The Rancher's Temporary Engagement

She didn’t hesitate to shake her head. “I’d miss working for the office here. But there’s nothing keeping me from leaving.”

No husband, no children, no family. A prick of loneliness, of the old abandoned feeling, threatened to uproot her enthusiasm of finally being in reach of her dream. Maggy steeled herself against it. She was strong and safe and could take care of herself. There was no need for any deep relationships—those brought only weakness, fear and pain.

“We’d miss you, too,” James said with sincerity in his tone.

Warmth filled her at his words—no one had ever told her they’d miss her before. Not even her pa the day she got married.

“I also know how much you want this.” He opened the door and stepped back. “Wire me after you’ve spoken with Kent and let me know how long the mission is likely to take.”

“I will.” She would solve this case and be one step closer to fulfilling her dream. Twirling the cap around her finger, she shot James a saucy smile. “You can count on me.”

* * *

Frowning, Maggy tapped the toe of her shoe against the wooden platform of the Sheridan train depot. Mr. Kent was late. That or he’d already changed his mind about employing another detective to solve his case. Maggy’s gloved hand strayed to her collar, and she forced it back down to her side instead of plucking at the scratchy lace for the umpteenth time. The ridiculously small, plumed hat she’d chosen to wear to complete her outfit did little to shade her face from the afternoon sun.

Without knowing what sort of role Edward Kent might want her to play for this mission, she’d chosen the part of a female relation—middle-class and independent—for her journey to Wyoming to visit her distant cousin. But now that she was here, she longed to be free of the smothering, stiff fabric of her traveling suit.

“Where is he?” she muttered to herself as she glanced around the emptying train station. She’d been hoping to convince him that he still needed help, get to his ranch right away, then take stock of the situation, not stand around waiting.

When another ten minutes had crawled by, according to the watch pinned to her lapel, Maggy dragged her trunk into the train’s waiting room. She cajoled the ticket clerk with a pretty smile and a nickel to watch her luggage until she returned. Then she asked for directions to the nearest livery stable. Once there, she requested a horse and buggy.

“How far is it to Big Horn?” she asked the livery owner as he hitched the bay he’d selected to the vehicle. The animal looked a little docile for Maggy’s tastes, making her wish she could saddle up the sleek mare she’d seen inside the building. But she couldn’t risk the talk that would surely follow if she rode astride a horse in her dress.

The owner peered over his shoulder at her. “Big Horn would be ’bout nine miles from here. You visitin’ someone that a ways?”

“Edward Kent.” She smiled demurely. “I’m a distant relation of his.”

“Kent’s place is just seven miles away.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “You’re from England then, are you?”

“Come again?”

“Mr. Kent’s a Brit. Figured you must be, too.”

Maggy inwardly cringed at not knowing such an important detail sooner. Her repertoire of accents didn’t include the most convincing British one. “Actually I hail from the part of the family that immigrated to America a few generations ago. Dear Edward followed in our path. But I’ve only just been able to leave my obligations at home in order to come see him.”

The man took her explanation in stride without even blinking. “Your buggy’s all ready, ma’am. This here horse don’t move as quick as he once did, but he’s real easy to handle.”

“Thank you for your help.”

Maggy accepted the reins from him as she took a seat in the buggy. Once he’d given her directions on how to find the Running W, she clucked to the horse and drove away from the livery. It didn’t take long to collect her trunk from the station—a train porter insisted on carrying it out to the vehicle for her and tying it down with some rope.

She maintained a cordial smile to passersby as she drove through Sheridan. Once she left the stores and homes behind, though, she dropped the friendly, slightly vacant expression as her sharply honed observation skills kicked in.

The green hills and distant mountains reminded Maggy of the Colorado town she’d called home before escaping to Denver. She immediately locked her mind against any thoughts of home, if she could even call it that. Instead she concentrated on paying attention to the landscape she passed and the other ranches in the area.

Before long she reached the lane the livery owner had indicated led to Kent’s ranch. She turned the horse to the left and drove the buggy down the side road. The Big Horn Mountains were closer now, their peaks stretching towards the overcast sky. After crossing a stone bridge that spanned a river, Maggy glimpsed a large house and outbuildings among the trees. Ahead stood an iron archway with the ranch’s brand prominently displayed at the top. She drove beneath the arch, and a feeling of anticipation had her urging the horse faster. This is where she’d spend the next while, where she’d “get her man” and hopefully where she’d secure her promotion as lead female detective for the entire Pinkerton Agency.

Maggy glanced to her right, her gaze snagging on a small cabin beside the river. It had likely been Mr. Kent’s residence prior to the building of the larger house. But that thought barely registered in her mind before her lungs squeezed tight, forcing her to gasp for breath. At the same time, her heart began to pound. Sweat collected beneath her hat brim and along her strangling collar. Her hands trembled so badly she could hardly hold the reins.

Not another attack. Not here. She hadn’t experienced one in months, and yet, the tiny cabin eerily matched the one she’d grown up in and the one she’d shared with Jeb as his wife.

It required all of her strength to stop the horse. Unpinning her hat, Maggy used it to fan her flushed face. She shut her eyes and willed herself to breathe through the pressure in her chest. She was safe—no one was going to harm her ever again. Especially not a man. Detective skills weren’t the only things she’d learned in the last six years; she’d also learned how to take care of herself.

If she’d only learned those skills sooner...

Feeling faint, she lay down on the seat and pressed her cheek to the tufted leather, desperate for something real and solid beneath her. Her pa was dead and so was her husband. Neither of them would ever lift a hand to her again. But the old fear and panic refused to release her from their iron grip. Hot tears burned her face as they slid onto the buggy seat.

“May I help you?” a male voice asked from nearby.

Maggy scrambled up, her heart thrashing for an entirely new reason. Mortification scalded her cheeks at being caught in the middle of one of her episodes. Brushing away her tears, she discovered a man watching her from the seat of his wagon, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern. He had light brown hair, cut short, beneath his cowboy hat. And his eyes were an interesting shade of gray.

“I’m here to see to Mr. Kent,” she said, hastily poking pins back into her hair where it had fallen from its coif as she’d removed her hat.

His eyebrows shot upward. “I’m Edward Kent. And you are?”

She’d been too flustered to immediately identify the British accent she now plainly heard behind his words. This was her employer. Maggy cleared her throat.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kent.” She straightened her shoulders and pasted on what she hoped resembled a smile. “I’m your new Pinkerton detective.”

Chapter Two

“I beg your pardon?” Edward shook his head, certain he hadn’t heard her correctly. There was no way this woman with her messy auburn hair and tear-filled blue eyes could be a Pinkerton detective. Besides, he’d been informed the new operative would be waiting for him at the train station, and probably had been for some time. He’d spent longer than he’d intended watching a group of strangers who’d ridden close to the edge of his property that morning.

The woman’s smile increased, appearing less tremulous and more confident by the second. “I said I’m your new detective. My name’s Maggy.”

“You can’t be the new detective. I was supposed to meet him...” He cleared his throat when she lifted a haughty eyebrow at his use of a male pronoun. “What I mean is, I was supposed to meet the detective at the train station.” Before Edward promptly sent the chap back to Colorado.

Despite the agency’s insistence about sending another agent to the ranch—likely in an attempt to restore their good name with him—Edward had decided just that morning that he would find some other way to solve his case.

The woman consulted the watch pinned to her jacket. “Yes, you were to meet me more than an hour ago. But I got tired of waiting. It was easy enough to get directions and this horse and buggy. I may be able to count the livery as expenditures. Then again, the rental was necessary because you were late, so you might need to reimburse the expense.”

Frustration rippled through him, its waves growing more pronounced the longer he sat here glaring at her. The last detective had incurred an expense from him as well, and Edward had not been satisfied with the results.

“I regret I was not at the station on time,” he conceded. He shifted on the wagon seat, his fingers tightening their grip on the horses’ reins. What was the most polite way to share with her that he no longer required a new detective, male or female? “I was attending to business related to the case that the last detective found too difficult to—”

To his astonishment, she clucked to the old nag pulling the buggy and headed up the drive as if Edward hadn’t spoken. “You’ll find that I don’t back down from a challenge as easily,” she called over her shoulder.

Giving a low growl, he hurried to turn the team and wagon around to catch up with her, but she made it to the house before him.

“If you’ll pardon me, Miss...” He waited for her to supply him with a last name.

“It’s better for both of us if you simply call me Maggy.”

Edward could think of several other things to call her at the moment—none of which his proper English mother would approve of. “Maggy,” he bit out. He prided himself on sounding marginally calm. “I can’t afford any more interruptions to my ranch.” Not when the British Cavalry was interested in his horses. “However, I no longer wish to shoulder the expense of another agent, only to be disappointed with the results once again.”

She climbed from her vehicle, her head held high. Apparently she was as stubborn as she was striking. “I promise you won’t be disappointed with my results.” She proceeded to untie the rope that secured a trunk to the back of the buggy. “If you need credentials, I can supply those. But you should know...” She paused to throw him a penetrating look. “I’m known in the Denver office as Get-Her-Man Maggy. And that is why Mr. James McParland himself sent me.”

He recognized the name McParland. After Edward had sent his letter to the agency, Mrs. Harvey had illuminated the more renowned cases of the Pinkertons, including McParland’s own role in infiltrating a gang of assassins in Pennsylvania in the ’70s. The man might know what he was about in sending Maggy.

Still, Edward wasn’t sold on the plan. It seemed a waste of time and money to employ yet another detective from the same agency. Their methods of investigation would likely prove similarly unfruitful.

“That last gentleman pretended to be a new hire,” he said, climbing down from the wagon, “but that won’t be as easy to explain if you were to assume such a role, would it?”

He’d hoped to deter her, but he was disappointed. Instead, she manhandled her trunk onto the porch and threw him a satisfied grin. “I’m sure we can think of a different, more effective role. This trunk of disguises will help.” She slapped the top of the luggage as if it were an old friend.

“Disguises?” he repeated with a shake of his head. “This isn’t a circus, Miss Maggy. This is a prosperous ranch. And I need someone to find out who’s sabotaging it. Not entertain the populace with some masquerade.”

His neck heated with greater anger as memories intruded, memories he typically kept locked away. It had been at a masquerade ball, several months after his father’s death, when he’d discovered the woman he’d loved in intimate conversation with his oldest brother. He’d confronted them, only to learn Beatrice had thrown him over.

A mutual friend confided to Edward later on that Beatrice had cared for him, but a sudden and tragic misfortune with her family’s finances had made her anxious to marry someone with the money to rescue her relations from ruin. Edward still felt the sting of rejection, though. Especially when his brother and Beatrice were married six months later. Two weeks following the wedding, he’d climbed aboard a ship bound for America.

“Are you always this obstinate, Mr. Kent?” Maggy asked, jerking his thoughts back to the unpleasant scene unfolding on his porch.

She was accusing him of obstinacy? He climbed the steps in an effort to keep her from barging her way inside. An action he wouldn’t put past her. “Are you always this persistent?”

Her eyes brightened with amusement. “I wouldn’t be one of McParland’s best detectives if I weren’t.”

Running a hand over his face, Edward blew out an exasperated sigh. Clearly he wasn’t going to convince this woman that he was done employing Pinkerton detectives. But if she were to prove her own inabilities...

“I will make a deal with you. You find some clue your predecessor did not, and I will hire you as my new detective.”

Instead of looking defeated, a thrum of energy seemed to radiate from her. “How long do I have?”

“Until this evening.” Then he’d kindly provide her with supper and a room for the night before sending her back to Colorado.

Undeterred, she stuck out her hand. “Agreed.”

Edward eyed her hand, feeling a bit foolish at the idea of shaking it as if she were a gentleman. Then again, she’d been insisting since he stumbled onto her in the drive that he take her seriously. He wondered what had caused her to appear so upset earlier. Her expression no longer held any of the vulnerability it had upon first glance. In contrast, she raised her eyebrows again, challenging him.

“Very well. Welcome to the Running W,” he said, shaking her hand. He even managed a polite smile. After all, he felt quite confident she wouldn’t be unpacking. This would be her first and final day on the ranch.

* * *

“Should I bring my trunk inside?” Maggy gestured to her luggage. The sooner she started on her investigation, the better. She could tell by the determined gleam in Edward’s gray eyes that he thought he’d given her a test she couldn’t pass. And she couldn’t wait to prove him wrong.

He frowned but moved to heft her luggage anyway. “I suppose we shouldn’t leave it out here unattended.”

Maggy opened the door for him, then followed him inside. The marble-inlaid hall tree where he hung his cowboy hat didn’t surprise her in its tasteful opulence, nor did the polished wood paneling of the entryway where he set her trunk. The ranch wouldn’t be the target of sabotage if it weren’t doing well.

“May I ask you some questions about the ranch?” Or would he see that as a violation of the conditions of his test? Was she supposed to figure everything out unaided? She wouldn’t interview the staff or hired hands yet, since she wasn’t sure which role she’d be playing for the duration of her stay here.

And she would be staying.

Stepping to the open doorway on the right, which appeared to be a parlor, Edward motioned her inside. “You may ask questions but only of me. If you’ll take a seat, I’ll see that my housekeeper prepares some tea for us.”

Maggy suppressed a grimace at the promised tea as she entered the parlor. Tea was a drink for timid, rich women. Not a female detective in the throes of an investigation.

The parlor was as tastefully and richly furnished as the hallway. A sofa and low table sat in front of the window, while a pair of armchairs stood before the fireplace. A large painting ruled over the mantel. Maggy went to stand before it. The green countryside might have resembled the one beyond the house, except there were no mountains and a man with a cart in the foreground didn’t look like a rancher. Perhaps it was an image of Edward’s native England.

Turning to view the other side of the room, her eyes widened when she saw the crowded bookshelves that stood on either side of the doorway. Maggy hurried over to inspect them up close. She’d never seen so many books in a private home before. She ran her fingers along the smooth surfaces of the spines, wishing for a moment that she could select a pile and curl up with them in one of the chairs.

“Do you like to read?”

She startled, as much at being caught staring as at not having heard Edward reenter the room. Spinning to face him, she knocked a notebook off one of the side tables. “Sorry about that.” She picked it up from where the book had fallen open on the carpet. A list of names covered half the page, which Maggy couldn’t help perusing. She’d learned long ago that anything might provide clues. “What’s this?”

“It’s a list of those who’ve borrowed a book from me this year.” Edward took the notebook from her, shut it decisively, and returned it to its place on the table. “Please, have a seat.”

Maggy sat in one of the armchairs, while Edward took the other. “Tell me what’s been happening at the ranch the last few months,” she said in a no-nonsense tone.

He rested his boot on his knee as he settled back in his seat. “Didn’t the other detective give you a report?”

“Yes, but I would like to hear it directly from you. Maybe there’s something he missed.”

His earlier frown made another appearance. “Of course there’s something he missed—he didn’t find who’s trying to destroy my ranch.”

She waited, knowing the importance of silence and patience. After another moment, Edward pushed out a sign of resignation.

“Very well. It began with a note...”

For the next while, Maggy listened carefully as Edward described the anonymous notes he’d received and the various acts of damage to the ranch. Fences had been broken, tack had mysteriously gone missing, and several feed orders never arrived. Four horses had gotten out several days earlier after another breach in a pasture fence, and the wranglers hadn’t been able to find them this time. Edward’s men rotated serving as guards at night and one patrolled the property during the day, but the new responsibilities meant less help around the ranch during daylight hours.

“Do you trust your employees?” she asked when he’d finished.

He nodded, but it didn’t radiate as much confidence as his demeanor earlier. “I do... I did. At this point, other than my housekeeper, who came here from England with me, I’m not certain who to trust.”

A tug of compassion pulled at her. “You can trust me, Mr. Kent.”

“I can, can I?” The briefest of smiles touched his lips. “I suppose we shall see.”

“Your tea, sir.” The housekeeper appeared to be in her late forties or early fifties. She had gray hair and carried a tray in hand, but she stopped inside the doorway when her gaze fell on Maggy. “Oh, dear,” she admitted, her British accent as strong as Edward’s. “Had I known you had a female visitor, I would’ve used the good china.”

Edward lowered his foot to the floor. “This is not a female visitor, Mrs. Harvey.”

“Then what would she be, sir?” The older woman bustled forward and set the tray on the low table. “She’s female and a visitor, is she not?”

Maggy swallowed a laugh at the woman’s clever retort.

“This is Mrs. Harvey, my housekeeper.” He waved at the older woman, then at Maggy. “Mrs. Harvey, this is Maggy. She’s here to...to possibly help with the trouble around the ranch.”

“What will you do?” Mrs. Harvey asked.

“I’m a detective, so hopefully I’ll find out who’s behind all the trouble.” Maggy kept back a sigh, though she knew what would come next. The look of disapproval, the sad shake of the head. She didn’t feel the need to justify her reasoning for being a detective, but she did wish for more acceptance from those of her own gender.

Instead of horrified shock or blatant condemnation, Mrs. Harvey’s face registered plain awe. “A female detective? Oh, how exciting. Sounds just like something from one of my penny dreadfuls.”

Maggy released a surprised chuckle. Edward’s housekeeper might be the first female she’d met whom she might actually get along with.

“If you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Harvey,” Edward intoned with a note of impatience. “We are discussing sensitive matters.”

“Of course. If there’s anything else you need, sir. Or you, Miss Maggy.” Mrs. Harvey offered her a kind smile. “Let me know what I can do to make your stay most pleasant.”

Edward mumbled something that sounded like “she won’t be staying.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Harvey,” Maggy said, ignoring Edward.

The woman inclined her head, then exited the parlor.

“I believe I have at least one champion in this household.” She arched her eyebrow at Edward in a self-satisfied expression.

“Time will tell if she is the only one.” His gaze darted to the clock on the mantel. “And time is slowly running out.” He stood and moved to the tea tray.

His reminder robbed her of some of her smugness. She had the details of what had occurred at the ranch, but she wasn’t any closer to identifying a suspect, or even uncovering an important clue.

“Tea?” He lifted a cup toward her, but Maggy shook her head.

“No, thank you.”

Edward returned to his seat to drink his tea. He was all stiff politeness, giving rise to a strange and irrational thought within her to see him laugh or grin with abandon. Or perhaps he wasn’t given to humor at all. Did his austerity hide a darker side? Maggy mentally shook her head at the idea. There was nothing about him that smacked of dishonesty or aggression. Why she hadn’t been able to read those things as clearly in Jeb, she’d never know.

Pushing thoughts of her late husband from her mind, Maggy drummed her fingers on the chair arm, thinking over the information Edward had shared. “Do you still have those threatening notes?”

Nodding, Edward set aside his teacup and rose to his feet. He opened a box on one of the bookshelves. “I kept all of them,” he said, removing a sheaf of papers.

He handed them to Maggy as he sat back down. After reading the menacing message on each, she went back through them, this time studying the handwriting. “Whoever wrote these is likely educated. Or, at least, comfortably literate.”

“How can you tell?”

Maggy lifted one for him to see. “There are no misspellings, contractions or slang. The letters weren’t written with a heavy hand, either. Which means the person didn’t have to think too hard before writing the words or struggle to keep up as someone dictated them.”

A flash of admiration filled his gray eyes, but only for a moment. “That is rather impressive. However, it doesn’t tell us who the culprit is.”

“Or does it?” Maggy muttered to herself as she peered harder at one of the last notes in the pile. The curves on the capital B in Brit seemed vaguely familiar. “May I see your library notebook?”

She glanced up to find Edward watching her in confusion. “Whatever for?”

“Testing a theory.”

Rising to his feet once more, he collected the book and brought it over to her. “I don’t see how this is going to help.”

“Which is precisely why I am the detective and you are the rancher.” Maggy opened the notebook to the page she’d surveyed earlier. Carefully she reread each name, then compared it to the handwriting on the note. Sure enough, her theory proved correct when she reached the most recently penned name.