Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) (21 page)

“The ranch.” Miss Walker sighed. “It’s my life and no man wants a wife who puts her work first.”

Annie knew from experience that what Miss Walker said was true. Every man who’d ever courted her had soon grown weary of her sudden disappearances and long absences. Of course, it didn’t help that she had to keep her occupation secret. After a while, she ran out of excuses for having to leave town. One man decided she had too many “sick” relatives for his liking and ended the courtship. Another beau accused her of seeing someone else.

“Is that why you insist that your heiress sign a spinster pact?” she asked.

Miss Walker chuckled. “Never thought of it in those terms, but yes. It’s either the ranch or a man. You can’t have both.”

“Lots of male ranchers are married,” Annie said.

“Yes, but that’s only because most women are fools. They’ll take
whatever a man dishes out, even neglect. Men are far more demanding and far less forgiving.”

Annie wondered if any of the Pinkerton operatives would agree. The nature of the detective business made it impossible to have any sort of normal life, even for men. Many who ventured into marriage ended up divorced or estranged—her father the exception, though who knew how long her parents’ marriage would have lasted had her mother not died of consumption at such a young age.

“Do you think that’s true of all men?” she asked.

“All that I’ve ever met.” She studied Annie. “As you no doubt know, I was married once. Years ago. Once you go through a divorce . . . trust me. You don’t ever want to go through that again.”

“It must have been very difficult,” Annie said.

“You have no idea, but Ralph gave me no choice. He said it was either him or the ranch.” Her gaze sliced through Annie like a bullet. “Having second thoughts?”

Annie frowned. “About what?”

“About the stipulations that will prevent you from marrying, should you become my heiress.”

Annie couldn’t imagine anyone signing such a document but her job required her to play her role to the hilt. Such deception was, after all, for the greater good. Wasn’t that what she always told herself? Only this time it didn’t work; she hated being dishonest, especially with the old lady.

“Well, are you?” Miss Walker snapped. “Speak up, girl.”

“No. No second thoughts,” Annie said, but the words tasted like acid on her tongue.

Miss Walker gave her a piercing look. “You seem to be on friendly terms with the new man, Branch.”

Annie’s face blazed. “I was just thanking him for bringing your horse to you.”

“Hmm. Makes me wonder which of us he was trying to impress. Me or you.”

“It would do him no good to impress me,” Annie said. “The man’s a—” She caught herself just in time. Revealing that he was an outlaw would serve no real purpose at this time, and might even hinder her investigation.

“Go on,” Miss Walker said. “You were saying?”

“I was just going to say he strikes me as a . . . ladies’ man,” Annie said.

Miss Walker greeted this news with raised eyebrows. “In that case, I’d better watch my step.” Offering no clue as to whether she was joking, Miss Walker abruptly changed the subject. “Would you mind asking Able to help me upstairs before he turns in?”

“Yes, of course.” Annie rose and thought of something. “I meant to ask you, what’s on the range east of here?”

Miss Walker stifled a yawn. “What do you mean?”

“Occasionally I see a light at night and I was just wondering what was out there.”

“Nothing’s out there, just desert and cattle. Perhaps what you saw was a windmill. Sometimes moonlight bounces off the steel blades.”

“That must have been it,” Annie said, though she was almost positive that it wasn’t.

The following morning Annie crossed to the barn looking for Ruckus. She found him sitting on a stack of hay, his crooked nose buried in a letter.

Ruckus shook his head but didn’t look up.

She sat on the hay by his side. “Bad news?” she asked. It was unusual to see him look so serious.

“My son. He’s now officially an ordained preacher.”

“Why, that’s wonderful, Ruckus. You must be very proud.” She studied him. The skin that previously supported a mustache was now sunburned. “So why do you look so downhearted?”

“I counted on him settling down in Cactus Patch and preaching at our church. We need a new preacher. Don’t get me wrong; I like Reverend Bland, but he’s a circuit rider and can only make it here every other week or so. We need a full-timer.”

“Where does your son plan to preach?” Annie asked.

“Africa. Would you believe such a thing? His mother will have a conniption.” Ruckus folded the letter and tucked it into his vest pocket. “I don’t know why he has to preach the gospel in a foreign country. We got all the sinners a body could want right here in Cactus Patch.”

Annie patted his arm. “Have you told him how you feel? Perhaps if he knows how much you want him to preach here, he’ll change his mind.”

“It don’t matter how I feel. It’s not my son’s job to please me. It’s his job to please God, and he told me plain out that this is what God means for him to do.”

She drew her hand away and said nothing. She didn’t know what to say. She’d spent nearly her entire life trying to please her father. As the only girl, she’d had to work ten times harder than her brothers to gain her father’s attention. Old habits died hard. Even now, three years after his death, she never stopped trying to earn his approval. Not once in all that time had she thought to ask whether God had another plan.

His eyebrows met. “Sorry,” he said. “Don’t mean to bother you with my troubles. You look like you got enough of your own. The boss lady giving you a hard time?”

She shook her head. Miss Walker was the least of her troubles. “I guess all this talk about the Phantom has made me nervous,” she said, though in reality she was frustrated by her lack of progress in tracking him down.

“You don’t have to be nervous. Me and the boys won’t let anything happen to you or the boss lady.”

She smiled. “It’s hard not to worry. Maybe if I was able to lock the ranch house doors, I could relax more. As it is, anyone can walk in.”

“If it’s locks you want, then it’s locks you’ll get. I’ll have Michael take care of it today.”

She had no idea it would be that easy. “Thank you, Ruckus. I feel better already.”

He grinned, his normal good humor restored.

She gave careful thought to what to say next. As much as she wanted to believe that Ruckus was as honest and forthright as he seemed, she couldn’t take a chance. It never paid to underestimate a criminal, especially one as cunning as the Phantom.

“Another thing . . . the other night I saw lights on the east range. I was just wondering what was out there.”

She studied him, but his only reaction was a shrug. “Not much of anything. Cattle, cactus, and old bones. Far as I know, none of them carry lanterns.”

She smiled. “Miss Walker suggested it was moonlight glancing off a windmill.”

“Could be.” He cocked his head. “You weren’t thinking it was the Phantom roaming the desert?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“That’s the problem with suspicion. Once it takes root there ain’t no stoppin’ it. Colors everythin’. Suspicion makes every rock look like a monster.”

What Ruckus said was true; it was an occupational hazard.

“Reminds me of a story my son told me,” Ruckus said after a while. “A traveler stopped by a church and inquired as to the kind of people who worshipped there. Said the people at his former church were a bunch of hypocrites.

“The old minister shook his head and said, ‘You won’t find any different here,’ and the traveler moved on. A little while later, another traveler stopped by and inquired as to the kind of people belongin’ to the church. He ’xplained that his former church was filled with warm and carin’ people and it saddened him to move away. The minister shook the traveler’s hand and said, ‘You’ll find the same kind of people here.’”

She eyed him thoughtfully. “Are you saying we should all don rose-colored glasses?”

He shook his head. “What I’m sayin’ is that we see what we want to see. Some of the boys see the Phantom in everyone, and that’s asking for trouble.”

“They’re not alone. Aunt Bessie even suggested that Miss Walker was the Phantom.”

Ruckus chuckled. “That’s about as dumb as settin’ a milk bucket under a bull. You better not let the boss lady hear that.”

“She already knows and she thought it was a fine joke.” She picked up a piece of straw and twirled it in her fingers. “It’s hard to know what to believe or whom to trust.”

“It’s times like this that you best put your trust in the Lord.” Ruckus slanted a glance at her. “God’s as trustworthy as an old bloodhound.”

Annie smiled at the image that came to mind. “You still feel that way? Even though He called your son to Africa?”

Ruckus nodded. “I still feel that way. Oh, I rant and rave sometimes ’bout God’s will, but in the end it always works out for the best.”

She wished she had Ruckus’s trusting faith. Hers was a questioning faith. At times she interrogated God like He was one of her suspects.
If
You’re so good, God, why do You allow so much evil to exist?
Her job required her to mingle with criminals, and after a while it took its toll. Even her father made that complaint and said it was the thing he hated most about being an operative; after a while you saw nothing but bad in people.

She tried to combat the problem by constantly reminding herself of all the good in the world, but it was hard and sometimes even impossible.

She brushed pieces of straw from her skirt. “So do you think the Phantom is on the ranch?”

“Nah. I’ll vouch for each and every one of the boys.”

“Even the new man, Branch?” she asked.

Before he could answer, a voice rang out, “What about me?” Taggert stepped into the barn.

Her pulse skittered and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Somehow his very presence seemed to suck the air out of every space he entered.

Ruckus stood. “She was just asking me if I thought you were the Phantom.”

Branch’s brows lifted. “And how did you plan to answer?” He asked the question of Ruckus but he kept his gaze squarely on her.

“I was about to say that if you were an outlaw, I’d eat my hat.” Ruckus stretched out his arms and sauntered away, spurs jingling. “Come on, we have work to do.”

Taggert stared at her a moment, a puzzled look on his face, before turning to follow Ruckus.

“I’d hate to think that a fine Christian man like Ruckus should have to eat his hat,” she called after him.

Taggert stopped, his back to her. “Perhaps we should suggest a straw hat.” He cast a glance over his shoulder, his hooded eyes impossible to read. “They’re easier to digest.”

Chapter 18

To a pickpocket, the world is at his fingertips.

T
aggert kept a detailed log on all the ranch hands. He knew what time each man left in the morning and how they spent their days. He’d searched Miss Walker’s office and had even managed to open her safe one night, but could find no personnel files.

Having no written records, he had to depend on astute observation and an attentive ear. It was a slow but effective process. He knew where each man had started on the road of life and had a pretty good idea how each wound up at the Last Chance.

It was possible to tell where a cowpuncher came from by the way he rode his horse. Those from the northern country of Montana and Wyoming sat back on the rig with stirrups in front. Cowboys from the South sat straight up from head to feet. The differences between northern and southern cowboys showed up in all areas of ranch work, from the way a man roped a steer to the way he rigged his horse.

He knew which cowpunchers were quick to anger and which were even-tempered. He could pretty much guess who went to church with a faithful heart and who went to socialize.

He’d narrowed the suspects down to three, four if he counted Old Timer. Stretch, Wishbone, and Michael headed his list.

The question that plagued him was where Miss Beckman belonged on his list of suspects. The woman was like a butterfly flitting from bloom to bloom. In the last twenty-four hours alone, Taggert had found her laughing with Stretch, discussing politics with Wishbone, helping Brodie calm a skittish mustang, and discussing family and God with Ruckus.

Taggert even caught a glimpse of her the night Michael returned home in the wee hours of the morn, and it wasn’t the first time he’d seen the two of them together at odd times.

She seemed perfectly at ease around men and didn’t so much as blush when one of the cowpunchers forgot his manners and used a curse word in her presence. Either she was raised with brothers or had spent a great deal of time around males.

Though she remained perfectly ladylike in speech and manner, the intensity in her eyes at times puzzled him. It was as if she was out to prove herself to someone or something. The Phantom? It was hard to know.

At other times she gazed at him with what could only be described as sadness. Was it sadness for him or for herself? Either way, he had to resist a nearly overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and comfort her.