Chasing Rainbows (15 page)

Uglier than sin. Jake nodded. He knew the type.

“Normally,” she continued, “I’d have let it go. But this J. D. Thomas got me plum riled up. You see, there were other women in the store at the time — real ladies, I mean, not like me. Anyhow, they were getting kinda upset by his talk too. The men there were too scared to interfere, so I figured I oughta take the fella down a peg or two by myself. I told him he could either shut his trap or show everybody just how good he was with his gun.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, he started swelling up, got even louder, more cocksure of himself. Said why didn’t we make a wager out of it? Nothing fancy, just a regular shooting match: The first one to knock five tin cans off a wall would win. He bet me his deed to The Palace Hotel against my saddle, guns, and Dulcie.”

“I take it you didn’t have any trouble,” Jake surmised.

Annie made a sound of disgust. “The only thing that fella was good at shooting off was his mouth.”

He studied her in new understanding. “So that’s how Outlaw Annie became the proud owner of The Palace Hotel.”

“More or less,” she answered. “J. D. Thomas was pretty upset after he lost. He claimed I cheated him and stole away his hotel. But there were too many folks who saw what happened to pay him any mind. I rode out of town with the deed free and clear. He came after me that night to try to steal it back, just like I figured he would. I possumed sleep and let him get real close, then I put a hole through his britches — just to let him know that tin cans ain’t the only thing I’m good at shooting. He hightailed it out of there real fast.”

Several things struck Jake about her story. First there was the steady nonchalance with which Annie had faced down a potentially deadly killer — not just once but twice. Then there was the fact that that very same man, the crude and belligerent J. D. Thomas, was the owner of the palatial Palace Hotel. Thomas sounded like the kind of man who would run a hard-drinking, fist-brawling saloon, not a glamorous resort.

And finally Jake found himself reluctantly touched by the matter-of-factness with which Annie had breezily excluded herself from the category of “real lady” — despite her straightforward and seemingly earnest aspirations to the title.

But above all, Jake’s curiosity was piqued. In his estimation, Thomas had been an idiot to risk his hotel when Annie’s skills with a gun were legendary. But exactly how fine a shot was she? Were the rumors that surrounded her pure fiction, or was she as good as people said?

“I heard you could shoot an acorn off a tree limb at forty paces,” he said, “standing backward, with your rifle slung over your shoulder.”

She shrugged. “That’s nothing.”

“Can you show me?”

“I ain’t practiced it in ages.”

“I see,” he said slowly. “So you can’t really do it.”

Annie rose immediately to the challenge. “What do you want to lose, Mr. Fancy-Pants?”

Jake smiled. “Loser cooks and cleans up supper tonight.”

She nodded in agreement and stood. “I need a rifle and a tin plate.”

He passed her his own rifle, watching as she hefted it in her hands. It was probably a little heavy for her; she most likely preferred a lighter, slimmer carbine. She fired a few shots into the brush, testing the weapon for its weight, balance, and kick. No rifle fired exactly straight, but his was pretty close.

Satisfied, she then turned and scouted their surroundings, finally pointing toward an old oak tree. The tree was ablaze with brilliant fall foliage, with the exception of one stark branch from which the leaves had already fallen. A tiny cluster of acorns hung from the end of the limb. She studied the cluster, as though fixing it in her mind, then turned and marched the requisite forty paces away from the tree. She slung the rifle over her right shoulder, lifted the tin place in her left hand, and squinted into it.

Jake watched her, highly skeptical. He considered himself a fair shot with a rifle, but what she was attempting was impossible, no matter how good the marksman.

Annie took a deep breath and fired.

The acorn cluster snapped off the tree.

She turned and looked at the branch, then swung her gaze to his, her expression smug.

Jake shook his head. “Not bad.”

“That’s just one of the tricks Diego taught me.” She shrugged nonchalantly and set down the rifle. “He’s the one who taught me to speak Spanish too, but I never quite got the hang of it. At least not like the way I took to shooting.”

That had to be Diego Martinez, Jake thought, mentally reviewing the men who had ridden with the Mundy Gang. But before he had a chance to ask her more about the gang, Annie turned and studied the shallow valley beneath them, her gaze moving restlessly across the horizon.

“Dumb of us to fire a weapon and call attention to ourselves,” she said. “You reckon he’s still out there?”

Jake hid his surprise. Although he knew they were being trailed, until that moment, he’d had no idea that Annie was aware of it as well. He had first noted the man following them shortly after Annie had been shot. Jake had originally thought it had been one of the bandits they had tracked, coming after them for vengeance. After doctoring Annie, he had ridden down the mesa and back across a range of deep arroyos, attempting to circle around and surprise the man from behind.

But whoever the stranger was, he had obviously seen Jake coming. Jake had found nothing but the still-warm ashes of the man’s fire. Nor had any of his later attempts to confront the man met with success; the stranger had eluded detection each and every time Jake had tried to corner him.

Returning his attention to Annie’s question, he scanned the horizon, but the rain dulled his vision. Shapes and shadows blended in the thick gray mist, twisting and merging. “Could be he’s still out there,” he replied noncommittally, “could be he veered off and headed someplace else.”

A brief, cynical smile touched Annie’s lips. “You believe that, mister?”

“No, but I thought you might.”

Annie let out a disdainful breath, then turned and frowned into the distance. “What do you suppose he’s after?” she asked after a minute.

“You.”

Clearly taken aback by his answer, she swung her gaze around to meet his. “What makes you say that?”

Jake lifted his shoulders in a cool shrug. “If he were one of the hombres who stole our horses and gear, he would have made his move by now,” he replied. “Instead he’s just trailing us — hanging back too far for me to get close to him but close enough to let us know he’s there.”

“So? That doesn’t tell us anything.”

“He wants to be seen,” Jake countered. “He wants us to know he’s there — or rather, to let you know he’s there. He hasn’t let me get anywhere near him, but odds are he’d let you. That is, if you wanted to.”

Her brows snapped together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means I think he’s a friend of yours.”

“I don’t have any friends.”

“That so? What do you call the boys in the Mundy Gang?”

Annie tilted her chin, eyeing him coolly. “Dead.”

Jake nodded and remained silent, unaccountably disappointed. Up until that point, he had been enjoying her honesty and her frankness. But now he was certain she was lying. He had been on the trail of the Mundy Gang for months and knew their movements as well as any law officer in the territory. If they were dead, he would have heard about it. Obviously Annie was still protecting them. Her loyalty might have been commendable at an other time, but not now. Not when it was his neck that was about to be stretched.

He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the makings for a cigarette. He spilled the tobacco onto a thin square of parchment, rolled it tightly, and licked the paper shut. Scraping a sulfur match against his boot heel, he raised the flame to his mouth, lit the cigarette, and inhaled deeply. A warm stream of smoke curled into his lungs. The taste of tobacco clung to his lips, bitter and sweet at the same time.

Annie watched him in silence. “Maybe it’s you that he’s tracking,” she speculated slowly. “How do I know you ain’t a wanted man?”

Jake arched a dark brow. “Would Sheriff Cayne have sent you off with a wanted man?”

She frowned but seemed to accept that reasoning, despite the expression of skeptical distrust that remained etched on her features.

In truth, Jake had initially considered the possibility that the man trailing them was after him. It had been three months since Harlan Becker had been killed in an alleyway in Gunpowder Falls. Plenty of time for the sheriff to print up wanted posters with Jake’s name and likeness on them and spread them around town. Plenty of time for a bounty hunter to be on his trail. But a bounty hunter would already have made his move. And he certainly wouldn’t shadow Jake in plain sight — why give up the element of surprise unless absolutely necessary?

“Could be it’s some fool who thinks I’ll lead him to the money from that stagecoach robbery,” Annie suggested.

“Could be,” Jake agreed, somewhat surprised she was so forthright about it. “You know where that money is?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I could guess, that’s all. The boys had a few spots they liked to hide money away until things cooled down. It might be in one of those spots, might not be. There’s no telling.”

“For twenty-five thousand, it might be worth looking.”

Annie stared him straight in the eye. “That’s blood money, mister, and I don’t want any part of it. I can’t change things that happened in the past, but I can go forward, and that’s what I aim to do.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Jake answered noncommittally.

He turned and studied the horizon. If Outlaw Annie thought she could walk away from the gang clean, she was obviously mistaken. Someone who was trailing them in plain sight was someone who was trying to make contact — and clearly not with him. A feeling of grim satisfaction took hold. There were hundreds of possibilities, but only one that made sense. After months of tracking them, the Mundy Gang was now on Jake’s tail. Just a few more weeks — maybe even within a few days — and he would be face to face with the boys themselves.

It was only a matter of time now. Sooner or later, the Mundy Gang was going to show itself. And Jake was damned sure going to be ready for them when they did. “We’ll ride out tomorrow,” he said, casually adding, “Chances are, that’s the last we’ll see of whoever’s been following us.”

Annie studied the horizon, a small furrow between her brows. “I wouldn’t bet on it, mister.”

Jake took a final drag from his cigarette and tossed it away. He answered softly, almost to himself, “Neither would I, darlin.’ Neither would I.”

The town of Two River Flats had changed so much that Annie almost didn’t recognize the place. Originally it had started as a ramshackle mining community, comprised of nothing but tents, crude adobe huts, and mud so deep and thick it was said a man could drown his horse in the puddles that filled the streets. But eventually the gold had played out, the railroad had come in, and the town had finally established itself as a bustling trading post. Main Street now boasted an impressive row of false-front buildings that included a bank, a telegraph office, a hotel, and a mercantile. Glancing around, Annie also spotted one school, a church, several dry-goods stores, a stable, a meeting hall, a blacksmith, and of course, the ever-present saloons.

The town was a little out of their way, but it was worth the trip. What had begun earlier in the day as a gentle mist had developed into a hard, driving rain mixed with icy sleet. The freezing water ran down the back of Annie’s collar and sent a chill through her bones. Definitely not a night for camping out if it could be avoided.

The soft glow of kerosene lamps spilled out onto the street from the saloons, the jailhouse, and the hotel. Everything else in town was shut down and dark. They rode up to the hotel and stopped.

Jake reached for Annie, but as usual, she ignored his offer of assistance. She tucked Cat under her arm and dismounted on her own, looping Dulcie’s reins over the hitching post. Her side was still sore but not sore enough to warrant his help. If she was strong enough to ride, she was strong enough to get off a horse. Besides, there was no call to invite his touch. She was already far too aware of him as it was. Better to stay on the right side of temptation.

Jake didn’t appear the least bit offended by her rebuff. Ignoring both the weather and her ill humor, he grabbed their saddlebags and tossed them over his shoulder. Cheerfully whistling “Camptown Ladies,” he strode toward the hotel. His boots rang on the boardwalk as his long strides carried him swiftly to the front door. He politely opened the door for her and ushered her inside.

The interior was nearly as rough as the exterior, Annie noted immediately. The walls were stark and barren, the floors consisted of wide, uneven planks. No rugs or pictures graced the space. The lobby held only a few crudely constructed wooden chairs, one potbellied cast-iron stove, and a large table that held a hotel register.

It was nearly as cold inside as it was outside. A group of five rough, down-on-their-luck miners sat clustered around the stove, soaking up the fire’s meager heat. One or two of the men glanced their way as she and Jake stepped into the room. Obviously finding them neither a threat nor interesting enough to hold their attention, the men looked away.

Jake proceeded to the table and rang the tin bell that sat near the register. When no one materialized, he rang it again, louder.

“You’re wasting your time,” called a surly voice from near the fire. “Sam’s gone over to Sheriff Pogue’s to file a complaint — some drifter skipped town without paying his bill.”

Jake nodded at the man who had spoken. “Much obliged. Any idea when he’ll be back?”

“He’ll be back when he gets back.”

Jake hesitated, his brows drawn together in thought. “Is that Sheriff Walter Pogue?”

“That’s the man’s name,” the miner grumbled in response.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jake muttered beneath his breath.

Annie bit back an impatient sigh. Although she was making a valiant effort not to let her teeth chatter, she wasn’t entirely succeeding.