“Again, all true.”
Given the shaky state of her emotions, and the fragile state of her poor manhandled flesh and bones, it was not surprising that the tears threatening for some little while finally overflowed. “I—I
wish—” Molly managed on a little sob, “—I wish I had been smart enough to realize all that ahead of time, when I was falling in love with the whole idea of falling in love.”
Aghast, he simply could not let her go on crying unattended. Moving swiftly, if ill-advisedly, from behind the desk, he reached down to gather her into his arms. Hardly conscious, at that point, of her movements, she came upright willingly. For a few blessed moments of pure bliss, she wept softly against the breast of his shirt, while he gently patted her shoulders and cradled her like a woeful child.
All too soon, she discerned her position—a precarious one, at best. With a few final sniffles and a little nervous trill of laughter, she removed herself from what might very well be harm’s way.
“Look—look at what—I’ve done,” she hiccoughed. “I’ve gotten you—all wet.”
Paul couldn’t hold back a broad grin. “My pleasure, ma’am. Any time.”
“Oh, you—you would say that. My sincere apologies, you poor man.” Discomfited, shamed, she reseated herself in Ben’s cushy chair. “I have no excuse for all these emotional—histrionics. I’m as weak and wobbly as a bowl of calves’ foot jelly. Lately, I’ve just—well, it’s been a strain, you understand. And you—I’m afraid you happened to be handy...” Another tiny flutter of anxious laughter.
He took a step backward, to rest his haunches on the desk top, and then crossed both arms over his chest to help resist temptation.
“Really, Paul, I am so sorry. I’ve been coddled all my life, given all that I’ve wanted...and I feel I’ve never even grown up until—until—now...Oh, I know that isn’t any excuse for my silly behavior, but...Oh, Paul—I’m such a mess—!”
“You’re lookin’ might fine from where I’m standin’.” Then, that far too intimate a comment quickly put aside, he continued quietly, “What can I do for you, Molly?”
Another unsteady flit of laughter. Embarrassed for her; delightful for him. “I’m not sure. I don’t even know what to do next, or where to go...except possibly to run away...”
He shook his head as if to joggle away the cobwebs of yearning and admiration that were befuddling his brain and clouding his usual logical thought processes. This was a married woman, for the love of Heaven, he tried determinedly to remind himself. After all she’d endured in such a short time, he could hardly force any attentions on her and expect a favorable response. What had happened to the cool, quiet reasoning that normally ruled his life?
Clearly such reasoning had gone out the window.
“My advice? Here’s what you might wanna consider doin’.” Reining in emotion, exercising restraint. “Hold onto that message from your husband. Write down information as to what happened after your weddin’, and take notes from witnesses to document your—the extent of your injuries. Gabe, Camellia, me. And so on.”
“Oh. But I don’t know that—”
He held up one hand. “Whether it’ll do any good? I dunno, either. But, better to have it and not need it. Then, if you like, I’ll go with you to see a lawyer.”
“A lawyer?” She shrank back into the chair as if to hide from the public.
“Yup. New one, got here a few weeks ago and opened himself a nice office.”
“I—I’m not sure...but if you think it’s best—?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. His name is Oliver Petrie, from somewheres in Pennyslvania, and I’ve met him. Young, forward-thinkin’ fellah with a wall fulla certificates. He can give you a much better idea than I can about your status, Molly. And, until you got the facts of what your options are, you can’t make a rational decision about how to move ahead.”
Her face looked crestfallen. “You’re undoubtedly correct.” Quiet for a bit, pondering the situation, while her troubled gaze once again sought the window with its panes of rain-stoked glass, and her fingers threaded themselves together. Then the eyes, clear as blue quartz, returned to his.
“Thank you, Paul. I think your advice is best, and I appreciate—more than you’ll ever know—your taking the time to talk with me.”
“I’m happy to do so.”
“I will accept your kind offer, whenever you’re free to accompany me to the office of this Mr. Petrie. And if you wouldn’t mind remaining there—while we confer—?”
Paul inclined his head toward her. “At your convenience, ma’am.”
As she gave him another smile, he caught his breath. Only a fraction of its full wattage, yet the slight indentation of dimples and the impression of lips full-bloom and flushed as one of her roses gave a hint of what power that smile, brimming to capacity, might carry.
“Tomorrow, shall we say? Come to dinner here first—Cam won’t mind—” (to put it kindly, a half-truth) “and we can walk over to see the attorney afterward. Does that suit?”
“It suits me just fine. You don’t need to bribe me with a meal, Molly,” his grin was merely responding to her own lightened mood, “but I’d be hard pressed to turn down some of your sister’s cookin’.”
They exchanged a glance. Deeper, more significant, than any thus far shared. Then Molly gave a slight nod. “Well, then.”