Chasing Rainbows (18 page)

Pete Mundy stood only two feet away, staring at her.

He was gone before she could move, before she could utter a word. He simply nodded once, then faded away, stepping back into the rowdy dimness of the saloon.

“What is it, Annie?” she heard Jake ask, his voice coming to her as though from a great distance.

She licked her suddenly parched lips and opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came.

“Annie?”

“What?” she finally asked, unable to pull her gaze from the bat-wing door.

“ What is it?”

“Looked like someone I knew, that’s all.”

“You all right, darlin’?”

“Fine.” She turned to face him, forcing a weak smile. “Just ate too much, I guess.”

“You want me to fetch a doctor?”

“A doc? Just because I stuffed myself?” She shook her head. It couldn’t have been Pete. It just couldn’t have been. “I reckon ol’ Winston was right,” she said to Jake. “A lady should leave a little bit of grub on her plate.”

Jake tossed a bill on the table and stood. “Let’s get out of here.”

Despite her protests that she could take care of herself, he insisted on walking her back to the hotel. Not until she was alone in her room did Annie allow her panic to take hold. Maybe it had just been a trick of the light that made the man look like Pete. Or maybe it was their talk of the dead that had brought up old memories that were better left buried. Or maybe she had just flat-out been mistaken.

But despite all her cool, calm reasoning, there was no escaping the plain facts. The stranger had had the same build as Pete, the same color hair, and he stood the same height. He had also been wearing Pete Mundy’s clothes. Annie would have recognized that vest anywhere. It was a buff-colored suede with long fringes at the hem, decorated with vines and flowers that she and Mrs. Mundy had stitched on themselves. Pete never went anywhere without that vest. Not only that, the man had been wearing Pete’s hat. Made of brown leather with a braided black band — but the brim had been pulled down too low for Annie to clearly make out the man’s face.

That was one reason she wasn’t sure that it had been Pete Mundy staring at her. The second reason was infinitely simpler: Pete Mundy was dead. She had watched him die herself.

Mindful that Jake could hear every move in her room, she slipped off her boots and began to pace quietly back and forth, her thoughts turning in wild disarray. Hours later, Annie took off her guns and hooked them around the bedpost, keeping them within easy grasp. Her mind still spinning but her body exhausted, she stretched out on the bed, holding the pillow tightly against her chest.

Although she was sure she was too tense to get any rest, sleep must have come at some point, for she soon found herself carried away in a beautiful dream. She was in a grand ballroom at The Palace Hotel, dressed in one of the beautiful silk gowns her mother had been so partial to. A man with sparkling blue-gray eyes and a cocky smile bent over her hand, asking for the pleasure of the next dance. She consented and he pulled her into his arms, whirling her around the dance floor. As he pressed his body tightly against hers, her limbs seemed to melt with pleasure.

He continued to spin her around dance floor. Around and around, until Annie thought she would faint from dizziness. She clung to his arms for support and the dream shifted. The big man with the blue-gray eyes faded away. Suddenly she was being held down, knocked flat by Snakeskin Garvey.

She called for Pete, only to realize too late that Pete was dead. There was no one to help her now. She struggled to get up, but Garvey had her firmly pinned down. She couldn’t move, couldn’t get away. “You owe me, girl,” he panted into her ear. “You owe me.”

Annie jerked awake, breathing hard.

Silence and pitch-black stillness surrounded her. She listened intently but heard nothing except the normal nighttime noises. Cat’s rumbling snore. Jake’s low, easy breathing from the room next door. A gentle cough from down the hall. But the sounds didn’t bring her any comfort. She had been too long with the Mundy Gang not to trust her instincts. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

She stood, lifted her gun from her holster, and moved through the darkness of her room to the window. She parted the curtains and peered outside. A man stood across the street, staring up at the hotel. As if aware that she had noticed him, he dipped his head in cool acknowledgment of her presence. Then he faded silently back into alleyway.

Annie’s stomach tightened into knots and her blood ran cold as Jake’s words flew through her mind.
He wants you to see him. He wants you to know he’s there.

The sleet that had fallen earlier had finally stopped. Only the wind still roared. An icy gust of air howled like cold, demonic laughter. The curtains fluttered as a shiver ran up Annie’s spine. She felt as though the cold, gray hands of death had just reached out and touched her.

She fought the urge to go and wake Jake. Even if she did wake him, what could she possibly say? That the ghost of Pete Mundy was staring up into her bedroom window? Not likely.

Someone — a living, breathing man — had been trailing them for days. Now he was here, making his presence known in the guise of Pete Mundy. Annie thought hard, searching her mind for who it might be. A chill ran down her spine as an echo of her nightmare came rushing back to her.

Snakeskin Garvey. Garvey had blamed Annie for the fact that Pete had kicked him out of the gang. And he had sworn revenge. “Pete Mundy’s not always gonna be there to protect you, girl. That’s when I’ll come calling again. You just wait and see. We ain’t finished yet.”

Annie swallowed hard as her fingers traced the cold steel barrel of her gun. It was just like Garvey to lurk in the shadows, hiding out like the yellow-bellied skunk that he was, waiting to strike.

So he had come to settle the score, had he? Well, all right, then. She would meet him, but on her own terms. She thought about asking Jake to join her but decided against it. Snakeskin Garvey was her problem, and she would take care of him herself. First thing tomorrow morning.

When Annie failed to materialize for breakfast the next morning, Jake went to her room and knocked on her door. After repeated knocks went unanswered, he tried the knob. Locked. That didn’t surprise him. Nor did it pose much of a problem, however, as the doors were constructed with the same sloppy negligence as the rest of the hotel. Using a thin blade and applying a little pressure at the juncture of the bolt and frame, he forced the lock. The door gave a creak of protest and swung easily open.

He took in her sparse room at a glance. Annie and Cat were gone, but at least Annie’s belongings were still there, bundled up neatly at the foot of her bed. So she hadn’t gone too far. While that was somewhat reassuring, it didn’t solve the question of where she had gone or what she was doing.

Jake exited the hotel and stood outside, unable to shake the vague feeling of foreboding that hung over him. He loitered around the town, wandering up and down the streets. He had no clear goal as to what he was looking for. He was simply operating on his intuition and a vague notion that something was wrong, and he would know what it was when he saw it. But he noticed nothing unusual, or even interesting, happening. Just everyday, small-town business being conducted.

Wagons, horses, pack mules, and buggies flooded the street, splashing mud everywhere. Barking dogs and laughing children raced back and forth. The air was filled with the aromas of baking bread, meat sizzling over cooking spits, and sweet pies and cakes cooling on window ledges. Cool autumn sunshine flooded the streets and storefronts, leaving the town awash with color and energy. Excitement hung in the air, as palpable as the soft breeze that blew in off the San Juans.

The morning stage rumbled down Main Street with the pounding of thundering hooves, creaking leather, and rattling springs. Four men were inside the coach, but only one man disembarked. Nothing interesting there, Jake thought, giving the stranger a cursory glance. The man was unarmed and dressed like a banker or an accountant. He dusted off his clothes, picked up his bag, and headed toward the hotel. Next the driver and his assistant jumped down, each holding leather courier bags. One headed toward the sheriff’s office with his bag, while the other moved toward the general mercantile. Weekly mail delivery, Jake assumed.

He made his way to the livery. Weed stood in a corner stall, contentedly munching a bucketful of oats. As he expected, Dulcie was nowhere to be found.

“Can I help you with something, mister?”

He turned to see a boy of about thirteen, dressed in tattered overalls, a bucket and shovel in his hand.

“You see a woman leave here this morning riding a gray mare with spotted hindquarters?”

The stable boy frowned. “A woman who dressed funny, wearing guns?” At Jake’s nod, he continued, “She rode out about dawn.”

Jake swore silently to himself. It was nearly nine o’clock. That meant Annie had been gone for almost four hours. “She say where she was going?”

The boy shrugged. “Nope. She gave me a nickel for helping to saddle her horse, then she rode out.”

He thanked the boy and left the stable, contemplating his next move. While riding after Annie didn’t make much sense, not with the lead she had on him, neither did he relish the idea of aimlessly wandering around town waiting for her to return. He glanced down the street, edgy and frustrated with himself for not monitoring her better. Then the sign for sheriff’s office caught his eye. Remembering the recent stage delivery, Jake decided to drop in. He was taking a risk, but it was better than doing nothing.

He opened the door to the sheriff’s office and stepped cautiously inside. The room was empty, warm, and orderly. A large pane-glass window allowed ample sunlight to enter and gave the sheriff a clear view of the street outside. The main desk was broad and sturdy and showed only a minimal amount of clutter. Two locked cells were adjacent to the main office. Both were swept clean, and the bedding looked reasonably fresh. A cast-iron stove stood in one corner with a tin coffee pot warming on top. All in all, the place looked a hell of a lot more inviting than the hotel where he and Annie were staying.

Jake saw the courier bag lying unopened on the sheriff’s desk. He glanced over his shoulder, then pulled the straps apart and flipped open the front flap. He rifled through the contents, moving quickly past news of local elections and the calendar for the territory’s circuit-court judge. He stopped when he reached what he had been hunting: a thick crop of wanted posters. He pulled those from the leather satchel and scanned quickly through them.

“You looking for this, Jake?” called a voice from behind him.

Jake froze, then slowly turned, surveying the man who stood in the doorway. Walter Pogue hadn’t changed much since Jake had last seen him. He had gained weight after the war, of course, as had every man who had fought for the South. He was out of the battered Confederate uniform that Jake had been so accustomed to seeing him in. His former comrade-in-arms was now garbed in typical western attire, wearing a mixture of leather and wool, denim and flannel — with the notable addition of the shiny tin star that was pinned to his chest. Other than those few changes, Walter still had the same pale-blond hair and hazel eyes, the same soft Virginia accent. He had the look of an innocent, gullible farm boy, but Jake knew him well enough to know that behind that youthful face was a man of shrewd intelligence and uncanny instincts.

He tipped his hat and propped one hip up on Walter’s desk. “Nice to see you, Walt.”

“You too, Jake.”

The pleasantries over, Jake’s gaze moved toward the wanted poster that Walter held. “May I?” he asked, reaching for the paper.

Walter silently passed it to him. Jake scanned the sketch that covered two thirds of the poster. The similarity was there, but it was vague at best, he noted with satisfaction. The features sketched were bland enough to be anybody’s. He scanned the copy at the bottom of the page.
Wanted for Murder
, it read in large type.
Jake Moran. Gambler. Tall man, strong build, clean shaven. Talks smooth, Southern accent, partial to fancy duds, carries silver watch fob in left pocket
.
Hair: black Eyes: devil-blue. Rides bay stallion with black mane and tail. Wears two-gun holster strapped down, Navy Colts with smooth silver grips. $500 reward. DOA

DOA: Dead or Alive. Jake set the poster down, irritated at the rather cheap price that had been set on his life.

“When did it come in?” he asked.

“A little over a week ago,” Walter answered. “There was a report that came with it. Said you were playing poker with a banker by the name of Harlan Becker out in Gunpowder Falls. Apparently you lost big and got pretty angry. Said you followed Becker into an alley and shot him in the back.”

Walter stepped out of the doorway and moved into his office. He reached for the coffee pot and poured two cups, setting them on opposite sides of his desk. He sat down, motioning for Jake to do the same.

Jake sat. The chair was large and sturdy, obviously built for a big man. He reached for the coffee, took a deep swallow, and grimaced. “You still make the worst damned cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted.”

“And you still drink it anyway.”

“I don’t suppose you’d have any bourbon to warm this up?”

Walter hesitated for a moment, then reached into his desk drawer for a bottle. He poured a generous shot in Jake’s cup and put the whiskey away.

Jake took a sip as he looked his friend over. “You look good, Walt,” he said, meaning it.

Walter nodded. “Things are going pretty well. Elena and I drifted out West after the war and settled down. The baby just turned three, and we’ve got another on the way.”

“I’m glad to hear it. It suits you.”

Silence fell between them. Walter settled back into his chair and took a long swig of coffee, then set the cup down with a sigh. “You want to tell me about it?” he said. It wasn’t a question, nor was there any mistaking his meaning.