Chasing Rainbows (3 page)

Realizing that her thoughts were only serving to fuel her panic, she turned her attention to the goings-on in the sheriff’s office.

Sheriff Cayne stood a few feet away, speaking with his deputies. Although she did her best to eavesdrop, their discussion was carried on in tones too low for her to hear. Occasionally they glanced her way, but mostly they ignored her. That was just jim-dandy with her. She’d had more than enough of their attention for one day.

Standing slightly apart from the others was the stranger who had volunteered to escort her to Cooperton. He stood with one broad shoulder propped against the window frame, his long legs firmly planted, his arms crossed over his chest. He gazed out the window, looking bored and removed from the business going on around him. And though he didn’t appear to be paying the slightest bit of attention to either her or the sheriff and his men, Annie’s instinct told her that he was alert to even the smallest movement in the room.

Jake Moran. That’s what Sheriff Cayne had called him. Annie searched her memory, but the name meant nothing to her.

He was a gambler, that much she could tell. He was dressed in black, like a minister, but without any of the shoddy sacrifice so often seen in men of the cloth. His jacket and pants were cut from fine wool serge and emphasized the broadness of his shoulders, his narrowly tapered waist, and his long, powerful legs. Beneath the jacket, he wore a vest of gray silk brocade, with a perfectly starched white linen shirt and narrow black string tie. On his head, he wore the finest silver conch band that she had ever laid eyes on.

The men Annie had known never wore anything so clean or new, but Jake Moran wore his clothing casually, like a man used to the finer things in life.

Annie frowned as she studied him. The man had more money on his back in wearing apparel than she had ever spent on clothing in her entire life. That fact alone should have made him the most dandified city-slicker to ever to fall out of a stage and trip over a pile of mule dung. But, despite the fancy trappings he wore, the gambler was lean, muscular, and all male, no doubt about it.

Her grudging appraisal of his body finished, she turned her attention to his profile. Beautiful. That was the first word that came to mind. Annie qualified it immediately. Fact was, he was too good-looking, she decided. His cheekbones were high and lean, his lips smoothly sensual, his skin bronzed from the sun. He had a firm chin and a straight nose with a bump or two that might have come from gambling with the wrong
hombres
. His hair was thick and curled slightly about his collar; the color reminded her of the rich brown-black hue of a strong cup of coffee.

But it was his eyes that captivated Annie the most. She stared at him and thought before finally deciding on a color. Framed by impossibly thick, spiky black lashes, his eyes were the color of a frosty winter sky just before snowfall. They charged his gaze with a hint of danger and the promise of storms to come.

Annie considered him carefully. The man had been given the kind of looks that would only lead to trouble, she decided. And Annabel Lee Foster had already seen enough trouble to take her to the end of her days. The last thing she needed now was to get tangled up with the likes of him.

As if reading her thoughts, Jake turned toward her, moving too abruptly for her to avert her eyes. It wouldn’t have mattered even if she had. His expression told her plainly that he’d been aware of — perhaps even slightly amused by — her scrutiny.

A wave of embarrassed heat spread through her body as his satisfied gaze locked on hers. The gambler studied her in silence, looking as pleased as a hog that had fallen into a mud puddle. Obviously the man was well aware of his appeal and expected women to just fall to pieces if he so much as glanced their way. Well, he had another think coming if he expected her to act like a goose-brained ninny just because God gave him more than his fair share of good looks.

Refusing to give him an edge of any kind, she immediately took the offensive. Using a tone that the boys in the Mundy Gang would have instantly recognized as a danger signal, she demanded, “What are you looking at, Mr. Fancy-Pants?”

“I’m looking at you,” he replied, completely unaffected by her barb. He shook his head, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Outlaw Annie.”

Annie let out a snort of disgust. “Figures.”

He lifted one dark brow in silent question.

“Your voice,” she clarified. “Sounds just how I reckoned it would: smoother than a baby’s butt.”

He smiled, revealing a set of perfectly straight pearly-white teeth. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Suit yourself. I damned sure didn’t mean it as one.”

His smile widened. “You don’t waste your bullets, do you, darlin’?”

Annie eyed him levelly, her fists planted firmly on her hips. “Never,” she answered. “And I don’t miss, neither. ’Specially when I aim for the heart.”

“Then we ought to get along just fine.” Although his expression didn’t change, an icy frost returned to his eyes. “I believe you’ll find that’s my least vulnerable spot.”

In that instant, Annie knew why his eyes had looked so familiar, and felt like a fool for not recognizing it earlier. Jake Moran had killer eyes. She’d run with the gang long enough to recognize eyes like that when she saw them: charming one minute, hollow and deadly the next. The eyes of a man who had killed before and would kill again.

Bearing that in mind, Annie regarded him in silence, sizing him up. He talked like a Southerner, she noted, catching a slight, lazy drawl that clung to his words. Interesting. The information didn’t serve any immediate purpose, but it might come in handy later. Despite the man’s relaxed posture, there was a predatory feel about him, a shadowy darkness that reminded her of a hungry cougar lurking in a cave. He was hunting for something, she’d bet her best pair of buckskins on it.

Their standoff was finally broken by Sheriff Cayne. “Listen here, missy, you oughta be grateful to Jake,” he interjected. “He’s the only man in town who volunteered to take you. If it weren’t for him, you’d be swinging from that old oak right now.”

Annie spun around to glare at the sheriff. “So?”

“So maybe you shouldn’t go looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Why not?” she shot back immediately. Her attention returning to Jake, her gaze moved over him in cool disdain, then her eyes locked deliberately on his. “What do I want with a stable full of useless, fancy-footed mealy-mouthed old nags — even if they are all free?”

Jake gracefully inclined his head, apparently not the least bit offended by her words. “That’s mighty flattering, darlin’.”

The sheriff sighed and shook his head, tacitly admitting defeat by changing the subject “Here they are,” he said, tossing a burlap sack on his desk. “All your worldly goods.”

Annie reluctantly shifted her attention from Jake to the bag. “Less what you and your men stole,” she muttered beneath her breath, moving to inspect her belongings. Meager though they were, everything appeared to be in order. With one major exception.

“My guns, Sheriff. What’d you do with my guns?”

“Ah, that’s right,” Sheriff Cayne exclaimed with a smile. “I can’t forget those, now, can I?” He passed her an empty set of holsters.

Annie slung them around her hips and waited impatiently. Without her guns to fill them, the holsters were about as useless as a milk bucket under a bull. When the sheriff still didn’t move, she prompted, “Colt .45’s, walnut grip, snub-nosed barrel, and the initials A.F. carved into the stock.”

“The way I figure it,” the sheriff replied, “Outlaw Annie wore guns, not Miss Annabel Foster. You’re turning over a new leaf, don’t forget. Besides, with Jake along to protect you, you won’t be needing those guns.”

So that’s where this was heading. Annie took a deep breath, barely managing to hold on to her temper. “I don’t want protection, Sheriff. I want my guns.”

The sheriff frowned as he considered her statement. “Tell you what I’ll do,” he said, withdrawing her Colts from a locked cabinet. “I’ll let Jake hold your guns. He’s a reasonable fella. If you’re a real good girl and don’t cause him no trouble, I’m sure he’ll give ’em back to you. Ain’t that right, Jake?”

Jake shrugged.

Annie clenched her fists. She was as angry over the gambler’s cool disinterest as she was at Sheriff Cayne for his high-handedness. Without her guns, she felt as naked and defenseless as a newborn cub. “That’s my property, you hear me?” she said tightly.

“Appears to me,” Jake said slowly, “that’s my decision now. You planning on acting like a real lady?”

“What the hell would you know about real ladies, you no-account, thieving, hustling—”

“You can keep the guns, Sheriff.”

“No!”

Jake slowly smiled. “Does that mean I have your word that you’ll be good, darlin’?”

He held the upper hand in the argument and they both knew it. Any more words from her would just strain her throat, and Lord knew that had already had enough wear for one day. Annie swallowed her rage and choked out an answer.

“Yes.”

She watched in impotent fury as the sheriff passed Jake her guns.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll keep them warm for you,” he said as he tucked them into his belt.

He was deliberately goading her now. The smartest thing for her to do would be to shut up. But Annie had never been one to back down from a fight, even when she was on the losing end. “That’s about all you’ll do,” she spit out. “Bet you can’t even fire them. You look like a palm-gun man to me.”

Thrown as it was in the heat of anger, the insult fell way off the mark. Annie was referring to the derringer pistols most gamblers hid beneath a ruffled sleeve or tucked within a vest pocket. Surprise was the key factor in determining the gun’s effectiveness. The dainty pieces fired just one round at a time and were accurate only at close range. Jake Moran obviously didn’t waste his time with them. He wore his six-shooters in plain view, one on each hip, and he looked like he knew how to use them. The lower ends of his holsters were lashed to his thighs with rawhide thongs to give him that extra speed on the draw that might make the difference between life and death. Something told her that precaution was a product of years of gunplay.

Undaunted by her mistake, she continued recklessly, “I’ll get my Colts back, and you better watch out when I do. You just wait and see what happens then.” Rather than the ferocious growl she’d intended, her words ended in little more than a rough whisper.

Without her voice to back her up, she glanced away in an attempt to underscore her threat. It was a tactical error on her part. Before she could guess his intention, Jake covered the distance between them with two long strides. One large hand came to rest on her shoulder while the fingers of his opposite hand brushed lightly along the base of her throat. Annie instinctively jerked from his touch, but the wall pressed against her back, leaving her no room to maneuver.

“Get your hands off me,” she hissed.

Except for the slight increase of pressure on her shoulder, presumably meant to steady her, Jake ignored her words. A slight frown drew between his brows as he studied her throat, then he glanced over his shoulder at the sheriff. “You have anything for this?”

Sheriff Cayne lumbered toward his desk. “Might have some liniment somewhere in here.”

“I said,” Annie whispered in a low growl, “get your hands off me.”

Jake paid her no mind, his attention focused instead on Sheriff Cayne as he fumbled through a desk drawer. Well, Annie had given him fair warning. Twice. A sharp knee in the jewel sack might be just the thing to convince him that she meant business. She jerked up her leg, but Jake guessed her intention before she met her goal. He twisted to the side, pinning her body against the wall with his own. With one fluid move, he captured her wrists and held them above her head, effortlessly immobilizing them with just one hand.

Annie struggled against him, her breath coming in short, furious gasps. But the harder she tried to break free, the closer he leaned into her body. Her breasts were crushed beneath his chest, her thighs trapped beneath his. The heady scent of his body seemed to wrap around her, draining her of all strength. Even as she fought his grip, she was uncomfortably aware of the ease with which he held her captive. The man was a towering mass of steel and muscle. Unwilling to concede defeat, she glared up into his icy blue eyes and shot him a look so full of unleashed fury it would have sent a lesser man running.

Jake Moran simply smiled. “Enjoying yourself, darlin’?”

“You son of a bitch.”

“You hear that, Sheriff?” Jake called. “She’s trying to sweet-talk me into letting her go.” He turned back to Annie, his gaze locking on hers. In a silky voice low enough for only her to hear, he said, “You want to play rough, Annie, so will I. I’d remember that if I were you.”

Remember it? Hell, he couldn’t have knocked that thought out of her mind with a stick of dynamite. Not when he was pressing his body against hers as though he were trying to mold them into one. She clamped her jaw shut, swallowed her rage, and nodded tightly. “I’ll remember,” she forced out.

“Good.” He released her hands and took a step backward.

Annie ducked out beneath his arm, escaping to the far corner of the room. She wheeled around, her fists planted defiantly on her hips. “And here’s something for you to remember, mister,” she shot back. “You try that again, and I’ll bash in your skull.”

The sheriff held up the liniment jar, a baffled expression on his face. “Jake was just trying to—”

“I know what he was trying,” Annie interrupted, glaring at Jake “I don’t like to be touched. You got that, mister? I don’t like to be touched.” Despite her efforts to remain calm, her voice sounded tense and unnaturally shrill even to her own ears. With any luck, that would be attributed to her near miss with the noose rather than the turbulent state of her emotions.

But one look at Jake Moran’s face instantly crushed that hope. His mouth tightened to a thin line as a look of grim understanding crossed his features. Fortunately the moment quickly passed. When he finally spoke, his tone was so flippant that Annie wondered if she had seen the reaction at all.