Bushedwhacked Groom by Eugenia Riley Page A

leaving stunned silence in his wake. Even Molly felt slapped by the venom of his diatribe.
    “Got a temper on him, don’t he?” Dumpling mut tered, fanning her face.
    “Oh, yeah,” agreed Grandma.
    Molly continued to seethe. How dare Lucky insult her, reject her, call her names that way, in front of everyone? To her mortification, she felt hot tears sting ing her eyes. This utter stranger had actually hurt her with his comments, she realized. Indeed, she could not recall any man’s words ever smarting so . . .
    And if the niggling voice of her conscience reminded her that she’d given very little thought to his own feelings, she quickly disavowed that traitorous thought.
    For now her pride took the upper hand. Glancing at the four elders who regarded her with pity, Molly burned with humiliation. She vowed she would give Lucky Lamont his comeuppance if it killed her.
    And she knew just how to do it. Taking full advan tage of the conflicted emotion churning inside her, she allowed huge, heartbroken tears to well up from her eyes and start streaming down her face.
    The others watched in horror. “Oh, no!” wailed Dumpling. “He’s gone and made her cry.”
    Cole was on his feet, face livid, jaw tight. “That does it! No bastard makes my baby girl cry.”
    Billy popped up, too. “Damn right, brother. You need any help stringing up the scoundrel?”
    Jessica’s hand shot out to grip Cole’s wrist. “Cole, no. Both of you men just settle down and let’s finish our dinner. We can address this matter later on, once everyone cools down.”
    Molly sprang up. “Well, I’m giving that snake his comeuppance right now.” She stomped toward the back door, then flung over her shoulder, “And don’t none of you dare come watch.”
    Molly well knew they’d all do exactly the opposite.
    ***
    Storming into the backyard, Molly spotted Lucky strid ing about angrily, waving his hands and muttering to himself. She caught the words “damn loco woman,” and charged toward him, skirts flouncing and curls fly ing. “How dare you insult me that way, you low-down snake!”
    He turned aggressively, then blanched. “Hey, what’s that on your face?” he asked gruffly. “You been crying?”
    Molly felt red shooting up her face at the realization that he knew he had shamed her. His expression of concern should have enraged her, but instead she felt even more vulnerable, close to breaking down entirely. Nonetheless, she drew herself up with as much dignity and courage as she could muster. “Never mind that. I want you to come back inside right this minute and apologize to my entire family for insulting me, then apologize to me, too.”
    All signs of sympathy fled from his features. “In your dreams, lady.”
    “Damn it, why are you acting this way? What do you want?”
    “To get the hell away from you wackos.”
    Though Molly wasn’t precisely sure what wacko meant, his tone told her enough. “So you really don’t want to marry me?”
    He laughed in disbelief and flung his arms heaven ward. “You finally got that through your thick head.”
    She paused, tapping her foot in frustration, her wounded pride warring with angry determination. She realized this stubborn drifter had her all but thwarted.
    Then a delicious strategy occurred to her, a way she could make him pay—and enjoy every second of it.
    She chortled and shook a finger at him. “I get it now. No wonder you don’t want to marry me—or tell me anything about yourself.”
    “What do you mean?” He eyed her suspiciously.
    “You must be one of them sissyfied fellas who likes boys.”
    “What?” he cried.
    Savoring her victory, she stepped closer and spoke in a low, tormenting hiss. “Yeah. Like Sidney Riddle in town, with his sack coat, ascot and jeweled walking stick. Everyone knows he only likes to do it with other fellas. You one of them fancy-pants types?” She looked him over with contempt. “Hell, you’re pretty enough.”
    “Why, you little