Undercover Fiancée

The Pinkerton agent that Edward Kent hired is intelligent, capable—and unexpectedly female! Though shocked to learn that Maggy Worthing will be investigating the threats to his Wyoming horse ranch, Edward needs to find the culprit. And if that means a temporary engagement to give Maggy a cover story, he’ll play along with the feisty detective.

Maggy always gets her man—at least when it comes to solving crimes. The young widow refuses to marry again and land under another husband’s thumb. Unmasking Edward’s enemies will earn her a longed-for promotion...but the heart has its own mysteries. Could working together with the handsome English aristocrat spark a real and loving partnership?

STACY HENRIE has always had a love for history, fiction and chocolate. She earned her BA in public relations before turning her attention to raising a family and writing inspirational historical romances. The wife of an entrepreneur husband and a mother of three, Stacy loves to live out history through her fictional characters. In addition to being an author, she is also a reader, a road-trip enthusiast and a novice interior decorator.

Also By Stacy Henrie

Lady Outlaw

The Express Rider’s Lady

The Outlaw’s Secret

The Renegade’s Redemption

The Rancher’s Temporary Engagement

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

The Rancher’s Temporary Engagement

Stacy Henrie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08043-9

THE RANCHER’S TEMPORARY ENGAGEMENT

© 2018 Stacy Henrie

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

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“You are going to ruin this investigation,” she hissed. “Could you have looked any more appalled at playing the role of my fiancé?”

“Are you mad?” Edward countered, keeping his voice equally low. “Of course I’m going to be shocked and downright annoyed when you announce such a ridiculous fiction.”

Maggy crossed her arms and glared at him. “There wasn’t time to ask how you felt about it. Besides, I told you that I was coming up with a role.”

“Yes. But I didn’t think that would be pretending to be my fiancée. This is madness.” He threw his hands in the air, then spun to face the fireplace. “There is surely some other role for you to play.”

He sensed her stepping toward him. “This is the best way. You said it yourself, Edward. The only way I can gain access into that club is to pretend to be your wife or fiancée.”

He had only a moment to realize he liked hearing her say his name before she went on. “Believe me, I wouldn’t choose this role if I didn’t think it absolutely necessary to this mission.”

Edward wasn’t sure whether to be offended by that remark or not.

Dear Reader,

On a research trip to Wyoming for one of my other Love Inspired Historical Westerns, I visited Sheridan and the nearby small town of Big Horn. The beautiful landscape and a lovely preserved 1890s ranch house looked like the ideal spot to set a story.

Those weren’t the only reasons I set Edward and Maggy’s story near the foothills of the Big Horn Mountains, though. Like Edward, a number of gentlemen from the United Kingdom settled in the area and established horse and polo pony ranches. The British Cavalry did, in fact, contract with ranchers in the area to supply horses for use in the Second Boer War. And though that war didn’t start until 1899, for the purposes of my story, I have the Cavalry interested in Edward’s horses the year before. Also of interesting note, Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip visited the Sheridan area in 1984 and purchased polo ponies from there.

The ranchers’ wives’ club is my own creation, though the Sheridan Inn is an actual building and was the hubbub of social events back in the day. Buffalo Bill Cody was part owner of the inn and was reported to have auditioned acts for his Wild West show on the inn’s front porch.

The Pinkerton National Detective Agency opened a branch location in Denver, Colorado, in 1886. James McParland became the superintendent of the Denver office in 1888. As one of the most famous of Pinkerton’s detectives, McParland is best known for infiltrating a gang of assassins in Pennsylvania in the 1870s. And while the position of head female detective is fictional as far as I know at this time in the agency’s history, Allan Pinkerton, the agency’s founder, did employ the first female detective in the U.S., Kate Warne, in 1856.

My hope for this story is that readers will enjoy Edward and Maggy’s adventure, their chance at love and their realization that we are all of unchangeable worth, regardless of what we do or what has happened to us.

I love hearing from readers. You can contact me through my website at www.stacyhenrie.com.

All the best,

Stacy

But if we hope for that we see not,

then do we with patience wait for it.

—Romans 8:25

To my editor, Elizabeth.

Thank you for believing in that first story and the ones that came after. I’ll be forever grateful for your outstanding help with this part of my writing adventure.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Extract

Chapter One

Near Big Horn, Wyoming, April 1898

Edward Kent studied the gaping hole in the barbed wire fence and the trampled posts. This wasn’t the work of an animal—at least not the four-legged kind. Anger heated his neck more than the weak spring sunshine did as he slapped his cowboy hat against his leg.

“How many horses wandered off?” he asked his ranch foreman, West McCall.

“Ten, maybe fifteen. Some of the boys are rounding them up now.”

Edward dipped his chin in a curt nod. “Good. See that one or two of the others repair the fence.”

“Yes, boss.”

“We’ll put as many of the horses in the main barn and the corral as we can at night, for the time being, so we can post guards.”

“Will do.” McCall mounted his horse and rode off in the direction of the large barn and the wranglers’ quarters.

After jamming his hat back on his light brown hair, Edward wrestled one of the toppled fence posts until it stood moderately upright. New wire and fresh postholes would fix the fence. But it wasn’t likely to fix the rash of mysterious occurrences hobbling operations around the Running W ranch or end the threatening notes he’d been receiving over the past four weeks.

Go back to where you came from, Brit, the last one had said. Or else there will be trouble.

Edward cringed at the memory. His gaze swept the rolling hills and scattered trees where they touched the feet of the Big Horn Mountains. If he squinted, he could almost imagine himself back home in England. Though that wasn’t where he wished to be—not since leaving five years ago. The longstanding stigma of being a castoff, a throwaway, as the third son of an earl, stole over him and gripped his throat in a choke hold.

Coughing, he climbed onto his horse, Napoleon, and steered the animal toward the ranch house. Even at a distance the white, two-story home with its three-sided porch stood out like a pearl against a velvet-green backdrop. A swell of pride loosened the bitter taste of old memories. He’d come here, armed with only a dream and his inheritance. And now he ran the largest horse ranch in the Sheridan area.

But all his hard work would be for naught if he couldn’t figure out who was sabotaging him. He urged Napoleon faster, his stomach grumbling with hunger. McCall had come to the house at the start of breakfast with the news of the damaged fence and runaway horses. Edward had left without eating a bite.

Outside the small stable near the house, he dismounted and led his horse inside. “Time for your version of tea and crumpets, isn’t it?” he murmured affectionately to the black horse. The gelding whinnied and tossed its head, eliciting a chuckle from Edward. The horse wasn’t as tall as its predecessors, hence Edward’s choice of name. What the animal lacked in overall stature, though, Napoleon made up for in strength and agility.

Once he’d given the horse its grain and a rub on the nose, Edward headed into the ranch house through the front door.

“I’ve returned, Mrs. Harvey,” he called to his housekeeper and cook as he removed his hat and hung it on the hall tree. A pile of mail from yesterday’s post still sat undisturbed on the table. He’d been so busy overseeing the breaking-in of a horse yesterday that when he’d finally returned to the house, he hadn’t bothered to do much more than grab a late supper and head to bed.

He carried the mail to the dining room. On the top of the stack, he found a letter from his mother, no doubt asking when he planned to visit. Edward wished he could convince her to come here instead. He wanted to show that, although he wasn’t an earl and the estate heir as his oldest brother had been these last five years, that he’d worked hard at creating a good, successful life here.

Though a bit of a lonely one, his conscience prodded.

Edward ignored the thought. He’d discovered early on that the daughters of Sheridan’s wealthy ranchers weren’t so different from their English counterparts. In both countries, he was the sum of his bank account and supposed good looks, with little thought to his character or integrity—and no consideration at all to their own. He’d never loved the idea of money or appearances being the basis of a marriage. Living alone, in his opinion, was far more tolerable than entering into a marriage that wasn’t founded on mutual affection and respect. It was something his younger sister had helped instill in him.

“Just remember to be true to who you are, Eddie,” Liza had often reminded. “You are of worth, most especially to me and to God.”

Though one year his junior, his sister had exemplified wisdom and vision beyond her years. Perhaps that was the reason she’d left this world too soon, at the tender age of fourteen. Edward missed her still and hoped she knew that he’d tried to live true to himself in the fifteen years since her death.

Taking a seat at the polished mahogany table, he started sifting through the rest of the mail. There was a newspaper and some sort of penny dreadful—or dime novel as he’d heard them called here in America—for Mrs. Harvey.

As though she knew what “treasure” awaited her, Mrs. Harvey bustled into the dining room, a tray in hand. “Here you are, sir. Nice and warm once more.”

“Thank you for accommodating my erratic schedule of late, Mrs. Harvey.” Edward scooted aside the mail to make room for his breakfast. The poached egg, crumpets and hot tea made his mouth water. “Looks splendid as usual.”

The older woman’s round cheeks pinked with pleasure. “Best eat up before it goes cold—again.”

After laying his napkin across his knees, he extended the dime novel toward her. “I do believe this is yours, madam.”

Her face went from pink to red as she snatched the thin book from him. “Thank you, sir.”

“What is this one about?” he asked as he lifted his fork.

Mrs. Harvey’s brown eyes lit with excitement. “It’s about a detective in disguise—a real Pinkerton agent, no less. I’m hoping it’s as good as one I read by E. Vanderfair about five years ago.”

“Ah. Sounds intriguing.”

“I’ll see that you’re hooked on them before too long, sir.” She wagged a finger at him. “Just you wait and see.”

Edward shook his head with amusement as his housekeeper left him to his meal. The fifty-year-old woman had been the family’s cook for years at their London residence. Edward had always liked her and her food, so when he’d concocted the idea of coming to America, he’d asked if she might be interested in joining him as a housekeeper and cook. Mrs. Harvey, a widow with no children of her own, had readily agreed. She could be doting at times or downright cheeky, but they got on as well here as they always had. She was still the creator of the finest food he’d ever sampled, and she hadn’t lost her propensity for sensationalized stories, either.

As for himself, he didn’t see the appeal of those overblown bits of nonsense. His reading tastes had changed since leaving England, consisting of mostly equestrian books and the newspaper. Facts, reality, knowledge, those were his forte—not melodrama.

After offering a blessing over his food, as well as his ranch and staff, Edward began to eat. He decided to read his mother’s letter later, since hers had the potential to spoil his appetite. The address and English postmark on the other letter he found in the stack of mail set his heart beating double time as he opened the envelope. This must be an answer to his inquiry, at last.

He read the words through carefully. By the time he reached the end, he was grinning. His father’s contact in the British Cavalry had come through after all. They were, indeed, interested in securing a large quantity of horses from his region.

A rush of satisfaction rose within him as Edward dug heartily into his breakfast once more. All of his hard work would be worth it if he could secure a contract with the British Cavalry. Then his mother and brothers would surely have to acknowledge that, in spite of not being the heir or the spare to his family’s wealth and title, he’d done quite well. Soon the name and ranch of Edward Kent would mean something, far beyond his small corner of the world.

He couldn’t wait to tell McCall the good news. Thoughts of his foreman brought the memory of the trampled fence and escaped horses to mind and doused his excitement like water against hot coals. He couldn’t afford any more mishaps, not if he wanted to supply the Cavalry with needed horses.

No longer hungry, he set aside his fork. He needed to stop whoever wanted him gone. But that meant finding out who was behind the disruptions. Pushing his dishes out of the way, Edward rested his elbows against the tabletop. Who in the area might hold a vendetta against him? He could think of no one. His staff treated him with the same respect he showed them, and the other ranchers he associated with at the Sheridan Inn were uniformly friendly to him.

He climbed to his feet, fresh frustration chewing at him as hunger had earlier. He stacked his dishes on the tray and carried it into the kitchen. “Here you are, Mrs. Harvey,” he said, setting the tray on the center table. “Thank you again.”

She glanced up from the dough she was kneading. “Didn’t know you were done, sir, or I would’ve collected the dishes myself.”

“Not to worry.”

His gaze fell on the dime novel that lay open before her, giving him a sudden idea. Perhaps this might be an answer to his anxious prayers over the last four weeks. “How efficient are these Pinkerton detectives?” He motioned to the novel. “In real life, I mean.”

“Quite, sir.” Her expression conveyed her confusion at his question. “They always get their man.”

Edward clapped his hands. “Excellent. If you need me, Mrs. Harvey, I’ll be in my study.” He had a letter to write.

“Yes, sir.”

He exited the kitchen, feeling a return of his good mood. He would employ the Pinkerton’s finest, most reliable man for his case, and soon life would resume to normal at the Running W once more.

Denver, Colorado, one month later

Maggy Worthing yanked the maid’s cap off her head, causing her straight auburn hair to tumble around her shoulders. “The counterfeiter is sitting behind bars as we speak,” she announced with triumph as she propped her boots on the edge of her supervisor’s desk.

“Well done, Maggy.” James McParland, superintendent of the Pinkerton Agency’s Denver office, leaned back in his chair and peered at her through his round spectacles, his chestnut-colored mustache twitching. “You do make a rather convincing maid in that getup, minus the arrogant look.”

“Ha.” She loosened the top collar button of her borrowed uniform. Once she’d finished talking with James, she could return to her boardinghouse room and change back into her regular, more comfortable clothes—a well-worn button shirt and men’s trousers. “I make a rather convincing detective, maid getup or no.”

James inclined his head. “Touché. And that is why I have some news for one of my best detectives.”

A frisson of excitement, similar to what she felt each time she knew she’d nabbed her man, unfurled inside her. “What news is that?” she asked, dropping her boots to the floor.

“The Pinkerton brothers in Chicago are looking for a woman to head up the training of all their female operatives.” He shot her a knowing smile. “I’ve a mind to recommend you.”

Maggy blinked, hardly daring to believe his words. This was her dream, one born into existence the moment James had hired her as a Pinkerton operative six years earlier. Now it was so close she could nearly grasp it within her fingers. The twenty-one-year-old widow she’d been then had been as scared as she was determined to make a career out of being a detective. And now, she not only had a solid career for herself but the chance to mold and assist with the careers of other female detectives, too.

“Have a mind?” she echoed, erring on the side of caution rather than unbounded hope. “Something I can do to make things more definitive?”

James separated a short stack of papers from the others on his desk. “Complete this mission in Wyoming. The other operative I sent last month wasn’t able to make any headway on it, which hasn’t made the best impression on the rancher who requested a detective. So far all we’ve managed to do is sour his opinion of the agency. I would’ve put you on the case from the beginning, but you were deep in the counterfeiting mission.”

“Why does he need an operative?”

“Someone’s sabotaging his ranch.” He slid the papers toward her. “The man’s initial request is on top, along with the other operative’s report.”

Picking up the letter first, Maggy carefully read through its contents. Edward Kent, a horse rancher in Wyoming, had experienced a rash of threatening notes and acts of vandalism to his ranch, the Running W.

It was apparent from his choice of words that the man was well educated and had likely attended school well beyond the completion of the second grade as Maggy had done. The rest of her education she’d garnered on her own—mostly from secretly reading the newspaper and any books she could get her hands on.

She leafed through the other operative’s notes next. The man, working undercover as a wrangler for Kent, had noted no nefarious behavior or ill feelings among the rancher’s staff—they seemed to be loyal to their employer. He had uncovered no leads as to the identity of the saboteur.

“Appears to be a straightforward job.” She set the papers back on the desk. “Though I’m not sure which sort of role I ought to play. It sounds like pretending to be a wrangler didn’t exactly help.”

“See what Kent suggests, but only after you smooth his ruffled feathers. He’s expressed reluctance at hiring someone new from us. But I trust you to convince him that the Pinkertons can still help him and that you’ll crack this case.”

His confidence in her skills and ability to solve a case where the other operative had failed had Maggy feeling on top of the world. “I can leave for Sheridan tomorrow.”

“Excellent.” James stood, signaling an end to their conversation. “Find this ranch interloper and I’ll send my recommendation to Robert and William Pinkerton to hire you as the head of all female operatives.”

She rose to her feet as well as she excitedly crushed her cap inside her fist. “Thank you, James. I won’t let you down.”

“You never do. That’s why I’m sending Get-Her-Man Maggy to complete the job.”

Chuckling, she maneuvered around her chair. She had garnered the nickname after her first undercover mission, in which she’d pretended to be a hapless female traveling alone and had successfully tracked down a ring of train employees swindling hundreds of dollars from the company every month. Several more triumphant undercover missions over the next couple months had secured her a position as one of James’s top operatives.

“Would you miss Colorado?” he asked, trailing her to the door. His head barely reached her shoulder, though she wasn’t considered overly tall. “If you get the position in Chicago?”

She didn’t hesitate to shake her head. “I’d miss working for the office here. But there’s nothing keeping me from leaving.”

No husband, no children, no family. A prick of loneliness, of the old abandoned feeling, threatened to uproot her enthusiasm of finally being in reach of her dream. Maggy steeled herself against it. She was strong and safe and could take care of herself. There was no need for any deep relationships—those brought only weakness, fear and pain.

“We’d miss you, too,” James said with sincerity in his tone.

Warmth filled her at his words—no one had ever told her they’d miss her before. Not even her pa the day she got married.

“I also know how much you want this.” He opened the door and stepped back. “Wire me after you’ve spoken with Kent and let me know how long the mission is likely to take.”

“I will.” She would solve this case and be one step closer to fulfilling her dream. Twirling the cap around her finger, she shot James a saucy smile. “You can count on me.”

* * *

Frowning, Maggy tapped the toe of her shoe against the wooden platform of the Sheridan train depot. Mr. Kent was late. That or he’d already changed his mind about employing another detective to solve his case. Maggy’s gloved hand strayed to her collar, and she forced it back down to her side instead of plucking at the scratchy lace for the umpteenth time. The ridiculously small, plumed hat she’d chosen to wear to complete her outfit did little to shade her face from the afternoon sun.

Without knowing what sort of role Edward Kent might want her to play for this mission, she’d chosen the part of a female relation—middle-class and independent—for her journey to Wyoming to visit her distant cousin. But now that she was here, she longed to be free of the smothering, stiff fabric of her traveling suit.

“Where is he?” she muttered to herself as she glanced around the emptying train station. She’d been hoping to convince him that he still needed help, get to his ranch right away, then take stock of the situation, not stand around waiting.

When another ten minutes had crawled by, according to the watch pinned to her lapel, Maggy dragged her trunk into the train’s waiting room. She cajoled the ticket clerk with a pretty smile and a nickel to watch her luggage until she returned. Then she asked for directions to the nearest livery stable. Once there, she requested a horse and buggy.

“How far is it to Big Horn?” she asked the livery owner as he hitched the bay he’d selected to the vehicle. The animal looked a little docile for Maggy’s tastes, making her wish she could saddle up the sleek mare she’d seen inside the building. But she couldn’t risk the talk that would surely follow if she rode astride a horse in her dress.

The owner peered over his shoulder at her. “Big Horn would be ’bout nine miles from here. You visitin’ someone that a ways?”

“Edward Kent.” She smiled demurely. “I’m a distant relation of his.”

“Kent’s place is just seven miles away.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “You’re from England then, are you?”

“Come again?”

“Mr. Kent’s a Brit. Figured you must be, too.”

Maggy inwardly cringed at not knowing such an important detail sooner. Her repertoire of accents didn’t include the most convincing British one. “Actually I hail from the part of the family that immigrated to America a few generations ago. Dear Edward followed in our path. But I’ve only just been able to leave my obligations at home in order to come see him.”

The man took her explanation in stride without even blinking. “Your buggy’s all ready, ma’am. This here horse don’t move as quick as he once did, but he’s real easy to handle.”

“Thank you for your help.”

Maggy accepted the reins from him as she took a seat in the buggy. Once he’d given her directions on how to find the Running W, she clucked to the horse and drove away from the livery. It didn’t take long to collect her trunk from the station—a train porter insisted on carrying it out to the vehicle for her and tying it down with some rope.

She maintained a cordial smile to passersby as she drove through Sheridan. Once she left the stores and homes behind, though, she dropped the friendly, slightly vacant expression as her sharply honed observation skills kicked in.

The green hills and distant mountains reminded Maggy of the Colorado town she’d called home before escaping to Denver. She immediately locked her mind against any thoughts of home, if she could even call it that. Instead she concentrated on paying attention to the landscape she passed and the other ranches in the area.

Before long she reached the lane the livery owner had indicated led to Kent’s ranch. She turned the horse to the left and drove the buggy down the side road. The Big Horn Mountains were closer now, their peaks stretching towards the overcast sky. After crossing a stone bridge that spanned a river, Maggy glimpsed a large house and outbuildings among the trees. Ahead stood an iron archway with the ranch’s brand prominently displayed at the top. She drove beneath the arch, and a feeling of anticipation had her urging the horse faster. This is where she’d spend the next while, where she’d “get her man” and hopefully where she’d secure her promotion as lead female detective for the entire Pinkerton Agency.

Maggy glanced to her right, her gaze snagging on a small cabin beside the river. It had likely been Mr. Kent’s residence prior to the building of the larger house. But that thought barely registered in her mind before her lungs squeezed tight, forcing her to gasp for breath. At the same time, her heart began to pound. Sweat collected beneath her hat brim and along her strangling collar. Her hands trembled so badly she could hardly hold the reins.

Not another attack. Not here. She hadn’t experienced one in months, and yet, the tiny cabin eerily matched the one she’d grown up in and the one she’d shared with Jeb as his wife.

It required all of her strength to stop the horse. Unpinning her hat, Maggy used it to fan her flushed face. She shut her eyes and willed herself to breathe through the pressure in her chest. She was safe—no one was going to harm her ever again. Especially not a man. Detective skills weren’t the only things she’d learned in the last six years; she’d also learned how to take care of herself.

If she’d only learned those skills sooner...

Feeling faint, she lay down on the seat and pressed her cheek to the tufted leather, desperate for something real and solid beneath her. Her pa was dead and so was her husband. Neither of them would ever lift a hand to her again. But the old fear and panic refused to release her from their iron grip. Hot tears burned her face as they slid onto the buggy seat.

“May I help you?” a male voice asked from nearby.

Maggy scrambled up, her heart thrashing for an entirely new reason. Mortification scalded her cheeks at being caught in the middle of one of her episodes. Brushing away her tears, she discovered a man watching her from the seat of his wagon, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern. He had light brown hair, cut short, beneath his cowboy hat. And his eyes were an interesting shade of gray.

“I’m here to see to Mr. Kent,” she said, hastily poking pins back into her hair where it had fallen from its coif as she’d removed her hat.

His eyebrows shot upward. “I’m Edward Kent. And you are?”

She’d been too flustered to immediately identify the British accent she now plainly heard behind his words. This was her employer. Maggy cleared her throat.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kent.” She straightened her shoulders and pasted on what she hoped resembled a smile. “I’m your new Pinkerton detective.”

Chapter Two

“I beg your pardon?” Edward shook his head, certain he hadn’t heard her correctly. There was no way this woman with her messy auburn hair and tear-filled blue eyes could be a Pinkerton detective. Besides, he’d been informed the new operative would be waiting for him at the train station, and probably had been for some time. He’d spent longer than he’d intended watching a group of strangers who’d ridden close to the edge of his property that morning.

The woman’s smile increased, appearing less tremulous and more confident by the second. “I said I’m your new detective. My name’s Maggy.”

“You can’t be the new detective. I was supposed to meet him...” He cleared his throat when she lifted a haughty eyebrow at his use of a male pronoun. “What I mean is, I was supposed to meet the detective at the train station.” Before Edward promptly sent the chap back to Colorado.

Despite the agency’s insistence about sending another agent to the ranch—likely in an attempt to restore their good name with him—Edward had decided just that morning that he would find some other way to solve his case.

The woman consulted the watch pinned to her jacket. “Yes, you were to meet me more than an hour ago. But I got tired of waiting. It was easy enough to get directions and this horse and buggy. I may be able to count the livery as expenditures. Then again, the rental was necessary because you were late, so you might need to reimburse the expense.”

Frustration rippled through him, its waves growing more pronounced the longer he sat here glaring at her. The last detective had incurred an expense from him as well, and Edward had not been satisfied with the results.

“I regret I was not at the station on time,” he conceded. He shifted on the wagon seat, his fingers tightening their grip on the horses’ reins. What was the most polite way to share with her that he no longer required a new detective, male or female? “I was attending to business related to the case that the last detective found too difficult to—”

To his astonishment, she clucked to the old nag pulling the buggy and headed up the drive as if Edward hadn’t spoken. “You’ll find that I don’t back down from a challenge as easily,” she called over her shoulder.

Giving a low growl, he hurried to turn the team and wagon around to catch up with her, but she made it to the house before him.

“If you’ll pardon me, Miss...” He waited for her to supply him with a last name.

“It’s better for both of us if you simply call me Maggy.”

Edward could think of several other things to call her at the moment—none of which his proper English mother would approve of. “Maggy,” he bit out. He prided himself on sounding marginally calm. “I can’t afford any more interruptions to my ranch.” Not when the British Cavalry was interested in his horses. “However, I no longer wish to shoulder the expense of another agent, only to be disappointed with the results once again.”

She climbed from her vehicle, her head held high. Apparently she was as stubborn as she was striking. “I promise you won’t be disappointed with my results.” She proceeded to untie the rope that secured a trunk to the back of the buggy. “If you need credentials, I can supply those. But you should know...” She paused to throw him a penetrating look. “I’m known in the Denver office as Get-Her-Man Maggy. And that is why Mr. James McParland himself sent me.”

He recognized the name McParland. After Edward had sent his letter to the agency, Mrs. Harvey had illuminated the more renowned cases of the Pinkertons, including McParland’s own role in infiltrating a gang of assassins in Pennsylvania in the ’70s. The man might know what he was about in sending Maggy.

Still, Edward wasn’t sold on the plan. It seemed a waste of time and money to employ yet another detective from the same agency. Their methods of investigation would likely prove similarly unfruitful.

“That last gentleman pretended to be a new hire,” he said, climbing down from the wagon, “but that won’t be as easy to explain if you were to assume such a role, would it?”

He’d hoped to deter her, but he was disappointed. Instead, she manhandled her trunk onto the porch and threw him a satisfied grin. “I’m sure we can think of a different, more effective role. This trunk of disguises will help.” She slapped the top of the luggage as if it were an old friend.

“Disguises?” he repeated with a shake of his head. “This isn’t a circus, Miss Maggy. This is a prosperous ranch. And I need someone to find out who’s sabotaging it. Not entertain the populace with some masquerade.”

His neck heated with greater anger as memories intruded, memories he typically kept locked away. It had been at a masquerade ball, several months after his father’s death, when he’d discovered the woman he’d loved in intimate conversation with his oldest brother. He’d confronted them, only to learn Beatrice had thrown him over.

A mutual friend confided to Edward later on that Beatrice had cared for him, but a sudden and tragic misfortune with her family’s finances had made her anxious to marry someone with the money to rescue her relations from ruin. Edward still felt the sting of rejection, though. Especially when his brother and Beatrice were married six months later. Two weeks following the wedding, he’d climbed aboard a ship bound for America.

“Are you always this obstinate, Mr. Kent?” Maggy asked, jerking his thoughts back to the unpleasant scene unfolding on his porch.

She was accusing him of obstinacy? He climbed the steps in an effort to keep her from barging her way inside. An action he wouldn’t put past her. “Are you always this persistent?”

Her eyes brightened with amusement. “I wouldn’t be one of McParland’s best detectives if I weren’t.”

Running a hand over his face, Edward blew out an exasperated sigh. Clearly he wasn’t going to convince this woman that he was done employing Pinkerton detectives. But if she were to prove her own inabilities...

“I will make a deal with you. You find some clue your predecessor did not, and I will hire you as my new detective.”

Instead of looking defeated, a thrum of energy seemed to radiate from her. “How long do I have?”

“Until this evening.” Then he’d kindly provide her with supper and a room for the night before sending her back to Colorado.

Undeterred, she stuck out her hand. “Agreed.”

Edward eyed her hand, feeling a bit foolish at the idea of shaking it as if she were a gentleman. Then again, she’d been insisting since he stumbled onto her in the drive that he take her seriously. He wondered what had caused her to appear so upset earlier. Her expression no longer held any of the vulnerability it had upon first glance. In contrast, she raised her eyebrows again, challenging him.

“Very well. Welcome to the Running W,” he said, shaking her hand. He even managed a polite smile. After all, he felt quite confident she wouldn’t be unpacking. This would be her first and final day on the ranch.

* * *

“Should I bring my trunk inside?” Maggy gestured to her luggage. The sooner she started on her investigation, the better. She could tell by the determined gleam in Edward’s gray eyes that he thought he’d given her a test she couldn’t pass. And she couldn’t wait to prove him wrong.

He frowned but moved to heft her luggage anyway. “I suppose we shouldn’t leave it out here unattended.”

Maggy opened the door for him, then followed him inside. The marble-inlaid hall tree where he hung his cowboy hat didn’t surprise her in its tasteful opulence, nor did the polished wood paneling of the entryway where he set her trunk. The ranch wouldn’t be the target of sabotage if it weren’t doing well.

“May I ask you some questions about the ranch?” Or would he see that as a violation of the conditions of his test? Was she supposed to figure everything out unaided? She wouldn’t interview the staff or hired hands yet, since she wasn’t sure which role she’d be playing for the duration of her stay here.

And she would be staying.

Stepping to the open doorway on the right, which appeared to be a parlor, Edward motioned her inside. “You may ask questions but only of me. If you’ll take a seat, I’ll see that my housekeeper prepares some tea for us.”

Maggy suppressed a grimace at the promised tea as she entered the parlor. Tea was a drink for timid, rich women. Not a female detective in the throes of an investigation.

The parlor was as tastefully and richly furnished as the hallway. A sofa and low table sat in front of the window, while a pair of armchairs stood before the fireplace. A large painting ruled over the mantel. Maggy went to stand before it. The green countryside might have resembled the one beyond the house, except there were no mountains and a man with a cart in the foreground didn’t look like a rancher. Perhaps it was an image of Edward’s native England.

Turning to view the other side of the room, her eyes widened when she saw the crowded bookshelves that stood on either side of the doorway. Maggy hurried over to inspect them up close. She’d never seen so many books in a private home before. She ran her fingers along the smooth surfaces of the spines, wishing for a moment that she could select a pile and curl up with them in one of the chairs.

“Do you like to read?”

She startled, as much at being caught staring as at not having heard Edward reenter the room. Spinning to face him, she knocked a notebook off one of the side tables. “Sorry about that.” She picked it up from where the book had fallen open on the carpet. A list of names covered half the page, which Maggy couldn’t help perusing. She’d learned long ago that anything might provide clues. “What’s this?”

“It’s a list of those who’ve borrowed a book from me this year.” Edward took the notebook from her, shut it decisively, and returned it to its place on the table. “Please, have a seat.”

Maggy sat in one of the armchairs, while Edward took the other. “Tell me what’s been happening at the ranch the last few months,” she said in a no-nonsense tone.

He rested his boot on his knee as he settled back in his seat. “Didn’t the other detective give you a report?”

“Yes, but I would like to hear it directly from you. Maybe there’s something he missed.”

His earlier frown made another appearance. “Of course there’s something he missed—he didn’t find who’s trying to destroy my ranch.”

She waited, knowing the importance of silence and patience. After another moment, Edward pushed out a sign of resignation.

“Very well. It began with a note...”

For the next while, Maggy listened carefully as Edward described the anonymous notes he’d received and the various acts of damage to the ranch. Fences had been broken, tack had mysteriously gone missing, and several feed orders never arrived. Four horses had gotten out several days earlier after another breach in a pasture fence, and the wranglers hadn’t been able to find them this time. Edward’s men rotated serving as guards at night and one patrolled the property during the day, but the new responsibilities meant less help around the ranch during daylight hours.

“Do you trust your employees?” she asked when he’d finished.

He nodded, but it didn’t radiate as much confidence as his demeanor earlier. “I do... I did. At this point, other than my housekeeper, who came here from England with me, I’m not certain who to trust.”

A tug of compassion pulled at her. “You can trust me, Mr. Kent.”

“I can, can I?” The briefest of smiles touched his lips. “I suppose we shall see.”

“Your tea, sir.” The housekeeper appeared to be in her late forties or early fifties. She had gray hair and carried a tray in hand, but she stopped inside the doorway when her gaze fell on Maggy. “Oh, dear,” she admitted, her British accent as strong as Edward’s. “Had I known you had a female visitor, I would’ve used the good china.”

Edward lowered his foot to the floor. “This is not a female visitor, Mrs. Harvey.”

“Then what would she be, sir?” The older woman bustled forward and set the tray on the low table. “She’s female and a visitor, is she not?”

Maggy swallowed a laugh at the woman’s clever retort.

“This is Mrs. Harvey, my housekeeper.” He waved at the older woman, then at Maggy. “Mrs. Harvey, this is Maggy. She’s here to...to possibly help with the trouble around the ranch.”

“What will you do?” Mrs. Harvey asked.

“I’m a detective, so hopefully I’ll find out who’s behind all the trouble.” Maggy kept back a sigh, though she knew what would come next. The look of disapproval, the sad shake of the head. She didn’t feel the need to justify her reasoning for being a detective, but she did wish for more acceptance from those of her own gender.

Instead of horrified shock or blatant condemnation, Mrs. Harvey’s face registered plain awe. “A female detective? Oh, how exciting. Sounds just like something from one of my penny dreadfuls.”

Maggy released a surprised chuckle. Edward’s housekeeper might be the first female she’d met whom she might actually get along with.

“If you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Harvey,” Edward intoned with a note of impatience. “We are discussing sensitive matters.”

“Of course. If there’s anything else you need, sir. Or you, Miss Maggy.” Mrs. Harvey offered her a kind smile. “Let me know what I can do to make your stay most pleasant.”

Edward mumbled something that sounded like “she won’t be staying.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Harvey,” Maggy said, ignoring Edward.

The woman inclined her head, then exited the parlor.

“I believe I have at least one champion in this household.” She arched her eyebrow at Edward in a self-satisfied expression.

“Time will tell if she is the only one.” His gaze darted to the clock on the mantel. “And time is slowly running out.” He stood and moved to the tea tray.

His reminder robbed her of some of her smugness. She had the details of what had occurred at the ranch, but she wasn’t any closer to identifying a suspect, or even uncovering an important clue.

“Tea?” He lifted a cup toward her, but Maggy shook her head.

“No, thank you.”

Edward returned to his seat to drink his tea. He was all stiff politeness, giving rise to a strange and irrational thought within her to see him laugh or grin with abandon. Or perhaps he wasn’t given to humor at all. Did his austerity hide a darker side? Maggy mentally shook her head at the idea. There was nothing about him that smacked of dishonesty or aggression. Why she hadn’t been able to read those things as clearly in Jeb, she’d never know.

Pushing thoughts of her late husband from her mind, Maggy drummed her fingers on the chair arm, thinking over the information Edward had shared. “Do you still have those threatening notes?”

Nodding, Edward set aside his teacup and rose to his feet. He opened a box on one of the bookshelves. “I kept all of them,” he said, removing a sheaf of papers.

He handed them to Maggy as he sat back down. After reading the menacing message on each, she went back through them, this time studying the handwriting. “Whoever wrote these is likely educated. Or, at least, comfortably literate.”

“How can you tell?”

Maggy lifted one for him to see. “There are no misspellings, contractions or slang. The letters weren’t written with a heavy hand, either. Which means the person didn’t have to think too hard before writing the words or struggle to keep up as someone dictated them.”

A flash of admiration filled his gray eyes, but only for a moment. “That is rather impressive. However, it doesn’t tell us who the culprit is.”

“Or does it?” Maggy muttered to herself as she peered harder at one of the last notes in the pile. The curves on the capital B in Brit seemed vaguely familiar. “May I see your library notebook?”

She glanced up to find Edward watching her in confusion. “Whatever for?”

“Testing a theory.”

Rising to his feet once more, he collected the book and brought it over to her. “I don’t see how this is going to help.”

“Which is precisely why I am the detective and you are the rancher.” Maggy opened the notebook to the page she’d surveyed earlier. Carefully she reread each name, then compared it to the handwriting on the note. Sure enough, her theory proved correct when she reached the most recently penned name.

“Ah-ha,” she exclaimed with a surge of victory as she glanced at Edward. “I found one of our potential suspects.” Which was one more than the last operative had discovered. She’d won Edward’s little challenge, which meant he would have to hire her as his new detective.

Snatching the book from her, Edward shook his head. “That’s not possible.”

“Look, here.” She bent forward to show him the handwriting on the note and how it corresponded to the name in the book. “This one has a curve in the B like the one in Bertram there.”

Another of the names was written in handwriting she was sure she’d seen on one of the other notes. She sifted through them again until she found it. “Here’s another. This note has the same flourish on the W as it does on the name...” She leaned forward and read the notebook upside down. “Right there—the name Winchester.” Now they had two suspects! “Who are these men?”

The furrow in Edward’s brow increased as he handed back the book. “They are both wealthy ranchers who live in the area.”

She nearly blurted out that she’d been right—the culprits were educated—but she clamped her teeth over the remark as she saw the color drain from Edward’s face. She’d had plenty of practice keeping her thoughts to herself—she wouldn’t do well at undercover work if she told the criminals how absurdly dim they were to brag about their exploits in front of her persona as a harmless-looking scullery maid or a mousy store clerk. But holding her tongue for the purpose of sparing someone’s feelings was new, and she wondered why she didn’t wish to add to his discomfort. Especially given that he hadn’t believed she could sniff out any clues at all.

Edward stood and began to pace the rug in front of the sofa, his expression one of consternation and confusion. “I can’t understand it. I dine with these men nearly every week at the Sheridan Inn. They’ve visited me here and I’ve been to their homes. Why would they sabotage me?”

That was still another matter to solve—motive. Though she didn’t share his surprise that the attacks came from those he considered friends. She’d seen too much of mankind’s duplicity to be shocked by it anymore. “It makes more sense that a fellow rancher would be behind all of this havoc rather than a lone wrangler or cowboy. What more can you tell me about these men?”

Pocketing his hands, Edward frowned further. “They’ve done well for themselves, though their spreads aren’t nearly as large as the Running W. Winchester is married and his wife belongs to that little club in town.”

“Little club?” Maggy sat up straighter. The niggling of an idea had started to form inside her mind, though it wasn’t fleshed out and ready to present itself yet. “What sort of club?”

Edward waved his hand dismissively. “All of the ranchers’ wives belong. They get together for their teas and tête-à-têtes and head up a number of society functions in Sheridan, as well.”

“Do you have to be married to a rancher to join their club?”

He didn’t slow his pacing. “I believe so, yes. That or engaged.”

“And their husbands?” she asked. “Do they gather socially, as well?”

Edward nodded. “Nearly all of the ranchers attend weekly dinners at the inn. Sometimes it’s with their wives. Other times it’s only the men.”

“Perfect.” She slapped the chair arms for emphasis. Things were definitely looking up for this investigation—and for restoring the Pinkerton name with Edward. “Now we know where to concentrate our efforts.”

“What do you mean?”

Maggy stood, ready for some tea after all. It would be tepid by now but could still serve as an honorary toast to her first successful hour on the ranch.

“You already know two of these men and you attend the same social events they do. Since there’s a strong likelihood others in their social group are involved in this plot against your ranch, you need to become better acquainted with all of the well-to-do ranchers in the area.” She bent and lifted her teacup from off the low table. “You need to know their closest friends, enemies, ambitions, fears.”

He threw her a perturbed look. “And what will you be doing while I am ingratiating myself?” His tone still rang sharp and full of frustration.

“I’m working on that,” she reassured him as she took a sip.

“Boss?” a voice called from the hallway.

Edward turned toward the sound. “In here, McCall.”

A man with a handsome face and curly black hair poking out from underneath his hat strode into the parlor. “Some of the boys just learned about that detective pretending to be a wrangler. They’re worried that since he didn’t find the culprit...” He broke off when he saw Maggy. “Sorry, boss. Didn’t ’spect you to have company. Especially not feminine company.” Removing his hat, he nodded politely at Maggy. She inclined her head in return.

She was beginning to get a picture of Edward Kent, and it didn’t include the man having numerous female visitors. He was handsome, she conceded, and fairly affable. But clearly his ranch, his horses and perhaps his staff were all his heart had room for. She couldn’t help wondering why.

“This is West McCall, my ranch foreman.” Edward collected his cup and poured himself some more tea. He was stalling, which meant he was either grappling with how to introduce her or reluctant to reveal to the man that she was a detective. Perhaps both. “McCall, I’d like you to meet...” He took a swallow of tea, his gaze darting to Maggy’s in a silent plea for assistance.

His unexpected show of confidence in her abilities to come up with a solid cover story brought her earlier idea forward at last, in full form. “I’m Maggy. Edward’s fiancée,” she finished with a triumphant smile. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

Turning toward him, Maggy only had a moment to register the shock in Edward’s gray eyes before his mouthful of tea came spewing out—all over her.

Chapter Three

Edward mumbled an apology, avoiding eye contact with both his foreman and Maggy. Of all the foolish, rash, ridiculous plans, he thought as he set down his cup, scooped up a napkin, and thrust it at Maggy so she could dab her tea-soaked dress.

Feigning affection for someone, as Beatrice had done five and a half years ago, was the last thing he wanted to do, least of all toward a practical stranger. He fought to keep his expression impassive, but his jaw began to twitch with the attempt.

“Didn’t know you were engaged, boss.”

“It is rather sudden,” Edward managed to get out between his clenched teeth.

Maggy glanced up from wiping her dress and frowned at him. Was his scowl leaking through, or had she heard the sharpness in his tone?

“So how did you two...” McCall shifted his weight, looking every bit as confused and uncertain as Edward felt. “Are you from England, as well...Maggy?”

She set down her napkin as she offered the foreman a brilliant smile. “No, I’m not from England, Mr. McCall. But I have come a very long way to see Edward here, so if you’d be good enough to allow us another few minutes in private.” With impressive skill, she linked her arm through the foreman’s and guided him toward the parlor door as if the idea to leave had been his all along.

“If you didn’t meet in England, then where—”

“Oh, we have a shared acquaintance,” Maggy said with a nonchalant wave of her hand and a tinkling laugh as she led McCall into the hallway. “Our friend introduced us, and after that Edward and I struck up a lively correspondence.”

Edward nearly forgot his fury as he watched her win over McCall. The poor man looked a bit in awe of Maggy. Edward had to admit himself that she’d accomplished much in the last hour and with great aplomb. She acted quickly on her feet and had successfully discovered two possible suspects.

If only she hadn’t gone and ruined everything with this harebrained scheme of them pretending to be engaged.

“We’ll be just a few minutes, Mr. McCall.”

Her back was to Edward, but he could tell from her tone that Maggy had graced the foreman with another smile before she shut the parlor door. An outlandish, irrational thought had him wondering what it would be like to have the full power of that charming smile directed at him.

It certainly wasn’t her smile that she aimed at him when she whirled around. “You are going to ruin this investigation,” she hissed. “Could you have looked any more appalled at playing the role of my fiancé?”

“Are you mad?” Edward countered, keeping his voice equally low. “Of course I’m going to be shocked and downright annoyed when you announce such a ridiculous fiction.”

Maggy crossed her arms and glared at him. Her eyes had turned a dark cobalt. “There wasn’t time to ask how you felt about it. Besides I told you that I was coming up with a role.”

“Yes. But I didn’t think that would be pretending to be my fiancée. Who will believe it?”

Her eyebrows rose in a haughty look as she motioned to the closed door. “I have no doubt that your foreman believes it.”

“This is madness.” He threw his hands in the air, then spun to face the fireplace. “There is surely some other role for you to play.”

He sensed her stepping toward him. “This is the best way for me to ingratiate myself into that club for the ranchers’ sweethearts and wives. If I can get them to trust me, they’ll share their secrets, which will likely include hints or knowledge of their husbands’ nefarious activities.”

“What about playing a servant at the inn? Or my...my visiting relation?” Edward jammed his hands into his pockets, his chin dipping low. He didn’t need to hear Maggy’s rejection of those ideas—in his heart, he knew they wouldn’t work in the way they needed.

Her voice came out surprisingly kind and placating. “It’s not enough to overhear their conversations, the way a servant would—I need to be someone they can confide in. You said it yourself, Edward. The only way I can gain access into that club is to pretend to be your wife or fiancée.”

He had only a moment to realize he liked hearing her say his name before she went on. “Believe me, I wouldn’t choose this role if I didn’t think it absolutely necessary to this mission.”

Edward wasn’t sure whether to be offended by that remark or not. Turning to face her, he glimpsed a touch of vulnerability on her face, as he had earlier, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. Had she also been hurt in the past?

“Care to elaborate?” he inquired.

It was the wrong thing to ask. Maggy jutted out her chin and peered down her nose at him. “I have my reasons, which I do not need to discuss.”

“And if I refuse to go along with this charade?” He felt compelled to ask the question, though he could feel himself relenting—against his better judgment. Maggy had effectively bested his challenge, and if he let her go, he wasn’t sure where he’d look for another detective.

“Then I suppose I’ll drive myself back to the station. There’s nothing more I can do to help you.”

The words themselves were spoken with clipped finality, but the flicker of desperation that entered her blue eyes belied their strength. Did she stand to gain or lose something from this case? Something beyond a paycheck for her time and efforts?

Edward pushed out a frustrated breath as he eyed the ceiling. The intricate plasterwork was a unique fixture of his home, a nod to his English heritage. He’d been hard-pressed to find someone who could do the work and had been relieved and proud when the old chap he’d hired had finished. This place represented Edward’s hard work and ambition, not to mention his confidence in himself and his place in the world. He couldn’t imagine watching everything he’d accomplished be picked off and destroyed bit by bit.

And that meant making a rather large concession now.

“If I go along with this...” He emphasized the word if, though Maggy still lit up with interest. “I don’t want it to be an outright lie.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

How to explain? He didn’t know if she was religious or not, but even if she wasn’t, he hoped she would honor his desire to be scrupulous. It was a way of life he’d attempted to live fully, in light of his sister’s example—a determination reinforced by Beatrice’s dishonest behavior.

“What will we do to end this charade?” he asked, trying a different approach.

Maggy shook her head and shrugged. “Decide we don’t suit and I go back to Colorado.”

“Then I would like to make the engagement official.”

Her eyes widened as a look of near panic and suspicion crossed her face. “Official how?”

“Will you...” Edward cleared his throat—he could well relate to the alarm she felt. It was as if he stood at the top of some great mountain peak and had been commanded to jump. “Will you agree to be my fiancée, for the duration of your time here? I only ask it that way,” he hastened to add, “so that we won’t be living or telling a lie when we tell people I asked for your hand.”

She took his measure, making him wonder what she saw. “All right then. I’ll agree to be your fiancée for as long as I’m needed here.”

Then her lips curved upward in a dazzling smile, similar to the one she’d bestowed on McCall, leaving Edward as charmed as his foreman and thinking this temporary engagement might prove to be a decent idea after all.

* * *

Maggy resisted the urge to shout with triumph. Things were going splendidly and she’d only been at the Running W less than two hours. “Since we’ve already established our plan, I’d like to change.” She motioned to the tea splotches on her dress. “And then I’d like to see the rest of the ranch.”

“One moment,” Edward said, scrutinizing her with those gray eyes. “Have you played the role of someone’s fiancée before?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Have you ever been engaged before?”

The question pushed memories best forgotten into her mind and she frowned. She and Jeb were betrothed just two days before they married. That hardly counted. “I don’t see how that’s relevant, but no, I have not.”

“Then how do I know this plan of yours will actually work?”

Now he was simply being obtuse. She’d already proven herself twice over, and she’d agreed to be his fiancée so they wouldn’t be lying. Crossing her arms, Maggy challenged his probing look with one of her own. “Of course it will work.”

“We also have your reputation to consider.”

He was worried about that now? “I’m a female detective, Edward. I have little to no reputation as it is.”

“Be that as it may,” he clasped his hands behind his back as he paced the room again, “as my fiancée and a hopeful member of the ranchers’ wives’ club, you must be seen as the consummate image of propriety.”

Concern nagged her, causing Maggy to tighten her arms against her bodice. “Fine. I will be.”

“That would entail things like staying in the guest cottage rather than here inside my home.”

She nodded with impatience. “I can do that. Now I’d like to—”

“What about your wardrobe?”

Full annoyance sparked inside her. So she hadn’t factored in every detail; at least she’d come up with a plan. “What about it, darling?” she ground out.

The merest hint of amusement lit his gaze before he shuttered it. “You only came up with this scheme a moment ago—I doubt you packed with this role in mind. How up to snuff are your clothes?”

“They’re a bit out of style. But, again, I’m a detective, not a socialite.”

He stopped and stood in front of her. “A socialite is exactly what you must be, Maggy, if we are to pull this off.”

Fear began chewing at her frustration, riddling her thoughts with doubt. “I can show you what I have to wear to social functions.” While most of her dresses were simple in style and adornment, they would surely do. “I’ll get my trunk...”

She let her voice fade out when Edward slid his fingers around her wrist to stay her exit. Icy terror froze her for a moment, except for the painful, rapid beating of her heart.

“Unhand me,” she said in a firm whisper.

Edward blinked in obvious confusion, then glanced down at her hand. “My apologies.” He released her at once, restoring Maggy’s ability to breathe normally. His contrite expression was further proof he’d meant nothing by his gesture. “I only wished to detain you another minute.”

Gripping her hands together, to hide their trembling, she lifted her chin. “What more did you want to say?”

“I want to address this.”

Maggy eyed him, feeling puzzled. “Address what?”

“What just happened.” He motioned between them.

Fresh dread washed through her and she clasped her hands more tightly together. She would not divulge her past to him. “I don’t see how that’s important to your case.”

“I disagree.” His mouth and brow were both drawn downward. “As an engaged couple, we have to appear as if we share genuine affection for one another. But if you can’t abide my hand on yours...”

He wasn’t asking about her past. Maggy allowed a small breath of relief. “I can certainly feign affection.” Her tone came out far more self-confident than she actually felt. Surely she could play any role she needed to. She always had before. “Can you do the same?” she countered.

To her surprise, Edward didn’t rattle off a quick retort. Instead he lowered his head and shut his eyes in what appeared to be a silent prayer. A prick of guilt stung Maggy as she tried to remember the last time she’d prayed. Probably not since she’d been a girl. She shifted her stance, feeling uncomfortable and at a disadvantage. It wasn’t an emotion she enjoyed.

Edward opened his eyes and took a decisive step forward, which meant they were standing toe-to-toe. Maggy had a strange urge to ask him what he’d concluded. However, when he scooped up one of her hands in his, she had a guess what his answer had been.

“I believe I can act the part of a devoted fiancé.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “At least I shall try.”

The gentleness of his voice and the warmth of his fingers on hers inspired a renewal of her trepidation but also an unfamiliar and entirely unexpected sensation of safety. Could she play this role as thoroughly as Edward was implying they must?

“I... I need to change.” She pulled her hand free and fell back a step.

His brow creased again, but he didn’t attempt to stop her this time. “I’ll show you to the guest cottage then.”

Nodding, Maggy waited for him to lead the way. The hallway was empty, which meant his foreman had decided not to wait. Edward easily shouldered her trunk a second time and she trailed him out the front door. A stone’s throw away stood a stable and another small building. The guest house sported the same white clapboard as the main one and its own tiny porch.

Edward set her trunk down to open the door. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.” Maggy stepped inside. The single room was spacious and clean, and the window revealed a lovely view of the mountains.

He placed her luggage on the bed. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No.” She shook her head.

Slipping out the door, Edward paused. “How shall I introduce you to the rest of my staff?”

“While I’m here, I’ll be Maggy Worthwright.” She liked to keep her maiden name, which was the surname she went by since becoming a widow, to herself to preserve her anonymity and ability to be anyone she needed.

He nodded. “I’ll be at the main barn, when you’re ready to see the ranch.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

Once he shut the door, Maggy sank down on the bed beside her trunk. What if she couldn’t effectively play the part of Edward’s fiancée? She hadn’t exactly thought through what that would mean. And she’d all but panicked when he grabbed her hand. Could she endure days, possibly weeks, of pretending to adore him in the company of others? As if she were young and in love...all over again?

Maggy shivered, despite the room’s pleasant temperature, and folded her arms tightly against her tea-soiled jacket. The thought of being under another man’s thumb made her stomach roil.

What did she know about love or being betrothed to someone? In the past, love had been a weapon used to hurt or a dangerous path leading to foolish choices and weakness. She’d vowed at Jeb’s funeral that she would never, ever allow herself to be tied to another man. Instead she would live alone—and free. Free of belittlement, hurt and pain.

You’re nothin’, Maggy. Just you remember that.

The deep-rooted, ugly words repeated in her mind and made it hard to breathe. She rubbed a hand along the fabric at her collarbone and sucked in several breaths.

“I am not nothing,” she fiercely told herself. “I am one of the best Pinkerton detectives out there.”

And that meant seeing this mission—this role—through completely. Maggy jumped to her feet and opened her trunk, fresh determination battling her fears. She could do this. The next few weeks would be worth the sacrifice, especially if her success here meant she secured the position as head female detective.

She removed her trousers and shirt from the trunk, eager to exchange her traveling dress for more comfortable clothing. After all, she was about to tour a working ranch. The feel of the loose material eased some of her trepidation. She tucked in her shirt, laced her shoes back up, and pulled her worn straw hat from its equally tattered box. Positioning the hat on her head, she eyed herself in the bureau mirror.

Did she look the part of Edward’s fiancée? Maggy frowned at her reflection, pulling her naturally pink lips downward. Whether she did or not, this was the part she would play. She’d navigated far more complicated roles in her six years as a detective. But as she exited the cottage, she couldn’t help a faint tremor of misgiving that this charade might prove to be her most challenging yet.

Chapter Four

“Uh, boss.” McCall tipped his head toward something outside the main barn doors. “Is that your...um...fiancée comin’ this way?”

Edward turned. He was actually looking forward to showing Maggy around the ranch and hoped her drooping spirits had been restored, now that she had a clean dress on. As he watched, the wranglers in the yard parted like the Red Sea, mouths agape in shock, as another...young man...strolled through their midst. Only this chap had auburn hair peeking out from beneath a straw hat and a womanly figure that was still obvious in spite of the loose-fitting clothes.

His eagerness faded. “Yes,” he managed to say with only slight weariness in his tone. “That would be Maggy.”

She’d berated him earlier for not keeping up the charade well enough and here she was dressed like a man. He frowned, his forehead pinching with the effort. Perhaps their plan was destined to fail from the start.

Belatedly he remembered his foreman. “Probably didn’t want to ruin one of her dresses as I show her around,” he explained with false cheer. He walked out of the barn to greet her, doing his best not to clench his hands into fists at his sides.

“Hello, darling,” she called as she approached. “I’m ready for my tour.”

He managed a tight smile as he gently gripped her elbow and steered her away from the wide-eyed looks of his staff. “A moment in private first, dearest.”

“All right.” She glanced up at him, her expression one of cautious confusion.

Edward led her toward the nearest pasture so they wouldn’t be overheard. When they reached the fence, he released her, keeping his back to his wranglers and foreman. “What exactly are you wearing?”

Maggy looked down at her clothes as if she’d forgotten what she’d put on. His staff certainly wouldn’t forget any time soon. “A shirt and pants?”

“Precisely.” He shot her an impatient look. Was she truly unaware of the stir she’d caused or her breach of propriety in dressing in such a fashion?

She folded her arms and her countenance hardened. He may have only known her for a few hours, but Edward could easily identify when her dander was up. “And what is so abhorrent about my clothes?”

“Nothing,” he said with a module of patience, “if you intend to lasso one of my horses or muck a stall. However, if you plan to parade around town as my fiancée, then I’d ask you to please not do so looking like a man.”

Her pink lips parted as if she were about to throw out a rejoinder. Then she obviously thought better of it and shut her mouth. She glanced back the way they’d come, a never-before-seen look of consternation settling onto her pretty face. “You’re right. It’s just that these clothes...” Her blue eyes flashed with momentary vulnerability before she lifted her chin. “It won’t happen again. I will endeavor to act and look as a proper society fiancée should.”

“Thank you.” But he felt less victorious than he’d expected. While clothes and appearances were critical to playing their respective roles, he had a hunch that Maggy felt most comfortable, most like herself, in the clothes she wore at this moment. He felt a pang of remorse at the thought of taking that comfort away from her.

Pushing out a sigh, she faced away from him. “I’ll go change.”

“No need just yet,” he said. “I already told McCall that you’d chosen your outfit for the express purpose of not soiling one of your gowns during your tour of the ranch.”

A small smile appeared at her mouth. “That was rather quick scheming on your part.”

“A first, I’ll admit.” Edward chuckled. “But I’ve had a rather effective albeit persistent teacher today.”

Was it his imagination or did she blush? Before Edward could decide, Maggy took a step forward. “Let’s see this ranch of yours.”

“Maggy.” He waited for her to turn around, then he offered her his arm. “I’m supposed to be showing my betrothed around the ranch.”

She hesitated, her gaze riveted on his sleeve. “Right, of course.” Determination etched her features as she strode back to his side and linked her arm through his. He could feel the tension radiating through her fingers, though.

He placed his hand over hers, hoping it would be reassuring this time. “Ahead of us is the main barn. Shall we start in there?”

“Yes.”

He was relieved to see a flicker of gratitude in her eyes, which meant that right now she found his touch more comforting than jarring. And for some reason that felt as much a victory to him as anything else today.

* * *

By the time he’d finished showing Maggy around the ranch and introduced her as his fiancée to every member of his staff, Edward was wound tighter than a lasso inside. She hadn’t said much, though she didn’t look bored, either. There had been a succession of nods, a few questions and plenty of bright smiles for the wranglers. But what did she think of the Running W?

It surprised him that he cared about her opinion of the ranch, unlike the last time he’d shown a Pinkerton detective around the place. That had been all business. This time, however, Edward had a peculiar desire to impress Maggy. Which made little sense. It wasn’t as if they were really engaged.

After watching her rub the nose of his horse, he worked up the courage to finally ask her estimation. “Well? What do you think of the place?” He feigned disinterest in her answer as they exited the stable.

“It’s beautiful, Edward.” She stopped walking and removed her straw hat, giving him a full view of her face. “Very impressive what you’ve managed to do in five years.”

Was she being truthful? He hoped so. “I am proud of it.”

“As you should be.” She offered him a brief smile. “And we need to ensure that it remains as it is.”

“Yes, of course.” The reminder of why she was really here sobered him and returned his thoughts to the necessary success of their temporary engagement. “I believe my staff is quite taken by you.”

Her eyebrows arched in a look of haughty amusement. “Even in my unladylike attire?”

“Even then,” he replied with a deadpan expression.

Rolling her eyes, Maggy started for the house. “I’m glad to hear it. And now I’m ready for that supper you promised.”

“One moment.” He caught up to her near the porch. “Around here we dress for supper.”

She shook her head. “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”

“We... I...change for supper.” He motioned to his dust-speckled trousers and shirt. It wasn’t necessary to be more formal for the dinner table—particularly when he usually dined alone—but it was a throwback to his growing-up years in England. Truth be told, he rather liked putting on a fresh pair of clothes after a hard day’s work, then sitting down to a delicious meal.

“Change into what?” Her arms were tightly folded again.

Edward cleared his throat. “I’ll put on a suit as I would if we were going to the Sheridan Inn for dinner. And you...well...you can dress in one of those gowns you said you owned.”

“This is a nightly ritual?”

He nodded.

For a moment, her eyes fell shut as if she were summoning patience from deep inside herself. “All right,” she said, opening her eyes. “I shall dress for dinner, darling.”

“Excellent, my dear.”

Spinning on her heel, Maggy marched toward the guest house, her straw hat smacking her pant leg. “But I am not rearranging my hair,” she called back loudly.

Edward chuckled as he headed inside. His good humor continued as he changed into a fresh shirt, trousers, tie, vest and jacket. Normally he looked forward to the quiet that came with taking his meals by himself. Mrs. Harvey ate when she wanted, and McCall felt it important to eat the meals she prepared for the outside staff with the wranglers. Which meant Edward ate alone more often than not. Tonight, though, he found himself looking forward to dining with Maggy. She might be stubborn and far from demure, but he supposed he could see why those qualities were important in a detective, especially a female one.

Had he really almost sent her away hours earlier? He was grateful now that he hadn’t. Did the Lord have a hand in that? Edward wondered as he headed back downstairs. He entered the dining room to find it empty. Should he wait for Maggy by the front door then, or take a seat?

As he was debating what to do, he heard the door swing open and shut, then the clack of heels across the entryway floor. He moved to the doorway of the dining room to meet her. She gripped her trailing skirt with one hand as she approached.

“Suitable for supper?” She did a spin, giving him a full view of her dress.

While it appeared well made, the pale yellow gown looked a few years outdated as Maggy had said, and the dull color of it washed the pink from her cheeks. Surely this wasn’t what a vivacious, engaged young woman ought to wear. Worse still, the carefree, open demeanor she’d displayed during their tour of the ranch had disappeared. She resembled a dressed goose awaiting execution.

“It does suit for supper.”

“But?” She pinned him with a penetrating glance.

Edward shifted his weight as uneasiness coursed through him. “Are all of your dresses similar to this?”

“Yes, I suppose they’re all the same style. Neither noticeably fashionable nor unfashionable. Light colors that don’t catch the eye. No ribbons or trim to come loose and betray that I’ve been poking around where I’m not supposed to be. Simple. Practical.”

Needing a moment to think, he led her by the elbow into the dining room where he pulled out a chair for her.

“What’s wrong with my dress, Edward?” She gave him an arched look as she took a seat.

He helped push her chair in, then sat beside her at the head of the table. “There’s nothing inherently wrong with it,” he hedged. He placed his napkin across his lap and felt relief when Maggy artfully did the same. Apparently, dinner etiquette would not be something they had to master, as well.

Mrs. Harvey’s fortuitous entrance into the dining room kept him from having to think up a polite reply to Maggy’s question. “Evening, sir,” his housekeeper announced as she placed full plates in front of them. “You, too, miss.” She beamed at Maggy.

“There’s been a new wrinkle to the detective plans, Mrs. Harvey.” He hadn’t taken the opportunity to let her know yet. “Maggy will be...” He glanced at the door, then lowered his voice. “I’ve asked her to be my fiancée for the duration of her time here.”

The older woman’s eyes widened. “Your fiancée, sir? Was that your idea to become engaged like that?”

“No,” Maggy interjected as she picked up her fork. “It was mine, Mrs. Harvey. I’m hoping it will allow me to become part of the ranchers’ wives’ club and gather critical information.”

Edward was grateful she didn’t disclose that they already had two suspects among the ranchers. As much as he trusted Mrs. Harvey, he sensed the less he discussed his case with anyone other than Maggy, the better.

Mrs. Harvey trained a shocked gaze at him. “You agreed to this plan, sir? Even after...” She let her words trail out, to Edward’s relief. The woman knew of Beatrice’s deceit, but it wasn’t something he wished to share with Maggy, now or possibly ever.

“Of course. It’s a brilliant one.” He felt Maggy watching him shrewdly.

His housekeeper eyed them in turn once more. “I’ll leave you to your meal then.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Harvey.” When the older woman left the room, Edward turned to Maggy. “I’ll offer the blessing.”

Her brows shot upward as she set her fork back down. She looked slightly startled—even a bit chagrined—at his suggestion, but she didn’t appear annoyed. Wordlessly, she lowered her chin. Edward shut his eyes and began to pray. He thanked the Lord for the meal and asked His blessings upon his staff and the investigation, as well.

Maggy’s disconcerted look remained as they began eating. Edward wondered what she thought of faith and religion. If she were truly his fiancée, he would hope to share a similar belief and love of God with her. Beatrice hadn’t. She’d attended church, of course, like the other wealthy families in their social circle, but her faith hadn’t been the anchor that it became for Edward and his sister.

He sampled a bite of food, pushing aside thoughts of Beatrice and the past. “I think you’ll find Mrs. Harvey’s fare quite above any boardinghouse or restaurant.” He shot Maggy a smile. “That’s partly the reason I asked her to accompany me to America.”

“The food is delicious,” Maggy agreed. “So you’ve known Mrs. Harvey a long time.”

It was more a statement than a question, but he nodded anyway.

“What did she mean about you agreeing to our plan ‘even after?’”

Edward stifled a groan, though he wasn’t surprised Maggy had not only caught his housekeeper’s slip but remembered it, too. “Nothing of consequence.” He took another bite, though he tasted little this time.

“Have you been engaged before?” Maggy inquired, her expression one of innocence. But Edward knew better. Her blue eyes were glowing with that same determination and tenacity he’d seen several times already.

He shook his head. “No, I haven’t. Not officially anyway. Though I did believe there was an understanding between myself and a young lady.”

There, he’d told her all he wished to reveal. Even his vague description of his and Beatrice’s time together had resurrected the long-buried sting of her rejection. He didn’t wish to dwell on it anymore.

“What you need is a new wardrobe,” he declared, only too happy to return to the earlier topic. Maggy’s irritation over what he thought of her dresses was far safer and less painful than reopening the past.

She studied him a moment and Edward had a sudden urge to ask what she observed. Did she see the often neglected, thrown-over third son of Lord and Lady Healey? Or did she see the successful rancher?

“A new wardrobe?” she repeated at last. “Is that really necessary?” She made a face as if he’d asked her to roll around in a stable stall.

Edward couldn’t help the upward tilt of his mouth—both at her entertaining grimace and in relief that she hadn’t hounded him for information about Beatrice. “Some women are actually thrilled by the thought of new clothes. Especially when they are at the expense of someone else’s pocketbook.”

“You’re going to pay for new clothes...for me?” Her astonishment both amused and confused him. Had no one ever bought her anything before?

He picked up his water goblet. “I don’t think it entirely fair to ask Pinkerton to foot the bill. Not when you need to be outfitted with an entire new wardrobe.”

“Entire?” Her eyes narrowed. “What exactly does that mean, Edward?”

Taking a sip, he set down his glass. “You know—day dresses, evening dresses, hats, gloves, possibly even a ball gown. The wives’ club will host their annual summer ball in another month.”

“Why would I need a new hat and gloves?” Maggy retorted, her expression darkening. “It all sounds rather excessive. Not to mention a great waste of money.”

He had the impression she lumped herself in with the clothes as something—someone—unworthy to spend money on. Why would that be? She’d shown such confidence in herself as a detective. Did she not see herself as valuable outside of her profession?

“I agree it may be excessive.” She looked as if she could breathe again, until he continued. “But a waste or not, that is what you’ll need in order to convince these women you are one of them.”

“Fine. If asked, I’ll say my luggage was misplaced and I needed to replace what I lost.” She jutted out her chin as she forked another bite, the tongs tapping the plate with force. “And when am I to be subjected to the joys of obtaining a new wardrobe?”

He chuckled—he was coming to like her cheeky humor. “Tomorrow. That way we can square things up with the livery stable to have transportation at your disposal during your stay.”

“We’re keeping the nag and the buggy then?”

Edward scoffed, shooting her a teasing look. “The buggy, yes. But not that nag. Something tells me you’d appreciate a more spirited horse to convey you to and from club meetings.”

A mischievous smile chased the annoyance from her expression. “I believe that’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say all evening.”

Chapter Five

Maggy gritted her teeth, trying to appear patient and serene as the dressmaker tugged, poked and pinned. She felt like a peacock in the ready-made royal blue gown, with as many pins stuck in it as there were in the woman’s pincushion. What she wouldn’t give to see Edward submit to such ministrations. The thought pulled a smile from her. He might not think a new wardrobe so necessary after that.

She’d driven the buggy into Sheridan that morning, while Edward rode beside her on the horse they would switch for the nag. He made arrangements with the livery owner about keeping the vehicle for a few more weeks, then he drove her to the dressmaker’s shop.

It felt strange, and unsettling, to have a man watching out for her like that. And she still couldn’t understand why Edward would throw his money away on clothes she wouldn’t likely wear again once this mission was solved. She needed to be convincing as his fiancée, yes. But to have a great deal of money spent on her? The uneasy feeling returned to her stomach, though a traitorous seedling of pleasure attempted to sprout, as well. When had her father or Jeb ever purchased a gift for her? Never.

Her apprehension began to morph into choking dread as thoughts of the past took hold inside her mind. Maggy tightened her hands into fists and received a scolding look from the dressmaker for not keeping still.

“Sorry,” Maggy mumbled.

She had a job to do. And whether it felt nice or not to have a man’s help, no one else would be doing her work for her. It was past time to do a little sleuthing.

“Ms. Glasen, was it?” she asked the dressmaker, doing her best not to move.

The woman looked to be about Maggy’s own age, maybe even a few years younger. “Mmm-hmm.” Ms. Glasen had said little—beyond asking what sort of gowns were required to replace the ones Maggy had lost, if she had any preferences for colors, and if she was new in town.

“How long have you had this dress shop?”

The dressmaker’s amber eyes lit with pride. “Three years.”

Perfect. That meant the woman might be able to provide Maggy with some useful information. There was no reason the odious task of being fitted for uncomfortable clothes shouldn’t be profitable in other ways too.

“Do you know Mr. Edward Kent?”

Ms. Glasen’s forehead crinkled in thought. “He lives near Big Horn way, right? Owns a large ranch there, I think.”

“Yes, he does.” Maggy affected a tender sigh. “He’s also my fiancé.”

The dressmaker glanced up from her work. “Is that so? I hadn’t heard the gossip that he was courting anyone.”

“It all happened rather fast.”

Ms. Glasen rose to her feet. “I’m finished pinning this one. I have one other gown that may fit you with little to no alterations. Mrs. Druitt decided she didn’t think the purple color would suit her daughter after all.”

“Does that happen often?” Maggy stepped off the wooden box she’d been standing on.

“Now and then,” the other woman admitted. “But I think the dark purple hue will look lovely with your auburn hair.”

She disappeared through a door in the back of the shop and returned a few moments later with another trailing gown. Maggy suppressed a groan. What she wouldn’t give to be back in her favorite trousers and shirt!

After accepting the dress, Maggy slipped behind the dressing screen and carefully traded the royal blue dress for the purple. Unlike the first one, this second gown felt more fluid. She did the buttons up the front, then stepped out to show the dressmaker.

“Ah, yes.” Smiling, Ms. Glasen nodded. “That’s the perfect color for you and the fit is exactly right, as well.” She stepped away from the floor-length mirror, giving Maggy a full view of herself.

And the view startled her.

She couldn’t say for sure that the color enhanced her hair, but the woman staring back at her looked more than confident and determined. She looked almost...beautiful. It was a notion Maggy had never allowed herself to consider before.

Tears burned her eyes as she glanced away, blinking rapidly. “It’s a lovely dress. I’ll take it, along with the royal blue one and the others we discussed.” Ms. Glasen would be making an additional eight dresses for her.

“Wonderful.” The woman beamed again. “I’ll have the royal blue one ready for you to pick up tomorrow and the others next week. Are you staying in town?”

Maggy shook her head as she ducked back behind the screen. “No,” she called over the fabric partition. “I’m staying at Edward’s ranch. My chaperone fell through at the last moment, but we decided with his housekeeper and staff around and me staying in the small guest house, that all would be right and proper.”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to make the drive into town tomorrow, too.”

She traded the purple dress for one of her old ones, hanging the other over the screen for Ms. Glasen to wrap. “Not a problem. I enjoy driving a buggy and the countryside is quite beautiful.”

She finished dressing and stepped back into the room. The lovely gown had sidetracked her a bit from probing for more information, and now it was nearly time to leave.

“I wonder what gossip will be shared about me.” She feigned a light laugh. “Being without a real chaperone and now engaged to Edward.”

The dressmaker paused in wrapping up the purple gown. “I imagine the local ranchers’ wives will be a bit surprised.” A hint of pain flickered through her gaze. “They do enjoy new people and topics to discuss.”

Maggy could easily guess what the woman hadn’t admitted—Ms. Glasen had at one time been the source of gossip herself. “Is that who shares all the gossip? The local ranchers’ wives?”

“Mostly, yes.” She tied a string around the paper-wrapped parcel. “They have a rather exclusive club that holds weekly tea meetings.”

“Oh?” Edward had been right! “Do you belong to their club?”

Ms. Glasen shook her head, another trace of sorrow flitting across her young face. “No. You must be married or engaged to one of the local ranchers to join.”

“Who is in charge of this club?”

“Mrs. Dolphina Druitt,” the dressmaker replied in a slightly flat tone.

This was a new and potentially important piece of information. Mrs. Druitt was the same woman who hadn’t liked the purple dress for her daughter. Maggy would need to see what Edward knew about Mr. Druitt. Did he hold the same authority among the men that his wife seemed to hold among the women?

Keeping her countenance impassive, she asked, “Do you think Mrs. Druitt and the club would accept me into their ranks?”

The dressmaker extended the package toward Maggy. “I don’t see why not. You meet their engaged or married requirement. Of course,” she continued in a tone that hinted at more hidden pain, “if for whatever reason you chose not to marry Mr. Kent, you would be asked to leave.”

It wasn’t difficult for Maggy to piece together Ms. Glasen’s untold story. The woman had likely been engaged to someone and therefore part of the local women’s club, but when she or her fiancé ended the betrothal, the dressmaker had been banished from the group.

She felt a strange desire to offer the woman a measure of comfort. Not as part of a mission or a disguise but as herself. What could she say though?

“Tea meetings sound a bit boring for my tastes,” she admitted with full honesty into the tense silence of the shop.

Ms. Glasen’s tight expression relaxed and her lips curved upward. “I think they’re dull too. Although, the club does host an annual ball every summer that everyone is invited to and that is rather nice.”

The summer ball. Maggy had forgotten. “That does sound lovely. Perhaps I ought to have a ball gown made, as well.”

“I haven’t made a ball gown in ages for someone new.” The dressmaker went to the counter and grabbed up a stack of magazines. Turning back, she eyed Maggy carefully. “I think I know just the thing to make you shine.”

Maggy didn’t want to shine; she wanted to solve this case. Used to staying deliberately hidden in the background, it went against the grain to draw attention to herself. But, this could very well be a means to the end of finding the saboteurs.

She followed Ms. Glasen toward a pair of armchairs. Perhaps it was also a way to help out an unmarried female entrepreneur like herself. As she took a seat beside the dressmaker and watched the woman’s face brighten with enthusiasm, Maggy felt a glimmer of satisfaction that surprisingly had nothing to do with detective work this time.

* * *

With his left foot resting on his right knee, Edward hoped he looked the picture of casualness, though inside, he felt only agitation. He didn’t like being idle, at least not during the workday, even if it was important to outfit Maggy for her role as his fiancée. The other reason behind his uneasiness was the two ranchers seated near him on the long porch of the Sheridan Inn—the younger of which, Gunther Bertram, happened to be one of the ranchers Maggy suspected of sabotaging the Running W.

“Did you enjoy that equestrian book?” Edward asked as he swiveled to look at Bertram. “The one I loaned you a while back?”

While Maggy was busy with her new wardrobe, Edward had opted to walk over to the inn to see if he could get a head start on their investigation. It was more than fortunate that Bertram happened to be one of the men seated out front when he’d walked up.

Bertram cleared his throat. “It was good, real good.”

“You’re welcome to borrow another.”

Did he only imagine the slight paling of the man’s face? “Real nice of you, Kent. I’ll...uh...” Another clearing of his throat filled in his pause. “I’ll have to do that.”

“How are your horses this year, Kent?” Nevil Druitt, the other rancher, asked.

Edward threw him a confident smile, one that wasn’t forced. Between the Cavalry’s interest and Maggy’s help, he was feeling more assured. “The ranch is doing well. And yours?”

“Never better.” Druitt swiped a bandanna across his brow and balding head, his vest pushed to its limits by his rounded middle. “Heard from Harry at the livery that some woman came to visit you. A relation of yours?”

Bertram smirked. “Who else would it be? It isn’t like Kent is interested in settling down. Not that I blame you one bit,” he added. “Women are just plain trouble.”

“Now, hold on there, son,” Druitt said in a placating tone. “When you find the right woman, you’ll think differently.”

Edward lowered his foot to the porch floorboards. “Actually the young woman who came to visit is my fiancée. Her name is Maggy Worthwright.”

He wasn’t sure who looked more shocked at his news—Bertram or Druitt. The latter recovered more quickly, though. “Well, look at that. What’d I just say about finding the right woman? Kent here apparently has. Where’s your little lady from?”

“Colorado.” That was where the Pinkerton office was located, and he thought he remembered Maggy saying something at dinner last night about living there.

Druitt’s eyebrows shot upward. “How’d you meet then? Is she one of those mail-order brides?”

“No.” Edward shook his head. “We were introduced by a mutual acquaintance, which was followed by a rather whirlwind courtship.” Of one and a half hours, he thought wryly as he recalled Maggy’s shocking proposal and then his own to prevent them from living a lie.

Bertram regarded him as if he thought Edward completely mad. Time would only tell if that proved true. “What’d you go and get engaged for, Kent? I didn’t think you’d be sticking...” He shot a look at Druitt and let the rest of his question fade out.

“You didn’t think I’d be sticking to what?” Edward asked.

Shaking his head, his face now inflamed instead of colorless, Bertram jumped to his feet. “I just remembered I promised the saddle maker I’d take a look at some of his new saddles. See you boys on Saturday.”

“See you Saturday,” Druitt echoed. “Suppose I’d best be getting on myself if I want to avoid Dolphina’s scolding.” He stood, as well.

Edward nodded; he could easily imagine his late father saying something similar about his mother. At least nagging wasn’t something Maggy seemed inclined toward. She might be satirical and stubborn, but she wasn’t badgering.

“Will you be bringing your fiancée to dinner on Saturday?” the older rancher asked.

Edward rose to his feet. “Yes. I believe she might also like to join that ladies’ club.” He pretended to try to recall more information. “I think it’s the one that the other ranchers’ wives and sweethearts are members of.”

“I’m sure they’d welcome her warmly.” Druitt pocketed his bandanna. “A prosperous ranch and a wife-to-be? Congratulations, Kent. You’re doing well for yourself.”

The words sounded admiring, but Edward wondered at their sincerity. “Thank you,” he acknowledged with a nod. “I’m looking forward to what the future holds and seeing the ranch prosper even more.”

Druitt smiled. “Wonderful to hear. We’ll see you and Miss Worthwright on Saturday.”

Watching him slowly walk to his horse, Edward frowned. Bertram had definitely acted strangely, but Edward couldn’t say for certain about Druitt. He didn’t know the older rancher well. How many men were involved in the plot against his ranch? Who were the real culprits and who weren’t? His jaw clenched with frustration at not knowing the answers, but he fought to relax it. One way or the other, he’d figure things out. Or rather, he and Maggy would figure them out. Because the alternative, where the wrongdoers won, was unthinkable.

* * *

Maggy tightened the twine she’d used to secure her pile of hatboxes and packages in the shallow compartment behind the buggy seat. She eyed her handiwork with satisfaction as she brushed her hands free of flecks of string and dust.

“We might have procured some rope for you at the livery stable or the saddle shop.”

She turned to face Edward, her hands settling on her hips. “Now why would we do that when I figured out my own ingenious solution?” She moved toward the driver’s side of the buggy. “Besides, if I have to enter one more shop this morning, I’m liable to scream.”

“That miserable, huh?” He moved to stand next to her, his hand rising to lightly grip her elbow. Instead of helping her up as she’d expected, though, he tugged her back to the ground and steered her around the buggy.

Maggy frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you into your side of the buggy,” he murmured before offering a polite smile to some passerby.

“What do you mean my side—”

He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “It wouldn’t look proper for you to be driving me around town, Maggy.”

“No?” It came out far more yielding than she’d wanted, but Edward’s nearness had a sudden and peculiar effect on her ability to think or reason. Standing this close, she could see his eyes weren’t entirely gray in color. There was a slight blue hue to them as well. She could also smell the pleasant scent of soap and grass that clung to him.

Summoning her fortitude to stay focused and unaffected, she pulled her arm free and scaled the buggy herself. “Fine, you can drive,” she muttered, though loud enough that he would hear.

Edward chuckled as he circled the vehicle and climbed onto the seat beside her. Did his laughter mean he thought her amusing, or was he entertained by the affect his close proximity had on her?

“I’ll let you drive once we’re out of town...” He held up his hand when she started to thank him. “But only if you can act with decorum until then.”

Maggy smiled fully at him and linked her arm through his. “Why, I’m the picture of decorum!”

His laughter came again as he guided the horse and buggy into the street. “Of course.”

“I am,” she countered, nodding cordially to a woman and her young daughter walking along the street. “I got everything I needed for my wardrobe and some new information to boot, too.”

He flicked his gaze to hers. “What did you find out?”

“Well...” Maggy let the word hang there to draw out the suspense. “I learned from the dressmaker Ms. Glasen that the wives’ club is run by a woman named Dolphina Druitt. Ms. Glasen also confirmed that as your fiancée, I can join.”

Edward gave a thoughtful nod. “I was doing a bit of investigating myself.”

“You were?” She stared at him in surprise. Even in cases where people desperately wanted something to go their way, they typically still left everything up to Maggy—the questioning, the disguises, the clue gathering. This was the first time in her career that she’d worked with a partner, so to speak. “What did you learn?”

“Well...” he said, letting the word hang between them as she’d done.

She elbowed him in the side. “Very funny. What did you find out?”

“All right.” Frustration replaced the amusement on his face. “It wasn’t so much what I learned as what I observed.”

Maggy couldn’t help throwing him an admiring glance. “That’s something even new detectives don’t catch on to soon enough.”

“Are you admitting I’m proficient at sleuthing, too?” A rather attractive smile lifted one corner of his mouth.

She glanced away, her answering laugh a bit forced. “I don’t know about that. I think it all depends on what you observed.”

“I went by the inn and one of your—our—suspects was there. Gunther Bertram.”

“Ah-ha.” She sat up straighter. “What did he say?”

Edward shifted the reins in his grip. “It was more his mannerisms that struck me as odd. I asked him about the book I had loaned him. When I suggested he could borrow another, he appeared uncomfortable.”

“What do you mean?” More details might help them understand if Bertram’s behavior was truly suspicious or not.