Love on the Range (Brothers in Arms #3)(23)

Her hands full, carrying a plate piled high with freshly sliced bread, Rachel cast her a shrewd look. “What happened to teaching school?”

Molly explained in the quickest amount of time possible.

“I could get a job as Oliver Hawkins’s housekeeper and go in there and snoop around. You were searching for evidence of Amelia Bishop, but now that we know of other missing housekeepers and what happened to his wife, well, a housekeeper is in every room of the house. She dusts shelves, tidies up desk drawers.” Molly found the first smile since she’d been fired. She suspected it wasn’t a nice smile.

“You don’t know how to be a Pinkerton agent, Molly.”

Molly came to Rachel’s side and clutched her arm. “You could teach me. And I could come to town for supplies or weekly to church and report on anything I’d found. And I could see how Oliver treats me. And between us we could figure out—”

Rachel held up a hand, palm flat, almost in Molly’s face.

“Don’t tell me no,” Molly said desperately. “I need a job. And I need to help.”

“Why do you need a job? You’ve got a good life right here.”

“What Oliver did to his wife . . . it makes me sick. I—that is, my ma, well, she suffered at the hands of my pa. I won’t stand by and do nothing while a man gets away with that.”

Rachel stared at Molly for a long time. Finally, she muttered, “Statute of limitations.” Then she went back to getting the meal ready.

“I think we can work together, you and me,” Rachel said. “I think you have the skills you need to be an agent and a housekeeper, and maybe we can stop this man from killing again.”

Molly touched Rachel’s arm. Their eyes met. Molly felt hers brim with tears, but she staved them off. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t become a Pinkerton because it interested me. I’ve seen men who needed to be brought to justice in my life, too.” Rachel nodded. “There’s a lot to it. And it will be a job. You’ll earn money from the Pinkerton Agency for this.”

Molly hadn’t expected that. “Hawkins will be paying me, won’t he?”

“Yes, but when you work for me, you get paid by me. We need to talk long and hard. I can tell you Hawkins has a safe I was never able to crack, and I believe he has another hidden, but I was never able to find it. But I did find—”

Wyatt came down from changing. His eyes flicked back and forth between the two women. “Now what’s happened?”

Molly looked at the Pinkerton agent, who nodded.

Molly threw her hands wide and said, “I’ve got another job.”



“If you really believe he’s a murderer, you can’t send her in there.”

Molly slapped the table, which drew Wyatt’s eyes from Hobart. “Stop talking to her. She’s not sending me anywhere. I’m going. She’s going to teach me how to handle things so I can get the evidence we need against Hawkins.”

Wyatt’s jaw got so tight he was afraid his teeth might crack. “It’s not safe.”

“I want to do it.” Molly, usually quiet, occasionally snippy, but never loud, yelled, “It makes me sick to see a man get away with hurting a woman. Somebody needs to stop him, and there’s no one else to do it.”

“He won’t believe you’d work as a housekeeper. He’ll be suspicious.”

“I was going to teach school and that fell through. Why would he not believe I’d take a different job?”

Wyatt wasn’t going to be able to stop her. He saw a determination in her eyes that was tinged with . . . perhaps a hint of desperation. But the thought of her over there. Defenseless, living with a possible murderer. What’s more, winter was coming on.

“The weather is going to turn bad. You won’t be able to leave. I won’t be able to come if you need help. You’re going to get snowed in over there, as everyone does eventually in the Wyoming hills.”

“Rachel has already searched as much of the house as she could. She thought of a few more places she should have checked, looking for some proof of what he’s done. I’ll look there, and I’ll find what I need and be out of that house within a matter of days, before winter slams down. And the safe—”

Fists on the tabletop, Wyatt thought frantically. He needed to stop her. He couldn’t stop her. So he’d . . . he’d . . .

“Most of Hawkins’s hired men were in on the plot against him,” Wyatt said. “Nearly all the honest hands had moved on, leaving only the dishonest ones. Ralston was stealing money and cattle, but nearly all the hands stood ready to let Ralston take over when Hawkins was killed. We got a list of names from Wells, to the best he knew them, and all those men were arrested or have run off. Hawkins is shorthanded, I know that. Add to it, he does none of the work himself. I’m coming with you. I’ll get a job as a ranch hand.”

Molly opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. It reminded Wyatt of a trout he’d landed last summer.

“Why would Hawkins believe you’d work for him?” she asked. “Why would the owner of the neighboring ranch come looking for a job?”

Wyatt narrowed his eyes as he sorted through a plan. “I might be able to just move into his bunkhouse and never tell Hawkins I’m there.”