Undercover Bride (8 page)

“She was one of those… what do you call them? Modern women.” She sniffled and reached into her drawstring purse for a lace handkerchief. “She had this fancy education and resented letting it go to waste.”

Katherine wasn’t the only woman who felt that way. Society was changing—especially in large cities. College-educated women now questioned traditional female roles, and even the church had gotten into the debate. To hear some clergy tell it, working women were leading society down a wanton path.

“She even thought women should have the vote.” Aunt Hetty shook her head in disgust. “Can you imagine? As if we don’t have enough things to worry about.”

Maggie clamped her mouth shut. She was a big believer in a woman’s right to vote, but she didn’t dare voice a dissenting opinion. She needed Aunt Hetty on her side.

Instead, she listened quietly and politely and nodded in agreement whenever Aunt Hetty’s rants called for it. But the more the woman carried on, the more Maggie wondered if perhaps Katherine Thomas’s death was more than just an unfortunate accident.

“Now, let’s see. Where were we?” Aunt Hetty said at last. “Oh yes, your wedding gown.”

G
arrett was in good spirits that night at supper and soon had the children roaring with laughter with his antics and riddles.

“Two bodies have I,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “though both joined in one. The stiller I stand, the faster I run.”

“I give up,” Toby said after several wild guesses ranging from twins to bodies of water.

“An hourglass,” Garrett replied.

“Ah, gee,” Toby complained, folding his arms across his chest. “Nobody uses hourglasses anymore.”

Garrett winked at her. “Okay, how about this one? My nose is long, my back is broad and round, and in cold weather of use I’m found. No load I carry, yet I puff and blow, as much as heavy loaded porters do.”

“A big bad wolf,” Elise guessed.

“Bellows,” Toby said.

“You’re right,” Garrett said, nodding at his son. Elise’s face dropped, and he added, “You’re both right.”

Maggie laughed. “And I was just about to say the wind. Does that make me right, too?”

“Of course,” he said and smiled.

Oddly enough, she’d never enjoyed herself more. This was how she always pictured a real family in her mind. Sharing a meal together. Laughing. She couldn’t remember laughing with her own family. They were too busy staying ahead of the law.

Pushing her thoughts aside, she was startled to find that she had almost forgotten her real purpose for being here—and it wasn’t to have fun.

Later as she and Garrett finished washing and drying the dishes, she tried to think of how to broach the subject of his locked bedroom.

“Your aunt stopped by today,” she said, pulling off her apron.

“You should feel honored. That’s the second time this week she left her deathbed, and all because of you.”

“I suspect your aunt is just lonely,” she said.

Loneliness was something with which she was all too familiar. Her job required her to be constantly on the move, forcing her to live the life of a gypsy. She had no real home, no family. She hadn’t seen her brothers since the day her father was hung. Hadn’t even looked for them, out of fear that one or more had followed in Papa’s footsteps.

Garrett hung the dish towel on a rack to dry. “I suspect my aunt misses my uncle more than she lets on.” He leaned against the counter, arms folded. “What brought her here today?”

“She’s planning our wedding.”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Do you mind?”

Trying to be tactful, she hesitated. She needed to earn his trust, and criticizing his aunt would likely defeat her purpose.

“I don’t mind going for a fitting, but your aunt plans on making a big fuss, and”—she bunched the apron into a ball—“I hoped for something simple.” Preparing for a wedding that would never take place would take up too much time.

Garrett studied her. “Believe me, the last thing I want is a big church wedding, but Aunt Hetty means well.”

“I know that.”

“And I’m her only living relative.” He hesitated. “After my parents died, she raised me. I owe her a lot, and I know that planning our wedding would give her a great deal of pleasure. But if you’re really against having a big affair, I’ll talk to her.”

She felt trapped. If she insisted on having her own way she would look childish—maybe even selfish. But if she granted his request, she would be putting a lot of people to work for nothing. Still, she was paid to do a job, and her allegiance was to the company paying her wages. That meant doing whatever was necessary—even if it meant planning a fake wedding—to get the job done.

“Very well,” she said. “We’ll do it your aunt’s way.”

His crooked grin was as engaging as it was disturbing, and she struggled not to fall under his spell.

“Then it’s settled,” he said.

It was far from settled, but she nodded mutely and, encouraged by his smile, decided to raise the subject of his bedroom. “I measured some of the windows for new curtains.” The sun had faded the gingham curtains almost white. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“This is your home now.”

The word
home
sliced through her like a knife. She never really had a home. Not a real one. For the first twelve years of her life, her family had been on the run. They traveled from town to town, state to state. Sometimes they shacked up in a deserted cabin and once even lived in a cave.

After her father’s death on the gallows, her mother couldn’t keep the family together any longer. Maggie spent her teen years in a cold, drafty, and regimented orphan asylum, run by a head mistress determined to pound the three Rs into her charges’ heads. She wasn’t unkind, just strict and had no patience with anyone who slacked off. Fortunately, the woman also taught her how to sew, though she never attempted to make anything so complicated as a dress or shirtwaist.

“Do you have a sewing machine?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes. In the attic. I’ll fetch it down for you.”

“Thank you.”

“You aren’t going to hang lace curtains, are you?” he asked.

“Certainly not,” she said, with unfeigned indignation. “That’s like hanging one’s undergarments in the windows for all the world to see.”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she grimaced. Now why did she have to mention something so personal in his presence?

His gaze slid down the length of her, and his mouth softened. “We wouldn’t want to do that.” Something intense flared in his eyes. “Hang undergarments in the windows, that is.”

Face blazing, she cleared her throat. The air between them suddenly seemed thick with double meanings, but she refused to be deterred.

“I would like to measure the windows in your bedroom.” Her voice wavered even as she struggled for control. “If… if that’s all right.”

“Yes, of course. It’ll soon be your…” He corrected himself. “
Our
bedroom. Do you want to measure the windows now? I’ll help you.”

Since she had no intention of marrying him, it never occurred to her to think of his room as theirs. Having him help her measure for undergar… uh… curtains was the last thing she wanted.

“Th—that’s all right,” she stammered. “I need to see that the children have finished their schoolwork. Tomorrow will be soon enough.” Tomorrow when everyone was gone, including him.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked. Like I said, it will soon be our room.”

He watched her closely as he spoke. The smooth, rich timbre of his voice was both soothing and disconcerting. She felt guilty for her deceit, and that was odd. Working undercover had never bothered her before. But neither had children been involved, and for some reason that made her feel worse.

Folding the now wrinkled apron, she managed to squeak out a thank you. She left the apron on the counter and backed toward the open doorway.

“I—I better go and check on Elise and Toby.” They’d been playing outside and both could use a bath.

“Would you mind taking them to school in the morning? I have an early delivery to make.”

Grateful for the change of subject, she nodded. “I’d be happy to.”

His mouth curved. “Much obliged. I’ll hitch the horse to the wagon before I leave.”

“That… would be most helpful.” She turned and fled down the hall. Gaining access to his room had been easier than she expected, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Dashing into the children’s room, she turned to find two pairs of eyes watching her.

W
hen Maggie awoke the following morning, Elise’s bed was empty. She quickly attended to her ablutions, dressed, and wound her braided hair into a coronet at the back of her head. Thus braced, she stepped into the hall.

The door to Garrett’s room stood ajar. She hesitated briefly but didn’t dare search it until everyone had left for the day.

She followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen where she found Toby at the table by himself, an empty plate pushed aside.

“Good morning,” she said, ruffling his hair. Today his thinking cap was missing, and he was busy sketching with a charcoal pencil.

“Where’s your father and sister?”

“Pa left for work and Elise is out back in the tree house,” he said without looking up from his sketch.

She poured herself a cup of coffee from the metal pot on the stove. “You have a tree house?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How is it possible to have a tree house without a tree?” She’d yet to see a tree since coming to the Territory. If she ever spotted one in this arid land, she’d be tempted to hug it.

“You don’t need a tree to build a tree house,” he assured her.

“Is that so?” Both children lived in a make-believe world; no doubt that was how they dealt with their mother’s death. She wouldn’t have survived her own childhood without flights of imagination. She’d even made up an elaborate fantasy about her father and pretended he was a hero instead of an outlaw. That particular fantasy ended the day he hung from the gallows.

Shuddering at the memory, she inhaled the brew’s rich aroma before taking a sip. It was just as she liked it: neither too strong nor too weak. “May I visit your tree house?”

Toby looked up from his drawing. “We only let special people inside.”

The back door flew open and Elise ran into the kitchen, her round cheeks as shiny as two red apples. The little white dog padded in behind her.

Maggie knelt down to pet the animal. He was all wagging tail and licking tongue.

“Have you had breakfast?”

Elise nodded. She glanced at her brother as if sharing a secret. Or perhaps she thought she was in some sort of trouble. “And Whitewash and Patches had breakfast, too. I fed them while Toby milked the cow.”

“Whitewash. Is that your dog’s name?”

Elise nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“And who is Patches?”

“Patches is our horse. Pa’s horse is named Brownie.”

“Let’s see if I have them right. Whitewash, Patches, and Brownie. Any other names I should know?”

“The cow’s name is Milk Can, but the chickens don’t have names.”

“What? No names? Well, we’ll have to come up with some. Meanwhile, we need to fix your hair. We don’t want to be late for school.”

Elise raced to the bedroom, and Maggie followed. She reached for the silver-handled hairbrush on top of the bureau. Elise’s hair was long, almost to her waist, and had a natural curl.

“Your brother was telling me about your tree house,” she said as she worked the bristles through Elise’s long locks.

“Shh. We don’t want the boogeyman to hear.”

Playing along, Maggie lowered her voice to a whisper. “Absolutely not.” She glanced out the window, pretending to look for lurkers. “The coast is clear,” she said and proceeded to brush Elise’s thick hair. “So I think it’s okay to talk. I always wanted a tree house.”

Elise’s watched her in the mirror. “You did?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Ouch!” Elise cried out, grabbing the side of her head.

“Sorry.” Maggie worked the knot gently out of the child’s tresses and quickly weaved the hair into two braids. She then tied both with a blue ribbon. “There, all done.”

She held up a hand mirror so Elise could see the back of her head. She really was a pretty child, though far too serious for such a young age.

Elise looked pleased by her reflection. “Papa doesn’t know how to make braids. He makes them all crooked.”

Maggie tapped Elise’s pert nose with her finger. It was hard to believe that a man who could bend metal into the most amazing shapes was stymied by a little girl’s hair.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I think that it’s a job for a woman.”

Elise giggled. The child seemed to thrive on secrets.

“Get your books. We don’t want to be late.” Maggie was anxious to take the children to school so she could have the house to herself. It was time to do some real detective work.