Beyond the Trail. Six Short Stories Page 7

  “All because,” Frankie said, “I’m a Pinkerton detective, hired by the stage line. Donovan asked them to find the thief and return his stolen money, or he’ll hold them liable.”

  For a few moments, they stared at each other in silence.

  Then Tess laughed. “Oh, yes, of course. Female Pinkerton detectives. There are hundreds of them.”

  “Not hundreds, but there are a few,” Frankie said. “Just like there are a few women who own saloons, restaurants, boarding houses, and stables.”

  Tess slowly lowered her weapon but kept it pointing in Frankie’s general direction. She tilted her head. “I’ve never heard of a female Pinkerton detective.”

  “Neither has Jeffrey Donovan—and that’s my advantage,” Frankie said. “Men like him don’t see me as a threat, so they’re not very careful about what they reveal in my presence.”

  “So what did Donovan reveal?” Tess asked. She kept her face expressionless, not revealing whether she believed Frankie.

  Frankie shrugged. “Not much. I should have pursued that lead more insistently, but I got distracted.”

  “Distracted?”

  “I thought you had stolen the money,” Frankie said.

  Tess snorted. “Oh, yeah, I’m a whore, so of course I have to be a thief, too.”

  “It has nothing to do with you being ... with what you do for a living,” Frankie said, meaning it. She got up on her knees and looked Tess in the eyes. “It was just the most plausible explanation. You’re ... friends with Jeff Donovan, so I thought he might have told you about the money in a ... weak moment. You asked around for details about the stage line, and instead of calling the sheriff on me after I broke into your office, you broke into my room. Now tell me you wouldn’t find that suspicious.”

  Tess was silent for a moment. “I guess it could seem a little suspicious,” she finally said. She studied Frankie closely. “What proof do I have that you’re really a Pinkerton and not just out to trick me and get your hands on my money?”

  Frankie fished in the inside pocket of her vest.

  “Stop!” Tess’s weapon swung up, pointing at Frankie again.

  Frankie held out her other hand in a placatory gesture. “I just want to show you my credentials.” Slowly, she pulled the brass badge out of her pocket and held it out for Tess to see.

  Still pointing the Deringer at Frankie, Tess stepped closer and took the badge. With her fingertips, she traced the engraved letters, which formed the words “Pinkerton National Detective Agency.” Finally, she looked up at Frankie. “So you really are a lady detective?”

  Frankie grinned. “Well, I’m a detective—the lady part is debatable.”

  Tess stared at her, then chuckled. “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “No?” Frankie quirked an eyebrow. “I thought you said you’d met others like me?”

  “I was wrong about that,” Tess murmured.

  Is that a good or a bad thing?

  Tess slid up her dress to hide the Deringer in her garter again.

  Frankie swallowed and looked away.

  “So,” Tess said when she let the dress’s hem fall to her ankles, “what do we do now?”

  Frankie thought about it for a while. “Make Donovan an offer,” she finally said. “Tell him you want to sell him your businesses.”

  “No.” Tess vehemently shook her head. “I won’t sell, least of all to him.”

  “You don’t have to,” Frankie said. “Donovan just has to believe that you will. Set a price low enough that he can’t resist, but high enough that he has to gather all his money to buy you out.”

  “Ah.” Tess smiled. “He’ll have to use the money he stole to come up with the full price. And when he goes to get the money ...”

  “I’ll follow him to its hiding place.” Frankie tilted her head. “So, what do you say? Will you work with me?”

  “On one condition,” Tess answered.

  Frankie studied her cautiously. “And that would be?”

  “Tell me your name,” Tess said. “Your real name.”

  Frankie had to laugh. “Frances Callaghan.” Grinning, she held out her hand. “But you can call me Frankie.”

  Independence, Missouri

  September 18th, 1856

  “You want to sell everything?” Jeff Donovan stared at her through narrowed eyes. “I offered to buy you out a hundred times before, but you always refused. Why now?”

  Quick. Come up with a plausible explanation before he becomes suspicious. “I met someone,” Tess said, letting a dreamy smile play around her lips. “I want to begin a new, respectable life, and I can’t do that in Independence.”

  “You met someone? Someone who wants to marry you?” Donovan laughed. “Where did you meet him?”

  Tess smiled again. “Well, actually, we met up here.” She gestured, indicating the upstairs rooms of the brothel. Her mind flashed back to the night Frankie had broken into her office.

  Donovan shook his head but didn’t comment.

  “So?” Tess asked. “Are you interested, or do you want me to look for other buyers?”

  “Of course I’m interested, but it’ll take me some time to come up with all that money,” Donovan said.

  Tess knew she had to pressure him into acting fast. She couldn’t give him the time to think and make clever plans. “I need it by tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Donovan echoed.

  “I’m leaving town the day after tomorrow. My love wants to sweep me away on a honeymoon.” Tess clutched her hands to her chest.

  Donovan rolled his eyes but finally nodded. “I’ll see what I can come up with on such short notice.”

  When he left, Tess went to her window and waved down the street.

  Frankie Callaghan stepped out of the general store. She was wearing a dress this time, and she seemed as comfortable in it as she had been in male apparel.

  She’s not like Luke, Tess thought as she watched Frankie follow Donovan down the street. She’s not like anyone I’ve ever met.

  Frankie and Donovan disappeared around a corner.

  Now she had to sit back and wait.

  Tess sighed. Sitting around and waiting had never been her strong suit. She had argued about that with Frankie for most of the way back to Independence. Tess had finally agreed to stay behind and let Frankie handle Donovan, knowing that if he noticed Tess following him, their plan would be in vain.

  Still, Tess didn’t like it. All her life, she had made her own decisions and had taken action on her own. She had never depended on anyone for anything. Trusting others didn’t come easily for Tess, but something about Frankie Callaghan made her decide to take the risk.

  She didn’t doubt Frankie’s honesty or her competence. She had seen first-hand that Frankie could handle herself in a fight. Still, she couldn’t help worrying. What if Donovan became suspicious and shot Frankie? What if Frankie was lying somewhere, hurt and bleeding, while Donovan escaped with the money?

  Tess shook her head. Stop it. Frankie can handle this. With another sigh, she settled down to wait.

  Independence, Missouri

  September 18th, 1856

  To all the world, Jeffrey Donovan looked like a respectable businessman as he strolled down Lexington Street, tipping his hat whenever he passed a lady.

  Frankie followed at a discreet distance. Where’s he going? She eyed the stone building at the corner. Even Donovan wouldn’t be brazen—or stupid—enough to stash the stolen money in the bank, would he?

  He crossed the street and disappeared into a side street.

  Lifting the hem of her skirt a little so it wouldn’t drag through the mud, Frankie stepped from the boardwalk and peered around the corner just in time to see Donovan enter the livery stable. Was he about to get on a horse and flee? As fast as her dress allowed, Frankie rushed toward the stable.

  Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimmer light in the stable.

  Donovan was nowhere
to be seen.

  Then a scraping sound caught Frankie’s attention. After checking to see if the Deringer she had borrowed from Tess was still in her carpetbag, Frankie crept closer.

  Horses looked back at her from the first five stalls. The last stall to the right didn’t hold a horse, though.

  Donovan was dragging the trough away from the wall. Breathing heavily, he removed a loose board and reached into the hole behind the wall. When he turned, he held a pair of bulging saddlebags in his hands.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Donovan,” Frankie said.

  He jumped. His gaze darted toward her. “Oh, Mrs. Callaghan.” He tried a smile. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

  Oh, yeah. At least for me. Frankie nodded.

  Holding the saddlebags behind his back, Donovan left the stall and tried to squeeze past Frankie.

  Frankie laid one hand on his arm. “Would you mind accompanying me a bit?”

  “Um, well, I’d love to, but—”

  “Thank you,” Frankie said. “Very kind of you.” Keeping a hold of his arm, she steered them outside and back toward Lexington Street.

  He struggled to free his arm. “Mrs. Callaghan, I really need to—”

  “Just until we made it past the saloon and those other establishments of sin,” Frankie said, fluttering her lashes like a helpless damsel in distress. “It’s not safe on the streets for a woman alone nowadays.”

  Donovan sighed. “All right.”

  When they made it past the saloon, he extricated his arm from Frankie’s grip.

  “A little farther, please.” Frankie indicated the building across the street.

  Donovan’s eyes narrowed as he glanced toward the sheriff’s office. “What business do you have with the sheriff?”

  “Oh, I don’t. But you do.”

  He stared at her.

  Frankie calmly returned his stare.

  His gaze darted to the left one second before he tried to run.

  “Don’t move!” Frankie grabbed his arm again.

  Donovan swung up the saddlebags and hit her in the face with them.

  Pain flared through Frankie’s lip. Warm blood dribbled down her chin. With a suppressed shout, she pulled him toward her and used the momentum to knee him between the legs.

  He dropped the saddlebags and clutched himself, groaning.

  Two men ran toward them. “Ma’am, did he hurt you?” one shouted, while the other grabbed Donovan by the lapels.

  “He tried to steal my money.” Frankie picked up the saddlebags.

  One of the men shook Donovan.

  “Careful,” Frankie said. “Don’t break his hand. He needs to sign some papers before we deliver him to the sheriff.”

  Independence, Missouri

  September 18th, 1856

  “Stop! Come back here, Mister!” Molly’s sharp voice came from the hallway. “You can’t just come up here and—Aren’t you listening? Miss Tess doesn’t receive visitors in the middle of the day.”

  Tess got up and opened the office door to find out what the commotion was all about.

  Frankie Callaghan, back in male disguise, strode toward her, ignoring Molly, who was trying to hold her back.

  “It’s all right, Molly,” Tess said and opened her door wider. “He’s a friend of mine.”

  Molly stopped chasing after Frankie. “Ah.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

  Tess ignored her. She was too impatient to learn what had happened. As soon as she closed the door behind them, she asked, “How did it go?”

  Frankie set down a pair of saddlebags on Tess’s desk and opened them to reveal the money. She grinned widely despite a cut at the corner of her mouth.

  Without thinking, Tess reached out. She stopped herself before her fingers could touch Frankie’s lip. Except for her time with Luke, touching someone had been strictly business, an emotionless thing, for a lot of years. Where was this sudden urge to touch Frankie, even in this small way, coming from? She cleared her voice. “What happened?”

  “Donovan tried to get away when he realized he was caught,” Frankie said.

  Tess took a deep breath. “Did he?”

  “No.” Frankie smiled. “He’s enjoying the sheriff’s hospitality as we speak. I made him sign over the ownership of all your businesses to you before I delivered him to the sheriff.”

  Tess rubbed her neck. “Seems I have to find myself a new business partner.”

  “Why? You seem capable enough of managing on your own,” Frankie said. Her brown eyes held nothing but honesty and respect.

  “If word gets out that a whore owns half of Independence’s best establishments, business will suffer,” Tess said. “The sheriff would check on every single delivery for my businesses, taking great pleasure in delaying them.” She shook her head. “Having a male partner with an honorable name makes things so much easier.”

  “Only if you can trust him,” Frankie said.

  Tess sighed. “Yeah.”

  Frankie was silent for a few moments. “Do you think Frank Callaghan would be trustworthy?” She gestured at her shirt-and-pants-clad body.

  Tess stared at her. “You mean ... you want to be my business partner?”

  “Why not?” Frankie shrugged. “I think I proved that I’m not after your money. You can be sure that I would never disrespect you just because you’re a woman, and you wouldn’t even have to share your money or your bed with me to ensure my loyalty.”

  So she knows exactly what my business relationship with Donovan entailed. Tess eyed Frankie warily. “Sounds like a good deal for me, but what’s in it for you?”

  “Being a Pinkerton detective can be a dangerous and strange job.” Frankie held Tess’s gaze. “It would be good to have a place where I could just be myself and have a friend who knew all my secrets.”

  Tess swallowed. To have that kind of trust put in her was scary. “Why me?”

  “Because we have a lot in common,” Frankie said.

  Tess arched an eyebrow. “I’m a brothel madam, and you’re a Pinkerton detective. How much in common could we possibly have?”

  “We both play roles and pretend to be someone else for a living,” Frankie said.

  Tess had to look away. The understanding in Frankie’s brown eyes was overwhelming. When she glanced back up, Frankie was still gazing at her. “All right,” Tess said. “I’ll draft a contract that says Mr. Frank Callaghan is the new owner of all the businesses for the price of ...” She winked at Frankie. “How much are you willing to pay?”

  Frankie grinned and turned her pockets inside out. Only her Pinkerton badge fell out.

  Tess picked it up and held the piece of metal, warm from Frankie’s body heat, in her hand for a moment before handing it back. “Well, I wanted to give you a reward for bringing back my money anyway.” She reached into the saddlebags for a bundle of money.

  Frankie’s fingers around hers stopped her. “No,” Frankie said. “No reward necessary. I get paid to do my job.”

  “But—”

  “No,” Frankie said. “We Pinkerton detectives are not allowed to accept tips or rewards for our services. It’s company policy, and it keeps us honest.”

  Tess turned her hand around and stroked the fingers that were still wrapped around her own. “No rewards, huh?”

  Frankie shook her head, not taking her eyes off Tess’s. “No rewards.”

  Still keeping eye contact, Tess stepped closer until her body was almost touching Frankie’s. “So I shouldn’t do this?” She lifted her face.

  “Well,” Frankie murmured, her breath hot on Tess’s lips, “I guess it would be all right if you kissed your new business partner and not the Pinkerton detective.”

  Tess slid her fingers up Frankie’s neck, buried them in Frankie’s short hair, and pulled her unresisting business partner down. “Deal,” she whispered before her lips were otherwise occupied.

  ###

  The Christmas Oak

  Author’s note

  Christmas wasn’t declared a f
ederal holiday until 1870, and in the 1850s, Christmas trees weren’t very common in the West yet.

  Hamilton Horse Ranch

  Baker Prairie, Oregon

  December 24th, 1857

  “Christmas tree?” Luke repeated. She’d never heard of such a thing.

  Nora looked up from the pie dough she was kneading on the kitchen table. “Yes. I saw a picture in a magazine. Apparently, having a Christmas tree is all the rage back east. It’s usually a fir or a pine. About this tall.” When she lifted her hand to indicate the tree’s size, flour rained down on her, dusting her red hair. Now she looked as if she were covered in snow.

  Smiling, Luke walked over and smoothed her hands over the soft strands. She kissed flour off Nora’s nose. “You really want me to ride out in this weather to drag home a tree?”

  “I thought it might make a nice family tradition.” Nora slid her arms around Luke and kissed her, then moved back a few inches. She looked up at Luke with an earnest expression. “But if you think the weather’s too bad ...”

  Luke wouldn’t be able to say no even if a blizzard had been wreaking havoc outside. “The weather is no problem,” she said. “I’ll check on Amy’s present while I’m searching for that Christmas tree.”

  “Mama, Papa, look!” Nattie’s voice from the parlor interrupted them in the middle of another kiss.

  “I’ll go,” Luke said. She stole a piece of dough and walked into the parlor.

  Six-year-old Nattie pressed her nose against the parlor windowpane and peered outside. “It’s still raining.” She turned and scrunched her forehead. “Will Santa Claus come if there’s no snow? His sleigh needs snow.”

  Amy joined her sister at the window. “Why doesn’t he just use horses instead of reindeer?”