After two hours of his head buried in old clippings, Trace finally had a face that went with an advertisement listing the man’s skills and services. The flowery words suggested an honest gentleman available to do an honest job, but something about the squinty eyes made Trace’s skin crawl. His questions grew, and in reading between the lines, he suspected they were not done with Simon Frezner.
Trace was exhausted, and hungry. At a café close by, he ordered a bowl of soup and bread. He’d save his big meal for when Gen returned home. Strange how easily her image dropped into his mind when his thoughts turned toward home. His mind wandered off in her directions far too often for a couple sworn to stay detached. Tomorrow was Jethro’s wedding and he supposed he’d have to accompany Gen to the event. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but his presence would be expected.
Trace paced the floor and rushed to the window when he heard Gen ride in at dusk. She dismounted out front and walked her mare around the back. He tore outside, his nerves peeked.
“You’re late,” he bellowed.
She misread his concern for anger and he could see her stubborn streak surface. “I didn’t know I was on the clock, Mr. Stapleton.”
“Stop calling me that. My name is Trace.” He grabbed the lead rope from her hands and headed for the outbuilding.
She followed, and once inside let it rip. “Trace, what’s got you all riled up?” Somehow, she made his name sound like a cuss word.
“A woman shouldn’t be riding alone after dark,” was all he muttered.
“Until yesterday, I rode when I chose to,” she spoke back.
“Well, yesterday you became my responsibility, so don’t do it again,” he bellowed.
She lowered her voice and within inches of his face, spoke firmly. “I am a Pinkerton agent, not a mousy housewife you can order around. Do I make myself clear?”
“Quite! Forgive me for caring.”
She followed him into the tack room. “Trace; I’m touched that you care for my well-being. I’m just not used to being ordered around.” Ignoring her, he threw the saddle over the rail in a back room and then headed inside the main section of the building.
“Nice mare,” he said as he led the animal into the second stall in the small backyard barn. Striker whinnied a welcome to his roomie and Shamus responded by flaring up her head. Trace pulled her proud head down demonstrating who was boss. “A mite high strung – just like her owner.”
“Have you eaten?” Gen asked.
“No. I was waiting for you.”
“You needn’t have bothered. I told you I had lots of work to do at the farm. I ate with the family.”
“I’m your family now.”
“I’ll be sure to remember that, Mr. Stapleton.” He never corrected her use of his surname as she slammed out of the barn and marched toward the house. The honeymoon was progressing just as he suspected. He shut down his heart and took an extra-long time to feed the animals.
Gen fried a slab of ham and opened a can of brown beans. The skimpy supper sat on the table when he entered the kitchen. She was nowhere to be seen but he heard her thrashing around in the bedroom. All the while he ate, he wondered if she would come out or just pout in the room all night. As he rinsed off his plate, he felt her presence behind him.
“I can do that,” she said. He was pleased to note her voice had softened and seemed somewhat reconciled.
He moved out of her way and sat at the table with a mug of coffee. “Join me for a hot drink, Gen, and let’s start again. I bought a spice cake at the bakery.”
“That was thoughtful. I skipped dessert at home – I mean the farm – and just headed to town. I’ve baked enough cookies today that would last us an entire lifetime.”
When she sat across from him, he asked, “Do you think we will last a lifetime, Gen Stapleton?”
She bit her lip and sipped her coffee before answering. “I didn’t think a lifetime was in your plans.”
“It might be, given the right woman.”
“Well, we’ll have to see how it all works out. We are two days into our case. Is there anything new to report?”
Back to her place of comfort – business. He sighed. “The ticket stub led me to a fella coming in from Kansas, Simon Frezner. An aura of mystery hangs over his head. According to the newspaper, he was thrown in jail overnight after stalking a family. When the baby disappeared a few days later, he became a suspect, on the run. But the law lost his trail and have given up the search. Not sure how it all connects to our case, but Andrea is involved. She purchased the two tickets. Most employees I talked to at the depot weren’t much help.”
“When did this happen?”
“Beginning of the week,” said Trace.
“I suppose that puts him on our suspect list, as well. We will need to watch if Andrea connects with him. Perhaps she paid him to help her run away.” Gen bolted from her chair and began to pace. “Maybe she met him when she went to stay with her aunt for a few weeks.” Trace’s brows arched and Gen answered his unasked question. “Her mother, Mrs. Friskin told me about her time away in Kansas. They were hoping the matron spinster would be able to knock some sense into the girl.”
“Sounds likely they met there,” said Trace. “That is where the ticket master said he came from and the newspaper
