Page 52 of Winter's Edge
“Completely,” he said.
She smiled, a bright, tear-filled smile. “I know,” she said.
And he wondered if he’d just made the worst mistake of his entire life.
When Molly woke up the next morning he was gone. She hadn’t felt him leave. She could hear Mrs. Moise humming to herself in the kitchen below—Patrick had left the door ajar. Mrs. Morse was in a very good mood. She was singing out of tune and quite loudly.
Molly jumped out of Patrick’s bed and stretched luxuriously. Bright sunlight was pouring in the open windows, and it seemed as if winter was finally coming to a close. It was good to be alive on this April morning, though she doubted poor Willy felt so. She had only managed to daze him, and he was now unhappily incarcerated in the county jail, awaiting arraignment.
She showered and dressed quickly in cutoff jeans and the tightest T-shirt she owned. She wanted to see Patrick. To see whether the slowly burgeoning trust and friendliness survived outside the bedroom walls. To see whether he still knew that he loved her.
And yet she was almost afraid to find out. If he turned that cold, stony face on her once more she didn’t think she could bear it.
“And how are you this fine morning?” Mrs. Morse greeted her with almost tasteless good cheer, considering the circumstances. Bringing coffee and muffins to the table, she pulled out a chair invitingly. “Eat, for goodness sake!” she ordered. “Patrick told me all about your fright last night—you need rest and good food after an ordeal like that!” She shook her head meaningfully. “Willy confessed all nice and neat when he saw it was useless. No, we won’t have him to worry us ever again. They’ll lock him away for hundreds of years, you mark my words. I’m only thinking it’s a shame they don’t use capital punishment more often.” She paused for breath. “And as for your Aunt Ermy, why she just disappeared off the face of the earth, as far as anyone can tell. Doesn’t seem like they’ll ever find her, more’s the pity. What’s the matter, child, don’t you have any appetite?”
Molly shook her head and smiled nervously. “I don’t care whether they find Ermy or not,” she said truthfully. “As long as she keeps away from here it doesn’t matter to me what she does with herself. I don’t imagine she was anything more than a pawn in Uncle Willy’s game.”
Mrs. Morse sniffed. “That’s as may be. She was still one of the meanest women I’ve ever known, and don’t you doubt it. Still, I suppose you’re right—as long as she’s gone that’s all that matters. It still horrifies me to think of the years that have gone by with them living here as friendly as you please, all the time planning such wickedness.” She shook her graying head with wonder. “Come on now, dearie, eat something. You need to get some meat on those bones.” Her eyes reflected a mild disapproval for the scantiness of Molly’s clothing.
“Where’s Patrick?” she asked suddenly, the suspense unbearable. Before any more time passed she had to find out what his attitude toward her might be.
“He was out in the yard last time I looked. He said to tell you that you and he would have to go into town later on to give statements to the police...” Her voice trailed off as Molly ran out the door.
The sun was pouring down, the first really hot day of the year, and she had to squint her eyes against the glare. There was the faintest hint of a breeze, and it blew her hair in her face. She pushed it away impatiently, looking for him, half afraid of what she’d see when she looked into his eyes.
She saw him first, his lean, strong body bent over some piece of riding tack, his eyes narrowed in concentration, his black hair curling around his neck in an endearing way that made her long to reach out and touch it. So far she hadn’t quite dared.
She moved closer, casting a shadow across his work, and he looked up swiftly. “Hello,” she said rather breathlessly, trying to hide her nervousness, all the while listening to the pounding of her heart, the jumping of her nerves, her flat-out panic that this was all going to end in disaster.
He stood up, looking at her for a moment, his face cool and expressionless. And then his eyes warmed. He reached for her, and without thinking she ran into his arms.
His mouth came down on hers with such casual, automatic intimacy that she knew it was going to be all right. She reached out and ran her fingers through the tangle of hair at the back of his neck. He drew back slightly, and his smile was brighter than the blazing sun.
“Hello, yourself,” he said. “I love you.”
And winter was over at last.
