Maggy blinked, hardly daring to believe his words. This was her dream, one born into existence the moment James had hired her as a Pinkerton operative six years earlier. Now it was so close she could nearly grasp it within her fingers. The twenty-one-year-old widow she’d been then had been as scared as she was determined to make a career out of being a detective. And now, she not only had a solid career for herself but the chance to mold and assist with the careers of other female detectives, too.
“Have a mind?” she echoed, erring on the side of caution rather than unbounded hope. “Something I can do to make things more definitive?”
James separated a short stack of papers from the others on his desk. “Complete this mission in Wyoming. The other operative I sent last month wasn’t able to make any headway on it, which hasn’t made the best impression on the rancher who requested a detective. So far all we’ve managed to do is sour his opinion of the agency. I would’ve put you on the case from the beginning, but you were deep in the counterfeiting mission.”
“Why does he need an operative?”
“Someone’s sabotaging his ranch.” He slid the papers toward her. “The man’s initial request is on top, along with the other operative’s report.”
Picking up the letter first, Maggy carefully read through its contents. Edward Kent, a horse rancher in Wyoming, had experienced a rash of threatening notes and acts of vandalism to his ranch, the Running W.
It was apparent from his choice of words that the man was well educated and had likely attended school well beyond the completion of the second grade as Maggy had done. The rest of her education she’d garnered on her own—mostly from secretly reading the newspaper and any books she could get her hands on.
She leafed through the other operative’s notes next. The man, working undercover as a wrangler for Kent, had noted no nefarious behavior or ill feelings among the rancher’s staff—they seemed to be loyal to their employer. He had uncovered no leads as to the identity of the saboteur.
“Appears to be a straightforward job.” She set the papers back on the desk. “Though I’m not sure which sort of role I ought to play. It sounds like pretending to be a wrangler didn’t exactly help.”
“See what Kent suggests, but only after you smooth his ruffled feathers. He’s expressed reluctance at hiring someone new from us. But I trust you to convince him that the Pinkertons can still help him and that you’ll crack this case.”
His confidence in her skills and ability to solve a case where the other operative had failed had Maggy feeling on top of the world. “I can leave for Sheridan tomorrow.”
“Excellent.” James stood, signaling an end to their conversation. “Find this ranch interloper and I’ll send my recommendation to Robert and William Pinkerton to hire you as the head of all female operatives.”
She rose to her feet as well as she excitedly crushed her cap inside her fist. “Thank you, James. I won’t let you down.”
“You never do. That’s why I’m sending Get-Her-Man Maggy to complete the job.”
Chuckling, she maneuvered around her chair. She had garnered the nickname after her first undercover mission, in which she’d pretended to be a hapless female traveling alone and had successfully tracked down a ring of train employees swindling hundreds of dollars from the company every month. Several more triumphant undercover missions over the next couple months had secured her a position as one of James’s top operatives.
“Would you miss Colorado?” he asked, trailing her to the door. His head barely reached her shoulder, though she wasn’t considered overly tall. “If you get the position in Chicago?”
She didn’t hesitate to shake her head. “I’d miss working for the office here. But there’s nothing keeping me from leaving.”
No husband, no children, no family. A prick of loneliness, of the old abandoned feeling, threatened to uproot her enthusiasm of finally being in reach of her dream. Maggy steeled herself against it. She was strong and safe and could take care of herself. There was no need for any deep relationships—those brought only weakness, fear and pain.
“We’d miss you, too,” James said with sincerity in his tone.
Warmth filled her at his words—no one had ever told her they’d miss her before. Not even her pa the day she got married.
“I also know how much you want this.” He opened the door and stepped back. “Wire me after you’ve spoken with Kent and let me know how long the mission is likely to take.”
“I will.” She would solve this case and be one step closer to fulfilling her dream. Twirling the cap around her finger, she shot James a saucy smile. “You can count on me.”
* * *
Frowning, Maggy tapped the toe of her shoe against the wooden platform of the Sheridan train depot. Mr. Kent was late. That or he’d already changed his mind about employing another detective to solve his case. Maggy’s gloved hand strayed to her collar, and she forced it back down to her side instead of plucking at the scratchy lace for the umpteenth time. The ridiculously small, plumed hat she’d chosen to wear to complete her outfit did little to shade her face from the afternoon sun.
Without knowing what sort of role Edward Kent might want her to play for this mission, she’d chosen the part of a female relation—middle-class and independent—for her journey to Wyoming to visit her distant cousin. But now that she was here, she longed to be free of the smothering, stiff fabric of her traveling suit.
“Where is he?” she muttered to herself as she glanced around the emptying train station. She’d been hoping to convince him that he still needed help, get to his ranch right away, then take stock of the situation, not stand around waiting.
When another ten minutes had crawled by, according to the watch pinned to her lapel, Maggy dragged her trunk into the train’s waiting room. She cajoled the ticket clerk with a pretty smile and a nickel to watch her luggage until she returned. Then she asked for directions to the nearest livery stable. Once there, she requested a horse and buggy.
“How far is it to Big Horn?” she asked the livery owner as he hitched the bay he’d selected to the vehicle. The animal looked a little docile for Maggy’s tastes, making her wish she could saddle up the sleek mare she’d seen inside the building. But she couldn’t risk the talk that would surely follow if she rode astride a horse in her dress.
The owner peered over his shoulder at her. “Big Horn would be ’bout nine miles from here. You visitin’ someone that a ways?”
“Edward Kent.” She smiled demurely. “I’m a distant relation of his.”
“Kent’s place is just seven miles away.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “You’re from England then, are you?”
“Come again?”
“Mr. Kent’s a Brit. Figured you must be, too.”
Maggy inwardly cringed at not knowing such an important detail sooner. Her repertoire of accents didn’t include the most convincing British one. “Actually I hail from the part of the family that immigrated to America a few generations ago. Dear Edward followed in our path. But I’ve only just been able to leave my obligations at home in order to come see him.”
The man took her explanation in stride without even blinking. “Your buggy’s all ready, ma’am. This here horse don’t move as quick as he once did, but he’s real easy to handle.”
“Thank you for your help.”
Maggy accepted the reins from him as she took a seat in the buggy. Once he’d given her directions on how to find the Running W, she clucked to the horse and drove away from the livery. It didn’t take long to collect her trunk from the station—a train porter insisted on carrying it out to the vehicle for her and tying it down with some rope.
She