Marrying Molly. Christine Rimmer

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Inside.” Molly looked at her grandmother dead on, no blinking. After maybe ten seconds of that, Granny gave in. Grumbling under her breath in obvious disapproval, she banged through the storm door. Molly waited till she disappeared from view before calling to Tate, “You can come out now.”

      Dark eyes narrowed and broad shoulders straight, Tate emerged from behind the tree and mounted the porch steps. “What is wrong with that woman?”

      Molly ignored the way watching him come toward her made her palms go sweaty and her heart beat faster. She gave him her coolest look. “Nothing the total elimination of the male sex from the world wouldn’t cure.”

      For that, she got a slow once-over, starting at the top of her head and ending at her bare toes. “Having a little nap?”

      She resisted the pitiful urge to fluff her pillow-flattened hair. “What’s it to you?”

      “It’s good that you get your rest, that’s all. You need it, for the baby’s sake.” It wasn’t a bad thing to say, not really.

      Still, another sour remark rose to her lips. She held it back.

      He studied her for a long moment while she told herself that the hot shiver sliding through her meant nothing at all. Finally he said in a low, calm tone, “We need to talk, don’t you think?”

      She just felt so…defensive. It made her stiffen her spine and mutter provokingly, “As if you ever did care what I think.”

      He took a step closer. “Molly.” The way he whispered her name made her yearn to throw her arms around him and beg him to take her right there on the front porch, to take her and never, ever let her go.

      Hah. Never let her go. As if that would happen—as if she wanted it to happen.

      She didn’t. Uh-uh. No way. She did not…

      “All right,” she said, resigned to the fact that they were getting to the part with the shouting and the accusations. “We’ll talk.” She still had the shotgun in one hand. With the other, she gestured at the porch rocker. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.” She whirled around and went inside before he could say another word.

      “Granny?” she called softly. There was no answer. The only sound was the whir of the big window air conditioner in the kitchen.

      Molly stepped over to the hallway. The door to the back bedroom was shut. Good. She went into her own room and straight to the closet, where she lifted a hidden trapdoor to a two-by-four-foot space under the floor. She put the shotgun in there and closed it up. She was reasonably certain Granny didn’t know about that hiding space, which meant she wouldn’t be threatening any unfortunate men with the shotgun for a while.

      The weapon safely hidden away, Molly put on her sandals, grabbed her red purse and went to tap on Granny’s door. “Tate and I have a few things to talk about. I’ll be gone for a while.”

      The door opened. Granny looked at her sideways, graying brows drawn together. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

      Molly forced a smile and leaned over to place a kiss on her weathered cheek. “I’ll be back later.”

      “Where’s my shotgun?”

      “Safe.”

      “Humph,” said Granny.

      Molly leaned closer. “You can’t go around shooting at men for no reason.”

      “Molly, baby, all men need shooting at. No reason required.”

      Molly shook her head. “You’re lucky he isn’t talking about suing you.”

      “Suing me? That’s what’s the matter with this country nowadays. You fire a shot over a varmint’s head and he takes you straight to court. And besides, what do I have that a rich man would sue for?”

      “Granny, just settle down and behave, will you?”

      Granny pinched up her mouth. “You call me if he gives you too much grief. I’ll see he regrets the day he ever messed with us O’Dares.”

      Back out on the porch, Molly told Tate, “We can’t talk here. Granny’s kind of fired up.” No telling what she would do if Molly and Tate started trading hostile words. “Let’s go out to the Double T. We can talk in private there.”

      “Good idea.” He started to reach for her.

      She stepped back. “I’ll take my own car.” That way, when the yelling was over, she wouldn’t be dependent on him for a ride home.

      “Suit yourself.” He turned without another word and went down the steps ahead of her.

      The Double T ranch house stood, graceful and welcoming, at the end of a long curving driveway lined with oaks. The main—or center—wing had been built at the turn of the last century by Tate’s great-great-grandfather, Tucker Tate II. The North Wing had been added by Tucker Tate III and the South Wing by Tate’s grandfather, Tucker Tate IV. Since Tate was the only family member currently in residence, he lived in the main wing and left the other two to the occasional attentions of his housekeeper and the day maids.

      He pulled his Cadillac into the central turnaround at the front of the house. Jesse Coutera, who drove him occasionally and acted as a general handyman around the place, was waiting for him. “Thanks, Jesse. Go ahead and put it away.”

      Molly’s little red pickup screeched to a stop way too close to Tate’s rear bumper. “And the lady’s pickup?” Jesse asked, looking nervous, the way most men did around Molly. Molly, scowling, got out of the pickup and slammed the door.

      “Better just leave it here for now,” Tate said.

      Jesse got in behind the wheel of the Caddy and headed down the side driveway. Molly approached. Though he’d already given her a good once-over back at her house, Tate couldn’t help but do it again. She was dressed to match her pickup: red knee-length pants that clung to every generous curve, red sandals and a tight red T-shirt with Prime Cut in white lariat script across those breasts that no red-blooded male could keep from gaping at.

      “Let’s get this over with,” she growled.

      It was kind of depressing, how hostile she was. But he figured her attitude would change as soon as she got a look at the eight-carat diamond he’d driven to Abilene and bought her that afternoon.

      Tate allowed himself a smug little smile. Since she’d climbed in his window the night before and dropped the bomb on him, Tate had been giving their little problem a lot of serious thought. He’d decided he was going to do the right thing and put a ring on Molly’s finger.

      “What are you grinning about?” She glowered at him, her big amber eyes narrowed to slits.

      Uh-uh. She was not getting his dander up. “Shall we go inside?” He offered his arm.

      She pointedly didn’t take it. “Fine.”

      Tate led her to the big family room at the back of the center wing. The housekeeper, Miranda—Jesse’s wife—appeared briefly to ask if there was anything she СКАЧАТЬ