Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) (3 page)

Surprised to find herself shaking, Miranda forced herself to breathe. Finally, finally she had gotten her wish. Too stunned to think, let alone ask questions, she stared at the manila folder in her hands.

“None at the moment.”

“Then I’ll let you get to work. Your train leaves first thing in the morning.”

That didn’t give her much time to study the material and plan a new identity. “Thank you. I’ll do my best.”
If
only
Papa
could
see
me
now!

“I expect nothing less, but I mean it—you’re to take no unnecessary chances.”

“I understand, sir.” She headed for the door but he called after her.

“One more thing, Miss Beckman,” he said, addressing her by her new name. “Don’t shoot any more dead men.”

Chapter 2

A gullible fool can locate a swindler
faster than the smartest private eye in the world.

A
RIZONA
T
ERRITORY

T
he
Southern Pacific
ripped through the desert with unnerving speed. The smell of burning wood and red-hot steel pervaded the car with a sense of urgency. The train was late and the engine driver seemed determined to make up for lost time.

Miranda stared out the window while going over her new identity. From this moment on, she couldn’t just think of herself as Annie Beckman. She had to
be
Annie Beckman. With her golden-brown skin, dark hair, and high cheekbones, she could hardly hide the Indian blood inherited from her Kickapoo mother but most everything else was fabricated . . . except for perhaps her age and propensity for sweets.

Watching the scenery fly by, Miranda mentally let her true identity slip away with it. By the time she pulled her gaze away from the
mindless blur beyond the smoky windows, the transformation was complete. She
was
Annie Beckman.

Annie
dug in her drawstring purse for her gold pocket watch. It was only twenty minutes later than when she last looked. It seemed like an hour.

Thankfully, the man on the seat next to her was deep in slumber but he was no less obnoxious in sleep than awake. His mouth hung open, allowing the most despicable hog-like sounds to escape. At least now he wasn’t puffing away on his vile cigar. His neatly patched trousers and pressed boiled shirt told her he was married, which made his unseemly passes all the more disgusting.

She sighed and dropped the watch back into the satiny depths of her purse. A short, skinny man walked down the aisle, unaware that he had dropped an envelope. She lifted her hand to call to him, but not wanting to wake the man by her side or the one across the aisle, she changed her mind. She stood and grabbed the back of the seat in front of her in an effort to gain her balance.

She reached the owner of the envelope just as he took his seat. “Sir, you dropped this.” He gave her a cursory glance before grabbing it out of her hands and slipping it into his vest. He didn’t even bother thanking her.

Most would blame his curtness on bad manners, but her Pinkerton training came into play and now, as always, she dismissed the obvious. Unless she missed her guess, whatever was in that letter was important and he was irritated at having so carelessly dropped it.

She made her way back to her seat, aware that the stranger across the aisle was now awake and staring at her. His blue-eyed gaze seemed to penetrate her very thoughts. Neither his rugged whiskers nor ragged cut of sandy hair took away from his good looks.

Normally Annie could glance at a person and know immediately
his or her marital status, profession, and financial circumstances. She guessed that the pale-faced woman in back was a mail-order bride on the way to an unknown future; that the pock-faced man seated directly behind her with the toothbrush sticking out of his waistcoat pocket was a traveling salesman; and that the middle-aged man next to him a land developer.

But the blue-eyed stranger was an enigma. He sat tall, shoulders straight, fingers tapping impatiently on his lap. He was dressed like a cowpuncher in dark trousers, striped shirt, and vest, his boots scuffed and his red kerchief wrinkled. Such casual attire didn’t seem to belong on his rigidly alert frame. Only the gun at his side seemed at home.

He appeared to be waiting for something. Or perhaps he was simply anxious for the trip to end. If so, that made two of them.

She pretended to ignore him. It wasn’t the first time she’d caught him staring. For one brief moment, she considered the possibility that he’d guessed her occupation but immediately discounted the thought. Both her powers of observation and her careful attention to every last detail were beyond reproach. That was why she always got her man or, in some cases, her woman. Though this was the most challenging assignment she’d ever embarked upon, she was completely confident that she would succeed.

She took her seat and tried to ignore the porcine sounds emitting from the sleeping man next to her. The
clickety-clack
of the train had a lulling effect and her lids soon drifted downward. There was nothing much she could do before reaching Cactus Patch so she might as well catch a little shut-eye. The nature of her job sometimes required her to grab sleep at odd times.

She had just about drifted off when something startled her into full wakefulness. Two male passengers were on their feet rushing up the aisle. Confusion—a curse—and a collective gasp.

A man stood in front of the swaying car holding a gun. “Don’t anyone move!”

Annie drew in her breath. She was almost positive he was the man with the envelope. The traveler next to her opened his eyes and blinked. For once his open mouth produced no sound.

“I said don’t move,” the gunman bellowed, brandishing his weapon toward a male passenger in the front seat. With his hat low and kerchief high, it was impossible to see much of the outlaw’s face—just enough to know he meant business. He was joined by two others, all three faces hidden behind red kerchiefs.

Annie resisted the urge to reach for the weapon secured beneath her skirt. Could this be the Phantom gang she’d heard so much about? Possibly. Still, she couldn’t afford to blow her cover until she had tracked down the leader. Until that time, her job was to observe and act like just another hapless traveler.

“Empty your pocketbooks,” the gunman ordered. He spoke in a lazy drawl that contrasted oddly with his quick movements and darting gaze.

An older woman seated two rows back from the bandits shook her head like she was scolding a wayward child. “Heavens to Betsy. Can’t a body go anywhere without being robbed?”

Annie had noticed the woman earlier. It was impossible to miss the face paint and the bright purple skirt and shirtwaist. The attire would be shocking for someone much younger, but on a woman old enough to be her grandmother, it was downright scandalous. Clearly she was a woman with no reputation to protect. The way she argued with the gunman suggested she wasn’t all that concerned about her physical safety either.

“I demand that you stop this nonsense right this minute, young man. If you don’t, I’ll—”

The gunman whirled around to face her straight on, the muzzle of his pistol practically in her startled rouged face. “If you don’t shut up, they’ll be one less passenger on this train.”

“Well, I never . . .” The woman gave a disgusted nod and glanced around as if to see how many troops she could rally. Seeing none, she fell silent.

Having made his point, the masked bandit signaled his partners with a toss of the head. The other two outlaws set to work gathering loot from the passengers and dumping the jewelry and cash into burlap sacks.

Annie clutched her purse tightly. There was nothing inside to identify her, of course. No Pinkerton operative would be so careless. The only personal item she carried was her father’s gold watch. Ever so slowly she slipped her hand into her purse and curled her fingers around the timepiece. With a quick glance at the armed bandit, she slid it into the folds of her skirt.

Gradually, one of the outlaws worked his way to her side. “Your purse, ma’am,” he said as politely as if asking her to dance.

The lower half of his face hidden by the triangular fold of his kerchief, only his blue eyes gave him away. She frowned. She hadn’t pegged him as an outlaw, nor had she noticed his seat empty. Either she was losing her touch or he was extremely clever. Neither explanation offered much comfort.

Swaying slightly with the movement of the train, he took her purse and riffled through it, his hands almost too big for the task.

He gave her a questioning look. “Your watch, ma’am.”

She imitated the shocked, frightened look of the other passengers. “Please.”

He thrust out his hand. “Your watch.” He sounded almost apologetic but no less persistent.

The watch would command but a quarter of its worth. If this was indeed the Phantom gang, they were nothing more than a bunch of petty robbers, one notch higher than pickpockets.

She sucked in her breath and reached beneath the fabric folds of her skirt. He took the watch, but instead of adding it to his bag, he slid it into his vest. She frowned. A thief among thieves.

He seemed amused by her reaction. Or perhaps she only imagined the slight incline of his head and wry twist of his mouth. The outlaw returned her purse and, without bothering to relieve her seatmate of his belongings, moved away.

While one masked man kept guard in front, the other two worked with quick, efficient movements up and down the aisle, stopping only long enough to collect watches, rings, pendants, and money from the other travelers.

The entire operation was over almost as quickly as it had begun.

As if on cue, the train slid into the Cactus Patch station and rolled to a stop, announcing its arrival with a piercing whistle. The outlaws pushed past the dark-skinned porter and left the train with their ill-gotten booty before anyone else had a chance to move. A collective sigh rose from the passengers, followed by muttered curses.

“Land sakes!” exclaimed the matronly woman with the painted face. “There ought to be a law against such scoundrels.”

“Ma’am, there is a law,” bellowed an indignant Englishman, caning his way to the exit.

“Harrumph!”
The woman picked up her satchel and followed him down the steps to the open-air platform, complaining all the while.

Every passenger left the car, even those who planned to continue on to Flagstaff.

Annie rose to let her seatmate pass but was the last to leave the
train. After checking to make certain her weapon was secured to her leg, she straightened her plain but practical felt hat and brushed the cinders off her blue traveling suit. Dark hair secured into a tidy bun, she looked like a woman on the way to a job interview, which was exactly the plan.

She quickly rehearsed her story. Her father never started a new assignment without prayer and neither did she.
God, give me wisdom
and courage as I track down that no-good scoundrel of a Phantom. And, oh
yes—tell Papa I’ll get his watch back.
Amen.

Thus braced, she left her seat, though she wasn’t anxious to join the noisy crowd on the platform. Stepping outside was like walking into a hot oven. It had been a brisk forty degrees when she left Chicago five days prior. Cactus Patch had to be at least fifty degrees warmer.

Blinded by the sun, Annie tried to make sense of the chaos that greeted her. Everyone was talking at once.

A male voice thundered, “Quiet! All of you.” The travelers fell silent and turned toward the marshal standing on a soapbox. As if to introduce the speaker, hissing steam belched across the platform, forcing travel-weary passengers to scramble out of the way.

Obviously relishing the moment, the marshal waited until he had everyone’s attention before speaking. The mustache drooping down to his jaw gave him a comical look.

“I’m Deputy Marshal Morris,” he said. He blew on his knuckles and gave the shiny badge on his leather vest a quick rub. “All three of the outlaws have been arrested and will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”

The news was greeted by applause and murmurs of approval, the woman in purple the most vocal. “It’s about time the marshal earned his keep.”

It was then that Annie noticed the three men in handcuffs lined up in front of the baggage room and telegraph office. She couldn’t believe how quickly the bandits had been apprehended. Lawmen in Arizona Territory were evidently more efficient than in other parts of the country.

“I say hang them,” someone yelled.

“When do we get our belongings back?” another demanded.

The older woman shook her fist, her rouged face fraught with outrage. “They took my wedding ring. It’s a crying shame that a body can’t take a trip without being molested.”

The marshal looked in her direction. “You’ll get it back, Bessie.”

“See that I do.”

The woman named Bessie leaned toward Annie. “Are you all right, dear? You look so tense.”

Alert was more like it but Annie afforded the woman a withering smile. “I’m fine, thank you.” She fanned her face. “It’s just so hot and I’ve never been robbed before.”

The woman commiserated with a pat on the arm and a sniff of her well-powdered nose. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”

The other passengers began moving away. Some left the platform and headed for horses and rigs parked nearby. Others returned to the train but the woman named Bessie remained by Annie’s side. Curiosity seeped through the paint on her face like sun peering through clouds.

“Are you heading for Flagstaff?” Bessie asked.

“No. I’m heading for the Last Chance—”

“Mercy me!” Bessie’s hand flew to her chest. “Not another one!”

Annie drew back. “Another . . . what?”

“Heiress, of course. That makes how many now? Ten, twelve . . . I’ve lost track.”

Annie blinked. “Are you saying other women have applied for the . . . job?”

“Yes, but none stayed for very long.” Bessie puckered her red lips and lowered bright blue eyelids. “Never in all my born days did I hear of advertising for an heiress. Not till Miss Walker got it into her fool head to ignore good taste and proper manners.”