An Agent for Hope: Pinkerton Matchmakers, #56

By Marie Higgins

Hope's fiancé is dead, and the only way she can repair her heart is to become a Pinkerton agent and marry her trainer – in name only, of course. But after working so closely with a man for several months as husband and wife, can she continue to guard her heart from someone who is completely different from her dead fiancé?

But then… different can be good, too.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barr26 Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Mar 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223431640

Book preview

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Today was the day. She felt it in her bones.

For several years, Hope Larsen’s mother told her that what she felt in her bones was arthritis. Yet, it only took Hope two years to realize it wasn’t. Being an active woman at age twenty-eight, she shouldn’t have arthritis. But she did have a gift, which was why she felt things so strongly. Today was no different. Hope awoke this morning feeling that today was when she’d finally catch the train robber, Frank Hinchee. Her so-called gift left a bubble of excitement in her bosom.

Leaving her mare tied to a tree, she headed for the small grove, darting from one spot to another as she tried to hide herself from the log cabin down the slope. The sun would be setting soon, and she knew this was when she’d get to spy on her target.

Hope had been a Pinkerton agent for six months now, and she was confident that she’d learned all she needed. The first five months were extremely straining and she argued with her partner more than they talked civilly. Once she was trained, she high-tailed it out of there, telling her partner they could go their separate ways.

Working by herself didn’t scare her at all. She’d been on her own since her mother died a few years ago. She was well past the marriageable age, and besides, she was used to doing things her own way.

Hope found a spot to sit inside the cluster of trees, and pulled out her binoculars. She held them up to her eyes and watched the cabin below. Smoke billowed from the chimney, and on a few occasions, she noticed an over-sized woman with long, ratted gray hair walk by a window. The curtains were thin enough to see what was going on inside.

For two weeks now, she’d been following leads, and spying on those who were on her suspects’ list. One of the leads was a young boy who was probably fifteen or so who lived in this cabin with his mother. Hope had heard that Robert’s mother had been married to Frank Hinchee, and if that were the case, the boy was probably Frank’s son, even though Frank rarely came to the cabin. She wouldn’t believe that a father would ignore his own son. Hope was certain Frank checked on Robert’s welfare.

The door to the cabin opened. Hope leaned forward and tightened her fingers around the binoculars as she held her breath. Mrs. Hinchee stepped out, carrying a steamy pot. Carefully, using a towel between her hands and the pot, the round woman waddled toward a flat rock near a campfire, and when reaching the destination, she set the pot down. Still using the towel, she lifted the lid and peeked inside before fitting the lid back on. As she walked back toward the cabin, Hope realized the woman’s steps were slower. Mrs. Hinchee’s gaze jumped around her surroundings more than usual.

Hope scowled. Had the woman realized there was someone watching her? Hope prayed that wasn’t the case.

From the thicket near the house, the bushes rattled. Mrs. Hinchee swung toward the sound.

Hope zoomed her binoculars toward the area as she adjusted the focus on the lens. Shadows were growing thicker, and soon Hope wouldn’t be able to see much of anything but the cabin and the light coming from inside.

Mrs. Hinchee reached to the waist of her skirt, and slowly pulled out a steel object. Hope sucked in a quick breath. Why was the woman carrying a Derringer? Only women who were guilty of a crime – or hiding an outlaw – packed such a weapon.

Just as the middle-aged woman neared the bush, a large rodent ran out from underneath, scurrying toward the rundown shed. Hope shivered. There weren’t many things she was afraid of, but she definitely would have screamed and hopped up on something if she had been that woman.

Mrs. Hinchee slid the Derringer back in the waist of her skirt and continued back to her cabin, moving faster than before. Hope kept the binoculars to her eyes and slowly moved from one side of the yard to the other, searching for anything that was out of place, but the only thing that was odd was the steaming pot sitting on the rock. All Hope could figure out was that the woman placed it there to cool. Perhaps this was supper for Mrs. Hinchee and her son.

Relaxing, Hope lowered the binoculars and sighed. Something underneath her butt-cheek felt uncomfortable, and she realized she hadn’t quite swept the area before sitting down.

She rolled to her knees, turning to clear the ground for her to sit easier, when suddenly, a man’s arms reached out and grabbed her, pushing her to the ground on her back. The abrupt movement made her gasp for breath, but when the man laid on top of her, she thought for sure his weight would crush her lungs.

What do you think— she growled, wiggling beneath him in attempt to get free.

Shhh… he placed his hand over her mouth, or he’ll hear you.

Hope didn’t know whether to continue to fight the man whose hard body kept hers on the ground, or do what he said. However, his voice sounded oddly familiar, and for some crazy reason, it comforted her.

She stopped struggling and the man moved his hand off her mouth. The cluster of trees had created shadows, which made it hard to recognize him. He wore a hat, but then most men did. He wore a duster coat and the material felt crisp and new on her palms. He didn’t smell like he’d been sleeping with the pigs, nor did he have an earthy scent as if he’d slept under the stars. She could only assume he wasn’t a drifter and that he probably had a well-paying job. The shape of his face was oblong, but not overly so. From what she could tell from the outline of his face and the hardness of his chest where her hands were pressed against, the man took good care of his body.

And… she took in a deep breath, he even smelled clean, and very manly.

Finally, her ears picked up sounds from around them. The clip-clop of a horse’s hooves moving very close to the trees caught her attention. She swung her head toward the sound, but she couldn’t see anyone. The snort of the horse told her how close the rider was. If the strange man on top of her hadn’t knocked her down, the rider would have most definitely noticed her.

It couldn’t be possible that this stranger had actually protected her, or heaven forbid, saved her from being caught. No, she wouldn’t think that way. She could take care of herself since she’d done it for several years.

The horse’s hooves moved by the trees and headed down the hillside toward the cabin. Hope breathed a little easier, but when the stranger on top of her rolled away, she was vastly relieved.

The man grabbed the binoculars she’d dropped, and, lying on his belly, he held them to his eyes as he peered down toward the cabin.

Gritting her teeth to try not to yell at the man – only because it would make noise and alert the rider to them – she scooted on her belly beside the stranger. If you don’t mind, those are my binoculars.

As she reached for them, the man pushed her hand away, keeping his gaze on the scene below.

I don’t know who you are, she said softly but tried to make her voice stern for this man’s purpose, but you are interrupting my job. If you can’t tell already, this is my investigation, not yours. So, if you’d kindly leave…

Actually, he said, lowering the binoculars and turning his head toward her, "this is our investigation. After all, we are still married… Mrs. Slade."

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Jesse Slade had never wanted to throttle his wife until now. They’d had many arguments during the six months they’d been married which frustrated him to no end, but tonight she was just… careless. Hadn’t he taught her better than that? After all, he’d been a Pinkerton Agent for four years, and it had been up to him to train his partner – once they had gotten married, of course.

Hope’s surprised gasp ripped through the air. It was a good thing the rider had reached the cabin by now or their train robber would have heard her.

Jesse Slade?

He quickly put his hand over her mouth again, shaking his head to think she’d forgotten most of her training already. They’d been separated for nearly four weeks, so how could she have forgotten so quickly?

Would you lower your voice, Jesse whispered gruffly. I don’t know how well Frank’s hearing is.

Frank?

Her voice rose again, but with his hand over her mouth, he muffled the sound. Yes, Frank Hinchee, our train robber.

She yanked the binoculars out of his hands and held them up to her eyes. The darkness was growing thicker by the second, but the moon was