Scarlet Widow Debra Glass Tough…or tender? If she follows her heart, she won’t have to choose. Molly has forever lusted for all three Barksdale brothers, but could never choose. Instead, scandal chose for her, and she married the youngest of the three. Then the brothers go to war, and Molly finds herself a grieving widow when her husband is murdered by a merciless band of Union soldiers. Hardin Barksdale is hell-bent on avenging his brother. Greer Barksdale is honorbound to protect his home. They both want Molly—and this time, they’re willing to share. The temptation is seductive, the passion sizzling. In harsh, post-war Tennessee, their nightly forbidden trysts wield the power to heal them all—if they can escape the twisted desires of a man bent on seeing all three of them dead.
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Scarlet Widow ISBN 9781419937903 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Scarlet Widow Copyright © 2011 Debra Glass Edited by Kelli Collins Cover design by Dar Albert Photography: KennStilger47, VolkOff-XSpBO Abbit Photography, Curaphotography/Shutterstock.com Electronic book publication November 2011 The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book. The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party Web sites or their content.
SCARLET WIDOW Debra Glass
Dedication This book is for gal pal Stormy, for myriad reasons. And for Zoe, who might never read this but who would so love Hardin Barksdale.
Acknowledgements Special thanks to Civil War military historian Heath Mathews, for invaluable knowledge of all things Army of Tennessee and for helping me add fact to fiction. I sincerely appreciate tailor Scott Lyndon’s expertise in nineteenth-century clothing. A lot goes into dressing and undressing my characters! As always, a heartfelt thank you to my critique partner, the incomparable Naima Simone, for cheering me on, plotting with me and catching my foibles. I am sincerely grateful to each of you!
Debra Glass
Chapter One August, 1864 Molly Barksdale’s eyes snapped open. Her fingers clutched at the hand over her mouth. Pinpricks of adrenaline shot through her veins. Her dreams already forgotten, she struggled to focus on the face so close to hers in the darkness. “Don’t scream, Molly.” The command was low, masculine and charged with warning. Familiar. “Where’s Witt?” a hot whisper demanded. Molly’s eyes widened. Her body relaxed as sweet recognition flooded her. The hand left her mouth and she sat, resisting the urge to throw her arms around her brother-in-law’s shoulders. “Hardin!” He put his finger to her lips to silence her, and she tasted leather and something metallic and male. “I need to know if you’ve seen Witt,” he said urgently, his gaze darting toward her bedroom door as if he’d heard someone in the hallway. Molly shook her head, wondering if this was all a strange dream. “Does your father know you’re here?” “No.” Hardin sat on the edge of the bed and moonlight spilled over his harsh features. He’d always been the handsomest of the three Barksdale brothers but tonight he looked ragged, gaunt. Worried. A several-days-old beard shadowed his jaw. Wayward locks of his too-long black hair tumbled over his forehead, accentuating the strong lines of his face. Rips and tears scarred his once-immaculate gray wool uniform. “Is something wrong with Witt?” Molly asked, fear sparking at the glint in Hardin’s eyes. How on earth had he ever gotten past Athena’s watchful eye? His parched lips parted and he inhaled an audible breath. Debate lurked in his gaze and Molly began to tremble. Hardin knew something he wasn’t telling her. Something terrible. His eyes searched hers. “The Yankees will come here,” he told her as if her survival hinged on every word. “They will question you. Be stalwart, Molly. You have no idea of Witt’s whereabouts and you did not see me. Make them believe it. Do you understand?” “What’s happening?” He seized her by the shoulders. “Do you understand?” She nodded. “Yes. But—”
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“No word of this to Witt or to Greer. Not even to Father. Promise me.” A deep tenderness suddenly filled his eyes and he thumbed back a strand of her dark hair. Molly wanted to avert her gaze but she could not bring herself to do it. In spite of everything, his look dragged long-ago memories kicking and screaming to the surface—memories Molly wished she could forget. “I promise,” she uttered, her voice but a breath. “I wish I could stay and protect you from harm, but I must go,” he said, his reluctance evident on his face. Molly swallowed thickly. Her traitorous gaze dropped to his mouth and for a hairsbreadth of a second she entertained kissing him. Again. Quickly she forced herself to return to her senses, to tamp down her illicit desires. Her breath caught and she turned her head, but he caught her chin and lifted it so that she looked into his eyes once more. “Witt should have been branded a coward instead of joining the army and leaving you behind.” Hardin’s thumb brushed across her bottom lip and then dropped to boldly, but quickly, caress the pointed nipple pushing against the thin cotton of her nightrail. A little whimper escaped Molly’s lips. He leaned forward and her pulse pounded out of control as she awaited his kiss. Desire surged hard and then disappointment hurtled down around her as he pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and stood. She had never ached for the loss of another person’s touch and warmth so much in her life. “I must go,” he repeated, drinking her in with his eyes before silently disappearing into the darkness. Molly stared at the spot where she’d last seen him, still unconvinced that he’d been real. She could barely discern the outline of her open bedroom door that faded into the blackness of the upstairs hall. No sound of boots echoed on the stairs. No jingle of spurs or even the telltale creak of a floorboard. The only thing indicating he’d ever been in her room at all was the taste of his skin on her lips. She raked her hand through her hair and a shudder coursed through her. Guilt rampaged in her bosom at just how easily she could have betrayed Witt—the Barksdale brother who’d married her. She had loved them all. Bookish Greer who had become a lawyer just before the war began. The epitome of the word gentleman, Greer remained polite and thoughtful. Honor bound. His needs always came last and Molly had felt safe with him. An air of mystery swirled around the oldest brother, Hardin. The best looking of the three, he seemed dangerous and secretive. While his eyes betrayed his desire, he had only acted on it twice. Tonight when he had touched her breast and then before her marriage to Witt, when Hardin had taken liberties no gentleman should take with a lady. No lady would have allowed a man to do the things Molly had let him do that night behind the buggies at the church social. She inhaled sharply at the memory of Hardin’s
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fingers exploring beneath her petticoat. With one sinful touch, he’d awakened her to the pleasures of the flesh. And then he had ignored her. She squeezed her eyes shut, realizing how much she had matured in the four long years since that evening tryst. Then, she’d been an impetuous and selfish girl with uncontrollable desires. She’d done the unthinkable and had foolishly given her maidenhead to Hardin’s brother, Witt, outside of marriage. When Witt had sheepishly asked her to marry him a week later, she’d had little other choice than to accept. Word had gotten leaked by a busybody named Verna Murks, who overheard them talking behind the church building. Had Molly not married, she would have been a pariah, shunned by decent society. Her own parents had practically disowned her but the Barksdales had welcomed her to their plantation home, Oakleigh, and all of them had defended her honor in spite of what everyone in Maury County thought of her. Cut off from her former friends and family, she counted herself lucky to have found a husband in the youngest of the Barksdale boys. Funny and cavalier, there wasn’t a prank Witt wouldn’t pull. The life of every party, he held all the girls under the spell of his boyish face and charming sense of humor. Despite all the whispers, Molly had stood proudly alongside all the other war brides at the train station in Nashville and watched her new husband and his brothers journey off to war, entertaining visions of grandeur and glory in their heads. Even then she’d felt as if she’d married all three of them, because although she was legally wed to Witt, she loved them all with the same fervor. And now, without warning, her husband’s brother, Hardin, had swept back into her life to unravel her with mysterious warnings and taboo caresses. She bit her bottom lip, wondering just how far she would have let him go. After all, it had been months—no, years—since she’d known a man’s touch. She squeezed her own breast, recalling Hardin’s brief caress. What had he meant? What had he wanted and why had he come here? Was Witt in trouble? Molly’s heart twisted at the thought. The thunderous sound of hoofbeats pounded on the drive and the noise sent a cold shudder of dread racing up her spine. Shouts and a command to surround the house drifted through the open window. The accent was Northern. Hardin had told her the Yankees would come. He’d known something. But what? She flung back the covers and donned her robe as she scurried down the wide grand staircase. Already, the few house servants who hadn’t left when the Yankees first came were lighting lamps and moving through the entry hall, toward the doors and windows.
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Through the sidelights on either side of the front door, soldiers bearing torches were visible. It wasn’t the first time the Yankees had come here like this but tonight’s visit evoked a new sort of fear in Molly. Based on Hardin’s visit, she knew these men would be looking for him or for Witt—or both. Witt’s father, Hamish, emerged from his bedroom downstairs, pistol in hand. An older version of Hardin, Hamish Barksdale looked every bit the part of a country squire. Tall. Straight and slim, with his distinctive shock of unruly white hair mussed from sleep, he calmly checked his pistol. “Yankees,” whispered Athena, the old servant who’d practically raised all three of the Barksdale brothers. Molly debated whether or not to tell them she’d seen Hardin but the memory of her promise prevented her. Any type of alert would set the men outside on Hardin’s trail in an instant. Her heart jumped in her chest at the sound of heavy footsteps on the front gallery followed by three loud raps on the door. Her gaze shot to Athena’s. Eyes rounded, the resolute old woman looked to Hamish for permission to open the door. “Let us see what these invaders want,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. Molly wiped her perspiration-damp palms on her robe as Athena unlatched the door and opened it. Without ceremony, the Yankee stormed inside. “Where is DeWitt Barksdale?” Hamish stepped forward. Even though he was dressed in a robe and slippers, he possessed an air about him that stopped the Yankee colonel in his tracks. “I’ve not seen my son in two years.” The Yankee eyed Hamish’s pistol. “I doubt that.” “Are you calling me a liar?” Hamish trembled with rage. His eyes glittered from under bushy white brows. “I’ve felled men for lesser slights.” Athena placed her rotund body in the path between them. Her eyes narrowed to vicious slits. “Don’t you doubt Mr. Hamish’s word!” The Yankee ignored her as his gaze took in the high-ceilinged hall and the shadowed parlors on either side. Because Middle Tennesseans had been cooperative with the Union Army, the local citizenry had not suffered the way Georgians had at the hands of Cump Sherman’s troops. Molly didn’t like the way this particular Yankee eyed the Barksdales’ heirloom furnishings and the sumptuous rug on which he stood in his muddy boots. Finally the Yankee’s gaze slid to Molly’s. Her breath froze as he appraised her from head to toe the same way he had assessed their belongings. “Meshach January. Colonel, United States Army,” he introduced with a curt incline of his head that would have been considered polite in any other situation. The spark that flashed in his eyes made Molly’s blood run cold.
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They will question you. Be stalwart, Molly. Hardin’s words echoed in her head. January’s mouth twisted into a leering snarl beneath his copious brown moustache. “I know who you are,” he said, stepping around Athena. “You’re Mrs. DeWitt Barksdale. I can’t imagine that a soldier would forgo an opportunity to visit a wife as comely in appearance as yourself.” “Don’t you speak to her in that tone!” Athena barked. “Hush, woman,” January scolded, swatting the air as if she were a bothersome mosquito he could shoo away. Athena’s bottom lip protruded and Molly knew she would have given the Yankee a sound tongue-thrashing were it not for the firm shake of Hamish’s head. No one, not even Hamish, talked down to the formidable Athena. Molly shrank as January stepped closer. He reeked of cigars and campfires. A shiver coursed up her spine when his lurid gaze dropped to her breasts. She resisted the strong urge to recoil. “Are you certain you haven’t seen your husband, Mrs. Barksdale?” he asked, his voice slippery with innuendo. Molly cleared her throat. “I have not.” January’s gloved hand encircled her throat and he held her, forcing her to look into his eyes. She tried to gasp but could not draw a breath. “Get your hands off her, filth!” Athena shouted. He leaned in close. “I’ll see you stripped naked and paraded before my men if you do not tell me.” His breath stank of whiskey. “The very idea! She hasn’t seen him. None of us have,” Hamish said. “Unhand her!” Molly burned a stare into January’s snuff-brown eyes. He tipped his slouch hat back with his free hand, revealing thinning, greasy hair the same indistinct shade of brown as his eyes. His hand loosened and slid with sickening familiarity down to her arm, where he squeezed. “Search the house!” he ordered a band of soldiers. He bent and audibly sniffed a lock of her dark hair. “If Mr. Barksdale was indeed here, I dare say he didn’t waste time paying a conjugal visit.” Appalled, Molly tried to jerk free but he tightened his hold on her arm. “You and I have business outside,” he threatened. She stumbled as he ushered her onto the front lawn, where several soldiers had assembled the servants. Everything seemed to happen at once. Athena followed, protesting vehemently. Hamish tried, in his staid voice, to reason. “She don’t know nuthin’.” “Colonel January, certainly you don’t mean to harangue a woman?”
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Molly reeled. Two other soldiers approached. Grins distorted their faces in the torchlight. Hands groped her, tugging and pulling, wresting her from her robe and then her nightgown. She tried to cover herself with her hands but January caught them and pinned her wrists behind her back with one hand. With the slow and patient delicacy of a lover, he brushed away long locks of hair to expose her breasts. One of the soldiers gave her nipple a cruel pinch. Molly cried out. “That’ll be enough, Bailey,” January said evenly. “Don’t you look at her, you trash!” Athena yelled as she struggled against a soldier who held her. And then to one of the servants, “Louis, you better look away or you’ll have me to answer to come tomorrow!” Embarrassed, the giant of a field hand Athena had chastised cast his gaze to the ground. Molly’s face flamed with shame. Jeers and taunts echoed in her ears. “Look at them jiggling teats!” a redheaded soldier exclaimed. “These secesh women sure do have pretty cunnies,” a wiry blond remarked. Anger vied with hatred and fear for prominence. Only Hardin’s warning served to strengthen her resolve. Had he known they would do this to her? “Now, have you—have any of you—seen the traitorous spy, DeWitt Barksdale?” January’s voice rose above the din of Athena’s ranting, the barking of the dogs and the deafening sizzle of cicadas in the trees. “No,” Hamish said roughly. “This is completely unnecessary. I’ll speak to your superior officer about your actions.” January’s laugh resonated in Molly’s ear. She jerked, trying to wrest free of his grasp. “Man alive! Wiggle like that again, sissy,” a soldier goaded. “I wonder if you’d be more cooperative if we introduced you to the lash,” January whispered in her ear as he rocked his groin into her buttocks. Cold terror sliced through her at the feel of the hard ridge in his breeches. But she’d be damned if she’d let this bastard see her fear. “I don’t care what you do to me. I have not seen my husband. Nor would I tell you if I had.” A growl rumbled in his chest and his grip on her wrists tightened. “The house is empty,” a soldier called from somewhere behind them. “So are the slave quarters,” another said. “The barn is clear. No sign of him here, sir.” Molly gulped. What now? “Once I’ve made you a widow, I might be of a mind to pay a more social call to you,” January muttered under his breath and brushed his lips against her ear. “Not if my husband meets you first.” Or his brother Hardin. Molly tore free and whirled, intent on slapping him, but January had already swung up into his saddle. 11
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He smiled as his eyes raked her. “Now, madam, beg me not to set your house on fire.” Again she attempted to cover herself as the soldiers rode circles around her, their horses stepping dangerously close to her bare feet. The stench of unwashed bodies and sweaty horseflesh filled her nostrils. Hands scraped her shoulders and back as she spun, swatting at them. Through the barrage, she glimpsed one of January’s men standing near the front porch, torch in hand. Molly ached to spit and claw at the soldiers but instead, she stopped and burned a stare into January. “For the love of God, don’t burn our house,” she ground out. “Ah, but you lack humility. On your knees. That’s it, boys, give the lady some room,” January said as his men walked their horses away from her. His mouth twisted up in a mocking sneer. “Burn it down!” Athena cried as she tore free of the soldier holding her. She snatched Molly’s robe out from under the trampling hooves. “She ain’t about to bow down to you.” But Molly would not see their home destroyed. Swallowing thickly, she sank to her knees, wincing as the gravel cut into her tender flesh. January’s black mount danced. “See how reasonable these secessionists can be, Bailey?” he said to one of his soldiers. “I bet she’d be a sight more reasonable with my cock sunk to the bristles up in her cunny,” the soldier retorted. “You know these she-Rebs ain’t nuthin’ but smooth bores,” a soldier added, to the laughs of several around him. At that remark, Athena began muttering prayers. “There’ll be time for that later.” January’s gaze raked Molly once again. “Mrs. DeWitt Barksdale hasn’t seen the last of us.” With that, he tugged the reins. His horse wheeled and galloped down the drive. The soldiers followed, leaving Molly and the others choking in their dust. Surprisingly agile for her age and size, Athena was on her in less than a second, wrapping her in the robe. Molly fell into the servant’s arms, trying to shut out the hoots and heckling as the Yankees disappeared into the night. “Don’t you come back ‘round here! You oughta be ashamed of yo’sef, treatin’ a lady with no more manners than trash! If you ain’t the devil, he sho could learn some tricks from you.” Athena railed at them until the sound of hooves faded in the deafening song of summer insects. Molly shook, grateful for the familiar arms shielding her. “What do they want with Witt?” she asked, her worry now turned to her husband. “I don’t know,” Athena said as she swept Molly’s tears away with a corner of the robe. “But it ain’t nuthin’ good. Come on in the house, lamb.”
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Shivering, Molly gaped into the darkness, unable to move her legs. Witt was in trouble. So much trouble that Hardin had risked his life to warn her about it. Athena gave her a gentle squeeze. “Come on, child.”
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Chapter Two November 29, 1864 Molly had never seen a more welcome site in her life than John Bell Hood’s twentythousand-strong Army of Tennessee marching up the McCutcheon Road. She stood at the end of her long driveway as the weary soldiers traipsed past. At first she had cheered along with her neighbors. Now she stood sullen and shocked. Most of the men’s feet were bound in filthy, bloody rags. Their gaunt faces seemed hollow, their vacant stares reaching blankly into the distance. Some hobbled on crutches. Others peered from beneath stained bandages. One man stumbled and was quickly righted by the soldier next to him. These weren’t the bright-faced boys in butternut coats she’d seen off at the station in Nashville. These were battle-hardened men struggling to take each step forward. Molly sighed with the stark realization the war was all but over. “These scarecrows don’t have an ounce of fight left in them,” she told Athena. Athena grunted in agreement. Her brown eyes narrowed and she stared in hard disapproval at the never-ending rows of tired soldiers. “I don’t know how ol’ peg-leg Hood think he’s gonna lick them gussied-up, gun-totin’ Yankees with this bunch of draggletails.” She crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “Look at ‘em. They’s done for.” Molly clutched the fence rail to keep from swooning. For her, this war had ended on that hot summer night in August when the Yankees had come looking for Witt. Where had this once-mighty army been that night? She wanted to berate them for not protecting her. She wanted to curse but her throat constricted so tightly she could scarcely breathe. Her gaze fell to her black mourning skirts. Witt had died that night. Murdered. His loss had left a hole inside her that could never be filled. She would never be able to accept what happened because he’d died defending a cause that had been lost even then. Molly dug her nails into the beleaguered wooden fence rail long in need of replacement. She had done without. She had starved. She’d watched as many of the servants and all of their food stores had been carted off by the Yankees. She’d been humiliated. With the exception of Athena, she’d borne the brunt of this damn war alone. Reeking of corn liquor, Hamish Barksdale staggered as he reached the fence. “Easy there, Mister Hamish,” Athena cooed as she took his elbow and guided him to the fence. But even as she smiled, she muttered under her breath. Molly caught a few of the bitter words. Demon alcohol. Rotgut. Burn in a lake of fire.
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She recoiled at the stench of her father-in-law’s breath but she could scarcely blame the old man. He’d taken to drink that night the Yankees had come and had spent the last few months in a haze that Molly envied. Athena probably did too, if she were honest enough to admit it. Hamish had not even been present at Witt’s burial. Too drunk. Molly had told everyone he was prostrate with grief but she saw the polite denial lurking in their eyes. Word had gotten around that he spent every waking hour deep in his cups. Doubtless, Greer and Hardin would place the blame on her for allowing Hamish to imbibe but Molly didn’t have the heart to take away the man’s one vice—especially when she would have gladly followed him into his stupor were it not for the fact Athena needed her to keep Oakleigh running. A handsome, young officer on horseback drew up alongside the fencing. He tipped his weathered hat. “Good day, ma’am. Is this about where Major Barksdale lives?” “Yes sir, it is,” Athena said, boldly stepping between Molly and the officer. He nodded in polite deference to Athena. “Thank you, ma’am.” Molly shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him. He slid out of the saddle and gave his gray horse a pat on the muzzle. “I’m Brigadier General T. B. Smith.” “Oh yes, you’re Major Barksdale’s commanding officer,” Molly said, recognizing the name. She stopped short of mentioning the general’s youth. Everyone knew of the Twentieth Tennessee Regiment’s boy general, the youngest in the entire Army of Tennessee. In spite of his moustache and spade beard, he looked far too boyish for his command. “At least this’un has manners,” Athena groused. She’d always been one easily swayed by a handsome face. “Have you any word of my brother-in-law, Major Greer Barks—” Molly began, but another horse broke through the column. Greer flew out of the saddle and flung his arms around Molly. Joyful tears sprang to her eyes, flowing freely down her cheeks and onto Greer’s tattered coat. She wanted to let loose everything she’d been holding in. Her brain tried to remind her this was temporary but she would not heed it. Not now. Not while she felt safe and protected if only for a moment. Years of hardship, the horrors of that night the Yankees came to her house and then the gut-wrenching pain of Witt’s death poured out of her all at once. Greer held her close, apologizing for the odor of his coat, of his body. Molly didn’t care. She’d grown accustomed to the musk of damp wool, of gunpowder and unwashed bodies. At times, she wondered if life would ever go back to the way it was before the war. Then, everyone had seemed so carefree and relaxed. So genteel. Finally she lifted her face from Greer’s chest and gazed into his hazel eyes. “Where’s…where’s Hardin?”
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Greer’s expression turned grim. He glanced at his father and then at Smith. The boy general stepped forward. His good-natured smile faded. “I regret to inform you both that Lieutenant Barksdale deserted.” Molly gasped. “Not Hardin.” Athena’s bottom lip protruded. “He wouldn’t dare.” “Goddamn coward,” Hamish muttered, his words slurred. Greer stared at his father for a moment before he bleakly shook his head. “Hardin has disgraced us all.” “That don’t sound like my Hardin,” Athena argued. “He ain’t the easiest of you three but he ain’t no coward, neither.” Hardin had always been her favorite, despite his surly attitude. He was difficult and obstinate. But there was no better judge of character in Maury County than Athena, and Molly had to agree with her assessment. Darkly, Molly’s thoughts turned to the last time she’d seen him. He’d sat on her bed. He’d nearly kissed her. And then he’d left her to the mercy of the most uncouth band of men she’d ever had the misfortune to meet. Damn him. “When did he desert?” “During the summer,” Greer said. “Smack-dab in the middle of the Atlanta campaign,” Smith added. Under his breath, he confessed, “Of course, when Johnston was replaced with Hood, we had a good many deserters.” No wonder Hardin hadn’t wanted her to mention to anyone that she’d seen him. Still, she couldn’t wrap her brain around it. Hardin? A deserter? Maybe he’d realized what Molly now knew. It was foolish for men to continue to die for the cause. Greer patted his father on the shoulder and the old man clung to the fence rail to keep from falling over. Molly could tell Greer was biting his tongue. He had to be shocked by the sight of his father staggering drunk. “Athena, I think I’ve missed you most of all,” Greer said, his voice cracking as the woman’s great arms enveloped him. “How long you gonna be here?” Athena asked once she’d released him. She took the corner of her pristine apron and dried the tears at the corners of her eyes. “Unfortunately, we are in pursuit of the Union Army and must keep moving,” Smith interjected. “But my men are weary and the horses are in need of water. Might we trouble you?” “Of course, of course,” Hamish piped up, his voice thick with intoxication. “We’d be honored.” He turned to amble back toward the house, gesturing clumsily for the men to follow. Athena waddled next to him in the event he lost his balance, as he was wont to do as of late. Smith tipped his hat to Molly again. “We are much obliged.”
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At least these men were gentlemanly enough not to mention Hamish’s state. Greer’s questioning gaze shifted toward Hamish and then back to Molly. She shook her head. “He’s been like that since…since our trouble,” she whispered. She took Greer’s arm as they started toward the house. Paint flaked from the soaring columns. The once-immaculate shrubs circling the foundation looked unkempt and wild. One faded green shutter hung from a single rusty hinge. Molly was ashamed for Greer to come home to Oakleigh looking this way but other things had seemed more important than keeping up appearances. “I wish you could stay longer,” she said, ignoring the look of heartrending shock that crossed his features at the sight of the house. “Don’t make it more difficult for me than it already is,” he said, and patted her hand. “I wish I had been here that night.” A shiver raced up her spine despite the warmth of the Indian summer day. She blinked, remembering the humiliation, the hatred. Look at that cunny! And that pair of teats! Bile rose in her throat. Scarcely a night went by that she didn’t hear the jeers in her head and feel the hands on her body or the gravel cutting into her knees. She opened her eyes and looked at the brick façade of the house, forcing her attention to the clinging flakes of white paint at the top of one of the four columns gracing the front porch. “You’re as tense as a cat,” Greer said. “Are you unwell?” She cleared her throat. “The rumors about what happened here that night were exaggerated. I’m fine,” she lied. “I mean, I will be fine when you return home. When do you think we’ll see an end to this?” “Not soon enough. Hood intends to chase the Yankees all the way to Nashville and then take the city back. He thinks it will boost morale, especially since so many of us are Tennessee born and bred.” “And what then? Does Davis just expect Lincoln to concede defeat and go away?” “Not after the last election. Sherman’s victory in Georgia finished us, Molly.” “Then leave. Stay here. I can’t bear the thought of losing you too,” she said under her breath so the others wouldn’t hear. Or Hardin either, for that matter. Wherever he is. Greer gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “Honor demands I stay with my unit until the bitter end.” “To the devil with honor,” Molly said, louder than she’d intended. “Hardin has more sense than the lot of you.” “Hardin has always been his own man. But he will reap what he has sown.”
***** Hardin flexed his fingers, examining the deep red imprint the wire had left on his palm. It occurred to him that his hand hurt. But that pain was the only thing reminding him that he was alive. Next time, he’d wear gloves. Not to avoid pain but rather to prevent the evidence the wire left behind. No. The pain, he welcomed.
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He squatted and rolled the dead Union soldier over onto his back. The watery blue eyes stared, unseeing. Had those eyes gawked at Molly? Hardin looked away from the death stare. He snorted, trying to dislodge the stench of the man mingled with piss and shit. The first time Hardin had seen a man die and shit himself, he’d been horrified. Had he grown so callous that he looked upon another human being’s utter loss of life and dignity and feel nothing? A deep indentation from the wire marred the man’s sunburned throat. His open mouth revealed a swollen, grayish tongue and a head full of rotted teeth. Hardin stared, expecting to feel something. Remorse? Never. Satisfaction? Not nearly enough. When nothing more rose to the surface, Hardin rifled his pockets. Papers. A watch. Money. This was the second man he’d killed in retaliation for what those bastards had done to Witt. Hardin had expected to feel excitement, at least some thrill of satisfaction at taking another one of them out but he didn’t. Witt was still gone. And so many of the murdering sons of bitches were still out there. Still laughing about what they’d done. Still crowing about what they’d seen. The story of Witt’s death had become the stuff of local legend. A spy caught and brutally tortured. He’d been hailed as a Confederate hero for not divulging information and saving his countrymen’s lives. He’d known he would die. Hardin stood, trying to blot out the memory of finding Witt on the side of Nolensville Road, bloody and beaten beyond recognition—with his eyes gouged from their sockets and his tongue cut out. Witt had known what would happen to him if he were caught. But Molly’s suffering was something altogether different—and equally painful. Word had gotten around that she’d kept silent no matter what the Yankees had done to her. Hardin swallowed the bile in his throat. He should have known he couldn’t save Witt, that he should have stayed with Molly to protect her from the disgrace and prying hands meted out by Meshach January and his company of miscreants in blue who called themselves soldiers. Witt would have wanted it that way. But in some ways, Hardin had known that Molly was far stronger than Witt. That night, Hardin had made a promise to his dying brother. If it took him the rest of his life, he would see every last one of them dead.
***** Molly stopped in the doorway of Greer’s room. He stood at his chest of drawers, gazing wistfully at a carte de visite of him with Hardin and Witt. Many times, she’d 18
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stood in exactly that same spot, staring at that same photograph. They had all known happier times before the war. A lock of Greer’s wavy brown hair had fallen forward and Molly had the inexplicable desire to smooth it back into place. A muscle along his jawline twitched. Of all the brothers, Greer looked most like the paintings Molly had seen of his mother. The fairest of them all, Greer’s face was dominated by his owlish hazel eyes and unruly, deep-molasses-colored hair. Not quite as tall as Hardin or Witt, Greer possessed an air of quiet dignity and intelligence, a gentleness that would have never been construed as weakness. Molly saw it as perfection. When he sniffed and brushed a tear away from his cheek, Molly could no longer allow her presence to go unknown. She ventured into the room, the rustle of her stiff petticoat attracting Greer’s attention. He blinked, attempting to bat away his tears. Molly cupped his freshly shaven cheek. “You don’t have to be strong with me, Greer. I miss him too.” A stifled whimper escaped Greer’s lips as he folded her into his arms and nuzzled her hair. His shoulders shook with silent sobs. Molly held him, rubbing her palms over the thin linen covering his back, trying to discern if the hollow grief she felt was for Greer’s loss or her own. She ached to close her eyes and seek comfort, to beg him to stay here instead of following the army northward. Sweet, kind Greer. It broke her heart for him to know how Witt died. Tortured. Left in a battered, bloody heap on the side of the road. Molly hugged Greer tighter as she tried to force the haunting mental images away. There were no words she could utter to soothe him or ease his pain. Nothing she could do would alleviate his grief, and she knew she was helpless to do anything except stand here and hold him in her arms. They stayed that way for what seemed an eternity before something inside her shifted. Grief melted into need. Her fingers flirted with the curls winding over the collar of his shirt. One palm moved over the sinewy muscles and hard bones from his shoulder down his back. Heat radiated through his shirt, promising an elusive comfort she knew wouldn’t last. Molly brushed her cheek against his neck. He smelled different than either Witt or Hardin. Where Hardin smelled like the outdoors and something else she couldn’t define, Greer’s fragrance hinted of leather-bound books and shaving lather. A thought rose in Molly that caused a shard of guilt to stab her. What if she had married Greer instead of Witt? Constant, thoughtful Greer, who stood here alive and capable. This moment would have a different meaning. She would be fearful and yet hopeful that her husband would return for good soon. The Yankees would not have humiliated her. She squeezed her eyes shut against the images assailing her mind. Naked. Taunted. Shamed.
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A shudder tore through her and Greer gathered her closer. The images melted away and she focused on the strong arms around her, even as her conscience railed at her to drive the fantasy far from her mind. Her body, however, refused to let it go. She pressed impossibly closer to the hard man in her arms, loving the unyielding feel of him countering her from head to toe. Her traitorous body reacted to his heat, to the feel of a steely and protective embrace. She felt small in his arms. Loved. This was wrong. She wore mourning black for this man’s brother and all she could think about was assuaging the rising need urging her toward sinful desires. Sinful actions. She drew back just far enough to look into his tortoiseshell eyes. His pupils enlarged, drawing her in. “Greer,” she whispered, trembling like a trapped hare in his arms. His thick lashes fluttered down as he slanted his head and captured her lips. Molly’s heart pounded as his mouth teased across hers. The tip of his tongue swept over her lips, prompting her to return his kiss. She opened for him, admitting him, kissing him back. A soft moan filled her mouth and his big hands caught her shoulders, anchoring her against him as he plundered her mouth. Dear Lord, what was she thinking? But she had not the will to stop this. Instead she arched into him, opening further, clinging when his tongue intruded to spar with hers. Need unfurled, heating her blood and pooling between her legs. It was unladylike of her but she had enjoyed coupling with her husband. She’d loved the sensation of physical release. Even now, she craved it. Even now, with her deceased husband’s brother. It was as if some part of Witt lived on in Greer and Hardin. Molly found both men irresistible to the point of willingness to soil her reputation beyond repair. She clutched Greer’s shirt to keep from dragging up her skirts and begging him to plow into her. At the same time, an inner voice tempted her toward more. Just once. He needs it. He might die tomorrow. I need it. She whimpered into his mouth and he suddenly ended their kiss. He spun on the heel of his boot. “Forgive me.” Trembling, Molly brought her hand to her lips. Her own apology lingered there but she could not force herself to say the words. She wasn’t sorry in the least. “Greer—” He lifted his hand to silence her. “I have behaved abominably.” “No—” “Please,” he said, his voice stricken. “Leave me. I am too ashamed of myself to face you.”
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Defeated, Molly tiptoed from the room, her body still swimming with need. One thought, however, rose to the forefront. Hardin would not have stopped until he’d rendered her naked and thoroughly had.
***** Molly wasn’t surprised when the first wounded soldier was carried through the front doors of Oakleigh. Only two days ago the soldiers had been here, tired and haunted—but alive. Yesterday, however, the cannons had pounded for five hellish hours. No one at Oakleigh had spoken as the thunderous blasts carried all the way from Franklin, sounding as if the gods had unleashed Thor on the lush hills of Tennessee. In anticipation of receiving the wounded, Molly and Athena had cut everything they felt they could spare into bandages, rolling them tightly so they’d be ready for the injured soldiers. A few Union soldiers had been sent to Oakleigh to recuperate but from the sounds of the cannons, Molly intuitively knew her house would be quickly filled—this time with local boys. Luckily, only those with superficial wounds who could be moved the twenty miles south from Franklin were brought to Oakleigh. Most had already been patched up at a field hospital at the edge of the battlefield and were grateful for a warm place to recover. It didn’t matter that their beds were nothing more than pallets on the floor. Their appreciation for the kindness bestowed upon them shown on their skeletal, unshaven faces. Every one of them seemed to be endlessly thirsty. Those who didn’t beg for water lolled in a laudanum-induced haze, calling out for loved ones, crying for their mothers or beloved mammies. Molly’s arms ached from carrying bucket after bucket and her back cramped after stooping to ladle the water into so many open mouths. “Put that one in the corner there,” Miss Verna Murks ordered as she pointed a bony finger toward a spot that had just been cleared for yet another wounded soldier. Molly shot Miss Verna a nasty glance. She hadn’t lifted a finger to do anything but issue commands. She’d refused to admit the wounded into her own house but had rushed to Oakleigh as fast as she could. The town busybody, she enjoyed being in—if not creating—turmoil. Although her husband had run off with a floozy from Nashville, Miss Verna was the first to criticize everyone else’s relationships. And if that wasn’t enough reason not to like her, Molly had always detested the woman because she’d been the one who’d spread gossip about the illicit relationship she’d had with Witt. She would have loved to tell Verna to go to the devil, but the woman was here to help and they needed every pair of hands.
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Besides, Molly had certainly not minded marrying Witt. But she’d always wondered if he’d married her more out of duty than love. “Girl, this man over here is thirsty!” Miss Verna said with an annoying snap of her fingers. “Girl!” Molly gritted her teeth. “They’re all thirsty, Miss Verna,” she said sweetly. Why don’t you pick up a bucket, you dried-up old bitty? “Don’t mind her,” Miss Verna said to the soldier who pulled at her skirts. And then she lowered her voice to a loud whisper. “She don’t know how to act. She had to get married.” Molly stopped and stared incredulously at the bitter old crone who stood with a smug smile on her face. Baring a set of big, square teeth, her lips actually turned down at the corners instead of up so her smile looked more like a grimace than a show of pleasure. The veins in her thick, masculine-looking neck bulged and the creases around her beady eyes deepened. She’d always acted as if she were somehow superior to other people and lauded her self-imposed rigidity like a badge of righteousness. Right now, Molly wanted to blurt out all the things Miss Verna pretended weren’t happening—such as the fact that her son was in prison for stealing horses instead of out fighting the enemy, and that she couldn’t get a husband if she tried because she was a spiteful old witch. “I’ve had just about enough of—” “Miss Molly!” Athena’s gruff voice boomed over the din of moaning and talking soldiers. “It’s Mister Greer!” Miss Verna forgotten, Molly whirled, expecting to see her brother-in-law stride through the front door. Instead, two soldiers bearing a litter appeared. Molly’s joy crumbled to dust at her feet. Her heart plummeted. “Not Greer,” she said under her breath. “Can I get that fer ye, ma’am?” a bedraggled soldier asked even as he gently took the pail and ladle from her. Without looking at the man, she passed him the bucket then rushed to Greer’s side. Gunpowder, streaked with sweat, blackened his pale face. His hair was dark, matted with ash and grime. A swollen knot had formed on his forehead. Blood stained his torn breeches leg and beneath the tattered fabric, flesh and bone and more blood was visible. Molly suppressed a gag. “What happened to him?” she asked. She reached to touch his perspiration-drenched brow but the orderlies were moving too fast for her fingers to make contact. “Broke his leg in a fall from his horse, ma’am,” a soldier said. “Where should we put him?” Greer’s room had already been commandeered by recovering soldiers.
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“In my room,” Molly said, struggling to maintain composure as she rushed up the stairs in front of the litter-bearers. She opened the door and hurried to turn down the covers. Greer let out an agonizing moan as the men rolled him off the soiled litter and onto the bed. Even as Molly thanked them, the orderlies headed out the door. She turned to Greer, her heart aching at seeing him this way. Athena appeared in the doorway. “How bad is he hurt?” “Looks like a broken leg,” Molly said as she began unbuttoning his coat. “Could you send up some water? And the doctor?” “Ain’t no doctor gonna set a broke leg with all them bullet holes to patch up downstairs.” “Then we’ll have to do it ourselves. We can’t leave him like this,” Molly said, glancing at the wound. Athena leaned over and examined the leg. “That bone is broke clean in two. If you get a doctor to look at it, they’ll take it off.” Molly bit her lip to keep from uttering her thoughts aloud. Better a cripple than back in the thick of battle. At least he wouldn’t be fighting for a while—if ever again. She couldn’t bear to lose Greer too. And she couldn’t bear the thought of him losing his leg. Greer would rather die than live a cripple and a burden. “Well then,” Molly said to Athena. “We’ll just have to set it ourselves and hope it mends.” “Well, I never!” Miss Verna’s shrill voice echoed in the room. “Surely you’re not going to leave him in your bed, are you?” Speechless, Molly gaped. Athena, however, marched toward Miss Verna, who shrank backward and lifted her leathery hands as if to deflect a blow. Athena bodily forced the woman into the hall and closed the door behind them. Molly didn’t hear a word of what she was certain was a thorough tongue-lashing from Athena. But Miss Verna Murks left shortly afterward. Greer moaned. “It’s all right.” Consigning Miss Verna to oblivion, Molly smoothed back Greer’s dirty hair. “You’re home. You’re home at last.”
***** Hardin dragged the soldier into the woods. “Breathe a word and I’ll slit your throat.” The knife Hardin pressed against the man’s jugular proved the threat. The soldier stilled but every muscle in his wiry body tensed. Hardin would have already taken the man’s life, but making them suffer brought far too much pleasure. He lost himself in watching them die one by one, in looking into 23
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their eyes until the life dwindled away. He thrived on their regret and their sudden apologies, knowing Witt had begged for his life but was denied. This one had foolishly left his unit and ventured out alone on a country road in enemy territory. Hardin had tracked him for the last five miles and had waited for just this moment to strike. The sun had sunk behind the horizon in a fiery blaze of red and orange, leaving the road and the woods edged in inky twilight. Here in the dark, a shadow could be a tree. Noise in the dried leaves could be a foraging squirrel or a deer. Or it could be a soulless man hell-bent on revenge. Hardin relished the fight the man had put up as he’d dragged him off his horse. He loved the tension in the Yankee’s body as he realized there was a knife to his throat. Yes, killing them was the only thing that brought Hardin a twinge of satisfaction. The need to eradicate every last one had become the sole driving force behind his existence. He’d gone cold and hungry but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was avenging Witt. And Molly. Hardin’s heart twisted as he thought of what those goddamn soldiers had done to her. “Did you look at her?” Hardin asked, his voice a raspy whisper in the dark. “Look at who?” “Molly Barksdale.” Uttering her name sent a ripple of something indefinable through Hardin’s veins. The soldier’s Adam’s apple rose and fell against the blade. Perspiration beaded under Hardin’s hands. The man stank of fear and piss. “Yeah. I seen her,” he said with a jerk of his chin. Anger flared. Hardin ached to cut the memory of Molly from the soldier’s brain. From his eyes. Just like they’d done to Witt. Hardin pulled the blade tighter against the soldier’s throat. “First I’ll cut your throat so you can’t scream. And then I’m going to cut out your eyes before you die, so you can’t take the memory of her to hell with you.” And then Hardin made good on his threat.
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Chapter Three Every day, more and more of the wounded hobbled away from Oakleigh to rejoin their units or, like most, just sneaked home to their wives and families. The unspoken consensus that the war was over hovered about the weary men like a brooding storm cloud. These Tennesseans weren’t thrilled about the idea of leaving their home state just after they’d returned. Molly wasn’t sorry to see any of the bedraggled Confederates go. All her time could now be devoted to Greer, who had taken a turn for the worse. Infection had set in and he’d been delirious with fever for days. He shook with chills and then perspired but the fever remained unrelenting. Molly stayed by his side, mopping his brow with a damp cloth and adding blankets when his teeth chattered from cold. She slept intermittently on a pallet she’d made herself on the floor. Hamish had locked himself in his study, where he drank daily until he passed out. Athena and those who were able tended to the wounded as best they could. Greer, it seemed, was worse off than any of them with the exception of two who died and were buried in the family plot until their loved ones could come for the bodies. No word at all came from Hardin. No one had seen him and Molly feared he’d been killed. The day Witt had been murdered there had been a premonition. A mourning dove had flown into the house at daybreak. Molly had known dread at that moment and had not been surprised when news of Witt’s death followed. Wouldn’t it have been the same with Hardin? Some harbinger of death would surely have portended his demise. And if he were alive, wouldn’t he have sent word by now? Greer moaned and moved restlessly beneath the pile of quilts. Molly left her rocker and went to his bedside, sitting gingerly. “Lie still.” She touched his forehead. The fever raged. Molly sighed and said a silent prayer for him. “You have to get better, Greer. I need you.” His eyes opened and his clouded gaze found hers. She smiled at him. “Can you get better for me?” “I’m so c-cold,” he murmured. Molly debated putting another log on the fire but instead, she lifted the covers and moved into the bed beside him. She rested her head on his shoulder and draped her arm over his bare chest. “Is that better?” “Don’t leave me,” he said.
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Her breath froze. Don’t you leave me. “Never.” She held him tighter, as if she could will him to heal with her love. It had been too long since she had rested in a man’s arms. Closing her eyes, she dreamed of happier times, when Greer was absorbed in a book while Witt and Hardin played a game on the front lawn. Watch this, Molly! Only if Molly will agree to give the winner a kiss. Her heart warmed. But looking back only made her sad. Would there be a future for her at Oakleigh? A future that included Greer? She’d truly loved Witt but no more and no less than she’d loved his brothers. Secretly, she’d always wished she lived in a world where she could belong to all three. Molly wondered if Greer would be too stricken by the memory of his brother to see her as anything other than Witt’s widow. Greer had always been the most nostalgic of the brothers, always looking backward instead of to the future. Molly listened to the slow thumping of his heart. She knew, all too well, how easily those hearts stopped beating, how easily life slipped away. With Witt gone and Hardin God only knew where, Greer was all Molly had left. “Please don’t leave me,” she whispered into his nightshirt, so softly that he couldn’t have heard it.
***** Greer opened his eyes. He felt clammy. Perspiration dampened his forehead and chest. Something heavy prevented him from moving on one side. He had to get out of this stifling heat. Thirsty. Had he ever been thirstier in his life? He pushed at the heavy covers, freezing when Molly lifted her head from his shoulder. He stared as his prior request rushed back over him. He’d asked her to stay with him, to hold him. “Molly…I…” Undaunted, she clapped her hand over his forehead. “Your fever has broken.” She sat, taking some of the cover with her. Despite the heat, Greer wanted to snatch it back after he saw the way Molly’s gaze moved over his bare chest. The way she looked at him caused conflicting emotions to roil inside him. He wanted her and at the same time, the thought seemed almost sacrilegious. For God’s sake, she wore mourning for his brother! Greer blinked and looked away. “I’m thirsty. Could I trouble you for a drink?” “Of course,” she said before she eased off the bed. Greer both ached for the loss of her warmth and thanked the heavens for its absence. He’d seen ladies all over the South but none as beautiful to him as Molly. Guilt had plagued him because he wanted her so much. Even when Witt had lived and breathed, Greer had coveted the woman. He loved the way she tucked the strand of hair that always eluded her chignon behind her ear. He adored the dimple that appeared at the corner of her mouth when she smiled and the way her skirts swung
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when she turned. The simple glimpse of her ankle as she descended the stairs could be his undoing. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. They’d all been in love with her. But Witt had been the one to ask for her hand. Greer had never understood it. Witt had been the most shy, the most uncertain. And even when he stood beside Molly at the altar of St. John’s Church, he’d seemed unsure of himself—of her. Molly had kept her eyes lowered as if she were ashamed. Hardin had looked on, tight-lipped and surly. But that was hardly a new emotion for him. That’s why Greer could not imagine him deserting. Despite everything else, Hardin had always done the right thing in the end. Molly sat a cup on the table beside the bed and helped Greer to sit. “How are you feeling?” she asked as she held the cup to his lips. He swallowed. “How long have I been ill?” “Nearly three weeks. Most of the wounded who were brought here have already gone. Hood lost in Nashville and is retreating south. Are you hot?” “Yes,” he said. She peeled off two layers of quilts. “How’s your leg?” Even as she asked, she lifted the covers and peered at it. Greer looked down at the bandages and splints, the ache intensifying at the sight. “There’s no more bleeding,” Molly said. “Athena and I had to set it ourselves. The doctors were too busy with the wounded. Besides, we were half afraid they’d…cut it off.” Greer recalled hazy moments of excruciating pain. At least now the discomfort had ebbed into a dull throb. “It will knit,” he said softly, amazed that Molly had possessed the fortitude to set a man’s leg. “Did you say Hood was retreating south?” “Yes, he and what was left of his men hightailed it through here last night.” She shook her head despondently. “So many were lost, Greer.” He reached for the cup of water, his fingers brushing Molly’s as he took it from her. He drank, thankful for the relief of the cool water washing down his parched throat. “Have you heard? Are the Yankees in pursuit?” “Yes.” “That means they’ll be taking prisoners wherever they pass through.” Molly’s eyes widened. “Surely they would not remove a man as terribly wounded as you?” “They can and will,” Greer said. She bit her bottom lip. “They can’t.” She sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes imploring him. “I heard that one of the Boshers boys from Hohenwald took the Oath of Allegiance to keep from being sent to prison.”
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Greer gaped. “Taking the oath would only put me in the same lot as Hardin. I could never face my countrymen again. My honor would be—” “Your honor? Greer, we need you here. There’s been no word from Hardin. Athena and I can’t manage to feed everyone, run the farm and care for Hamish. You saw what he’s like. We’re struggling to put food on the table as it is. How can you even suggest honor when the servants, your father and I are starving?” “Honor is all I have. It’s—” “Honor is meaningless! Damnation, Greer! This is real.” She snatched his hand and clutched it to her heart. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I am real.” Her voice shook with emotion. “Molly, your language—” “I don’t care,” she snapped heatedly. “You need to understand the gravity of our situation.” Outside, the dogs barked. Molly’s head jerked as she turned toward the window. Her hand tightened around his. Inside, Athena called out as she lumbered up the stairs. “Miss Molly, Miss Molly!” she cried, breathless by the time she reached the doorway. Greer didn’t relinquish Molly’s hand when Athena threw open the door. The old servant stopped and gulped in deep breaths before she blurted, “The Yankees is comin’ up the drive.” Molly’s face paled. “We’ve got to hide Greer.” “He ain’t movin’ from that bed,” Athena said with authority. “But the Yankees—” “They won’t take him out this house while I have a bref left in my body,” Athena said. “Bring their commander up to see me,” Greer said evenly. If the Union Army meant to make him a prisoner, there was little he could do about it other than surrender himself. He certainly was not about to cower in a hiding place and besmirch the Barksdale name—as Hardin had done. “You wait here,” Athena said to Molly. Molly didn’t argue. Alarm glittered in her eyes and Greer wondered if her terror had more to do with his fate or to do with what happened to her the night Meshach January’s men had come. Greer squeezed her hand to reassure her. “They won’t hurt you again.” Her gaze dropped to their entwined fingers and she slowly drew her hand away. “How can you stop them?” Her sharp words struck him to the core. Guilt consumed Greer even though he knew he wasn’t to blame for what had happened. He should have been more insistent that Witt remain at Oakleigh instead of joining the army. He should have forbidden him to throw in his lot with the Coleman Scouts. In retrospect, he should have done a good
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many things that he hadn’t. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here that night. I would have given my life to keep them from you. And I will do so on this day, should it be necessary.” Molly batted at one of the tears that slid down her cheek. She hung her head but only until they heard the pounding of footsteps coming up the stairs, accompanied by Athena’s ranting. “Don’t you go up there! Mister Greer ain’t well. You Yankees ain’t got no right to pester a sick man.” “It’s all right, Athena,” Greer said calmly as the Union officer strode into the room. Some of the tension in Molly’s shoulders melted when she saw it wasn’t January. Still, she stood and moved into the corner. “Good evening, sir,” the Yankee said politely as his gaze quickly absorbed everything in the room. “Major Greer Barksdale,” Greer said, stretching to offer his hand to the officer. “Colonel Fielding Hurst,” the officer introduced before he broke into a fit of coughing. Greer hoped Molly hadn’t heard of Fielding Hurst’s reputation. Hurst headed the Sixth Tennessee Cavalry, a unit formed from Tennessee men who fought for the Union. His name inspired terror throughout the South, especially in West Tennessee, where he’d executed five Confederate prisoners and then had buried them as mile markers along the Old Stage Road. Word had gotten around that Hurst was ill and would soon be dispatched back North. “You’re wounded?” Hurst asked. “He broke his leg in Franklin and hasn’t been out of bed since,” Athena said. “That right?” the colonel prodded, lifting the covers to see for himself. “We set it ourselves,” Athena blurted. She’d never been one to tolerate anyone questioning her integrity. “It’s true. My horse took a plunge in the grove near Captain Carter’s house and since I was so near home, I was brought back here to mend,” Greer said. “I’ll send my surgeon up to take a look at it,” Hurst offered. “Thank you. I would appreciate that,” Greer said. But Molly knew what Colonel Hurst was up to. She stepped forward. “The major is not fit to travel.” The colonel’s moustache twitched as one corner of his mouth twisted up in a lopsided grin. “This is war, madam. I’m sure Major Barksdale knows he is now a prisoner of the United States Army.” Terror struck like a shard of lightning in Molly’s heart. “If you move him, he could die. I saw those men who fled past here last night. They won’t be able to hold out much longer. Many of them are already deserting and heading for home. Why take Major Barksdale when this war has all but ended?”
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“Molly, he’s under orders,” Greer said patiently. Courage flooded her in spite of everything she’d suffered at the hands of the Yankees. Her clenched fists found her hips and she pinned Greer with a hard stare. “Well, if he’s a gentleman, he’ll overlook his orders.” Something bleak flashed in Greer’s eyes. “Might I have a word alone with you, Colonel?” Greer asked. Molly’s throat constricted. Greer was resigned to go with them! How could he be so foolish? She wanted to scream at him but instead, she allowed Athena to usher her out of the room. “Come with me, lamb,” Athena said as she started down the stairs. “No,” Molly whispered. “I’m not letting Greer go with them. I’m fed up with his talk of honor and—” “These days honor is all a man’s got left to his name.” Athena’s brown eyes darkened with sympathy and understanding. “How can you defend what he’s doing when we’ve worked our fingers to the bone, when his father is in such a stupor nothing can be done with him, when…when I was stripped…” Molly’s voice trailed off. She couldn’t voice the words. She blinked. She would not cry. Instead, she straightened and lifted her chin. “Hardin is the smartest one of them all.” “Hardin’s long gone, lamb. Now come with me.” Molly shook her head, refusing to believe it, but quickly put her finger to her lips when the sound of Greer’s faltering voice drifted into the hallway. “I, Greer Barksdale of the county of Maury, state of Tennessee, do solemnly swear in presence of Almighty God that I will henceforth faithfully support, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States…” Molly gasped. “Dear Lord, he’s taking the Oath of Allegiance.” She’d never dreamed he would really do it. “I will in like manner abide by and faithfully support all acts of Congress passed during the existing…the existing r-rebellion…with reference to slaves so long and so far as not repealed, modified or held void by Congress or by decision of the Supreme Court.” Greer sighed. “I will in like manner abide by and faithfully support all proclamations of the President made during the existing…rebellion…so help me…so help me God.” “I’ll have the papers sent up for you to sign, Mr. Barksdale,” Hurst said. Molly gaped at the man as he exited the room and skipped down the stairs. She started into Greer’s room but Athena seized her arm. Silently she shook her head but Molly jerked free and went to the doorway. Refusing to make eye contact, Greer thumbed a tear away from his cheek. “I-I wish to be alone.” 30
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Molly couldn’t make her feet work. Both guilt and love vied for prominence in her being. How could she have ever asked him to give up, to renounce the thing for which his brother had died? The South’s right to form its own country? “I’ve been selfish,” she blurted, intending to apologize. Greer’s head snapped around and his reddened eyes burned a stare into her. “I told you that I wish to be alone.” The frigid tone of his voice sent a chill racing up her spine. Without words, Molly darted down the stairs. She jumped at the sight of Hurst standing in the darkened parlor. He held a carte de visite of Hardin in his hand. “Sir, might I help you with something?” she asked, eyeing the photograph. She curled her fingers into fists to fight the temptation to snatch the picture out of his filthy hands. She should have had the foresight to have hidden it in the hidey-hole under the barn with all their other valuables. “This is the other Barksdale brother, is it not?” he stated more than asked. Molly held her breath until the colonel returned the photo to the side table. “Yes.” He turned and peered at her. Hard. “Have you seen him?” Her blood ran cold. “No.” “Are you certain?” She jerked her chin at him, trying not to appear guilty. She failed. Miserably. “I think I’d know if I’d laid eyes on my brother-in-law or not.” “Of course you would,” Hurst said but Molly knew he didn’t believe her. “I suppose in that case, you wouldn’t know anything about the brutal murders of several of Meshach January’s men either, would you?” Molly’s lips parted. “Murders?” This time, she had no trouble sounding surprised. “Five of them so far,” the colonel said. “It’s somewhat of a coincidence, especially since January’s unit was disbanded and the men dispersed to other regiments. In fact, the only commonality is that they were all involved in the execution of your husband, Mrs. Barksdale.” Rage eradicated any fear or confusion she felt. “I know of you, Colonel Hurst. I know you raided your own hometown and had the courthouse burned. I know the Yankees fined you and your men for it, and I know you sought revenge because Confederates tortured your nephew and injured your sister. You of all people should know that I hope January and his men all get what they deserve,” Molly said, feeling no remorse for the men who’d stared and jeered at her, who’d humiliated her—who’d murdered Witt. But was this man insinuating that Hardin was killing them one by one? She could only hope Hardin would be so bold. Still, she tamped her wild imagination down. Thinking about it would only rile Hurst’s already raised suspicions.
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Hurst snorted and eyeballed Hardin’s photograph once more as if he were trying to memorize every light and shadow. Finally, Hurst lifted his head. “When we find your brother-in-law, Mrs. Barksdale—and we will—we’ll be sure to keep you in mourning black for a long time to come.” Her world suddenly stopped turning. She froze, biting her bottom lip to keep from spitting at the man. Everyone knew Southern-bred Union sympathizers were the worst. They acted as if they had something to prove, some hatred against their own that made them a meaner sort. Frankly, she’d been surprised Hurst had allowed Greer to take the oath. At least he would remain safe at home instead of being jostled in some train car, headed for a Northern prison. Angering Hurst would do her no good. It was best to keep quiet. She stood there, clenching her fists. Trembling. Waiting for the man to leave. His presence at Oakleigh caused bile to rise in her throat. Finally he strode from the room, leaving muddy boot prints behind. Once he’d gone out the front door, Molly released the breath she’d been holding. Was Hardin really murdering the men who had disgraced her and killed Witt? She hoped to God it was true.
***** The Yankees, for the most part, left the area, chasing Hood’s men south toward the Tennessee River. If anyone had doubted the end of the war was nigh, they didn’t now. A quiet, sad Christmas came and went. Other than Christmas dinner, there was no revelry, no talk of old times. Instead, Molly had dined with a very tipsy Hamish and then had taken Greer’s supper to him in his room as he was still unable to walk down the stairs. He’d balked at using a crutch and only got out of bed if necessary. Molly kept it to herself but she wondered if he would ever walk again. Sometimes he read, but for the most part, he lay in his bed and gazed toward the window at the barren trees outside. “Is there nothing I can do?” she asked him one gloomy February morning. “You are so melancholy.” He inhaled. “Forgive me, Molly. I realize I have not been the best of company, or any help to you and Athena for that matter.” She sat on the side of the bed and took his hand in hers. “Will our lives ever go back to normal?” He stared for a moment. “If by normal, you mean the way they were before the war, then no, I don’t presume they will.” “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, squeezing his hand. He looked down at their entwined hands and then his gaze lifted to her eyes once more.
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“Can you put it all behind you?” she asked. “Could you…could you look forward to a future?” He remained silent. Molly’s heart pounded. “Greer, I…” She couldn’t utter the words she so desperately wanted to say. Could you look forward to a future with me? She dropped her head. “What were your dreams before the war?” “You know,” he said, slipping his hand from hers. “I intended to practice law in Columbia, to hopefully one day enter into politics.” Molly summoned her courage and looked into his eyes. “What about a family?” “What are you asking me, Molly? State it plainly,” he said directly. Her heart squeezed as if constricted by a tight band. Why must he be this way? Why couldn’t he be more like Hardin? Why couldn’t Greer just take what he wanted? She saw the desire in his eyes every time he looked at her. She stood and walked to the window. Below, a lone crow foraged on the barren ground and then spread its black wings and took flight. The sky loomed heavy and gray. It looked like she felt. Ready to burst. Finally, she turned back to Greer. “I was simply making conversation,” she said flippantly. “Excuse me. I’m going to see if Athena needs me.” Greer watched her glide out of the room. He leaned his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes. Why on earth was he so reluctant to admit his feelings? He loved her. He always had. His body reacted in untold and forbidden ways whenever she was near. Even now he had a cockstand tenting the covers that he hoped she hadn’t noticed. He gritted his teeth in frustration. Hardin would not be gentlemanly with her. He would have had her by now. But Greer reminded himself that he wasn’t like Hardin. Neither was he like Witt. Greer knew who and what he was. A careful man. A thinking man. I think too damn much, truth be told. A fearful man. He rubbed his face with his palms. Yes. He was afraid. Afraid Hardin would ride up and sweep Molly away. Greer could not allow himself to get hurt the way he had when Witt had married her. At that moment, Greer had thought that if he couldn’t have Molly, he didn’t want another. But now she was available and a riot of emotions boiled inside him. Guilt. Terror. Grief. Love.
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“Love,” he whispered aloud and then flung back the covers. He swung his legs out of bed, wincing at the dull ache causing his leg to throb. Steeling himself, he reached for his crutch. Molly needed him to be a man. And by God, he was determined to be the man she needed him to be. He took a step. Searing pain shot up his leg and he stifled a cry. Perspiration beaded along the length of his spine. He took another step. Black circles swam in his vision. He stood still a moment, willing himself not to pass out. Determined, he slid his foot forward, trying to lean on the crutch for support. His arms shook. His good leg trembled. As he tried to move, his elbow gave, his knee buckled and the floor flew up toward his face. Instantly Molly was at his side, kneeling beside him on the floor. “Greer! What on earth were you doing?” He grimaced, hoping she wouldn’t see how much pain he was in. “Trying to get up,” he ground out. “Don’t be ridiculous. You could have hurt yourself worse,” she told him. Her forehead furrowed with worry as she lifted his nightshirt to examine his leg. “It looks all right.” “I think I fell from weakness,” he said, hating to admit it. “From stupidity,” she said as she gained her feet. “Here, hold on to me and the bed rail and see if you can pull yourself up.” He wrapped his arm around her slender waist and braced the other on the wooden railing of the bed. Gritting his teeth, he pushed up, amazed at Molly’s strength as she helped him to stand and then guided him back into bed. “Why did you do that?” she scolded once he was safely back under the covers. “I wanted to help you,” he said. “With Father. With everything. I’m useless in this bed.” She studied him thoughtfully and then said, “I can bring you the account books. That will give you something to do until you’re well enough to be getting about. And I’ll ask Athena to send up one of the farmhands to help you get back on your feet.” He smiled. God, she was beautiful with that strand of black hair escaping her crocheted hairnet. He couldn’t resist the urge to brush it back behind her ear. With a little gasp, Molly caught his hand in hers and held his palm against her cheek. He caressed her warm, soft skin as if he’d never touched anything so delicate in his life. When her lashes fluttered shut and she turned her face more fully into his hand, it was nearly his undoing. Everything inside him ran wild. His brother’s widow… He shook off the thought. Witt would want her taken care of. He would want a good man to have her. Greer gulped down the shame and guilt and feelings of unworthiness that plagued him. “Molly…” 34
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She opened her eyes as he took her shoulders and drew her to him. She yielded completely, opening her mouth as his lips sought hers. His heart pounded as he kissed her, lightly at first and then deeply, exploring her mouth with his tongue, thrilling in the little whimper that escaped her as he crushed her against him. Her fingers tightened on his biceps. She wanted this. He’d known it, but her physical reaction indicated her desire more intensely than words ever could. She tasted of tooth powder and tea. Her fragrance, a faint lemon verbena, filled his senses. The crinoline under her skirt crackled as she moved restlessly against him and opened her mouth for more. Pangs of guilt gnawed at him but he refused to entertain them. Witt was gone. Molly was here. Here. Greer needed her as much as she needed him. Molly was right. It was time to let go of the past and look toward a future.
***** Hardin held the Yankee’s head under the rushing creek water until he felt the life ooze out of the man’s body. Six down. Six more to go, including January. He released the Yankee and sat back on the frozen ground. His hands were numb from the frigid water. He felt numb inside and out. Killing them left a bitter taste for revenge in his mouth and he would not stop until they were all dead, until they had all paid for what they’d done to Witt and Molly. Hardin shut his eyes and images assailed him. Hard, driving images of blood pouring from Witt’s eye sockets and mouth, of Molly naked in a circle of gloating soldiers. A shiver coursed up Hardin’s spine. He pushed himself to his feet, took his horse’s reins and climbed into the saddle. Six to go.
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Chapter Four By the time the trees had budded, Greer’s leg had improved enough that he could walk with a cane. He loathed it. Molly insisted that he looked distinguished rather than crippled. Besides, she told him, at least he still had two legs. So many had lost limbs in the battles and were left wondering how they could provide for their families. Nearly every house was filled with sad-eyed women wearing mourning and hollow-faced men hobbling on crutches or with one sleeve sewn shut to hide the stump where an arm had once been. The war had touched every soul inhabiting Maury County. “Can I get you a blanket for your lap?” Molly asked as she helped Greer to sit in one of the rockers on the front porch. The weather had been uncharacteristically hot for early spring and twilight was the most enjoyable time to sit outside and watch the sun sink over the rolling, green hills. “No, thank you,” he said, huffing as he dropped into the chair. “It’s plenty warm enough.” Her lips blossomed into a smile before she bent to press a kiss to his cheek. Since that kiss in his bedroom, they’d had a silent understanding that after a sufficient period of mourning for Witt, Greer would openly court Molly. Soon, everything would be different. He planned to reopen his law practice in Columbia. And once this war was over, maybe he’d even put his name in the political arena. Senator Greer Barksdale. He liked the sound of it. Molly’s skirts swept the porch as she walked to one of the columns. She leaned against it and looked wistfully down the long drive. “I’ll never get used to how beautiful the sunsets are here,” she mused aloud. But Greer wasn’t looking at the purple and red hues of the sky. He couldn’t take his eyes off Molly. He found her beautiful, even more so in the drab mourning black. It was a macabre thought and he knew it, but the dark color set off her alabaster skin and bright-green eyes in such a way that he couldn’t stop looking at her. The setting sun illuminated her profile as she glanced over her shoulder at him. Greer suddenly felt as if his stomach were filled with butterflies. He felt giddy. Alive. For the first time since before the war, he felt normal. Her full mourning would last a year and a day and then she would go into second mourning for a few months. After that… To his own surprise, he realized he was voicing his thoughts aloud. “After your second mourning, Molly, would you do me the honor of—”
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A rider appeared at the gate, distracting Greer. He stopped in mid-sentence and squinted at the man wearing Union blue. Molly turned and peered at the rider who slumped over his mount’s neck. A scream tore from her throat as the man toppled from the saddle. Gathering her skirts, she raced off the porch and flew down the driveway. With the aid of his cane, Greer stood just as Athena came to the door. “Good Lord, Almighty!” Athena exclaimed. “It’s Mister Hardin!” Greer watched dumbfounded as Athena lumbered down the drive, her heavy body much more nimble than he would ever have guessed. He knew he should be overjoyed that his prodigal brother had returned, but some darkness inside Greer prevented him from feeling anything but unease. Hardin had always been able to weave a spell around Molly, drawing her to him like a lamb to the slaughter. But Greer had made up his mind. Molly would be his. The war years had forced him to mature, to seize things when he had the chance. And this time, he would stake his claim. Hardin be damned. Molly quickly released Hardin’s foot from the stirrup and then she dropped to her knees beside him. His face was caked with sweat and grime. Blood oozed from a wound in his side, darkening the already deep-blue fabric. Her mind ran through a thousand thoughts at once. Why was he wearing a Yankee uniform? What had happened to him? “Oh God, Hardin,” she managed, cradling his head in her lap. His eyes cracked open and he reached for her face but his hand fell heavily back down to his side. “Molly,” he gasped. “I-I did it all…for you.” And then his body went limp in her arms. “Hardin.” Molly patted his face. “Hardin…” “Oh sweet Jesus,” Athena muttered. Two field hands had followed her down the drive. She pointed and directed them. “You two go get something to carry him with.” “I think we can manage to get him up to the big house,” said the tallest one, Louis. “You ain’t takin’ him to the big house,” Athena said. “Take him to my cabin.” “But—” Molly began. Athena interrupted. “By the looks of what he’s wearin’ and that gash in his side, somebody gonna come lookin’ for him. Sooner rather than later.” She turned to the hands. “Take them Yankee clothes and burn them. Bury the buttons and the belt buckle. And stash that horse back in the woods where we hid the hogs last winter. What’re you waitin’ for, fools? Make tracks!” The hands loped back toward the house. Molly wiped some of the dirt from Hardin’s face. Tears she didn’t realize had welled dropped onto his forehead and cheeks. His lashes fluttered. “Molly…” “Hush, Hardin. I’m here.”
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Athena took the horse by the reins. “I’m gonna go get a lamp. It’ll be dark before we can get him to the cabin.” She’d never much liked anything alive that was bigger than she was and she eyed the animal warily. “Come on, you brute.” Molly nodded. She refused to entertain thoughts that Hardin might die from this wound or whatever other ills he’d suffered that were hidden by his clothing. As ordered, the hands hurried back carrying a door. “This was the best we could do,” Louis apologized. “It’ll work,” Molly said as she eased Hardin’s head out of her lap and helped to maneuver his body onto the door. The hands lifted the makeshift stretcher up and Molly walked alongside as they skirted the house and headed toward the cabins. She glanced at Greer. He stood at the edge of the porch, his hand braced on one of the columns. Clad in a dark linen sack coat that reached to the middle of his thighs, a beautifully embroidered black vest and lighter-hued linen trousers, he looked the part of a gentleman squire. He looked like the man she should marry. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of your brother,” she told him. But as she uttered the words, a shard of guilt stabbed her. The black expression on Greer’s face told her he had mixed feelings about his brother’s return. But she couldn’t dwell on Greer’s emotions right now. Hardin needed her. The cabins were situated several yards from the big house, secreted in the edge of the woods. Athena’s sat even farther back from the rest. It was the largest of five and she refused to share it with anybody, even though she’d taken a room in the big house the first time the Yankees came to this part of Tennessee. If the Yankees came looking for Hardin, they would at least have time to move him before the soldiers discovered his whereabouts. Louis and the other hand put their load down on the ground just outside and then bodily lifted Hardin inside and onto the bed. Athena arrived shortly afterward, wagging a bucket of water and a lamp. “Wait outside,” she told Louis. And then to Molly, “We have to get him out of those clothes. If the Yankees come they’ll sure hang him for a spy.” Molly didn’t hesitate. Her fingers trembled as she unbuttoned the navy coat and opened it. She gasped at the sight of the blood-soaked shirt underneath. “We need to staunch that wound,” Athena said, working desperately to ready everything they would need. Molly had often muttered grievances about taking in wounded soldiers but now she was grateful for the practice she’d had assisting the field surgeons. She pushed the coat off his shoulders and helped Hardin lift his head as she worked one arm and then the other out of it.
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Athena tossed the garment outside to where Louis waited. “Them britches too,” she told Molly as she removed his well-worn boots. Hardin’s eyes opened and for a split second, Molly saw the old spark return as she unfastened the buttons of his suspenders. “You’d better enjoy every minute of this,” she whispered to him jokingly. “Oh, I shall,” he replied, the crackle in his voice betraying how badly he was hurt. Deftly she unbuttoned the tab closure at the top of his trousers before working the five buttons that made up the fly. She dragged them and the linen drawers underneath down his long, lean legs. A tendril of disappointment snaked through her that his long shirt concealed his privates. She drew the covers up to his hips, lest she succumbed to the temptation of sneaking a peek. “What happened to you?” she asked, drawing the shirt out from under the covers and raising it to examine the gash in his side. It was an ugly wound, at least four inches long, just at the base of his rib cage. “The other fellow fared far worse,” Hardin managed as he wriggled out of the shirt and passed it to Athena. He coughed and tensed in silent pain. Athena flung the britches outside and then held the lamp closer to Hardin’s wound. “We’re gonna have to stitch that up.” Molly swallowed thickly. I can do this. Hardin needs me. “Very well,” she said, resigned. “I’ll need a needle, some of that silk thread Dr. Roberts left behind and a bottle of Hamish’s whiskey. And Athena? Bring enough whiskey for two.” Athena nodded and left. Molly wet a cloth and dabbed at Hardin’s wound. He made a sound that caused Molly to draw back her hand. “I’ve got to clean it so I can see what I’m doing,” she said. He gave voice to a grunt and lay still as Molly gingerly cleaned the area. “What happened?” “I somehow fell on a Yankee’s bayonet.” Caustic to the end. “I heard you deserted,” Molly said, trying to sound dispassionate. “I did.” “Then—” she began, but without warning, he gripped her wrist with surprising strength. His eyes widened slightly before narrowing once again. “Ask nothing more.” Molly stared, debating. Why this secrecy? And did it have something to do with Witt? He blew out a breath, his grip loosening before his hand fell away from her. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down into his matted hair. “Moll?” “Yes?” she asked, putting her curiosity aside. “Will you stay with me?” he asked hoarsely. “I don’t want to die alone.” 39
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“You’re not going to die,” she said, hoping she sounded confident. “Not tonight.” “Promise me you’ll stay.” She chuckled softly. “My promises to you always end up getting me in trouble.” “I’m serious,” he said, so quietly she wouldn’t have heard it if she hadn’t been watching his sensuous lips form the words. She would have never refused him. Anything. “Of course I’ll stay with you. Stop being so morbid.” Athena returned with the items Molly had requested. She removed one of the curved needles she’d stored in a piece of buckskin. “Pour some of the whiskey over this,” she said, handing it to Athena. Molly unfolded the wrapping paper and removed a length of silk suture thread before leaning close to the lamp to thread the needle Athena returned to her. Hardin reached for the bottle of whiskey but his hand dropped before he could grasp it. Molly snatched it, turned up the bottle and swigged the foul-tasting liquid. Molten courage raced through her body like suffocating vines winding their way up a tree trunk. She coughed and sputtered. She’d never been one to imbibe but she felt tonight she needed the false nerve. Hardin tried to lift his head. Athena slid one hand underneath to support it and Molly held the bottle to his lips. He drank heartily, gulping the spirits down. Afterward, he let out a sigh. “Pour some on the wound.” He gritted his teeth as Molly splashed the wound with alcohol. His body twitched. He let out a quick yelp and then let his head drop back down on the pillow. “Do it, Molly. Do it now.” Molly looked at her hands. She couldn’t stop shaking. They hadn’t had this much trouble setting and bandaging Greer’s leg. But that had not involved sewing a man’s flesh like it was a garment. “Hurry, child,” Athena whispered. Molly closed her eyes, but only briefly before she set to work. Athena braced Hardin’s shoulders, leaning on him to pin him down. Sharp moans and gasping breaths filled Molly’s ears as she concentrated on closing the wound. The flesh was hard to pierce, even with the sharp needle, but by the time she finished, Hardin had thankfully passed out. She knotted the thread and cut it before she stumbled out of the cabin and retched in the yard. She wiped the taste of soured whiskey from her lips with the back of her hand. Replacing bandages on the wounded had been one thing. Sticking a needle into a man’s flesh without him having the benefit of laudanum was yet another entirely. “You done good, lamb,” Athena said when Molly finally went back inside. “You go on and go back to bed. I’ll stay with Mister Hardin.”
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Molly took up the whiskey bottle and swigged from it. Grimacing at the acrid taste, she shook her head. “I made him a promise. I’ll stay,” she said, her voice rough. Athena eyed her. “Mister Greer sets quite a store in you.” Molly knew what the old servant was getting at. Now that Hardin had returned, how would her relationship with Greer change? She knew he’d been about to ask her to marry him earlier tonight. At the time, she’d been excited, expectant. Now that she’d had time to think about how she would have answered, she merely felt confused. How could she ever choose just one of the Barksdale brothers? “I admire him too,” she told Athena. “But I made a promise to Hardin.” Athena had the good sense to keep quiet. She stood and straightened her dress and apron. Molly closed the door behind her before stoking the fire in the little stone fireplace. She drew the covers up to Hardin’s neck and, exhausted, sank into the rocker beside the bed. She didn’t remember falling asleep.
***** Fingers laced with hers. Warm, strong fingers. In the haze of sleep, Molly drifted closer and closer to the safe haven luring her. She’d needed this. She’d ached to feel protected. Cradled. Secure. But something stood in her way. Her dream slipped into the mist as she opened her eyes. Realization stunned her. Hardin’s fingers were entwined with Molly’s and he was watching her. The light from the low fire cast his face in deep shadow but the glimmer in his eyes caused her stomach to tighten. He tugged her hand and she willingly followed, moving to sit next to him on the bed. The way his gaze drifted over her face made a heated blush flood her cheeks. “Do…do you need anything?” she asked, her voice raw from sleep. “Yes.” He unraveled his fingers from hers and reached up to begin unbuttoning the bodice of her dress. Molly knew she should protest. At the very least, she should swat his hands away. Instead, she remained frozen as he deftly unfastened the row of buttons down the front of her dress. Her heart pounded so hard she could hear her pulse in her ears as he pushed open her dress to reveal her corset and underlying chemise. “Take it off,” he said. It was not a request. Molly swallowed as she willingly shrugged out of her bodice. Every inch of her skin came alive as Hardin’s warm palm slid up her bare arm to her shoulder. She prickled with anticipation. “Turn around,” he whispered.
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Molly twisted, giving him access to the laces of her stays. He tugged the ribbons slowly and worked his fingers underneath to loosen her corset. “Take down your hair.” Molly shook, denying the voice of her conscience as she removed the pins holding her chignon up. Dark locks spilled around her shoulders. The sharp hiss of Hardin’s breath caused her nipples to harden and press against the stiff fabric of her stays. “Take it off,” he told her. “Your skirt too.” Molly stood and, with her back to him, untied the ribbons holding up her skirt and petticoats and let them fall. She stepped out of the puddle of fabric and then pushed her loosened stays down her hips. When she finally turned to face him, she wore only her thin cotton chemise. Hardin lifted the covers. “Come here.” “I-I shouldn’t.” But sweet Lord, she wanted to. Need raged like an out of control wildfire. “Come, Molly,” he said, undaunted. One foot moved forward and then the other and she suddenly found herself in the bed next to Hardin. He hugged her to him, pulling her head down on his shoulder. Molly slipped her leg over his and draped her arm over his chest. Closing her eyes, she relished the feel of his hard body next to her, of his arms holding her tightly. “I missed you,” he said into her hair. Chills broke out down her arms and legs in spite of the warmth of his body. “Hardin, you should know something.” “I don’t want to know anything but you in my arms, Molly.” Tears burned her eyes. Greer would be so disappointed in her but although he looked at her with promise, he kept a physical distance. She needed a man’s touch. She needed release. And Hardin was here, offering it to her. “I-I can’t, Hardin,” she heard herself say. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmured seductively. “You remember that night in the grove behind the church?” Molly sucked in a breath. “How could I ever forget it?” Images she only entertained in the dark of night skittered through her head. He’d lifted her skirts and had slipped his hand through the slit in her drawers. Even now she blushed, remembering how fevered she’d become in his arms. How wanton. She would have given him her maidenhead that moment had he asked for it—but the characteristically ungentlemanly Hardin had left her intact. His hand found hers under the covers and he drew it down, over the flat plane of his chest and carefully over his belly to where his erection strained against the weight of the quilts. He sighed when her fingers encircled his flesh.
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Molly couldn’t breathe. Dampness gathered between her legs. “You’re hurt. I can’t—” “Just touch me,” he said with such need that Molly could not have denied him. He held her hand in place, moving it slowly up and down. She loved the feel of the velvety skin sliding over the steely hardness of his arousal. Her channel clenched in anticipation. Her own desperate need flowed hot through her veins. “Just touch me,” Hardin repeated. His body grew tense beneath her. His breathing became ragged. Harsh. “Oh Molly,” he whispered. “I’ve dreamed of this. Cold nights, alone with not even a campfire to warm me, I’ve dreamed of you touching me, of being inside you.” The arm around her shoulders tightened. His fingers dug into her arm. He trembled and then she felt the hot ooze of his eruption in her hand. Guilt and fear and hope all vied for prominence as she continued pumping him until his body relaxed. But no sooner had she withdrawn her hand than he seized her body and drew her over him. “What are you doing?” she asked, startled as she straddled him. “You’re wound—” “Hush,” he told her, plunging his hand between her legs. She shuddered as his fingers threaded through the copse of hair covering her sex, finding her bud and stroking, inflaming her. With her knees on either side of his hips, she couldn’t have closed her legs even if she’d wanted to. She could only accept the pleasure he offered. She braced her hands on the headboard and rocked her hips, crying out when one finger pushed inside her. Need pushed out any other emotion. It consumed her. Heat raced up her spine and settled in the back of her neck as she rolled into his touch. No longer was she the timid and untouched virgin in the churchyard. She was a woman who understood her body’s desires. “Damn, you’re wet,” he said, his voice but a silken breath. Eyes closed, she gloried in the sweet invasion, voicing her pleasure when a second finger joined the first. They stretched her to the point of pain, filling her so utterly full, she fought the desire to climax just so she could enjoy the all-consuming physical sensation longer. Demanding Hardin. The brother who took what he wanted, who brooked no refusal. Molly opened her eyes and looked down at his face. Their gazes locked. It was a mistake. She’d wanted this moment to last but all at once, her pleasure built and crested. She could fight it no longer. Spasms tinged with desire and bliss and so much more than she was willing to name racked her from the inside out. “That’s it, sweet Molly,” Hardin encouraged. “Let it come. Let it come.”
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An animalistic moan tore from her throat and she gave in, feeling her channel soften to his invasion and at the same time, tighten to milk every last vestige of sweet rapture from his touch. Still trembling when he withdrew his fingers, Molly sank, careful not to rest her weight on him. His fingers speared into her hair and he pulled her head down until their mouths fused. He tasted of whiskey, familiar and yet different. His kiss laid claim to her without words and she willingly submitted. Here in the dark, nothing mattered but this moment and this demanding need that refused to relinquish its tenacious hold on her. Their tongues mated, stroking, probing, delving impossibly deeper. Kissing him left her breathless and needy. Confused. Hours ago she’d been more than ready to accept a commitment from Greer. Reality crashed down around her and she reluctantly ended her kiss with Hardin. He cradled her cheek in his hand and gazed into her eyes. “Having misgivings?” “No,” she lied. “I just don’t want to hurt you.” She eased off him. “Stay with me,” he said, his voice betraying something vulnerable within him Molly had never witnessed before. She debated refusing him now that he was obviously not at death’s door. “Are you worried what Greer will think?” The question cut Molly to the core. She swallowed. “Hardin…” Hardin gave a mirthless laugh. “Greer hasn’t laid claim to you.” His voice was so cold it sent a shiver down Molly’s spine. “Oh, you’ve thrown yourself at him all right. But he hasn’t taken the bait.” She tensed. A tinge of anger flared. “How would you know?” “Because I know Greer.” Hardin’s hand skimmed up her arm to her shoulder. He drew her toward him. “And I know you.” She jerked away. “You don’t know me.” She darted out of the bed and began collecting her clothes. “You don’t,” she repeated. “But I thought I knew you.” “What the devil are you talking about, Molly?” “I never figured you for a coward and a deserter.” She’d promised herself she would never criticize him for his choices, but he’d driven her to it and it was the only thing she could grasp at to fling his barbs back in his face. His eyes flashed in the darkness. If he hadn’t been hurt, Molly didn’t doubt he would have leaped out of the bed and done untold things to her. Instead, his murderous stare burned into hers. A muscle in his jaw clenched. “Then you don’t know me very well, do you?”
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She suspected his rhetorical question had a double meaning but she was in no mood to spar with Hardin. Instead, she whirled and carried her bundle of clothes toward the door. She expected an apology, something. But Hardin remained silent. On bare feet, she fled down the path leading from the servants’ quarters back to the big house. Since the war started, they’d gotten in the habit of locking the doors at night. Molly hoped Athena had thought to leave one open. Tiptoeing onto the back gallery, Molly winced when one of the boards creaked under her weight. Juggling the mass of black fabric and hoop skirt in her arms, she twisted the door handle. It was unlocked. She breathed a sigh of relief. The house was quiet but for the sonorous ticking of the big clock in the parlor. She squinted to see what time it was. After four. Thank God. Everyone—especially Greer— would be sound asleep. Without her shoes, it was easy to creep through the cavernous house. In the daylight, the rooms seemed enormous with their high ceilings and open panel doors. In the dark, they seemed even bigger. The ceilings disappeared into shadows. Corners deepened into endless darkness. The sound of her quick breaths joined the rhythmic ticking of the clock and rustle of clothes as she eased up the stairs. But when she arrived at the top, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of faint light coming from her bedroom. Clutching her clothes close, she walked toward her door. Hopefully Athena had left a lamp lit for her. But common sense told Molly that wasn’t the case. In these war years, coal oil was neither cheap nor easy to come by. Athena was far too practical to waste precious goods on the idea that Molly might come back from the quarters. “Come in, Mrs. Barksdale,” Greer’s voice called from inside.
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Chapter Five Hardin raked his hand through his hair and then brought his fingers to his lips. His eyes fluttered shut as he breathed her in. Sweet Molly. He had no right to put his hands on her but seeing her sleeping in the chair next to his bed had been his undoing. Greer had not come out to the quarters to see about him. Hardin grimaced. Neither had his father. Something twisted inside Hardin and he quickly turned his thoughts back to Molly. Her body exuded warmth. She’d softened to his touch in a way no other woman ever had. But then again, he’d never cared for any woman the way he loved Molly. He dragged in a ragged breath at the realization. The idea of love terrified him in a way the cannon fire and whizzing bullets never had. He’d rushed into battle, driven by rage and adrenaline, without a care for his life. He’d stalked Witt’s murderers and coldly took their lives with his own hands. He’d walked away from their corpses without a smidgeon of regret. But this idea of trusting his heart to another shook him to the core. He could not defend against it. An uncharacteristic pang of guilt nagged him. Molly had been about to tell him that she intended to marry Greer. Hardin squeezed his eyes shut but was assailed with visions of her standing at the altar—next to his brother. Hardin sighed, the action causing his stitched side to throb anew. There was only one thing to do.
***** Molly’s heart sank. She swallowed thickly as she crossed the threshold. Still dressed in his day clothes, Greer sat in the rocker in the corner, his fingers laced over his quilted vest. His expression was tired. And accusing. Molly stood guiltily just inside the door. “How’s my brother?” She swallowed. “He’ll live unless infection sets in.” “Did he give any explanation for showing up here in that condition dressed in an enemy uniform?” The complete lack of emotion in Greer’s voice sent a ripple of fear up Molly’s spine. “He did not.” This was ridiculous. Molly wanted to ask him what he was doing in her room at this hour but the answer terrified her. Did Greer suspect what she’d done with Hardin? Heat crept up her back and settled uncomfortably in her neck. Her arms ached to put
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down the heavy load but doing so would reveal her in more ways than one. Still, she could not continue to simply stand here holding all these things. She moved toward the bed. “I’m tired, Greer.” He winced as he stood. “Imagine that.” Molly gulped. She hoped Greer was too much of a gentleman to make accusations which she couldn’t in good conscience deny. She’d allowed Hardin to touch her in the most intimate ways and thinking about it even now made her ache for more. Favoring his injured leg, he limped across the room and took the bundle from her arms. Molly suddenly felt naked, standing before him wearing nothing but her flimsy chemise. Greer set the heap of clothes on the bed before turning to her. Molly’s breathing hitched as his gaze slid down her body and back up. She stared, trying to discern if that was condemnation or desire in his eyes. Guilt and indecision swamped her. Should she admit what she’d done? Or would she be forced into marriage as she was before? Only this time, it would be Greer sending her to the altar with Hardin. Hot shame trickled into her cheeks. She was grateful for the near dark so he couldn’t see the telltale blush infusing her face. Did you let him put his hands on you? The unspoken question hung between them. Unable to look at him any longer, Molly started to turn her face away but Greer caught her chin and gently coaxed her to meet his gaze. “I know you have feelings for my brother,” he said softly. “But know that my…hesitation…has nothing to do with my feelings for you and everything to do with your precarious situation. With honor.” Molly could not form words. Greer continued. “Do not think for a moment that I wouldn’t love to take indecent liberties with you.” Then do. Her stomach tightened. Images flitted through her mind. Thoughts of Greer taking her into his arms and covering her mouth with his kisses. Do it, now! She wanted to scream the words at him. Instead, she remained silent. “I respect you, Molly. And after what you went through at the hands of those ruffians—” He stopped short. His gaze dropped to her mouth. “God help me, because I cannot help myself,” he muttered and then crushed her against him. His mouth claimed hers. Hard and hot. Intense. Molly melted, opening for his tongue. Her nipples hardened against his chest. Winding her arms underneath his coat and around his torso, she moved restlessly against him, unable to get close enough. What was wrong with her? Was she so wanton that she was willing to throw herself at both her deceased husband’s brothers in the same night? It was wrong. But when they touched her, it was as if her body came to life, as if the outside world disappeared. A wicked part of her wished Hardin had followed her to 47
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her room, that he would silently walk in and join his brother, that the both of them would use her for their pleasure. Greer’s hands moved down her back, venturing lower to cup her bottom and pull her toward the arousal straining against her belly. His mouth shifted from her lips to her ear. “He touched you, didn’t he?” Molly moaned, clutching his shoulders. Without warning, Greer spun her around and bent her over the bed. He hastily wriggled out of his sack coat before raking up the hem of her chemise. His body wedged between her knees, preventing her from closing her legs. Her heart raced. “Did he touch you here?” Greer asked, thrusting his hand between her thighs. A soft cry left Molly’s lips as his fingers found her already wet flesh. She should tell him to stop, to leave her room. Instead, she looked at him over her shoulder and pushed back against his hand. “Molly, I—” Greer began, but she reached back and seized his hand, holding it tightly against her. “Don’t stop.” He stared for a moment before gingerly stroking the moist folds, awakening nerve endings that made Molly lay her head on the bed and close her eyes to absorb every sweet sensation. Coddling, however, wasn’t what she wanted. “He touched me and I let him,” she said. “Punish me for it, Greer.” Molly expected him to take his hands off her. Instead, a low growl came from somewhere deep inside him and he plunged a finger into her. He thrust into her over and over, his fist pounding against her flesh. The sound of wet suction filled the room. Molly braced her legs, accepting the invasion of his finger, wanting more, wanting to be thoroughly punished for her hedonistic and sinful desires. “Did he fuck you?” Molly gasped at Greer’s language. She knew what the word meant but no one had ever said it to her. Least of all honorable, gentlemanly Greer. “No,” she uttered, realizing at the same time that she liked this side of him. “Did you save that for me?” His knee roughly prodded hers until her legs spread wider. “If you want it, take it.” She stood on her tiptoes to give him better access. An uncharacteristic dark laugh rumbled up from his chest as his fingers continued to plunder her channel. This was no touch meant to bring her pleasure. No. Greer was complying with her request to be punished. His free hand squeezed her bare bottom, bruising her flesh. Claiming her. She expected him to unbutton his breeches and impale her, but he didn’t. Right now she was glad of it because she was on the verge of bliss. “You’re so wet,” he murmured. “Do you like my finger inside you? I’d love to bury my cock in that tight, sweet cunny.” 48
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He muttered phrases to her in language that should have shocked her. On the contrary, it washed over her like a freshly laundered cotton sheet on naked skin. Cool. Crisp. Sensual. “Oh Greer…” she whispered as ecstasy rushed down her spine and up her legs, crashing in the middle and then reaching back out from that one spot in the body where Greer’s fingers weaved their magical spell. She clawed at the covers and mewled, riding the crest of pleasure until the intensity ebbed into a dull, constant throb. “Don’t move,” Greer commanded. Molly felt his fingers work the buttons of his fly. She tensed, expecting him— wanting him—to plunge into her. The head of his erection raked through her sensitized folds. Her toes curled against the rug. He groaned and planted the thick crown in the crease of her backside as his hand began jerking against her flesh. She resisted the need to lift and arch, to take him inside her as he worked his cock. The pressure against her nether hole excited her in ways she’d never dreamed possible. Could she take him there? She shifted her hips until the tip pushed closer, threatening entry. Her heart lodged in her throat and just as she was about to ask for more, she heard his moans and felt his spray hit her lower back. The hand pressing her to the mattress loosened. He straightened. Silently he used his handkerchief to wipe his essence from her back. Then he drew her chemise back down over her bare skin before he quietly collected his coat and cane and left the room. “Greer…” Molly called softly after him but he did not respond. She burrowed her fingers through her hair, staring at the spot where she’d last seen him. Dear Lord, what kind of woman was she? She’d allowed them both to take untold liberties with her. And had wanted more! She squeezed her eyes shut. How could she have let any of this happen? Exhausted and sore, she crawled under the covers but torrid visions prevented her from going to sleep. Visions of Greer and Hardin forcing her to undress and submit to their lewdest whims. What if either of them asked her to choose? With Hardin gone, everything had been simpler. A future with Greer had seemed the right and natural path for her to take. But now that Hardin had returned her world had been upended. Infuriating and arrogant, Hardin possessed the power to weave a spell over her that rendered her mindless. One look, one word, certainly one touch had her on her knees, turning her into his more-than-willing plaything. But in some way, Greer held the same command over her. And after what they’d just done… Molly flipped over onto her side. Her body still sang with bliss and she longed to enjoy the warmth of the afterglow but something inside her prevented it. Well-broughtup ladies weren’t supposed to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh but for Molly, simple pleasures had become an all-encompassing need that she knew neither of the Barksdale boys could sate alone. 49
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***** “So, the prodigal brother has returned,” Greer taunted from the doorway of Hardin’s room. Greer wasn’t surprised at all to find his brother rummaging through the chest of drawers in search of clothes. Hardin looked slightly thinner than the last time Greer had laid eyes on him. The humor had faded from his brother’s eyes, replaced with a look of haunted hunger that was almost frightening in its intensity. He’d managed to don a pair of butternut-brown breeches but was otherwise naked. An ugly gash held together with crude sutures marred his side. One of Athena’s quilts lay in a heap at his bare feet. He straightened, his gaze falling immediately to Greer’s cane. “I’d heard you were wounded.” “And I heard you deserted.” The accusation was colder than Greer had intended. But this man had touched Molly. Something dark and possessive snaked through Greer’s veins. Hardin’s eyes flashed with malice. He slipped a shirt over his head and tucked it haphazardly into his breeches. His lips twisted into a snarl. “I heard you took the oath.” How could Hardin always warp an argument so that he won? It occurred to Greer that Hardin would have made the better lawyer. It also occurred to him that he stood once again in his more enigmatic brother’s shadow. “I did what I had to do to protect Molly.” Hardin let out a mirthless laugh as he drew up his suspenders and then sat on the chest at the foot of his bed to put on socks and boots. His face evidenced the pain in his side. “Where are you going?” Greer asked. “Away. I have business to attend.” Hardin’s hands shook as he tied his laces. “You’re hurt. You need to rest. To heal.” Hardin snorted and stood. “Not today, brother.” He picked up a coat and started toward the door. “What about Oakleigh? Papa and Molly? How can you just hightail it out of here when—” Hardin brushed past him, moving surprisingly quickly for a man with stitches in his side. “I’m sure you’ll give her my love, Greer.” Greer limped after him. “Papa’s not well.” Hardin kept walking. “From what I heard, he’s better off than either of us.” “Hardin—” But Hardin was already halfway down the stairs. Greer took one step and pain flared in his leg, doubtless due to his exertion the night before. He let out a grunt of frustration. It was no use. Nothing he could say would change Hardin’s mind. Good riddance, anyway. He’d shamed the family.
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Greer hobbled to a bench in the upstairs hall and sat heavily on it. Besides, Hardin had touched Molly. The idea of it enraged Greer. Punish me… Her words echoed in his head. Guilt and desire warred inside him. He should have restrained himself but, by God, he wanted to strip her bare and kiss every inch of her voluptuous body. Yes. Maybe Hardin’s departure would be the best thing for them all.
***** Hardin was out of breath by the time he reached the edge of the woods where Louis told him the horse was hidden. Leaning against a tree, he stopped to rest. This was a mistake. He should spend one more night in a warm bed at Oakleigh but he couldn’t. Not until the men responsible for Witt’s murder were all dead. With the soldiers on the move, it was getting harder and harder to track them. And now that seven of them had died gruesome deaths, the Yankees would be more vigilant than they’d been at first. It was imperative to Hardin that he struck quickly and quietly. Something moved in the woods, putting all his senses on alert. He slid behind the tree and drew his revolver. With his thumb, he eased back the hammer. From the sounds in the damp underbrush, there was more than one of them. He squinted and listened, hearing leather creaking and the blowing of a horse. No. There was one mount and one person. Peering around the tree, he was shocked to see Molly standing on the path, holding the reins of his horse. “Molly,” he said, relaxing as he holstered his revolver. “What are you doing out here?” For only a brief instant, her gaze met his and then she looked down at the reins wrapped around her hand. “Louis told me you asked about your horse.” “I’m leaving.” “I figured as much,” she said and then her gaze lifted to his again. Her eyes implored him. “Don’t.” He could tell she struggled to hold his stare. “Why should I stay?” he asked, shocked by the words even as they left his lips. He smirked. “Aren’t you sort of promised to my brother?” He’d meant to hurt her. He could tell he succeeded by the change in her green eyes. She worried the leather reins in her hands. “Why are you leaving? Your unit would hang you for a deserter and the Yankees would no doubt hang you for a spy.” “Given the choice of dangling at the end of a rope or watching you marry Greer, I’ll take the rope.” “What makes you think I’m going to marry Greer?” He stared. A flicker of hope ignited in his chest but he quickly quashed it. “Because you should marry Greer.” 51
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“So that’s it?” she asked. “You’re just going to get on your horse and ride off to do nothing?” “Greer doesn’t want me here,” Hardin said, stepping forward to take the reins. “Besides, I’d be in his way.” “He’s your brother.” Her voice softened the closer Hardin got to her. “And he’s forforgiving.” “Forgiving of what? Me deserting my unit? Or this?” he asked, and hauled her into his arms. Her resistance was momentary. Her body melted, molding to his, and when his lips grazed hers, a little whimper escaped her and her arms wound around his neck. “Don’t go,” she murmured before he cut any further protest short. His mouth covered hers and he plied her lips, coaxing her to open for his tongue. At once she became his willing paramour, moving restively against him as if she couldn’t manage to get close enough. She seemed so small in his arms, so fragile. The compulsion to protect her—to vindicate her—suffused him. Need shot straight to his cock and he hardened against her belly. She reached between them and stroked him through his trousers. Her touch was fire and ice. Images of backing her against the nearest tree and sinking into her sweetness dominated his thoughts. Knowing she wanted him as much as he desired her fueled his arousal. He tore his mouth from hers. “What will you do if I stay?” he asked, his voice low and seductive. Her eyelids lowered almost bashfully. She was heartbreakingly beautiful with her kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks. “Anything,” she gasped the word. “Anything you want.” “Is your cunny wet?” She glanced back toward the house in the distance before she began gathering up her skirts. “Soaking.” Blood rushed so hard through Hardin’s veins, his head swam and his vision blurred as Molly backed behind the safety of a thick tree and drew up her skirts to expose the split in her drawers. “Pull it open.” She fingered the slit apart, revealing the damp, black curls underneath. Hardin took a deep breath that caused a sharp pain to shoot through his side. He too glanced around and then looked back into Molly’s eyes. “I don’t want to take you like a…like this.” He stopped short of saying, like a whore. That’s not how he saw her at all. Her eyes flashed. “I want you to. Witt was always so gentle with me but you wouldn’t be gentle, would you, Hardin?” Her voice had turned sensuous. Velvety. “Damn, I bet you taste like something sweet.” Take her. Fuck her. Claim her. Greer be damned. 52
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Greer… Something Hardin could only guess was guilt rose up hard in his chest. “What about my brother?” “Witt’s gone.” “I wasn’t talking about Witt.” Shut up and fuck her, fool! Molly’s face sobered and she dropped her skirt. “Greer?” Hardin clenched his teeth. Greer would be a better match for her. He’d make a good husband. But for some reason, Hardin couldn’t bring himself to utter the words. Instead, he searched her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised,” he said as he skirted her. He stepped into the stirrup and bit back a groan as he swung into the saddle. “Leave, then. Run away,” Molly said. “But know that the Yankees suspect you’ve been killing the men who murdered Witt.” Hardin tugged the reins. “You don’t know anything about that. Do you understand me, Molly Barksdale? Nothing.” Her lips parted as if she could read the dirty truth in his eyes. “That’s what happened to you, isn’t it? One of them stabbed you. Hardin, do you really think all those men deserve to die?” “I don’t think any of them deserve to live,” he retorted, and dug his heels into the flanks of his mount. The horse bounded off through the side yard and then down the long drive toward the pike—taking him away from Oakleigh and from Molly.
***** Defeated and ashamed of herself, Molly trudged into the big house. She’d known Hardin would leave. She wondered how far he would get down the road before he realized she’d packed enough food for several days and some clean clothes in his saddlebags. A shiver raced up her spine when she thought about just how close she’d come to letting him take her in the woods. Hardin was right to have reminded her about Greer, who was a more suitable choice as a husband. So why, then, did she want them both with equal fervor? They were like two sides of a coin. One staid and secure. The other risky and dangerous. Both equally attractive. It made no sense. Loving them both was impossible. Molly intended to be quiet so as not to awaken the others but Hamish suddenly appeared at the door of his study. Dressed and looking somewhat shaky, he seemed…well…sober. Molly tried to hide her shock. Most days Hamish didn’t leave his study until the afternoon, and by then he was so drunk he couldn’t stand without assistance. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “Has Cookie served breakfast yet?”
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“No sir,” Molly responded. At the top of the stairs, Greer stood up from the bench on which he’d been sitting. The look in his eyes coupled with his black broadcloth sack suit gave him the appearance of a much older man. He and Molly exchanged glances. He shrugged but began his treacherous descent of the stairs, clinging to the banister and favoring his injured leg. Molly rushed up to lend her arm. “Hardin’s gone,” Greer whispered. “Do you think Hamish knows?” Greer only shook his head and they followed Hamish into the dining room. “Lawzy mercy, Mister Hamish!” Cookie exclaimed, nearly dropping the basket of biscuits she carried. Her wide-mouthed expression betrayed her shock. Ancient and stooped, her skin hung on her gaunt body. She had cooked for three generations of Barksdales and although they’d tried to persuade her to pass the job on to someone else, she refused, saying she would dry up and blow away if she ever stopped working. “You hungry?” she asked Hamish. “Coz’ if you are, I’ll make up another batch of biscuits.” “I think I can manage one or two of your famous cat-head biscuits,” Hamish said with a wink. He picked one out from under the tea towel covering them. “These smell delicious. Do we still have any of those pear preserves you put up last fall?” “Y-yessuh,” Cookie stammered. “I’ll go and fetch you some.” “I’d appreciate that,” Hamish said, flashing the old smile that even charmed Athena at her surliest. As Cookie skittered out the back door on her way to the kitchen, Hamish drew out his chair. “Sit, sit. I trust you both slept well.” Greer pulled Molly’s chair out and pushed it in as she sat. He drew in a deep breath and let it out. “I didn’t get enough sleep but I’m looking forward to an afternoon nap.” Hamish continued conversing as if he’d never taken a drink in his life. What could have happened to him to cause such a change? Greer clearly had no idea, because he looked as surprised as Molly felt. Neither of them, however, had the gumption to say anything to Hamish about the transformation. Still, Molly couldn’t help but think it had something to do with Hardin.
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Chapter Six Molly listened to the news about General Lee’s surrender with mixed feelings. For so long, all she had wanted was an end to this grinding war. Now that it had happened, she wondered how things would change. Everyone sat stunned as Greer finished reading the newspaper article aloud. “What happens now?” Molly asked, her voice flat and monotone. She pushed the needle through the pillowslip she’d been embroidering. “No doubt the Yankees already have some ideas,” Hamish ground out. “I assume the prisoners will be released. Men will start pouring in from all over,” Greer added. “But I have a feeling lawlessness will ensue. There’s still a lot of animosity and there’s talk in town that Forrest wants to lead troops into the hill country and continue fighting from there.” “Surely he wouldn’t be that stupid,” Molly said, worrying the thimble on the tip of her middle finger. She’d never cared for General Forrest. People either loved him or hated him. Everyone feared him. She’d met him once when his men camped on the grounds and she hadn’t cared for his almost zealous intensity. But by the way he’d pushed his men, Molly didn’t doubt for a second that he’d continue to fight. She bit her bottom lip to keep from wondering out loud if Hardin would now come home. But he hadn’t gone away to fight the last time he was at Oakleigh. Molly sank back into her chair, shifting when her stays poked uncomfortably into her ribs. Word had circulated about the ghost who silently murdered Yankee soldiers who happened to stray from their units. The only commonality was that each victim had been involved in Witt’s execution. I did it for you, Molly. Hardin’s confession played in her thoughts. She’d never mentioned her suspicions to anyone, not even Athena, but Molly would have bet her eyeteeth Hardin was tracking and killing the men who’d murdered Witt and humiliated her. Hamish had changed the day Hardin left and Molly could see a triumphant glint flash in the old man’s eye whenever anyone brought up the ghost. No one admitted a thing and even Greer tried to keep Molly in the dark, but she was aware of the Yankee commander who rode up from time to time, asking questions, insinuating that Greer and Hamish knew more than they were telling. “I can’t wait until the Yankees leave and we can all go back to our lives,” Molly stated as she went back to her needlework. “They won’t leave,” Greer said. “They’ll occupy the South and things will probably get worse before they get better.” 55
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“Occupy?” Molly said, aghast. But Hardin can’t come home until they leave. “For how long?” “Months. Years maybe.” Greer drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “The lot of us might be tried for treason before this is over.” Molly blew out a sigh, trying to concentrate on her task but finding it impossible. The war was over. Yankees or no Yankees, life would have to move on toward some form of normalcy. But even if Hardin were able to come home, what kind of life would she have caught between them like the proverbial dog who wanted two bones? If only she could— No! The thought was so sinful she refused to think about it again. Once before, the day both Hardin and Greer had taken liberties with her, she’d imagined being intimate with them at the same time. One in her mouth and the other embedded in— She stopped herself again and put her needlework aside. “Lord Almighty, it’s hot in here,” she said and stood to walk over to the open window. “I’m quite comfortable,” Greer said. But Molly’s face flamed. Heat settled in the back of her neck. Heat which had little to do with the muggy, late April weather. Greer had not touched her since the morning he’d been waiting in her room. His eyes, however, betrayed his interest—and his desire. He played his part as a gentleman to perfection, as if he were determined to wait until her mourning had ended. Molly had truly loved Witt but no more or less than she loved his brothers. What was it about them that rendered her unable to choose? So many men and boys had been killed in the war that several eligible girls would have no hope of finding a husband. Due to the scarcity of available men, more and more widows married despite the rigid mores of mourning. While Molly felt that Greer definitely intended to marry her, she knew in her soul he would wait, in spite of necessity. And yet, if he offered for her, could she accept knowing her feelings for Hardin? Frustrated, she rubbed her throbbing temples. Suddenly Greer was at her back, his hands cupping her shoulders. “Are you unwell?” “I-I…I suppose I’m merely overwhelmed,” she replied truthfully. “Perhaps you should lie down. Would you like me to walk you to your room?” His fingers caressed her shoulders, sending little ripples of pleasure throughout her body. Hamish stood. “I could do with a nap myself. Excuse me,” he said with a slight nod of his head before he left the room. “He’s changed,” Molly whispered once he’d gone. “For the better,” Greer said. “He hasn’t taken a drink since…” His voice trailed off and Molly knew he couldn’t bring himself to say Hardin’s name. It had to hurt Greer to know that one conversation with Hardin had turned their father around. 56
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Hamish hadn’t mentioned Hardin but everyone at Oakleigh knew it was true. Molly wondered what had transpired between them. More than anyone else, Hamish had been devastated by the loss of Witt. One of Greer’s hands slid down her arm and he tangled his fingers with hers, dragging her completely back to the present. She gazed into his eyes. “I’d like to go to my room now.” Her voice was whisper-soft and filled with unspoken promises. Greer’s throat muscles worked as he swallowed. “Come,” he said, releasing her fingers only long enough to retrieve his cane. They walked arm in arm, slowly and silently up the stairs. Molly’s heart raced as Greer followed her into her bedroom. “I’d forgotten how nice and cool your room is in the afternoon,” he said. “It’s the Osage orange tree outside the window,” Molly mused, gazing out at the soaring, thick tree. “I get lots of summer shade from it. I’d just die if lightning ever struck it.” “God forbid,” Greer said softly. He was so close that just the energy emanating off his body sent delicious tingles skittering up and down Molly’s limbs. Did he know? Did he have any idea how often she lay awake in this bed wishing he would come to her room? She exhaled, trying to dispel darker thoughts. Did he know she touched herself, dreaming of being naked and claimed by both Greer and Hardin? Guilt plagued her when she only fantasized about one of them. But both… Yes, both gloriously haunted her imagination as she brought herself to orgasm with her fingers night after lonely night. Turning to Greer, she unfastened the top three buttons of her bodice and opened it. His gaze rested on her fingers as she peeled back the fabric to bare her chest. “I think we’re in for a hot summer,” she said. He cleared his throat. “I-I agree. I should leave you to your nap.” “Stay,” she said before she could stop herself. His consternation was evident in his worried expression. His lips formed a tight, straight line. “Molly—” “I need to be frank with you, Greer,” she said before he could deny her. “I’m ashamed of myself for the thoughts I’ve been having. Thoughts about…about you and me.” “I have them too,” he admitted. “But we cannot act with impropriety. I would never do anything to sully your repu—” To silence him, she closed the remaining distance between them and covered his mouth with her own. Let him deny her now. Physical need inundated her until she felt as if she would drown in it. Why did she have to be so lustful? She would give anything to be constant like the other ladies she knew, but her thoughts were eternally consumed with carnal things. Even when she’d been married to Witt, she’d fought fantasies of the 57
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three Barksdale brothers loving her, punishing her, forcing her to do things no lady should know about, much less want to do. “I need you.” She breathed the words against his lips as she dug her fingers into the soft linen sleeves of his sack coat. “Please, Greer.” His body betrayed him, for she could feel his steely length pressing into her belly through the lightweight fabric of his trousers. Thrilled, she ground herself against him. “You want me,” she said seductively. A growl tore from his throat. “Yes, I want you,” he said fiercely. “But you have never given a care to reputation. I’ve done everything in my power to ensure you are held in the highest esteem. Even Hardin made Witt marry you when everyone in town—” “Made?” Her passion faded. Greer shook his head. “I misspoke. You threw yourself at me and I find you very difficult to resist. Very difficult. I apologize.” “Hardin made Witt marry me?” She felt sick. “It wasn’t like that. Witt loved you. We all do. You know that, Molly.” “But…did Witt think I was a…a trollop because I let him…” Her voice trailed off and she turned away from Greer. Hot tears burned her eyes. “He married me because he felt sorry for me? Or because he felt responsible for me because of what my friends were saying about me?” “Molly, don’t.” Greer cupped her shoulders again, only this time the gesture enraged Molly. She jerked away, not moving until she heard the tap of his cane on the floor as he limped out of the room. She threw herself on the bed, sinking into the thick, down-stuffed mattress. Shame burned in her cheeks. Hate and love for Greer vied for prominence. For Hardin. She’d known he’d played some part in her marriage to Witt but hadn’t guessed the depths of his involvement. She’d never meant to entrap him. She had only been curious about relations between men and women—or rather, the three Barksdale brothers and herself. Her actions had shamed her family and her reputation. She’d lost her friends, and if the war hadn’t started to give the town something else to talk about, Molly assumed she’d still be the subject of gossip. The sound of horses trotting up the drive dragged her attention away from the Barksdale brothers. With a sigh, she climbed from the bed and went to the window. Four soldiers in Union blue were dismounting at the front steps. Their hats obscured their faces as they marched onto the front porch. A firm knock echoed through the house. Molly hastily refastened her bodice and slipped out her bedroom door to discover Greer already making his way back down the stairs.
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Athena’s resolute voice drifted up from the entry hall. “What’s the likes of you trash doing back here?” “Now, now,” a sickeningly familiar voice said. “That’s no way to treat an old friend.” Molly’s blood ran cold. Every muscle in her body locked. Her knees shook so badly she had to lean on the banister and hold on to the balustrade with both hands to keep from tumbling down the stairs. Meshach January. What was he doing here? Horrific images swept over her. The jeering soldiers circling her as she stood naked on the front lawn. January’s mouth at her ear and his erection at her back. She let out a faltering breath. And then the awful news about Witt… She staggered and slipped down one stair before she caught herself. The movement was enough to attraction attention from below. January stepped inside, removed his slouch hat and inclined his head in what was meant to be a bow. His eyes never left Molly’s. A taunting grin wriggled under his moustache. “Well, well. If it isn’t the Widow Barksdale. How lovely to see you again.” Molly gulped. Athena sulked. Greer’s forehead furrowed as he watched the exchange. “Excuse me. I don’t believe I’ve had the honor of making your acquaintance.” “Honor!” Athena blurted. “This fool don’t know nothin’ about honor.” January chuckled. “Colonel Meshach January. And you must be Major Greer Barksdale.” Greer’s face drained of color. He withdrew the hand he’d offered. “State your business here,” he said tersely. January pretended to dust some lint from his sleeve. “Oh, I’m merely making introductions since I’ve been appointed the local provost marshal.” Molly sank her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from screaming in outrage. “I’m headquartered at the jail in Columbia,” he continued. “Is that all?” Greer bit out. He shook with fury. Molly didn’t know how he kept from throttling the man after what he’d done to Witt and to her. Macabre admiration for Hardin welled in her breast. Straightening, she clenched her fists, willing power to him to put an end to each and every one of these murdering bastards. “Not quite all,” January said dispassionately. “I need to know the whereabouts of your brother.” Greer jerked his chin at January. “Your living brother,” January added mockingly. 59
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Greer sucked in a sharp breath. “My brother deserted and has not been seen for quite some time.” “Well, that’s not altogether true, Major Barksdale.” January glanced at Molly. She shrank. “I have reason to believe that your brother is the one they call the ghost and that he has not deserted, but rather is acting as a guerilla in this area.” Greer’s expression never changed. “I’ve not seen him.” January’s gaze swiveled to Molly’s once more. “What about you, Mrs. Barksdale? Have you seen your brother-in-law?” She narrowed her eyes. “I have not.” A tremor in her voice betrayed her fear. “When you do, you be sure to tell him I’d like to have a word with him.” You go to hell. January clapped his hat back on his head. “Just in case you thought otherwise, Mrs. Barksdale, the last words your husband uttered before my men removed his tongue were not about you. No. He wasn’t nearly as heroic as the regional balladeers have made him out to be. He begged for his life like the yellow traitor he was.” Speechless, Greer glared. The three soldiers with January burst into laughter as they all strode out the front door. Athena shooed them with her broom, heaping on insults as they crossed the porch toward their mounts. “Get out of here and don’t show your faces around here no more, you filth! How dare you talk to a lady like that and her husband with the angels! I’d sho’ hate to be you come Judgment Day. Go on, get out of here!” Molly collapsed, her dress and hoops billowing around her as her bottom hit the stairs. Greer rushed toward her as fast as his lame leg would allow. He sat next to her and gathered her into his arms. The moment seemed surreal as she burst into tears, the pain so deep and great that she felt as if she were hovering outside her body, watching it all happen to someone else. “I should call him out,” Greer said. Spite edged his tone. Molly clutched at his coat. “No!” “I agree. That was rash of me. But I will certainly have words with his superior officer.” Molly sniffed, trying to force back the torrent of awful memories. “He…he killed Witt.” Greer drew her closer. “Hush, darling,” he cooed. “I’ll see to it he faces charges for what he’s done. His words and actions have gone far beyond his duty as an officer.” Charges? I want him to suffer the way he made Witt suffer. Hardin was right. Some people didn’t deserve to live.
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Molly lay awake, staring up into the darkness. Moonlight spilled in through the open window. A light breeze carrying the heady perfume of honeysuckles billowed through the curtains, making them look like ghosts. Outside, the night creatures croaked and chirped, the monotonous sound broken by an owl’s mournful hoot. The floorboards creaked, and Molly bolted upright in bed just in time to see a dark figure looming in her doorway. She opened her mouth to scream but the intruder raced across the room before clamping his hand over her lips, preventing her from making a sound. “Hush, Molly,” a familiar voice whispered. “It’s me. Hardin.” Joy burst from her as she threw her arms around him. “Where have you been?” she asked. He pressed his finger to her lips again. “I don’t want the others to know I’m here,” he said, and eased onto the bed. She studied his face in the dim light. Soft stubble shadowed his jaw. He obviously hadn’t shaved in days. He looked even thinner than before. His eyes seemed hollow and haunted. She brushed her thumb across the sharp line of one cheekbone. “Good Lord, Hardin. Are you hungry?” “I can wait,” he said. “Besides, Cookie would carve me into little pieces if I were to awaken her at this hour.” He smiled in that enigmatic and taunting way that always caused Molly to unravel at the seams. His hands slid down and he ran his fingers over hers. “My brother hasn’t asked for you yet?” Her stomach tensed. “Not exactly.” She lowered her gaze but then lifted it boldly back to his. “I’m not so certain I would have accepted.” Hardin let out a soft, whimsical laugh, but Molly was in no joking mood. She clutched his arms. “That colonel was back here. The one who…who—” “I know,” Hardin stated. “He came here today.” Instantly she regretted telling him. She highly suspected he was indeed killing those men. Going after someone as well guarded as January would be a suicide mission. “I know,” he repeated, softer this time. “He’ll never hurt you again.” “Hardin, no…” “Promise me that you will marry Greer.” Molly shook her head. “What are you saying?” But she knew. He was telling her goodbye. Her throat constricted. Her chest ached. He held her face in his hands. “I need you to marry Greer. As soon as possible.” “But why?” “Because I don’t want there to be any question about your honor.” His gaze dropped to her lips.
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“I don’t understand.” Her heart felt as if it were about to beat its way out of her chest. “Don’t you?” he asked, just before his mouth found hers. Molly speared her fingers into his hair, holding his head as she opened for his kiss. It was wild and passionate and filled with desperation. Her senses reeled as everything seemed to happen all at once. He tasted like water and smelled like the outdoors, like horses and leather. His hands trembled as he held her. His breathing grew rough and harsh. “I want you, Molly. I’ve wanted you since the first time I ever laid eyes on you.” “Then why didn’t you say something? Do something?” The knowledge that he’d acted too late bore down on her with a ferocity that frightened her. “I’m not good enough for you.” “But you made Witt marry me after I—” “Witt was in love with you but he was too scared to act on it. I told him he had to…he had to be…brave.” Hardin sighed and thumbed back a strand of her hair, and suddenly Molly knew he’d assumed the guilt for his brother’s death. He stared at the bed. At nothing. “It wasn’t your fault.” One corner of his mouth twitched into a self-deprecating smile. “He would never have joined the scouts if it weren’t for me.” “Hardin…” His gaze found hers and he held it for a moment before he reached for the ribbon at the top of her nightgown. Molly’s breath froze as he slowly and deliberately untied it, loosened the gathers at the top and then pushed it off her shoulders. She watched as he methodically dragged it down to bare her breasts. Molly’s nipples drew taut under his gaze. With a reverence that surprised her, he cupped one breast and brushed his thumb over the tip. He looked at her as if he were trying to memorize every swell and curve. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “All those nights under the stars, I’d lie awake and wonder what it would be like to be in bed next to you—to sleep with you in my arms.” She squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears gathering there from falling. Her body trembled as much from fear as from need. Sharp desire lashed through her, creating such a hunger she found it unbearable. He drew the covers off her legs and pushed her nightgown up to expose the thatch between her thighs. Liquid heat pooled between her legs. Her channel clenched. She’d waited for this moment for years. Years. And now it was happening. Terror arose that any moment she might awaken and realize she’d been dreaming. “Would you try to stop me if I told you I mean to assuage this lust I have for you?” he asked, standing to begin removing his clothes. 62
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Molly trembled. “My blood is boiling, I want to be inside you so badly.” He shrugged out of his coat before peeling off his shirt. Molly’s own blood heated at the sight of his bare chest and the scar that marred his side. The memory of that torrid night rose in her so hard she thought she might swoon. His fingers nimbly unfastened the buttons of his trousers. He pushed them down and toed off his boots. The glorious sight of his nude body caused her mouth to go dry. His erection jutted from a nest of black curls. Shadows delineated every sinew and muscle, the flat plane of his chest and rippled hardness of his stomach. She attempted to swallow but could not. Unable to speak, she reached for him. “I cannot wait any longer,” he muttered as, in one fluid motion, he joined her on the bed, fusing his mouth with hers as his fingers explored, finding her wet and ready. He parted her thighs roughly and plunged into her. His kiss stifled her cry and she arched up against him. Paradise. Paradise. Oh sweet, merciful heavens, this is Paradise. Love and lust swirled together into one powerful force that consumed her. His hands gathered her underneath him, holding her in place as he thrust into her with heated, measured strokes. Over and over. His groin slapped against hers. Perspiration misted both their bodies. Molly clung, sinking her teeth into his shoulder as he continued to pump wildly. Her legs flailed open wide. Each hard thrust forced the air from her lungs. “I’m going to fuck you all night,” he promised against her ear. Molly couldn’t help the groan that tore from her throat. Spasmodic waves of bliss rolled through her, intensified by the feel of his thick cock stretching and filling her, impaling her. The muscles in his back rippled under her exploring palms. She could feel the darkness in him simmering beneath a thin veneer. She loved that part of him—the part that would avenge her to the death. She also feared it because she knew the darkness drove him. It separated him from her. “Hardin,” she whispered, drawing him to look at her. She cupped his jaw, her eyes boring into his. He stared back, breathless. The hard glint that usually marked his gaze had softened. The look gave Molly the sensation she’d suddenly been deprived of air. He brushed a kiss across her forehead. “I always told myself this once would be enough.” His gaze found hers again. “Now, I’m not so sure.” His thrusts slowed but Molly knew this tenderness would be fleeting. She watched him, memorizing every line, every eyelash, every twitch of the muscles around his mouth. A shard of panic shot through her that he had intended this to be the one and only time they would ever share such intimacy. His head dipped and his lips nibbled at her neck. Inhaling, she turned her head to give him access and he rained kisses from her ear down to her collarbone. Her hips
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churned slowly beneath him, lifting to meet his thrusts and then pulling away. When he came into her fully, he ground his groin against her, igniting the bundle of nerves in her clitoris. With deliberate precision, his thrusts grew faster. Harder. Big hands worked beneath her to cup and lift her bottom, angling her for his wicked possession. His engorged cock awakened places inside her that had never before been touched. Not like this. Her breathing hitched. “Take me,” he rasped. “Take my cock in your cunny.” Molly stared up at him, still trying to breathe, trying to sort out the emotions roiling inside her from the sweet physical torture Hardin meted out. Surges of sensation rolled over her like thunder. She spread her thighs so wide the muscles there burned but she wanted it to hurt. She wanted to feel. And now, she needed Hardin to satisfy that driving hunger that consumed her like an out of control fire. With a rough growl, he plunged into her, the pressure building and intensifying, making her mindless and leaving her clinging to him and writhing like a wild animal beneath his body. His muscles bunched and clenched. His hips rolled with a swift fluidity as his cock continued to stretch her to capacity. Pain and pleasure merged, blending into a sensation Molly could not describe. He let out a groan and at once, all the violence inside him exploded, carrying Molly with it, tearing through her senses, altering her and releasing her into some new territory from which she could never return. A hoarse cry burned in her throat as all the sensation culminated into ecstasy that shattered her. She dug her nails into his shoulders, trying to ride the cataclysmic waves, desperately needing this pleasure to continue. Some part of her became aware he was whispering her name, that he was embedded deep inside in her—so deep she could feel the heavy, pulsing throb of his cock as he found his own release. What happened afterward was a blur. She floated, conscious of his hands cradling her face, his tongue pushing into her mouth. Wet stickiness oozed between her thighs. She’d dreamed of this so many times but the reality proved a thousand times better than her fantasies. And a thousand times more painful. She curled her fingers around his arms, knowing that if he moved off her, she might never hold him close again. A soft laugh rumbled in his throat. “Easy, kitten. I’m not through with you.”
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Chapter Seven Greer peered into the darkness, now alert to the sound of muffled moans and whispers. He propped up on his elbows, listening intently. His first thought was that an intruder had broken into the house. He cocked an ear. It sounded like Molly. Terror that she was in trouble inundated him. What if that bastard January had returned? Throwing back the covers, Greer sat. He rolled out of bed and snatched his cane. Ignoring the tight ache in his leg, he stood, remaining still for a moment so his stiff muscles could adjust. As quietly as possible, he crept into the hallway, squinting at the shadows. A soft moan came from Molly’s room. What on earth was going on? He moved closer and as he neared her barely open door, he saw two figures silhouetted against the backdrop of the window. Terror sent adrenaline firing through his system. Heart hammering, he thrust open the door—only to stop in shock when his eyes focused on a naked Molly astride an equally naked Hardin. Greer blinked. This was a nightmare. A horrible nightmare. Hardin looked up at him from where he lay horizontally on the mattress. “Hello, little brother,” he said dispassionately. The sight of Molly with her long, dark hair cascading over her breasts and stretching down to her waist fueled an uncontrollable rage in Greer. She stared, lips parted, face flushed. Before he could stop himself, he crossed the room. “Greer—” she began but he slipped his hand behind her neck and drew her forward, bringing her mouth to his. Hardin would not have her to himself. Greer half expected her to resist. She did the opposite. Her mouth opened as he plunged his tongue between her lips. Hardin’s sarcastic laughter met Greer’s ears but he ignored it. Tonight, he would show Molly which Barksdale brother was most worthy of her. She rocked and he held her head to keep his lips fused with hers. Desperate moans filled his mouth. Her body grew fevered in his arms as he swept his hands over her shoulders, her breasts. Her diamond-hard nipples pressed into his palms. Obviously willing to share, Hardin, maneuvered away and moved in behind her, pressing her head downward. “Suck my brother’s cock.” Molly gasped as Hardin thrust into her from behind. Greer did not argue. Impatient to release his erection, he raked up his nightshirt and pushed into Molly’s mouth. A dark, needy moan tore from his throat. He’d known this moment would happen 65
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between them. But he’d never figured it’d be this soon—and he certainly hadn’t banked on having company. He’d fought it. Not because he wanted to protect her but because too much had happened between them. He’d grown to love her, to depend on the sensual wonder she brought into his life. Her smile. Her generosity. Her quiet strength marked by the insatiable hunger always simmering in her eyes… He’d fought it because he loved her exactly as she was and couldn’t bear the thought of her changing because of his base needs. A faltering breath escaped his lungs as she ran her tongue down the swollen length of him. He gathered her hair with his free hand and watched her engulf him, sucking at the crown and swirling her head to give him pleasure. Greer trembled. Need stretched up from the very roots of his being, tightening in his scrotum and pumping in fierce rushes through his cock. With them both, she had ceased to be the sweet Molly he felt compelled to protect. This woman burned with an intense fire that, if not carefully stoked, could consume them all. Moaning, she took all of him. Every long inch. He felt the head lapping the back of her throat. Carnal sounds filled his ears. The rhythmic slapping of body against body, the wet suction of her mouth as her lips drew hard up his length. “This is what she was made for, brother,” Hardin taunted. “For fucking.” He slapped her ass for emphasis. Greer felt her jolt all the way down to his sac. He should be on fire with jealousy. He should be angry. Confusion replaced all the emotions he knew he was supposed to feel. He grasped at his feelings, trying to define this. Relief? He’d wanted her for so long. He’d denied himself, fooling himself into believing he was protecting her. Molly… “Turn around,” Hardin commanded her as if she were his slave. “Let him fuck your cunny.” Without hesitation, Molly complied, stretching out on her back and positioning her bottom at the edge of the bed. Greer tore off his nightshirt. She reached for him and he moved in between her legs. Resisting the driving urge to climax, he raked the crown of his cock through her already slippery folds. “Tell him to fuck you,” Hardin said, tweaking one of her nipples. Molly’s clouded gaze met Greer’s. “Fuck me.” Greer thrust into her silky heat, sinking deeply. She let out a moan that was staunched by Hardin’s mouth as he bent to kiss her. This was so wrong. Sinful is what it was. But Greer’s body screamed something entirely different. Molly’s hips rolled to meet his thrusts until he anchored her bottom with his hands and held it so he could pummel her.
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Greer drank in the sight her. Perspiration beaded between her breasts. She toyed with one of her nipples while Hardin deviled the other one. He was right. She was made for this. This and much more. One man would never be enough for her. The bed creaked but Greer refused to stop or slow his thrusts. The feel of her was incredible. His gaze riveted to the place where they connected. He couldn’t take his eyes off the sight of his cock pulling out, pushing back in, of her flushed nether lips caressing him as he drove into the sweet confines of her cunny. His scrotum bunched, tightening. The need for release surged hard. Her thighs gripped his hips and he pumped into her and when her fingers sought her own clitoris and began to stroke, Greer was lost. Hardin moved away and Molly’s eyes opened. She looked dazed, enthralled by passion, her gaze dark and shining with hunger. Greer could not look away. Every muscle in his body tightened to the snapping point. The need for release tormented him, rising, building. Just there. And when her mouth opened in a silent scream and he felt her inner muscles gripping him in hard, rapid succession, he knew she’d found pleasure. He arched, shuddering as his seed emptied into her with such force he didn’t know if he would survive it. “Molly.” He breathed her name as pure ecstasy drove him over a precipice from which he could never return. Everything had changed, and the hard knowledge of it shook him to the marrow. He melted over her body, feeling her still rippling around him like a rushing creek. He remained there with his face buried at the nape of her neck as her hands roamed over his bare back, her touch absolving. What had he done? He forced the guilt away, intent on prolonging this bliss still radiating through every inch of his body. Finally, he lifted himself off her. A curious mix of shame and excitement coursed through him. Hardin sat in the corner, his head resting on the back of the chair. Thankfully, he’d managed to pull on a pair of breeches. Greer stooped and gathered his nightshirt. He slipped it on, racking his brain for something to say to break this awkward silence. God in heaven, he’d just shared the woman he loved with his brother. He raked his hand through his hair. “Shit,” he muttered. Molly scooted onto the bed but made no move to cover herself. Dampness glistened on her inner thighs. Her crimson lips were plump and swollen. Her mussed hair snaked across the white sheets. She’d never been more beautiful. More changed. “Shit,” Greer said again. He blew out a breath. “That Union colonel was here asking about you,” he finally said to Hardin. “That’s why I’m here,” Hardin said impassively.
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“You shouldn’t be here,” Greer told him. “You’ll bring that man’s wrath down on us all. Hasn’t Molly suffered enough at his hands?” Hardin stared. Greer suddenly wanted his brother gone. He wanted things the way they were. He wanted Molly all to himself. God, why couldn’t he take his eyes off her? “What did you say to him when he came here?” Hardin asked coldly. He casually propped his foot on the bed railing. Greer’s gaze flicked to Hardin. “I told him we hadn’t seen you.” “No. I mean what have you done to restore her honor?” Hardin glanced sideways toward Molly. “Or Witt’s?” A wave of heat swept up Greer’s spine. His fist bunched. “Against everything inside me, I took the oath and I stayed here while you were off doing God knows what.” Hardin smirked. Molly kneeled on the bed, finally dragging her nightgown up to cover her breasts. “Stop it. Both of you, stop!” Greer drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He pinned Hardin with a stare, letting his older brother know this conversation was nowhere near over. Then he collected his cane and started for the door. He stopped at the threshold. “If you intend to stay here, Hardin, then at least have the decency to stay out of sight.” “Naturally,” Hardin responded. Molly’s heart sank as Greer left. She’d hoped all their differences could be put behind him now that Hardin was home—now that they’d all shared an intimate moment. For that sweet hour, all her dreams had been a reality. But she’d been foolish to think it could continue. Hardin stood and began collecting his clothing. An upsurge of panic swept Molly. “Where are you going? You’re not leaving?” His gaze shot to hers. “Not yet.” Her shoulders dropped as some of the tension waned. Her heart skittered at the look in his eyes. He seemed amused as he nestled her face in the palm of his hand and tilted her chin up. “Don’t worry, darling. Greer will marry you now. Propriety be damned.” Before Molly could speak, Hardin brushed a kiss across her lips. Instinct spurred her to respond but clarity sunk in. She drew away. “That’s not why I—” But he cut her protest short with another, deeper kiss that caused her toes to curl. When he finally pulled away, the expression on his face had changed. No longer was he the flinty, angry Hardin she knew. The ice in his eyes had melted. The tension in his jaw had softened. “I need to say something.”
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She searched his eyes for a clue as to what he was about to reveal. “I can’t do what I’m about to do without telling you this,” he confessed. “Hardin, don’t,” she said, knowing he was on the verge of telling her everything about seeking revenge on the men who’d murdered Witt. He blew out a warm sigh that fanned her cheeks. “I shouldn’t be telling you this but I need you to hear it.” “Hard—” He touched his finger to her lips. “I need you to know that I love you, Molly.” Everything inside her stopped. Her heart. Her breath. She moved her lips to speak but no words would come. She’d waited a lifetime to hear these words but now that she had, she knew his declaration held a denial that would break her heart. He continued. “It’s because I love you that I have to let you go. I’m no good for you, Molly. No matter what I do, I could never deserve you.” Feeling as if an iron band gripped her heart, she shook her head. “But Witt did. And Greer does,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper before he pressed a kiss to her forehead and left the room. She stared after him, heedless of the tears coursing down her cheeks.
***** “Where do you think you’re goin’?” Hardin turned from his horse to discover Athena, hands on her broad hips and bottom lip poked out defiantly. He smiled. “What are you doing up so early?” She ignored his question as her eyes narrowed to slits. “You better not be fixin’ to run off and kill that Yankee who was here yesterday.” Hardin ceased to be amused. “This is none of your concern.” Shaking her head and muttering under her breath, Athena waddled toward him. “This family is my concern. I put the first mess of diapers on you boys. I done buried one of you.” Her voice cracked and her bottom lip began to tremble. “I can’t take burying another.” Impatience and guilt fired through Hardin. “I’ve already said my goodbyes. Now I’m bidding you farewell.” She seized his arm and squeezed with a strength that shouldn’t have surprised him. She hadn’t grabbed him like this since the time she wore him out with a cornstalk for sneaking off to spy on the Boshers girls bathing in the creek. “This family is my concern,” she repeated resolutely. “And if you run off to kill that Yankee, what do you think will happen to Greer and Mister Hamish? To Molly?” He stared.
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Athena wasn’t finished. Her eyes narrowed and he didn’t know whether to be amused or afraid. “Judge not, lest ye be judged, Hardin Barksdale.” The tiniest smile played on his lips but he refused to allow her to deter him—or to let her see that she was the one person on earth who could. “An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,” he said. “You taught me my Bible lessons well, Athena.” She stared but he read the fortitude in her expression. She wouldn’t give up. Ever. “What are you doin’ this for?” she demanded. Hardin stared. “For Witt?” Athena asked, refusing to relinquish the hold on his arm. A look of cold knowing washed over her face. “For Molly?” Hardin’s insides trembled at the sound of her name. “Those men have all paid for what they did to Witt and Molly. All except for one. And I’m going to remedy that today.” “You saw what your papa was like before you let on to him what you was up to. He was about dead with grief. What do you think he’d do if something happened to you?” Athena asked. Hardin shrugged. “He knows what I’m doing.” “What about Molly? Some of the life went right out of that girl the night Witt died. Have you thought about her?” Hardin jerked free of Athena’s grasp. “She’d be a damn sight better off without me in the world. So would my brother.” He wasn’t expecting the hard slap that landed across his cheek. Face stinging, he gaped. Athena’s shoulders rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. “Don’t you ever talk like that, Hardin Barksdale! I promised your mama, God rest her soul, that I’d look after you boys.” He rolled his eyes. “Now you’re bringing the sainted memory of my mother into this?” he asked sarcastically. Athena folded her arms over her ample bosom. “Even if you don’t know why you’re dead set on getting yourself killed, I do.” He swung up into the saddle. “Pray enlighten me,” he said impassively. “You’re a coward. You’re afraid Molly will pick Greer over you. And I can’t say as I’d blame her. I would too. You haven’t shown her that you can be anything but a noaccount scapegrace.” Hardin laughed out loud but she’d wounded him. Deeply. Of all the people he knew, he valued Athena’s respect the most. “All the better for her to marry my little brother. Again.” Athena shook her head. “Why are you so scared to let anybody see you, Hardin?” “Because I’m the one they call the ghost,” he said before he dug his heels in and rode off.
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***** “Greer?” Molly made certain everyone was still in bed before she slipped inside Greer’s room and closed the door. He put his straight razor down and dried his hands before he turned to her. “Why aren’t you in bed?” “I couldn’t possibly go back to sleep.” Molly’s stomach clenched with the delicious memory of him deep inside her. She knotted her hands in the folds of her nightrail. “I think Hardin has gone to kill January,” she blurted. “When Hardin makes his mind up to do something, he can rarely be deterred. You of all people should know that.” Molly’s gaze fell to the floor. How could Greer possibly hold what happened between the three of them against her—against Hardin? “He wanted you. He took you. And he allowed me to have you to shame me into covering his tracks,” Greer said, his face devoid of expression. “I will marry you, Molly. I had hoped to avoid embroiling you in yet another scandal but as it is, I will go and speak to the minister as soon as possible.” Molly balled her fists. “How can you stand there and talk to me of scandal when Hardin is riding into a trap? He’ll die trying to kill January and you know it!” Exasperated, she blew out a harsh breath. “I always thought Hardin was the unfeeling one.” She whirled, intent on leaving, but without warning, Greer rushed across the room and spun her around to face him, pinning her to the door with his body. “I don’t care what he did,” Greer said hotly. “You want the truth? Well, here it is. I wanted you. I came in that room because I wanted to lay claim to you.” His mouth descended on hers. Desire raged. Strong, intense desire that caused her to shake uncontrollably. She clung to his shoulders, twisting her head to take more of the tongue that pushed between her lips. Memories flooded her of taking his cock into her mouth only hours before, the same way she now took his tongue. She writhed in his arms as fresh need unfurled through her body. She felt as if she were being shattered into tiny pieces. Desire obliterated all rational thought, turning her into a wild animal intent on one thing—assuaging this all-consuming lust. Last night had only kindled the slow, steady flame already burning inside her. A shudder tore through Greer that she felt only because of her tight hold on his shoulders. “God, Molly,” he rasped. “What are you doing to me?” His mouth moved to her neck, where his teeth and lips plied her sensitive skin. She bit back a moan. Desire settled between her legs. Damp heat moistened the tops of her thighs. Greer’s hand pressed into her nightgown but it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough until flesh touched flesh. She wanted to feel him against her, touching her instead of holding her. Naked. Solid and hard. Intimate. It was the only thing that would ease this tension within her.
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She clawed at the fabric, bunching it higher. Greer reached beneath, his eyes holding hers captive as his fingers worked their way into her needy folds. Everything inside her trembled at the intimate touch. One finger breached her, sliding easily into her wet sheath. “I want my cock in there,” Greer told her. Yes, yes. That’s what I want. She let out a little cry when he withdrew his fingers to reach between his legs. And then—bliss. “Oh Greer,” she whispered as the thick crown nudged through the slick folds of her sex and pushed inside. The door rattled on its hinges with the force of the motion. Arousal—fierce, irrepressible and devastating—laid claim to her body. There was no fighting it. No fighting the desire that tore through her whenever one of the Barksdale brothers touched her. Greer’s face contorted. The muscles in his jaw locked. His eyes blazed with savage, dark heat as he gathered one of her thighs up his own leg and began to thrust up and into her cunny. His groin ground against the swollen bud of her clitoris as he worked his cock into the sensitive inner tissue, filling her full to the point that she thought she wouldn’t be able to take it. The lines between pleasure and pain blurred until the sensation became something new that transported her beyond Oakleigh, beyond this world. Her eyes shut and her being spiraled to that new place. She could feel her orgasm reaching closer, pounding in her sex. Almost there. Violent pleasure sent spasms through her abdomen. She began to pant for breath. Oh Greer. Her nails embedded in his arms as rapture exploded, flaring through every nerve ending she possessed, stealing her air so that no sound emitted from her open mouth. “You’re mine.” The growl rumbled in his throat, reminding her who carried her on this journey. His body tensed and she felt the sensual fury lurking beneath his staid exterior. The need. And at that moment, she was his. “Molly,” he gasped, and lurched into her once. Twice. Trembling, he kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her lips. “I must go,” he said breathlessly. “But—” “I’ve tarried too long as it is,” he said, releasing her. The hem of her nightgown fluttered around her ankles. She stepped toward him, reaching even as he did up the buttons on his breeches. “I shan’t be long,” he said, and gave her one last loving kiss on the mouth before he rushed out the door and down the stairs.
*****
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Hardin pulled his slouch hat low and tried his best to stay in the shadows. He’d grown up in this community and although it was not yet dawn, a chance still existed that someone might happen by. No light came from within the jail. January had not yet arrived. But Hardin had discovered that his custom was to report first thing in the morning. A lone picket walked back and forth in front of the door. In the wake of the killings, January had guarded himself heavily. He traveled only in the company of two bodyguards, even to and from the house in which he quartered. In order to kill him, Hardin realized he’d first have to take out the two henchmen. He checked his knives. Two. One for the first bodyguard and a bullet for the other. The second knife would be for January. Hardin didn’t expect to survive. If the soldier on picket duty didn’t take him out, the streets would soon be teeming with armed men ready to lay chase. Steeling himself, he waited. This was it. He’d anticipated this moment for nearly a year and now that it had arrived, he was more than ready. Oh, they’d hang him. They’d be sure to torture him first, just as they had tortured Witt, but after the heaven of Molly’s arms this morning, Hardin knew he could withstand the hell they’d have in store for him. Nothing could be worse than the pain of losing his brother—or losing Molly’s love. The sentry snapped to attention at the same time Hardin heard the sound of riders approaching. Adrenaline fired through his veins, and with it that ruthless sense of calm he’d developed over the long, hard winter. He withdrew the first knife from his belt, taking comfort in the feel of the cold Damascus steel under his fingertips, the rough grooves in the handle carved from the antler of a sambar stag. He pictured hurling the knife so that it landed precisely between the shoulder blades of one of the guards. Then he’d take up the rifle and put a bullet in the other guard, and before the sentry could respond, he’d go down. The semblance of a smile tugged at one corner of Hardin’s lips at the thought of going after January. Hardin would relish the look of surprise on the bastard’s face. He’d thrill in watching the life fade from the colonel’s eyes. They’d kill him after that but a part of Hardin didn’t care. Now that he’d finished this damn business, he wanted them to know who was responsible for taking them out one by one. He’d be a martyr. Just like Witt. I need you to know that I love you, Molly. The words he’d told Molly reared in his thoughts. How would she feel when he was gone? Avenged? Grief-stricken? Or relieved that she was now free to marry Greer without guilt? Hardin shook his head as if he could dislodge the thoughts. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand. Murder.
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He crouched at the corner of the brick building. Awareness of everything suffused him. The burning in his thighs. His parched lips. The thrum of excitement and dread roaring through his system. The riders neared. Hardin gripped the handle of his knife, poised to throw it. “January!” an urgent voice called behind the three riders. Hardin squinted, peering into the murky dawn darkness. Who the hell… January and his two bodyguards wheeled their mounts around. The guards drew pistols and trained them on the approaching rider. Now. Do it now. Take them completely by surprise. Hardin eased up and readied his blade. “Colonel January, I am unarmed!” the advancing horseman shouted. “I must have a word with you.” A tremor shook through Hardin’s hand and he nearly dropped his knife as he realized, with sickening clarity, who rode hell-bent toward January.
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Chapter Eight Molly paced the floor in the parlor. Her mending lay in a pile on top of her sewing basket. She couldn’t concentrate at all with both Hardin and Greer gone. And she hated the feeling of sitting idly by while the men were possibly in danger. Athena had been tight-lipped all morning. Worry furrowed her brow, and Molly wondered if Athena’s consternation stemmed from the fact she’d had words with Hardin or from something more sinister. Hopefully Athena didn’t know what the three of them had done. Together. Molly squeezed her eyes shut and torrid memories flooded her of being on her knees, Hardin taking her from behind while she devoured Greer’s cock. That one sinful moment had fulfilled her every secret fantasy, but it was one Molly feared she’d never realize again. Hardin had doubtless gone to seek revenge on January and while Molly hoped the scalawag got what was coming to him, she would much rather have Hardin alive and unscathed. But where had Greer gone? He’d blathered on about paying a visit to the minister— which inspired equal terror in Molly’s breast. How could he be kowtowing to the vicar when Hardin’s life was at stake? Nervous energy set her on edge. She’d go mad standing here. Deciding what she must do, she raced out the back door and across the back yard to the barn. “Louis!” she called. “Louis!” He materialized from one of the stalls in the back. “Yes ma’am?” “Did Greer say where he was going?” “No ma’am,” he said. “But he was in a all-fired hurry.” A million thoughts raced through Molly’s head at once. “Saddle my horse as fast as you can.”
***** Greer’s horse plunged to a halt in front of January and his two henchmen. If he struck now, Hardin knew that Greer would be implicated. Killed. Goddamn it. Another realization unfurled. Greer had known he’d be here—and had come to stop him. Dual emotions of relief and fury vied for prominence. Hardin knew he’d been impatient. He could wait to kill January another day but when he’d heard the man dared to lay eyes on Molly again, rage had outweighed calculation. But now, how could Hardin face her again after his bald-faced confession? I need you to know that I love you.
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She hadn’t responded. He’d made certain of that by leaving before she could open her mouth. Listening closely, he caught snatches of the conversation between Greer and January. Greer’s voice was quiet but clear. “As a gentleman, I must request that you please refrain from making visits to my home when my brother’s widow is about.” “Well, I don’t know about that, Major Barksdale,” January said with a sideways glance to each of his guards. “I’ve often found that the best way to procure information is to ask a woman. You see, you can tell when a member of the weaker sex is lying.” A shiver of hatred coursed through Hardin. How could Greer sit there atop his horse and remain calm while the man discussed Molly that way? “If you give me your promise,” Greer continued, the strain evident in his voice, “I’ll agree to send word as soon as my brother Hardin returns.” January’s laugh filled the already-muggy dawn air. “You’d sell your brother for the widow? Well, I can’t say as I’d blame you.” A slow smile stretched Hardin’s lips. He’d miscalculated his little brother’s fortitude. Admiration surged. Greer was expertly laying a trap that would lure January right into his web. And Hardin would be like a spider—ready and waiting.
***** “What the devil were you thinking?” Greer demanded as he burst into the barn. Hardin shook his head. “I just wanted it to end.” Greer sighed. “Yes, well, you would have been what ended. Those soldiers are fortified to the teeth. Why didn’t you tell me what you had planned?” “Yes, Hardin,” Molly blurted, emerging from one of the stalls. “What did you have planned?” Wild relief trilled through her at the sight of them. They both stared, the shocked expressions in their eyes the same although their faces looked so drastically different. Greer stood in his summer-weight linen sack suit, the pale-camel color accentuating the brown of his hair. Hardin was dressed in the butternut of a soldier, the mismatched buttons of his pale-blue-trimmed jacket hanging precariously from equally mismatched thread. One a gentleman, the other a warrior. Love for them both welled so hard in her breast, dampness formed in her eyes. She blinked it away and turned to Louis, who’d been about to help her into the saddle. “I don’t suppose I’ll be needing my horse after all. Thank you, Louis.” He nodded and took the reins. “Come on, hoss.” As soon as Louis disappeared to turn the horse out to pasture, Greer advanced on Molly. She lifted her chin, prepared to defend her intention to ride out and find them. “What do you think you were doing?” he asked.
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Behind him, Hardin crossed his arms over his chest. The sight of the holster clinging to his hips and two knives sheathed on one side confirmed her suspicions that he’d been out to get January. “What if you’d run into January and his men on the road? A lone woman on a horse?” Impatient, Greer dragged his fingers through his hair and glanced back at his brother. His gaze found Molly’s again. “You should have known it wasn’t safe.” “All I knew was that both of you were out there somewhere,” she pointed toward the barn door for emphasis. She looked over Greer’s shoulder at Hardin. “And from the way you talked to me, I figured you were fixin’ to get yourself in trouble.” Something flashed in Hardin’s eyes. Was that shock or sheer terror? Molly bit back hurling any more accusations at him. Despite his tough exterior, he possessed the most fragile heart of all the Barksdale brothers. Realization washed over her. He’d given her to Greer. Her lips parted. “I am not some plaything you two can trade or give away at a whim.” “Molly—” Greer began. Hardin spun on his heel and then stopped to regard her once more. “Jesus.” Molly shook. Her gaze flicked from Hardin’s to Greer’s as she spoke. “I couldn’t possibly choose between you. And Hardin, this is the second time you’ve intervened and tried to choose for me. I can make up my own mind. And I’m here to tell you now, I want you both.” “Hold your voice down.” Greer looked around for Louis’ prying ears. “I don’t care who knows,” Molly blurted. “If I can’t have you both then I won’t have either of you.” “I won’t be around to—” Hardin started but Molly cut him off. “I don’t want to hear any more of that crazy talk! Losing you would hurt me far worse than anything those damn bluecoats could have done. I want you to promise me you’ll let this go.” A pregnant silence ensued. Still shaking, Molly added, “It’s not what Witt would have wanted.” Hardin gaped. Courage that she finally had the upper hand fired through her, emboldening her. “Promise me.” Defeat colored his expression. Was he…blushing? He looked both annoyed and amused. “I won’t go looking for him but if he comes back to Oakleigh, he’s mine. Understood?” “That’s fair enough,” she said, then turned on Greer. “As for you, there’ll be no more talk of going to the vicar. I want to marry for love, not convenience.” Greer stammered but no words came out of his mouth. Molly started toward the door but stopped and shot them a look that would rival one from the fancy ladies on Nashville’s Smokey Row. “I expect to see you both tonight in Athena’s cabin.” 77
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***** Molly raced down the path to the servants’ quarters, her slippers barely touching the ground. At dinner, Greer had made an excuse to join his brother for cigars and brandy and Molly had taken it to mean that they’d decided to meet her. The door was ajar when she arrived but very little light emanated through the crack. She slowed her pace but her heart continued to race as she tiptoed up the stone steps and pushed open the door. “Hardin? Greer?” Without warning, strong arms swept her inside. The breath left her body when her back collided with the wall. Rough hands dragged up her nightrail. Someone else, silhouetted by a low-burning fire, closed and bolted the door. “Yes,” she heard herself say aloud. This is what she’d wanted from them. She raised her arms as her assailant pulled her gown off overhead. The cool night air made every inch of her skin come alive. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she realized Greer was the one who had her against the wall. His hands traveled all over her body, not lingering long enough in any one spot. Frustration set her on edge. He spun her around and she felt Hardin at her back. She closed her eyes, lolling in the sensation of hands on her breasts and her buttocks, her shoulders and thighs. Greer’s mouth fused with hers and at the same time, Hardin swept her long hair to the side and suckled at the nape of her neck. Driving need caused her channel to tighten and then tighten some more. She burned to have this lust assuaged. One of Greer’s hands plunged between her thighs and she rocked into his touch, moaning into his mouth when a finger found its way inside her. She bucked when Hardin’s wet finger wriggled between her ass cheeks. The tip nudged insistently against her nether hole. Not there! Wild panic caused her to writhe but their grips were too strong. Greer’s thrusting finger stole her inhibitions and she soon found herself pushing back against Hardin’s in silent acceptance of his invasion. Her rim gave and his finger eased in. It didn’t hurt at all. Instead, it felt wonderfully good, making her wonder what it would feel like to take other things inside her two at a time. The brothers worked their fingers in a rhythmic tandem. One in, the other out. While Greer plucked one nipple, Hardin reached around to toy with the other. All over. All consuming. It was everything she’d ever dreamed. “Is this what you wanted?” Hardin’s voice was a hot whisper in her ear. She moaned, her mouth still locked with Greer’s. Oh God, it was too much. The pleasure was too good. Her legs trembled violently and had it not been for the two of them bracing her, she would have collapsed. Hardin’s teeth raked her shoulder and he bit his way lightly to the curve of her neck. A delicious shiver tickled its way up her spine. For the first time, Molly doubted herself. She’d always thought she could take them both at once. Now she wasn’t so sure.
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She was about to lose all control and the sudden shock of it terrified her. How had it happened so fast? She tore her mouth from Greer’s and laid her head against his chest. Needy moans spilled from her lips as she dug her fingernails into his arms and rode the cresting tide of pleasure. It slammed her all at once. Dark, deep bliss that shot through her body like a streak of lightning. She cried out as her body gripped their fingers, clamping down until the feel of them inside her reached the breaking point between pleasure and pain. Their encouragement mingled in her ears. “You like that, don’t you, Moll?” Hardin’s hot breath fanned her shoulder. “That’s right,” Greer murmured. “We’re not anywhere near through with you yet.” “We’ll make you think,” Hardin taunted, “that you can handle us both.” Molly groaned through clenched teeth. She quivered in their arms, still thrashing in the throes of ecstasy. And before she could recover, she found herself spinning again. Greer’s hand pressed her downward until her mouth brushed the head of Hardin’s cock. She opened for it as if the act was instinctual, and as Hardin filled her mouth, Greer’s erection plunged into her cunny. His hands clasped her hips, anchoring her for his assault. Hardin’s fingers speared into her hair, holding the wayward locks back and bracing her head while he fucked her almost as savagely as his brother took her from behind. They were ravishing her. And she loved every second of it. “You still think you want us both?” Greer smacked her bottom. She mewled around Hardin’s arousal. He tasted like holiday spices mixed with something decidedly masculine and thoroughly him. Her tongue rolled around the thick shaft as it thrust in and out of her mouth, raking her teeth and gliding along her palate. Greer’s fingers were surely going to leave bruises but Molly gloried in his fierce grip. His cock drove through the already sensitized tissues, leaving her helpless to hold more pleasure at bay. Her back burned from the strain of bending. The backs of her legs blazed but she would not surrender. Yes. By God. She could handle them both. She rocked her hips, inviting more of Greer inside her. The feel of her mouth being invaded to capacity heightened her sense of having her control stripped away. The illusion of being forced freed her to take every ounce of pleasure from the sinful encounter. Greer bent over her back and Molly jerked when his fingers found her already distended clitoris, rubbing the sensitive bud in earnest. A second orgasm lurked. Just there. Just out of reach. Oh, don’t stop. She pulled away from Hardin and hung her head, concentrating on the brewing storm between her legs. But suddenly Greer’s body grew stiff. He slammed into her. Once. Twice. A third time. A hoarse cry fell from his lips and then he withdrew.
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Molly protested but before she could move, Hardin had taken Greer’s place. The cock that filled her reignited her lost ecstasy. Hardin’s thrusts came hard and fast. His groin slapped Molly’s bottom, the force pushing the breath from her lungs with each drive. Greer reached under her belly and found her clit again, stroking it with determination. Molly’s mind went dim with erotic need. Her body came alive and all that existed was this moment of passion and these wonderful feelings her lovers bestowed on her. She’d touched herself just like this so many times before but Greer’s fingers worked a different kind of magic. And Hardin’s cock… Molly whimpered as she tugged her own nipples. “I can’t wait any longer, sweetheart,” Hardin managed. That was all it took. Her orgasm shook her with its ferocity. Her knees quaked. Her channel clamped down on the invading cock and milked it. She could feel Hardin pulsing inside her, could feel the tension in his body and the hard jolts of release pumping semen into her as he, too, found release. When he finally pulled out, Molly staggered. One of them caught and lifted her into his arms. She didn’t bother opening her eyes as he placed her on the bed and covered her with a quilt. A tender kiss brushed across her forehead and she drifted into the heaviness of her thoroughly satisfied body. Doubtless they’d sought to frighten her into choosing between them. Well, she’d proved them wrong. A little smile played on her lips as sleep overcame her.
***** Hardin stared into the darkness. Molly shifted in his arms and snuggled closer. He held her and inhaled the scent of her hair. What was happening? And why was he so goddamn powerless to stop it? This morning he had known what he must do. At any cost, he was ready to die to avenge Witt and Molly. He could have easily murdered January and then would have gladly met the noose or taken a bullet. He snorted. Everyone thought Greer was the honorable one. Hmph. No. Hardin was only fooling himself and he knew it. Martyrdom had nothing to do with honor. He would have given his own life to keep Molly from choosing Greer over him. Athena was right, and it infuriated him that the old woman could so easily see through a well-crafted veneer that fooled everyone else. Torrid, sexual images flashed in his head. Molly naked, silhouetted against the hearth. Molly’s face, her expression one of gloried ecstasy. Her lips parted. Her breasts bobbing. 80
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Hardin had never imagined sharing her with Greer—or with anyone, for that matter—until Greer had barged into her bedroom and staked his claim. Hardin had wanted to fight him, to run him off, but when he saw Molly’s response, his plan had hatched. Hardin had known that if only Greer would compromise her, he’d then do right by her and propose. Molly needed safe, constant Greer. One satiny leg slid between Hardin’s. His cock stirred at the contact. Yes. Hardin knew what was best for Molly. So why the devil was it so hard to push her away? Against everything inside him, he’d made an inane promise to leave January alone. How stupid could he be? What was this power she held over him? For God’s sake, he had shared her with his brother not once, but twice! They’d discussed fucking her into submission, forcing her to reconsider, to choose. Instead, when they’d stripped her bare and had taken her like a whore, she’d reveled in it. Now Hardin wasn’t so sure he wanted her to choose. That fact alone left him confused and, frankly, terrified. He stroked her hair. She inhaled sharply then opened her eyes. Hardin’s stomach somersaulted. He’d had her over and over in the last twenty-four hours but even now, one look from her had him in knots. He could face a hundred of January’s men but the thought of letting this woman into his heart shattered him. “Where’s Greer?” she asked sleepily. “He went back to the big house hours ago.” His voice was rough with emotion. He hoped she thought it was fatigue. “Should I g—” “No,” he said quickly and then tempered the urgency in his voice. “No. There’s no need for you to venture out in the dark.” She rested her head on his shoulder and laid her open palm on his bare chest. Hardin knew he could get used to this. He loved the feel of her, warm and naked in his arms. But how would it be if he knew she was like this with Greer? Hardin swallowed thickly. Could he stand knowing her fist was curled against Greer’s naked chest, knowing her legs were entwined with his? And then, as if Molly could read his thoughts, she whispered, “Hardin, I can’t choose between you. Please don’t hate me for it.” His insides suddenly felt like curdled milk. He hugged her tighter. “I could never hate you.” He felt some of the tension ease out of her. “I’m no good for you,” he said. His heart twisted. Her head shot up. She looked at him. Hard. “That argument is futile with me, Hardin Barksdale. I know better. I know you meant to die so that I’d be free to marry Greer. And I know you weren’t ready to do that just for me. You cared about Witt and you care about Greer more than you’ll ever admit.” 81
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Hardin tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “If I cared that much, you’d be in his arms right now.” Molly snorted. “You’re not fooling anybody. And neither is Greer.” She rocked her hips, rubbing her sex against his thigh. Sticky, warm wetness caused his cock to stiffen. Heat rolled up his spine. He wanted her. This time he didn’t even try to deny it. He lifted her, pulling her over him until she straddled him. She wasted no time in seizing his erection and guiding it between her moist folds. A lust-filled sigh left Hardin’s lips when he slipped into her velvety sheath, feeling her encompass him inch by sweet inch. She closed her eyes and threw her head back so that her long locks brushed her waist. The muscles in her torso rippled and her breasts jiggled with her movements as she rode him. Watching her fuck him was the most sensuous thing he’d ever seen—and felt. Her skin gleamed in the light of the glowing embers. Her nails raked his shoulders and chest before she planted her palms and used him for leverage so she could move faster. Her inner muscles gripped and squeezed his flesh, causing everything within him to tighten to the point of snapping. He’d had his share of physical pleasure from women, but this, with Molly, was different. It touched him somewhere inside. It scared the daylights out of him. Slowing her movements, she looked down at him and he cupped her cheek. “I’d do anything for you,” he said, meaning it. “And that’s why I will share you.” Instantly he regretted it. What was it about her that made him confess such things? Here’s my heart. Sacrifice it. She twisted her head and kissed the pad of his thumb with a tenderness that caused his chest to tighten. Her hand inched up his arm and she laced her fingers with his before she pinned both his hands to the bed and began to impale herself on his arousal. Her hair fell forward, obscuring her face. Her breasts undulated with her sensual movements. Harsh breaths fanned his cheeks and chest. The sound of wet suction filled his ears as his own need shot higher and higher. He bucked, fighting to give her as much pleasure as she gave him. Juicy heat oozed onto his groin and thighs and trickled around his sac. He felt like he was about to explode—and then rapture was upon him. Hard and relentless. He jerked with each fierce spurt, filling her, the force almost rendering him immobile. His jaw ground and he bit back a moan and every muscle in his body seized taut. He knew his fingers were squeezing hers but he couldn’t gentle his pressure. A rough gasp rattled in her throat and he tore his hands from beneath her grasp, sat up with her still atop him and burrowed his fingers into the hair at her nape. One hard tug exposed the slender column of her throat. He latched on to the throbbing vein there, sucking her neck while he still pumped into her from below.
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Nails raked up and down his back. Animalistic moans echoed off the walls and when his thumb and forefinger kneaded one of her nipples, he felt a rush of liquid around his cock and then the spasms of a powerful orgasm. She shuddered against him. Her body jolted and she cried his name. “Oh Hardin! My love, my love…” The wildness in him melted at her words and he gathered her close, turning so that she lay beside him once more. She curled, catlike, and nuzzled her face into his chest. His heart pounded. Guilt nagged him. He shouldn’t be here enjoying her body. He should be dead and she and Witt should be avenged. She should be in Greer’s arms being consoled right now. Shit. Fucking damn shit. How could he bear to share her? After tonight, how could he risk asking her to choose?
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Chapter Nine Just before dawn, Greer heard the hinges on Molly’s door squeak as she closed it. He squeezed his eyes shut. She’d been with Hardin all this time, no doubt copulating with him. Greer clenched a fist and struck the mattress beside his leg. The muffled thud did little to alleviate the tension radiating through every tendon and muscle in his body. He wanted to scream but he didn’t dare. This could not continue. Hellfire and damnation, it never should have started! What if Molly got with child? They’d never know who the father was. Something snapped inside Greer and he realized that was his biggest objection to sharing her. Of course he wanted her all to himself. What man wouldn’t? He could scarcely blame Hardin for wanting her too. And truthfully, he could see why she wanted the both of them. He, Greer, knew his strengths and limitations. Where he was careful and constant, Hardin acted impetuously and spontaneously. What woman wouldn’t admire all their attributes? He pursed his lips. Circumstances would force her to make a choice whether she wanted to or not. He would just have to speak with her and force her to see reason.
***** Hardin walked back from where he had lined up several broken canning jars along the top of the fence rail. He looked like a boy again dressed in his butternut breeches, stolen Union-issue suspenders and white shirt. Molly stared at the glass, gleaming in the brilliant sunlight. The fence rail hadn’t looked so far away—until now. “Are y’all sure this is a good idea?” “Yes.” Greer shrugged off his linen sack coat and laid it carefully on the ground. He then pushed six bullets into his revolver, clicked the chamber back into place and handed it to Molly. She’d held revolvers before but the weapon’s weight still surprised her. Both brothers had decided she needed to learn to handle a gun—especially after she’d accidentally fired the pistol in Hamish’s study while cleaning off his desk. Hardin shoved his hands into his pockets. “Pull the hammer back,” he instructed. Molly struggled to hold the pistol in one hand and get her thumb on the hammer to cock it. The mechanism wouldn’t budge. “It won’t go.”
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“It takes practice,” Greer said patiently. He took it from her and, cutting a dashing figure in his well-cut clothing, easily thumbed back the hammer before he aimed and fired. One of the jars shattered. Molly’s ears rang. “Try holding it with two hands and using both thumbs to cock it,” Hardin suggested. Greer passed the revolver back to Molly. As Hardin instructed, she gripped the weapon with both hands and forced the hammer back. It clicked into place. “I did it! I did it!” Hardin quickly snatched her wrist and aimed the barrel away from himself. “Watch where you’re pointin’ that thing, sweetheart.” “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Her voice was cut short by the sharp report of the revolver’s blast. Molly screamed. Shaking, she thrust it back into Greer’s hands. The Barksdale brothers laughed. Loudly. “What’s so funny?” Molly demanded. Her pulse fled. Hardin grinned. “You’re supposed to aim before you pull the trigger.” Molly’s face flamed. “I don’t want to learn to shoot anymore.” An annoying bead of perspiration rolled downward between her breasts. “Try one more time,” Greer told her. “I’ll help you.” Placing the revolver back in her hands, he stepped behind her and, hands over hers, thumbed the hammer back. Her head swam at the solid heat behind her. She wanted to lean against him, to invite Hardin to join them. But apparently this wasn’t the time. Greer raised her hands, aimed and fired. A second jar exploded. Molly flinched then squinted to peer at the spot where the container had been as realization that she’d hit it sank in. “Sweet Lord,” she muttered. Hardin smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now let’s just hope she doesn’t use that pistol on one of us, little brother.”
***** Molly ached in places she’d never before been aware of. Muscles in her back throbbed. Her jaws hurt from opening wide to accommodate one cock and then another. Her tender nipples brushed against her tight stays, reminding her of how they’d been pinched and tugged the night before. Her cunny felt deliciously raw. But she knew if either of the Barksdale brothers asked, she’d pull up her skirts for them right now—just as she had done nearly every night for the past month. Daily, they all acted as if nothing were happening. Greer poured over the accounts and saw to the running of the farm. Hamish, who had not touched a drop of liquor in months, traveled, selling this year’s meager crops. Molly, Athena and Cookie saw to the
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never-ending task of keeping the house in order and making sure everyone who lived and worked at Oakleigh remained healthy and well-fed. Hardin kept out of sight, helping Louis tend the livestock. And although their paths rarely crossed during the daytime, at night the three of them congregated in the cabin and Molly lost herself in the arms of the men she loved. She glanced back over her shoulder. No one had followed her down the path to the creek. Good. A soak in the cool, rushing water would soothe her soreness. A wide yawn caused her jaw muscles to burn anew. She was tired but couldn’t have slept if she’d wanted to. Her mind raced with images of her two lovers. In spite of everything going on in the world around her, she felt alive for the first time since she’d said goodbye to Witt at the train station in Nashville. She unbuttoned her day dress and shucked it off before stripping off her petticoats and hoops. Sucking in her breath, she twisted her stays and loosened them enough that she could push them down over her hips. It was not an easy feat and she hoped no one saw the wiggle-worm dance she had to perform to get the hated garment off. Normally she swam in her pantalets and camisole, but today she wanted to greet the sun as naked as the day she was born. She stripped off the remainder of her clothes and stood for a moment, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin, the sultry breeze teasing across her arms and bare thighs. Despite the heat, chills swept over her. She’d never felt so free. Nor so at ease with her own body. Holding her arms out for balance, she crept over the smooth stones and into the swirling water. The creek was just shy of thirty yards wide but at this spot, the water was so deep the brothers had fashioned a rope swing in a nearby tree. It had been years since anyone had braved it. Molly stooped and then shot out across the water, luxuriating in the cool liquid rushing over her naked skin. After everything she’d done, this felt so good that it seemed the most sinful. She giggled. Something splashed in the water next to her and she stopped floating, instead treading water. Fear surged that a snake had decided to join her for a swim. She tried not to create waves so she could see if anything was moving—or worse, slithering— around her. And then she heard a snicker as another rock hit the water beside her. Her gaze shot in the direction from which the projectile had come. Hardin. “Oh you!” she cried and splashed water at him. Kerplop! Molly gasped. This time, the culprit wasn’t Hardin. But a low chuckle revealed Greer’s presence. He peeped mischievously from behind a tree. “Well, well,” he teased. “If it isn’t a veritable siren.” “Did you two follow me?” she demanded. If it weren’t for the cool water, she knew she would have been blushing furiously. 86
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“There’s only one reason anyone takes this path,” Greer deduced with amusement before his expression turned serious. “Do you know how dangerous it is to come out here alone?” “But I’m not alone,” she told him, thrilling at the teasing way the water lapped over her breasts. Just a hint showed and she could tell Greer was desperate to see more. A huge splash startled her as Hardin hurtled into the water, leaving the rope swing dangling in his wake. He surfaced and shook his head. “Whew! I haven’t done that in years.” A quick glance told her he’d left his clothes on the bank. A wave of heat rolled up her spine as he neared her. He lunged and dragged her into his arms. Molly had never known anything as sensual as the feel of his naked body against hers with the water rushing gently around them. He countered her in all the right places. Her gaze flicked to Greer and a spark of guilt nagged her. Being with them both was different in the bold light of day. She allowed the quelling grin on her lips to broaden. “Aren’t you coming in?” He was unreadable. “In a moment,” he said after a stagnant silence. But Hardin never looked back. His hands smoothed down her back and over her buttocks before one eased around her hip and explored between her legs. Molly’s eyes threatened to close. Her body responded instantaneously. Clinging to his arms, she opened to his touch. Common sense railed at her to tell him to stop, to let her heal from the soreness, but the needy wanton in her allowed him entry. His finger burrowed inside her, prodding her with a gentleness she wouldn’t have expected from Hardin. His gaze held hers captive. “You like when we both have our fingers inside you, don’t you?” Her stomach tensed at the memory. “Yes.” “I thought so,” he said, and then his mouth was against her ear. “I want to put my cock in your ass.” The clenching of her cunny around his finger denied any protest she could have made out of a sense of propriety. He chuckled. “I think you’d like that, sweetheart.” “Mmm,” she voiced, shifting to take more of his finger inside her. Oh there. Yes. “I want to taste that sweet little cunny,” Hardin murmured, and without warning, he hauled her up into his arms and carried her out of the creek. “Hardin, it’s broad daylight!” she protested. He deposited her on top of her discarded clothes. The sight of him stole her breath. Rivulets of water trickled down his bare chest, glistened in the patch of curls surrounding his semi-erect cock and trailed down his muscular thighs. His dark hair looked even darker when wet, the starkness of it delineating the hard lines of his cheekbones and jawline.
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She could have admired him all day but he didn’t give her that opportunity. Instead, he sank to his knees, lifted and parted her thighs and buried his face between her legs. Heaven! Her breath hitched and she made the terrible mistake of cutting her gaze at Greer. He stood, white-linen-clad arms folded across his chest, his narrowed eyes fixed on the sight before him. His mouth was set in a firm line. Molly’s mind ran rampant. Was Greer angry with her? Or with Hardin? Was trying to love them both a horrible misstep? Oh God, Hardin was destroying her ability to think clearly. Her body softened and her breathing deepened. Looking at Greer while Hardin performed salacious sexual acts on her heightened her desire. She swallowed and reached toward Greer. “I need you.” He didn’t hesitate. As he strode toward her, he unbuttoned the fly of his tan linen breeches. She propped up on her elbows as he sank to his knees and offered her his erection. She engulfed him, tasting the sweet-salty tang that was Greer. His fingers threaded into her wet hair and he held her head as he gently thrust into her mouth. She wrapped her fingers around him at the base, anchoring him so she could suck him faster. The muscles in her stomach ached from the strain of holding herself up. Hardin pushed her thighs open impossibly wider and Molly relaxed into the pleasure-pain of the burn and the sweet heat of a tongue between her legs. He flicked her clitoris and then swept lower to delve deeply into her channel. His hot breath fanned her and his fingers pressed into her soft flesh. He knew just how much pressure to apply. Oh, a little more. She exhaled a faltering breath through her nostrils. She couldn’t concentrate on Greer any longer. Her mind spiraled. Still gripping Greer’s cock in her hand, she let her head fall back as everything inside her wrapped around the torrid sensations from Hardin’s mouth. He slid a finger inside her, sparking her need for release. She bucked against his lips and pushed hard against the tongue lapping the tight bundle of nerves there. “I’m going to bury myself in you,” Greer promised. Molly could not quiet the moan that tore from her throat when an orgasm rushed over her as quickly and forcefully as a flash flood in a storm. Jolt after jolt of pleasure slammed her like rogue waves that radiated to her fingers and toes and even to her scalp, and while she was still dazed by pleasure, she realized one of them was twisting her, putting her on her knees. Greer. He plowed into her, and nothing about it was gentle. His body slapped against hers. His hard cock reached deep, secret places inside her. She would have hung her head and surrendered to Greer’s assault but fingers tangled in her hair, lifting her chin. A second cock teased across her lips and pushed between her lips.
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“Show her what it means to take two men at once,” Greer said roughly. “Give her what she’s asked for.” Yes, give it to me. They consumed her. They dominated her and she reveled in it. She no longer cared that she was outdoors, that anyone might walk up and see them ravaging her. She gave herself completely over to the four bruising hands on her body and the two punishing cocks filling her from opposite ends. She could no longer tell where one climax ended and another began. She couldn’t define the lines that separated her from the two men claiming her as their own. Her reputation didn’t matter anymore. This was what she needed and craved. This was what she’d always desired, to share her love and body with the men she adored. Her only regret was that Witt was not here to take part.
***** Molly had no sooner dressed for bed before Greer walked in without so much as a knock. Instantly, her blood heated. Without words, he crossed the floor, his limp still evident in his uneven gait. When he reached her, he snatched her nightrail off and tossed it to the foot of the bed. Molly didn’t make a sound as he twisted her around, bent her over, yanked up his own nightshirt and then explored until she was wet and ready. Roughly pushing her feet apart with his own, he entered, fucking her with the intent to sate his lust. “Is this what you want? To be used and fucked time after time?” he asked, his voice no more than a heated whisper in the dark. A hand smacked her bottom. She bit back a cry. “Yes, it’s what I want,” she confessed breathlessly. One big hand clamped down on her shoulder, holding her in place for his invasion. Her breath was forced out of her lungs with each violent thrust but she would not ask him to be gentle. She wanted him to thoroughly take control of her pleasure. She wanted that hand to smack her ass again. She wanted to hear him call her dirty names and make ribald declarations that he intended to enact. “Are you going to my brother tonight?” She gulped. Another hard thwack stung one ass cheek. Molly moaned as the sting transformed into sweet, throbbing heat. “Are you?” he demanded. “I can do as I please,” she ground out. “Not tonight,” he said. It was more of a promise than a threat. “Tonight, you’re mine.”
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She should have been angry and felt reduced to chattel. Instead his assertion awakened something primal that made her want to test him, to push him—to see just how far he’d go to keep her here with him tonight. She twisted her head around and leveled her gaze on him. “Then make me yours. Make me want to stay.” It was an invitation to punish her, and from the hard glint that flashed in his eyes, he realized it. Without warning, he pulled out. He went to her dresser and fumbled with the various perfumes and jars before he returned bearing a pot of cream. He set it on the bedside table. “What’s that for?” she asked, unable to quell the rising pitch of her voice. “We’ll see, now, won’t we?” he teased, and tore off his nightshirt. Molly wanted to turn over, to welcome him into her body the way a woman was supposed to take a man inside her. She wanted to feel his chest raking her hard nipples, to feel his hips rolling against hers. She started to rise up but a quick hand on her spine flattened her back down on the mattress. “What are you going to do if one of us gets a child on you?” His voice was serious, devoid of any sort of teasing banter. She heard the lid to the pot of the cream twist off. “I suppose we’ll discuss that when and if it happens. Dr. Black said that—” Her voice stopped cold when fingers spread her ass cheeks and something cold and gooey nudged against her nether hole. It teased around and around, intoxicating her with sinful need. She gulped. “Dr. Black said that I might not ever be able to conceive and, well…well, it never happened with…with Witt. What are you doing?” “There are ways of preventing pregnancy, you know.” “O-old w-wives ways?” Greer let out a sinister laugh and his cream-coated finger pushed past Molly’s rim. She whimpered. “Fucking you in the mouth won’t get a child on you,” Greer said. “Neither will fucking you here.” He rubbed the aforementioned spot for emphasis. Molly’s heart began to pound so hard the blood roared in her ears. “Please, Greer…” “‘Please stop’, or ‘please fuck me here’?” Memories of how good it had felt to have their fingers embedded deep inside her bottom rushed over her. She pushed back toward his hand, taking more of Greer’s slippery finger. “A finger is one thing,” she said. “A cock—your cock—is another.” Thus far, Hardin had surprisingly been the gentle one. Greer’s intensity in the bedroom almost frightened her. “Will you stop if it hurts?” she asked. He chuckled. “I thought you wanted it to hurt.”
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“I’m scared.” “You tell me if it’s too much.” His statement did little to alleviate her fears. It wasn’t him, however, that she didn’t trust. It was herself. She would take the pain because she felt she deserved it. No highborn woman should want to be with two men at the same time, much less be buggered by one of them. She bit her bottom lip, concentrating on the finger easing in and out of her hole. How could being taken there ever bring her pleasure? But the sensation of his finger certainly did. It slipped out and she longed to be filled again—but when she felt two fingers intrude, her confidence waned. She tensed. “It’s all right, pet,” he said, stroking her back with his free hand. “Relax. Let yourself enjoy this.” She spread her legs wider, inviting more. His fingers moved with the rhythm of a love ballad, slow and deliberate. And just as she surrendered, they were gone and she felt the greased head of his cock prodding. The crown pushed in and white-hot heat radiated around her rim. She cried out. It was too big. She could never take him there. “You’ll adjust. Relax.” No. No. Oh… Maybe… He intruded another inch, and once more she found herself pushing back, wanting more. His phallus stretched her to the point of pain. But sensitive nerve endings welcomed the intrusion. She softened, allowing more and more until she felt his body pressing against hers. “You’re so tight there. So hot,” he whispered. Just his words were enough to cause her channel to clench. Maybe she could find satisfaction this way. “Can I move inside you?” he asked, his voice cracking from strain. “Yes, yes,” she breathed. “Oh God, Greer.” The hands gripping her bottom trembled. He slowly withdrew and then eased in again. Molly felt every inch, every sinew, every tremor. How could she be so sensitive in that hole? She loved the stretch and burn, the sweet, smooth slide, the way it felt when he pushed into her as far as he could go and she felt his low-slung sac swing heavily against her cunny. He expelled a harsh breath. “F-faster,” she heard herself say. He shook but complied with her request, pumping into her at an easy speed. The feel of him raking through her flesh was so terribly taboo and wonderful at the same time. Molly pushed her hand between her legs and began to massage her needy clitoris, rubbing it with the intent of bringing herself to orgasm. “Faster, Greer. Harder.” His body slapped against hers, stoking a fire in her she was intent on quenching. Her back bowed as she rolled to meet his thrusts. Her wrist ached from the pressure she 91
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exacted on her clitoris. “Oh, fuck me,” she whispered into the mattress as the hardest orgasm she’d ever experienced thundered through her body. Desperate moans were muffled by the bedclothes. Her hole squeezed tight and she could actually feel Greer’s cock spurting his release into her. The bliss was intense and short-lived and when it was over, she couldn’t tolerate the feel of him inside her there any longer. “Stop, stop,” she mewled and he withdrew. Seconds later she felt a cool, wet cloth cleaning the combination of his issue and the cream away. As she climbed back onto the bed, he cleaned himself then joined her, gathering her in an embrace and covering her mouth with his own. She clung, opening her mouth as his tongue delved inside to claim her. The kiss sparked renewed passion and she knew that once would not be the only time they would find bliss tonight. When he finally stopped for a breath, she cupped his face in her hands. “I want you on top of me, Greer.” His eyes searched hers and for a split second, she saw past the calculating, wellprotected exterior and inside to discover a vulnerability that shook her to the core. Rejection would hurt this man. But she’d always known that about all the Barksdale brothers. He would share her with his brother because she wanted it, not because he did. She pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. She would have to make both of them see that their hearts were safe with her.
***** “We need to talk.” Hardin sighed. “What about, little brother?” But Hardin knew all too well what—or rather, who. Molly. He sat back in Athena’s rocker and crossed his arms over his chest. “She can’t go on with…with both of us this way without being married,” Greer said, leaning on the doorjamb. Hardin snorted. His first reaction was to balk but he knew his brother was right. “Am I to suppose, since I’m a wanted man, that you’d be the most suitable choice?” Greer’s mouth screwed into a grimace. He raked his hand through his brown hair. “I don’t know,” he said, then sighed. “I wasn’t thinking in those exact terms but…dammit, Hardin, what if she gets pregnant?” Shit. Greer seemed stricken. “Her reputation was all but ruined when she married Witt. Nobody talked too much because of…well…us.” “Yes,” Hardin mused. “Being a Barksdale does have its privileges.” “This is not the time for your flippant remarks,” Greer scolded. “I’m serious.”
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“Have you already discussed this with our lover?” Greer’s gaze shot to Hardin’s. “It needed to be discussed.” “And what did Molly say?” Hardin asked. “She doesn’t think she can even become pregnant. She was blissfully unconcerned.” Greer shook his head. “Did you offer to make a respectable woman out of her?” Hardin asked, his tone mocking and edged with spite. “Of course I did. I care about her.” A muscle at the corner of Hardin’s eye twitched. “Are you implying that I don’t?” “No. For Pete’s sake, Hardin, for once, let this not be about you.” A pang of guilt stabbed Hardin. “I apologize,” he said sincerely. “I agree. Molly needs to either marry you or we need to stop fucking her.” “Me? I’m of the same mind that circumstances prevent her from marrying you, but I won’t force her to marry me. That’s not fair to her…or to you.” “Greer,” Hardin said impatiently. “There’s a bounty on my head. We can’t put her through that again.” “That bounty might not be in place much longer.” “What do you mean?” Hardin leaned forward in the rocker. “I penned a letter to Governor Brownlow.” “Parson Brownlow? Why do you think that turncoat would help me?” “I heard that he isn’t all that fond of Meshach January and the way his men rode roughshod over the locals. And it’s not you he’d be helping. It’s Molly. The callous treatment of her alone is enough to have him court-martialed, not to mention the looting he and his men did elsewhere in the county.” Hardin felt deflated. “Brownlow won’t do anything for any secessionist, woman or not.” “If he won’t, then I’ll write President Johnson. I understand he’s doing everything he can to smooth the ruffled feathers left in Lincoln’s wake. And in the meantime, we make a plan so that if the unthinkable happens, Molly will be taken care of.” “There’s just one problem,” Hardin said. “She won’t choose between us.” “Then we have to make her choose.”
***** Molly emptied the pail of dirty water at the edge of the woods, sat it down and then arched her back to stretch her aching muscles. She and Athena had been on their hands and knees scrubbing floors all morning and there was still so much more to do. The drapes to launder, the rugs to beat…
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She closed her eyes and sighed as she dragged the back of her arm across her forehead to sweep a stray strand of hair from her face. Without warning, two arms surrounded her from behind. Startled, she whirled to discover Hardin. “You scared me, you rascal,” she said, laughing. A mischievous glint glimmered in his silvery eyes. “Come with me back to the barn. Louis has gone into town to buy feed.” “Don’t tempt me,” Molly said, wanting more than anything to collapse into his arms and allow him to have his way with her. “Whoa now!” Greer called playfully as he strode toward them, handsome in his dark, well-fitted suit and straw hat. Hardin growled a soft annoyance in her ear. “I saw you first.” Greer’s charming smile faded as he neared them. “Have you mentioned our talk to her?” he asked Hardin. “No.” Molly looked from one to the other. “What talk?” She didn’t like the sound of it. “This isn’t the time, Greer,” Hardin said. “What talk?” Molly asked again. “You’re going to have to marry one of us,” Greer stated plainly. Molly stared. “I thought we were all clear that—” “I’m not saying anything has to change,” Greer explained. “But in the event that you…that one of us…” He took a deep breath and let it out. “‘Bastard’ is an ugly word.” Still standing in Hardin’s embrace, Molly fingered the soft linen of his white shirt. “How could I ever choose between you? I love you both.” “This isn’t about love, Molly.” “He’s right,” Hardin added. “Nothing will change.” She shook her head. Greer stepped behind her and kissed the little patch of neck showing between her hairnet and the collar of her dress. “We promise not to make it easy on you,” he murmured. Hardin’s fingers delicately lifted her chin and he captured her mouth with his. It felt so right being touched and kissed by them both that Molly almost forgot she was outside, that someone from the house might see. But the heat of their bodies radiated through the multiple layers of her clothes, reaching straight to that spot that craved her lovers’ caresses. A little moan escaped her lips when Hardin cupped her breast and squeezed softly. A shrill voice rose above the birdsong. “What in tarnation?”
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At once, the three lovers separated. Hardin didn’t have to be told to disappear. He slipped into the woods as quickly and quietly as a native. Greer stepped in front of Molly. “Why, Miss Verna, I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays,” he said as if nothing had happened. Molly tried to compose herself but her heart was hammering double-time. Her cheeks flushed hot. She tugged at the collar of her dress, trying desperately to get some air. Verna Murks stood in the side yard, her mouth open in surprise, her eyes already glittering with diabolical intent. She would most certainly tell everyone in Maury County what she’d seen. “Was that your brother Hardin?” she asked. “Hardin? Why no, ma’am. We haven’t seen him since…since before Atlanta, wasn’t it, Molly?” Greer glanced back over his shoulder at her. She cleared her throat. “That’s right. Atlanta.” “Well then, who was that man?” Verna demanded. With her dress draped on her body the way clothes looked hanging in a chifferobe, the woman looked birdlike. Witchy. Molly clenched her fist at her side to keep from slapping the smug sneer off the woman’s leathery face. Greer rubbed his chin. “That was John—” “Smith,” Molly interjected. “He was one of the wounded who stayed on here after Franklin.” Verna’s eyes narrowed, deepening the creases at the corners of her eyes. “I thought the Yankees took all the soldiers who were able.” “He took the oath. As did I,” Greer bit out none too proudly. “He looked an awful lot like your brother.” The woman would not be swayed. “We don’t cotton to deserters around here.” Her gaze ran up and down Molly as if she were an insect that needed to be squashed. Verna sucked the back of her teeth. “You tell this John Smith to come back here. I’d like to be properly introduced.” Molly sucked in a breath. “He’s far too busy in the fields, Miss Verna. Perhaps next time,” Greer said diplomatically. “What brings you here?” “I was by town today and my draft horse threw a shoe. I aimed to see if your man could fix it,” Verna said, her gaze darting between Greer and Molly. “Louis is in town but I’d be more than happy to take a look. I’m not the most accomplished blacksmith in the county but I could patch it up until you can find a proper farrier,” Greer offered. “I-I’d best get back to Athena,” Molly excused. “Good day, Miss Verna.” With that, she snatched her pail and rushed back to the house.
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“That girl never had no manners,” Molly heard Verna say as she walked away. “It’s awful Christian of you to keep her here.” “Molly is family. I’d be obliged if you’d mind your tongue, Miss Verna,” Greer said before Molly got too far out of earshot to hear the rest. By the time she got to the side porch, she was trembling so badly she sank to the steps. She shouldn’t let Miss Verna’s words get to her but right now, Molly felt so vulnerable she couldn’t do anything but cry. That awful woman had spread gossip before. And even if she had believed the story about a John Smith, she might go telling everyone in town about what she’d seen. Molly realized her reputation would always be tarnished but she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone thinking badly of Greer. Worse, if word got out that Hardin was spotted, January would come looking for him. An icy shiver ran up Molly’s spine. If that happened, it would be the end of them all.
***** “Do you think she’ll make trouble for us?” Molly asked after supper. Greer sank into one of the porch rockers. He drew in a rough breath and blew it out slowly. “I think most people have more to worry about than Miss Verna’s gossip. What I’m most worried about is her running and telling everyone she saw Hardin.” Greer cut his gaze to her and Molly’s blood chilled. “It could get back to January,” she said darkly. Greer stood and peered down the drive at several riders dressed in Union blue. “I’m afraid it already has.”
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Chapter Ten “I thought we had an understanding, gentleman to gentleman,” Greer told Meshach January. January swung out of the saddle and landed with a thud on the ground. “That was before you lied, Barksdale. Where is he?” Athena burst out the door and onto the porch, broom in hand. Greer stared, tight-lipped. “Quartering a fugitive is a crime punishable by death,” January said, and cut his gaze toward Molly. “Don’t you remember the oath you took, Major Barksdale?” “If you’re talking about Hardin, he’s not here,” Molly blurted. “Athena, take Mrs. Barksdale into the house,” Greer said without ever taking his eyes off January. Athena grabbed Molly’s arm but she jerked free. Simultaneously, January stepped onto the porch. “Not so fast,” he said, snatching Molly by the wrist. Molly wasn’t as successful when she tried to break loose from January’s tenacious grasp. “Take your hands off her!” Greer demanded. January motioned to his soldiers, who trained their rifles on Greer. Molly stumbled as the Yankee colonel dragged her once more to the spot where he’d stripped and humiliated her over a year ago. This time, however, she didn’t care what the bastard did to her. She only hoped Hardin would not see and do something foolish. “He’s not here,” she ground out as January sidled up behind her. “Seems my witness said he was. Said she laid eyes on him—kissing you.” “She was kissing me,” Greer interjected. “Verna Murks is blind as a bat.” January chuckled as his gloved fingers slid down Molly’s arms to her waist. Her skin crawled at his touch. “According to Miss Murks, Mrs. Barksdale was involved in a tryst with both her brothers-in-law.” His fetid breath fanned Molly’s neck. “What a lucky girl you are.” Molly’s gaze fixed on January’s big, black mount—and on the hangman’s noose draped over the pommel. Her heart skipped a beat. Whatever they do to me, Hardin, don’t come out here. Don’t reveal yourself. “You’re perspiring,” January said, trailing a finger up her spine. “You didn’t sweat last time.”
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A shudder tore through Molly. She clenched her fists tightly to keep from whirling and striking him. “Do what you like to me. Hardin is not here. If he were, you’d be dead.” January laughed. “Laugh all you want,” she chided. “But we all know why you keep armed guards with you at all times, you low-down coward.” January’s men were well-trained. Their gazes scanned the windows and the portico, the woods and the outbuildings. “He was here when I came before, wasn’t he? Did he watch when I stripped you naked? Did he see how my men looked upon you?” Molly shook her head. She couldn’t stop trembling all over. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pretend she was someplace else, trying to imagine that this wasn’t happening. She’d lived through it once and she could do it again. January’s hands slithered around her waist then he toyed with one of the buttons on the bodice of her dress. Greer shouted. Athena heaped accusations and curses on the soldiers. Molly bit her bottom lip. She could withstand this. She would withstand it. Her breaths came quick and shallow as she tried to will her thoughts to Hardin. Stay hidden. Don’t come out here on my account. “I think this time I might give my men more liberties than I gave them last time,” January said. Molly caught one soldier’s gaze and he had the decency to shamefully look away. “January!” an outraged Greer yelled. “Greer, no!” Molly cried, fearing he would give up Hardin for her. January snorted triumphantly as he drew his knife and eased the point between the buttons. A gloved hand smoothed over one of her breasts. Molly bit back a cry. “Let her go! It’s me you want.” January flashed a yellow-toothed grin. “Well, well. If it isn’t the ghost.” As ten rifles trained on Hardin, Molly’s head snapped around. No. Her heart sank. Tears flooded her eyes and spilled unchecked down her face. She shook her head. This didn’t have to happen. She would have let January do anything he wanted to her to protect Hardin. January released his hold and Molly rushed into Hardin’s arms. She clung desperately. “No! Hardin, no!” “Hush, Molly,” Hardin said softly. He cupped her face in his warm palm. “It was worth it. You are worth it.” January sauntered to his horse and retrieved the noose. “I won’t let them kill you!”
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Hardin hugged her tightly. “I told you I loved you. I meant it. I love you more than my own life.” Her heart shattered as he released her and walked her to where Greer stood. “Take care of her, brother.” This wasn’t happening. Molly batted her eyes, trying to force herself to awaken from this nightmare. But it wasn’t a dream. It was real. She was about to watch her beloved Hardin die. A tortured sob came from uncharacteristically boisterous Athena. “You burn in hell for killing my babies,” she said to January. “You burn in hell!” Greer gathered Molly to him. She felt as if she were outside her body, as if she were watching this from some lofty height. Snarling, January slid the noose over Hardin’s neck and tightened it. “I’ve waited quite some time for this.” Hardin spit in the man’s face. January calmly removed his handkerchief, wiped the spittle away and then mounted his horse. He dug his spurs in. “Yah!” The horse reared and bolted. Hardin hit the ground hard and skidded across the dirt and gravel. His body bounced like a rag doll flailing in the wind. His feet scrabbled for a toehold. His hands clawed at the noose around his neck. Molly hid her face, unable to watch. She wanted to close her ears to the awful sound of Hardin’s body scraping the ground, to the grunts of pain and the jeers of the soldiers and pounding of hooves. “What’s this?” Greer asked, his voice rising with excitement. Molly lifted her head to see a lone man on horseback thundering up the road. Dust billowed in his wake. A shot rang out. Molly gaped as Hamish Barksdale rode all out toward January, pistol aimed. Another shot rent the air and January’s horse plunged to a halt. His men took aim but January waved them away. “Stand down! He’s mine. Stand down!” “Pa!” Greer cried, but Hamish would not be deterred. Red-faced and visibly shaking, he aimed once more at the Yankee colonel. January drew his pistol. “Jesus, God, no!” Athena covered her eyes. Molly tore free from Greer and raced toward January. Greer hobbled after her but with his lame leg, could hardly keep up. “Molly!” he yelled. Hardin lay motionless in the grass and she refused to let herself look in his direction. Right now, she had to save Hamish. The report of January’s pistol echoed and Molly faltered, but only for a moment. Hamish dismounted, unscathed. He strode toward January, eyes narrowed in a murderous glare, mouth set.
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January thumbed back his pistol and took aim once again. “Get down from that horse and fight me like a man!” Hamish bellowed. But January only snorted and waited for his quarry to close the distance between them. Molly snatched a rock as she ran and flung it with all her might at January. The stone pelted his horse instead, and the animal whinnied and reared, jolting January out of the saddle. His pistol fired skyward and Molly seized the reins just in time to keep the spooked horse from running off with Hardin in tow. Hamish was on January in seconds. As bugles blared from the road, Hamish yanked January up by the collar and slammed his fist into the Yankee’s nose. Blood flew. Then everything seemed to happen at once as a second Federal unit rode hell-bent up the drive. Shoulders heaving, Hamish stepped back as the Federals surrounded him. The officer in charge didn’t spare Hamish a glance, instead training his gaze on January. “You, Colonel Meshach January, are under arrest for behavior unbecoming of an officer and are hereby ordered to report to the Federal jail in Nashville.” January clambered to his feet and began arguing with the arresting officer but Molly didn’t heed any of it. She bolted to Hardin and worked the noose off his neck. Shaking violently, she finally pulled it free. Hardin’s hand caught and squeezed hers. “I’ll be all right,” he said hoarsely. “Just bruised and battered.” “This man is the murderer who killed all of my men!” Spit and blood flew from January’s mouth. “Hardin Barksdale?” the arresting officer asked. Hardin gave a slight nod. He winced in pain. “You’re free to go by order of Governor Brownlow.” “Free to go?” January cried, outraged. Molly could hardly believe her ears. She held Hardin’s head in her lap and said a silent prayer. January was being led away in shackles, still seething. His men were apologizing to Hamish and Greer. Hardin was alive. The nightmare was over.
***** “Can I get you some more whiskey?” Molly asked Hardin, who looked more than comfortable in her bed. “I’m fine,” he said and tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace instead. His entire body was bruised. A rope burn marred the skin on his neck. His voice had been cracking and barely above a whisper since the incident. But it could have ended so much worse. Molly hated to think what might have happened if those men hadn’t arrived—or if Greer hadn’t bombarded the governor with letters about January’s heinous acts. 100
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Hardin laced his fingers with hers and Molly’s insides warmed. “I guess my pardon puts me back in the running to marry you,” he said. “Hardin…” “I’m not above getting a mercy acceptance,” he whispered. She fingered a lock of hair stealing across a cut on his forehead. “You hush. We’ll worry about that later.” “Are you not finished babying that man?” Greer teased from the doorway. Hardin mock coughed and Molly laughed. Greer held out his hand. “Come, sweetheart, you can sleep in my room tonight.” “Your room?” Hardin asked, his voice cracking as he raised it. “No sir. I might need her in the night.” “I can’t sleep with you,” Molly told Hardin, enjoying being pitted between them. “I might roll over on you and hurt you.” “If you roll over on me, it’s you who’ll be getting hurt,” Hardin threatened with a glance toward his lower half. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” Molly told Hardin and then she turned to Greer. “And you, I’ll see later.” As soon as Greer left the room, Hardin’s smile faded. “What’s the matter?” Molly asked, brushing his thick hair with her fingers. “I failed you.” “Failed me?” she asked. “How on earth could you have possibly failed me?” “I should have killed January. I should have put a bullet through his brain for what he did to you.” Molly searched his silvery eyes. “You promised me you wouldn’t go after him.” “I promised you I wouldn’t go after him. I didn’t say anything about what I’d do to him if he set foot on Oakleigh.” “But you’re alive. That’s what matters to me.” She blinked against threatening tears. His shoulders rose and then dropped as he took a deep breath. “I have none of Greer’s honor.” “I admire your brother’s integrity but I equally adore the way you make me feel protected and safe. Loved.” “I do love you, Molly. I always have.” Her heart warmed. Hardin continued. “I suppose something in me today thought I might survive. For the first time in years, I didn’t want to die. I wanted to stay alive, to be with you.” She kissed him softly and then tucked the covers in around his shoulders before she stood and turned down the wick. Carefully she eased back onto the bed and stretched out beside him, holding his hand until she heard his breathing deepen. 101
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If it hadn’t been for Hamish—and especially for Greer—instead of counting her blessings, Molly knew she would have been mourning Hardin’s death. But now that was over. It was all over. Meshach January would most likely be stripped of his rank and thrown in a Federal prison. Molly let out a deep breath, releasing months of grief and tension. For the first time in a long time, she looked forward to her future.
***** Hugging her arms against the night chill, Molly walked softly down the hall toward Greer’s room. He too slept soundly. His lamp still burned low and Molly turned down the wick before she tucked the covers in around his shoulders. He let out a little moan when she leaned over to kiss his cheek. Exhausted but not sleepy, she decided to go downstairs and double-check the locks, a habit she’d adopted since the first time January’s men came to Oakleigh. With January gone and Hardin able to move back into the big house, Athena had returned to her cabin. Molly thought nostalgically of the nights she’d spent with Greer and Hardin in that cozy cabin. Perhaps they could build one near the creek so she could have the privacy to moan as loudly as she wanted while both brothers carried her to the edge of ecstasy and then over it. Molly checked the door. The lock had been turned. She moved to the parlor to check the windows. Without warning, a sweaty hand clamped over her mouth and her bare feet skidded on the hardwood as her body was dragged backward against an unyielding chest. “Thought you were rid of me, didn’t you?” Meshach January said in her ear. Molly struggled. She clawed but he refused to release her. She tried to cry out but to no avail. Suddenly, he twisted her around and seized her around the throat. His thumbs pressed into her windpipe. Molly fought for air. Her eyes bulged. A bead of sweat rolled down January’s forehead. His eyes blazed with an intense fury and Molly knew in her heart she would die at this man’s hands tonight. Her lungs felt as if they would explode. Scratching at his hands proved futile, sparking some primal instinct within her to reach for his most vulnerable area. Seizing a handful of soft flesh through his breeches, Molly squeezed. Hard. He grunted through gritted teeth and Molly felt a hard tremor course through January before he let her go. She gasped in a breath and dropped to her knees. Her brain screamed at her to run, to get help. She managed to get to her feet and scramble past him and into the hall.
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Attempts to call out for help were wasted. No sound other than a squeak would come from her throat. Thinking quickly, she grabbed the hall tree and pulled the heavy wooden furniture over so that it crashed on the foyer floor. January was back on his feet. She’d never make it up the stairs before he got his hands on her. She darted into Hamish’s study. She stumbled around the desk and dragged open the side drawer where he kept a pistol. Footsteps on the floor upstairs, January bursting into the study, cocking and aiming the revolver were all a blur. Time seemed to stand still as Molly steeled herself to end this once and for all. She gulped and fired. The blast was so loud inside the house, she startled and blinked furiously. Had she hit him? January faltered and covered a wound on his side. “You bitch!” he cursed through clenched teeth—and kept advancing. Molly thumbed the hammer back again but as she aimed, he wrenched the pistol out of her hand. The shot hit the wall and then the back of his hand slammed across her cheekbone. She reeled, sprawling on the floor. When her vision cleared, January was standing over her, the pistol cocked and trained on her chest. He sneered… And just as he was about to pull the trigger, hands caught his head and twisted. Molly heard the horrible snap of bones just before the pistol went off again. Instinctively she shut her eyes, expecting to feel the hard impact of a bullet. Instead, the bullet burrowed into the floor beside her shoulder. January dropped to the floor. Hardin loomed over him, his eyes dark and filled with fury. He looked far more like a predator than the gentle soul she knew in the bedroom. When he turned to her, his face paled. “Are you all right?” At once he was by her side, cradling her, brushing his thumb across her bruised cheekbone. Greer appeared in the doorway, brandishing his sword. “What the devil—” “Is…is he dead?” Molly squeaked. January certainly looked dead, with his head turned at that unnatural angle. Unseeing eyes stared and his tongue lolled. Hardin’s lips parted when his gaze fixed on her throat. He touched the bruises there. “He’s dead.” Molly sobbed against Hardin’s chest. Athena burst into the room, carrying her broom. “What’s going on in here?” Her gaze fixed on January. “What’s that grand rascal doing back here? Bleedin’ all over
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Mister Hamish’s rug.” She turned to Greer. “Get him outta here befo’ his ghost tries to set up housekeepin’.” Molly’s gaze found Hardin’s and she finally, suddenly realized why it was so important for him to finish what he’d started. She understood him. She knew him. Collecting her, he stood. “I’ll take Molly upstairs. Drag that scoundrel out onto the porch, and Athena, would you send Louis to get the marshal? I think January must have escaped.” “Let me help clean up,” Molly whispered. “No,” Hardin said as he carried her up the stairs and gently placed her on her bed. Molly breathed in the familiar scent of her laundered sheets and Hardin. Her body ached to rest but she couldn’t. “He…he was in the house.” “Shh,” Hardin quieted her. “Y-you killed him.” “I killed them all.” A sob came from his throat as he blinked against moisture gathering in his eyes. Molly stared, stunned by this reaction in him. He sank onto the mattress beside her. “I killed them all.” She sat and gingerly touched his face. “It’s done now. Over and done.” “That’s what I am, though, Molly. A killer. You saw me kill a man.” His voice was tortured. “You told me once some men didn’t deserve to live,” she said softly. Hardin’s gaze found hers and held. Molly went on. “He would have killed us all. You, Greer. Me.” “You don’t hate me?” Hardin asked, stricken. “Hate you? Oh God, Hardin, I love you so much it hurts.” He drew her against him and clung while his shoulders shook with silent sobs. Greer walked into the room, his slight limp still evident. He sat and embraced them. And there was no need for any more words.
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Chapter Eleven Hardin strode in the front door and hung his hat on the hall tree. “I’ve got news from town!” he called. Athena put down her dust rag and Molly stepped into the foyer from the parlor. Greer appeared from the study. He slipped off his glasses. “What news, brother?” “It seems Miss Verna Murks’ son, Jake, broke out of jail, came home and took everything that wasn’t nailed down,” Hardin said. “What?” Molly asked, unable to hide her amused satisfaction that Miss Verna had gotten exactly what she deserved. “Yes ma’am,” Hardin said. “And that’s not all. He left Miss Verna in such a state that a wagon was sent over from the nervous hospital. I heard she was so worked up they had to put her in a cotton sack and haul her off.” “To the asylum?” Molly’s mouth fell open. “That’s horrible.” “Have you done forgot what trouble that triflin’ thing caused us?” Athena asked. “Looks to me like the good Lord doled out some fittin’ punishment. Amen.” She turned and toddled back into the room she’d been cleaning. “I have some news of my own,” Greer said softly. “What’s your news?” Molly asked. “Your time of mourning is over.” “Over?” Molly repeated, hardly believing Witt had been gone so long. She still missed him terribly. She always would. Hardin grinned. “It’s all up to you, darlin’. Which one of us will be the lucky fellow? Me or that one?” With a playful grimace, he gestured toward Greer. “I’m not marrying anybody until Hamish returns,” Molly said in an attempt to buy time. She still had not decided which one to marry. She couldn’t. “Oh no,” Greer said. “You’ll choose tonight.”
***** Molly wasn’t surprised when both brothers came knocking on her door as soon as the house was empty. But what did surprise her was the black silk blindfold Greer held in his hands. “We thought this might make your decision easier,” Hardin told her as Greer stepped behind her and tied the strip of fabric in place. Molly giggled as her world went dark but her pulse ran wild.
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“Yes,” Greer added. “I think this will prevent one side or the other from being at an advantage.” “An advantage?” Molly asked. “Well, I am the better looking of the both of us,” Hardin teased. “And I’m doubtless the better lover,” Greer said. Molly laughed. “You see, that’s just my problem. I find you both equally handsome and equally skilled in the bedroom.” “We’ll just see about that,” Hardin said. Fingers began unbuttoning her bodice. More fingers untied the ribbons of her skirt. Fabric whispered down her arms. Her skirts and hoops puddled at her feet. As one of them drew her chemise off over her head, the other untied the tape at the top of her pantalets and slid them down her legs. She held a hand for balance as she stepped out of them. Cool air swept over her nude flesh but she knew she would not be chilled long. Fingers coaxed her chin to the side and a mouth captured hers. A second mouth closed on one breast while insistent fingers kneaded the nipple of the other. Her head swam. She tried to sort out who was doing what but it was impossible. Instead, she gave in to the all-consuming physical pleasure of having four hands and two mouths on her body. Calloused hands slid around her waist and brushed up and down her abdomen, finding her nipples and tugging until she moaned, until that invisible thread connecting her sex and her breasts pulled taut. Fingers slipped between her legs to explore her already moist folds and she jerked at the intensity of the gentle touch. It was too much. Too extreme. But she never wanted it to stop. Their rough breaths made them indistinguishable. Their touch made it impossible to determine one from the other. Hands gripped her hips and she was walked forward and then lifted onto the bed. The blindfold made her world spin. Being robbed of sight amplified all her other senses. Muted breaths. Hands. So many hands. The masculine scent of pomade and raw, male desire. One of them took a wrist and the other took a foot and panic surged when she realized they were tying her to the bed. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice rising an octave. No answer. Her other hand and foot were tied. She was totally at their mercy, spread and stripped of sight—and control. Her heart felt as if it would drum its way out of her chest. Wetness flooded her channel. “After we’re through with you,” Greer said, “you’ll be more than ready to choose.” Molly gulped. “What are you going to do?”
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Something leathery teased across one thigh and then the other before lightly tapping the needy little nub crowning her sex. Molly tensed. Did they intend to spank her? There? She held her breath. Fingers tugged both nipples and, as she’d suspected, she received several firm swats to the clitoris with the tip of a belt. She’d expected it to hurt. Instead it set the blood throbbing and pulsing through the bundle of nerves there. She found herself arching and lifting for more. And just as she started to burn for want of touch, the bed jostled and dipped and suddenly, a hot mouth was on her clitoris. Molly let out an animalistic moan. Her ankles tugged against the restraints and she enjoyed the tight pull, the loss of free will. She bucked toward the mouth and tongue that wickedly seduced her. But who tasted her? She couldn’t tell. Unable to stop moving, she writhed, needing release. A second mouth latched on to one of her nipples and Molly thought she would expire from the pure pleasure of it. The mouth left her cunny and she whimpered. “Choosing one of us won’t change this, Moll,” Hardin whispered, giving away his position between her legs. “No,” Greer said, his breath hot against her breast. “We’ll both still fuck you as long as you want us.” The bed shook again and hands, she assumed belonged to Hardin, released her ankles. Greer’s mouth locked with hers. His tongue pushed inside and she sucked on it as her lower half was twisted over to expose one side of her bottom. Smack! Molly moaned into Greer’s mouth as heat stung and then ebbed through her muscles. Another slap on her bottom shook her and she fused her mouth with Greer’s as her body tightened to absorb each smart, successive smack. Hardin flipped her legs to the other side and heated that cheek. Fire burned hot through her bottom. Her cunny grew impossibly wetter, aching to be filled. Warm fluid trickled onto one thigh as Hardin’s palm massaged her blazing backside. Greer’s hand cradled her head, turning it, and then she felt something velvety pushing against her mouth. She opened, accepting the thick head of his cock, and while Hardin continued to spank her, she sucked Greer hard, silently encouraging him to deepen his thrusts. A finger burrowed into her cunny and she rocked her hips, riding to a quick orgasm that left her more sensitive and desperate than before. In a haze, she lay limp, realizing that one of them was untying one hand and then retying it beside the other so that she lay on her side. They had both moved and she’d lost her grasp of which one was doing what. One stretched out in front of her and the other behind. She trembled as a big hand lifted one of her thighs while fingers stroked her most sensitive entrance from behind. 107
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Greasy cream was slathered on and into that hole, while the man in front of her arched forward and drew her onto his erection. Molly cried out as three fierce pumps reignited the sensation in her channel. Hands gripped her around the waist from both sides and then one slid down her hip, spreading her cheeks, opening her, pulling her back toward the blunt head of a second cock. “I can’t take you both,” she whispered. She got no response, no clue as to which one was in her cunny and which nudged her nether hole. And even as she protested, she pushed back, her traitorous body desiring the sinful invasion. The phallus insisted and slipped through her rim. She cried out as it slowly thrust inside her. Both of them stretched her beyond capacity, filled her to the utter brink. She felt as if she were being ripped apart and yet it felt so wonderfully good. One pushed in while the other withdrew and they moved that way in tandem, claiming her together, fusing with her. Waves of sensation rolled over and through Molly, driving her quickly toward another orgasm. On the brink, she tore one hand loose from her restraints and reached behind to grip the hip of the one embedded in her ass. “Still, be still!” She gasped the words. The one in front plowed into her, grinding against her clitoris. Fingers plucked at her nipples. A mouth sucked at the back of her shoulder. It was too much. Her ass throbbed around the steel cock inside her and then, suddenly, ecstasy crashed over her, loud and hard in a thunderous roar. “Oh God!” she yelled. The cock in her ass throbbed and muted breaths indicated that brother had also found release. Several more thrusts in her cunny was all it took for the other brother, and when he was through, he peppered her shoulder and neck with kisses. They lay there like that, their bodies entwined, for what seemed an eternity before the one behind slipped out. A soft kiss met Molly’s lips before the one in front also left. Moments later, a cool, wet cloth cleaned her as her bound hand was untied. Breathless and feeling heavy, she rolled onto her back and pushed the blindfold away. “Which is it?” Greer asked. Molly smiled. “Are you asking me to choose based on that performance?” Hardin folded his arms over his chest. He’d drawn on a pair of breeches but had left the fly undone to expose a sexy nest of dark curls. Greer had donned a nightshirt that hung to his knees but the linen did little to conceal his still-erect cock underneath. “Back or front?” Hardin asked. One eyebrow arched wickedly. “Or do we need to repeat it? Greer, get the blindfold back in place.”
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Molly scooted back in the bed. “Not just yet!” she cried playfully. All joking aside, she sighed. “You choose for me. I can’t. I love you both. I wish I could marry you both.” “Well, that’s not legal,” Greer said. “And what you just did to me was?” Molly asked with a grin. “Which one was better? Back or front?” Hardin asked again. Molly remained firm. “Flip a coin.” “All right.” Hardin drew one out of his pocket. He glanced at Greer. “Looks as if we’re back to heads and tails again, little brother. I’m tails.” He winked. Hardin flipped the coin into the air, caught it then clapped it between his palms. “And you agree to go by whatever is under Hardin’s hand?” Greer asked. Molly nodded. “I agree.” She bit her bottom lip and held her breath. Not that it mattered. She would proudly call either of them her husband. But still… “Here we are,” Hardin said with dramatic flair. “The moment of truth…” And he lifted his hand to reveal which one of them would call Molly his wife.
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About the Author Growing up in the south, where the air is thick with stories steeped in legend and truth, Debra came by her love of romance novels honestly. Well…sort of. At an early age, she pilfered from her grandmother’s extensive library and has been a fan of the genre since. A full-time freelance writer, Debra especially enjoys combining history, mystery and a touch of taboo to weave stories with unforgettable, haunted heroes. She lives in Alabama with her sexy real life hero, a couple of smart-aleck ghosts and a diabolical black cat. Debra welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Debra Glass Bad Kitty Badcock Bought and Paid For Death by Chocolate Ellora’s Cavemen: Flavors of Ecstasy I anthology Having Patience Lucid Phantom Lovers 1: Gatekeeper Phantom Lovers 2: Shadowkeeper Phantom Lovers 3: Watchkeeper Rebel Rose Restraint Slave to Fashion Spirit Lifter Twice the Novice
Print books by Debra Glass Behaving Badly anthology Bound and Determined anthology Phantom Lovers 1: Gatekeeper Phantom Lovers 2: Shadowkeeper Phantom Lovers 3: Watchkeeper Some Like it Sweet anthology
Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.
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