The Cowboy Who Caught Her Eye

“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.

Carter was still waiting to feel it, still believed he would someday. That his father had been right. Work with the agency had taken him across the nation and back again, and the closest he’d come to a connection was up in Montana while searching out cattle rustlers. Something about the land there, how it met the sky, had him contemplating exactly what his father had been talking about.

The cattle-rustling assignment had been five years ago, and standing here now, looking over a horizon that was somewhat familiar, Carter questioned if it was time to go back to Montana.

He spun around, took in the customers wandering into the mercantile. Should this be it, his last assignment? Is that why this case had him pretending to be a cowboy working his way to Montana? Why it had memories surfacing that hadn’t been there for years?

Irony or fate? Things happened like that at times, fell into place, and he accepted them. Both into his work and his life.

It took work for things to fall into place, though and that’s what he needed to focus on. Find the money, and find who stole it. One person knew, and he was going to have to put everything into getting the information out of her. If she hadn’t told anyone about her pregnancy, finding out where she came up with new five-dollar bills was going to take finesse.

Good thing he’d had years of practice.

Molly was going to be sick, but for the first time in months, it had nothing to do with the baby inside her. The laughter coming from the store was enough to make anyone sick to their stomach. She’d had to listen to it for days now. Karleen laughing. Carter laughing. Even Ivy was laughing more than not.

She didn’t mind that. The past few months Ivy had grown somber, and Molly knew why. She’d tried harder the last couple days, attempted to smile and be more pleasant, especially to Ivy, but her irritability hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had grown. Carter Buchanan was to blame. Not even weeding her garden, as she was doing right now, helped.

Karleen had to say his name a hundred times a day, and Ivy fifty. Even customers asked for him by name. Molly was so tired of hearing that one single name she could scream. She didn’t scream; however, she did refuse to say his name. She called him Mr. Buchanan when she had to speak to him. He, on the other hand, called her Molly. Only family called her Molly, she’d told him that at a moment when she was speaking to him. It hadn’t helped. He still called her Molly.