The Rancher's Temporary Engagement. Stacy Henrie

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?”

      “Testing a theory.”

      Rising to his feet once more, he collected the book and brought it over to her. “I don’t see how this is going to help.”

      “Which is precisely why I am the detective and you are the rancher.” Maggy opened the notebook to the page she’d surveyed earlier. Carefully she reread each name, then compared it to the handwriting on the note. Sure enough, her theory proved correct when she reached the most recently penned name.

      “Ah-ha,” she exclaimed with a surge of victory as she glanced at Edward. “I found one of our potential suspects.” Which was one more than the last operative had discovered. She’d won Edward’s little challenge, which meant he would have to hire her as his new detective.

      Snatching the book from her, Edward shook his head. “That’s not possible.”

      “Look, here.” She bent forward to show him the handwriting on the note and how it corresponded to the name in the book. “This one has a curve in the B like the one in Bertram there.”

      Another of the names was written in handwriting she was sure she’d seen on one of the other notes. She sifted through them again until she found it. “Here’s another. This note has the same flourish on the W as it does on the name...” She leaned forward and read the notebook upside down. “Right there—the name Winchester.” Now they had two suspects! “Who are these men?”

      The furrow in Edward’s brow increased as he handed back the book. “They are both wealthy ranchers who live in the area.”

      She nearly blurted out that she’d been right—the culprits were educated—but she clamped her teeth over the remark as she saw the color drain from Edward’s face. She’d had plenty of practice keeping her thoughts to herself—she wouldn’t do well at undercover work if she told the criminals how absurdly dim they were to brag about their exploits in front of her persona as a harmless-looking scullery maid or a mousy store clerk. But holding her tongue for the purpose of sparing someone’s feelings was new, and she wondered why she didn’t wish to add to his discomfort. Especially given that he hadn’t believed she could sniff out any clues at all.

      Edward stood and began to pace the rug in front of the sofa, his expression one of consternation and confusion. “I can’t understand it. I dine with these men nearly every week at the Sheridan Inn. They’ve visited me here and I’ve been to their homes. Why would they sabotage me?”

      That was still another matter to solve—motive. Though she didn’t share his surprise that the attacks came from those he considered friends. She’d seen too much of mankind’s duplicity to be shocked by it anymore. “It makes more sense that a fellow rancher would be behind all of this havoc rather than a lone wrangler or cowboy. What more can you tell me about these men?”

      Pocketing his hands, Edward frowned further. “They’ve done well for themselves, though their spreads aren’t nearly as large as the Running W. Winchester is married and his wife belongs to that little club in town.”

      “Little club?” Maggy sat up straighter. The niggling of an idea had started to form inside her mind, though it wasn’t fleshed out and ready to present itself yet. “What sort of club?”

      Edward waved his hand dismissively. “All of the ranchers’ wives belong. They get together for their teas and tête-à-têtes and head up a number of society functions in Sheridan, as well.”

      “Do you have to be married to a rancher to join their club?”

      He didn’t slow his pacing. “I believe so, yes. That or engaged.”

      “And their husbands?” she asked. “Do they gather socially, as well?”

      Edward nodded. “Nearly all of the ranchers attend weekly dinners at the inn. Sometimes it’s with their wives. Other times it’s only the men.”

      “Perfect.” She slapped the chair arms for emphasis. Things were definitely looking up for this investigation—and for restoring the Pinkerton name with Edward. “Now we know where to concentrate our efforts.”

      “What do you mean?”

      Maggy stood, ready for some tea after all. It would be tepid by now but could still serve as an honorary toast to her first successful hour on the ranch.

      “You already know two of these men and you attend the same social events they do. Since