Anna Finch and the Hired Gun (25 page)

She set to work one at a time, letter after letter. In each envelope she found a page or two, sometimes more than that. Occasionally she could read entire paragraphs or a name in a signature. Often, however, there was nothing left of the words. As she tossed each ruined letter back into the mail sack, her fingers stained from ink, Anna prayed the sender might make another attempt at reaching her. After a while she could tell almost immediately whether a letter might still be readable. The few that survived the rainstorm went into a stack beside her.

The pile on the floor had dwindled to almost nothing by the time a knock sounded at the door. Steeling herself for whichever parent desired to admonish her, Anna was pleasantly surprised to find a maid calling her to dinner.

“I’ll take my meal here,” she said. “I’m rather involved in this project.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Finch, but Mr. Sanders wishes you to join him downstairs.”

“Mr. Sanders?” Anna groaned. The last thing she could manage tonight was sitting across the table from the man she’d made a fool of herself with. “Please make my excuses,” Anna said. “And if you’d not mind terribly, I would love a plate of whatever smells so wonderful.”

When the maid returned, she carried a platter filled with enough food for two. In a move that would have horrified her mother, Anna set the platter on the floor beside her and reached for the next letter on the pile.

It was from J. H. Holliday.

She snatched it open and found the letter began with a note of thanks. “For what?” she asked. The remainder of the letter was completely smudged and unreadable, but Anna held the page up to the light and noticed the return address. “Altwood Springs.”

Of course. The sulfur springs were reputed to help those whose lungs were scarred with the consumption.

What to do with the information? With an irritating hired gun following her and that awful Mr. Mitchell taunting her in the
Times
, Anna could hardly get on the train and make a trip to the springs. She could, however, bide her time and look for the right opportunity.

Anna rang for the maid, then waited while the tub was filled. As she sank into the fragrant water, she removed the hairpins holding her braid coiled in place.

Interesting that a man could manage such a thing
, she thought as she tossed the pins to the floor. Even more interesting that she could feel so comfortable in his arms that she’d fallen asleep against his shoulder.

She sighed. She owed him another apology, for not only had she ruined his wagon and lost his mules—thanks to Maisie—she’d made him walk back to Denver while she rode home without so much as a backward glance.

A pounding at the door caused Anna to jump. “Who is it?” she called.

“So sorry, Miss Finch,” the maid said, “but your father’s asking for you to visit with him in his library.” When Anna did not immediately answer, the maid pounded again. “So sorry,” she repeated, “but I’m to fetch you immediately.”

He was home already? So much for his long, important meeting. “That might be a bit difficult. I’m not dressed.”

“Then get dressed,” her father commanded. He must have been standing behind the maid the entire time. “I don’t require formal clothing, Anna. Something simple and quick will suffice.”

“Yes, Papa.” She rose from the tub and toweled off, trying to shake the feeling of a soon-to-be chastised child on her way to meet her punishment.

Noticing the letter still on her desk, Anna retrieved the envelope and started to stuff the pages inside. Only then did she see what appeared to be a train ticket.

One good shake of the envelope and the slip of paper landed atop the desk. Anna reached for it and unfolded the page to find a note wrapped around the ticket.

“Perhaps I shall begin a tale,” Anna read as she set the ticket aside. “And perhaps I shall merely spend a few hours in the company of a lovely woman. Unless you board the train tomorrow, you’ll never know which.”

She grinned. She giggled. She held the ticket to her chest and laughed out loud. Of course she would be on that train when it left the station the next morning. And thanks to Mr. McMinn, she had a carpetbag with exactly what she needed to make the trip undetected.

How she’d manage to leave without Jeb Sanders following her would require closer planning after she endured whatever lecture her father had planned.

She returned the letter and ticket to the envelope and hid it beneath her mattress. Anna then went to the wardrobe to choose a lilac frock and shoes to match. Papa might say he had no interest in seeing her well dressed, but she knew he would take note of her appearance the moment she stepped into the library.

Anna reached for her hair brush and yanked it through her curls until her scalp ached. In a moment of subtle rebelliousness, she fumbled her way through a braid and then coiled it at the nape of her neck. Holding it in place with one hand, she retrieved the hairpins and did a decent job of imitating the style Jeb Sanders had given her.

Making her way down the back stairs took Anna less time than convincing herself to open the library door. She stood in front of it long enough to find her courage, lifted her hand to knock, then decided against it and walked in unannounced.

Her father’s library was an oversized space, as were most in the Finch home. Dark wood and darker carpeting kept the room tomblike even on a day like today.

Papa grunted as she closed the door behind her. “Over here.” He indicated the chair nearest him.

Arranging her skirts properly as she took the seat indicated, Anna met her father’s stare without, she hoped, indicating her fear. He
seemed busy, but then Papa always did. A check lay in front of him, though he quickly removed it to the drawer. A few notes jotted in a ledger, along with numbers added to the bottom of a lengthy column, and then Papa closed the book and put it too in the drawer.

Finally he seemed ready to speak to her. “I’ve taken the liberty of repairing the reputation you’ve cared nothing for.”

“I don’t understand.”

He met her stare above his spectacles. “I think you do, Anna.”

Her father pushed back from the desk and leaned against the back of his chair. “I’ll allow you to explain your behavior this afternoon before we go any further with this conversation.”

Anna swallowed hard. “What would you like to know?”

Papa’s palms pressed against the desktop. “I would like to know why a properly raised and educated young woman from good parents would be riding a horse like a heathen in broad daylight.”

Because I can’t ride like a heathen in the dark
, she longed to say. Instead, she remained silent.

“And why you’ve associated yourself with criminals and outlaws.” His dark brows lifted. “Yes, Anna, I know of your luncheon with Mr. Earp. Many people in this town see things and report them to me, so don’t look so surprised.”

Like Jeb Sanders
.

“I’m unsure as to what you’re referring, Papa,” she said gently.

And in truth, she was. Did he intend to ask about her brief lunch with the outlaw or the subsequent printing of his untold story that had given the man a measure of peace? Or perhaps it was her plea to him to intervene and request his friend Doc Holliday also place his trust in her ability to tell his story.

Surely he did not know of the train ticket beneath her mattress.

He continued to stare at her. “I’ll refresh your memory, Anna. The Windsor Hotel. A very public place.”

Anna thought for a moment, then began talking with the hopes the Lord would provide the words. “While waiting for Gennie, I did chance upon a lovely couple whose table was unsatisfactory. I offered mine so I might have a better view by the window.” She shrugged. “That really is all there was to our supposed meeting. It was quite unplanned, though I found them to be interesting.”

“Interesting,” he echoed. “Quite.” He rubbed his face and sighed. “You’ve a flair for the dramatic, as witnessed by that display on the lawn in front of Mr. Beck.”

Anna tried not to cringe. At least he hadn’t seen her riding sidesaddle in Jeb Sanders’ arms.

“I’m very sorry to subject you and Mr. Beck to that,” she said. And yet a very scandalous part of her dared to think, just for a moment, that at least Mr. Beck had found her display slightly pleasant.

“You need a husband, Anna.” His pause barely gave her time for the statement to be felt. “And that is something you shall have.”

“Papa, we’ve had this conversation.” She paused to draw an unsteady breath. “I don’t see how I can—”

“I’m not finished. I’ve humored you,” he said. “For years I’ve made the mistake of allowing you great freedom to achieve an education that has, it appears, made you nearly unfit for marriage.”

That statement took the bluster out of the protest she’d planned. “Unfit?” she said, all manner of disappointment evident in the word. “Is that how you feel about me, Papa? That I am unfit?”

Immediately his stern expression softened. “My sweet girl,” he said, “you’re the apple of your father’s eye, and you know it. I’ve spared no expense to give you all you ever wanted. More, probably.” He paused. “And now I’m giving you what you need. A husband. But first, I’ve got to remedy the condition that’s causing this problem.”

Anna shifted position. The chair had been chosen for appearance rather than comfort. “I don’t understand, Papa. What condition?”

“You’re a bit willful, Anna,” he said. “And not nearly as pliable as your sisters. What man wants to marry a woman he cannot control?” He waved away any comment she might have made. “No need to answer, dear, for the correct response is none.”

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away.

“I’ll be seeing to a few alliances that will prove profitable. Any one of these men would be lucky to get you.” He looked quite satisfied with himself. “You’ll know more of these suitors when the time is right. Until then, as you know, I’ve arranged for Mr. Sanders’ presence as a more formal situation. A way of ensuring that you no longer run amuck on the streets of Denver.”

Anna rose, outraged. “Run amuck? Papa, truly you exaggerate.”

“Do I?” He shook his head. “Perhaps you could have convinced me of this before you arrived on that horse in garb that appeared to have been laundered with you in it. Imagine my humiliation when Edwin Beck asked if my youngest daughter was playing Paul Revere at next week’s masquerade ball. My question,” he said as he leaned forward, elbows on the desktop, “is where does one go in the predawn hours with only a saddlebag and a pistol?”

“Papa, I’m a grown woman,” she said, “and I’m of no mind to
respond to questions that do not take that fact into consideration. And I do not run amuck.”

“Sit down, Daughter.” He waited until she did to continue. “Perhaps you’re not clear as to what your role is in this endeavor.”

Anna shook her head. “Must my life be characterized as an endeavor?”

He chuckled, though he was clearly not amused. “I’ll make this simple for you.”

Simple? She bit her tongue to keep from speaking what she thought.

“I am your father, and as such, I have been entrusted with the care and keeping of you until such a time as this responsibility is shouldered by your husband.” Papa stifled a yawn. “I expect you to cooperate with this search.”

“For a husband?” She shook her head. “As I asked you the last time we discussed this, how can I do that?”

“I’m glad you asked, Anna. It gives me hope you’re actually coming to an understanding with me.” He paused. “To begin with, I expect you to actively seek a spouse. Your mother or sisters can assist in this endeavor. And perhaps,” he said, “you will give that nice man down at the
Times
a chance to help you as well.”

“Nice man at the
Times?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you speaking of Mr. Mitchell?”

“I am,” he said. “Other than his penchant for the dramatic, he seems to have a decent grasp of the language. And he certainly has taken notice of you.”

“He is not a nice man, Papa.”

“In any case, I want you to make yourself available for an appointment with him.” He shrugged. “No, better than that. I’ll have you speak to him at the next opportunity. The Millers are hosting a gathering tomorrow, so plan to have not only a conversation with Mitchell, but also with Mr. Beck—that is, Mr. Edwin Beck—to make him aware of the fact you’ve taken a strong interest in him.”

“But I haven’t,” she protested. “Not a
strong
interest, anyway.”

“You will.” Papa rose and stepped around the desk to reach for Anna’s hand. “I know this is difficult.” Her inelegant snort caused him to raise an eyebrow. “But I am your father and I love you. Never forget that, Anna.”

Again traitorous tears threatened. She could only nod before managing a quick, “Yes, Papa, I shall recall this even on those times when I wonder if it is true.”

Her words were meant to sting, but they obviously did not meet their mark. Her father lifted her to her feet with a gentle tug of her hand. “You’re special, Anna, and you always have been. A bright, special young lady. You’re not like your sisters.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment, Papa,” she said, “for my sisters had no trouble fulfilling your marital dreams for them. It is I who seem to be the problem.”

“I’ve never backed down from a challenge, Anna,” Papa said, “and if the care and marriage of my youngest is to be a challenge, I shall meet it and beat it.”

He grinned. Anna, however, could only cringe and consider what this statement might actually mean when carried out.

“So you’ll be kind to Mr. Beck and to any other prospective suitor?” When she nodded, he continued. “And you’ll not go riding
off to who knows where like some heathen? And wherever you go, you shall have Mr. Sanders in attendance. I’m paying top dollar for his services, and I expect him to earn his pay.”

“Mr. Sanders,” she said as casually as she could manage. “Surely he has more interesting employment opportunities than to be following me about like an oversized nursemaid. And what about traveling? What would people say if I’m seen in his company leaving Denver unchaperoned?”

“Anna,” her father said gently, “Mr. Sanders is your escort. People will say your father has taken great measures to see to your safety.”