An Agent for Frances Read online

  Gradually, their arms lowered. Excitement skipped inside her bosom knowing that he was just as affected as she was. Now the question was... would he do anything about it? Would he give her the kiss she’d been longing for? The two other times they’d kissed, they’d been interrupted. But out here with nobody else around, the odds of anyone stopping their passion was very slim.

  Except... if a wolf or snake came upon them. She said a quick prayer that the wild animals kept their distance.

  His hand gently pulled the revolver away from her as his other arm hooked around her waist. His face turned slightly, and she held her breath. Their mouths were so close, and yet he was satisfied to linger with their final contact. It both frustrated her and thrilled her because the anticipation grew by leaps.

  “Frances,” he whispered, nuzzling his mouth a little closer.

  “Yes.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  She wanted to smile, but her breathing was so ragged, she didn’t dare focus on anything else. “What... am I doing?”

  “I touch you, and... I can’t concentrate on anything.”

  She sighed. “That’s how I feel when you touch me.”

  “But...” he brushed his lips across her cheek, “this must stop. I need... to concentrate on the case.”

  “Vincent, don’t you see that there is a time for the case, and a time for... kissing?” She ended with a deep sigh.

  “I suppose,” he moved his mouth lightly over hers, “that the only way to get this urge out of my system is just to give in to my desires.”

  “Yes,” she sighed again, huskier this time as she clung to his arm.

  Finally, his mouth pressed against hers. Tingles erupted all over her body. There was too much passion inside her to keep the kiss simple and tender. Thankfully, Vincent must have had the same thoughts because he eagerly kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough.

  She gradually turned toward him and wrapped her arms around his waist, closing the space between them. Both his arms tightened around her as his palms explored her back and neck.

  Kissing him like this was still a surprise for her. She would have never thought they’d end up like this after only meeting eight months ago. But it was more than that. While in his arms, she felt so comfortable as if she was made to be next to him like this. And she felt so safe. Nobody had made her feel this way.

  “What do ya think, boys? Should we douse them with water yet? They look as though they may start a fire at any moment.”

  The voice from somewhere behind her jerked her out of their passion. At the same time, she and Vincent jumped apart. For a moment, deja vu hit her since this was what happened last night with Mrs. Shumway.

  But, instead of seeing the older woman in front of her, three men pointing rifles at them stood in front of her and Vincent. Her heart sank in dread. She tried not to think about how disappointed she was that their passionate kiss was interrupted once again... but instead, she needed to think about how to get out of this mess. After all, she was supposed to be good at thinking quickly. Unfortunately, as she stared at the strangers’ long rifle barrels pointing toward them, her mind decided this was a good time to stop working.

  VINCE TIGHTENED AN arm around Frances’ waist protectively as his gaze jumped from one bandit to the next. Thankfully, there were only three, however, he still wouldn’t be able to take them all down at once. And he couldn’t count on Frances since her target practicing had taken a different turn.

  Quickly, Vince found his bearings and collected his wits. “Pardon me, gentlemen,” he began, “but is there a law against kissing my fiancée away from prying eyes of the town?”

  The middle-aged man to Vince’s left lowered his rifle and rubbed his scruffy chin. “I reckon there ain’t no law against it, however, this here is our property. Yer trespassing.”

  Immediately, Vince knew the man was lying. Being a sheriff for eight months, he knew the layout of the town and especially what was outside the town. Only the county owned the land where they were all standing. “Then I ask you to forgive us for being on your property. We didn’t know.”

  “I can forgive ya, but that doesn’t mean I have to let ya go.” He brought up his rifle again. “So, as I see it, yer both in big trouble now.” He chuckled.

  The other two men laughed. The man in the middle appeared to be in his early twenties. They all wore cowboy hats, but this particular man’s hat was in the shape of a farmer’s. He pointed his rifle directly at Vince. “I know you from somewhere.”

  Vince nodded, but didn’t recognize the man. “I’m the sheriff of Bonham.”

  The third guy on the end with the wide middle sucked in a breath. “You’re the sheriff who used to be a Pinkerton agent.”

  Vince didn’t want to correct the man. Hopefully, now wasn’t the time to let it be known that he was still an agent. “Yes, that’s me.”

  The third man laughed which made his flabby waist jiggle and looked at his two friends. “Hey, this man right here might get us some ransom money.”

  Vince was sure he didn’t like the sound of that.

  The first man shook his head. “Jenkins, ya don’t know what yer talkin’ about. Bonham town won’t have the money to pay his ransom, ‘specially now that the bank blew up.”

  Vince arched an eyebrow and glanced down into Frances’ wide eyes looking up at him. Jenkins? Could this be the man who started the explosion accidentally? And if he wasn’t, how did he know about the explosion if they didn’t live in town?

  “I know that, Willy.” Jenkins bonked the steel barrel of the rifle against the first man’s noggin. “I was thinking about asking a ransom from the Pinkerton Agency.”

  The two other men exchanged curious stares before looking back at Jenkins. The scruffy-faced man shrugged.

  “I don’t know, Jenkins. Would they pay good money for someone who isn’t workin’ for them any longer?”

  “Of course they will,” the farmer chimed in. “Pinkerton agents hunt down bandits all the time... and mess up all the time. They’re not used to dealing with clever bandits. We could lead them to our enemies after they pay us the ransom.”

  “Nah.” The scruffy man shook his head. “That won’t work, Hardin. Because our hostages would tell them.”

  Hardin rolled his eyes. “Then we make sure they can’t talk to anyone. Why would we want witnesses?”

  The man named Willy opened in an O and he nodded. “That’s right. Yer an expert at makin’ people disappear.”

  The younger man’s name clicked in Vince’s memory. The Pinkertons had been after a gunslinger by the name of Wesley J. Hardin for eight years. Apparently, the kid started killing people at an early age of fourteen.

  As Vince studied the man, he realized his appearance matched with the description that had been given to the Pinkerton agents; brown hair, clean shaven, and a scar on his chin. Vince’s gut told him the wanted gunslinger was the very man standing before him.

  Swallowing hard, Vince silently assessed his own skills. He was a quick draw and a good shot, but was he better than Wesley J. Hardin? Both Vince’s and Frances’ lives were hanging by a thread, and he couldn’t take that chance that the outlaw was better. He couldn’t be the reason for two women getting killed just because they had snuck into his heart.

  “So, let’s get on our way.” Jenkins motioned his rifle. “You two get on one horse, and we’ll take you away from the town’s...” He hesitated. “What did you call them... prying eyes?”

  “Before they go to their horse,” Hardin said, moving toward Vince and glaring, “let’s make certain the good sheriff doesn’t have a gun.”

  The outlaw pushed aside Vince’s overcoat to his holster, but it was empty. Hardin scowled. “Where’s your gun?”

  Vince motioned to the nearest tree where he’d propped his rifle. “I only brought my rifle. I was teaching my fiancée how to shoot.”

  The three men chuckled, and Hardin shook his head. “You don’t teach a woman how to
shoot with your mouth.” He pushed Vince’s arm. “Now get going. Take your fiancée to your horse and mount. Don’t try and plan an escape, either. I’m a quick-draw... and I never miss.”

  France’s fingers were cold as she clasped Vince’s arm. He didn’t know how to get out of this situation, but he vowed he’d not give up easily. Pinkerton agents never give up. He’d do everything he could to save his and Frances’ lives. After all... they were getting married soon. They both had something to live for.

  NINE

  FRANCES WASN’T SURE how to act. Part of her wanted to argue with the bandits because her stubborn personality was threatening to come forth. She was sure she could sweet-talk Willy into letting them go. Jenkins might be a bit more challenging, but she figured he’d eventually succumb. However, the man they called Hardin would be a problem. He looked to be around her age. As a child, she recalled a preacher by the name of Gip Hardin, and his wife, Mary. They had some sons, but Frances didn’t remember all of them or even if they were her age. Her pa used to cut Gip Hardin’s hair all the time.

  However, she recalled rumors that a Wesley Hardin had shot and killed a former slave just because the boy was teasing Wesley. Frances never knew if the rumors were true, and she wasn’t certain if this man amongst them was that Hardin kid.

  She wouldn’t doubt it, though. The man had evil in his dark eyes. And there was no way that she’d be able to sweet-talk this man. Not that she wanted to. He made her very nervous.

  Sitting on Vincent’s lap as they rode the same horse wasn’t that bad, and although she felt her Pinkerton agent would protect her, there was no heart softening or belly flipping this time they were close. She leaned her back against his chest, and he circled one arm around her waist while his other hand clasped the reins.

  “Vincent?” she whispered, hoping he could hear but their abductors couldn’t.

  He leaned his face closer to her head. “What?”

  “Do you have a plan yet?”

  “No.” He paused. “Do you?”

  She wanted to smile, knowing that he had faith in her to conjure something up, but she was too frightened to make the gesture. “Not yet.”

  “I still have my revolver,” he said softly in her ear.

  Hope leapt within her chest. “You do?”

  “I put it in my pocket when we started kissing.”

  “That’s brilliant.” She didn’t feel as frightened now. “How many bullets will it hold?”

  “Shhh...” he whispered.

  The warmth from his breath sent shivers over her.

  “I don’t want them to hear.”

  “Sorry,” she said so softly, she wondered if he’d heard.

  “The revolver will hold six bullets.”

  “Then that’s good.” She caught her voice lifting, so quickly tampered the excitement. “That’s good, right?”

  “Yes, and no. If it were only those three men, I wouldn’t worry... except for the fact that one of those men is a wanted outlaw that the Pinkerton agents have been trying to find.”

  A breath stuck in her throat. “The one called Hardin?”

  “Yes.”

  “I suspected as much,” she said more to herself than to Vince.

  “He’s fast with a gun, but I don’t want to go up against him until I can see how fast he is... and I definitely don’t want to find that information out while you’re around and can get shot.”

  A peaceful happiness settled in her chest. She stroked the arm that was around her waist and tilted her head enough to kiss his cheek – because that was all she could reach right now. “Thank you for caring about me.”

  “I can’t help it.” He returned her kiss, landing it on her cheek. “You’ve gotten under my skin.”

  She sighed. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now.”

  He brushed his lips against her neck. “And another reason I don’t want to use my revolver is that I’ll be outnumbered.”

  “You will?” With her eyes closed and leaning back to allow him better access to her neck, she was entering back into that world where there was only her and him... and passion.

  “Yes. We’re entering their camp now.”

  Gasping, Frances jerked upright. He tightened his arm around her waist to keep her from sliding off his lap.

  The camp consisted of the five missing wagons that had been behind the bank not long before the explosion. Vince recognized a few of the women and a handful of the children. The camp was surrounded by tall oak trees as their thick leaves brought much-needed shade.

  Six other men in the group walked toward the new arrivals. The men also carried rifles. Vince definitely didn’t have enough bullets now. He and Frances would have to go along with what their captors told them. The only thing on Vince’s side right now was that a ransom would take several days to complete. He was the only Pinkerton agent in the area, which means Jenkins – or whoever was in charge of these rebels – would have to ride out to the nearest telegraph office and send a message to Archie Gordon, Vince’s supervisor. And it would still be another couple of days after that before they sent any money.

  Vince prayed that the rebels would keep them alive during those days. Vince would catch these outlaws relaxing at some time – or even during the night – and then he would take Frances and get out of here.

  Once he stopped their horse, the other men walked up to Vince, eyeing him closely. An older gentleman, probably in his late forties, gasped and turned an accusing glare on Hardin. The old man marched toward the outlaw as he dismounted.

  “You brought the sheriff? Are you addled?”

  As quick as lightning, Wesley Hardin whipped out his pistol and pointed it at the old man’s face. The other man’s eyes widened and his face lost color. Vince at least knew what he was up against. Hardin was just as fast as Vince.

  “I’m not addled,” Hardin snapped. “And the next person who calls me that will be eating my bullet.”

  Slowly, the other man nodded and backed away.

  Hardin holstered his gun and aimed his glare at the others who were gathering around. “Jenkins has a plan.” He motioned his hand toward Vince and Frances. “This sheriff was once a Pinkerton agent. He’ll bring us a hefty ransom, which we’ll use for the cause.” He folded his arms across his chest. “And if anyone has issues with that decision, they can come and talk to me now.”

  A grimy, thin man stepped from around one of the wagons. The dirt on his head matched the dirt on the man’s bushy beard. He grinned, displaying several missing teeth.

  “Hardin? Whatcha goin’ to do with the girl?” He waggled his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t mind a bride.”

  A sob ripped from Frances’ throat as she turned and clung to Vince, burying her face into his chest. He protectively wrapped her in his arms. He’d physically kill anyone who harmed a hair on her head.

  Hardin chuckled. “I don’t know what we’ll do with her. We’ll have to see if her family will pay for her safe return.”

  A few other men laughed in the group. Anger burned through Vince hotter than lava. But right now, he needed a clear mind. How else could he plan a way for them to escape?

  Someone bumped his knee, and he glanced over at Jenkins who had dismounted and stood next to Vince’s horse. The man motioned with his hand.

  “Get down. I have the perfect place to keep you two.”

  Vince gritted his teeth. This was it... the beginning of their captivity.

  FRANCES HATED BEING in this position – sitting on the ground with her hands tied behind her back with a rope, which was the material used to bind her ankles, as well. At least she was able to lean against Vincent. They were kept in a make-shift tent, away from curious eyes. But that didn’t stop people from peeking inside as they walked by. Frances felt like a caged animal at the circus.

  She shifted her achy body, hoping it would bring a little relief. This wasn’t the first time she’d been tied up, but this time her brother wasn’t involved. As a child, he enjoyed tyin
g her to chairs just to keep her out of his way. He once tied her to a tree, where she’d spent the whole day until her mother realized she was gone.

  “Are you all right?” Vincent asked.

  “I’m just a little stiff. How are you?”

  “I’m feeling the same.”

  She tilted her head back in order to see his face. “We are going to get out of this, aren’t we?”

  He looked down at her. There was no spark in his green eyes. Even his voice was void of confidence.

  “I’m going to try my hardest. We cannot let them win.”

  “Do you think they have sent a telegraph to the Pinkerton Agency yet?”

  “It’s only been a few hours. They have probably found someplace to send a telegraph by now.”

  “They will come to rescue us,” she said with the assurance she wasn’t quite sure about.

  “That’s what I’m hoping, but because none of the other Pinkerton agents knows about what is going on with Walter Shipp and his gang, I’m not convinced that the agency will be able to find us.”

  “I overheard a few men talking about Walter’s disappearance. I’m assuming my brother hasn’t told the rest of the gang that he’s staying at my house.”

  “I’ve heard the same talk.” Vince nodded.

  “I’m wondering,” she continued, “if they knew that Walter was being cared for at my house, maybe they’d let us go because they would think we are his friends.”

  “They might let you go, but not me. Walter would be able to tell them that I’m not his friend.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “But you’re right, they might let you go. So that’s what I’m going to tell Hardin or Jenkins the next time I see them. At least you’ll be safe.”

  She gasped and straightened, still keeping her gaze on him. “No, Vincent. We are in this together. We’re a team, remember?”

  He shook his head. “I won’t put you in danger, Frances. There is no way I’m going to let another woman in my life get killed just because they were in the wrong place at the right time.”