An Agent for Amey

by Laura Beers

  “You brought your horse with you?” he asked, surprised.

  “I did,” she replied. “He goes everywhere with me.”

  “Isn’t that an unnecessary expense?”

  “Not for me,” she answered with a shake of her head. “Jasper and I are inseparable.”

  “I generally rent a horse from the livery in whatever town I’m in.”

  A wistful expression came over Amey’s face. “When I left home, Jasper was the only thing I truly cared about bringing with me.”

  “Where’s home?”

  She grew tense. “Tucson, Arizona.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “To become a Pinkerton agent,” she answered, her voice clipped.

  Lincoln knew there was more to the story, but he didn’t dare ask any more questions. He could tell that he’d already pushed her too far.

  A lock of blonde hair came loose from her bun, and he had an intense desire to reach over and tuck it behind her ear.

  “Where are you from?” she asked.

  “New York.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “To become a Pinkerton agent, as well,” he answered honestly.

  “How long have you been an agent?”

  “Eight years,” he replied. “What about you?”

  “Five years.”

  He glanced curiously over at her. “How old are you?”

  “I’m twenty-four.”

  He lifted his brow in surprise. “You became a Pinkerton agent when you were nineteen?”

  “I did,” she replied proudly.

  “That’s an impressive feat,” he admitted. “I was a soldier in the war during its last two years, and then I was hired on at the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”

  “I always knew I wanted to be a Pinkerton agent,” she shared. “From the time I was a little girl, I loved reading about Kate Warne and the other female detectives in the newspapers. I idolized her.”

  “She was a remarkable agent.”

  “That she was,” Amey said. “Did you know she thwarted an assassination attempt on Abraham Lincoln’s life on his way to take office?”

  He chuckled. “Every Pinkerton agent is aware of that story,” he remarked. “It’s widely believed that’s when Pinkerton came up with the slogan ‘we never sleep’. It’s said that Warne didn’t sleep a wink the night she was guarding Abraham Lincoln.”

  Lincoln pulled into the train station and pulled back on the reins. He set the brake and said, “If we’re lucky, we should arrive in Longworth before supper.”

  Amey exited the carriage without assistance and walked toward the back. She removed her carpetbag and held it tightly in her hands.

  After securing the reins to the wagon, Lincoln jumped down and approached his partner. He kept his voice low as he said, “Next time, I would like the privilege of assisting you out of the wagon.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she replied. “I’m more than capable of exiting a wagon on my own.”

  “I have no doubt, but it’s my right as a husband.”

  She frowned. “We aren’t truly married.”

  “But we are,” he corrected. “As far as the law is concerned, this marriage is real, and we need to act accordingly.

  “How would you like me to act?”

  He stepped closer, his eyes roaming her face. “Like a woman in love,” he said, placing his hand on her right shoulder.

  She glanced down at his hand and arched an eyebrow. “I suppose I could play along, for the sake of our mission.”

  He dropped his hand. “That’s a good girl.”

  Amey grew rigid and took a step back. “If you’ll excuse me, husband, I need to go see to my horse,” she stated flatly.

  Without waiting for his reply, she spun on her heel and started walking toward the corral.

  What just happened, he wondered. They were conversing nicely, and then Amey started erecting barriers between them. He would have to be mindful not to call her a “good girl” again. Apparently, she didn’t like that.

  Lincoln turned toward the ticket counter to purchase the tickets. He’d never partnered with a woman before, but surely, it couldn’t be that complicated.

  Amey fumed as she walked back toward the train after ensuring her horse and trunk would travel with her to Longworth. She hated being called “good girl”. That’s what her father had always called her growing up. She hated it then, and she most assuredly hated it now.

  Lincoln approached her, holding up two tickets. “When I bought our tickets, I mentioned that we were on our honeymoon, and we were upgraded to a Pullman car.”

  “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “It was, wasn’t it?” he asked, reaching for her carpetbag.

  She swung it behind her back. “I will carry my own bag.”

  He gave her a forced smile. “A good husband would never allow his wife to carry her own bag.”

  Drat. He had a point.

  “Fine,” she said, extending the bag toward him, “but be very careful with it.”

  “Don’t worry about your carpetbag,” he replied, offering his arm. “I’ll treat it with the utmost care.”

  “Lead the way, husband,” she said, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm.

  “I will, Mrs. Hoyt.” He smirked.

  Amey frowned. “Don’t call me that,” she stated in a hushed voice.

  “Well, that’s your name, my dear,” he replied sweetly.

  Too sweetly.

  She had a great desire to grab her carpetbag from his left hand and hit her husband with it. He was teasing her, and she hated being teased.

  “Just call me Amey.”

  Lincoln glanced over at her. “Amey. What a pretty name.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Then you must call me Lincoln.”

  She paused. “I would prefer not to. It’s much too familiar.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he chided. “You’ve already given me leave to call you Amey. Besides, it will seem awfully strange if you don’t call me by my given name. We’re supposed to be married, remember?”

  “Fine,” she replied through clenched teeth. “I’ll call you Lincoln.”

  “What was that?” he asked. “I couldn’t hear you.”

  “I said,” she started, her voice rising, “I will call you Lincoln.”

  A smug smile came to his face. “Thank you, Amey.”

  “You are an irritating man,” she commented.

  He chuckled. “I’ve been called worse.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  Lincoln escorted her onto the train, and they walked down the narrow hallway until they found their Pullman car. Once they stepped inside, Amey couldn’t help but admire the dark green, papered walls, and the small golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

  “This is beautiful,” she murmured.

  Lincoln placed her carpetbag under his bench. “It is.”

  Amey sat down and ran her hand along the red velvet bench. “I’ve never been in a Pullman car before,” she admitted.

  “Never?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve never wanted to spend the additional funds to secure one.”

  “They are rather expensive,” he commented as he sat down.

  “Have you been in one before?”

  He nodded. “Quite frequently.”

  Amey turned her attention toward the window. “We hardly know one another,” she said. “Perhaps we should spend the next few hours becoming acquainted.”

  “Why?” he asked, resting his head against the back of the bench. “I’d prefer to take a nap.”

  She brought her gaze back to meet his. “I’ve never had a partner before, but wouldn’t it be beneficial if we became friends?”

  Lincoln closed his eyes and stretched out his long legs. “I don’t have any friends.”

  “What if I became your friend?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Why don’t you have any friends?”


  “Because friends make you weak. Vulnerable. And I’m neither one of those things.”

  “I must agree with you there,” she replied. “That’s why I don’t have very many friends, either.”

  Pulling his hat down over his eyes, he asked, “Has anyone told you that you talk too much?”

  “No one ever has.”

  “Truly?”

  “In Chicago, I worked alone, and I lived alone,” she admitted. “There were very few people around for me to talk to.”

  “Shhh,” Lincoln said, bringing his finger up to his lips.

  She rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Do you intend to sleep the entire way to Longworth?”

  “Yup.”

  “Are you always this cantankerous?”

  “Yup.”

  “All right.”

  After a long moment, Lincoln tilted his hat up to meet her gaze. “Why don’t you rest?”

  “We never sleep, remember?” she joked.

  Lincoln chuckled. “Well, as the lead agent on the case, I’m ordering you to take a nap.”

  She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m afraid that I’m not very tired.”

  He shoved back his hat and huffed. “Fine. What is it that you want to know about me?”

  “Do you have a middle name?”

  “Yes, it’s James.”

  “Do you come from a large family?”

  “No.”

  She waited for him to elaborate, and when he didn’t, she pressed, “Did you have any siblings?”

  Sorrow filled his face. “I had two older brothers, but they died in the war,” he shared softly.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” she murmured.

  He brought the hat down to cover his eyes. “No more questions,” he said gruffly.

  Amey turned her gaze toward the window and listened to the rhythmic clickety-clack of the train’s steel wheels as it ambled through the countryside. The scenery was very different in Denver than it was in Tucson. How she hated the cactus, sand dunes, and the unbearable heat!

  She was so lost in her thoughts that it took her a moment to register the sound of a cocking pistol. To her surprise, Lincoln was aiming a revolver at her, and he had a stern look on his face.

  Amey arched an eyebrow as she met his gaze, challenging him. “Do you intend to shoot me, Mr. Hoyt?”

  Lincoln shook his head disapprovingly as he lowered his revolver. “Pinkerton agents must always be prepared for the unexpected. That was pathetic. I could have robbed you and shot you before you even glanced my way.”

  “I’d never considered you a threat,” she replied honestly.

  “You must treat everybody as a potential threat,” he instructed as he leaned forward and tucked his pistol in the back of his trousers.

  She furrowed her brows. “What a sad way to live.”

  “It’s the only way to survive as an agent.” He looked at her expectantly. “How many guns are on your person?”

  “Two,” she answered proudly. “I have a derringer in my corset, and a revolver in the reticule around my left wrist.”

  “How well can you shoot?”

  She smirked. “I’m a terrific shot.”

  “We shall see,” he replied dismissively. “What were you thinking about that caused you to become so distracted?”

  Glancing over at the window, she replied, “I was thinking about how different the scenery was in Tucson. It’s a land filled with cacti.”

  He cocked his head. “Do you miss Tucson?”

  “Heavens, no,” she replied, meeting his gaze. “I left because I wanted a new adventure, and I succeeded when I became a Pinkerton agent.”

  “And Tucson didn’t have any excitement?”

  Amey huffed. “Heavens, no. It was safe.” She hesitated before adding, “It was boring.”

  “Do you come from a large family?”

  “No. I had a brother, but he died,” she said, her voice hitching.

  “And your parents?”

  Lowering her gaze to her lap, she shared, “They disowned me when I left for Chicago to become a Pinkerton agent.”

  “They did?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Tears threatened to fill her eyes, but she blinked them away. “It was for the best,” she admitted weakly. “They never truly understood me.”

  Lincoln leaned forward in his seat, and with compassion in his voice, he said, “Not everyone believes that you should follow your dreams. Some people are content with never knowing what could have been.”

  “Very true,” she replied. “Did you follow your dreams?”

  He nodded. “I did.”

  “I’m glad,” she replied, conjuring up a smile.

  Lincoln returned her smile. “My parents weren’t pleased that I left the family business to become a Pinkerton agent, either.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  His smile dimmed. “They haven’t disowned me, yet, but they told me that they were disappointed in me.”

  “How awful,” she murmured.

  His jaw clenched as he remarked, “They are only words. How bad could they hurt?”

  “It’s been my experience that words can hurt worse than a bullet.”

  Lincoln studied her for a moment before asking, “Have you been shot before?”

  “Of course, I have,” she replied. “After all, I am a Pinkerton agent. Haven’t you?”

  He chuckled. “No. I have been shot at, but I have never been hit.”

  “You aren’t missing much,” she joked.

  The train began to slow down as they came into the station, and Amey watched as the town of Longworth came into view.

  “Are you ready to catch ourselves a murderer, Mrs. Hoyt?”

  She brought her gaze back to meet his. “I most assuredly am, Mr. Hoyt.”

  4

  Lincoln didn’t know what to make of his partner. When he’d pointed his revolver at her, she hadn’t flinched. Instead, she’d met his gaze, practically challenging him to pull the trigger. On the other hand, she chatted incessantly. Why was she trying so hard to be his friend? It was maddening.

  He was standing on the train station platform, holding his wife’s carpetbag, and waiting for Amey to collect her horse. Which was another thing that aggravated him about her. Why had she brought a horse along with her? Pinkerton agents needed to be able to travel at a moment’s notice, and a horse was an added burden.

  He watched as Amey approached him with a beautiful, brown gelding. She had a genuine smile on her face as she approached him, and he momentarily forgot that he was annoyed with her.

  She stopped in front of him. “The porter has arranged for my trunk to be taken to the hotel.”

  “Explain to me again why you brought a horse with you on an assignment,” he grumbled.

  She patted her horse’s neck affectionately. “Wherever I go, Jasper goes.”

  “What happens if we have to jump on a train at a moment’s notice, and you can’t take your horse with us?”

  “I’ve never had a problem with that on my past assignments,” she commented. “Besides, I like to think of Jasper as my partner.”

  “But I’m your partner now.”

  “For now,” she replied.

  He tugged down on his black vest. “Should we proceed to the hotel?”

  “I think that’s a fine idea, husband.”

  Lincoln found himself curious about the horse as they walked down the ramp of the train station. “May I ask why you insist on bringing Jasper with you everywhere you go?”

  He noticed that Amey pressed her lips together before answering. “My father hated Jasper, and he was constantly threatening to shoot him.”

  “Why?” he asked, surprised.

  “Well, Jasper can be rather… temperamental.”

  “Most horses are,” he commented.

  “Not like Jasper,” she said. “For the most part, he loves to be ridden, but only by me.”

  “He won’t let
anyone else ride him?”

  She shook her head. “No, and he can be rather stubborn about it.”

  “In what way?”

  She smirked. “He plays dead.”

  “Pardon?” he asked.

  “He falls to the ground and plays dead until the person steps away from him,” she said, smiling. “He’s rather convincing, too. He even lolls his tongue out to add to the ruse.”

  Lincoln lifted his brow in disbelief. “But he lets you ride him?”

  “Mostly,” she replied. “If he’s tired of being ridden, he’ll play dead with me, as well.”

  “Why do you tolerate that behavior?”

  “Because Jasper has acted this way since he was a foal,” she shared, “and I find it mostly endearing that he will only let me ride him.”

  Lincoln huffed. “I’ve never heard of a horse that played dead before.”

  “That’s why my father threatened to shoot him.”

  “I can see why.”

  Jasper whinnied and tossed his head, drawing Amey’s attention. “When I left for Chicago, I knew I had to take Jasper with me, or he would have been killed. I couldn’t let that happen. Not to Jasper.”

  “I must admit that I’m beginning to understand your attachment to your horse,” he replied. “I find it oddly sweet.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lincoln’s eyes scanned the town of Longworth as they walked down the main road. Buildings lined the street, and he was impressed the community was large enough for a post office. Besides a large saloon, he saw a sheriff’s office, hotel, barber shop, bank, and a general store. Further up the road, he could see a church and a schoolhouse.

  Men were leaning against the posts of the buildings, watching them as they walked through town. He saw the desire in the men’s eyes as they watched Amey. He frowned and stepped closer to her.

  Amey gave him a side glance and surprised him by saying, “You don’t need to worry about me. I can protect myself.”

  Lincoln cast her a disbelieving look. How did she know precisely what he was thinking?

  “I never doubted that,” he lied, not wanting to give her the upper hand.

  “Then, why did you step closer to me when you noticed the men staring at us?”