Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) (18 page)

“I think you look quite lovely,” Annie said.

Aunt Bessie’s rouged cheeks turned a shade redder and she quickly changed the subject. “I’ve been meaning to invite you to the church bazaar. It’s only a couple of weeks away.”

Annie didn’t want to promise something over which she had no control. She didn’t even know if she would be around that long. It all depended on how successful she was in tracking down the Phantom.

“I’ll try,” she said.

Aunt Bessie seemed satisfied with her answer and didn’t press further. Instead she exclaimed, “Well, count my stars, look at that!”

Annie followed the older woman’s gaze to Lula-Belle, who was actually laughing. Even more surprising: she was laughing with Branch.

Aunt Bessie squinted as if to get a better look. “Do you know the man talking to my sister?”

“His name is Branch.” Apparently Aunt Bessie didn’t recognize him from the holdup but that wasn’t too surprising. He looked quite different without his whiskers. “He’s new at the ranch.”

“What a nice-looking man. He really must be something for my sister to take a liking to him.”

“Oh, he’s something, all right,” Annie said. If only Aunt Bessie knew the half of it.

Chapter 15

An honest thief is about as rare as clean socks in a
bunkhouse.

A
nnie settled Miss Walker down for the night and retired to her own room. Seated at her desk, she went through each man’s profile one by one. She crossed off the words
beard
and
mustache
next to every description and wrote
none.

She studied her notes for some previously unnoticed clue as her mind recalled a verse from John 9.
“I was blind, now I see.”
Oh, God, if
only I could. There’s got to be something here I missed . . .

Snatches of dialogue she’d carefully recorded, word for word, revealed nothing of value. Cross-referencing each man’s schedule, she looked for odd patterns, unexplained absences, and inconsistencies.

Seeing nothing new or enlightening, she tossed her pencil on the desk and walked out to the balcony. Though it was only a little after nine, already the bunkhouse was dark.

The wind had died down and after the heat of the day, the cool air felt refreshing.

Stars winked merrily from a black velvet sky and a full moon
bathed the desert in a silvery glow. Cattle mooed and dogs bayed. From the distance came the wail of wolves.

Annie sighed. It was beautiful outside, so serene, like a church meeting. Perhaps a little walk would help her sleep. She hadn’t slept well for several nights. She kept waking up and mentally reviewing her notes, pondering the many questions that kept her twisting and turning. Yes, a walk would do her a world of good.

She returned to her room and reached for her shawl. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she hastened to the door.

The hall was dark except for a gas wall sconce that lit the way with a flickering light. Soon it would run out of fuel like the other sconces and the hall would be cast in darkness. She paused in front of Miss Walker’s room, but all was quiet.

Something—she couldn’t say what it was—made her pause at the top of the stairs. For the longest while she stood in place, not daring to move. She had just about decided she was imagining things when a man stepped out of the shadows on the floor below and into a beam of moonlight slanting through a narrow window. Holding her breath, she drew back. She’d caught only a glimpse of the intruder but she knew it was Branch, no question. She would recognize his tall, straight form anywhere.

But what was he doing here? Going through Miss Walker’s office again, no doubt. She could barely hear the front door open and close over the pounding of her heart.

Curiosity directed her feet down the stairs. She opened the door a crack and peered outside. Not a soul was in sight. Stepping onto the veranda, she closed the door behind her ever so quietly. Soundlessly she walked down the steps and through the courtyard. She pulled the shawl tight around her shoulders, more for comfort than for warmth.

She spotted Branch walking away from the bunkhouse on the
main road. Certain he was about to meet the Phantom, her breath grew ragged with anticipation. Ducking behind the adobe wall, she waited until he had moved a distance away before hurrying to the gate. The moonlight was both a help and a hindrance. She would have to take special care not to be seen.

She clutched her shawl and followed at a discreet distance. Saguaros rose from the desert floor, arms twisted in grotesque shapes. She made good use of the oddly shaped cacti, pausing behind each one until certain she had not been spotted. Something moved and she jumped. A rabbit.

No longer able to see Branch, she stood perfectly still. A wolf’s howl rolled from the hills and the lonely cry sent cold shivers down her spine. She crept forward.

Suddenly she heard a man’s voice. Branch was no longer alone but she couldn’t tell how far away the voices were. With so few obstacles to muffle noise, sounds carried in the desert. They could be close or some distance away. It was impossible to tell.

Heart pounding, she darted behind a tall, hat-rack-shaped saguaro, her boots sinking into the soft soil. The voices grew louder. It sounded like an argument but the actual words escaped her.

Hidden behind a thick pleated stem, she peered beneath a spiny arm. Branch stood next to a man on horseback. They were about forty or fifty feet away. One of the other robbers? Bent at the waist, she moved closer and ducked behind yet another tall cactus.

“The timing’s not right.” The sound of Branch’s voice snapping through the air made her jump. “This can’t be rushed.”

“Get it done, Taggert,” the other man growled. “Now!”

She recognized the second voice at once as belonging to Miss Walker’s friend, Mr. Stackman, the banker. Eyes wide, she covered her mouth with her hand. What was
he
doing here?

She moved closer and gravel crunched beneath her foot. She froze and waited, not daring to breathe. The argument continued and relief flooded through her. “I’ll handle Miss Beckman,” Branch said. “The last thing we want to do is show our hand.”

“See that you do before it’s too late,” the banker shot back.

Annie’s jaw dropped. Branch and Mr. Stackman were arguing about her!

Their voices faded away, but she’d heard enough to know that Branch was reluctant to do the banker’s bidding, whatever that might be. Stackman’s abrupt departure spoke volumes and she sensed Branch’s frustration even though she couldn’t see him.

Was Mr. Stackman the Phantom? It was hard to believe but not all that surprising. It wouldn’t be the first time that a bank had been robbed by a trusted employee.

The pounding sound of horse’s hooves faded away but she didn’t dare move. Branch would have to pass by on the way back to the bunkhouse and she couldn’t take a chance on being seen.

And so she waited. Minutes passed. What was taking him so long? The air was still and even the wolf had fallen silent as if sensing danger.

Had Branch walked in the opposite direction? It didn’t seem likely but it was possible. She peered around the cactus. The cool desert sand seemed to glow beneath the bright full moon. She couldn’t see anyone. No moving shadows. Nothing out of the ordinary.

She backed away, careful to avoid the gravelly patch, and stopped to listen again. She had just about decided to head back to the ranch house when someone grabbed her by the waist. It happened so quickly she barely had time to think.

“Let go of me,” she cried.

Branch spun her around in his steel-like arms and she pounded on his chest with her fists.

She was no match for his strength. He quickly pinned her arms to her sides and her shawl fell away. He held her so close that no defensive move was possible; she couldn’t even reach for her weapon. Perhaps it would be better not to fight him. Maybe then he would let her go.

He didn’t and that caused yet another problem. No longer struggling, she was now extremely conscious of his strong body next to hers. An unwelcome surge of warmth coursed through her.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was low but held an iron-hard edge.

“I . . . I was taking a walk,” she stammered, drawing in a breath. She deliberately tried to ignore her awareness of him and frantically drew on her years of training as a detective.

“You were eavesdropping.”

“That’s your specialty, not mine.” She forced herself to stare up at him without flinching. “Is that what you were doing in Miss Walker’s house earlier? Eavesdropping?”

He didn’t even bother denying it. “Spying on me is a habit with you.” His voice was less harsh, the dangerous edge less sharp.

“I told you I intended to watch your every move.” She managed to speak with the slightest of tremors, which belied her quivering insides and paid tribute to Pinkerton’s thorough training.

Something passed between them. A shadow? A light? Whatever it was, it was more than awareness, more than attraction, and more than a physical response.

As if he, too, felt something, he inclined his head, his moonlit face suffused with indecision. His quick intake of breath sounded as if he were battling for control.

“And what have you discovered about me so far?” His low baritone caressed her ears with velvet smoothness.

The slight but masculine scent of bay rum hair tonic was intoxicating and a shiver rippled through her. “You mean other than the fact that you’re an arrogant outlaw?”

“You say this even after I returned your watch and have shown you nothing but the utmost courtesy?”

She laughed, but more out of nervousness than humor. “Is this what you call courtesy? Holding me hostage?”

His fingers dug deeper into her flesh. “You probably wouldn’t like the alternative.”

She didn’t like the sound of that but refused to back down. “It would take a great deal more than the return of stolen property for me to change my opinion of you.”

Their bantering had taken on an intense air but the verbal wall failed to counter his nearness. She was aware of every flex of his muscles, every flicker of expression, every inhaled breath.

He angled his head and their gazes locked. The pale moonlight made his eyes look more amber than blue. Surely if he intended to do her harm, he would have done so by now. The thought gave her little piece of mind.

“What a rarity. A woman slow to change her mind.”

She moistened her lips and immediately regretted it, for the action only drew his gaze to her mouth. It was only a glance but it felt like so much more; it felt like the beginning of a . . . kiss.

“I . . . I wish I could return the compliment,” she stammered. “But there’s nothing rare about a common thief.”

“I wonder what it would take to change your opinion of me.” His hands moved slowly up her arms and the sensation sent warm shivers racing along her flesh.

“There’s n-nothing you can do to change my opinion,” she said, her denial sounding false even to her own ears.

“Ah, now that’s a challenge too good to pass up.”

He pulled her so close his breath on her face felt like a warm ocean breeze. Her pulse skittered. She closed her eyes. If he was going to kiss her, she wished he would hurry up and do so.

A warm chuckle filled the air. “Ah, an easy conquest if I ever saw one.”

She opened her eyes and glared at him. “I wouldn’t be so certain of that!”

His grin broadened and he let her go. “What did you hope to find out when you visited the marshal?”

She scooped her shawl from the ground, shook away the sand, and wrapped it around her shoulders like armor. Having regained her professional state of mind, she answered his question with one of her own.

“Why were you discussing me with Mr. Stackman?”

Round and round they circled, hammering away at each other like dueling lawyers.

“What were you looking for in the bunkhouse?” he asked.

“What were you doing in the ranch house earlier?” she countered.

They weren’t getting anywhere and she soon grew tired of the game. The feeling was apparently mutual because he stopped moving. They stood a good ten feet apart but it felt much closer.

“Why are you really here, Miss Beckman?”

“To make your life miserable, Mr.
Taggert
!”

The use of the name spoken by the banker seemed to stun him—or at least render him speechless. When she turned to leave, he didn’t try to stop her.

By the time Taggert got over the shock of hearing Miss Beckman call him by his real name, she had long disappeared. He could have followed her, of course, and easily caught up with her, but he decided to let her go. For now.

Drat! What had Stackman been thinking, to use his real name? He kicked a rock, but instead of relieving his frustration, he hurt his toe.

He gritted his teeth. Stackman wasn’t the only one to put him in a foul mood. The woman was a problem in more ways than one. After holding her in his arms, he now knew she packed iron, but that was the least of it. Never had a woman attracted him more.

The sheen of her shirtwaist paled in comparison to the glow that came from the woman herself, but that wasn’t all; a man could get lost in those vibrant eyes of hers. Never had he seen such thick, long lashes. And those full, sweet lips had parted just for him . . . Thinking about them quickened his pulse. It had taken a great deal of willpower not to answer the invitation so plainly written on her finely sculptured features.