by Laura Beers
“Ah,” Sheriff Washburn said, dropping the pen back onto the desk. “You are Pinkerton agents.” He pointed toward him. “I made you as a lawman as soon as you walked into the room.” He turned his gaze toward Alexina and chuckled. “And my window faces The Busty Woman saloon. I saw you dispatch your own justice on that drunkard.”
Alexina sat down in a chair in front of the desk. “Good. This will save us a considerable amount of time. Yes, we are Pinkerton agents. We were hired by Mayor Sunders to investigate the disappearance of the missing teachers.”
“Good!” the sheriff exclaimed. “I need all the help I can get. But first,” he pointed between them,” are you truly brother and sister?”
Alexina shook her head. “No, but we are married.”
The sheriff wiped his hand over his mouth as he glanced between them. “Married Pinkerton agents. Now I’ve heard everything.”
Dawson pulled out a chair and sat down next to Alexina. “We’re staying at the cottage near the school, and we found fresh boot prints outside of Alexina’s window this morning.”
“That’s disheartening.” Sheriff Washburn frowned. “I’m glad that the mayor took my suggestion and nailed the windows shut from the inside. Those poor women.”
“Can you tell us what happened?” Dawson pressed.
The sheriff reached for a paper on his desk. He extended it toward him.
“Here’s my report. In both cases, the teachers failed to show up to teach one morning, and their cottage was in shambles. It was evident that the teachers fought hard against their attacker, but we found no indication of who it was.”
“Is it possible that there could be more than one suspect?” Alexina asked.
“I’ve considered that possibility as well,” the sheriff answered.
Dawson stopped reading the paper and extended it back toward the sheriff. “Your report says nothing that we don’t already know.”
“Frankly, we don’t have much to go on. We have no suspects or even a lead. The women just disappeared,” the sheriff stated apologetically. “Sadly, I don’t have a deputy to help me work the case.
“We are here to help now,” Alexina asserted, leaning forward in her chair.
“I will accept your help, but I fear you may be wasting your time,” Sheriff Washburn remarked.
Alexina grew determined. “We’ll catch whoever is behind this and bring them to justice.”
“Do you have a plan?” the sheriff asked eagerly, glancing between them.
“We plan to use me as bait,” Alexina revealed.
The sheriff furrowed his brows. “Your entire plan centers around you being abducted by a mad man?”
“It does,” she confirmed with a bob of her head.
Reaching for a piece of paper, the sheriff placed it in front of him and grabbed a pen. “Don’t mind me. I’m taking notes in case you’re killed, and Pinks swarm this town to seek justice.”
Dawson huffed in amusement. “The plan may sound ludicrous, but Alexina is a formidable woman. I pity the abductor that takes her.”
“You’re just going to sit back and allow your wife to be abducted?” Sheriff Washburn asked in disbelief.
“If all goes well,” Dawson replied, squirming a bit under the man’s scrutiny, “we intend to catch the suspect in the act.”
“I assume you’re staying at the cottage with your wife,” Sheriff Washburn said.
“I am,” Dawson confirmed.
“Since you are playing the role of brother and sister, I would imagine that you’re sleeping in the main room,” the sheriff guessed.
“Your assumption is correct.”
Alexina spoke up. “Women in these parts are scarce. Do you believe that men might resort to abducting women to be their wives?”
The sheriff shrugged. “Anything is possible. We haven’t found their bodies, so I’m hoping that they’re still alive.” He grew serious. “The next town over has a notorious brothel known as The Other Woman. I had briefly considered that the women might have been abducted to be sold to the brothel.”
“Did you pursue that lead?” Dawson asked.
He nodded. “I did. According to Sheriff Newbaker, who spoke to the owner and girls of the brothel personally, there have been no signs of Miss Jolley or Miss Price.”
“We know our suspect likes female teachers,” Alexina pointed out. “If we’re lucky, our suspect will slip up sooner rather than later.”
Sheriff Washburn cast her a concerned look. “We might be overthinking it. Perhaps we’re just dealing with a murderer who prefers killing teachers. I urge you to be on your guard, agent.”
“I can take care of myself,” Alexina responded confidently.
“Let me know if I can be of any assistance,” Sheriff Washburn said, rising from his seat. “I wish you luck on this case, but I’m late for a meeting with the mayor.” He shrugged on the suit jacket that had been draped on the back of his chair. “Your secret is safe with me.”
They rose from their seats and exited the sheriff’s office. Dawson extended his arm toward Alexina, and they began to stroll down the boardwalk.
“Our case is pretty flimsy right now,” he admitted. “We don’t even know if our suspect will strike again because we don’t know the motive behind the abductions in the first place.”
“I have succeeded on far less, Brother,” Alexina shared.
He lifted his brow. “Truly?”
Before she could respond, the door to the mercantile opened, and a tall man with black hair stepped out with a large crate in his hand. He stopped when he saw them and stepped aside.
“Pardon me, folks.”
“Do you need any help with that crate?” Dawson asked.
He shook his head. “No, sir, but I thank you kindly. I just came into town for some much-needed supplies.” He stepped off the boardwalk and placed the crate into the back of a wagon. “My brothers love coffee. I’m afraid they can’t live without it.”
“I can only imagine,” Dawson replied with a smile.
The man eyed them curiously. “Are you folks new in town?”
“We are,” Dawson answered for them. “My name is Dawson Wayne, and this is my sister, Alexina. We’re the interim teachers until a permanent replacement is found.”
Removing his thick work gloves, the man extended his hand toward Dawson. “My name is Henry Davy. I own a ranch about five miles out of town.” He tipped his hat cordially at Alexina. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Wayne.”
“Likewise, Mr. Davy,” Alexina responded.
Mr. Davy directed his next comment to Dawson. “Are you enjoying Hidden Ditch?”
“Everyone has been very kind to us,” he replied.
“That’s good to hear,” Mr. Davy said. “My brothers and I moved here about three years ago, taking advantage of the Homestead Act.”
“How many brothers do you have?” Alexina inquired.
Mr. Davy smiled kindly at her; his eyes lingering. “Two, ma’am.”
To Dawson’s surprise, Alexina blushed as she averted her gaze.
“It was a pleasure to meet you folks, but I’m afraid I must hurry and load the rest of my supplies if I want to make it home before dark,” Mr. Davy stated as he stepped back onto the boardwalk.
“We hope to see you around, Mr. Davy,” Alexina remarked sweetly.
“I hope so too, ma’am,” he said as he tipped his hat at her, then disappeared back into the mercantile.
“What shall I make us for supper?” Dawson asked as he led Alexina toward their cottage.
She glanced over at him in surprise. “You’re going to cook supper?”
He shrugged. “Why not? I saw that Mayor Sunders stocked our pantry with canned pork and beans. That sounds delicious at the moment.”
“Your definition of supper is warming up a can of pork and beans?”
“Yup.”
She smiled up at him. “That sounds delicious.”
7
“I’ve decided I am going to
keep you, wife,” Dawson proclaimed, plopping another fried apple slice into his mouth.
“And what brought you to that decision?” Alexina asked, turning over the remaining apple slices in the pan over the hearth.
“Simple,” he said, licking the sugar off his fingers, “between the stew you made last night and your fried apples today, I’m confident we could make this marriage work.”
“If I understand you correctly,” she started, forcing a frown, “you only married me for my culinary skills?”
He smiled flirtatiously. “You are also a very beautiful woman. I wouldn’t want an unattractive wife, now would I?”
“What makes you think I would want to keep you?” she asked as she started removing the apples from the pan.
Dawson huffed. “You must be joking. What woman wouldn’t want to marry me?”
“Oh, good heavens,” she replied, “your mother did this world a disservice by raising you with such an arrogant view of yourself.”
He placed a hand over his heart, feigning disappointment. “You wound me, babykins.”
“I highly doubt that,” she bantered back.
Dawson stepped closer to the table and slowly reached for an apple slice.
“Those aren’t for you,” Alexina declared as she slapped his hand away from the apples still sizzling on the plate.
Dawson pouted. “Why does Gerald Stanbury get more apples than me?”
“I don’t feel one bit bad for you,” she expressed, wiping her hands on her apron. “You’ve already eaten two whole apples worth.” She picked up the cinnamon and sugar mix and drizzled it over the apples. “Stanbury is coming by shortly, and I must appear interested in his visit.”
“What if I appear interested in you? Would I get more apples?”
She gave him an exasperated look. “Be serious, Dawson. I will make you more fried apples tomorrow.”
His face grew expressionless, and he started to walk closer toward her. Not sure what he was about, Alexina took a step back and found herself against a wall. He continued his advance until he was right in front of her. As he placed his hand on the wall behind her, he leaned in slightly, and she sucked in a breath.
“You are a beautiful woman, Alexina,” he said in a husky voice.
She pressed her lips together. “Be serious, Dawson,” she repeated, attempting to keep the breathlessness out of her tone. Good heavens, what’s wrong with me, she wondered. She’d been around handsome men before, but none of them affected her like Dawson did.
Taking his other hand, he reached out and captured a lock of hair that had slipped out of her low bun. He tucked it behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin.
Alexina found herself having a hard time pretending that she was unaffected by his nearness. Her eyes darted toward his lips, and for the briefest of moments, she imagined what it would feel like to be kissed by Dawson Wayne.
“Alex,” he breathed as he dipped his head toward her.
Perhaps one kiss wouldn’t be so bad, she mused, as she closed her eyes in anticipation. However, his lips continued to hover over hers, and she could feel his warm breath on her mouth. The waiting was torture, and she debated about going up to her tiptoes to finish what Dawson had started.
“May I please have some more apples?”
It took her mind a few moments to register his words, but when it did, she felt like a fool. She brought up her hands and shoved him back.
“Don’t ever do that again, agent,” she exclaimed, stepping around him. “We are partners, and partners do not manipulate each other.”
Dawson grinned impishly. “It almost appeared that you wanted me to kiss you.”
Picking up an apple slice from the plate, she tossed it at him, hitting him in the chest.
“Mark my words. I will never, ever, kiss you,” she vowed.
“Don’t worry, I won’t hold you to that.” He winked.
Alexina narrowed her eyes. “I truly am going to shoot you. I don’t know when, but it will happen.”
Picking off the apple still clinging to his shirt, Dawson plopped it into his mouth. “Promises, promises,” he muttered.
A knock came at the door, and Alexina took a moment to smooth out her hair. As she was removing her apron, Dawson answered the door.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Stanbury?” he asked gruffly.
“I’ve come to call on your sister,” Mr. Stanbury replied in a hesitant voice.
Dawson opened the door and stepped aside. “Come inside,” he ordered.
“No, Brother,” Alexina said, picking up the plate of fried apples off the table. “Mr. Stanbury and I will sit on the porch and eat our dessert… alone.”
Mr. Stanbury let out a barely discernable sigh as he stepped to the side to let her pass through the door. She closed the door firmly behind her, but she had no doubt that Dawson would be eavesdropping from the window overlooking the porch.
“You look beautiful, Miss Wayne,” Mr. Stanbury said, his eyes perusing the length of her calico dress.
“I’m afraid I haven’t had time to change my dress since teaching today.” She headed toward the two chairs that sat under the porch’s overhang.
He smiled. “I have no doubt that you would look lovely no matter what you wore, Alexina.”
“Shh… my brother will hear you,” she whispered, pretending to be shy.
He sat down next to her, angling his chair toward her. “So, what if he does?”
“Would you like one?” She held up the plate of apples.
Mr. Stanbury accepted one and placed it in his mouth. His eyes lit up with approval. “These are really good.” He reached for another one.
“It’s an old family recipe,” she lied, smiling. Kate Warne taught her how to make fried apples. They brought back happy memories.
Mr. Stanbury sat back in his seat as he watched her. “You are a woman with many talents.”
Her initial reaction was to roll her eyes, but she kept the smile on her face. This man was trying too hard to compliment her.
He cleared his throat. “I… uh… was hoping you would consider allowing me to court you,” he stammered.
“But we hardly know each other, Mr. Stanbury,” she countered. And I would never want to be with someone like you, she thought.
“I would prefer it if you called me Gerald.”
She placed the plate onto the floor. “I’m afraid I am not interested in courting at this time, Gerald,” she remarked. “I’ve only been in town for two days.”
“You should know that I am the richest man in town. I own the mercantile, and I’m part owner of a mine,” he bragged, puffing out his chest with pride.
She frowned. “May I ask what kind of woman you think I am?”
“Pardon?”
“You seem to think that your wealth will sway me in your favor,” she said, “but I am far more interested in a man that will be loyal to me above all else.”
“I would be that man,” Gerald vowed, tugging down on the lapels of his brown suit. “After all, you are the most beautiful woman in town.” He gave her a one-sided grin.
Alexina stifled a groan. Did he just think he complimented her? Poor fool. He was more of an idiot than she first thought.
“If I am following this conversation correctly,” she began, “you are only interested in me because of my beauty.”
“Well, that and you are a great cook.” He reached for another apple slice.
“What if another woman came into town, and her beauty rivaled mine?”
He shrugged. “I highly suspect that would be the case. Regardless, you must know that my intentions are pure since there isn’t a brothel in our town to even tempt me.”
“If there was a brothel in our town, would you frequent it?”
“No,” he hastened to say, but she noticed the slight tremor in his voice. This man was lying to her, and she hated liars.
She rose from her chair. “I will never accept your suit, Mr. Stanbury.”
&
nbsp; “May I ask why?” he asked, his voice rising in indignation as he rose from his chair.
Taking a step closer to him, she took a deep breath.
“I smell alcohol on your breath,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “which leads me to believe you were visiting one of the saloons in town before you came to call.”
“There’s nothing wrong with stopping at a saloon for a drink,” he challenged.
“True, but you still stink of perfume as well.”
His face went slack. “Nothing happened. The saloon girl…”
“Good evening, Mr. Stanbury,” she stated in a firm tone.
“Wait, you have to let me explain…”
The door was slammed opened, and Dawson stood in the doorway with a shotgun in his hands. “I believe my sister told you to leave.”
Mr. Stanbury turned his panicked gaze back toward her. “Please, Alexina. I would be loyal to you, if you just give me the chance.”
Dawson pulled the hammer back. “Ten… nine… eight…”
“Alexina?” he exclaimed.
“You should go,” she urged. “My brother is an excellent shot.”
Without saying another word, Mr. Stanbury ran off the porch and down the road toward town.
Dawson released the hammer on the shotgun. “Was it wise to dismiss Stanbury so quickly?”
“If Stanbury is our suspect,” she said as she reached down to pick the plate up off the porch, “then I just bruised his ego. He won’t be gone for long.”
“I hope it is Stanbury, because I really want a reason to shoot him,” Dawson asserted with a dark look in the direction the storekeeper had gone.
Pointing at the shotgun, she asked, “Where’d you get the shotgun?”
“I brought it with me. I had a hunch that I’d need it.” Dawson stepped out onto the porch. “How did you know he was lying?”
“Instinct.”
“Are you all right?” he asked with a concerned brow.
She nodded. “I hate liars.”
“Duly noted.” He tilted his head toward the door. “Since we have extra time this evening, how about you whip up another batch of your delicious fried apples.”
“I could do that,” she said with a smile.
8