Stand-In Rancher Daddy

by Renee Ryan

  CJ agreed. A long-term plan was needed, one that would keep the boys out of trouble and maybe even provide some direction. But now wasn’t the time to work out a strategy. Sean said something low and menacing to Butch Forester, and then, as was usually the case, threw the first punch.

  CJ broke into a run.

  One of Sean’s brothers knocked Butch to the ground. The other sent Brody down with him. The three Gillen boys got in a few good kicks. Then, seemingly unsatisfied with the results, they jumped on top to issue a series of punches.

  Closing the distance at last, CJ grabbed the nearest Gillen by the waistband and yanked him free of the pile of tangled arms and legs. Jeb and Hank took hold of the other two and did the same.

  Edmund took control of the small crowd that had begun to gather. “Move along,” he told them, arms outstretched as if to create a physical barrier between them and the fight. “Nothing to see here.”

  People pressed in closer.

  Only when the sheriff issued the same order did the crowd slowly dissipate.

  Sean attempted to break free of CJ’s hold. Having none of it, he spun the kid around to face him. “What were you thinking, starting a brawl in the middle of a family event?”

  He got nothing but closed-lip, stony silence in response.

  “Fighting is no way to solve a problem,” he added.

  “There weren’t no problem, we were just having fun.”

  “You’ve got an unusual definition of fun.”

  “We were bored.” Sean lowered his head, scuffed his shoe on the ground. “There’s nothing to do in this stupid town.”

  The other boys agreed vehemently, including the two Forester brothers, who were getting slowly to their feet.

  Edmund and CJ exchanged a look. “We have potato sack races and three-legged races and—”

  “Those games are for babies.” Sean spat out the last word as if tasting something foul.

  “Yeah, babies,” his brothers echoed.

  Jeb entered the discussion, looking every bit the sheriff of their town. “You don’t want to engage in the organized activities? That’s up to you.” His tone was hard and unbending, a bold reminder that he represented the law in Little Horn. “We’ll take you back to your folks and you can sit out the festivities at home.”

  Sean’s expression turned horrified. “There’s even less to do there.”

  “Then I’d suggest you behave yourselves and stay out of trouble. This is your one and only warning.” Jeb nodded to CJ and Hank, a silent signal to release the boys. “If I hear of another brawl, or even get a whiff of another fight, you’ll spend the rest of the day cleaning out my jail cells.”

  The threat seemed to hit home, because all five boys snapped their mouths shut and threw their shoulders back.

  They started to leave, but Jeb wasn’t through with them. “Now shake hands and say you’re sorry.”

  They did as they were told, then scurried off once Jeb issued the go-ahead. As Jeb sauntered away to find his new mail-order bride and her little brother, CJ watched the boys run away, thinking of his own childhood, the fears and insecurities that came from an unstable home life.

  He might not have gone around the community engaging in fistfights, but he felt a connection with the troubled youth. All five were at a precarious age, poised on the threshold of manhood, where decisions mattered. A few missteps could be forgiven. If they made too many mistakes, they could be lost forever. Surely something could be done to steer them in the right direction.

  Erasing their boredom was the key. Giving them something to do, something important that would teach them lifelong skills, would be the best route of all. CJ had an idea, a program that would benefit the boys and the local ranchers, but he wanted to ponder the scheme before presenting it to the others.

  Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Molly and the girls were heading back in his direction. They were all smiles and sunshine, giving him something far more pleasant to think about than what to do with a pack of town ruffians.

  For the second time that morning, Brandon Stillwater took to the stage beneath the tent and called everyone over. The main festivities began in earnest. A couple girls recited bad poetry. A family of seven sang a song.

  At last, Floyd Farmington took his place beside the preacher and the picnic basket auction began.

  An assortment of straw hampers and pretty boxes were set on a table next to the stage. No identifying markers or labels were apparent.

  CJ felt a tiny tap, tap, tap on his arm. He looked down into Anna’s wide eyes. She crooked her little finger, indicating he bend closer, then cupped her hand around his ear. “I put a ribbon on Miss Molly’s basket just like she said I could.”

  “Remember,” he said in a soft tone, “no cheating. You promised.”

  Registering the scold, she lifted her little chin in defiance. “I didn’t tell you what color the ribbon was.”

  CJ considered the child’s cheeky argument just as Floyd Farmington picked up a basket from the table and took the stage.

  “Who wants to start the bidding?” Floyd raised the item in his hand. Since there was a large red bow tied around the handle, CJ knew it didn’t belong to Molly. Anna and Sarah owned only pink, purple and blue ribbons.

  So much for no cheating.

  “We’ve got us some tasty looking cold chicken—” Floyd rummaged around in the basket “—an apple, johnnycakes and half a dozen cookies.” He closed the lid. “Let’s get down to business.”

  A hand shot up from the back of the crowd. “Two pennies.”

  “I have two pennies, do I hear three?”

  “Three,” came the response from somewhere on CJ’s left.

  Floyd, clearly in his element, enticed the crowd to continue bidding. “Now, you already know this basket is filled with tasty goodies. I also happen to know this lunch was prepared by the prettiest lady in all of Little Horn, Texas.”

  “One nickel.” The bid came from Clyde Parker, a crusty rancher in his forties long set in his ways. He was short and stocky, overly gruff, but also kind when it suited him. It was no secret he wanted a wife.

  “Sold,” Floyd declared when no other bids were forthcoming. “To Mr. Parker for a nickel.”

  The crowd applauded when Mercy Green claimed ownership of the basket.

  The process continued similarly for three more baskets. There was a memorable moment when Calvin Barlow got into a minor bidding war with Harvey Tucker. Calvin eventually won. He let out a hoot, rushed over to Daisy Carson, picked her up off the ground and spun her in dizzying circles.

  “Well,” Floyd said, blinking at the boy’s exuberance. “I see I won’t have to reveal the owner of this particular basket.”

  That got a laugh from the crowd.

  When Floyd picked up the next basket, Anna poked CJ in the arm. “There’s my ribbon,” she said in a whisper loud enough to be heard three counties over. “Right there on Miss Molly’s basket.”

  Sure enough, CJ recognized the child’s favorite pink hair bow. He was going to have to explain the definition of “no cheating” later that night.

  Even if Anna hadn’t given the secret away, Floyd’s description of the contents would have been enough of a clue. Molly had included all of CJ’s favorite foods.

  He glanced over at her, but she didn’t return his look. She was too busy studying the toes of her shoes.

  The bidding began at two pennies, from Pastor Stillwater, who glanced over at Molly and smiled. Apparently, he’d heard Anna. Bo Stillwater, doubled his twin’s bid. He, too, smiled at Molly.

  CJ ground his teeth together. The Stillwater brothers were good men, but neither was worthy of Molly.

  No one was worthy of her.

  The bidding went back and forth, each offer punctuated with rousin
g cheers and encouragement from the crowd. The more the two brothers fought for the honor of eating a picnic with Molly, the more unsettled CJ became. He could hardly stand the idea of either man winning the chance to eat lunch with her and the twins.

  “Ten cents from our illustrious pastor, going once, going twice...”

  Bo raised his hand. “Three nickels.”

  Trying to figure out Bo’s angle, CJ blinked at the other man. Was he interested in courting Molly?

  “Three nickels,” Floyd repeated. “We have a bid for fifteen cents. Going once...” He paused, stared at Brandon. “Going twice.” A longer pause. “Going three times...”

  CJ opened his mouth. “Sixte—”

  “Sold,” Floyd yelled out, “to Mr. Bo Stillwater for three nickels.”

  Blood roared in CJ’s ears. He’d missed his chance. He’d waited too long to step into the bidding war.

  Anna glared at him. Sarah shook her head in disappointment. He couldn’t blame either of their reactions. He, too, was disgusted with himself.

  Two more baskets were auctioned off and all CJ could think was that he’d made his move a fraction of a second too late. Now he would have to watch Molly share her food—and her pretty smiles—with Bo Stillwater.

  CJ’s stomach rolled inside itself, a sickening sensation not unlike what he’d experienced after the pie-eating contest.

  The auction ended. The drawing for the quilt came next. It was no surprise that Hank won. Other prizes were awarded, including a certificate for lunch from Mercy’s Café, a bag of oats from the Feed Mill, a free one-day rental from the livery and a block of cattle salt from the mercantile.

  And then it was time for lunch.

  One by one, the picnic basket winners went in search of an empty spot somewhere to enjoy their spoils. Molly hung back, glancing nervously at CJ. The twins stared up at him, too.

  CJ liked Bo well enough, but he didn’t want his girls—all three of them—to have lunch with the man. The very thought burned a hole in his gut.

  “Unca Corny? Are you okay?”

  He cleared his expression and smiled down at Sarah. “Sure am.”

  “You don’t look so good,” she countered.

  “Still full from the pie-eating contest.” He patted his stomach. “Think I’ll find a quiet spot and rest my eyes a bit.”

  Molly moved into his line of vision. “CJ, if you’re not feeling well we can—”

  “I’m good. Go enjoy your picnic.”

  Bo appeared at Molly’s side, ending the discussion.

  “Mrs. Langley.” The rancher swept off his hat and gave her a ridiculously formal bow. CJ was pretty sure the man had practiced the move. “I’m looking forward to our lunch together. I hear your chocolate cake is the best in town.”

  “The best?” She laughed this off, her cheeks turning bright red. “I don’t know about that.”

  The girls swarmed around Bo. He gave them his full attention, which seemed to make the two very happy, but only managed to increase the rolling in CJ’s stomach.

  Sarah, evidently deciding she liked Bo—a lot—told him, “Miss Molly said my sister and me can eat with you.”

  “Did she now?” Bo tugged on the little girl’s pigtail. “Can’t think of anything I’d like better.”

  The rancher sounded sincere. CJ tucked his hands in his pockets, attempting a casual stance. He’d made a huge mistake not bidding on Molly’s basket. Now, he couldn’t do a thing about his blunder except stand back and watch his family enjoy another man’s company.

  “I’ll run get the basket,” Molly offered, showing one of her prettiest smiles. “Then we can find a nice shady spot to enjoy our lunch.”

  “We’ll come with you,” Sarah announced, grabbing her sister’s hand and skipping after Molly.

  Maintaining his relaxed pose, CJ scowled after the trio.

  “The twins are sweet,” Bo said.

  “They are.” There was nothing more to say.

  Molly picked up her basket. She said something to Anna, then Sarah, and all three laughed. They looked right together, comfortable, as if they were a family. CJ scowled. They could be a family, his family, if a certain stubborn woman would have accepted his marriage proposal.

  “You okay with this, CJ?”

  No. “Of course.”

  He had no claim on Molly. Yet.

  “You sure about that?” Bo angled his head, considered Molly with a touch too much masculine appreciation for CJ’s liking. “She’s a beautiful woman.”

  Enough.

  “Don’t get any ideas, Bo.” CJ’s shoulders shifted and flexed. “Molly’s still in love with her deceased husband.”

  “That a fact? And you know this because...?”

  “She told me.”

  “That must have been an uncomfortable conversation for both of you.”

  “You have no idea,” CJ muttered.

  Molly and the girls moved back within earshot, sparing him from further conversation.

  “You ready, Mr. Stillwater?”

  “Indeed, I am.” He grinned at CJ, said, “Good talk,” then reached out and took the basket from Molly.

  The girls bounced around the tall rancher, asking him all sorts of questions. CJ had to give the man credit. He answered each one, no matter how personal, with patience and entirely too much charm. CJ hadn’t realized how slick Bo Stillwater was until today.

  The four left the cover of the tent, looking entirely too much like a family. CJ ground his teeth together so hard it was a wonder his back molars didn’t disintegrate into dust. That nagging thought came back to gnaw at him.

  Should have bid on Molly’s basket.

  * * *

  Feeling surlier by the minute, CJ leaned up against the tree at his back. Did Molly and the girls have to look quite so happy in Bo’s company?

  CJ observed the scene for several long, painful minutes, his heart heavy in his chest. He wasn’t usually prone to brooding. Yet here he stood, propping up the tree with his shoulder and brooding.

  Edmund, having failed as well to bid on a basket, adopted a similar pose. “You’re frowning, my friend.”

  No doubt he was.

  “Want to tell me what has you upset?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so.” Edmund laughed, then changed the subject. “More cattle have gone missing.”

  CJ tensed. “What ranch was hit this time?”

  “Clyde Parker’s. He left town as soon as he heard.”

  Still contemplating this new turn of events, and thinking the problem wasn’t going to go away simply by mending weaknesses in fence lines, CJ stared at his friend. “We’re going to have to come up with an actual plan to catch the rustlers.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Edmund shifted his stance. “Jeb Fuller is only one man. He can’t hunt them down on his own.”

  “He’ll need help,” CJ agreed. The question was what sort of help, and how much organization would it require?

  Running the dilemma around in his mind, CJ scanned the area immediately to the left of the revival tent. His gaze landed on various couples picnicking. Unable to stop himself, he glanced at Molly with Bo and the girls.

  A growl started low in his throat.

  “If you wanted to spend time with the woman,” Edmund commented, his voice amused, “you should have bid on her basket.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Have you noticed how Mrs. Langley keeps looking over at you every other minute?”

  Actually, he had noticed. “Your point?”

  “She likes you.”

  “Fat lot of good it does me,” CJ muttered.

  Edmund cupped a hand behind his ear. “What’s that?”

  �
�Didn’t say anything.”

  “Right.” He laughed. “My mistake.”

  They stood in silence for several minutes.

  “It’s been a good day.” Edmund pushed his hat back and scrutinized the crowd. “I declare Little Horn’s second Founder’s Day celebration a success.”

  CJ bobbed his head. There was a lot of laughter. A lot of eating. Some good old-fashioned courting going on, as well, and, glimpsing Molly laughing with Bo, CJ found his mood plummeting. There was a little too much courting going on for his liking.

  He moved his gaze to the north. Sunlight danced off the granite and rolling hills. The sky was a hard, crisp blue unmarred by a single cloud. Except...

  There, in the distance, one black smudge spiraled up into the brilliant, cloudless sky, a shocking stain on the otherwise pristine blue. At first glance, CJ thought the unusual looking plume was a thundercloud, and he nearly said, “Rain’s coming.” But there was something not quite right about the coiling black funnel.

  His heart began to thud and every muscle in his body jerked. He shoved himself away from the tree, took an involuntary step forward.

  The cloud spiraled upward, dense and black. Not a tornado, but something else, something just as menacing.

  “You see that?” he asked, pointing to the northern horizon.

  Shock jumped in Edmund’s eyes. “Smoke.”

  From a large fire, CJ judged, given the size and height of the black cloud. His heart clutched in his chest as he battled for control.

  Little Horn didn’t have a fire department. They’d recently purchased a fire engine, which was housed at the livery. Only a handful of men knew how to work it, CJ one of them. Edmund another.

  “I can’t pinpoint the source.” Edmund narrowed his eyes.

  “It’s coming from the Carson ranch.”

  “I’ll alert John.” Edmund was already on the move. “Then take care of getting the fire engine out to his place.”

  “I’ll gather as many men as I can and meet you out there.” After he asked Molly to keep an eye on the twins.

  The friends separated, moving quickly across the open field.