Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) (9 page)

He shrugged. “I just want you to be on guard.”

“I’m always on guard.” One didn’t run a successful ranch without due vigilance.

“I will feel a whole lot better once the telephone reaches the ranch. Had you allowed it to be installed when I first suggested it the doctor could have reached you much sooner.”

Eleanor made a face. Robert called the telephone progress; she called it an invasion of privacy.

“The day will soon come when the whole country will be connected to a single exchange. Just think, Eleanor. You’ll be able to talk to cattle buyers in New York or Chicago as easily as we are talking now.”

The thought made Eleanor’s head swim. She couldn’t imagine talking business through a wire. “The telephone didn’t do much for your bank,” she pointed out. “You were still robbed.”

“But only because someone called to inform Morris that a train robbery would occur. While the marshal was at the station arresting the thieves, someone managed to sneak into the bank vault. Perhaps the Phantom himself.”

“It sounds like the criminal element has found a better use for the telephone than you have.”

He blew out his breath. “There is one more matter,” he said. His hesitation indicated that he was about to broach a touchy subject and Eleanor’s gaze sharpened.

“Someone wishes to purchase your property and has made an offer. It’s a modest one but, considering the times, quite adequate.”

“I’m not selling.”

“You’re not getting any younger, Eleanor, and this plan of yours to find an heiress is turning out to be a bust, to say the least.”

This was an old argument and they had hammered it out
relentlessly in the past. There was nothing more to be said, so she was surprised that Robert seemed intent upon revisiting the subject. He glanced at her elevated leg. “It’s time.”

“Horse feathers!”

“It’s time.”

“
I’ll
decide when it’s time.” Eleanor studied him and tried not to think of her throbbing leg. “Just out of curiosity, who is this buyer?”

“I have no idea. The buyer wishes to remain anonymous. It’s all being handled by a lawyer back east.”

Eleanor frowned. She had no patience for people who hid behind lawyers. “You can tell Mr. Anonymous what he can do with his offer.”

Robert heaved a sigh. “So you’re still determined to keep the ranch?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He studied her with grave concern. “I thought perhaps your fall down the stairs would have knocked some sense into you.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she said.

He raised a silver eyebrow. “Has it ever occurred to you that the good Lord might be trying to tell you something?”

“If that’s true, He’ll have to speak louder.”

Robert’s gaze followed the wooden framework that loomed over her. “I shudder to think what He would have to do to get your attention.”

She shooed him away with a wave of her hand. “You’ve had your fun for the day. Now go. I have a ranch to run.”

He ran a finger across his upper lip and made no move to leave. “But, Eleanor, you haven’t got a leg to stand on.”

She glared at him. “Enough of your bad jokes.”

“Very well.” Robert stood. “I’ll let you get back to . . . running your ranch.” He donned his hat. “Have a good day, Eleanor.”

He walked out of the room and closed the door.

Shrugging away the loneliness that followed his departure, Eleanor reached for the bottle of medicine and rang the cowbell. Where was that annoying girl?

Chapter 7

Warning: Peering through a keyhole can give you a
private eyeful!

Report #1: Miss Walker is not at all fey or even shy of
tongue. She is a formidable woman with a will of iron,
the temperament of a mule, and the aim of a charging bull.

A
nnie looked over what she had written. She would, of course, have to include every detail of Miss Walker’s accident, including her own unfortunate role.

The Pinkerton General Order book gave explicit instructions on how to write a report. The reports had to be written in ink or indelible pencil. Descriptions must include all physical traits, clothes, jewelry, and habits. Conversations had to be recorded verbatim with detailed information as to time and locations. All arrivals and departures had to be accurately noted.

The cowbell rang and Annie tossed down her pen. Now what did Miss Walker want? At this rate she would never get her report written, let alone accomplish what Pinkerton had sent her to do.

During the next week, Miss Walker ran Annie ragged. It was hard to imagine that one old lady could require so much care. Annie hardly had time to think about the investigation and her frustration grew with each passing day.

Worse, she had yet to figure out a way to send daily reports back to the main office. Not that she had anything of value to report, but Mr. Pinkerton insisted upon daily updates regardless. He would not be satisfied with the occasional letter Stretch or the doctor mailed for her. She also needed to identify herself to the marshal and collect her watch, but going to town seemed unlikely until Miss Walker had somewhat recovered from her injuries. None of the ranch hands or Able was willing to take care of Miss Walker, even for a few hours.

Adding to her frustration was the constant ringing of the cowbell. Miss Walker insisted upon meeting each ranch hand regular as clockwork and, with the doctor’s approval, Annie relented. One by one, she ushered each cowboy into the house and up the stairs.

Each man walked into the ranch owner’s bedroom, hat in hand, as if expecting to be hung. Each man came out looking as if he had been.

Even Able had lost his good humor after being closeted with Miss Walker for the better part of an hour. Annie followed him into the kitchen.

“Able, what’s going on?”

He slammed a skillet onto the stove top. “Miss Walker thinks that the leader of the Phantom gang is one of us.”

Annie was careful not to react. “I don’t understand. Who is this gang?”

“They’re the ones who robbed the train and bank last week. They’ve been terrorizing the county for nearly a year.”

Annie widened her eyes to feign surprise. “And she thinks that one of the thieves works here? On the ranch?”

“That’s what she said. Heard it loud and clear with my own ears.”

“Do you think it’s possible?” Annie asked.

Able shrugged. “Anything’s possible, I suppose. But I know all the ranch hands. I know that Stretch likes his meat cooked all the way through and Ruckus likes his rare. I know that O.T. has a sweet tooth and Feedbag is seriously prejudiced against veg’tables. Wouldn’t you think I’d know if one of them was
him
?”

“I don’t know if it’s possible to completely know another, Able.” She couldn’t count the times she heard a family express shock and disbelief over a loved one’s arrest. “Do you think Miss Walker is in any danger?”

Able’s eyes twitched. “Why would you think that?”

“She’s an old lady. There’s not much she can do, now that she’s flat on her back.”

“I don’t see why anybody would want to do her harm.” He frowned. “If so, they’ll have to deal with me first.”

The ringing bell brought their conversation to an end. Able glanced upward before dipping a measuring cup into a sack of flour. “You better go see what Miz Walker wants this time.”

After taking Miss Walker her noon meal, Annie escaped to her room to add to the fast-growing file that included detailed information on each ranch hand. Most of the men went by assumed names, making background checks difficult. Identifying someone solely by physical description was tough, but the agency had successfully done it in the past and she hoped would do so again.

Having learned from Able that the ranch hand going by the name of Ruckus was married with two children, she neatly printed the information on his file. His wife’s name was Sylvia. His daughter was married to a rancher and his son attended seminary back east. It was hardly the kind of family one would expect of an outlaw but she wasn’t ready to rule him out. He seemed sincere enough and led the others in prayer each morning before starting work, but such religious fervency could be a ruse.

She tossed her pencil down with a sigh and closed her files. She then left her room and hid her files in a vacant bedroom two doors away, where no one would think to look. It was a trick learned from her father and one that had served her well through the years.

Returning to her room, she checked to make certain she hadn’t left anything that could provoke suspicion. Something shiny caught her eye and she crossed to the bureau to see what it was.

Her father’s pocket watch lay on top of the dresser next to her hairbrush. How odd. She glanced around. The timepiece hadn’t been there that morning, which meant the marshal must have dropped it off sometime between breakfast and the noontime meal.

She picked up the watch and lifted it to her ear. The marshal even thought to wind it.

It bothered her that the lawman appeared at the ranch house without announcing himself. Even worse, he had walked into her bedroom.

She tucked the watch into the top drawer and hastened downstairs and out the front door. No carriage or even a horse was in sight, save the wild mustangs in the corral across the way. Some of the ranch hands had left early that morning and hadn’t been seen since.

She walked around the house to where Able tended the vegetable garden. Several small service buildings were located in back. The
icehouse and laundry were closest to the main house, the granary and smokehouse a distance away. Next to what appeared to be an unused barn stood an old springboard wagon.

A vegetable garden spread between the buildings, a scarecrow rising from its midst. The soil was kept moist by irrigation ditches.

As she approached, Able looked up and tossed a bunch of carrots into a wicker basket. His freckles looked like orange polka dots in the afternoon sun. “Thought I’d make some gumbo soup,” he said. “It’s the only dish Miz Walker will eat that’s not made with beef.”

“Sounds good,” Annie said, though it seemed too hot for soup. She watched him pull a bunch of carrots from the soil. Carrots? Already? In Chicago the ground was still frozen.

“Did you happen to see the marshal today?”

Able glanced up. “Marshal Morris? Nah. Is there a problem?”

“Just wondering. I . . . was curious to know what happened to the train robbers.”

Able shook dirt away from the carrots. “I reckon they’ll spend the rest of their born days behind bars.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” She hesitated. “Anyone else at the house today? Other than Dr. Fairbanks, I mean.”

“Just Ruckus and O.T. Why?”

“No reason.” She left him and walked around to the front.

She let herself in the house just as Miss Walker’s foreman, O.T., descended the stairs. A wiry man with restless, and some might even say shifty, eyes, his sun-baked face placed him in his late forties. He’d removed his spurs before entering the house to comply with house rules but his gun remained and the holster sagged on his hip.

O.T. afforded her a look of pity. “I don’t envy your job, ma’am. The boss lady is loaded to the muzzle and ready to shoot.”

“I guess we can’t blame her,” she said. She never meant the old
lady harm and felt sorry for her. It must be frustrating, lying in bed day after day, especially for one apparently as active as Miss Walker.

“O.T., something was taken from me during the train holdup—a watch.” She studied him as she spoke. If he had placed her watch on the bureau, she didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but neither did she want men walking into her room.

“Sorry to hear that, ma’am. You better talk to the marshal about it.”

“The watch has been returned,” she said. “I just found it on my bureau.”

Not a flicker of emotion crossed his face. “Good to hear.”

“I was wondering if you happened to see the marshal.”

He shook his head. “Nope. Can’t say that I have.”

“If he’s still here at the ranch, I want to thank him for returning my watch,” she said.

“If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re lookin’ for him. Anything else I can do for you, let me know. Soon as the boss lady’s on her feet, we’ll start learning you the ropes.”