“Most sheriffs of small towns don’t have the resources to investigate murder cases,” Lincoln said. “They typically only deal with small town crimes, like petty larceny and fights at the saloon.”
“True,” she replied, looking down at the paper. “Mr. Tiner was out rounding up his cattle when his wife went missing, and she was found later in the day.”
“Did anyone see him rounding up his cattle?”
She nodded. “His ten cowhands.”
“He could have killed her and disposed of her body before he went out to round up the cattle,” he mused.
“I agree,” she said, placing the paper back into the file and closing it.
As they neared the train station, Amey pointed toward a corral. “I left my horse in the corral,” she shared. “I’ll need to retrieve him and arrange for transportation to Longworth.”
“You brought your horse with you?” he asked, surprised.
“I did,” she replied. “He goes everywhere with me.”
“Isn’t that an unnecessary expense?”
“Not for me,” she answered with a shake of her head. “Jasper and I are inseparable.”
“I generally rent a horse from the livery in whatever town I’m in.”
A wistful expression came over Amey’s face. “When I left home, Jasper was the only thing I truly cared about bringing with me.”
“Where’s home?”
She grew tense. “Tucson, Arizona.”
“Why did you leave?”
“To become a Pinkerton agent,” she answered, her voice clipped.
Lincoln knew there was more to the story, but he didn’t dare ask any more questions. He could tell that he’d already pushed her too far.
A lock of blonde hair came loose from her bun, and he had an intense desire to reach over and tuck it behind her ear.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“New York.”
“Why did you leave?”
“To become a Pinkerton agent, as well,” he answered honestly.
“How long have you been an agent?”
“Eight years,” he replied. “What about you?”
“Five years.”
He glanced curiously over at her. “How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-four.”
He lifted his brow in surprise. “You became a Pinkerton agent when you were nineteen?”
“I did,” she replied proudly.
“That’s an impressive feat,” he admitted. “I was a soldier in the war during its last two years, and then I was hired on at the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”
“I always knew I wanted to be a Pinkerton agent,” she shared. “From the time I was a little girl, I loved reading about Kate Warne and the other female detectives in the newspapers. I idolized her.”
“She was a remarkable agent.”
“That she was,” Amey said. “Did you know she thwarted an assassination attempt on Abraham Lincoln’s life on his way to take office?”
He chuckled. “Every Pinkerton agent is aware of that story,” he remarked. “It’s widely believed that’s when Pinkerton came up with the slogan ‘we never sleep’. It’s said that Warne didn’t sleep a wink the night she was guarding Abraham Lincoln.”
Lincoln pulled into the train station and pulled back on the reins. He set the brake and said, “If we’re lucky, we should arrive in Longworth before supper.”
Amey exited the carriage without assistance and walked toward the back. She removed her carpetbag and held it tightly in her hands.
After securing the reins to the wagon, Lincoln jumped down and approached his partner. He kept his voice low as he said, “Next time, I would like the privilege of assisting you out of the wagon.”
“That’s not necessary,” she replied. “I’m more than capable of exiting a wagon on my own.”
“I have no doubt, but it’s my right as a husband.”
She frowned. “We aren’t truly married.”
“But we are,” he corrected. “As far as the law is concerned, this marriage is real, and we need to act accordingly.
“How would you like me to act?”
He stepped closer, his eyes roaming her face. “Like a woman in love,” he said, placing his hand on her right shoulder.
She glanced down at his hand and arched an eyebrow. “I suppose I could play along, for the sake of our mission.”
He dropped his hand. “That’s a good girl.”
Amey grew rigid and took a step back. “If you’ll excuse me, husband, I need to go see to my horse,” she stated flatly.
Without waiting for his reply, she spun on her heel and started walking toward the corral.
What just happened, he wondered. They were conversing nicely, and then Amey started erecting barriers between them. He would have to be mindful not to call her a “good girl” again. Apparently, she didn’t like that.
Lincoln turned toward the ticket counter to purchase the tickets. He’d never partnered with a woman before, but surely, it couldn’t be that complicated.
Amey fumed as she walked back toward the train after ensuring her horse and trunk would travel with her to Longworth. She hated being called “good girl”. That’s what her father had always called her growing up. She hated it then, and she most assuredly hated it now.
Lincoln approached her, holding up two tickets. “When I bought our tickets, I mentioned that we were on our honeymoon, and we were upgraded to a Pullman car.”
“What a pleasant surprise.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” he asked, reaching for her carpetbag.
She swung it behind her back. “I will carry my own bag.”
He gave her a forced smile. “A good husband would never allow his wife to carry her own bag.”
Drat. He had a point.
“Fine,” she said, extending the bag toward him, “but be very careful with it.”
“Don’t worry about your carpetbag,” he replied, offering his arm. “I’ll treat it with the utmost care.”
“Lead the way, husband,” she said, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm.
“I will, Mrs. Hoyt.” He smirked.
Amey frowned. “Don’t call me that,” she stated in a hushed voice.
“Well, that’s your name, my dear,” he replied sweetly.
Too sweetly.
She had a great desire to grab her carpetbag from his left hand and hit her husband with it. He was teasing her, and she hated being teased.
“Just call me Amey.”
Lincoln glanced over at her. “Amey. What a pretty name.”
“Thank you.”
“Then you must call me Lincoln.”
She paused. “I
