Love on the Range (Brothers in Arms #3)(12)

Win was a decent cook. She wasn’t a patch on Molly, but she was decent. He hoped Win could manage Cheyenne and hog-tie a meal.





Six




Molly had a job.

They had hired a new schoolmarm after Win, but she’d worked through a six-week stretch of school and was already quitting to get married. It was hard keeping a teacher in a town with five men to every one woman. Or was it fifty to one?

Molly had gotten hired on the spot, and the school board had walked her over to Parson Brownley’s home.

Parson and Mrs. Brownley had acted delighted to have a new person to live with them. They seemed like lovely people.

She’d unpacked her satchel and washed thoroughly, and was out in time to help Ida Brownley with supper. She oughta make these two a custard. They’d be glad they’d had her come to stay.

The evening meal was a fine experience. Casual and friendly, not a gunshot victim to be seen anywhere.

The Brownleys were good company. Older but not elderly by any means. By the time they were done eating Ida’s tasty ham steaks with mashed turnips, Molly had learned all about their three grown children. Two sons and a daughter, all married with children of their own and moved away.

The two seemed interested in adding someone younger back into their household. Why, they looked willing to adopt her.

Molly was just preparing to insist on clearing the table and washing the dishes when someone knocked on the front door. All right, it was pounding. Someone was slamming the side of their fist into the wood.

“Mercy.” The parson rose quickly. “Someone must be badly in need of a parson.”

He rushed to the door and swung it open.

Wyatt stood there, glowering.

Molly’s stomach twisted. “I think they’re here for me, Parson.” Her voice rose so the Hunt brothers—all three of them—could hear her. “They must have doubts about allowing a self-supporting, intelligent, adult woman to make her own decisions and live her own life.”

Mrs. Brownley arched one brow at her. Molly had no doubt her tone wasn’t lost on Ida Brownley.

She saw Kevin looking worried. Probably because he had to leave his wife behind for more than ten minutes.

Falcon didn’t look overly upset.

Wyatt charged in, followed by the other Hunt brothers . . . but only one of them actually her real brother.

Molly slapped her napkin on the table. She hadn’t done anything wrong. “Are you three taking up brotherly outings now?”

Wyatt glowered like he had been since they opened the door. Kevin’s brow furrowed with worry. Falcon grinned at her.

She knew, even if they didn’t, that their protest was all out of guilt. They didn’t really want her underfoot. They were all just bound up by their sense of responsibility.

“Come and join us at the table.” Mrs. Brownley gestured. “Would you like some ham? I made quite a bit thinking of leftovers, but I’d be delighted to share it with you.”

The parson pulled two extra chairs up. It was crowded, but there was enough room. Kevin rounded the table and shoved a chair in beside Molly, while Falcon and Wyatt sat across from them, Wyatt straight across from Molly.

“We haven’t had supper, Mrs. Brownley.” Wyatt seemed to be very friendly with the couple. “I’d be mighty glad to have some of your fried ham. On Sunday, I’ll bring you in a couple of our older roosters for your stewpot.”

“That sounds wonderful. We’d appreciate that.”

Wyatt took a piece of tender, sliced ham from the serving platter. “I’ve had your fried ham at a church social, ma’am. It’s a wonder what you can do with a slice of pork.”

Mrs. Brownley pinked up nicely and passed a bowl still half full of turnips. The men started serving themselves as if . . . Molly scowled. As if she wasn’t there with a hot meal when they came in at night. As if she wasn’t there to wait on them hand and foot, and now they were starving and letting some other poor woman do it.

“It’s a wonder, really, Wyatt, that you didn’t starve to death before I arrived in Wyoming.”

“Now, Molly.” Kevin poured gravy over his turnips and ham. He near to drowned the whole plate. “We’re here to fetch you home. We—that is—I don’t want you to live away from us.”

“Neither do I,” Falcon said around a mouthful of cured pig.

“You’re coming home, and that’s that.” Wyatt went back to chewing. Maybe he’d come in scowling because he blamed her that he was hungry.

“We want you out at the RHR, and we feel like . . . like . . .” Kevin gave Wyatt a desperate glance.

Molly knew it might be best to have this talk strictly between Kevin and her. No one else needed to hear their business.

Parson Brownley said, “Sometimes when there is strife in a family, it can help to talk about it with another person present. A parson.”

“And his wife.” Ida Brownley gave Molly a pointed look. Neither one of them was budging. Almost like they knew she wanted them to leave.

“I have a job. I’m sure you were going to ask soon.”

“We heard the last schoolmarm got hitched.” Falcon kept chomping away. “But we can’t spare you. You’re keeping us alive, and you’re the best cook I ever heard tell of, and that’s sayin’ something because my first wife, Patsy, was a wonder with possum stew.”