The Engagement Bargain Page 19

  Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s enough, Max. No more talk of dead bodies. There’s a lady present. It’s time you learned how to behave. No more talk of bugged eyes, or blood or strangling to death.”

  “Mary Louise says she’s not a lady, she’s a suffragist.”

  Anna raised her eyebrows. “A woman can be a suffragist and a lady, as well.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Caleb playfully cuffed him on the back of his head. “You don’t have to understand. You simply have to use your manners.”

  “You’re worse than Ma,” Max grumbled.

  “What was that, young man?” Edith McCoy’s voice sounded from the kitchen.

  Max blanched. “Ma is here, too?”

  Anna sighed. “Pretty soon everyone will be here.”

  A knock sounded at the door, and Anna grinned ruefully. “See what I was saying?”

  She opened the door to Jo’s husband. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Marshal Cain, you’ll be pleased to know several of your in-laws are here.”

  “Not surprised. Mind if I come in?”

  “Not at all. The more the merrier. I was hoping to speak with you.”

  Mrs. McCoy returned to the sitting room, belaying the marshal’s reply. “Hello, Garrett. Wasn’t expecting to see you.” She turned to Anna. “Well, it’s all settled. You and Izetta are coming to the quilting bee on Friday at the church.”

  “If you’re certain the other ladies won’t mind an extra.”

  The thought of sharing her skill held a certain thrill. If the legendary Mary Louise didn’t share that skill, than so much the better. Sewing was women’s work, and strictly prohibited in the Bishop household. The only reason she embroidered was because one rebellious nanny had taught Anna the basics out of spite. Serving as Victoria Bishop’s employee was never easy.

  During the summer of ’74, Anna’s mother had traveled through England meeting with other women in the movement. Her strict instructions for Anna’s care had been largely ignored by the nanny, and with no one there to oversee her, the revolt went unnoticed until her mother’s return. Anna certainly hadn’t confided the rules broken in any of her letters. Her mother must have suspected the rumblings of a rebellion. She’d returned unannounced and discovered Anna helping with the laundry. The poor nanny had been fired immediately. Anna still kept in touch.

  Undaunted, Edith forged ahead. “What about embroidery? That’s a lovely piece you’re wearing now.”

  She indicated the stitching on Anna’s collar where Anna had embroidered a trail of ivy into the linen.

  “Yes.” She fingered the raised stitching on the collar. “My embroidery is quite up to par.”

  “That’ll be perfect. David’s wife has been doing all the piecework, but the poor girl simply doesn’t have the patience for detail. Now we have a quilt full of stems without any blossoms. She has a tendency to begin with the easy stitches first, and never quite gets around to the harder work. I’ve got a quilt full of stems and leaves for Mr. Lancaster’s bride. You think you can finish up the flowers?”

  “I, uh, I can try.”

  Mrs. McCoy squinted at Anna’s collar. “Judging by the work you’ve already done, you should be quite up to the task.”

  “I look forward to helping?” Anna raised the end of her sentence in a question, unsure whether she’d be asked or ordered into work.

  “Excellent. The roses will finally have blooms. This day just keeps looking up. Come along, Maxwell. I hope you haven’t been pestering Anna with questions about the dead body.”

  “He’s no bother.”

  “That’s a yes, then. I’ve raised five boys, and every one of them the same. Oh, and I’ll expect you for supper after church on Sunday. Do you like fried chicken?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s settled.”

  Slightly confused by the rapid-fire instructions, Anna asked, “Is there anything I can bring?”

  “What is your specialty?”

  Anna thought for minute. “Toast.”

  Edith chuckled. “Then just bring yourself and Mrs. Franklin. We’ll have the rest. Mary Louise isn’t much for cooking either, so I’m used to fixing extra for the family.”

  She patted Marshal Cain on the arm. “Tell Jo to make an extra batch of rolls.”

  “I will,” the marshal replied, clearly accustomed to taking orders from his mother-in-law.

  Edith tugged a reluctant Maxwell toward the door, leaving Anna alone with the marshal and Caleb.

  The marshal patted his stomach. “That’s one thing about the McCoys—you never go hungry.”

  She’d nearly forgotten she asked the marshal over for a reason. “I wanted to talk with you about Mrs. Phillips.”

  Caleb lingered by the door. “Is this conversation private? Should I go?”

  “Stay,” Anna spoke impulsively.

  His expression softened and she knew immediately he was recalling the last time she’d asked him to stay. Already they were building a past together, sharing memories of events they had in common.

  She’d been taught to view affection as a destructive force. A lightning bolt or a raging inferno. Instead this gathering fondness for Caleb was more like tree roots, branching out, seeking a foundation built over time and shared experiences.

  “I can’t break Mrs. Phillips’s confidence, but something she saw at the hotel may shed light on the identity of the dead man.”

  Since the conversation looked to expand past a few polite sentences, Anna glanced around the room. “I’d offer you a seat, but we don’t have much furniture yet. I can pull a chair from the kitchen.”

  “Don’t put yourself out. I can tell by the line of people filing in and out your door it’s been a busy morning.”

  Anna glanced at the muddy footprints marring her freshly scrubbed floor. Actually, she didn’t mind so much. She’d rather have friends than a clean floor any day.

  Anna rubbed her temple. The girl’s words returned in a rush. My mama says you’re a hero.

  “Mrs. Phillip’s daughter, Jane, was at the rally.” Anna grimaced; how did she speak without revealing too much? “Mrs. Phillips saw the man discovered in her trunk speaking with another gentleman. From her description, it sounded like Reinhart.”

  “Reinhart?” the marshal tilted his head.

  “He’s a Pinkerton detective looking into my case. He had, uh, he had some information for me.”

  She hadn’t thought about what he’d said in days. She’d pushed the information aside. Since her father had never been in her life, losing him hadn’t quite sunk in yet. He was where he’d always been, hidden away like a box of photographs she planned on looking at one day, but never quite found the time.

  “Then it’s possible that fellow was a Pinkerton detective, as well,” the marshal said.

  “He’s a strange man, Mr. Reinhart. But he did say something about hiring extra help. He was working on another case. I think it’s worth looking into.”

  Caleb remained silent, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze intent. What was he thinking?

  “Did you find out any more about the man?” she asked. “About...about what happened to him?”

  “The doc thinks he was strangled. Probably happened in Kansas City. Then he was stuffed in the trunk.”

  The marshal considered the hat he held in his hands. “Do you have any idea what other case Reinhart was working on in Kansas City?”

  “I think it’s possible he was looking for Mrs. Phillips.” She pictured the bunch of yellow daisies the little girl had given her. Probably Jane’s father had hired the Pinkerton detective. “I can’t say any more without betraying her confidence.”

  “I’ve been in this business for a while now, Miss Bishop. I can make a few guesse
s. That woman is mighty scared about something.”

  “Her fear was there already.”

  “I figured that much.”

  “How can I help?”

  “She trusts you, that’s good. While she may not have killed the man in the trunk by herself, I can’t rule out the possibility that she knows who did. She’s hiding from someone. And while I’ve got a fair guess who and a fair understanding of why, I have to remain cautious. Keep the lines of communication open. She may say something else.”

  Caleb stepped forward and held up one hand. “I don’t like this at all. You want her to talk with a woman who may or may not be a murderer? That doesn’t sound wise.”

  “It’s probably the safest place for Anna. If this Mrs. Phillips is somehow involved, then this is the best thing. She’s here where we can keep an eye on her. Something is troubling that woman, and I think she’d feel better if she had someone to talk with.”

  Anna stood up straighter. “I know what’s troubling her, and I can assure you that I’m perfectly safe.”

  The marshal replaced his hat. “Mrs. Phillips is as jumpy as a mouse in a room full of cats for a reason, which means we all have to watch our backs. I’ll have to let her go in a day or two. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can run down this detective of yours. Find out if there’s a connection.”

  “I don’t want you alone with her, Anna,” Caleb said.

  “I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself.”

  He assumed a mask of contrition that didn’t fool her a bit. “What sort of man would I be if I didn’t protect my fiancée?”

  “You two sort out the details,” the marshal said, a twitch of a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. “Let me know if you discover anything. Anything at all, even if it doesn’t seem important right off. You never know what might make a difference.”

  As she ushered him to the door, her annoyance blossomed.

  Her feelings over Caleb’s protective attitude were conflicted. On the one hand, she appreciated his concern. On the other hand, she resented his interference. She was independent. Used to doing things on her own without a protector. Then again, the last thing she’d done on her own, she’d wound up shot. Maybe having a companion wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Not that she wanted him to put his life at risk for her. She most definitely did not appreciate him questioning her judgment.

  After the marshal left, Caleb lingered. “I’ll pick you up on Sunday. For church. Just after ten. People will expect that you’ll sit with my family.”

  The change of subject left her unsatisfied. “First, I need to set a few things straight.”

  He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “All right.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of making decisions about whom I should and should not associate with.”

  He sucked in a breath, and she glared.

  “I am not chattel. Do not use our engagement as an excuse.”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “Then what were you going to say?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her suspicions flared. “No one says they’re sorry.”

  “I did. Just now.”

  She sidled nearer and narrowed her gaze. “Do you mean that?”

  No one in the Bishop household ever apologized. Ever. An apology was a sign of weakness. Which meant he obviously had an ulterior motive. “Why are you giving up so easily?”

  “I’m not giving up. I’m admitting that I was wrong. There’s a difference.”

  “What difference?’

  “This isn’t a war, Anna. We’re having a conversation, not a battle. I said I was sorry, and I am.”

  “Thank you,” she said, humbled by his admission.

  “You’re welcome.” Though a crinkle appeared between his brows, he didn’t question her further, and for that she was grateful. “We’re set for Sunday, then?”

  As easy as that. This was not at all how she’d been taught to argue. A disagreement was absolutely a war. Battle lines were drawn, troops were mustered for the opposing sides. Words were fired like gunshots, aimed to inflict the most damage. Even the vaguest of halfhearted apologies was treated as a surrender, as an excuse to humiliate the enemy.

  Anna realized the true folly of what she’d been taught all her life.

  Refusing to apologize was a sign of cowardice and not a sign of strength. Caleb McCoy was no coward.

  Speaking of cowards, she focused on his invitation. “Um, about that. I’ve never been to church.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever. My mother doesn’t approve of organized religion.”

  “I don’t suppose that makes any difference. But you don’t have to go, if you don’t want to.”

  Anna stared at the floor. She’d stick out like a sore thumb. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know when to sit or when to stand. I don’t know any of the words to the hymns.”

  “Nobody knows all the words.” He chuckled. “That’s why they give us all a hymnal.”

  This visit gave her the opportunity to explore new things. To expand her horizons. “I’d like to go. At least I think I would. I’m fairly certain.”

  “You can change your mind. I promise I don’t mind either way. If you still want to go on Sunday, I will walk you there myself.”

  “There’s no need. I’m hardly likely to get lost.” She’d have found a refusal much easier had he been even the least bit judgmental. “Your mother has invited me back to the house after church. I feel as though I should bring something. Since I don’t cook, I thought I’d visit the General Store. Is there anything she enjoys? Preserves or the like?”

  “You don’t cook?” he asked, appearing shocked. “At all?”

  “No.”

  “Nothing?”

  “When I said nothing, I meant nothing.”

  A hint of annoyance crept into her voice. He’d wanted to court Mary Louise and she didn’t cook. Edith McCoy had said as much. What was the big deal?

  “How do you get along?”

  Anna heaved a fortifying breath. “My mother employs a cook and a housekeeper.”

  He let out a low whistle. “Does this mean Mrs. Franklin will be doing all the cooking and you’ll be doing all the cleaning?”

  “I suppose that’s all that women are good for? Cooking and cleaning?”

  “I live alone. I do both.”

  “Oh, fine.” She’d been too long without a fight. The lull was wearing on her. “You cook and clean.”

  “Yes.”

  “Point taken.” She swiped at a smudge on her sleeve. “Can you teach me how to cook?”

  “Uh...”

  The idea was inspired. While Izetta hadn’t complained, Anna knew her lack of assistance put extra work on her.

  She’d surprise Izetta with her new skill. Anna immediately warmed to the idea. “I don’t need to know everything. Just a few basics to get started. Mrs. Franklin can show me the rest. What with cleaning the place, I don’t want to ask any more of her.”

  The more things she learned, the more she strengthened her own independence.

  He snatched his hat from the hook and backed toward the door. “Jo is the cook in the family. I’ll talk with her.”

  “Perfect,” she said, keeping her tone cheerful.

  “She likes a schedule,” he said, fumbling for the door. “She makes noodles every other Friday.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I always make certain to drop by for dinner.”

  With a tip of his hat he spun on his heel and strode down the stairs.

  She’d gone and done it again. She’d assumed a familiarity that didn’t exist. Would she ever learn? It was far too easy to slip into the fictional world they’d created and
forget the real one.

  She closed the door and leaned back.

  A shriek sounded from the back garden and she dashed through the house. Anna emerged into the garden in time to find a red-faced Mrs. Franklin chasing a very familiar goat.

  “Look what he’s done!”

  Gleefully unremorseful, the goat galloped toward Anna, a half-eaten red rose in his mouth.

  She reached down and patted the animal on the head. “Shall I return him?”

  “No,” Mrs. Franklin spoke firmly. “This time I shall have the honors. I don’t know what this little beast likes more—you or the rosebushes.”

  The goat butted Anna’s leg and bleated. “He does seem awfully fond of me.”

  “He’s positively smitten.”

  Watching Izetta walk the recalcitrant goat back home, an uncharacteristic bout of melancholy swept over her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all just a dream, that she’d wake up back in her home in St. Louis the same Anna Bishop. Which was foolish, of course.

  She’d never be the same. Her injury and her stay here had eroded everything she believed about herself. Yet the process had been more enlightening than corrosive.

  Leaves rustled above her head and she wrapped her arms around her middle. They’d better find the killer soon, because the more time she spent in Cimarron Springs, the harder it was going to be to leave.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The following days passed in relative peace. All of the leaves fell, and the first frost blanketed the prairie. She’d studiously avoided any contact with Caleb and found her new strategy had failed. With each passing day he filled a greater portion of her thoughts. Today she waited for Izetta at the door.

  The older woman lifted an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. The church bell clanged in the distance, heralding the service. As they stepped onto the dirt-packed street, they met the Stuarts. Then Mr. Lancaster and his wife, then a whole group of other people she’d never met before. Everyone they passed smiled a greeting or offered a friendly handshake.

  The engagement bargain had worked. The people in town accepted her without question, without censure. The notion left her almost giddy.