Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) (16 page)

“I hope you don’t think I’m being forward.”

He straightened and removed the horse’s bridle. “Nah. It just tells me you got a good head on your shoulders.” Holding the horse’s mane, Ruckus let his gaze wander for a moment. “We’ve had our share of tough times,” he said. “Kind of makes me think of Job in the Bible. Ranching makes ‘Jobs’ out of us all. But you ain’t finding any
better than the boss lady. She’s run this ranch for forty years. And if she can find the right heiress, I don’t doubt it will go on for another forty.”

“Even though beef prices have dropped and you’re going through a drought?”

He shrugged. “Prices go up and prices go down. Rain comes and rain goes. But the Good Book tells us that no matter what happens, we need to store our trust in God’s stables instead of our own. And that’s what’s gonna keep this ranch goin’.”

Ruckus struck her as a true man of faith and she felt guilty for suspecting him. Suspicion was like walking through the desert at night. Everything that moved was suspect, even one’s own shadow.

“Has she no family to take over the ranch?” Annie asked.

“I heard talk that she had a brother. From what I gather, he was more interested in gamblin’ than in running a ranch.”

“Do you believe the rumors? Do you think the leader of the Phantom gang is here somewhere?”

He shook his head. “Don’t take much stock in rumors. If the Phantom was on the premises, I’d know about it. But out there . . .” He tossed a nod toward the distant mountains. “That’s a mighty big desert. Anything’s possible.”

A pall had fallen over the ranch. At no time was it more evident than that night as Annie made her way to the bunkhouse with a tray of Able’s sweet cakes.

She had taken up the habit of bringing the men nightly dessert. It was a good way to get to know them better and build up a rapport. For the most part, she liked the cowhands and enjoyed their teasing
banter. She enjoyed even more the occasional slip of the tongue that revealed a man’s background or history. Still, she resisted forming any sort of friendship—ultimately, she would have to betray one if not more of them.

Tonight the bunkhouse was eerily silent. No laughter. No whining sound of a fiddle or mouth organ. Nothing.

Feedbag greeted her at the door and for a moment she didn’t recognize him. His square black beard was gone, leaving his face two-toned, the upper half the color of leather and the lower half white as a frog’s underbelly.

He wasn’t the only one sporting a clean-shaven face. Stretch and Wishbone had shaved, too, and not a beard or a whisker was in sight, though plenty of pockmarks had been uncovered. Now she knew what they were doing at the barbershop earlier that day.

“What do you think?” Feedbag ran his hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “Did you notice that my whiskers and face have parted company?”

“I’d have to be blind not to notice.” Her gaze traveled over Feedbag’s shoulder to Branch. Their eyes locked for a moment before he winked. Cheeks flaring, she quickly turned her attention back to Feedbag.

“You all look so . . . different.” Strange, more like it.

Feedbag grinned. “That’s the idea.” He took the tray of confections from her and motioned her inside with a toss of his head. No sooner had he set the tray on the long wooden table where Aunt Bessie’s nephew Michael sat writing in a notebook than the men all helped themselves to sweet cakes.

“Careful,” Wishbone muttered, brushing the powdery sugar off the table with a feather duster. “We don’t want the boss lady sending a housekeeper over here.”

“So what’s going on?” she asked. “Why no beards or mustaches?”

Even Ruckus had changed his appearance since that afternoon. His crooked nose twitched above the ghostly white outline left by his mustache.

Feedbag lowered his voice. “Friday night when we were all in town we heard a rumor that Wells Fargo is sending a detective to snoop around. We decided none of us best resemble any of those wanted posters hangin’ in the post office.”

Annie clenched her fists. Just hearing the words
Wells
Fargo
detective
made her stomach turn. If the rumor was true, her job had just gotten that much harder. She had a very personal reason for detesting Wells Fargo detectives, but today her alarm was purely professional. The presence of one would no doubt force the Phantom deeper underground.

“Yep. Every outlaw has himself face cover,” Feedbag said. “Beards and mustaches go with the terr’tory.”

Stretch wiped crumbs off his mouth with the back of his hand. “We decided to make things easier on the detective by cutting off our facial hair. That way the real outlaw would stand out like a sore thumb.”

Annie frowned. “Are you sure that’s the real reason and you don’t have anything to hide?”

“Ain’t got nothing to hide,” Feedbag assured her. “Least not that I know of.” He helped himself to another cake. “That’s why I had myself a good shave. If you have something to hide, you grow a beard. If you’re not hiding anything, you cut it off.”

Wishbone set the feather duster on the mantel and reached in his pocket for his whittling knife. “Simple as that.”

Her gaze shifted to Branch, who was watching Wishbone too. As if sensing her gaze, he looked her way and the corners of his
mouth quirked upward. Whether he was amused at the rather odd logic or something else, she couldn’t say.

She walked back to the ranch house with a feeling of unease. Of all the bad luck! A Wells Fargo detective. That was all she needed.
Please, God, don’t let it be true.

Chapter 13

Outlaws are so prevalent in some western towns
you can walk from one end to the next
without leaving the scene of a crime.

W
hat poisonous brew have you cooked up this time?” Miss Walker asked when Annie walked into her room with a tray.

Today Annie had chosen Earl Grey. She poured the hot tea and handed a cup to Miss Walker. “This was created especially for Charles Grey, the second Earl Grey and prime minister of England. I heard that it’s Queen Victoria’s favorite tea.” She then poured a cup for herself and took a sip. “Hmm. I love that citrusy taste, don’t you? The bergamot orange is what gives it that taste.”

Miss Walker took a sip of her own tea and made a face. “Perhaps if the queen drank less citrus she would be less of a prude.”

Annie sat on a chair next to the bed. “How prudish can one be with nine children?”

Miss Walker grunted but said nothing. She would never admit
it but Annie suspected the old woman looked forward to afternoon tea. On more than one occasion, Annie caught her staring pointedly at the clock whenever tea was late.

The other operatives laughed at her habit of serving tea when interviewing suspects or witnesses. They could laugh all they wanted, but it worked. Something about tea made people lower their guards. Perhaps that’s why tea and gossip were synonymous. Miss Walker didn’t gossip but she did reminisce.

Today she talked about the beginnings of the Last Chance. “My mother nursed an Englishman to health and he repaid her with a heifer. My mother saw it as her last chance to take care of the family. Instead of butchering it to feed us, she started a cattle ranch.”

“What about your father?” Annie asked.

“He was a drunk, a gambler, and a philanderer, and those were his good qualities. Unfortunately, they were also the qualities my brother inherited.” Miss Walker made a face. “Enough about me. What about you?”

“Me?”

Miss Walker arched her brows. “I know so little about you.”

“I’m afraid you’d find me quite boring.”

“I doubt that.” The old woman studied her. “You do know that I require an heiress to sign a legal document agreeing not to marry.”

“I’m aware of that,” Annie said.

“So why would an attractive woman like yourself agree to such a thing?”

Annie expected the question and had a ready answer. “I’m a follower of Miss Nancy Rosewell.”

“Never heard of her.” Frown lines deepened at her brow. “Don’t tell me she’s one of those—what do you call them? Suffragettes?”

“Not exactly. She believes that women have the right and, indeed,
the obligation to adapt nontraditional roles if they so choose. That includes remaining single.”

“Hmm. Since I require that of my heiress, it appears that I was a woman before my time.”

“Indeed.” Annie set her cup on the tray and rose to straighten the bed. “Perhaps you’d like to take a nap.”

Miss Walker protested. “That’s all I do, eat and sleep.”

“And dictate letters,” Annie teased.

Annie took the cup from Miss Walker’s leathery hands and set it on the tray next to her own. Today the ranch owner had finished half a cup. Perhaps Annie would make a tea drinker out of her yet. “It won’t be for much longer.”

Miss Walker narrowed her eyes. “Since you refuse to talk at any great lengths about yourself, could you at least answer me one question?”

“I’ll try,” Annie said, drawing the sheet up to Miss Walker’s shoulders. “But then you must rest.”

“Very well.” Miss Walker’s gaze impaled her. “Do you think one of my men is the Phantom?”

Annie kept her face perfectly composed. “Do you?”

“I asked you.”

Annie debated how to answer. Sometimes the best way to glean information from someone was through surprise. “There’s a rumor in town that
you
are the Phantom.”

Miss Walker stared at her, incredulous. “Me?”

Annie nodded.

The ranch owner’s eyes crinkled and she laughed so hard that Annie feared she would pull the leg apparatus down. “Why, that’s the most absurd thing I ever heard,” she said between guffaws.

Annie laughed too. “I quite agree.”

Robert arrived at the ranch the next day bearing a bouquet of spring flowers.

Eleanor waved the spray away. “Flowers are for funerals and I’m not in my grave yet.”

Accepting the rebuff with his usual good humor, Robert laid the flowers on the dresser. “I’m happy to see that you’re in pleasant spirits.”

“I’m always pleasant.” She eyed him with curiosity. “To what do I owe this visit?” She raised a hand. “Don’t tell me. Another offer to purchase my ranch?”

Robert moved a chair to her bedside and sat. “Actually, it’s the same one as before. Only this time the interested party has increased the offer.” When she made no response, he asked, “Don’t you want to know by how much?”

“I’m not interested,” she said. “Did you not convey my message?”

Robert ran his finger along his silver mustache. “I conveyed your message, though not in your precise words.”

“Ah, that explains it, then,” she said. “This time I trust you’ll tell the party in no uncertain terms what they can do with the offer.”

“If that’s what you wish,” he said, his voice thick with disapproval.

“I do have some other business I wish you to take care of.” She hesitated. “I don’t want you to think you came all this way for nothing.” In a lower voice she added, “That girl, Annie . . . She’s up to something.”

He leaned forward. “How do you mean?”

“I don’t think she’s who she pretends to be.”

“What makes you think that?” he asked.

“Just a feeling. For one thing, she refuses to talk about her family
or background. That’s always a bad sign.” It pained her to say it. The truth was, she really liked the girl and felt a kinship with her she’d not felt with anyone in years, save Robert. After being disappointed by so many people in the past, she had to make sure that Annie was someone she could trust. The future of the ranch depended on it.

Robert sighed. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Her last name is Beckman and she says she’s from Chicago. I want you to find out whatever you can about her.”

He sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Eleanor, you’ve entertained several women during the past couple of years and never once did you bother checking their backgrounds. Why now?”

The answer was simple: she felt vulnerable. She hated to admit the truth even to herself and certainly had no intention of taking Robert into her confidence. Perhaps even more worrisome, she felt scared. Through the years she’d fended off more enemies than a dime novel heroine and now she could barely fend off a fly. Shooting that bird from the sky was pure luck, nothing more. The truth was that she had never felt so helpless.