A Promise of Roses (21 page)

Brandt sighed. “What's going on with you, Lucas? I've never known you to start second-guessing. You told me yourself, it's not your job to decide guilt or innocence; you get paid to bring a man in. Do you think that just because she's a woman she could never commit a crime?"

"You've met her,” he said. “Does Megan Adams seem to you to be the fragile, feminine type?"

Brandt cringed. “She threw a pot of coffee at my head."

"She stabbed me in the leg with a fork."

"Definitely not a lady given to swooning.
Which only makes me believe all the more strongly that she's capable of setting up a band of thieves to steal the railroad payrolls.
"

"I don't think she has it in her."

"Why?
Because she turned out to be a good lay?"

"Be careful, Brandt,” Lucas warned, his lips drawn tight in displeasure. “Be very careful."

"So it's more than that,” his friend observed. “Are you in love with her?"

Lucas averted his gaze. “You know better than that."

"Maybe I don't. Annie and Chad have been gone a long time, Lucas. You're allowed to stop grieving. You're also allowed to give up on finding Silas Scott."

"I won't give up until that bastard is dead.” His jaw throbbed from being clenched so tightly for so long.

Brandt softened his tone. “Then why are you still here? Why didn't you drop the Adams woman off at the marshal's and continue on this path of vengeance you've set for yourself?"

Lucas met his friend's eyes. “Because she would have been convicted and hanged—or, worse yet, thrown in some hellhole of a prison for the rest of her life—without anyone ever giving her a fair shake. I'm not asking you to set her free, Brandt. I'm just asking you to hear her out, give her the benefit of the doubt. After you talk to her, if you still think she was in on the robberies, drag her back to the Union Pacific headquarters.
Or to the marshal.
You can pay me for my time, and I'll set out after Scott again."

Brandt thought it over a minute, shifting from one foot to the other. “No hard feelings?” he asked finally.

"None."

"Then, let's get my things so I can go talk to Miss Adams."

Megan paced the length of the foyer, back and forth, back and forth, until she was sure she'd worn the wood down at least half an inch. She went to the window for the fourth time in as many minutes and looked out. No sign of Lucas. Where was he?

She tugged at the bodice of her powder-blue dress, the only one left in her closet that still fit. Rebecca had sewn it for her not six months ago for the annual Harvest Festival barn dance. The bodice seams were straight, the skirt ironed to perfection, the hem even and just a fraction of an inch from the ground. She looked fine. She looked like a lady.

She felt like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother's clothes.

It was bad enough that her family knew she'd been holed up in the house alone with a man—for five days, no less—but now she had to come face-to-face with Brandt Donovan.
Lucas's best friend.
The man who thought her responsible for the railroad's payrolls being stolen.
She only hoped this meeting with the head of Union Pacific security went better than the last, when she'd thrown a pot of coffee at him.

Her heart plummeted at the memory. Things didn't seem too promising. Still, with Lucas there, maybe Brandt wouldn't be so quick to judge her. Or maybe she should pack up her mother's china and send it back to
New York
—because she was going away for a long, long time.

The sound of horses coming up the drive startled her out of her gloomy thoughts. She ran for the front door but stopped short of opening it. Again she straightened the bodice of the dress over her breasts, flattened the front of her skirt,
then
smoothed a hand over the swept-up curls she'd arranged only an hour ago.

The door opened just as her hand reached out for the knob. She smiled until her skin refused to stretch any farther. The look on Lucas's face almost sent the corners of her mouth falling into a frown, but she caught herself, stiffened her spine, and prepared herself for whatever followed.

Brandt Donovan entered right behind his friend. He was half an inch or so taller than Lucas. Wavy chestnut hair fell to his shoulders, framing a handsomely chiseled face. His emerald-green eyes sought her out immediately. He took a step into the house, closing the door behind him.

The walls of the hall began closing in on her.

"Let's go to the kitchen for a cup of coffee,” Lucas said. He started in that direction.

Brandt waved her ahead of him. She flashed him her pasted-on smile and all but dove through the swinging door.

The men took their seats at opposite sides of the oak table while she went for the coffee already boiling on the stove. Wrapping a towel around the hot handle, she carried the pot over.

"I'd like mine in a cup this time, if you don't mind,” Brandt said.

Her eyes widened, but then she saw his grin. A furious blush climbed up her neck and face. “I do apologize for that, Mr. Donovan. I was out of line. I hope you'll forgive me."

"Apology accepted.” Still, he held his cup out a good distance away from himself for her to fill. “In retrospect, I realize you aren't completely to blame for what transpired in your office that day. You had every right to become defensive when I came at you full steam ahead.” He chuckled. “I'm not exactly the most diplomatic man you'll ever meet."

"That's for damn sure,” Lucas agreed.

Brandt tossed him a quelling look. “Shut up.” He turned back to Megan. “Perhaps if we had sat down and discussed things properly, our argument never would have reached such a volatile level."

It pleased Megan more than she let on to hear him admit he had been at fault, too. “I assure you, it will never happen again.” If she got mad at him, she'd be sure to throw something harder than coffee at him.

"Good,” he said, shifting in his chair and sipping his coffee
very
carefully.

Lucas gave a soft chuckle, but Brandt turned a serious gaze on Megan. “I won't waste any more of your time or mine by going over the past, Miss Adams. I think you know why I'm here."

Megan tried to swallow the lump of fear building in her throat.

"The crux of the problem is
,
you're suspected of conspiring to commit theft of Union Pacific payrolls. It's my job to see you pay for your crime. However,” he stressed, keeping eye contact, “Lucas here has some doubts about your involvement in the whole thing. And because he's a trusted friend, I've decided to let you tell me your side of the story. Now, I'm not saying I'll let you go
scott
-free. If I still believe you were involved, then it's my duty to see you tried with the rest of the gang. But I'm willing to hear you out."

Megan nearly bit a hole through her tongue waiting for him to finish his speech. She could tell by his tone and the set of his mouth that he was going to think her guilty no matter what she said. It took all her willpower to keep from smacking him square in the face with a rolling pin.
If she could find the rolling pin to begin with.

In his own mind, the arrogant bastard had already found her guilty. She might as well go to Marshal Thompson and turn herself in rather than waste her breath explaining things to Mr. Donovan.

She glanced at Lucas. The lines in his face suddenly seemed more pronounced, as though he, too, already knew that the outcome of the situation was going to be bad for her. But he had tried so hard to help—even going so far as to postpone his search for Silas Scott so that he could stay with her and await Brandt's arrival—the least she could do was tell his friend the truth.
Everything, from start to finish.
What happened then was up to Brandt Donovan.
And the law.

"Tell me again why you were driving the stage that particular day."

Megan groaned, running her hands over her face. Lucas paced behind them.
“Because Hector refused to take the run."

"Why?"

"Because the stage had been hit by the bandits before—the last three times we'd carried the railroad payroll."

"And he knew the payroll was on the stage that day?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I always tell the drivers. It's only right that they know they may be in danger. And I send Zeke along to ride shotgun."

"Where does Zeke live?"

"What?” she asked, wondering what that had to do with
anything.

"Where does Zeke live?
In town?"

"No."

"Then where?"

"About eight miles from here.
Five from town."

"And how long before a run do you tell him he'll be needed to ride shotgun?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Think, Megan. This is important.
A week before?
A day?
That very day?
When?"

"A day or two before,” she said, her voice rising. “I usually ride out to talk to him a couple of days before I put the payroll on the stage to Atchison. If he's busy, I hold it back a while."

"So Zeke sometimes knows days ahead of time when you'll be transporting the money."

"Yes. At least one day before."

She raised her head to see Brandt looking pointedly at Lucas. Lucas came to a halt in the middle of the kitchen.

"What does that have to do with anything?” she asked. Then understanding dawned.
“Oh, no.
I know what you're thinking, and you're wrong. Zeke is a good man. He'd never steal a penny from anyone. Besides, I pay him well to ride along."

"Goodness and prosperity often have little to do with a person's reasons for theft. The richest man in the world could still be caught stealing. It's all about greed."

"I don't care what you think. Zeke doesn't have anything to do with this."

"You seem to be in an awful hurry to turn suspicion away from him.
Especially when all fingers are pointed in your direction.”
He shoved a finger in her face for emphasis.

"If you don't move your hand out of my face,” she warned in a low, calm voice, “I'll rip it off and feed it to my dog."

"Listen here, you little—"

"All right,” Lucas broke in, “that's enough. Brandt, get your hand away from her. Megan, all Brandt is trying to say is that Zeke had knowledge of the payrolls before they were actually transported."

She opened her mouth to protest.

He held up a hand to stop her. “That doesn't necessarily mean Zeke is guilty of anything. It could just be that he mentioned the job he was doing to someone in passing, and they planned the holdups. We have to look at every possibility."

"Fine,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and slumping down in her chair. “But I'm telling you, you're wrong. It's not Zeke."

Brandt sighed but started back in with his questions. “When do you tell the drivers they'll be hauling a strongbox?"

"Not till they show up for work."

His forehead wrinkled in a frown. “Why?"

"Zeke is an old man. He does his job without complaint and knows enough to keep his mouth shut about certain things. That's why I don't think he had anything to do with this,” she added with a glance at Lucas. “But the drivers are younger. If they know they're transporting a large sum of cash the next day, they have a tendency to go over to the Dog Tick and brag about it to anyone who'll listen. They like the men to think they're important and the whores to think they're rich. Next thing you know, I've got folks hanging around the office waiting to see the payroll loaded. The fewer chances I have to take, the better.

"That's why I had to drive the stage that day. When I told Hector the payroll was on board and he refused to take the run, I didn't have time to hire another driver. I either took the run myself or gave the passengers back their money. And if you knew just how bad business is these days, you'd understand why refunding wasn't an option."

"So you decided to drive the stage from Leavenworth to Atchison. And back?"

"Of course back."

"You wouldn't have hired a driver there to get the stage back to town?"

"Why would I pay someone to do that when I'm perfectly capable?"

"Then when did you plan to meet the others?"

"What others?” she asked.

"The men you recruited to rob the stage at gunpoint."

She leaned forward, her arms on the table. “I'm going to say this one more time. Slowly, so you can understand. I did not gather or hire a group of cohorts to rob Union Pacific payrolls. I did not, in any way, have anything to do with the robberies. I swear it on my father's grave."

"Who's to say your father's really dead?"

"His grave is in the cemetery behind the church in town. I'd be happy to go with you if you want to dig it up."

He said nothing for several minutes. “If you didn't have anything to do with the robberies, and Zeke didn't either, then how did anyone know exactly when your stage would be carrying the payrolls?"

"I don't know! But I suppose anyone paying close attention would know when I'm carrying large amounts of money."

"How?"

She rolled her eyes at him.
“Because a strongbox is loaded onto the stage in Kansas City.
It's taken off here. If someone knew a payroll was being sent, he could very well follow it. Our schedule is public knowledge.” She waited a moment for that information to sink in,
then
aimed the final blow. “Maybe the robberies were set up by someone at Union Pacific."

Brandt snorted, standing up so fast that his straight-back chair toppled to the floor. “That's ridiculous. Everything at our office is kept strictly confidential."

"So is the information at the
Express
,” she said.

"It's unconscionable to think that someone working for the railroad would be committing the robberies."

"And it's so much more ‘conscionable’ to blame me?” She stood up to give him a full view of herself, for the first time that day thankful she'd worn a dress that made her look more ladylike and less capable of committing a crime.

"You've been wrong about me before, Mr. Donovan. The first time you walked into my office, you insisted I wasn't the owner of the Adams Express. ‘No man,’ you said, ‘would be crazy enough to put a woman in charge of his business.’ You couldn't even fathom the possibility that a woman might run her own business."

"Well, it was your father's business before he left it to you in his will,” he pointed out.

"That's true,” she said. “But I was running the Adams Express long before his death, and doing a damn good job of it, I might add."

"Until you decided to start stealing railroad payrolls."

She threw her hands up in frustration. “I didn't steal anything!” she yelled. Turning to Lucas, she said, “Would you tell him, please?"

He didn't answer.

"Oh, that's right. You think I'm guilty, too. Well, bully for you both. If you need me, I'll be upstairs.” She headed for the kitchen door.

"Megan,” Lucas said, stopping her.

She turned to look at him, waiting.