wise look. “Obviously it’s going to take Lucky a while to accept his—well, what the Fates have in mind for him.”
Lucky ground his jaw. “Is someone going to take me to town or not?”
“I’ll take you to Mariposa,” volunteered Cory.
“Yeah, sure you will,” mocked Lucky. “It’ll do me one helluva lot of good to be dropped off at a ghost town.”
“But Mariposa’s not a ghost town,” protested Matt.
“Like hell it isn’t.”
“Silence, all of you,” scolded Grandma. She turned to Lucky. “Young fella, Matthew and Jessie are right. Mariposa ain’t no ghost town, and Buck Hollow ain’t been hatched yet. But the truth is, you’re in no condi tion to travel. Now, if you’ll just rest up a spell and try to ease your mind a mite—”
“Right, you folks have such a soothing manner about you,” Lucky mocked.
“Then maybe in a week or so, we’ll take you on in to Mariposa.”
Lucky waved his hands.
“And in the meantime, we can plan our wedding,” added Molly gaily.
“When hell freezes over,” Lucky retorted.
“Pa, are you going to keep allowing her to do this?” demanded Vance. “Just assuming she’ll get to wed this stranger, and against his will?”
“Yeah,” seconded Matt. “Ain’t that contrary to the rules—I mean, forcing him and all? What if us boys tried to hog-tie our brides and drag ‘em to the altar? You’d never allow that, right? So how come she gets to have her way with this drifter without a ‘by-your- leave’?”
Drifter, Lucky thought ironically. Now, that was an apt description. He’d drifted about as far from civiliza tion—and reality—as a man could get.
Cole smiled wisely. “Sons, you’re right. I’m not going to force Lucky here to wed Molly.” He glanced from the fiercely glowering Lucky to the smirking Molly, then chuckled. “But knowing my daughter as well as I do, I fear this whole marriage idea won’t be against his will for long.”
***
After the family war council, Cory and Matt helped Lucky hobble to the necessary out back. By now he was exhausted and in terrible pain, a fact not lost on Grandma, who poured half a bottle of foul-tasting patent medicine down his throat on his return. Fortu nately, the snake oil concoction was at least two-thirds alcohol, and within moments after collapsing on the soft feather bed, he had blissfully passed out.
“Just a song at twilight . . .”
The next thing Lucky heard were the lilting strains of a woman’s voice, singing “Love’s Old Sweet Song.” He grimaced in the half-light and creaked out of bed, wrapping himself in a quilt to cover his ridiculous drawers— a garment that resembled a gauzy nineteenth-century version of warm-up pants. A cool evening breeze wafted over him, ripe with honeysuckle.
Then he saw her, and his heart quickened. Molly, the hellcat and temptress, sitting there pretty as a picture on the porch swing, dressed in a low-cut yellow ging ham gown that showed off her flawless curves. Her rich auburn hair was caught back with a pale blue rib bon, the strands catching gold fire from the setting sun. Swinging gently, she was petting the pregnant cat, Jezebel.
What a vision she was, perched there just like an an gel, when he knew she was the devil in a yellow dress. In her own way, she was every bit as treacherous as Misti.
Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. His loins twinged in potent response, just as they had when she’d interrupted his bath earlier. Damn, that was the last thing he needed—to be lusting after a crazy woman when he should be running like hell.
That was when she noticed him, stopped singing and sashayed over to the window, pertly tipping her face toward him. “Well, hey there, Handsome. Quite a rest you had. How ya feelin’?”
Lucky scowled, clutching the quilt tightly about him. “Don’t you go trying to sweet-talk me.”
She chuckled. “But you look mighty fetching with those bedclothes wrapped around you.”
Lucky was
Lucky ground his jaw. “Is someone going to take me to town or not?”
“I’ll take you to Mariposa,” volunteered Cory.
“Yeah, sure you will,” mocked Lucky. “It’ll do me one helluva lot of good to be dropped off at a ghost town.”
“But Mariposa’s not a ghost town,” protested Matt.
“Like hell it isn’t.”
“Silence, all of you,” scolded Grandma. She turned to Lucky. “Young fella, Matthew and Jessie are right. Mariposa ain’t no ghost town, and Buck Hollow ain’t been hatched yet. But the truth is, you’re in no condi tion to travel. Now, if you’ll just rest up a spell and try to ease your mind a mite—”
“Right, you folks have such a soothing manner about you,” Lucky mocked.
“Then maybe in a week or so, we’ll take you on in to Mariposa.”
Lucky waved his hands.
“And in the meantime, we can plan our wedding,” added Molly gaily.
“When hell freezes over,” Lucky retorted.
“Pa, are you going to keep allowing her to do this?” demanded Vance. “Just assuming she’ll get to wed this stranger, and against his will?”
“Yeah,” seconded Matt. “Ain’t that contrary to the rules—I mean, forcing him and all? What if us boys tried to hog-tie our brides and drag ‘em to the altar? You’d never allow that, right? So how come she gets to have her way with this drifter without a ‘by-your- leave’?”
Drifter, Lucky thought ironically. Now, that was an apt description. He’d drifted about as far from civiliza tion—and reality—as a man could get.
Cole smiled wisely. “Sons, you’re right. I’m not going to force Lucky here to wed Molly.” He glanced from the fiercely glowering Lucky to the smirking Molly, then chuckled. “But knowing my daughter as well as I do, I fear this whole marriage idea won’t be against his will for long.”
***
After the family war council, Cory and Matt helped Lucky hobble to the necessary out back. By now he was exhausted and in terrible pain, a fact not lost on Grandma, who poured half a bottle of foul-tasting patent medicine down his throat on his return. Fortu nately, the snake oil concoction was at least two-thirds alcohol, and within moments after collapsing on the soft feather bed, he had blissfully passed out.
“Just a song at twilight . . .”
The next thing Lucky heard were the lilting strains of a woman’s voice, singing “Love’s Old Sweet Song.” He grimaced in the half-light and creaked out of bed, wrapping himself in a quilt to cover his ridiculous drawers— a garment that resembled a gauzy nineteenth-century version of warm-up pants. A cool evening breeze wafted over him, ripe with honeysuckle.
Then he saw her, and his heart quickened. Molly, the hellcat and temptress, sitting there pretty as a picture on the porch swing, dressed in a low-cut yellow ging ham gown that showed off her flawless curves. Her rich auburn hair was caught back with a pale blue rib bon, the strands catching gold fire from the setting sun. Swinging gently, she was petting the pregnant cat, Jezebel.
What a vision she was, perched there just like an an gel, when he knew she was the devil in a yellow dress. In her own way, she was every bit as treacherous as Misti.
Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. His loins twinged in potent response, just as they had when she’d interrupted his bath earlier. Damn, that was the last thing he needed—to be lusting after a crazy woman when he should be running like hell.
That was when she noticed him, stopped singing and sashayed over to the window, pertly tipping her face toward him. “Well, hey there, Handsome. Quite a rest you had. How ya feelin’?”
Lucky scowled, clutching the quilt tightly about him. “Don’t you go trying to sweet-talk me.”
She chuckled. “But you look mighty fetching with those bedclothes wrapped around you.”
Lucky was
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