Undercover Bride (9781634094573)

by Brownley, Margaret

  “That’s Orion,” he said. “And that’s the Big Dipper.” He pointed out several more constellations, some she’d never heard of.

  “How do you know so much about the stars?” she asked.

  “Not much to do in the stockades but look up.” She waited for him to continue, but he changed the subject. “You said you liked it here in the Territory,” he said. “A lot of people don’t.”

  No doubt, he was thinking of Katherine. “I didn’t think I would either, at first. I heard so many horror stories.” Arizona had appeared bleak and desolate from the train window, but she had since come to appreciate the ever-shifting light across the desert sands and mountains. No artist could capture such splendor. “I was also a bit nervous about the Indian problem.”

  “I won’t lie to you. There are still some small Apache bands causing trouble in parts of the Territory. But most of the Indians abide by the treaties and are peaceful.”

  “That’s good to hear,” she said. “Crazy as it sounds, I even like the weather.”

  He laughed. “You may change your mind come summer.” He fell silent for a moment before asking, “And the children? You like them, too?”

  “I love them both,” she said with meaning. Somehow those two little pumpkins had stolen her heart, and there wasn’t a blasted thing she could do about it. “Why all the questions?” she asked.

  “I just want to make certain,” he replied, his smooth baritone voice wrapping around her like a velvet ribbon.

  She furrowed her brow. “Make certain about what?”

  Even in the darkness she could see the flash of his teeth as he smiled. “You’ll see. Let’s go inside. I have something for you.”

  She couldn’t help but be curious. “You’ve done enough for me already. The check for my family—”

  “I was glad to help,” he said.

  “You didn’t sound glad last night,” she said.

  “I take the blame for what happened,” he said, sounding apologetic. “We’ve never discussed money or budgets. You had no way of knowing our limitations.”

  She stared at him in a mass of confusion. Budgets? He was talking budgets? A man who supposedly stole seventy thousand dollars?

  Rikker had nearly convinced her she was wrong, that she had let personal feelings get in the way. But what if she was right? What if the agency that was usually so methodical had made a mistake? What if they had their sights set on the wrong man?

  The thought froze in her brain, and she quickly banished it. The Pinkerton Detective Agency didn’t make mistakes. Thinking him innocent was only wishful thinking on her part.

  Momentarily lost in her reverie, she was startled when he took her by the hand again. “Come,” he said softly.

  They walked side by side along the gravel walkway to the porch. Once inside the house, he released her and reached into his pocket for a small square box.

  She stared at the box, and her mouth went dry. “That’s not—”

  “I think it’s time we made our betrothal official. So there’s no confusion.”

  It was all she could do to find her voice. “I’m not sure what you mean. What confusion?”

  He chuckled. “You haven’t noticed the way other men look at you?”

  She blushed and shook her head. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

  He handed her the box and rubbed the back of his neck. “Hopefully you’ll know what to say when you open it.”

  Fingering the small box, she lifted the lid. The gold ring etched with ornate scrolls took her breath away. “It’s… it’s beautiful.” She looked up to find him watching her intently. “You made this?”

  He nodded. “It was originally my mother’s thimble. My grandmother brought it all the way from England.”

  Obviously the ring meant a lot to him, and she was at a loss for words.

  He took the box from her and pulled out the shiny band. Stuffing the box back in his pocket, he held the ring between his thumb and forefinger.

  “I think this is where I’m supposed to recite some poem or say something halfway intelligent. But the only poem that comes to mind at the moment is a silly nursery rhyme I used to recite to Elise about a couple of children tumbling down a hill with a pail of water. That hardly seems to suit the occasion.”

  She couldn’t look away from him even if she’d wanted to; she couldn’t even breathe.

  He continued, “As for saying something intelligent… Miss Maggie Taylor, would you do me the honor of wearing this ring as a symbol of our betrothal?”

  She moistened her lips. Things were going exactly as planned. Accepting his ring was her job; it was part of the methodical plan Pinkerton had devised. If only the object wasn’t a family heirloom. If only she didn’t feel like a criminal for accepting it.

  Still, she had prepared for this moment. Rehearsed it. After watching a woman accept a marriage proposal in a play, she’d practiced the exaggerated fluttering of hands and eyelashes in front of a mirror.

  Now she couldn’t bring herself to act so inanely coy.

  When she said nothing, he arched an eyebrow. “I think the customary answer is yes.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect—” She cut herself off. Nothing had changed. They were already betrothed—or at least that’s what she’d led him to believe. Still, something about the ring made it all seem so impossibly real that she felt trapped.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “The ring is beautiful, and yes…. It would be my honor to wear it.”

  His grin widened as he took her left hand in his and slowly slipped the gold band onto the fourth finger. Next to her lily-white flesh, his sun-darkened hand was the color of fine leather. His fingers were long, tapered, strong—and surprisingly gentle. Her pulse pounded in her temple.

  The ring slipped on easily. The embossed metal captured the light from the lamp, which turned it into a dazzling gold star.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, surprised at how much she wanted it to be hers to keep.

  “Beautiful like my bride,” he said.

  As he spoke, she imagined herself in her white satin gown standing at the altar by his side. A lump rose in her throat. Marriage, family, a home—she’d always dreamed of such things, but never thought they could be hers.

  A shudder rushed through her, and she shook the thought away. What was she thinking? None of this was real. It was all make-believe. A carefully devised plan—nothing more. It could never be anything more.

  He released her hand. “I believe it’s traditional for a man and woman to seal a moment like this with a kiss.” He hesitated. “Would you mind?”

  Her heart fluttered. She thought she could do this; she thought she could play the blushing bride; she thought she could remain professional and keep her wits about her. She thought wrong. Suddenly she was a mass of quivering jelly.

  He inclined his head, apparently sensing her hesitation. “If you’d rather not, I understand.”

  “Oh no.” She fought to depict an ease she didn’t feel. “I mean… I’d like for you to kiss me.” As much as she hated to admit it, she spoke the truth. Just don’t let my knees give out.

  “All right, then.” He stepped forward and cupped his hands ever so gently around her face. She quivered at the tenderness of his touch.

  “It won’t hurt, I promise,” he whispered.

  She wasn’t afraid of his kiss hurting her; she was afraid of liking it.

  The moment his lips brushed hers she knew she had good reason to worry. Warm currents rushed through her, and somehow her arms found their way around his neck. The pressure of his mouth increased, melting away the last of her resistance.

  The scent of bay rum hair tonic filled her head and a tingling sensation ran down her spine. Her mind went blank and her senses took over. Nothing seemed to exist but the breadth and depth of his mouth on hers.

  He pulled back, and just like that, it was over. He hadn’t forced her, hadn’t pushed her, hadn’t expected anything in return
—only what she had been all too willing to give.

  As far as kisses went, it was pretty straightforward. Yet it left her lips burning with need and her heart wanting that which she could never have.

  He studied her with a knitted brow. “I’m sorry,” he said, apparently misreading her expression or maybe her silence. “I should have waited to kiss you.”

  “N—no,” she stammered. “I mean—”

  A moment of awkwardness stretched between them. He rubbed his neck and cleared his throat. She looked away and moistened her still-burning mouth. She tried to think what the actors in that play had said after the couple kissed. Something about his having to leave before her husband returned home.

  The thought made her smile, and he smiled, too, a look of relief on his face. It was a good thing he didn’t know she was thinking about an unfaithful wife in a silly stage play.

  Apparently her smile reassured him, or at least he seemed to relax. “There’s a dance planned for Thursday night. If my aunt agrees to watch the children, I thought it would be a good place to announce our engagement.”

  She remembered hearing something about a dance. “Well, I—” The principal had sent her to Arizona Territory to earn Garrett’s trust, and that’s exactly what she had done. So why did it suddenly feel like something was happening over which she had no control?

  She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m not sure I have the proper clothes for a dance.” Not that it mattered. If he paid the bills she ran up with stolen money it would all be over by Thursday.

  His eyes traveled down the length of her blue printed dress, but she had the strangest feeling he was seeing her not as she was but rather how she had looked in her wedding gown.

  “What you’re wearing is fine. We’re very informal around here.”

  “I guess it’s settled then,” she said.

  His crooked grin tore through her defenses, and her pulse skittered. “Thursday night it is.”

  Toby was curled up on the floor asleep when Garrett entered his room. He picked up the tools and pieces of metal surrounding his son’s prone body with an amused shake of his head. He then drew the blanket over the boy’s shoulders before lowering himself onto the edge of his bed.

  He was too tense to sleep. Every cell in his body was on edge. He hadn’t meant to push her. It wasn’t like him to act in haste. Certainly he’d never planned to give Maggie the ring so soon. But after seeing her in her wedding gown, he realized how much he wanted to marry her. How much he wanted to make her his wife.

  He also feared losing her.

  He often caught her watching him—studying him—and he couldn’t help but wonder what went through her mind. Did he fall short of her expectations? A man with a disfigured face and an even more deeply scarred soul?

  He rubbed his hands together. Her lavender fragrance still taunted him as did the memory of her sweet, soft lips on his.

  She hadn’t objected to his kiss and had in fact kissed him back. Still, he felt… what? Reluctance on her part? Hesitancy? She certainly didn’t hold back with the children. She hugged and kissed them freely. The tenderness on her face at times as she looked at them made him ache with envy.

  Would she ever look at him like that? Would she ever laugh as openly with him as she did with Toby and Elise? Would he ever hear the words I love you fall from her pretty pink lips?

  Somehow she had quickly and unexpectedly won his heart, but he hadn’t won hers. Not yet. But he would. By jove, he would.

  Chapter 22

  The ring on her finger caught her eye the moment she woke the following morning. Sitting up in bed, she rubbed the band with her thumb. The memory of Garrett’s kiss brought a rush of heat to her cheeks, and she touched her fingertips to her lips.

  She’d handled herself as well as could be expected under the circumstance. Never before had she been required to kiss a suspect. Far as she knew, neither had the other operatives. The thought brought a rush of heat to her cheeks.

  What was wrong with her? It wasn’t as if she’d never been kissed. But none of the stolen kisses shared with men in the past compared to Garrett’s.

  Naturally she’d considered the possibility that he might wish to kiss the woman he planned to wed.

  She thought she could handle it. She thought she could endure a kiss from him without undergoing any kind of emotion. But never before had a kiss affected her so. It was as if he had done more than simply kiss her; somehow he had branded her and reached into her very soul.

  It was less than three weeks to the wedding, but she couldn’t stay around that long. She had to get the proof she sought and quickly leave town.

  Meanwhile, there could be no more kisses. Nothing like that must happen again. It was too disconcerting. How could she concentrate on doing her job when all she could think about was his full, sensuous mouth on hers?

  If Garrett insisted on repeating the kiss, she would simply say she wished to wait until they were wed. The thought made her groan. For the love of Betsy, why hadn’t she thought to say that last night?

  She pulled her fingers away from her mouth, surprised to find the memory of his lips still lingered there.

  If only he wasn’t a suspected criminal… If only her job wasn’t to find out what he’d done with the stolen money… She sighed and slipped out of bed. No sense wasting time wishing things were different. No sense at all.

  No sooner had Maggie finished washing the breakfast dishes than she heard a knock. Drying her hands, she rushed from the kitchen to open the door.

  “Aunt Hetty. I… wasn’t expecting you.”

  The woman hobbled past her. “I have some exciting news.” She turned to face Maggie. “Oswald has agreed to sing at your wedding.”

  Maggie closed the door. “That’s… great, but who is Oswald?”

  “His full name is Oswald Dinwiddie. He’s this nice man from church. A deacon. I didn’t really know him that well until the day of the miracle. You know when the cross—” She moved her head from side to side to demonstrate. “He was kind enough to take me home after the service.” Her face turned red. “He even stayed for supper.”

  Surprised to see Aunt Hetty blush, Maggie couldn’t help but smile. “Ah, so now you have a gentleman friend,” she teased.

  Aunt Hetty blinked. “Why, yes, I guess I do.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. “Would you believe Oswald’s arthritis was cured by the miracle, too? Just like mine was. Of course, he still suffers from palpitations, rheumatism, and gout, but he’s not complaining. You can’t expect to be completely cured from a single miracle, now can you?”

  “No, I guess you can’t.”

  “There’s a new doctor in town. His name is Dr. Kettleman, and I bought this new miracle cure from him.”

  Maggie blinked. “Don’t tell me you bought from that quack…?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  Instead of taking offense, Aunt Hetty laughed. “Oh, you healthy people are all alike. You think every ailment a fake and every doctor a quack.”

  “Not all,” Maggie said and then changed the subject. “You said this man—Mr. Dinwiddie—has agreed to sing?”

  “He did, and he gave us three hymns to choose from. Personally, I think you should skip the first two. I don’t think songs about suffering belong at a wedding.”

  “I’m sure there are those who disagree,” Maggie said with a wry smile.

  “Oh my! Is that a ring?” Aunt Hetty took Maggie’s hand in hers.

  “Garrett designed it from a thimble that belonged to his mother.”

  “Well, now.” She turned Maggie’s hand to better capture the light. “It sure does look better on your finger than it ever looked on my sister’s.”

  Aunt Hetty let go of Maggie’s hand. “Garrett asked me to watch the children while you attend Thursday’s dance. It’ll do you two the world of good to get out and socialize.”

  “I hope you don’t mind. I know the children can be a handful, but it’s a school nigh
t so they’ll have to go to bed early.”

  “Land o’ living, why would I mind? Long as Toby doesn’t get into mischief, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” She pulled a notebook from her purse. “There’re a couple of things we need to go over for the wedding.”

  Aunt Hetty hobbled toward the kitchen and lowered herself onto a chair. “My back is killing me.” She spread the notebook open on the table.

  “Perhaps you’d rather wait till you feel better.”

  “Nonsense. There isn’t much time left till the wedding. We need to go over the guest list.”

  Maggie jumped at the opening Aunt Hetty had provided. “Speaking of the guest list, I wonder if we should invite Katherine’s brother.”

  Aunt Hetty’s eyes widened. “Good heavens! Whatever for?”

  Maggie sat opposite her and folded her hands on the table. “He’s still the children’s uncle, and I thought perhaps Katherine might have wanted us to treat him as family.”

  “Katherine would have wanted no such thing. She was tired of bailing him out of trouble and thought him a bad influence on the children.”

  “Really?” People like Aunt Hetty, who weren’t afraid to express their opinions or spread rumors and gossip, really were a detective’s best friend. “What kind of trouble?”

  “He was always getting into fights and couldn’t keep a job to save his soul. I can’t tell you how many nights he spent in jail for disturbing the peace. Katherine insisted he wasn’t always like that but had changed during the war.”

  “I guess that’s true of a lot of men.”

  Aunt Hetty nodded. “Thank goodness it’s not true of Garrett. I mean, he changed but not in a bad way. Now about that guest list…”

  The Finnegan dance hall was packed that Thursday night when Maggie and Garrett walked in.

  Curious stares followed them as they threaded their way through the crowd, her arm in the crook of his.

  She wore a simple blue print dress, the sleeves and neckline edged with lace. The shoulder to hem panels showed off her trim hips and small waist.