The Cowboy Who Caught Her Eye. Lauri Robinson

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.