She tossed her head and the look on her face made him wish she wasn’t carrying a gun. “I’m the one who figured out it was Able.”
“Exactly. So I should take it from here. It’s only fair.”
“Fair my—”
“He killed my friend!” he said in a hoarse whisper.
The determined look on her face softened, but only slightly. “I know.”
“Then you must also know why I have to do this.”
She shook her head. “You’re too personally involved. One of us has to keep a straight head and that someone is—”
A thump followed by a groan made them both spin around. Able was sprawled on the floor facedown. Miss Walker stood over him, crutch held high, ready to clobber him again if necessary.
“Now you can both take credit,” she said.
Chapter 29
If the wages of sin is demise, an outlaw would be wise to quit before payday.
The eastern sky was edged with the silver thread of dawn. It was cold but Annie hardly noticed. So much had happened in such a short time.
Able was handcuffed and tied to the saddle. He still looked dazed when the marshal hauled him outside, but whether from the bump on his head or knowing that his outlaw days were over, it was hard to tell.
Michael and the rest of the ranch hands had returned to the bunkhouse. Only Taggert remained. He stood beside her in the courtyard and together they watched Marshal Morris ride away with his prisoner in tow.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Yes.” She didn’t want to worry him, but she was anything but all right.
Her assignment was complete, but instead of elation, her heart churned in sadness. She liked Able and even considered him a friend. It took a long time to see through his guise, but his failure was greater. He was a talented cook and valued employee, but he measured success by worldly goods and allowed himself to be blinded by gold.
The marshal and his prisoner were mere dots in the distance and she pulled her gaze away to study Taggert’s profile. She could hardly see his features in the dim light of dawn, but she felt his strength and her heart ached. Now that the Phantom was caught, she and Taggert would go their separate ways. It was a job requirement.
Like tumbleweeds in the wind, private detectives traveled from town to town, state to territory, and sometimes even country to country. Love didn’t last long when separated by time and distance, as many of her colleagues had learned the hard way.
Marriage, home, and family were luxuries she couldn’t afford. Not now. Not when everything had gone her way. She had proven she could do a man’s job. No longer would she be dispatched to track down petty thieves. Pickpockets and the ilk would be left to inexperienced detectives yet to prove their worth.
At long last, she felt like she had earned the right to be called a Pinkerton, and that was all she’d ever wanted. The job required sacrifices, but she always knew that, had willingly made them in the past and would do so again.
If only it didn’t hurt so much.
Marshal Morris and his charge vanished in the folds of darkness and she shivered. “I’d better go in. I want to make sure Miss Walker is all right.” She hated the thought of leaving the ranch, but her job was done and she had no reason to stay. “Then I’ll write my report.”
“I have to write mine too,” Taggert said. His voice sounded oddly distant.
A lump rose in her throat and she battled back tears. It wouldn’t do to get sentimental. “Are you taking all the credit for capturing the Phantom?”
“Of course,” he said. “And you?”
“Naturally.”
“I might give you some credit,” he said. “A little bit, just to be fair.”
“That’s mighty considerate,” she replied.
“Don’t forget, I did figure out your cryptic message. GTF. The big man.” He turned to face her, his head outlined with fading stars. “So how did you get GTF out of Able? Do the initials stand for his real name?”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. His expression remained hidden, but she sensed the intensity of his eyes.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“GTF stands for God the Father.”
“But you said—” Suddenly it dawned on him and he laughed too. “The Big Man.” He pointed upward.
“The Big Man,” she agreed.
“And it had nothing to do with the Phantom?” he asked.
“Not a thing,” she said.
“Hmm.” He was silent for a moment. “You keep a dossier on God?”
She was grateful for the darkness that hid the rush of heat to her cheeks. “It’s more of a study guide,” she explained.
“Do you have a study guide on me too?”
“Of course.” She tilted her head. “Do you have one on me?”
“Naturally. But God . . . never thought to keep one on Him. You got me there.”
After a moment he stepped closer. “Annie.” There was something heart-wrenching in the way he said her name, as if he, too, knew they had come to the end of the road.
She cleared her voice. “I . . . I guess this is good-bye—”
He didn’t wait for her to finish. He pulled her into his arms and once in the warmth of his embrace, she had no desire to leave. His lips brushed her forehead ever so gently and her pulse quickened.
“If anything had happened to you . . .”
Something in his voice made her pull away. The sky was gray now, almost silver, but his eyes were dark as night. He didn’t sound like a man who had just seen a criminal hauled off to jail; he sounded like he was about to face a firing squad.
“There’s something you don’t know.” His voice was ragged. “Something you need to know.”
Her heart thudded and apprehension coursed through her. “What . . . do I need to know? You’re scaring me. Is it about Able?”
He shook his head. “It’s about . . . your father.”
“My fa—” She stared at him. What could he possibly know that she didn’t?
He rubbed his chin. “I was there the day he died. The Wells Fargo agent that—”
She gasped. “Don’t say it!”
He grabbed her by the arms. “You have to hear this and you have to hear it from me.”
She shook her head. “No!”
He told her anyway. He described how he spotted Vander in the bank and chased him outside just as a parade of union workers passed by. “I’m the one who caused your father’s death.”
She pulled away. “And you’re just now telling me this?”
His shoulders sagged and his chest caved in like a deflated pillow. His military training was no match for the weight that seemed to crash down on him. “I just found out myself, the day in the bank vault. I didn’t even know your real name until then and—” He reached for her.
She moved away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Annie, please, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Please forgive me.”
“Don’t.” She put her hands on her head. This wasn’t happening. God, please let this be a nightmare. She turned and ran up the veranda steps and into the house, her way blurred by tears.
Annie couldn’t stop shaking. It was all she could do to keep her hand steady while offering Miss Walker a cup of tea. “It’s chamomile and it’s very calming.”
The ranch owner scoffed. “I just found out that my cook is a madman. I don’t want to be calm.”
Holding on to the teapot with both hands to keep it steady, Annie poured herself a cup, spilling tea all over the tray. Miss Walker didn’t seem to notice. For a woman her age, she seemed to be holding up remarkably well, but Annie was nonetheless worried about her.
She placed her teacup on the low table and sat. It wasn’t quite six o’clock in the morning. Only four hours had passed since encountering Able in the entryway, but it seemed a lifetime ago. So much had happened; so much had changed.
“I’m sorry I had to lie to you about my real reason for coming here.”<
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Miss Walker took a sip of tea, grimaced, and put the cup down. “I guess this means you’re leaving.”
“Just as soon as I receive my next assignment.” Annie leaned forward. “I’ll help you find a new cook and housekeeper, if you like. I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have two thousand cattle to keep me company.”
“Yes, but can any of them make a pot of tea?” Annie asked.
“I sincerely hope not.” Miss Walker quirked a thin eyebrow. “What about your Wells Fargo friend?”
“He’s leaving too.” Just thinking about Taggert made her nearly double over in pain. She reached for her cup. “We’ll go our separate ways.”
“Because of your father?”
Annie spilled her tea. She set her cup on the saucer and reached for a linen napkin. “You heard?”
Miss Walker shrugged and offered no apology. “So how did it happen?”
Annie dabbed at the damp spot on her skirt and explained. “He asked me to forgive him.”
“In the name of Sam Hill, what is there to forgive? He was only doing his job.”
Annie blinked. “He put lives in danger. My father’s—”
“The thief put lives in danger. Branch or whatever his name is was simply trying to stop him.” In the early morning light, Miss Walker’s eyes looked more gray than blue. “Are you saying you wouldn’t have done the same thing?”
“I wasn’t there. I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Hmm. I think you do.” Miss Walker swiped a strand of hair away from her face. “I always thought forgiveness overrated, but then, so is Shakespeare. So, for that matter, is tea. But these last few weeks I’ve had a generous dose of all three and I have to say that forgiveness is perhaps the least painful. You might want to try it.”
“I thought you said there was nothing to forgive. He was doing his job.”
Miss Walker gave a wry smile. “He’s a man. There’ll always be something to forgive.”
Annie studied her. “Does that mean you’ll forgive Able?”
Miss Walker thought for a moment. “That remains to be seen. He did a lot of damage to the ranch and county, but you wouldn’t have come here otherwise. For that I am grateful.”
“Even though I caused you to break your leg?” Annie asked.
“I could have done without the broken leg, but then I wouldn’t have found out how stubborn you are.”
Annie fought to keep her tears at bay. If she hadn’t seen the suspicious gleam in Miss Walker’s eyes, she might have succeeded.
Annie finished packing her carpetbag and glanced around the room one last time. She would miss the ranch, miss the wide-open spaces, and miss the easy banter of the ranch hands. Mostly she would miss the old lady.
A private eye’s existence was a lonely one. The secretive nature of the job prevented getting too close to any one person. She had no friends and didn’t even have a home. In between assignments, she bounced from one brother’s house to the next, like a ball in a game of catch.
She had accepted her lot in life as a necessary part of the job she loved so much. Yet in a matter of a few weeks, the ranch had come to feel like home and Miss Walker like family. How careless of her to grow so attached to any one place or person. She was a professional and there was no room for sentimentality.
As for Taggert . . .
“I’m the one who caused your father’s death.”
Grief ripped through her like a metal blade and her knees nearly buckled. She thought she was over her father’s death, but now she wasn’t so sure. So much had been left unsaid between them. They should have talked about the elephant of her mother’s death but now it was too late.
She grabbed hold of the desk chair to keep from falling. After a while, the sharp, excruciating pain abated, but the dull throb in her heart remained.
She picked up the GTF folder from her desk and flipped through the pages.
“I was blind . . .”
The words jumped out at her and she realized the world looked a whole lot different since coming to Cactus Patch. She once saw only the bad in people; now she saw the good. She’d learned to look past Miss Walker’s bullheaded ways to see the caring, lonely woman inside. She had come to admire and respect Ruckus’s faith, Stretch’s love of story, and Feedbag’s loyalty. She even saw that Aunt Bessie’s bossy way was how she expressed love.
The eye: We never sleep. Maybe not, but the Pinkerton eye saw only the worst of human nature, and now she knew it was a very narrow focus. She might never fully understand God’s ways or find the answers to all her questions, but she’d much rather see the world through His eyes than Pinkerton’s.
Chapter 30
Thou shalt not steal—unless, of course, it’s another’s heart.
Four days later Annie walked into the bank to cash her check. Signed by Robert Pinkerton, the check covered her salary, plus expense money for her next assignment.
It was noontime and only two teller cages were open. The pale-faced clerk pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Good day, ma’am.”
“Good day.” She slid her check through the pigeonhole beneath the iron window grill.
Already she was about to be dispatched to her next job. As soon as the dossier on James Flanagan, aka the most cunning counterfeiter the country had ever known, arrived, she would head to Denver, Colorado, to track him down.
Flanagan. She couldn’t believe her luck in landing such a plum assignment. So why did she feel so downright miserable? So utterly distraught?
Chasing down the Irish counterfeiter would surely cure her melancholy—or at least, she hoped so.
He was every bit as big as that “king of counterfeiters,” William Brockway, and had proven to be as difficult to catch. Already three Pinkertons had pursued him to no avail; the Irishman could smell an operative a mile away, no matter how good the disguise. Would he be as good at detecting a female operative? That question kept running through her mind.
The clerk finished counting out her money. “There you are, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” She slid the stack of bills into her handbag and turned away from the teller cage. Taggert stood at the next cage and it was all she could do to breathe. He’d left the ranch the day of Able’s arrest and she had hoped he’d also left town. As painful as his absence was, it hurt even more to see him.
But there he was, bigger than life. He looked much more rested than when she saw him last, and every bit as handsome.
He met her gaze and tossed a nod in the direction of the counting desk where an elderly man stood verifying the count of a bank teller. A much younger man, probably in his thirties, hovered a short distance behind him, presumably waiting to check his own money.
At first glance, he looked like a salesman. He wore a white flannel suit and a derby hat. His black mustache and hair offered a startling contrast to his pale skin. On the floor next to him stood a brown leather sample case.
Taggert lifted his foot to draw attention to the young man’s shoes.
Annie glanced downward and could barely contain a smile. The drummer wore shoes with no heels.
Taggert completed his business and walked toward her. “Good to see you, Miss Beckman,” he said with a tip of the hat and in a voice clearly meant to be heard by one and all.
Like an actor on stage, she spoke her lines as if they had been rehearsed. “Good to see you too, Mr. Branch.” The prospect of catching a thief in action paled in comparison to the joy of seeing Taggert again, but she nonetheless played her part to the hilt. Sarah Bernhardt couldn’t have done better.
“I thought you’d left town,” she said.
“I had to arrange for a burial.”
She drew in her breath. “Your friend.”
A shadow flitted across his face. “Reverend Bland performed a simple ceremony.”
“I . . . wish I could have been there,” she said.
He studied her. “I shipped his belongings to his widow.”<
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“I’m sure she’ll be most grateful.”
“Annie . . .” For a moment it seemed as if he’d forgotten their purpose for standing there.
She reminded him with a slight toss of her head and he quickly changed the subject and increased the volume of his voice. “So what brings you to town today?”
Keeping the drummer in sight, they stood talking like two old friends. Their chatter took a light turn, but the glances they exchanged were filled with meaning. After they had run through a litany of polite amenities and exhausted the subject of the weather, the conversation turned to the ranch.
Annie, I’m sorry, his eyes seemed to say. Out loud he said, “I hope Miss Walker has recovered.”
“Yes, she’s doing quite well.” Don’t make this any harder than it already is. “Dr. Fairbanks plans to take the cast off next week.”
“Ah, next week, you say?” His gaze settled on her lips. Do you remember the times I kissed you?
How could I possibly forget? Feeling her cheeks grow warm, she lowered her lashes and that’s when she noticed the pen. “That wouldn’t happen to belong to the bank, would it? In your pocket?”
He slapped his hand to his chest. “I believe you’re right.” He pulled the pen out of his pocket and tossed it onto a nearby desk. “Some habits are hard to break.”
While his voice still held its neutral tone, the tenderness in his gaze told a different story, and she felt a tingling in the pit of her stomach.
Catching a subtle movement from the corner of her eye, she slid a sideways glance at the two men on the opposite side of the bank.
The drummer casually dropped a bill and it fell three feet from the old man’s left foot. It was a good thing the suspect had made his move—a very good thing, for she didn’t know how much longer she could continue acting her part.
After dropping the bill, the younger man stepped forward and politely tapped the older man’s stooped shoulder. “I believe that’s yours, sir,” he said.
“Thank you. You’re very kind.” The unsuspecting victim did what anyone would do; he reached down to pick up the bill. While he was occupied, the thief quickly snatched a handful of money from the pile on the desk and headed for the door. He was too smart to take all of it. By the time the older man discovered his funds missing and recounted to make sure there was no mistake, the thief expected to be long gone.
Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) Page 25
