And he would have been, too, had he not had the misfortune of meeting up with Annie and Taggert. Standing side by side, they blocked the door.
“Excuse me,” the thief said roughly, his face hidden by the brim of his hat.
“What you did is beyond excuse.” Taggert grabbed the thief by his collar. The man raised his sample case like a weapon but his slight frame was no match for Taggert.
With one easy move, Taggert grabbed the man’s raised arm before he could do any damage and knocked the case to the ground. He then pushed the man against the wall and held him there while Annie snapped the handcuffs he handed her around the thief’s wrists.
“Do you want to turn him over to the marshal or shall I?” Taggert asked.
Annie pulled a wad of bills from the man’s vest pocket. “I think we should both turn him in. That way we can both claim credit.”
The thief’s name was Walt Mason and he turned out to be a known bank robber. After he was locked in a cell, Annie and Taggert left the marshal’s office together.
Once outside, Taggert dropped his professional air. “Annie, about your father. I can’t tell you how sorry—”
She shook her head. She had done a lot of praying in recent days, and a lot of thinking. “Don’t say any more, Taggert. I don’t blame you.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You don’t?”
“What you did . . . I would have done the same thing.”
“You would have chased a criminal into a group of innocent people?”
“I would have chased him to the ends of the earth. So would my father.”
Taggert looked dumbfounded. “I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to be said. My father died doing what he loved best.”
Taggert sucked in his breath and rubbed his chin. “Have . . . you received your next assignment?”
“Y-yes,” she squeaked out. The heaviness in her chest made it difficult to breathe. She cleared her throat. “And you?”
“I’m due in Denver at the end of the week.”
Her jaw dropped. “Did . . . did you say Denver?”
Taggert leaned against a telephone pole, arms folded. “You sound surprised.”
“It’s just . . . it wouldn’t have anything to do with James Flanagan, would it?”
“What makes you think—?” He straightened and dropped his arms to his sides. “As a matter of fact, it does. Don’t tell me. You’re—”
She nodded.
He burst out laughing. “What do you know? If that doesn’t take the cake. It looks like we’re going to be working together again.”
She stared at him, speechless.
He grew serious. “He won’t be an easy catch. He’s a clever one.”
“Extremely so.” Personally she was a mess, but professionally she could still hold her own. “He’s passed more than a million dollars of bogus money in the last two years alone.”
“A large portion of which he used to bribe police,” Taggert added.
“Few men have succeeded in copying the scrollwork on treasury notes so precisely,” she said. His ability to bleed the color from small-value notes to make larger-value notes was nothing short of genius.
“Like I said, it’s not going to be easy.”
“Agreed.” She gazed up at him through a fringe of dark lashes. “So may the best man—or woman—win.” She started down the boardwalk and he fell in step by her side.
He glanced both ways to check for eavesdroppers before pulling her to the side of an adobe building. His hand on her arm felt warm and strong.
“We need to talk.” He released her. “I’m not kidding, Annie. Flanagan’s a tough bird. The Secret Service hasn’t had any more luck capturing him than Wells Fargo or Pinkerton.”
What he said was true. Created following Lincoln’s death to suppress counterfeit currency, the Secret Service had, for the most part, done a good job. But if Secret Service agents couldn’t capture Flanagan, what chance did she have?
She afforded him a guarded look. “So what are you saying? That I’m not up for the task? Because I’m a woman?”
“I’m not sure that either one of us is up to the task.” He rubbed his forehead. “First, I have to know. Did you mean it when you said you didn’t blame me for your father’s death?”
“I blamed you at first,” she said honestly. “But then I realized I was doing the same thing to you that my father did to me.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t understand. What did your father do?”
“He blamed me for my mother’s death. She never fully recovered from my birth and died when I was two.” She sighed. “Some things just happen, you know.”
“Did it ever occur to you that it wasn’t you he blamed, but himself?”
Her brother had said something similar, but coming from Taggert it sounded more plausible. “That doesn’t explain why he was so against me being a Pinkerton operative. Had it been one of my brothers . . .”
Taggert shook his head. “Annie, he loved you and was worried about you. Just like I—”
Her heart thudded. “Just like you . . . what?”
He took in a deep breath. “If I could go back and change what happened . . .”
“I know.” She laid her hand on his arm. “You’re a good man and a good detective.” She couldn’t resist adding, “For a Wells Fargo agent.”
“You’re not bad yourself . . . for a Pink.” He grew serious again. “Of course, if we combine our talents . . .”
She pulled her hand away. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. We’re not working together.” Not only would that make life more difficult for her personally, but William Pinkerton would never allow an operative to join forces with its competition.
“We just did.”
“That wasn’t planned,” she said.
“If we can work so well together by chance, think what we could do if we actually sat down and made a plan.”
“It’s not going to happen.”
“At least hear me out.” He hesitated and his galvanizing look made her senses spin. “What if we go as a newlywed couple? Denver’s a great place to honeymoon. So what do you say?”
“I say you’re . . . you’re out of your mind.” She would do almost anything to catch Flanagan, but compromising her morals was where she drew the line. “We’d have to share the same hotel room and . . .”
“That’s what honeymooners usually do.” He lowered his voice to a silky whisper. “They share a lot of things. Think about it. Flanagan will be looking for a single agent, not two. And you know yourself that those Secret Service men don’t know how to work undercover.”
“I know no such thing.”
“It’s true,” he said. “A child could pick one out a mile away.”
“It won’t work. Flanagan will see right through our disguise and—”
“Disguise?” He drew back. “Who’s talking disguise? I’m talking the real thing.” Hands at her waist, he drew her near. “Marry me, Annie. Marry me, Miranda.”
Anger flared inside her and she pulled away from him. “Do you think this is some sort of game . . . ?”
“I love you.”
“Marriage is sacred. It’s not something that you can fake or—”
“I love you.”
“And another thing—a Pinkerton operative does not work with Wells Fargo—”
“The reason I never guessed you were a Pink is because I was too busy falling in love with you.”
“And another thing—” She stopped midsentence as the full force of his words hit her. Was the same true for her? Had she been too busy falling in love with him to notice what was now as plain as the nose on his face? Was that why she failed to pick out a fellow detective?
“I love you.” He pulled her a tad closer. “What’s more, I’m willing to bet the feeling is mutual. Why else would you so readily forgive me?”
She closed her eyes. She was shaking so hard she could hardly think. Love. Why did he hav
e to say love? She fought for composure. It was no time to waver. She chanced a look at him—big mistake.
“I . . . I never said I loved you,” she stammered. She knew she had feelings for him but she never admitted to love. Didn’t dare.
“You don’t have to. I’m a detective.” His hands moved up her arms. “I can read smiles.” His hands moved to her shoulders. “I can read eyes.” He cupped his fingers around her face. “I can read lips.”
What few defenses she had left deserted her, along with all pretenses. Through the years, she had worn so many disguises she’d almost forgotten who the real Miranda Hunt was. All she knew was that the woman standing in her place right then was real and she didn’t have to prove anything to anyone.
“It’s true,” she said softly. “I do have certain feelings for you.”
His eyebrows rose. “Feelings?”
“All right, I admit it. I love you too.” If she didn’t know it before, she knew it now. “Are you happy that you made me say it?” She clenched her fists. This was so hard—so very hard, and he wasn’t making it any easier.
“Annie . . . Miranda . . .”
“Don’t . . . please . . . don’t.” She backed away. “Private detectives can’t be married. You know that. It never works. We’ll both be in Denver this time. But what about the next time and the time after that? We may not see each other for months. Years.”
“There’s one simple solution,” he said.
“Forget it.” She shook her head. “I’m not giving up my job.”
“I’m not asking you to. I say we get married, go to Denver, and track down Flanagan. After that, we resign from our respective jobs and start our own detective agency.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Are you out of your mind?”
He moved his hand through the air as if reading an invisible sign. “Taggert and Wife: Detective Agency. In memory of your father, Charlie Hunt, our slogan will be ‘We Hunt the Bad Guys.’”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s dreadful.”
He shrugged and lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “Okay, we’ll work on the slogan, but I think even GTF would approve the rest.”
The mention of God brought another thought to mind. Never before had she been able to see a future without the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, but maybe, just maybe, God had opened another door.
She tilted her head sideways. “Are . . . are you serious?”
“Never been so serious in my life. I may be out of a job soon. The newer safes are harder to break into and stagecoach robberies are becoming few and far between. And what about your job? The Pinkerton Agency is heading into the security business. Your future there will be preventing crime, not tracking down criminals. Somehow I don’t think Charlie Hunt’s daughter would relish spending time as a security guard.”
Taggert spoke the truth. It was something she hadn’t wanted to think about. Oddly enough, being the best and brightest Pinkerton operative held less appeal than it once did.
But owning her own agency? It never occurred to her that she could have it all; she could still pursue outlaws without having to give up the man of her dreams.
The very thought would have made her heart pound had Taggert’s declaration of love not already done so.
“Well, what do you say?” he asked, his voice husky. “Will you marry me, partner?”
She gazed up at him. “How do you know what God’s plan is?”
“That’s simple, my child. Follow the joy. That’s how you know God’s plan for you.”
Just the thought of being Mrs. Jeremy Taggert filled her with unspeakable joy. She loved this man and wanted to spend the rest of her life proving it to him. As for his plan—it could work. It would work. She would make certain of that.
It took every bit of willpower not to run into his arms. “Taggert and Taggert Detective Agency. And the first Taggert’s me.”
He blew out his breath. “You drive a hard bargain.”
She put out her hand. “Do we have a deal?”
He took her hand in his own, then weightlessly pulled her into his arms and locked her in his embrace. “Deal.” He then sealed it with a heart-pounding, breathtaking kiss.
Chapter 31
The way some people carry on about weddings should be a crime.
It’s beautiful,” Annie cried. She stared at herself in the mirror and fingered the delicate lace that hugged her figure. The wedding dress had been loaned to her by Aunt Bessie’s nephew’s wife, Kate, and it only took a few stitches to make it fit perfectly.
“Do you think it’s too fancy? We’re just having a simple wedding.”
Aunt Bessie stood back. “Simple wedding or not, you have to look like a bride. This dress is perfect for you with your dark hair and honey skin. It’s like it was made for you.” She sighed. “Too bad your family can’t be here.”
Annie thought about her father. Getting married was perhaps the first conventional thing she’d ever done. Somehow she knew he would approve. The thought brought a smile to her face and a satisfied nod from Aunt Bessie.
“I wish you weren’t in such a hurry to get married.” Bessie glanced at Annie’s waist. “You’re not in a family way, are you?”
Annie blushed. “Oh no, of course not.” The real reason the marriage had to be rushed had to be kept secret. Only a few people, including Miss Walker, the marshal, and Mr. Stackman, knew her and Branch’s true identities, and that was how it had to stay. To make it all legal, they would sign the paperwork with their real names in private.
“It wouldn’t be the first time a bride was accompanied down the aisle.” Aunt Bessie reached for the wreath of white flowers on Annie’s head and straightened the flowing ribbons. “Mary Hopkins practically burst out of her seams when she walked down the aisle, and she didn’t tell anyone she had the baby until months later.”
“As I explained, Branch has business . . . out of town.” Miss Walker was given full credit for Able’s capture, and no outsiders knew what really happened.
“Well, it’s a crying shame. You haven’t seen anything until you see the weddings I put on. Of course, after Molly’s wedding to Dr. Fairbanks, that no-good marshal put a moratorium on weddings for a year, but that’s about to end.”
Annie turned away from the mirror. “Why would he do such a thing?”
Bessie stooped to straighten Annie’s train. “He doesn’t like me insisting that the saloons close the night before a wedding. It’s the only way to keep everyone sober so that there’re no mix-ups at the altar. Why, Harry Laine was so drunk at his own wedding he nearly married the bride’s sister by mistake.”
Annie reached for her bridal bouquet and sniffed the sweet scent of roses. “I can see why closing saloons might cause ill feelings.”
“Maybe, but the marshal also disapproves of the way I decorate the town.”
“You decorate the town?” Annie laughed. “Now I really am sorry we don’t have time to experience one of your productions.” She pecked the old woman on her rouged cheek. “You’re very kind. I really appreciate all you’ve done for me.”
Not even the heavy paint on Bessie’s face could hide her pleasure. “I just want you to be happy. And you’d better come back and visit us.”
“I will, I promise.”
“Come along now. Let’s not keep your handsome groom waiting.”
Just then Lula-Belle rushed through the door, the feathers on her hat doing a wild dance. “The wedding’s off,” she announced.
Fists on her hips, Bessie whirled about to face her sister. “What crazy talk is that?”
Lula-Belle looked down her nose at her sibling. “I’m just telling you what the marshal said.”
Bessie glared back. “And why is that, pray tell?”
“He said that Annie and Branch can’t get married. It’s against the law!”
Eleanor Walker felt every one of her sixty-seven years. Her housekeepers had left, her cook was in jail, and Annie was gone.
&
nbsp; She missed Annie the most. Even more than she missed Kate Tenney and Molly Hatfield after both had upped and married. But a Pinkerton operative—Eleanor still couldn’t believe it.
A ringing sound made her turn her attention to the telephone. Apparently someone was using the one in the bunkhouse. What in the world did her ranch hands have to jabber about in the middle of a workday?
Earlier her telephone rang but she refused to answer it. If anyone wanted to speak to her, they could jolly well do so to her face.
She sighed. The world was changing so fast she could hardly keep up. Telephones, automobiles . . . even raising cattle had changed from open to closed range. What would be next?
Not one to feel sorry for herself, she reached for her crutches and hobbled out to the veranda. Fresh air would do her a world of good. Dr. Fairbanks said the cast could come off as early as next week and she couldn’t wait. She longed to be back in the saddle again. Now that all the excitement was over, perhaps they could get some work done.
She sat in the rocker and reached for a stick she kept for the purpose of scratching her leg. The worst part of wearing a cast was the itching.
The chugging sound of Dr. Fairbanks’s automobile caught her attention.
“Now what?” Far as she knew, the doctor wasn’t scheduled for a visit.
The car sputtered to a stop and backfired. A chicken squawked and flew away. Dogs barked. The doctor and his newfangled auto had once started a stampede. If he started another, she’d have his head.
Much to her surprise, it was Robert and not the doctor who jumped out of the auto and dashed toward the house. Fairbanks remained seated behind the steering column.
Alarmed, she reached for her crutches, but before she was able to stand, Robert bounded up the steps. “What are you doing here? And why are you running? A man your age!”
“If you’d answer the blasted telephone I wouldn’t have to run,” he said. “There’s a problem in town. Annie needs your help.”
Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) Page 26
