by Laura Beers
“You are quite the charmer, Mr. Shaw,” Pearl said, turning back towards the stove. She reached for a spoon and stirred the contents in the large pot.
Marianne hurried into the room and breathed a sigh of relief. “There you are, Porter. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Strands of her red hair hung around her face, and her cheeks were pink from exertion.
He straightened to his full height, preparing to fight whatever problem that Marianne required. “Is everything all right?”
“Archie wants to see you right away,” she announced, attempting to shoo him from the room. “He is quite insistent about it.”
“Is that all?” he asked, reaching for another cookie.
Marianne grabbed his arm and started leading him towards Archie’s office. “You must not keep him waiting any longer.”
He towered over Archie’s assistant, but he allowed her to escort him to his boss’s office. All the agents had learned early on that Marianne was the glue that kept this office running smoothly. Furthermore, they were all placing bets on when Archie and Marianne would finally acknowledge their feelings for each other and get hitched.
Marianne knocked on the door before she opened it and pushed him in. “I found Porter.”
“Finally!” the red-headed Irishman barked from behind his desk. His gaze softened as it landed on Marianne. “That will be all.”
Marianne nodded and left the room as Porter stepped closer to the desk. A woman wearing a black dress, with a lacy collar and a cameo at the base of her throat, sat rigidly in a chair, facing Archie. She shifted her gaze towards him, and his feet faltered at her striking beauty. Her dark, brown hair was pulled back into a fancy chignon, but tendrils framed her face. She had a straight nose, a strong jaw, and lips that begged to be kissed. But her physical beauty was eclipsed by the fire in her eyes that spoke of an untold story. That mystery fascinated him.
Reluctantly turning his gaze back to Archie, Porter extended him the file. “Here is my report on the Rogers case.”
Archie accepted the file and placed it on his desk. “Sit down, Mr. Shaw. We have much to discuss.” Porter sat on the chair next to the woman. “I’ve just finished interviewing Mrs. Darcy Spencer, and I am partnering her with you on this next assignment.”
Sneaking a glance at him, the woman asked, “May I ask why you picked Mr. Shaw to partner with me?”
“You may,” Archie responded. “Mr. Porter Shaw is one of our top agents. He has successfully solved many of our most difficult cases in the Denver office.”
Porter leaned forward in his seat. “Um… will I be required to marry her?” he asked, glancing over at Mrs. Spencer who pursed her lips in response.
Archie nodded. “Yes, the same rules apply. You will marry Mrs. Spencer and train her on her first assignment. After the training is complete, you may seek an annulment, or continue working as a partnership.”
Porter shifted in his seat to face the lovely Mrs. Darcy Spencer. “And you agreed to this… willingly?”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” she replied with a forced smile.
Attempting to disarm her, Porter offered his most charming smile, one that worked on all the ladies. “I have no doubt that we will get along nicely.”
Mrs. Spencer visibly stiffened. “I am not looking to see if we suit, Mr. Shaw. I’m here only because I want to be trained as an agent.”
Archie chuckled. “Besides being impervious to your charms, Mrs. Spencer is a trained nurse and is a part owner of a cattle ranch. Which is why I assigned her to this case.” He reached for a file on his desk and opened it up. “Mr. Adam McCoy, owner of McCoy Cattle Ranch, has hired us because his cowhands are disappearing.”
“Disappearing?” Porter questioned.
“Yes. In the past six weeks, four men have gone missing, and Mr. McCoy suspects foul play,” Archie confirmed.
Porter opened his mouth to ask his next question, but Mrs. Spencer spoke up first. “Why does he suspect foul play?”
“As you are aware, securing the fences are vital for these cattle ranches, and his ranch hands scour the fences daily to look for any signs of weaknesses. However, some of these men fail to report back,” Archie explained. “Their horses and equipment are found intact, there is no sign of a struggle, but the men are nowhere to be found.”
Mrs. Spencer nodded. “That does seem odd. There was a time when one of our ranch hands was killed by a mountain lion, but there was an obvious sign of a struggle.”
“Does Mr. McCoy suspect any of his competitors?” Porter asked.
“Everyone is a suspect at this point,” Archie said, extending him the file. “McCoy Cattle Ranch is near a small, bustling town called Aurora’s Creek, CO. The ranch is approximately sixty miles north of Denver. A wagon is waiting out front and will take you to the train station. Once you arrive at Aurora’s Creek, you will have to secure a wagon and travel to the ranch. You should arrive in about six hours, barring any unforeseen circumstances.”
Porter accepted the file and opened it. “When does Mr. McCoy expect us?”
Archie pulled out his pocket watch and replied, “Before dusk.”
“We will have to leave immediately,” Porter murmured.
“That would be wise,” Archie agreed, returning his pocket watch to his vest’s pocket. “For this assignment, Mrs. Spencer will be hired on as the housekeeper,” he paused, turning his gaze towards him, “and you will be a ranch hand. This will allow Mr. McCoy to easily explain your sudden presence.”
“Understood,” Porter stated, rising. He extended his hand towards Mrs. Spencer. “Shall we?”
“Aren’t you forgetting something, agent?” Archie asked in wry amusement.
Porter froze as realization dawned. He knew this moment was coming, but now it seemed unreal. Could he marry a woman that he had only met moments ago? True, this marriage would be in name only, but he had been taught that a marriage was a life-long commitment.
Mrs. Spencer must have felt his hesitation because she slipped her gloved hand into his and he felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him. His trademark impish smile came to his lips as he helped her to rise. “Are you ready to get married, darling?”
She yanked her hand back. “I am not your darling, Mr. Shaw.”
“Does that mean I won’t get to kiss my bride?” he teased, stepping closer.
“You presume correctly,” she declared, tilting her face up defiantly.
Looking down at her flawless skin, Porter had a sudden urge to run his thumb across her high cheekbones. “Pity. At least for you,” he teased. “I have been told that I am a remarkable kisser.”
Mrs. Spencer arched an eyebrow. “I highly doubt that.”
He leaned closer and whispered next to her ear, “I bet by the end of this assignment, you will be begging to kiss me.”
“I think not,” she stated icily.
He shrugged as he leaned back. “I think so.”
Mrs. Spencer’s hand lowered and slid into the pocket of her gown, but it stopped when Archie said, “Are you ready to get hitched?”
Chapter 2
As they bounced along in the wagon down the rough road, Darcy ran her hand down the length of the new traveling gown that Marianne had provided for her. It was lavender with a white lacy collar and full skirt, trimmed with ruching along the back. It felt odd to be out of her mourning clothes, but she couldn’t very well continue the practice. Not only was she newly married, but she was a Pinkerton agent. A mourning newlywed would raise suspicion.
She snuck a glance at her new temporary husband. He was well over six feet tall, with intense blue eyes, chiseled features, and brown hair. His muscular physique was only enhanced by his engaging personality, which exuded confidence and a touch of cockiness.
They hadn’t spoken more than a few words to each other since leaving Archie’s office. The train had offered them no privacy, and she found herself in no rush to speak to Porter. He made her feel uneasy.
Porter’s voice broke throug
h her musings. “That color suits you.”
“Thank you,” she said, her hand moving to hold on to the side of the wagon.
He glanced her way. “You must have loved your husband very much to honor him by wearing mourning attire.”
“I did, very much,” she hesitated, “once.”
Shifting his gaze back to the road, Porter appeared deep in thought. Finally, he spoke again. “I know this is an awkward situation for both of us, being married and all…”
“We are only married until you train me, and we complete this assignment. After that, we go our separate ways.”
“Good. We are in agreement then.”
“Good,” she replied.
Porter surprised her by shifting the reins to his left hand and draping his right arm over the bench. “It would be best if I start your lessons.” His eyes darted occasionally towards the road, but he kept his focus on her. “Always keep your gun near you. Trust no one and assume everyone is lying to you.”
Darcy bristled at his blunt words. She knew that truth all too well. “That will not be an issue.”
“Archie assigned Bailey as our surname, and we will retain our given names.” He was silent for a moment, then asked, “Why did you want to become a Pinkerton agent?”
Darcy debated about lying to him, but that would not be a logical response. They were supposed to trust each other as partners, and a lie would not benefit her. “After Josh, my husband… er… my previous husband, died, I ran across the advertisement in the newspaper. The words appeared to fly off the page, and it seemed like a sign. Destiny.” Her eyes scanned over the rocky terrain. “I know that must sound ludicrous to someone like you.”
“Not at all. After my family’s cattle ranch was foreclosed on, I drifted from place to place until I ended up in Chicago. I had read an article about how Pinkerton agents had thwarted a bank robbery, and I decided in that moment that I wanted to be an agent.”
“I am sorry about your family’s cattle ranch,” she murmured. “I couldn’t imagine losing my family’s legacy.”
A wistful look came over Porter’s expression. “I had a wonderful childhood at that ranch, but we had ongoing feuds with our neighbors about watering and grazing rights. Eventually, it became too much, but my father refused to sell to any of those ‘backstabbers’, as he called them,” he huffed. “His gnawing hate drove us kids away, and he died a short time later… alone.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Eight years.”
Keeping her gaze on his, she asked, “Do you mind if I ask how old you are?”
“Not at all. I am twenty-eight.”
“Oh,” she replied. “I’m twenty-five.”
He smirked. “I wondered about that, but I am smart enough not to ask a woman her age.”
“Wise man,” she joked.
“Tell me about your cattle ranch,” he said, his alert eyes scanning the trees along the road.
“Like you, I have fond memories of my childhood at Shadow Ridge Ranch,” she shared. “It’s one of the largest cattle ranches in the New Mexico Territory, and the land has been in my family for generations. My mother died when I was young, and my father had no idea how to raise a daughter. So, I was treated like my brother until my fifteenth birthday. I even wore trousers and went on cattle drives.”
“What happened when you were fifteen?”
Darcy laughed lightly. “My grandmother came to visit and was aghast when she saw me rounding up the cattle with the cowhands. She demanded that I start wearing dresses and be sent off to a proper finishing school.”
“And were you?”
She shifted towards him. “I was. That is where I discovered my love for books and learning.”
“Is that why you wanted to become a nurse?” he asked.
“In a way,” Darcy replied vaguely. There were still some things she was not willing to share. She glanced sideways at her new husband and was disconcerted to see him watching her. It seemed as though he knew she was keeping something from him.
“So, you are a lady, a nurse, and a part-time ranch hand. Did I miss anything?” he asked after a moment, a smile on his lips.
“That rounds it up nicely,” she said, returning his smile, grateful he hadn’t pressed her for her secrets.
His face grew expressionless as he inquired, “Did your husband die during the war?”
She bit her tongue, holding back her retort. “No. He was killed during a shoot-out.”
“Was he a lawman?”
“No. A doctor,” she replied, her words curt.
“When did he pass?”
She pressed her lips tightly together before answering, “Six months ago.”
“How long were you married?” he asked, his gaze focusing on the road.
“A little more than two years.” Her answer may have been vague, but she knew exactly how long she had been married to Josh. It had been two years, two months, and ten days.
Darcy shifted in her seat, turning slightly away from Porter. She hoped to be done with these questions about her former husband. She did not enjoy speaking of Josh’s betrayal. They were supposed to have children and live happily ever after.
Porter must have misconstrued her reluctance to talk as a sign of affection because a sad smile crossed his face. “I understand. It must be too painful to speak of him.”
“The memories are too raw,” she admitted. At least that was the truth.
Porter nodded. “Well, we have two more hours till we arrive at the McCoy’s ranch. What would you like to talk about?”
Her eyes shifted towards the reins. “May I drive the team?”
A playful gleam came to Porter’s eyes. “But you are a woman.”
“I am glad that you noticed,” she replied, surprising herself with that flirtatious comment.
His eyes roamed her face, and one corner of his mouth curled into an approving smile. “Oh, I noticed, Mrs. Shaw.”
Darcy felt her cheeks growing increasingly warm, and she turned her attention back towards the road. Porter scooted closer and extended her the reins. “I am just teasing you. I am more than happy to relinquish control over to you.”
“Thank you.” She accepted the reins and his fingers brushed up against hers, causing a momentary tingle that she was quick to ignore.
Feeling the need to distance herself from Porter, she pressed up against the side of the bench. He gave her an understanding look and slid over to create more distance between them. How could a man that she had just met be able to read her emotions so well?
Well, he was a Pinkerton agent, she rationalized. That must come naturally.
Porter was no fool. It was clear that his wife was hiding something about her dead husband. But what could it be? Whenever Josh was mentioned, Darcy’s answers became short and aggressive.
His right arm draped casually over the bench, and he was angled towards his wife. His wife. Beauty-wise she was perfect. He could never tire of her beautiful features and bewitching eyes. But marriage was based on more than physical attraction. More importantly, this marriage was not real. It was in name only.
A smile graced Darcy’s lips as she urged the horses faster up a long hill. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.
“I am.” She glanced over at him. “How are you enjoying your leisurely ride?”
He grinned. “I daresay that you are the first woman that has ever offered to drive a wagon for me.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
His eyes focused on the towering trees, looking for any signs of danger. “I have two brothers.”
“Where are they now?” she asked, shifting the reins in her hands.
“My brothers work at a cattle ranch somewhere in the Wyoming Territory. I haven’t seen them in almost eight years.”
She turned her gaze towards him, and her eyes held compassion. “Don’t you miss them?”
“Every day.” Porter noticed that Darcy’s once white gloves were now darkened with di
rt and grime. He pointed at the reins. “Would you like me to take over, so you don’t ruin your gloves?”
She shook her head. “Gloves can be washed, Mr. Shaw.”
“Porter,” he corrected.
“I suppose I will need to say your given name in public,” she murmured.
He reached out and touched her sleeve, causing her to jerk backwards. “Darcy,” he stated in a chiding tone. “We need to appear affectionate towards one another.”
“Not all marriages have love between them,” she muttered under her breath.
Surprised by her response, he questioned, “Did your marriage lack love?”
She stiffened. “That is rather a personal question.”
He took his finger and played with the lace along the edges of her sleeves. “Not if we are married.”
“But we are not truly married.”
“We are, and I have the document to prove it.” He brought his hand up to pat his vest pocket. Why did he feel the need to tease this high-strung woman?
Porter watched as Darcy’s hand began slipping towards a pocket in her gown. “May I ask what you carry in your right front pocket?” he asked.
Darcy looked over at him with wide eyes. “Why do you suppose I have something in my pocket?”
“Because I’ve noticed your hand gravitates towards that pocket whenever I tease you,” he revealed.
“Oh, I suppose I do,” she mumbled. “It’s a habit that I picked up after I got married.”
“Which was?”
Darcy pulled a derringer from her pocket. “I always carry a gun for protection.”
Porter straightened, suddenly angry. “You started carrying a gun after you were married?”
She returned the pistol to her pocket. “My husband was not what he seemed.”
“Was he a criminal?” he found himself asking.
The same vacant stare came into her eyes, and he could see her erecting walls around her. “No. He was a law-abiding citizen.”
“Did he hurt you?”
She turned away from him, but not before he caught the sadness that marred her face. “It depends on how you define ‘hurt’.”
“Darcy… I…” he started, unsure of how to comfort her.