A Man for Annalee (10 page)

“Are you hurt?” a frantic whisper breathed against her ear.

She struggled for an instant, alarm overriding recognition. Someone had shot at her and now she was being held tightly against a male body.

The hold tightened.
“Na’hesta
, answer me. Are you hurt?”

Recognition surfaced through her sea of terror. Boone. Relief washed over her. “No. No, I’m fine. Cora and Franklin. What about them?”

On a dash, he carried her to the door, shouldered it open, and rushed inside. The Maguires were peeking around the doorway of the parlor. “Anyone hurt in here?” Boone still had one arm banded around Annalee’s waist, holding his Colt .45 Peacemaker in his other hand.

Franklin held a protective arm around the shoulders of a pale and trembling Cora. “What in blue blazes is going on, Marshal? Someone shot into our home just as my wife, my only reason for living, was bringing coffee into the parlor.” A silver tray, broken china, and spilled coffee littered the floor. “Since when aren’t a man and his beloved safe in their own home?”

Annalee rushed to Cora, enveloping the older woman in her arms. “I was so worried about you and Franklin. Are you sure you’re all right?” She pushed Cora away and quickly scanned her for blood, bullet holes, anything that would take this woman away from her, this woman she’d come to care about. Annalee closed her eyes for a second and gulped air. Just because she’d lost her parents and grandpa did not mean she’d lose her friend too. She fought to regain control. She had to get beyond this fear.

Cora placed a trembling hand on Annalee’s cheek. “My dear, are
you
all right? You’re positively pale.”

“I’m fine, just scared. If I hadn’t bent over to retrieve my packages on your steps, I might have been shot.”

Annalee and Boone’s gazes connected.

His eyes narrowed, and a muscle bunched in his jaw, something she was beginning to recognize as a sign of anger.

Boone kept his eyes locked on hers. “Franklin, can you take care of the ladies? I doubt the shooter is still around, but I’ll need to check. Might find some footprints.” He stepped in front of her, and his head lowered. Before his lips met hers, he whispered, “I protect what’s mine.” His kiss was hard and emotionally explosive. That quickly he was gone.

****

Boone was now convinced that what had resembled a stagecoach robbery was really an attempt to kill Annalee. Tonight was the second effort to end her life. All he had to do was find out why and who. He cursed softly as he ran through the night, searching the areas where one might fire off a shot in the direction of the Maguires’ house. Holding one lit phosphorous matchstick after another, he finally found tracks, the chewed butt of a hand-rolled cigarette, and a spent cartridge.

Moments later he sauntered through the bat-wing doors of the Red Garter. Odors of stale cigar smoke, cheap beer, and sour, unwashed bodies assaulted his nose.

Priding himself on his cool detachment, Boone masked his rage with a smile, nodding as first one man and then another greeted him. Rarely did he lose control, but knowing someone had shot at
his
Annalee—and that’s how he regarded her—nearly dissolved the formidable restraint he used to corral his emotions. He’d poured everything into that all-too-brief kiss: all the anger at whoever had fired the shot, all the frustration at the danger he feared Annalee was in, and all the longing she made him feel.

Moving in the easy prowl of a wolf, his boots silent on the sawdust floor, Boone headed for the bar. Tinny piano music and various conversations filled the wooden saloon. Two card games were going on between town regulars, Clarence, Three Fingers, Doc Lufkin, and a few ranch hands. Two strangers stood at the bar. Their long canvas coats appeared trail-worn and were tucked behind their Colt Pattersons in holsters slung low on their hips. They were knocking back Emmitt’s watered-down rotgut whiskey and smoking cigars. Cigars,
not
cigarettes.

Boone leaned a hip against the bar, his elbow resting on a spot freshly wiped by the grisly man pouring drinks. “Evening, Emmitt. How about a shot of whiskey to calm my nerves a mite? Been too much shooting going on around here of late. Makes a marshal nervous.” He nodded in greeting to the two strangers. “Welcome to Cicero Creek, gentlemen.” Boone raised the rotgut to his lips. His eyes scanned the crowd, and he tamped down his rage. Someone in here had shot at his Annalee. Someone who smoked cigarettes just like the seven men in here who sat with their index fingers coiled around one.

Chapter Ten

Once she’d calmed down from the shooting incident, Annalee stayed up late sewing bed linens from cream-colored flannel and cheery curtains for the grimy windows she planned to scrub until they glistened. Then she spent a fitful night, sleeping little and dreaming during the moments when she did. Thus, she greeted her moving day with weariness.

What would her life be like living a solitary existence in a log cabin? She’d grown up in a four-story apartment house where sounds from other families seeped through thin walls and floors. Smells of cooking cabbage, frying fish, or roasting chicken foretold what neighbors were eating that day. There’d been no secrets in the Gallagher building.

Twin tears crept down her cheeks. Wishing her parents were still with her was futile. Reality had to be acknowledged. She was alone now.

A yawn made her yearn for one more hour of sleep. She’d been awakened several times by the mournful howls of a wolf. Real or imaginary, she did not know. Yet the animal’s forlorn cry of longing pulled at her soul. During her periods of wakefulness, she’d thought of Boone and his kisses and the warmth of his embrace. She’d grown so heated thinking about him, she had to kick off some of her covers. A silly reaction, really, when she could not allow herself to yearn for a man in her life. To care for someone would only open her heart to the possibility of losing again. She refused to entertain the thought.

Questions kept troubling her.
Why
had someone tried to harm her? Perhaps it was just a wild shot, as Franklin suggested. Then again, maybe someone really did want her out of Cicero Creek. Could the shooter have been her grandpa’s killer? Once more she thought about how safe she’d felt with Boone’s arm banded around her, and how angry he’d been over her being in danger. And why did he keep invading her thoughts and dreams? She was
not
coming to care for this lawman. If she would ever allow a man into her life, it certainly wouldn’t be one in a dangerous profession like shooting at criminals. To tie one’s heart to a man like Boone would entail a lifetime of worry. She simply couldn’t endure it.

Settling into the unfamiliar routine of life on a ranch would surely occupy her every wakeful moment. There were animals to care for, something she knew nothing about. She didn’t even know how to build a fire in the fireplace or saddle a horse, much less ride one, or tend to a garden when spring came. She had a lot to learn. Growing up on the west side of Chicago had not prepared her for life in the wilds of Wyoming.

Cora rapped at the bedroom door. “Annalee, dear, Franklin is back from picking up your purchases. He’ll be up to get your luggage and things as soon as you’re dressed.”

“Thank you, Cora. Have him come up. I’m ready.” Glancing around the room to be sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, she put her mirror, comb, and brush into her valise.

She slipped into her black wool coat and vowed she’d turn her grandfather’s dirty, lonely cabin into a warm, welcoming home. Hard work and determination were all that was required, and she was capable of both.

While the buckboard Franklin drove rocked over the stony bottom of Cicero Creek, a buggy followed them. Annalee turned in her seat and recognized one of the passengers as Minnie from Boone’s restaurant. The woman at the reins, according to Cora, was Mary Ellen Lufkin, the doctor’s wife.

A reddish-brown roan came prancing alongside the buckboard. Annalee cringed as Clarence Stoner tipped his hat in greeting. “Morning, ladies. Franklin. Sure is a mighty fine day ta move, ain’t it?”

Both of his eyes were blackened, and Annalee hoped it was Boone’s fists that had done the damage. The swelling had gone down on his lip. Even so, he looked like a sneaky raccoon, grinning and ogling her. He made her skin crawl. She nodded curtly in response to his remark. “Yes, sir, it is.” Unfortunately, that was all the encouragement Clarence needed. He rode along with them as if he were escorting the love of his life. Annalee rolled her eyes. What made the fool think she’d be the least bit interested?

Sounds of sawing and hammering echoed through the trees once they’d crossed the creek and begun the incline to the cabin. A wagon with lumber sat to the side of the log structure and a few horses were grazing nearby. Men’s voices came from behind the house. Franklin pulled the buckboard to a stop. “Sounds like the work has already started.”

Annalee scrambled down from her seat before Clarence could help her. She’d given the man enough encouragement already. “Franklin, Cora, I’m going to see what’s going on behind the cabin. I won’t be but a minute.”

“You go on, dear. The men can unload the wagon. Clarence, grab that bag of flour, please.”

Annalee rounded the back corner of the house. She stopped dead in her tracks and shrieked. There stood an Indian. A bloodthirsty Indian just like in her dime novels. Red skin, evil look, a hatchet in his hand. She backed up a step, her hands involuntarily rising to cover her hair.

“Annalee.” Boone leapt from rafters over the porch. “Meet my brother, Two Bears. He’s making shingles for the roof.”

Her gaze went from the hatchet Two Bears was holding to Boone’s face. “Sh…shingles?” Her voice squeaked as her heartbeat gonged in her head like the church bells in the tower of St. Francis Church back in Chicago.

Boone spoke in a calm voice, his grin widening as reached her. “Levi, Two Bears, and I have been fixing your back porch. We decided on building a roof over it. We thought it would help protect you from the elements.”

“E…elements,” Annalee repeated lamely, quite unable to take her eyes off Two Bears. His long black hair was parted in the middle and braided. The braids were wrapped in what appeared to be otter fur, similar to what she sometimes used to trim hats and make muffs.

Boone’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Plus, I’ll string a clothesline between the poles of the porch, so you can hang laundry out to dry. Lee draped his clothes over bushes, but ladies have different ideas about that sort of thing.”

She slowly nodded. “Hang…” Goodness, but the native’s earlobes were pierced with brass wire that had pounded silver coins attached. Around his neck was a choker of white beads, four rows of them, and in the middle of the choker was a diamond-shaped medallion of turquoise beads. A man wearing a necklace
and
earbobs. Who could have imagined such a thing? Sewn onto his deerskin shirt were rows of white and turquoise beads. He wore fringed deerskin leggings and moccasins, also intricately beaded.

His entire countenance bespoke native culture, violence, and hostility. She didn’t think her heart would ever beat calmly again. An Indian. On her property. A true-to-life Indian standing right before her, with bloodlust in his black eyes. And, dear God, he was holding a hatchet.

Two Bears stared at her too. “You are Red Badger?”

“You can talk?”

“Most humans do.” Two Bears glanced at Boone, and if she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn he smiled slightly. He began gesturing with his hands now when he spoke, “You take hands off hair now. Me done scalping for day. Me scalp six people on way here this morning.”

“Six? Holy Mary and Joseph!” Annalee’s voice squeaked again. The world spun and darkened.

****

She fainted into Boone’s arms. He held her close, worried she was harmed in some way. “Now look what you’ve done.” Boone scowled at his brother.

Levi and Two Bears were laughing. Levi slapped the native on the back. “Did you see the look on her face?”

Two Bears nodded and laughed some more. “Sheer terror.”

“You’re a lawyer. You don’t need to talk like that. You frightened her into another swooning spell.” Boone tightened his grip on Annalee, protectively drawing her near his chest. He was staggered at the depths of his feelings for this petite spitfire. Realization slammed into him that he’d go against anyone or anything to keep her safe. In his heart and soul, this woman was his.

Two Bears stood at his elbow and studied the woman. “It’s the way Easterners expect us to talk.” His gaze lifted to Boone’s. “You’ve chosen well, my brother,” he whispered.

“Yes. Although I don’t exactly remember choosing her. God just set her in my path, and she barreled into my heart.” His feelings for this woman—tender yet tough, fond yet fierce, polite yet passionate—were beyond description. Quite simply, this Irish lass had knocked his well-ordered life topsy-turvy.

Levi extended his beefy arms. “Hand her here, Boonie. I yust vanna hold her for a vhile. Vhy should you have all the fun?”

“I think you should hand her over to me.” Two Bears grinned. “Imagine her reaction when she regains consciousness and realizes she’s in the arms of an Indian.” The three men laughed.

****

Annalee was regaining consciousness when Levi asked to hold her for a while. Her temper heated at Two Bears’ comment. Then all three of the male lack-wits laughed. The
nerve
. They all deserved to have their ears boxed, so they did. “Put me down, you laughing jackass.”