Montana (14 page)

“It wouldn't be a
real
marriage,” Gramps said. He'd mulled this part over, and he figured that if they weren't interested in a normal marriage, a business arrangement might be the best solution. Although he suspected that this marriage of convenience wouldn't remain merely a convenience for long….

In the months since Sam had come to work for him, Walt had grown fond of him. His own son was long dead, and because he loved Molly, he worried about her future and that of his great-grandsons. In his view, she needed a man, and he could think of no better man for her than Sam Dakota.

“You're talking about a marriage of convenience?” Molly asked, folding her arms. “You mean to say people actually agree to that sort of thing in this day and age?”

“It makes sense,” Gramps said mildly.

“Not to me, it doesn't,” Sam muttered. “When and if I marry, it isn't going to be any business arrangement. My wife will share my life
and
my bed.”

Molly's chin rose a defiant notch at the mention of his bed. “This entire thing is out of the question.”

“If you'd both quit being so damn stubborn and hear me out, then maybe you'd learn something.” Walt knew his strength was limited, and he didn't want to waste it arguing with two stubborn fools. He inhaled deeply and started again. “First of all, Sam, you should be able to appreciate Molly's concern. For all either one of us knows, you'll hire out somewhere else. You've already started looking.”

“Exactly.” Molly glared at Sam as if to say she doubted she'd ever be able to trust him; Sam frowned back at her. Walt shook his head, but he understood their need for defenses far better than they realized.

Sam's mouth thinned. “Walt, what makes you think marrying Molly would help?”

“Because you'd have a vested interest in keeping this ranch in the black.”

“Are you suggesting I'm not giving one hundred percent right now?”

The fact that he was nearly dead on his feet said more about his commitment to the ranch than any statement he could have made. “It's because you
have
worked hard that I'm prepared to make you this offer,” Gramps replied quietly.

“Offer?” Molly exclaimed. “Exactly what is it you're suggesting?”

Walt liked how she drove straight to the point. His own Molly had been like that, but her ways were more subtle. The hard edge around his granddaughter's heart was because of the divorce. She'd made one mistake in judgment and intended to punish herself for the rest of her life. Yes, the more he thought about it, this marriage would be good for her. Good for Sam, too.

Walt loved Molly, loved Tom and Clay. His blood flowed in their veins. They were all he had left in this world, other than the land his father had handed down to him. Persuading them to go along with this marriage might be the last thing he could do for her. The last way he had of protecting her future. And dammit, that was important.

“I was thinking…” Gramps's voice was almost a whisper, so depleted was his energy. It was a task to find the right words. “I'd feel better leaving your care in the hands of someone I trust.”

“I already told you, Gramps—I don't need someone to take care of me! And I don't need a husband.” She glanced at him sharply. “Gramps, you're tired!” When he shook his head, she sighed. “Look,” she began, “let's say we were to agree to this preposterous idea. There's nothing to prevent Sam from walking out on me after we're married.”

“Not if he's got something of value at stake.”

“Like what?” Sam asked. He uncrossed his arms and rested his hands on the railing, leaning forward slightly.

“Five hundred acres and fifty head of cattle.”

Molly gasped and her face turned a deep shade of red. “You're offering him land and cattle to marry me? A dowry? Now, I
know
they don't still do
that.
”

“I'm offering Sam what he's always wanted,” Gramps explained. No use wrapping it up in a silk bow. It was the truth, as plain and simple as he could make it. “A man will fight to the death for land and cattle.”

“And dump a wife and family in a heartbeat!”

“You appear to hold a low opinion of men,” Sam stated matter-of-factly, revealing none of the emotion Walt knew simmered below the surface. Molly was at a disadvantage; she hadn't known Sam nearly as long as he had. The adage “still waters run deep” had been coined for men like him.

Sam hadn't said much about his background, but Walt trusted him. Completely. He'd handed over the management of his ranch, and when it would have been easy to steal from him or cheat him, Sam hadn't. Not by so much as a penny. He worked hard, and Walt couldn't ask for more than that.

Only, he
was
asking. He wanted Sam to marry Molly. To be a father to Molly's sons. Walt yearned to know that when they carried him to his grave his family and his land would be in the hands of a man who'd take care of them.

“What you make of the marriage is up to you,” Gramps said, glancing from one to the other. Weary now, he closed his eyes. He almost wished he could be around to see the battle. Molly would put up a good fight and so would Sam, but he'd wager a year's income that it wouldn't be long before they fell in love.

His biggest regret was that he wouldn't know their children or hold them close to his heart.

“Walt?” Sam's voice caused his eyes to flutter open.

“You
are
tired.” Molly spoke softly. She sounded so much like his Molly that Walt was confused for a second.

“Let's help him inside,” Sam was saying.

Molly must have agreed, because the next thing Walt knew the two of them had escorted him into his bedroom. It was the only one on the main floor; the other five were upstairs. “Get out of here,” he said, using the small reservoir of strength that remained. “I can undress myself. You two go talk.” He aimed his look in Molly's direction. He felt that of the two, she was the one who needed convincing most.

“Talk some sense into her, boy,” Walt advised.

“I think you're both crazy!” Molly cried. “Get this straight right now, Sam Dakota. I'm not marrying you. I'd be a fool to agree to anything so…so…”

“Ridiculous,” Sam supplied.

Molly's mouth sagged open and she nodded. “That's exactly the word I was searching for. It
is
ridiculous. That my own flesh and blood would suggest such a thing…”

“Perhaps we should let Walt rest now,” Sam said as if fed up with the subject.

It would take an extraordinary man—a strong and honest man—to handle his granddaughter, Walt decided. He was convinced Sam was that man.

Now all he had to do was convince Molly.

 

If he hadn't heard it with his own ears, Sam would never have believed that Walt had actually suggested he and Molly get married.

Molly appeared none too pleased with the idea, either. “I want you to know up front that nothing you say is going to change my mind,” she said the minute she walked out of her grandfather's bedroom.

“I didn't say I was interested in marrying you,” Sam returned.

“You didn't have to.” She marched into the kitchen, grabbed the kettle and stuck it under the faucet. “It's nothing personal, but I have no desire to marry again.”

“Fine.” He wasn't in any mood to argue with her, although in all honesty the sound of those five hundred acres and fifty head of cattle appealed to him. He'd be a liar if he claimed otherwise.

But if he'd wanted to get married, he'd have done so long before now. Still might. But like he'd told Walt, he wouldn't enter into any marriage of convenience; he and his wife would sleep in the same bed.

He had to admit it, though—for a moment insanity had taken hold and he'd been tempted. Damn tempted. Land and cattle were a hell of an incentive.

Feeling wearier than he'd ever been in his life, he headed out the door. It banged shut behind him, the sound echoing in the silence of the night. Tom met him halfway across the yard, followed by Boris, the father of Natasha's litter. The Stetson was a good fit, shading his youthful face. Tom hitched his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans the way Sam did and walked with a stride that suggested a swagger. A cowboy stride.

“What'd Gramps have to say?” the boy asked.

“He, uh, had an idea.”

“For what?”

Sam grinned, wondering what Tom would say if he knew. Well, damned if
he
was going to be the one to tell him. “Ask your mother.”

“I know she won't tell me, but I was thinking you might.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Tom walked up to the corral and braced his right foot on the bottom rail.

Sam stood beside him and experienced a sort of twinge. A strange feeling. One he had difficulty defining. The tiredness had seeped into his bones, and he was ready to call it a night. But he lingered, looking out over the property. He could see it clearly, despite the darkness and the wan moonlight. And he knew that without him, without someone like him, it would all come to nothing.

A coyote cried in the distance, and Sam's gaze returned to the boy at his side.

Sam had wasted a lot of years on the rodeo circuit, chasing an empty dream. Killing himself one bull ride at a time. In the end all he had to show for it was a bad back, a pretty belt buckle and a broken-down truck. It wasn't long before he'd added a prison sentence to his list of accomplishments.

Tom looked up at him and grinned. “It doesn't get any better than this, does it?”

Sam laughed. “You've been watching too much television, kid.”

Tom's face fell, and Sam could see he'd offended him. He cut his laughter short and patted Tom's shoulder. “It's late. I'll see you in the morning.”

“Okay.” The boy's eagerness was undisguised, and Sam was relieved his thoughtless amusement hadn't damaged their relationship. As Tom loped off, Sam glanced over his shoulder and grinned at him.

“I would've been proud to call you son,” he murmured.

The light on the porch behind him suddenly came on, and he turned to see Molly standing there, watching him. She was a fine-looking woman, too stubborn for her own good, but then he was far from perfect himself.

In time he suspected she'd remarry. Probably someone like that attorney. Well, no denying it, Russell Letson would make her a hell of a better husband than
he
ever would.

For the life of her Molly couldn't sleep. She'd tossed and turned so many times that the sheet had wrapped itself around her legs, binding her at the knees.

Groaning, she reached for the lamp on the nightstand and switched it on. Light flooded the room, and Molly squinted until her eyes adjusted, then glanced at the clock radio.

Three a.m.

She wouldn't do it. That was all there was to it. Marriage was never intended to be a business arrangement. It still irked her, the way Sam's eyes had lit up at the mention of land and cattle. Gramps hadn't a clue how badly he'd insulted her! He would never intentionally hurt her, of that Molly was certain. But his suggestion had opened her eyes to the truth.

Gramps was right to worry about her, she thought wryly. Sam was no solution; he'd stick around the Broken Arrow until he had a better offer. Because of his fondness for Gramps, she doubted he'd leave until after her grandfather was dead and buried.

She could hardly breathe when she realized where her thoughts had taken her. Gramps was dying. Much as she wanted to reject the evidence, it was unmistakable. In the few weeks she'd been in Montana, she'd witnessed his physical and mental decline. Each day he seemed a little weaker, a little frailer. Even his memory was going. Twice now he'd thought she was his Molly.

Gramps tried, but he couldn't hide how ill he was. As an adult, she needed to face the reality of the situation; she knew that, but it didn't make things easier. She owed it to Gramps to provide some reassurance, to show him she could look after herself and her boys. And the ranch. That was what all the marriage-of-convenience nonsense had been about.

Right after breakfast, she'd call the local newspaper and place an ad for a foreman. Naturally she'd talk it over with Gramps first, get his approval. Sam was already seeking greener pastures, so to speak. Not that she blamed him—at least, not entirely. But she had to accept that he'd eventually be leaving, which meant it was time she took control.

That decided, Molly leaned over and turned off the lamp. Gazing up, she watched the moonlight make patterns on the ceiling.

She wasn't sure what time she fell asleep; it must have been close to dawn, but even then her sleep had been fitful.

She awoke at six, hearing sounds in the kitchen. Bolting upright, she reached for her robe and raced down the stairs to discover Gramps sitting at the table. Tom and Clay were busy fixing him breakfast. Dry cereal littered the tabletop and there was a small puddle of milk beside an empty bowl.