Undercover Sheriff

by Barbara Phinney

  Realizing she’d frightened the small child, she set him on the ground and knelt down to his level. “You poor thing! Where is Mama?”

  Something swept past them, a blur of dark movement she refused to investigate, keeping all her focus on the child. The toddler cried on and she lifted him and carried him to the step of the nearest crib. At the sounds of his wailings, several women poked their heads from their own small buildings, Annie Blake included.

  “Is that Daniel? Where’s Rosa? Is she back?” one woman asked.

  Rachel shook her head, all the while trying to soothe Daniel. It didn’t work. “I didn’t see her—but I was focused on Daniel,” she admitted. “She can’t be far. She wouldn’t leave him.”

  “She’s not around.”

  Rachel turned toward the pronouncement. Zane stood there, his gaze still searching the limits of the lamplight. “How do you know?” she asked him.

  “I just checked. I heard someone running off, but lost him or her in the darkness.” He grimaced and his voice dropped to a mere whisper. “I wasn’t familiar with the area, and with the moon setting, I couldn’t see well.”

  “It couldn’t have been Rosa. She wouldn’t drop Daniel off and then leave.”

  Zane’s mouth thinned, but he said nothing. Rachel resisted the urge to force her point upon him, instead choosing to cling to Daniel. Thankfully, his wailing had started to abate.

  Touching the child’s arm gently, Zane snagged the boy’s attention. “Daniel? Hello?”

  Curious, the child slowed his cries and watched him. Zane smiled gently. “Can you tell me who brought you here?”

  Thankful that Zane knew how to speak to a small child, Rachel held her breath.

  The boy didn’t answer, but he did stop crying. Encouraged by this, Rachel asked him, “Was it Mama who brought you here?”

  Zane shook his head. “Don’t ask him a leading question. He’ll want to answer you the way he thinks you want to hear.” He tugged lightly on the boy’s jacket and smiled softly. “Who came with you, son?”

  Abruptly shy, Daniel buried his head into Rachel’s jacket. She held him tight and sagged. “He’s too young for this. I’m not sure he even understands what we’re asking.”

  Gently prying the boy some inches from Rachel, Zane unpinned the note. “Where’s your mama, Daniel?”

  The boy began to cry again. Rachel felt his face. “His forehead feels warm and he doesn’t look well. And yet his hands are cold. I think he’s caught a chill.” She looked at Zane. “It’s a shame you didn’t find who dropped him off. They could know what’s wrong with him.”

  “I’d say whoever dropped him off didn’t want to deal with a sick child. As soon as I heard you call his name, I raced off in the direction he’d come. I could hear someone, but I couldn’t find them.” Zane’s voice slipped into a whisper. “Whoever dropped him off knew their way around—certainly better than me.”

  Keeping the boy close, Rachel stood and sighed. “Well, we can’t leave him out here in the cold. We need to get him home.”

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  She flicked her head toward the cribs. “Rosa can barely afford to rent a crib, so this is home.”

  “It hasn’t been offered to another soiled dove?”

  “I expect she’s paid for a full month’s rent.” She hugged Daniel tighter. “I’m taking him to my house.”

  “Do you think it’s wise?”

  Appalled that he was questioning her judgment, Rachel asked, “Why not?”

  “If you stay with him here, he might be more comfortable and be able to tell us where he was and who brought him.”

  “Believe me, he won’t be more comfortable here, and frankly I doubt he can tell us anything. He can barely string a sentence together.”

  “But is it safe to have him in your home? He might be contagious. Or become a real handful.”

  “I know this child.” She clung to him. “He’s better off at my house. I’m certainly not going to keep him here in the crib. My cousin, Victoria, has had her fiancé’s children overnight several times, and there are five of them. If we can survive those mischief makers, we can handle one sick little toddler.”

  * * *

  Zane shot her a dubious look. Experience told him that taking the child out of the place he was used to would hinder any chances of the boy telling them anything.

  Still, admittedly, the chances that the child would have any useful information to share were slim. Zane scanned the darkness, his ears pricked to hear anything suspicious, but the noises from the saloon and the cribs masked the rest of the night sounds. A mongrel dog slunk by, tail between her legs.

  This was not a good end to his first full day of filling his brother’s shoes. He looked down at the stiff but crumpled paper in his hands. It was too dark to read it, so he tucked it into his breast pocket beside Rachel’s tract. Besides, the night was getting colder and he didn’t want to stand in the doorway so close to the bartender and patrons, none of whom he fully trusted. The child’s health was more important.

  Taking up Rachel’s basket for her, he said, “Fine. Your house it is. Lead the way.”

  He had a pretty good idea where she lived. Earlier today, he’d done a bit of exploring on Alex’s horse. The beast had known instantly he wasn’t his brother, but, after a few sniffs of Alex’s coat, had accepted the replacement wearing it.

  He’d noted all the major homes and businesses in Proud Bend. There were only a handful of fancy houses in town, all close to the river. One was closed up, and, after reading all the files he could, Zane assumed it was Clyde Abernathy’s, for the man’s estate had yet to be fully settled.

  The fanciest house, with its fine, glimmering stone facade, he now discovered was the Smith residence. Wordlessly they walked up the long driveway. Gravel crunching underfoot, Zane could not deny the swell of suspicion. Here was the town’s richest family, a banking family, and, from Rachel’s slight drawl, he would say their heritage was old money from New England. From reading his brother’s reports about Walter Smith, he knew that corruption was rife in this family, and with each step Zane took toward the house, his resentment and ire grew.

  Lord, take away my prejudice.

  He set his jaw, keeping his breath short and waiting for his black mood to pass. Rachel had done nothing to implicate herself in her father’s corrupt schemes. In the matter of Walter Smith’s death, she had been, along with her mother, as much a victim as he’d been in Canaan.

  Zane hated the memory of the treachery. Did Rachel know what Zane had been accused of? Unlikely. Not even Alex knew yet. He’d been fired and had received Deputy Wilson’s telegram the same day. It had happened so quickly that Zane had felt it better to tell his brother to his face than put the bitter incident down on paper, a reminder for years to come how wealth bought its own privilege to do as it pleased.

  “It’s a fine home,” he muttered tightly as they approached the front door. To the right was a small horse-drawn coupé, horseless at this time of night, but in the lamp lit above the door, Zane could tell the carriage had cost a pretty penny.

  “Yes, my father wanted the best of everything,” Rachel said.

  “And you?”

  “I have to admit, there was a time when I was very pleased that I lived in such luxury.” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Not anymore. I have seen too much evil and trouble to simply be happy to sit in the front parlor sipping hot tea and looking out at the world going by.”

  She shifted the drowsy child in her arms and opened the front door. Several lamps burned in the deep, wallpapered entrance, casting a warm glow on the curved staircase farther in. Warm air, scented with a mix of supper and a perfume to mask the smell of burning coal and wood, greeted his first inhalation as he crossed the threshold. A young man dozed in a chair nearby, and
as Rachel quietly shut the door, he jumped to his feet, startled.

  “Jasper,” Rachel said to him, “Please stay here until Sheriff Robinson leaves. Then you may put out the lamps and go to bed.”

  “Yes, Miss Rachel.”

  Zane followed Rachel up the wide, ornately carpeted stairs. On the third tread, Rachel paused to adjust the child and lift her skirt.

  “Here,” Zane said, setting down her basket, and peeling the sleeping child from her arms. “I don’t have a fancy skirt to trip over.”

  He held the boy close and frowned at how thin and light he was. Gone was the baby fat that should have carried a healthy child into its toddler years. Long gone.

  Holding him snugly with his left arm, Zane removed his right glove and touched the boy’s forehead. The boy had a fever, all right, and could easily be very sick. They needed to do something soon.

  “I know,” Rachel answered his unspoken concern softly. “I have some medicines upstairs. Let’s take him to the room we’ve made up for Victoria’s new family. But be quiet. I don’t want to wake anyone.”

  “Considerate,” Zane murmured.

  “Thank you, but I’m thinking that it’s easier to handle Mother when we’re both rested.” She trod quietly down the hall toward a far door and, with a slight cringe, opened it. It creaked lightly. Hurrying in, she found a candle and lit it from the one burning in the hall. Then she lit a small hurricane lamp. Within a few minutes, the room was filled with a yellowish light.

  After Rachel took Daniel from him, Zane glanced around, cataloguing the contents of this small bedroom, one crowded with two beds, a desk and a large chest of drawers. As he removed his Stetson, his gaze lit upon a potbellied stove that stood in front of a walled-up fireplace. The room was too cold to ignore all and simply read the note. “I’ll start a fire.”

  While he busied himself with that task, Zane tossed a glance over his shoulder. Rachel had already found a thick clean nightshirt and cap from the chest of drawers. After setting a pot of water on the stove top to fill a hot-water bottle he found sitting at the end of one bed, Zane finished stoking the fire. Though he knew it was necessary, he disliked the thought of preparing the child for bed in this chill. But, picking up the child’s clothing that Rachel had already removed, he shook his head. No wonder Daniel was sick. The clothes were dirty and damp. Damp? This town had the driest air he’d ever felt. Where had the boy been? Somewhere near Proud River?

  The clothes also smelled different from other children’s clothing, but the scent was nothing he could identify. The fire now blazing, Zane stood and bundled them up. He turned the tiny jacket inside out to protect any traces of whatever might be on them that caused that odor.

  “Leave them,” Rachel said. “I’ll have them washed. There are some of Mitch’s children’s clothes here I can dress Daniel in tomorrow morning.”

  “No, I’m taking them. I want to look at them in the light of day. They may give me a clue as to where he has been.”

  Rachel’s brows lifted. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Zane wanted to remind her that was why he was the lawman, but he kept quiet. Rachel had been through enough tonight. Her battle with that Annie woman and disappointment at not finding Rosa were only tempered by finding Daniel, but why only the child had returned was still not answered. Zane took the bundle of clothes and set them on the small stool near the door.

  He fingered the note. Just as he was preparing to read it, Daniel, chilled from the change of clothes and cool room, stirred and sat up, his face scrunching up in preparation for a wail.

  “Shh,” Rachel told him softly to ward off the scream. “It’s all right. It’s going to get warm in here. Didn’t Mama ever light a fire?”

  She drew him into her arms and held him close. Zane handed her one of the spare counterpanes draped neatly over the end of the other bed. She tucked it all around Daniel and it settled him immediately. “See? You’re warm and safe here and we’ll give you something to make you feel better, okay? Look around, Daniel, what do you see?”

  Zane looked around, as well, finding a soft, stuffed toy—a rabbit or a dog, he wasn’t sure. He gave it to Rachel.

  “Look at this. Who is this?” she crooned quietly.

  “Puppy?”

  “Yes, it’s a dog.”

  Daniel looked up at Rachel. “Puppy! Me see puppy.”

  She smiled over his head to Zane. “There’s a mother dog that hangs around the saloon. She had puppies this fall and I think Daniel has seen them.” She tucked him into the bed, along with the toy. “I’m afraid it’s probably the only pleasant thing in this boy’s life. Rosa can barely afford to feed him. I often bring food for her, and I have been trying to teach her to cook simple things like biscuits, but it’s hard. She’s given up that awful life, but still lives in a crib. She has only a bit of savings, and spends a lot of time looking for work.”

  Zane swallowed. The child’s life wasn’t off to a good start. Rachel turned to him. “I have some medicine that will bring down his fever. I’ll get it.”

  She slipped out of the room. Seeing how Daniel had closed his eyes, thankfully, Zane turned to fill up the hot-water bottle. The water would be only warm, but that was probably best for Daniel’s young skin.

  Rachel clearly cared very much for the boy, which was a credit to her. Corking the bottle securely, he turned back toward the bed. There was a piece of paper on the floor near the door. Obviously it had fallen from Rachel’s pocket as she left. Zane quickly slipped the bottle in between the sheets and against the boy’s icy toes. Already Daniel was drifting off to sleep, although his rest would be fitful if his fever didn’t come down.

  After tucking the bedclothes in again, Zane scooped up the paper from in front of the door and returned to the bed. Sitting down in the rocking chair between the beds, Zane unfolded the sheet and bent it toward the lamplight. It was a telegram. The name of his hometown flew off the page toward him, as did the sender’s name and every awful word in between.

  Dread filled him as he read the stinging accusation.

  A noise, soft and swooshing, drew his attention away from the telegram.

  Rachel had pushed the door farther open and then shut it tight to keep in the slowly building warmth. She carried in her hands several bottles and a small silver spoon.

  When she saw him with the telegram, the hand holding the spoon slapped the pocket of her skirt, and a look of horror flushed her face.

  “You checked up on me,” Zane stated flatly, his tone neither accusing nor congratulating. “It’s good to see that at least Canaan’s mayor is prompt in answering.”

  Chapter Seven

  Rachel swallowed. Shifting Daniel must have dislodged the telegram. Carefully, she set her medicines down on the high chest of drawers. Her heart racing, she tried her best to keep her voice smooth. “It’s impolite to read other people’s telegrams.”

  “Then what are you doing with it? It was addressed to Mayor Wilson. Did you steal it, too?”

  Rachel colored even as she walked over to him and held out her hand. “No, and you know perfectly well that I am not a thief. I took that postcard to keep the deputy from wasting time on me. Besides, the postcard could reveal valuable clues as to where they are.”

  “Unlikely. I learned tonight that the postcard was part of a pile sitting on the bar at the saloon when Alex first went there. He asked if anyone looked out for ladies like Rosa and Annie. When the bartender gave your name, Alex took the card and wrote your name on it. It happened long before Rosa went missing.”

  Rachel remained standing in front of him, her hand outstretched for the telegram. “That telegram was in my possession. You must know it’s unlikely that I would be able to steal it from the mayor, so it’s logical to assume that he gave it to me.”

  Zane continued to finger it. Rachel cou
ld see his jaw tightening. “So he was checking up on me?”

  “It was a wise precaution.”

  They stared each other down for a long minute, the tension in the air crackling like the small logs in the wood stove. Finally, Zane handed over the telegram. She folded it back up and tucked it deeper into her pocket.

  “Isn’t this the part where you tell me I have to leave?” Zane asked.

  “Leave?” She was genuinely surprised. “Why?”

  “Because I’m a crook?”

  Rachel fingered the paper deep in the folds of her skirt. She’d faced her share of scorn for her ministry, with some going so far as to suggest that she had only attempted to help the women so they’d trust her with their money—after which she’d arranged to have the money stolen from her five years ago. Zane had spoken to the bartender, and Rachel knew perfectly well, thanks to Rosa’s warning once, that he’d been spreading rumors about her.

  She wasn’t a thief, but the suspicion persisted despite all the good work she’d done. Hard work all these years was still not enough to dispel one single rumor.

  Her gaze wandered up to Zane’s tight expression. Was it possible that there was another side to the story that the mayor of Canaan had told? How could she insist on her innocence and not allow Zane a chance to speak in his own defense? Rachel lifted her chin. “I’m willing to listen to your side of the story, if you like.”

  Zane’s brows shot up, causing Rachel to fight back a small smile. Was he impressed with her? “So, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  He hesitated. “You might be willing to listen, but what about the mayor? No doubt he will want to fire me.”

  “We both know the situation is complicated.”

  “You made it that way by insisting I impersonate my brother.”

  “If you tell me the truth, I’ll talk to the mayor on your behalf.”

  Zane’s expression hardened. “What if I admit I’m a thief?”