by Stacy Henrie
His confidence in her skills and ability to solve a case where the other operative had failed had Maggy feeling on top of the world. “I can leave for Sheridan tomorrow.”
“Excellent.” James stood, signaling an end to their conversation. “Find this ranch interloper and I’ll send my recommendation to Robert and William Pinkerton to hire you as the head of all female operatives.”
She rose to her feet as well as she excitedly crushed her cap inside her fist. “Thank you, James. I won’t let you down.”
“You never do. That’s why I’m sending Get-Her-Man Maggy to complete the job.”
Chuckling, she maneuvered around her chair. She had garnered the nickname after her first undercover mission, in which she’d pretended to be a hapless female traveling alone and had successfully tracked down a ring of train employees swindling hundreds of dollars from the company every month. Several more triumphant undercover missions over the next couple months had secured her a position as one of James’s top operatives.
“Would you miss Colorado?” he asked, trailing her to the door. His head barely reached her shoulder, though she wasn’t considered overly tall. “If you get the position in Chicago?”
She didn’t hesitate to shake her head. “I’d miss working for the office here. But there’s nothing keeping me from leaving.”
No husband, no children, no family. A prick of loneliness, of the old abandoned feeling, threatened to uproot her enthusiasm of finally being in reach of her dream. Maggy steeled herself against it. She was strong and safe and could take care of herself. There was no need for any deep relationships—those brought only weakness, fear and pain.
“We’d miss you, too,” James said with sincerity in his tone.
Warmth filled her at his words—no one had ever told her they’d miss her before. Not even her pa the day she got married.
“I also know how much you want this.” He opened the door and stepped back. “Wire me after you’ve spoken with Kent and let me know how long the mission is likely to take.”
“I will.” She would solve this case and be one step closer to fulfilling her dream. Twirling the cap around her finger, she shot James a saucy smile. “You can count on me.”
* * *
Frowning, Maggy tapped the toe of her shoe against the wooden platform of the Sheridan train depot. Mr. Kent was late. That or he’d already changed his mind about employing another detective to solve his case. Maggy’s gloved hand strayed to her collar, and she forced it back down to her side instead of plucking at the scratchy lace for the umpteenth time. The ridiculously small, plumed hat she’d chosen to wear to complete her outfit did little to shade her face from the afternoon sun.
Without knowing what sort of role Edward Kent might want her to play for this mission, she’d chosen the part of a female relation—middle-class and independent—for her journey to Wyoming to visit her distant cousin. But now that she was here, she longed to be free of the smothering, stiff fabric of her traveling suit.
“Where is he?” she muttered to herself as she glanced around the emptying train station. She’d been hoping to convince him that he still needed help, get to his ranch right away, then take stock of the situation, not stand around waiting.
When another ten minutes had crawled by, according to the watch pinned to her lapel, Maggy dragged her trunk into the train’s waiting room. She cajoled the ticket clerk with a pretty smile and a nickel to watch her luggage until she returned. Then she asked for directions to the nearest livery stable. Once there, she requested a horse and buggy.
“How far is it to Big Horn?” she asked the livery owner as he hitched the bay he’d selected to the vehicle. The animal looked a little docile for Maggy’s tastes, making her wish she could saddle up the sleek mare she’d seen inside the building. But she couldn’t risk the talk that would surely follow if she rode astride a horse in her dress.
The owner peered over his shoulder at her. “Big Horn would be ’bout nine miles from here. You visitin’ someone that a ways?”
“Edward Kent.” She smiled demurely. “I’m a distant relation of his.”
“Kent’s place is just seven miles away.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “You’re from England then, are you?”
“Come again?”
“Mr. Kent’s a Brit. Figured you must be, too.”
Maggy inwardly cringed at not knowing such an important detail sooner. Her repertoire of accents didn’t include the most convincing British one. “Actually I hail from the part of the family that immigrated to America a few generations ago. Dear Edward followed in our path. But I’ve only just been able to leave my obligations at home in order to come see him.”
The man took her explanation in stride without even blinking. “Your buggy’s all ready, ma’am. This here horse don’t move as quick as he once did, but he’s real easy to handle.”
“Thank you for your help.”
Maggy accepted the reins from him as she took a seat in the buggy. Once he’d given her directions on how to find the Running W, she clucked to the horse and drove away from the livery. It didn’t take long to collect her trunk from the station—a train porter insisted on carrying it out to the vehicle for her and tying it down with some rope.
She maintained a cordial smile to passersby as she drove through Sheridan. Once she left the stores and homes behind, though, she dropped the friendly, slightly vacant expression as her sharply honed observation skills kicked in.
The green hills and distant mountains reminded Maggy of the Colorado town she’d called home before escaping to Denver. She immediately locked her mind against any thoughts of home, if she could even call it that. Instead she concentrated on paying attention to the landscape she passed and the other ranches in the area.
Before long she reached the lane the livery owner had indicated led to Kent’s ranch. She turned the horse to the left and drove the buggy down the side road. The Big Horn Mountains were closer now, their peaks stretching towards the overcast sky. After crossing a stone bridge that spanned a river, Maggy glimpsed a large house and outbuildings among the trees. Ahead stood an iron archway with the ranch’s brand prominently displayed at the top. She drove beneath the arch, and a feeling of anticipation had her urging the horse faster. This is where she’d spend the next while, where she’d “get her man” and hopefully where she’d secure her promotion as lead female detective for the entire Pinkerton Agency.
Maggy glanced to her right, her gaze snagging on a small cabin beside the river. It had likely been Mr. Kent’s residence prior to the building of the larger house. But that thought barely registered in her mind before her lungs squeezed tight, forcing her to gasp for breath. At the same time, her heart began to pound. Sweat collected beneath her hat brim and along her strangling collar. Her hands trembled so badly she could hardly hold the reins.
Not another attack. Not here. She hadn’t experienced one in months, and yet, the tiny cabin eerily matched the one she’d grown up in and the one she’d shared with Jeb as his wife.
It required all of her strength to stop the horse. Unpinning her hat, Maggy used it to fan her flushed face. She shut her eyes and willed herself to breathe through the pressure in her chest. She was safe—no one was going to harm her ever again. Especially not a man. Detective skills weren’t the only things she’d learned in the last six years; she’d also learned how to take care of herself.
If she’d only learned those skills sooner...
Feeling faint, she lay down on the seat and pressed her cheek to the tufted leather, desperate for something real and solid beneath her. Her pa was dead and so was her husband. Neither of them would ever lift a hand to her again. But the old fear and panic refused to release her from their iron grip. Hot tears burned her face as they slid onto the buggy seat.
“May I help you?” a male voice asked from nearby.
Maggy scrambled up, her he
art thrashing for an entirely new reason. Mortification scalded her cheeks at being caught in the middle of one of her episodes. Brushing away her tears, she discovered a man watching her from the seat of his wagon, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern. He had light brown hair, cut short, beneath his cowboy hat. And his eyes were an interesting shade of gray.
“I’m here to see to Mr. Kent,” she said, hastily poking pins back into her hair where it had fallen from its coif as she’d removed her hat.
His eyebrows shot upward. “I’m Edward Kent. And you are?”
She’d been too flustered to immediately identify the British accent she now plainly heard behind his words. This was her employer. Maggy cleared her throat.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kent.” She straightened her shoulders and pasted on what she hoped resembled a smile. “I’m your new Pinkerton detective.”
Chapter Two
“I beg your pardon?” Edward shook his head, certain he hadn’t heard her correctly. There was no way this woman with her messy auburn hair and tear-filled blue eyes could be a Pinkerton detective. Besides, he’d been informed the new operative would be waiting for him at the train station, and probably had been for some time. He’d spent longer than he’d intended watching a group of strangers who’d ridden close to the edge of his property that morning.
The woman’s smile increased, appearing less tremulous and more confident by the second. “I said I’m your new detective. My name’s Maggy.”
“You can’t be the new detective. I was supposed to meet him...” He cleared his throat when she lifted a haughty eyebrow at his use of a male pronoun. “What I mean is, I was supposed to meet the detective at the train station.” Before Edward promptly sent the chap back to Colorado.
Despite the agency’s insistence about sending another agent to the ranch—likely in an attempt to restore their good name with him—Edward had decided just that morning that he would find some other way to solve his case.
The woman consulted the watch pinned to her jacket. “Yes, you were to meet me more than an hour ago. But I got tired of waiting. It was easy enough to get directions and this horse and buggy. I may be able to count the livery as expenditures. Then again, the rental was necessary because you were late, so you might need to reimburse the expense.”
Frustration rippled through him, its waves growing more pronounced the longer he sat here glaring at her. The last detective had incurred an expense from him as well, and Edward had not been satisfied with the results.
“I regret I was not at the station on time,” he conceded. He shifted on the wagon seat, his fingers tightening their grip on the horses’ reins. What was the most polite way to share with her that he no longer required a new detective, male or female? “I was attending to business related to the case that the last detective found too difficult to—”
To his astonishment, she clucked to the old nag pulling the buggy and headed up the drive as if Edward hadn’t spoken. “You’ll find that I don’t back down from a challenge as easily,” she called over her shoulder.
Giving a low growl, he hurried to turn the team and wagon around to catch up with her, but she made it to the house before him.
“If you’ll pardon me, Miss...” He waited for her to supply him with a last name.
“It’s better for both of us if you simply call me Maggy.”
Edward could think of several other things to call her at the moment—none of which his proper English mother would approve of. “Maggy,” he bit out. He prided himself on sounding marginally calm. “I can’t afford any more interruptions to my ranch.” Not when the British Cavalry was interested in his horses. “However, I no longer wish to shoulder the expense of another agent, only to be disappointed with the results once again.”
She climbed from her vehicle, her head held high. Apparently she was as stubborn as she was striking. “I promise you won’t be disappointed with my results.” She proceeded to untie the rope that secured a trunk to the back of the buggy. “If you need credentials, I can supply those. But you should know...” She paused to throw him a penetrating look. “I’m known in the Denver office as Get-Her-Man Maggy. And that is why Mr. James McParland himself sent me.”
He recognized the name McParland. After Edward had sent his letter to the agency, Mrs. Harvey had illuminated the more renowned cases of the Pinkertons, including McParland’s own role in infiltrating a gang of assassins in Pennsylvania in the ’70s. The man might know what he was about in sending Maggy.
Still, Edward wasn’t sold on the plan. It seemed a waste of time and money to employ yet another detective from the same agency. Their methods of investigation would likely prove similarly unfruitful.
“That last gentleman pretended to be a new hire,” he said, climbing down from the wagon, “but that won’t be as easy to explain if you were to assume such a role, would it?”
He’d hoped to deter her, but he was disappointed. Instead, she manhandled her trunk onto the porch and threw him a satisfied grin. “I’m sure we can think of a different, more effective role. This trunk of disguises will help.” She slapped the top of the luggage as if it were an old friend.
“Disguises?” he repeated with a shake of his head. “This isn’t a circus, Miss Maggy. This is a prosperous ranch. And I need someone to find out who’s sabotaging it. Not entertain the populace with some masquerade.”
His neck heated with greater anger as memories intruded, memories he typically kept locked away. It had been at a masquerade ball, several months after his father’s death, when he’d discovered the woman he’d loved in intimate conversation with his oldest brother. He’d confronted them, only to learn Beatrice had thrown him over.
A mutual friend confided to Edward later on that Beatrice had cared for him, but a sudden and tragic misfortune with her family’s finances had made her anxious to marry someone with the money to rescue her relations from ruin. Edward still felt the sting of rejection, though. Especially when his brother and Beatrice were married six months later. Two weeks following the wedding, he’d climbed aboard a ship bound for America.
“Are you always this obstinate, Mr. Kent?” Maggy asked, jerking his thoughts back to the unpleasant scene unfolding on his porch.
She was accusing him of obstinacy? He climbed the steps in an effort to keep her from barging her way inside. An action he wouldn’t put past her. “Are you always this persistent?”
Her eyes brightened with amusement. “I wouldn’t be one of McParland’s best detectives if I weren’t.”
Running a hand over his face, Edward blew out an exasperated sigh. Clearly he wasn’t going to convince this woman that he was done employing Pinkerton detectives. But if she were to prove her own inabilities...
“I will make a deal with you. You find some clue your predecessor did not, and I will hire you as my new detective.”
Instead of looking defeated, a thrum of energy seemed to radiate from her. “How long do I have?”
“Until this evening.” Then he’d kindly provide her with supper and a room for the night before sending her back to Colorado.
Undeterred, she stuck out her hand. “Agreed.”
Edward eyed her hand, feeling a bit foolish at the idea of shaking it as if she were a gentleman. Then again, she’d been insisting since he stumbled onto her in the drive that he take her seriously. He wondered what had caused her to appear so upset earlier. Her expression no longer held any of the vulnerability it had upon first glance. In contrast, she raised her eyebrows again, challenging him.
“Very well. Welcome to the Running W,” he said, shaking her hand. He even managed a polite smile. After all, he felt quite confident she wouldn’t be unpacking. This would be her first and final day on the ranch.
* * *
“Should I bring my trunk inside?” Maggy gestured to her luggage. The sooner she started on her investigation, t
he better. She could tell by the determined gleam in Edward’s gray eyes that he thought he’d given her a test she couldn’t pass. And she couldn’t wait to prove him wrong.
He frowned but moved to heft her luggage anyway. “I suppose we shouldn’t leave it out here unattended.”
Maggy opened the door for him, then followed him inside. The marble-inlaid hall tree where he hung his cowboy hat didn’t surprise her in its tasteful opulence, nor did the polished wood paneling of the entryway where he set her trunk. The ranch wouldn’t be the target of sabotage if it weren’t doing well.
“May I ask you some questions about the ranch?” Or would he see that as a violation of the conditions of his test? Was she supposed to figure everything out unaided? She wouldn’t interview the staff or hired hands yet, since she wasn’t sure which role she’d be playing for the duration of her stay here.
And she would be staying.
Stepping to the open doorway on the right, which appeared to be a parlor, Edward motioned her inside. “You may ask questions but only of me. If you’ll take a seat, I’ll see that my housekeeper prepares some tea for us.”
Maggy suppressed a grimace at the promised tea as she entered the parlor. Tea was a drink for timid, rich women. Not a female detective in the throes of an investigation.
The parlor was as tastefully and richly furnished as the hallway. A sofa and low table sat in front of the window, while a pair of armchairs stood before the fireplace. A large painting ruled over the mantel. Maggy went to stand before it. The green countryside might have resembled the one beyond the house, except there were no mountains and a man with a cart in the foreground didn’t look like a rancher. Perhaps it was an image of Edward’s native England.
Turning to view the other side of the room, her eyes widened when she saw the crowded bookshelves that stood on either side of the doorway. Maggy hurried over to inspect them up close. She’d never seen so many books in a private home before. She ran her fingers along the smooth surfaces of the spines, wishing for a moment that she could select a pile and curl up with them in one of the chairs.
