Undercover Cowboy
Lisa Harris
Published by Lisa Harris at Smashwords
Cover design by Lisa Harris
Copyright 2011 Lisa Harris
Discover other titles by Lisa Harris at http://www.lisaharriswrites.com
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Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version
1890 Colorado
Chapter One
Abigail Covington stared at the Wanted poster on the wall, a gnawing ache growing in the pit of her stomach. Randall Jackson was the crookedist man alive, and she’d had the gall to fall for him.
“Suckered the whole town if you ask me, Miss Covington.” Sheriff Jefferson leaned back in his chair and rubbed his fingers through his short white beard. “Never met a man with such a fine disposition that turned out to be a cold-blooded killer. Even had Mrs. Simmons fooled--and she knows everything about everybody.”
Not everyone. Abby winced inwardly then forced a smile. Thankfully, no one except her father knew what a shock Randall’s crime and subsequent arrest had been to her.
The last time she’d seen the handsome rogue, he’d asked her to marry him—-and she’d almost said yes. The fact that she had hesitated did little to take away the sting of betrayal. She’d loved him. Or at least thought she had.
“Wanted, dead or alive for the robbery of the Meadow Springs Bank and the murder of Deputy Miles Baker.” Abby read the poster aloud, hoping the cold words would extinguish any feelings that remained. Anger mounted at her inability to have seen Randall for who he was.
Ripping the poster off the wall, she crumbled it into a tight wad and threw it into the waste basin beside the sheriff’s desk. “You won’t be needing this anymore.”
Randall Jackson would hang in the morning.
Taking a deep breath of renewed resolution, Abby set her shoulders back, then smoothed down the narrow pleats of her wool coat. “I need to get back to the ranch before dark, Sheriff, and I have one more stop. Thanks again for sending the carved horses for the boys at the orphans home.”
“It’s the least I could do. I’m looking forward to the Christmas Eve party you’re planning.” The sheriff stood and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his vest. “As long as the children don’t mind an old codger like me showing up.”
Abby laughed despite her somber mood. At least she had something productive to take her mind off Randall’s hanging. “The children will love you.”
“Give my regards to your father.”
Abby stepped out of the sheriff’s office and headed toward the mercantile along Meadow Spring’s narrow boardwalk. The cold December air nipped at her face while narrow rays of sunlight glimmered across patches of white snow. She’d met Randall for the first time outside the sheriff’s office. He’d made their accidental meeting into a romantic encounter. But the truth was, as the daughter of the wealthiest man in the area, she’d been nothing more than another conquest on his list.
She hadn’t been the only one taken in by his subtle charm. Randall had captivated the entire town, enamoring the women and proposing business deals that had the men turning over their bank accounts faster than a bullet shot from the barrel of a Winchester.
He’d even graced the doors of the church every Sunday. Almost too late, she’d realized his songs of praise were nothing more than empty words of show. The reality of where his soul would go without a Savior haunted her.
Jolted out of the past, Abby collided into the broad chest of a stranger.
The cowboy took a booted step back and lifted his Stetson an inch, revealing a patch of blond hair. “Excuse me, ma’am. I must not have been looking where I was going.”
He reached out and took her elbow to steady her. Her jaw tensed as she looked up into a pair of pale, sky blue eyes. “I am sorry, ma’am.”
Irritation over the infraction flared. In the back of her mind, Randall’s last words of apology resounded as a dissonant refrain. She eyed the clean-shaven face before her, and the anger she’d tried to suppress only minutes ago resurfaced like a bubbling pot of water on hot coals.
“Sorry?” she demanded. Her hands balled into fists against her sides. “Is that all you have to say?”
“Ma’am, I--”
“Do you know what the problem is with men like you?” He closed his mouth as the procession of words she’d been holding inside demanded escape. “You come into town with your fancy clothes and pockets full of cons, wooing the hearts of women with stories of adventure and fortune. Then, before they can count what’s left of their meager savings, you’re gone with nothing more than an I’m sorry--if even that.”
The cowboy took off his hat and held it in front of him. “Ma’am, I don’t know what to say, except I hope you’re not includin’ all men in your assessment. I believe there just might be one or two good ones left.”
Abby looked into the face of the stranger she’d just confronted and stopped cold, realizing what a fool she’d made of herself. She watched in horror as his lips curled into a grin, revealing a dimple on his left cheek.
“I. . .” Seldom was she at a loss for words, but the blue-eyed stranger’s sympathetic gaze did little to dissolve the embarrassment of the situation.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said. “I was on my way to the livery.”
“Of course.” Abby swallowed hard, chastising herself inwardly for losing her temper.
“But first, I’m the one who owes you an apology.”
“No need, ma’am.” He tipped his hat and stepped aside to let her pass.
***
Cole Ramsey watched the young woman with dark auburn hair turn and stride down the boardwalk. His training as a Pinkerton operative had taught him there was more than met the eye in most situations. Discovering the truth behind the secrets in a person’s façade had become not only a challenge, but a way of life for him.
He headed toward the livery, recalling the set of cinnamon-brown eyes that had flashed at him. Her smile, while lovely, had held of touch of sadness. Anger? Hurt? Betrayal? If he weren’t here on assignment from his home office in Chicago, he would have enjoyed finding out more about this woman.
He turned for one last look, but she’d vanished into the crowd mingling in front of the mercantile. Maybe someday, when he’d retired from the profession and bought himself a piece of land, he’d have time to pursue something other than horse rustlers and train robbers.
His work as an operative had brought a dozen years of undercover assignments, but at thirty-six years old with a leg that ached in the cold from an old gunshot wound, his days of fieldwork would soon come to an end—and a life behind the desk was not an option for him.
He missed the mountains and had done everything but beg to get this job. His former partner, Dirk, had discouraged him from taking the assignment, but he knew enough about the land and cattle from growing up in Montana to more than make up for his loss of agility.
Cole secured a horse from the livery, relishing the feel of the smooth leather saddle beneath him as he rode out of town. Scanning the horizon, he made a mental note of the layout of the land. High peaks formed majestic, craggy lines to his west. The Rocky Mountains were a sight of beauty that never ceased to amaze him. To the east, the terrain lay flat with gentle rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Tall grass blew in the breeze amongst a sparse scattering of trees.
The border of Covington Ranch began five miles past town and stretched across fifteen hundred acres of prime land. Before his arrival Cole had learned the basic facts about the ranch owner accused of sabotaging the surrounding properties. He’d picked up additional information from a waitress named Betsy at the hotel dining room between sips of black coffee and bites of apple pie.
Aaron Covington had been injured nearly thirty years ago when a gunfight left him crippled. His wife passed away last winter, and he had one daughter who helped run the ranch. Abigail Covington, he’d been told, was not only beautiful but intelligent.
He planned to secure a position as a ranch hand and discover if there was any truth to the rumor that Aaron Covington was indeed rustling cattle and sabotaging the land. He’d been hired by two of the victims, but Cole preferred to not only work undercover, but without the knowledge of the men who hired him. He’d found anonymity his best ally and more akin to his nature.
The sun began its descent behind the mountains, leaving an explosive trail of pink, orange, and yellow. He pulled his coat around his neck to block the cold and nudged the horse to pick up its pace. If he was lucky, he’d arrive at the ranch in time for chow—-and a job. If not, he’d have to find another way inside.
***
Abby flicked the reins of the buggy, urging her horse to hurry across the flat plain. The sun had already slipped behind the grandeur of the Rockies. If she didn’t make it home before dark, her father would be furious. How many times, with the recent string of problems in the area, had he attempted to persuade her not to go into town by herself? And how many times had she assured him she would be fine?
As chairwoman for the Meadow Spring’s Orphan Committee, the children counted on her to collect not only gifts for the upcoming Christmas party, but coats, blankets, clothes, and schoolbooks throughout the year. She couldn’t wait for one of the ranch hands to escort her into town every time she had a function to attend. They had enough work to do riding the lines, mending the barbed fences, and taking care of the cattle.
A splintering crack of wood snapped beneath her. Abby felt a sharp jolt as the buggy plunged forward. Trying unsuccessfully to maintain her balance, she tumbled from the seat and onto the cold ground.
Chapter Two
Abby’s eyelids fluttered open and her gaze met a sea of sky blue. It was him—the cowboy she’d accused of being nothing more than a common swindler.
“I. . .” She closed her mouth, not knowing what to say. He’d left her tongue-tied. Again.
“Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so.” She sat up slowly and took a deep breath, waiting for the ground to stop spinning. “It just knocked the wind out of me.”
She let him help her to her feet then brushed the dirt off her coat, attempting to recover her composure. “Fancy clothes and pockets full of cons.” How could she have spoken that way to a total stranger?
“About what I said earlier in town—”
“There really is no need to apologize, ma’am.” He grinned, and the corners of his eyes crinkled into a smile.
Abby held her head high and blew out a deep sigh. Why did he have to be so nice and all-to-pieces handsome?
“There’s no excuse for my behavior. It’s just that there is. . .was. . . someone I thought I cared about. He didn’t turn out to be the man he claimed to be.” She ran her tongue across her dry lips. “When I collided into you, I’d just left the sheriff’s office with news he’d been sentenced to hang tomorrow.”
“That must have been quite a shock, ma’am.”
He did it again—smiled at her with those eyes that left her yearning to escape the confines of his mesmerizing gaze. She nodded and turned her head toward the mountains. “It’s been several months since I saw him last. . .”
She let her words trail off, shaking her head. This time, instead of assaulting him with her words, she’d confessed things that didn’t need to be shared with a stranger. Here stood a man to avoid, considering the fact he’d managed to spin her emotions tighter than a bale of hay.
“Betrayal always stings.”
Choosing to ignore his sympathetic words, she turned to the horse and buggy that stood a half a dozen steps beyond them. Valentine, her palomino mare, munched on grass with the buggy still hooked behind her.
“I’ve got to get back to the ranch. My father will send out a posse if I’m not home soon.” She held the reign and rubbed her hand against the side of the horse. Valentine jerked in response. “Settle down, girl. It’s all right.”
“She’s still a bit skittish. The accident must have scared her too,” he said, unhitching the harness from the buggy and freeing the horse. “You’ll need to send someone to haul the buggy out in the morning.”
Abby kept a hand on the reins and surveyed the damage. The seat had splintered in two upon impact.
“It’s a miracle you weren’t seriously hurt.”
He was right. It could have been much worse. If she’d been trapped beneath the buggy, or broken a bone. . .a chill shot through her heart, and it had nothing to do with the brisk wind blowing against her face. While their equipment and herds remained unharmed, strange things had been happening to the surrounding ranches the past few months. Cattle were missing, fences cut, supplies damaged. She had assumed it was only a matter of time until their ranch was hit. Maybe this was the work of the saboteur.
She’d heard the ugly rumors that her father was involved. Sheriff Jefferson’s investigation had come up with no evidence to support the accusations, but neither had he discovered who was behind the attacks. One thing she knew for sure. Her father would never resort to scaring people off their land—for any reason.
“What would cause the wheel to fly off?” she asked finally.
***
Cole crouched beside the axle, examining the place where the wheel had detached. “A loose bolt, perhaps? It’s hard to say.”
He didn’t want to tell her what he’d found. Deep cuts in the wood implied that someone had tampered with the axle. So far, the numerous acts of sabotage hadn’t endangered anyone’s life. But if his suspicions were right and this wasn’t an accident, then cattle rustling had just spiraled into attempted murder.
Cole looked around. It would be dark soon. The faint smell of smoke drifted through the air from someone’s supper. A coyote howled in the distance. He needed to get her home. Soon.
“You never told me your name,” she said.
He caught the hint of suspicion in her eyes. Of course she’d be worried. He was a total stranger to her. “Name’s Cole Ramsey.”
“I’m Abigail Covington.”
Her name took him off guard, and he blinked hard in response. “You’re Aaron Covington’s daughter?”
She nodded. “My father owns Covington Ranch.”
His left brow rose slightly in question. This revelation changed things significantly. She wasn’t simply the daughter of one of the ranchers whose land had been plagued. Abigail and her father owned the one place not yet hit by the destruction.
If this wasn’t an accident, but an act of sabotage, it weakened the case against Aaron Covington. On the other hand, the loose wheel could be a ploy to shift suspicions away from wealthy ranch owner. But what kind of father would endanger his daughter’s life to save his own?
“I’m headed to Covington Ranch looking for work.” The revelation of who she was made him all the more determined to get hired, especially if her life was in danger. “Heard one of your cowhands was laid up after a wild bronco threw him.”
“What do you know about working a ranch?”
He looped his thumbs through the front pockets of his jeans. “I was born and raised on a ranch in Montana. Lived half my life in the saddle.”
“And the other half?” She cocked her head, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
He laughed, trying to ease tension between them. “Don’t worry, I’ve never been arrested or convicted if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She lowered her gaze, seeming to weigh the situation. “My father does the hiring. You can sleep in the bunkhouse tonight and talk to him in the morning.”
At least she hadn’t sent him back to town. “I certainly appreciate it, ma’am. Anything you need to get from the buggy before we head on?”
She shook her head. “It’s empty. I took a load of food from the mercantile to the orphanage earlier today.”
Thunder clapped in the distance. Cole looked up at the dark clouds rolling in from the north. “We best get movin’ if we’re going to beat the storm.”
Darkness had settled across the terrain by the time they arrived at the ranch house. The ride had been quiet, with only the sounds of the horse’s hooves and distant thunder breaking through the still of the evening. Drops of rain began to splash against the hard earth as he led the horses toward the barn. Abigail continued toward the one-story structure where smoke billowed from a rock-and-mortar chimney.
Quickly bedding down the horses for the night, Cole passed the bunkhouse where he’d sleep later and knocked on the kitchen door of the main house.
A plump, gray-haired woman opened the door, and the pleasant aroma of beans and meat filled the air. “You Cole Ramsey?”
“Yes, ma’am. Miss Covington said I could come in for a bite of supper.”
“Got a hot bowl of stew right here. Sit down at the table and help yourself.”
Abigail entered the large kitchen as he sat at the long wooden table. She’d changed into a simple blue, long sleeved dress sprinkled with tiny white flowers. Her eyes appeared darker in the dim light of the room, laced, he thought, with a hint of sadness.
Her hands gripped the back of one of the Windsor chairs across from him. “Mr. Ramsey. I’m sorry, but it appears that my father hired someone this morning while I was out.” She met his gaze, her head held high. “I’m afraid we won’t be needing you after all. You may stay in the bunkhouse tonight with the other cowboys and leave after breakfast.”
Cole guarded his expression to hide his disappointment. He wondered if there was any truth to the story, or if it was simply because Abigail had convinced her father not to hire him. He’d seen the way she looked at him. Suspicion, caution, maybe even a spark of fear. What had that rogue she’d spoken of done to make her so distrustful? She’d fallen for a man condemned to hang. That alone would be enough to shake the trust and confidence of any woman, no matter how strong.
His objective, though, remained clear. Working at Covington Ranch was by far the wisest choice of action in discovering the truth behind the rash of mishaps—especially if her father was to blame. Now with the possibility of Abigail’s life in danger, he had another reason to stay—and he had less than twelve hours to find a way.
Chapter Three
Cole finished his supper then hurried through the cold rain, hoping the wet weather wouldn’t turn to snow. Inside the stale-smelling bunkhouse, four men sat around a table playing cards and smoking. A dozen bunks filled two walls of the wooden structure, one of which was occupied by a man wearing spectacles and engrossed in a book.
“I’m Cole Ramsey,” he offered to no one in particular, slamming the door behind him to stop the gush of cold air. “I was told I could spend the night here before headin’ out in the morning.”
The men at the table raised their heads in acknowledgement. “Name’s Carter.” A
balding man spoke up. “This is Shorty, Jim, and Tyler. Sam over there’s lost in his cheap dime novel. The rest of the hands are out running the line camp.”
Cole nodded at the men. “Where can I put my bag?”
“You can have the bottom bunk there.” Carter pointed to a bed, empty of personal belongings.
“Came lookin’ for work.” Cole threw his bedroll onto the mattress with a soft thud. “Planned to talk to Mr. Covington in the morning, but his daughter told me someone else was hired today.”
Carter nodded toward the lanky cowboy beside him. “Jim here’s going to be fillin’ in for a while.”
So Abigail had told him the truth.
“Maybe if I talked to Mr. Covington tomorrow—”
Shorty cut him off with the shake of his head. “Talkin’ to the old man won’t make no difference.”
Cole raised one brow. “Why not?”
Carter slapped down four aces and leaned back in his chair, invoking groans from his companions. “Aaron Covington might own this ranch, but his daughter’s the one who runs it.
***
Cole woke early the next morning. He’d forgotten how cold a bunkhouse could be in the dead of winter. Still, he knew the mountains and fresh air would more than make up for the musty smell of cigars that filled the room.
He hadn’t realized how much he missed this way of life, as difficult as it often proved to be. Lonely days spent on the saddle with nothing but sagebrush to talk to, cruel winters where cattle froze or were buried beneath the snow in a blizzard. It was a way of life he was familiar with.
Someday, he’d buy himself a small spread and spend the winter nestled in a cozy ranch house with a wife and children. But today he had work to do. Carter’s statement concerning Abigail’s role had him reevaluating his next move. He’d planned to speak directly with her father, but now wondered if that would make a difference. It might instead prove wiser to appeal to Abigail’s sense of guilt over yesterday’s encounter. A shrewd move perhaps, but one that had proven successful throughout his career.
After nodding good morning to the other cowhands, Cole dressed quickly and went outside to stretch his legs. A clear sky and bright sunshine greeted him, with no traces of yesterday’s rain.
An older man sat in a wheelchair near the front door of the ranch house, his legs covered with blankets, a cup of steamy coffee in his hands. Cole decided his next move.
“Good morning.” Cole took the stairs two at a time up to the long porch that ran the length of the house and held out his hand. “I’m Cole Ramsey.”
“Ahh. The man who rescued my daughter yesterday evening.” Dark eyes and broad cheekbones mirrored Abigail’s. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Aaron Covington.”
Cole smiled and shook his hand. If the man felt indebted to him, he would make it work to his advantage. “Nothing any decent man wouldn’t have done.”
The older man smoothed his long, graying mustache with a weathered hand. “I’ve told her over and over I don’t like her traveling at night. Too dangerous with all that’s been happening in these parts lately.”
Cole leaned against the porch rail and examined the man sitting across from him. His black cotton shirt, fleece-lined waistcoat, and red bandana knotted around his neck gave him the distinct look of a cowboy. Here was a man with the outdoors in his blood, now forced to play the role of spectator while hired hands ran his spread.
Cole would expect the man to be resentful of the one who’d crippled him. For this ranch owner, gone were the days of roaming the land with his saddle molded beneath him as he cut through a herd or took aim at a calf with his lariat. Could years of bitterness and anger over a lost life be enough motivation to ruin another man’s livelihood?
“I heard about the cattle rustling and damage done to the area ranches,” Cole said.
Aaron’s gaze scanned the horizon to the west. “Tell me what kind of man would destroy the lifeblood of another?”
Cole weighed his first impressions of the man. Heavy lines etched his bronzed face, his brow furrowed in concern. A man overwhelmed with life’s responsibilities? or plagued by guilt?
“Thankfully, your daughter wasn’t injured in the mishap last night,” Cole said.
“Do you think it was an accident?”
Cole watched the man’s eyes carefully. For Abigail’s sake, he wanted to believe he was innocent. “I didn’t tell your daughter, but there were indications the axle had been tampered with.”
Aaron let out a deep sigh and set his coffee on the small table beside him. “I’m glad you were there. I’ve told her not to go out alone. If there’s anything I can do to repay you—”
“Actually, sir, I’m looking for work. Grew up in Montana on a large spread. I know my way around a ranch.”
Aaron wheeled his chair forward a few inches and leaned toward him. “What did you say your name was?”
“Ramsey. Cole Ramsey”
“From Montana?”
Cole folded his arms across his chest. Montana had been a lifetime ago—a place full of ghosts from a past he’d rather not revisit. “Yes, sir. My father owned the Circle Five Ranch.”
Aaron held out a crooked finger and grinned. “Had a good friend named Ramsey who left for Montana. Gold fever hit about that time. I chose to come here to try my luck at making it big. His name was Philip Ramsey.”
Cole’s stomach lurched at the name he’d struggled for twelve years to forget. “Philip Ramsey was my father.”
“Your father?”
Cole nodded, cringing at the poignant memories of deception his father’s name evoked. He worked to keep the emotion out of his voice. “Married my mother, Claire, back in ‘53. I was born a year later.”
“By the horn spoons!” Aaron slapped the tops of his legs, his face lit by a crooked smile. “I knew your parents in Boston before they headed west. How are they?”
Cole looked away toward the mountains. “They were killed in a fire twelve years ago.” For a moment, he was back in the parlor of his parent’s ranch house. Thick smoke surrounded him and orange flames licked at his flesh. He’d tried to save his mother and Sara. Sweet Sara. How many nights had he tried to chase her haunting cries out of his dreams? He’d loved her and would have married her the following May, if only. . .
Where were you that night, God? He choked back the question he’d asked a thousand times. Finding no answers, he’d decided to forget what could have been. Running to Chicago and becoming a Pinkerton had been his way to erase the past.
“I’m sorry to hear they’re gone,” Aaron said. “They were wonderful people.”
Cole took a labored breath but didn’t answer. Let Aaron remember his father the way he had been.
“The job’s yours if you want it.”
Cole raised his gaze in question. “I thought—”
“We can always use another good man.”
The front door squeaked open, and Abigail stepped onto the porch.
“Good morning, Father.” She nodded at Cole. “Mr. Ramsey.”
Aaron turned to his daughter. “Just discovered I grew up in Boston with Cole’s father, Philip. Cole was born a few years before I set out for this country. Tried to get Philip to come to Colorado with me, but for some reason he and Claire had their sights set on Montana.”
***
Abby lowered her brow, hating the suspicions that ensued. When would she be able to look at a man and not question his motives?
“I want you to take Cole on a tour of the property this morning so he can see what kind of spread he’ll be working for.”
Abby bit her lip in frustration. “You told me you’d already hired someone, Father.”
Last night she’d been thankful for the excuse to send Cole Ramsey on his way. She looked at him, his presence disconcerting. The morning light added golden flecks to his eyes. Stubble gave depth to his square jaw line. His black Stetson, heavy wool shirt and pants to mask the cold, and a pair of stovepipe boots had been selected with care to cope with the brutal Colorado climate. He caught her gaze and she turned away, confused by the sudden racing of her pulse.
Her family had been taken in by one con man, and there was no telling who this presumed cowboy really was. Her hands clinched at her sides. “Father, I need to speak with you—alone.”
“Abby, go change into your riding clothes,” her father said, ignoring her request. “After the three of us have had a decent breakfast, you two can head out.”
An hour later, anger still simmering, Abby set off on Valentine with Cole beside her on one of her father’s chestnut mares. Over a hot breakfast of biscuits, gravy, and ham her father had told story after story of his life in Boston with Cole’s father. Despite the past connection of their families, her intentions this morning were to keep conversation impersonal and to a minimum.
“My father struck gold back in the sixties and put it all into this land.” She lowered her Stetson to block the sun that hung above the horizon. “We run about eighteen hundred head of cattle. Stretches as far as you can see to the north and east of here.”