Chasing Rainbows Page 17

  Funny how she had always thought that a man — any man — would feel like Snakeskin Garvey; all hot and rough, crudely smothering her with his body. But Jake wasn’t anything like that. She didn’t mind the way he touched her, or the way his lips felt against hers. A slight shiver ran up her spine, and a warm glow spread through her limbs as she thought about what it had felt like to be in his arms. Instead of feeling threatened, she had felt delicate and desired. Why, she wouldn’t even object if he wanted to kiss her again, she decided, smiling softly to herself.

  Annie walked a few more paces, nearly skipping with excitement as she neared the town hall. Bright, glowing light poured out from the windows and spilled into the street. The sound of fiddlers playing a jaunty tune echoed out to her, followed by the sound of voices raised in good cheer. She paused to straighten her dress and check her guns, then smoothed back her hair one last time. Well, she thought, even though Jake wasn’t with her, at least she wouldn’t have to walk in alone. She had Cat to keep her company.

  With that reassuring thought in mind, she took a deep breath and pasted a brave smile on her lips. For the first time in her life, she was going to be a true lady. She lifted her skirts and climbed the steps to the town hall with what she hoped was the proper amount of elegance and dignity, then she stepped inside. The huge room with the tall, grand ceilings was packed to the brim with folks laughing and talking. Couples spun around the makeshift dance floor, whirling in time to the music. A broad table stood against one wall, heavily laden with cakes, pies, cookies, and punch.

  Not sure where to go, she stood awkwardly at the entrance, drinking it all in. After a moment, she became aware of a rush of excited whispers traveling through the crowd. Heads shot toward her as bold, curious strangers looked her up and down. The words Outlaw Annie, Mundy Gang, and no-good, thieving outlaws buzzed around the room. Finally the frenzied murmur died down and a sullen hush fell over the crowd. The curious gazes turned decidedly hostile.

  Annie swallowed hard and tilted her chin. While she hadn’t thought she would be received with open arms, neither did she suspect that just walking through the door would cause this kind of a stir. Her heart beat wildly within her chest as she frantically searched her mind for something to do or say. Unable to bear the silence a second longer, she lifted her skirts and performed what she hoped was a reasonably graceful curtsy. That accomplished, she stared into the sea of angry faces and forced a wobbly smile.

  “Howdy, everybody,” she said, wincing at the painfully high, nervous tone of her voice.

  Blank stares greeted her, followed by a second shocked murmur of voices.

  One man made his way through the crowd and walked toward her. The deep echo of his boot steps seemed to fill the hall. He was probably a rancher, she guessed as she watched him approach. His hair was deep silver, but his face had the leathery, bronzed look of a man who spent long days out in the sun. He regarded her with dour disapproval, then said, “We don’t allow no guns in the town hall. You can check your weapons, or you can turn around and get out. Which is it, girl?”

  Annie stiffened her spine and informed him coolly, “My name is Miss Annabel Lee Foster, not girl.” She let that soak in, then unhooked her gun belt and passed it to him. Turning to the crowd at large, she continued, “Thank you for your kind invitation. I believe I prefer to stay.” Amazingly, despite the fierce knocking of her knees beneath her skirts, the words came out sounding proud and strong.

  The rancher silently accepted her guns and deposited them in a box near the front door. Then, one by one, the townsfolk turned their backs on her and went back to their merriment.

  Annie stood alone by the door, feeling as foolish and out of place as a mud-soaked hog wearing a satin sun-bonnet. As she looked across the room, she spotted the clerk who had sold her the Widow Porter’s dress. The girl stood in a tight knot with several other women of approximately the same age as Annie. Although she and the shop girl hadn’t been formally introduced, at least they had spoken before. Not only that, Annie had spent money in the store where she worked — a fact she hoped would count for something.

  She caught the clerk’s eye and sent her a tentative smile, then lifted her skirts and took a step toward her. The girl returned her smile with a cool smirk, then turned and whispered loudly to her friends. A burst of high, jittery laughter sounded from within the group of women. Their gazes shot toward Annie, then they turned and skittered away like a group of nervous hens. Looking distinctly satisfied, the shop girl tossed her head and walked away with her friends.

  Annie stood frozen in mid-step, uncertain how to respond to their barefaced rebuff. A cool draft blew in behind her, finally prompting her to action. She remembered the rule in Winston’s Guide that instructed a guest to find one’s hostess and properly greet her before enjoying the evening’s activities. Annie scanned the hall, spotting a woman who was seated with her back against the wall. She held two small squirming bundles that had been swaddled in blue in her arms.

  Annie made her way across the room. As she approached, the well-wishers who had been gathered around the new mother backed away, various expressions of fear and distaste on their faces. Ignoring their reactions, Annie nodded at the woman seated before her.

  “I reckon you must be the mayor’s wife.”

  The woman nodded coolly. “I am.”

  Annie gave a brief curtsy. “Pleased to meet you. I just wanted to thank you for throwing this fancy shindig and inviting everyone in town. I ain’t never been to a party like this before.”

  The mayor’s wife stared back at her with tight, pinched lips.

  Annie nervously cleared her throat and tried again. Smiling at the squirming bundles the woman held, she said, “Those are two fine little babies, ma’am. I reckon you must be awful proud of—”

  Her words were cut short as a man stepped between them, reaching for the infants. “Let me help you, my dear,” he said. He passed the babies to a nearby woman, then assisted his wife to her feet. She turned and walked away without so much as a backward glance.

  The man, obviously the mayor himself, spun around to face Annie. He drew himself up, gazing down at her with indignant outrage. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t speak to my wife again. I run a peaceful town here, and I don’t need any trouble from your kind. Is that understood?” Having said his piece, he turned and marched stiffly away.

  As a flurry of excited voices heaped praise on the mayor for his brave defense of his wife, Annie felt her cheeks burn red with shame. She tilted her chin and walked away, moving blindly across the room. The buzzing rhythm of banjos and fiddles echoed through her head, making it throb. The dancers whirled in circles before her eyes, leaving her dizzy and nauseous. Her smile was stretched so tight she felt sure her cheeks would surely burst. But she wasn’t about to give up. Not yet.

  Somehow she found herself standing next to the table that had been laden with food. Although she doubted she could swallow past the burning lump that filled her throat, at least getting something to eat would occupy her time. She randomly picked up a plate and nodded to the older woman who stood at the end of the table.

  “Could you please tell me what I owe you for the pie, ma’am?”

  The woman sent her a haughty stare. She picked up her cash box, slammed the lid shut, and moved wordlessly away.

  Blinking hard, Annie set down the gooey slice of pie. Determined not to let the townsfolk see her reaction, she clenched her fists against her sides and moved stiffly toward a chair that had been set out for watching the dancing. She sat down and stared blindly ahead, trying her best to look as though she were having the time of her life.

  After a minute, she noticed a group of five rough-looking cowhands standing on the opposite side of the hall. They stood huddled together, passing a flask from man to man. From the tone of their voices and the outrageous glances they sent her way, it didn’t take long to figure out that she was the object of their attention. Annie tried her best to ignore them, but the
ir crude leers only became more pronounced.

  Finally the group of cowhands ambled over, led by one man whose swaggering belligerence told her that he had been drinking more than the others. “You want to dance?” the man demanded.

  “No, thank you,” she replied and pointedly looked away.

  “I don’t think you heard me,” he said slowly. Before Annie could anticipate his next move, he reached down, grabbed her by her upper arms, and jerked her to her feet. His hot, whiskey-tainted breath fanned her face. “I said, do you want to dance, outlaw gal?”

  She shot him a furious glare. “And I said, no, thank you.” She struggled to free herself from the man’s grasp, but he was simply too strong.

  A lewd smile curved the man’s lips as he tightened his grip on her arms. His gaze traveled slowly over her body, then his eyes darted toward the dark alley that was visible through the back exit of the town hall.

  She went perfectly still. “I’ll give you one more warning. Let go of me.”

  His grin broadened. “What are you gonna do about it if I don’t?” A burst of rough male laughter sounded behind him as his friends crowded in closer.

  Annie reached instinctively for her guns — and came up empty. Only then did she remember that she had turned them in at the door.

  Jake leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting slowly around the saloon. As most of the townsfolk had decided to attend the party at the town hall, the crowd was fairly sparse. As it was, he had only been able to find one man interested in a game of poker. The gambler proved to be nothing but an annoyance, however, making Jake wish that he had accompanied Annie after all. The man was drinking steadily and soon became so drunk it was obvious to even the most casual observer that he couldn’t tell the difference between a poker chip and a cow chip.

  Stifling a sigh of impatience as his opponent fumbled with his cards, he let his thoughts drift toward Annie, wondering if she was having a good time. By his reckoning, she would probably have at least a half dozen gentlemen suitors crowding around her by now, asking for a dance. And given Annie’s innocent enthusiasm, she would no doubt accept each and every invitation. The thought did nothing to improve his mood.

  He was painfully aware of how much courage it had taken for her to go alone, and felt a stab of guilt for not accompanying her. He pushed the unwanted emotion away, shaking his head. He was with Annie in order to trap the Mundy Gang, and for no other reason. Kissing her, touching her the way he had done, had been nothing but foolish curiosity on his part. If he had an ounce of brains, he would keep that in mind.

  He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. While he could argue all he liked about the impossibility of a match between them, that impossibility was slowly turning into something that looked and felt more like an inevitability. His instincts told him that the kiss they had shared had only been the beginning of something bigger. If there was one thing he had learned in life, it was that there was no sense fighting fate. A man most often met his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.

  Jake didn’t like to be vulnerable. Nor did he consider himself a sentimental or a mystical man. But there were some things in life that had the power to move him very deeply. Things that demonstrated his own insignificance and showed that there was perhaps a grander vision than his own.

  He remembered the first time he had held a newborn babe, a tiny girl barely two days old. He certainly hadn’t wanted to hold the fragile-looking, squalling creature. But she had been eagerly thrust into his arms, all pink and wrinkled, her little hands and legs flying, and he had had no choice but to accept her. At first, Jake had felt nothing but fear that he might drop the squirming infant. But his fear had gradually eased as the baby had settled down. For a fleeting moment, their eyes had met, then she had wrapped her little fist around Jake’s pinky and held on tight, as though she would never let it go.

  He remembered the aftermath of the battle of the Wilderness. General Lee had ridden Traveller through the ranks, his face tight with strain and loss. As he did, a hush had fallen among the men. Men who were hungry and cold, bleeding and sick, and dressed in threadbare clothing had stood and come to attention on no orders but their own, in silent tribute to their beloved leader. They would have walked through fire had General Lee ordered it; often he did.

  All of it had touched Jake very deeply. He had no illusions about what he was. A drifter, a cardsharp, a gambler with few morals and even fewer principles. But moments such as those made life a little grander, a little nobler than it really was. They made him aware, for however brief a time, that there was perhaps a greater purpose in life than that for which he had been living.

  And for whatever reason, no matter how absurd it seemed, Miss Annabel Lee Foster struck a similar chord in him. Holding her in his arms, kissing her the way he had, had been as dramatic and yet as commonplace as the change of the seasons, filling him with a sense of deep satisfaction. It was an odd sensation for him, and one that he was not entirely comfortable with. Jake was accustomed to feeling lust for women, along with a certain amount of respect and affection — but never before had he experienced what he felt when he held Annie.

  Unable to get her out of his mind, he decided to fold his cards and call it a night. No sense hanging around the saloon. He might as well head over to the town hall and see how she was getting on.

  “Wait a minute,” the drunk slurred indignantly as Jake stood. “You won my money, now you’re walking out before I get a chance to win it back?”

  “Why don’t you sober up a bit, then I’ll give you another chance.”

  “I ain’t drunk.”

  Jake sighed and put on his hat. “You’re holding your cards backward, mister.”

  The drunk looked at his hand in astonishment, then let out a deep bourbon-scented guffaw.

  It was at that moment that an angry chorus of shouting and screaming echoed into the saloon from down the street. Less than a second later, a young boy burst in through the bat-wing doors. “Fire!” he screamed, his eyes wild with excitement. “That outlaw woman set the town hall on fire!”

  Annie stared into a sea of hostile faces, her heart thumping wildly. The town hall of Two River Flats smoldered and sparkled behind her, glowing an eerie crimson and orange against the ink-black sky. Thick, acrid smoke filled the air. The taste of ash coated her mouth and felt heavy on her skin. At least the screaming and shouting of the townsfolk had quieted down somewhat now that the fire had been put out. Only a few remaining embers hissed and popped.

  Her focus, however, was on neither the fire nor the angry townspeople. Instead she looked beyond the crowd, her attention caught by the activity in the northern end of town. For amid the pandemonium, amid the running and shouting, the buckets of water, the creaking timber, and the general melee that followed the conflagration, Annie had heard the distinct, rapid-fire blast of gunshots in the distance. Her ears were attuned enough to the sound of gunplay to recognize it when she heard it. She searched the horizon, her stomach tied in knots, looking for trouble.

  Something told her that the night had just gone from bad to worse.

  Her suspicion that she was headed for trouble was confirmed with the appearance of a tall man who strode confidently down the street toward her. He was handsome enough in a lanky, blond way. His face was boyishly youthful — except for his eyes. He had the flat, cool, judging eyes of the law. Annie saw no badge beneath his thick wool jacket, but there was no mistaking that he was in charge. He was flanked by a pair of big men with rifles grasped casually in their hands.

  A respectful silence fell over the crowd. The sheriff stopped and surveyed the wreckage of the town hall, his expression grim. “Somebody want to tell me what happened here?” he said to the crowd at large.

  A flurry of excited voices erupted at once.

  The sheriff lifted his hand for silence and pointed to a middle-aged man attired in a snugly fitted three-piece suit. “Parnell. Talk.”

  The man named Parnell threw back his shoulders and c
ast a superior glance at the rest of the crowd. He drew himself up and pointed a chubby finger at Annie, his florid face indignant. “That outlaw woman set the hall on fire, Sheriff Pogue, that’s what happened.”

  The entire town seemed to angrily second that opinion. Why, they acted as if she had deliberately charged in, taken a torch, and lit the hall afire. The sheriff listened for a minute, then turned toward Annie and intently surveyed her from head to toe. She knew she looked a mess, with her new dress singed and burned, her hair undone and loose around her shoulders, and ashes coating her skin, but there was nothing she could do about it.

  She stood her ground and met the sheriffs eyes, refusing to cower. She would accept part of the blame for the fire, but not all of it. It had been an accident, pure and simple — no matter what the townsfolk said.

  “I reckon you must be Outlaw Annie,” the sheriff remarked.

  Annie tilted her chin and drew back her shoulders. In a manner straight out of Winston’s Guide, she replied politely, “I prefer Miss Foster, if you don’t mind, Sheriff.”

  “All right,” the sheriff replied coolly, his eyes giving nothing away. “You want to tell me your side of the story, Miss Foster?”

  “That man there asked me to dance,” Annie replied, singling out the rough cowhand who had bullied her. “When I said no, he got real insistent-like and tried to pull me out on the dance floor. I told him to let me go, but he wouldn’t listen. We tussled for a little bit, and I reckon Cat saw me wrestling with him and didn’t like the look of his mangy hide any more than I did. She jumped on his shoulder and took a swipe at his arm.”

  “That damned beast near clawed my arm off,” broke in the cowhand.

  The sheriff coolly waved him to silence. “You hold on a minute, Dwight. You’ll get your chance to talk. Go on,” he said to Annie.

  She shrugged. “That’s mostly it. He staggered back, trying to knock Cat off his shoulder, and knocked over a couple of oil lamps instead. That’s when the fire started.”