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From Ashes to Forever

Introduction

In a twist of fate, Molly's life takes a heart-wrenching turn as a devastating fire destroys her home and family. With her world in ashes and her dreams shattered Molly is forced to reimagine her life and find her own strength. While fleeing her own birthplace where she is being hunted for being the sole survivor of the tragedy, a mail-order bride ad becomes her lifeline. Led by fate to a strange new town, her path intertwines with a mysterious man named Tobias…

Will this stranger be the answer to her problems or the beginning of more secrets?

A dedicated rancher, Tobias works tirelessly with his family, his heart closed off to the possibility of marriage after a past love left him heartbroken. His parents, longing for him to find happiness, secretly place a mail-order bride ad, fatefully bringing Molly into his life. Although Tobias agrees to court Molly for three months, an arrangement he has no intention of continuing as they spend more time together, their connection deepens, and feelings neither expect, begin to emerge.

Will this trigger painful memories of lost love, or will he be convinced that he deserves another chance at it?

Their love story flourishes amid hardship and danger, but the shadows of Molly's dangerous past loom ominously. As Tobias and Molly work together to uncover the mysteries of her family's tragic demise, they realize that the danger is not yet over. The question lingers: will they conquer the threats that lurk in the shadows, or will their love story remain incomplete, forever shrouded in uncertainty?

Chapter 1

“This is the best cowboy’s casserole I’ve ever had! I don’t know where she is, but the chef oughta know that!”

Emily smiled and rested her hands on the edge of the sink basin, taking a moment to silently accept the compliment. She desperately wanted to call out a “thank you” to the men on the other side of the wall, filling the small dining hall with their hooting and hollering, but she knew she’d hear about it from her father if she did.

As a child, she’d been briefly allowed to mingle, laugh, and play with the ranch hands. It was a ranch hand who’d taught her to ride a horse and milk a cow in the first place. Another of the cowboys had taken it upon himself to teach her how to read. He felt badly that she wasn’t being sent to school like all the other children.

At the age of thirteen or so, however, everything changed. The men looked at her differently, and her father took notice before she did. From then on, she was kept far away from the boys. Ten years had since passed. Ten lonely years, but Emily wasn’t the complaining type.

She yawned and wiped a bit of grease from her brow before pushing her sleeves up again and getting back to work, but the sight of a ladybug crawling up the wall beside the basin stopped her for a moment.

“Hello, little lady,” she whispered, moving closer to get a better look. “What are you doing in here when you could be outside, seeing the wonders of the wide world? I promise there’s nothing very interesting here. If you aren’t careful, someone’s going to squish you!”

She stared intently at the pretty color of the bug’s outer shell, awed at what God was capable of creating. It was funny to think that that little creature had seen more of Bellevue than she ever had, yet Emily had certainly lived a much longer life.

“Who are you talking to?” her father asked, the back door slamming behind him.

Emily flinched a little, then laughed, not wanting him to know how much he scared her. At over six feet tall, Maxwell Jones towered over her modest height. She’d inherited all her mother’s physical traits, including her slim shoulders and unruly brown curls, which Maxwell seemed to think made her an unruly woman, despite all her attempts to submit to his rules.

For her part, Emily had no idea just how similar or dissimilar she was to her mother, seeing as she had passed away while giving birth to her. Emily had never known a maternal figure in her life and had barely even spent a few hours in the company of another woman. Everything she knew about femininity was what she’d learned secondhand from her father, and she had no choice but to take his word for it.

“Oh, no one. Just the ladybug on the wall. It’s silly, but sometimes I think—”

“I’m sending some of the boys into town for supplies later today. Do you have a list?” he asked gruffly, uninterested in her musings.

“Right, yes, well, I’ve started one, but I’ll make sure I finish it soon. I can leave the dishes till after breakfast if you need it straight away,” she replied, wiping the excess water from her hands onto her stained apron and moving to the table where her paper and pencil sat.

“The sooner, the better, yes.”

“Who should I give it to when I’m done? I mean…who are you sending into town?” Emily asked nervously. She knew it was a dangerous question. From her father’s point of view, he would probably be more comfortable with her, never even acknowledging there was anyone else on the ranch besides the two of them.

He grimaced, his white mustache folding down in a frown that completely covered his mouth, making the lower half of his face look like a snowdrift.

“You don’t have to bother yourself with that. I’ll come back for your list.”

She nodded, knowing not to push her luck. Once, three years earlier, she’d suggested that she go herself to fetch supplies in town. She was still haunted by the anger that had flared up in her father’s eyes upon hearing the suggestion. Her place was on the ranch, and more specifically, in the kitchen.

Of course, she was allowed to go to the chicken coop before dawn to collect the eggs, venturing back in the afternoon to feed the birds when all the men were out on the range. On special occasions, she could go to the smokehouse. Even the vegetable garden was strategically built to be behind the dining hall and rarely in view of any of the ranch hands.

She was not to be seen or heard but only provide the fifteen or so cowboys with enough sustenance to get their work done, like some kind of invisible food angel.

It was all for her own safety, of course, though over the years, Emily was beginning to question whether or not safety was something to be so highly valued after all.

“Alright then. I was thinking of making an apple crumble this afternoon. The first batch of the season is ripe, and I thought it might be a good way to celebrate,” Emily said cheerily. She was continually combatting her father’s grumpiness with a charm offensive.

“That’s fine, but the more you can preserve, the better. It’s going to be a long drive this season. Longer than usual. I’ll be back in an hour or so for the list of whatever you need. Thank you for breakfast,” he added as an afterthought before heading out the door again. It was more of an acknowledgment than she was used to.

The heat of summer was still strong, but August always brought the anticipation and dread of fall, the harvest, and the annual cattle drive. For a few long weeks in October, almost all the cowboys would leave the Black Dog Ranch, traveling over the plains and hills until they got either to a railhead or trading hub. The journey would be long, dangerous, and arduous, but for Emily, it meant a small breath of fresh air.

As long as most of the men were gone, she had almost free range over the ranch. For a brief few weeks, her father would be unable to hover over her shoulder, and she’d be able to go to town and run with the dogs to her heart’s content.

The weeks leading up to the drive were always hectic, demanding a lot of extra work from Emily, and indeed, everyone on the ranch. Fruit and vegetables had to be canned for the journey. Everything needed to be prepared for the cook who would be running the chuckwagon that traveled along with the herd.

Maxwell, of course, highly disapproved of the idea of Emily going on the road with them, so a new cook was hired every year to go on the drive. It was the one piece of ranch life she never minded being left out of. As much as she yearned to see the world for herself, the relative independence she was left with was priceless, despite the promise of the upcoming winter around the corner.

“Ten pounds of beans, ten pounds of macaroni, five pounds of sugar, ten pounds of flour…salt?” she asked herself, moving around the kitchen to see what might be needed from the general store.

“Still talking to yourself, I see? Even after all these years.”

Emily flinched again to hear the voice of a man that definitely did not belong to her father. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought to herself that she needed to attach a bell to the door. It was too quiet and liable to get her in trouble.

The louder part of her mind, however, was jumping for joy. She knew the sound of that baritone like the back of her hand.

“Lucas!” she cried out, turning to see the face attached to the voice. Emily jumped up and leaped toward the door but stopped abruptly before reaching him. Getting caught hugging a friend she hadn’t heard from in ages would practically be a death sentence for both of them.

“That’s my name. Can’t deny it. It’s been, what? Three years, Emily? You barely look an inch different,” Lucas said. Emily appreciated that he refrained from teasing her skittishness.

“And you look…” she started excitedly, wanting to return the compliment, but her honesty got the better of her. It wasn’t that he looked bad. No, he was just as handsome as he had been when he’d been working on the ranch, and she’d stolen every glance at him she could.

Something had changed, however. His boyish cheeks had made way for a chiseled jaw, now covered in a layer of jet-black stubble. His shoulders were filled in, and there was a darkness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. In short, he looked like a man, and the Lucas Taylor that had left the Black Dog Ranch three years earlier had most certainly been a boy.

“Grizzled, I know. Don’t let the scar scare you. Had a run-in with a bull, but you should’ve seen how he turned out.” Lucas chuckled deeply, and Emily felt his voice vibrate in her chest.

He gestured to a large scar running across his cheek that she genuinely hadn’t noticed before. Clearly, he’d lived a life since leaving the ranch.

“No, not grizzled. Experienced,” she replied diplomatically. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him the real truth: that he looked more handsome than anyone she’d ever laid eyes on.

“Well, that’s an understatement at this point.”

“What have you been doing all these years? Didn’t you say you were going to California? What was it like? What are you doing back here?” The questions exploded out of Emily, her excitement compounded by just how long it had been since she’d talked to anyone besides her father.

“Didn’t make it to California. You know how it goes. Learned a lot, though. Couldn’t stay away from Iowa for too long. There’s nothing like the rolling hills of Bellevue.”

“You just came back because you missed it here?” Emily asked incredulously. She didn’t mean to sound so dismissive. Bellevue was a pretty enough place. The Mississippi curved beautifully through the rolling hills surrounding the town.

Other than that, however, it was just a small town that ranchers came to occasionally for supplies, and outlaws ran through on their way to Chicago. Politically, the same two groups of men had been fighting for mayoral power for as long as anyone could remember, getting all worked up over a population that could fit into one chapel if need be.

Lucas shrugged, his worn coat moving up with his shoulders. The brown leather looked so soft that Emily wanted to reach out and touch it, but she would never allow herself to actually do so.

“There are worse places out there, I’ll tell you that much. Jackson County has a lot going for it. It’s home, and I’m glad to be back.”

“So you’ll be staying? Are you coming back to work at the Black Dog?” Emily asked, unable to keep the hope and elation from her voice.

“No, no, I’m just…visiting on some business. Speaking of, do you know where your father is? There’s something I’d like to talk to him about.”

“I’m sure he’s not far. He was just here. Maybe check the corral. I don’t think he’s going out with the herd today. Someone’s going into town for supplies, but I’m the wrong person to ask. Hardly anyone tells me anything.”

Lucas nodded knowingly. For the first time, she noticed the Stetson hat in his hands, the same one he used to wear when he worked at the Black Dog. It looked weathered, reflecting just how far Lucas had come and gone. It was hard to take in the rest of him when his deep brown eyes were like a magnet to hers. A look of pity crossed his face, and Emily cringed a little. She didn’t mind feeling plenty sorry for herself, but she hated seeing it come from others.

“Mr. Maxwell Jones still keeping you under his thumb as best he can?”

Emily bit her lip and nodded, wishing she could deflect somehow. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say. On the good days, she was happy to keep herself company and found great joy in the cooking she did. The hours were filled with delicious smells, and she was kept busy enough with supply lists, weekly meal plans, seasonal canning, and fun ideas for special occasions that sometimes she forgot just how lonely she really was.

On the not-so-good days, however, she was filled with jealousy. She was envious that the horses could fill their lungs with more fresh air than she could, that the ranch hands could move about as they pleased, and that there were other young women in town who got to wear what they wanted, talk to whoever they wanted, and say exactly what was on their minds.

She’d heard of women who’d run away from home or who hadn’t a home in the first place, learned a skill like sharpshooting or photography, and never looked back.

She’d even heard tell of women who did the same work ranchers did, wearing slacks and leather chaps with their hair running down their back in one long braid. Her father always made sure she wore hers up and pinned back, almost afraid of what might happen if one of her auburn curls got loose.

“The world’s a scary place anyway. I have everything I need right here,” she said with a forced smile, knowing the sadness in her eyes was betraying her.

“I agree with half of that. There’s a lot of beauty out there, too. I hate that you don’t get to see any of that,” Lucas replied softly.

His pity was too much for her to handle. She wanted him to see her as an equal, not like a motherless little girl who didn’t know poker from blackjack. As innocent as her father wanted to keep her, she’d still spent her entire life at the Black Dog surrounded by foul-mouthed and world-weary men.

She’d been taught how to use a rifle and a pistol and could probably keep ten men alive for ten days with what she was able to forage in the woods alone. Emily Jones was no shrinking violet.

“You should go. Father won’t like it if he finds you in here, old friend or not. It’s nice to know…nice to know you might be around more,” she added, not wanting him to think she was mad at him or anything.

He flashed her his trademark sideways smile, his left cheek pushing up into a dimple that was seared into Emily’s memory.

“I’ll come to say goodbye before I leave. If I get the chance. If I don’t get the chance, then…keep smiling. Oh, and I’m sure it goes without saying, but it smells amazing in here, Em. No one bakes a loaf of bread like you do.”

Her stomach flipped to hear him use the shortened version of her name. In an instant, she felt closer to him than she felt to anyone else in the whole world, including her own father. Everything in her body urged her to step forward and stop him from leaving, maybe even beg him to take her with him wherever he was going.

Maxwell’s voice in her mind was too loud to ignore, however. She knew her place, and it was right there in this very kitchen. Lucas might even be just a figment of her imagination. No one ever came to visit her at the Black Dog.

Lucas put his hat back on and gave her a quick nod before disappearing out the back door again. Emily stood there staring at the light wood of the pine door, blankly staring at the knots and imperfections, trying to decide whether Lucas Taylor had really just been standing there only moments before, or if her imagination had simply gotten the best of her.

Seeing his face again reawaked a side of herself she’d thought she’d put to bed the minute he’d left the Black Dog. When Lucas had been working there, just one look out of the corner of his eye had her imagining walking down the aisle toward him. He was the only person who made her consider a future for herself, a future that might take place away from the Black Dog.

At twenty-three, she was still relatively young, but most girls her age were already married or, at the very least, being courted. Spinsterhood was merely a few years away, but it seemed almost inevitable. Her father rarely mentioned the issue of her future marriage, making her think that it might never happen.

In a sense, it was a relief. Better to not marry at all than to marry someone she didn’t love. Sometimes, though, she got worried that one day, when she least expected it, her father would come home with some strange man twice her age and introduce him as her future husband. Just like everything else in her life, she doubted she’d get a say in the matter.

A flash of movement from outside the window to her right finally made her move, her knees stiff from standing still for so long. Outside by the corral, it seemed Lucas had found her father. She watched as they shook hands. It was hard to tell from so far away, but she could have sworn her father was smiling.

There had been a time when Lucas had been the son he’d never had. Maxwell had taken the younger man under his wing like he had no other ranch hand. Lucas had left so abruptly, that Emily always wondered if they’d gotten into some kind of argument. All she knew was that he was there one day and gone the next.

And now he was back.