Cynthia Thomason - Deal Me In

“Sure.”

“What’s your last name, dear?”

Molly turned away from Brady and answered Angela’s question. His mother’s small mouth rounded with interest. “Are you related to the Davises from King William Street in San Antonio?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. My maiden name is Whelan and I come from a small town outside Dallas.”

“I’m sure that’s nice, too.” Angela stared over Molly’s shoulder at the Honda. “Who’s in the car?”

“That’s my son, Sam.”

“What an angelic face,” Angela said. Brady didn’t know how she’d come to that conclusion, since he couldn’t see anything but the boy’s mouth and plastic straw from where he stood.

Angela turned to Brady. “Where are these people staying, dear? And for how long?”

Brady fumbled for a response. “A few weeks, maybe,” he said, still uncertain as to whether or not that was true. “And I don’t know where they’ll stay. They just got here.”

Angela looked at Dobbs. “Have you hired a new stable foreman yet, Trevor?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Perfect. Molly and Sam can stay in the apartment over the tack room.” She looked at Brady and noted his less than enthusiastic reaction. “What’s wrong? The apartment was recently refurbished. It’s convenient if you’ll be working together.”

How could he tell his mother that her impulsive suggestion was just another example of the way her mind had been working lately. Since he’d come home from Vegas, Angela either approached situations with misplaced enthusiasm or bland indifference. He would have preferred indifference today. “I think we should let Molly decide,” he said.

Chastised, her pale lips pulled into a frown, Angela murmured, “Of course.”

They both looked at Molly. “I think it’s a very generous offer,” she said. “I’m sure Sam and I could be comfortable there.”

Angela smiled. “Good. It’s settled.” She gathered the excess folds of her robe around her slim waist. “I’m going in now. I need coffee. Is breakfast being served in the conservatory?”

Marshall took her arm. “I’m afraid you’ve missed breakfast, Angela. You’ll have to settle for a late lunch.”

As they went toward the front entrance, Brady heard his mother ask, “What time is it, Marsh? I can’t imagine it’s much past nine.”

His answer was muffled as he led her inside.

Brady scrubbed his hand over the nape of his neck and looked at Molly. “So, do you want to see the apartment?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“You can drive around to the front of the stables. I’ll meet you there.”

As he turned away from her, he heard Dobbs say, “Welcome aboard, Molly. I think you’ll like it here.”

It occurred to Brady that he hadn’t yet said anything remotely welcoming to Molly. And he was a long way from doing so. He had no idea what her angle was but he was certain that a woman who gave up everything to follow a crazy bet had to have one.

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