The Cowboy Who Caught Her Eye. Lauri RobinsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.