Anna Finch and the Hired Gun (7 page)

The lack of a crowd in the dining room gave Jeb only one place to hide that still offered a view of the table in question, and he slipped behind the forest of palm trees in the corner without hesitation. Secure in his hiding place, Jeb returned his attention to the drama playing out at the only table in the room occupied by diners. At least it appeared to be a drama, though the woman’s flustered body language was almost humorous. Few things were funny, however, with Doc Holliday sitting across the table from his old friend Wyatt Earp.

Quite a meeting, especially considering the old friends had chosen to come out into the open.

Jeb squatted down to get comfortable. Whatever was about to transpire, he didn’t intend to miss any of it.

Then the woman turned and glanced in his direction, and the breath went out of him. It was her.

The woman who’d shot him.

Anna hid her shaking hands behind her as she opened her mouth to begin the speech she’d practiced in the buggy. Three sets of eyes looked up at her, and yet not a word would come.

An odd situation for one who had more trouble stopping her speech than starting it.

Whereas she’d planned to be forthright and professional in her journalistic endeavor, now Anna had to settle for looking foolish.

In the hope that some brilliance would materialize as an opening line to the wanted men, Anna opened her mouth and said, “Gentlemen.” She paused to smile at Mrs. Earp. “And you, of course,” she added. “I suppose you wonder why I came back.” She presented the folded bills to Mr. Earp’s friend, who merely stared at her outstretched hand. “You’ve overpaid, Mr. Bonney.”

A fair brow, barely visible against his pale skin, rose in response. “While I thank you for returning the excess,” he said, “I must protest. As my angel of mercy, I wonder if you realize the value of the favor you’ve done for me.”

Anna gave the Earps a sideways glance before shaking her head. “I’ll not hear of it, sir.” She paused long enough to take a breath. “You see, I”—

“ ’Scuse me, miss.”

A plate piled with more food than a girl could eat in a week landed on the table in front of her. The waiter grinned, then placed similar dishes in front of the other three diners. “Enjoy,” he said before tucking the tray under his arm and turning on his heels to head back toward the kitchen.

“But wait, I—”

“Please join us,” Mrs. Earp said.

“Truly, that was not my intention.”

Mr. Earp shook his head. “Never argue with the help,” he said in his slow drawl. “Or, for that matter, with the spouse.” His serious expression only lasted a second. “I suppose that just works if you’re not the wife.” He nudged his friend. “Ain’t that right, Mr. Bonney?”

The fair-haired man revealed the beginning of a smile. “I don’t suppose I’ve spent enough time with mine to know for sure.”

Mrs. Earp looked perplexed. “Where is Kate these days?” she asked.

Anna noticed the former lawman’s almost imperceptible shake of the head along with the way he narrowed his eyes when his wife attempted to speak further. Their companion seemed inclined to go along with the silence, continuing to regard Anna with an even stare. His message was clear.

Any questions she’d had about the identity of the man were answered. She was indeed in the presence of the gunfighter Doc Holliday. Anna took a deep breath and let it out slowly as the realization
sunk in. Her fingers only shook for a second, though it took more than that to manage another look at the fellow.

From the faces of the trio, she had already overstayed her welcome. Despite the potential for her first scoop as a reporter, Anna wasn’t going to find any help here. The only story appeared to be a public meeting between friends who had not seen each other in years. As ill as Doc Holliday looked, the meeting might be their last. Further reason to make her exit as quickly as possible.

Anna stepped back from the table. “I’m terribly sorry to have intruded on your meal. You see, I had this harebrained idea of writing something for the newspaper that would vindicate you, Mr. Earp. I’ve followed your career since your time in Kansas, and I happen to be among those who believe there has not been a complete accounting of things where that matter with the cowboys is concerned. However, I’ve realized this is neither the time nor the place for such an endeavor. So if you will excuse me, I’ll just be going.”

Anna moved toward the exit, taking her pride and nonexistent journalism career with her.

“Wait, miss!” Anna turned to see the waiter giving chase. “That man there,” he said, “he asked that you come back. Says he’s going to take you up on your offer.”

“My offer?” She looked past him toward the table. Mr. Earp caught her gaze and nodded. His wife gestured for her to return, and Anna could only grin. “Might I trouble you to fetch writing paper and ink?” She slid a few coins into the waiter’s hand. “There’s more if you hurry.”

“How many sheets of paper?” he asked.

“Enough to tell a compelling story.” His expression went blank. Anna sighed. “Buy up all they’ve got,” she said and sent him running for the mercantile.

When the waiter had scurried off, Anna returned to the Earps’ table to find the men engaged in a good-natured disagreement over what year some unnamed incident took place.

“I’m telling you it was ’77,” Earp said.

Holliday leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “It wasn’t either,” he insisted. “It was ’78, and if your brother was here he’d say so.”

“Thank you for your offer.” Mrs. Earp touched Anna’s sleeve. “It wasn’t right, all those lies that were told. The things those awful men did to our family and to Doc and the others. People need to know that.”

Earp cleared his throat and looked away while Holliday’s face remained expressionless.

Emboldened, Anna leaned forward. “I’ll do what I can. What is it you’d like my readers to know?”

The aging lawman’s piercing blue eyes narrowed and a muscle in his jaw clenched. For a moment, there was nothing but silence in the empty dining room. How anyone who’d dined in this man’s presence missed noticing him was beyond Anna’s understanding.

“Little lady,” he said slowly, “I suppose there’s been a grain of truth in just about every story printed about me and the boys.” A pause. “And Mr. Bonney over there.”

The other man’s chuckle became a cough that he quickly covered with his handkerchief.

Earp eyed his friend with concern before returning his steely gaze to Anna. “If you publish the truth, the whole truth as I give it to you, without adding or taking away any of it, then you’ll be the first.”

Considering she’d made up every word of every book she’d ever written, Anna was more than ready to take on her first publication of truth. Especially if it was a truth that needed telling.

The waiter returned with the writing materials, including more paper than she could use in a month, and Anna sorted out what she needed. “Shall we get started?” she said, her pencil poised over a sheet of paper.

“All right.” Mr. Earp leaned back and regarded her with an even stare. “What do you want to know?”

“Maybe you’d like to tell me what really happened with Mr. Ringo.”

“Johnny Ringo’s a tale best told by Mr. Bonney here,” Earp said.

The man in question swiped at the sheen of perspiration on his brow and offered Anna a smile. “Then I regret it’s a tale that must wait for another day. It’s Mr. Earp’s story you’re writing, not mine.”

“Fair enough,” Earp said. “I reckon I’ve got stories enough to fill up more pages than you’ve got there, little lady.”

Anna grinned. “Lack of paper will not be an issue, I assure you.”

Her
.

Jeb’s fingers brushed the Colt and he felt the pull of his stitches. Was
she
the informant he’d been waiting for? She wasn’t what he’d expected, but then he’d figured the source to be male. With her aim, had she come to inform him or dispatch him to his reward? Hard to
tell. He could read a man like a book, but knowing what went on in a woman’s mind had never been his strong suit.

He watched her, studied her, noted the dimple in her cheek and the way she leaned her head back when she laughed. Whoever this woman was, she had decent aim and was well connected enough to dine with Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday. With her Smith & Wesson nowhere in sight, she appeared every inch the lady, although she did seem to be taking notes as Earp talked.

If he hadn’t been determined to see Holliday tried and hanged, he might have forgotten about everything else and concentrated on figuring out just who this fancy gal was. While Earp droned on about who knew what, his wife and Holliday sat in silence. The woman continued to scribble on the stack of pages in front of her like she was some kind of reporter?

He skittered out of sight just as chairs scraped across the floor and the woman and Holliday rose. The odds of Holliday identifying him as the Pinkerton from that long-ago Leadville card game were little to none, but Jeb wasn’t willing to take the chance.

“Thank you,” Earp’s wife said. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

“What about you, Mr. Bonney?” the woman with the deadly aim asked. “Perhaps you’ll change your mind.”

Ironic that the murderer was using the alias of the dead outlaw Billy the Kid. Jeb shifted slightly and found a better view of Doc Holliday and the dark-haired society gal. She’d cleaned up quite nicely. He tried not to remember how she felt against him. He had a job to do.

As Holliday leaned toward the feisty female, his diamond stickpin caught the light, as did the nickel-plated pistol in his shoulder
holster. In an instant, Jeb’s mind tumbled back to Leadville and a card game where he’d won it all but lost the only thing that mattered.

There, within reach, was the man whose life he’d sworn to end.

His hand went once again to his pistol. Only when his fingers touched the cold steel did his thoughts shatter. Jerking his fingers away, Jeb let out a long, silent breath. The man who’d made a vow to kill Doc Holliday had not yet met up with his Savior or been baptized in Cold Creek. Since then he’d learned a lot about forgiveness, about giving the other man the benefit of the doubt. And about letting God take His own revenge in His own time.

Why, then, did the need to put a bullet through the Georgia dentist’s heart still bear so heavy on him?

“Perhaps another time,” the woman said, “once I’ve gained your confidence.”

“Confidence, my dear, is a relative thing,” Holliday replied. “Unlike my friend Wyatt, I’ve a motto I live by: if you’re not a relative, there’s no confidence.” He chuckled. “And trust me, there are even relatives in whom I have no confidence.”

Jeb held still, barely breathing. From his vantage point, he saw Holliday sway, then right himself. The woman muttered some words of concern to which Holliday merely laughed.

“What about Mr. Earp?” she asked. “Is he some distant cousin of yours?”

Holliday’s chuckle dissolved into a fit of coughing that continued until the pair moved out of Jeb’s sight. “As, might it be argued, are you. After all,” the gunfighter finally said, “I did allow you to post important correspondence.”

They must have stopped just outside the dining room, for their voices remained strong and loud though the pair could no longer be seen.

“Oh, you allowed me, did you? And to think I was under the mistaken impression I did you a favor. Instead I received a privilege.” She laughed again, and Jeb realized she was flirting. “Next time I’ll know the difference.”

“You’re confident there will be a next time,” Holliday said, “which makes me wonder just how …”

And then they were gone, leaving the last of the conversation trailing in their wake. Jeb waited a full minute, then rose and made his way to the door. He stopped short when he saw Holliday turn back toward the dining room. Jeb let his hand drop to the Colt but didn’t touch it.

Holliday continued walking toward him as the feathered hat bounced down the stairs atop the head of the retreating woman. Holliday stopped to wipe his chin, then studied the handkerchief for a second before stuffing it into his pocket. He shuffled back toward the dining room with his attention focused on the rug. Then the outlaw looked up.

Their eyes met.

Jeb’s heart lurched, but then he noticed Holliday’s expression. Nothing. No recognition.

As far as Doc Holliday was concerned, Jeb had never crossed his path. That much was obvious by the way the pale man walked past him without so much as a tip of his hat.

Cold anger sparked within him and flamed bright as Jeb curled his fists. A man of less honor would have taken his best shot right
then. Would have called Holliday out right there in the Windsor’s fancy dining room and watched while the bullet did to the dying gunslinger what it had done to Ella.

Jeb cleared his throat and said, “You there.”

Holliday froze, then turned slowly as Jeb moved toward him. Wyatt Earp and his woman looked up from their coffee cups. “Were you speaking to me?” Holliday asked.