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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.
“Ah-ha,” she exclaimed with a surge of victory as she glanced at Edward. “I found one of our potential suspects.” Which was one more than the last operative had discovered. She’d won Edward’s little challenge, which meant he would have to hire her as his new detective.
Snatching the book from her, Edward shook his head. “That’s not possible.”
“Look, here.” She bent forward to show him the handwriting on the note and how it corresponded to the name in the book. “This one has a curve in the B like the one in Bertram there.”
Another of the names was written in handwriting she was sure she’d seen on one of the other notes. She sifted through them again until she found it. “Here’s another. This note has the same flourish on the W as it does on the name...” She leaned forward and read the notebook upside down. “Right there—the name Winchester.” Now they had two suspects! “Who are these men?”
The furrow in Edward’s brow increased as he handed back the book. “They are both wealthy ranchers who live in the area.”
She nearly blurted out that she’d been right—the culprits were educated—but she clamped her teeth over the remark as she saw the color drain from Edward’s face. She’d had plenty of practice keeping her thoughts to herself—she wouldn’t do well at undercover work if she told the criminals how absurdly dim they were to brag about their exploits in front of her persona as a harmless-looking scullery maid or a mousy store clerk. But holding her tongue for the purpose of sparing someone’s feelings was new, and she wondered why she didn’t wish to add to his discomfort. Especially given that he hadn’t believed she could sniff out any clues at all.
Edward stood and began to pace the rug in front of the sofa, his expression one of consternation and confusion. “I can’t understand it. I dine with these men nearly every week at the Sheridan Inn. They’ve visited me here and I’ve been to their homes. Why would they sabotage me?”
That was still another matter to solve—motive. Though she didn’t share his surprise that the attacks came from those he considered friends. She’d seen too much of mankind’s duplicity to be shocked by it anymore. “It makes more sense that a fellow rancher would be behind all of this havoc rather than a lone wrangler or cowboy. What more can you tell me about these men?”
Pocketing his hands, Edward frowned further. “They’ve done well for themselves, though their spreads aren’t nearly as large as the Running W. Winchester is married and his wife belongs to that little club in town.”
“Little club?” Maggy sat up straighter. The niggling of an idea had started to form inside her mind, though it wasn’t fleshed out and ready to present itself yet. “What sort of club?”
Edward waved his hand dismissively. “All of the ranchers’ wives belong. They get together for their teas and tête-à-têtes and head up a number of society functions in Sheridan, as well.”
“Do you have to be married to a rancher to join their club?”
He didn’t slow his pacing. “I believe so, yes. That or engaged.”
“And their husbands?” she asked. “Do they gather socially, as well?”
Edward nodded. “Nearly all of the ranchers attend weekly dinners at the inn. Sometimes it’s with their wives. Other times it’s only the men.”
“Perfect.” She slapped the chair arms for emphasis. Things were definitely looking up for this investigation—and for restoring the Pinkerton name with Edward. “Now we know where to concentrate our efforts.”
“What do you mean?”
Maggy stood, ready for some tea after all. It would be tepid by now but could still serve as an honorary toast to her first successful hour on the ranch.
“You already know two of these men and you attend the same social events they do. Since there’s a strong likelihood others in their social group are involved in this plot against your ranch, you need to become better acquainted with all of the well-to-do ranchers in the area.” She bent and lifted her teacup from off the low table. “You need to know their closest friends, enemies, ambitions, fears.”
He threw her a perturbed look. “And what will you be doing while I am ingratiating myself?” His tone still rang sharp and full of frustration.
“I’m working on that,” she reassured him as she took a sip.
“Boss?” a voice called from the hallway.
Edward turned toward the sound. “In here, McCall.”
A man with a handsome face and curly black hair poking out from underneath his hat strode into the parlor. “Some of the boys just learned about that detective pretending to be a wrangler. They’re worried that since he didn’t find the culprit...” He broke off when he saw Maggy. “Sorry, boss. Didn’t ’spect you to have company. Especially not feminine company.” Removing his hat, he nodded politely at Maggy. She inclined her head in return.
She was beginning to get a picture of Edward Kent, and it didn’t include the man having numerous female visitors. He was handsome, she conceded, and fairly affable. But clearly his ranch, his horses and perhaps his staff were all his heart had room for. She couldn’t help wondering why.
“This is West McCall, my ranch foreman.” Edward collected his cup and poured himself some more tea. He was stalling, which meant he was either grappling with how to introduce her or reluctant to reveal to the man that she was a detective. Perhaps both. “McCall, I’d like you to meet...” He took a swallow of tea, his gaze darting to Maggy’s in a silent plea for assistance.
His unexpected show of confidence in her abilities to come up with a solid cover story brought her earlier idea forward at last, in full form. “I’m Maggy. Edward’s fiancée,” she finished with a triumphant smile. “Isn’t that right, darling?”
Turning toward him, Maggy only had a moment to register the shock in Edward’s gray eyes before his mouthful of tea came spewing out—all over her.
Chapter Three (#u67cf2392-5586-5b70-82bb-846c32f180a9)
Edward mumbled an apology, avoiding eye contact with both his foreman and Maggy. Of all the foolish, rash, ridiculous plans, he thought as he set down his cup, scooped up a napkin, and thrust it at Maggy so she could dab her tea-soaked dress.
Feigning affection for someone, as Beatrice had done five and a half years ago, was the last thing he wanted to do, least of all toward a practical stranger. He fought to keep his expression impassive, but his jaw began to twitch with the attempt.
“Didn’t know you were engaged, boss.”
“It is rather sudden,” Edward managed to get out between his clenched teeth.
