by Jane Shoup
“It was your idea,” she hedged as she came back to the table. She sat and divided the matchsticks. “What sort of thing were you talking about?”
“How ’bout a . . . kiss,” he said quietly.
She hoped she looked calmer than she was feeling. She couldn’t even look directly at him. “Deal.”
“You mean ‘it’s a deal’?”
“I mean deal the cards, Mr. Sheffield.”
He grinned and shuffled. “I’ll do that, Miz Carter.”
His utterance of the name was a reminder that, to some degree, this was make-believe. She was make-believe. Or was she? The funny thing was that she felt like Lizzie Greenway Carter as much as she’d ever felt like Pauline Ray. She had more of a sense of belonging here in Green Valley than she’d ever had in her entire life.
He began dealing. “You didn’t say what you wanted if you win.”
She picked up her cards without reply, but a smile played on her lips.
“Oh, I see,” he said. “You want to think about it awhile. Is that it?”
She shrugged lightly and studied her cards. “Did you say four aces was a good hand?” she asked musingly. His smile was instant and glorious. It made her heart race. Oh yes. A heart rate could increase from sheer attraction.
“I think the lady likes to bluff. Although it might be worth losing just to find out what you want.” He paused. “How many cards for you?”
Her gaze met his. “One, please.”
He slid one over. “I sure hope it’s not the fifth ace.”
She laughed.
“Dealer takes two.” He studied his cards a moment and then looked at her. “What’s your bet?” She pushed two matchsticks in.
“I’ll see your bet. Call.”
She laid down her cards one at a time. An ace of spades. A three of diamonds. A six of hearts. A nine of hearts and a jack of clubs.
He blew out a breath. “Hard to beat that.”
“I know. It’s so pretty and colorful,” she teased along with him. When had Pauline ever teased? Never. But she wasn’t Pauline anymore. She was Elizabeth Anne Greenway Carter. This wasn’t make-believe. She was really sitting here in her kitchen in her home that had belonged to her father, with this handsome man who was helping her and who made her heart beat fast. She had excellent instincts and she frequently laughed.
“I fold,” he said, tossing his hand face down. “What’d you win?”
“I’m still thinking about that.” She began to rise. “But, for now, I should check on the chil—” She broke off as she made a mad swipe for his cards, scooping them up and backing away as he laughingly grabbed after them. He had two sevens. She gave him a look. “You can’t fold after you bet, and you don’t quit with a winning hand. Or did I misunderstand that?”
“Okay,” he conceded. “I win.”
“Are you going to tuck us in?” Rebecca asked from the doorway.
“I’ll be right there,” Lizzie said calmly, despite the excitement she felt. She set the cards down. “Did you say good night to Mr. Sheffield?”
“Good night,” Rebecca said sullenly as she turned away.
“’Night,” he returned, as if he hadn’t noticed her tone.
Lizzie held back a smile as she shook her head at him, then left to see to the children.
Thirty minutes later, Lizzie walked back into an empty kitchen. She’d indulged the children with two stories, so perhaps she’d taken a little longer than expected, but she was disappointed to see that he’d gone to bed. Although he had worked hard every day for a week, so she was being utterly unfair. She packed a basket full of things for him to take, turned out the wall lamp, and went to her room, but she’d only removed her shoes when there was a light knock on the door.
It was him, of course. “I just wanted to say good night,” he said quietly so as to not disturb the children.
“I thought you’d gone to bed,” she replied just as softly.
“No. I was outside. I’m going to my room now.”
If only she’d noticed he was outside. They could have played longer. “There’s a basket in the kitchen for you. Don’t forget it tomorrow.”
“I won’t.”
“It’s small enough pay,” she said sheepishly.
“I liked being here. I even liked building the house of cards.”
She smiled, grateful for the sentiment.
“Well, good night,” he said, stepping back.
“Your bet,” she said impulsively. “I mean . . . you won the bet.”
He stepped closer, but not all the way to her. He nodded slowly and then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. The whiskers on his chin were rough, but they merely tickled, as gentle as the touch was. “I’ll see you next week.”
All she could do was nod. Her heart was in her throat.
Chapter Seventeen
September 17, Indianapolis, Indiana
Charles Ray was tallying columns in a ledger, but he couldn’t get the same sum twice in a row. He was standing at the counter of the cooper shop, slumped over the book and getting more frustrated by the minute, when a middle-aged woman walked in. She wasn’t an attractive woman. She was solidly built, her hair dark, her face plain, her lips and eyes both on the smallish side. He straightened and set his pencil aside, weary of calculations. He’d been adding one column for what seemed like an hour and it always netted a different sum. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Is Mr. Ray available to speak with?” she inquired.
“I am Mr. Ray.”
“Mr. Ethan Ray?”
He hesitated because he loathed when everyone assumed Ethan was the man in charge. “Charles. Ethan is my brother, and we’re partners in this establishment. Can I help you?”
“No, sir. It’s a personal matter. Is Mr. Ethan Ray here?”
“He’s here.”
“Would you get him, please?”
Her expression hadn’t changed one iota, which was to say she remained utterly expressionless. He wondered how much her expression would change if he smacked her upside the head. “Who can I say is calling?”
“Cynthia Perkins,” she supplied. “From the Pinkerton Agency.”
He drew back in surprise. “Pinkerton? As in detectives?”
“If you’d be so kind as to get your brother,” she said curtly.
For several seconds he didn’t budge, but she continued to peer at him until finally he relented. He found his brother overseeing the loading of a wagon. “Ethan,” he called.
Ethan looked over at him with his typical scowl. “What?”
“Someone here to see you. A woman.”
The loading was completed and the workers tipped their hats to the brothers before climbing on the wagon and driving away. Ethan wiped his hands on his apron as he walked closer. “Who is it?”
“From the Pinkerton Agency,” Charles replied.
Ethan looked irritated. “I thought you said it was a woman.”
“That’s right. Name’s Cynthia Perkins and she’s one cold fish.”
Ethan moved past his brother and walked into the small lobby, and Charles followed.
Cynthia looked around the shop as she waited. It was neat, sparsely decorated, and smelled of wood. It was interesting to observe the brothers walking in together. There was a resemblance between them, but the differences were clear to see, too. Ethan was the younger, but the leader. They both had thinning brown hair, although neither man was older than his midthirties. Neither was particularly attractive, but Ethan was the more attractive of the two. There was an arrogance about both of them, and there was something in their expressions, or something just beyond, that spoke of quick anger and an innate sense of entitlement.
Ethan stopped in front of her but didn’t offer his hand. “I’m Ethan Ray.”
“Cynthia Perkins from the Pinkerton Agency. I’ve come in response to your inquiry.”
“I asked for a detective,” he stated coldly.
“And here I am.”
“A woman?” Eth
an scoffed.
She didn’t bat an eye because she’d heard it all before.
“Since when are there women detectives?”
“Since nearly the beginning, sir. Have you never heard of Kate Warne?”
“No. Who’s she?”
“She was one of the best. Mr. Pinkerton relied heavily on her and claimed she never let him down. Nor have I, as a point of fact. Is there somewhere we could talk in private?”
He studied her a moment, flummoxed and agitated and not the least bit concerned with concealing his feelings. “And if I insist on a man for the job?”
“There are none currently available, but I’ll certainly return to the office and report it, if that’s your wish. Of course, with every day that passes, the trail grows colder.”
“What experience do you have?” he challenged.
She smiled, but barely. “I should not have been sent had I lacked the necessary experience.”
He huffed his displeasure, but led the way toward a private office. Charles, she noticed, didn’t particularly care for this arrangement. She followed Ethan to a small office where he motioned to a chair. She walked over and sat, and only then did he round his desk and sit.
“So, how do we do this? What do you need to know?”
“I need facts. Details such as the date your wife left.”
“It was a month ago. August seventeenth. A Friday.”
“And you’ve heard nothing at all since?”
“No.”
“Do you have a photograph of her and the children I can use?”
“I have a picture of Pauline. It’s ten years old, but it still looks like her.”
“I’ll need it, but you’ll get it back. I can write you a receipt for it, if you wish.”
He leaned forward menacingly. “It’s not my wish.” His forearms rested on the table and his fists were clenched. “I don’t give a damn about it. Use it and then burn it, for all I care. But find her.”
“How old are the children?”
“Rebecca is eight. Jake is four.”
“Did your wife leave any sort of letter or—”
“No. Nothing.”
“Do you have any idea what mode of transportation she employed?”
“No, I do not, but she didn’t have any money, so I don’t see how she could have gone at all, much less stayed gone. Which means somebody’s got to be helping her. I’ll tell you one thing, when I do find out—” He left the rest of it unsaid, but his malevolent scowl spoke volumes.
“Does she have family she might go to?”
“No. She was an only child and her folks were older. They’re long dead. There’s no one. Don’t you think I’ve racked my brain for where she might be?”
“Where was she from originally?”
“Here! We’re both from here.”
“What about close friends?”
“Something wrong with your hearing? There is no one! I didn’t allow her to waste time with worthless, gossiping females.”
He was abrasive in the extreme, but certainly not the first she’d dealt with. Cynthia Perkins opened a small handbag, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to him. “It’s our policy to establish our fees in advance. We have set hourly, daily, and weekly fees, whichever best works to your benefit, plus you’ll pay all pertinent expenses I incur.”
He narrowed his eyes and then opened the envelope and took out the form. Looking it over, he huffed in disgust. “I can’t afford this.”
“Those are our rates, sir, and they are non-negotiable. You should already have been informed of them.”
“Well, that’s when I thought a man was—”
“As I told you, sir—”
“I want a guarantee of some sort,” he interrupted.
“A guarantee is not possible, but you know our reputation.”
“Where will you even start? I’m not just going to throw away good money.”
“I’ll speak with neighbors and—”
“Like hell you will. I forbid it. You hear me? No one needs to know my business.”
“That makes it considerably more difficult. I will have to note that limitation in the report.”
“You saying you can’t do anything?”
“No, I am not saying that. If I’m not allowed to speak with neighbors, family, or friends, I’ll begin by going to the livery and the depot to see if someone remembers seeing your wife and children.”
“No names. Don’t give anybody any names. You got that?”
“I understand.”
Ethan began scribbling on the form. “I will not pay for any services beyond six weeks.” He handed the signed contract back to her. “Find her in that time or I’ll find someone else.”
She glanced over what he’d written and then put the contract back into her bag. “Her picture?”
Ethan pulled open a bottom drawer of the desk and took out a framed picture. He removed the daguerreotype from the frame and handed it to her.
Cynthia stood. “I’ll be in touch regarding my progress.”
“You do that.”
“I can see myself out,” she said, starting from the room.
He sat back in his chair, flabbergasted. “A goddamn woman detective,” he muttered under his breath.
Chapter Eighteen
Lizzie sat in the front of the wagon holding RJ, Fiona’s son, while Fiona drove. In the back, Rebecca and Jake sat looking out, their elbows perched on the side of the wagon and their chins resting on their forearms. The sky was nearly cloudless and the autumnal countryside was beautiful and colorful, with rolling hills and mountains in the distance no matter which way you looked. Indiana was different, flat land with what seemed miles of sky. It had been a pleasant ride.
“So Em moved here when she was twelve,” Fiona said. She had effortlessly gone from one subject to another, oftentimes asking and then answering her own questions, although Lizzie didn’t mind. Fiona was nothing if not entertaining.
“’Cause her folks passed. It was her uncle, Ben Martin, who went and fetched her and it started a real good, real close relationship. Unfortunately,” Fiona said, stretching the word out, “Ben had a wife who had kind of a mean streak. I don’t know. Em was only a kid, but Amy Martin, Ben’s wife, resented her for showing up at all. And worse than her was Jimmy, Em’s cousin. Mean as the day is long. The type that likes to torment anyone he can get away with tormenting. Well, he got Em in his sights. Made up an ugly story about her having a thing with the Lindleys. You know who they are?”
“I heard,” Lizzie replied. They were a clan that lived nearby who were practically outlaws.
“Em’s pretty as can be, so there was probably some jealousy involved too, but when she got to school, Jimmy had already poisoned everyone against her. They chanted things, said awful things, treated her like she had the pox.” Fiona sighed. “You know I was never one to torment, but it will bother me until my dying day that I didn’t try to stop it either. None of us did. Nobody befriended her.”
Lizzie looked away, thinking that she and Em really did have some things in common.
“So, later Em goes off to college and . . . I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but she got the attention of this rich, powerful man who owned a big hotel. He was not a nice man. In fact, he”—Fiona paused and glanced at Lizzie—“he kept her prisoner in his fancy hotel,” she whispered. “For almost a year,” she said in her regular voice. “And let’s just say . . . he did what he wanted to with her,” she finished in another whisper before nodding meaningfully. “Including, among other things, beating her black and blue from time to time.”
Another thing she and Em had in common.
“Somehow, Em escaped. Now, you can’t tell her I told you all this. I wouldn’t tell most people, you know. But we’re all going to be the best of friends, I just know it.”
Lizzie smiled and nodded, hoping it was true.
“So she escaped and she got herself back home. I was the first to see her once she got
here. She stayed at our place and borrowed a dress so she could look presentable to her uncle. ’Course, she didn’t know her uncle had had a fit of apoplexy while she was gone. Did I say she was gone a couple of years? A long time. By the time she returned, she was prettier than ever. You know, if I described her—brown hair, brown eyes—she wouldn’t sound that special, but she is. You are, too. Nature was just better to some of us than others.”
“Oh, Fiona,” Lizzie said.
“No, no, no. I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I may have hated my red hair when I was a kid, but I’m fine with it now. I’m content with my lot. Especially after growing close with Em and learning all she’s been through. Her story does have a happy ending, though.”
Lizzie shifted RJ, who was beginning to squirm.
“Hey, little man,” Fiona said sharply, “we’re almost there, so you just rein in your wild horses.”
Lizzie heard Rebecca giggle. She turned to look and Rebecca was smiling, having heard the admonition. Lizzie smiled at her and Rebecca winked back, which was funny to see. April May had certainly been an influence on her child.
“Em got home, and Ben was so happy to see her. Amy was gone by then; she died before Em left,” Fiona said, speaking more rapidly. “And Em met this man. Tommy Medlin. Oh, honey, Tommy is one bee-u-tiful man, so handsome everybody used to call him Pretty Boy. He’s got dark hair, these blue, blue eyes, and he’s sweet as can be, besides. Oh, and just wait till you see the two of them together. You’ve never seen two people more in love. Least, I haven’t.” She lifted her chin. “See over there? That’s the Triple H, Mr. Howerton’s ranch.”
Lizzie looked over the green, well-manicured grounds with the long, white fence that went on for as far as she could see. Cattle were grazing in a field and cowboys rode among them.
“Cowboys!” Rebecca exclaimed. Both children were watching the cowboys with rapt fascination.
“Unfortunately, Ben had another fit and died,” Fiona continued. “Em was devastated and flat broke—”
Broke. The third common factor, Lizzie thought.
“Then, in stepped Tommy and offered her his life savings. Not asking anything in return. See, he already loved her by then. He’d already rescued her from some other men who tried to hurt her. Well, she agreed to take his money, but only if he’d become her partner in the farm. She’d own half, he’d own half. Just business, right? Only they went and fell in love.” Fiona turned onto a long driveway. “And here we are.”