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her. That mattered. It had to matter. Of course it mattered.
Jaw set at a determined angle, Molly stuffed her feet inside a pair of ankle boots and put on her favorite calico dress with the lavender floral print. She wound her blond hair in a loose braid down her back, then packed a small bag with personal items from her dresser. A hairbrush, a rack of pins, several ribbons in colors she hoped the girls would like, and her worn Bible with the pages crinkled at the edges.
One glance out the window told her the morning sky was shifting from black to deep purple. Dawn was drawing near.
Hurry, Molly.
She made her way toward the door. The other occupant in the room slept peacefully, her soft, feminine snoring the only sound cutting through the still, humid air.
Without breaking stride, Molly smiled down at her sister. At sixteen, the dreams of youth were still fresh and untarnished in Daisy’s young mind. Seven years older, Molly could hardly relate to the girl. The death of her husband eleven months ago made it all the more difficult.
Her feet grew heavy as stone and, for a brief moment, despair filled Molly’s heart. She’d lost more than her husband. So. Much. More.
No. She would not feel sorry for herself. If he were here, George would tell her that the good Lord had a plan for her life. No matter how dark it seemed right now, the particulars were already worked out. She just needed to have faith.
Molly wasn’t as faithful as her preacher husband had been. Not anymore. Perhaps she never had been.
At least she’d had somewhere to go after George’s death. Molly would concentrate on being grateful her family had welcomed her home.
Her future might look bleak, but she was still young, still vital, still necessary to a family facing their own tragedy. When she’d returned home, she’d never expected her best friend to die suddenly and leave behind twin daughters. Molly would take care of Penelope’s children until she was no longer needed.
Resolve firmly in place, she slung the satchel over her shoulder and tiptoed into the empty hallway. She entered the kitchen, took two full steps and froze.
A pang of guilt whispered through her.
“Good morning, Mama.” Molly adopted what she hoped was an airy tone. “You’re up early.”
“I was going to say the same about you.” The soft, musical lilt was in stark contrast to the concern in her mother’s eyes.
Even after birthing five children, Helen Carson remained a beautiful woman. Her blond hair, streaked with silver strands, was pulled back in a serviceable bun that revealed a face nearly identical to her two daughters. Save for a few lines and wrinkles, the high cheekbones were the same, as were the straight nose, pale blue eyes and stubborn set of her chin.
“Well, I’m off to the Thorn ranch.” Molly attempted to shift around her mother.
“I’d like a word with you before you leave.”
Molly tried not to sigh. This was the reason she’d woken early: to avoid a difficult conversation with her mother.
Helen Carson was fiercely protective of all her children, and that included her oldest daughter. What she refused to understand was that Molly was a grown woman capable of making her own decisions. “There is nothing you can say that will change my mind.”
Her mother’s features showed distress and something else—not censure, precisely, but close. “It’s been nearly a year since your husband’s death. George wouldn’t want you hiding from the world.”
“I’m not hiding from the world.” Molly blew out a frustrated burst of air, hating the defensive note in her voice. “I’m serving a family in need.”
George would understand. He would even encourage her. An itinerant preacher, his personal mission had been to help the less fortunate. Before he’d contracted the fever that ultimately killed him, George had shared a love of serving others side by side with Molly.
Her marriage had been a happy one. Until Molly failed to provide her husband with the one thing he wanted most—a child. She’d been bitterly disappointed over her failure as a wife. George’s resentment had only added to her shame.
If her mother knew the truth, Molly was certain she’d give her words of comfort, the kind meant to heal her troubled heart. But Molly didn’t want sympathy. She certainly didn’t want to discuss her secret shame.
Anything but that.
She stood straighter, lifted her chin and attempted a second time to step around her mother.
Helen Carson moved directly into her path. “It’s been six months since Penelope became ill and died. Surely there is someone else who can care for her daughters.”
“There is no one else.”
Besides, Molly had given her friend her word. Even if she hadn’t made a promise, the twins needed a woman’s influence in their lives. They had their father, yet even after six months he was still absorbed in his own grief. And lately, Molly had noticed him distancing himself from his daughters, barely going through the motions of being a parent.
Their uncle sometimes stepped in and filled the void. Molly admired him for that—oh, how, she admired him—but CJ had his hands full running the Triple-T ranch.
“If you won’t listen to reason,” her mother said, “then at least consider taking Daisy with you.”
“You need her here.”
Her mother opened her mouth to argue.
Molly cut her off. “Please try to understand. Until Ned marries again, or another solution presents itself, I will honor my promise to Penelope. If our roles were reversed, she would do the same for me.”
“I can’t help but think there’s something you’re not telling me, some reason you’re not sharing with me.”
“The twins need me.” What woman didn’t want to be needed, especially one who couldn’t have children of her own? “I should think that reason enough.”
“Molly, won’t you please be honest with me?”
“It’s nearly dawn.” She looked pointedly at the band of gray riding low on the horizon. “The girls will be awake soon.”
This time, when Molly made for the back door, her mother pulled her into a fierce hug. “As soon as you’re ready to tell me what’s troubling you, I’ll be here to listen.”
“There’s nothing troubling me.” She stepped out of the embrace. “Other than my concern for two small children.”
With her mother’s sigh of resignation ringing in her ears, Molly hurried out of the house. She made quick work of saddling Sadie, the ten-year-old gray mare born the same year as Molly’s youngest brother, Donny.
Halfway between her family’s large spread and the much smaller Triple-T ranch, Molly felt the tension in her shoulders melt away. A soft flutter of air stirred the leaves of the Texas oaks nestled in a small grove on her left. She breathed in, smelled the faint scents of sassafras and wild cherry.
Molly loved this time of morning, when night slowly surrendered to day and everything felt new again. When possibilities stretched before her and the future didn’t feel so hopeless.
Rolling Hills ranch was the largest cattle operation in the area. Tall, rugged bluffs peppered the landscape as far as the eye could see. The green leaves of cottonwood trees shared space with large granite and limestone rocks. The sound of water sloshing on the lakeshore near the edge of her parents’ property accompanied a bobwhite’s distinctive whistle.
A movement in the distance caught her attention. Narrowing her eyes, she watched a horse and rider race across a flat patch of land. The man’s slouched posture was at odds with the magnificence of the black stallion beneath him.
Molly’s