Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) (27 page)

Annie glanced at him. Did he know something she didn’t? She wouldn’t put it past him.

Stackman wagged his head. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more service.” He hesitated. “My main concern is Eleanor’s safety. Is there a chance that she might be in any sort of danger?”

“We’ll keep an eye on her,” Taggert promised, meeting Annie’s gaze.

“Yes,
we
will,” she said. But she sent a visual message that said,
That’s all we’ll do together.

As if to read her thoughts, Taggert frowned before turning his gaze back to the banker. “We won’t take up any more of your time.” He slapped both hands on his thighs and stood.

Annie stood too, as did Mr. Stackman.

“I’ll see if I can speed up the telephone work,” Stackman said. “I’ll feel a whole lot better when the telephone is installed at the ranch.”

Taggert checked his watch. “That would be a great help.”

Annie offered the banker her hand and he took it. “A Pinkerton, eh. I never would have guessed it.”

If the astonishment on Marshal Morris’s face was any indication, he obviously hadn’t guessed Annie’s profession either.

“Well, I’ll be a skunk’s uncle.” He lowered himself on the chair behind his desk, his eyes wide beneath his craggy brows. “I should have known something was up that day you came in here and started asking all those questions.”

“She thought you and I were in cahoots,” Taggert said and laughed.

“Which of course you were,” Annie said, “but not how I imagined.”

The marshal shook his head. “If we can’t figure out the good guys, how in tarnation will we ever figure out the bad?” He stared at her like he still couldn’t believe it. “What would make a woman decide to be a Pink?”

“My father was an operative.”

“I guess that explains it, then.”

“Nothing on this end, eh?” Taggert asked.

The marshal clasped his hands. “No clues as to who the Phantom might be, but I’m afraid I do have some bad news. I checked out the deserted cabins north of town and I found a corpse. We were able to identify the body as the missing Wells Fargo detective.”

Taggert sat forward and the blood drained from his face. “How did he die?” His voice was ragged and sounded unlike him.

“Blow to the head.”

Taggert sucked in his breath.

Annie frowned. “Do you think the Phantom had something to do with it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.” The marshal’s gaze traveled between the two of them. “And if so, that means we’re not just dealing with a thief, but a killer as well.” His horseshoe mustache twitched. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll watch your backs. Both of you.”

Taggert shot out of the marshal’s office like cannon fire. He’d suspected his friend was dead, but that hadn’t made the news any easier to bear.

“Branch!” He stopped at the sound of Annie’s voice but didn’t turn around. He wanted—needed—to be alone.

She caught up to him and the concern in her eyes pierced the heaviness of his heart. “He was a friend, wasn’t he? The Wells Fargo agent was your friend.”

“Yeah.” Forcing the word out was like pushing a boulder up a mountain. He swallowed and tried again. “He was a friend.” Not only was Paul Lester his best friend, Taggert had talked him into becoming a Wells Fargo detective.

Her face darkened with emotion and her thick lashes lowered as if in prayer. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. After a moment she touched his arm. “We’ll find who did this.”

We
. She said
we
. A short time ago he wanted to work with her, but not now. With one undercover agent dead, the stakes were now a whole lot higher.

He touched a hand to her cheek and nudged away a tiny strand of hair from the side of her face with his fingertip. “You must leave the ranch,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It’s too dangerous.”

She pushed his hand away and he could almost see a determined streak race across her face. “I know it’s dangerous.”

“No, you don’t know.” He grabbed her roughly by the arms, his fingers digging into her flesh. “Go home, Annie. This is no job for a lady.”

Anger flashed in her eyes and she pulled away. “I’m every bit as capable as a man.”

“Which means you’re also capable of getting yourself killed.” The thought of anything happening to her nearly crushed him. “Annie, please . . .”

She lifted her chin. “I’m staying.” She whirled about and stormed away.

“Have it your way,” he yelled after her. He pounded a fist into the palm of his hand. Fool, stubborn woman!

That afternoon Annie walked into the parlor, tray in hand. Miss Walker looked up from her writing tablet and grimaced. She looked every bit the ranch owner in her divided skirt, masculine shirt, single booted foot, and wide-brim hat. Even her plastered leg didn’t take away from her cool, efficient appearance.

“What poison do you have planned for me this afternoon?” she asked.

Annie set the tray on the low table in front of the sofa. “Jasmine. It has a lovely aroma that should help take away the awful smell.” She’d kept the windows and doors tightly shut and candles lit but the smell of ashes permeated the house.

Miss Walker set her pencil and notebook next to the tea tray.

Annie reached for the pad. The page was filled with lines and boxes. It was a simple drawing, almost childish in nature. “What’s this?”

“My new barn and stables,” Miss Walker replied.

Annie stared at the sketch, her detective mind spinning like the works of a clock. The ashes weren’t even cold and already Miss Walker had drawn up plans, but that didn’t mean she had instigated the fire. The woman had somehow managed to turn every setback of the past into an advantage. Evidently she intended to do so now. It was one of the things Annie most admired about her.

“It looks enormous.” There were at least twice as many horse stalls.

“Of course it does,” Miss Walker assured her. “What good is a fire if something bigger and better doesn’t come out of it?”

Annie set the sketch down and picked up the teapot. “Branch . . . believes that it was arson,” she said carefully.

Miss Walker didn’t look the least bit surprised or even disturbed. “Hmm. An arsonist.” She shrugged. “Then I owe him my most profound gratitude. I wanted to rebuild and now I shall.”

Miss Walker’s casual attitude would normally be cause for suspicion, but unless there was insurance money involved, there would be no need to resort to such tactics. Had she wanted to rebuild that badly, Miss Walker would have simply done so.

“Does the ranch have fire insurance?” Annie thought she knew the answer, but she had to make sure.

Just as she suspected, Miss Walker shook her head no. “Insurance for what? Stucco and sand? An old wooden barn that should have been replaced when I built the ranch house?”

Annie poured the tea and handed a cup of the steaming brew to Miss Walker. She tried to think how best to phrase the next question but then decided to come right out with it. “Do you by chance have any enemies?”

Miss Walker’s eyes shone with a wry but indulgent glint. “Of course I have enemies. Making enemies is so much easier than making friends, and they’re far less trouble to maintain.”

Her answer was just what Annie had come to expect from her. She filled her own cup and sat in the chair opposite. “Is there anyone in particular who might wish to see you harmed?”

“No, but I daresay many would gladly dance on my grave.” She laughed at Annie’s expression. “Some people say to forgive your enemies. My plan is to simply outlive them.” Miss Walker took a sip of tea and grimaced. “That is, if you don’t poison me first.”

Chapter 23

Imitation might be the sincerest form of flattery,
but to a forger it’s also the quickest route to riches.

A
nnie had just finished serving Miss Walker her breakfast in the dining room when shouts sounded from outside.

Miss Walker’s fork stilled. “Don’t tell me my men are fighting again.”

“I’ll go and see.” Annie hurried from the room and stepped onto the veranda. A group of men was gathered in front of the bunkhouse. Wishbone, already on his horse, flew by the ranch house, kicking up dirt in his wake.

She strained to get a better view and Miss Walker joined her on crutches.

“It looks like someone’s hurt,” Annie said.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Miss Walker snapped. “Go and see who it is.”

Moments later Annie broke through the ring of men circling the injured man. It was Taggert. She covered her mouth and watched in mute wretchedness as the men struggled to lift him off the ground.

Stretch held Taggert under the arms and Feedbag held him by the feet. He was breathing but unconscious.

“What happened?” she managed.

“Thrown from his horse,” Ruckus said. “Looks like he’s got himself one of them there concussions. Wishbone’s on his way to town to fetch the doctor.”

She turned to the black steed tethered to the hitching post in front of the bunkhouse. Her detective skills dulled by the fog of worry, her instincts nonetheless remained sharp. Frowning, she ran her hand along the horse’s slick neck.

“Wait,” she called, stopping the two men. “Take Branch to the main house. He can stay in one of the guest rooms.”

Stretch and Feedbag exchanged looks.

O.T. stepped forward, his craggy face all serious. “I don’t know that the boss lady will like a cowhand staying in her house like he’s a guest or somethin’.”

“He’s injured,” Annie said in a tone that forbade further discussion. She didn’t want to tell them that she feared for Taggert’s safety.

O.T. shrugged and tossed a nod toward the ranch house. Stretch and Feedbag reversed directions and Annie led the way.

The two men carried Taggert up the stairs and placed him in the room next to Annie’s. They didn’t bother to undress him except for his boots and holster. The bed seemed too small for Taggert’s large form and his feet hung off the edge of the mattress.

“Would you ask Able to bring me some ice?” she asked.

“Sure thing,” Stretch said. The two men left the room, leaving the door ajar.

Moments later Able entered wearing a flour-covered apron and carrying a chunk of ice wrapped in a towel. It looked like he’d been working over a hot stove and his face was almost as red as his hair. “Is he going to be all right?”