Chasing Rainbows Page 10

  Annie was hot; very, very hot. Mama and Papa and Hannah were gone. She was in her bedroom in the old, run-down farmhouse by the creek. Doc Mundy was taking care of her. She could hear the low, steady drone of his voice as he murmured soothing words to her. His big, gentle hands brushed lightly against her skin as he rubbed a cool, damp cloth over her body. She would be all right now. Doc Mundy and his wife were good folks, kind and gentle. They were too soft though, especially on their boy, Pete. But she couldn’t tell the Mundys that. He was their son, their real kin, not Annie.

  Now the Doc and his wife were gone. Pete and the boys were carousing in town, leaving her alone in the cabin in the woods. Except she wasn’t alone. Snakeskin Garvey was there. Annie tried to run for the door, but he caught her wrist before she made it. He threw her down on the bed, smothering her with his body. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t move. She watched herself from a distance, frozen in her helplessness and her terror, unable to run or scream. If she could just get to her guns…

  Annie jerked awake with a start.

  Her mouth was dry, her heart pounded in her chest. She instinctively groped for a weapon, then she stopped short, frightened and disoriented. She had no idea where she was or how she had come to be there. All she knew was that she was lying in a grove of pine, a bed of soft, fragrant needles beneath her, and a thick stack of blankets covering her. A small pile of ashes smoldered a few feet away, the remains of what looked to have once been a rather decent fire.

  She drew herself up to a sitting position. A sharp, blistering pain filled her left side. She sucked in a deep breath and held it, exhaling slowly as the burning ache gradually eased to a dull throb. As she glanced down at her side, her memory came back in a rush. She’d been shot by those no-good, thieving bandits. She searched her mind for more details as to what had followed, but that was the last thing she could remember.

  Well, at least one thing was clear: She was all alone now. A deep, woodsy silence enveloped her, and there was no sign of another human for miles. At least that fancy-pants gambler had doctored her up a bit before he’d hightailed it out of there, she thought. Her wound was clean and tightly bound — sore but manageable.

  She was outfitted in one of her old flannel shirts, loose and big enough to be worn as a nightshirt. Jake must have dressed her before he left. The thought of him seeing her body — of him actually touching her, running his big hands over her bare skin — sent a shiver down Annie’s spine. Oddly enough, though, it wasn’t entirely a shiver of revulsion. She felt anxious and abashed that he’d seen her like that, yes, but not repulsed.

  Annie shook off the thought. By running out on her, at least he had spared her the embarrassment of ever seeing him again. But embarrassment quickly gave way to concern as she glanced around, realizing that he’d made off with everything she owned. Including her horse, her guns, and her deed, she thought in alarm. Damn him. The full weight of exactly how vulnerable she was hit home as a threatening rustle filled the scrub brush a few yards from her makeshift bed.

  It could be those thieving outlaws, trailing after her for revenge. Or maybe a wolf, half starved and crazy. Or maybe —

  Jake Moran stepped through the brush, a load of firewood stacked high in his arms and three freshly killed and tightly bound rabbits tossed over his shoulder. Cat bounded along behind him, hissing and swatting at Jake’s ankles as he walked. Relief swelled within her at the sight of them both. So he hadn’t abandoned her after all.

  He glanced in her direction, then drew to an abrupt stop, surprise clearly etched on his features. “You’re awake.”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice to speak.

  He continued toward her, pausing only long enough to set down the wood and the rabbits. Cat bounded toward her and leapt into her lap. Annie winced at the sudden motion, then automatically began to stroke the animal’s fur. Cat ran her long, crooked tail beneath Annie’s chin, then curled up into a tight ball, emitting a rough, gravelly purr of satisfaction.

  Jake watched them both for a moment, then hunkered down beside her, resting his weight on his heels as he intently scanned her face. “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Thirsty,” she answered automatically, barely getting the word past the scratchy dryness of her throat.

  He reached for a canteen, and with one hand supporting her back, lifted it to her lips and allowed it to trickle into her mouth. “Easy,” he said, his voice a rough purr. “Not too fast.”

  Once her thirst was quenched she turned her head and glanced down at Cat, feeling more vulnerable than she ever had in her life. Jake removed his hand and gently eased her back into her original position. A score of emotions fluttered through her, all too confusing to name.

  Never before had Annie felt the way she did at that moment. Jake’s presence was inescapable, almost overpowering. His attention was too focused on her, his expression too intimate. She saw none of the haughtiness, the boredom, or the restlessness she had read in his face before. Instead he seemed genuinely concerned.

  No matter where she looked, she couldn’t get away from the odd, indefinable light that filled his silvery-blue eyes. Her stomach swarmed with butterflies and she felt horribly exposed. She was awkwardly conscious of her hands, her hair, her clothing — none of which seemed to be in the right place, or looking as it should.

  The moment stretched endlessly between them. Annie was aware that nothing was showing, that her shirt was properly fastened up to her throat, and that her blanket was tucked around her waist and securely covering her legs. But Jake had seen her naked, and that realization seemed to hang in the air between them. Maybe that was what had her so riled up.

  Not that she entirely blamed herself for her moment of weakness. Jake was dressed in black pants, snugly fitted to encase his long legs, and a pale-blue shirt that brought out the icy glow in his eyes. The man was simply too virile, too potent, and too damned good-looking to be ignored. Especially when he was sitting so close to her. She shook off the thought, mentally squirming against the intimacy that suddenly weighed so heavily between them.

  She forced herself to meet his gaze, truly studying his face for the first time since she had awakened. Upon closer inspection, she noticed a faint, subtle swelling around his jaw and cheekbones, and a scar above his right eye. She glanced at his knuckles and saw that they were raw and bruised as well.

  Annie shook her head, letting out a soft whistle. “You look like twenty miles of bad road, mister. I warned you not to go up against that hombre.”

  A slow, easy grin softened Jake’s expression of concern. He lifted his hand and placed it palm down against her forehead. “Your fever’s broken,” he said after a moment.

  She swatted away his hand, rebuking the tender act of solicitude. “I suppose you think I owe you now that you doctored me up, don’t you?”

  He shrugged, his expression unreadable. “You don’t owe me a thing, darlin’.”

  “The way I see it, we’re even. I pulled your chestnuts out of the fire, didn’t I?”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Annie looked away, uncomfortably aware how churlish and ungrateful she sounded. But she didn’t know how to stop herself. There seemed to be only two ways to deal with Jake Moran. She either allowed herself to be drawn toward him, ensnared in his silky web like an unsuspecting fly, or she ran as fast as she could in the opposite direction. If there was a middle ground with him, she sure as hell hadn’t found it.

  “You gonna see to those rabbits,” she asked, “or are you just waiting for the skin to fall off by itself?”

  “I take it that means you’re hungry?”

  “I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.”

  He rose to his feet and moved to the fire, piling dry twigs on the smoldering embers. “You haven’t eaten for three days,” he corrected. “That’s how long you’ve been sick.”

  “Three days?” she echoed in disbelief.

  Jake nodded. “The wound wasn’t too bad. The bullet lodged
just beneath the skin. It came out pretty clean, but you lost a lot of blood.”

  Annie took that all in. Three days. He’d stayed with her and cared for her for three days. She didn’t recall any of it. She vaguely remembered dreaming that Doc Mundy had been with her. Thinking that it had been Doc’s low, soothing voice gently murmuring in her ear; that it had been Doc’s hands touching her body with a cool, soft cloth. Had that been Jake all along, or just a fevered dream? She could ask him, of course, but that would open the conversation to too many other mortifying questions. Better to just let it pass.

  In any case, the question she truly wanted answered was why he had stayed with her. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him intently. “Why’d you stick around, mister? You could have taken off with my horse, my deed, my money, and just left me here, but you didn’t. Why? Most men I know would have taken everything they could and run.”

  He held her gaze for a long, steady minute. “Maybe you know the wrong men.” He shifted his attention to the fire and slowly stoked the flame. “Then again, maybe I’m just different.”

  She greeted his statement with a healthy dose of skepticism. “Every dog has fleas.”

  “Well, now, darlin’, that’s a fine way to thank me.”

  He shook his head, clearly more amused than offended. Satisfied with the fire, he lifted one of the rabbits and began skinning their dinner. His long, capable fingers moved with quick, clean strokes as he deftly executed the chore. That finished, he skewered the rabbits and held them over the fire.

  Realizing it would be fruitless to pursue the subject further, she turned and scanned the horizon. “Any sign of them bandits?”

  Jake glanced up, then shook his head. “Nope.”

  His hesitation had been slight, but Annie had heard it. Her brows snapped together. “You have any trouble, mister?”

  “Nothing that I can’t handle,” he answered vaguely. “You want to wash up before dinner?”

  Annie would have argued further, but she just didn’t have it in her. After three days of being ill, she felt bone weary, stiff, and sore. She set Cat aside and rose to her feet. Her fatigue must have shown on her face, for Jake was instantly at her side, supporting her arm as she stood.

  “Easy now. It might take you a day or two until you get your legs back.”

  His breath was a featherlike whisper that tickled her ear, all spicy and soft. She felt the rough fabric of his pants brush against her thigh and realized with a start that she was standing next to him without her britches. The realization jerked her back to her senses. Confident that she had gained enough of her balance to stand on her own, she moved away from him.

  “Better let me check that bandage for you,” he said.

  She shook her head. “It’s fine. I feel just fine.”

  He smiled in that slow, lazy way of his. “What are you afraid of, darlin’?”

  You, she thought. Specifically the idea of him brushing his large, rugged hands over her skin. But she’d sooner kiss a grizzly on the lips than admit it. “I appreciate what you done for me, mister, but I can take care of myself from here on out.” That said, she instantly felt better. She glanced around the campsite for her belongings. “You hide my bag somewhere?”

  He pointed to a path that led down a gently sloping hill. “You’ll find everything you need down by the creek at the base of that hill. Dulcie and Weed are tethered there as well.” He watched her, frowning as she moved unsteadily away from him. “You want me to help you?”

  “I can walk just fine,” she answered. “Next thing you know, you’ll be wanting to bathe me.”

  Jake crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing her consideringly. His lips curved into a devilish smile that made his ice-blue eyes shimmer with seductive fire. “Only if you insist, darlin’.”

  An unsteadiness that had nothing to do with her wound spread through her limbs. She tilted her chin and turned away, trying her best to make a dignified exit. Bathe me, indeed, she swore silently to herself. Keep it up, Annie girl, and he’s gonna think you suggested it on purpose.

  Which she absolutely, positively, did not.

  Definitely not.

  It was impossible to even consider.

  Just because the man had eyes that were deeper and more mysterious than any sea, a smile so smooth he could lure the devil himself into church on Sunday, a chest so broad you could fit a map of Texas on it, and tighter hindquarters than a range-ridden stallion —

  Annie? she said to herself.

  What?

  Shut up!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Jake sat with a fallen log at his back, a whiskey bottle between his legs, and a deck of cards in his hand. Normally he would have been eager to move on, but he deliberately slowed the pace for Annie. A week had passed since she had been shot. She had been unconscious for three days, followed by four days for her to rest and recuperate. Although by all appearances her wound was healing nicely, he didn’t want to push her. Too much strain or activity and her side might just open up again.

  He was also waiting for a break in the weather. A hazy mist shrouded the trees, enveloping everything in a thick, damp fog. The weather had been like that for days, and the unrelenting dampness was beginning to grate on his nerves. He had hung a few blankets in the branches of the trees above them for shelter, and a low fire was burning, but the effect was still drearily oppressive. A restless inertia settled over him like the fog, leaving him listless and bored.

  He glanced across their camp. Annie sat just a few yards away, a book in her hands and Cat in her lap. Judging by her expression, she was growing restless as well. As he watched, Cat peeked out from beneath the folds of Annie’s coat. The persnickety feline wrinkled her nose in distaste at the inclement weather and issued an ill-humored hiss at the world in general. She arched her back and stood, her crooked tail cocked haughtily in the air as she trotted off into the woods.

  Annie watched her go, then surprised Jake by moving to sit across from him. For the most part, they’d spent the past couple of days keeping to themselves. Now he welcomed the distraction of her company, and she was apparently of the same mind.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Bored, mostly. Edgy.”

  Whatever her faults, the woman wasn’t one for beating around the bush. “I meant, how’s your side?” he clarified. She’d refused to let him check the wound since she had regained consciousness.

  “Oh. Feels like a bee sting, that’s all.”

  “Any swelling? Discoloration?”

  She shook her head.

  “Good. In that case, if you’re ready, we’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

  “Fine.” She studied him in silence, her brows drawn together in obvious disapproval.

  “What?” he said.

  “You drink too much.”

  Jake let out a mournful sigh. “Spare me your lecture on the evils of spirits, will you?”

  “I was just stating a plain fact. No need to get so testy.”

  He brought the bottle to his lips, taking another swig. “All right, then, what do you suggest we do in such God-awful weather?”

  “I don’t know. I reckon we could just talk to each other.”

  He arched one dark brow. “What a novel idea.”

  She frowned. “Were you born talking fancy, mister?”

  “I was born, darlin’, in a one-room shack in a town that settled itself on a swamp off the banks of the Mississippi and lacked the common sense to move.”

  “You didn’t come from some rich, highfalutin’ family?” she asked, clearly surprised.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Annie studied him again, as though seeing him in a new light. “What were they like? Your folks, I mean.”

  Jake shrugged, feeling expansive on the whiskey. He wasn’t drunk, he just had a good, warm glow. “My father was a big, brawling riverboat captain who ferried freight along the Mississippi. He taught me to fig
ht, he taught me to drink, and when I was thirteen, he introduced me to my first whore.”

  Unlike most women, Annie didn’t pretend to be shocked. “What about your mother?” she asked.

  “Cajun,” he answered. He twisted the whiskey bottle absently between his palms, losing himself for a moment in his memories. “She was a hot-tempered beauty from an even poorer family than my father’s, but she had higher aspirations. She wanted to be accepted by society, and she did everything she could to make that happen. We weren’t anything but a bunch of lowly river rats, but with her coaching, a little polish, manners, and the right clothing, we actually passed for a respectable household. Truth is, darlin’, people see what you want them to see; rarely do they look beyond the immediate facade.”

  Annie’s eyes flashed with sudden interest. “You think I could do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Turn myself around, like you did. Put on airs and make myself some grand, fancy-talking lady. Maybe gussy up real fine in one of them swooshy-skirted dresses, put one of them bird’s-nest hats on my head, and carry one of them fancy little lace umbrellas.”

  “Parasols.”

  She ignored the correction. “What do you think?” she pressed. “Could someone like me do that too?”

  Jake shrugged. It sounded like a complete waste of time to him, but maybe the desire to dress up and play the part of a grand society dame was a universal urge in all women. “Why the sudden craving to fit into high society?”

  “It ain’t sudden at all,” Annie corrected. “If I’m gonna be the new owner of The Palace Hotel, I got to know what’s proper and what ain’t.” She pulled the familiar careworn advertising circular from within her coat pocket and waved it in his direction. “See here? This says the hotel is available exclusively for the use of distinguished ladies and gentlemen. Distinguished, it says. The finest resort in the West, it says. I bet they got those crystal chandeliers, fancy paintings, thick carpets, china dishes, velvet drapes on all the windows, four-poster beds with feather mattresses, and the like. Since I’m the new owner, I reckon I got to be as snooty and my manners as highfalutin as the folks that’ll be staying there.”