by Stacy Henrie
His gray eyes watered, but he nodded. “I’ll be fine,” he answered in a slightly hoarse voice.
Mrs. Druitt studied them. “Where are you from, Miss Worthwright?”
“Colorado.”
“Denver, perhaps?”
Maggy nodded and continued eating. It wasn’t as tasty as Mrs. Harvey’s, but it was still flavorful and satisfied her appetite.
“You must be one of the Denver Worthwrights,” the woman exclaimed with animation. “A rather prominent family you have.”
The food tasted suddenly bland as Maggy swallowed. Mrs. Druitt kept chatting away, but her words didn’t register. What would the woman say if she knew Maggy didn’t come from Denver’s upper class? She was the daughter of a drunken miner and their entire cabin would likely fit inside the Druitt’s drawing room.
You’re nothing, Maggy.
Her brow beaded with sweat, her pulse pounding hard and fast. Panic dried her throat. Then she felt Edward’s hand clasp hers beneath the table and give it a squeeze. Reassurance swept through her, chasing away the old anxieties.
“Actually,” she said calmly, “Denver has only been my home for six years. My family is originally from a different part of Colorado. Have you been to Denver, Mrs. Druitt?”
The woman’s expression grew wistful. “Once.” Reversing the questions did the trick of taking the focus off of her. Mrs. Druitt prattled about the tall buildings, shops and sights, most of which Maggy could comment on.
When Edward released her hand, she threw him an appreciative smile, and he returned the gesture. The rest of the meal passed without incident.
“Your dress is lovely,” Mrs. Druitt commented, once the meal had concluded and both couples were moving toward the door. “Who is your dressmaker?”
Maggy glanced down. She’d nearly forgotten she was wearing a new gown. “Oh, Ms. Glasen.”
“Ah.” A sour look pinched the older woman’s face. Maggy recalled how Mrs. Druitt hadn’t approved of the dressmaker’s purple gown. “I thought perhaps you’d had your gowns designed in Denver.”
“No, this dress was expertly made by Ms. Glasen to replace those I lost when my luggage went missing.” Maggy smiled at the woman as she added, “I was most grateful to find someone so knowledgeable of fashion here in Sheridan.”
Mrs. Druitt blinked in obvious surprise at Maggy’s glowing praise of the dressmaker, but she recovered quickly. “Did you belong to any women’s clubs in Denver, Miss Worthwright?”
“Sadly, no. But with Edward so busy with the ranch, I am looking for ways to stay entertained myself while I’m here.” She linked her arm through Edward’s. “Are there any women’s organizations in Sheridan?” she asked glibly.
The older woman eyed her. “There are a few sewing groups.”
“My needlework is limited, I’m afraid.” Beyond buttons and darning socks, she couldn’t sew a thing. “Is that all?”
“We do have a group for the ranchers’ wives,” Mrs. Druitt said with self-importance. “I’m the president.”
Maggy let her expression fall. “Oh, dear. If you have to be a rancher’s wife, I suppose that excludes me at present, doesn’t it, darling?” She peered up at Edward.
“We have allowed fiancées in the past.”
Turning back to Mrs. Druitt, she brightened. “Have you?”
“I’ll need to speak to my vice president and secretary first, but...” The woman let her words hang there. “I believe we might be able to issue you an invitation to join us.”
Maggy smiled. “How gracious. I would love to be a part of your club.”
The four of them exited the inn, and she and Edward bid the Druitts good night. After settling on the buggy seat, she looped her arm through Edward’s once more, maintaining appearances as they drove away from the inn.
“We did it!” she said quietly, though she wanted to shout it to the twilight sky. “I’m as good as in the club already.”
Edward turned to her and laughed. “We did well.” He faced forward again. “You did well.”
“So did you.” Not just in engaging Mr. Druitt and the other ranchers in conversation throughout the meal but also in how he’d help calm her nerves. “Thanks for coming to my rescue at the beginning.”
His look conveyed understanding. “Being a detective doesn’t make you impervious to fear, I imagine.”
“No,” Maggy said with a chuckle. “It certainly doesn’t. My first mission I was so scared I thought I might be sick all over the floor of the train.” She’d never admitted that to anyone, not even to James at the office. “What about you? What unnerves you?”
He appeared to think her question over. “Losing my ranch.” The lines around his eyes and mouth tightened.
“You aren’t going to lose it, Edward. Because I will do everything in my power to stop that from happening.” She nudged his shoulder. “Besides, don’t forget that—”
“You always get your man,” he finished, his gray eyes sparking with amusement.
Maggy grinned. “Yes, I do. Now let me see if I can remember who is who tonight.”
She reviewed each of the ranchers, what she’d observed about them, who of those were married, and the names and personality traits she’d noted of their wives. The evening, though tense at the beginning, had been successful. And she felt confident they’d been convincing in their role as an engaged couple.
It wasn’t until they reached the ranch sometime later that Maggy discovered her arm was still linked with Edward’s, her knee nearly touching his. She tugged her arm free and pretended to tuck a stray hair into her coiffure. But instead of feeling upset at having ridden so far in such a fashion, seated close to a man, she realized she didn’t mind so much this time.
Chapter Seven
The dream felt so real, as if Maggy were reliving that fatal night all over again. She could feel the sharpness of the early March air in her lungs and the brush of the shawl around her shoulders as she walked the street to her and Jeb’s cabin. She kept her chin low, to avoid being recognized, as the loneliness and despair nibbled away inside her.
Up ahead she heard someone shout, “Fire! There’s a fire.”
Maggy lifted her head to see for herself. Only then did she notice the glow against the dusky sky. And it was coming from the direction of her cabin.
She began to run, panic throbbing along with her feet as her shoes smacked against the dirt. Was Jeb all right? He’d come home inebriated—again. But unlike the other nights since the beginning of the latest miners’ strike, she hadn’t stuck around to coax him out of his foul mood with a good meal and plenty of platitudes that they’d be all right. No, tonight she’d gone for a walk, Jeb’s hollering nipping at her heels as she’d left.
The sight of her own cabin in flames stopped her cold. What little she and Jeb owned was inside, except for the money she’d slipped into her pocket before leaving on her walk. She’d feared in her absence that Jeb might find her secret hiding place where she’d stashed the small amount of cash. And where was her husband?
“Maggy, where’s Jeb?” one of her neighbors asked.
She shook her head. “I—I don’t know. I went for a walk... Jeb was deep in the bottle...but...”
“There may be someone still in there,” she heard someone shout as the fire brigade appeared.
No! She couldn’t stop shaking her head, couldn’t stop shaking all over. “Jeb? Where’s Jeb?” She pushed through the crowd toward the cabin door. He wasn’t still in there, was he? He would have gotten out, wouldn’t he? Except if he’d passed out on the bed like he usually did...
Arms restrained her from drawing any closer. The heat of the fire burned her cheeks. She reached up to touch them and realized she was crying. But that wasn’t possible—she never cried. She hadn’t shed tears in front of another person since she was seven.
“Jeb!” she screame
d, her fear so strong she could hardly see straight. She had to rescue her husband. He would be furious if she didn’t at least try. Fighting against those who held her back, though, proved futile. “Jeb!”
The roof collapsed, sending sparks leaping toward the darkening sky. Kind hands steered her away from the fire and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Maggy crumpled to the hard ground. Her chest hurt something fierce and every breath she drew in was laced with smoke. A pounding had begun inside her head, too...
With a great gulp of air, Maggy sat up, her heart racing. She wasn’t in Colorado and it wasn’t the night of the fire that had claimed Jeb. A peek at the window anchored her chaotic thoughts and harried emotions. It was morning, judging by the sunlight on the other side of the lace curtains, and she was in Wyoming, in Edward Kent’s guest house.
The pounding she’d heard was real, though. Someone was knocking on her door. She took a moment to lock away the feelings of fear and loss that always accompanied that dream. Then exiting her bed, she threw a dressing gown over her nightdress and hurried across the room. She opened the door to find Edward standing there.
“What is it?” she asked, holding her robe closed. “Did something else happen on the ranch?”
Edward eyed her in obvious confusion. “No. It’s Sunday.”
“Yes, I know.” That’s why she’d slept in.
He took in her attire with a bewildered frown. “You’re not ready to go.”
“Go?” She briefly shut her eyes, wishing she could crawl back under the covers. Maybe she could get some more sleep, sans the nightmare this time. “Go where, Edward? Don’t horse thieves and ranch vandals take Sundays off, too?”
His warm laughter rumbled in her ears. “I can’t say for certain. But here at the Running W, we attend church on the Sabbath.”
If he expected her to go to church, he would be sadly disappointed. “Then have a lovely time.” She gave him what she hoped looked like a sweet smile as she scrambled for an excuse. “I’ll gladly watch over the ranch while you’re gone. It wouldn’t do to leave the place unguarded, even on the Sabbath.”
She started to turn, but he stopped her retreat by taking her elbow in hand. He was entirely too proficient with that move.
“I’ve already made arrangements for two of the wranglers to stay behind and keep watch.”
“Then I can keep them company?” she asked hopefully.
She could think of plenty of other things she would rather do today than attend church services. She hadn’t been inside a church since she’d been a girl at her mother’s funeral. That was the last time Maggy had been allowed to go to worship services, even though she’d begged and pleaded for a whole month afterward for her father to take her as her mother had. But he’d refused—with more anger at each request, and she came to learn it was safer not to ask. Eventually she’d come to believe there was truth in her father’s rants about God. That He didn’t care about them, about Maggy.
“As my fiancée,” Edward said, his words cutting through the painful memories, “it would appear quite strange if you don’t accompany me to church while you’re here.”
Maggy pushed out a sigh. He had a point. And if attending church together would help her solve this case, and hopefully snag her promotion, then that’s what she would do.
“Fine.” She pushed him out the door. “Give me a few minutes.”
His incredulous chuckle echoed in her ears as she shut the door. She would show him how quickly she could get ready. She hastily traded her nightgown for her other new dress and twisted her hair into a knot. After anchoring the coiffure with hairpins, she donned gloves and a hat. She breezed out the door to find Edward standing beside the buggy. The startled look on his face was well worth her harried pace.
“You weren’t exaggerating about the time.” In the yard, Mr. McCall and Mrs. Harvey shared a seat on the wagon, while the wranglers had squeezed into the back. Most of them were watching her and Edward.
Maggy smiled. “I hardly ever exaggerate, especially when it comes to my skills.”
“True.” His rich laughter greeted her as she stepped off the porch and approached the waiting carriage. “But I’ve never known a woman to devote less than an hour to dressing for any occasion.”
“Sounds like a great waste of time to me.”
“Agreed.” He joined her on the opposite side of the buggy and handed her onto the seat.
Her stomach grumbled with hunger as she arranged her skirt, making her blush. She would’ve liked to grab a little something to eat before leaving.
“I have some breakfast for you,” Edward said as though reading her thoughts. Or perhaps he’d heard the rumbling in her middle. He grabbed a tin plate from the back of the buggy and passed it to her.
Maggy stared in surprise at the two pieces of toast. “That was kind of Mrs. Harvey.”
“I knew you hadn’t eaten...”
She paused, the toast halfway to her mouth, as he sat next to her. “You did this?”
“It was a combined effort.” He looked uncomfortable. “Mrs. Harvey made breakfast. I simply asked if she could put together a little something for you.”
Not once in all her twenty-seven years of life could Maggy recall a similar gesture, a time when someone showed consideration for her needs in such a way. “Thank you,” she murmured before biting into the toast.
He gave her an answering nod and drove the buggy down the drive. The wagon followed behind them.
He’s likely just keeping up appearances, she reminded herself as she chewed. Looking after his fiancée would reflect well on Edward and the state of their betrothal, especially with nearly all of his staff watching them.
Still, the gesture was kind, whatever the motive. And the toast was the perfect remedy to her hungry albeit nervous stomach. She nibbled it daintily as much to keep the crumbs off her new gown as to appear decorous to any passerby.
“Aren’t we driving into Sheridan?” she asked when Edward turned toward the mountains instead of in the opposite direction.
He shook his head. “We attend services in Big Horn.”
She felt a bit of excitement push against her uneasiness. Unlike Sheridan, she hadn’t yet explored the nearby small town. After placing the emptied tin plate in the back of the buggy, Maggy brushed specks of toast from her gloves and dress. She tried to focus on the landscape they passed instead of the feeling of foreboding that lingered inside her. Would she be welcome at Edward’s church? Or would those in attendance somehow sense her hidden doubts and feelings of unworthiness?
In a short time, they reached Big Horn. The town boasted a newspaper office, two mercantiles, a hotel, a couple saloons and a livery stable. The absence of trees helped the place look far less like the mining town where she’d once lived, to Maggy’s relief. But when Edward parked the buggy in front of the wooden church, she felt a renewed spike in her anxiety.
Edward helped her down and wrapped her hand over his arm. Did he sense her reluctance or was he merely playing a part? They joined the small crowd moving toward the church’s front doors. Maggy’s feet felt heavier the closer they drew to the steps. Her heart beat a heavy staccato beneath her muslin bodice.
How ironic that she’d once risked her father’s wrath to beg him to go to church. Now, all these years later, she wanted to bolt the other way.
After they entered the church, they were stopped by several people who looked pointedly at Maggy, curiosity flashing in their gazes. Edward politely introduced her. Maggy did her best to smile and be charming, but unlike at the dinner the night before, she couldn’t recall a single name after it was shared with her.
Edward guided her to one of the wooden benches in the center of the church’s main room, where Mrs. Harvey and the rest of the staff had already taken their seats. Maggy entered the pew and sat next to the housekeeper. She attempted to take calm, even breaths
. Would she remember what to do and when? She felt at a complete disadvantage here, nothing like the confident detective she was supposed to be.
“I promise you the minister won’t bite,” Mrs. Harvey whispered, patting Maggy’s gloved hand.
She threw the older woman a grimace. “Do I look that terrified?”
“Not so much that anyone else would notice, love.”
Maggy didn’t know whether to feel comforted or concerned that Mrs. Harvey had noticed. It was one thing to play the role of Edward’s fiancée—it was another matter entirely to play the role of his fiancée inside a church. But she could do this. She had to do this.
It’s no different than the dinner last night, she chided herself. If she could pull that off with self-possession, she could do the same here.
She let herself relax a bit as she studied the people around her, including Edward. His attention remained fixed toward the front of the chapel. Not in a self-righteous way but in an interested, earnest way. She couldn’t recall ever meeting someone whose religion so naturally worked itself in and through the fabric of their daily life. And yet, that was exactly what she’d discovered about Edward over the past six days.
He hadn’t wanted to lie about their engagement, so he’d proposed to her. His prayers at mealtimes were sincere, too, nothing rote, and he’d seemed genuinely happy about attending church this morning. He didn’t push his faith on her, either. It simply was there.
Had her mother been that way? She had so few memories left of her mother. Most of them had been crowded out and squashed by fresher, more unpleasant ones that had followed after her death. A shudder ran through Maggy at the realization, causing Edward to glance at her with mild concern in his gaze. She attempted a smile to reassure him, though she let it drop the moment he faced forward again.
She wouldn’t think about her father. Rather she would pull what wispy recollections she had of her mother to the forefront of her mind. She remembered her mother’s auburn hair and her kind eyes. They weren’t blue like Maggy’s but green and full of warmth and tenderness. But their light had dimmed with pain near the end of her illness.