Mrs. Rudolf nodded. “Yes, I do.” Leaning closer, she whispered, “She never used to be this way. It’s only been recently.”
Doubt was settling hard again, but he agreed with a nod. “I’m sure it’s things like this. Too many mishaps wear a person down.”
“Things like what?”
“I know someone as reasonable as you would never let anything this silly upset them.” He paused then, as if taken aback for a moment. “You are a reasonable woman, aren’t you, Mrs. Rudolf?”
“Of course I am.”
Her insistence proved she wasn’t, but he’d already figured that out, so he smiled. “I thought so.” Going a step further, which he did only when the situation called for it, Carter gave her a touch of flattery. “Anyone with eyes as tender as yours is very reasonable.”
It worked. Her weathered cheeks turned as pink as the roses painted on her cups.
“I knew one broken cup wouldn’t disrupt your garden party,” he said brightly.
“Broken cup!”
The women around here sure did anger quickly, not so unlike everywhere else in the world. Keeping his tone even, and adding a sorrowful look, he said, “Yes, ma’am. That’s why Molly is so flustered. Over the way the freight company treated you.” He patted the old woman’s hand. “And I’m glad you don’t blame her. I’m sure your guests will understand. Besides, it’s only one. You won’t have more than four guests, will you?” A woman with this disposition couldn’t have many friends. Then again, birds of a feather flock together.
“Well, no, there’ll just be the four of us. Wives of the town council.” Her tone implied the importance of that. Or at least she thought it was significant.
“Good.” He’d been wrapping the cups and saucers in paper from the shelf next to his hat and gun belt, and now bent to pick up a small crate he assumed was for this purpose. “You’ll even have an extra to spare, then.” After piling the dishes in the box, Carter picked up the broken cup. “I’ll keep this one, to prove it’s damaged, but feel free to explain to the women what happened and how Molly is assuring you’ll receive the sixth one as soon as possible.” Before Mrs. Rudolf could answer—it was obvious she was thinking through everything he’d just said—he glanced around, continued, “Now, where did I see that bill?”
Her silence said she was still contemplating things, so he ran a hand through his hair as if growing frustrated. “I know I saw it. I don’t want to upset Molly more by—”
“I remember how much it was,” the woman said, digging in her little lace-covered wrist bag.
“Thank you,” he said, exaggerating his supposed relief. “You certainly are a reasonable woman, Mrs. Rudolf, and for that, take ten percent off what you owe.” Eyeing her pointedly, he added, “You can pay the balance when your sixth cup arrives.”
The bills she laid on the counter were old and wrinkled, but he still took a moment to glance at the serial numbers. That was, after all, why he was here. They weren’t close to the stolen ones, and after he’d set the money next to the big engraved box he assumed was the cash drawer, he picked up the crate of dishes. “I’ll carry these out to the porch for you. I’d hate to see you stumble on that step and break another cup. That would ruin your party.”
She let out a tiny giggle as he followed her to the door. “I dare say it might.” When he handed over the box after she’d stepped down, Mrs. Rudolf asked, “What was your name again? I can’t remember.”
“Carter Buchanan, ma’am. And it was a pleasure doing business with you.”
“You, too, Mr. Buchanan. Do tell Molly I said hello, and there’s no rush in getting that settled with the freight company.” Waddling along, she glanced over her shoulder. “I am a reasonable woman, and do understand how these things happen.”
Carter held his opinion on that, but spun back toward the doorway when someone asked, “Who are you?”
He barely noted the sister before glancing over her shoulder. Molly was the one he’d expected to see, but there wasn’t any sign of her. He’d imagined her charging through the doorway like a freight train the entire time he’d been dealing with Mrs. Rudolf and her silly broken cup.
“What, Carter Buchanan, are you doing in Huron?”
He shifted his stance at the skepticism in the girl’s voice. If Karleen was sixteen, he’d guess Molly, or Maureen, to be twenty or so. Young still, but more defined by life. Their names sounded a bit Irish to him, not that it made any difference. Neither of them looked Irish. Both of the Thorson sisters had blond hair tucked neatly into buns on the backs of their heads. Molly’s—Maureen’s—had hints of brown in it, making her pale blue eyes more prominent. Karleen had blue eyes too, they just weren’t as unique.
Carter shut his mind off then, or attempted to. Nothing good came when a man started thinking too much about a woman. He’d seen that before. If a fella wasn’t careful, next thing he knew he’d have a passel of kids as big as that woman’s on the train—like that poor sap that had ordered her as a bride. An event that horrendous would take a while before it quit churning about in the back of his head. How a man could want a woman so badly he’d order one was unbelievable. Even to him, and he’d seen a lot of unbelievable things in his life.
“I was in the storeroom,” Karleen said, her gaze going to Mrs. Rudolf waddling down the road. “You could have gotten hit with that broken cup.”
He’d agree to that, but said, “I’m working my way up to Montana.”
“Montana?”
“Yep, gonna start a ranch up in those parts.” He flipped roles again, pulling up his cowboy jargon and nodding to his horse still tethered to the post. “Sampson and I are looking for a bit of work in these parts, to earn enough money for the next leg of our trip. I was thinking of asking your sister if you folks needed a hired hand.”
The girl planted both hands on her hips, as if that made her appear older, and gave him a good solid once-over. “Have you ever worked in a store before?”
“Sure have. I’ve done most everything at one time or another.” He had even built coffins over in Minnesota while undercover one time, just to make sure they were burying the right man. This job looked to be about as pleasurable.
“Actually, Mr. Buchanan, we do need help around here, and considering the way you took care of both Mr. Ratcliff and Mrs. Rudolf, it would behoove me to hire you.”
Behoove. That was a good word. Couldn’t say it had ever come up in conversation before. He knew it though, from his dictionary. The well-worn book had been his constant companion for years—his only true education. A man learned a lot looking up words, thinking about how they related to people and places.
“The barn needs attention—is that something you could see to, as well?”
“Yes, miss, I could. But wouldn’t your sister have to be the one to hire me?” He wanted the job, all right, needed to examine every bill that came through, but being fired as soon as he was hired wouldn’t give him the chance and the older sister was surely the one in charge.
“We
