Gunpowder Tea (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) by Margaret Brownley Page B

much use for poetry. “It’s hard to believe that someone can work on a cattle ranch and not eat meat.”
    Able shrugged. “Probably why he looks like he’s on a horse even when he ain’t.”
    She giggled. “How long has Wishbone worked on the ranch?”
    “Awhile. He was here long before me. At least five years.”
    “Hmm.” She reached for another cookie. “I think I’ll take some to Miss Walker, along with a pot of lovely tea.”
    Able made a face but he put water on the stove to boil. “Gingerbread and tea,” he muttered. “That’s like mixing sheep and cattle.”
    “You’d better not let O.T. hear you mention sheep in the same sentence as cattle.” After arranging a cup and saucer on a tray, she put several cookies on a plate and brewed the tea.
    She was halfway out of the kitchen when he called to her. “I almost forgot. Happy All Fools’ Day.”
    She glanced at the Hood’s Sarsaparilla calendar on the wall next to the icebox. Was it April already?
    Able glanced at the calendar too. “Time sure does fly.”
    “Yes, indeed it does.” In little more than two weeks it would be Easter. Time was whizzing by and she had yet to figure out a way to send daily reports back to the home office. Mr. Pinkerton would have her head.
    “Do you have a small candle?” she asked.
    He pointed to the china cabinet. “In the middle drawer.”
    Annie set the tray on the counter and opened the drawer he’d indicated. She pulled out a thin candle and stuck it into a cookie’s soft dough. She then pocketed a box of safety matches.
    Able shook his head. “If it’s her birthday, you best not mention it. Women can be mighty touchy about their ages. Miz Walker ain’t no different.”
    She lifted the tray. “It’s not her birthday. It’s her daughter’s. I always light a candle on each of my parents’ birthdays and I find it very comforting. I hope this comforts Miss Walker.”
    His freckles seemed to fade beneath his doubtful expression. “Miss Walker don’t like to think about the past. What’s gone is gone and that includes people.”
    Annie hadn’t been able to get the little grave on the hill out of her mind. She thought about her dear mama’s grave. Her papa’s. The past wasn’t something you could remember or forget at will; it stayed with you, was part of you. Unless she guessed wrong, it was part of Miss Walker too.

    The old lady was reading when Annie walked into her room. “It’s about time.” She laid her book facedown on the bed. “What is that?”
    Holding her hand around the lit candle to protect the flame, Annie set the tray on the bedside table. “Tea time.” She crossed to the window to adjust the draperies against the hot afternoon sun.
    Miss Walker slumped back against the pillow and rolled her eyes. “Dishwater time, more like it.” She regarded the lit candle as one might eye a coming storm. “So what are we celebrating? Your birthday?”
    “My birthday is in October.” Annie turned from the window. “It’s a memorial candle.”
    Miss Walker grimaced. “And what are we memorializing?”
    “It’s April first,” Annie said quietly. She waited and when Miss Walker showed no reaction, she wondered if perhaps Able had been right.
    “It’s your daughter’s birthday.”
    Miss Walker’s eyes bored into Annie like two burning coals. “How dare you!” she sputtered. “What gives you the right to poke your nose into my business?”
    “Please don’t be angry. I happened to come across the little grave and—”
    “Get out!” Miss Walker pointed at the door. Veins stuck out from her neck and her face turned an alarming red.
    Annie held her hands up, palms out, in an effort to calm the ranch owner, but the woman only grew more agitated.
    “Get out and don’t come back! And take your dishwater with you!”
    Not wanting to upset her any more than she already had, Annie fled the room without the tray. What have I done, God? Oh, what have I done?

Chapter 10
    Suspicion