Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) (20 page)

Miss Walker leveled her gaze at Stretch. “And what dreadful crimes are you guilty of, pray tell?”

Stretch cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like a rubber ball. “I’m a wanted man, but it’s all a misunderstanding. All I did was walk into a bank and a woman teller thrust a bag of money at me.”

Miss Walker narrowed her eyes. “Why would she do that?”

“She mistook me for an outlaw. That’s ’cause it was a windy day and I wore a kerchief over my face to keep from swallowing dust. I tried to explain but everyone in the bank dropped to the floor.” He shrugged. “I figured, heck, if they’re gonna throw money around, who am I to argue?”

Annie couldn’t make up her mind if Stretch spoke the truth or was simply weaving one of his tall tales. Probably a little of both.

Miss Walker waved her hand in dismissal. “Who indeed?”

Dr. Fairbanks began examining Miss Walker, asking her a series of questions. Stretch and Ruckus left but Branch stayed.

“You can go now,” Annie said, keeping her voice low. “Unless, of course, you also have a confession to make.”

“Confession might be good for the soul but it doesn’t do much for one’s reputation,” he whispered back. “What about you? Anything you dare confess?”

“I have a perfectly clear conscience,” she said.

His gaze settled on her mouth. “And not so much as a wayward thought ever crossed your mind?”

She refused to let him intimidate her. “Not a one.”

His eyes met hers. “What a pity.”

He moved away. Shaken, she stared at his back. How did he do that? One look from him and she was a quivering mess inside. She tightened her hands into fists. Whatever his little game, it had to stop. Now!

Dr. Fairbanks finished checking Miss Walker’s pulse and blood pressure. He folded his stethoscope and stuffed it into his black bag. “See that she doesn’t overdo. I’ll be back in a day or two.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Annie fingered the envelope in her pocket, which she hoped he would mail for her. She wrote to ask Pinkerton to check the files for the name Taggert. “I’ll see you out.”

“You needn’t trouble yourself,” Branch said, stepping between her and the doctor. “I’ll be more than happy to do the honors.”

“Don’t rush off.” Miss Walker arranged a pillow behind her back. She looked tired, her face strained, but she showed no sign of giving in. “Stay and join us for afternoon tea. You too, Branch. I haven’t had a chance to get to know you.” She swung her gaze to Annie. “What poison do you have planned for today?”

Annie stared straight at Branch. “Gunpowder.”

He grinned. “Sounds lethal.”

It took every bit of willpower not to be charmed by his crooked smile. “Not lethal enough.”

Dr. Fairbanks donned his hat. “Thank you, but I’m due back in town. I have patients scheduled for this afternoon. Come along—Branch, is it? I’ll show you how to crank up the car.”

The two men walked out of the room.

Annie wanted to scream. Branch knew she wanted to be alone with the doctor. It was as if he could read her mind.

“Well? Don’t just stand there.” Miss Walker waved Annie away. “Go do your tea thing. We’ve got letters to write.”

Able shook his head as Annie set cups and saucers on a tray. The kitchen was hot and beads of sweat battled with the freckles on his forehead. Even his cook hat seemed to droop more than usual.

“Pity sakes, Miz Annie. You’re hoppin’ around like a mad toad. The way you’re taking it out on the dishware, we ain’t gonna have none left.” He pointed to a bowl on the counter covered with a moist cloth. “Why not put all that fury to good use and knead my dough?”

Feeling guilty for taking her frustration out on Able, she apologized. It wasn’t his fault that Branch flustered her the way he did. She washed her hands and sprinkled them with flour. She then lifted the cloth and worked the soft mound of dough with the heels of her palms. Her efforts probably did wonders for the bread but failed to calm the knot of emotions churning inside.

Able covered the bowl with the cloth. He attended his dough like a mother with a newborn babe. “So what’s got you so riled up?”

“Nothing. I’m just anxious to get back to Miss Walker. She’s no longer in traction but she still has a cast.”

“Sounds like your days as a nursemaid are numbered.” He poured boiling water into the teapot, swished the pot around, and emptied it.

He waited for her to measure out the tea leaves before filling the pot with hot water.

“Gunpowder tea from China,” she said. The tea was rolled by hand to protect the fragile leaves. She loved the little popping sounds the pellets made as they unfurled.

Able set the kettle on the stove and added a plate of freshly baked cookies. “Do you want me to do the hocus-pocus thing of yours?”

“I’ll do it.” Hocus-pocus indeed! She placed her hands on the teapot and turned it slowly. She inhaled the smoky smell that drifted from the spout and thought of her grandmother, whom she still missed after all these years. “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.”

Feeling more in control, she carried the tray out of the kitchen and down the hall. The sound of Miss Walker’s laughter was followed by what sounded suspiciously like the whinny of a horse.

What in the world . . . ?
Annie stepped into the entry hall, her mouth open. Miss Walker’s red roan, Baxter, stood in the middle of the large room.

Branch was the first to speak. “I thought Miss Walker would like to see for herself how her horse was doing in her absence.”

The man never failed to surprise her and was unlike any criminal she’d ever pursued. Why would a man capable of such kindness to an old lady choose a life of crime? He was like two separate people rolled into one.

Miss Walker smacked her lips and ran her hands along her horse’s withers. It did Annie’s heart good to see the ranch owner looking contented and less like an invalid.

The horse dipped his head and buried his nose in her hand. Laughing like a schoolgirl, Miss Walker stroked his muzzle. “You old crow bait. They been taking good care of you?” Right on cue the horse’s head bobbed up and down.

Annie was still staring at the horse and its owner when Branch
stepped in front of her. “May I?” Without waiting for a response, he took the tray from her hands and set it on the low table. The chairs had been moved aside to make room for the animal.

She sidled up to him. “What you did for Miss Walker . . . it’s very thoughtful of you.” She kept her voice low.

“Yes, wasn’t it?”

She frowned. His mocking tone made her wonder if perhaps he had an ulterior motive for seeking Miss Walker’s favor. Like a mother shielding her child, she felt a protective surge rush through her. Whatever his game, he’d better not involve the old lady.

“I’m surprised she didn’t give you a tongue-lashing about damage to her floors,” she said, though it was doubtful that anything could harm the red terra-cotta tiles.

“Considering the company she keeps, the floors should be the least of her worries,” he whispered back.

“I quite agree,” she replied coolly, or at least as coolly as her trembling limbs would allow.

“Did you recover from your late-night outing?” he asked.

No
. Aloud she said, “Yes, thank you.”

“A woman shouldn’t wander about the desert at night.” The dark look in his eyes belied the concern in his voice. “It could be . . . dangerous.”

“So I discovered,” she said.

“Can I take that to mean we’re in accord and that from now on you will confine your walks to daytime?”

No such accord prevailed. “Is that an order?” she asked. What was he afraid she’d discover? She’d already caught him with the banker. Who else might she find him with?

He folded his arms and regarded her from beneath a furrowed brow. “Just a bit of friendly advice from one
family
member to another.”

A warning if she ever heard one. “Your advice is . . . well taken,” she said.
Over
my
dead
body.

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, he glanced at the tray. “Do you mind if I help myself to some of that . . . what did you call it?”

“Gunpowder tea.” She picked up the teapot. “Oh dear, you’ll have to forgive me. I only brought two cups.”

“He can have mine,” Miss Walker called from the couch.

The man whose name she now knew was Taggert cracked a crooked, heart-pounding smile. “Care to join me, Miss Beckman?”

That night Annie couldn’t sleep and after hours of twisting and turning, she finally gave up. She checked her watch in the light of the moon. It was a little after 3:00 a.m. Sighing, she walked out onto the balcony. The night air was brisk but felt good against her fevered brow.

If only she could quiet her raging thoughts. Names ran through her head like sand through a sieve. Stretch, Ruckus, Feedbag . . . could any of them be the Phantom? Then there was Wishbone and—

Before she could run through the entire list of suspects, the sound of galloping hooves alerted her. The horse came to a stop and the rider slid from the saddle.

Who was out riding at this time of night? She leaned over the railing to get a closer look but horse and rider had disappeared into the stables.

She rushed into her room, quickly threw on her clothes, and grabbed a shawl. Moments later she crept through the courtyard. Light shone through the cracks between the wooden boards. The night rider had lit a lantern.

She peered through a knothole. Michael!

She drew back. What was he doing out so late? Aunt Bessie’s nephew was the one person she hadn’t seriously considered a suspect, which was why she hadn’t pursued him. She didn’t want to consider him even now.

It was moments like this when she hated her job.

The light went out and Michael emerged. She stood perfectly still while he headed in the opposite direction toward the bunkhouse. A strong smell of bay rum drifted toward her and her nose twitched.

He vanished into the building. Moving away from the barn, she hurried to the house. She paused at the gate to glance around and a cold shiver ran down her spine.

The strangest feeling came over her and hairs stood up on the back of her head. A dark form standing a distance away told her that someone else stood watching too.

Chapter 17

A con artist is usually a man of many convictions.

M
r. Stackman stopped at the ranch house on his way home from Tombstone, bringing with him the Sunday
Epitaph.
He also had other news to share: The buyer
from the East was determined to purchase the ranch and had
increased his two previous offers. Again, Miss Walker refused to consider selling.

After the banker left, Annie sat on a chair opposite Miss Walker and broached the subject with care. “It sounded like a generous offer,” she said, though she couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to purchase a cattle ranch in the current economy.

Miss Walker glanced up from the newspaper. “My daughter is buried here and so are my parents.” She said nothing about her former husband. “One day I will be buried here too.”

As if to announce the subject closed, she turned back to her newspaper and groaned. “There they go again, suggesting that we ranchers build fish ponds.”

Annie frowned. “Fish ponds?”

“It’s the latest madness. Not long ago it was all about barbed wire. That was going to save us ranchers. Now it’s farming fish. That’s all we cattle ranchers need to worry about. Fish!”

“Is there anything in the paper about the train robbers?” Annie asked.

“Nothing,” Miss Walker said. “Not a thing.”

Annie hesitated a moment before venturing forth with the next question. “How well do you know Mr. Stackman?”

Miss Walker lowered the newspaper. “Robert? I’ve known him for years. He’s a good friend. Why do you ask?”

“I was just . . . curious.”
Curious
hardly described Annie’s interest in Mr. Stackman. He now topped her list of suspects.

Miss Walker folded the newspaper and tossed it aside. “If he had his way, I would have married him years ago.”

“Why didn’t you?” Annie asked.