Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) (29 page)

Feedbag’s eyes widened. “You don’t say.”

She studied him. “Who do you think would do such a thing?”

He shrugged. “Maybe Branch caught someone trying to steal our horses. Could have been a drifter. Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to take off with our stock.”

It was a plausible theory, and had it not been for all the strange happenings, she might have given more credence to the idea.

He spit out a stream of tobacco juice and it hit the ground with a plop. “You weren’t thinking it was one of us?”

“I don’t know what to think.” She turned and walked back to the ranch house. Pausing by Dr. Fairbanks’s horseless carriage, she glanced back. Feedbag hadn’t moved. She was too far away to see his face beneath the brim of his hat, but she nonetheless felt his gaze.

Chapter 24

A man who keeps looking o’er his shoulder
is probably only two jumps ahead of the sheriff.

T
he telephone wires reached the ranch the following week and by Thursday afternoon the instrument had been installed on the wall in the entry next to the staircase.

The ranch hands crowded by the front door to admire the wondrous new contraption. Not everyone was so enamored. Miss Walker sat in a chair Annie had arranged for her and glared at the phone box as if she expected it to attack.

Taggert had fully recovered from his injury. Annie envied his ability to appear relaxed even as his sharp, assessing gaze traveled around the room.

Each time his gaze met hers it lingered for a moment before moving on. He stared at the cigarette dangling from Wishbone’s mouth and sent her a message with a raised eyebrow. It wasn’t a match for the cigarette butts found outside the bunkhouse.

They read each other’s expressions like lawyers reading briefs. It didn’t take much—a quirk of his brow, twist of the mouth, or
narrowing of the eye and she immediately knew what he was thinking.

Not good, not good at all. Not only did working with a Wells Fargo detective go against Pinkerton company policy, she never thought to work with the competition, not after what happened to her father. But, God forgive her, never had she enjoyed herself more.

Wishbone moved halfway up the stairs and leaned over the stair rail. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s now official. We have entered the nineteenth century.”

“And it’s not a moment too soon,” Taggert whispered in her ear. His warm breath on the back of her neck sent goose bumps rippling down her spine. “Since the twentieth century is right around the corner.”

Miss Walker glared at the bill Ruckus handed her. “There goes free speech.”

O.T. stroked the walnut box like one would stroke a prize horse. “Never thought I’d see the day we’d have a telephone all the way out here.”

“How does it work?” Able asked. He wiped his hands on his apron, releasing a cloud of flour. Today he smelled like cinnamon and Annie’s mouth watered just thinking of the dessert he was no doubt concocting for dinner.

“It’s simple,” Ruckus said, “but it seems only right that Miz Walker try it out first.” He lifted the horn-shaped receiver and held it out to her.

Miss Walker pushed it away. “The telephone has only just been installed and already it’s turning out to be a nuisance.” She rose on her crutches and hobbled into the large room.

Shrugging, Ruckus lifted the receiver to his ear and turned the hand crank. He grinned when a voice came over the line. He spoke
into the mouthpiece. “I don’t want a number, Bessie, I’m just testing the phone.”

He hung up.

“Let me,” Wishbone said. He did what Ruckus showed them to do. “Hello, hello, hello, hello.” He kept yelling into the mouthpiece and turning the crank.

“You only have to say hello once,” Feedbag said, snatching the receiver away.

One by one, the other ranch hands tried it out. “Your turn, Branch,” Ruckus said after a while.

“I’ll pass,” Branch said. “But we should let Miss Annie try it.”

Annie was quite familiar with the telephone. The Pinkerton Agency led the way in utilizing the telegraph, railroads, photography, and telephones in the fight against crime. Nonetheless, she decided it was best to play along.

The voice on the other end of the line sounded impatient. “What num-BER?”

“Mrs. Adams—Aunt Bessie—it’s Annie Beckman. We’re just testing the phone.” She cast her gaze among the expectant faces. “Would you like to speak to your nephew?”

“That would be mighty nice,” Aunt Bessie responded in her ear.

Annie handed the receiver to Michael.

“Not bad,” Branch said under his breath. “For a
beginner
.”

“Who said I was a beginner?” she whispered back.

“My mistake,” he said quietly, and something in his voice made her pulse race.

By the seventh or eighth test, Bessie’s voice shot out of the earpiece like the blast of a horn.

Stretch dropped the receiver and pounded the side of his head with the palm of his hand.

“Ours must be the only telephone with
two
cranks.”

Ruckus caught the swinging receiver and placed it on the hook.

Feedbag raised his hand. “Hey, this is the first thing we’ve ever done that Ruckus hasn’t gone and quoted the Bible.”

Stretch rolled his eyes. “You ninny! That’s ’cause they ain’t nothing in the Bible about telephones.”

“Sure there is,” Ruckus said. “The Lord called his people all the time. And if I’m not mistaken, He’s calling us back to work right now.”

“But I didn’t get a chance to talk,” Brodie complained. It was the first complete sentence Annie had ever heard the horse trainer say.

Ruckus held the door open. “Tomorrow the phone will be hooked up to the bunkhouse and you’ll get your chance then. Now git, all of you!”

Taggert waited for Annie to return from taking the nightly tray of sweets to the bunkhouse before stepping out of the shadows. “Psst.”

She spun around and he moved in front of a lit window so she could see him.

She glanced around to check for eavesdroppers. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

“I know who the cigarette butts belong to.” He kept his voice low.

Flashing him a smile, she set the empty tray on the veranda steps. “You sure do know how to get a girl’s attention.”

He stepped closer and caught a pleasant whiff of lavender. “Don’t I, though?”

She gazed up at him. “Well? Are you going to tell me or not?”

The way she looked all smiling and warm, he would have told
her anything she wanted to know. “They belong to Feedbag. They’re from Egypt. Some of the boys don’t like the strong odor so they make him smoke outside. What I don’t understand is how he can afford Egyptian cigarettes on a ranch hand’s salary.”

“They were a gift from his brother,” she said.

Ah, so she was testing him. “He doesn’t have a brother. Since obviously you’ve checked up on the man, you must know that his real name is Willard Day.”

“Willard
R.
Day from Indiana,” she said without missing a beat. “His father was a flatboats man.”

“And his mother a teacher,” he added.

“He left home at sixteen,” she continued. “Went to Mexico and eventually wound up in Texas.”

“Where he worked for a time on the King Ranch.” He couldn’t remember enjoying himself more. He didn’t touch her, at least not physically, but it wasn’t hard to imagine her in his arms. Imagine kissing her. He shook the thought away.

She gave her head a slight toss. “He left the ranch under suspicious circumstances.”

“Nothing suspicious about them. He was having an affair with one of the owners’ daughters.”

Her eyes turned the light from the ranch house window into stars. “And was later tried and almost hung for horse theft.”

He shrugged. “But obviously got away.”

“So do you think he’s the Phantom?” she asked.

“Do you?”

Her lips curved into a smile. “Let’s just say I’m keeping an open mind.”

“An open mind is good.” He lifted his hand to her face and ran a knuckle down her silky soft skin. “So where does this leave us,
partner?” He lowered his head but stopped short of capturing her mouth with his own.

She pressed her hands against his chest and her touch seemed to burn right through him. “We’re not—”

“Don’t worry,” he breathed. “I’m not going to kiss you. I don’t want to be accused of using you to gain information.” It took every bit of effort he could muster to pull away. “The next time I kiss you—and there will be a next time—there must be no question as to my real motive.”

He turned and walked away. Hearing her quick intake of breath, he smiled. Unless he missed his guess, she craved his kiss every bit as much as he craved hers.

“You’re wrong,” she called after him. Her voice was loud enough for him to hear, but too low to carry much beyond the courtyard walls. “Feedbag does have a brother. A
half
brother.”

He kept walking. He might have been wrong about Feedbag, but he wasn’t wrong about the lady.

Chapter 25

You can’t take it with you—but an embezzler will try.

O
n the day of the church bazaar the temperature soared into the high eighties. Despite the heat, Annie enjoyed the festivities.

Held outside on church property, the bazaar’s main purpose was to raise funds for the Children’s Aid Society. It also afforded townsfolk the opportunity to catch up on the latest gossip.

As head of the decorating committee, Aunt Bessie had left no stone, cactus, or telephone pole unadorned. Planks of wood strung across whiskey barrels served as booths and were decorated with ribbons and colorful fabric. Even the church steeple was wrapped in red, white, and blue bunting.

Annie felt bad that she hadn’t been able to talk Miss Walker into coming, but the ranch owner refused to even consider it.

According to Ruckus, it was because some church ladies protested her divorce by refusing to buy her beef. “After that she even stopped going to church,” he’d explained.

What a pity. It would do the ranch owner a world of good to get
out of the house and socialize. Since nothing could be done about Miss Walker, Annie concentrated on her own reasons for coming.

Social affairs often proved valuable to operatives. The best way to glean information was when people’s guards were down, and that was usually when they were having a good time. However, it wasn’t the chatter around her that commanded attention—it was Taggert. No matter how many times she pulled her drifting thoughts together, she couldn’t seem to stop looking at him.

A small group of musicians struck up the band and music filled the air, adding to the festivities. She recognized some but not all of the musicians. Stretch played the fiddle, Able the harmonica, and Wishbone a drum.

Annie held her parasol at an angle so she could watch Taggert unseen. He had his disguise down to perfection. Everything from his well-worn boots to his work-stained hat pegged him as one of the many migrant cowpokes who drifted from ranch to ranch taking whatever work was available.

Men ate up his joking banter, women blushed and giggled at his smile, and Annie’s heart ached with envy. God forgive her, but she wanted Taggert all to herself.

He moved from group to group like a friendly puppy looking for a treat. His sharp glances and attentive ear told Annie he was on full investigative alert, though no one would ever guess it by his easy smile.

“The next time I kiss you . . .”
The memory of those words filled her with such longing she could hardly breathe.

With a shake of her head she strolled from booth to booth.

She avoided the crowd lined up in front of the baked goods. Able’s cinnamon rolls and macaroons were selling fast. When he wasn’t playing in the band, the affable cook seemed to enjoy swapping recipes with some of the older women.

Spotting Michael, she hurried over to join him. She had to do something to take her mind off Taggert.

The smithy greeted her with a polite tip of his hat. “Miss Beckman.”

“Michael.”

“Do the locks work to your satisfaction?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you. They work just fine.” She followed his gaze to a small group. “Your young lady . . . is she here? You must point her out to me.”

Michael’s face turned tomato red. “Yes, ma’am, she’s here.” He cast a worried glance at his aunt before pointing her out. “That’s her over there.”

The object of his affection was a pretty blonde dressed in a blue gingham dress. The perfectly coiffed hair beneath a flower-trimmed hat seemed almost too staid for such lively features.

“I’m going to ask Charity to marry me.”

Judging by the attention the girl was drawing from a bevy of other young men, Michael had better do it soon. “She’s very pretty,” Annie said, bringing a grin to Michael’s face. “You really ought to tell your aunt. She’s going to find out sooner or later.”

“She thinks she knows better who I should marry.” He made a face. “You won’t believe the women she’s picked out for me.”

“Your aunt means well.”

Charity’s high-pitched laughter drew Michael’s loving gaze.

Annie gave him a little shove in the girl’s direction. “I have a feeling she needs to be rescued from that annoying man.” The man in question was clinging to Charity’s every word. “You’d better go and save her.”