Wilder Than the Rest: MacLarens of Fire Mountain by Shirleen Davies

darkening night, a glass of whiskey in one hand. He turned at her entry, and, as was becoming a habit, her breath hitched at the sight of him.
    Pierce’s eyes followed Mollie as she made her way to the edge of the divan then stopped. He took his time letting his gaze wander from her thin-soled kid slippers, up her dress, over her womanly curves to her slim waist, the creamy skin of her neck, then upward to her face. The heat he saw in her eyes matched his own, and it took all his willpower to stay where he was and not stride forward to pull her into his arms. He’d thought of little else since their conversation that morning. He cleared his throat, walked with slow steps to her side, and offered his arm.
    “May I escort you to supper?”
    She didn’t reply, just slipped her arm through his.
    The sight that greeted her in the dining room was a surprise. The room was lit with candles. The large table had been replaced with a smaller, round one, set for two with a stunning arrangement of roses in the center. Her eyes shifted over large vases of roses set on every available table, the candlelight highlighting the petal colors of red, yellow, and peach. The room was magnificent and, in Mollie’s mind, meant for seduction.
    Her legs seemed anchored in place, incapable of moving the few steps to her chair. She felt Pierce’s hand on the small of her back, warm and possessive.
    “Do you like it?” he asked as he encouraged her to move toward the table. He leaned down and breathed in her ear, “Happy birthday, Mollie.”
    Her eyes shot to his then back to the table. She blinked, trying to stem the dampness pooling in her eyes. No one had ever done anything like this for her before. No special suppers, no birthday surprises, no presents, or acknowledgement that today was anything different from all the others. Nobody had ever made this day something to remember—no one except Pierce.
    She swallowed, seeking the courage to speak. “This is, well, it’s simply…” she stumbled over her own tongue, afraid more than anything that she’d cry and ruin it all. “Thank you,” she finally whispered and watched as he pulled out her chair.
    Pierce took his seat across from her as Penelope entered the room with an open bottle of champagne and poured some into each of their glasses. He lifted his and tilted it toward Mollie.
    “Wishing you many more happy birthdays.”
    She picked up her glass and touched his before taking a small sip. “How did you know?”
    “About it being your birthday?”
    She nodded.
    “You told me. Back in Fire Mountain. I mentioned that our family was having a birthday party for Niall’s daughter, Beth, and you said her birthday and yours fell on the same date.” He took a sip of his champagne then set down the glass. “So does this compare with any of your previous birthdays?”
    Mollie didn’t know how else to respond except with the truth. “I have nothing else to compare it to.” She looked up at him. “I can’t imagine another birthday ever being as perfect as this one.”
    Pierce grimaced as her meaning sunk in. It hadn’t occurred to him that she’d never celebrated her birthday.
    His mother had always made birthdays special for him, Connor, and Meggie. When his parents sent their three children to America for a better life, Connor made sure they kept the tradition, even though there was little money left for special occasions. Connor had told Pierce and Meggie that there would always be money for birthdays.
    Their meal was excellent. Mollie ate until she thought she’d burst and laughed at the stories Pierce told about working on the MacLaren ranch.
    “What was life like growing up on the ranch?” she asked as Penelope whisked away the empty supper plates.
    “Connor, Meggie, and I didn’t grow up on the ranch. We landed in New York when we arrived on the ship from Scotland and found a place in Red Hook.”
    “Is that where your father found work?”
    Pierce finished the wine in