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    Ashes of Dreams
    Ashes of Dreams
    Ashes of Dreams
    Ebook303 pages4 hours

    Ashes of Dreams

    By Ruth Ryan Langan

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    From New York Times Bestselling Author Ruth Ryan Langan ... A Historical Romance Classic.

    "A popular writer of heartwarming, emotionally involving romances." - Library Journal

    Amanda Jeffrey has not been dealt an easy hand in life. Widowed at a young age, she is left on her own to raise three small boys, tend to her ailing father-in-law, and maintain a languishing horse farm in 1880s Kentucky bluegrass country.

    Irish immigrant Cole Connelly and his son are seeking food and shelter in exchange for honest labor. His rugged presence and quiet Irish charm stir emotions in Amanda that she never thought she'd feel again. But there is danger as the hopes and dreams long buried in ashes begin to smolder and spark to life.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRuth Ryan Langan
    Release dateApr 29, 2013
    ISBN9781301093762
    Ashes of Dreams
    Author

    Ruth Ryan Langan

    New York Times best-selling author Ruth Ryan Langan, who also writes under the pseudonym R. C. Ryan, is the author of over 100 novels, both contemporary romantic-suspense and historical adventure. Quite an accomplishment for this mother of five who, after her youngest child started school, gave herself the gift of an hour a day to follow her dream to become a published author. Ruth has given dozens of radio, television and print interviews across the country and Canada, and has been quoted in such diverse publications as THE WALL STREET JOURNAL and COSMOPOLITAN. Ruth has also been interviewed on CNN NEWS, as well as GOOD MORNING AMERICA.

    Read more from Ruth Ryan Langan

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    4.5/5

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    • 4/5
      A devil horse; a horse farm that's falling down around her ears; debts; a neighbor who keeps pressuring her to sell the devil horse that's her only stallion; a bitter, injured father-in-law; and three young boys of her own--widow Amanda Jeffrey has a lot to deal with. And like so many women, she does. She just starts every day doing the best she can, taking care of everyone and everything without complaint or expectation of help or even gratitude.Then one day, a drifter shows up with a young boy in tow, looking for work. The two have secrets, and her father-in-law is suspicious, but Amanda knows she needs help repairing the barn roof, and though she can't pay them, she offers Cole Donnelly and his son work in exchange for meals and a bed in the stables.As Amanda is drawn to Cole, and finds more reasons for him to stay on, her father-in-law adds resentment that Cole might be taking his dead son's place to his suspicions, grief, and bitterness over his own injury.Cole, for his part, knows he shouldn't stay longer, working only for room and board, as it delays even further his dream of being able to buy land and build a home for him and his son, but he can't say no to the widow he admires.Adding to the tension is the mystery and tragedy of why a beloved horse would turn on his master and trample him to death.Ashes of Dreams is a lush, warm story of, as the title suggests, finding new dreams in the ashes of the old. The characters are all real and sympathetic, and I hated saying goodbye to them when I closed the book.
    • 5/5
      Great book will keep you on edge through out the book

    Book preview

    Ashes of Dreams - Ruth Ryan Langan

    Ashes of Dreams

    by

    Ruth Ryan Langan

    "Delightful in its flashes of humor, poignant in its depiction of human characters, Ashes of Dreams makes for a good rainy afternoon read."

    — Crescent Blues

    "A pleasure to read... For sheer entertainment value, Ashes of Dreams is a treat. The fact that Langan is a skilled writer certainly doesn’t hurt either."

    — The Romance Reader

    Tender and romantic... Ms. Langan will continue to be a must-buy for this reviewer and for any reader who enjoys heartwarming historical romances as well.

    — Love Romances and More

    Berkley Sensation edition – March 2005

    Copyright 2005 by Ruth Ryan Langan

    Digital Publication 2013 by Ruth Ryan Langan

    Cover by Tammy Seidick Design

    Digital Design by A Thirsty Mind Book Design

    Smashwords edition

    All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

    For Tom,

    for encouraging me to always follow my dreams

    ACKNOWLEDGMENT

    My thanks to Judith Marteniuk, DVM, at Michigan State University Large Animal Teaching Hospital, for her valuable expertise and her patience in answering all my questions.

    Ruth Ryan Langan

    Historical Romance Classics

    Now Available as EBooks:

    Heart's Delight

    Paradise Falls

    Ashes of Dreams

    Duchess of Fifth Avenue

    Captive of Desire

    Passage West

    Nevada Nights

    September’s Dream

    The Heart’s Secrets

    Destiny’s Daughter

    Texas Heart

    Texas Hero

    Mistress of the Seas

    Deception

    Christmas Miracle

    Angel

    Exciting Highlander Series

    Now Available in eBooks

    Highland Barbarian

    Highland Heather

    Highland Heart

    The Highlander

    Highland Heaven

    Visit Ruth's website at www.RyanLangan.com for more information and to purchase.

    ONE

    Kentucky – 1887

    "William. Jedediah. Amanda Jeffrey leaned her weight into the wooden beam, struggling to set it upright beneath the weight of the sagging barn roof. Lend a hand here."

    Her sons, seven-year-old Will and six-year-old Jed, had been working alongside their mother for hours, as she fought in vain to shore up the roof before the expected rains started.

    Grandpa said it wouldn’t do any good to just support it, Ma. Will wiped his sweating hands on his britches before grabbing hold of the beam and struggling to keep it steady.

    That’s right. Jed mopped at his face and did his best to imitate his brother. Grandpa said somebody better climb up and patch the roof, or all the timbers in the forest won’t keep the hay up in the loft dry when the rains come.

    Amanda clenched her jaw. That’s what caused all this trouble in the first place. If your grandpa hadn’t tried to climb to the roof, and if the ladder hadn’t slipped, he wouldn’t be confined to a chair now, and we wouldn’t be worried about the storms rolling in. Amanda positioned the beam under the roof boards and pushed until she thought her arms would fall off.

    At last the boards began to give. Not much at first. No more than a creaking, sighing inch or so. But with the boys helping, she managed to steady the beam until it felt secure enough to hold the weight above.

    All right. You can let go now.

    The boys did as she ordered and watched as their mother gingerly released one hand, then the other. The pole remained in place, and though they could still see some sky through the rotting roof boards and the hole was far from plugged, at least the sagging roof had been shored up enough to keep the supporting beams from crashing down on their heads and depositing a winter’s worth of hay on the barn floor.

    Will’s voice grew whiny, a sure sign that he’d reached his limit of endurance. I’m hungry. Can we go in and have supper now, Ma?

    Amanda looked at her hands, bloody and blistered from her efforts, and thought about the endless chores that still needed tending. If only there were more hours in the day.

    At the sound of hoofbeats drawing near, her head came up sharply. Will, bring me my rifle.

    At once the two boys snapped to attention as their mother shouldered the rifle before stepping from the barn, keeping them safely behind her.

    Seeing a man on horseback, she took careful aim. That’s close enough. State your business.

    The man in shabby shirt and britches held up his hands to show that he was unarmed. His face was in shadow, hidden beneath the wide brim of a battered hat.

    We’re just passing through. His deep voice held the lilt of Ireland. We heard you might be in need of some help with your farm chores.

    We? As the horse pawed the ground, Amanda could see a child, looking equally shabby, seated behind the man. The sight of the poor youngster softened her tone. I can’t pay you.

    We don’t require much. We’d be willing to work in return for meals and a place to sleep.

    You and your boy would have to sleep in the barn.

    That’s fine, ma’am.

    She took only a moment to consider. All right. Go ahead and unsaddle your horse. Then the two of you can join us up at the house. She waved the rifle toward the farmhouse, visible across a fenced pasture. I’ll have a bucket and towel on the porch. Supper will be as soon as I can fix it.

    Thank you, ma’am. He touched the brim of his hat and slid from the saddle.

    The child scrambled down to stand beside him.

    Amanda’s first impression was that the man was much taller than she’d expected. She hoped he had muscles to match the height. With her father-in-law injured this past week, the farm chores were piling up faster than she could tend to them.

    It occurred to her as she trudged across the meadow with her boys in tow that this man could be the answer to her prayers. Of course, most of the drifters who came through these parts rarely lasted more than a day or two. But she’d take what she could get and be grateful.

    As she stepped through the door, she heard two-year-old Andrew crying. What’s wrong with my baby, Mordechai?

    Her father-in-law, white hair in disarray, face dark with the perpetual frown he wore these days, looked up from the chair where he sat, one foot propped up on a board rigged between two kitchen chairs that served as a footrest. Around him were an assortment of chairs and tables that formed a barrier to keep the busy toddler confined in a small space. Inside the perimeter was a blanket on the floor, where little Andrew could nap through the day, and an empty bowl and glass, attesting to the fact that the child had eaten all the food his mother had left earlier that morning.

    The old man gave a snarl. Messed his britches. Smells downright foul. I tried to get him to come over here so I could at least take them off him, but he refuses to come close.

    Probably because you swatted his bottom yesterday.

    He deserved it. Dumped all his food out and then refused to eat.

    You’d refuse to eat off the floor, too. Amanda shoved one of the chairs aside and picked up her son, cradling him with great tenderness to her shoulder. Come on, love. Let’s clean you up.

    She carried the baby to her bedroom and laid him on the bed. Minutes later, he was dressed in clean britches and running through the house after his two brothers, delighted to be free from his prison.

    Amanda moved around the room, righting the chairs and returning them to their usual places around the fireplace. Would you like to lie down in your room for a while before supper, Mordechai?

    The old an shook his head. I’m fine. Just stiff and sore. I heard a horse. Who came by?

    A man and his boy. Didn’t get their names yet, but they’re willing to work for meals and a place to sleep, so I took them up on the offer.

    Without even learning their names?

    Amanda turned. Would it matter?

    He shrugged. I suppose not. They’re all the same. Drifters looking for work, who’ll rob you blind if you turn your back on them for even one minute.

    There’s nothing here to steal. She set a blackened kettle over the open fire of the cookstove and began to cut up pieces of meat and garden vegetables before dropping them into a pot. Even if they don’t stay more than a couple of days, they can at least lend a hand with the barn roof and mend some of the fences. I’ll take whatever help I can get.

    She began sifting flour and measuring lard.

    The old man’s voice took on a wounded tone. This injury won’t last forever, Amanda.

    She glanced over her shoulder. I’m not blaming you, Mordechai. It’s no reflection on you if we take help from this stranger.

    I want to meet him. I’ll decide if he stays or goes.

    She ducked her head and began rolling out the biscuit dough with more vigor than usual. It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him whose house he was living in. This farm in Kentucky’s bluegrass country had been the dream of her young husband, Shane. To that end, she had worked alongside him day and night to save enough money to clear the land and build the house. Mordechai had joined Shane and Amanda after his wife died in Virginia two years ago. He’d been a great help to his son, and his presence had been a welcome one. Now, with Shane dead for almost a year, Amanda found herself relying more and more on her father-in-law. But one slip from a ladder had changed things yet again. Amanda now had even more to do, caring for three lively boys, an injured old man, and a horse farm that seemed to be falling down around their heads.

    Not Mordechai’s fault, she reminded herself. The old man had come here seeking the solace of his only son, and instead found himself working like a demon after Shane’s death. Nor was it her fault that all those dreams for the future were now coming apart at the seams. It was, as her grandmother had been fond of saying, just the way things were.

    After setting the table, she hurried outside to pump water into a bucket, which she set on a stool on the porch along with soap and a towel.

    Boys! At her shout, the three little boys poked their heads around the side of the house. Time to wash up for supper.

    She waited just long enough to see that they did as they were told, then ducked back inside to check on the biscuits browning in the oven.

    Minutes later the back door slammed. Without looking up, she admonished her oldest son. Will, you know better.

    Sorry, Ma. I forgot.

    See that you don’t forget again. Now go help your grandpa to the kitchen.

    Yes’m.

    As Mordechai was settling himself at the table, there was a knock on the door. Amanda hurried over to admit the stranger and child.

    The man whipped the hat from his head. His hands, she noted, were scrubbed clean, as were the boy’s.

    Come in, please. Amanda stuck out her hand. I’m Amanda Jeffrey.

    Mrs. Jeffrey. The man was almost courtly as he accepted her handshake. If he noticed the raw blisters that had her wincing, he was careful not to show any reaction. I’m Colin Donnelly. Cole to my friends. His voice was thick with brogue. And this is Dev. It’s short for Devin.

    Mr. Donnelly. Dev. At the touch of his hand, Amanda felt unusually warm and blamed it on the heat of the kitchen. To cover her discomfort she turned her attention to the child, who was a mirror image of the man: porcelain-smooth Irish skin, coal-black hair falling just to the collar of one of his father’s obviously cast-off shirts, and a pair of oversize man’s britches tied at the waist with a piece of rope, the cuffs rolled to the ankles and secured with more pieces of rope. How old are you, Dev?

    Thirteen. Frowning, he stared hard at the floor. His voice was little more than a whisper, and it was obvious that the child was uncomfortable talking with strangers.

    Thirteen? Why, you’re no bigger than Will. Remembering her manners, Amanda indicated the three little redheaded boys. These are my sons Will, Jed, and Andrew, and this is my father-in-law, Mordechai.

    Will. Jed. Andrew. Mr. Jeffrey. The man’s voice was rich and deep as he acknowledged each boy before moving slowly around the table to shake the older man’s hand.

    Sorry I can’t get up. Injured my leg and back. Mordechai gave the stranger a long, speculative look. Where’re you from?

    Ireland, originally. Kerry. But we’ve been in your fair land now for three years, helping with the planting in the spring and harvesting in the fall.

    Mordechai’s frown deepened. Then I’m sure you won’t mind giving us the names of some of the farmers you’ve worked with in the area, so I can ask if they were satisfied with your work.

    Mordechai. Amanda’s voice was drowned out by the man’s reply.

    I’d be happy to.

    Amanda wrapped a towel around her hand before lifting the heavy pot from the stove. Supper’s ready. Mr. Donnelly, you can sit here. She indicated the long wooden bench on one side of the table, Devin can sit beside you.

    She moved around the table, ladling stew into bowls and passing around a plate filled with steaming biscuits slathered with butter. The children were given glasses of foamy milk, while the adults enjoyed tea.

    When she took her place at the end of the table, she reached out her hands and the others did the same. Seeing it, Colin and his child set down their spoons and followed suit.

    Once again, as the stranger took her hand in his, Amanda felt a quick rush of heat. Mordechai? She looked toward the head of the table. Would you like to say the blessing?

    The old man’s voice was curt, matching his mood. Bless this food and those who are about to enjoy it.

    Amen, the boys said in a chorus.

    As soon as the blessing was finished, the children picked up their forks and spoons and began to eat.

    Amanda noted that both the man and his boy ate slowly, as though savoring each bite.

    Seeing the man sharing his cup of tea with the lad, Amanda looked alarmed. There’s no need to drink tea. Old Bessie gives us plenty of milk.

    Obediently, the boy tipped up the glass and drained it in one long swallow. Then, wiping a sleeve across his mouth, he returned his attention to the last of his stew.

    Amanda ladled more stew into each of her guests’ bowls, then, to avoid causing them to feel they’d been singled out, she circled the table, doing the same for the others.

    When they’d emptied their bowls a second time, Colin leaned back and sipped his tea. That was fine stew, Mrs. Jeffrey.

    She flushed at the compliment, wondering how long it had been since anyone had thanked her for such a simple meal. Thank you.

    She walked to the sideboard and lifted a covered dish. She removed the lid to reveal apples baked in their skins and swimming in sugar and cinnamon.

    As she ladled one onto each plate, she saw the stranger and his son exchange looks of surprise.

    You’ve never tasted baked apples, Mr. Donnelly?

    No, Mrs. Jeffrey, I don’t believe I have.

    I think you’ll like them. Amanda placed two of the baked apples on her father-in-law’s plate before taking the last one for herself. They’re Mordechai’s favorite after-dinner sweet.

    The old man tucked into his dessert, and the others did the same.

    Mordechai didn’t stop until his plate was clean. Satisfied, he leaned back and waited while his daughter-in-law topped off his cup. Have you ever repaired a roof, Donnelly?

    Colin smiled his thanks at Amanda as she filled his cup. I have. Yes. Without changing tone, he nodded toward the boy beside him. If you don’t mind, Mrs. Jeffrey, Dev likes tea, too. I suppose it’s a carryover from home.

    Will and Jed couldn’t hide their surprise when their mother poured a cup and handed it to the boy.

    Jed wrinkled his nose. Yuck.

    Dev merely sipped the hot tea in silence.

    Mordechai seemed to be taking the measure of this stranger. Then you won’t mind starting on the barn roof first thing in the morning?

    I’d be pleased, Mr. Jeffrey. I noticed that I could see daylight through the roof boards.

    Mordechai beckoned to his oldest grandson. Will, lend a hand. Mr. Donnelly and I will take our tea on the back porch while your mother tidies up in here.

    At once his grandson rounded the table and offered an arm for support.

    As soon as the men were outside, Dev drained his cup and began picking up the dishes and carrying them to the pump and basin, across the room.

    Seeing him, Amanda said, Maybe you’d rather join the men outside, Dev.

    No, thank you. He gave a quick shake of his head, sending short black bangs dancing over his eyes.

    Suit yourself. She turned to her middle son. Jed, you can help, too.

    With a sigh, the little boy began collecting the rest of the dishes.

    Amanda poured hot water from a kettle into the basin and began washing the dishes. Without a word, Dev picked up a towel and began to dry. Jed reluctantly followed suit, though it was plain that he’d rather join the men on the porch.

    The voices of the two men drifted through the open door. Where’s the last farm you worked, Donnelly?

    The Morgan farm.

    I know Ethan Morgan. A good man.

    He is. Yes. He’s the reason I’m here. He heard about your accident and wondered if you might need a hand with the chores.

    Amanda found herself smiling at the Irish brogue and wondered if Dev’s was as pronounced. The boy had said so little, it was hard to tell.

    She glanced over and saw Dev looking at little Andrew, who had walked over to study him with the intense interest so typical of a baby.

    Smiling, the toddler lifted his arms. Up.

    Dev turned to Jed. What’s wrong with him?

    Nothing. The younger boy laughed. He just wants to be picked up.

    Why?

    Jed glanced toward his mother.

    Amanda answered for him. I suppose because Andrew is little, and he feels taller when he’s in someone’s arms. She wiped her wet hands on her apron and lifted the little one to her shoulder before pressing several wet kisses on his chubby cheeks. See? Now you’re as tall as the rest of us.

    The baby giggled and caught a handful of her fiery hair. Mama.

    Yes. You love pulling your mama’s hair. She kissed him again before setting him down. Let me finish here, and I’ll get you ready for bed.

    Bed. He chanted the word several times while dancing around the room.

    When she looked over, Dev was staring after him as though he’d never before seen the antics of a baby.

    Will ambled in from the porch. Do you have any brothers or sisters, Dev?

    At once the frown was back as the boy stared hard at the floor and gave a shrug of thin shoulders. There’s just me and Da.

    Your ma’s dead?

    At his nod, Will added, Our pa’s dead. He said it in the matter-of-fact way of a child.

    But at least we’ve got each other, Jed added. And our ma and grandpa.

    Amanda felt a wave of exquisite sadness and wondered if the pain of loss would ever ease.

    Andrew tugged on Dev’s leg and lifted his arms. Up. Jed grinned. I think Andy likes you.

    I don’t know why. Dev steadfastly ignored him and finished drying the last of the dishes.

    Seeing the way her baby had taken to the young stranger, Amanda paused. Maybe you’d prefer to sleep in the house with my boys. It’s a small room, but there are two beds. Will and Jed share one bed, and you could share the other with little Andrew.

    Just then the door opened.

    Time to get to the barn, Dev.

    At Colin’s words, the boy seemed relieved as he set down his towel and started toward the back door, with Andrew toddling behind.

    Amanda felt the need to explain. It seems my baby has taken a liking to your son. I was just wondering if Dev might not like to share a room with my boys.

    He glanced at Dev. It would be a lot warmer than the barn. And you’d get to sleep in a bed.

    Seeing Dev’s hesitation, Amanda added, Andy is very little trouble. And he sleeps through the night now.

    Dev gave a shrug of his thin shoulders.

    Amanda nodded. All right then. After all, it’s only for a night.

    I’ll say good night, then. Colin turned and walked out the door.

    Amanda picked up the basin and followed him onto the porch. As she tossed the soapy water aside, she watched as the man made his way across the meadow toward the barn in the distance.

    Once he disappeared inside, she returned her attention to her family. It took considerable effort to get Mordechai to his room and out of his clothes.

    As he settled himself into bed, he gave her a sharp look. What do you think of Donnelly and his kid?

    She touched a finger to her lips and nodded toward the other room. They seem to be decent enough, don’t you think?

    Tight-lipped. Don’t offer more than they have to. I guess we’ll see how much work they’re willing to do tomorrow. The first thing I want tended to is that barn roof.

    I’ll see to it, Mordechai.

    They last worked on the Morgan farm. Maybe I’ll have Will ride over there tomorrow and ask why they left.

    Why did Mr. Donnelly say he left?

    There was no more work they needed done.

    You don’t believe him?

    The old man flushed. I didn’t say that. I just think we’re wise to make sure Donnelly didn’t leave with anything that didn’t belong to him. And now you’ve invited his kid to sleep under our roof.

    Mordechai...

    He held up a hand to cut

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