The Cowboy Who Caught Her Eye. Lauri Robinson
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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