A golden sphere had risen in the sky by the time Bart Maverick opened his eyes, and the light was practically blinding him as he rolled over in bed. He hadn't intended to get up this early, but the unfiltered daylight made it almost impossible to return to sleep, even if there was no longer a squawking rooster to rattle your nerves.
He rolled out of bed and went straight to the basin of chilly water that sat on the dresser. Gritting his teeth against the sting of the wet washcloth, he soaped his face and then proceeded to run the razor across his cheeks – wondering once again just what God's purpose was in giving man whiskers that needed to be regularly shaved to look presentable. Not having any more answers to that question today than he did yesterday, he grimaced and wiped the excess soap from his face, then dried himself off with the towel that lay next to the basin.
He dressed casually today, fully intending to blend in with the ranch hands that populated the estates; both the Busch estate and the smaller yet no less lush McGinley spread. There, that was better. The man that gazed back at him looked more like Bart Maverick and less like a Pinkerton agent. Whistling, he set off down the hall, past his brother and Ginny's room, and couldn't resist one loud 'knock' on their door. That'd give Bret something to be aggravated about this early in the morning. He chuckled to himself but was secretly pleased that Bret had finally found a woman more or less his equal in strength of personality and will. Bart wholeheartedly approved of the match, whether he would admit to it or not.
He moved easily down the hall, lithe and graceful as a man of his height could be, and quickly found his way outside. The cool air blew through the trees and his hair, and he settled his hat on his head and breathed in deeply. They had two murders and an unexplained mystery on their hands, but right now it felt good to be in this city, on this day, at this time of the morning. Why a mood this peaceful and pleasant had struck him he had no idea, but he wasn't about to let anything spoil it. Whatever was facing the three of them, they'd work it out. He and Bret always managed to find a way around every problem, every stumbling block they came across. This situation would be no different.
He was still in a buoyant mood as one of the stable hands brought him a horse. He would have preferred to choose and saddle his own horse, but one must preserve the illusion of wealth and privilege, after all. He headed down the same road as the one he'd taken several days ago, toward the McGinley ranch, and found himself actually enjoying being awake at this unearthly time of day.
When he rode up to the house he was pleased to find John already sitting on the porch, drinking coffee. He was greeted with a smile and a hearty, "Good morning, Bart!" and he tied his horse to the rail and took the steps two at a time. "Coffee?" was the next question, and he quickly nodded his ascent.
"You read my mind," he remarked, and shook hands with John as ten-year-old JoEllen came out on the porch, carrying an empty cup. Bart grabbed the coffee pot that snuggled on the table and poured himself a cup, then refilled John's. The little girl smiled shyly and scurried back in the house before her father could notice the way she stared, as smitten as any ten-year-old could be, at the good-looking young man that had just taken the seat next to her pa. It was Bart's first glance at John's 'right hand', as he called her. It wouldn't be his last. "Beautiful child," the gambler remarked, seeing the head full of golden curls and the big brown eyes, with the womanly curve of the mouth just beginning to take shape.
The father laughed. "Yes, thank God she looks like Edna and not me, but she'd be mortified to hear you call her a child. She's quite grown-up, whether I'm ready for her to be or not. I'm sure she was in her usual spot behind the door, ready to jump up and bring me something as soon as she realized I needed it. I'd like for her to be a little girl a while longer, and she's determined not to be. At least she's interested in Pleasure and the rest of the horses and hasn't yet discovered boys."
"They'll be here in droves, trying to win the heart of JoEllen McGinley. I'm sure one of them will."
John laughed, thoroughly amused. "He'd best love horses or he'll stand no chance with her, that's for sure." He took a sip of coffee and then asked, "What brings you out this way this early in the morning, Mr. Maverick? Is this a social call or is there some business afoot at the brewery that I'm not aware of?"
Bart took a big swallow of coffee and smiled, pleasantly surprised. John must buy the same coffee that Adolph did, there was a hint of the Carada bean in this brew, too. "You and Adolph share the same taste in coffee. It's some of my favorite. It's more a social call than anything, John, but I do have some questions I'd like to ask if you don't mind."
"Be happy to answer yours if you'll answer one of mine first."
"Sure, if I can."
"U.S. Marshal or Pinkerton?"
The question didn't surprise Bart in the least. John McGinley was too bright an individual to be fooled by the ruse for long. "What makes you ask that?"
"Several things. You're too intelligent and inquisitive to be a spoiled rich boy. Your mind seems to be going in several different directions at the same time. And your hands. They're elegant and well-groomed, but they've done things in their lives. Work type things. Things that a wealthy man wouldn't have done. And you've had your heart broken, and it's changed the way you look at the world. You're sympathetic and empathetic, not traits primarily cultivated among the wealthy. Shall I go on?"
"Not necessary. You've proven your point. Pinkerton, temporarily. That has to stay between the two of us. Adolph wants everything kept quiet."
"I assume you're investigating the gambling among employees?"
"I thought it wasn't a well-known fact," Bart offered.
"It's not. I know about it because I caught an ex-employee at it red-handed. I'm the one that recommended Adolph go to Pinkerton. Wait – temporarily? You don't work for them full-time?"
"Nope, just specific jobs. That require our particular expertise."
"Which is?"
Bart chuckled. "Can't you guess? Poker."
"You're a professional? A gambler? That explains the well-groomed hands. And the ability to fit in so well with everyone. And is Bret really your brother?"
Bart nodded. "Since the day I was born. And we're really Mavericks, from Texas. That's more than one question, John."
Both of them laughed. "It is, at that. Well, Mr. Temporarily-Pinkerton, ask away. I'll be glad to help in any way I can. I don't feel the same way about gambling that Adolph does, but I respect his right to try to protect his investment. He works long and hard, and the benefits of working for him far outweigh any restrictions. He's a fair man, and a good one. And it's the only thing he asks of his employees."
"Tell me everything you know about Sherman Caulfield and his connection to Temperance Mueller."
"Sherman and Temperance? Are you serious?"
"Very."
The expression on John's face was one of concern, then disbelief. Realization quickly followed. "Of course, you wouldn't know. See, you fit in so quickly with this group that I forget you haven't always been here. Word is that thirty years ago Sherman Caulfield wanted to marry Temperance Deerfield, and Holden Mueller stole her away from Sherman."