Chapter Twenty
Colorado, 1882
When Zane Robinson stepped into his brother’s rented room, he found a woman rifling through the desk.
He fully expected her to look up, for surely she’d heard him. Zane hadn’t exactly tiptoed along the narrow path that led from Mrs. Shrankhof’s kitchen to this back addition, determined to locate his missing twin. However, the well-dressed lady in front of him appeared oblivious as she yanked on the desk drawers, pulling out what looked to be a postcard, which she latched on to with the vigor of a miner striking gold.
She then let out a harsh gasp, a look of guilty horror filling her face. For the briefest moment, Zane wondered if she was about to collapse. Thankfully, she did not. Instead, her expression hardening into tenacity, she had the gall to fold the postcard and shove it into an unseen pocket of her closely tailored skirt.
Enough was enough. Zane prepared to charge into the room, settling his Stetson—which he’d removed when he’d come inside—back on his head so both his hands would be free. He felt a twinge as he remembered that the hat was the one his brother had sent him shortly after arriving in Proud Bend.
Alex had written him jokingly that they now had matching hats, and that all they needed were identical clothes and their youth would be repeated. Back then, neither of them had minded wearing the same clothing. Such was the way one dressed identical twins.
That one memory, a shameful one for Zane, lingered.
Never mind it. Alex had long since forgiven him for that foolish ruse.
Back to the issue at hand. That woman was stealing from his brother. Zane cleared his throat. “Who are you?”
With a jump, the woman whirled. Upon seeing Zane, she sagged with obvious relief and smiled broadly. “Alex! You scared me!”
Zane quirked an eyebrow. She thought he was his brother? Of its own accord, his hand lifted to his full beard. Had Alex grown one, as well? His brother usually preferred to be clean-shaven. Yet, this woman saw past the thick facial hair when no one else had so far. Walking through town—albeit with his hat on and his collar turned up against the wind—no one had even noticed that his face was identical to that of their sheriff.
Zane’s chest tightened. Alex, his only surviving kin, was missing, gone now a week. Perhaps injured somewhere, or dead. Zane needed to find the deputy who’d wired him to ask if Zane knew where his brother was.
He didn’t. Shortly after reading the telegram, Zane had boarded the next train from Canaan, Illinois, to Denver, Colorado, then down the other line to Proud Bend. He desperately needed to see what had been done so far to find Alex. But this woman in front of him needed to answer a few questions first.
She stepped forward, her broad smile still lighting her features. “You’re safe! Praise the Lord! Where have you been? I took a card I just—”
Her smile fell like a stone and was replaced by a frown. She cut off her sentence and withdrew that one step she’d taken. “You’re not Alex,” she accused. Her delicate brows pressed together as she searched his face. “Who are you?”
Zane had no time for this. “Considering that you’re stealing from my brother, the more obvious question would be ‘who are you?’”
The woman gaped. “You even sound like Alex! Are you his twin?” She tilted her head, assessing him. “What am I saying? Of course you are. Apart from the beard, you’re identical.” She touched her chest again as she peered hard. “I don’t think I’ve ever met identical twins before. It’s amazing!”
Zane’s attention dropped to her hand. Her fingers were rough and callused, nails cut short and utilitarian, a curious contradiction to the rest of this regal woman, whose fine, expensive-looking outfit was perfectly tailored to her tall, slender frame. Her black hair—what he could see of it beneath her bonnet—was arranged in a neat, fashionable knot.
Who was she? Alex hadn’t mentioned this woman, or any woman for that matter. “My brother told you he has a twin?” Very curious, indeed. “How did that come up in conversation?”
“It didn’t. It’s the only logical answer. You just said you’re his brother.”
Of course. Zane rubbed his brow. He was tired. That was the only reason for the foolish question. The woman was frowning again. Studying him closely.
Wariness tingled through Zane. She was smart. Was she also calculating? It certainly looked that way. He had better watch himself—he’d learned the hard way the dangers of other people’s craftiness. He was here to find Alex, not deal with yet another corrupt town.
“I can see that you’re perfectly capable of answering questions,” he ground out. “So, shall we return to my first one? Who are you?”
She wet her lips in what Zane might call a nervous action. As she should be, he thought without the charity he’d been taught as a child. Charity should be saved for those who don’t steal.
Or betray their sheriff, as had happened back in Canaan.
Surprisingly, the woman’s words were calm despite, he was sure, not wanting to give him a single shred of information. “My name is Rachel Smith.”
“Good, Miss Smith. Very good.” Zane took a deliberate step closer to her, hoping to appear intimidating. Although she was taller than any woman he’d ever met, Miss Smith didn’t compare with his big frame. Yet she stood her ground.
It didn’t matter. She’d been caught stealing. He thrust out his hand, palm skyward. “Now give me what you just slipped into your pocket. Before I take it from you.”
* * *
Rachel swallowed. Through her skirt, she fingered the postcard. She did not want to relinquish the only clue she had, although she had no idea why her name was scrawled on the postcard or how it had come into the possession of Proud Bend’s new sheriff. And she certainly did not wish to hand it over to this stranger.
The postcard could be the last thing Alex had handled before he went missing. If she could learn where he’d obtained it, it could help her retrace the steps he’d taken during the investigation she’d asked him to make into Rosa’s disappearance. It could lead her to both Rosa and the woman’s young son, Daniel, not to mention Alex, for surely his disappearance had to be related to theirs.
Please, Lord, keep them all safe. Rosa loves You now, I’m sure of it. If someone has kidnapped her to force her to return to that awful trade, change their hearts, Lord. Have all three of them released.
“The contents of your pocket?” the man prompted her, his hand thrust out even farther.