Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series)

by Brownley, Margaret

  “What does she need my help for? Isn’t she supposed to be getting married or some such thing?”

  “That’s just it. Morris won’t let her wed.”

  “Why not? What business is it of the marshal’s what Annie does or does not do?”

  “He said he has no choice but to uphold the miscegenation law. Annie is part Indian, and as you know, it’s against the law for an Indian and a white to wed.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” She was wrong: some things never changed. “Annie is just like you and me. She was like a daugh—” She stopped but not soon enough.

  Robert arched a silver brow. “Why, Eleanor, I never thought I’d hear you say such a thing.”

  Nor did she ever think to say it. Her gaze drifted to the distant hill where her one and only child was buried. She’d always wanted a family, and when she lost her little girl and her marriage fell apart, she thought that was the end of it. It wasn’t until years later that she got the idea to advertise for an heiress. She hoped to find one young woman to take the place of her daughter. Some came close, but Annie came the closest.

  Aware that Robert was staring at her, she pulled her gaze away from the hill. “So what do you want me to do about it?”

  “Some of our public officials are coming up for reelection. I thought perhaps you might wish to make a friendly donation to the cause. Providing, of course, they waive certain unfavorable laws.”

  “You want me to bribe officials? Why, Robert, I’m shocked.”

  He grinned. “No, you’re not.”

  “Well, I should be.”

  “So what do you think?” he asked.

  “It would take too long—Annie and Taggert have to leave soon.” She thought for a moment. She recalled reading something recently in the Tombstone newspaper about a similar situation. “I have a better idea.”

  She inched herself to the edge of the chair and pushed up on one foot. She then tucked the tops of her crutches beneath her arms. “Quick, call the marshal and tell him to meet me at the church. Tell him to make sure that Annie, Taggert, the preacher, and the justice of the peace are present when I get there.”

  “You want me to use the telephone?” he asked.

  “Unless your voice can carry five miles, I don’t see what choice you have.”

  Robert’s mustache twitched. “What do you plan to do?”

  “You’ll see. Now make the call . . .” She stopped at the top of the steps and stared at the horseless carriage. Mercy! Was she really going to ride in that thing?

  Chapter 32

  Stealing another man’s wife is a serious crime, second only to horse rustlin’.

  Annie couldn’t stop crying. Clutching her bridal bouquet, she sat on a church pew while Taggert and the marshal argued.

  Taggert’s angry voice seemed to rattle the stained glass windows. Reverend Bland wrung his hands and tried to keep the peace.

  “I don’t make the laws,” Marshal Morris said, sounding peevish. “I just uphold them.”

  She’d been so eager to marry Taggert she hadn’t even thought to ask about miscegenation laws in Arizona Territory. She didn’t even remember her Kickapoo mother and identified with her father’s side of the family, who raised and educated her. She never thought of herself as Indian or even white.

  Taggert moved to her side. “It’s all right, partner. We’ll get married elsewhere. Fortunately, not every state or territory has such ridiculously dumb laws.” He shouted the last part for Morris’s benefit.

  “I know, but these are my friends.” She waved her hand to indicate the ranch hands gathered in back of the church, casting sympathetic glances her way. “Getting married in a strange place won’t be the same.”

  Aunt Bessie came bustling down the aisle and plopped herself next to Annie. “I tried to call Miss Walker and she didn’t answer, but Mr. Stackman kindly agreed to drive out to the ranch. He just called and said to stay here at the church. Miss Walker is on her way.”

  Annie dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. Knowing how Miss Walker felt about the town, it was hard to believe she was coming. “Thank you, but there’s nothing she can do.” There was nothing anyone could do.

  Taggert dropped down on one knee in front of her. “Don’t cry. We can marry elsewhere.”

  “What good will that do?” Annie wiped away a fresh tear. “Our marriage will be legal in some states but not others. We won’t be able to travel the country as husband and wife.”

  “Blast it!” As if recalling they were in church, Taggert lowered his voice. “I don’t care about that. I just care about us.”

  “Being married in some states is better than not being married at all,” Aunt Bessie said, her expression less convincing than her voice.

  Ruckus had just joined them. “And if you marry before God, that’s the only authority that counts.”

  Annie smiled at the ranch hand. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

  “It’s the truth, Miz Annie. Just as soon as I become an official preacher, I’ll marry you.”

  Annie dabbed at the corner of her eye. “You’re going to become a preacher?”

  Ruckus got all red in the face. “This town needs a full-time preacher, and since my son’s got his heart set on Africa, I reckon it’s up to me. Ugly feet and all!”

  She left her seat and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Ruckus. That’s wonderful news.”

  A rumbling, growling sound, followed by a loud bang, announced the arrival of Dr. Fairbanks and his automobile.

  A short while later the church door flew open and Miss Walker hobbled through it on her crutches, followed by Mr. Stackman and Dr. Fairbanks.

  Annie didn’t think it possible to march on crutches, but somehow Miss Walker managed to do just that. She looked like a soldier marching to war. Even the ranch hands stood at attention like military men waiting to pass inspection.

  Miss Walker positioned herself directly in front of the marshal and looked him straight in the eye. “What’s this nonsense about not marrying these two?”

  Morris threw up his hands. “As I explained”—he glanced around the church—“and explained, Miss Beckman has Indian blood. According to Arizona law, that means she cannot marry a white man.”

  “Horsefeathers!” Miss Walker exclaimed. “Where’s the justice of the peace?”

  A short, skinny man stepped forward. “Here, ma’am. Harvey Wilson at your service.”

  Marshal Morris shook his head. “I don’t make the law and neither does Wilson.”

  “It doesn’t matter because the law doesn’t apply here. Annie is my daughter and that makes her white no matter what color her blood.”

  A stunned silence followed Miss Walker’s declaration and no one moved. Even Wishbone stopped whittling.

  Once the shock of her words passed, Annie leaned toward Taggert and whispered in his ear, “Did she say what I think she said?”

  “I think so,” he whispered back.

  The marshal was the first to recover. “Your daughter?”

  “My adopted daughter, and I’ll sign an affidavit to that effect.”

  The marshal turned to Wilson. “Is that legal? Does an adoption make a person white?”

  The skinny man nodded. “Well . . . there have been a couple of cases in the territory where a judge ruled an Indian white by way of adoption.”

  The marshal scratched his head. “Well, I’ll be a son of a gun. As soon as we get the paperwork out of the way, it looks like we’re going to have ourselves a wedding.”

  Ruckus led a cheer and Stretch pulled out his harmonica. Annie flung her arms around Miss Walker. “Thank you, thank you . . . Mother!”

  Miss Walker looked positively stunned, but then her face softened into a broad smile. “Well now. It looks like at long last I have my heiress.”

  Taggert stepped up and slid his arm around Annie’s waist. “And it looks like I am about to have a wife.”

  Michael, who had been watching from the sidelines, joined the group, p
ulling Charity along with him. “Me too,” he said. “Charity and I plan to get married too.”

  “Why, that’s wonderful,” Annie exclaimed. Seeing the frozen look on Aunt Bessie’s face, she slipped her arm around the older woman’s waist. “Now you can put on another wedding of the century.”

  Much to her relief Aunt Bessie rose to the occasion. A bright smile broke through her face paint. She pulled free from Annie and took Charity under her wing. “What do you think about a July wedding? And you know those awful telephone lines. I was thinking we could drape satin ribbons over them and . . .” Her voice faded as the two walked away. Charity looked overwhelmed by the plans Aunt Bessie had for her wedding but managed a respectful nod or two.

  “It looks like things are going to work out just fine,” Annie said.

  Michael scratched his head. “I can’t believe that Aunt Bessie accepted my choice of a bride, just like that.”

  “Maybe she simply opened her eyes and saw the same traits in Charity as you do.” If she hadn’t yet, she soon would—Annie was convinced of it.

  Michael grinned. “Well now . . .”

  Taggert stepped forward and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

  It took nearly an hour to complete the paperwork. After everyone, including all the ranch hands, signed as witnesses, Taggert took her hand in his. Together they walked up to the altar and everyone formed a circle behind them.

  While they waited for Reverend Bland to locate the missing Book of Common Prayer, Taggert leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Flanagan was born in Edinburgh.”

  “One of seven children,” she whispered back, not wanting to be found remiss.

  “His father was a businessman.”

  She took the bouquet of flowers from Aunt Bessie and held them in front like a proper bride. “But not a very good one. His mother was an art forger who supported the family by selling ‘original’ copies of the Mona Lisa.”

  “He started his life of crime at the tender age of ten,” he continued.

  “No surprise there,” she said, as Aunt Bessie straightened the gown’s train. “Pinkerton did a study that showed most evildoers started their life of crime between the ages of ten and sixteen.” She often wondered what could be done to better protect children.

  “What a shame.” He shook his head before continuing. “Flanagan got his start manufacturing bogus coins and quickly advanced from there.” His voice sounded like velvet in her ear.

  “He was married three times and fathered, in all, twenty-three children,” she whispered back. Astonishment crossed his face and she laughed. “Got you!”

  “What are you two yammering about?” Miss Walker demanded.

  “Probably making plans for their honeymoon,” Stretch called out.

  Taggert grinned down at Annie and her heart fairly danced with excitement. “Do you think our newlywed status will work?” he asked.

  “I do,” she said, forgetting to keep her voice low.

  “I do too,” he replied.

  Neither had noticed Reverend Bland in front of them until he spoke. “I’m the preacher and you can’t say ‘I do’ until I say you can say ‘I do.’”

  Taggert winked and tucked her hand in his. “Are you ready to marry me, partner?” he asked.

  She smiled and her heart felt about to burst with happiness. “More than ready.”

  Epilogue

  That’s done,” Eleanor said. She and Robert were the only two remaining at the church. It had been a long time since she’d stepped foot inside a house of worship and she wasn’t in any hurry to leave.

  “Yes, it is,” Robert said. “I have to say, Annie or Miranda or whatever her name is made a beautiful bride.” He shifted in the pew to look directly at her. “You did a fine and noble thing by adopting her, Eleanor.”

  “Fiddlesticks! You make it sound like I raised the dead or something.”

  He chuckled and ran a finger over his mustache before growing serious. “Since you’re in the wedding mood, I wonder if you would reconsider and marry me.” He cleared his voice. “I love you. Always have. Always will.”

  She stared at him. It wasn’t the first time he’d proposed. Heavens, no. He’d proposed every year on her birthday for the last fifteen or more years. But never once in all that time had the word love escaped his lips.

  “Aren’t you getting sentimental all of a sudden?”

  “Blame it on the poison,” he said. “When you’re lying at death’s door, you tend to think about all the things you never got around to doing, all the words left unsaid. The one thing I regretted was not telling you how much I love you. I guess I was afraid you’d scoff.”

  “Oh, Robert, I wouldn’t scoff. If you must know, I . . . well, you know, feel the same way.” They were words she never hoped to say or hear, because now it was so much harder to keep her resolve.

  “And what way is that?” he asked.

  She gave him a sideways glance. “You know.” And because it seemed only fair, she added, “I have feelings for you too.”

  He drew back. “I can’t believe my ears.”

  “Blame it on this confounded leg. Nothing makes you face mortality quicker than weeks of confinement.” She lifted her chin. “But I’m still not selling the ranch.” Now that she had a daughter, she couldn’t sell even if she wanted to. Though there was little hope of her new heiress ever running the ranch.

  “I don’t want you to sell.”

  “You don’t what?” She stared at him, stunned. They’d fought over this very thing for years. It was the main reason she never accepted his marriage proposals.

  “I just want you to sell the cattle. The ranch, we keep.”

  “What are you talking about? If I sell the cattle we won’t be able to maintain the ranch.”

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. I had someone check out the cave that Able was so determined to mine. Eleanor, you are about to become the richest person in the territory.”

  Eleanor gaped at him. “You can’t be serious.”

  He shrugged. “You know me. Where money’s concerned, I don’t joke.”

  “I can’t believe it. There’s actually gold on the ranch? I thought that was a figment of Able’s imagination.”

  “Believe it, my dear. And if it wasn’t for Kate’s dime novel, we might never have discovered it.” He grinned. “What do you think about this—the Last Chance Mining Company?”

  “Hmm. It has a nice ring, but I insist upon keeping a few cattle for old times’ sake.”

  “Very well. The Last Chance Mining and Cattle Company. How’s that?”

  “The Last Chance Ranch and Mining Company,” she said. “And that’s not negotiable.”

  He grinned. “Very well. Do we have a deal? Will you agree to be my wife?”

  “Oh, why not?” she said. “But first, I think you should know I always wanted a large family.”

  Robert’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “At our age?”

  “I’m thinking of adopting Kate and Molly. Donny as well.” Donny was Molly’s brother. When the wheelchair-bound boy lived at the ranch with his sister, Eleanor had grown quite fond of him. Maybe Donny would agree to oversee the ranch should, heaven forbid, something happen to her. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea.

  “What do you think? That way the future of the Last Chance Ranch—”

  “And Mining Company,” he interjected.

  “—will always be in good hands.”

  Robert frowned. “They aren’t going to move in with us, are they? All these children of ours?”

  “Not if I can help it.” She reached for her crutches. “Now that we’ve settled our future together, let’s go home. It’s time for my afternoon tea.”

  Accidental Detective

  Dear Reader,

  Born in Glasgow, Scotland, in 1819, Allan Pinkerton might never have followed in his policeman father’s footsteps had it not been for a chance encounter.

  A barrel maker by trade, Al
lan’s political affiliations got him into hot water, forcing him and his wife to flee Scotland. After arriving in America, the couple settled in Illinois and fighting crime was the last thing on Allan’s mind. He was too busy running a successful cooperage company.

  Then an odd thing happened: While cutting down poles for his barrels, he came across a counterfeiting ring. He reported his discovery to the sheriff, who immediately deputized him to help find the leader. In no time at all, Allan set up a sting and trapped the forger. Impressed, the Cook County sheriff offered Allan a job.

  In 1850, he started his own detective agency, the only one of its kind, and the Pinkerton National Detective Agency was born. The agency’s “seeing eye” logo inspired the term private eye.

  It wasn’t until he uncovered an assassination plot on President Lincoln that the Pinkerton name became a household word. Lincoln then hired Allan to organize the Secret Service in an effort to stop rampant counterfeiting.

  Allan was many things to many people. He was accused of being a traitor, a tyrant, and a patriot, but the one thing that can’t be argued is that he and his sons changed the law-enforcement business forever. By 1870, the agency had the world’s largest collection of mug shots in its criminal database and more agents than the standing army of the United States.

  Pinkerton operatives tracked outlaws throughout the Wild West, but their heavy-handed and sometimes ruthless pursuit of outlaws like Jesse James (which resulted in the death of a child) soon earned the agency a bad reputation and tarnished the agency’s name.

  Following Allan’s death in 1884, his two sons took over, but the Pinkerton National Detective Agency never recovered its former glory. The agency still exists today as a security consulting firm.

  I hope you enjoyed Annie’s and Taggert’s story and wish them well as they start their own detective agency. This book wraps up the Brides of Last Chance Ranch series, but you can track my future projects on my website: MargaretBrownley.com.