Stacy Henrie - The Rancher's Temporary Engagement

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?”