Undercover Bride (20 page)

He chuckled. “Not to worry. I’ll pick a fight with the smallest, skinniest man in the room.”

“You better,” she said, though it wasn’t only this latest plan that bothered her. “I still don’t understand why Garrett would take a chance on giving money to a vagrant.”

“Maybe he just felt sorry for the man.”

“But he had to know a large bill like that would attract attention.” The fiddler started playing again, and she leaned toward her partner, her voice low. “It’s almost as if he wants to get caught.”

Rikker finished tying his shoe and sat upright. “Maybe he has a guilty conscience. He wouldn’t be the first outlaw who did. Or maybe the more time that passes, the more confident he is of not getting caught. That’s when criminals start making mistakes.”

“There were two robbers. How do we know the money didn’t come from the other one?”

“We don’t. But all of the other parents attending the school fund-raiser checked out. Only Thomas remained a suspect.”

She glanced at the refreshment table. Garrett was next in line. “I want to be there when you question your cell mate. Maybe he’s not a vagrant. Maybe it’s just an act. You know I’m better at picking out frauds than you are.”

“And how would we explain your presence to the sheriff?”

She hated to admit it, but Rikker was right; showing up at the sheriff’s office was bound to raise eyebrows unless she came up with a legitimate excuse.

She opened her mouth to say something, but Rikker stopped her with a shake of the hand. “Nice meeting you,” he said loudly then switched to a softer voice. “Oops, better go. Your fiancé is coming back. See you tomorrow morning. Don’t be late.” With that, he stood and walked away.

She watched him disappear into the crowd. Don’t be late? What did he mean by that?

She was still wondering about Rikker’s puzzling statement when Garrett returned to her side and handed her a glass of sarsaparilla.

She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

“Sorry it took so long.” The line between his brows deepened. “Was that man bothering you?”

“Man? Oh, you mean…” She shook her head. “He was just being friendly.” She raised the glass to her lips. The cold beverage quickly quenched her thirst but did nothing to settle her thoughts. Every time she convinced herself of Garrett’s innocence something happened to make her doubtful again.

He sipped his own drink more slowly, and when he was done he took her empty glass from her. “Ready to announce our engagement?”

She hid her disquieting thoughts behind a smile, but her lips felt stiff, almost wooden. “I think so.”

He nodded. “I’ll only be a minute.”

She waited for him to return the empty glasses before glancing around the room. There was no sign of Rikker. Garrett stopped to talk to Mrs. Higginbottom behind the refreshment table, bringing a smile to her face.

Maggie’s mind prickled with everything Rikker said. Why now? Why was the money suddenly showing up after all this time?

Garrett returned to her side with a silly grin. “Mrs. Higginbottom is ready to make the announcement,” he said. He crooked his elbow. “Shall we?”

She nodded as she slipped her arm through his. Her calm demeanor belied her churning emotions, but she almost lost her composure when he brushed his lips against her ear.

Garrett walked her across the dance floor to the front of the room. He exchanged a few words with Mrs. Higginbottom, and she hurried over to the fiddler, her bustle swinging from side to side. The music stopped, and dance partners pulled away from each other as if suddenly forbidden to touch.

“Nervous?” Garrett asked in a hushed voice meant for her ears only.

“Not at all,” she said. She wasn’t nervous, but she was worried about Rikker.
Please, please, please, God, let Rikker’s plan work.
The sooner they got the answers they sought, the sooner she could be done with this charade.

Mrs. Higginbottom joined them. “Look at you two. Don’t you make a lovely couple?” She pressed her hands together. “After I make the announcement, everyone will want to see your ring.”

“Yes, of course.” Maggie rubbed her finger and finding it ringless stared down at her hand in horror. She looked up and saw Rikker a short distance away. He held up her ring just before turning away, and her mouth gaped open. Why did he take her ring? What was he thinking?

Mrs. Higginbottom lifted the speaking tube to her mouth, and her voice carried over the noise of the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?” A hush fell across the room, and everyone turned to face the front.

While the woman spoke, Maggie began to panic. How would she explain her missing ring? She glanced up at Garrett, but his attention was focused on Mrs. Higginbottom.

“Tonight,” Mrs. Higginbottom continued, her voice cracking, “we have a very special announcement to make, and—” The rest of her words were gobbled up by a loud crash.

All heads swiveled toward the back of the room and loud protests rose from the crowd. Two men were going at it tooth and nail.

One was Rikker; the other a short, wiry man wearing spectacles. Outranking his sparring partner in height and weight, Rikker appeared to have picked a fight with the right man. Maggie was soon relieved of that notion.

If only Mr. Wiry wasn’t so quick on his feet or so accurate with his punches, Rikker might have had a chance. Much to Maggie’s dismay, he appeared to be losing ground—fast.

Clutching his nose, Rikker picked up a chair with one hand and flung it at his opponent. Wiry ducked just in time, and the chair hit one of the matronly chaperons on the leg. That’s all it took for spectators to jump into the fray. Fists flew in every direction, followed by grunts and groans as men doubled over or landed on their backs.

One man slid across the floor like an oversized lizard and crashed into the refreshment table. Dishes fell to the floor with a loud clatter. A woman screamed and people stampeded from the dance hall.

“Let’s get out of here,” Garrett shouted, grabbing Maggie’s hand. She didn’t want to leave. Her coworker might need help, but Garrett’s firm grip left no room for argument.

A blast of cold air greeted them as they joined the throng rushing outside. He helped her onto the buckboard before running around Patches and scrambling into the driver’s seat. Grabbing the reins he released the brake and clicked his tongue.

The brawl had spilled outside, and Garrett was forced to steer the wagon around a knot of men rolling on the ground.

Holding on for dear life as they raced out of town, Maggie glanced back, but there was no sign of Rikker.

M
aggie hardly slept that night. She twisted and turned until her bedding ended up in a heap on the floor. Not only was she worried about Rikker, but something else kept her awake—something over which she had no control. It filled her with guilt as well as pain.

She couldn’t shake the memory of dancing with Garrett. Even staring wide-eyed at the dark ceiling couldn’t keep her from reliving every moment spent in his arms.

She finally gave up trying to sleep and slipped out of bed. Not wanting to wake Elise, she quietly paced the floor.

The first light of dawn crept into her room, and she heard Garrett’s door open. Sensing him pause outside her room, she held her breath. A moment passed. Two. He finally moved away, his footsteps echoing down the hall. She gasped for air, but nothing could be done for her pounding heart.

She rubbed her finger, surprised to find how much she missed the ring. Not that it meant anything, of course. It was just a prop—part of her disguise.

Still, questions remained. Rikker had taken her ring, but why? He never did anything without good reason. Pressing her hands against her temples she tried to concentrate, and finally the answer came. Of course!

She pounded her forehead with the palm of her hand. What took her so long to figure it out? With no time to lose, she quickly dressed.

Garrett had an early morning delivery and was already gone by the time she walked into the kitchen. Fortunately he’d made the coffee, and she gratefully poured herself a cup.

The coffee helped settle her nerves, and so did the children. It was hard not to laugh at their antics. While Aunt Hetty took care of them the night before, she had engaged them with a lesson on human anatomy and all the things that could go wrong.

“What’s a fibula?” Elise asked.

“It’s a person who tells a lie,” Toby said.

Elise thought about this for a moment. “Did you know that Aunt Hetty’s legs tell lies?”

Maggie laughed. “Actually, a fibula is a bone, pumpkin, and we all have fibulas in our legs. We wouldn’t be able to walk without them.”

After fixing breakfast and driving the children to school, she waited for them to enter the adobe schoolhouse. A movement in the distance caught her eye. Someone else was watching, too. A man on a brown and white horse was half hidden behind the school privy.

He was too far away to identify, but there was something vaguely familiar about him. Was he watching the schoolhouse? Or watching her?

Only one way to find out. Grabbing hold of Patches’s reins, she gave them a good shake. No sooner had the wagon rolled forward than the man swung his horse around and took off in the opposite direction, leaving behind a cloud of dust.

Frowning, she watched him ride away, not knowing what to think. His presence at the school could have been entirely innocent, but by the time she reached town, she was fairly convinced otherwise. The presumption of innocence was all well and good in the courtroom, but experience taught her that everyone was guilty of something, and most of her suspicions had proven true in the past.

There was no sign of a brown and white horse in town, so she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. She parked the buckboard in front of the hotel, which was as far away from her destination as possible. She glanced down the street to where Garrett’s horse and wagon was tethered in front of his shop. If by chance she bumped into him or his aunt, she would have a hard time explaining her business with the sheriff.

It was early and most of the shops were still closed. The street was deserted, except for the mule-drawn sprinkler wagon, allowing her to duck into the sheriff’s office without being seen.

The sheriff looked up from his desk as she entered. A small sign stated his name as Sheriff L. C. Summerhay. He peered at her from beneath bushy black eyebrows that rose and fell like two caterpillars doing push-ups.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

She glanced at Rikker behind bars. The poor man had two black eyes and a swollen lip. The sleeve of his shirt was torn and his bow tie missing. He probably could use a bit of sympathy, but that would have to wait.

His cell mate was hunched over on the bunk, head in his hands. Unable to get a look at his face she turned to the sheriff. Though the Arizona sun had baked his skin to a dark leather color and carved deep lines into his forehead and around his eyes, she guessed Summerhay was only in his late thirties.

“My name is Maggie Taylor,” she said.

“I know who you are. You’re Garrett’s woman.”

“Actually, I’m his fiancée,” she replied. So this was the lawman who steadfastly refused to work with Pinkerton detectives. What would he say if he knew her true identity?

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

She pointed at Rikker. “That man has my engagement ring.”

Summerhay’s eyebrows did a couple more push-ups before he rose to his feet. “That true?” he called over to Rikker.

Rikker shrugged and tossed the ring on the floor just outside his cell. She walked over to retrieve it. The vagrant lifted his head, and she got a good look at his face. He didn’t seem to recognize her, but she sure did recognize him. It was the pickpocket she’d encountered at the train station the day she arrived in town.

She slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand and turned. The sheriff watched her with narrowed eyes. “Do you wish to file a complaint?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” she said, giving him her most brilliant smile. “I dropped the ring last night at the dance and that gentleman was kind enough to fetch it for me. But before he could return it, a fight broke out.”

“It didn’t just break out. He started it,” the sheriff said, indicating Rikker.

“Ha!” She gave her head an indignant toss. “Whoever told you that, told you wrong. It was the other man who started the fight. A short man wearing glasses. I saw it with my own two eyes.”

“Is that so?” The sheriff looked dubious as he took his seat.

“Yes, that’s so. As for your other prisoner… He stole from a man and a boy at the train station. I saw him do it.”

The sheriff rubbed his chin. “You’re just all over the place, aren’t you? Well, rest assured. Crankshaw won’t be causing any more trouble for a while.”

“His name sounds familiar,” she said. “Would that be
Joseph
Crankshaw?” Since the pickpocket had purchased tobacco with stolen money, he was a suspect in the Whistle-Stop robbery, however unlikely.

“Harry,” Summerhay said. “Harry Crankshaw.”

She smiled. No need to spend the night in jail with the man to learn the basics about him. “My mistake.” She made a mental note of Crankshaw’s height, weight, and possible age, more out of habit than need. It was always hard to estimate a beggar’s age. Most looked older than they actually were, especially the ones who had lived on the street for any length of time.

Rikker would surely include a full description of him in his report to headquarters, but she was trained to pay close attention to details.

“Will that be all?” the sheriff asked. He looked anxious to get back to the paperwork piled on his desk.

“There is one other matter,” she said and looked the sheriff square in the face. “I would like to post bail for the man who was kind enough to return my ring.”

The sheriff sat back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the desk. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s the least I can do to show my appreciation.”

Summerhay cast a glance at the jail cell. Rikker shrugged, though it seemed to pain him to do so, and the sheriff turned back to her.