by Renee Ryan
The words hung thick in the air, as putrid and menacing as the smoke-laden haze swirling around them.
“What if you had help?”
Even before the words left Edmund’s mouth, the sheriff was shaking his head. “The town can hardly afford me. A deputy is out of the question.”
“I was thinking of something considerably less costly.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Ranchers in other communities like ours have addressed these types of concerns by organizing into formal groups.”
As one, CJ and Jeb leaned in. “Go on,” the sheriff urged.
“Take Graham, for instance. Ever since the local ranchers created an association, theft has dropped significantly in their county. Don’t see why we can’t do the same.” He studied the blackened rubble at his feet. “Look how well the community worked together to fight this fire. Imagine what we could do if we banded together in an official capacity.”
CJ mulled over the idea. They had a cattle rustler and an arsonist, who may or may not be the same person, and a barn that needed rebuilding. Pulling together in an organized fashion made sense. But it wouldn’t be easy. “The ranchers will need convincing, some more than others.”
Clyde Parker came to mind. The man had always been a loner. Lucas Bennett also preferred doing things his own way. Then there was Lula May Barlow. By definition, she was a rancher. But she mostly raised horses and not everyone in the area would take kindly to a woman joining an association of cattlemen.
“We’ll need to act fast,” Jeb said. Looking directly at Edmund, he added, “Can I count on you to lead the effort?”
The question seemed to stun the rancher. “Why me?”
“It was your idea.”
“I’m not a man of fancy words.”
Jeb claimed the same malady. Both men looked to CJ. He raised his hands, palms outward. “My name isn’t the most respected in the area.”
“The men deferred to your leadership yesterday,” Jeb pointed out.
Was that true?
CJ thought back over the fight to contain the fire. John Carson had been in charge. CJ had merely worked alongside him.
After more discussion, it was agreed that CJ and Edmund would approach the other ranchers together. “Let’s start first thing tomorrow,” Edmund suggested. “I’ll meet you at the edge of town at daybreak.”
“Why not start this morning?”
“I want to do some more research on cattlemen associations so we can go into this fully armed.”
That made sense. It also couldn’t hurt their cause to have one of the most influential ranchers in the area on their side. “I’ll run this by Mr. Carson later this morning.”
“Good thinking.”
The other two men mounted up and rode off, Jeb toward town, Edmund toward his ranch.
A half hour later, cleaned up, yet still looking exhausted, John Carson exited his house. CJ met him at the edge of the trampled grass. “Mr. Carson, I—”
“CJ, after all we’ve been through, you can dispense with the formalities and call me John.”
There was genuine warmth in the other man’s voice that took CJ a moment to process. He thought of Lillian’s father and the way he’d addressed CJ, as if he were one level below human.
“John,” CJ began again. “Have you considered your next step?”
The other man looked out over the ruins of the once grand structure, circled his gaze to the outbuildings and then clamped his attention on the distant horizon. Suppressed anger flashed in his gaze, then was gone.
“Rounding up the horses is the logical first step. Then we’ll see what tack can be salvaged.” He glanced down at his feet. “This debris will have to be cleared before we can rebuild the barn. There’s also the matter of replenishing the lost hay and cereals and—”
He broke off. A silence fell, awkward and full of meaning. Then the older man stood tall, as if shouldering a large burden came naturally. “We’ll get it done.”
“You won’t have to do any of that alone.”
CJ told him about Edmund’s idea for forming a cattlemen’s association. “Our first order of business would be to organize a barn raising. With the proper preparation and everyone pitching in like they did yesterday, we could raise the building in ten, maybe twelve hours.”
Clearly uncomfortable with the idea, John shifted from one foot to another. “Carsons don’t accept charity.”
“It’s not charity. It’s neighbors helping neighbors, no different than our combined effort to fight the fire.”
John’s throat seemed to stick on a swallow.
“I’d like to take the lead on this project,” CJ said.
Eyes guarded, the other man searched his face in the morning light. “This is all in the name of one neighbor helping another?”
“That’s right.”
“You sure that’s the only reason you’re offering your assistance to me and my family?”
There was an easy way to respond. A simple yes would do. And it would be truthful, if not the complete truth. Because John’s question was issued so simply, so easily, CJ gave a more honest answer. “No,” he admitted. “It’s not.”
“You’re doing this for my daughter.”
Now that he’d started down this road, he must continue. “Molly has been a Godsend to me and my family. It is only right that I give back to hers.”
He paused, thinking to stop there. But something in the other man’s eyes, a level of respect and admiration that he’d never known in his own father, had CJ continuing, “Penelope leaned heavily on Molly. After her death, Ned did the same. Once Ned was gone, it was my turn. I’m grateful for all she’s done. I don’t know what I would do without her. I pray I don’t ever have to find out.”
“That was quite a speech.”
CJ wasn’t through. “I owe Molly more than I can put into words. Let me do this for her. Let me organize the barn raising as a small repayment for her generosity.”
“You care that much for my daughter?”
For three full seconds, CJ held the other man’s gaze. He would have preferred to wait to have this conversation at a more appropriate time, but it seemed now was it. “I do. Very much.”
“If Molly stopped taking care of your nieces, would you still offer your help?”
“Yes.” CJ answered without hesitation. “We’re part of a community. There may come a time in the future when you’ll return the favor for me or another rancher in the area.”
John Carson stayed silent a moment longer than was comfortable. There was the look of a father in his eyes. But CJ didn’t see an ounce of judgment staring back at him, only respect and admiration.
He’d never experienced this kind of unconditional acceptance. His own father had been a hard, rigid man, even before he’d turned to drink.
“...We’re happy to have her home, but her mother and I still worry she’s not embracing life as fully as she could.”
CJ shook his head, realizing the other man had continued talking about Molly. About something that made him and his wife not only uncomfortable, but also concerned for her welfare. The conversation had turned in an unexpected direction. CJ forced himself to concentrate.
“Caring for your nieces has given her purpose. However, I have to wonder if it’s the best use of her talents.”
CJ’s heart kicked in his chest. “You don’t approve of her caring for the twins?”
“That’s not what I said.” John clasped his hands behind his back. “Nor what I meant.”
It certainly sounded that way to CJ, who hastened to assure him, “I would never use your daughter for my own convenience.”
He’d made that clear to Molly on several occasions and needed to make it clear to her father, as well.
“I know that, son.”
Son. There was that word again. CJ was a grown man, yet he couldn’t stop the desire to rely on John Carson as a son would rely on his father.
“What I’m trying to say is that I fear Molly is hiding some secret pain in her heart.” John’s face became a landscape of angles and lines, a look that aged him right before CJ’s eyes. “Her mother and I worry that her choice to watch your nieces is her way of avoiding whatever is troubling her.”
CJ prayed the other man was wrong. He didn’t deny that Molly’s devotion to the twins was real, but he would be wise to keep her father’s concerns in mind.
“When she came home after her husband’s death she was different. Not herself. Sadder.”
Except for nodding his head, CJ remained perfectly still. “She was grieving the loss of the man she loved.”
“True, but I’ve seen grief. Molly’s suffering was more than that. She was unnaturally despondent and was no longer the daughter I’d always known.”
Time reversed itself and CJ thought back to the days he’d known Molly before she’d married George Langley. Her father was right in his assessment. The woman who’d returned to Little Horn was more subdued than the vibrant young girl of the past.
Not for the first time, CJ wondered about the secret sadness he often witnessed in Molly. Something had happened in her marriage to take away the shine and sparkle that had been an integral part of her younger self.
Evidently her father’s thoughts had gone in a similar direction. He let out a breath of air, stuffed his hands in his back pockets. “Molly’s mother and I have always taught our children that when life gets hard, or seems hopeless, serving others is the best way to gain perspective.”
“That’s good advice.”
“Assisting Penelope with your nieces helped Molly through her grief. It wasn’t long before my daughter became less sad.” John glanced over his shoulder, back to the house, to an upstairs window. “She’s not fully herself, but she’s happier now and, praise the Lord, she smiles more.”
“It’s the twins’ influence. It’s hard not to feel happy in their presence.”
With a very deliberate motion, Molly’s father swiveled his gaze to meet CJ’s. “I believe you’re also a large part of the reason for my daughter’s transformation.”
Was he? She’d certainly made a difference in CJ’s life. He couldn’t imagine going through the next day, week or fifty years without her by his side.
This was it, the moment of truth, the perfect opportunity to declare his intentions to her father. “She’s transformed me, as well. Your daughter is a remarkable woman.”
“That she is.”
“Sir.” CJ cleared his throat. “Mr. Carson, I...”
“John. You agreed to call me John.”
“John.” CJ’s heart knocked against his ribs, but he held the man’s stare. “I’d like to ask permission to court Molly.”
A smile spread across the rancher’s weary face, reaching all the way to his eyes. “You have it.”
The quick response took CJ a moment to process. “That’s it? You don’t need time to think about your answer? Talk it over with your wife?”
“Helen and I have already discussed the matter.” The rancher clasped CJ’s shoulder, squeezed. “Molly’s mother and I would be honored to give our permission to court her. God willing, one day soon we’ll be able to call you son.”
CJ’s responding smile came fast. “The barn raising?” he asked, pushing his advantage. “Will you allow me to take the lead on that?”
The other man’s agreement came slower this time. “Yes.”
“I won’t let you down.”
He wouldn’t let Molly down, either. With patience, persistence and prayer, CJ would get past every barrier she erected between them. He would woo her until she agreed to marry him, and would continue courting her long after they said their vows. He wouldn’t rest until every remnant of her sadness disappeared.
They would be good together, and happy, and raise a houseful of kids.
* * *
Molly was in the process of cleaning up the breakfast dishes when her father and an exhausted-looking CJ entered the kitchen through the back door. She shook her head in wonder at the way the two men were getting along. They seemed more like father and son than neighbors.
CJ smiled slowly, giving her a long, steady once-over. “Good morning, Molly.”
That smile. That face. That voice. He was looking at her with the eyes of a man who cared deeply for a woman. It was a lovely, scary, heart-pounding thought. Words failed her. Coherent thought disappeared.
“I hope you slept well.”
Pulse pounding, her breathing coming fast, she watched him exchange a glance with her father. The man was up to something.
If only she knew what.
“I...yes. I slept very well.” For two entire hours.
“That’s good.” He added a bit of charm to his smile.
Her knees nearly gave out from under her. “I...” Get hold of yourself, Molly. “There’s fresh coffee.”
She was pleased to discover that none of her confusion sounded in her voice.
“Thank you, dear.” Her father kissed her cheek on his way to the stove. “CJ?” he asked over his shoulder. “Want some?”
CJ continued holding Molly’s gaze. “More than air.”
John Carson chuckled.
Still meeting Molly’s eyes, CJ cocked his head. “Where are the twins?”
Frozen by his gaze, her throat suddenly dry, she forced words past her tight lips. “They’re upstairs with my mother and Daisy, digging through a trunk of old clothes from when Daisy was their age. They’ve found quite a few treasures.”
When his smile widened, Molly nearly forgot to breathe. A deep inhalation restarted her lungs. “There’s oatmeal if you’re hungry.”
“I could eat.”
Her father called him over to the stove, a mug of coffee in his outstretched hand.
Taking the offered brew, CJ dragged in a long, slow sip.
Her insides shaking slightly, Molly filled a bowl with oatmeal and set it in front of him at the table. Her father took the seat across from him, clearly of a mind to continue whatever conversation they’d been having outside.
Molly had watched them from the window.
As she cleaned the breakfast dishes, the two men fell into a deep, serious discussion. From the snippets she caught over the clanging of pots and sloshing of water, her father seemed to be yielding to CJ’s expertise on how to go about rebuilding the barn.
“We’ll want to remove the debris first,” he said in answer to CJ’s question. “It’ll take substantial manpower, something I don’t have a large supply of right now, not with the need for rounding up the horses and the regular business of ranching.”
Turning thoughtful, CJ took a sip of coffee. “I have an idea to help with the cleanup.”
“I’m listening.”
“There are a handful of boys in town who need guidance and a firm hand.”
“You mean the Gillen boys, living down by Kettle Creek.”
“I was thinking of James Forester’s sons, too. Butch and Brody aren’t bad kids. I’m not sure what to make of the Gillens. I’d like to believe they’re more bored than mean-spirited.”
“Putting them to work would be a perfect way to address their boredom,” her father said. “It would also give them something to do with their time and help them learn to feel pride in a job well done.”
“We could eventually start a Young Ranchers program and actually teach the boys skills that will serve them in the future.”
“Would we pay them?”
“I’d like to think the work itself would be its own reward.” CJ filled his spoon with a larg
e helping of oatmeal, then turned thoughtful. “But I know that’s naive. Paying the boys a small stipend might be a good incentive to get them interested in helping, initially. Once they experience the joy that comes from a job well done, they may be open to the idea of a more formal program.”
“You’ve certainly thought this through.”
CJ set down his spoon. The morning sunlight streaming in the window played off the planes of his face, turning his features into something that reminded her of a work of art sculpted by a master.
“It wasn’t all that long ago I was a struggling young rancher. A little guidance from men such as yourself and Edmund McKay made a big difference in my life. I want to do the same for others.”
“So it’s a simple matter of giving back?”
“Something like that.”
Molly could stay silent no longer. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
CJ turned his head toward her. The look in his eyes was so tender her breath stalled in her lungs yet again. She stared at him a moment, his name a whisper in her mind. He broke eye contact first and, sighing, Molly deposited another dirty dish in the soapy water.
As he and her father discussed the ins and outs of getting local ruffians off the streets and into more productive pursuits, Molly’s heart took a dive toward her stomach. CJ clearly wanted to be a role model to a pack of wild boys in desperate need of masculine guidance.
He was born to be a father, a startling reminder that any hope she had of marrying him was doomed. Somehow Molly would get them both to accept that sad truth.
Then she would spend the rest of her life getting over losing him.
Chapter Sixteen
It took CJ and Edmund several days to meet with all the ranchers in the area. More than a few had been openly skeptical, claiming they weren’t altogether sure their community needed a formal association for cattlemen. Nevertheless, every last one of them had agreed to attend the first meeting, if only as a show of good faith.
As Edmund had predicted, Clyde Parker and Lucas Bennett were the toughest to convince. Clyde hadn’t been keen on the idea for no other reason than because he didn’t especially like people—his actual words.
