Anna Finch and the Hired Gun (13 page)

“I know you’re in here,” she said. “And I know where the lamp is.”

But when she reached for it, she found it gone. Any fool would have turned and walked out, but Anna stayed.

“Look, I just want to speak to you. I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here, and I’m a bit troubled that you seem to be following me.”

She heard a shuffle to her left and moved toward the sound, arms outstretched.

Jeb felt like an idiot. A grown man—and a Pinkerton at that—and he’d been reduced to hiding like a common criminal. Instinct had failed him, and not for the first time, when it came to Anna Finch.

Outside the door someone laughed and the orchestra struck up another tune. Jeb backed into Daniel’s desk and froze. Miss Finch hadn’t spoken for several seconds. Perhaps she’d give up and leave soon.

He caught the scent of flowers. Roses, he decided. Definitely roses.

Then her hand grazed his arm, and he felt her fingers wrap around his bicep.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said softly. “I only meant to offer an apology. You see, I’m not in the habit of aiming my gun at innocent strangers. I feel terrible about the whole thing.”

No good response came to him, so Jeb kept his mouth shut. Her hand found his belly and his breath froze.

“Forgive me,” she said, “but I need to see if this is really …”

Her hand traveled east just a notch and Jeb caught it before her fingers could stray to the bandage. Her free hand made the
attempt, and he caught it too. Holding both her hands in his, with the desk behind him and Anna Finch in front of him, there was nowhere to go.

She wrangled one hand free. When she reached to touch his face, he once again snagged her wrist.

Then the door flew open, and Jeb found himself staring past the shocked brunette to the surprised face of Winston Mitchell, social columnist for the
Denver Times
.

“Am I interrupting anything, Miss Finch?” Mitchell’s eyes followed the path of light toward them. “Now isn’t this cozy?”

Jeb braved a look at Anna Finch, whose face was thankfully in shadows. He released her hands. “It’s not what you think, Mitchell.”

“Of course it’s exactly what I think.” The columnist bent to pick up the lamp. “Looks like this is what you were both groping for.”

Miss Finch took a step backward, and Jeb reached for her. “Let me handle this,” he whispered against her ear. “Nod if you understand.”

She did, and he moved her out of the light.

“Mr. Mitchell,” he said slowly, “might I have a word with you?” He paused. “Man to man?”

“Of course,” Mitchell replied, though his enthusiasm was tempered with a healthy amount of caution.

When he was sure Miss Finch wouldn’t bolt, Jeb wrapped his arm around Mitchell’s shoulder. “Walk with me,” he said, guiding the man out the study door. Keeping up the pretense of friendship was difficult, but Jeb managed it until he’d walked the columnist out of the house and onto the lawn.

The air was cold, the breeze stiff. Jeb walked until he reached a spot where he felt sure none of the party-goers could see them,
then released Mitchell, using a little more force than was probably necessary.

“You and I,” Jeb said, “are going to have a private conversation that’s going to stay private. Nod if you understand.” Mitchell did, and Jeb continued. “You know who I am?”

“The next prospective groom?” Mitchell asked with a bravado he seemed to immediately regret.

Jeb leaned forward and the smaller man cringed. “I’m a Pinkerton, Mr. Mitchell, and regardless of what you might think you saw, I am here on assignment.”

Now the columnist looked interested. “Assignment? What sort?”

“Nothing I can tell you at the moment.” Jeb paused. “But perhaps with cooperation on your part, I might offer up more details at a later date.”

Mitchell studied him for a minute. “What assurance do I have, sir?”

“None,” Jeb said, “but I’ve got an assurance for you.”

“What is that?”

Jeb leaned closer, careful to offer nothing in the way of humor in his expression. “If I read one word of this in your paper, be it in your column or anywhere else, I’ll want an explanation for why you saw fit to interfere in an official Pinkerton investigation.” He paused. “Now, Mr. Mitchell, is there anything in what I’ve just said that you do not understand?”

“No,” Mitchell said softly.

“All right, then why don’t you go on home? I’m sure you’ve got work to do.” Jeb took a step backward. “Just nothing that has anything to do with me or Miss Finch.”

“Wait a minute.” Mitchell shook his head. “You can’t tell me not to write about Anna Finch. That’s not legal.”

Jeb merely stared at him.

“Understood,” Winston Mitchell said, deflated, before he slipped away into the night.

Any other woman would have been happy that her reputation had such a gallant protector. The fact that the protection came from a man Anna might have shot was more than a bit confusing. And interesting.

A fatal combination for a woman bent on a career in journalism.

She had to find him.

Anna opened the library door just wide enough to peer out. To her left she spied Charlotte and the youngest Miller girl with their heads together and their attention fully focused on the dance floor. Scanning the crowd, she found neither Mitchell nor the stranger. She slipped out of the library. It was time to leave.

Seeking out Daniel took some doing, but she finally caught up to him. “Thank you for the lovely evening,” she said, “but I fear I must plead exhaustion.”

Daniel searched her face a moment. Did he guess her true reason for fleeing the festivities? “Are you unwell?”

“No, truly, I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “Just tired.”

“I see.” He nodded at Abe Miller and his wife, then returned his attention to Anna. “Can we chat before you go? I’ll be brief, I promise.”

He did know. Anna swallowed. “Of course.”

He nodded and a waiter rushed to his side. “Have Miss Finch’s wrap ready for her departure, please.” Daniel turned to Anna. “Join me in my library?”

“No,” she said hastily. She didn’t think she could reenter the room where she’d just been humiliated. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

Daniel frowned. “I wish to discuss my brother but do not intend to be overheard.”

She sighed. “I see the dilemma. Perhaps we could use a code?”

Daniel laughed. “Anna, you truly are unique.” He snapped his fingers. “Of course. I’ll refer to him as the prize mule.”

“Daniel!” Anna gave the Englishman an impertinent jab, and her burst of laughter drew more than one interested stare. “You’re incorrigible.”

“My wife would agree.” Her host gently eased her away from listening ears. “The truth about that mule is he kicks.”

Anna stopped short. “Excuse me?”

“Some mules can be domesticated so that they hardly resemble those in the wild. The mule in question, however, will never accept the yoke.”

“Daniel, I fail to see why I need this information. I’m neither in the market for a mule nor interested in any I’ve seen thus far.” When Daniel looked unconvinced, Anna continued. “Papa’s plans and mine
differ. He’s upset and feels that I need a, well, a mule. He’s probably mentioned it to you.”

“I’ve heard him speak of it, yes.”

“I hope to disabuse him of the concern,” she said.

“Impossible, I’m afraid.” Daniel touched her sleeve. “Though I’ll try to persuade Barnaby to look in other pastures.”

Anna smiled. “Why, Daniel, that’s quite clever.”

“I can’t promise I can keep it up for any length of time.”

Anna’s gaze swept the ballroom, searching for the mystery man. “You know, Daniel, I’m wondering about a gentleman I met tonight. I thought you might tell me who he is.”

“Well, now, another mule for the pasture?” At her warning look, Daniel nodded. “Which one is he?”

Again she searched the crowd. “I don’t see him, but he was tall, broad at the shoulders. A bit rough around the edges. Perhaps a cattleman.”

“Cattleman?” Daniel rubbed his chin. “That could be half a dozen men. Any particular reason you’re looking for him?”

“Reason?” Anna stumbled over the rest of her excuse, finally giving up. This was Daniel, after all, the man who knew her well enough to remain her friend despite her many faults. “We may end up in Mr. Mitchell’s column tomorrow,” she said. “I wanted to learn his name before I read it in the
Times.”

Daniel looked amused. “Anything you’d like to confess, Anna?”

“I’m innocent, I promise.” But as she protested, Anna knew that wasn’t completely true. She’d trapped the poor man in the library and practically accosted him without his permission.

And all of it in the dark.

“I hate it when you wear that expression.” Daniel paused. “You’re blaming yourself again, likely for something you didn’t do.”

“No.” Anna met his stare. “This time I truly did it.”

“Will I be reading about it?”

Anna shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Then I’ll wait for the morning edition to get all the details. You do look exhausted. Radiant,” he quickly amended, “but exhausted.” Daniel gestured to the reception area. “Go find my wife and bid her good-bye before you leave. She’ll be lost without you.”

“And I without her,” Anna said. “Can I ask that you see to her speedy return?”

He nodded. “Soon as the pasture’s empty.”

“Of course.” She knew just enough about Daniel’s troubled relationship with his brother not to ask when that might be.

Anna found Gennie easily enough and slipped into her conversation with Senator Hill and his wife. “Darling,” Gennie exclaimed, “you cannot leave. You just cannot.”

“And yet I must.”

Gennie made her excuses to the Hills and linked arms with Anna to walk toward the door. “I can’t bear it that I’m going to New York without you.”

Anna noticed Papa watching her, and smiled, but he looked away. “I know it will be terribly lonely for both of us, but—”

Her friend yanked on Anna’s arm and halted their progress. “Oh, Anna, I’ve the most brilliant idea. Why don’t you come with us?” She warmed to the topic. “You don’t have to pack a thing. We’ll buy whatever’s
needed when we arrive. Or, better yet, I’ll loan you a wardrobe. Return the favor you extended to me when I first arrived in Denver.”

“The idea is lovely, but truly I cannot go. I shall miss you terribly.” Anna embraced Gennie and sent her back to her guests after promising three times to write.

She turned to find her wrap in the hands of one of the servants. While the man helped her don the garment, she took one last glance around the room for the mysterious stranger. Wherever he’d gone, at least he appeared to have taken Mr. Mitchell with him. Anna could only pray that was good news.

Or, better yet, that the evening’s incident would become no news at all.

But when she stepped beyond the Becks’ gate and found the mystery man waiting, Anna knew the story had only just begun.

Everything in her wanted to stop and interview him as she had Mr. Earp, but she didn’t. Not with their proximity to the Beck home and Winston Mitchell still out there somewhere, possibly taking notes for tomorrow’s edition. As much as she wished to speak to the man, she knew she needed to do so beyond the view of those gathered behind the gates.

“My, you’re brazen,” she said as she walked past him and prayed he would follow. “Have we not had enough trouble with each other tonight?”

As she hoped, he fell into step beside her. “Miss Finch—”

She stopped short. “How do you know my name?”

The shadows hid his face, but the clench of his jaw and the tilt of his head was impossible to miss.

“Simple,” he said. “I’m the Pinkerton your father hired to keep you out of trouble.”

“No. I don’t believe you,” Miss Finch said flatly, though her face told him otherwise. Slowly, she began to shake her head. “So that’s what Papa wanted to discuss with Mr. Thompson.”

“Might be.”

Her expression turned indignant. “How dare he treat me like a child in need of … of …”

“Protection?” Jeb offered.

“Minding!” She whirled and stomped three paces toward her home, then stopped again. When Jeb caught up to her, she burst into laughter.

“What?” he asked, thoroughly confused.

Anna Finch’s laugh was no soft ladylike giggle. Instead, the society gal didn’t seem to care that anyone passing on the street could hear her sudden amusement.

“If you’re supposed to keep me out of trouble, then it appears you’ve already failed,” she said once she had her breath back.

The truth, but he wouldn’t let the comment go uncontested. “That remains to be seen. The proof will be in tomorrow’s edition of the
Times
. Mr. Mitchell and I had a conversation about appropriate subjects for his column.”

As she offered him a sideways glance, the moonlight washed over features he’d not yet had the luxury of studying. He’d seen her several times, but tonight, with no witnesses and no bullets flying, Jeb finally managed to really look at her.