“You will always know one another’s heart”. Max remembered as a child asking his mother what that meant, but she said only that one day he would understand. When Max and Monty turned sixteen, their father gave them identical watches, their legacy from a mother who had died three years earlier.
When they were young boys, Monty and he shared each other’s pain and joy in ways only twins could. As an adult, he instinctively knew whenever Monty was in trouble. Like now, except this time, Faith O’Brien was somehow involved. Damn. He recalled the softness of her curves against his chest when she’d landed atop him. Her hair was like a fiery sunset, her green eyes glittered and her lips were made to kiss. She had the look of innocence, but he couldn’t allow that to sway him. He would send some telegrams to Washington to find out exactly who she was, and in the meantime he would keep an eye on her.
He picked up the packet he’d retrieved from the ground by the pasture. If it were Tess’s, she no doubt would have still been clutching it when he’d rescued Faith, but it lay forgotten after their drama. Feeling not a twinge of remorse, he slipped his knife into the binding and loosened the knot. Removing the brown wrapping from around the bundle, he stared at the pad of paper. He flipped through the pages—blank. Whatever clues he’d hoped to glean from snooping through the lady’s purchase didn’t materialize. He would just have to question her when he ate breakfast tomorrow. It was a mighty good thing the Harvey House served decent food. His stomach might otherwise rebel from the number of times he ate there.
* * *
Max stood in the shadow of a building watching dawn pierce the night. The sky turned rose, helping delineate shapes of people moving about as the town came awake. It appeared to be the only time of day in Topeka when a cloud of dust didn’t hover over everything. Dirt streets and prairie wind tended to cause a continuous stir. He turned his pocket watch over and over in his hand. He didn’t need to look at it.
His internal clock usually judged the time within minutes. Fiddling with the watch was an idle habit he’d acquired while waiting for his prey to make a move. His job taught him patience, but for some reason today a sense of urgency grabbed hold of him. He was close, he felt it, and Abigail Faith O’Brien would give him the missing key. The stationmaster, who doubled as the telegraph operator, had given him a telegram first thing this morning. A woman with her name and physical description was reported missing from Boston. Her parents offered a reward for her return, but since she was of age, the authorities weren’t after her. For some reason, she used her middle name to hide behind. He would have let that go if not for the watch. Now, he would confront her with what he knew so she wouldn’t feel the need to continue hiding. According to his stepsisters, charm and finesse made putty of men. He’d found the same worked on the ladies. Failing that, he could always resort to the threat of brute force as he did with his stepsisters. Of course, it never came to that, for they always capitulated.
“Boss.”
The hushed whisper caused the hair on Max’s neck to prickle. Damn. He’d been so intent on watching for Abigail that he didn’t heard Tom approach. In his line of work, that might prove fatal. He signaled acknowledgement but didn’t turn his gaze from watching the street.
“Just got word from Crede,” Tom whispered.
“Your brother caught the train heading west yesterday from Abilene.”
“Hell.”
So close. While he’d been sitting in Topeka cooling his heels and watching Abigail, his brother had been practically under his nose.
“What else?”
Crede and Tom were both good operatives and Max hoped there was more information.
“Crede said he was asking questions—about a man with a scar.”
“Got anything on him?”
“Nope. Didn’t get a name and don’t have anything in the file about a man with a scar from the Boston area.”
Max squinted, his gaze locating Abigail as she and her friend, Tess, walked across the street. How could he get the information he needed about the watch from Abigail and follow in his brother’s wake at the same time? He tilted his head at something else Tom mentioned.
“Who said the man was from Boston?”
“Well, I just assumed, since that’s where Smith was killed and where your warehouses are.”
“My father’s warehouses,” Max corrected automatically. “That’s exactly why I don’t think the killer was from Boston. Too close to home. Someone would know him.”
He stepped back into the shadows, not ready to be seen.
“I’d say we need to get in touch with the West Coast operatives. They might have a name.”
“Right, boss.” The wiry Tom tugged at his hat, preparing to leave and send more telegrams. Max held out a hand to stop him.
“Get to the station and tell Wells to catch the Pullman to the evening train. I think it leaves about six.” That would give him most of the day to get Abigail to tell him what he needed to know. “Also, tell Crede to trail Monty, but to leave word between Abilene and the Colorado border.”
With any number of train stops between here and Denver, Max didn’t want to lose them along the route. Tom left, and Max squared his shoulders. He regretted his angry words to Abigail yesterday, especially now that she might have information he needed. But…no buts. He would just have to spread on the charm.
* * *
Abby groaned when she glanced about the dining room. She hadn’t even tied on her apron and already that Mr. O’Flagherty was settling in at his usual table.
“Oh, Faith, he’s back. You just have to make him notice you.”
She snorted.
“Tess, he definitely notices me. Why else would he come in every day and annoy me by sitting in my section?”
“No, no. I mean notice you.” She dragged the word out, fluttering her eyelashes.
Abby laughed. Regardless of Tess’s emphatic statements about never marrying, she held very romantic notions for everyone else. Abby wasn’t going to encourage those notions by telling her that she’d dreamed about the Irishman last night. When she’d awakened all hot and achy, she attributed it to her narrow escape from the raging animal in the pasture. In her dream, Mr. O’Flagherty rescued her, and she’d rewarded the man with a kiss—a very passionate, very long kiss. That certainly woke her up.
Tess whispered, “He might be very rich.”
She just shook her head, collected silverware, napkin and water, and walked over to the table.
“Ah, it’s nice to see you smiling so brightly on this fine morning,” Mr. O’Flagherty greeted her when she began setting his table. “Have you fully recovered from your foot race with the bull, Abigail?”
His use of her right and proper name caused her heart to thump. She dropped the glass she held and water splattered on the linen tablecloth. Before it spilt completely, his hand flashed out and righted the glass. She glanced around to see if Miss Taylor noticed her clumsiness. She whispered frantically, “I never told you my real name.”
“Aye, but regardless, there’s a lot I know about you.”
“You’re one of them.”
He looked confused. “One of who?”
“An investigator, that’s who.”
He grabbed her wrist when she tried to move away.
“How did—?”
“I have a respectable occupation earning over seventeen dollars a month,” she interrupted him. “I am also twenty-four years old and perfectly capable of living on my own. And there’s nothing wrong with my using another name, if I so desire. “Besides, I don’t believe you are who you say, either,” she rushed on, trying to shift the conversation away from herself.
“Your name may be Irish, but I’d wager you’re not.”
He seemed to recover, his look of surprise turning to one of devilment.
“You wound me, lass. I assure you I am definitely of Irish descent.” His brogue became more pronounced, his smile wider, his eyes twinkling. She didn’t believe him, regardless of who
he said he was, yet she didn’t feel frightened as she had in Chicago.
“With all your red hair, you do not have a single freckle, and here I am with red hair and far too many of them.”
“Ah, perhaps the faeries blessed you while I lay forgotten under some cabbage leaf.” He actually winked at her. She shouldn’t trust this man and yet he caused her to smile.
“Ha! As I’ve said before, you’re full of blarney.”
“Perhaps about the cabbage patch, but most assuredly not about your beauty.”
“Is there a problem?”
A male voice gave Abby a start, and she knew by its tone she’d stayed too long at one table. Mr. Fred Harvey stood just to the other side of her. “I, uh…” she stammered, trying to find an excuse for her behavior and the spreading water stain on the table linen. Mr. O’Flagherty stood with a flourish of napkin.
“Quite clumsy I am this morning, I’m afraid. I spilled my water glass and Miss O’Brien was being very helpful in cleaning up my mess. I do apologize.” He executed a short bow, then extended his hand to Mr. Harvey. “Donal O’Flagherty, at your service, sir.”
Mr. Harvey shook his hand and gave a curt nod.
“Fred Harvey, proprietor of Harvey House.”
He then turned to Abby and commanded, “Move Mr. O’Flagherty to a clean table.”
He nodded to the man and moved off. Abby’s stomach churned at the look Mr. Harvey gave her. He was a stern employer, and stories continually spread through the dormitory about the way he ran his business. One such tale was that he fired an entire restaurant full of waiters because he didn’t like the way they set the tables.
“He would make a good match for your Miss Taylor,” Mr. O’Flagherty commented in an undertone as he helped her pick up the table service.
“Please. Do not say anything else. Do you want me to lose my job?” Then she added in a more normal tone, “Follow me.”
She led him a few tables to the left and offered him a seat.
“If you lose your job, will you return home to Boston where you belong?”
She glared at him.
“So, you are an investigator. Well, you can report to my mother that I do not want to return to Boston and marry Dilbert Crabtree. I do not want to marry anyone.”
She really didn’t know where she got the gumption to be so bold, but while this man didn’t threaten her, he did seem to bring out the worst in her. She turned to leave.
“Don’t leave yet. I still have questions. And what about my order?”
Abby stopped with her back to him and took a calming breath. Slowly turning, she graced him with a sugary sweet smile.
“I am sorry, sir, but you are no longer sitting in my section. I’ll see if I can find someone else to wait on you.”
* * *
Max was back at the restaurant later that afternoon, having found no time alone with Abigail. Miss Taylor so closely supervised the girls that he began to wonder if they even took time to sit and eat their own meals. Her friend, Tess, was quite chatty when she waited on him that morning, but unfortunately, she didn’t have the information he needed. He checked his watch. He was running out of time. Wells had the Pullman ready at the side rail for the train. If Max didn’t get Abby to talk before six this evening, he would be stranded here without his lodging. Either that, or he would have to rearrange the entire thing, and that didn’t suit at all.
Abigail set a huge piece of apple pie in front of him and refilled his coffee cup. He couldn’t sit here and watch her without ordering anything, but she seemed to delight in bringing him enough food for three men. And she knew he would have to pay for it.
“Abby, if you’ll just give me a few minutes—”
“I needn’t give you anything, sir, including permission to address me so familiarly.”
He detected a note of regret in her voice and pressed his advantage.
“I was not hired by your parents to take you back to Boston, if that’s what you think. However, I’m sure they’re worried about you.”
Her face fell and he knew he’d hit a sensitive chord. She stood there, indecisive, fingering the watch that hung from a chain around her neck. The light played off the surface and Max caught the reflection of a ship, sails spread wide. He wasn’t mistaken. He reached a hand toward her, but she retreated. She looked so innocent, but if she had nothing to do with the warehouse robbery and murder, how did she come by his brother’s watch? He decided to get to the point. Pulling his own pocket watch from his vest, he raised it to show her the twin to the one she wore.
“I know that watch isn’t yours. You see—”
“Yee-ha!”
Chaos erupted when half a dozen cowboys rode right through the open front door in the wake of a leaving customer.
“Yippee-ya!”
Two of the cowboys turned their horses in tight circles, the animals’ hooves playing havoc with the delicate table legs. Customers scrambled from their chairs and huddled against the wall. One cowboy jumped off his horse and dropped to his knees at Abby’s feet.
“Miss, I’ve watched ya from afar and jest cain’t resist no longer tellin’ ya how I feel.”
He whipped his hat off his head, slapping it against his chest and causing dust to float about him. Abby stood speechless, eyes wide as saucers, in the middle of the mayhem. Even though the cowboys’ antics disrupted Max’s investigation, he was amused. It was definitely more entertaining than the most proper courting society in Boston.
“Oh, please.” Abby’s whispered plea fell on deaf ears. When she glanced around for help and her gaze fell on Max, he shrugged and grinned.
“Miss, yur jest ’bout the purtiest gal I ever set eyes on, and ya just gotta say you’ll marry me.”
The cowboy continued his amorous prose. The other cowboys cheered in agreement. The horse stomped a front hoof as though it, too, shared the opinion of all the men there. Max couldn’t disagree with the cowboy’s statement, for even in full blush, Abigail O’Brien was a beautiful woman. Her fiery red hair framed a perfect face with freckles dotting her nose. A man would have to be blind not to notice her winsome figure, even beneath the stern black dress required of a Harvey Girl. Apparently, Mr. Harvey didn’t appreciate the cowboy’s ardor as much as the rest of the audience who now giggled and whispered. Back ramrod straight and goatee aquiver, Mr. Harvey quickly approached the rowdy men.
“We don’t allow animals in Harvey House. After tying your horses outside, if you would like to return to eat, we will be happy to seat you. Just see the hostess and you will be waited on.”
That was it. The cowboy blinked up at Mr. Harvey, then nodded and rose to his feet.
Plunking his hat on his head, he took his horse’s reins and turned to leave. He gave Abby a toothy grin and a promise.
“I’ll be right back, missy, for your answer.”
During the confusion of horses and cowboys leaving the establishment, Abby quickly gathered some plates and took them to the back. Miss Taylor was obliged to release several of the customers from the debt of their meal. After all, appetites tended to wane in the aftermath of sweaty horses and clinging dust. Max, however, remained in his seat. Once the place settled down, he hoped to be able to finish his conversation with Abby. After several long minutes when she didn’t return to the dining room, he inquired of another waitress.
“She’s gone.”
He checked his watch. There was less than three hours before the train left.
* * *
Abby furiously tossed her few possessions into her carpetbag, knowing if she stayed angry, the tears wouldn’t come. Tess sat on the edge of the bed in the hot dormitory, wringing her hands.
“I can’t believe Mr. Harvey fired you,” she wailed. “It was hardly your fault some loco cowboy rode a horse through the place.”
“It certainly doesn’t say much for romance in the Wild West, does it?”
Abby tucked the last of her dresses into her bag. She’d tried to convince Mr. Harvey she’d ne
ver seen the man before in her life, which was the truth. He’d replied that it would probably happen again and he couldn’t afford the destruction of property. Miss Taylor even wanted to withhold part of her wages for the damages, but Mr. Harvey at least gave her the month’s pay she almost earned.
Tess began to cry. “Where will you go? What will you do?”
Abby’s forehead creased in a frown.
“Where is my paper?”
She’d already packed her composition and journal in the bottom of her bag, but the paper she’d just purchased yesterday was gone. Miss Parker stuck her head in the door.
“Faith, there’s a gentleman caller in the parlor for you.”
Miss Parker hadn’t questioned the girls coming back to the dormitory in the middle of the morning. Apparently so many women were hired then ran off to get married that the matron gave up trying to keep track. The only thing she monitored with military precision were the men who were brave enough to step foot in her parlor.
“What does he look like?” Abby definitely didn’t want to see that cowboy again.
“Tall, red hair, speaks kind of funny.”
“Oh, Faith.” Tess turned back to her with a smile.
“Tell him I don’t wish to see him.”
“Can’t do that,” Miss Parker stated.
“I just relay messages one way.”
The hefty matron walked away, leaving the door open. Abby sighed. The more she thought about the incident at the Harvey House, the madder she became at the irresponsible cowboy and Donal O’Flagherty. If he hadn’t been pestering her, she would have been in the kitchen and the cowboy would never have seen her. He no doubt would have recited his amorous speech to one of the other girls.
“Tess, please go tell that man I do not want to see him.”
“But—”
Love in Disguise Page 3
