“All finished!” Detective Bowen Taggert sounded entirely too cocky as he stepped back with a hammer in hand to admire his work. “I say it looks as good as new. What do you say?” He tossed an annoying grin over his shoulder, looking more handsome in his long, unbuttoned black coat than any lawman had a right to. He was supposed to be solving mysteries, not making Tessa Kingsley’s heart skip a beat every time she caught sight of him in his fancy suits and white dress shirts.
She wasn’t sure why he was lingering in town. He should’ve been on a train, headed to his next assignment by now—not in her apartment, repairing the door leading down to the secret room at the back of the bookstore. Granted, it was partly his fault that the door had gotten so damaged in the first place. She pushed away the memory of him and his friends shooting and crashing their way through it to rescue her, Bea, and Maisie from their kidnapper.
He was her hero, but he didn’t need to know it. He would soon be gone, and she might never see him again.
“Goodness, Mr. Taggert!” She faced him with her hands on her hips, trying to look more composed than she felt. “It would be uncharitable of me to complain about something that looks as good as new, and nobody has ever accused me of being uncharitable.”
He folded his arms and took a few steps backward to bring them shoulder-to-shoulder. “It would be grossly uncharitable indeed, Miss Kingsley. Nevertheless, you would’ve taken great delight in roasting my turnips if I’d hung your new mirror too far to the left or the right. I’m taking your silence on the matter as a compliment for services rendered.”
Though he was correct, she wasn’t about to agree with him. It set her teeth on edge that he had the audacity to assume anything at all about her. They’d only known each other for a month. It was way too soon for such familiarity.
“Since you persist in dawdling in Cedar Falls,” she returned coolly, “I’m grateful that you chose to do some of your dawdling here.” As she spoke, she turned her head to boldly meet his gaze, which turned out to be a mistake.
He was standing closer than she realized, wearing an irritating smirk that his well-trimmed brown beard did little to hide. As a general rule, she preferred the men of her acquaintance to be clean shaven, less slicked and polished, and—if she was being perfectly honest with herself—quieter. Unlike Bowen Taggert who never hesitated to speak his mind.
“I’m ever at your service, Miss Kingsley.” His dark gaze dropped momentarily to her lips. “All you have to do is ask.”
It wasn’t true. She hadn’t asked him to repair the shattered door behind her shattered mirror. He’d simply shown up at the bookstore this evening after the dinner hour with a wagonful of supplies. Also loaded on his wagon was the new mirror she’d ordered from the catalogue at the General Store. She wasn’t even aware it had arrived.
“Since you’re in such a talkative mood, sir,” she’d yet to find him otherwise, “perhaps you’ll enlighten me about your pending departure from Cedar Falls.” She lifted her chin, not wanting him to think she cared one way or the other. “Surely the Pinkertons have another case for you to solve?” Somewhere far from Cedar Falls, she mused dismally, then immediately wondered what was wrong with her. He was too annoying of a man to miss. Even so, the future stretched before her, much duller without his fascinating presence in it.
“Always, Miss Kingsley.” He looked amused at the question. “There will always be another case. Alas, I wouldn’t be at liberty to discuss it with you, not even if we were married. Such is the nature of the job.”
“Married!” She glanced toward the door of her bedroom, wondering why Maisie Bell and Ace Walker had been absent for so long. They were supposed to be carrying her upholstered bench from the living room, where she’d been keeping it for the past couple of weeks, back to the spot in front of the mirror.
Ever since she and her friends had been held hostage downstairs.
Ever since the strange noises had started drifting up the staircase at night.
Ever since she’d started her mysterious bouts of sleepwalking.
Maisie’s sable hair popped into view, then the rest of her red-and-white gingham gown. She looked as cheerful as a Christmas elf, with her cheeks flaming warmly and eyes sparkling brightly. Mr. Walker’s presence always seemed to have that effect on her. He was a burly ranch manager with a leathery face that no one in their right mind would consider fashionable—or even handsome, for that matter—but Maisie didn’t seem to care.
She set down her end of the bench before speaking. “Whose marriage are we speaking of?”
“Nobody’s,” Tessa squeaked in mortification.
“Ours,” Bowen Taggart drawled at the same time. “We were speaking hypothetically, of course.”
“There was no we,” Tessa spluttered. “He was monologuing, as usual. My poor ears,” she mourned, playfully clapping her hands over them. “I am fortunate you arrived to give them a break.”
“Tessa!” Maisie looked aghast. “She’s only teasing, sir,” she informed Bowen hastily. “She’s most grateful for your assistance in repairing the room where our book club meets. And the stairwell. And the door.” The shy glance she gave Ace Walker was infused with more than simple gratitude.
Tessa hated that her new friend wore her feelings on her sleeve for everyone to see. Maisie was way too honest and utterly without artifice. Someone who’d once served as a schoolteacher should’ve been more world-wise by now. Tessa feared that Maisie’s zest for life and refreshing innocence would lead to nothing but heartache, though she wasn’t entirely sure her fears were grounded.
Mr. Walker seemed nice enough, and there was nothing in his demeanor that suggested he was disgusted by Maisie’s poorly concealed admiration of him. However, the blunt-spoken cowboy also hadn’t gone out of his way to encourage her attention. If he were interested in Maisie that way, shouldn’t they be courting by now?
“I’m grateful to both Mr. Taggert and Mr. Walker for their assistance with the repairs.” Tessa moved toward the door. Putting distance between her and Bowen Taggert made it instantly easier to breathe.
He followed her and their two friends into the living room. “Since I answered one of your questions, it’s only fair that you answer one of mine.”
An unladylike huff of indignation escaped her. “All you did was sidestep. I’m no wiser than I was before you started bloviating.”
Instead of looking offended by the insult, he chuckled. “Oh, but I did! I confessed that I’m always working on the next case, though I’m not at liberty to discuss the details with you. Not even if we were—”
“Fine,” she snapped, before he could repeat his infuriating statement from earlier. “What do you wish to ask of me?”
To her surprise, his expression sobered. “I’m afraid to ask, but I’m even more afraid not to.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake! What is it?” The man was more dramatic than all four March sisters put together from Little Women, the latest title their ladies’ book club members were reading and discussing.
“Why is there a lasso hanging around the left bedpost of your headboard?” He rounded on her so quickly that she took a step back, nearly losing her balance.
“There isn’t,” she snapped, feeling her face turn red. It wasn’t a lasso. There was, however, a rope coiled there. One she had no interest in discussing. How had he seen it? She’d been so careful to prop pillows over it. Unless…
Her color burned hotter at the memory of him lowering his head closer to the floor to ensure the bottom of the mirror he was mounting had been aligned properly. While he was down there, he must have caught sight of the end of the rope dangling beneath her bed.
Never in a million years would she have admitted the truth to anyone, not even to her dearest friend in the world, Bea, who was still on her honeymoon with her new husband, Griff.
“I keep a basket of cat toys stored under there,” she declared loftily. “Frost loves dragging odds and ends around, everything from knotted ropes to the cloth critters Bea is forever sewing for him. Surely that accounts for what you saw.”
Hearing his name, her large white cat slunk out from beneath the sofa, blinking tiredly at her. He’d been napping in one of his favorite hiding spots. At least, he liked to think he was hiding. His snoring usually gave away his location.
Tessa bent down to pet him, hoping mightily that the man towering over them would abandon his line of questioning. Only someone less than a gentleman would contradict her in front of others. She held her breath, not entirely sure which category Detective Bowen Taggert and his overly inquisitive mind fell into—gentleman or no gentleman.
“Perhaps.” He spoke in the lazy voice that never failed to get under her skin. Half turning toward the open door of her bedroom, he offered, “If you’d like me to take a closer look at it, just to be sure that what I saw…”
Certainly not! Feeling the color leave her face, she glanced at Maisie, silently begging her to intervene.
The panic in Tessa’s features must’ve been transmitted to her friend. “We should be going,” Maisie announced with a musical chuckle. “It’s getting late, and none of us needs to be on the road during the coming storm.”
As she spoke, thunder rumbled in the distance. More snow was heading their way, heavier snow. The flurries that had been fluttering down all evening would soon turn into sheeting whiteness.
“She’s right.” Ace Walker immediately tromped to the door leading to the set of steps outside. “We need to get the horses in the stable as soon as possible. We’ve already kept them outside longer than we should’ve.”
“Thank you,” Tessa called after the three of them as her friends tromped outside. “For everything you did this evening.”
Maisie blew her a kiss, and Ace Walker nodded at her.
All too soon, Bowen was left lingering in the doorway. “I know it’s a fine line we walk with each other. Wishing I could tell you more. Wishing you would choose to tell me more, even though I can’t reciprocate.”
She blinked in astonishment at him, still crouching down to pet Frost. “Unlike you, I have no secrets to share.”
“Not true.” He shook his head grimly at her. “My acute ability to read what’s in front of me says otherwise.”
“Aw,” she mocked in the hopes of masking the shakiness in her voice. She stood and faced him. “You assume every woman is a mystery to be solved, just like your many cases.” That would certainly explain his bachelor status. Women were meant to be appreciated, not figured out. Adored, not analyzed.
“Again, not true. Only one woman puzzles me,” he returned dryly. “Goodnight, Miss Kingsley.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Taggert.” She never referred to him as a detective while others were within earshot. Since his work with the Pinkertons was undercover, no one besides Griff and the sheriff were supposed to know about it. He’d chosen to take her, Tessa, and Maisie into his confidence during his last case, though his reasons remained unclear. She suspected it had something to do with trying to help Bea and Griff reconcile after a disagreement. Secrets weren’t the best foundation to build any relationship on, certainly not a marriage.
Tessa moved across the room to lock the door behind him. Then she trudged to the newly installed mirror to check the new latch on the new door. Sure enough, it was locked. Drawing a deep breath of relief, she returned to her room to undress and step into her nightgown.
Frost followed her, trotting around the room to explore its shadowy corners while she completed her nightly routine. He emerged with one of the toys Bea had made for him in his mouth, a hand-sewn fish.
Smiling, she climbed into bed and patted the spot next to her. Frost jumped up beside her and plopped down on the mattress, still playing with his toy. She snuggled up to him, preferring to be in bed before it got dark.
Before the strange sounds started up again in the secret room below her.
Before her next bout of sleepwalking.
She pulled the blankets up to her chin, hoping none of it was real. As a precaution, she reached behind her for the rope, quickly securing it around her left wrist. If she started sleepwalking again, the rope would keep her from straying too far from bed.
Frost eventually gave up playing with his toy in order to tunnel beneath the blankets. His furry warmth was comforting. It gave her hope that she might finally get to enjoy a quiet, uneventful night.
Just one!
But sleep evaded her, even after Frost grew still and started to snore again. She tried counting sheep. She tried reciting poetry. She even tried praying. The last one worked better than the first two, and she started to drift on the cobwebs of oblivion.
A scraping sound jolted her awake. It was followed by a heavy clanking noise, then footsteps. Not the scurrying of something as tiny as a mouse. Something bigger. Or someone.
The footsteps grew closer. Step. Shuffle. Step. Shuffle. She shuddered and sat up in bed at the realization that someone was dragging something up the stairs from the secret room.
Behind the door Bowen Taggert had just finished installing.
Behind the mirror he’d just finished hanging over it.
She started to scream, but something yanked on her wrist. Hard. Her eyes fluttered open.
It was the rope she’d tied there, but it no longer lay half coiled on the floor. It was stretched to the limit, keeping her from taking another step.
That was when she realized she was no longer in bed. Instead, she was standing in the middle of her bedroom, facing the hidden door. She was trembling all over, taking one gasping breath after another like someone who’d been running.
Or sleepwalking, in her case.
She paused in her tracks to listen, but no more scraping and clanking sounds ensued. Like every other time, she was left wondering if they’d been real.
She was a wealthy woman who’d adopted the world’s most adoring cat. She had the most amazing friends and lived in the most wonderful town, where she got to run an utterly charming bookstore.
It was too bad the building that housed it was either haunted or cursed. Either that, or she was losing her mind, something Detective Bowen Taggert most definitely didn’t need to know before he left town.
