Beneath the disguise of her severe black nun’s habit and pristine white wimple, her heart beat like angle wings in anticipation of new adventures to come and innocent people to fleece. She would be ever grateful to be rid of the hard wooden seat beneath her aching, numbed posterior. Besides, the prospect of invading Grand Fork masquerading as the devoted, God-fearing Sister Mary Margaret tickled her considerably.
Covered from head to toe in black, Maggie believed she had cleverly disguised her features and her own well-known russet-colored locks as well. She tried not to laugh outright. That would be unseemly, now wouldn’t it? She glanced at the soggy, fog-enshrouded town. She hoped to be in town for only a short time—long enough to rob the bank and free that innocent woman who’d reputedly been arrested. She didn’t feel right about anyone else taking the blame for her own misdeeds. Curious about the woman’s looks, she could hardly contain her excitement about seeing her face-to-face.
“I’m just so excited,” gushed Georgette Lacina to her new traveling companion as she gathered up her voluminous gray silk skirts to step off the train. Carefully, Maggie took Georgette’s outstretched arm and followed her onto the wooden railroad platform.
Maggie released her into the care of her pensive husband. Georgette’s cheeks were flushed and her hair, the exact shade of dried apples, flew about her head like a misbehaving halo.
Her husband, Jonathan, smiled benignly as he took her elbow and guided her around the many puddles, and out of the way of the two remaining passengers disembarking behind them.
One of the older women gave a startled gasp as the couple walked away. “Why, Trixianna, is that you?”
Georgette spun on her heel, one hand holding onto her bonnet. “No, I’m—”
“I knew you’d get away before Chance became aware of your good qualities,” the woman interrupted. “He never was very wise when it came to women. Oh, well. I’m sure he and Fanny will do just fine together. It was kind of you to return for the wedding, though.”
She hurried off with her companion leaving Georgette with a befuddled expression on her face. “I’m always being mistaken for my twin sister.”
Maggie West, known to law enforcement officials throughout the Midwest as Mad Maggie, hid a smile as she watched the loving couple glance wide-eyed at each other and laugh. Heads bent together, they moved out of the rain to stand beneath the overhanging roof of the depot, obviously discussing the woman.
“Sister Mary Margaret,” called Georgette.
Maggie turned, and offered a blank smile at the eager young woman. Catching her wide black skirt in one hand, she strode toward the young couple.
“I’ll be right there, Mrs. Lacina,” Maggie answered in a quiet and, what she hoped, holy and pious tone of voice. She shaded her eyes and scanned the empty platform. “Is your dear sister expecting you? I don’t see anyone waiting.”
“Oh, no. We’re going to surprise her.”
“I’ll just bet your sweet arse you are,” Maggie muttered beneath her breath. “And so am I.” A bit louder, she said, “I’m sure she’ll be delighted to have you once again in the warm embrace of her loving arms.”
Georgette sniffed, tears once again forming in her already reddened eyes. The woman had cried practically the entire trip as she related to Maggie, ad nauseam, all about her most unfortunate misunderstanding with her sister. Maggie, playing the role of kind-hearted nun, had no choice but to listen to her incessant chatter all the way from Abilene to Grand Fork when what she really wanted to do was strangle the woman and toss her weepy body from the train. The longest ride in the history of mankind, Maggie would have ventured to say. She’d been mighty proud of her restraint.
The naive young couple had swallowed Maggie’s own tall tale about visiting the poor, sick and indigent folks of Grand Fork as if it were sweet butter melting on warm hotcakes. What a hoot!
She was anxious to meet this sister who, as rumor had it, was locked up in the Grand Fork jail for robbing the Dena Valley Bank. Chortling would probably be uncalled for under the circumstances. Instead, Maggie tucked her hands inside the folds of her sleeves, ducked her head and came to stand with the Lacinas. “What are your plans, dear hearts?”
Jonathan spoke first. “Well, Sister Mary Margaret, we don’t rightly know. Trixianna didn’t say where she was staying.”
“Trixianna?”
“My sister,” Georgette explained.
Maggie coughed to hide the bark of laughter that crept up her throat. My God, the name sounded like a woman who worked in the local brothel or, at the very least, danced the hootchie-kootchie with a traveling minstrel show. “Perhaps the hotel?” she ventured. Her voice came out sounding as if she’d swallowed a frog.
“A sound plan, Sister,” Jonathan said, bobbing his head. “If you ladies will just stay put, I’ll try to find the establishment myself. No sense in you two getting wet traipsing the streets locating our Trixianna.”
“That’s a good idea, Jonathan,” Georgette said. “Whatever would I do without you?”
“I hope you never have to find out, my dear.” He patted Georgette on the shoulder, then lingered as he kissed her forehead. Maggie watched as Georgette’s cheeks turned a rosy pink. Young love. Wasn’t it god-awful? Maggie felt like gagging. She turned her head to hide her distaste.
“Good-bye, ladies. I won’t be long.” He hurried away, one hand holding his hat on his head from the wind-driven rain.
They found a bench beside the depot—another damned hard wooden bench—and sat down. Maggie lowered herself, arranging her skirt in a slow, ladylike fashion that wouldn’t give away her disguise. She wasn’t used to sitting in skirts; or walking, or riding, or doing much of anything else in them, for that matter. They were a confounded nuisance.
The crucifix around her neck swayed, then pressed against her chest, catching her attention. It was a nice reverent touch, thought Maggie. She brought it to her lips, kissed the cold metal and moved her mouth in a resemblance of prayer. She couldn’t have repeated one if her life depended on it.
Georgette turned toward her, and out of the corner her eye, Maggie saw her open her mouth. Her eyes widened, then she clamped her lips shut. The proper Mrs. Lacina waited, her own head bowed.
“I’ve finished thanking the Lord for our safe arrival, Mrs. Lacina.”
She nodded. “Sister Mary Margaret, where will you be staying while you’re in Grand Fork?”
Maggie didn’t have an answer. She hadn’t planned on being there long enough to need a place to stay. “I, um, well, let me think,” she hedged. “I’ll be staying with the sheriff.”
“How odd.”
“Yes, perhaps one might think so but I understand the sheriff in Grand Fork is a devout man and loves the Lord.” Maggie didn’t know the man from Adam, but she could prevaricate with the best of ‘em. “He sincerely believes in the Lord’s work.”
“Of course he would, for it benefits his town as well as his friends and neighbors,” Georgette said. “It must be wonderful work that you do, Sister. Very rewarding.”
“Indeed it is.”
A crack of thunder followed by a slash of bright lightning brought both their heads up. For a moment the town lit up like a Fourth of July fireworks display. Then, just as quickly, gloom settled back in. The sound of running footsteps echoed close behind the thunder. A young boy and a woman, both soaked and mud-splattered, careened around the side of the depot. The sound of their voices and exuberant laughter rang out through the downpour.
“I won, I won,” the boy exclaimed, his face shining, his eyes gleaming. Water streamed off his drenched head. His hair, flattened against his skull, was the color of strong coffee. He seemed oblivious to his saturated condition.
“I concede,” the woman said, her hand over her heart. Her damp cape swirled around her body, and fell off her head as she bent at the knees, obviously trying to catch her breath. “Michael, you’re quite a runner.”
“Trixianna!”
She looked up
. “Georgette?”
A cry of joy bubbled from Georgette’s lips. She leapt to her feet and despite the mud and water-soaked clothing of the other woman, threw her arms around her and hugged her tight. “I’m so, so sorry for saying those horrible things to you.”
“No, no, it’s all right. I should be sorry.”
Georgette hiccuped, fighting tears. “It was all my fault. I was a featherbrain for even thinking you and Jonathan could, that you could—” She gulped hard. “You must hate me.”
One tear fell down Trixianna’s cheek. “I could never hate you. I love you so much. Where is Jonathan anyway?”
Georgette’s face brightened. “He went looking for you.”
“For me? In this downpour?” She turned a mischievous grin on Georgette. “He won’t be having any luck now, will he?”
They stared at each other, their lips twitching with amusement. Soon they let out great peals of laughter. Both women had tears streaming down their faces, half laughing, half sobbing. They clutched each other, oblivious to the rain, their arms around each other, their faces glowing.
Maggie didn’t need to be told that this was the mysterious, missing sister. She and Georgette were mirror images of each other, right down to the freckles on their noses. They had identical bright green eyes and auburn hair that refused to be tamed no matter how many pins they undoubtedly used. Right now, two fiery redheads were having a reunion the likes of which Maggie had never seen. They obviously loved each other.
But how on God’s green earth this sister could be mistaken for Mad Maggie West was beyond Maggie’s ken. Maggie had a beak to be proud of. These two little missies had cute little buttons in the middle of their faces, hardly worthy of being called noses. And that hair, why, it was curly as a pig’s tail. Maggie’s hair was lighter red, what she referred to as coral. Straight as the barrel of her Winchester rifle, it hung down to her waist. But by damn, when she put her hair up on her head, it stayed there.
This was a downright insulting how-do-you-do. The Grand Fork sheriff must be either dead from the neck up or blind as a bat. Maggie almost had a notion to throw off her disguise and come clean. Almost. Good sense, and a wish to live past her twenty-fifth birthday, prevailed. She watched the loving sisters with a skeptical eye. Trying to see the resemblance proved impossible. She and these women looked nothing alike. Absolutely, positively, nothing alike.
Trixianna, swept up in her exuberant reunion with Georgette, initially failed to see the nun sitting on the depot bench. When she did notice the quiet woman, she stopped dead in her tracks.
Why, Trixianna thought to herself, I must look positively irreverent. And what a sight she was making of herself. Racing young Michael Perry through the muddy streets of Grand Fork had been foolish, but such fun. Her hair had come loose from its chignon, pins flying about in every direction. But now that she’d calmed down, she realized how truly terrible she must look. She glanced down at her skirt. The muddy hem that she’d dragged through the streets looked the worse for wear. In fact, Trixianna doubted that an overnight soaking in lye soap would clean it.
She came to stand in front of the sober-garbed woman. “I do apologize, Sister. Michael and I were racing to the depot to see who was here to see me and I completely forgot myself. I was just so anxious to see if it was Georgette and Jonathan.”
Georgette came to stand beside Trixianna. She plopped down on the bench beside the nun and clasped the woman’s hand to her breast. “We don’t ordinarily act like such wild hooligans. Truly. In case you haven’t guessed already, this is my sister, Trixianna Lawless. Trixianna, this is Sister Mary Margaret, who we met on the train.”
With an obliging cheerful expression on her features, the nun disengaged her hand from Georgette’s and surreptitiously wiped it against her skirt. Her lips turned up in a thin-lipped smile. “Very nice to make your acquaintance, dear. But there’s no need to apologize. Your exuberance is quite refreshing.”
Trixianna, still trying to understand the odd gesture the sister had made, hesitated a moment before replying. “Why, thank you.” Trixianna leaned closer. “You know, you look kind of familiar to me.”
The sister chuckled, then ducked her head. Then her head bobbed up again, a twinkle in her eye. “I’d say we all look familiar. Have you ever seen so many green-eyed redheaded women in all your days?”
Trixianna glanced at Georgette, who was staring at her. She turned to look at the nun, who was studying Georgette. Three heads swiveled in an effort to inspect each other at close range.
“Why, look here,” Michael exclaimed, all but forgotten in the mayhem. “You all could have come from the same acorn.”
Georgette giggled. Trixianna couldn’t help but laugh also. When the nun hooted in a most unsisterly-like manner, all heads turned her way.
“Golly,” Michael mumbled. “Did I say something funny?”
Trixianna patted the boy’s head. “Why, it’s just—”
“What the hell is going on here?”
Trixianna whirled at the sound of Chance’s voice, and took a step toward him, a smile on her lips. Then she saw the frown on his face, and her smile faded. She backed away, confused by the odd expression in his pale blue eyes and the stiff set of his shoulders.
Where was the gentle, patient lover of the previous night? Where was the Chance she admired and loved? What had happened to make him look at her that way? As if she was something to be avoided.
Before her stood a stranger.
He wore a black oilskin coat and his Stetson pulled low over his eyes. With his hands on his hips, he’d pushed the coat to either side of his body. Trixianna saw he was dressed for his wedding in a black suit, black waistcoat, a crisp white shirt and a black string tie. He wore a single white mum pinned to his lapel.
He reached inside his coat and pulled out a wrinkled telegram. He shook it in her face. “I just got this from the Dena Valley sheriff, Donald Boyle.”
“What does it say?”
“It says, Trixianna, that Mad Maggie West is definitely headed for my town. My town, dammit, and she’s loaded for bear. Would you know anything about that?”
He didn’t wait for her reply. “How about you two?” He glanced at Georgette, then at Sister Margaret. His head swiveled back to Georgette. He grimaced, then turned toward Trixianna. “Who are these women and why in God’s name do they all look like you?”
Something cautioned Trixianna not to lose her temper. She saw the look on Georgette’s face and knew her sister was close to losing hers. She attempted a smile. “This is my sister, Georgette Lacina, and this is Sister Mary Margaret. They both got off the train today.”
“Well, hell,” muttered Chance. He swept his hat off his head and ran his hand through his hair. The recently combed locks now stood up in ebony clumps. He clapped the hat back on his head. “I’ve got to go. I’m just going to have to lock you up.”
“”Not again, Chance,” Trixianna pleaded.
“Again?” Georgette exclaimed. “You locked her up before?”
“He thought I was the bank robber, Mad Maggie West.”
“Who does he think you are now?”
“I think,” said Chance. He glanced meaningfully at Trixianna and Georgette. “That I’m going to have to lock you two up.”
Georgette gasped. “You can’t do that.”
“Watch me.” He pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
“What about the nun?” Trixianna asked.
The question stopped Chance in his tracks. “What about her?”
“You believe in her innocence because of the way she looks. But what about my innocence? Don’t you believe in that, too?”
He stared at all three women and shook his head. “Well, all right, then. Forgive me, Sister.”
He attached one end of the cuffs to Georgette’s wrist and the other to Sister Mary Margaret’s. They both complained in loud voices—Georgette using rather unladylike language and the nun invoking the name of the Lord and several saints that Trix
ianna had never even heard of. Chance ignored them. He took Trixianna by the wrist. He began herding them all down the street. When Trixianna balked and dug in her heels, he asked, “Would you let your sister go to jail in your stead?”
“No, of course not.”
“You going to try to shoot me again then?” he asked.
Georgettte’s brows shut upward. “Again?”
Trixianna glanced at her sister. “It was an accident.”
“Uh-huh. Maybe you’d like to toss your knife at my personal parts…again.”
Georgette stopped on the boardwalk and stared at her sister. Her face turned the color of a ripe tomato. Sister Margaret had no choice. She stopped, also. A smile played around the corners of her mouth. “You stabbed the sheriff?”
“It was an accident, too.” She looked up at Chance and gave him a disgruntled look. ”Why are you bringing this up now?”
“I just want you to remember that you’re not all that innocent,” he whispered, for her ears alone.
“All right, I’m coming.”
Chance shot a glance over his shoulder. “Michael Perry, go fetch your pa and bring him directly to the jail.”
“Yes, sir.” Wide-eyed and mouth hanging open, he scampered away.
Trixianna whispered in Chance’s ear. “Sister Margaret is a nun, you know. Are you really going to incarcerate her, too?”
“I don’t care if she’s the pope and she’s come all the way from Rome. Just look at her.”
Trixianna did. Amusement flickered in the dark green eyes that met hers. “What do you see, Miss Lawless?” the nun asked in a matter-of-fact voice.
Chance answered for Trixianna. “She looks more like you than you do.”
“What?” asked Georgette and Trixianna at the same time.
“I haven’t got time to argue. I’m locking all three of you up so I can get to the church on time. Then we’ll sort this out when the Dena Valley sheriff gets here.” He glanced, somewhat shame-faced, at Sister Mary Margaret. “If I’ve abused your sensibilities, Sister, I apologize right now, but an hour or so in a jail cell never killed anybody that I heard tell.”