Molly slowly padded into his room.
He lifted the covers on the opposite side of the bed, holding back the spread so she could get in.
She hesitated at the edge.
"I'm not proposing anything indecent," he said softly. "You need sleep."
He got a glimpse of her sweatpants and T-shirt as she slid into the bed. He flipped the covers over her. He whistled for the darn dog. Moments later, toenails clicked on the floor.
"Lie down," he told the mutt. There was a scrabble of nails and then a whumph as Hound settled on the floor at Molly's side of the bed.
She was lying straight as a board, staring up at the ceiling, her arms at her sides. She wasn't going to fall asleep that way either, so he shifted closer, snugging one arm around her waist and nudging her at the same time.
She rolled so that her back was to his chest, his knees pressed in behind hers. The covers separated their bodies. Even so, he could feel her tension.
She let her head settle on his shoulder, and he tucked his chin close to her ear.
He wouldn't take advantage, no matter how much he reveled in the feel of her in his arms. She was vulnerable, afraid. She needed him, and he'd do his best to be what she needed, if it meant little sleep or no sleep. If it meant following her across the state, or across the country.
It took longer than he wanted, but finally her breathing evened out and she relaxed against him. His arm fell asleep where it was bent beneath her pillow.
He didn't dare move.
He let his eyes drift closed, too.
17
We kissed. And you panicked.
Cord chopped through the ice at the pond's edge, the muscles in his shoulders aching. It was so cold, he'd probably need to do it again in a few hours. The cattle needed water.
He hurried back to his truck, sliding into the warm interior. He'd left the heater blasting.
He needed to get back to the ranch house. He'd left Molly sleeping—finally—in his bed, snuck out to care for the cattle. An ice storm had blown in overnight and was still going strong, covering the windshield in a thin sheet of ice even though he'd only been out in it for ten minutes.
In this weather, there was no way Toby was getting anywhere in a sports car with rear-wheel drive. Before he’d left this morning, he'd checked the dirt road in both directions and the padlock on the gate. No signs of Toby. Molly would know that the weather would help protect her. And Cord had left a note on the kitchen table.
But he didn't want to be gone long.
We kissed. And you panicked.
He couldn't get Molly's words out of his head.
She was right. He wanted to be with her, but he was scared of failing her the way he'd failed Noah and, later, West.
He was furious that Toby was coming after her. She was the sweetest, kindest, most authentic person he'd ever met. She didn't deserve this.
And maybe in the beginning, he'd tried to keep her at arms' length, but he was done lying to himself.
He wasn't falling anymore. He'd fallen hard into love with Molly.
Maybe that's what he should've told her instead of trying to use logic to convince her to stay. He'd panicked at the thought of her leaving, walking right into Toby's trap.
Everything was quiet when he arrived back at the ranch house.
Good. Molly needed the sleep.
He brewed a cup of coffee and stared at the spice cabinet for an inordinately long time, then snatched the cinnamon and plunked it on the counter to add to the coffee pot.
He decided to tiptoe upstairs and check on her. If she was up and about, he’d ask her what she wanted for breakfast.
It was only when he stood in the open doorway of his bedroom that he realized she was not in the bed. It was neatly made as if she hadn't been there at all. He whirled, straining his ears for any sign that she was still in the house. Nothing from down the hall, nothing from the bathroom, nothing anywhere.
His heart pounded as he thumped down the stairs at a jog. There was no note in the kitchen. And no sign of her phone.
He grabbed his off the counter and dialed her number. It rang multiple times and finally clicked over to her voicemail, the kind with no recorded message. Just a computerized voice telling him to state his business.
Where was she?
The scent of percolated coffee was making him nauseous. Didn't she realize he would be worried?
Or was she gone? Had she left the way she’d tried to last night?
He glanced out the window, afraid of what he would see there. Her truck was gone. The gate had been swung wide open.
Had she left on her own? Why?
He called the sheriff’s office.
They told him that if he couldn't be sure whether she left on her own or under duress, they couldn't do anything. Not until it had been forty-eight hours.
He called Iris next. She hadn't seen or heard from Molly either.
Hound was lying in the middle of the kitchen floor.
"What do you think I should do?"
The dog whined, and its tail thumped one slow tap on the floor.
"I'm going to go find her."
Where the drive met the dirt road, he parked and got out. His boots slipped on the ice and he had to go slow to steady himself.
He scoured the ground for any sign of Toby's car. There were no tracks in the grass. On the road, he couldn't tell one tire track from another—and there were plenty, thanks to the deputies and Rick coming by. Everything was covered in a thick layer of ice that was only getting thicker.
He slammed into the truck and headed for town.
Hold on, honey.
Molly’d had a devil of a time
