it’s the dresses she keeps sewing for herself. They’re two sizes too big and as unflattering as Otis Zimney’s milk cow.”
Carter wouldn’t admit he’d noticed the drab dress. Nor would he admit he’d noticed Molly’s face. Other than those few freckles, her complexion was unmarred and the graceful arch of her cheeks left her looking about as delicate as Mrs. Rudolf’s china cups.
There he was, thinking too much again. He always thought about his cases, thoroughly, deeply, but usually not the people involved in them.
“If you tell her I compared her to a cow, I’ll fire you,” Karleen whispered.
Carter let out a chuckle, and found himself wishing the older sister was as pleasant to be around as the younger one. That single notion had him picturing the money, making it front and center in his mind. He needed more clues. That’s what the problem was. Didn’t have enough solid evidence to set in and ponder all the intricacies of the case. Once that happened he’d quit thinking so much about Molly Thorson.
“There’s a small cabin out back,” Karleen said. “It has a bed and stove. Help has lived in it a time or two, but for the past couple years Ivy’s just used it as a playhouse. You can stay there if you want. That’ll save you even more money for your ranch in Montana.”
“I’d be obliged,” he said. “You’re sure your sister won’t mind?” Carter had his reservations, but needed to get his foot in the door.
“Oh, she’ll mind. She minds everything lately.”
There was no doubt she’d mind. He didn’t need more evidence in that part.
“But,” the girl said a bit on the sly side, “if we team up, she won’t have a choice. We need help, Mr. Buchanan, have for some time, but Molly’s too stubborn to admit it.”
Carter’s insides churned. Undercover was one thing. Deceit another. He understood that and balanced it out as needed. There was no reason for this job to be different, but deep down, this time it struck a chord. He had to ignore it, that’s all there was to it. Completing his assignment would be impossible without working at the mercantile.
“Why don’t you get settled?” Karleen wiped her hands on her yellow skirt, nodding toward the road. “We have another customer coming, but Pastor Jenkins is always pleasant. He’s a bachelor, like yourself, and several women in town think he’s rather handsome, except Molly. She doesn’t like men with dark hair.” Smiling, the girl then said, “There’re empty stalls in the barn for your horse.”
Molly wanted to rush out the door, proclaim there weren’t any empty stalls and that Carter Buchanan could not work here, but Pastor Jenkins was almost on the porch, and she couldn’t endure his questioning looks. Or his persistence. Which was why she’d told Karleen she didn’t like men with dark hair—just to stop her sister’s questions. The pastor had suggested he’d like to call upon Molly, and she’d told him no, even before Robbie had returned to town. Before …
It happened again. The fluttering in her stomach. Strong enough to capture her full attention. Molly inched her way back into the living quarters while she waited this time. Wondering if she truly had felt something. She hadn’t been ill for several weeks, and was still shaky at how it had suddenly come on, which had left her with no choice but to flee. Holding it in hadn’t been an option. By the time she’d returned to the store, Carter Buchanan had been behind the counter, placating Mrs. Rudolf, even making the woman blush. That was as uncommon as Mr. Ratcliff’s silence.
Carter Buchanan was good at what he did. Telling lies, making people believe them. Like all men.
Karleen passed through the doorway just then. “Oh, there you are. Pastor Jenkins is here for his daily roll. I told him you were keeping one warm for him.”
Like a horse tied up to a post too long, Molly snapped against the confines, the invisible ones that kept her tied to the store, to her life. “I’m not keeping one warm for him, and you had no right to offer that man a job.”
Her sister didn’t so much as glance her way as she walked to the stove and took 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
