The Cowboy Who Caught Her Eye. Lauri Robinson
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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