Love in Disguise

by Barbara Baldwin

  “Max, is that you? You must come and meet Mr. Stanwick,” his aunt called to him.

  Max frowned at Hickory, but the servant shrugged and, with a shake of his head, left Max to his own devices. His trained eye took in the entire room within seconds. His aunt sat on a single chair by the hearth. Mr. Stanwick sat dangerously close to Abby on the settee. That was, until he stood when Max crossed the room. Abby’s cheeks held a hint of color. Max couldn’t tell if it was from the company she kept or the near-empty glass on the low table in front of her. What was his aunt thinking, serving spirits at this time of day?

  He ignored the man for a moment as he bent to kiss his aunt on the cheek. When he smelled liquor on her breath, he doubted the wisdom of leaving these two ladies on their own. He would have to assign a companion for the companions. Only after he’d appropriately bowed over Abby’s raised hand did he focus his full attention on the man, still standing next to her. Max hoped to make him uncomfortable, but when he looked at his steely gray gaze, he saw a cold reserve that indicated Stanwick was assessing him, too.

  “Mr. Stanwick accompanied us home after the horticulture lecture,” Abby said in the silence that fell over the room.

  “Christopher Stanwick.” The man, as tall as Max, but fair where Max was dark, stuck out his hand. His gaze defied Max to take it.

  “Stanwick.”

  Max curtly inclined his head. It wouldn’t do to appear rude in his aunt’s house. He turned back to the ladies. “Did you enjoy your day?”

  “The lecture on roses was not up to usual standards,” Libby said, “but it did give me some ideas for the side garden. You should have attended, dear. It wouldn’t hurt you to socialize more.”

  “I have business to attend. Most people can’t afford to spend the entire day smelling flowers,” Max said. When he glanced at Stanwick, the man appeared bright enough to get the idea Max didn’t want him there.

  “Business?” Abby asked. “Max, were you invest—”

  “Investing, which is a business you needn’t worry about.” He cut her off. He didn’t know this Stanwick fellow. Until he did, and maybe not even then, he didn’t want his true occupation discussed in the society page of the Denver Post. At his abrupt tone, Abby snapped her mouth shut and glared at him.

  “Of all the coincidences, Mr. Stanwick said he was also in investments,” Libby said.

  “Really?” Max tried not to sound bored.

  “Along with growing orchids and…collecting rare treasures.”

  Stanwick’s smug smile grated on Max’s nerves, but the ladies appeared properly impressed with his accomplishments.

  “You must visit Stanwick Manor and see my gardens, Abby.”

  Max ground his teeth at his familiar use of her name.

  “Madame.” Hickory, back in the role of dutiful servant, appeared at the doors. Max wondered how the man knew just when to interrupt.

  “Ah, it is time for luncheon. You will stay, won’t you Mr. Stanwick?” his aunt asked.

  Max wanted to clamp a hand over her mouth.

  “I’m afraid I can not. I have pressing business in the city. Perhaps another time, Mrs. Gentry.”

  He bowed over her hand. Abby stood and took Stanwick’s arm, escorting him to the door. When Max stepped forward to follow, his aunt stopped him. He looked from her delicate, blue-veined hand on his sleeve to her face. She didn’t say a word, but raised one eyebrow in question. He scowled.

  As soon as the front door closed, Libby released him and glided from the room, leaving him standing alone and feeling very lonely. What’s wrong with me? He wondered, recalling his ire at finding a man in the house. He couldn’t prevent his aunt from entertaining. But he was only fooling himself and it wasn’t his aunt he was worried about. Abby’s eyes sparkled when she looked at Stanwick, and she smiled prettily when he invited her to visit his gardens. Gardens, hell. Max snorted. He knew what the man was about. He would have to caution his aunt about letting Abby close to some of the riffraff that thrived in the city, even if they did dress in clothes from Joslin’s and pose like peacocks.

  “Sir?” Hickory interrupted his reverie.

  With a nod, Max walked to the dining room. He enjoyed the ladies’ chatter as they ate, but eventually grew tired of listening to them praise Stanwick’s qualities.

  “Would you ladies enjoy attending the theater tonight?”

  “You won’t be too busy investing on your own?” Abby teased, but he heard the hurt in her voice from having been excluded.

  “Abby, you know I don’t want people to know what I actually do. That’s why I often wear disguises. And we’ve discussed your role in this before.”

  She gave a little shrug. “I understand, really I do, but you know I want to help.”

  Thinking to appease her, he asked, “Surely you and Libby haven’t shopped all the stores in Denver yet?”

  Both women verbally pounced on him at the same time.

  “We have more important things to do than shop,” Abby exclaimed.

  “That is not even worthy of an answer, Maxwell Jeffery,” his aunt added, the use of his middle name indicating true ire. He knew when it was time to retreat.

  “My apologies, ladies.”He inclined his head.

  Trying to think of a way to regain their good graces, Max recalled his conversation with the police captain. He pulled his wallet from his breast pocket.

  “It appears the police have been trying to crack the robbery ring in Kit Carson for some time now. The Kansas Pacific has lost so much freight they even offered a reward. Now, with the officials in Carson under investigation, they hope to close down what appears to be a town-wide conspiracy.”

  “Well, that is certainly good news,” his aunt replied. “Denver will never become a thriving place for business and social acclaim if it isn’t even safe to travel here.”

  Max slid a bank draft across the table to Abby.

  “The Kansas Pacific is properly grateful for your help, Abby, and asked that I give you this.”

  Abby’s eyes rounded when she picked up the slip of paper.

  “Five hundred dollars!” She fanned herself. “My word, I don’t believe it.”

  “That is quite a reward, Abby. We’ll have to visit my banker tomorrow and see what we can do to put it to good use,” Libby stated.

  Max knew she’d doubled the size of her late husband’s fortune, and he felt comfortable with her to guide Abby. He watched Abby purse her lips and tap the bank draft on the table.

  “You know, Libby, this is the second reward I’ve received since leaving Topeka. Perhaps I should consider apprehending felons for a living.”

  Chapter Eight

  “The hell you say!” Max exploded, not bothering to excuse the profanity in front of his aunt.

  “If you think for one minute that you are going to run around catching robbers and killers, just think again.”

  Abby’s mouth formed a perfect little “o” and her eyes widened in surprise. When his words sank in, her mouth snapped shut, her eyes narrowed and one delicate eyebrow lifted.

  “I do not believe you are in charge of me, sir.”

  “Your father would probably disagree with you,” he answered, recalling the words of assurance he’d inserted into the telegram to Kevin O’Brien.

  “My father is not my keeper, either.”

  “Someone needs to be, for I swear you are the most stubborn woman I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”

  Abby stood abruptly and slapped her napkin onto the table.

  “I was perfectly independent and able to take care of myself before I met you.”

  “Certainly. That’s why you were accosted in Chicago, worked as a poker dealer in a saloon and found it necessary to leave town in the middle of the night when someone was murdered.”

  His aunt sucked in her breath. Abby’s face paled.

  “Working in that saloon was a perfectly legitimate job,” she whispered fiercely.

  Max stepped around the end of the
table to reach for her.

  “Abby, I’m sorry.”

  She straightened her spine and glared at him. “I want to thank you for teaching me a valuable lesson. I shall refrain in the future from trusting my hea…my person to the care of any man.”

  She turned on her heel and fled the room. The front door slammed before he had time to react. He turned to his aunt in frustration.

  “Libby, do something.”

  “She has a key and she knows the address.”

  “But—”

  “Dear, I know how you feel about Abby, but she’s a grown, independent woman. I would suggest you start treating her as such.”

  How could his aunt know how he felt when Max wasn’t sure himself?

  “She’s a beautiful woman, alone in a strange place. Even if I trust her, I don’t trust the men in this town. Doesn’t that worry you?”

  “No, I’m not worried.”

  Max threw his hands up in resignation. His aunt was no help.

  “Fine! Now in addition to finding Monty and Jerome Smith’s killer, I have to locate one little spitfire who doesn’t have the good sense to stay put.” He angrily paced toward the door, determined to catch her before someone else did.

  “Max.” His aunt’s gentle voice stopped him.

  He turned.

  “I didn’t mean that—about not being worried. That’s why I have Adam, Hickory’s nephew, follow Abby whenever she leaves the house alone. She doesn’t know him and he’s quite capable of taking care of her should the need arise.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Exasperated, he ran his fingers through his hair. He felt slightly better knowing that Abby had a shadow.

  Aunt Libby shook her head. “There is a trait which seems to elude the men in our families.”

  He scowled, not sure where this was heading.

  She smiled.

  Max knew that smile. It was the same one Abby used on him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s called subtlety. I would suggest you develop some. If you do not, Abby will never learn to listen to you.”

  * * *

  Abby ran from the house instead of to her room. She needed to distance herself from Max or she swore she just might do bodily harm. After hurrying more than a block, she slowed her pace to a walk, not wanting to draw attention to herself. She flagged a passing horse-drawn trolley and climbed aboard, digging into her pocket for her fare and dropping it in the box. The vehicle was nearly empty at this time of afternoon. Abby chose a seat on the outside, for she loved to look about as she rode. Denver was a thriving city, much like Boston, but from mining rather than shipping. Libby was quite informative about the turquoise, iron and lead that were mined in the area, as well as the silver. Today, however, Abby’s thoughts turned to the argument with Max.

  Why did that man keep insisting she needed looking after? Even as she fumed, she recalled the times he’d come to her rescue. She would like to blame him for getting her shot, or not being in the train car when those two robbers appeared, but in good conscience she could not. Her anger dissipated. Max was just doing his job. One of the things she liked about him was his noble effort to help those who were in need, so it was illogical to fault him for following his instincts.

  She allowed the truth to surface. She wasn’t able to reconcile her feelings for Max with her desire for a career. She thought perhaps she was falling in love with him, and that scared her silly. If she were to sacrifice her independence for a man, she would never fulfill her dream of a musical career. The trolley jostled her back and forth as it stopped and then started again, depositing a passenger and picking up several fares.

  Abby glanced around, realizing she had ridden into the downtown area of Denver. There was a hustle and bustle of humanity on the streets and boardwalks. Ladies shopped in a wide variety of stores and men were doing their fair share of purchasing at such stores as Jensen Bliss & Co. Hardware. She sympathized with one man, handkerchief wrapped under his chin and knotted atop his head, holding his cheek as he entered a dentist’s office. Though he looked comical, he surely must be in pain. The horse-drawn trolley turned a corner, and Abby noticed a tall man exiting the doors of the fashionable Charpiot’s Hotel.

  “Max,” she shouted, yanking the bell rope to indicate she wanted to get off. When the driver didn’t stop right away, she pulled on the rope again.

  “Hold your horses, missy,” he grumbled.

  The trolley wasn’t fully stopped when Abby jumped off, hiking up her skirts in an unladylike fashion as she hurried to catch Max. She lost him momentarily until she stepped onto the boardwalk, hopping up and down to see over the tops of the other shoppers. Once she spied his hat, she hurried along the wooden platform, her booted heels clicking.

  “Excuse me,” she said when she nearly ran over a matronly lady with her arms full of parcels.

  “Pardon.”

  She didn’t look at the person she bumped with her elbow. If she took her eyes off the hat in front of her, she would lose sight of him. She was just about upon him when he stepped into the street. Unrelenting, she hurried across the dusty thoroughfare, dodging more than one horse and buggy in her haste.

  “Max!”

  She touched his arm just as they reached the other side.

  “Oh, I’m…yes, it is you.”

  For a moment when he turned, Abby thought he was the wrong man. He wore boots and a wide-brimmed hat, open-collared shirt and a kerchief tied around his neck. A long coat with a cape about the shoulders completed his disguise. She had seen many men in Denver dressed in a similar fashion. Libby said most were miners or cattlemen.

  “If this is another of your disguises, I must say it’s not very good.”

  “I beg your pardon, miss?” Max took her elbow and moved her onto the boardwalk away from the traffic.

  “Though you do look quite…uncivilized, I don’t think a change of clothes will be enough to disguise you.”

  He gave her quite a strange look before answering. “People usually see what they want to see, so any change of character can be effective, Miss—”

  Abby was bumped by the crowd and suddenly realized that Max didn’t want to claim recognition, in case the killer happened to be close by. She gave an anxious glance around them.

  “Abigail O’Brien, sir.”

  She decided to play her role.

  “I am sorry. I mistook you for a friend of mine.”

  “Friend? This Max fellow?”

  “Yes, Maxwell Grant,” she whispered his name.

  A look of surprise came over him. “Max is—?” he began, then looked quickly about before taking her arm and leading her off the pathway and into an alley.

  “Look, you must go back to—” He looked around, seeming to search for the right word.

  “—to your aunt’s house?” she finished for him. Max was acting very peculiar, even pretending not to be himself. Though Abby didn’t want to reveal his cover, she hesitated to leave him alone. Something was not exactly right about this.

  “Yes, yes, back to Aunt Elizabeth’s. But don’t mention that you’ve seen me here.”

  “I don’t understand. You know I want to help.”

  He looked at her and his eyes gentled, their blue much lighter than she remembered.

  “You know, I think you might be exactly what Max…what I need, Abigail O’Brien.”

  “I’m certainly glad to hear you finally admit it,” she responded.

  “Now, what must we do?”

  He pursed his lips, not speaking for a moment. Then he took her by the shoulders and turned her around.

  “Keep watch from here. Don’t turn around, but shout at me if you see anything suspicious.”

  He released her. Abby felt awkward standing on the edge of the alley facing the street, trying not to look conspicuous.

  “How will I know if something looks suspicious?”

  Silence met her question. She assumed she wasn’t supposed to speak, but wondered what h
e was doing in the alley behind her. She shifted from foot to foot as several minutes passed.

  “Psst.”

  She signaled over her shoulder, trying not to turn around too far. When no one answered, she tried again.

  “Max?”

  Silence.

  Abby turned to peer into the shadowed alley. It was totally empty, save for a few wooden crates stacked against one wall.

  “Well, drat!”

  Her anger rekindled. He’d played her for a fool and left her standing alone on a street corner. Just wait until she got her hands on him.

  * * *

  “Enter,” Max answered the knock on the study door. He’d taken over his uncle’s room as a center for his investigations. He now sat behind the massive oak desk mapping his strategy. A young boy bowed slightly as he stopped just inside the door.

  “Madame said I was to make report to you, sir.”

  Max looked up. “You must be Hickory’s nephew.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The youth pulled off his cap.

  “Well, what have you to report?”

  “The lady—Miss O’Brien—she stopped to talk to a man. At first I thought the fella was you, but there was something different.”

  “Different? What do you mean?” Max felt his stomach begin to churn.

  “Can’t say for sure, sir. Weren’t close enough to hear, either. He was dressed passing strange, with a big hat like them cattlemen wear.”

  “Did he have a scar across his face?”

  Max ran a finger down his own face to indicate what he meant. It would be just like Abby to blithely walk up to Dillon if she spied him and start talking, asking him questions that would give away the game. Adam rapidly shook his head.

  “No, sir. Like I said, he looked ’xactly like you, but different.”

  “Monty.”

  No wonder Max was edgy lately. He subconsciously sensed that his twin was near, but hadn’t paid attention to his intuition. He’d been too intent on tracking Dillon.