Stand-In Rancher Daddy

by Renee Ryan

  Molly smiled after them, thinking how lovely they looked together, Daisy’s blond locks contrasting with Calvin’s dark hair, her frame so petite compared to his taller, leanly muscled build.

  Wondering where their young affection would lead, and praying it was a good place, Molly went in search of CJ and the twins. She found them right where he’d said they would be. Unlike that Sunday morning a few weeks ago, he looked decidedly less anxious. Actually, he seemed quite relaxed, happy even, as if he were settling into his new role as their father.

  Her heart lifted and she sighed.

  Did CJ know how decent he was, down to the core? Did he know how worthy he was of admiration?

  He caught sight of her before the girls did. A slow grin spread across his face, reminding Molly of the time he’d pressed those full lips to hers. He’d been so tender, issuing a silent promise meant only for her.

  Hands shaking slightly, she closed the distance and greeted him first, the girls next.

  “You look very pretty, Sarah,” she said, eyeing the blue ribbon in the child’s hair. Fully aware of the significance of the color change, Molly touched the bow. “Did you tie this all by yourself?”

  Sarah shook her head. “Unca Corny helped, but I picked it out all by myself because blue is his favorite color.”

  “How lovely.” Molly looked up at CJ and found him watching his niece, a look of love and gratification in his eyes.

  Brandon Stillwater called everyone into the tent normally used for Sunday church services and gave a short speech to launch the day’s festivities. “Two years ago Little Horn officially incorporated and today we come together in celebration.”

  He continued, expanding on the history of their small community and the value of sticking together through good times and bad.

  “We have a fun day planned. There will be games, booths selling all sorts of goodies and wares, a pie-eating contest and a picnic basket auction. We’ll finish the day with a baseball game and square dancing, called by our very own Mr. Harold Hickey. Before we get started, let us pray.

  “Bless us, O Lord,” he began. “And keep Your hand upon us. Thank You for the joy of coming together and celebrating the founding of our town. As we go forward into the future, we ask that You teach us to love one another as You first loved us. May we always serve You with cheerful hearts. We ask these things in Your Son’s name. Amen.”

  He lifted his head, smiled and then dismissed the townsfolk. “Have a wonderful day.”

  The people scattered.

  “What are we going to do first?” Sarah asked before her sister could.

  With everyone in agreement, Molly, CJ and the twins made their way to the large open field where the games were to be played.

  The gunnysack races were already under way. Because of the large number of participants the organizers had to run several smaller races first. The winners of each would then compete for the ultimate prize, a big blue ribbon and a cake made by Mercy Green.

  Ropes had been strung along each side of the field in an effort to keep the spectators from disrupting the action. Molly and the Thorn family found a spot on the west side and waited for the next race to begin.

  “They look silly.” Anna pointed to the starting line, where participants were stepping into large burlap sacks and pulling them up. Due to their varying heights some were able to tug the bag up past their waist, others barely to midthigh.

  “My brother Thomas is in this race,” Molly said, pointing to the line of competitors. “He’s in the blue shirt.”

  The race began.

  Cheers rose up from the crowd. Anna and Sarah shouted Thomas’s name. “Go, Thomas. Go, go, go!”

  And they cheered when he won.

  The four of them watched three more races. Then, losing interest, the girls began playfully grabbing and poking at each other. Molly shared a look with CJ.

  “Maybe it’s time for another activity,” she suggested.

  “How about a snack? I hear Mercy Green is selling cookies, cake and ice cream.”

  The twins thought this a wonderful idea. At the booth, CJ treated them each to a dish of ice cream. Molly chose an oatmeal cookie.

  They watched the three-legged races next. Ate more ice cream. Then, to Molly’s amusement, the girls talked CJ into entering the pie-eating contest.

  Taking note of his uneasy expression as he sat at the long, wide table, she asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? It’s a pie-eating contest.”

  Knowing the girls had practically begged him to take part, Molly raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

  “Cherry.” He pointed to the pie at his elbow. “My favorite.”

  “Oh. Well, then.” She raised her hands in surrender. “Eat to your heart’s content.”

  He gave it a grand effort. Molly and the twins laughed and cheered and clapped in encouragement. He managed to consume four entire pies before time was called. The judges reviewed the empty pie tins and CJ was declared the winner by half a pie.

  The twins cheered even louder.

  His face white as a sheet, eyes slightly bulging, CJ shoved away from the table and got shakily to his feet. Breathing through clenched teeth, he graciously accepted congratulatory backslaps from his fellow contestants.

  When he joined Molly and the girls, he presented his reward with a grimace. “A cherry pie.” He handed the prize to a passing kid.

  “Gee, thanks, mister.”

  CJ waved off the excited boy.

  “You did good, Unca Corny.” The girls bounced around him, giggling and tugging on his arms.

  If possible, his face turned even whiter.

  Although it took considerable effort to contain her amusement, Molly felt a glimmer of sympathy for the poor man. “That was a lot of pie you just ate.”

  Pure misery played across his face. “Now that’s an understatement if I ever heard one.”

  Several more people came over and congratulated CJ, including Pastor Stillwell, who’d come in second place. He had a pale green tint to his skin similar to CJ’s sickly pallor.

  “Congratulations, CJ. The best man won.”

  “Thanks.” He grimaced. “I think.”

  The two men shook hands and shared a moment of commiseration. CJ’s color had yet to be restored. He looked as if he could use time away from the festivities.

  “Girls, what do you say we take a look at our quilt? It’s on display over by the booth selling hair ribbons and bows.” She took their hands, glanced over at CJ. “We’ll leave you to let your pie settle.”

  “That might not be a bad idea.” He patted his stomach, let out a soft whoosh of air.

  Molly swallowed the laughter bubbling inside and, because the poor man looked genuinely unwell, directed the twins toward the row of temporary booths.

  Only after they were out of CJ’s hearing did she give in to the amusement.

  “What’s so funny, Miss Molly?”

  “I’m just happy,” she told Anna. “So very, very happy.”

  For the rest of the day, she promised herself, nothing would be allowed to ruin her good mood.

  * * *

  Still feeling slightly nauseous, CJ tried not to moan. He could go an entire week without eating and would still feel full. Yet even in his miserable state, he found himself debating the possibility of bidding on Molly’s picnic basket.

  Aside from his complete disinterest in food right now, there were countless other reasons he shouldn’t. Most notably, she’d turned down his marriage proposal. A wise man would take her at her word and cut his losses.

  A smart man would turn his sights toward another woman. The sooner CJ created a stable, loving home for the girls the better. It all started with a wife. Today was the perfect day to begin his se
arch.

  Problem was, he didn’t want to find another woman. He wanted Molly and he wasn’t ready to give up without a fight. His jaw tightened every time he thought of her and the twins sharing the afternoon with another man.

  They were his family.

  Needing to work off the pie, he roamed around the general area and paused at the one-room schoolhouse. The building had its beginnings in 1893, mere days after Little Horn was incorporated. Bo Stillwater, the pastor’s brother and a highly successful rancher and landowner, leased the plot of land to the town for a pittance.

  In a few years, the twins would be students at this school, an important milestone in their lives that Ned would miss if he didn’t come home. Completing his pass around the building, CJ noticed Molly fifty yards away, speaking with Lula May Barlow. The twins sat on a blanket nearby, playing some sort of game with Lula May’s daughter.

  Molly looked fresh and lovely in a soft green dress that highlighted her blond hair and fair coloring.

  Their gazes met across the schoolyard. Even from this distance, and not actually being able to see her eyes, he knew they’d turned a warm blue under his quiet scrutiny. He lifted his hand.

  She did the same.

  The moment was so unaffected and honest it brought forth a surge of joy. CJ had never felt this connected to anyone before Molly had come into his life. He’d missed out the first time around. He’d been given a second chance. A blessing he would not squander.

  Lula May said something that gained Molly’s attention. No longer ensnared, CJ exhaled slowly. Needing to clear his head, he scanned the horizon, where the distant hills met the sky. The day was clear and he could see all the way to the rooftop of Lucas Bennett’s ranch house in the east.

  To the north lay the main outbuildings of the Carson ranch. There weren’t many white barns in this part of Texas, but the Carsons had one.

  Someone jostled him from behind and the contents of CJ’s stomach threatened to make an appearance. Out of self-preservation, he moved away from the main traffic areas and propped his shoulder against a tree.

  Edmund McKay and Hank Snowden sauntered over, both grinning over his discomfort. They sported the Texas ranchers’ unofficial uniform of button-down shirt, denim pants and scuffed boots.

  Hank was the foreman on Lucas Bennett’s ranch, the Windy Diamond, and was one of CJ’s few friends besides Edmund. CJ and Hank were nearly the same height and build. They both had dark hair, but where CJ’s eyes were brown, Hank’s were a startling blue.

  From what little CJ gleaned, Hank was an indispensable member of Lucas Bennett’s cattle operation.

  Laughing softly, Edmund whistled low and with meaning. “You, my friend, are clearly paying the price for winning that pie-eating contest.”

  CJ turned his head, a quelling comment at the ready, but the simple movement caused his stomach to roil in protest. He swallowed, managed a halfhearted grimace, which earned him another chuckle.

  “You bidding on a basket?” Edmund asked him.

  “Still debating.” He drew in a slow, steady breath. “Not much interested in food right now. What about you?”

  “Gotta eat, don’t I?”

  “Got any particular woman in mind you want to do that eating with?” CJ asked.

  His friend lifted a nonchalant shoulder, dropped it. “Doesn’t much matter. Long as she can cook.”

  “I hear Lula May Barlow made a basket.” Hank offered up this information oh so innocently.

  CJ tried not to laugh at the horror-stricken expression on Edmund’s face. Just picturing him and Lula May picnicking together was beyond amusing. The two had a prickly relationship on a good day, adversarial all the others.

  If Edmund won Lula May’s basket, they would probably argue their way through the entire lunch and both end up sick to their stomachs.

  “After Mercy Green, I hear Frank Barlow’s widow is the best cook in the area.” Hank added this piece of information with an elbow jab to Edmund’s ribs. “And there’s no denying she’s a pretty woman.”

  “That may be true,” he agreed reluctantly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “But she’s also the bossiest. In a word, no thank you.”

  “That’s three words,” Hank pointed out.

  “You get my meaning.”

  His only response was a smirk.

  Nancy Bennett, the wife of Hank’s boss, moved in their direction and called out softly to Hank.

  The cowboy responded with a lift of his chin.

  CJ didn’t know the young woman very well. She’d been in the area only a year. She smiled tentatively as she wove her way through the tangle of humanity.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Her demeanor was perfectly polite, but on closer inspection CJ could tell she was slightly uncomfortable. She didn’t quite make eye contact with any of them. Most notably Hank, which made little sense. She must know him pretty well, since he worked on her husband’s ranch.

  “Good day, Mrs. Bennett,” Hank said, before CJ or Edmund could speak. “What can we do for you?”

  Her jaw went taut. After a long hesitation, and an encouraging smile from Hank, she seemed to relax. “I’m selling chances to win a quilt my friends and I recently made.”

  CJ’s ears perked up. “Are you part of Molly’s quilting bee?”

  “That’s right.” She spoke in a soft, almost musical lilt. “We worked hard to finish in time. It’s a very lovely blanket, quite decorative in fact.”

  “What would I want with a decorative blanket?” Edmund asked, his face showing genuine bafflement.

  Nancy blushed furiously. “Oh, well, I do see your point. It’s just...” She hesitated. “The proceeds will be donated to the fund for a new church building and—”

  “I’ll take three,” Hank said, cutting off the rest of her stilted speech.

  “Oh, why, thank you, Mr. Snowden.” Head down, she wrote his name on three slips of paper, then handed them to him. “You’ll want to put these in the box next to the quilt. The drawing will be held later this afternoon.”

  CJ felt obliged to buy three chances, as well, though he was inclined to agree with Edmund. He had no use for a decorative quilt. Although now that he thought about it, he remembered that the twins had done a portion of the sewing. “I’ll take three more.”

  Nancy Bennett’s face lit from within. “Oh, lovely.”

  “I’ll take another six,” Hank offered, giving Edmund’s foot a hard nudge with the toe of his boot.

  “Fine. I’ll buy three chances.”

  Hank nudged his foot again.

  “All right, all right, I’ll take six.”

  Hank seemed determined to help Mrs. Bennett with her sales. CJ supposed that made sense. The woman’s husband had taken a chance, hiring him when no one else in the community trusted the drifter. It had turned out well for both men. Hank had a good job and Lucas had a competent foreman who practically ran his ranch for him.

  Speaking of Lucas, where was he? CJ hadn’t seen the other rancher all morning.

  Before he could ask Mrs. Bennett about her husband, she completed yet another transaction with Hank and then wandered off to the next group. Left in her wake, CJ and Edmund were each in the possession of six chances to win a quilt neither needed, and Hank was the proud owner of fifteen.

  With the foreman leading the way, they sauntered over to the booth where the quilt was hanging on display. The three men studied the colorful geometric pattern.

  “What are you gonna do if you win this decorative quilt, Snowden?” Edmund angled his head toward the item in question. “You live in a bunkhouse.”

  It was Hank’s turn to lift a nonchalant shoulder. “I’ll figure something out.”

  As Edmund continued to rib him, a pack of local boys ran past. CJ coun
ted five, their ages ranging somewhere between nine and fifteen. Two belonged to James Forester, the widowed blacksmith. Forester’s wife had died eight months ago in childbirth along with the baby.

  CJ remembered the funeral as a somber, dour affair. James had been stone-faced and silent. The boys had bravely tried not to cry. Before his wife died, the big, burly man had been full of humor and the first to crack a smile at any gathering. These days, he never laughed, and worked every waking hour in the smithy.

  James was a good man, and his sons, Brody and Butch, were decent kids. But with their mother dead and their father buried in work, they’d become a bit wild, more so now that they were running with the Gillen brothers.

  Those three had no father and a mother who’d given up on life the day her husband ran off, years ago. Just like Ned. Mary Gillen hadn’t endured the abandonment well. She looked decades older than her thirty-some years. She had a wrinkled, weather-beaten face and a thin, rickety build much like the bridge that led to her shack down by Kettle Creek.

  No one seemed to be supervising the pack of boys. Sean Gillen was the oldest and likely the leader. His brothers were only a few years younger. With their filthy clothes, matted hair and half-tamed natures they were walking, talking trouble. In the past three months, CJ had broken up more than one fight the Gillen brothers had instigated.

  It looked as if he would be doing so again this morning, when Sean shoved the smaller Forester boy a bit too hard. His older brother raised his clenched fists.

  “Edmund, Hank, we’ve got trouble.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Moving at a clipped pace, CJ took off in the direction of the fight. Edmund and Hank followed hard on his heels.

  “Leave this to me,” CJ said over his shoulder. “The Gillen boys tend to fight dirty.”

  Edmund gained on him, coming up on his left. “I’ve broken up a few of their brawls myself. With the two of us stepping in, we have a better chance of avoiding bloodshed.”

  “If that’s the case,” Hank said, pulling up on CJ’s other side, “then three hands are better than two.”

  They were almost at their target when Sheriff Jeb Fuller fell into step beside Edmund. “Someone needs to take those boys in hand,” he grumbled.