The Cowboy Who Caught Her Eye by Lauri Robinson Page B

make a brief stop,” Wilcox said, “on his way to Wyoming, to the railhead there. But I know he’ll want to talk with you during his layover here.”
    Carter nodded. That was to be expected, yet his instincts were ticking. “Is there trouble there? At the railhead?”
    “Just James’s son.”
    “Robert Fredrickson,” Carter said, recalling the name. “He was on the train last year.”
    “Yeah,” Wilcox agreed, frowning. “You can’t be thinking he had anything to do with the robbery? His father hands him over money like he used to hand him candy. He’d have no reason to steal it.”
    “I’m not thinking that,” Carter lied. For he was tossing the idea around. “I was just recalling the names from the passenger list. Remembering that’s where I’d heard it. What kind of trouble is the kid in?”
    “Actually, I’m just assuming it’s trouble, and he’s not a kid anymore. Has to be twenty-five or twenty-six.” Wilcox’s head shake showed disgust. “James has let his son try a hand at every job the C&NW has to offer. Sent him here once, to be my assistant. Within a few months, I told James it was either me or Robbie.”
    “Why?”
    “He had the whole town hating the railroad, and he has a real knack for stirring up trouble,” Wilcox said. “Matter of fact, the last time he rolled through, I wouldn’t let him get off the train.”
    Carter lifted a brow.
    “He was in his private car,” Wilcox explained. “Had no reason to take a hotel room. Besides, it was full up then, too.”
    An eerie sensation was tickling Carter’s spine. He wasn’t sure why. Could be because the entire town was talking about that woman with all her kids still at the hotel—the man who’d ordered her claimed he hadn’t. That’s how the gossip went. Then again, it could be because the detective vibes inside him were kicking like Sampson penned up too long.
    “Let me know when Fredrickson arrives,” Carter said as he rose from his chair, needing time to ponder.
    “I will,” Wilcox answered.
    He accompanied Carter down the stairs, making small talk along the way, and it wasn’t until they stepped into the bright sunlight that Carter felt inclined to answer. The man had mentioned Molly.
    “The Thorson sisters are just fine,” Carter answered through clenched teeth.
    “It would be beneficial to you if you could convince Molly to give up that store while you’re here. You seem to have created quite a rapport with them.”
    “Just doing my job,” Carter said, disguising things he couldn’t describe leaping to life inside him. “As a Pinkerton operative,” he added. “That’s who I work for. Not the railroad.”
    “I know,” Wilcox said. “But I do have the authority to reward you for going above and beyond your duties.”
    Carter fought the urge to shove the man against the wall and clearly explain that everyone, including the railroad, better stay away from the Thorson sisters. A company that large was persistent, could afford to be. In the end, when they turned dirty, Molly wouldn’t stand a chance. He’d just learned that it wasn’t the town that didn’t want Ivy going to school. It was the railroad. And it didn’t have a thing to do with Ivy’s heritage, just the mere fact they wanted things as difficult as possible for Molly and her family.
    “I’ll remember that,” Carter finally said, showing no emotion as he walked away.
    The other person in town who knew Carter was a Pinkerton man was the telegraph agent, so he stopped there next. Nothing new had arrived for him, and he explained messages could still be sent to the mercantile. He sent one telegraph asking exactly who at the Chicago and Northwestern Railroad had hired the Pinkerton agency to investigate the robbery—a year after it had occurred. He’d need all the information he could get to see this thing through now, not just in finding the robber but in stopping the railroad from harassing Molly.
    When he arrived home, Ivy was having a