, and the professor found the young horseman from New Mexico to be well-mannered, intelligent, and excellent dinner company. Mollie, reading the professor’s approval, felt relieved, happy, and grateful to learn the two men had so much in common.

Her eyes shining in the candle’s glow, Mollie sipped Medoc from a sparkling glass and felt the smooth wine warm her right down to her toes. Or was it the warmth caused by the handsome man seated across from her with his long, lean fingers curled caressingly around a wine glass and his fathomless blue eyes holding her in their thrall?

Mollie could hardly believe it when, having after dinner coffee in the library, the clock struck eleven.

Carefully setting his cup aside, Lew said, “I had no idea it was so late. I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“Nonsense, Lew,” said the professor. “We’ve enjoyed your visit. You must come back.”

Mollie held her breath, waiting for Lew’s reply. He gave none but smiled and stood up. The professor rose. Lew helped Mollie to her feet and she heard the professor say, “Fontaine will see you to the door.” He shook Lew’s hand.

“Good night, sir. The evening was most enjoyable.”

Lew turned to Mollie. She almost winced when he gently took her elbow and ushered her toward the wide corridor.

She was talking a mile a minute as they neared the front door. She had no idea what she was saying, she was simply trying to delay his departure. She had a terrible sinking feeling that once he said good night he would step right off the porch and out of her life.

“Fontaine,” he said, smiling, when they reached the door, “may I interrupt you for a moment?” Blushing, she fell silent. “I want you to have dinner with me tomorrow night. Will you?” Mollie stared at him wide-eyed, and she was momentarily speechless, her heart fluttering wildly. Lew laughed softly. “Does that mean yes?”

“Oh, yes, Lew. Yes, yes, it means yes.”

“I’m glad. We will dine at the Nueva Sol around nine tomorrow evening, if that’s convenient.”

Mollie nodded happily, then said, “I’ll have to ask my uncle.”

Again Lew laughed. Then he lifted a dark hand and gently guided a wayward lock of golden hair back over a bare, pale shoulder. “Fontaine, I meant for the professor to join us, of course.” A slight, barely discernible frown flitted across her fine features and Lew caught it. Lowering his voice, he teased, “Don’t you want the professor to join us?” His eyes gleamed, daring her to admit the truth—that she would rather the two of them dine alone.

Mollie surprised him. Lew’s heart kicked against his ribs when she smiled demurely, opened the front door, and said, “I want what you want, Lew.”

And then it was she who laughed.

Mollie thought it fitting that Lew had ridden
into Maya—and her life—in the spring. Spring was the best time in the desert. The warm, clear days stretched into fiery, spectacular sunsets and then gave way to cool, breezy, blossom-scented nights.

Her newly discovered romantic’s heart told her that all was as it should be. From out of her sweetest dreams had stepped this magnificent man who was as fiery, exciting, and lusty as her dear dead papa. And at the same time as intelligent, kind, and gentle as the professor. Fate had deemed it to be, she was sure.

“Spring, the sweet spring, is the year’s pleasant king;

Then blooms each thing
,

then maids dance in a ring
…”

Mollie recited aloud, pleased with herself for remembering the verse and thankful that Professor Dixon had insisted she learn to appreciate poetry. It hadn’t seemed terribly important then; now it did.