Stand-In Rancher Daddy. Renee Ryan
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seat beside Roy. At twelve, he was inquisitive and seemed to be always taking things apart. Donny was the talker. Thomas was the calmest and most logical of the three. At fourteen, he was also the most mature.
As they did nearly every Sunday morning, Roy and Donny debated which one of them would ride old Walker into town and which would have to sit in the bed of the wagon.
“It’s my turn.” Donny’s voice held more whine than reason.
Roy begged to differ, loudly, and with equal amounts of whining. The heated discussion continued another fifteen seconds before their father put an end to it.
“Thomas is the oldest,” he said. “He’ll ride Walker. Now eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”
He pointed to their plates. Once they obeyed his command, he turned toward Molly. “I trust you slept well.”
“I did, thank you.” Actually, she’d tossed and turned most of the night. But there was no reason to upset her father.
Or her mother, who was eyeing her with her usual worried scowl. Keeping her own expression bland, Molly took the platter of cured ham from Roy and concentrated on eating her breakfast.
Conversation turned to the ice-cream social after service. Apparently, Mercy Green, owner of Mercy’s Café, was supplying the ingredients.
Laughter soon replaced dissent among her brothers. It was a lovely, boisterous sound that represented the very heart of family. Head down, Molly took a few calming breaths.
She loved her parents and siblings, and was happy to be home, but she desperately wanted her own family. Despite what she’d said to CJ, she wanted to be a wife again and run her own household.
George had been a good husband, handsome, kind and dedicated to the Lord. During the first year of their marriage, his devotion to Molly had been above reproach. But the longer she’d gone without conceiving, the more distant he’d become.
The pressure to bear a child had taken over every part of their life together. Instead of bonding them closer, their mutual frustration had put a wedge between them. With every month that passed, and no baby on the way, Molly’s life had grown a little less happy, a little less joyful.
Her eyes stung with remembered pain, from the loss of hope and the certainty that she was a failure as a wife. And as a woman.
“Molly?” Her mother’s hand covered hers. “Are you unwell?”
“No.” She put on a brave face and slowly lifted her head. “I was just thinking about...George.”
Helen Carson’s eyes softened. Molly was saved from further questioning when Daisy rushed into the room, her words tumbling out faster than her footsteps.
“I’m not late.” She hopped to the empty chair at the table with one shoe on her foot, the other dangling in her hand. “I’m merely running a bit behind.”
“A bit behind?” Releasing her grip on Molly, Helen Carson sat back in her chair and turned her full attention to her other daughter. “Is that what we’re now calling your proclivity to oversleep?”
Daisy opened her mouth, presumably to defend herself, but wisely shut it again.
Even with Daisy’s tardiness, the Carson brood set out for town with plenty of time to complete the two-mile journey before service started. Thomas did indeed receive the honor of riding Walker. The younger boys piled into the back of the wagon. Helen and John Carson took the front seat. Molly and Daisy settled on the smaller bench behind them.
Before they were even off Carson land, her parents leaned in close, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. Watching them brought Molly another wave of unexpected yearning. Even after twenty-five years of marriage, and the challenges of building one of the largest working ranches in central Texas, they were still very much in love.
It was quite lovely to witness. And utterly depressing.
Molly despaired of ever finding that kind of happiness. She’d had her chance at marriage and had failed miserably. What man would want her now? She was a barren, twenty-three-year-old widow living on her family’s ranch.
From a distance, the town of Little Horn beckoned. Welcoming the distraction, Molly studied the small settlement, which had been incorporated two years ago.
As her father took the most direct route through town, Molly watched the various buildings pass by. There was the general store on her left, the grocer on her right. The shoemaker and both coopers were farther up ahead. One street over was a well-established livery and blacksmith, and a cotton gin-gristmill lay just beyond the outskirts of town.
At the end of the wide main street, Molly noticed that Mercy’s Café, situated between the train depot and bank, had a brand-new sign. The pretty blue lettering really stood out against the stark white background.
The one building Little Horn lacked was a church. For now, the congregation met beneath a large, serviceable tent that had been erected for a revival last year and never taken down.
When her father pulled in beside a row of carriages, Molly gathered herself in preparation for exiting the wagon. Her brothers were much quicker. Roy and Donny scrambled out of the flatbed before the brake had even been set.
Jacob and Sam Barlow, boys from a neighboring ranch, called out to them. Her brothers quickly changed direction and met up with their friends. Thomas hitched his horse to the back of the wagon, then took off to find his own friends.
Molly, Daisy and their parents disembarked from the wagon at a much more sedate pace.
“John, dear.” Molly’s mother caught her husband’s arm. “Would you mind keeping an eye on our younger sons? Whenever they get together with the Barlow boys, well, mischief soon follows.”
“Heading over there now.”
“Much appreciated. Oh, look, it’s Beatrice Rampart.” Helen lifted her hand in greeting. “I haven’t spoken with her since last week. I’ll just go over and say hello.”
“I guess you’re stuck with me.” Daisy linked arms with Molly. “And I’m stuck with you.”
She laughed at the teasing tone. “So it would seem.”
Arm in arm, they stayed close to the wagon and watched the milling crowd. Daisy seemed unusually focused. Her gaze kept sweeping from one side of the tent to the other. Molly wondered what—or perhaps, who—her sister was searching for so diligently.
She had her answer when sixteen-year-old Calvin Barlow caught sight of them and lifted his hand in greeting, much as their mother had done moments before. Daisy returned the gesture, then let out a soft, shuddering sigh when he started in their direction.
“Promise you won’t leave me alone with him,” Daisy whispered.
“You have my word.” Molly tried not to smile as she spoke. But, really, who was this young woman standing beside her?
She hardly recognized her sister. Daisy was outspoken and full of more than her share of opinions. She was certainly never shy. But now, with Calvin Barlow bearing down on them, Daisy’s cheeks had turned a becoming shade of pink. Her eyes sparkled with an odd mix of trepidation and excitement.
Molly remembered that look. She’d seen it in her own mirror five years ago, when she’d first discovered she had tender feelings for CJ Thorn.
He’d been completely oblivious of her, which had hurt at the time. Looking back, she realized he’d been far too consumed with running his ranch to notice her.
Now, it was too late for her to catch his eye. Even if she did, she had so little to offer him.
Calvin drew to a stop several feet away. He greeted Molly first, then put all his focus on Daisy. “Good morning, Miss Carson.”
“Miss Carson? Miss Carson?”
Eyes wide, Calvin blinked at her for several