A Man with a Past

by Mary Connealy

  “And Ralston is missing?” At this, she didn’t sound overly surprised. “Will Wyatt live?”

  Falcon straightened away from her. Kevin came up beside him on the right. Cheyenne on his left, the three of them faced her silently. Molly stood by the stove. That seemed to be her spot, but she wasn’t cooking. Her arms were crossed, her brow furrowed with worry.

  Win was watching the woman from a few paces away. She’d stare, then shake her head, open her mouth and close it, then shake her head again.

  Falcon figured she’d get around by and by to whatever she had to say.

  Andy was behind Hobart. He’d pulled a chair out from the table. Falcon caught himself almost smiling to think how the kid had seen or heard him. Kevin too. Then the humor faded as he wondered again what they’d lived through to be so on edge, even in their sleep.

  Falcon heard a creak from overhead. “Wyatt’s moving.” He looked at the little cook. “Molly, get up there and tell him what’s going on. Don’t lie, but tell him to stay put. I’ll be up soon to answer any questions. If he starts coming down the stairs, holler.”

  Molly rushed out.

  “When did you start giving orders around here?” Cheyenne muttered.

  “Don’t rightly know. Don’t like doing it. Doubt it’ll last.”

  “Why did you run from Hawkins’s place like you did?” Kevin asked Hobart.

  “I slipped out when you got there to talk to Ralston. I realized he’d taken off, and I went after him.”

  “Why?” Kevin was doing better’n Falcon had been with questioning.

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. She was sly, planning on gettin’ through this without telling the truth. Falcon wasn’t gonna let that stand.

  “Icehouse. You won’t freeze before morning.”

  “There’s no lock on it.” Cheyenne had her arms crossed so tight Falcon hoped she didn’t strangle herself around her belly. She stared at the woman.

  “Figured on it. I’ll stand guard. There’s gotta be a lock on the jailhouse door in Bear Claw Pass.” Falcon reached for Hobart.

  “No, no.” Hobart threw her arms in the air, dodging Falcon’s hands. “I don’t want to talk to the sheriff.”

  “I’ll just bet you don’t,” Kevin said. “But you shot my brother.”

  “I did not.”

  Kevin talked over her. “You think we’re gonna just let you ride off? We’ll take you to the sheriff and see you hanged.”

  “I didn’t shoot him.” Hobart’s voice rose. She’d been coldly calm, but now the ice was cracking a little.

  “Tell it to the law, lady,” Falcon said.

  “I can’t talk to the sheriff. You can’t turn me over to him.”

  “Can’t is a mighty hard word, ma’am. Reckon it don’t hold much water when you’re comin’ at us in the night. Seeing the sheriff is the nicest thing we’re gonna do for you.” Falcon studied her eyes, which were still calculating. The blush was higher now, but she had a chin that looked like eight days of stubborn packed into a week. But for all that stubborn, he saw someone willin’ to do most anything not to talk to the law. It made her look powerful guilty.

  Maybe he had the right lever to pry her open. “Kevin, grab her arm. We’ll head to the icehouse, take turns standing watch, then in the morning go for Sheriff Corly—”

  “I can’t talk to the sheriff”—her words rushed out—“because I’m a Pinkerton agent.”

  That threw everybody into a dead silence. Watching her, Falcon saw her eyes shift between each of them, then look at the door, probably wondering at the chance she had to slip away. He clamped a hard hand on her shoulder.

  “You’re not going anywhere.” She narrowed her eyes at him. He thought maybe he saw a speck of wisdom in the woman. But . . . “What’s a Pinkerton agent?”

  He didn’t think this was about losing his memory. He didn’t have much notion of what the words could even mean.

  “It’s a private lawman you can hire to investigate,” Hobart explained. “I was hired to find a woman who went missing out here.”

  “Lots of folks go missing on the frontier,” Cheyenne said grimly.

  Nodding, Hobart said, “They do indeed. But her father is a state senator in Minnesota and her brother was an army general. They had the resources to find out what happened to her. A horse can buck someone off. A prairie fire or tornado can sweep through and leave the dead behind. A creek can rise and wash a wagon away. But we’re living in modern times. If a tornado came through the area, we’d know it. And she didn’t come out on a wagon train. She rode the train and stayed in boardinghouses. She was headed west hunting adventure. She worked in Omaha awhile, then Kearney. I tracked her as far as Bear Claw Pass. She stepped off the train, and there is only the smallest hint that she was in the area, but I can’t find any indication that she boarded the train again.”

  Falcon still didn’t know exactly what a Pinkerton agent was. It sounded like she was some kind of sheriff herself. “Why can’t you tell the sheriff what you’re up to?”

  “I don’t know for sure if I can trust him. And I want to remain a secret here.”

  Falcon looked at Kevin, then at Cheyenne. “Icehouse?”

  “Oh yeah,” Cheyenne said. “I don’t like her answers. She’s the most likely person to’ve shot Wyatt.”

  “I did not shoot Wyatt Hunt. When did that happen, where? What were you all doing at Hawkins’s ranch today?”

  Kevin said, “She’s asking more questions than we are. I think a night in the icehouse will be good for her.” He grabbed her right arm. Falcon grabbed her left.

  “No.” She wrenched her arms, but she weren’t goin’ nowhere. Not with Falcon latched on tight. “I have to get back to the Hawkins place by morning. He’s going to be furious that I missed making his evening meal, and that I rode off like I did. I have to be back to make breakfast.”

  That brought the little struggle to an end. Falcon sat her down hard on the chair. Well, not all that hard ’cuz they’d never got her much out of it.

  “So a Pinkerton agent is a hired snoop?” he asked.

  Hobart flushed. “That might be a good way to describe what I do. It’s well-known that on the frontier the law is hard to come by outside of town. The US Marshals can get involved. A few states, like Texas, have Rangers that can provide law and order beyond the town limits. But for the most part, folks on the frontier are their own law and order.”

  “That’s nothing but the plain truth,” Cheyenne said. “And that’s why this senator and his son hired you to come and hunt up the wayward girl?”

  “That’s exactly right.”

  “Then for the third and final time, why, if that’s what you’re doing, did you shoot”—Cheyenne shoved her hard enough the chair slid back—“my”— Cheyenne shoved her again—“brother.”

  Drawing back a fist, Cheyenne swung. Hobart moved with lightning speed, faster than Falcon could have. She grabbed Cheyenne’s fist with the sharp slap of flesh hitting flesh. She held that fist tight when Cheyenne yanked back.

  Falcon saw Hobart’s knuckles turn white with the effort to hang on, but hang on she did. He saw a toughness in the woman and something sturdy. For all her slyness, she was either the best liar he’d ever met—and since he couldn’t remember much, that wasn’t a hard contest to win—or she was telling the truth.

  For all the rage he felt at whoever shot Wyatt, he was going to have to start asking who’d done it other than Hobart. But he’d seen her tracks letting Ralston loose. Or had he?

  “I’ll give you a name to send a wire. Allan Pinkerton in Chicago. Please don’t send it from Bear Claw Pass. I don’t trust the telegraph operator. Even if he’s innocent of any wrongdoing, he might talk to the wrong people. But Casper would be all right, and you can ride there and back in a short day. Contact him. He’ll verify he sent me out here.”

  “A telegraph can go anywhere, to anyone,” Cheyenne said stubbornly. “You could give us the place to send it knowing someone back there wou
ld cover for you.”

  Falcon thought it’d be a pretty fancy, long, planned-out scheme for that to work. For her to have partners elsewhere who’d intercept a wire and know how to lie for her.

  “Then figure out who Allan Pinkerton is and how to contact him yourself. He lives in Chicago and runs the Pinkerton Agency. I’d think that would be enough for a telegraph office to send it for you. Tell him you met Rachel Hobart, and she told you to mention the Bishop case. That’ll be enough for him to know I sent you, and he’ll answer right quick.”

  “Bishop?” Win said the name quietly.

  They all turned to look at her. The faint, rather sick tone to her voice was impossible to ignore.

  Falcon saw every drop of color leach out of her face until he braced himself to jump at her and catch her when she fainted.

  Kevin was at her side before Falcon moved.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “A-Amelia Bishop was the name of F-Father’s last housekeeper.” Win’s legs went limp, and she collapsed.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Win!” Kevin caught her before she hit the floor, swept her up in his arms, and carried her to a chair where he then sat, holding her in his lap. Andy rushed over with a cool cloth.

  Cheyenne headed for Win, so distracted she forgot all about Mrs. Hobart for far too long. When her attention snapped back, Hobart was on her feet . . . not running. She rounded the table. Not making a break for the door, but rushing to Win’s side. Her eyes sharp. Taking in every word that’d been spoken.

  Keen curiosity gleamed in her blue eyes.

  Not like a woman who’d been sneaking in planning murder at all. More like a lawman. Law-woman in this case. One who’d just found a real big clue.

  Falcon’s head snapped around to keep an eye on Hobart, and Cheyenne got the idea that he’d been paying attention to Win, too. Hobart had really missed her best chance to escape. Not that she’d’ve made it. But it was her best chance.

  “What does it mean?” Cheyenne wanted to stand by Win. But Andy was at her head, bathing her face and neck with a cool cloth. He had a nice touch for a youngster.

  Andy with the cool cloth. Kevin catching a fainting woman. Molly rushing off to calm an injured man. This whole family was too good in an emergency. They’d had a lot of practice, and it made Cheyenne want to get to know them. Want it a little.

  Win’s faint didn’t let go easy. She was a long time limp in Kevin’s arms.

  “She’s breathing steady.” Kevin sounded solid, like a man who’d seen trouble before. But he could barely tear his eyes away from his new wife.

  It struck Cheyenne’s heart right to its dead center.

  He loved her.

  Her friend had found someone to love her.

  Cheyenne and Win had shared a few girlish dreams since she’d come home from boarding school. They’d been too young for such things before she’d been sent away. And now, both mature young women, their talk had been more of work, the ranch, Win’s school. They were practical women after all.

  But a few times they’d talked of what life they’d hoped to have one day, and of course they’d wanted fine, good-hearted, handsome men to come into their lives.

  Cheyenne had a goodly number of chances; she was half owner of a fine ranch after all. But no man had stirred her heart. She hadn’t seriously considered Oliver Hawkins’s proposal until he’d restated it after she’d had her ranch torn away from her.

  It had found a tender place in her heart to be wanted when she brought nothing to a marriage, no money, only herself.

  But seeing Win held so gently in Kevin’s arms. To see his fear. To see Andy’s calm, competent hands. To know Molly would be here helping if she wasn’t upstairs taking care of Wyatt . . . it all hit Cheyenne hard.

  Joy for her friend, no matter what had caused her to collapse. And sorrow for herself, because she didn’t have what Win had.

  Cheyenne’s eyes wandered to Falcon. There was a man she might care about.

  If he remembered who he was.

  And remembered he wasn’t a husband.

  And learned to love cattle ranching.

  Yes, if not for that, he’d be a man she might care about. He had given her a puppy after all.

  Leaving off her strange yearnings, she tried to reason out why Win had fainted.

  “Amelia Bishop.” Cheyenne dropped the name into the room, pulling their attention away from Win, all but Kevin’s. “Why did that name make her faint?”

  Hobart straightened away from where she crouched near Win’s feet, watching everyone. She came back to the chair she’d been sitting in. Put there by near force earlier, she now sat looking cool and very smart—not acting like a prisoner at all. She’d noted the same thing everyone else had, but it meant more to her.

  “You tracked her movements to Bear Claw Pass?” Cheyenne asked.

  “Yes, she arrived here over three years ago. It took me a while to pick up her trail. I couldn’t just show a picture of her around and ask if anyone knew her. And she’d been missing for nearly a year when her family hired me. They’d waited too long to start hunting. They kept expecting to hear from her.”

  Cheyenne said, “The West is well-known for swallowing people whole.”

  “Without admitting who I was, I poked around, asked questions that might open folks to talking without them realizing I wanted more than it seemed. It worked in Omaha and Kearney, other stops along the railroad line, and what I learned sent me here.

  “Amelia definitely left the train here. She’d wired her father from here as she did from nearly every stop. Once I got to town, I listened to chatter here and there and decided a woman who matched her description might be the same one who was hired as a housekeeper on the Hawkins Ranch. Her family said she was looking for adventure, a ranch would’ve appealed to her.”

  “You went out to see her, and she wasn’t there.” Falcon seemed to be ahead of the story.

  “I found Oliver Hawkins had lost his housekeeper. He’d been without one for a while when I got there. The place was a wreck. His clothes everywhere, the whole place was in shambles. I found out he’d advertised for a new housekeeper but hadn’t found one yet. There was no evidence Amelia had traveled on beyond Bear Claw Pass, and he never mentioned her by name. But I needed to look closer out there. And to do that, I needed an excuse to stay. So instead of questioning Hawkins about Amelia, I applied for the job and got hired.”

  “She vanished from my father’s house?” Win’s voice, weak and unsteady, turned them all toward her. Kevin hadn’t taken his eyes off her, but everyone else was listening strictly to Hobart.

  Her face was ashen. Her movements uncoordinated. But her eyes shone with a steady, intense light.

  “Your father has never told me much about his last housekeeper, never mentioned her name even when I tried to get him to talk about her. His story is that she just took off. Worked for him for a while, then without telling him she was unhappy there, she rode off one day and never came back. He didn’t like it, it was inconvenient, but he knew young women could be flighty.”

  “Not all of them,” Win said, sounding grim.

  “No, and though she was looking for adventure, Amelia apparently wasn’t a foolish girl. She’d’ve contacted her father if she was able.”

  Hobart looked straight into Cheyenne’s eyes. “I need to get back to the Hawkins Ranch before sunup. I don’t want to do any more explaining to Hawkins than necessary.”

  “Why were you sneaking around our property?” Cheyenne hated it that she found herself believing Hobart, even trusting her. It made her feel like a gullible fool.

  “I was coming in quietly, and I guess that amounts to sneaking, but I planned to come to your back door and knock. Tell you what I was looking for and see if I could get your help.”

  “No.” Falcon shook his head. “You weren’t going to tell us a thing when I caught you. You only agreed to talk when we wouldn’t let up about the sheriff. You weren’t going to tell us w
hat was goin’ on.”

  Hobart looked almost sheepish. “All right, you’re not wrong about that. I was going to try and—and get information from you that might open some new leads into Amelia’s disappearance. It’s what I do. I’m good at it. Tricking folks into telling me more than they planned to.”

  Cheyenne wondered if they had all told her more than they’d planned to. Win fainting had for sure gotten Hobart’s attention. And she’d learned some things about Amelia Bishop.

  “What do you think happened to her?” Win’s hands trembled as she rested them against her chest, her fingers entwined until her hands made one big fist. And she stayed where she was, held by Kevin.

  Cheyenne knew how properly raised Win had been. If she’d been thinking clearly, she’d’ve never sat on Kevin’s lap like that in front of so many people.

  “I think, Mrs. Hunt, that Amelia Bishop is dead.”

  Win gasped and rested her forehead on that one big fist. An attitude of prayer, Cheyenne thought.

  “As I said, she was looking for adventure, but she wasn’t estranged from her family. If she was somewhere settled or safe, she’d have contacted them. I have no proof, but I suspect she’s dead.”

  “And who killed her? Isn’t that part of the p-puzzle you’re trying to solve?” Win raised her head, and her bright blue eyes looked hard at Hobart as if she was trying to bore into her brain.

  “My job is to find her. If I find her alive, I’ll take her home. If I find her dead, I’ll arrest whoever did it, then tell her father where to come to visit the body. It’s too dangerous to think of as a puzzle. That’s a child’s game. This is life and death.”

  Cheyenne watched Win, wondering if she’d say more. Explain what about this had knocked her off her feet.

  “Cheyenne, it’s your home she was fixing to invade,” Falcon said. “You decide. The law or trust?”

  Cheyenne’s jaw tightened. Everyone in the room was dead silent, until she could hear the clock ticking.

  Finally, her eyes only on Win, wishing she could read her friend’s mind and understand what was going on, Cheyenne said, “Let her go back. If that’s a mistake, we’ll just round her up again.”