The Rancher's Temporary Engagement

by Stacy Henrie

  “Do you like to read?”

  She startled, as much at being caught staring as at not having heard Edward reenter the room. Spinning to face him, she knocked a notebook off one of the side tables. “Sorry about that.” She picked it up from where the book had fallen open on the carpet. A list of names covered half the page, which Maggy couldn’t help perusing. She’d learned long ago that anything might provide clues. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a list of those who’ve borrowed a book from me this year.” Edward took the notebook from her, shut it decisively, and returned it to its place on the table. “Please, have a seat.”

  Maggy sat in one of the armchairs, while Edward took the other. “Tell me what’s been happening at the ranch the last few months,” she said in a no-nonsense tone.

  He rested his boot on his knee as he settled back in his seat. “Didn’t the other detective give you a report?”

  “Yes, but I would like to hear it directly from you. Maybe there’s something he missed.”

  His earlier frown made another appearance. “Of course there’s something he missed—he didn’t find who’s trying to destroy my ranch.”

  She waited, knowing the importance of silence and patience. After another moment, Edward pushed out a sign of resignation.

  “Very well. It began with a note...”

  For the next while, Maggy listened carefully as Edward described the anonymous notes he’d received and the various acts of damage to the ranch. Fences had been broken, tack had mysteriously gone missing, and several feed orders never arrived. Four horses had gotten out several days earlier after another breach in a pasture fence, and the wranglers hadn’t been able to find them this time. Edward’s men rotated serving as guards at night and one patrolled the property during the day, but the new responsibilities meant less help around the ranch during daylight hours.

  “Do you trust your employees?” she asked when he’d finished.

  He nodded, but it didn’t radiate as much confidence as his demeanor earlier. “I do... I did. At this point, other than my housekeeper, who came here from England with me, I’m not certain who to trust.”

  A tug of compassion pulled at her. “You can trust me, Mr. Kent.”

  “I can, can I?” The briefest of smiles touched his lips. “I suppose we shall see.”

  “Your tea, sir.” The housekeeper appeared to be in her late forties or early fifties. She had gray hair and carried a tray in hand, but she stopped inside the doorway when her gaze fell on Maggy. “Oh, dear,” she admitted, her British accent as strong as Edward’s. “Had I known you had a female visitor, I would’ve used the good china.”

  Edward lowered his foot to the floor. “This is not a female visitor, Mrs. Harvey.”

  “Then what would she be, sir?” The older woman bustled forward and set the tray on the low table. “She’s female and a visitor, is she not?”

  Maggy swallowed a laugh at the woman’s clever retort.

  “This is Mrs. Harvey, my housekeeper.” He waved at the older woman, then at Maggy. “Mrs. Harvey, this is Maggy. She’s here to...to possibly help with the trouble around the ranch.”

  “What will you do?” Mrs. Harvey asked.

  “I’m a detective, so hopefully I’ll find out who’s behind all the trouble.” Maggy kept back a sigh, though she knew what would come next. The look of disapproval, the sad shake of the head. She didn’t feel the need to justify her reasoning for being a detective, but she did wish for more acceptance from those of her own gender.

  Instead of horrified shock or blatant condemnation, Mrs. Harvey’s face registered plain awe. “A female detective? Oh, how exciting. Sounds just like something from one of my penny dreadfuls.”

  Maggy released a surprised chuckle. Edward’s housekeeper might be the first female she’d met whom she might actually get along with.

  “If you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Harvey,” Edward intoned with a note of impatience. “We are discussing sensitive matters.”

  “Of course. If there’s anything else you need, sir. Or you, Miss Maggy.” Mrs. Harvey offered her a kind smile. “Let me know what I can do to make your stay most pleasant.”

  Edward mumbled something that sounded like “she won’t be staying.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Harvey,” Maggy said, ignoring Edward.

  The woman inclined her head, then exited the parlor.

  “I believe I have at least one champion in this household.” She arched her eyebrow at Edward in a self-satisfied expression.

  “Time will tell if she is the only one.” His gaze darted to the clock on the mantel. “And time is slowly running out.” He stood and moved to the tea tray.

  His reminder robbed her of some of her smugness. She had the details of what had occurred at the ranch, but she wasn’t any closer to identifying a suspect, or even uncovering an important clue.

  “Tea?” He lifted a cup toward her, but Maggy shook her head.

  “No, thank you.”

  Edward returned to his seat to drink his tea. He was all stiff politeness, giving rise to a strange and irrational thought within her to see him laugh or grin with abandon. Or perhaps he wasn’t given to humor at all. Did his austerity hide a darker side? Maggy mentally shook her head at the idea. There was nothing about him that smacked of dishonesty or aggression. Why she hadn’t been able to read those things as clearly in Jeb, she’d never know.

  Pushing thoughts of her late husband from her mind, Maggy drummed her fingers on the chair arm, thinking over the information Edward had shared. “Do you still have those threatening notes?”

  Nodding, Edward set aside his teacup and rose to his feet. He opened a box on one of the bookshelves. “I kept all of them,” he said, removing a sheaf of papers.

  He handed them to Maggy as he sat back down. After reading the menacing message on each, she went back through them, this time studying the handwriting. “Whoever wrote these is likely educated. Or, at least, comfortably literate.”

  “How can you tell?”

  Maggy lifted one for him to see. “There are no misspellings, contractions or slang. The letters weren’t written with a heavy hand, either. Which means the person didn’t have to think too hard before writing the words or struggle to keep up as someone dictated them.”

  A flash of admiration filled his gray eyes, but only for a moment. “That is rather impressive. However, it doesn’t tell us who the culprit is.”

  “Or does it?” Maggy muttered to herself as she peered harder at one of the last notes in the pile. The curves on the capital B in Brit seemed vaguely familiar. “May I see your library notebook?”

  She glanced up to find Edward watching her in confusion. “Whatever for?”

  “Testing a theory.”

  Rising to his feet once more, he collected the book and brought it over to her. “I don’t see how this is going to help.”

  “Which is precisely why I am the detective and you are the rancher.” Maggy opened the notebook to the page she’d surveyed earlier. Carefully she reread each name, then compared it to the handwriting on the note. Sure enough, her theory proved correct when she reached the most recently penned name.

  “Ah-ha,” she exclaimed with a surge of victory as she glanced at Edward. “I found one of our potential suspects.” Which was one more than the last operative had discovered. She’d won Edward’s little challenge, which meant he would have to hire her as his new detective.

  Snatching the book from her, Edward shook his head. “That’s not possible.”

  “Look, here.” She bent forward to show him the handwriting on the note and how it corresponded to the name in the book. “This one has a curve in the B like the one in Bertram there.”

  Another of the names was written in handwriting she was sure she’d seen on one of the other notes. She sifted through them again until she found it. “Here’s
another. This note has the same flourish on the W as it does on the name...” She leaned forward and read the notebook upside down. “Right there—the name Winchester.” Now they had two suspects! “Who are these men?”

  The furrow in Edward’s brow increased as he handed back the book. “They are both wealthy ranchers who live in the area.”

  She nearly blurted out that she’d been right—the culprits were educated—but she clamped her teeth over the remark as she saw the color drain from Edward’s face. She’d had plenty of practice keeping her thoughts to herself—she wouldn’t do well at undercover work if she told the criminals how absurdly dim they were to brag about their exploits in front of her persona as a harmless-looking scullery maid or a mousy store clerk. But holding her tongue for the purpose of sparing someone’s feelings was new, and she wondered why she didn’t wish to add to his discomfort. Especially given that he hadn’t believed she could sniff out any clues at all.

  Edward stood and began to pace the rug in front of the sofa, his expression one of consternation and confusion. “I can’t understand it. I dine with these men nearly every week at the Sheridan Inn. They’ve visited me here and I’ve been to their homes. Why would they sabotage me?”

  That was still another matter to solve—motive. Though she didn’t share his surprise that the attacks came from those he considered friends. She’d seen too much of mankind’s duplicity to be shocked by it anymore. “It makes more sense that a fellow rancher would be behind all of this havoc rather than a lone wrangler or cowboy. What more can you tell me about these men?”

  Pocketing his hands, Edward frowned further. “They’ve done well for themselves, though their spreads aren’t nearly as large as the Running W. Winchester is married and his wife belongs to that little club in town.”

  “Little club?” Maggy sat up straighter. The niggling of an idea had started to form inside her mind, though it wasn’t fleshed out and ready to present itself yet. “What sort of club?”

  Edward waved his hand dismissively. “All of the ranchers’ wives belong. They get together for their teas and tête-à-têtes and head up a number of society functions in Sheridan, as well.”

  “Do you have to be married to a rancher to join their club?”

  He didn’t slow his pacing. “I believe so, yes. That or engaged.”

  “And their husbands?” she asked. “Do they gather socially, as well?”

  Edward nodded. “Nearly all of the ranchers attend weekly dinners at the inn. Sometimes it’s with their wives. Other times it’s only the men.”

  “Perfect.” She slapped the chair arms for emphasis. Things were definitely looking up for this investigation—and for restoring the Pinkerton name with Edward. “Now we know where to concentrate our efforts.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Maggy stood, ready for some tea after all. It would be tepid by now but could still serve as an honorary toast to her first successful hour on the ranch.

  “You already know two of these men and you attend the same social events they do. Since there’s a strong likelihood others in their social group are involved in this plot against your ranch, you need to become better acquainted with all of the well-to-do ranchers in the area.” She bent and lifted her teacup from off the low table. “You need to know their closest friends, enemies, ambitions, fears.”

  He threw her a perturbed look. “And what will you be doing while I am ingratiating myself?” His tone still rang sharp and full of frustration.

  “I’m working on that,” she reassured him as she took a sip.

  “Boss?” a voice called from the hallway.

  Edward turned toward the sound. “In here, McCall.”

  A man with a handsome face and curly black hair poking out from underneath his hat strode into the parlor. “Some of the boys just learned about that detective pretending to be a wrangler. They’re worried that since he didn’t find the culprit...” He broke off when he saw Maggy. “Sorry, boss. Didn’t ’spect you to have company. Especially not feminine company.” Removing his hat, he nodded politely at Maggy. She inclined her head in return.

  She was beginning to get a picture of Edward Kent, and it didn’t include the man having numerous female visitors. He was handsome, she conceded, and fairly affable. But clearly his ranch, his horses and perhaps his staff were all his heart had room for. She couldn’t help wondering why.

  “This is West McCall, my ranch foreman.” Edward collected his cup and poured himself some more tea. He was stalling, which meant he was either grappling with how to introduce her or reluctant to reveal to the man that she was a detective. Perhaps both. “McCall, I’d like you to meet...” He took a swallow of tea, his gaze darting to Maggy’s in a silent plea for assistance.

  His unexpected show of confidence in her abilities to come up with a solid cover story brought her earlier idea forward at last, in full form. “I’m Maggy. Edward’s fiancée,” she finished with a triumphant smile. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

  Turning toward him, Maggy only had a moment to register the shock in Edward’s gray eyes before his mouthful of tea came spewing out—all over her.

  Chapter Three

  Edward mumbled an apology, avoiding eye contact with both his foreman and Maggy. Of all the foolish, rash, ridiculous plans, he thought as he set down his cup, scooped up a napkin, and thrust it at Maggy so she could dab her tea-soaked dress.

  Feigning affection for someone, as Beatrice had done five and a half years ago, was the last thing he wanted to do, least of all toward a practical stranger. He fought to keep his expression impassive, but his jaw began to twitch with the attempt.

  “Didn’t know you were engaged, boss.”

  “It is rather sudden,” Edward managed to get out between his clenched teeth.

  Maggy glanced up from wiping her dress and frowned at him. Was his scowl leaking through, or had she heard the sharpness in his tone?

  “So how did you two...” McCall shifted his weight, looking every bit as confused and uncertain as Edward felt. “Are you from England, as well...Maggy?”

  She set down her napkin as she offered the foreman a brilliant smile. “No, I’m not from England, Mr. McCall. But I have come a very long way to see Edward here, so if you’d be good enough to allow us another few minutes in private.” With impressive skill, she linked her arm through the foreman’s and guided him toward the parlor door as if the idea to leave had been his all along.

  “If you didn’t meet in England, then where—”

  “Oh, we have a shared acquaintance,” Maggy said with a nonchalant wave of her hand and a tinkling laugh as she led McCall into the hallway. “Our friend introduced us, and after that Edward and I struck up a lively correspondence.”

  Edward nearly forgot his fury as he watched her win over McCall. The poor man looked a bit in awe of Maggy. Edward had to admit himself that she’d accomplished much in the last hour and with great aplomb. She acted quickly on her feet and had successfully discovered two possible suspects.

  If only she hadn’t gone and ruined everything with this harebrained scheme of them pretending to be engaged.

  “We’ll be just a few minutes, Mr. McCall.”

  Her back was to Edward, but he could tell from her tone that Maggy had graced the foreman with another smile before she shut the parlor door. An outlandish, irrational thought had him wondering what it would be like to have the full power of that charming smile directed at him.

  It certainly wasn’t her smile that she aimed at him when she whirled around. “You are going to ruin this investigation,” she hissed. “Could you have looked any more appalled at playing the role of my fiancé?”

  “Are you mad?” Edward countered, keeping his voice equally low. “Of course I’m going to be shocked and downright annoyed when you announce such a ridiculous fiction.”

  Maggy crossed her arms and
glared at him. Her eyes had turned a dark cobalt. “There wasn’t time to ask how you felt about it. Besides I told you that I was coming up with a role.”

  “Yes. But I didn’t think that would be pretending to be my fiancée. Who will believe it?”

  Her eyebrows rose in a haughty look as she motioned to the closed door. “I have no doubt that your foreman believes it.”

  “This is madness.” He threw his hands in the air, then spun to face the fireplace. “There is surely some other role for you to play.”

  He sensed her stepping toward him. “This is the best way for me to ingratiate myself into that club for the ranchers’ sweethearts and wives. If I can get them to trust me, they’ll share their secrets, which will likely include hints or knowledge of their husbands’ nefarious activities.”

  “What about playing a servant at the inn? Or my...my visiting relation?” Edward jammed his hands into his pockets, his chin dipping low. He didn’t need to hear Maggy’s rejection of those ideas—in his heart, he knew they wouldn’t work in the way they needed.

  Her voice came out surprisingly kind and placating. “It’s not enough to overhear their conversations, the way a servant would—I need to be someone they can confide in. You said it yourself, Edward. The only way I can gain access into that club is to pretend to be your wife or fiancée.”

  He had only a moment to realize he liked hearing her say his name before she went on. “Believe me, I wouldn’t choose this role if I didn’t think it absolutely necessary to this mission.”

  Edward wasn’t sure whether to be offended by that remark or not. Turning to face her, he glimpsed a touch of vulnerability on her face, as he had earlier, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. Had she also been hurt in the past?

  “Care to elaborate?” he inquired.

  It was the wrong thing to ask. Maggy jutted out her chin and peered down her nose at him. “I have my reasons, which I do not need to discuss.”

  “And if I refuse to go along with this charade?” He felt compelled to ask the question, though he could feel himself relenting—against his better judgment. Maggy had effectively bested his challenge, and if he let her go, he wasn’t sure where he’d look for another detective.