The Engagement Bargain

by Sherri Shackelford

  “Thank you. Would you like to come in?”

  “Nah. Tell Caleb I changed the dressing on the milk cow’s foreleg and cleaned out the horses’ stalls.”

  “I’ll tell him.” She stepped into the house and glanced over her shoulder. “It was nice meeting you.”

  “You, too. Hope everything turns out well with the goat.”

  Anna flapped her elbow in what she hoped resembled a wave. So much for making a good impression on Caleb’s family. She returned to the double doors and called out.

  Caleb pushed open the door a slit. She twisted sideways and scooted through the narrow opening. Her skirts brushed his pant legs, and her knuckles skimmed his white shirt, leaving a streak of dirt.

  Anna glanced up into his green eyes. “Oh, no. I’ve ruined your shirt.”

  He didn’t reply, only stared down at her, his gaze intense. Her mouth went dry, and she swayed forward, bracing her knuckles against his chest, the potatoes still fisted in her hands. Heat from his body spread through her fingers, and her heartbeat quickened.

  He rested his hand on her waist, his touch separated by layers of clothing and bandages.

  She stared at the buttons on his shirt, tension coiling in her belly. “I met your brother.”

  “Which one?”

  “Abraham.”

  “Maxwell must have talked Brahm into doing his chores.”

  “He looks like you.”

  “We all look alike.”

  “Not really. You’re much more...”

  He tucked his knuckles beneath her chin and urged her head up until she met his eyes. “Yes?”

  The goat tangled in her skirts and dashed through the open door into the parlor. Anna tripped forward and splayed her hands for balance. The potatoes landed on Caleb’s sock foot, and he grimaced, staggering backward. Off balance, Anna followed him, her hands fisting in his shirt. Caleb yelped.

  She realized her hold on him was causing the pain and instantly released her fingers.

  He sat down hard on the chair behind him and grasped her waist, keeping her upright. “Mind your side.”

  Anna stepped back and slipped on a potato. Caleb lunged upright and caught her around the waist.

  They stared up at each for a long moment. A curious sense of anticipation filled her.

  He angled his head and leaned down. The touch of his lips was featherlight, barely more than a whisper. His fingers held her waist loosely, giving her every chance for escape. She pressed closer. She slipped her hands around his neck and felt the bare skin at his nape.

  Footsteps sounded from the parlor.

  She leaped away from Caleb, blinking rapidly. Caleb appeared equally stunned, breathing as though he’d run a great distance.

  Brahm entered the room, the goat cradled in his arms. He glanced between the two of them and lifted an eyebrow.

  Caleb released Anna and fisted his hand in front of his mouth, then cleared his throat. “Hey, Brahm.”

  “Hey, Caleb. Figured you lost this.”

  As Brahm handed his brother the goat, Anna took another step back and ducked her head.

  “You coming by for supper tonight?” Brahm asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you bringing your friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know I mean Anna and not the goat, right?” Brahm burst into laughter, and Caleb shoved him none-too-gently out of the room, securely latching the door behind his brother.

  He raked his hands through his hair. “Sorry about that.”

  “I didn’t make a very good impression on your brother.”

  The goat remained between them, snuffling along the floor for the lost potatoes.

  Anna gestured over her shoulder. “I should go now.”

  “Let me walk you. The Stuart house is just across the way. It’s white with blue shutters. You can’t miss it.”

  “I’ll be fine on my own.”

  She fumbled with the latch. Caleb brushed her hands away and completed the task. She raced out the front doors, down the stairs and struggled with the latch on the gate. Why were there latches everywhere? Why must they be difficult?

  She’d kissed him. She’d kissed Caleb McCoy. Well, he’d kissed her. She didn’t know if there was a difference. They’d kissed and she liked kissing.

  She’d liked kissing him a lot.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A few small improvements had made an enormous difference.

  Two days following her arrival, Anna stood in an exact replica of Caleb’s house. The only difference being the dining room was actually a dining room and hadn’t been cordoned off with glass doors for an office. The trees outside were oak instead of elm, and the garden behind the house had obviously been used for flowers instead of vegetables. Izetta had immediately fallen on the overgrown space and attacked the suffocating vines with an almost giddy zeal.

  Anna had been more interested in the interior of the house. She’d used housework as her excuse for avoiding a dinner with the McCoys. The thought of looking Caleb in the eye after what had happened had been more than she could bear.

  The Stuarts had kindly donated a few old pieces of furniture. There was a square wooden table in the dining room that had seen better days flanked by two mismatched chairs. Neither of the painted chairs quite fit the table, which meant one either chose to sit slightly above the optimum table height or slightly below. Given their size differences, Anna had chosen the tall chair and Izetta had chosen the shorter chair.

  The whole experience was very much like playing house. Until setting her trunk in the second bedroom, she hadn’t realized she’d been living her life as a guest in her mother’s home. Chairs were not there to be moved, pictures were not rearranged, rugs were left where they were placed.

  One particularly memorable Christmas, Anna had been given a dollhouse. Two stories high with a vaulted attic and hinges that opened the whole house down the middle. The miniature house was fully stocked with furniture and rugs and a family with painted porcelain faces dressed in their Sunday best—a mother, father, a boy and a girl. There was even a yellow tabby cat with real fur.

  In the year after receiving the gift, Anna had kept the furniture straight. The second year she’d set about moving the chairs around, then the rugs, then she painted tiny murals on the walls with her oil paint set. On her sixteenth birthday her mother had declared dollhouses childish, and since Anna was no longer a child, the dollhouse had disappeared.

  Surveying the tiny, well-laid-out cottage, Anna crossed her arms and studied the plaster wall in the dining room. She pictured a mural with a babbling brook lined by trees.

  Voices sounded outside, and she turned away from her musing. She opened the door, surprised to find Mrs. Phillips standing on the covered front porch. Jane stood at her mother’s side wearing the same yellow dress, the hem darkened with dirt.

  “Miss Bishop,” the woman said. “I wondered if I might have a word with you?”

  Anna waved them inside and indicated the mismatched chairs. “Have a seat. May I bring you a cup of coffee?”

  “Yes. Please. I was hoping Jane might play outside while the two of us are speaking.”

  The circles beneath her eyes had darkened since the last time Anna had seen her, only two days before. Having reached the end of her endurance after the shooting, Anna recognized the signs in others.

  “Izetta is out back pruning the roses. Follow me.” Anna led the girl toward the kitchen and rummaged around for the empty tin can she’d seen earlier. “If there are any good blooms left, would you make me an arrangement?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jane spoke solemnly.

  Whatever sadness gripped Jane’s mother was obviously taking a toll on her daughter, as well.

  Anna opened the do
or and found Izetta hunched over a rambling hedge rose. “We have a visitor.”

  The older woman caught sight of Jane and smiled.

  Anna leaned against the doorjamb. “Jane’s mother and I are having a chat over coffee. May Jane help you in the garden?”

  “I can always use a helper.”

  Grateful for her easy acceptance of the situation, Anna ushered Jane outside, then poured two cups of coffee into the recently washed chipped mugs, and carried them into the dining room.

  Mrs. Phillips had taken the taller seat. Anna recalled her thoughts at the train depot—that Mrs. Phillips had been involved in her shooting. Seeing the woman now, her suspicions vanished. Mrs. Phillips appeared too beaten down by life to plan a murder.

  She wore a different dress this morning, and Anna caught the faint whiff of camphor, as though the dress had been in storage.

  Mrs. Phillips cupped the mug with both hands. “Thank you for speaking with me. Especially, well, especially after what happened.”

  “You don’t look like the sort of woman who’d kill a man and stuff him in her trunk.”

  “Evil never appears the way we imagine.”

  Anna sucked in a breath at the stark sorrow in the woman’s eyes. “Why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”

  “It’s a long story, and not very pretty.”

  “I have all the time in the world.”

  Mrs. Phillips flashed a grateful smile. “I married Jane’s father when I was very young. My mother had recently passed away, and I’d barely turned seventeen. Clark was the son of one of my father’s business associates. I never even questioned our marriage. That’s the way I was raised.”

  Tears sprang in Mrs. Phillips’s eyes, and she gripped her coffee mug. “He wasn’t a kind man. After Jane was born, well, things took a turn for the worse. The business was failing. He couldn’t accept the humiliation. My father died, and he left me a bit of money.” She pursed her lips. “Not much, mind you, but enough to give Jane a good start. I wanted the money for Jane. I didn’t want him to have it. He’d always spent too much money on his...hobbies...his activities outside the home.”

  She choked off a sob, and Anna laid her hand over the woman’s trembling fingers. “You needn’t go on.”

  “No, no. I have to finish. He was enraged after that. Cruel. I tried to take Jane and leave, but he discovered us. He had a mistress. I asked for a divorce.” She paused, her mouth working. “He had me committed to an asylum.”

  “Oh, my.”

  Anna had heard similar stories before. The practice was more common before the war, but tales of such incarcerations still abounded. Often the practice was done by men who wanted to live openly with their mistresses, or wanted control of their wives’ money since divorce was taboo.

  “He couldn’t obtain control of the money. My father must have suspected something of his true nature. He’d left the portion in my name only. I’d hoped Clark would release me once he realized his mistake. The business improved. He didn’t need the money after that. He came one day as though nothing had happened.” Her jaw tightened. “He assumed we’d simply pick up where we left off. As though he’d done nothing wrong. I took Jane and we ran. I knew the family who owned the Savoy Hotel, they were friends of my parents. They offered to let me stay. But then a man came around, asking questions. I knew he’d found us.”

  “What did the man look like?”

  “Older. Dark hair, graying. He had an unusual build. Thin arms and legs with a rounded stomach. Jane noticed him first. Children, they’re more observant than adults, I think.”

  “Reinhart.”

  “What?”

  “I believe the man who was following you was a Pinkerton detective named Reinhart.”

  Mrs. Phillips pressed her hands over her face, muffling her words. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to go. I think that’s how he found us. I ran out of money. I had to wire the bank. That’s when that man, the Pinkerton detective, appeared.”

  Anna stared into her coffee cup. “What about the gentleman yesterday? The man in your trunk...”

  “The dead man? I don’t know. I think they knew each other, him and that other gentleman, Reinhart, you said. I saw them talking once.”

  Anna frowned. Reinhart had mentioned something about hiring an associate, about needing more help. Was the dead man his associate? The marshal needed that information.

  Mrs. Phillips drew her hands down her face and shook her head. “I used the money for train tickets. Your fiancé was ahead of me in line. Cimarron Springs sounded like a nice name. A nice town. I figured we’d stay a while and plan something else.”

  Anna held up her hand. “I’ll do what I can. Although I don’t have the resources my mother has, I can always ask for her assistance.” She cleared her throat. “Although you must be mistaken, I don’t have a fiancé.”

  “It’s all right. Everyone knows about you two. About you and Mr. McCoy.”

  Anna gaped. “He’s not my fiancé.”

  “You don’t have to pretend with me.” Mrs. Phillips patted her hand. “I can imagine what a quandary this is for you. Jane said you were one of the suffragists. You only have to pick up a newspaper to know how suffragists view marriage. But I’m a woman, too, and I know how powerful love can be. Even though my story did not have a happy ending, I always have hope for others.”

  “I don’t, uh, we’re friends. I know Mr. McCoy’s sister. That’s all.”

  “I’m afraid your secret is out. Everyone in town is talking about it. How you came through town last year and the two of you have been corresponding ever since. How he was so smitten, he went to Kansas City and asked you to marry him. How you were injured at the rally and he never left your side. I think it’s all very romantic.”

  “The whole town, you say?”

  “Yes. Apparently Mrs. Stuart’s sister lives in Kansas City. She was quite impressed that Mr. McCoy brought his sister along as a chaperone.”

  “And when did you hear this?”

  “At the train depot yesterday.”

  “I see.”

  “And then Mr. McCoy’s brother saw you visiting his house.”

  “I don’t know how I missed all the news.”

  “Because you’re not staying at the hotel. Jane and I have become something of a local sensation. Everyone wants to see the trunk.”

  Stupefied by the turn of the conversation, Anna asked dumbly, “The trunk?”

  “Yes, the trunk where the body was found.” Mrs. Phillips shrugged her shoulders. “Whoever killed that man tossed out most of our clothing in order to make room for the body. Jane has been wearing the same clothing for two days now.”

  “I can sympathize.” Anna had packed for a brief trip, and she’d lost one her outfits already. “You should speak with the marshal. Tell him what you told me. He’s a good man. He’ll do whatever he can to help.”

  As much as she craved pursuing this business of her engagement, Mrs. Phillips had a problem. A much larger problem. She’d set her own worries aside for the moment.

  “No.” Mrs. Phillips pushed back from the table. “Absolutely not. I saw the way the marshal looked at me yesterday. He thinks I’m guilty already. I promise you, I did not kill that man. Even if I had, why would I put the evidence in my own trunk?”

  Anna took a fortifying sip of her coffee. Cases such as Mrs. Phillips’s were difficult, though not impossible. “I’ll do what I can. I can offer you some money.”

  “No. I won’t take charity.”

  “A loan, then. It’s not wise for you to use the bank. If your husband found you that way once, then he can find you again.”

  Mrs. Phillips offered a curt nod. “A loan. Please, believe me, I don’t know how that man wound up in my trunk. I know how it looks. If he was workin
g on a case for my husband...”

  There was a chance the man in the trunk had no connection with Reinhart. Either way, Mrs. Phillips didn’t strike her as a killer. And if she was, why ask Anna for help? Why not simply run again? Cimarron Springs wasn’t a prison. The marshal had requested she stay, a request only. Mrs. Phillips could leave anytime she chose.

  “I’ll do what I can. But if the marshal—”

  A shriek sounded from the back of the house. Anna pushed out of her chair and dashed out the rear door, Mrs. Phillips close behind.

  Izetta stood with her hands on her hips while Jane chased a very familiar-looking goat around the hedge roses.

  Anna sighed. “I know the guardian of that terrifying little beast.”

  Jane clapped her hands, and the goat leaped into the air. “Mama, look. He’s dancing.”

  Mrs. Phillips held out her hand. “We must be going.”

  Jane appeared crestfallen, though she didn’t argue with her mother. They linked hands. “I’ll show myself out,” Mrs. Phillips said.

  Anna glared at the goat nibbling the tall grasses near the fence. “You are a troublemaker.”

  Plastering a serene expression on her face, she turned to her guests. “I’ll visit with you tomorrow. About the subject of our earlier discussion.”

  Anna kept her words deliberately vague, respecting the woman’s plea for privacy. Mrs. Phillips appeared quite opposed to accepting charity. And while Anna trusted Izetta, she’d also learned how quickly stories spread.

  Pinching off her gloves, Izetta approached. “That poor woman looks as though she hasn’t slept in a week.”

  “She probably hasn’t.” The two exchanged a glance filled with a wealth of meaning.

  “I hope she confided in you,” Izetta said.

  “She did. Although I doubt I can help very much.”

  “Sometimes a shoulder to cry on is help enough.” Izetta’s head snapped around. “Shoo, you little beast. That animal is chewing on my roses.”

  Anna considered her choices. Mrs. Phillips was her chance to prove once and for all that small differences were as important as grand gestures. She’d help Mrs. Phillips and the cause at the same time.