Green Mountain Man Page 9

  "Awful," was the grumbling response, "I hurt all over. I'm one big ache!"

  That makes two of us, Bridget thought briefly. "What about your head? How does it feel?"

  There was a moment's hesitation before Molly answered. "It's sore, but my headache's gone away." Bridget knew a measure of relief at that announcement. "Can I have something cold to drink? My mouth feels like the dentist forgot to take the cotton out of it."

  "Iced tea?" Bridget suggested.

  "Have we got any lemon?"

  "Yes."

  "Iced tea with lemon, then," Molly requested.

  Bridget attempted a laugh, forced and unnatural. "You can't be feeling too badly if you're still particular about what you are drinking and how it's fixed!"

  As she walked to the refrigerator to get the pitcher of tea and a lemon, Molly asked curiously, "Was somebody here?"

  With the refrigerator door open, Bridget paused, tensing. "Why do you ask?"

  "I thought I remembered hearing you talk to someone in the kitchen while I was sleeping."

  A small "Oh?" was all Bridget could manage, fearing her daughter might have overheard some part of the argument with Jonas.

  "Maybe I was dreaming," Molly sighed, not quite convinced.

  "It could have been Jonas." Bridget filled a glass with tea and sliced a wedge of lemon to add to it.

  "Why was he here?" Molly demanded in a contemptuous voice that revealed her intense dislike of him.

  Bridget walked into the living room with the tea. "He brought back the horses."

  "Did you feed and water the horses for me?" Molly struggled into a sitting position, wincing and gasping at the pain of moving.

  "They're all taken care of," Bridget assured her, without identifying who had done it.

  "I should go see Satin. She'll wonder what's happened to me." Molly tried to get to her feet, but fell back. "I hurt all over!" she moaned with faint dramatics. "I bet I'll be one big black and blue bruise tomorrow morning!"

  "You probably will." Bridget smiled, but her heart wasn't in it.

  "Will you help me, mom?" Molly pleaded. "I want to see Satin and make sure she's all right."

  "You lie still. Satin is fine."

  Instantly Bridget remembered Jonas's comment about a swelling and his suggestion to have her father look at it. She handed the glass of iced tea to her daughter and walked to the phone.

  "Who are you calling?" Molly wanted to know.

  "Your grandfather."

  "Why? Something is the matter with Satin, isn't it?" Molly concluded immediately, her eyes widening in alarm.

  "Jonas noticed a slight swelling around her fetlock," Bridget admitted. "He didn't think it was serious, but he suggested your grandfather should look at it."

  "What does he know about horses?" Molly discounted his opinion in an emotionally tight voice.

  "He's been around them," Bridget answered stiffly, dialing her parent's telephone number.

  "If anything happens to Satin," Molly wailed mournfully. "I'll just die!"

  Bridget could have told her that when you lose someone you love, you don't die. You keep on living, even if the living is sometimes worse than death. She had first-hand experience, and the sensation was beginning to close around her again.

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  Chapter Seven

  JONAS STOOD beneath a spreading maple tree on the rockstrewn hillside, an arm braced against the trunk. A haunted look in his gray green eyes, he gazed silently at the steeply sloping roof of the chalet across the meadow below him.

  It was the end of July, almost a full month since Molly's accident. He had spent it cursing and despising himself for behaving like such a fool. A doctor was supposed to have some control over his emotions. He should never have lashed out at Bridget with such jealously and anger. But he had wanted to hurt her as deeply as her rejection had hurt him.

  He loved her more than he had ten years ago and he wanted to make her love him. It didn't do any good to remind himself that he couldn't 'make' Bridget love him. In his jealous stupidity, he had pushed her the opposite way.

  Jonas could make out the slenderly curved form of Bridget taking in the wash from the clothesline in the yard behind the chalet. A tormenting knot twisted his stomach, a hollow ache to touch her and hold her and physically prove that he loved her. Except that wasn't the way.

  "Damn!" His fingers dug into the tree bark, totally unmindful of the self-inflicted pain.

  Savagely Jonas tore his gaze away from the sight. What had possessed him to buy the land adjoining her parents' farm? He must have been out of his mind. But then he had been since seeing her again. Nothing he'd done had been rational, from selling his partnership in the clinic to buying this land.

  He stared at the ground beneath his feet. He was already beginning to wear a path to this trees. The vantage point was only a few hundred yards from his house, giving him an unlimited view of what went on around the chalet. Many an hour he had spent here under the maple, watching, always wishing.

  Yes, Jonas had seen her often, but he'd only spoken to her a handful of times. The times when it had been impossible for Bridget to avoid him, the same times he always tried to make happen, with a little luck.

  The day after Molly's accident and his abusive words, Jonas had gone over to the chalet. His pretext was excellent—to check Molly's progress. Bridget hadn't let him past the doorway, informing him coldly that their family doctor would look at Molly.

  His well-rehearsed apology had not been given a chance to be heard before she closed the door in his face. And Jonas honestly couldn't blame her, although it angered him that she wouldn't even hear him out.

  The rare times they had met, on the street or in the company of mutual friends, the air had been virtually frigid. Invariably his reaction had been emotional, either sardonic with anger or aloof with pride.

  The one time he had seen her with Jim Spencer, Jonas had been obsessed by jealousy. He hadn't trusted himself to say a word. In the end, he had left for the nearest bar and got roaring drunk.

  His work hadn't helped, although it had occupied countless hours and left him mentally and physically exhausted. That weakened state simply permitted the agony of loving Bridget to take over the other empty hours.

  As if drawn by a magnet, his gaze was pulled back to the chalet. He saw Bridget pausing at the door with a basket of clothes in her hands. She lifted a hand and waved. For a leaping instant, he thought she had seen him and his pulse soared.

  But no, not at this distance. She didn't have any idea that he kept this lonely vigil beneath the maple tree and it was unlikely that she could see him. His haunted gaze searched for the recipient of that wave and saw the small child cantering a bay mare across the pasture through the dairy herd.

  His jaw hardened ominously as he recognized Molly. The child and the gold band on Bridget's finger were both reminders of her past infidelity. Both worked subconsciously on him, feeding the jealous fires that consumed him. In time, there might be something he could do about replacing that wedding ring on her finger. A child couldn't be replaced.

  Try as he would, Jonas could not bury his resentment of the young girl. When he looked at her, he didn't see how much she resembled Bridget. He saw her as another man's child, and the knowledge ate at him like a cancer.

  Until he found a cure for it, Jonas knew he would never be able to curb the jealousy of another man's loving Bridget. And as long as he let himself be ruled by this jealousy, he could never be the man that she would love. Some day, if he was patient enough, Bridget just might love him.

  There was only one chance of a cure. Jonas breathed in grimly and pushed away from the tree. It wasn't to his liking and the odds were that it wouldn't work. But loving Bridget was making him desperate. He would try anything.

  Keeping his eye on the horse and rider, he worked his way quietly down the sloping hill. He lost sight of them for a time where the trees grew thicker, but as he neared the pasture fence separa
ting the properties, he saw them again.

  He stopped beside a tree a few yards from the fence. He shoved his hands in his pockets and watched the horse and rider approach. There was no longer any trace of the graze on Molly's cheek, although there were a few marks visible on her bare arm. She hadn't seen him and for a moment, Jonas didn't call attention to himself.

  The bay mare had seen him. The large, liquid brown eyes studied him. Her head was held high, accenting the arched crest of her neck, her ears alert. The Morgan walked rapidly, displaying an elastic energy that was fully responsive to the commands of her small rider.

  Jonas halted his admiration of the mare to glance at the little girl astride it. Molly was sullenly eyeing the No Trespassing sign nailed to a tree near the fence, still several feet from where Jonas stood.

  As she drew level with the sign, she stuck out her tongue at it, Cheeky little brat, Jonas thought, and immediately reprimanded himself. That was not the attitude to have, not at this moment at any rate.

  "The sign doesn't apply to you, Molly," he said in what he hoped was a calm voice.

  She reined the bay sharply, glaring at him resentfully for not letting her know of his presence earlier. Jonas saw her reaction and he knew he was responsible for it from the beginning. Perhaps if he had concealed his feelings toward her before—he shrugged inwardly, not finished the thought.

  "You're welcome to ride on my land the same as you've done in the past," he told her.

  "No, thank you." There was sarcasm in her polite refusal. She laid the reins against the mare's neck to turn her.

  "Molly, wait." Jonas walked to the fence.

  "Why?" she challenged, checking the mare and eyeing him warily.

  "I would like to talk to you." It was difficult to keep the coldness from his voice, to sound warm and friendly, when his head kept pounding that Molly was another man's child.

  "About what?" Her small mouth was pulled in a straight line, her chin thrust slightly forward.

  Deliberately he shifted his attention to the mare and searched his memory for its name. "Satin seems to have fully recovered from the mishap."

  "Yes, she has," Molly patted the sleek neck.

  "How are you?"

  "I'm fine." She straightened to sit erectly in the saddle. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

  Yes, get to the point, Jonas, he prodded himself. But it wasn't easy talking to an eight-year-old, especially one as hostile as Molly. His hand closed over the top of a fence post, absently testing its solidness.

  "I have a problem, Molly," he began.

  "Do you?" There was a purring note of satisfaction, faintly challenging and spiteful, in her voice.

  Irritation flashed briefly in his eyes which he quickly veiled. "Yes, I do. It concerns you. Would you get down so we can talk about it?" It was disconcerting to look up to an eight-year-old.

  "Me?" She was doubly wary now. "What do I have to do with your problem?"

  "Get down and we'll talk about it," Jonas repeated.

  "You don't like me," Molly stated, eyeing him accusingly. "Sometimes you look at me as if you hate me."

  He wouldn't have worded it that bluntly. "I know that's the way it seems—"

  "It's true," she corrected.

  "That's what I want to explain," Jonas replied, exercising extreme patience. "But it's a long, complicated story, so if you would get down off the horse, I'll tell you about it."

  Molly hesitated, obviously weighing her curiosity against her reciprocating dislike. Curiosity won as she dismounted and led the Morgan mare to the fence.

  She looped the reins around a fence post and hooked her thumbs in the belt loop of her jeans to eye Jonas steadily. It was nearly as disconcerting to look down at the child.

  "Let's sit over underneath that tree." He motioned toward one behind him.

  Avoiding his intention to help her over the fence, Molly clambered over on her own. She kept a discreet distance between them as if she wasn't sure how much she should trust him. Jonas found her caution vaguely amusing and wise, but it also could prove to be an obstacle.

  Molly dropped into a cross-legged position near the tree. She leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, all her attention on Jonas as he sat down, waiting for him to begin his story.

  "I knew your mother a long time ago," he began.

  "Yes, I know. She told me all that," Molly interrupted impatiently.

  "What did she tell you?" questioned Jonas.

  She considered her answer for a minute, obviously thinking back to the conversation with her mother. "She said you were her boyfriend once and that she thought she loved you. Of course, that was before she met my father." She dismissed any importance of the former.

  Dammit—his mouth tightened—don't bring him into it! Not yet anyway. He looked away rather than have Molly accuse him again of looking at her as if he hated her.

  "Go on," she prompted expectantly.

  Jonas took a calming breath before beginning again. "I loved your mother then, too. I wanted to marry her."

  "I'm glad she didn't marry you," Molly declared in a burst of dislike. "I wouldn't want you for a father."

  "You never know, Molly," he said, controlling his temper. "I might not be half bad at the job."

  She sniffed in contemptuous disbelief and plucked a blade of grass to study it intensely. Jonas was tempted to chuck the whole plan, but he'd already started it so he might as welt go through with it.

  "As I was saying," he continued, "ten years ago I loved your mother and wanted to marry her. At the time she wanted to marry me. But she was young, barely eighteen, and I still had the rough years of medical school ahead of me."

  "You weren't a doctor then?"

  "No, I was just learning to be one." Jonas hesitated, considering his next words. "My family didn't have much money. I always had to work for everything I wanted, including college. Your mother's parents, your grandparents, are fairly wealthy. Bridget had always had just about everything she had ever wanted."

  "Is that why you didn't marry her?"

  "It was a combination of reasons." He tried to explain. "Your mother said she loved me, but I couldn't be certain how much of what she felt was real and how much was simply romantic dreams because she was so young. And there was the money problem. It isn't easy to watch every penny you spend when you've never done it in your life. Your mother had never had to do that and I doubted that she could."

  "I'll bet she could," Molly sighed grimly. "She's always telling me we can't afford something. I want a horse trailer so next year I can take Satin to the shows, but mom says even a used one costs too much money. Grandpa said he'd buy one and let me use it, but she said no." She threw the blade of grass away in disgust.

  Admiration flashed through Jonas at Bridget's display of independence. Perhaps he had underestimated her. Of course, he had to remember that she was ten years older. She had been married, as much as he disliked admitting it, and had to have learned about budgeting and managing.

  "Plus your grandparents didn't approve of our getting married. They knew it would be several years before I could provide any kind of decent living for your mother, not until I'd qualified as a doctor. And I don't think your grandmother believed I would finish my training."

  He and Margaret Harrison had never got along, but Jonas didn't feel it was necessary to go into the psychological reasons behind all that. That was something his maturity and Bridget's could overcome.

  "Grandma doesn't like you, either," Molly stated with a suggestion of hauteur. "She wishes there was a way to make you go away again."

  "Your grandmother is out of luck this time," Jonas replied dryly.

  "You're not going to go away?" she asked hopefully.

  "No, I'm not."

  Molly sighed in glum resignation, catching the determined tone of his voice. "What does all this have to do with why you don't like me?" she demanded sullenly.

  Jonas frowned thoughtfully. "This is the part that's going to be d
ifficult to explain. Or at least, to explain so that you can understand."

  "What's to understand?" She lifted her shoulders in an expressively uncaring shrug, but her hazel eyes were faintly anxious when she looked at him.

  "If your mother and I had got married ten years ago, we might have had a little girl like you." He met her look squarely. "Instead I went away and she married your father."

  "She loved him." Molly insisted on adding salt to his wounds.

  "I know," Jonas snapped harshly. He glanced away, agitatedly running a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. "Every time I look at you I'm reminded of it and I become jealous. Jealous, because your mother found someone else to love instead of me, because she had his child instead of mine. Do you understand what I'm saying, Molly?"

  "I…think so," she nodded hesitantly, her eyes wide, as if sensing the unfathomable depth of his emotion.

  "Really?" he laughed silently, mockingly skeptical that one so young could have any idea what he was talking about.

  "It's not really…you don't like…" she faltered as she tried to put into words what she thought he meant. "It's who my father was."

  His eyebrow arched in surprise as Jonas studied her more carefully. "You're smarter than I thought," he commented.

  "Grandma says I'm too old for my years," Molly said, shrugging.

  "Your grandmother doesn't' know everything," Jonas pointed out dryly.

  "She knows a lot," she defended. "She says you're going to hurt mom again."

  "I love Bridget. I wouldn't consciously hurt her."

  "Every time anybody mentions your name, mom freezes up," Molly told him. "She doesn't even want grandma to talk about you."

  "I hope that some day your mother will care about me again, Molly, I still want to marry her." He ignored her observation.

  "She doesn't want to marry you."

  "Maybe," Jonas said hopefully. "Maybe it won't always be that way."

  "I don't want her to marry you," she said.

  "Why? If I could make her happy—"

  "You wouldn't want me around," Molly interrupted, again revealing the maturity of her deductive-reasoning prowess, "because I'd still remind you of my father."