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Undercover Sheriff
Barbara Phinney


Look-Alike LawmanFormer lawman Zane Robinson never thought he’d wear a badge again—but to locate his missing twin brother, Zane’s taking on his identity as sheriff of Proud Bend, Colorado. There he discovers heiress Rachel Smith conducting her own search, for a mother and child who’ve also disappeared from the small town. The cases could be connected, so Zane reluctantly agrees to team up with the feisty beauty.Rachel can’t afford to be seen getting too close to Zane—it could impact her ministry for misguided young women. But as the investigation continues, she’s hopelessly drawn to the gruff yet honorable lawman. Though trust doesn’t come easily to Rachel or Zane, in searching for the missing, will they risk losing their hearts?







Look-Alike Lawman

Former lawman Zane Robinson never thought he’d wear a badge again—but to locate his missing twin brother, Zane’s taking on his identity as sheriff of Proud Bend, Colorado. There he discovers heiress Rachel Smith conducting her own search for a mother and child who’ve also disappeared from the small town. The cases could be connected, so Zane reluctantly agrees to team up with the feisty beauty.

Rachel can’t afford to be seen getting too close to Zane—it could impact her ministry for misguided young women. But as the investigation continues, she’s hopelessly drawn to the gruff yet honorable lawman. Though trust doesn’t come easily to Rachel or Zane, in searching for the missing will they risk losing their hearts?


“Maybe I don’t want anything that badly,” Zane said with a shrug.

Rachel folded her arms. “That’s a flimsy excuse.”

“Like yours is for coming here?”

“What do you mean?”

He tipped his head and walked closer to her. She refused to back away and thus show him how much he affected her.

“I thought that you wanted to keep your distance from any lawman so that the women in your ministry finally learn to trust you.”

Oh, that.

“You’ve come up with a cheap excuse to see me.”

Her cheeks hot, Rachel arched her brows. “Aren’t you full of yourself? I came here to tell you not to give up.”

To prove her point, she dared to take a step toward him. He didn’t move. The air stilled around them, and he reached out and touched her chin. His fingers were warm, a striking contrast to the cold air that moved briskly over her face. They stared each other down.

His voice lowered. “Do you want me to stay, Rachel?”

Her heart pounded in her throat. Did she?


BARBARA PHINNEY was born in England and raised in Canada. After she retired from the Canadian Armed Forces, Barbara turned her hand to romance writing. The thrill of adventure and her love of happy endings, coupled with a too-active imagination, have merged to help her create this and other wonderful stories. Barbara spends her days writing, building her dream home with her husband and enjoying their fast-growing children.


Undercover Sheriff

Barbara Phinney






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct thy paths.

—Proverbs 3:5–6


I want to dedicate this book to all of you who think you’re not worthy of God’s love because of a past sin. There is good news for you. It is by God’s grace that we are freed from our sin. Please remember, you are loved and forgiven, so it’s time to forgive yourselves.


Contents

Cover (#u3222effd-1811-5ae4-950a-432f1284c0bd)

Back Cover Text (#u53483746-2567-55ec-a879-5e7ce517751d)

Introduction (#u22ca12ae-8c05-525e-8a8b-91cd8c6c4319)

About the Author (#u14530481-82c2-5c14-a69c-573a183d61bc)

Title Page (#u789cf911-e726-5cff-b54d-2ccb28237bb7)

Bible Verse (#uae3e7464-24fc-5882-890a-f3f30ed6ac0e)

Dedication (#u222c0a0b-fc89-59fb-a6c6-58a3a7afe368)

Chapter One (#ue0b6b31a-fa5b-5699-b292-c5de72303986)

Chapter Two (#ucf9f8396-ab9c-574e-8cfa-297c28fb91dd)

Chapter Three (#uef6498e4-b0c2-536d-847c-9a41285b318a)

Chapter Four (#u2b584dd5-706a-54fc-8656-09bad996705a)

Chapter Five (#u0a9a65f0-27ae-57a4-8158-7d939858d526)

Chapter Six (#u74bff8f5-a8d8-5e9f-b1ba-ba9b15be4c2d)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_0dbbfb29-563f-5230-925f-bc80f5ffb64e)

Colorado, 1882

When Zane Robinson stepped into his brother’s rented room, he found a woman rifling through the desk.

He fully expected her to look up, for surely she’d heard him. Zane hadn’t exactly tiptoed along the narrow path that led from Mrs. Shrankhof’s kitchen to this back addition, determined to locate his missing twin. However, the well-dressed lady in front of him appeared oblivious as she yanked on the desk drawers, pulling out what looked to be a postcard, which she latched on to with the vigor of a miner striking gold.

She then let out a harsh gasp, a look of guilty horror filling her face. For the briefest moment, Zane wondered if she was about to collapse. Thankfully, she did not. Instead, her expression hardening into tenacity, she had the gall to fold the postcard and shove it into an unseen pocket of her closely tailored skirt.

Enough was enough. Zane prepared to charge into the room, settling his Stetson—which he’d removed when he’d come inside—back on his head so both his hands would be free. He felt a twinge as he remembered that the hat was the one his brother had sent him shortly after arriving in Proud Bend.

Alex had written him jokingly that they now had matching hats, and that all they needed were identical clothes and their youth would be repeated. Back then, neither of them had minded wearing the same clothing. Such was the way one dressed identical twins.

That one memory, a shameful one for Zane, lingered.

Never mind it. Alex had long since forgiven him for that foolish ruse.

Back to the issue at hand. That woman was stealing from his brother. Zane cleared his throat. “Who are you?”

With a jump, the woman whirled. Upon seeing Zane, she sagged with obvious relief and smiled broadly. “Alex! You scared me!”

Zane quirked an eyebrow. She thought he was his brother? Of its own accord, his hand lifted to his full beard. Had Alex grown one, as well? His brother usually preferred to be clean-shaven. Yet, this woman saw past the thick facial hair when no one else had so far. Walking through town—albeit with his hat on and his collar turned up against the wind—no one had even noticed that his face was identical to that of their sheriff.

Zane’s chest tightened. Alex, his only surviving kin, was missing, gone now a week. Perhaps injured somewhere, or dead. Zane needed to find the deputy who’d wired him to ask if Zane knew where his brother was.

He didn’t. Shortly after reading the telegram, Zane had boarded the next train from Canaan, Illinois, to Denver, Colorado, then down the other line to Proud Bend. He desperately needed to see what had been done so far to find Alex. But this woman in front of him needed to answer a few questions first.

She stepped forward, her broad smile still lighting her features. “You’re safe! Praise the Lord! Where have you been? I took a card I just—”

Her smile fell like a stone and was replaced by a frown. She cut off her sentence and withdrew that one step she’d taken. “You’re not Alex,” she accused. Her delicate brows pressed together as she searched his face. “Who are you?”

Zane had no time for this. “Considering that you’re stealing from my brother, the more obvious question would be ‘who are you?’”

The woman gaped. “You even sound like Alex! Are you his twin?” She tilted her head, assessing him. “What am I saying? Of course you are. Apart from the beard, you’re identical.” She touched her chest again as she peered hard. “I don’t think I’ve ever met identical twins before. It’s amazing!”

Zane’s attention dropped to her hand. Her fingers were rough and callused, nails cut short and utilitarian, a curious contradiction to the rest of this regal woman, whose fine, expensive-looking outfit was perfectly tailored to her tall, slender frame. Her black hair—what he could see of it beneath her bonnet—was arranged in a neat, fashionable knot.

Who was she? Alex hadn’t mentioned this woman, or any woman for that matter. “My brother told you he has a twin?” Very curious, indeed. “How did that come up in conversation?”

“It didn’t. It’s the only logical answer. You just said you’re his brother.”

Of course. Zane rubbed his brow. He was tired. That was the only reason for the foolish question. The woman was frowning again. Studying him closely.

Wariness tingled through Zane. She was smart. Was she also calculating? It certainly looked that way. He had better watch himself—he’d learned the hard way the dangers of other people’s craftiness. He was here to find Alex, not deal with yet another corrupt town.

“I can see that you’re perfectly capable of answering questions,” he ground out. “So, shall we return to my first one? Who are you?”

She wet her lips in what Zane might call a nervous action. As she should be, he thought without the charity he’d been taught as a child. Charity should be saved for those who don’t steal.

Or betray their sheriff, as had happened back in Canaan.

Surprisingly, the woman’s words were calm despite, he was sure, not wanting to give him a single shred of information. “My name is Rachel Smith.”

“Good, Miss Smith. Very good.” Zane took a deliberate step closer to her, hoping to appear intimidating. Although she was taller than any woman he’d ever met, Miss Smith didn’t compare with his big frame. Yet she stood her ground.

It didn’t matter. She’d been caught stealing. He thrust out his hand, palm skyward. “Now give me what you just slipped into your pocket. Before I take it from you.”

* * *

Rachel swallowed. Through her skirt, she fingered the postcard. She did not want to relinquish the only clue she had, although she had no idea why her name was scrawled on the postcard or how it had come into the possession of Proud Bend’s new sheriff. And she certainly did not wish to hand it over to this stranger.

The postcard could be the last thing Alex had handled before he went missing. If she could learn where he’d obtained it, it could help her retrace the steps he’d taken during the investigation she’d asked him to make into Rosa’s disappearance. It could lead her to both Rosa and the woman’s young son, Daniel, not to mention Alex, for surely his disappearance had to be related to theirs.

Please, Lord, keep them all safe. Rosa loves You now, I’m sure of it. If someone has kidnapped her to force her to return to that awful trade, change their hearts, Lord. Have all three of them released.

“The contents of your pocket?” the man prompted her, his hand thrust out even farther. Rachel suppressed a shiver.

Don’t be intimidated by this man.

He was clearly suspicious of her presence in his brother’s room, and if he saw the postcard with her name on it, his suspicions would only increase. She arched her brows and locked her hands primly against her skirt, one palm ensuring the card remained tucked away. “So, since you are his twin, what is your name?”

“Alex didn’t tell you? You two seem so close.” He paused, his brows lifted and his head tilted slightly to the left as if expecting a prompt answer. When she refused to rise to his provocation, he continued, “My name is Zane Robinson.”

Rachel ignored his cold tone. His brother was missing, so he was bound to be in a foul mood. Still, she frowned. “Alex said his full name was Alexander Zane Robinson.”

“That’s correct. I am Zane Alexander Robinson. Our mother thought it would be whimsical to switch our names.”

“Interesting.” She nodded, all the while hoping to appear unruffled. She was anything but that. In fact, she felt more ruffled by the second. “Why are you here?” she asked, hoping to move the conversation away from the postcard.

Zane did not move. His hand remained extended, waiting for her to relinquish the postcard still tucked safely in her pocket. Obviously, he did not wish to divert the subject. “Why did you just steal that card?”

When she offered no explanation, he continued, “I want it. If you do not hand it over immediately, I will simply take it from you. By force.”

Rachel swallowed. Regardless of her innocent motives, she had stolen something from Alex’s desk, and this man, his identical twin, had more right to it than she did.

Lord, Your spirit is pricking my conscience. Have it work for Your good.

Reluctantly, Rachel dug out the postcard. All she could hope for was that Zane would find it useful in tracking down Alex. “All I wanted to do was study it when I had the time, because I don’t have it now. I would have returned it.” She would have, she told herself fiercely, but the look of doubt on Zane’s face proved he didn’t believe her.

“And the reason for not giving it to his deputy to aid in his investigation? Unless, of course, you are responsible for Alex’s disappearance.”

“I’m not!” She threw back her shoulders. “I have no reason to wish any harm to Alex! I am, in fact, the one who is working the hardest to find him—and I’m just as capable as the deputy is at following a lead. Perhaps better than him. Otherwise, he would have already found this card himself. He has just admitted to me this very morning that he hasn’t yet searched this room because Alex was at the sheriff’s office, and before that, at the saloon, and had not been here for several hours before he was last seen. The deputy didn’t think searching here would help, whereas I do. That’s why I’m here. I’m retracing his last day starting in the morning.”

“Really?” Zane’s extended hand did not waver, for she had not yet returned the card. “Leads can take a person to places where ladies such as you should never go.”

A snicker escaped her lips before she could stop it. “You, sir, have no idea where I have gone. Regardless, this postcard could hold clues to your brother’s location. That’s the only reason I took it.”

Oh, who are you kidding here? You’re also afraid you’ll be implicated in his disappearance.

Ignoring the sudden internal accusation, Rachel opened the folded card slowly. It was a picture postcard of Castle Rock, the town just a few miles southeast on the same railway line that led up to Denver. The imposing butte jutted up in the picture’s background, an ugly formation Rachel knew was normally covered with mining paraphernalia, but in this romantically painted landscape, the artist had removed all that trash. She hastily committed the image to memory before turning it over. Beneath the standard postcard printing was her name, written at an upward angle. She didn’t recognize the handwriting, but knew that few people in Proud Bend—assuming the writer lived here and not in Castle Rock—could manage such smooth, readable cursive.

Zane tugged the card from her grip, obviously impatient with her delay. After studying it himself, he glanced up at her. “It has your name on it, Miss Smith.”

Rachel swallowed. “Yes. I can read.”

“It’s in my brother’s handwriting.”

She lifted her brows, all the while trying her best to stay reserved. She was anything but that. What Zane had just said answered one of her questions but added others. Why had Alex written her name on a postcard from the next town? Where did he get this card? Had he traveled to Castle Rock in the course of his investigation into Rosa’s disappearance? If so, why take a postcard and waste it by writing only her name on it?

Worry bit into Rachel. Lord, You know where they are. Lead us to them. Rosa wanted to give her life to the Lord, she’d told Rachel hesitantly, and the next day she had promised Rachel she would help her in her ministry to the misguided women who had fallen into a life of prostitution in Proud Bend. That had been over a month ago, for today was the seventh of December. Rosa had gone missing ten days ago. Rachel had gone straight to Alex the day after she’d disappeared. Two days after that, Alex had vanished, as well. So far, she’d found no clues to his whereabouts—except for this card. It might have nothing to do with Rosa, but if it wasn’t important, why keep it? It had been the only thing in a drawer that by now should have been littered with various small items.

“How did you get in here?” Interrupting her thoughts, Zane glanced around the room. “Did my brother give you his key?”

Rachel flushed. “Mrs. Shrankhof unlocked the room for me. Since I’m not privy to Alex’s official files on Rosa and Daniel—”

“Rosa? Daniel?” Zane looked baffled as he cut her off. “Who are they?”

“Rosa Carrera is a friend.” Rachel clipped her words, not wanting to mention the woman’s former profession. “Daniel is her young son, a toddler. They disappeared a few days before Alex did. I reported it.”

“Perhaps they moved away?”

Rachel shook her head. “She’d spent the weeks before her disappearance helping me with my ministry, and she was committed to the cause. She wouldn’t have just left. Besides, none of their things are missing—nor did she say goodbye to anyone.”

“Just what is this ministry of yours?”

She hesitated. She’d hoped to avoid specifying, worried that Zane would lose interest in the disappearance if he discovered that it applied to the unfortunates that society usually considered beneath their notice.

“I minister to the soiled doves of Proud Bend, and attempt to bring them to God.”

He eyed her shrewdly. “And Rosa helped you in this ministry? Was she a soiled dove, as well?”

“She used to be,” Rachel admitted.

“Maybe she returned to her old habits?”

“No, she has given her life to God.” Rachel folded her arms. “Obviously you’re not a Christian, to be so willing to discount the work of the Holy Spirit.”

Zane raised his brows, looking insulted. “I assure you, Miss Smith, nothing could be further from the truth.”

Rachel studied him. Although she couldn’t say why, she believed his words. She had no proof, save the indignant look. She had no proof that Alex’s disappearance was related to Rosa’s, either, but like Zane’s answer, she knew it to be true.

His scowl returned. “So you reported her disappearance to Alex?”

“Yes, but as soon as he opened an investigation, he went missing, too.” Rachel bit her lip. Had Alex somehow given up on this town and abandoned his duties? Had the work here proved too much for Proud Bend’s new sheriff? Too much stress and anxiety?

Automatically, Rachel’s thoughts moved to her childhood friend, Bea. Hard times had hit Bea’s family and by the time Rachel and Bea were eighteen, Bea had turned to prostitution to help make ends meet. A year later, in a fit of remorse for her choices, Bea had taken her own life. That sad act had cemented Rachel’s desire to help the soiled doves of Proud Bend.

That same year, along came Liza, who’d approached Rachel one day on the street, asking for money and followed by a younger, equally squalid-looking woman. It was Rosa, Liza’s daughter—a young woman who knew nothing else but to follow her mother in the profession of prostitution.

Rachel shut her eyes, trying to banish the memory. It still hurt to think of Liza and the terrible part Rachel had played in her untimely death.

You should feel guilty.

Two women, two deaths. Another woman missing. You could have tried harder to help Bea. And Liza might still be alive today if you hadn’t convinced the other soiled doves to hand over their life savings for you to invest. You would never have been robbed and assaulted that night. And if that hadn’t happened, Liza wouldn’t have decided to confront the man she believed was the thief. Your arrogance—your belief that you could save those women—played a big part in Liza’s death.

Rachel pushed aside the painful memories before they gained a stronger foothold. Right now, she couldn’t afford to dwell on them. Finding Rosa and Alex must come before wallowing in guilt.

Had she done enough to help Alex with the investigation? Maybe if she’d spoken to him more, she would have known more about what he’d uncovered—and what had caused his own disappearance. But Rachel had deliberately kept all of her interactions with the sheriff as brief and discreet as possible, seeing him only in the early morning, when most of the women who worked in the cribs behind the saloon were sleeping. Rachel didn’t need to be known as someone who was close with the sheriff, considering the distrust and suspicion the soiled doves felt toward law enforcement. Prostitution wasn’t illegal, but those women were often arrested for vagrancy and theft, leading them to avoid the law as much as possible.

Rachel sighed. None of this answered why Proud Bend’s sheriff had written her name on a postcard from the neighboring town or even when he’d done so. Rachel stepped closer, indicating the postcard that Zane still held and determined to glean from it every ounce of information she could. “Are you sure it’s Alex’s handwriting?”

He tossed her a sharp look. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“Of course not.” She frowned at his defensive tone. “Are you absolutely certain that’s his handwriting?”

“We wrote—write—to each other regularly. When I received a telegram stating he was missing—”

“You received a telegram? When? From whom?”

Zane’s mouth thinned before he answered. “This past Sunday. I took that day’s train. In fact, I have only just arrived.”

“Who sent you that telegram?”

“Alex’s deputy,” Zane answered. “A man named Wilson. He informed me that Alex was missing and asked if I’d heard from him.”

Rachel swallowed. Instead of searching this room, the new deputy had contacted the brother who lived miles away? Why wasn’t the deputy doing more to search for answers here in Proud Bend? Instead, he’d sent a telegram and, as far as Rachel could tell, done little else.

Suspicion rose in her, but she crushed it. Not so long ago, the night her father had died, her father’s business partner, Clyde Abernathy, had tried to kill her and her mother in an attempt to gain control of the bank he shared with Rachel’s father. Now, Rachel felt mistrust at every turn.

No. Suspicion and doubt did not come from God, she told herself fiercely. Nor should she complain about Deputy Wilson’s choice at where he would start his investigation. She hadn’t considered this room either until late last night. Rachel wouldn’t condemn Deputy Wilson’s decisions, not when she was just as negligent, even if her own investigation could not be sanctioned by the law.

With deep concern, Rachel rubbed her arms to suppress a shiver. She couldn’t afford to give in to this worry.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Zane cut her off. “I would prefer to be the one who asks the questions,” he said. He glanced at the door. “How well do you know my brother?”

His words might have been suggestive, but Rachel heard nothing but concern in Zane’s tone. “That’s not important,” she answered. “How did you know where your brother lived? You said you came straight here from the train.”

“Alex had written me about his new home.” Zane narrowed his eyes. “Are you intimate enough with Alex that his landlady would let you in anytime you want?”

Now those words went beyond suggestive into insulting. Coloring, Rachel tugged on the pocket flaps of her outfit’s fine jacket. “Absolutely not!” It was only then that she noticed how Zane had left the door open. Although it was clear and bright this December morning, the cold draft barreling in had dissolved any heat created by the sunshine through the window. “I’m not intimate with Alex in any way, shape or form. Mrs. Shrankhof let me in because she is as concerned over his disappearance as I am and she trusts me.”

“How commendable of you.” He folded his arms. “Now, the real reason you took the card.”

Rachel blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I’m delighted you are so concerned for Alex that you would search his room for any leads as to where he’s gone, but I don’t believe that’s your main reason, Miss Smith.”

Her mouth felt dry all of a sudden. “W-why do you say that?”

“You were very focused. You went straight to this desk.”

“How do you know?”

Zane pointed briefly to the floor. “There is a skiff of snow outside and you have tracked it only to the desk, not to the wardrobe or the chest of drawers.”

Rachel glanced down at the small pools of melting snow that indicated where she’d walked. Zane Robinson was as eagle-eyed as Mrs. Shrankhof. Despite her pounding heart, she shrugged. “It was the logical place to start. I came, and the first thing I saw was the desk.”

She threw back her shoulders. “Since I first reported Rosa missing, I have gone to the sheriff’s office every day for an update, even after Alex disappeared. When I learned that Deputy Wilson had focused his investigation into Alex around the saloon only, I decided to start my own. I came here and found that postcard. As you have pointed out, that’s all I’ve done.”

“And you know for sure Wilson has not searched this room yet?”

“Mrs. Shrankhof confirmed that no one has been in here. It’s her job to clean once a week. She’d tidied his room the day he went missing and then locked it up. Believe me, she would notice anyone coming. Unless it was Alex, who has his own key, they would need to ask her to unlock the door. I don’t know why Deputy Wilson has not yet searched this room. Perhaps you can ask him that.”

Rachel paused. Until this moment, she hadn’t considered that Deputy Wilson might have obtained Alex’s key and slipped in under the cover of darkness. What if Wilson had taken it after he’d kidnapped Alex?

No. Wilson wouldn’t risk incriminating himself in that way. However, what if he’d slipped in here in the middle of the night and planted that postcard, hoping to point the finger at Rachel?

She brushed away the wild conjecture. Such was the result of a stalled investigation and a too-suspicious nature after being exposed to her father’s and Abernathy’s sly corruption.

“I plan to question Wilson very thoroughly.” Zane tipped his head to one side. “So, Detective Smith, what’s your next move?”


Chapter Two (#ulink_4605c33f-7f4f-5307-a256-629564486da6)

Rachel blinked away all the suspicions and paranoia and focused on Zane, telling herself again not to be intimidated by this abrasive version of her town’s sheriff. “I was going to check out that postcard.”

He held it up. “The one that has your name on it? Logically, it seems to point to you, so interviewing you would be the next step, except you claim that you had nothing to do with Alex’s disappearance. Therefore, this card is a dead end, so why bother taking it?”

Rachel felt even more heat flood into her face. Before she could answer, he continued, “I’ve been watching you, Miss Smith. I believe that as soon as you found that postcard, you realized that you might be implicated in my brother’s disappearance, which prompted you to try to dispose of it. In fact, I believe that was your sole reason for coming here. To remove any incriminating evidence because you’re involved somehow.”

“That’s not true!” Rachel swallowed, realizing too late that her outburst wasn’t such a good idea. “You should be asking the deputy why this room hasn’t been searched.”

“I intend to, and since we have already established that Mrs. Shrankhof trusts you—”

Rachel tried her best to look knowing. “She’s an excellent judge of character.”

“I disagree. You’re a thief. You stole this card. Since you clearly have Alex’s landlady in your back pocket, we will have to consider her a biased witness and disregard any statement she might make in your defense.” Zane took a step toward her as his gaze flicked up and down her frame.

Rachel tipped her head up, something she rarely had to do with men, thanks to her height. She studied Zane. She didn’t remember seeing the tiny creases between Alex’s eyebrows, but Zane had them. He also seemed a whole lot more canny than his easygoing twin. How did he know so much about biased witnesses, statements and such? Was he also in law enforcement?

“You have all but admitted that you have another motive rather than the noble one of finding three people,” Zane asked.

Rachel pulled herself together. “You know this because...”

“You call Alex by his first name.”

Normally, Rachel wouldn’t be so improper as to call the sheriff by his first name, but Alex had insisted on Christian names once he’d learned of her ministry, saying he valued her work. She’d appreciated the friendly personality, but had kept her encounters with him as brief and as few as possible, not wanting the women she helped to believe there was more between the sheriff and her than there really was.

Alex had understood that. He was easy to get along with, candid even, unlike this brother, who currently looked travel worn and testy, as suspicious as that postcard.

Despite knowing why she kept her distance, Alex had been quite companionable, often greeting her in the street. This twin appeared to be the exact opposite. Rachel folded her arms. “What of calling Alex by his Christian name? We had exchanged them.”

“Really? He’s not in your class.”

Rachel bristled but refused to answer. Although her mother had always tried to instill in her the importance of staying within one’s class, Rachel knew, even years ago when the Lord had changed her young life, that all were equal at heart. Wasn’t that a founding principle that made the United States? She remembered the celebration when Colorado had joined the union. Hadn’t the mayor commented on that? It didn’t matter. She knew enough not to argue with this man. Not today, anyway.

“As for another motive, it’s nearly noon,” Zane commented abruptly, “and judging by the freshness of the rouge on your cheeks and the powder under your eyes, I would say that you have only just completed your toilet.”

“How does that indicate another motive?”

The corners of Zane’s mouth rose slightly. “I can tell that you retired very late last night. What exactly were you doing until all hours? Whatever it was, I wonder if it’s making you feel guilty,” he speculated.

“Not in the least.” She threw back her shoulders and tugged on the sleeves of her jacket. “The hours I keep are none of your concern.”

He was being ridiculous, she told herself. Staying out late did not cause her to feel guilty. Was he goading her?

“And how do you explain these?” He lifted her left hand and indicated her rough knuckles before turning it over to expose the dry, hard calluses. “Are you a washerwoman by night?”

She yanked back her hand, regretting that she’d removed her gloves upon entering this room. “That’s none of your business.”

“I would say it is. You are full of contradictions, which imply that you’re hiding something. Something that I believe is making you feel guilty. I saw it on your face the moment I walked in here.”

Rachel felt her mouth thin. “Very observant of you.”

“Alex isn’t the only lawman in the family.”

She narrowed her gaze, knowing that if he was like most lawmen, he would not give up until she admitted that he was correct. They stared each other down as she fought the urge to blink. She fought every fiber in her body that screamed to tell Zane everything, to pour out all the guilt that ate at her.

That would be a very bad idea. Just because he looked like his twin didn’t mean he was as understanding as Alex.

His stare continued.

Finally, needing to say something, anything to end the accusatory silence, she blurted out, “Fine, then. I didn’t want anyone to think I had something to do with Alex’s disappearance. I came here for any clue to help find him, and hopefully Rosa and Daniel, but as soon as I saw this card, I was afraid that if Deputy Wilson discovered it, he would focus on me, to the exclusion of all other suspects. I want him to find Rosa and Daniel because their disappearance must be connected to Alex’s. But I’m not responsible for what has happened to any of them!”

Even as she blurted out her words, she knew Zane didn’t believe her. As his stare continued, a shiver ran through her.

* * *

Not for a minute did Zane believe Rachel’s words. He glanced down at the postcard in his hand. A painted picture of Castle Rock? Why would his brother have a postcard from another town? And why waste a good postcard by writing only Rachel Smith’s name on it?

In fact, when had he written Rachel’s name on it? Before or after Rosa’s disappearance?

There was also another on that list of hard questions. How was it that he could so easily see the lies on Rachel Smith’s face, yet he had not seen how his own staff back in the little town of Canaan had conspired against him?

It was hard to believe Rachel could deceive anyone with a face that open and expressive. It was clear the woman was nervous, an emotion so tangible he could nearly taste it in the air. But did that mean she was involved in his brother’s disappearance? Could she be telling the truth about that?

Maybe her nervousness was simply because he’d startled her. And just being an identical twin to a missing man might unnerve another person. Enough to make them look guilty?

Perhaps, but that didn’t explain the postcard. Neither he nor Alex had anyone to send postcards to, aside from each other. They had lost their grandparents to old age a few years back, and parents to a flu outbreak last winter. At their parents’ shared funeral, Zane and Alex had decided never to lose contact with each other. That was how Zane knew exactly where to go as soon as he’d stepped off the train. In his first letter from Proud Bend, Alex had given him detailed directions to his home and office. Zane would have preferred to go straight to the sheriff’s office for an update, but since this room was on the way, he’d stopped here first, just in case his brother had returned.

It was a good thing he’d chosen this detour. Now it looked like he might be taking Miss Rachel Smith in for questioning. He latched on to her elbow. Firmly.

She immediately stiffened. “Let me go! What’s the matter with you?”

Zane saw shock flare in Rachel’s eyes, but he had no intention of releasing her. Just because a woman was indignant, didn’t mean she wouldn’t knock him over and bolt the second he released her. This Miss Rachel Smith looked healthy enough to get a good head start on him while he was scrambling to stand. She was taller than most women and if she hiked up that fashionable skirt of hers, she could race out of this room at a fairly good clip.

“We’re going to the sheriff’s office,” Zane ground out. “I want to see if the deputy has heard from my brother.”

Rachel dug in her heels. “You don’t need to handle me like a wayward child!”

“I think I do.” His grip wasn’t hard, but firm enough to ensure her compliance. “I want to question you in a professional manner and that means at the sheriff’s office.”

“You have no authority here.”

He was about to reply when he was cut off by a deep, booming voice. “What’s going on here?”

Zane turned. Standing in the open doorway was a large, well-dressed man, middle-aged, with extra weight around the middle. An even older woman, wearing a worn cotton skirt and blouse, with a flour-dusted apron wrapped around her wide girth and a heavy shawl draped over her shoulders, stepped out from behind him. Some of her gray, wispy curls escaped her white maid’s cap. Her eyes were wide, taking in every action.

“Who are you?” Zane asked, hearing impatience pepper his tone. He was here to find his brother, that’s all, not to confront every townsperson.

The older man drilled him with his own harsh glare. “I believe I should ask that question.”

“Don’t you recognize our new sheriff?” the older woman answered, peering up at the man. “You wanted me to tell you when he got back. As soon as I saw him pass my kitchen window, I sent my grandson.” She drilled Zane with a blatantly nosy stare. “He growed himself a beard, he did.”

The man shoved the old woman behind him and puffed up further. “Don’t be foolish, Mrs. Shrankhof. I spoke to Sheriff Robinson only eight days ago. He couldn’t have grown that thick a beard so quickly.”

Zane lit upon the man’s confession. According to the telegram, Alex had disappeared a week ago today. Could this man have been the last person to see him before he went missing?

“But he did, Mayor Wilson!” She pointed at Zane. “Look at him.”

Zane felt his jaw tighten. Mayor Wilson? The deputy who’d telegraphed him had the same last name. Were they related? Probably. True, it was a common name, but this was a small town. People hiring relatives and cronies into positions of power happened very frequently in these small, isolated towns. This man’s young relative didn’t sound experienced enough to be voted in as sheriff, but hiring him as deputy was probably as easy as pie.

“Go back to your kitchen,” the mayor growled to Mrs. Shrankhof. “I’ll handle this.”

At the man’s order, Alex’s landlady reluctantly retreated.

Tugging her arm free, Rachel stepped forward. “This is not Sheriff Robinson, Your Worship,” she explained. “This is his brother, Zane.”

Zane fully expected Rachel to add that she was also being mistreated by him, but she said nothing more.

Wilson shut the door. After turning, he studied Zane. “The resemblance is remarkable. Discounting the beard, of course.”

“They’re identical twins.” After a moment of thoughtful silence, Rachel took the opportunity to glance back at Wilson. Zane noticed immediately that her expression had changed. Because she had an ally in the mayor? “I believe,” she began, her words slow and careful, “that we have a unique opportunity here.”

Zane tossed her a cool glare. Rachel’s demeanor had switched from defensive to calculating. She now looked far too comfortable, and he automatically bristled. “A unique opportunity for what?”

Rachel glanced out the window before answering, probably to ensure that Mrs. Shrankhof had indeed returned to her kitchen. “Mr. Robinson, our town needs a sheriff because ours has gone missing. Perhaps we can come to some kind of agreement? A temporary one, that is, until you find your brother. If I remember correctly, you said you are also a lawman.”

“And you want me to work here so you can make me disappear, as well?”

If he was expecting Rachel to be ruffled at the accusation, he was disappointed. All she did was color slightly. “Alex is missing. You want to find him as much as we do. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

There she went, calling his brother by his first name again, despite her assertions that she wasn’t intimately involved with him. Curious, and not something a well-mannered gentlewoman would be expected to do.

“What did you have in mind, Miss Smith?” the mayor asked.

“It’s not the most ideal situation, but it’s the only one I can think of. Mr. Robinson can adopt his brother’s identity.”

Zane studied Rachel. What kind of town was this that a well-dressed woman could suggest such subterfuge to the town’s mayor with the expectation it would be accepted?

Was it a crooked town, where deception and manipulation were common? It wouldn’t be the first. In his town, Canaan, he had seen the wealthy bend the rules regularly. Was he expecting something different in a town where his brother had mysteriously disappeared?

Rachel met his gaze with only a hint of reluctance. “You mentioned that Alex wasn’t the only lawman in the family. Are you a sheriff, also? If so, where?”

Zane paused. He didn’t want them to know that his latest employment hadn’t ended well. If they questioned his competence or honesty, they might not let him participate in the efforts to find his brother, and Alex needed him. Zane’s disgrace in Illinois didn’t compare to his brother’s safety, and, right now, for full access to Alex’s files and belongings, he would need to convince this pair he was trustworthy. He would just have to take the chance that they would not ask more than the most rudimentary of questions. “I was the sheriff in Canaan, Illinois.”

“Will you take your brother’s place?” There was a hint of desperation in Rachel’s quick words. “It could lead you to Alex.”

Automatically, his lips tightened. “Are you in such a position to offer that to me?”

“No, but I am,” the mayor answered, puffing up more.

“Mayor Wilson wants this town to know that his main priority is their safety and well-being,” Rachel added.

Ah. That’s it. Zane nodded, understanding the situation. “So, it’s an election year?”

“Yes.” Suddenly, a small smile pulled up the corners of the woman’s mouth, one that stated quite bluntly she wasn’t the least bit embarrassed by the stratagem. “Our good mayor wants to keep his job. When our old sheriff passed on several months ago, he immediately hired your brother. Like any frontier town, Proud Bend needs a good lawman, and after you find Alex, he can return to his duties, you can return to yours and the rest of the good citizens will remain none the wiser of the switch.”

Zane watched Rachel blink at him with affected innocence. Should he take this curious offer? It did tempt him. Taking the sheriff’s position would give him access to resources he would not otherwise be able to command. If he didn’t take it, what would that do to his chances of finding his brother?

Pare them down to nothing, that’s what, for surely one word from the older Wilson to the younger one and Zane would be punished for not coming on board with the mayor’s—no, wait, Rachel’s—idea of switching identities. He’d probably be run out of town or, at the very least, be denied access to his brother’s office, the one that held the information on the investigation into Alex’s disappearance.

Oh, how he hated politics. All that sly scheming and manipulation. When he’d refused to bow to Canaan’s mayoral pressure to suspend a recent investigation that pointed the finger of guilt at the mayor’s son, Zane had been the one accused of the theft. He’d tried to fight back, only to be framed and forced out of office.

Zane pinned Rachel with another sharp look. “I’m not interested in Proud Bend’s politics, Miss Smith. Nor should you be. You can’t even vote.”

She straightened her shoulders. “My suggestion benefits both you and this town.”

“So why are you so interested? How does this benefit you?”

She blinked, her jaw tightening ever so slightly as she glanced at the mayor. “I have my reasons.” She cleared her throat. “You need to find your brother. What better way than to follow his movements but as his replacement?”

“As his replacement, or acting as him? I don’t do undercover work.” It smelled too much like what had already happened to him, when those on his staff had bent to the mayor’s subtle threats and gone undercover to plant evidence that implicated him.

Rachel studied him. “Or is it that you just don’t care for lies?”

Zane stiffened. Miss Rachel Smith was proving to be as good at reading people as he was, with her quirked eyebrow and sharp, blue-eyed gaze. He’d have to be careful.

“Both. I don’t care for lies—nor do I care for undercover work,” he answered stiffly.

Her demeanor softened. Was that a hint of respect forming in her expression?

“I appreciate your work ethic, Mr. Robinson,” Rachel said, quickly recovering her cool manner. “But I can’t see you doing anything else. You know you won’t be able to waltz into the sheriff’s office and demand to see all that Deputy Wilson has done in finding Alex. Or read Alex’s file on Rosa and Daniel. The two cases must be related. Two disappearances in a short period of time? You’d need both files.”

“My brother could be working on a covert assignment—he might not be missing at all.”

“You mean, going undercover without telling his deputy?” She looked skeptical. “Does he like undercover work?”

Zane couldn’t say for sure. The topic had not risen in any conversation Zane had ever had with Alex. “I expect he would do whatever is necessary to find your friend.” Even as Zane said that, he heard the hesitation in his words. Did he not believe them? He hated his own doubt.

Rachel must have heard the uncertainty because she frowned ever so slightly. “Perhaps Alex is dallying where he should not be dallying.”

Zane felt his jaw tighten. No. While Alex had often enjoyed life more than he did, his brother would never abandon his job to “dally” with anyone. Rachel’s suggestion was ludicrous, he told himself a bit too fiercely.

Wasn’t it?

“Do you believe your brother would just walk away from a job?” Rachel asked.

Zane paused and swallowed. The Alex he had grown up with would never have walked away. But after Nicola died a few years back, Alex had taken his wife’s early demise hard, even disappearing once for several days and sending their mother into a frantic state. Yes, he’d changed. He’d decided to live more in the moment, he’d told Zane once. Zane knew Alex was running from his grief, but he would say nothing of that aloud, not in front of these people who would judge Alex harshly if he truly had walked away from his life once again.

At his hesitation, Rachel’s gaze sharpened and Zane immediately heightened his efforts to appear calm and in control.

“Of course this is a political decision,” she said smoothly, wrapping up the conversation as if she was the chair of an important meeting. “But, naturally, one must use common sense here.” As she slipped on one of her gloves, she indicated Zane. “One as—how shall I say this?—unceremonious as yourself won’t get much out of the people here.”

Despite the seriousness of the moment, Zane allowed himself a small smile. If Miss Rachel Smith had tried to be diplomatic with him, it hadn’t worked. If she’d attempted to offend him, it had slid from him like water off a duck’s back. Regardless, he had been “unceremonious” with her. Alex had inherited all the tact, not him. Zane was the more difficult twin.

“If you refuse,” Mayor Wilson added with a slight edge, “I cannot allow you to start your own investigation. It would be too disruptive.”

To your upcoming campaign? Zane asked himself.

“Why not pick up where your brother has left off, as your brother?” Rachel finished, her voice once again as smooth as a silk pillow. “You might just scare someone who can’t believe the sheriff is still around and walking. Scared people make mistakes.”

True, but scared people acted dangerously, too. Zane drew in a thoughtful breath. He wasn’t going to agree to anything simply because it benefited this pair. “So you’re suggesting Alex’s disappearance is the result of foul play?” Scrubbing his face and beard, Zane knew he had to voice another concern, although he hated it. “What if Alex is dead? Don’t you think that his killer would know I’m not my brother?”

Please, Lord, let that not be so.

His words affected Rachel, he could tell. She swallowed and her mouth tightened, obviously hating that they had to consider that possibility. Her answer was soft and hesitant. “Then we shall have to pray that hasn’t happened.” She blinked, looking remarkably sincere in her grief concerning the idea, but he refused to believe it. “You’ll have to shave your beard, too, Mr. Robinson. Alex is clean shaven.”

Zane automatically touched it. “Who says that someone else won’t realize that I’m not Alex? You saw the truth almost immediately.”

“Perhaps I can help you be...less unceremonious,” Rachel answered smoothly, not answering his question directly.

“I do not need any help. I know my own brother, and, to be frank, we have switched places before.”

That memory cut into him like the ragged edge of a chipped razor. They’d managed to fool everyone except their mother. It hadn’t been his finest moment. It was curious that the one time in his life of which he was the most ashamed would be useful right now in doing some good—finding his brother.

“Trust me, Mr. Robinson. I am confident I can help you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Quite frankly, Miss Smith, I trust you as far as I can throw you.”

Her gaze brightened as it danced over his frame, a moment of impudence that grated against Zane. “We can’t allow that, can we? You might hurt your back, for I’m not a small woman.” She turned from him. “Mayor Wilson, obviously you must make the final decision.”

Zane glanced over at the man who up until now had watched the conversation with little input. Was he looking for weaknesses? “Miss Smith is right,” the mayor finally said with his mouth becoming a grim line. “It’s risky, but I’m afraid my son is not getting anywhere with his investigation and I want my sheriff back.”

Of course. Your political career is on the line here. Still, Zane scowled, thinking of the three disappearances. In a small town, three persons going missing in a short span of time had to be related. He needed to get into his brother’s office and read his files. Fresh eyes might help. “What if I take on the position as myself and not my brother?”

Rachel shook her head. “You’d have to earn everyone’s trust, which could take time. Assuming Alex’s identity can give you the trust he’s already earned. And—” Rachel glanced at the mayor before once more skewering Zane’s attention “—you would need to be elected to hold any authority in town if you refuse to take Alex’s identity.” A slightly knowing smile tugged on the corners of her mouth. “Do you want to schmooze and glad-hand people all while your brother is missing?”

Zane felt his chest tighten.

Her tone softened immediately. “It’s not an ideal solution, but you’ll have all that’s in the sheriff’s office at your disposal if you take this offer.”

Including Alex’s files and notes, Zane thought. They might include information on the lovely Rachel Smith. He frowned, not liking for one minute that he was even considering such an opportunity when his focus should be on finding Alex. Because learning about her wasn’t as important, not with the sly political machinations she was weaving.

Zane nodded, wondering all the time if he’d just made a decision he would eventually regret.


Chapter Three (#ulink_5361ad7a-570f-5957-80b9-cdf9fb14c218)

Exactly thirty-four hours after Zane Robinson had agreed to assume his brother’s identity, and in the light from the lamp outside her front door, Rachel toyed with the telegram she’d just received. The mayor’s young errand boy had brought it over just as she was leaving for her ministry work, as she did most nights. There was no accompanying comment from the mayor, a fact that attested to Mayor Wilson’s sharp disapproval.

Rachel swallowed. The mayor had done the sensible thing. He’d checked on Zane Robinson’s background. The answering telegram from the mayor of Canaan, Illinois, had only taken a day, and its clipped tone told as much as the harsh words of accusation.

Oh, dear. She had erred once more, this time in her assumption that since Alex was a good sheriff, his twin would also be upstanding. Hadn’t he come here to find his brother? He’d been anxious for him. They wrote regularly. Those were good qualities, and Rachel had taken them at face value as testimonials to his character.

In the dim light above the door, Rachel reread the telegram, hoping it wasn’t as bad as a moment ago.

Ref. your inquiry of Zane Robinson, he was released from duties, guilty of theft and bribery. Recommend you not hire him.

Her heart sank again. Proud Bend had taken on a thief as sheriff. Would the mayor dismiss him outright? Or wait until Alex was found? All she could hope for now was that regardless of his reputation, Zane would be sufficiently motivated to find his brother before the proverbial ax fell on his limited career here in Proud Bend. Rachel made a mental note to call on the mayor tomorrow.

And hopefully Zane would find Rosa and her son, too.

Keep them all safe, Lord. Please.

“Thank you,” she murmured to the errand boy in front of her. With a nod, he hurried away, no doubt anxious to be home.

A breeze rose and chilled Rachel’s hot cheeks enough to make her shiver. The weather had turned frigid. Icy air warned of early winter snow, heavier than the skiff that dusted the ground now. Rachel bit her lip, being careful as she stepped down onto the icy gravel that was her home’s driveway. In the yard to her left was her late father’s coupé, sitting abandoned. It was really a silly conveyance, being so small. Mother had wondered if they should sell the fancy little horse-drawn vehicle.

At the thought of her father, Rachel felt tears spring unbidden into her eyes. She blinked them away. She mourned his death, but she knew that Walter Smith hadn’t been the finest citizen of Proud Bend, and had died a victim of his own evil devices.

Father had been accidentally trampled in a stampede just a month ago while trying to blackmail Mitch MacLeod, cousin Victoria’s fiancé, into signing over his ranch land’s mineral rights. Later that same night, Clyde Abernathy had tried to poison Rachel and her mother, Louise Smith.

While they lay dying in their rooms, Abernathy had hoped to force Victoria into marrying him as part of a plot to cheat Walter Smith’s family out of their inheritance. Thankfully, working together, Victoria and Mitch had been able to stop Clyde and save both Rachel and her mother.

Rachel set her basket down on the driveway. From a small pocket, she tugged free her black handkerchief, the only tangible reminder that she was still in mourning. She dabbed her eyes, in part because of the sadness of losing a father and in part because of the sadness of the whole evil affair.

To add to the stress, an hour ago her mother had bemoaned again that Rachel would depart for the evening. It was too soon, she’d complained, but Rachel had told her mother flat out that she had souls to win and that mourning shouldn’t stop the work. When Louise had reminded her of her health, compromised by Abernathy’s attempt at poisoning her, Rachel had assured her mother that she felt fine. Work was the best remedy for her, Rachel believed.

Tonight, though, there would be no escort. Five years ago, when Pastor Wyseman had given her his blessing for this ministry to reach out to the local soiled doves, he’d also insisted she never go out alone at night in the vicinity of the saloon. Tonight, her escort was supposed to have been Jake Turcot, a local ranch hand who worked for Mitch MacLeod. Jake couldn’t make it this evening, having caught an early-winter flu.

There was no time to find another escort. It didn’t matter. What could possibly go wrong on a cold, quiet evening like this? The men in the saloon knew her and would assume she had brought someone with her as she always did. So one night without one wouldn’t even be noticed.

Taking up her basket again, Rachel struck off, her feet crunching the gravel underfoot with even more dogged determination. She had to go. What if Rosa turned up tonight? What if tonight was the night others finally found the courage to leave their profession?

The sounds of harsh piano music rolled down the street toward her as she drew closer to its source. The saloon’s entertainer struggled through the song, the sour notes and shaky tempo enough to make even Rachel cringe.

She was only a few yards from the source when something made the hairs at her nape rise. And it wasn’t from that one difficult chord.

Stalling her march for a moment, she glanced around the dark and deserted street, but saw no one. With a swallow, Rachel began again, only to stop after a yard and spin back. A dried leaf danced past her, its soft scrape obviously not responsible for the feeling that she was being followed. Perhaps it was just the errant breeze that had caused her hair to rise?

No. She could hear a person’s feet crunch the dry ground between the haberdashery and the barbershop. Errant breeze or not, someone was following her.

“Jake? Is that you? Come out at once. Stop this foolishness or I shall report your behavior to Mitch and to Pastor Wyseman.”

No answer. Heart thumping in her chest like a giant drum, Rachel hesitated. Should she continue on? Or dash back home and hide?

Fear chilled her core, attempting to nail her feet to the wooden sidewalk. To force her to become a victim once again.

Forget it. She’d come too far with her ministry to run away in fear. She’d seen God’s protection time and again, especially with all the terrible things that had happened to her.

Through all of them, God had protected her, and she refused to dismiss His protection now. If the night she’d been poisoned by Abernathy had taught her anything, it was to seize the moment, for time was short. She had to return to her ministry, and no one hiding in the shadows would force her out.

Shoving away her fear, Rachel turned and took a few short, forceful steps, more stationary stomping on the faded wooden planks of the sidewalk with her fur-lined boots than marching forward.

Then, stopping, she spun and waited, her back stiff and her jaw so tight it ached.

A man stepped out of the shadows. And though he froze when he realized his error, she had already seen his face.


Chapter Four (#ulink_cf953208-1e3b-5889-83d3-13bb59251ff6)

Zane Robinson. Rachel sagged in relief.

He’d shaved his beard since she’d left him in his brother’s rented room yesterday morning. The light from the saloon behind her, plus the waning moonlight above his left shoulder, cast their soft glows onto his strong frame and the pale skin where facial hair had been. Although the vertical line between his brows that had defined him yesterday was now erased by his surprise, Rachel knew exactly which twin stood before her.

On the heels of relief came anger. Who did he think he was, scaring her like that? She stalked up to him, giving him a hard poke in the chest. “Is there a reason you’re skulking around like a thief in the night?”

Zane pushed away her gloved hand. “Is there a reason why you’re trotting around town late at night?”

“I’m not trotting.”

“I’m not skulking.”

Refusing to be entangled in a war of words, Rachel spun and continued her march down the sidewalk, only to have Zane catch her by the arm. “Are you insane?” He flicked out a nod toward the seedy saloon, the only business open at this time of night. “You’re not headed there, are you?” He tapped her basket, now filled with supplies. “What are you planning? A late-night picnic?”

She should explain her intentions here and now. But she still felt the sting from reading that telegram, and she wouldn’t waste time on a man she knew to be a criminal.

After yanking back her arm, Rachel tugged the lower hem of her jacket and continued walking.

* * *

Zane couldn’t believe that Rachel would waltz into a saloon at any hour, let alone this one. The men who had not yet found the shallow comfort that could be purchased would no doubt turn their attentions to her.

Being a sheriff had allowed Zane to see greater people fall. This woman might be unusual, but the ills of liquor and laudanum had caused ruination in many, no matter their social status.

He gritted his teeth. He hadn’t come all the way to Proud Bend to babysit a grown woman, except that right now Rachel was his only lead in Alex’s disappearance. Zane caught her arm once more, this time hauling her to the bench that sat outside the now-closed haberdashery, plunking her down as if she was a slab of meat hitting a hot fry pan.

He straightened and pulled down on the sleeves of Alex’s long, dark coat. Zane had hopped aboard the train to Proud Bend with only a small bag of essentials and his less-warm overcoat, and was glad he now had access to Alex’s wardrobe. The weather last week must have been warmer for Alex not to have chosen this coat to wear on the day he’d disappeared.

He rubbed his cold cheeks. Alex, where are you? Are you warm enough?

After Rachel and the mayor had left him, Zane had set about shaving his beard and changing into Alex’s clothes. Thirty minutes after that, Zane had successfully convinced his brother’s deputy he was Alex. Then, thankfully, he’d found his brother’s room key tucked in his desk drawer at the sheriff’s office and furtively slipped it into his pocket. Now he could lock his brother’s room.

When Rachel tried to rise, he pushed her back down. “Don’t move,” he barked. “If you do, I’ll arrest you.”

She was suitably outraged. “On what charge?”

“I’ll think of something. I’m the sheriff here, thanks to your crafty scheming. Perhaps I’ll arrest you for vagrancy?”

“I’m hardly a vagrant.”

“Then why would you possibly want to go to the saloon this late at night? And who is Jake?”

She’d called out Jake’s name a moment ago. “Jake Turcot was to be my escort tonight, but he’s sick.”

“So why are you out here by yourself?”

“That’s none of your business.” She rose, as if refusing to be delayed.

He moved to block her way. Would she back down? He doubted it. She wasn’t the type to give in easily, as he knew from the hours he’d spent going through the files connected to her in the sheriff’s office. He’d spent the day getting caught up on the various investigations, both opened and closed, including the one into her father’s death, and Clyde Abernathy’s attack on her and her mother. He’d even read the slim file that had been compiled on Alex’s disappearance. Then he’d read about Rosa and her son, the case that had probably precipitated Alex’s vanishing act, for he’d been searching for them at the time he went missing.

Curiously, added to the same file was an unsolved crime from five years ago, the murder of Rosa’s mother, another prostitute. A note, handwritten by a previous sheriff, told how the mother, Liza, had been beaten to death while working, but she had claimed to know who’d stolen some money the women had given Rachel to invest. Her killer had never been found.

Questions about that had led to yet another investigation. Rachel had been assaulted and robbed not long before Liza’s murder. According to the women who worked behind the saloon, Liza had felt responsible for that theft because she had encouraged the other women to hand over their money. She had visited Rachel the day after the assault, vowing that she was going to pay back the money stolen.

Even now, this late in the evening, Zane frowned at the curious events. The robbery connected Liza to Rachel. Liza was connected to Rosa, who was missing. Alex had disappeared searching for Rosa and her son. Did that tie Alex to those old cases? How did Rachel fit into the disappearances?

And just what reason did Rachel have for frequenting saloons late at night?

Zane rubbed his clean-shaven jaw, still unused to it and the chill on his face. The investigations’ files read like the plot of a bad Western novel. A murdered woman, another missing, still one, Rachel, tying all of them together.

Walter Smith and Clyde Abernathy, the two men who’d owned Proud Bend’s only bank, had both been as crooked as a scenic railway. According to the old adage, the apple did not fall far from the tree. Could he assume Rachel was as crooked as her father?

He needed to find out. “What do you plan to do this late at night?”

She sighed, blowing out her breath in an undignified manner. “I help the women who work at the Two Winks Cribs. The late evening is the best time to meet them because they are often in need then. And there’s always the hope that I’ll find that Rosa has returned.”

“Returned home, or returned to her profession?”

“I hope she has returned home, I fear she has returned to her profession.” Her shoulders slumped. “Rosa is a new Christian. I’m afraid she’ll get scared and return to the only thing she knows. But if it means that she’ll be back here, unharmed, I will accept it. Right now, I’ll take anything!”

“Who’s discounting the Holy Spirit this time?”

She stiffened. “That’s not fair. I’m only trying to save these women!”

Zane felt his jaw clench. Something drove Rachel to help these women, and he was pretty certain that it wasn’t good Christian charity.

“Is that why you were so adamant about me assuming Alex’s identity?”

“In a way. Having a good sheriff keeps Proud Bend happy. When they’re happy, they keep Mayor Wilson elected. He supports my ministry. The last thing these women need is to be run out of town. There’s no way to know what dangers they’d face in a new community, and I’d never be able to reach them for God. So, having you filling your brother’s shoes helps my cause.”

She made it sound so innocent. But was there more to it? He still believed he’d caught signs of guilt in her behavior. He wanted to know why.

“You care a lot about these women,” he observed. “Is there a reason for that?”

“Does a Christian need a reason to care about other people?” she countered.

It was a fair point, but that didn’t explain why Rachel’s cheeks were so bright red as she spoke.

* * *

Humiliation burned Rachel’s cheeks. Zane was eyeing her as if he suspected she was guilty of something...and in a way, he was right. Liza, Rosa’s mother, had gone to an early grave when she’d attempted to pay back the money that Rachel had convinced the women in the cribs to give her in order to invest. Money that had been stolen from her. She blinked back the memory of that horrible night.

She had been shoved to the ground and had been kicked so brutally the effects had lingered for months. Her escort had tried to fight back, but he had been knocked unconscious, his wounds even more cruel. Both of them had been left for dead. The sheriff back then had not caught the man, and her escort, feeling the strain of the attack, had moved away shortly after recuperating. Even Rachel had almost despaired for some time.

“I just want to help them,” Rachel muttered to herself. “I nearly gave up after I was attacked.”

The day after she’d been assaulted and left for dead, Liza had visited her to announce that she was going to pay back the stolen money. She’d even believed she knew who’d assaulted Rachel and planned to seek him out.

From her sickbed, Rachel had protested such a dangerous move, trying to insist that Liza go to the sheriff, but like so many in her profession, Liza mistrusted the law. Too many arrests for vagrancy, theft, disturbing the peace. Too much shunning. So, not wanting to destroy Liza’s trust in her, Rachel had not reported the plan to the sheriff.

Rachel had been such a fool—first for being so cocky, thinking she could just invest the money and thus solve all the women’s troubles, and then later for not doing more to stop Liza from confronting the thief. If she’d tried harder, perhaps Liza would still be alive.

Of course, there was no way to know for certain if Liza’s death had been the result of her going to talk to the thief. She had been working that night. Her killer could have been a customer. The sheriff at the time had said it was a common yet unfortunate end to some soiled doves’ lives, but Rachel’s heart still clenched at the memory, convinced Liza’s death had been at the hands of the man she’d confronted.

Throughout the five years since, the guilt had dogged Rachel, as did the question of why Liza felt she could meet that man who she believed had committed such a heinous crime. Why had she thought she was safe doing so?

Pushing away the disturbing memories and focusing on Zane as he stood over her, Rachel fished a small tract from her pocket. This was why she went out each night, she told herself as she thrust the paper at Zane. “Here, read this. This is my hope for these women, what I must do.”

As he read the pamphlet, leaning it toward the dim moonlight, Rachel slipped into the dark alley between the haberdashery and the saloon. The shadows, long and deep, swallowed her up.

Oftentimes, with her escort, Rachel would first go into the saloon to get a feel of the evening’s mood. Occasionally, a surly customer would harass the women and set them on edge. Those nights made it all the more difficult for her to help them.

But, pressed for time tonight and without Jake, Rachel headed straight to the cribs via the alley. This route was dark, stinking of garbage and waste of all sorts. She risked tripping over discarded tins and such, or even the occasional drunk. All she had to deal with tonight, thankfully, was her skirt brushing against the outer walls. Although she would wear last season’s styles while doing her ministry work, Rachel tried in vain to avoid snagging her skirt’s material on the rough boards that sided the buildings. At least her maid was adept at tugging the threads back in. Mother would be less likely to notice that the fine clothes she’d purchased, albeit last year, were on their way to ruin.

As she entered the yard behind the saloon, Rachel stopped to press herself against the building’s rear clapboards.

The yard was empty except for the stray dog that had had puppies this past autumn. It now trotted past with a piece of garbage in its mouth. Rachel glanced around, thankful that no ejected drunk was trying to sneak back into the saloon through its rear door. She took the moment to pray that Zane would give up following her.

“Please, Lord,” she whispered. “Hide me.”

When, over the lull in the music, she heard firm steps upon the sidewalk pause by the narrow alley, she drew in a breath and held it, eyes shut tight and bottom lip pinned between her teeth.

Then, thankfully, the steps continued on. Zane didn’t enter the alley. Rachel dared to let out her breath and look around again. A pair of lanterns on the rear-door posts lit the yard and the cribs, those tiny huts where the women plied their trade. Still clinging to her basket handle, Rachel felt her heart wrench. It always did when she first arrived.

This way of life shouldn’t exist. There was no reason why the women here couldn’t have decent, safe lives. Rachel had been teaching some of them some basic skills that could lead to jobs as seamstresses or domestic work. If she was going to encourage them to change occupations, she should provide them with some skills to aid their departure.

With a fast glance around the corner, Rachel stepped toward the cribs just as a woman in a filthy pink dress stumbled out of the rear door. Rachel recognized Annie Blake, an older woman who’d been in town as long as she could remember. She was short and scrawny, her face lined like crumpled paper and her teeth stained brown.

Annie fell, and when the woman turned back toward the door, Rachel gasped. Her face was bleeding.

The door stayed open, spilling out additional light as Annie rose unsteadily to her feet. Rachel could see tears glittering in her eyes.

Stirred to action, Rachel rushed over to her. She set her basket down in front of the narrow nearby porch that led to the woman’s rented crib before wrapping her arm around Annie’s thin shoulders. The woman dropped her head into her hands and began to weep.

Father, have mercy on this woman.

The wind chose that moment to rise, drawing out from the open door the unpleasant smell inside. Rachel held her breath as she led the older woman toward her crib. After setting Annie down on the steps, Rachel opened her basket. In it she had all the things she needed for the night. Bandages, salves of arnica and comfrey and salts to stanch blood, willow bark among her various teas to help with pain because she refused to use laudanum. Thanks to Abernathy’s attempt to poison her, she’d learned firsthand the dangerous effects that an opiate could have on a person if overused. It might be the painkiller of choice nowadays, but she knew too many people who seemed to want it overly much, a thought that scared her.

From the small flask of water, Rachel wet a cloth to clean the wound near Annie’s eye. She would apply only the salve, given the location of the wound, for the salts could cause blindness. After, she would make tea for the woman and perhaps add some lemon balm to calm her. She reached out to turn Annie’s face toward her.

The older woman’s expression twisted into hatred as she backed away. “You! Thief! You’re the last person I want helping me! Give me back my money!” Then she lunged at Rachel.


Chapter Five (#ulink_de79375c-da9e-56d1-b927-9184c4186538)

When Zane looked up from the tract Rachel had given him, he was alone. He’d only glanced down for a moment, but in that time, she’d vanished. Feeling sudden frustration, he shoved the tract into his pocket and stalked away. He stopped at the entrance to the alley, but it was shadowed and still. Had Rachel slipped in here? He could hear nothing, no breathing, shifting shadows or anything that might give away a presence.

Where had Rachel gone? She was shrewd enough to try anything to escape him, he was sure, but she was also focused on her mission, which, as his quick perusal of the tract would suggest, was to help the women who plied a disreputable trade. She would hurry to that.

Would she head straight to the saloon? That seemed the most logical place for her to go. Not wanting to second-guess himself, he strode past the alley and hurried inside. The stench of ales and tobacco hit him.

He scoured the main room. Rachel wasn’t inside, and a curious wash of relief doused him. At the same time, he studied those patronizing the place. No shocked expressions when he entered, only a few offering mild curiosity. The saloon’s customers appeared relatively well behaved, considering the late hour. No one seemed to mind the poorly played chords on the out-of-tune piano, either.

Frustration bit at Zane as he headed to the far end of the bar where he could observe the whole room without being the center of attention. If he had to think something about Alex’s disappearance, he’d say that no one here had been involved in it, for surely they would have been surprised to see that he’d returned.

Zane’s breath hitched with worry. Alex, where are you?

For that matter, where was the lovely Miss Rachel Smith?

A series of guffaws and one female cry of indignation dragged his attention to a nearby corner. Someone shoved a thin woman in a filthy pink dress away from the men playing cards. She was older and looked worn down by life. Zane easily guessed her occupation. Pulling up on the neckline of her dress, she stumbled past him toward the back door and then outside, leaving the door open behind her. No sooner was she outside than she tripped on her drooping skirt and toppled headfirst to the ground.

Zane straightened, but before he could a step toward the back exit, he spied Rachel hurrying over to her from some dark recess of the backyard.

Ah. So she had ducked down the alley between the buildings after all. She hadn’t hidden in the shadows until he passed, but must have slipped straight through to this backyard. Zane stiffened his shoulders. Time to see if what she’d told him about her devotion to her mission was true.

It was. She immediately began to administer aid to the older woman. Then, to his shock, the woman screamed out something about thievery and lunged at her. Automatically, Zane pushed away from the corner of the bar to head to her and, and just as quickly, someone caught him.

“Whoa there, Sheriff!”

Zane turned to gape at the bartender, who had leaned across the counter to stop him. The man shook his head. “You need to let Miss Smith handle that.”

Zane tugged back his arm. “That woman just attacked her!”

“I know. But Miss Smith isn’t going to earn any respect from Annie if you come to her rescue.” The bartender straightened and tugged down on his vest. “That’s what she needs. Respect from those women. I know you mean well, Sheriff, but trust me on this one. You aren’t going to help the situation.”

Maybe, maybe not. But letting this woman hurt Rachel wouldn’t help, either. Zane pushed himself away from the bar and stalked to the back door, fully intending to save his only lead from a dangerous situation. Annie was screaming something about Rachel being a thief. Who knew what would happen next? Many a soiled dove hid a knife or small revolver in their clothing.

The bartender tore around the counter and caught up with him, his new grip on Zane’s arm surprisingly hard for a man who poured drinks for a living. “No! Let Miss Smith figure it out. If you intervene, you’ll be making her mission a whole lot harder.”

“So you know about her mission?”

“Everyone does. Most don’t take it seriously, even this place’s owner.”

“Is he here tonight?”

The bartender shook his head. “No. He runs several establishments from Denver to Castle Rock.”

“If he disapproves, why is she allowed to continue?”

“What harm is she doing?” The man shrugged. “Most of those women aren’t going to drop everything they know no matter what some do-gooder tells them. And besides, Miss Smith’s father, rest his soul, owned the bank that holds the mortgage here. It’s always good to keep your banker happy.”

Zane’s jaw tightened. More politics to keep straight. When shouts continued, he looked back through the door, to Rachel’s hunched back. She struggled to pin the older woman down, most likely to render some aid to the woman, whose face he just now noticed was bleeding. Zane glanced back at the bartender. “Did that woman just accuse Rachel of theft?”

“Yes, but the theft Annie’s talking about didn’t happen recently.”

“How long ago?”

“Years. Five or so.”

It had to be the same theft he’d seen noted in one of the files he’d read. The timing was right. Except that the information on it was woefully thin and the trail long cold. Whoever had done the initial investigation had said only that Rachel was carrying a substantial amount of money that belonged to the soiled doves, and it had been stolen after she and her escort had been badly assaulted.

Zane grimaced. Why had Rachel taken the money in the first place? His gut ached at yet another warning of a crooked town.

Or was the ache because he didn’t like to consider Rachel a thief?

She is, he argued with himself. You’ve seen it with your own eyes. His gut twisted further. Just accept that fact.

But she’s a Christian. Look at what she’s doing for the Lord.

He peered outside again. By now, Rachel was pushing Annie down, refusing to be bested by the woman. Being stronger, Rachel would win this small battle. Zane closed the door somewhat as he turned to the bartender. “Tell me what you know about the theft.”

The man looked him up and down as if weighing his decision to speak. “Like I said, it happened about five years ago and it was more than just a simple theft. Miss Smith took some money that our soiled doves had saved up. Back then, rent on those cribs out there wasn’t too much and the women could save a bit. Miss Smith promised to invest it for them, but she was supposedly robbed that same night. After that, one of the women started to work extra so she could pay back the others. Annie here complained the loudest, so she got her share back first.”

“Then why is she still crying foul about it?”

The bartender looked grim. “Her memory has gone. She’s drunk it away and her mind went along with it.”

“Why would that other woman want to pay it back? Did she steal it?” Zane frowned. “For that matter, isn’t Rachel Smith wealthy? She certainly dresses well enough, and her father owned Proud Bend’s bank. Why didn’t she just reimburse them from her own account? Wouldn’t that be the Christian thing to do?”

“You’ll have to ask Miss Smith all those—” He narrowed his gaze. “Wait, I told you this story when you first came here.”

Zane swallowed. “I’d only just got here. You can’t expect a man to remember everything from his first day or so.”

The bartender shrugged as if accepting Zane’s answer. “Shortly after the money was stolen, the woman who’d worked extra was murdered. I feel bad for her daughter.”

“Tell me about her.”

“Rosa grew up around soiled doves, and once she was old enough she began doing the same thing her mother did. About a month ago, she decided it wasn’t the life she wanted. She’s got a child and all.”

The woman, Rosa, had grown up with prostitutes? Zane’s gut twisted. “So she decided she didn’t want to remain here and just left?” This was still sounding like a case of a woman moving on.

“Miss Smith doesn’t believe Rosa left on her own.” The bartender shook his head. “They’re a sad lot, aren’t they?” He then frowned. “When Rosa went missing, you promised to find her. I guess you haven’t been successful.”

Oh, yeah. He was acting as Alex. Zane drew in a long breath, remembering how he hated undercover work. When his deputy had found “proof” that Zane had stolen tax money, he suspected that his deputy had planted the evidence through some unsanctioned undercover work. Zane hadn’t been able to prove anything, though.

The bartender continued to study him. Zane kept his expression concerned and nothing more, hopefully allowing this man to believe he was Alex. But it still felt like lying. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know much about the background. Rosa is missing...”

“Yeah. She and her little boy disappeared almost two weeks ago. Too bad you can’t find them. Before she decided this wasn’t the life for her, Rosa was good for this business. I’d hate to think she’s been murdered.”

Zane stiffened. Who had said anything about murder? “Tell me about Rosa’s mother.” He paused. “Again.”

“Liza? She probably worked extra because she’d convinced those women to let Miss Smith invest their savings. Shame they never caught her killer.” He shrugged. “I’m not one to spend my money on them. I just work here.”

“Who do you think stole the money?” Zane held the man’s suddenly shifting gaze. “You must have heard something.”

The bartender lifted his eyebrows as he began to move back toward the bar. “That’s the big question you lawmen could never answer, isn’t it?” he asked, tossing the accusation over his shoulder as he glanced out the back door. “All we have is Miss Smith’s word that she can’t remember who attacked her. Her escort said the same thing. Sure, they’d been beaten up, but it couldn’t have been that bad. They both survived.”

What was this guy saying? Zane dug his fingernails into his palms, resisting the urge to grab the bartender and remind him that the attacks had been so brutal they’d been considered attempted murder. There was no statute of limitations on that crime. So, yes, they were that bad. And sometimes, memory loss followed. He’d seen it several times in the course of his work.

Only God had pulled some victims through their ordeals. Maybe not remembering was a good thing, considering all they’d gone through. Either way, blaming them for losing the memory of such a vicious attack seemed cruel.

When the bartender reached the long strip of faded and stained pine that served as a counter, he lifted his brows in a smug, knowing fashion. “The money had been stolen. Of course, with her status in town, no one would insist that she pay it back, even as rich as she is.”

Zane fought back the annoyance growing in him. He didn’t trust this bartender. At first glance, he seemed to support Rachel, but now, he was accusing her. These were tactics of the guilty. Glancing through the open door at Rachel as she continued to dab Alice’s eye, Zane countered in a low growl, “But if she is that rich, where was the motive to steal? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Thieves take advantage of opportunities. Even the wealthy want more money.”

Zane folded his arms, the stiff paper tract Rachel had thrust at him now poking into his chest, right through his coat pocket. “Why would she even consider stealing if she could just walk into the bank and take some of her own money? You’ve seen how she dresses. Surely someone like that would have a generous amount at her disposal.”

The man shrugged again. “It was five years ago, Sheriff, and her pa wasn’t dead then. Maybe Miss Smith didn’t have any money she could get to without permission. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but that father of hers wasn’t the most generous, and back then, she’d have been underage, so any withdrawal would have to be approved first. Now, though? I heard she owns the bank.”

That didn’t make any sense. Zane couldn’t help wonder where her mother, the bank owner’s widow, fit in all of this.

For that matter, who had inherited the partner’s share? According to a footnote left in that file, Clyde Abernathy had died of a heart attack in jail the night before he was to face his first day of trial. He’d left no widow or family. The file read that he’d been buried quietly in Proud Bend’s cemetery, the expenses to be settled when his will was probated.

Zane grimaced. He would clarify whether or not Rachel owned the bank later. “But, back then, would Miss Smith have orchestrated that brutal an attack just to get money? She lives a comfortable life.”

The bartender’s small smile turned sly as he shrugged. “Hey, I’m just the man who pours drinks, but if there is one thing I’ve learned from working here, it’s that things can change in the blink of an eye. And sometimes they aren’t even what they seem.”

That man was not just a simple bartender. For starters, he was too chatty, too willing to offer information. But Zane wasn’t about to accuse him of anything just because he freely offered answers instead of keeping the confidences bartenders were so famous for. No, Zane would keep an eye on him.

He returned to the back door and peeked out into the yard. A series of mixed laughs rippled out from another crib, but, besides that, all was quiet.

Annie had apparently retreated into her crib, leaving Rachel to stow the things she’d taken from her basket. In the yellow light from the lamps, her shoulders heaved with what looked like a burdened sigh. It wasn’t hard to guess that she felt her night was unsuccessful. If she owned a bank, why was she out ministering to those sorry women? What had driven her to this particular type of mission work? When one of her bandages rolled away from her, Zane resisted the urge to stride out and help her.

No, she wouldn’t appreciate that.

The bartender walked up and continued talking as though the din behind them didn’t matter. “Ya got a lousy memory, Sheriff. I’ve told you all this stuff before. You even wrote Miss Smith’s name down that first night you were here, after you asked who looked after the women.”

The tone was accusatory, the same as when the man was talking about Rachel’s status. Zane turned back to him. Either the bartender liked Rachel or not. Time to stop dodging a commitment one way or the other. “How does she look after these women? Does she cook and clean for them? Either she’s trustworthy or not.”

The bartender shifted his gaze away. “All right. Miss Smith’s been trying to help them for years. I’ve seen her elbows-deep in laundry, scrubbing blood out of those women’s clothes, telling them about some new, safe job that opened up in Denver, or which family needed a maid and how important it is to keep yourself clean and disinfected. Most of it falls on deaf ears, but Miss Smith keeps trying.”

“So why make it sound like she stole that money herself?”

The tract he held would affirm her faith, and that she hadn’t staged a robbery that had gone so horribly wrong. But what if she’d hired someone to rob her without hurting her, only to have him double-cross her and try to kill both her and her escort?

Such a scenario didn’t line up with her Christian actions here and now. Cruel deceitfulness toward the soiled doves she worked so hard to help didn’t make sense. He took out the tract and weighed it in his palm. He refused to reach any conclusions until he had more information.

“By the way, Sheriff,” the bartender called out as he moved away, “you never did pay me for that postcard you took. They aren’t cheap, and you wasted it by writing Miss Smith’s name on it.”

Zane snapped his attention back to the man. Was that the postcard Rachel had found? The bartender said Alex had asked, on his first night here, who took care of the soiled doves. Did that mean it wasn’t connected to Alex’s disappearance after all? Mentally, he told himself not to discard any evidence just yet. Alex had held on to that postcard all this time—there had to be reason for that. Maybe the card itself was the crucial clue, not the name written on it. “Where did you get it, anyway? It’s not a photograph of Proud Bend.”

From the far end, a loud, scruffy man called to the bartender, who moved quickly to tend to his request. Only when he’d finished his task did he toss Zane a fast look. He offered nothing more, choosing instead to return to his work.

Frustrated, Zane pushed open the back door a bit more. Rachel had finished stowing her supplies into her basket. Her work looked curiously out of sorts with her fine outfit, yet, she held her head high as she continued to stow her things. However humble the work, she did it with dignity.

Then, abruptly, her head shot up and she stared out at something beyond his line of view. He bent forward to peer in that direction, also hearing the high-pitched, quiet sobs that had caught Rachel’s attention.

Zane let out a short gasp. A small, dark-haired boy, barely out of diapers, toddled into the pool of thin light that lit the yard.

Pinned to his dirty coat was a crumpled piece of paper.


Chapter Six (#ulink_d68e9b91-8bd8-5d3a-8117-622dfdf42a35)

“Daniel!”

Rachel sprang into action, dropping her basket and rushing to the small child. She scooped him into a fierce embrace that crushed that paper pinned to him and forced him to wail out a protest.

Realizing she’d frightened the small child, she set him on the ground and knelt down to his level. “You poor thing! Where is Mama?”

Something swept past them, a blur of dark movement she refused to investigate, keeping all her focus on the child. The toddler cried on and she lifted him and carried him to the step of the nearest crib. At the sounds of his wailings, several women poked their heads from their own small buildings, Annie Blake included.

“Is that Daniel? Where’s Rosa? Is she back?” one woman asked.

Rachel shook her head, all the while trying to soothe Daniel. It didn’t work. “I didn’t see her—but I was focused on Daniel,” she admitted. “She can’t be far. She wouldn’t leave him.”

“She’s not around.”

Rachel turned toward the pronouncement. Zane stood there, his gaze still searching the limits of the lamplight. “How do you know?” she asked him.

“I just checked. I heard someone running off, but lost him or her in the darkness.” He grimaced and his voice dropped to a mere whisper. “I wasn’t familiar with the area, and with the moon setting, I couldn’t see well.”

“It couldn’t have been Rosa. She wouldn’t drop Daniel off and then leave.”

Zane’s mouth thinned, but he said nothing. Rachel resisted the urge to force her point upon him, instead choosing to cling to Daniel. Thankfully, his wailing had started to abate.

Touching the child’s arm gently, Zane snagged the boy’s attention. “Daniel? Hello?”

Curious, the child slowed his cries and watched him. Zane smiled gently. “Can you tell me who brought you here?”

Thankful that Zane knew how to speak to a small child, Rachel held her breath.

The boy didn’t answer, but he did stop crying. Encouraged by this, Rachel asked him, “Was it Mama who brought you here?”

Zane shook his head. “Don’t ask him a leading question. He’ll want to answer you the way he thinks you want to hear.” He tugged lightly on the boy’s jacket and smiled softly. “Who came with you, son?”

Abruptly shy, Daniel buried his head into Rachel’s jacket. She held him tight and sagged. “He’s too young for this. I’m not sure he even understands what we’re asking.”

Gently prying the boy some inches from Rachel, Zane unpinned the note. “Where’s your mama, Daniel?”

The boy began to cry again. Rachel felt his face. “His forehead feels warm and he doesn’t look well. And yet his hands are cold. I think he’s caught a chill.” She looked at Zane. “It’s a shame you didn’t find who dropped him off. They could know what’s wrong with him.”

“I’d say whoever dropped him off didn’t want to deal with a sick child. As soon as I heard you call his name, I raced off in the direction he’d come. I could hear someone, but I couldn’t find them.” Zane’s voice slipped into a whisper. “Whoever dropped him off knew their way around—certainly better than me.”

Keeping the boy close, Rachel stood and sighed. “Well, we can’t leave him out here in the cold. We need to get him home.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

She flicked her head toward the cribs. “Rosa can barely afford to rent a crib, so this is home.”

“It hasn’t been offered to another soiled dove?”

“I expect she’s paid for a full month’s rent.” She hugged Daniel tighter. “I’m taking him to my house.”

“Do you think it’s wise?”

Appalled that he was questioning her judgment, Rachel asked, “Why not?”

“If you stay with him here, he might be more comfortable and be able to tell us where he was and who brought him.”

“Believe me, he won’t be more comfortable here, and frankly I doubt he can tell us anything. He can barely string a sentence together.”

“But is it safe to have him in your home? He might be contagious. Or become a real handful.”

“I know this child.” She clung to him. “He’s better off at my house. I’m certainly not going to keep him here in the crib. My cousin, Victoria, has had her fiancé’s children overnight several times, and there are five of them. If we can survive those mischief makers, we can handle one sick little toddler.”

* * *

Zane shot her a dubious look. Experience told him that taking the child out of the place he was used to would hinder any chances of the boy telling them anything.

Still, admittedly, the chances that the child would have any useful information to share were slim. Zane scanned the darkness, his ears pricked to hear anything suspicious, but the noises from the saloon and the cribs masked the rest of the night sounds. A mongrel dog slunk by, tail between her legs.

This was not a good end to his first full day of filling his brother’s shoes. He looked down at the stiff but crumpled paper in his hands. It was too dark to read it, so he tucked it into his breast pocket beside Rachel’s tract. Besides, the night was getting colder and he didn’t want to stand in the doorway so close to the bartender and patrons, none of whom he fully trusted. The child’s health was more important.

Taking up Rachel’s basket for her, he said, “Fine. Your house it is. Lead the way.”

He had a pretty good idea where she lived. Earlier today, he’d done a bit of exploring on Alex’s horse. The beast had known instantly he wasn’t his brother, but, after a few sniffs of Alex’s coat, had accepted the replacement wearing it.

He’d noted all the major homes and businesses in Proud Bend. There were only a handful of fancy houses in town, all close to the river. One was closed up, and, after reading all the files he could, Zane assumed it was Clyde Abernathy’s, for the man’s estate had yet to be fully settled.

The fanciest house, with its fine, glimmering stone facade, he now discovered was the Smith residence. Wordlessly they walked up the long driveway. Gravel crunching underfoot, Zane could not deny the swell of suspicion. Here was the town’s richest family, a banking family, and, from Rachel’s slight drawl, he would say their heritage was old money from New England. From reading his brother’s reports about Walter Smith, he knew that corruption was rife in this family, and with each step Zane took toward the house, his resentment and ire grew.

Lord, take away my prejudice.

He set his jaw, keeping his breath short and waiting for his black mood to pass. Rachel had done nothing to implicate herself in her father’s corrupt schemes. In the matter of Walter Smith’s death, she had been, along with her mother, as much a victim as he’d been in Canaan.

Zane hated the memory of the treachery. Did Rachel know what Zane had been accused of? Unlikely. Not even Alex knew yet. He’d been fired and had received Deputy Wilson’s telegram the same day. It had happened so quickly that Zane had felt it better to tell his brother to his face than put the bitter incident down on paper, a reminder for years to come how wealth bought its own privilege to do as it pleased.

“It’s a fine home,” he muttered tightly as they approached the front door. To the right was a small horse-drawn coupé, horseless at this time of night, but in the lamp lit above the door, Zane could tell the carriage had cost a pretty penny.

“Yes, my father wanted the best of everything,” Rachel said.

“And you?”

“I have to admit, there was a time when I was very pleased that I lived in such luxury.” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Not anymore. I have seen too much evil and trouble to simply be happy to sit in the front parlor sipping hot tea and looking out at the world going by.”

She shifted the drowsy child in her arms and opened the front door. Several lamps burned in the deep, wallpapered entrance, casting a warm glow on the curved staircase farther in. Warm air, scented with a mix of supper and a perfume to mask the smell of burning coal and wood, greeted his first inhalation as he crossed the threshold. A young man dozed in a chair nearby, and as Rachel quietly shut the door, he jumped to his feet, startled.

“Jasper,” Rachel said to him, “Please stay here until Sheriff Robinson leaves. Then you may put out the lamps and go to bed.”

“Yes, Miss Rachel.”

Zane followed Rachel up the wide, ornately carpeted stairs. On the third tread, Rachel paused to adjust the child and lift her skirt.

“Here,” Zane said, setting down her basket, and peeling the sleeping child from her arms. “I don’t have a fancy skirt to trip over.”

He held the boy close and frowned at how thin and light he was. Gone was the baby fat that should have carried a healthy child into its toddler years. Long gone.




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