Chasing Rainbows (20 page)

“The ones who’ll be at the dance tonight. Didn’t you hear about it?”

“Not a word.”

“The mayor’s wife gave birth to twin boys last week,” Annie explained. “He’s throwing a big party over at the town hall to celebrate. Everyone in Two River Flats is invited.”

Jake nodded. That explained the general air of anticipation and excitement that swept through the streets. Town dances ranked right up there with weddings, hangings, and funerals for small frontier communities looking for some entertainment.

“I ain’t been to a dance in years,” Annie went on, “not since I was a little girl. But I reckon I should start learning how to fit into high society. I figure knowing proper manners is like firing a gun. You don’t wait until you need it to start learning. It takes a lot of practice to get it right. I’ll get all gussied up in this new dress and practice my fancy talk tonight. Why, I’ll wager folks around here won’t even know it’s me.”

They reached Dulcie and stopped. Annie set the bundle on the back of her saddle, eliciting a howl of protest from Cat for disturbing her sleep. “Oh, hush up, you,” Annie scolded gently, stroking Cat until the ungrateful feline settled back down. “You don’t mind staying over another night, do you, mister?” she asked.

“I suppose not,” Jake answered easily. They stood on the boardwalk in companionable silence and watched the activity near the town hall. Women swarmed around the hall like bees around a beehive, running in and out with pies and cakes, arrangements of autumn flowers, festive lamps, and paper lanterns. A light breeze skimmed the street, and brilliant sunshine filled the sky. “Nice day for a ride,” he finally commented.

Annie glanced up at him and arched a dark-blond brow. “I reckon that’s your way of asking me where I went this morning. I wondered how long it would take you.”

He smiled. The woman was quick, no doubt about it. “You mind telling me?”

“Not that I think it’s any of your damned business,” she replied cheerfully, “but I suppose it won’t hurt to say. I rode out to see if I could find that fella who’s been tracking us.”

Exactly as he had suspected. The only thing that surprised him was that she admitted it. “Any luck?” he asked.

Annie shook her head. “If someone was out there, I would have found him. Whoever it was must have ridden out. Probably just some drifter making his way west. Fact is, looks like we were worried for nothing.”

Jake glanced at her curiously. Was it just his imagination, or did she sound strangely relieved? “You should have asked me to come along. There could have been trouble out there if you had found him.”

“You said yourself it was me he was after. That made him my problem, not yours.”

The reply was typical Annie bravado, equal parts fearlessness and foolhardiness. If she was telling the truth and had simply gone scouting, Jake had a strong and sudden urge to shake some sense into her. Reckless courage like that would only get her in trouble one day.

His original scenario seemed far more likely, however. In his experience, life wasn’t all that complicated. Things were generally what they appeared to be. Annie had ridden with an outlaw gang for years. She knew exactly who was trailing them and had sneaked out of town for a private meeting. She was still protecting the Mundy Gang, still actively a part of them. He didn’t like it, but it fit.

As they stood on the boardwalk, a man walked past them, did a double-take, then slowly approached. Jake recognized him as the stranger he had seen step off the stage earlier that morning. He was in his early thirties and of medium height and build; handsome in an unremarkable way. His facial features were soft and slightly pudgy, set off by dull-brown hair and eyes and a perfectly groomed mustache. His suit pegged him as an Easterner, but the man had been in the West long enough to accent it with a broad-brimmed hat, a wide belt, and rich leather boots.

“Pardon me,” he said to Annie, “but you wouldn’t be Miss Annabel Foster, would you?”

Annie frowned as she looked the man up and down. “Who’s asking?” she demanded gruffly.

The stranger smiled politely and removed his hat. “Allow me to present myself. Peyton VanEste, reporter with The Philadelphia Gazette. My card.”

Annie glanced at the card, then back at the stranger, looking singularly unimpressed. “How’d you know my name?”

“There’s very little about you that I don’t know if you’ll forgive my saying so,” VanEste replied enthusiastically, sending her a dramatic wink. “I can’t begin to tell you how very fortuitous this meeting is. I wonder if I might ask for just a few minutes of your time to speak with you privately.”

“You can talk right here,” Jake said.

VanEste turned to Jake as though noticing him for the first time — something Jake found hard to believe. At six-foot-two and weighing in at over two hundred pounds, he was a hard man to miss.

“And who might you be, sir?” VanEste inquired stiffly.

Jake studied the man long enough to let him know he didn’t appreciate the question. “A friend of the lady’s,” he answered.

VanEste glanced from Annie to Jake and sniffed disapprovingly. “Very well,” he said. “I suppose there’s no harm in talking here. I don’t suppose you’re familiar with my work?” he asked Annie, a note of pride in his voice.

“I don’t know you from Adam, mister.”

“I see. Well, if you’ll allow me a moment to present my credentials, Miss Foster, I believe you’ll understand why I’ve approached you. My work is serialized in The Gazette every month under the title Life in the Wild West. The series is part fiction and part truth, daring little stories and biographies that depict the hardship, the untamed beauty, and the ruggedness of the West. Now that the war is over, my readers need something else to focus on. They’re starving for just a taste of the adventure and excitement that you experience every day. I’ve written profiles on Bloody Bill Anderson, Texas Pete, Eddie Hoyle, and Wesley Hardin — just to name a few.”

Jake instantly recognized the work. It was overblown, melodramatic doggerel that bore little resemblance to the truth.

Annie was apparently familiar with the man’s stories as well. “I ain’t interested,” she answered flatly.

“If it’s a question of money, I can assure you that The Gazette has always been quite generous in compensating subjects for their time.”

Jake frowned. “I believe the lady told you that she wasn’t interested.”

“I see.” VanEste haughtily drew himself up. “May I suggest that you take some time and consider my offer, Miss Foster. I can make you not only famous but rich as well. The Gazette is in the process of assembling a wild West show that will rival even Hickok’s extravaganza. I can make Outlaw Annie the star attraction. People will flock from all around the world just to see you ride and shoot. You’ll be a legend in your own time.”

He paused, nodding politely. “I’ll be in Two River Flats for another week. After that, you can reach me through The Gazette. Good day to you both.”

Annie shook her head as she watched him walk away. “Imagine that,” she said softly. “Somebody wants to write a story about me.” She glanced up at Jake. “Funny little fella, wasn’t he?”

Jake shrugged. “All sorts of characters in the West.” There was something vaguely familiar about the man, but he just couldn’t place it.

Annie let out a contented sigh. “Well, mister, I reckon I’ll get me something to eat and take it up to my room. I got me some more studying up to do.”

“Studying?”

“I want to memorize all the rules in Winston’s Guide before the dance tonight. I know it ain’t much of a book, but it’s all I got. I might even take me another bath, even though I just took one last night. I’m gonna get gussied up real fine.” She grabbed Dulcie’s reins and turned away. “C’mon, girl, let’s go.”

Jake watched her walk away, then saddled Weed and went for a ride, backtracking in the direction from which Annie had come. But he found no abandoned campsites, no signs of other riders, and no clue as to who had been following them. No Mundy Gang. Nothing. Moreover, it felt empty. When riding in vast, open spaces, it wasn’t uncommon to sense other riders long before they came into view. But Jake experienced none of the prickly sensation of being watched. As darkness began to fall, he reined Weed in and returned to Two River Flats. He stabled his mount and went back to the hotel.

As he passed Annie’s room, she opened her door a crack and stuck her head out into the hall. “Psst, mister. C’mere.”

Curious, Jake moved toward her. Annie eagerly grabbed his arm and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. “What do you think?” she asked, holding tightly to the hem of her new brown dress as she executed a pirouette.

It was perfect, Jake thought,… for scrubbing floors. The dress was nothing but a tired, limp old rag. Yet as he studied her, he realized that Annie had somehow managed to give it a fresh breath of life.

The gown fit snugly, displaying an enticing combination of girlish innocence and womanly curves. The buttons that lined the front of the bodice from her waist to her throat were straining slightly at her breasts. Not a lot — just enough to keep a man’s eyes centered on her chest, waiting to see which button would pop first. The gown also emphasized her narrow waist and the smooth swell of her hips. It was too short by an inch or two, displaying what would have been a shockingly enticing glimpse of ankle had the effect not been spoiled by her thick, clumsy-looking boots.

Last but not least, Annie added a touch that was uniquely her own: her gun belt was strapped snugly around her hips, her revolvers tucked firmly in their holsters.

At Jake’s silence, a worried frown creased her brow. “What’s the matter? Don’t I look respectable?”

Adorable was the word that crossed Jake’s mind, not respectable. “You look just fine, darlin’,” he said. The words didn’t sound like nearly praise enough, but Annie didn’t seem to notice.

A relieved smile broke across her face, as though she had just been paid the ultimate compliment. “Do I really?” She let out a soft, excited giggle, then executed another pirouette. “I bet you didn’t even recognize me without my britches on, did you, mister?”

He smiled. “I bet you’re wrong.”

“Really?” she repeated. She nervously ran her hands down her sides. “I figure the Widow Porter must have been a mite smaller than me, but as long as I can squeeze myself into this here gown, I reckon that’s what counts.”

Without waiting for his comment, Annie turned to the dresser, grabbed up a handful of hairpins, and thrust them toward Jake. “I tried to put my hair up all fancy like, but it keeps slipping out. Would you mind trying? I just washed it, so it’s clean and all.”

Jake contemplated the shimmering curtain of dark-blond tresses that flowed down her back, glowing with shades of chestnut, wheat, and honey. Annie’s hair was straight and thick, with no wave to it. He moved hesitantly toward her, wondering if she had any idea of the intimacy involved in asking him to dress her hair. But she simply studied him with eyes that were wide and trusting, waiting for him to comply with her request.

He turned her to face the mirror and stood behind her, lifting the long, silky strands in his hands. Her hair slipped through his fingers like a warm breeze, carrying with it the soft, floral fragrance of spring. He tried his best to put it up, but as she had complained, her hair was wantonly unmanageable. It kept slipping free of the pins, cascading about her shoulders in a rich, decadent curtain of dark gold. The scent of her hair and the feel of it in his hands was pure sensual torture, yet Jake couldn’t stop himself from running his fingers through the rich, silky strands.

After a minute or two, Annie let out a sympathetic sigh. “You ain’t having any more luck with it than I did.”

Regaining himself, he dropped his hands and stepped back a pace. “I’m afraid my specialty is letting down a woman’s hair, darlin’, not putting it up.”

A small smile touched her lips. “I reckon that’s true.” She thought for a moment, then suggested, “Should I just leave it down?”

Jake remembered the paper lanterns that were being hung in the town hall. Annie’s unbound hair would glisten like gold beneath their gentle glow, drawing men to her like bees to honey. The thought brought him an absurd stab of annoyance.

“Tie it back,” he said curtly.

A slight pout touched her lips. “I don’t have anything pretty for it.”

“What about this?” he asked, lifting a strand of pale-blue ribbon from the dresser top.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she exclaimed with an excited smile. “That’s for Cat.” She lifted her pet and tied the ribbon around her neck, then smoothed down the animal’s knotted fur. “There, now,” she cooed. “Aren’t you a pretty kitty? I reckon you look respectable now too.”

That accomplished, she took Jake’s advice and secured her own hair with a plain leather strap. Once she had finished, she steadily appraised herself in the mirror. Her expression remained coolly indifferent, blind to the beautiful young woman who gazed back at her. Shrugging her shoulders, she turned to face him.

“Well?”

Jake studied her for a moment in silence. Tell her she looks fine and walk out the door, his brain commanded. But he ignored his higher sense, giving rein to a more base emotion. Caution was never a trait he particularly admired in a man, anyway. He moved steadily toward her, his gaze fastened on hers. “There’s just one more thing I’d change.”

Annie stood poised like a deer, ready to run at the slightest provocation. Yet there was an unmistakable hint of both challenge and curiosity in her eyes. Jake slowly lifted his hands and reached for the buckle on her gun belt.

Her hands immediately came up to rest on the thick leather belt. “Nobody touches my guns, mister.” Her voice came out in a low, breathy whisper.

A slight grin curved his lips. “Nobody?”

“Nobody.”

Jake make a low, noncommittal sound. Ignoring her protest, he slowly unfastened her gun belt and set it on her bed. “You don’t need them, darlin’. When a woman’s dressed the way you are, she’s got a whole different set of weapons to use against a man.”

“Like what?” Her lips were ripe with invitation. The scent of her skin drifted around him, as heady as any home-brewed whiskey and every bit as intoxicating. The air felt heavy between them, thick with sexual curiosity and erotic potential.