by Renee Ryan
“You...you want children?” Oh, please, Lord, this couldn’t be happening.
“Eventually,” he reiterated. “We’d want to get to know one another as friends first and then as something...more.” He was being so careful with his speech, deftly skirting around the delicate nature—and true purpose—of marriage.
“You truly want more children with—” she drew in a shaky breath “—me?”
“I want a houseful of kids. And, yes, Molly.” His eyes bored into hers with the expression of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. “I’d like to have them with you.”
He might as well have stuck a dagger in her heart and twisted. “I always thought two was a nice number.”
“Eight is even better.”
Her knees nearly collapsed under her. Tell him. Tell him you’re barren.
The words echoed in her mind, nearly tumbled off her tongue. But when she opened her mouth, only one croaking syllable came out. “Eight?” She swallowed and tried again. “You want eight children?”
“I’d settle for six.”
“Six,” she repeated, in a very small voice.
“Granted, I have a lot to learn.” His smile came lightning fast. “But now that I’ve had a taste of fatherhood, I’ve come to realize I actually like children. Rather a lot.”
Did he not know he was breaking her heart?
Each word he spoke brought unspeakable pain. Molly didn’t know how much more she could take. She couldn’t look at him directly. “I’m sorry, CJ.” She spoke to his jaw, where day-old stubble had appeared. “I can’t marry you.”
He remained silent for five full seconds. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Does it matter?”
With a gentle touch, he placed a finger beneath her chin and applied pressure until she was forced to look him in the eyes. “I believe it does.”
The man was entirely too perceptive for his own good. “Won’t,” she said on a whisper. “I won’t marry you.”
“Tell me, Molly.” He searched her face and she could see him pulling away from her, as if he were erecting an invisible barrier between them. “Are you turning me down because you think your parents won’t approve of me?”
“What? No. CJ, no!” She couldn’t let him think such a hideous thing about her parents. Or of her—that she would bow to their judgment over her own. “They would never forbid me to marry you.”
“Do you think we won’t suit one another?”
She couldn’t lie to him, not with that intense gaze boring into her, or the hint of vulnerability beneath the calm. “I think we’d suit very well. I like you, CJ. Rather a lot.”
Her declaration seemed to confuse him even more. “Then why turn down my proposal?”
She owed him an explanation. She owed him the truth. She needed to tell him that she couldn’t bear watching him grow to resent her as George had, once he realized she couldn’t give him children. But she couldn’t seem to push the words past her dry, cracked lips. How did she admit her failure as a woman to this handsome, virile man?
As she stared into CJ’s beautiful eyes, a rich, mesmerizing brown fringed with dark lashes, she tried to come up with a reason that would satisfy him without humiliating herself.
Perhaps that made her prideful, or cowardly, or a combination of both. “I’m not ready to marry again.”
It was the truth, if not completely accurate.
“I see.”
She doubted he did. Guilt brought another rush of tears to her eyes.
“You’re still grieving over your husband.”
She thought of George, of the children she’d never given him, of the pain she’d caused because of her inability to satisfy her husband’s greatest wish. He, too, had wanted a houseful of children. Molly couldn’t stand hurting another man the same way she’d hurt George.
“I suppose I am grieving,” she admitted. Grieving the loss of what might have been.
“Molly.” Tenderness crept into CJ’s tone, then moved into his gaze. “We don’t have to marry right away. We can continue on as we have until you’re ready to take the next step.”
Why did he have to be so kind?
Her pulse fluttered and her head pounded. She cared for CJ. Oh, how she cared. Deeply. Too deeply to marry him.
“I won’t push you to make a decision tonight. I’ll give you whatever time you need.” He gave her the lopsided grin she’d grown to adore. “You’ll find I can be a very patient man.”
CJ Thorn deserved the very best life had to offer. He deserved a woman who would give him the houseful of children he desired. That woman would not be Molly. But perhaps she could offer her assistance.
Perhaps this was the reason the Lord had brought her into CJ’s life.
“In the meantime, I’ll court you properly, no pressure, no expectations.”
A sound of dismay slipped past her lips. She would never survive a courtship with this man.
“I have another idea,” she ventured, determined to derail him from this line of thinking. She must make him see she was not and never would be the marrying kind. “I’ll help you find a suitable woman to marry.”
His eyes went wide. For a moment, he stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.
Perhaps she had. Molly couldn’t think of anything worse than organizing CJ’s wife search.
“Why would you make such an absurd offer?”
Because I care about you. “I made a promise to Penelope before she died.”
“What sort of promise?”
“I told her I would keep her children safe and ensure they were well cared for. Consider this my way of keeping my word to a friend.”
His lips twisted at a wry angle. “How very noble of you.”
She heard his frustration, felt his confusion and experienced another spurt of guilt. She had much to atone for during her private prayer time. “I’ll draw up a list of potential women for you to consider.”
“Thank you, no.” He took one very large, very deliberate step back from her. “I’m fully capable of finding my own wife.”
She’d insulted him. That hadn’t been her intention. But at least he’d deserted the idea of marrying her. Molly should be happy. She was not. CJ married to someone else? The pain that came from the thought was obscene, like sharp, burning needles to her heart.
With his expression coolly distant, he helped her swing up onto Sadie’s back. The silence between them weighed thick and heavy on the air.
“CJ.” Molly stopped him from turning away with a touch to his arm.
He lifted an arched eyebrow.
“I’m sorry.”
For several seconds, he simply held her gaze. Then slowly, almost thoughtfully, he angled his head. “I believe you are.”
He still sounded confused and maybe a little angry. How she hated turning him down. She was doing this for his own good, though she doubted he would see it that way.
She rode away with a vague sense of loss, as if she’d made a serious mistake. For three full seconds, she resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. When she did glance back, CJ was gone. In his place was his foreman, Duke Rathbone, mounting up and pulling his horse in behind hers.
Molly allowed herself a small, wan smile. CJ always made sure she arrived home safely. She knew enough about the land and respected its dangers to appreciate his concern.
How could she not care for such a decent, thoughtful man?
How could she not feel a twinge of bitterness? CJ’s marriage proposal had come five years too late. Had he asked her back when they’d first met, Molly would have accepted without hesitation.
And CJ would now have an empty, joyless house, full of resentment and regret instead of children.
He was better off without her in his life.
&
nbsp; It would be hard watching him marry another woman, but Molly would step aside so CJ could find the perfect wife for himself and a proper mother for the twins.
This time, when the tears formed in her eyes, Molly let them fall unfettered down her cheeks.
Surely the Lord had a plan for her. If Pastor Stillwater was to be believed, God had not forsaken Molly or abandoned her in this wilderness season of her life.
Then why did she feel so alone?
Chapter Eight
Back on Carson land, Molly lifted a hand in farewell to Duke. He tipped his hat, wheeled his horse around and then disappeared over the first rise. Alone at last, she led Sadie into the barn and went about bedding down the horse for the night.
With each movement, Molly’s head ached. Her lungs burned. It hurt to think, to breathe. She knew she was mourning the loss of a happiness that had been within her grasp. So close, yet so far out of reach she might as well live on another continent.
What confused her most was how she could grieve something that had never been hers. The twins weren’t her daughters. CJ wasn’t her man.
They felt like hers. More with each passing day she spent in their home.
The situation was utterly hopeless.
Behind her eyes came the hot prick of more tears. Why did CJ have to ask her to marry him? Why couldn’t he have left things the way they were? Molly now knew the exact future she wanted, a copy of their present with the added joy of wedding vows spoken to bind her to CJ, always.
It was fruitless to keep mulling over the situation. He’d asked. She’d said no. That was the end of that.
With years of practice guiding her hands, she removed Sadie’s tack, brushed down her heated coat and then gave the horse a bucket of oats in reward for her hard work. The old girl was as loyal as any creature Molly had known.
Stroking the animal’s muscular neck, she gave the bristly hairs beneath her hand a fond kiss, then left the horse alone to enjoy her treat.
With the sound of munching in her ears, Molly exited the barn and stepped into the night. The sky had turned a deep purple and the rising moon washed the land in pretty, silvery light. A distant coyote howl floated on the stiff wind rustling the trees overhead.
Molly should go inside and get herself settled in for the night. She hesitated, knowing her mother would be poised with yet another round of probing questions.
Helen Carson was a loving woman, but she didn’t know the meaning of tact when it came to her children. As she’d done nearly every night for two weeks, she would question Molly about her devotion to a family that wasn’t hers.
They would argue. Her mother would then change tactics and display a mixture of sympathy and concern. Molly would still deny anything was amiss and both of them would walk away from the confrontation frustrated.
Knowing what lay ahead, Molly wasn’t up to facing her mother quite yet. Her emotions were still too raw from her encounter with CJ. She was feeling even more fragile and vulnerable than usual. No telling what she would reveal in a moment of weakness.
Taking a bracing breath, she studied her childhood home with an objective eye. The large, two-story clapboard-and-brick house was simple in design, unremarkable really. The covered porch along the front was all that gave the austere exterior personality.
Closing her eyes, Molly could hear the musical gurgle of water rushing over rock in the small creek just off the back stoop. The sound usually soothed her. Not tonight.
Stalling a bit longer, she shifted and stared out over the fields that rolled as far as the eye could see, at least in daylight. At the moment, the hills and bluffs were nothing but a collection of bumps and shadows.
She moved her gaze to the left, past the corrals, to the patch of land beyond the barn. According to her father, that particular piece of ground was excellent for producing hay. The barn itself was the largest structure on the ranch. The tall, imposing building had a slanted tin roof, a well-stocked hayloft and twenty stalls for housing horses or other livestock. The sturdy foundation was made from large stones and local river rock.
Rolling Hills was an impressive spread. The Lord had given her family many earthly treasures and none of them took that for granted. Molly loved this ranch. She treasured every minute of her childhood spent learning how to work the land.
But she wasn’t a little girl anymore and the ranch was no longer her home. When she’d left with George, she’d had such hope in her young, naive heart and had planned to serve alongside her husband while also raising their large, happy family.
None of her dreams or expectations had come to pass. She’d returned with nothing to show for her time away as a married woman but a failed marriage and a husband who’d died resenting her.
So depressing were her thoughts that Molly could hardly stand her own company. She tried to pace off her melancholy. Five minutes and a lap around the barn later, she was feeling no better.
She’d stalled long enough.
Shoulders back, breath even, she entered her family’s house by the back door and crept through the darkened kitchen. The deep, masculine baritone was as comforting tonight as it had been during her childhood, and she found herself listening a moment. “Cast your burdens on the Lord,” her father read. “And He shall sustain you.”
Excellent advice she planned to take to heart in the solitude of her bedroom.
Padding silently through the kitchen, she went straight to the back stairwell. A part of her hated this sneaking about, as if she were hiding something.
You are hiding something.
She ignored the thought and mounted the stairs. She would spend time with her Bible. Reading Scripture always calmed her.
Careful to avoid the third and fifth steps—they creaked—she continued her ascent. She’d nearly made it to the top when she spotted the silhouette of her mother cast in flickering shadows from a lone wall sconce in the hallway.
“I’d like a word with you, please.” Her mother’s motionless stance suggested a difficult conversation ahead, and possibly a long one.
Molly resisted the urge to retreat the way she’d come. No withdrawing, she told herself. No fleeing. Better to face the problem head-on. Or so she told herself.
But when she finished her climb she was finally able to discern her mother’s expression in the dim light, and she nearly groaned aloud. Helen Carson wanted answers and she wasn’t budging until she got them.
“You’ve been crying.”
Molly’s hand immediately went to her cheeks. Her fingertips came away wet. Some time since leaving Sadie’s stall, she’d given in to tears yet again. She hadn’t even known they’d leaked out of her eyes. “Only a very little.”
“Won’t you tell me why?”
“It’s nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t fix.” And now she was lying to her own mother, all because of pride and her inability to accept her situation with confidence that the Lord had a plan for her life.
“Something’s upset you and I doubt very much a good night’s sleep is all that you need.”
Her mother saw too much.
“I’m tired, that’s all.” Molly smoothed a hand over her hair. “It’s been a long, trying day.”
“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me. Do not attempt to put me off again, as you have every night this week. I know something is terribly wrong.”
Helen Carson had only the best of intentions. Molly knew that all she had to do was admit the truth about her secret shame and the nightly interrogations would stop.
How was she supposed to tell a woman who’d given birth to five healthy children that her oldest daughter wasn’t capable of conceiving even one?
Face taut with frustration, her mother took Molly’s forearm and drew her forward, tugging gently until they both stood illuminated by the wall sconce. Mo
lly tried not to flinch under the bold head-to-toe scrutiny.
“Has there been word from Ned?”
“No.” Molly shook her head sadly. “It appears he’s gone for good. Or at least that’s how we plan to proceed.”
“We?” A delicate blond eyebrow shot up. “You have become so close with CJ Thorn that you are comfortable referring to the two of you as...‘we’?”
Molly pretended to misunderstand her meaning. “Of course we are close. We have a common purpose.”
“You are referring to the twins.”
“CJ is overwhelmed with seeing to his nieces’ needs while also running the Triple-T. I’m helping him find his way.”
“That’s all it is?” The speculative gleam in her mother’s eyes put Molly on guard. “There is nothing more between you?”
“We are friends.” Or at least they had been before she’d turned down his marriage proposal. “He’s made significant progress in the past week and is growing more comfortable with the girls every day. I’m really proud of him.”
CJ was a remarkable man. Molly would be honored to call him husband. She wanted to tell her mother about his marriage proposal. She didn’t, of course. Because then she’d have to explain why she’d turned him down.
“I’m tired, Mama.” Tired to the bone. “I’d like to head off to bed now.”
“I’m sure you would, but I’m not quite finished.”
The woman was proving more relentless than a cow dog rooting out a stray calf from a prickle bush.
Molly crossed her arms in front of her. “Go on.”
“The gossip about Ned’s disappearance is all over town.” She paused, seemed to consider, then gave a slight nod as if coming to a conclusion. “You must realize that it will eventually—”
“Die down,” Molly finished, intentionally cutting off whatever else her mother planned to say.
“You’re right, of course. The gossip surrounding Ned Thorn will dissipate with time. Talk will eventually turn to CJ and the twins. Then...oh, Molly, then—” her mother touched her shoulder “—the gossip will turn on you.”
That was what had her mother so concerned? “I’m not afraid of a few rumors.”
