Stand-In Rancher Daddy. Renee Ryan
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Lips pursed, she positioned her sharp-boned, skinny self at the ancient keyboard and pounded out a wheezing refrain of the opening hymn.
CJ’s muscles went taut. His nerves clawed and scrambled beneath his skin. He looked around, tugged on his collar. The air felt too heavy, too still. A baby’s squall sounded over the din of the organ music.
Where was Ned?
Until that moment, CJ hadn’t realized how much he’d allowed the girls’ enthusiasm to seep through his skepticism. He’d actually been expecting his brother to make an appearance.
“Miss Molly?” Anna’s small, tormented voice sounded a bit weepy, as if she were on the verge of tears. “Will...will you stay with us until Pa shows up?”
“Of course.” She pasted a cheery smile on her face and reached for the child’s hand. “Why don’t we wait inside the tent?”
“No.” Anna shoved her arms behind her back. “I want to wait for Pa here.”
“Me, too,” Sarah said, eyes mutinous in her thin face.
CJ closed his own eyes, gathered up his patience and stepped into the fray. “We’re not going very far, just a few steps in that direction.”
He pointed to the back of the tent, where they usually sat, then made the mistake of trying to steer the girls in that direction.
They dug in their heels.
“No, Unca Corny, no.” Sarah stomped her foot. “Pa won’t be able to find us if we move from this spot. We have to stay right here.”
Eyes brimming with tears, Anna joined in her sister’s rebellion. “I’m not leaving until Pa comes.”
Out of ideas, CJ looked desperately to Molly for help.
“Tell you what.” She sank to her knees. “We’ll save a seat for your father on the very last bench, the one closest to this tree. He’s sure to see us there.”
CJ added his own pledge. “I’ll keep an eye out for your pa during the entire service. He won’t make it anywhere near this tree without me seeing him. That’s a promise.”
“What if Pa doesn’t come back?” Sarah’s eyes grew wide and her voice dropped to a frightened whisper. “What if, like Mama, he never comes back?”
Anna burst into tears.
“Hey, hey now, it’s going to be all right.” Molly pulled the children into her arms. “No matter what happens here today, you will never be alone. You will always have me.”
“And you’ll always have me.” CJ looked from one small, precious child to the other, his resolve growing with each beat of his heart.
These girls were his responsibility now. He was committed down to the bone. He would stumble along the way and surely make mistakes, but he would love Sarah and Anna until the day he died. He would protect them with his life.
Emotion ripping at his throat, he risked a glance at Molly. Their gazes locked and held. He remembered what she’d said the morning Ned left town. We’re in this together.
Eyes never leaving his, she stood and took Sarah’s hand. CJ reached for Anna’s.
Together, they guided the girls into the tent.
Sitting with perfect posture, in a pose of perfect serenity, Molly felt like a perfect fraud. It took every ounce of willpower not to fidget on the thin, wooden bench she shared with CJ and the twins. For the sake of the children, she forced herself to remain outwardly calm.
Inside, she burned.
Truly, there was nothing more trying than pretending all was well when matters were anything but. Lips pressed tightly together, Molly folded her hands in her lap and considered the heartbreak that lay ahead.
When Ned didn’t show, what would Molly and CJ say to the twins? Words formed in her head, disappeared, then reformed again in a vastly different order. While she certainly agreed that “the truth shall set you free,” she also knew that the truth often caused pain and sorrow. Molly didn’t want that for Sarah and Anna.
Too late. The thought whispered through her mind.
Ned had made a terrible, selfish decision. How easy it would be to say something unkind about the man. But that would only upset the girls further.
Out of the corner of her eye, Molly looked down at them sitting between her and CJ. At first glance, they represented the very picture of polite, well-behaved children. Having adopted a pose similar to hers, they were uncommonly still. The hollow look in their eyes warned that the truth about their father was starting to sink in.
Molly wanted to weep for them.
CJ seemed to be fighting his own internal battle. Though his features were impassive, Molly could practically feel the tension coming off him in waves.
She nearly sighed, but the breath caught in her throat and came out sounding like a strangled sob.
Eyes full of silent understanding, CJ reached around the girls and squeezed Molly’s shoulder. The gesture was so CJ, solid and yet somehow tender. For that one, brief moment, Molly let go of her anxiety and simply basked in the man’s quiet strength. Everything was going to be all right. The children would survive this trauma. CJ would make sure of it.
Giving in to that sigh after all, she broke eye contact and forced her gaze straight ahead. Now that the singing had concluded, Mrs. Hickey, all-around busybody and notorious gossip, took an eternity shuffling toward her seat in the front row beside her husband.
The woman might move at the pace of turtles, but with her rust-colored hair pulled tightly against her head and her narrowed gaze sweeping over the congregation, she looked more like a rat contemplating its next meal.
Molly took the opportunity to glance at the crowd as unobtrusively as possibly. She found no sign of Ned, neither inside the tent nor out. Not that she’d expected a different outcome. But still...
Ned, where are you?
A dozen possible answers slammed through Molly’s mind. But then the local preacher took his place behind the pulpit and a collective hush filled the air.
At twenty-eight, Brandon Stillwater was a big, muscular man who resembled a rancher rather than a man of God. Tall, broad through the shoulders and chest, he had piercing silver eyes, light brown hair and a surprisingly relaxed demeanor that put everyone at ease.
His identical twin, Bo, was the more reserved of the two. They owned property just south of town. Bo did most of the ranch work, while Brandon focused on serving the Lord and seeing to his flock.
He gave a wide, welcoming smile to the assembled group, then immediately launched into his sermon. “As Little Horn nears its two-year anniversary and our Founder’s Day celebration approaches, I find myself thinking about journeys.”
Though his smile remained in place, his tone turned serious. “Through the years, our community has enjoyed countless blessings. Yet we’ve also suffered our share of tragedies. We’ve celebrated marriages and births. We’ve endured drought, flash flooding, disease and the death of loved ones.”
He paused, drew in a slow breath.
“The sometimes happy, sometimes tragic road we’ve traveled is not unlike the one the Israelites took out of Egypt.” He grasped the podium and lowered his engaging voice an octave. “Why did the Lord lead His people through the wilderness instead of taking them directly to their destination? Why did a trip that should have taken a month last forty years?”
He waited while the congregation pondered the questions. Then, with a flourish, he opened his Bible.
After reading the entire thirteenth chapter of Exodus, he set the weathered book back on the podium and repeated a portion