An Agent for Genevieve Read online

  An Agent

  for

  Genevieve

  Pinkerton Matchmaker Series #62

  Marlene Bierworth

  Copyright © 2020 Marlene Bierworth

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without written permission of the author, Marlene Bierworth, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, character and events are the product of the author’s imagination. While the author has tried to be historically correct, her goals in this book are great characters and storytelling. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locals, is purely coincidental.

  About the Series

  Although this is a work of fiction, Lady Pinkerton Detectives historically played a strong role alongside their tough male agents to keep the peace in the wild west. This series is wrought with lots of excitement and danger, the partnerships birthing many wonderful romances. Each book is a standalone story and can be read in any order.

  From the Author

  Genevieve Trafton is the dreaded spinster and refuses to share the family farm with her brother’s new bride. When Nick, the oldest leaves home unexpectedly, she decides it is time for her to move on as well. The promise of a job filled with adventure and travel entices her to join the ranks of the Pinkerton Agency.

  In one day, her status goes from a bored work at home spinster to an excited, detective trainee and wife. They are given a routine missing person case to get her feet wet, which brings them to uncovering plots of kidnapping and murder.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 1

  Genevieve pounded the dough on the counter, digging palms into the gooey mass with a rhythm that matched the fury of a mother bear protecting her cub. Being the eldest daughter of the Trafton family came with a price – responsibility and spinsterhood. Since her father’s death five years ago, she’d put her life on hold - and for what? Nicolas, or Nick, which he preferred to be called, had slipped away in the middle of the night, leaving only a note stating he was off to find real work in a man’s world. What did that mean anyway? He’d passed off the farm to his younger brothers without explanation or a clue as to his destination. Truth was, the two he left behind loved working the land that Nick had always considered the lowest drudgery given to mankind. Sounded to her like he planned on sowing his own wild oats. Good riddance to him.

  Genevieve struck the pliable blob one final time, and hearing no squeaks of air, ripped off a portion and pressed the dough into a bread pan. A crude form of jealousy crept into her heart. If Nick could run from home, what stopped her from doing the same? Tears swam in the corners of her sea-blue eyes, her sole claim to beauty that in the beginning had drawn men like flies to honey. But now, even they’d lost their charm in the everyday grind of life.

  She’d prefer to lay blame for her situation on a more noble obligation - her siblings – but deep down, she knew better. The excuse of never finding time to explore the possibilities that life offered had become a crutch, and now the fear of leaving her lifelong home resided in its place. No suitors bothered to call anymore. They’d found more willing brides amongst the women of Denver, Colorado. These days, the fellas that found their way to the Trafton farm called on her sister Grace, an eighteen-year-old exquisite rose that would not stay single for long.

  Genevieve was the ripe-old-age of twenty-three. Not ancient to her way of thinking, but nonetheless, labeled a spinster. The title society dictated smothered the fading embers within her spirit, and each day the dream of leaving home became a fog too dense to penetrate. Despite her slim features, she was sturdy and capable of handling duties both inside the house or out on the land. Her aim with a gun was spot on, and she could out-shoot her brothers any day of the week. Surely there existed a job in Denver that would support a new life for her. Whatever that may entail, it would be better than dying an old maid here.

  She mused about what she’d like to do. Cook or waitressing at the Diner, maybe, but she definitely disliked the idea of a seamstress. Genevieve hated sewing or making the delicate embroideries that her sisters enjoyed fussing over. No occupation survived the final cut. If she were to be totally honest with herself, she’d prefer to work on the land with the horses or walking behind a plow. As Genevieve scrubbed the dirty dishes, her imagination continued to drift to bolder career choices open to women. She chuckled to herself when the picture of a lawman popped into her head. Even the name of the position mocked her. Law-woman? She’d never heard of a female sheriff and stroked that off the shortlist forming in her mind. Strange how Genevieve felt something physically wither inside when she realized that option to be a pipe dream. She chided herself for wasting time thinking of such nonsense. Life had dealt her a bad hand and without a miracle, she’d remain stuck at the table, dealing cards to the more enterprising gamblers passing through her life.

  A plate slipped from Genevieve’s hand and smashed to smithereens on the floor. The anger rose again as she silently cursed her brother Nick, and his freedom to come or go as he pleased. Jethro, the second eldest son, was marrying Sandy St. Clair, a girl from Denver. And after Saturday, he’d bring her to the homestead as his bride. Perhaps that’s what Nick was so bent out of shape about. Genevieve had watched his jealous eye scan the aristocrat whenever his brother brought the upper-class woman home to supper.

  Shrugging her shoulders, she sighed. What did a home-body like Genevieve Trafton know about reading a man’s mind? The one definite certainty in all this upheaval was that she refused to share her kitchen with Jethro’s wife. That remained out of the question. The immediacy of her situation kindled the bleakness anew. Maybe it was time for her to spread her wings and fly like the birds she so envied. Perhaps she was not as stuck as she believed.

  The next day, Genevieve dressed to go to town. Her sister had taken pity on her a few years ago and sewed five fashionable dresses to fill her wardrobe. The family joked that Grace was born with a needle in her hand. The young girl had completed the task, targeting her skilled efforts to secure any man for the eldest Trafton daughter. Unfortunately, the gift of love had not worked in Genevieve’s favor. Murmuring aloud, she grabbed her favorite one from the group, and held the buttery-hued gown close against her body. The sunny color sparked a fire within her blue eyes. She fastened her unruly hair, which seemed to have a mind of its own, in braids on the crown of her head, and plunked a hat on top to hide the rebellious strands.

  Looking in the mirror, she felt satisfied with her appearance. Men who preferred young scatterbrained females over ones slightly seasoned and knowing their own minds were a sorry lot indeed. Genevieve didn’t need a husband. Perhaps the life of a spinster was her destiny. Today, she couldn’t help but be encouraged with the prospect of not cow-towing to a man’s ego for the rest of her days. Especially if they were all as disloyal as her brother Nick.

  After dropping off her shopping list at the general store, she allowed herself to roam the streets, immersed with window shopping and dreaming of things beyond her control. On Chain Bridge Road, she came upon a rather understated building with a large sign posted out front. Stopping, she read the advertisement. Female agents wanted to join the National Pinkerton Detectiv
e Agency. Had she read that right – they needed gun-toting females?

  Genevieve’s heart jumped within her chest, and she moved a hand to still it’s pounding while an idea seized her spirit. A Detective? That was extremely close to the description of a sheriff’s job. Could she do that? The advertisement did specify females to apply for the position.

  As she stood and pondered the question, a man rushed by nearly toppling her over. He caught her before she fell over the edge of the boardwalk. For a brief moment, their eyes connected, hers flaring with anger and his showing surprise.

  “Excuse me, Ma’am. My mind was elsewhere, and I missed seeing you.”

  “Interesting – I suppose my skinny frame of late has made me invisible.” Her voice carried a touch of mockery, for she did not consider herself horribly skinny, but then who could tell when hidden under this humongous dress.

  The man scanned her from head to foot, removed his hat, and bowed slightly. Genevieve did not miss the glint of tease in his comment. “Skinny reminds me of my half-grown sister with long dangling braids and legs the size of a tiny branch. Not my evaluation of the lovely lady standing before me.”

  He couldn’t see her legs. Whatever was he on about? Those kinds of comments always turned her off men. He was not a spring-chicken – she’d guess around thirty. Old enough to know that a decent woman did not expect to be teased in such a fashion. But to his credit, she’d been the first one to mention skinny. Genevieve tried a more mature approach. “Do you work here, sir?”

  “I do,” he said. “And who’d be asking?” His voice took on a defensive tone. She suddenly felt like the intruder, perhaps a spy that a Pinkerton agent might be concerned about.

  “Genevieve Trafton. I noticed the help-wanted sign and was considering applying when you so rudely pushed me aside.”

  “Again, I apologize.” He opened the door and shuffled to the right to usher her inside. She couldn’t stop herself from taking a closer look. Tall, kissed by the sun, and a smile that would leave any woman wanting more, radiated from him. “Please, don’t let me hinder your progress. I’m late, and Archie Gordon does not like to be kept waiting.”

  She brushed by him without another word and stopped to survey the reception room. The décor was professional and inviting, but not overdone. It smelled manly, of leather and old furniture, but filled her with a tantalizing sense of liberty.

  The man, who had not bothered to introduce himself, covered his head again, and said, “Good luck. Not sure Marianne needs office help, but you’d sure be eye-candy for us hard-working agents.”

  Genevieve bit her tongue. Providing eye-candy for a man was not her goal for a future job. He’d obviously not read the ad, for work behind a desk was not even in the offering.

  The man waved to the woman behind the desk and shouted a cordial, “Good morning, Marianne.” Before he disappeared behind the door of an adjoining office, he added, “Take care of the little lady here.”

  Inhaling deeply, she wondered how she’d moved from viewing a sign outside into this place of business, all in just a few short moments. A job? Maybe the Good Lord was providing a much-needed push from her all too comfortable nest. Yes. She sought adventure and would apply to become a lady Pinkerton agent. Life couldn’t get any more exciting than that. She moved forward, meeting the woman halfway.

  “Hello. Welcome to Pinkerton Agency. How may I help you?”

  Summoning all the confidence she could muster, Genevieve stood tall and erect as she held out her hand in greeting. “My name is Genevieve Trafton. I noticed a help wanted sign outside and came in to enquire as to the nature of the job.”

  “An agent of course, That’s what we do here, Miss Trafton,” she said as she accepted Genevieve’s hand.

  Relief lit up Genevieve’s face. “Then I’ve come to the right spot. How does one go about applying for such a position?”

  “Are you married?”

  “No, definitely not.”

  “Do you have something against marriage?”

  “Not exactly. Just never met the right man.” Genevieve was unable to hold back the blush from invading her facade. The woman smiled politely and led her to a nearby chair. They sat across from one another.

  “My name is Marianne Gordon, and I will screen you before I send you in to see my husband.”

  “Oh, yes, the gentleman that came in with me is meeting with him presently,” said Genevieve regaining her composure.

  “Yes, Trace Stapleton. A fine agent.” A sudden glint reached the woman’s eyes. She continued with the interview.

  “What qualifications do you have?”

  “No experience in a professional sense, but I possess a curious nature, have a strong constitution, do not scare easily, and am looking for adventure.”

  “Can you shoot a gun?”

  “With skilled accuracy. My brothers complain their sister has a better aim than all of them.”

  “So, you have family?”

  “We operate the Trafton farm just outside Denver. Our parents are both deceased, but I have two brothers at home who are obsessed with working the land. And two sisters that can tend to their needs until they marry. I shall not be missed if that’s of concern to you.”

  “Distractions are deadly in this line of work, but it appears you have detached yourself and are ready to go out on your own.”

  “Most definitely.” The finality of voicing it affirmed the decision in her heart that this was her destiny. She silently thanked God for his intervention.

  “I suppose you don’t have a letter of reference,” said Marianne, more as a statement than a question.

  Genevieve nodded. “I do not. But I could get a character reference from my pastor if that would help?”

  At that moment, the door burst open, and a frustrated man hurried toward them. He briefly acknowledged Genevieve as Marianne jumped to her feet.

  “Marianne, do you have any applications worth considering? I’m desperate.” He ran fingers through his hair. “Can’t seem to keep apprentices for more than one job these days.”

  “As a matter of fact, Miss Trafton is considering employment with us.” The receptionist pointed toward Genevieve, who bounced to her feet when the focus turned toward her.

  Mr. Gordon scanned her, but Genevieve stood secure and unaffected by his concentrated scrutiny.

  “Good morning, sir,” she said, offering her hand. When he gripped it within his massive palm, she matched his strength. He grinned.

  “I like you.” He turned to Marianne. “Anything I should be concerned about here?”

  “Not that I can see.” She turned and smiled at Genevieve. “The woman seems to crave adventures.”

  “Well, we can provide plenty of that. Come into my office, Miss Trafton.”

  “I can wait until you’re finished with your meeting, sir,” she said.

  “Trace?” he asked. “No need for that. He requires a new partner.”

  “Partner?” asked Genevieve.

  “Yes, Miss. Wouldn’t dream of sending female agents into the field without a man. It’s just not done.” He spun around abruptly, and while beckoning for her to join them, took giant steps in the direction of his office.

  Genevieve groaned. Gordon appeared determined to match her up with the man she’d encountered earlier at the door. Trace Stapleton seemed pleasant enough. Still he’d somehow managed to flare up a defense mechanism within her she didn’t know existed. Partnering with a man was not what she’d expected from this new venture.

  Marianne cast her an encouraging smile and pointed to the door. “Best follow the man if you want a job.”

  Nervously she moved toward the open office door. Perhaps she’d not given this idea enough thought, but she managed to shut down those objections before they took hold. Independence would cost her, and she’d not let a man ruin this chance for her. After all, she’d never done detective work. The man might prove useful. When she walked into the office, and their eyes met, she had cause to doub
t that reasoning. His hazel eyes flared as he jumped to his feet.

  “No way, lady. You’re here for an office job, right?”

  “You came up with that conclusion on your own, sir. You never asked my ambitions, and I never told you during our earlier encounter.”

  “You two know each other. Splendid!” said Gordon as he slapped Trace on the shoulder, buddy fashion. “That should make it easier.”

  “We bumped into each other on the way in,” said Genevieve, taking the lead. The comment made Trace’s lips curl up at the edges.

  “Lady is right on that account. Don’t know her directly, but I reckon she’d be as good as any to hitch up with. Easier to look at than the last one.”

  “And are you okay with that aspect of the job, Miss Trafton?” asked Archie.

  Genevieve smiled innocently. “I realize I will need to be trained as a detective, sir, and you appear to have confidence in Mr. Stapleton’s abilities. We should work together fine.”

  “He means, are you willing to be hitched?” said Trace.

  “Hitched – as a team – of course. The setup is most agreeable should you remember your manners and not attempt to push me around.” She smiled, hoping to start their relationship anew.

  Trace lifted his brows and then turned toward Gordon. “It appears Marianne did not finish laying down the rules of the agency. I’ll let you take it from here.”

  Archie Gordon cleared his throat and leveled a firm gaze toward Genevieve. “It is our policy to send married men and women out on cases together. Many situations call for the woman to be protected under the umbrella of a husband.” When he noted her horror-stricken face, he continued. “It is merely a formality, Miss Trafton. As long as you don’t consummate the union, the marriage may be annulled at any time in the future. It is not our goal to force people together but we have been known as good matchmakers.”