Remember Me (Defiant MC) (4 page)

Mrs. Tarberry smiled.  “You’ve a bit of pluck, miss.  You remind me of myself before all this was added on.”  She slapped her wide hips and laughed uproariously.  “Now you best get some rest.  That stage leaves at seven a.m.”

Annika paused.  A thought was troubling her.  “About those outlaws…”

“Damn men,” Mrs. Tarberry swore, fluffing out the feather tick mattress.  “Worse gossips than dowdy church matrons.  Don’t you have a night of worry over them outlaws. They won’t dare set upon a passenger stage in the daylight.” 

Annika nodded tiredly as Mrs. Tarberry bid her good night.  She had some doubts over Mrs. Tarberry’s words.  The air had a different taste to it in this rough country.  As she tossed and turned on the lumpy feather mattress a brief wave of homesickness washed over her.  She’d been so quick to leave her large, boisterous family.  Now she missed them dreadfully.  Her younger sister, Britta, had sobbed at Annika’s departure.  Britta was a tomboyish girl who had only recently discovered the assets of being a young lady.  Annika already missed the green fields and the gentle murmuring of the cows on her father’s dairy farm, the wholesome scent of their presence.  She even grieved over the absence of her fussy mother and regretted the disappointment she had wrought with her impetuous decision.  The journey to the Territory had proved arduous and expensive.  She did not know when it would be possible to see her family again. 

As the weariness of her travels
caught up with her and threatened the darkness of sleep, Annika realized those scandalous dime novels had made an impression on her after all.  The ominous nature of Mr. Tarberry’s words had only reinforced those images.  Her dreams were full of men.  Men with steely eyes and pistols at the ready, mounted and riding furiously like hell itself was chasing them.  As Annika watched them in the silence of a vision, they did not frighten her.  No, it was another feeling entirely.  One she could never admit to consciously. 

***

The driver of the stage to Contention City was even more worn and desiccated than Scaggs.  Only one other passenger was traveling; a Wells Fargo man who was transporting a tightly locked large wooden box.  The box itself was secured under the driver’s seat.  It would have slid around too much in the passenger compartment and apparently was too precious to ride in the back with Annika’s trunk.

Annika waved to Mrs. Tarberry, feeling some regret over the loss of the only friend she had in this bleak environment.  Then she crossly pushed the thought aside.  She would not last long in the Territory if she was awash in sentimentality at every turn. 

The Wells Fargo man was named Ebson.  Annika did not know if it was his first name or his last name.   His fingers habitually smoothed his thin mustache and he seemed disinclined to friendliness.  He glared out at sleepy Phoenix with his Winchester rifle across his lap.  She had heard about these Wells Fargo men.  Charged with the safe delivery of various riches in a wild country, his tension was understandable.  Annika tried to settle on the bench comfortably, cheered at the thought that by day’s end she would at last see her new home. 

Hours passed in hot silence.  The stage creaked onward, pausing only for a brief meal stop.  Ebson glared intermittently at the barren dustiness outside.  Twice she heard the gallop of approaching riders and Ebson’s fingers tensed on the Winchester, visibly relaxing when the footfalls receded.  Annika’s gloved hands lay in her lap, looking soft and useless.  She had
always been taught to keep from idleness.  Knitting was good work, however she had stowed her knitting bag in her trunk. She could do nothing but wait the hours out. 

The weather in Wisconsin would be enjoyably crisp right now, but there in the Arizona Territory it was scarcely tolerable.  The heavy traveling dress which had been hastily sewn by Annika’s mother clung to her skin over her hard corset and various undergarments.  She recalled Mrs. Tarberry’s remark about the brutality of the hot months here in the desert and was grateful that at least she would not be experiencing them right away. 

Ebson seemed to be drifting away.  The tedious rocking of the stage was enough to lull anyone to sleep.  He set the Winchester against the bench and closed his eyes.  Even before she chanced a look outside Annika wondered at the wisdom of his timing.  This was a dangerous road, as Mr. Tarberry had said.  A split second after she held back a corner of the canvas flap and squinted into the harsh sunlight she realized just how dangerous it was.   The stage lurched to a halt and there, not twenty feet away, was the menace of her imagination come to life.  The man was on horseback and a square of red cloth covered the lower half of his face.  The pistol in his right hand was aimed at the stage.  He wasn’t alone; four other masked men quickly surrounded the stage.  As the driver struggled to regain control of the horses, Ebson jerked to awareness and grabbed for his Winchester. 

“I don’t think so, fella,” said a gruff voice full of amusemen
t.  It belonged to the first outlaw Annika had seen.  He had torn back a section of canvas and was pointing his pistol in the face of the Wells Fargo man. 

Ebson’s eyes narrowed and she could tell he was considering going for the rifle anyway.  The masked man cocked the hammer of his pistol.  He meant business.

“Don’t!” Annika shouted as Ebson made a move to swing the rifle around.  He paused, reconsidering. 

“Listen to the lady,” the man with the gun said casually. 

Annika heard one of the other men outside addressing the driver in a growl.  “Throw down the treasure box!”   

Ebson’s head jerked as the gunman leaned forward and deftly picked up the Winchester.  “Now, out with you both,” he said in a lethal voice which demanded obedience.   Ebson swore and beat his fist against the thin wooden seat but he followed Annika out just the same.

She felt calmly detached as she climbed out of the stage.  Her dress caught on a sharp corner, causing her to stumble briefly.  She yelped and felt a strong hand pulling at her arm.  The outlaw’s face was still covered but as she squinted up at the man who had leaned neatly leaned forward and kept her from sprawling into the dust, his deep brown eyes were locked on her with intensity.  Annika opened her mouth to thank him for saving her from a fall.   Then she remembered that he was the one holding her at gunpoint.  He would get no polite regard from her.  Annika closed her mouth and shook her arm out of his grasp as he issued a throaty chuckle.

The driver was huffing and grumbling as he struggled to dislodge the locked box from under his seat.   As Ebson climbed out of the stage, looking more outraged by the second, two of the men immediately trained their weapons on him.  The gunman with the red handkerchief tossed Ebson’s rifle over his head.  It was easily caught by one of the other outlaws.  He immediately pointed the weapon at Ebson, taunting him. 

Finally the driver managed to get the locked box out from underneath the seat.  He heaved it onto the ground, where miraculously it managed to stay in one piece.  The first gunman dismounted, lifting the box easily onto his shoulder.  Now that he was on the ground Annika was fully able to appreciate how tall and strongly built he was.  As he spun around he caught her staring and winked.  She blushed, furious with herself for her brief admiration.  For all she knew he still planned to shoot her and toss her body into the nearest canyon.  Sven and Mari Larson may never know what had become of their errant westward bound daughter. 

A scuffling movement caught her attention and Annika cried o
ut.  One of the other men was attempting to extract her trunk from the luggage hold of the stage. 

“Stop!” she shouted, running over.  He looked at her with astonishment, then cocked his pistol back. 

Boldly, Annika threw herself in front of her trunk.  If they were going to shoot her then there was little she could do about that. But if they weren’t, she damn well wouldn’t give up of all her worldly possessions without a small argument. 

“I’m a school teacher,” she beseeched the man, who wore a length of ragged blue calico around his face as his restless horse shuffled underneath him.  “There is nothing in here of value, except to me.  Only my clothes and personal effects.  Nothing of value,” she repeated, aware her face was hot and red.

The outlaw laughed and ran a hand over his trousers.  He stared pointedly at Annika’s bosom and spoke with coarse meaning.  “I wouldn’t say there ain’t nothin’ of value.”

Annika was no longer
feeling detached.  A wave of terror gripped her.  It had occurred to her the men might shoot her.  It had not occurred to her they might do other things first.  She recalled Mr. Tarberry’s incomplete gossip. 

“J
ust this past summer a travelin’ lady-“

One of the other outlaws rode behind her, whistling.  “Sure is a ripe little piece, ain’t she?  Got some pretty hair and a plump pair of tits like to sink my face in.” 

Annika’s hands balled into fists at her sides.  If they thought she would submit meekly they were mistaken. 

“If you touch me, I will kill you.”  Her words sounded absurd even to her. 

The men thought the threat from the mouth a small blonde schoolteacher was hilarious.  She held her ground as one rode up, laughing.  His large hand grabbed her hair, twisting viciously.  “Oh, but we’d pay for our pleasure, spitfire.  Handsomely.”  Annika yelped and kicked as he began to drag her across his saddle. 

“You leave that gal alone!” The small driver was hurrying over, wildly flailing his skinny arms. 

Annika lashed out with all her might, kicking the horse in the side and causing him to buck wildly as she spilled out of the saddle, landing hard on the ground. 

The outlaw unleashed a string of profanity and struggled to control his mount as she scampered backwards, trying not to get trampled. 

“Little bitch,” he glared at her, dismounting and giving chase.  Annika fought to regain her footing.  He would kill her if she didn’t get away.  She could read the murder in his face.

The single gunshot cracked through the air and all movement immediately ceased.  Annika’s pursuer stopped in his tracks and scowled at the shooter. 

“What the hell?”

The outlaw behind the red kerchief pointed his weapon at his associate.  “That ain’t what we’re about and you know it.  We got the box so we’re skinnin’ out.  And I won’t hear no goddamn argument about it or you’ll be facing Cutter.” 

After some grumbling and a lethal glare in Annika’s direction, the man returned to his horse and huffily circled around behind his friends.  The treasure box was in the hands of one of the other avidly watching gunmen who gave a queer little bow in Annika’s direction.  Ebson had never moved from where he stood, glowering.

The gunman lowered his weapon.  He was staring at Annika.  “My apologies for disrupting your travels, ma’am.  We ain’t causing you no more trouble today.”  His voice was as mild as if he were expressing regret for accidentally waltzing over her toes.  He tipped his hat and she could swear he was smiling under his mask. 

Annika got to her feet indignantly, brushing the dust off her dress.  The cursed outlaw seemed to be waiting for something from her.  Gratitude or at least acknowledgement.  He would be waiting a long time.  Annika clasped her hands behind her back, willing them not to shake, and met his stare. 

His eyebrows shot up with surprise as he saw Annika Larson’s defiant look and then he gave a short laugh.  With a wild yell, he urged his horse into a gallop and the others followed, leaving only a cloud of dust as they disappeared. 

“Danes,” the driver spat, spitting a stream of brown juice into the dirt.  It was what Mr. Tarberry had called them as well.  He turned to his passenger. “They didn’t harm you none, did they, miss?”

“No,” Annika shook her head.  Now that the danger had fled she was beginning to lose her bravery.  In fact, she felt perilously close to vomiting. 

“Shit!” shouted Ebson as he stalked over and kicked the wagon wheel.  He glanced at Annika but offered no apology for his profanity.  “Fucking outlaws.  There’s gonna be hell to pay for that loss.” 

“If your job was so important to you, then you shouldn’t have dozed off,” she told him harshly.

The driver wheezed a laugh.  “Spitfire is right,” he said, then shrugged.  “Well, can’t be helped now.  Best get you folks the rest of the way into Contention City.”   

Annika was relieved to climb back into the stage for the remainder of their journey.  Ebson had begun to look a bit green around the mouth.  As their slow progress resumed, he kept staring at his empty hands, as if he were willing his rifle to materialize. 

Her own hands were uncomfortably sweaty.  Though it wasn’t proper, she removed her gloves and decided she would not replace them even when they reached Contention City.  The holdup had lit a fire in her.  This was a place where silly proprieties wouldn’t carry much weight.  She had better get used to that if she was to make a life here. 

As the hours passed in dusty silence Annika tried not to think about the masked outlaw.  Her former fiancé, Henri, had been soft, even as the men of Crawford went.  He was a solicitor, not a farmer.  His manners were charming and there was nothing about him that could be called raw or unpolished.  As the outlaw had fixed his burning gaze on her, she saw in him an uncompromising toughness which stirred so
mething unfamiliar.  A shiver rode from the base of her spine to her neck.  Annika knew she would be thinking of that man for a long time.