Boots Under Her Bed

by Jodi Thomas

  “I was so afraid.”

  “Me, too.” But for an entirely different reason.

  She rested against him for a long time while the events in that dusty shack circled in his mind. Whenever he came to that moment when he knew the man in the dress was going to fire, fear gripped him anew. What if he’d hit her?

  “We were lucky the sheriff got there in time,” she said after a while.

  “He’d better have gotten there. That was the plan. Anyone else hit? And what about the thieves?”

  “They’re in custody. No one else was hurt.” She sat up.

  Her tears had dried. Rosy lips still bore the mark of his kisses. Curls had slipped free to tumble about her shoulders, and he envisioned them spread across his pillow like ebony wings.

  “What plan?” she asked, jerking him from his pleasant musings.

  He told her how he had convinced the sheriff to search the hotel rooms on the ruse of hunting for pilfered items, hoping that would flush the Omaha City bank robbers into the open. “And apparently it worked. Fearing the deputy would find the stolen shares and jewels when he searched their room, the old couple must have hidden them in the abandoned shack. They might have gotten away with it if you hadn’t become suspicious of her—his—footwear.” He rewarded her with a kiss. “Clever girl.”

  She rose and went back to the window. Pushing aside the curtain, she looked out. “And when I went to see what they had been up to, you followed me.”

  “And Muttonchops followed both of us.” Richard frowned as a troubling thought arose. “Where is Harvey, by the way?”

  “Packing, I presume.”

  “He’s leaving?” Did that mean she would be leaving, too? That notion disturbed him in so many ways Richard didn’t want to think about it. “And the stolen shares and jewels?”

  She turned from the window and wandered restlessly about the small room, idly touching this and that. “He’s taking them back to Omaha City.”

  “Harvey?” Richard started to sit up, then changed his mind when he realized it hurt too much and he was only wearing his undershorts beneath the sheet.

  A whistle in the distance drew her back to the window. Apparently the trains were running again. “You mustn’t worry about Harvey,” she said, peering across the street toward the tracks. “He’s completely trustworthy, if somewhat coarse.”

  “I hope he’s not thinking to get the reward Kingston offered. I already promised it to Sheriff Bowman.”

  She glanced back at him. “Why did you do that?”

  “To entice him to do an illegal search.”

  “To bribe him, you mean. I thought lawmen weren’t allowed to take rewards.”

  “Not personally. But their offices can.”

  She considered that for a moment, then resumed pacing. “No matter. Harvey couldn’t have accepted any money anyway. Pinkertons aren’t allowed to take reward money, either.”

  Richard reared back in surprise. “Harvey’s a Pinkerton detective?”

  “We both are.”

  “What?” This time he bolted upright, despite the pain. “You’re a detective? But that’s—why didn’t you—you’re a Pinkerton? I can’t believe it.”

  “Indeed?” She stalked over to glare down at him, arms crossed under those soft, round breasts he’d so enjoyed when she’d rested against him. “You were quite prepared to believe I was a prostitute or a confidence schemer or even a thief. Why not a Pinkerton?”

  Blue fire flashed in her eyes. But he was too rattled to heed the warning. “Since when do they allow women to be Pinkertons?”

  “Since Kate Warne started sleeping with Allan Pinkerton back in the fifties. Even though she’s been dead for a decade, they still recruit women occasionally for their Female Detective Bureau.” She smiled nastily. “Since we’re so good at undercover work and luring foolish men into traps.”

  Another whistle. She went back to the window and pushed aside the curtain to look out. “The train’s here.”

  Even from his bed, Richard could hear the chuff of the locomotive as it rolled into the depot across the street. Her train? How long before it left? Fifteen minutes? A sense of urgency gripped him. “Is that the one headed back to Omaha City?”

  “Yes.” Letting the curtain fall, she went to look in the mirror over the bureau. “Your employer sent his private car for you. If you’re well enough, it will take you back to Baltimore this evening.”

  He watched her reflection as she smoothed a brow and patted a curl back into place. Even from the bed he could see her hand was shaking.

  His panic grew.

  “It seems Kingston holds you in high regard. But don’t worry,” she added, straightening her collar. “The sheriff didn’t tell him it was I who unmasked the robbers, and not you.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” he blurted out before he’d thought it through. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew the decision was right.

  She went still. Her eyes met his in the glass, and what he saw in her face awakened a whole new kind of pain.

  “Rachel, don’t go back with Harvey. Stay, and go back with me. It would only delay you a day.”

  “And probably cost me my employment.” She slowly turned. She looked sad. Resigned. “And when you move on, Richard, what would I do then?” She walked toward the bed, new tears glistening in her beautiful eyes. “Oh, dearest,” she said with a soft sigh, “I have never enjoyed a game of poker more than when you worked so hard to lose to me. You’re a magnificent man.”

  He couldn’t breathe. Like a hand had reached into his chest to squeeze the air from his lungs. “Stay. Please.”

  “I—I . . .” Her voice broke. Bending down, she pressed her lips to his—not gently, but punishing, as if provoked by some desperate emotion. Then it changed to something softer, sweeter, like she was savoring every moment of the contact. When she pulled back, she was crying again. “I shall never forget you.”

  “Rachel.”

  But she was already walking away.

  Richard stared in disbelief as the door closed behind her. He willed it to open again. Prayed that it would. When it didn’t, fury engulfed him. With a curse, he rose up and swept his good arm across his bedside table, sending everything on it crashing to the floor. Then he grabbed his pillow and sent it sailing across the room. How could she leave him?

  He wanted to howl. Break things. Find her and demand that she return.

  Then weakness overcame him and he flopped back, his body trembling, the ache in his head pulsing like a second heart.

  Damn you, Rachel.

  Silence and the reek of spilled lamp oil settled around him as he stared up at the ceiling and waited for the departing whistle to blow.

  • • •

  RACHEL wept as she threw the last of her belongings into her valise.

  She had worked too hard to give up her independence now. She had tried marriage. It hadn’t worked. Even though she had loved Charlie, she hadn’t loved their life together. Never again would she be content to stand at the window and wait for her man to come home to her.

  She needed excitement, challenge. A rowdy game of poker now and again.

  Pain rolled through her. She bent over, arms clasped to her waist, tears dripping onto the coverlet.

  How can I leave him?

  Outside, the all-aboard whistle sounded, reminding her time was slipping away. Straightening, she swiped the tears from her eyes and snapped the valise closed then took a last look around.

  Everything looked exactly as it had when she’d first arrived. As if she had never slept within these walls. As if none of it had ever happened and he hadn’t burst into her life, spinning her around with his outrageous banter and laughing brown eyes and that crooked smile with the tiny chip in his tooth.

  She didn’t even know how he’d gotten that chip. Or if he had ever been in love. Or what his dreams were. She hardly knew him at all.

  I don’t want you to go, he’d said. Just that. No promises. No prop
osals. No declarations. Six simple words from a man who thought she was beautiful.

  How can I leave him?

  Yet how could she give up four years of hard work and stay?

  Feeling herself waver, she quickly rummaged through her valise until she found her small writing case. Taking out a piece of stationery, she went to the bureau and scribbled a note. After sealing it in the envelope, she wrote the name across the front, then slipped the envelope into her reticule.

  Maybe she would give it to Harvey. Maybe she wouldn’t. But until she decided, it was always wise to keep one’s options open.

  Resolved, she picked up her valise and left the room.

  • • •

  IT was late afternoon when Richard left the hotel. On the siding behind the depot, the westbound Union Pacific locomotive sat like a huge slumbering beast, exhaling gentle breaths of steam into the frosty air. Coupled at the end of the short train of boxcars was Ben Kingston’s private railcar, the fringed, velvet curtains drawn back to show the luxury within.

  Despite lingering regrets over the telegrams he had just exchanged with his employer, Richard was mostly relieved to have the decision made. Ben was sorry that he was leaving Kingston Allied, but was happy to give him use of his private car to Salt Lake City.

  So now Richard was on his own. With no idea what to do next.

  Still, if there was one thing his short time with Rachel had taught him, it was that there had to be more in his life than work. If he had died in that shack, what legacy would he have left behind?

  “Evening, Mr. Whitmeyer.”

  Richard looked up to see an elderly Negro man in a red jacket standing on the rear platform of the Kingston car.

  “My name is Jonas,” the man said as Richard came up the steps. “I’ll be your steward throughout the trip. If there’s anything you need, you let me know.” With a flourish, Jonas opened the door. “Welcome aboard, sir.”

  The president of Kingston Allied Insurance certainly traveled in style, Richard noted as he stepped inside. Paneled walls, thick woolen carpets, upholstered swivel chairs bolted beside overlarge windows that showed hardly any soot at all. There was even a desk and bookcase at the end of the room and a long damask couch on the wall opposite the swivel chairs. Expensive bordello, with a touch of Mississippi riverboat for flash.

  Richard headed directly to the couch. With a sigh, he sank down into the soft cushions, trying to jar his head as little as possible. Looking around at the brass and crystal appointments, inlaid tables, ornate coal stove, and tasseled footrests, he felt no regrets about the exorbitant bonus he would earn for recovery of the stolen jewels insured by Kingston Allied. Apparently Ben could well afford it.

  “Is there anything I could get you?” Jonas motioned toward the narrow hallway at the forward end of the room. “We have a fully stocked galley up front, in addition to the master bedroom and lavatory next to this parlor.”

  “Where do you sleep?”

  “There’s a nice, cozy steward’s nook by the front platform. A drink, perhaps? Mr. Kingston keeps a fine bar.”

  Richard bet he did. Ben was quite a drinker. “Bourbon, if you have it.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  As Jonas disappeared toward the galley, Richard slumped down until his head rested on the back of the couch. Rachel’s image rose in his mind. She was past Sherman Hill now, probably nearing the water stop at Buford. Was she sitting with King? There hadn’t seemed to be much rapport between the two of them.

  Pinkertons. He still couldn’t believe it, even though all the clues were there.

  Was she thinking about him as much as he was thinking about her?

  He could feel himself sliding toward melancholy again and was glad when Jonas arrived with his drink. After downing it in two gulps, he gave the empty glass to the steward, along with instructions to wake him when they left for Salt Lake, then he settled deeper into the cushions and closed his eyes.

  It was done. There was no turning back now.

  Sometime later, Jonas awoke him from a lusty dream starring Rachel and her corset to say they would be departing in five minutes. Oh, and he had a visitor.

  Yawning, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and wondered who would be coming by this late, when the woman of his dreams swept through the doorway in a rush of cold air, trailing scarves and gloves and the scent of roses in her wake.

  He bolted upright on the couch. “Rachel?”

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said, pausing to unpin her hat and give it, along with her cape and gloves and a smile of gratitude, to Jonas. “With your flair for deductive reasoning, and my rare beauty and intelligence, we would make an excellent team.”

  “You didn’t leave.”

  “See? You make my point exactly. Nothing escapes that analytical mind.”

  Now that he was fully awake and able to observe her more carefully, he could see that despite the glib chatter, there was a slight tremble in her voice. Nerves? Rachel? The most self-assured women he’d ever met? Or was this another of her games? “Thank you, Jonas. That’ll be all for tonight.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As the steward left, the car jerked. Rachel grabbed for one of the swivel chairs and sat down across from his couch. “I guess we’re on our way.”

  Richard watched her, not sure what to say and half afraid he was dreaming again.

  The train picked up speed, settling into a smooth rhythm that was more of a gentle rocking than the jerk and jostle of the older passenger cars. Equipped with the latest design of leaf springs, no doubt.

  “Why are you here, Rachel?”

  She crossed one knee over the other and began unlacing her elegant, heeled walking boot. “There’s no place I would rather be.”

  “What about the Pinkertons?”

  “I’m no longer with them.”

  “You quit?”

  “I did.” Pulling off the right boot, she set it aside, then started on the left. “I sent a note back with Harvey. I’m sure Allan will understand.”

  Allan? She was on a first-name basis with Allan Pinkerton?

  The second boot came off.

  His pulse quickened. “What are you going to do?”

  She mistakenly thought he was referring to her employment options.

  “I’m hoping to convince you to leave Kingston and come work for me.”

  His jaw dropped. Work for her? Addled as much by what she was doing as what she was saying, he struggled to stay focused. “Doing what?”

  “Detective work.” Sliding the hem of her dress above her knees, she rolled down her stockings one by one, shook them out, then draped them over the arm of her chair. With a sigh, she sat back and wiggled her toes in the thick pile of the carpet. “Oh, that feels so good.”

  And was fun to watch. He shifted and crossed his legs. “I’ve already left Kingston Allied.”

  She looked up, her blue eyes round with surprise. “Have you? Why?”

  “I’m thinking of opening my own detective agency.”

  She chuckled in that breathy way that played havoc with the fit of his trousers. “See? We think alike. How could we not make a wonderful team?” Rising, she began to loosen the buttons down the front of her dress.

  His mouth went dry. The pulsing in his head moved elsewhere. “Rachel, what are you doing? You know I don’t enjoy games.”

  “But you play them so well.” She let the dress slide down to the floor, then her petticoats, one after the other, until she stood in a knee-high pile of fabric, clad only in her corset and chemise. The corset was black, laced up the front, barely reaching from the top of her hips to just below her delightfully plump breasts. Had she not been wearing a silk chemise beneath it, he would have seen all the treasures he had been imagining ever since he saw her standing on the platform in Omaha City.

  He lifted his good arm. “Come here.”

  One dark brow rose. “It’s your side that’s injured. Not your legs. You’ll have to meet me halfway.”


  “I’m afraid if I stand, I might appear too . . . eager.”

  “Are you eager?”

  “Beyond measure.” He uncrossed his legs. “Come see for yourself.”

  “Don’t be crude.” Yet she moved toward him, her steps slightly off balance because of the swaying of the railcar. When finally she came within reach, he put his good arm around her waist and pulled her between his bent knees.

  He looked up at the silk-clad breasts quivering and jiggling in front of his face and imagined what other delights the motion of a train might enhance. “You are so very beautiful,” he said, reaching up with his right hand to stroke the pale skin above the edge of her chemise.

  “Don’t forget intelligent and confident,” she said in a voice that sounded strained. “Although at the moment, I’m feeling rather timid.”

  “You shouldn’t. Not with me.” With trembling fingers, he loosened the satin laces. The corset fell away. He reached for the hem of her chemise, but she got there first. Hiking it up to her hips, she climbed into his lap and straddled him.

  Sweet Mary. He gritted his teeth, afraid he might embarrass himself while she squirmed around, making herself comfortable. “That’s enough,” he finally ground out. “Just sit still for a moment.”

  “We could call it the Rachel James Detective Agency,” she said, sliding her hands up his chest to push his coat aside. “Can you take this off without hurting your stitches?”

  What stitches? He had it off and tossed aside in a heartbeat. “How about the Richard Whitmeyer Detective Agency? That has a more manly ring to it, don’t you think?”

  “I do. But as a full partner, I feel I should be named, too.” Her fingers worked at the buttons on his shirt. He fought the urge to bat her hands aside and tear the damn thing off. Instead, he contented himself with testing the weight of her lovely breasts.

  “Richard.”

  “What?” They fit so perfectly in his hands.

  “Stop that for a moment and look at me.”

  He forced his gaze up to hers and saw by the serious look in her eyes that he had reached that critical point in this negotiation when he would either win the day or make a misstep and lose everything. “Yes, sweetheart?”