Читать книгу The Cowboy Who Caught Her Eye - Lauri Robinson - Страница 9

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.”

Ivy nodded and then drew a perfect lowercase e. Molly couldn’t help but recall how Carter Buchanan had said Ivy was a child and deserved to learn. She agreed, and once again wished things were different. If her father had still been alive, Ivy would be in school. He would have seen to it. Molly had tried, but she just didn’t have the persuasive way her father had. She was more like her mother in that sense. Not necessarily by choice. She’d like to be more domineering, but that wasn’t how she was raised. It wasn’t until after her parents died that she’d had to learn to make decisions—was still learning in some instances—and how to live with them.

Molly picked up the book near Ivy’s knee. “Could you read to me for a few minutes? Karleen’s minding the store and I’d love to sit up here with you for a bit.”

When Ivy smiled as she did right then, it made the entire world brighter. Molly tried to swallow the lump in her throat—the one that told her life was far from awful—and then leaned over to plant a tiny kiss in the center of the part that separated Ivy’s long black hair into two braids.

“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.