"It's Mr. Coulter, right?" she asked, when he still hadn't responded.
He winced. "It's Cord."
Finally, finally, he took off one leather work glove and shook her hand. His was cool and chapped. Like hers.
"I'm here about the job," she said.
The angle of the afternoon sun meant his hat was shading his face. His expression was inscrutable.
"The hired hand," she went on. She didn't see a line of applicants, so that gave her a little confidence boost. She pulled her own pair of work gloves out of the back pockets of her jeans, and they flopped over her hand as she motioned to the barn. "We're doing some cleaning?"
He held out one arm before she could start toward the barn. "We're not doing anything." He shook his head. "I think you've got the wrong place. I'm not hiring."
Her smile faltered, but she wasn't giving up. Couldn't.
She put on her sweetest smile, the one that had always worked on Mama. At least when Molly was little. "I might not look it, but I can carry my own weight. More than."
He shook his head, his eyes shuttered. She was losing her chance. The fear boiling in her belly made her blurt, "Gender discrimination is illegal, you know. And unethical."
He huffed out a disbelieving laugh. "I'm not discriminating. I don't need a hired hand."
Really? The barn listed to one side, its boards so bleached they were more white than gray. The far field was overgrown, no sign of winter wheat green shoots. And the barbed wire fence running nearby was badly mended. Get one horse or cow to lean on it, and the whole fence line would fall.
He obviously needed help.
He just didn't want hers.
That wasn't going to deter her. She set an expectant gaze on him.
His hands went to his hips. "Let me rephrase. I can't afford hired help."
Yeah, right. "Then why'd you post that flyer? At the superstore. On the community bulletin board...?" She went on when he just stared at her blankly.
"I didn't post any flyer."
She growled under her breath and dug in her front pocket to pull out the burner phone. She pulled up the photo she'd snapped, the red flyer against the bulletin board, and turned the phone in his direction.
He took it reluctantly and stared at it, his expression registering disbelief and then a quickly-banked anger.
"That is your address, isn't it?" she asked.
His mouth was drawn in a tight line. "I don't know who made that, but it wasn't me. I really can't afford to hire anyone."
He handed her the phone back, and the tightness of his expression hadn't lightened. He wasn't joking.
Oh.
Oh.
Snot nuggets.
She clamped her trembling lips together and let her eyes roam as she blinked back threatening tears.
Sure the place was rough, but... the little pond off in the distance was nice. The cattle would have water year-round. Somebody'd obviously built the place with care. With the gently rolling hills... Someone would get a nice view of the sunrise every morning during chores.
The No Name ranch would've been the perfect place for her to hide.
The rancher scratched his forehead beneath his hat. His glove left a streak of soot across his skin.
She should go. She was turning to do just that when he asked, "Where'd you come from, anyway?"
She didn't owe him an answer but... "My truck gave up the ghost in your drive." She'd gotten halfway down the winding drive toward the drab ranch house when the old Chevy had sputtered and died. It'd been a long time coming. She'd just hoped to be settled before it had.
Now what was she supposed to do?
She didn't wait for the rancher to tell her. He wasn't going to be a bit of help.
She was on her own. Still.
She was joking. Had to be.
My truck gave up the ghost in your drive.
Hound had followed the girl half the distance up the hill to the house before Cord whistled him back.
The dog stopped in its tracks. Looked back to Cord. He could almost see him thinking it over. Follow the girl, or stay with his meal-provider?
Cord won out, but it was a near thing. Hound settled back in the grass near the truck, looking longingly back toward the house. After the girl.
He didn’t feel guilty about sending her away. Couldn’t afford to.
A cold wind blew dust and bits of hay into his face. He gritted his teeth against it as he returned to the barn. One more wheelbarrow of rotten hay. His shoulders were aching with the strain.
Molly.
What kind of name was that anyway? Molly.
Not a hired hand's name.
Cord's mind whirled as he tried to make sense of it all. Something had spooked the girl. She was hiding it well, but he'd had years of looking in the mirror after one of Mackie's tirades. Even an award-winning actress wouldn't be able to fool him. He’d seen the bleakness in her eyes when he’d insisted he couldn’t afford to hire her.
Could Molly have crafted the poster she'd shown him on her cheap phone? Why would she? She didn't know him from Adam.
Which meant... it must've been someone else in Sutter's Hollow. Who would do it? Why? Whoever it was, had they put up the poster to help him or as some sort of warped punishment?
He'd never gotten help from Sutter's Hollow. Why would he start expecting it now? He never would've asked, never would've posted something like that.
His brain still chugged and spun, trying to figure it out.
Trying to figure her out.
He'd had a handful of girlfriends. Enough to convince him that maybe the tremble of Molly's lips was an act. Trying to manipulate him.
No thanks.
If he'd had a little sister, it might've worked.
But he'd had West, and younger brothers used their fists instead of tears to try and get their way.
Younger brothers left.
He slammed the tailgate on the last load of fertilizer and on the thoughts of his brother. Their relationship was a fracture that was never going to mend.
The winter sky was
