The Cowboy Who Caught Her Eye
“I believe you’re ready for a new reader,” Molly said a short time later as the child closed the book. “You’ve mastered this one without a single mistake. I believe Karleen ordered a few extras. They’re on a shelf downstairs.”
“Karleen says books are the most wonderful thing on earth,” Ivy said. “And that someday I can borrow hers.”
“I have no doubt you will soon be borrowing Karleen’s books,” Molly answered, withholding the rest of her opinion. She enjoyed reading, always had, and could think of one particular night she should have sat down with a book, but she’d been too shocked that night to see Robbie. “Have you finished your other lessons?” she asked, though her mind had slipped again, and she was now thinking of Carter. He’d said he wasn’t interested in Karleen, but Karleen might be interested in him, and men were fickle.
“Yes.”
“Well, then.” Molly stood and helped Ivy put the book and slate on the table in the corner. “Would you like to pick some beans?” She and Karleen could teach Ivy many things, but there was no one for the child to play with during the long hours the store was open, and Molly knew that was as important for a child as books. “Just enough for supper, then you can have a tea party with your dolls.”
Ivy agreed as they left the bedroom hand in hand. The soddy was Ivy’s playhouse, one more reason Carter Buchanan had to leave. There was no room for him here.
It appeared nothing was on Molly’s side all afternoon—not that she expected there to be. Life couldn’t change that quickly. Ivy picked a large bowl full of beans, and then played happily with her dolls in the soddy, but the opportunity to speak with Karleen about firing Carter never appeared.
From what she heard, Mrs. Rudolf had wasted no time sharing the story that the mercantile had a new employee. Even Mr. Wilcox from the railroad stopped in, requesting to see Molly. She left the back room and met the gray-haired man at the counter, fully prepared to hear that the rest of her order wouldn’t be in for weeks, and ready to tell him exactly what she thought about that. Instead, she was utterly shocked when he earnestly proceeded to apologize to her for Mrs. Rudolf’s broken cup. He not only insisted she order another complete set, which he personally promised would arrive undamaged, but he vowed to assure future shipments would arrive on time. The railroad, he said, did owe all customers the same excellent service it provides its own investments.
Molly was speechless, and had more things to ponder by the way Mr. Wilcox tipped his hat toward Carter as the railroad man left the store. Carter was behind it, that was for sure, and Karleen would never fire him now. That was irksome, but what bothered her more was how he was embedding himself so deeply into their business.
By the time they locked the front door that evening, she’d bet they’d sold more merchandise than any other day since her parents had died. It was true, Molly concluded upon totaling the receipts and the cash in the drawer. Their best day ever.
Questioning what that meant, a sound, or a sense, had Molly lifting her gaze from the store’s daily journal.
“You shouldn’t leave that money in the cash drawer overnight,” Carter said from where he leaned against the doorway that led into the house portion of the building.
“It’s called a cash drawer because that’s what it is,” she said, closing the book and placing it on the shelf beneath the counter.
“I know that. But so does everyone else.”
She didn’t like when he did that, talked slow and deliberate, making people think, therefore she didn’t bother looking his way again.
“Anyone could break in here, steal the money. They’d be long gone by the time you heard anything.”
That was highly unlikely, yet she asked, “And where do you suggest I put the money, if not in the cash drawer?”
“Hide it. Somewhere only you and Karleen know about. Every night and take it out every morning.”
The hair on her arms had started to quiver. Her father used to do that, but over time, she’d forgotten. What else didn’t she remember? The sound of their voices? No, she’d never forget how Papa’s laughter had echoed through the house like joyous thunder, especially when he was telling one of his famous jokes. Molly tried for a moment, but couldn’t seem to recall even one of his many stories. But she could remember how it felt to know he was in the house, how his presence chased away all her childhood fears. Fear was with her now constantly, and his laughter was gone.
Shaken, she gathered the bills out of the cash drawer and blew out the lamp on the counter. Walking past Carter, she hissed, “You’re still leaving.”
She could hear his laughter, and it rattled her very being.
Molly got up twice and moved the money to different locations—out from beneath her bed to behind the wood box in the kitchen, and then to the top drawer of her bureau—but still couldn’t sleep. Counting sheep didn’t help, neither did rehearsing how she’d insist that Karleen fire Carter. Therefore, when she crawled out of bed the next morning, she was groggy and irritated—more so than normal.
It was while Molly was pulling the third batch of cinnamon rolls from the oven that her mood hit rock bottom.
“Goodness,” her sister commented while entering the kitchen. “The store is busier than yesterday. We’re going to need another batch of rolls. People who hadn’t gotten a good look at Carter yesterday are trying to today.” Karleen started placing rolls on a plate. “Actually, some who had seen him yesterday are back for a second look.” Grinning, she added, “He is so very handsome, don’t you think?”
“That’s disgraceful, Karleen,” Molly snapped.
“What? Licking my fingers?” Karleen asked, doing just that.
“That, too,” Molly said, setting the heavy pan on top of the stove with a loud thump. “Carter Buchanan is not staying here.”
“Yes, he is,” Karleen insisted. “He’s not only good for business, he’s exactly the help we’ve needed. The cows were milked, the eggs gathered and the animals fed before I even got up. You, too. No boy from town would manage all that.”
Her sister was pointing out how last week Molly had suggested they hire a boy from town, which increased her irritation. Shoving the last pan of rolls into the oven—not caring if they ran out before the noon train or not—Molly slammed the door. “Those are simple, everyday chores that don’t hurt us a bit to accomplish. Having someone else do them is just plain lazy.”
“Well, maybe I want to be lazy for a while,” Karleen said. “Lord knows working in the store all day and baking dozens of rolls and breads isn’t enough for us to do.”
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Molly scolded. She was a fine one to be preaching Bible lessons, but couldn’t stop the reprimand from coming out.
“I didn’t take his name in vain,” Karleen insisted. “I said he knows how hard we do work around here.” Sighing, she rested both hands on Molly’s shoulders. “You never used to be like this. Even just a few months ago you’d have been happy to have the extra help. Carter’s a wonderful salesman. He’s even sold two pairs of those shoes that peddler unloaded on us. That alone should have you dancing. What’s happened to you, Molly? Even Ivy is afraid you’re going to snap her head off like a bean stem for the tiniest mistake.”
Molly shrugged out from beneath her sister’s hold. She couldn’t handle anyone touching her, but more because the truth hurt. “Because I grew up. And it’s time you did, too.”
“I have grown up, Molly. I may not be as old as you, but I haven’t been a child for a long time. Not since the day Mother and Father died. It wasn’t my fault, Molly. It wasn’t my fault they died and we had to learn to run this place.”
“I never said it was,” she insisted.
“You act like it is.”
“I do not,” Molly retorted. “Now, hush up, the customers might hear you.” For good measure Molly waved a finger at her sister. “And don’t be snippy with me.”
“Snippy? Me?” Karleen all but snarled. “You’re the snippy one. Ask any of the customers, they’ll tell you. You act like everything is someone else’s fault, including why Robbie Fredrickson wouldn’t marry you.”
The last bit of starch left her knees—the small amount she’d held on to all this time—but other places, Molly was still seething. “I didn’t want to marry him.”
“Because no man wants to marry a woman with two younger sisters to take care of.”
Her hands squeezed the chair harder. “I didn’t say that,” Molly corrected.
“Well, Robbie did,” Karleen said. “I may only be sixteen, Molly, but I know some things, including that if a man really loves a woman, he doesn’t care how many sisters she has.”
Karleen was right, she herself had told Robbie those exact words, but her sister didn’t know everything. “You don’t know anything about love. You’re just a child.”
“I know more than you think.” Karleen leaned across the table. “I know Robbie only courted you to get this store for the railroad.”
“We didn’t court,” Molly seethed. “And I know exactly what Robbie wanted.” She did know, and she’d known it five months ago, but she’d wanted things to be different. Not just for her but for her sisters.
“Then get over it,” Karleen snapped.
Molly bit her tongue, refused to answer. She was over it all right, but Robbie was not the problem. The result of that night was. It had seemed no matter how hard she worked, there was no hope of things changing. She’d hated everything about her life that day and wanted out.
Karleen and Ivy had gone to Ralph and Emma Walters’s wedding party at the hotel. The whole town had been there, and she’d planned on going too, except the freight had arrived ten minutes before it was time to leave. It couldn’t be left out for anyone walking by to pilfer, so she’d stayed home, carrying box after box inside until it was good and dark. It had rained, too, exacerbating her sense of misery, and had made her recall how fast everything had changed. How that violent spring storm had hit two years prior, causing the James River to flood its banks, washing away buildings and stealing the lives of people so quickly the entire town was in shock for months afterward.
Safe, here at home, she and Karleen and Ivy hadn’t known what had happened to their parents until the preacher arrived and explained how the bridge had collapsed beneath their wagon.
“Molly?”
Things had changed that fast again five months ago. Molly pushed Karleen away and stumbled for the door, needing much more than fresh air.
“Molly, I’m sorry,” Karleen shouted, but Molly kept moving.
If she stopped, she might collapse.
Chapter Four
Carter moved toward the door that led to the living quarters, where the scent of cinnamon rolls filtered into the store. The sisters were squabbling again. This in itself was nothing new, but Karleen’s apology said it was worse this time. Not that he was surprised. He had a harder time than usual holding his tongue when it came to Molly’s attitude, too.
He was disgusted, mainly because the two might start pulling each other’s hair out, not that it was any of his business, but there was enough going on without them fighting. “I’ll be right back,” he told the only customer left in the store.
“Take your time,” the preacher said.
Carter couldn’t decide whether to leave the man alone or not. Most folks trusted a man of the cloth, but he didn’t. Religious folks—men and women dressed in their black-and-white clothes—had been the ones who kept plucking him off the streets in New York and plunking him down in orphanages. Until he’d been old enough to make a clean getaway. A westbound train, with two other boys his age.
Karleen, once again shouting Molly’s name, had him glancing toward the little girl perched on a stool and writing the alphabet in a tablet with a stubby pencil. “You keep an eye on him,” he said.
Ivy nodded, and then giggled as she glanced at the preacher. The other man laughed too, and Carter had to let his guard down, admit the store and the girl were safe. He darted through the doorway and down the hall that led to the kitchen, where he asked, “What’s wrong?”
Turning from the open back door, Karleen shook her head. “I’ve upset her.”
“What else is new?” Carter asked, though he didn’t feel any humor. Molly Thorson woke up as ornery as she went to bed. He’d testify to that. Had wondered if she was going to throw the eggs he’d carried into the kitchen this morning at him.
“No, I really upset her this time,” Karleen said, clearly despondent. “And I shouldn’t have.”
A part of him would rather not, but still he said, “You go see to the customers, I’ll go make sure she’s all right.” He’d long ago learned people were easier to deal with when they were rational, and worked long and hard on mastering his ability to put people where he wanted them so he could get the information he needed. But he wasn’t overly confident anything he’d learned would work on Molly Thorson.
“Maybe we should just leave her alone,” Karleen whispered.
That would work too, except the pleading look in the girl’s eyes said she was sincerely worried. It wasn’t as if he was responding to her silent plea. No girl—or woman—would ever make him do something he didn’t want to. The bickering had to stop. That’s what it was. There were more important things at hand. Like his latest bit of information. With a nod, he moved toward the door. “I’ll just go make sure she’s all right, and then I’ll leave her alone.”
“Thank you, Carter.”
“You just don’t let those cinnamon rolls burn,” he said. Being a friendly cowboy with a never-ending grin was already getting old, but he had to keep it up. And would. “We’re going to need them when the next train arrives.”
He’d played a lot of roles in his life, but this was the first time it included dealing so closely with women. It had to be done, though, as had his conversation with Wilcox yesterday. The railroad man hadn’t been impressed, or happy to offer an apology, but Carter had told him if there was any hope more money would surface, people needed to be filtering in and out of the store regularly. Locals, not just the few passengers looking for cinnamon rolls. No one was making big purchases, but they were spending money. Cash, and he checked the serial numbers on every bill.
There’d been one that matched in the drawer this morning. It was in his pocket now. He’d replaced it with one of his own. Trouble was, he had no idea how it got there. He’d watched every transaction, knew who’d handed over bills and who’d paid with coins, and not one person had used a five-dollar bill. Yet that’s what had turned up.
A touch reluctant—for he did want to be in the store, watching that drawer—Carter stepped off the back porch. After a quick search of the yard, he entered the barn and blinked, adjusting his focus after the bright sunlight. He’d cleaned the barn last night—something that had sorely needed to be done—after supper. That’s where he found Molly, sitting on a pile of fresh straw he’d pitched down from the hayloft and scattered into one of the empty stalls.
She jumped to her feet when she noticed him and ran toward the other end of the long walkway.
“Molly,” he said calmly. Someone knew how that bill in his pocket got in the drawer. Karleen was too talkative to hold a secret of that magnitude, and Ivy was just a babe, which only left one person. Therefore he had to find a way to have a normal, calm conversation with Molly.
He said her name again as she started to climb the ladder leading to the hayloft, but when she turned, looking at him over one shoulder, he shouted it, and ran. In all his years of living, of chasing people and capturing them, he’d never truly seen one go completely colorless. But she had, and her eyes had rolled upward.
His heart was galloping inside his chest. He was thankful he’d arrived in time and caught her just as she’d slumped. Slowly, gingerly, he lowered her onto the extra mound of hay he’d thrown down last night for today’s feeding and crouched beside her.
Visions flashed before his eyes, as they had been doing since he’d arrived in Huron. Times he’d forgotten, or buried so deep he thought they were gone. Things back in New York, when he was just a kid. Right now it was Amelia he was remembering. She’d only been ten when she’d died, and she had been the one reason he’d stayed at that last orphanage as long as he had—almost two years. He’d left after her death, and never looked back.
Giving his head a clearing shake, Carter whispered, “Molly?”
She didn’t move, but she was breathing, had just fainted. He’d never seen that either. Heard of it, of course, but never seen it, and wasn’t too sure what to do about it. On more than one occasion, he’d seen a man get knocked out, so he checked her head, in case she’d bumped it in her rush up the ladder.
Amelia had fallen out of a tree. A broken rib punctured her lungs. That’s what one of the nuns had said.
Carter tossed the sudden thought aside and let his hands roam over Molly’s arms and then checked her ribs. When his exploring touch went lower, ran over her midriff, he froze. Every last part of him, and all his thoughts collided like bees swarming into a hive. He sat there for a moment, too stunned to think and then, darn close to being afraid, he touched her again. Felt her stomach from side to side, top to bottom.
Drawing his hands away, he stared, as if he could see through her white apron and gray dress.
Most men his age, somewhere around twenty-seven, knew a woman’s body, and he did, too. She wasn’t big and round like some he’d seen, but Molly Thorson was pregnant.
Pregnant.
Not quite believing it, he reached over, touched her stomach again. There were layers of material between his palm and her skin, but he’d bet every last dollar he’d ever earned he was right. That firm little bump he was feeling was a baby. She was pregnant.
No wonder she was so ornery. She was pregnant and didn’t want anyone to know. But this took two. Where was the father? Who was the father?
A tiny moan sounded and he drew back his hand, but then pressed it to her forehead. “Molly?”
She opened her eyes but closed them again. “What happened?”
“You fainted.” He grasped both her shoulders, and a large part of him wanted to shake some answers out of her, but he wouldn’t do that. Just touching her had his fingers tingling, telling him just how spooky this was. Not that he scared easily, but pregnant women, they were scary. “Can you sit up?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Not yet. Everything’s still spinning.”
“All right, just lie there for a moment.” She was probably spooked, too. An unwed pregnant woman had to be. Leastwise he assumed she was unwed, and believed that assumption to be true. He never catered to others’ assumptions, he liked proof, but his own were another matter. Right now he assumed something else, that she was scared spitless. “Do you want some water or something?” he asked.
She licked her lips. “No, it’ll stop in a minute.”
“This has happened before?” A new dimension had just been added to his case, one that had him wondering if he should wire headquarters and ask for a different assignment. That thought had never crossed his mind before, and was more than a little out of character—any character he’d ever played—but an assignment had never put him smack-dab in the middle of a scandal of this proportion. The town was going to tear her apart when her condition was revealed, which was bound to happen. If he was still here, still working at the mercantile, he’d have to defend her. Pinkerton man or not. He already felt it welling inside him, and he wasn’t so sure he was comfortable with it.
“Yes.” Her sigh was heavy enough to hold water. She opened her eyes then, stared at the ceiling overhead. “It’s happened before.”
His assignments were to solve cases, catch robbers or track down murderers, not protect people—other than himself—which is how he liked it.
“Does Karleen know?” he asked.
Fear flashed in her eyes before she closed them. She swallowed too, like a gulp of someone set to hang at noon. He’d witnessed that more than once.
“Know what?” she asked.
She hadn’t even told her sister. Karleen had said there used to be a time when Molly laughed and was a joy to be around, but that lately she wouldn’t even talk and was irritated about everything. Having held secrets, personal ones, for many years, Carter could relate. It had taken him years to learn how to make his past work with him instead of against him. She, however, didn’t know how to do that, and didn’t have much time to learn it.
“That you’ve fainted before,” he said. “Maybe you need to see a doctor.”
“No,” she said, scrambling to sit up.
“Slow down,” he scolded, helping to ease her into a sitting position.
Pushing his hands aside once she was sitting, she snapped, “I don’t need to see a doctor.” She tugged at her apron then, fluffing it away from her stomach. “So don’t be telling Karleen I do. And don’t be telling her I fainted, either.”
She was back, all grouchy and grumpy, and in a way, he was happy. A grumpy Molly he could deal with. However, now that he knew why, things had changed. There hadn’t been anything in the Pinkerton National Detective Agency’s Investigative Training Manual—which he had memorized—about pregnant women, and he doubted his dictionary was going to help in this situation either.
“Come on,” he said, tucking his legs beneath him to stand. “I’ll help you into the house where you can lie down for a bit.”
“I don’t need to lie down, and I don’t need any help.”
He stood and crossed his arms. Was reminded of being in the cabin, when he’d challenged her to make him leave. It had been childish, but she’d been behaving like a child then, and was again now. She scrambled to her feet, which goaded him a bit. He did want her to need help. His. Just to prove his point.
She flounced her skirt and her apron again before turning about and, nose in the air, marched toward the doorway.
Carter watched her go, all the way out the door and into the sunlight, where she stopped, turned to see if he was still watching her. He was, and tipped the brim of his hat up, just so she’d see how closely.
She tilted her head slightly, but didn’t move, just stared back at him.
It was a showdown of sorts, a duel, where neither of them had guns, just a challenge to see who’d make the first move, look away for even a split second.
She was going to get awfully hot standing in the sun; he could stare down a rattler.
It took about that long before she finally spun around and stomped off for the house, and Carter let out a long, slow breath. He removed his hat then and wiped away the sweat. This woman had him on rocky ground, and there was no wondering about it. He didn’t like it, not one little bit.
Thoughts of quitting no longer floated around either. He’d never not solved a case and he’d solve this one, too. The only thing he’d ever run away from was New York. That’s how it would remain. Though he just might move on to Montana sooner than later. It might be time.
Carter left the barn, but made it only as far as the corral. Sampson was there, tossing his head. They’d been together eight years now, the only family he’d ever had.
Right from the start, he’d told Allan he wouldn’t promise to be an agent for years. He couldn’t. He hadn’t known if Chicago was where he needed to be, and since then, even with all the traveling he’d done, he still didn’t know.
The only things he remembered about his father were words. Sometimes they still echoed in his head. Like right now. He didn’t know how old he’d been—somewhere around five, close as he could figure—and they’d been boarding the boat with a crowd of others heading to America. “That’s where we need to be,” his father had said.
There were other words, too, that his father had said, then and in the days that followed, about how he’d feel it when they arrived, how he’d know when he found the one place in the world he was supposed to be.