“I know John’s call upset you, but try not to let it get to you,” Chandler counseled as they went out and reclaimed the SUV. He passed each deputy a cigar with a pink band before thanking them and settling into the driver’s seat.
“I’m not upset, I’m pissed off,” she insisted, crossing her arms and glaring out the window.
“Is that a medical term?” he joked.
Molly felt some of her ire slip away. How did he do that? “I was having a perfectly wonderful time holding the baby and he screwed that up.”
“I was surprised,” Chandler remarked.
Molly regarded him for a second before saying, “I know. I have no idea how he got my cell number. I’ll call my friend Claire. She’s a computer whiz, maybe she can find out if the number is out in cyberspace because it really—”
“About that, too, I guess,” he cut in. “I was talking about you and the baby. I didn’t have you pegged as the baby type.”
“I’m not. I mean, I like babies. Babies are cute. I’ve just never given the idea much thought.” She didn’t like the way his brow furrowed. “What?”
“No thought? Aren’t you about the right age to start hearing the tick-tock of your biological clock?”
“I hit the snooze button a few years ago.”
He tossed his dark head back and laughed.
“What about you?” she countered. “Isn’t there some law requiring X number of offspring from each and every Landry?”
“I hope not,” Chandler admitted with an exaggerated flinch for effect. “But in answer to your question, of course I’ve thought about it.”
“And?” Why am I asking him? How is it any of my business? Who cares, I want to know.
“It’s part of my someday.”
“Your ‘someday’?”
He shrugged and let out a slow breath. “You know, someday I’ll learn to snowboard. Someday I’ll figure out how to program the timer on my VCR. Someday I’ll write a book. Someday I’ll get married and have kids.”
“Wait,” she said on an excited rush of air. “You want to write?”
Chandler’s expression flashed, then closed. “I was just giving a hypothetical list. I know how to snowboard, and I can program my VCR in under a minute.”
Molly wasn’t buying it. She remembered how she had secretly longed to try her hand at writing. The thought of having her books used as references by millions of people still gave her chills. And she was well on her way. Okay, maybe on her way to thousands, but still, she had a dream and she was fairly sure she sensed he, too, had a creative side not yet tapped.
“Since you’re currently unemployed and you don’t need an income, why not try your hand at writing?”
“Who said I wanted to write?” he asked, clearly annoyed.
“You did.” She tucked her leg beneath her and stared at his handsome profile. He reminded her of a film-noir hero, dark and mysterious in the uneven shadows cast by the streetlamps as they headed back toward the ranch.
“I didn’t. Can we drop it?”
“In a minute,” she continued. “I could help you. I have a decent agent in New Orleans. She does fiction as well as nonfiction. I’m sure if I called her, she’d be willing to look at an outline or synopsis or whatever. She could also give you some tips about markets, opportunities—”
“Give it a rest, Molly.”
She smiled in the dark. He had the bug; she could tell. She’d listened to enough people in the throes of denial to recognize it in him. Given that he’d opened his home to her, the least she could do was nudge him in the direction he secretly wanted to go. That’s what friends did for each other.
Not friends, that nagging voice in her head corrected. That’s what wives did.
She could not—correction—would not go down that road. A rational, reasonable person did not contemplate marriage to a man she’d known for less than a week. And known was a stretch. In fact, she thought as she settled against the seat, he was a virtual stranger. That realization was frustrating. As was the certain knowledge that she wanted to know him. Good or bad, the John situation would play out and there would be nothing left keeping her and Chandler together.
That left her with an important decision to make. Enjoy it while she could or stay safe. Safe was the smarter option, but her heart pleaded with her to take a risk. Just this one time. Scared and excited all at once, she took a breath and asked, “Do you still want to know why I became a shrink?”
He glanced over at her for a second, taken aback by her sudden offering to share something—anything—about herself. Chandler had almost gotten used to prying evasive answers from her. “Uh, sure. Yes.”
“As hokey as it sounds, I wanted to help people.”
“That’s not hokey,” he assured her. “Chance felt the same way. I completely understand that need.”
“There’s a reason why I have the need, though.”
He heard her take a fortifying lungful of oxygen and figured whatever she was about to tell him was major. He just didn’t know if it was serious major or something major only to her. Several seconds passed and she didn’t speak. Gently he prodded her. “Am I supposed to guess?”
Hearing her small laugh put him at ease. He liked that he could read her mood. Liked that she seemed to respond to him when she was scared or annoyed.
“My mother,” Molly said softly.
He felt the stab at his heart The word brought immediate images of his absent parents to the fore. “You can tell me anything,” he told her. But again a long silence followed. “Okay, how about I go first.”
“This is hard,” Molly admitted. “I’m the one that listens but I don’t think I ever realized how hard it is to spill your guts to someone for the first time.”
“I’ll make it easier. My mother ran off to find herself. My father ran off to find my mother. I guess they found each other and decided they didn’t want to be saddled with seven grown sons, a ranch and a small family fortune to control.”
“That’s horrible,” Molly cried, genuine compassion behind the outburst.
Chandler readily agreed. “It was rough for a lot of years. Worse for Shane.”
“Because he was the baby?”
“Was?” Chandler joked. “He still is a baby. Haven’t you noticed?”
“He’s nice.”
He slid his hand over and wrapped his fingers around her knee. If he’d have thought about it, he would have remembered that she wasn’t wearing slacks; she was wearing a dress. Which meant his palm was resting atop silken, warm flesh. Her flesh. The flesh that led to the other flesh. Like the flesh a few inches higher than his hand. His body reacted predictably and uncomfortably and suddenly he knew that the ride to the ranch would feel like a million miles.
“Shane is a great guy,” Chandler admitted, glad that he was able to choke out the words in a seemingly normal tone. “All my brothers are great. But, back to the topic at hand. Shane and my father had words, and Shane, being eighteen, cocky and impulsive, ran off. He roamed around for a while before finally coming home. He was ready to make peace with the old man, but that didn’t happen. It haunts him.”
“Has he gotten some counseling?” Molly inquired gently. “I’d offer myself but I don’t think it would be appropriate under the circumstances. Gavin is a wonderful therapist. He often works with people who’ve—”
“Shane on a shrink’s couch? I’d buy tickets to that.” His mind flashed a quick image of his youngest brother lying on a couch, lights dimmed, big boots sticking up, and Chandler had to chuckle.
“It isn’t a sign of weakness, you know.”
Hearing the hurt in her tone, he felt instantly contrite. “You have to know Shane. He yells and blusters but deep down, he’s completely harmless. He just wears his heart on his sleeve. I laughed because I couldn’t imagine Shane sitting still to let a trained professional examine his psyche. Hell, I don’t think Shane even knows he has a psyche.”
“Still, I’d be happy to refer him.”
“And I’d be happy to stand and watch while you tell him that. Just take my advice, duck if you do.”
“Your family is very…strange.”
He considered that for a minute, then responded by saying, “Not really. All things considered, I think we’re a pretty normal group.”
“But there’s no privacy.”
The ferocity of her remark caught him off guard. “Privacy?”
“Your lives are so…so…intermingled.”
He thought for a minute, then agreed whole-heartedly. “We’re family. Real family. You want to know what dampened my good time back at the hospital?”
“John’s call?”
“No,” Chandler flexed his fingers against the molded plastic steering wheel. “Cody couldn’t be here. I looked around the room and I wanted to see his face.”
“I’m sure he had a valid reason for—“
“I’m not mad at him, Molly. He’s working and I totally get that he can’t leave a witness unprotected. It bummed me out that he missed welcoming little Chloe with the rest of us. Once they’re gone, you can’t get those times back and, well, when we’re all together, we’re…complete.”
“But don’t you…never mind.”
“Ask me,” he insisted.
“Don’t you ever feel closed in by all those people?”
“Sure. Sometimes—rare times, it absolutely sucks. Most of the time it’s great to have so many people at your back.”
“I suppose it could have its benefits.”
He rubbed her knee briefly, then pulled the hem of her dress down and rested his hand on top. “Other than when I was in the service, I’ve never known what it’s like to be lonely. Not in my entire life. Few people can say that.”
“I’m an expert on it,” Molly admitted. “My parents loved me, but my childhood was really, really, really different from yours.”
“There were lots of times when I wished I’d been an only child, but truth be told, I wouldn’t trade with you for anything.”
He felt her muscle tense beneath his touch before she said, “My mother was ill.”
“Cancer?” he guessed. An educated guess: she would have been a young woman when she died and cancer explained that.
“Severe, debilitating manic-depression.”
He whistled, searching his brain for what little he knew about the disease. “That’s tough.”
“My dad dealt with it by working eighty hours a week. It was easier for him to remove himself from the situation than to confront it.”
“I’m sure he tried.”
“He did,” she agreed quickly. “He didn’t know how to deal with Mom. Or me. He figured if he earned a decent living, kept money in the bank and a roof over our heads, his job was done.”
“What was your job?” Chandler inquired gently.
“From as far back as I can remember, I was on suicide watch.”
“Wow. Wow,” he repeated, not sure what the correct response should be. “That’s a tough thing to put a kid through.”
“It sounds tough now,” she said, reaching down and covering his hand with her smaller one. “Truthfully, though, at the time I didn’t know any different. It’s hard to miss what you’ve never had and don’t know.”
“I can’t imagine a small child with that kind of responsibility. That kind of pressure. How’d you handle it?”
“Badly.” Her grip tightened. “My mother didn’t just die when I was thirteen, Chandler. She killed herself.”
He immediately twisted his wrist, capturing her hand and bringing it to his lips. “I’m sorry, honey. Really. That’s a horrible thing for a young girl to suffer through.” He tucked her hand against his chest and held it there. If there was comfort or wisdom to be offered, it eluded him at that moment.
“It was partially my fault.”
“I don’t believe that,” Chandler said with complete conviction. “You said she was ill for a long time.”
“I was supposed to go straight home from school. My dad would slip medication in her coffee every morning. I know now that he was sedating her, but at the time, I thought everyone’s mother slept until well into the afternoon.”
“You were what? In junior high? Whatever the outcome, your mother made the decision to end her life. No matter how misguided.”
She made a small sound—a kind of accepting sigh. Then she explained, “That is very true and I accept that. Guilt-free. Promise. I do, however, have some responsibility because I didn’t go straight home that day.”
He kissed her knuckles several times. “You were a kid, Molly, Cut yourself some slack.”
“I did it for the dumbest of all reasons. I had a crush on this boy. By way of a note passed to friend, who asked another friend to ask my friend if I would meet him at a park near our house, I went straight there about a millisecond after the bell rang.”
“You were entitled to a little R & R,” Chandler said, feeling her grip get just a tiny bit tighter as she continued to tell her story.
“That’s how I justified it. Only, it didn’t turn out as expected.”
“The guy was a jerk?”
She gave a little self-deprecating laugh. “Worse, he was a no-show.”
“Little…weenie.”
“You said weenie? After you mocked my use of snotless?”
“I’m being a gentleman,” he announced, pressing her hand to his lips and holding it there.
“He didn’t show up because the note wasn’t from him. He knew nothing about the clandestine meeting. Hell, he didn’t even know I existed. It was a prank by the popular girls. You must know them,” she teased, tugging at her hand.
Chandler didn’t release his hold. For some reason it just felt right to hold some part of her as she shared a pretty intimate part of her life with him. “Knew them, dated them, got dumped by them.”
“We all have our crosses to bear. So, Mom dies, and Dad and I are left to build something of a normal life.”
“Must have been hard.”
“That’s the strange part,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “It was easier. And I think that ate away at both of us. We never talked, of course. But the honest truth was, he didn’t have to avoid coming home anymore. I could have friends over and not worry that my crazy mother would come out an humiliate me. It was pretty…normal.”
“Good.”
“For me, yes. My dad started drinking eventually. I’ve always wondered how he managed to stay sober all those years when my mother’s behavior was completely unpredictable, and it was only years after she died that he crawled inside a bottle.”
“You know,” he began, pressing her hand over his heart, “I’m feeling like five kinds of a fool for griping about my folks. Compared to what you went through, my life has been a cake walk.”
“I’m not some tortured soul, Chandler. I made peace with what happened long ago. When my dad died, my only regret was that we’d never been able to establish any kind of relationship as adults. I didn’t care about his failings as a parent, but I would like to have known him. You know?”
“Yep. I was lucky in that respect. My folks got a glimpse of the men we’d become before they took off. My personal feeling is that that may be why they don’t come home.”
“That would make sense,” she agreed. “Or, they were terrified of having to do all that shopping at Christmas.”
After giving her hand a final squeeze, he reluctantly let it fall to the console separating them. “It’s getting expensive,” Chandler acknowledged. “But it’s been great these past few years. There’s something about little kids and Christmas that just warms your heart.” He parked in front of the house and cut the engine.
“You softie,” she teased, poking a finger at his ribs as they walked up the steps. “Who knew that underneath all this muscle would be a tender, gentle heart.”
“I’m showing you my sensitive side and you’re ragging me, Dr. Jameson. That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”
“Harsh? Yes. But it’s also fun.”
“I’ll show you fun.” He scooped her up and smothered her laughter with a deep, meaningful kiss.
In no time her laughter vanished, replaced by spinning, greedy need that left her hanging on to his neck as he explored her mouth and ignited her passions.
Molly was vaguely aware of the sensation of climbing a second flight of stairs. She didn’t care all that much; it felt too wonderful to be in his arms, pressed against his powerful body.
Feeling a fleeting sense of impropriety, she halfheartedly said, “We want different things,” she suggested.
“We’ve never talked about what we wanted,” he countered, his voice rising a notch. “We can do that, Molly. Later,” he said as he cradled her against his solid chest.
Chandler carried her down the hall to his bedroom. As if she were some fragile object, he placed her on the bed, gently arranging her against the pillows.
The lump of emotion threatened to strangle her as the moments of silence dragged on. Molly remained quiet as she watched him shrug out of his shirt before joining her on the bed. Through passion-dilated eyes, she took in the impressive sight of him. Rolling on his side, Chandler pulled her closer, until she encountered the solid outline of his body. His expression was fixed, his mouth little more than a taut line.
“I’ll make it good, Molly. You’ll see,” he said as he gently pulled her into the circle of his arms.
She had no doubt. This felt simply right. She needed this, needed his strength if she was going to make it through this without losing her mind.
She surrendered to the promise she felt in his touch.
Cradling her in one arm, Chandler used his free hand to stroke the hair away from her face. She greedily drank in the scent of his cologne as she cautiously allowed her fingers to rest against his thigh. His skin was warm and smooth, a startling contrast to the very defined muscle she could feel beneath her hand. She remained perfectly still, comforted by his scent, his touch and his nearness. Strange that she could only find such solace in his arms. Being here in this room with Chandler was enough to erase the fear and uncertainty that had plagued her for days. What could be the harm in just a few hours of the pleasure she knew she could find here?
“Molly?” he asked on a strained breath. He captured her face in his hands. His callused thumbs teased her cheekbones. When his chocolate eyes met and held hers, his jaw was set, his expression serious. “I don’t know if I have the strength to let you get up and walk away from me now. Please tell me this is what you want. Please?”
Using his hands, he tilted her head back. His face was mere fractions of an inch from hers. She could feel the ragged expulsion of his breath. Instinctively, her palms flattened against his chest. The thick mat of dark hair served as a cushion for her touch. Still, beneath the softness, she could easily feel the hard outline of muscle.
“I want you so badly,” he said in a near whisper.
Her lashes fluttered as his words washed over her upturned face. She needed to hear those words, perhaps even wished for them. Chandler’s lips tentatively brushed hers. So featherlight was the kiss that she wasn’t even certain it could qualify as such. His movements were careful, measured. His thumbs stroked the hollows of her cheeks.
Molly banished all thought from her mind. She wanted this, almost desperately. The touch of his hands and his lips made her feel alive. The ache in her chest was changing, evolving. The fear and confusion were being taken over by some new emotions. She became acutely aware of every aspect of him. The pressure of his thigh where it touched hers. The sound of his uneven breathing. The magical sensation of his mouth on hers.
When he lifted his head, Molly grabbed his broad shoulders. “Don’t,” she whispered, urging him back to her.
His resistance was both surprising and short-lived. It was almost totally forgotten when he dipped his head. His lips did more than brush against hers. His hands left her face and wound around her slender body. Chandler crushed her against him. She could actually feel the pounding of his heart beneath her hands.
The encounter quickly turned intense and consuming. His tongue moistened her slightly parted lips. The kiss became demanding, with her a very willing participant. She managed to work her hands across his chest until she felt the outline of his erect nipples beneath her palms. He responded to her action by running his hands all over her back and nibbling her lower lip. It was a purely erotic action, inspiring great need and desire in Molly.
A small moan escaped her lips as she kneaded the muscles of his chest. He tasted vaguely of coffee, and he continued to work magic with his mouth. Molly felt the kiss in the pit of her stomach. What had started as a pleasant warmth had grown into a full-fledged heat emanating from her very core, fueled by the sensation of his fingers snaking up her back, entwining in her hair and guiding her head back at a severe angle. Passion flared as he hungrily devoured first her mouth, then the tender flesh at the base of her throat. His mouth was hot, the stubble of his beard slightly abrasive. And she felt it all. She was aware of everything—the outline of his body, the almost arrogant expectation in his kiss. Chandler was obviously a skilled and talented lover. Molly, a compliant and demanding partner.
This was a wondrous new place for her, special and beautiful. The controlled urgency of his need was a heady thing. It gave Molly the sense that she had a certain primal power over this man.
Chandler made quick work of her clothes. He kissed, touched and tasted until Molly literally cried out for their joining. It was no longer an act, it was a need. She needed Chandler inside of her to feel complete.
Poised above her, his brow glistening with perspiration, Chandler looked down at her with smoldering, heavy-lidded eyes. He waited for her to guide him, then filled her with one long, powerful thrust.
The sights and sounds around her became a blur as the knot in her stomach wound tighter with each passing minute, building fiercely until she felt the spasm of satisfaction begin to rack her body. Chandler groaned against her ear as he joined her in release.
As her heart rate returned to normal, her mind was anything but. She lay there perfectly still, not sure what to do or say. She’d made love to Chandler with total and complete abandon. The experience was primitive and wildly scary. Her eyes fluttered in the darkness as she began to think of the consequences for her rash behavior.
Guilt swept over her like a blanket as she realized the gravity of the situation. Things would never be the same between them.
“Where are you going?” Chandler asked as he struggled against her attempt to move out of his arms.
“Back to my room,” she suggested.
“No way,” he growled sensually as he brushed his lips against her dampened forehead. “I’m not nearly finished making love to you.”
“Really?”
Chandler’s sigh was loud and meaningful. “You aren’t having an attack of second thoughts, are you?”
Placing her hand beneath her cheek, she nodded against his chest. “Um,” she mumbled.
“Why?”
“I’m not good at this sort of thing. I don’t make a habit of jumping into the sack with a guy just because—”
“Hush,” he interrupted. “I know exactly why we made love.”
“You do?” She held her breath, scared. “Then tell me because now I’m totally confused.”