An Agent for Ruby: Pinkerton Matchmakers, #39

By P. Creeden

Ruby Lockwood had no intention of marrying her gentleman caller, Mr. Brown, but her denials fell upon her father's deaf ears. When she turns to her mother for help, her mother gives Ruby an ultimatum--join her sister in Denver and become a Pinkerton Agent or give Mr. Brown a courting chance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barr26 Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Jan 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215241851

Book preview

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April 1873

Ruby Lockwood had always hated that she was considered the pretty one. Not the smart one, like her sister Savannah, or the talented one, like her sister, Hazel. No. She had to be considered something useless, even dangerous—the pretty one.

Dangerous?

Was that too strong a word? Ruby didn’t think so. Not when she was a young child and the boys wouldn’t stop picking on her, pulling her pigtails or even pinching her and running away. Not when she was trying to finish her education at Vassar Women’s College—where she found that men would follow her on the streets of Poughkeepsie, New York, in hopes of gaining her attention. When cat-calls and rough men felt it necessary to greet her when she had shown no interest in them. Dangerous, because upon her rejection, some men responded in a manner unbecoming of a gentleman. Some threatened violence and made her feel uncomfortable. And this had gone on long enough, so that Ruby never felt comfortable with any man alone without a family member or other people about.

And it had been worse than this as Ruby had grown up. Because she was a bit different, even her own sisters banded together and left her out on many occasions. They often said they had much more in common with each other than with Ruby—more than just the fact that Ruby was fairer and more delicate than them. As the middle sister, Ruby was closer in age to each of them, and yet, they both claimed a kinship with one another that she could never breach. At school, many young women kept their distance from her because their suitors would spurn them because of an attraction to Ruby. She’d gotten quite used to being alone.

As much as Ruby had been taught not to hate anyone, she didn’t. But she hated the way that everyone treated her, and she’d often daydreamed about what it might be like to blend in with the crowd and go unnoticed. Even for one day.

Ruby, please come in here, her father called from the parlor.

Wringing her hands, Ruby swallowed hard, forcing her feet to take each measured step. Mr. Elliot Brown had been meeting with her father for the last half an hour. It was the fourth time that he’d come by to either meet with him or to stay for dinner in the two weeks since winter had thawed, and the spring had started. But he’d made his intentions known from the beginning, five months ago. He wanted to make Ruby his wife, even though he was twelve years her senior. Slowly, Ruby entered the room, cultivating a bored expression in the hopes that Mr. Brown would understand her disinterest without her having to express it. Sometimes this worked with men. But with Mr. Brown, it did not.

Mr. Brown would like to take you on a short stroll through the park before dinner, her father said. I’ve approved it to be unchaperoned since you will be not more than a few yards from our doorstep and the jaunt will be short.

Immediately, Ruby’s heart began to race. Unchaperoned. That was one word she dreaded above almost all others. Her hands fisted at her sides as she peered up at the wolfish grin the man wore. As if he’d won. As if she were a prize or an object that he’d finally acquired from her father. She clenched her back teeth at the thought. She was not any of those things but if Mr. Brown wanted to take her for a walk through the park, she’d allow him this once. And in the end, she hoped he’d never want to see her again.

Overhead, clouds had gathered, and the wind picked up a bit, showing that spring had not yet fully come to Connecticut, even though some of the perennials had already sprouted through the earth. The groundhog might have predicted an early spring, but the wind about them denied that claim.

Are you warm enough, Miss Lockwood? the gentleman asked.

I am, she said as stiffly as she held her spine and then drew her shawl tightly around her shoulders.

He had attempted to draw nearer to her on the walk, but Ruby kept her distance. She didn’t want him to feel that she accepted a single one of his advances. The man looked at her with greedy eyes that showed designs that she didn’t like and would prefer he didn’t try to act upon. He cleared his throat when they drew near the park bench. Would you like to sit for a moment, Miss Lockwood?

I’d rather stand, she said and then continued walking even though he’d hesitated in an attempt to stop.

When she felt a hand upon her shoulder, she’d nearly screamed. She’d nearly drawn her derringer from the pocket her mother had sewn in her skirts and pulled the trigger. She flinched from his touch and backed away, glaring at him. He held his hands up in a pose of surrender, but his lips drew thin as he narrowed his own gaze upon her. I’m trying to my best here to be polite and gracious. Could you not be congenial for a moment and comply with my meager request. It’s quite frustrating that you reject my every advance when your father has practically already given me permission to seek your hand in marriage.

Ruby blinked hard and stifled a gasp. My father did not. I refuse to believe that he would do such a thing without at least talking to me first.

His wolfish grin returned. Your father would like for his bank to do business with my company. To do so, he knows that he needs to keep me happy. And nothing would keep me happier than for you to become my wife.

Bile rose up Ruby’s throat. This man was no gentleman, just as she’d suspected. He was a wolf who was attempting to use his business connections in order to push her father into accepting his proposal. It made her sick to her stomach to think that a man such as this would be so bold. She couldn’t dare let him. With a hand raising to her forehead, she wavered where she stood, letting a groan escape her lips.

He caught her. Even though his hands burned where they touched her waist and glove, she didn’t recoil the way she wanted to. Oh, Mr. Brown. I’m so sorry. I believe I’m a bit under the weather. Please hold my hand and help me return home?

He blinked, his eyes going from incredulous to uncertain. Just as she’d planned. She knew that by allowing the man to touch her, he would not feel the utter rejection that he would if she’d just tried to leave. He wouldn’t have believed her sudden illness was true. But because she was asking him to keep contact with her, it felt like she wasn’t denying him, but accepting him, no matter what words came out of her mouth. That was what she needed to do in order to survive this moment. As much as his touch made her nauseous, she needed to accept it while she considered her next step. She swallowed hard as her home came back into view, and forced herself not to pull from his grip and run. No, that wasn’t what she should do next, but the honest truth was, she didn’t know what her next move should be.

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John Mark Lee ducked just before the glass bottle thrown at him smashed into his face. Instead, it shattered against the saloon wall behind him. He swallowed down a curse and then peered over the bar again, carefully, and ready to duck again if the need arose.

If I don’t get what’s coming to me, the wild-haired saloon girl screamed at the top of her lungs, then I will tear this place down with my own bear hands!

More glasses smashed against walls and the bar. Bottles crashed against the hardwood floor as men scrambled from their seats and either left the building or took cover behind tables and chairs. The woman held a knife in one hand and grabbed hold of anything breakable in the other as she threw things in all directions.

Where’s the sheriff when you need him? the bartender asked as he took cover behind his bar. Then the man spied John Mark’s side arm. "Do something, would you?

John Mark shook his head. What do you expect me to do? Shoot her? I can’t do that.

The bartender frowned but nodded in understanding. The woman screamed impossibly louder, hitting notes that would make an opera singer jealous. Maybe the bartender was right, John Mark thought as he rested a hand on his weapon. Maybe he could somehow get out of this by brandishing his gun but not actually using it. He took a deep breath and adjusted his palm on the handle of his pistol. Slowly, he stood and pushed his duster to the side so that his Pinkerton badge showed on his chest. Then he pursed his lips together and let out a high-pitched whistle.

Curly red hair went in all directions from the madwoman’s once pretty face. Black streaks mixed with the red of her cheeks and spoiled her make up. She stopped