An Agent for Rosalie

by Laura Beers

  There was an abiding sadness in his voice as he said, “I wish I had been there for you.”

  “You were,” she rushed to assure him.

  He shook his head. “By the time I arrived, I saw men loading the dead into the coffins.”

  “You rallied the men and formed a posse,” she reminded him. “You spent a whole week trying to find Bill Garrett and his gang.”

  “We failed.” He dropped back down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “We never received word that Garrett had escaped from jail. If we had known, then we would have taken precautions.”

  “I agree, especially since Bill had threatened to kill my father on multiple occasions.” A brief smile came to her lips. “My father told Garrett to stop breaking the law if he didn’t want the law to come after him.”

  “Sheriff Addis was a character,” Paden remarked reflectively. “He commanded respect with his no-nonsense attitude, but he always took the time to play games with the school children.”

  A rooster crowed in the distance followed by a man shouting, “Shut up, you stupid bird!”

  Rosalie laughed. “I take it that person does not appreciate the early hour.”

  “We should discuss our next course of action,” Paden said. “First, we need to speak to the bankers, without giving away that we are agents.”

  “I agree.”

  Placing his arm behind his head, he asked, “Any ideas on how to do that?”

  “We could go open an account at the bank,” she suggested, lowering her knees. “I have some cash that we could deposit to keep up the ruse.”

  “How much are we talking about?” he asked, glancing curiously over at her.

  “About two thousand dollars.”

  Paden shot up in the bed. “You are carrying two thousand dollars on you?!”

  “Not on me at the moment,” she replied, smirking. “It’s in a hidden pocket on my corset.”

  “Why do you have so much money?”

  She shifted and rested her back against the wall. “I told you that bounty hunting is a very lucrative business.”

  “I had no idea.” His tone was curt.

  Unsure of why he was short with her, she placed a hand on his sleeve. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” he said with a frown, diverting his gaze from her.

  Without thinking, Rosalie ran her hand lightly over Paden’s jawline. The sensation of warm skin and the scratchy feel of stubble against her fingertips caused the breath to catch in her throat. Suddenly, the brazenness of her actions caught up to her, and she quickly brought her hand back down to her lap.

  A rooster crowed in the distance, again earning similar ire from her neighbors.

  Rosalie rose from the bed and walked over to the open window. She peered out, half hoping the rooster was visible from her location so she could shoot it.

  Paden spoke up from the bed. “Why don’t we try to get some more sleep? It’s still early, and the bank won’t be open for at least a few hours.”

  That sounds logical, she thought. “Let me close the window. That might quiet the sound of these pesky roosters.”

  “You think it is more than one rooster making all that racket?”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  “Come back to bed, Rosie.”

  Never had words been so inviting, she mused. But this marriage was in name only. Rosalie turned back to face him. “I would prefer to sleep alone.”

  Paden made a sound that was a mixture of amusement and frustration. “I assumed as much,” he remarked, rising from the bed. “I guess I was just being hopeful.”

  Walking back over to the bed, she laid down, breathing in the lingering scent of Paden’s leather and musk on the pillows. Closing her eyes, she was nearly asleep when she realized that she was smiling.

  Paden sat across from Rosalie at a table in the dining room. She was looking especially alluring in a burgundy gown with a fitted bodice, ruffled skirt, and a matching hat. He frowned as he took a sip of his coffee. Since when had he started noticing women’s fashions, he wondered. But he already knew the answer. He found everything looked good on Rosie… especially trousers.

  He cleared his throat as he placed the newspaper down on the table. “Are you almost finished with breakfast?”

  “I am.” She pushed her plate away and lowered her voice. “The bank is in the middle of town, situated between the mercantile and a barber shop. A short time ago, I saw two gentlemen enter the bank, and no customers have entered the building.”

  “It would be a good time to approach the men,” he acknowledged, pushing back his chair.

  “Wait, before we go…” Rosalie said, her eyes darting around the room.

  Pulling his chair back in, he leaned across the table. “What is it?”

  Bringing her hand up to the table, she slid across a large wad of cash to him. “You should be the one to deposit the money, assuming that is what we decide to do.”

  “That’s not my money. It’s yours,” he declared, placing his hand over hers. He had no intention of taking her money.

  Tilting her head, she remarked, “We are married, and it would be unusual for me to be the one holding the money.”

  Drat! She had a point, as much as he hated to admit it. Besides, he was immensely pleased that she’d stated that they were married.

  “Fine,” he reluctantly agreed, tucking the money into his vest pocket. “But, for the record, I am against this.”

  “Why?”

  It was a simple question, but there was no easy answer. It all had to do with his pride. He wanted to be the one to provide for her, but she was more than capable of taking care of herself. In fact, she was doing astronomically better for herself than he could ever offer her. And that was embarrassing.

  “I just think that carrying a large sum of money is ludicrous. That’s all,” he responded curtly.

  She eyed him suspiciously as she brought a teacup up to her lips. “Earlier this morning, you acted similarly when I told you about the money.”

  Paden shoved back his chair. “Agents do not analyze each other.”

  “It bothers you that I have money, doesn’t it?” Rosalie asked, leaning back in her chair.

  “Will you drop it, please?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “All right,” she said, shrugging. “This might not be a good time to mention that my father also left me the farm and some property on the outskirts of Waterglen.”

  “Good for you.” He rose and moved around the table to pull out her chair.

  Rosalie arched an eyebrow as she stood in front of him. “Talk to me, Paden.”

  Frowning, he confessed, “You have done remarkably well for yourself, and I can’t say the same. The truth is that I have managed to put a little aside, but it is a paltry sum compared to yours.”

  “Do you still give a portion of your paycheck to your parents?”

  He nodded. “As much as I can. My father’s back has been flaring up, and my mother can’t farm the land very well.”

  Placing a gloved hand on his chest, Rosalie watched him with what appeared to be adoration in her eyes. Dare he hope? “You are a good man, and an even better son. The only reason why I have acquired so much money is because I have no use for it. I found I preferred sleeping outside and living off the land.”

  He didn’t dare move to break the spell that had been cast over him, but he had to ask, “What if men found you all by your lonesome? Do you know what they would have done to you?”

  “I do, which is why I always slept with one eye open,” she acknowledged, removing her hand and waving it dismissively in front of her. “Regardless, I did not track down Bill Garrett’s gang for the reward. Money means very little to me. I have more respect for an honorable man, and you are the most honorable man I know, Paden Brooks.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Brooks, for saying so,” he said with a boyish grin.

  A faint blush came to her cheeks as her gaze landed on his lips. He felt pleased that she
wasn’t immune to his charms. He offered his arm, and they walked across the street and down the boardwalk.

  Stepping into the bank’s lobby, a tall man, in his early twenties, with blonde hair and a brown suit, greeted them. “Welcome to Shelbrook’s First National Bank. How may I help you?”

  “My wife and I are interested in opening an account,” Paden announced, smiling over at his wife.

  “For that, I will have to refer you to our bank manager, Mr. Tuttle.” The man came around his desk and approached them. “I haven’t seen you folks around. Are you new to our town?”

  “We came in on the last stagecoach,” Rosalie informed him.

  “What an exciting ride that must have been,” the man proclaimed, wiping his hand over his chin. “I heard that a husband and wife teamed up, fought off the road agents valiantly, and saved all the passengers from certain death.”

  A man’s voice came from the far side of the room. “You are speaking to the heroes themselves, Mr. Holmes. These are the two that everyone is talking about.”

  “You don’t say,” Mr. Holmes said in astonishment, pointing toward some chairs lining the wall. “Please have a seat and allow me to get you something to drink.”

  “That’s not necessary. We don’t intend to stay for long,” Rosalie replied graciously. “We’re taking advantage of the Homestead Act and are relocating to a plot of land a few miles out of Shelbrook. Our next stop is to drive out to our land.”

  An older, balding man with a dark, blue suit approached them with his hand out. “I am Mr. Tuttle, the bank manager.”

  Paden shook hands with the man. “I am Paden Brooks, and this is my wife, Rosalie. We are looking forward to the next chapter in our lives.”

  Mr. Tuttle looked down at Rosalie’s stomach, misinterpreting Paden’s words. “What wonderful news. You must be expecting.”

  Rosalie’s lips parted in surprise, but she managed to recover quickly. “It was rather… unexpected,” she murmured delicately.

  Mr. Tuttle smiled at her and pointed toward his office. “If you will follow me, then we can open you an account.”

  They walked into the back room, and Mr. Tuttle closed the door. As he went to sit behind his desk, he stated, “I know you had an unfavorable first impression, but I assure you that Shelbrook is a safe, law-abiding town.”

  “I heard that the stagecoach was robbed three times before, and that the last group of passengers had been murdered,” Rosalie said in a hushed voice, trying to sound a little frightened. “Do you know why those robbers would attack the stagecoach?”

  Mr. Tuttle nervously glanced over his shoulder at the large black safe that was built into the wall. “No one is foolish enough to rob our bank, because it is only a stone’s throw away from the sheriff’s office. Plus, our back wall is reinforced. The only way a robber can access our money is through the money box on the stagecoach.”

  Putting his hands up in front of him, Mr. Tuttle rushed to squash their fears. “If you open an account, and invest your money at our fine bank, you do not need to worry about losing your funds. I can assure you of that.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Paden said, his voice full of concern. “If no funds are forthcoming, then the bank will be required to use its own resources. How do we know that our money won’t be tied up?”

  “I assure you, Mr. Brooks, that the sheriff is very concerned with this pressing issue, and he is working diligently to solve the problem. I have even heard a rumor that the staging company is bringing in the Pinkerton National Detective Agency to work the case,” Mr. Tuttle stated as a line of sweat appeared on his brow. He took out a handkerchief and wiped it away. “To open an account, you will need a deposit of just five dollars.”

  Turning toward Rosalie, he asked, “What do you think?”

  “Whatever you think is best, my love,” she answered, smiling sweetly.

  How he wished her words were in earnest. “I think it would be in our best interest to open an account.” Paden directed his attention toward the bank manager. “When do you anticipate the next shipment of gold to arrive?”

  “I apologize, but I am not at liberty to say, Mr. Brooks,” the bank manager asserted. “Our gold delivery is a heavily guarded secret.”

  “We understand,” Paden said.

  They filled out the required paperwork and slipped Mr. Tuttle a five-dollar bill to deposit into their account. As they walked out of the bank, Paden turned to Rosalie and asked, “What do you think?”

  Rosalie sighed, glancing back at the wooden structure. “Without those gold shipments, then this bank will most assuredly go under. Do you think Mr. Tuttle or Mr. Holmes could be so callous as to deceive an entire community?”

  “If it’s not them, then who?” Paden murmured as he contemplated the two suspects. Both Mr. Tuttle and Mr. Holmes played the part of a bank employee well. Although, he did detect Mr. Tuttle’s nervousness in his office.

  “I have an idea,” Rosalie declared, tugging him down the boardwalk.

  Chapter 8

  “May I ask why you called this meeting, Mrs. Brooks?” Sheriff Walton asked, his voice dripping in annoyance.

  Ignoring his tone, Rosalie flashed him a smile. “I have a plan to trap Bill Garrett.”

  “Already?” Deputy Charlie glanced up from the papers on his desk. “You haven’t even been in Shelbrook for twenty-four hours.”

  The sheriff sat back in his seat and turned his attention toward Paden. “Do you consider it to be a good plan?”

  Paden shrugged. “I haven’t heard it yet, but I must assume it is a decent plan.”

  “Blast it,” Sheriff Walton huffed, tossing his fountain pen onto the desk. “You two are going to get killed, and then this whole town will be swarming with Pinks to investigate the murders.”

  “What makes you think we would be reckless?” Rosalie asked, walking toward the window in the back corner.

  Deputy Charlie lifted his brow. “This is coming from the woman who shot at robbers from the roof of a stagecoach.”

  “Fair enough.” She shrugged and stopped at the open window. “Ryan, I need you to go tell Mr. Murray that his presence is required at the sheriff’s office. Inform him that he is not in any kind of trouble.”

  A pause. “Yes, ma’am.” His words were followed by the noise of boots thumping on the ground.

  Shooting up from his seat, Deputy Charlie walked over to the window and looked out. “What the dickens? How did you know he was listening in on our conversation?”

  Rosalie smirked. “A lucky guess.” She walked back over to Paden, who was leaning against the wall, watching her with amusement. “My plan is simple. Mr. Murray will inform Mr. Tuttle that a wire came in from the staging company, informing him that a gold shipment will be sent to Shelbrook in two days.”

  Sheriff Walton gave her a stern glare. “You would be putting all those passengers at risk for this ploy.”

  “Just the opposite, in fact,” she confirmed. “The wire will explain that the stagecoach will be a decoy and the real shipment will be sent via a wagon on an alternate path with guarded messengers.”

  Paden straightened from the wall. “How many alternate paths are there to Shelbrook?”

  “Far too many,” Deputy Charlie admitted. “The stagecoach takes the least treacherous path, but a wagon would have no issues with some of those winding roads through the woodlands.”

  Rosalie’s confidence grew. “Bill Garrett already lost his opportunity on the last shipment of gold. Any good bank would buckle down their resources to ensure they wouldn’t lose another dime.” She started pacing in the small office. “Paden and I will watch Mr. Tuttle and Mr. Holmes around the clock to see if Garrett or any of his gang approaches them.”

  Sheriff Walton stared at her with a combination of disbelief and irritation. “That is your plan. To lie about a fake delivery of gold, put the bank employees under surveillance, and just wait for the bad guys to slip up.”

  Rosalie stopped pacing. “Do
you have a better idea, sheriff?” she challenged, meeting his stare, determined to win this battle.

  Letting out a grunt, the sheriff took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t. But this plan,” he drawled, “and I use that term generously, has too many variables. What if Mr. Tuttle or Mr. Holmes are not involved? Or Bill Garrett doesn’t bite? Then we just wasted two days.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. We would,” Paden declared.

  “Careful, Pink,” Sheriff Walton stated with narrowed eyes. “You need to remember your place. We are the law, and we are allowing you to work in our town.”

  Rosalie walked closer to the sheriff’s desk. Her manner was confident, her voice steady. “I may be a Pinkerton agent, but I am also a bounty hunter. I have every right to run this investigation and arrest Bill Garrett.”

  No one spoke as Sheriff Walton and Deputy Charlie exchanged worried glances. It was clear that they thought her plan was not up to snuff, but they needed to trust her.

  The door was opened, and James Murray walked through the door, his eyes landing on the sheriff. “Ryan told me that you wanted to see me, sir.”

  “Tell Ryan we better not catch him snooping around our office again, or we will lock him up overnight,” Deputy Charlie stated.

  “Understood,” James acknowledged.

  “Agent Brooks has come up with an absurd plan to lure Garrett out of hiding,” Sheriff Walton sighed as he pointed to her. “I give it a ten percent chance of working.”

  James frowned. “Ten percent. Those are some low odds.”

  “I say five percent,” Deputy Charlie piped in.

  Stepping up next to her, Paden placed his hand on the small of her back. “I have full confidence in my wife’s plan. If she says it will work, then I believe her.”

  Rosalie gave him a grateful smile before filling James in on what his role would be in the plan. The sheriff and deputy continued grumbling their complaints, but that didn’t bother her in the least. All that mattered was that Paden believed in her. And that was a wonderful feeling.