An Agent for Liana: Pinkerton Matchmakers, #49

By Linda Carroll-Bradd

Loner Dale Claybourne spent the last five years as a dedicated and decorated Pinkerton agent. Confident in his abilities, he's not afraid to face down thieves, swindlers and even murderers. But he quells at the mandate of having to train a female agent and, even worse, to marry her before receiving his next assignment.

 

Gregarious Liana LaFontaine served as a seamstress for the Denver Pinkerton Agency. Now she yearns for a taste of the adventurous life of being an agent. Her ability to speak several languages and her ease with getting people to talk are her strongest assets.

 

Impulsive by nature, Liana jumps into situations she doesn't have the experience to handle. Dale fights his growing admiration for this French beauty while keeping close to guard her safety. At odds over almost everything, the pair has to solve the mystery of who is stealing from a Virginia City saloon—a task made even harder because of the wild attraction that shouldn't be present in a marriage of convenience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barr26 Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Feb 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215562499

Book preview

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May 1872

Denver, Colorado Territory

I so wish to make my impression the best one ever. Liana LaFontaine moved the navy velvet hat an inch to the right and a little toward the front of her head. The narrow brim tipped forward but not enough to look flirtatious. How is this angle, Dixie? After another glance at her matching navy dress with deep swags along the hips ending at the bustle, she turned away from the full-length mirror in her upstairs bedroom and faced her younger sister.

From an armchair across the room, Dixie glanced up from the lace she stitched onto a sleeve cuff, then frowned. I do not know, Liana. She tilted her head to the right and wrinkled her nose. What did you change?

If only Dixie cared as much as I do about fashion. We are seamstresses. She should care about our livelihood. A sigh escaped before she turned back toward the mirror, her silver ball earrings bobbing. Is the plume too much? I love it but… She reached for the wide satin ribbons and crossed them under her chin, then angled her head from one side to the other. "I do not want Monsieur Gordon to think I am not taking this opportunity seriously. Est-ce que tu comprends?"

I understand, but, Liana, speak only English. Dixie set her sewing atop a side table and walked across the floor to a shelf holding several hat stands. Of all the hats you own, this black one with the single silk rose and the crimped ribbon flowing off the back is the most business-like. After lifting the accessory, she extended it.

I cannot help if I lapse into my native language when I am nervous. Liana switched the hats and stared at her reflection. Black did nothing to enhance her brunette hair or brown eyes, and the understated design screamed staid and boring. She gazed at the navy one with the delicious ostrich plume now discarded on the quilt-covered bed. The ribbons looked better dangling behind her ears because they drew attention to her slender neck. Maman always said it was one of her best features. Pain grabbed her chest at the thought of her family left behind in France, struggling to make Papa’s import business profitable again. She rubbed three fingers against her sternum.

No time to wallow. In less than thirty minutes, she would face the most important conversation of her life. You are right, Dixie. Of course, this design is more fitting for the occasion. She reached toward the vanity table for a long hat pin with a silver bead on one end. Which one will you wear? Being almost the same size expanded their wardrobe selections; unfortunately, their favorite colors were so different. Liana loved bright colors and vivid patterns, and Dixie preferred solids in neutral shades, choosing accent pieces like jewelry or scarves to add color.

Working her lower lip with her upper teeth, Dixie moved slowly down the line of choices. I do not know. At the end of the shelf, she stopped and rested a hand on the edge. I doubt I have the right skills to become a Pinkerton agent.

Gasping, Liana rushed across the room and grabbed Dixie’s hands. Oh, do not say that. Her sister could not back out of their plan now. Not when they were so close. Their initial applications to join the group of women agents, submitted to the manager of the Denver Pinkerton National Detective Agency office, had been accepted. "You most certainly do. You are smart and talented, and you have a quiet nature that draws in people, like Maman."

She tugged Dixie down to the mattress so they could sit side by side. The pleated, light-blue underskirt twisted, and she smoothed it with an impatient hand. I am more like Papa who can talk anyone into a purchase. Thinking of her father in the heyday of his import-export business made her smile. Turning, she watched her sister’s face. When Dixie worried, her overbite was more pronounced. I want this new job…and the new life that accompanied it. For the past year, we have sewed the uniforms and traveling outfits for the women agents. We heard stories about the adventures they had. Remember the insurance fraud in San Francisco, or the cattle rustlers in the Rocky Mountains, or the case involving an agent’s missing sister? What about the apprehension of jewel thieves in San Antonio? Remember how we thought those cases sounded so exciting?

If you remember, I was not the one who mentioned excitement. You were. She pulled away her hands and wrapped her arms around her middle. I am more bothered by the fact so many women from all over America answered a newspaper ad and ended up married to a complete stranger before having an adventure of any type.

To Liana’s mind, that aspect of becoming an agent introduced a dangerous element. And, as a single woman still at age twenty-four, the exact one that thrilled her the most. Liana felt the time ticking away. She glanced at Dixie’s outfit—a simple shirtwaist in dark taupe with only a ruffled hem. No displayed underskirt and no side swags. She restrained a shudder.

What if I just stayed here and maintained my job as the agency seamstress?

Dixie, we have been through all this. Liana fought to keep her voice from rising and revealing her frustration. You already said you did not want to live by yourself. My leaving town will put you into that very situation. I could not embark on this adventure if I have to think about my sister back here all alone. She walked to the shelf and lifted down the chocolate brown, pressed-felt hat with a sloping brim accented by a cinnamon bow and matching ribbons. After fitting it on her sister’s head at just the right angle, she rested her hands on Dixie’s shoulders and leaned down to look into her hazel eyes. Besides, we just about promised the seamstress job to Miss Thornton after she interviewed.

Frowning, Dixie clamped a hand on top of the hat. Then she rose and stood in front of the mirror. She set the hat straight atop her head and jabbed in the hat pin. I always do better when you are there, because you take the lead in conversations so well. Do you think Mister Gordon will let us interview together?

Probably not. Good, she’s on her feet again. Liana walked to the armoire and opened the right-side door. Jacket or shawl?

Dixie leaned toward the second-story window. The sky looks clear. The beige shawl, please.

That choice left the black lacy shawl. Liana slung it over her shoulders before carrying the beige one to her sister. Excitement raised chill bumps along her skin, and she shivered. If asked who wants to go first, I will volunteer. You can settle your thoughts and review the details you wrote on the application. After grabbing her reticule, she gave her outfit one last appraisal in the mirror before turning toward the door. Ready?

Hardly. Dixie breathed out a long sigh. But I will not disappear from the agency office before completing the interview.

Think of it as a mere conversation. This next part of their lives would be the best ever. Although she and Dixie had been together constantly in the six years since leaving France, Liana was ready for a bit of freedom. She no longer wanted to worry about making all the decisions to keep them both employed and with a roof over their heads. On the boardwalk outside the seamstress shop, Liana took a deep breath of the mountain air and glanced around. She pulled a pair of black lace gloves from her reticule and eased them onto her hands before snapping open a silk parasol.

Dixie locked the shop door, stepped close, and deposited the key into her reticule. "Look, the green grocer has a special on mushrooms and carrots. What about coq au vin for supper tonight?"

Liana waved a dismissive hand, then turned to walk up the block. Whatever you want to cook is fine with me. Like always. The Apparel and Millinery Shop, where they both worked, stood only a few buildings down from the agency. When doing fittings for new agents, they appreciated the close proximity. Since the sisters started working here, sewing for the agency comprised the bulk of their work. But after the flurry of new agents a year ago, agency orders came in at a slower pace. Now, she and Dixie accepted orders from Denver residents, as well.

Of course, I know that. You never complain about the menu. Dixie shook her head and laughed. I am just nervous.

Refusing to give in to Dixie’s innate shyness, she pasted on a broad smile as she walked. But you should not be. You have spoken with Mister Gordon before.

Only a few times. We always deal with the agency’s secretary, Marianne.

An older man swept the boardwalk in front of his haberdashery shop. He stopped to let them pass, tapping a finger on the brim of his black derby. ’Morning, ladies.

’Morning, Mister Manning. Lovely day. Liana smiled, then refocused on the three-story, Gothic-like mansion on the huge corner lot on Chain Bridge Road. Five solid pillars held up the edges of the steep-pitched roof. Large windows fronted the structure. A multitude of trees and flowers accented the grounds inside the wrought-iron fence surrounding the property. From this angle, she couldn’t see the agents’ dormitory, but the two-story house that could sleep sixteen men stood on the far side of the two-acre lot. Could the agent who might become her trainer be under that roof right this moment?

How is Missus Manning’s arthritis? Dixie’s footsteps halted.

Doing better, now that the rains have stopped. Thank you for asking, Miss Dixie.

Heat flamed Liana’s cheeks, because she really should have thought to ask about the man’s wife. But this morning, the impending interview filled her mind. She flashed a smile over her shoulder. Give her our best, Mister Manning. Then she connected with her sister’s gaze and jerked her head.

At the base of the steps leading to the wraparound front porch, Liana hesitated. Now that she was this close to her goal, she thought of the potential obstacles. Butterflies danced in her stomach, and that short walk labored her breathing. She rationalized the corset had to be tight to be in fashion. Or was the breathlessness brought on by nerves? She reached out to link an elbow with Dixie’s. Onward, to our future.

If you say so.

At the carved wooden entrance, Liana knocked twice, then opened the door and slipped into the foyer. She shrugged out of her shawl and hung it on the nearby brass coatrack, watching Dixie mimic her actions. Pausing only a moment to smooth a hand over the back of her pinned-up hair, she leaned down to whisper in her sister’s ear. "Bonne chance, soeur douce." Wishing her sister good luck might boost Dixie’s spirits.

A dark-haired woman hurried down the hallway. Ladies, welcome. I see you’re right on time. She flashed a smile that disappeared in an instant.

"Oui, I mean yes, Miss Marianne." Liana had been glad to hear of the secretary’s return from the Chicago headquarters. The woman kept matters well organized and had been missed during the months of her absence.

Mister Gordon is still recuperating from his recent injury. But I can’t convince him to stay away from the office. He’s devoted to the agency. She