The Cowboy Who Caught Her Eye

Carter held his opinion on that, but spun back toward the doorway when someone asked, “Who are you?”

He barely noted the sister before glancing over her shoulder. Molly was the one he’d expected to see, but there wasn’t any sign of her. He’d imagined her charging through the doorway like a freight train the entire time he’d been dealing with Mrs. Rudolf and her silly broken cup.

“What, Carter Buchanan, are you doing in Huron?”

He shifted his stance at the skepticism in the girl’s voice. If Karleen was sixteen, he’d guess Molly, or Maureen, to be twenty or so. Young still, but more defined by life. Their names sounded a bit Irish to him, not that it made any difference. Neither of them looked Irish. Both of the Thorson sisters had blond hair tucked neatly into buns on the backs of their heads. Molly’s—Maureen’s—had hints of brown in it, making her pale blue eyes more prominent. Karleen had blue eyes too, they just weren’t as unique.

Carter shut his mind off then, or attempted to. Nothing good came when a man started thinking too much about a woman. He’d seen that before. If a fella wasn’t careful, next thing he knew he’d have a passel of kids as big as that woman’s on the train—like that poor sap that had ordered her as a bride. An event that horrendous would take a while before it quit churning about in the back of his head. How a man could want a woman so badly he’d order one was unbelievable. Even to him, and he’d seen a lot of unbelievable things in his life.

“I was in the storeroom,” Karleen said, her gaze going to Mrs. Rudolf waddling down the road. “You could have gotten hit with that broken cup.”

He’d agree to that, but said, “I’m working my way up to Montana.”

“Montana?”

“Yep, gonna start a ranch up in those parts.” He flipped roles again, pulling up his cowboy jargon and nodding to his horse still tethered to the post. “Sampson and I are looking for a bit of work in these parts, to earn enough money for the next leg of our trip. I was thinking of asking your sister if you folks needed a hired hand.”

The girl planted both hands on her hips, as if that made her appear older, and gave him a good solid once-over. “Have you ever worked in a store before?”

“Sure have. I’ve done most everything at one time or another.” He had even built coffins over in Minnesota while undercover one time, just to make sure they were burying the right man. This job looked to be about as pleasurable.

“Actually, Mr. Buchanan, we do need help around here, and considering the way you took care of both Mr. Ratcliff and Mrs. Rudolf, it would behoove me to hire you.”

Behoove. That was a good word. Couldn’t say it had ever come up in conversation before. He knew it though, from his dictionary. The well-worn book had been his constant companion for years—his only true education. A man learned a lot looking up words, thinking about how they related to people and places.

“The barn needs attention—is that something you could see to, as well?”

“Yes, miss, I could. But wouldn’t your sister have to be the one to hire me?” He wanted the job, all right, needed to examine every bill that came through, but being fired as soon as he was hired wouldn’t give him the chance and the older sister was surely the one in charge.

“We are equal owners in the store. I can hire as easily as she can.” Karleen Thorson stepped onto the porch then and lowered her voice, “Molly wasn’t always as ornery as she is right now. She’s only been that way for the past few months. I think it’s the dresses she keeps sewing for herself. They’re two sizes too big and as unflattering as Otis Zimney’s milk cow.”

Carter wouldn’t admit he’d noticed the drab dress. Nor would he admit he’d noticed Molly’s face. Other than those few freckles, her complexion was unmarred and the graceful arch of her cheeks left her looking about as delicate as Mrs. Rudolf’s china cups.

There he was, thinking too much again. He always thought about his cases, thoroughly, deeply, but usually not the people involved in them.

“If you tell her I compared her to a cow, I’ll fire you,” Karleen whispered.

Carter let out a chuckle, and found himself wishing the older sister was as pleasant to be around as the younger one. That single notion had him picturing the money, making it front and center in his mind. He needed more clues. That’s what the problem was. Didn’t have enough solid evidence to set in and ponder all the intricacies of the case. Once that happened he’d quit thinking so much about Molly Thorson.

“There’s a small cabin out back,” Karleen said. “It has a bed and stove. Help has lived in it a time or two, but for the past couple years Ivy’s just used it as a playhouse. You can stay there if you want. That’ll save you even more money for your ranch in Montana.”

“I’d be obliged,” he said. “You’re sure your sister won’t mind?” Carter had his reservations, but needed to get his foot in the door.

“Oh, she’ll mind. She minds everything lately.”

There was no doubt she’d mind. He didn’t need more evidence in that part.

“But,” the girl said a bit on the sly side, “if we team up, she won’t have a choice. We need help, Mr. Buchanan, have for some time, but Molly’s too stubborn to admit it.”

Carter’s insides churned. Undercover was one thing. Deceit another. He understood that and balanced it out as needed. There was no reason for this job to be different, but deep down, this time it struck a chord. He had to ignore it, that’s all there was to it. Completing his assignment would be impossible without working at the mercantile.

“Why don’t you get settled?” Karleen wiped her hands on her yellow skirt, nodding toward the road. “We have another customer coming, but Pastor Jenkins is always pleasant. He’s a bachelor, like yourself, and several women in town think he’s rather handsome, except Molly. She doesn’t like men with dark hair.” Smiling, the girl then said, “There’re empty stalls in the barn for your horse.”

Molly wanted to rush out the door, proclaim there weren’t any empty stalls and that Carter Buchanan could not work here, but Pastor Jenkins was almost on the porch, and she couldn’t endure his questioning looks. Or his persistence. Which was why she’d told Karleen she didn’t like men with dark hair—just to stop her sister’s questions. The pastor had suggested he’d like to call upon Molly, and she’d told him no, even before Robbie had returned to town. Before …

It happened again. The fluttering in her stomach. Strong enough to capture her full attention. Molly inched her way back into the living quarters while she waited this time. Wondering if she truly had felt something. She hadn’t been ill for several weeks, and was still shaky at how it had suddenly come on, which had left her with no choice but to flee. Holding it in hadn’t been an option. By the time she’d returned to the store, Carter Buchanan had been behind the counter, placating Mrs. Rudolf, even making the woman blush. That was as uncommon as Mr. Ratcliff’s silence.

Carter Buchanan was good at what he did. Telling lies, making people believe them. Like all men.

Karleen passed through the doorway just then. “Oh, there you are. Pastor Jenkins is here for his daily roll. I told him you were keeping one warm for him.”

Like a horse tied up to a post too long, Molly snapped against the confines, the invisible ones that kept her tied to the store, to her life. “I’m not keeping one warm for him, and you had no right to offer that man a job.”

Her sister didn’t so much as glance her way as she walked to the stove and took the pan of rolls out of the warming oven, but she did say, “It doesn’t hurt to be kind to people. You used to tell me that all the time.”

That was true. At one time Molly had felt that way, even lived that way, but not anymore. “We’re attempting to run a business, Karleen, not make friends.”

Cutting the rolls apart, Karleen sighed heavily. “That’s what I’m trying to do, Molly, run a business. Why aren’t you?”

“Why aren’t I?” she huffed in return. “That’s all I have been doing. Without much help, I might add.”

Karleen had the most expressive eyes, and right now they said Molly’s words had hurt. Painfully so.

Molly cursed her temper that simmered right below, boiling continuously. Karleen was young, had so much to learn, but did do her fair share. “Go give Pastor Jenkins his roll,” Molly said, but that truly was all the comfort she could offer her sister. “Then go tell that cowboy you changed your mind. That you can’t hire him.”

“But I can hire him, and I did.”

Her moment of mercy vanished. “No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can.”

Holding her breath, for it was too hot to be released, Molly pointed out, “You are only sixteen, too young to know who to hire and who not to.” She wanted to add who to trust, but that held too much ridicule coming from her.

“You said when I graduated we’d become equal partners. That happened this spring. I work as hard as you do in this store. I did even while I was still in school.” Karleen could be as feisty as their mother when riled, and was so now. Without taking a breath, she continued, “I’m tired of being treated like a child. I deserve more respect than that. I’ve earned it.”

As much as it infuriated her, Molly had to admit a portion of that was true. They’d never have kept the doors open as long as they had if it wasn’t.

“Now,” Karleen said, putting the pan, minus one roll, back in the warming oven above the stove. “You know as well as I do we need the help around here. The barn is a disaster, the fence line is down again, the storeroom has a leaky roof and there’s that lovely hornets’ nest on the backside of the outhouse.” Spinning around, she finished her rant with, “If you want to go fix those things yourself, go fire Carter.”

All her sister said was true, but one thing snagged at Molly’s ire more than the others. “His name is Mr. Buchanan. You don’t know him well enough to call him by his first name.”

Karleen didn’t answer, simply stared at her with a somewhat amazed expression as she crossed the room, roll in hand.

“I will fire him,” Molly declared. It was beneath her to spat with her younger sister, but Karleen had challenged her, not so unlike when they were younger.

“Fine,” her sister replied. “Have fun with the hornets, too. Which shouldn’t be too hard. You’re about as pleasant to be around as they are.”

Molly was still conjuring up a response when Karleen paused in the archway leading to the hall. “Just remember, if it wasn’t for Carter—” her sister said the man’s name with great emphasis “—we’d have lost Mrs. Rudolf’s sale this morning. With the mood you’re in, you’d have smashed every cup. And how would that have affected our profits?”

Nose in the air, Karleen marched down the hall, and the way she greeted the pastor, with honey-laced cheerfulness, provoked every last nerve Molly had. She’d fire Carter Buchanan all right, and she’d paddle Karleen’s behind, just as their father used to do.

Some of her steam dissolved. Papa had never paddled any of his children, and Molly wouldn’t either. Not because she didn’t want to, but because deep down, she knew Karleen was right. Not in hiring Carter—Mr. Buchanan—he still had to go, but in everything else, her sister had hit the nail on the head. Rusty or greased. All those things did need to be seen to, and Karleen was an equal partner. As would Ivy be someday.

She might only be sixteen, soon to be seventeen, but Karleen had the head of a merchant. Papa always said that. He’d said Molly was the worker bee, his way of complimenting her, too. She had been a worker bee and didn’t mind it in the least. In those days, when her parents were alive, she’d completed any chore requested because afterward she’d been free to do as she’d pleased. Ride. All afternoon at times.

Karleen, on the other hand, never rode. She’d rather sit in the corner reading a book. That’s how she knew how to handle customers, from watching their father. Though back then, all Molly had noticed was how her sister batted her big blue eyes at people. That’s what her sister still did. Something Molly insisted had to stop. At sixteen, Karleen didn’t know the consequences of it.

There was a dangerous ledge between being a girl and becoming a woman, and Molly had to make sure Karleen didn’t fall off it. Not the way she had.

Right now, on the edge of that cliff was Carter Buchanan, and the man was going down.

Chapter Three

Carter got Sampson settled first, and the horse was grateful, nickering his thanks before trotting out the back door of the barn. It was sad, a barn of this size almost empty. Besides a couple of milk cows grazing, there was a donkey and a few horses near the far side of the fenced-in area. Carter waited, making sure Sampson would get along with the other animals. After some head tossing and grunting, all seemed fine, so he picked his belongings off the floor—that was in desperate need of some attention, as was the fence out back—and set out to find the cabin.

Exploring as he walked, he noted the broken door on the chicken coop and an almost empty woodshed. Fall would be here soon, then winter. That shed should be full. Seeing such things neglected irked him. When you grow up with nothing, you tend to notice how some folks don’t take care of what they have. Not everyone, but enough that he’d become conscious of appreciating what he had. Right now, it was mainly his bank account, because that’s what would get him to his final goal. Once there, he’d be set. Live out his life in a simple fashion that didn’t matter to anyone but him.

The cabin was set back a ways from the other buildings, a little sod shack, but it had a wooden door and real windows. Besides the bed and small stove, there was a child-size table, complete with little dishes and a couple of dolls sitting in pint-size chairs.

He left it be as he set his saddlebags and other items on the bed and then stretched his arms overhead. Sleeping in a real bed would be refreshing after sitting on the train all the way from Chicago. He could have purchased a sleeping berth, but a cowboy working his way to Montana wouldn’t have done that, so he hadn’t either.

“Don’t get too comfortable. You’re not staying.”

He didn’t have to turn around to know the older sister had found him. Snippy really did get on his nerves.

“Here’s your hat and your gun belt. Leave.”

He turned, took the items she held. After putting on the hat, he settled the belt around his hips. There’d probably be no use for it, but just the same, he secured the metal buckle and tied the strap to his thigh.

“Did you hear me?” she asked.

It took a lot to get a reaction out of him, but Molly Thorson made ire inch up his back like a slow and steady caterpillar climbing a branch. “The people on the train heard you,” he said. “The one that left an hour ago.”

She opened her mouth, but then as if she’d forgotten what she wanted to say, she snapped it shut. Her eyes, however, could have fired bullets faster than his pistol.

Finding the slightest bit of humor in how easy it was to get a reaction out of her, he said, “Your sister hired me.”

Her cheeks were bright red now, or maybe they already had been, and she planted both hands on her hips. Trying to appear as wide and formidable as a woman the size of Mrs. Rudolf, she informed him, “Karleen had no right to hire you without consulting me first.”

The sister had been right, Molly’s dress was too big, not even the long white apron hid that fact, and the dull drab color was unflattering. How she chose to dress, or look, made little difference in the scheme of things. Staying here did, and he wasn’t about to leave. “Then you probably need to go talk to her.”

“I have spoken with her.”

“And?”

Her face turned redder. Even her neck, where the dress was tightly buttoned, took on the hue.

Having Karleen on his side, though she was younger and he had to admit shouldn’t have the authority to hire anyone, looked as if it might be enough. “Since she was the one to hire me,” he said, “I’ll leave when she fires me.”

“You will leave now.”

She reminded him of a snake, all coiled up and hissing, and full of bad attitude. “You don’t have a very good disposition, do you, Miss Thorson?” Steam was practically coming out of her ears, and he couldn’t help but add to it. “Molly.”

Molly didn’t know if she’d ever been so enraged in her life. Every inch of her being was furious; even the hair on her head felt as though it could snap in two at any moment. She had enough to deal with, but having Karleen all of a sudden take an interest in a man—one as appalling as him—was the last straw. He’d break Karleen’s heart into so many pieces it would never be whole again.

“You know, if you were a bit more like your sister, more on the pleasant side, you might just have a few more customers,” Carter Buchanan said in that slow, drawling way.

“You stay away from my sister,” Molly seethed.

The somewhat startled expression on his face took her slightly aback. It was gone, the look of surprise, when she glanced up again, making her wonder if she’d imagined it.

“Your sister, Miss Thorson, is a girl. As are you. And I have no interest in girls. I am interested in mending your fence, cleaning your barn and filling your woodshed, along with a few other chores, including helping out with irate customers, but only because I want to earn enough money to make it to Montana before the snow flies.”

His little ploy may have worked on Mrs. Rudolf and Karleen, even Owen Ratcliff, but it wouldn’t work on her. She couldn’t be placated. There was too much ire inside her for that, even as she imagined all those chores being completed before the snow flies, as he’d put it. Something else would arrive along with the snow, and she’d been more focused on that lately than becoming prepared for winter. Unable to find fault in what he’d said—other than her being a girl—she went back to his earlier statement.

“I have plenty of customers, Mr. Buchanan.”

“You won’t if you keep up that attitude much longer,” he said. “Most people don’t like temper tantrums.”

Something did snap, and unable to think beyond the fury it sent rolling inside her, Molly screamed, “Get out!”

His expression never changed as he kept looking at her, calmly, thoughtfully.

A bit of embarrassment overcame her and oddly, slowly, some of her anger eased. Some. She was still fuming. “I know you heard me, Mr. Buchanan.” She pointed to the open doorway. “Leave.”

He plopped onto the edge of the bed, crossed his arms not so unlike a stubborn child. “Make me.”

“What?” She’d heard him, just couldn’t believe a grown man would act so.

“Make me.”

If he wasn’t twice her size she’d drag him out the door. Since that wouldn’t work, Molly searched the room for something to throw at him. There wasn’t much. Just Ivy’s toys.

“I suspect Ivy would be upset if you broke her dishes,” he drawled. “Mrs. Rudolf was certainly displeased by her broken teacup.”

“Which was none of your business.”

“I know. But you’d scattered for the high country.”

He’d have to bring that up, wouldn’t he? For a moment she’d imagined he was her biggest problem. Her only problem. Wishful thinking. A unique tenderness had welled up inside her, washing away a good portion of her anger. That happened frequently, as if the baby was saying she wasn’t alone in all this. At times, that made her teary-eyed, and now happened to be one of those times. She’d sneaked a peek at a medical book on the store shelf, read how pregnancy altered a woman’s emotions and found it overly tiresome. As was the fact the book had sold before she’d had a chance to read more. It didn’t help that as of yet she hadn’t found an excuse to order another one, either.

“I didn’t scatter for the high country,” she said. “If you haven’t noticed, there is no high country around here.”

“I noticed.”

She took another drawing breath, sensing the little life inside her was calm and well. “The broken cup just upset me,” she said, though there was no reason to explain her behavior to this man.

“You shouldn’t let that happen.”

She shouldn’t have let a lot of things happen. “We can’t always control everything,” she muttered.

“We can the important ones,” he said, “if we try hard enough.”

It was apparent he was attempting to manipulate her with that gentle tone as easily as he had Mr. Ratcliff and Mrs. Rudolf. It was useless. She wouldn’t ever be influenced by another man. Yet, she wasn’t nearly as riled as she had been. “Don’t unpack your bags, Mr. Buchanan. You are not staying.”

With that, Molly spun around and walked out the door. There, in the warm summer sun, she took several deep breaths, though she really didn’t need them. How did he do that? He’d not only calmed two of her most irritable customers, he’d calmed her, and her baby.

A noise behind her set her in action, marching forward. To where, she had no idea. Karleen was still assisting Pastor Jenkins. If anyone in town were to pick up on her sin before it was revealed, it would be Caleb Jenkins. He had a way of looking at her that left her feeling as if she’d committed murder. Perhaps he knew she’d considered it. She’d thought about shooting Robbie Fredrickson if she ever saw him again. She wouldn’t, of course—she hoped she never saw Robbie again. If he ever learned about the baby, Lord knows what would happen.

She had enough worries without dredging that one up, and she’d just have to wait until Pastor Jenkins left. Then she’d tell Karleen to get rid of Carter Buchanan, and this time she’d make her sister listen.

Right now, she’d find Ivy. She hadn’t spent enough time with her lately, and her littlest sister always raised her spirits. The girl had gathered her schoolwork and skedaddled upstairs earlier. When Molly had run through the kitchen, heading for the outhouse.

Guilt, frustration and all the other things that lived inside Molly lately had her throat burning. She just couldn’t do anything right. Little Ivy had only been a toddler when she’d been left at the mercantile. Terribly ill, it had taken the entire family, and Dr. Henderson, to keep the child’s heated skin cooled, and to dribble fluids into her tiny mouth around the clock for several days.

Ivy had survived, and had been a part of their family ever since. Almost her little sister and almost her daughter—at least since their parents had died—Ivy was as near and dear to her heart as Karleen. Molly often wondered—especially lately—about Ivy’s mother. Years ago she’d concluded the woman must have died, and believed it more strongly now. No woman would give up her child. A little life that had formed and grown inside her. It was too precious. Though she had yet to meet her child, she already cherished him or her. The little fluttering she’d experienced the past few days was fascinating and something she wished she could share with someone. Tell them how tender and miraculous it felt.

Molly entered the house and climbed the stairs. A single brave had come to the mercantile the spring after Ivy had joined their family, and though their father never voiced what had been said between him and the Indian, he had told the family that Ivy would continue to live with them, forever. Karleen—her mind always full of the stories she read—had several theories on what had transpired, but when asked, Father would simply say it didn’t matter how or why, Ivy was there, she just was. Molly agreed with that, still did. Other than the school issue, most of the town had accepted Ivy, too.

If only things were that simple now.

Molly found Ivy in her bedroom, sitting on the floor and practicing her letters on the slate balanced on her lap.

“I can help Karleen in the store if you need to work in your garden,” the child said, looking up with a touch of worry in her generous brown eyes.

Molly sat down on the floor and looped an arm around the tiny shoulders. “Maybe later,” she said. “Thank you for offering.”