Molly was a stout woman with a head full of Irish red curls and broad shoulders. Years of spending too many hours in the sun gardening without proper cover had forever imprinted folds around gleaming green eyes. Yet despite her love of the outdoors, her skin was a doughy white that emphasized the gray creeping through the russet curls cut and permed stubbornly short. She stood three full feet shorter than Killian even with three inch heels, but her aura dominated, fierce and resilient. She was a woman who feared nothing, not even death and it circled her like a shroud.
“Of course me mum took that second to walk into the kitchen,” Molly went on, eyes the color of sea foam wide and shining with amusement. “And there I was, scissors in one hand, me sister’s hair in the other, and me wee brother dangling from the cupboard. Ma just about had a fit.”
Juliette broke out in another fit of uncontrollable giggles that had her rocking back on her stool. The sound was a thing of magic. It echoed with such an abundance of joy that Killian, who had heard the story a million times before, couldn’t help feeling his own laughter tickling his chest.
“That is horrible and hilarious!” Juliette gasped, pressing a palm to her chest.
Her shoulders were still trembling when she spotted him in the doorway. Her smile immediately vanished and was replaced by something he could have mistaken for concern if he could look past the bloom of colors splashed across her face.
“Killian.” She turned in her seat to face him properly. “You’re back.”
“Aye,” he murmured. “I am.”
“And about time.” Molly rounded on him, one hand planted on the full curve of her hip. “Know how hard it was to keep this one calm? Practically had to sedate her.”
Juliette blushed. “I was calm,” she argued. “I was … worried.” The last word was said so quietly he nearly didn’t hear it. “I wasn’t sure you were okay.”
As though realizing the extent of her confession, she averted her eyes and fell quiet.
Every warning bell in Killian’s head simultaneously went off at the exact same moment. They all screamed for him to turn and run, or better yet, tell her to leave before she further contaminated his perfectly set world. All the signs were there, flashing before his eyes and yet the words refused to come. Maybe it was cowardice. Maybe it was stupidity. But he couldn’t turn her away. Not yet.
“Just handling some business,” he said, struggling to maintain a level tone.
Juliette remained fixated by the fingers knotted in her lap and Killian wasn’t sure he was ready to have her attention return to him just yet.
“So found this one locked up in that dungeon o’ yers,” Molly cut in when the tension stretched into a full, agonizing minute. “Is that how your da taught you to keep a woman?”
“Nah, he taught me to keep’em tied to the bed,” he said honestly.
Molly laughed. “Aye, that sounds more like him.” She dusted her hands and sighed. “Well, I’ll be off then.”
“You’re leaving?” Juliette said, sounding genuinely disappointed.
“Aye, I’m done me job for the week.”
“Bless you that.” Killian replied, moving deeper into the room. “Molly’s been in the family since I was a boy,” he told Juliette. “Used to sneak me sweets when me mum wasn’t looking. Now she stays to make sure I don’t accidently starve myself to death. Makes the best lamb stew on this side of the pond.”
Juliette glanced from one to the other. “So basically, you get your food precooked and delivered in weekly batches?” She looked to Killian. “You can’t cook?”
It was Molly’s booming voice roared in laughter. “Aw, love, I wouldn’t trust him in the kitchen if you paid me. Boy can’t even boil water.”
While embarrassingly true, Killian tried not to take offense to amusement being had on his behalf. Instead, he eased his hands into his pockets and shot silent glowers at the woman who had practically raised him. Molly was unmoved.
“I can’t cook,” Juliette confessed. “I mean, I can boil water, but I think the last meal I made was a sandwich.”
Molly made a sound of pain. Her hand flew to her chest.
“Lord, save me.” She eyed the pair of them. “It’s any wonder you two haven’t wasted away. Do I need to start making double?”
“No!” Juliette burst out before Killian could open his mouth. “No, thank you, but I won’t be here very much and I don’t want you to go through the trouble.”
Molly tipped her head towards Killian. “Don’t matter. He eats like a dainty bird.”
Killian straightened. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve insulted me in a matter of an hour.”
Molly laughed, unfazed. “Only second? I must be losing me touch.” She tossed on her coat and purse. “I best be on me way. Got a house to clean and a man at home to feed.” She narrowed her eyes at Killian. “Don’t eat all that in a day, you hear me? I won’t be making more.”
She would. Killian knew she would. But not without a lot of complaining.
“Weren’t you the one who used to tell me I was a growing boy who needed to eat more?” Killian challenged with an arch of his eyebrows.
Molly pursed her lips. “I also told you you’d never be too old to put over me knee.”
From the counter, Juliette made a sound that was quickly stifled behind a cough.
“It was nice to meet you,” she told Molly, tactfully avoiding Killian’s gaze. “Thank you for the stew.”
Molly released Killian from her death glare and focused on Juliette. “You take care now.” she said, already starting for the door. “Walk me,” she said to Killian.
Killian glanced at Juliette. “Stay here,” he told her before following Molly out.
“Mind telling me what happened to her face?”
“It wasn’t me.”
Molly shot him a glance. “I’da beaten your hide bloody if I thought you had it in you to put your hands on a woman.” She stopped walking and peered closely into Killian’s face. “My question is, what are you intending to do about it?”
It was a question Killian had expected the moment he’d seen Molly in the kitchen with Juliette. He had almost been waiting for it.
Molly had been raised by a father who used his fists more than his mouth. Killian had never met the man, but he suspected it had been bad; Molly always got that look in her eyes whenever mentions of abuse came up. It was the look Killian had seen in the mirror every day for three years before he’d put a stop to it. It was something that surpassed fury, conquered rage, and passed that line beyond the haze of red. But unlike him, she had no one to punish. She had no way to make it stop. Her father had drank himself to death in a gutter when she’d been thirteen.
“I’m taking care of it.”
Molly straightened her shoulders. Her chin went up in a defiance he knew all too well.
“Be sure you do. There’s a special place in hell for men who hurt women and children.”
“Aye.” He eased his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. “And I intend to make sure he gets there sooner rather than later.”
Her shoulders rose with her deep inhale. “Good lad.” She twisted away towards the doors. Her hands were unsteady when she adjusted her purse strap. “Until next week then.”
With a kiss to his cheek, she shuffled away. Killian watched her until she had descended the front steps and made her way to the car Marco brought around for her. He shook his head at the piece of crap Toyota. The thing was older than he was and yet she refused to let him get her anything better. It rumbled and shrieked like a banshee all the way through the front gates.
“Sir? You have a conference call booked in an hour.” Frank appeared seemingly out of nowhere, phone in hand. He stopped at Killian’s shoulder. “Should I reschedule?”