Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) (36 page)

She picked up the GTF folder from her desk and flipped through the pages.

“I was blind . . .”

The words jumped out at her and she realized the world looked a whole lot different since coming to Cactus Patch. She once saw only the bad in people; now she saw the good. She’d learned to look past Miss Walker’s bullheaded ways to see the caring, lonely woman inside. She had come to admire and respect Ruckus’s faith, Stretch’s love of story, and Feedbag’s loyalty. She even saw that Aunt Bessie’s bossy way was how she expressed love.

The
eye: We never sleep.
Maybe not, but the Pinkerton eye saw only the worst of human nature, and now she knew it was a very narrow focus. She might never fully understand God’s ways or find the answers to all her questions, but she’d much rather see the world through His eyes than Pinkerton’s.

Chapter 30

Thou shalt not steal—unless, of course, it’s another’s
heart.

F
our days later Annie walked into the bank to cash her check. Signed by Robert Pinkerton, the check covered her salary, plus expense money for her next assignment.

It was noontime and only two teller cages were open. The pale-faced clerk pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Good day, ma’am.”

“Good day.” She slid her check through the pigeonhole beneath the iron window grill.

Already she was about to be dispatched to her next job. As soon as the dossier on James Flanagan, aka the most cunning counterfeiter the country had ever known, arrived, she would head to Denver, Colorado, to track him down.

Flanagan
. She couldn’t believe her luck in landing such a plum assignment. So why did she feel so downright miserable? So utterly distraught?

Chasing down the Irish counterfeiter would surely cure her melancholy—or at least, she hoped so.

He was every bit as big as that “king of counterfeiters,” William Brockway, and had proven to be as difficult to catch. Already three Pinkertons had pursued him to no avail; the Irishman could smell an operative a mile away, no matter how good the disguise. Would he be as good at detecting a female operative? That question kept running through her mind.

The clerk finished counting out her money. “There you are, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” She slid the stack of bills into her handbag and turned away from the teller cage. Taggert stood at the next cage and it was all she could do to breathe. He’d left the ranch the day of Able’s arrest and she had hoped he’d also left town. As painful as his absence was, it hurt even more to see him.

But there he was, bigger than life. He looked much more rested than when she saw him last, and every bit as handsome.

He met her gaze and tossed a nod in the direction of the counting desk where an elderly man stood verifying the count of a bank teller. A much younger man, probably in his thirties, hovered a short distance behind him, presumably waiting to check his own money.

At first glance, he looked like a salesman. He wore a white flannel suit and a derby hat. His black mustache and hair offered a startling contrast to his pale skin. On the floor next to him stood a brown leather sample case.

Taggert lifted his foot to draw attention to the young man’s shoes.

Annie glanced downward and could barely contain a smile. The drummer wore shoes with no heels.

Taggert completed his business and walked toward her. “Good to see you, Miss Beckman,” he said with a tip of the hat and in a voice clearly meant to be heard by one and all.

Like an actor on stage, she spoke her lines as if they had been rehearsed. “Good to see you too, Mr. Branch.” The prospect of catching a thief in action paled in comparison to the joy of seeing Taggert again, but she nonetheless played her part to the hilt. Sarah Bernhardt couldn’t have done better.

“I thought you’d left town,” she said.

“I had to arrange for a burial.”

She drew in her breath. “Your friend.”

A shadow flitted across his face. “Reverend Bland performed a simple ceremony.”

“I . . . wish I could have been there,” she said.

He studied her. “I shipped his belongings to his widow.”

“I’m sure she’ll be most grateful.”

“Annie . . .” For a moment it seemed as if he’d forgotten their purpose for standing there.

She reminded him with a slight toss of her head and he quickly changed the subject and increased the volume of his voice. “So what brings you to town today?”

Keeping the drummer in sight, they stood talking like two old friends. Their chatter took a light turn, but the glances they exchanged were filled with meaning. After they had run through a litany of polite amenities and exhausted the subject of the weather, the conversation turned to the ranch.

Annie, I’m sorry,
his eyes seemed to say
.
Out loud he said, “I hope Miss Walker has recovered.”

“Yes, she’s doing quite well.”
Don’t make this any harder than it
already is
. “Dr. Fairbanks plans to take the cast off next week.”

“Ah, next week, you say?” His gaze settled on her lips.
Do
you
remember
the
times
I
kissed
you?

How
could
I
possibly
forget?
Feeling her cheeks grow warm,
she lowered her lashes and that’s when she noticed the pen. “That wouldn’t happen to belong to the bank, would it? In your pocket?”

He slapped his hand to his chest. “I believe you’re right.” He pulled the pen out of his pocket and tossed it onto a nearby desk. “Some habits are hard to break.”

While his voice still held its neutral tone, the tenderness in his gaze told a different story, and she felt a tingling in the pit of her stomach.

Catching a subtle movement from the corner of her eye, she slid a sideways glance at the two men on the opposite side of the bank.

The drummer casually dropped a bill and it fell three feet from the old man’s left foot. It was a good thing the suspect had made his move—a very good thing, for she didn’t know how much longer she could continue acting her part.

After dropping the bill, the younger man stepped forward and politely tapped the older man’s stooped shoulder. “I believe that’s yours, sir,” he said.

“Thank you. You’re very kind.” The unsuspecting victim did what anyone would do; he reached down to pick up the bill. While he was occupied, the thief quickly snatched a handful of money from the pile on the desk and headed for the door. He was too smart to take all of it. By the time the older man discovered his funds missing and recounted to make sure there was no mistake, the thief expected to be long gone.

And he would have been, too, had he not had the misfortune of meeting up with Annie and Taggert. Standing side by side, they blocked the door.

“Excuse me,” the thief said roughly, his face hidden by the brim of his hat.

“What you did is beyond excuse.” Taggert grabbed the thief
by his collar. The man raised his sample case like a weapon but his slight frame was no match for Taggert.

With one easy move, Taggert grabbed the man’s raised arm before he could do any damage and knocked the case to the ground. He then pushed the man against the wall and held him there while Annie snapped the handcuffs he handed her around the thief’s wrists.

“Do you want to turn him over to the marshal or shall I?” Taggert asked.

Annie pulled a wad of bills from the man’s vest pocket. “I think we should both turn him in. That way we can both claim credit.”

The thief’s name was Walt Mason and he turned out to be a known bank robber. After he was locked in a cell, Annie and Taggert left the marshal’s office together.

Once outside, Taggert dropped his professional air. “Annie, about your father. I can’t tell you how sorry—”

She shook her head. She had done a lot of praying in recent days, and a lot of thinking. “Don’t say any more, Taggert. I don’t blame you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You don’t?”

“What you did . . . I would have done the same thing.”

“You would have chased a criminal into a group of innocent people?”

“I would have chased him to the ends of the earth. So would my father.”

Taggert looked dumbfounded. “I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to be said. My father died doing what he loved best.”

Taggert sucked in his breath and rubbed his chin. “Have . . . you received your next assignment?”

“Y-yes,” she squeaked out. The heaviness in her chest made it difficult to breathe. She cleared her throat. “And you?”

“I’m due in Denver at the end of the week.”

Her jaw dropped. “Did . . . did you say Denver?”

Taggert leaned against a telephone pole, arms folded. “You sound surprised.”

“It’s just . . . it wouldn’t have anything to do with James Flanagan, would it?”

“What makes you think—?” He straightened and dropped his arms to his sides. “As a matter of fact, it does. Don’t tell me. You’re—”

She nodded.

He burst out laughing. “What do you know? If that doesn’t take the cake. It looks like we’re going to be working together again.”

She stared at him, speechless.

He grew serious. “He won’t be an easy catch. He’s a clever one.”

“Extremely so.” Personally she was a mess, but professionally she could still hold her own. “He’s passed more than a million dollars of bogus money in the last two years alone.”

“A large portion of which he used to bribe police,” Taggert added.

“Few men have succeeded in copying the scrollwork on treasury notes so precisely,” she said. His ability to bleed the color from small-value notes to make larger-value notes was nothing short of genius.

“Like I said, it’s not going to be easy.”

“Agreed.” She gazed up at him through a fringe of dark lashes. “So may the best man—or woman—win.” She started down the boardwalk and he fell in step by her side.

He glanced both ways to check for eavesdroppers before pulling
her to the side of an adobe building. His hand on her arm felt warm and strong.

“We need to talk.” He released her. “I’m not kidding, Annie. Flanagan’s a tough bird. The Secret Service hasn’t had any more luck capturing him than Wells Fargo or Pinkerton.”

What he said was true. Created following Lincoln’s death to suppress counterfeit currency, the Secret Service had, for the most part, done a good job. But if Secret Service agents couldn’t capture Flanagan, what chance did she have?

She afforded him a guarded look. “So what are you saying? That I’m not up for the task? Because I’m a woman?”

“I’m not sure that either one of us is up to the task.” He rubbed his forehead. “First, I have to know. Did you mean it when you said you didn’t blame me for your father’s death?”

“I blamed you at first,” she said honestly. “But then I realized I was doing the same thing to you that my father did to me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t understand. What did your father do?”

“He blamed me for my mother’s death. She never fully recovered from my birth and died when I was two.” She sighed. “Some things just happen, you know.”

“Did it ever occur to you that it wasn’t you he blamed, but himself?”

Her brother had said something similar, but coming from Taggert it sounded more plausible. “That doesn’t explain why he was so against me being a Pinkerton operative. Had it been one of my brothers . . .”

Taggert shook his head. “Annie, he loved you and was worried about you. Just like I—”

Her heart thudded. “Just like you . . . what?”

He took in a deep breath. “If I could go back and change what happened . . .”

“I know.” She laid her hand on his arm. “You’re a good man and a good detective.” She couldn’t resist adding, “For a Wells Fargo agent.”

“You’re not bad yourself . . . for a Pink.” He grew serious again. “Of course, if we combine our talents . . .”

She pulled her hand away. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. We’re not working together.” Not only would that make life more difficult for her personally, but William Pinkerton would never allow an operative to join forces with its competition.

“We just did.”

“That wasn’t planned,” she said.

“If we can work so well together by chance, think what we could do if we actually sat down and made a plan.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“At least hear me out.” He hesitated and his galvanizing look made her senses spin. “What if we go as a newlywed couple? Denver’s a great place to honeymoon. So what do you say?”

“I say you’re . . . you’re out of your mind.” She would do almost anything to catch Flanagan, but compromising her morals was where she drew the line. “We’d have to share the same hotel room and . . .”

“That’s what honeymooners usually do.” He lowered his voice to a silky whisper. “They share a lot of things. Think about it. Flanagan will be looking for a single agent, not two. And you know yourself that those Secret Service men don’t know how to work undercover.”

“I know no such thing.”

“It’s true,” he said. “A child could pick one out a mile away.”

“It won’t work. Flanagan will see right through our disguise and—”