“What about your father?” Annie asked.
“He was a drunk, a gambler, and a philanderer, and those were his good qualities. Unfortunately, they were also the qualities my brother inherited.” Miss Walker made a face. “Enough about me. What about you?”
“Me?”
Miss Walker arched her brows. “I know so little about you.”
“I’m afraid you’d find me quite boring.”
“I doubt that.” The old woman studied her. “You do know that I require an heiress to sign a legal document agreeing not to marry.”
“I’m aware of that,” Annie said.
“So why would an attractive woman like yourself agree to such a thing?”
Annie expected the question and had a ready answer. “I’m a follower of Miss Nancy Rosewell.”
“Never heard of her.” Frown lines deepened at her brow. “Don’t tell me she’s one of those—what do you call them? Suffragettes?”
“Not exactly. She believes that women have the right and, indeed, the obligation to adapt nontraditional roles if they so choose. That includes remaining single.”
“Hmm. Since I require that of my heiress, it appears that I was a woman before my time.”
“Indeed.” Annie set her cup on the tray and rose to straighten the bed. “Perhaps you’d like to take a nap.”
Miss Walker protested. “That’s all I do, eat and sleep.”
“And dictate letters,” Annie teased.
Annie took the cup from Miss Walker’s leathery hands and set it on the tray next to her own. Today the ranch owner had finished half a cup. Perhaps Annie would make a tea drinker out of her yet. “It won’t be for much longer.”
Miss Walker narrowed her eyes. “Since you refuse to talk at any great lengths about yourself, could you at least answer me one question?”
“I’ll try,” Annie said, drawing the sheet up to Miss Walker’s shoulders. “But then you must rest.”
“Very well.” Miss Walker’s gaze impaled her. “Do you think one of my men is the Phantom?”
Annie kept her face perfectly composed. “Do you?”
“I asked you.”
Annie debated how to answer. Sometimes the best way to glean information from someone was through surprise. “There’s a rumor in town that you are the Phantom.”
Miss Walker stared at her, incredulous. “Me?”
Annie nodded.
The ranch owner’s eyes crinkled and she laughed so hard that Annie feared she would pull the leg apparatus down. “Why, that’s the most absurd thing I ever heard,” she said between guffaws.
Annie laughed too. “I quite agree.”
Robert arrived at the ranch the next day bearing a bouquet of spring flowers.
Eleanor waved the spray away. “Flowers are for funerals and I’m not in my grave yet.”
Accepting the rebuff with his usual good humor, Robert laid the flowers on the dresser. “I’m happy to see that you’re in pleasant spirits.”
“I’m always pleasant.” She eyed him with curiosity. “To what do I owe this visit?” She raised a hand. “Don’t tell me. Another offer to purchase my ranch?”
Robert moved a chair to her bedside and sat. “Actually, it’s the same one as before. Only this time the interested party has increased the offer.” When she made no response, he asked, “Don’t you want to know by how much?”
“I’m not interested,” she said. “Did you not convey my message?”
Robert ran his finger along his silver mustache. “I conveyed your message, though not in your precise words.”
“Ah, that explains it, then,” she said. “This time I trust you’ll tell the party in no uncertain terms what they can do with the offer.”
“If that’s what you wish,” he said, his voice thick with disapproval.
“I do have some other business I wish you to take care of.” She hesitated. “I don’t want you to think you came all this way for nothing.” In a lower voice she added, “That girl, Annie . . . She’s up to something.”
He leaned forward. “How do you mean?”
“I don’t think she’s who she pretends to be.”
“What makes you think that?” he asked.
“Just a feeling. For one thing, she refuses to talk about her family or background. That’s always a bad sign.” It pained her to say it. The truth was, she really liked the girl and felt a kinship with her she’d not felt with anyone in years, save Robert. After being disappointed by so many people in the past, she had to make sure that Annie was someone she could trust. The future of the ranch depended on it.
Robert sighed. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Her last name is Beckman and she says she’s from Chicago. I want you to find out whatever you can about her.”
He sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Eleanor, you’ve entertained several women during the past couple of years and never once did you bother checking their backgrounds. Why now?”
The answer was simple: she felt vulnerable. She hated to admit the truth even to herself and certainly had no intention of taking Robert into her confidence. Perhaps even more worrisome, she felt scared. Through the years she’d fended off more enemies than a dime novel heroine and now she could barely fend off a fly. Shooting that bird from the sky was pure luck, nothing more. The truth was that she had never felt so helpless.
“The timing bothers me,” she said. That part was true. “She breezes into town on the very same day there’s both a train and a bank robbery.”
Robert’s eyebrows rose. “You think she was involved with the robberies in some way?”
“Who knows? There’s a rumor in town that I may even be the Phantom.”
“You?” Robert chuckled.
“I guess it stands to reason. You told me yourself the marshal suspects the outlaws are connected to the ranch.”
“So I did.” He pulled a gold fob out of his vest pocket and flipped the hinged case cover open with his thumb. “I’ll see what I can find out. A bank detective is in town. I’ll ask him to look into this.” He closed his watch and slipped it back into his pocket. “As for the offer . . .”
“You can put it in the trash along with the flowers.”
Chapter 14
During surveillance, a detective must remain inconspicuous.
No loitering sober in a saloon or reading a newspaper on a horse.
Annie stood outside the corral watching Brodie put a palomino through its paces. The wrangler didn’t talk much but he had a way with horses. His long sandy hair, tied back with rawhide, swung back and forth like a mare’s tail. A scraggly beard made him look older than his years, which she guessed was probably early thirties.
A shadow drew her attention away from horse and trainer. Branch had sidled up next to her. He hung his hands over the top fence rail and rested a boot on the lower one. “I trust you enjoyed your trip to town.”
She peered at him from beneath the brim of her hat. “Yes, very much so. I dropped by the marshal’s office.” After a moment she added, “It’s always nice to drop in on other gang members.”
He looked momentarily surprised but quickly recovered. “Yes, isn’t it?”
He neither confirmed nor denied the marshal’s involvement, but what she didn’t understand was his surprise. Did he think her so dumb that she couldn’t figure out how he escaped jail?
The palomino bucked past them. Kicking his hind legs, he whipped up a cloud of dust.
She brushed the dust away with a wave of her hand. “What do you think about the rumor that there’s a Wells Fargo detective in town?”
Branch turned to face her, his elbow hooked over the railing. “I don’t take much stock in rumors.” His eyes shone with amusement as if playing a game. “Are you worried?”
“Wells Fargo detectives don’t worry me in the least. I’d be more concerned if it was . . . say . . . a Pinkerton.” She was treading on dangerous ground, but playing it safe had gotten her nowhere.
“Would you now?” His voice was calm, yet rife with challenge.
Had she expected a reaction, she would have been sorely disappointed. “Most definitely. And you? Are you worried?”
“The only ones who worry me are mysterious women,” he said. With that, he pulled his arm from the fence and walked away.
Taggert walked with long strides to the barn. Other gang members? What did Miss Beckman mean by that? Certainly she couldn’t have meant the marshal. He knew she went to the mercantile, but the question was, where else did she go?
“Branch!”
At the sound of his name, he slipped into the barn and out of sight. Men were needed to oil windmills but he had no intention of riding out to the range. Right now his main concern was sending a message, but slipping away from the ranch unnoticed was never easy.
The solution came moments later when Michael Adams walked by with his saddled horse. He was usually dressed in a leather apron and covered in black soot. Today the blacksmith wore a neatly pressed shirt and pants, his shoulder-length hair oiled and combed, his chin newly shaved.
Taggert stepped out of his hiding place. “Are you going into town?”
Had Michael been sneaking out of a married woman’s bed he couldn’t have looked guiltier. He hesitated before answering. “Yeah, why?”
“I need to get a message to the bank.” By way of explanation he added, “My folks are having some financial difficulties.”
“Who isn’t?” Michael said.
Taggert pointed to the pencil and notebook in Michael’s shirt pocket. “Do you mind?”
“Yeah, sure.” Michael pulled the writing tablet out of his pocket and handed it to him. The pencil needed sharpening and Taggert used the pen in his vest pocket instead.
After scribbling his message in code, he tore the sheet of paper out of the tablet, folded it, and handed it over, along with the pencil and notebook. “Much obliged.”
Michael slipped all three back into his pocket. “Tell your folks not to worry. President McKinley’s only been in office since March. He’ll get the economy booming again.”
“Sure hope you’re right,” Taggert said. Hard times generated more crime and Wells Fargo could hardly keep up with the number of stage, bank, and train robberies in recent years as it was.
Michael mounted his horse and rode away like he couldn’t leave the ranch fast enough. Had they been in the city, Taggert would already be on his tail, but without buildings and vehicles to hide behind, the territory made it impossible to trail anyone unnoticed.
Frustrated by the physical limitations the desert presented, he considered everything he knew about the blacksmith. Bessie and Sam Adams had raised Michael and his brother, Luke, after the death of the boys’ parents. Michael went to church every Sunday the preacher was in town but that could be part of his cover. He was also a fiction writer and hoped one day to give up the smithy business and write full-time. Taggert had read one of his published stories and had all but discounted him as a crook. It didn’t seem possible that a man who wrote with such emotion could be the Phantom. Now Taggert wasn’t so certain.
Cleaned up and hair combed, Michael wasn’t half bad to look at. A woman might even think him handsome. Taggert couldn’t remember seeing Miss Beckman and the smithy together, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
He turned and there she was, standing by the windmill. Speak of the devil. Never had a woman affected him more or made him feel more like a man.
From this distance it was hard to tell if she was watching him or Adams. The thought did nothing for his presence of mind. As much as Taggert hated to admit it, he sincerely hoped she was watching him.
Ruckus drove Annie to church early that Easter morning in his wagon. It had been more than a month since she first arrived at the ranch and she felt restless and out of sorts. Miss Walker’s demands were many; between caring for the old lady and working on the case, Annie hardly had a moment to herself.
At first she had declined his offer to drive her to church. Miss Walker’s spirits seemed low of late and Annie didn’t want to leave her. Then Ruckus’s wife, Sylvia, offered to stay home and check in on her.
Still, as they pulled away from the ranch house, Annie couldn’t help but cast an anxious glance over her shoulder.
“Quit your worryin’,” Ruckus said. “Sylvia can handle the boss lady. If she needs any help, Wishbone and Stretch are in the barn.”
“Don’t they go to church?” she asked.
“Everyone tries to go whenever the circuit preacher is in town and, of course, today, being Easter.” He shrugged. “But we got a calf about ready to pull.”
“Pull? As in deliver?”
He tossed a glance in her direction. “If you’re gonna be the boss lady’s heiress, you gotta learn the language.”
“You’re right,” she said. “Pull.” She focused her attention on the wagon up ahead carrying the other ranch hands. She strained her neck trying to pick out Branch. She was curious to know if he would chance showing his face in town.
Rough voices rose up in a heartfelt though tuneless rendition of “Rock of Ages,” but all she could make out over the back side of the wagon were bobbing hats.
After a while they pulled up behind a long line of buckboards and wagons. A crowd gathered outside the adobe church building. Children dressed in their Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes chased each other while the adults greeted each other and chatted.
No sooner had she climbed out of the wagon than she spotted Branch and an unwelcome jolt of womanly awareness rushed through her.
“Annie!” Aunt Bessie’s voice rose above the murmurs of the crowd. “How nice to see you.”
Annie turned. “Nice to see you too.” Bessie was painted to the hilt and her blue eye shadow and red lip rouge clashed with her yellow-green frock.
She took Annie by the hand. “I have someone I want you to meet.” She led Annie over to a pretty blonde, who greeted Bessie with a radiant smile.
“This is my daughter-in-law, Kate Adams,” she said. “She’s so important she not only has a married name, she also has a pseudonym.”
Kate laughed. She was in a family way and her carefully draped shawl did little to hide her expanded waist.
Annie and Kate shook hands.
“Ah, so you’re the new heiress I’ve been hearing so much about,” Kate said.
“Yes, and I’ve been hearing a lot about you too,” Annie said. “I see your books everywhere.”
“You absolutely must read them,” Aunt Bessie said. “Especially the one banned in Boston.”
Obviously used to Aunt Bessie’s outrageous statements, Kate gave her husband’s aunt a fond pat on the arm. “I wanted to stop by and see Miss Walker, but Dr. Fairbanks won’t let me travel that far.” She rubbed her extended middle. “He thinks it’s twins.”
“How exciting. Congratulations,” Annie said, surprised to feel a flash of envy. Marriage and family were out of the realm of possibility for a female operative. No man would put up with the demands of her occupation and she could never give up the work she loved so much.
“Please give Miss Walker my best,” Kate said.
“Come along.” Aunt Bessie took Annie by the arm and guided her through the crowd. “I want you to meet another former heiress.” They walked up to a raven-haired woman whose pretty green eyes matched her bright emerald dress.
“This is the doctor’s wife, Molly Fairbanks.”
Like Bessie, Molly wore face paint, but with a lighter touch that enhanced her delicate features. “My husband speaks highly of you. I understand you’re doing a great job taking care of Miss Walker.”
“And so is the doctor,” Annie said.
At mention of her husband, Molly’s rouged lips spread into a wide smile. “How do you like the ranch?”
“I love it there,” Annie said. She always considered herself a city girl and she was surprised by just how much she had come to like the ranch.
“I meant t
o stop by and see Miss Walker, but I’m afraid she’s never forgiven me for getting married.”
“Molly was once a dance hall girl but now she sings in the choir,” Aunt Bessie explained. She lowered her voice. “She sings better when she’s allowed to wiggle her hips.”
Molly gave Aunt Bessie an affectionate tap with her folded fan. “Shh, don’t tell Reverend Bland.”
Aunt Bessie pointed to a nice-looking young man in a wheelchair who was in animated conversation with the preacher. “That’s her brother, Donny. He’s also Dr. Fairbanks’s assistant. And Molly here works in the dispensary.”
Molly smiled. “I’m better suited to caring for patients than herding cattle.”
“We might have something in common in that regard,” Annie said. She hoped to identify the Phantom soon and avoid having to work with cattle altogether.
“I’d better go,” Molly said. “It was nice meeting you.” She hurried to join her husband as he wheeled her brother into the church.
Aunt Bessie waved to her sister. “Lula-Belle, look who’s here.”
Lula-Belle hobbled over, the feathers on her hat doing a wild dance above a pinched face. “What is that ghastly color you’re wearing?”
Annie looked down at her floral rust skirt before she realized that Lula-Belle was addressing her sister.
Aunt Bessie arranged her frilly neckline. “It’s chartreuse and it’s the latest rage.”
“It makes you look like a seasick cow.” Lula-Belle rolled her eyes and added, “If you want a good seat, you’d better come.” She shuffled away without another word, the outlandish feathers on her hat keeping time to the ringing of the church bells.
Aunt Bessie didn’t seem the least bit put off by her sister’s rudeness, but Annie couldn’t remember meeting a more unpleasant person. It was hard to believe that the two women were related.
“I think you look quite lovely,” Annie said.
Aunt Bessie’s rouged cheeks turned a shade redder and she quickly changed the subject. “I’ve been meaning to invite you to the church bazaar. It’s only a couple of weeks away.”
Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) Page 12