Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) (10 page)

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

He tugged on his hat. “If you’re gonna be the new heiress, you gotta know how to work a ranch. You ride, right?”

She nodded. Actually, she was a good rider, thanks to her brother’s patient tutoring.

“That’s something, I guess. You’d be amazed how many women come to this ranch not knowing the front end of a horse from its tail.” He narrowed his eyes. “Know anything about cattle?”

“No, but I did stay at a sheep ranch once.”

He reared back with a look of disdain. “Well, if you know what’s good fer you, you’ll tuck that news under your hat and keep it there.” He hastened to the door as if she were still carrying the stench of sheep with her.

“Scares me to think what kind of heiress will turn up next,” he muttered. With that he left the house.

Annie had no idea whether or not he was the Phantom, but either way, O.T. was a strange one.

She went to secure the door after him but there was no lock. That meant that anyone could walk in day or night. With an uneasy feeling, she headed for the stairs.

Chapter 8

A detective without a clue is like a cowboy without a horse;
both are in for a lot of footwork.

A
nnie walked into the bedroom the following morning to help Miss Walker with her usual morning ablutions. The day before, Stretch had ridden into town to fetch the mail
and the bed was piled high with correspondence. He also mailed two
letters for Annie.

“Time for your bath,” Annie said cheerfully.

“Well, get on with it, then.” Miss Walker continued to rip through the wax seals one after another with a letter opener. After perusing each letter, she scribbled notes onto the margins with a pencil, presumably to remind herself how she wished to respond.

After giving Miss Walker a sponge bath and helping her into a clean nightgown, Annie reached for the hairbrush. The best way to contain Miss Walker’s long gray hair was to work it into a single plait.

As she interwove the strands, she planned her day. She still hadn’t talked to all the ranch hands; the blacksmith, Michael, was
first on her list. If he was half as talkative as his aunt, he might have something useful to say.

“Why, the nerve!” Miss Walker’s body shook and the bed springs groaned. “That’s the second time in two years the county’s tried to raise my taxes and I won’t have it.”

Accustomed to the woman’s outbursts while reading her mail, Annie paid little heed as she quickly contained each silvery strand. Reaching for a blue ribbon, she tightly wound it around the feathery-tipped braid.

Annie was about to leave the room when Miss Walker stopped her. “Go to my office and fetch paper and pen. I need you to write letters. And hurry. I haven’t got all day.”

All day was exactly what Miss Walker had but Annie wasn’t about to contradict her. Instead she hastened downstairs to the office.

Able had left earlier to go into town for supplies and she missed the cheerful sound of pots and pans, along with his merry whistling.

Annie walked through the large room but something made her stop. She distinctly remembered leaving the door to Miss Walker’s office open and now it was closed. Strange. Ear against the wood, she listened. Nothing. Out of habit, she reached into the false pocket of her skirt to feel for her weapon.

She turned the knob and flung the door open. Curtains fluttered at the window. The wind had evidently caused the door to close. Mystery solved, she headed straight for the desk. The penholder was empty. She knew she had replaced the fountain pen the previous day.

She opened the top drawer, hoping to find a writing implement, but instead found a tintype of a young girl. Odd. The photograph wasn’t there when she did a previous search of the office looking for personnel files.

She lifted the image out of the drawer and held it to the light.
The picture was dark and faded but not enough to hide the child’s pretty face. She turned it over but the back was blank. She discounted the idea that it was a photograph of Miss Walker as a child; tintypes weren’t available until the late 1850s.

Annie replaced the photo and checked the other drawers for a pen. Except for the photograph, nothing else seemed out of order. Still, she had the strangest feeling that someone had searched the desk. The question was why.

A soft scraping sound startled her. “Who’s there?”

A man emerged from behind the door and Annie shrank back in her chair. He elbowed the door shut, trapping them both inside the small office.

He poked at the brim of his Stetson and pushed it upward. Cobalt eyes met hers and it was all she could do to catch her breath. She would know those eyes anywhere.

“Wh-what are you doing here?”

No question about it; this was the outlaw who stole her watch on the train. The thief caught her unawares, which gave him the upper hand, but she would relieve him of his advantage as quickly as possible. Surreptitiously, she slid her hand into her false pocket.

Finger to his mouth, he motioned her to stay quiet. “Take it easy. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She squeezed the grip of her derringer. He didn’t know it, but it was his own skin in danger, not hers.

“It’s Miss Beckman, right? Miss Annie Beckman.”

Under normal circumstances she might have been flattered that he remembered her name, but today she felt no such pleasure. “Why aren’t you in jail?”

The man flashed a smile, revealing perfect white teeth. He looked different somehow and it took her a moment to figure out
why. The last time she saw him, he had a mustache and whiskers. Today he was clean-shaven. His lack of facial hair revealed a previously unnoticed cleft on his fine chiseled jaw and made his eyes look even bluer, if that was possible.

“You’re not alone in wanting to see me there,” he said. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“It’s where you belong.” Her legs trembled and that was not a good sign. An operative couldn’t afford to be nervous or anxious during a confrontation. To remind herself that she had everything under control, she squeezed the grip of her gun tight.

He narrowed his eyes and studied her. Imagining that most women in her spot would look for an escape or, at the very least, a weapon, she let her gaze fly to the paperweight on the desk.

His gaze followed hers. “Ah, a lady willing to defend herself. I like that.” He gave another smile and her heart skipped a beat. The dimple on his right cheek matched the soft impression on his chin. With very little effort, he could probably charm the hide off a steer.

“But you needn’t bother,” he continued. “If you do as I say, neither of us will get hurt.” He moved closer and tossed a pen on the desk. “I believe you were looking for that. A bad habit of mine, I’m afraid. I tend to keep every pen I lay my hands on.”

“One of many bad habits, I would think,” she said, determined not to let his charming ways or pleasing looks distract her. “What do you want? What are you doing here?”

“I’m the new ranch hand. If we should happen to bump into one another, you are to act like you don’t know me.”

The nerve of the man. Who did he think he was, coming here and giving her orders? “You’re out of your mind.”

He arched a brow. “That is neither here nor there. Do we have an understanding?”

The man’s audacity might have been amusing under other circumstances but today it was plain unbelievable. “Why would I do the bidding of an outlaw?”

“I believe the lady has a few secrets of her own that she would prefer not to have known.”

She studied him. He couldn’t possibly know she was a Pinkerton detective. So what did he think he had over her? She decided to call his bluff. “I have no secrets.”

He arched an eyebrow. “None?” He feigned a look of disappointment. “A woman without secrets is like a rose without fragrance.”

She smiled; she couldn’t seem to help herself. “We can now add bad poetry to your list of crimes.”

“And we can add evasiveness to yours. I saw you handing one of our gang members an envelope on the train.” He studied her as if measuring her reaction. “So I know you’re a member of the Phantom gang too. I’m sure our mutual boss would frown on you turning me in—a member of your own family, so to speak.”

Annie’s mind spun. He accused
her
of belonging to the Phantom gang? It wasn’t just absurd, it was downright laughable. Only her considerable acting skills allowed her to keep a straight face. Still, if she played her cards right this might work in her favor. What better way to pump information from him than to let him think she was one of
them.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said.

“You know I am.” Amusement danced in his eyes.

Lord forgive her for thinking it, but he was a handsome, devilish rogue. Had she met him under any other circumstances, well, who knows what might have happened? Dismayed by the thought—and even a little ashamed—she gave herself a mental kick and clenched her jaw. It wasn’t like her to let her mind wander when working a case.

His eyes hardened. “You keep quiet about my identity and I’ll
extend you the same courtesy.” He shrugged. “Sounds reasonable, wouldn’t you say?”

She pretended to consider his offer. Bright sunshine slanted through the open window, making him look deceptively honest. Thank goodness she had the sense to know it was the lighting and not the man giving the impression of integrity.

“How did you escape?” It seemed like a reasonable question given that he now considered her practically
family
.

He shrugged. “You’d be amazed what you can do if you know the right people.”

She wondered if by “right people” he included the marshal. It would certainly explain his release and, unfortunately, she was no stranger to corrupt lawmen.

She matched his frank scrutiny with equal regard. “I assume it was you who returned the watch.”

“I had no choice. It doesn’t seem right to steal from one’s family, so to speak.” He hung his thumbs from his bullet-studded gun belt, drawing her gaze down the length of him. He certainly took full advantage of his clothing. His wide shoulders and well-muscled chest stretched the fabric of his well-worn shirt to the limits. His long legs looked as sturdy as tree trunks.

She took a deep breath; she didn’t want to think about this.

“So what do you say?” he asked. “Do we have a deal?”

She pretended to hesitate. If she appeared too anxious he might become suspicious. “I’ll keep your secret, Mr. . . .”

“The ranch hands call me Branch. Just plain Branch.”

“I’ll keep your secret,
Mr.
Branch, but if you dare hurt a hair on that old lady’s head . . .”

Branch reared back, his face suffused with surprise. “Considering the way she treats you, I can’t imagine that you care.”

The only way he would know how Miss Walker treated her was by eavesdropping. That was something that the Pinkerton brothers frowned upon, along with offering sexual favors in exchange for information. She would never consider using such tactics, of course, but she wouldn’t put it past this man to utilize his considerable good looks to his own advantage any way he could.

“I’ll keep your secret,” she said. “For now.”

His crooked smile made her heart skip a beat. She reminded herself that he was a thief and trespasser and that the two of them were about to embark on a dangerous, if not altogether lethal, liaison.

“I’m sure our mutual boss will approve,” he said.

She moistened her lips. The way his gaze clung to her mouth told her it wasn’t just business on his mind. The thought wasn’t altogether unpleasant and warmth crept up her neck. She gave herself a mental shake. They were on opposite sides of the law and she’d best not forget it.

Regaining control of her senses, she leaned forward. “I do have a small request.”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Go on.”

“I would rather that you didn’t mention our meeting to . . . our mutual boss.” The moment he mentioned her to the Phantom, the game would be over, for then both men would know she was playing a role.

She could almost see the wheels turning in his head. “And why is that?” he asked.

She had to think fast. “It was careless of me to be seen with that envelope. And you know how our . . . mutual boss . . . despises carelessness.”

She tried to read the calculating look that flashed across his face. Did he believe her?

“It seems that you have more secrets than a spinster’s diary,” he said.

Relief washed over her. Confidence restored, she relaxed and pulled her hand out of her false pocket. Elbows on the desk, she steepled her fingers. It was a masculine move learned from her father and one that signaled power.

“I won’t reveal who you are, Mr. Branch, but you can be certain I’ll watch you like a hawk.”

A devastating smile inched across his handsome face. “And I’ll watch
you
,” he drawled. “In fact, I look forward to it.” Without another word, he turned and walked out of the office.

Taggert paused at the gate of the courtyard outside the ranch house.
“I won’t reveal who you are, Mr. Branch.”

“No, I don’t imagine you will, Miss
Beckman
.”