Chasing Rainbows (36 page)

“Yes. Silly me.”

Annie reached down and scooped up recently returned Cat, placing her in her customary position in the saddle. As Jake didn’t offer to help her with her bag, Annie tied it on to the back of her saddle herself. She mounted; again, without his help. She was uncomfortably aware of the distance between them but didn’t know how to account for it.

“Something wrong, Jake?”

Jake swung onto Weed’s back. He looked at her for a long moment, his silvery-blue eyes intense and unfathomable in the early morning sunshine. “Course not, Annie. What could be wrong?”

“I’m not sure. You’re acting kinda funny.”

“Am I?” Jake gathered his reins in his hand. He gazed off into the distance, as though looking at something only he could see. “How’s the trail south of here?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been on it before.”

His lifeless smile reappeared, and an odd, strangely satisfied light entered his eyes. “That’s right. That’s what you said.” He spurred Weed into a gentle trot, leaving her to follow.

Annie stared after him, lost in her bewilderment and distress. Jake’s mood seemed so remote and strange, so entirely different from the way he had been last night. Then again, she thought, this was all so new to her, maybe he was acting entirely properly. Maybe that was the way sophisticated people acted after a night of passion. When the sun rose, the lovemaking ended.
Maybe sophisticated women don’t come bounding out of a hotel like a puppy who wants its belly rubbed, Annie, girl
.

Her rationalization did little to lighten her mood. As their journey progressed, the joy that had filled her earlier seemed to evaporate. It was as though a cloud had blocked the sun and cast a shadow over her spirits. She felt gray and burdened despite the brilliant blue sky that hung above them. They traveled in uncomfortable silence, with Jake coolly ignoring her every attempt at conversation.

The road they traveled sliced a neat path through the San Juans, following a riverbed that was crusted with ice and snow. Occasionally a hawk flew overhead, or a deer leapt out from behind a pine. In general, however, the woods were hushed and quiet. As they rode, Annie grew increasingly apprehensive. Her nerves were already strung tight, wondering what sort of reception she would receive upon her arrival. Jake made it worse by subtly tensing at every shadow or squirrel that crossed their path, his hand moving instinctively toward his gun as though he expected trouble at any moment.

After what seemed like endless hours, the trail broadened and they reached Cooperton. A quick glance confirmed that the town was everything Annie had hoped for. It wasn’t anywhere near as grand as Abundance had been, but it was respectable nonetheless. She counted one church, a school, several law and claim offices, a variety of stores and shops — mostly selling mining equipment and household goods — a jailhouse, a telegraph office, a stable, and a blacksmith. She saw far more men than women on the street, but that was fairly typical for a mining community. All in all, the town looked simple, relatively clean, and relatively prosperous. It suited her just fine.

They drew a few curious glances as they rode down Main Street, and Annie’s thoughts immediately went to what she looked like after four hours in the saddle. Anxious to make a good first impression, she self-consciously reached up and patted her hair, stiffened her posture, and smoothed down her riding skirts.

She saw a hotel, and her heart skipped a beat, for she thought at first that it might be The Palace. But she realized almost immediately that the structure wasn’t as ornate as her hotel should have been. In fact, it was hardly a hotel at all, just a rooms-for-rent sign hanging above a saloon. She considered reaching for the advertising circular to check the address, but she already knew it by heart. The only information the circular revealed was a description of the hotel and its general location in Cooperton, Colorado. She would have asked Jake for his advice, but given his odd mood that morning, she thought better of it and decided to find the hotel on her own.

She reined Dulcie in next to a stoop-shouldered old miner and leaned down to ask, “Pardon me, can you direct me to The Palace Hotel?”

The miner halted and looked her up and down with a leer. “You lookin’ for a job, sweetheart?”

Assuming the man had mistaken her for a cook or a maid in search of employment, Annie drew herself up and proudly announced, “I’m the new owner.”

The man’s eyes widened. He slapped his knee and let out a hoot of laughter, revealing a wide gap between his front teeth. “’Bout time that old wreck got some new blood. It’s down the street a ways. Keep going, you ain’t gonna miss it.”

Annie turned to Jake, her earlier trepidations now doubled. Although he had obviously heard their entire exchange, he looked at her with nothing more than mild interest. She lifted her chin and said politely, “The man says it’s down the street a ways.”

Jake nodded without a word and lightly touched his heels to Weed’s flanks. They made their way silently down the street, moving through the town until they left the buildings and any semblance of civilization behind them. Finally Annie saw the hotel she had been dreaming about for years. Looming ahead of them was a grand two-story structure that stood by itself.

Annie reined Dulcie to a stop a few yards in front of the building and simply stared.The words she had memorized from the advertising circular rang through her mind.
The West’s most elegant resort for distinguished ladies and gentlemen. The Palace Hotel — culture and civilization in the midst of the wild Western frontier.
But the promise of the words in print collided with the reality of the building before her.

The hotel was structurally similar to the one in the flyer. It had the same multi-columned front porch, gabled roof, carved front doors, wide stairs, bay windows, and louvered shutters. It had the same generously sized rooms and wide lawn. Yes, the bare bones of the building were intact, but that was where the similarity ended.

Chipped and badly peeling paint fell in thick strips from the columns. The porch hung low in front, drooping in the middle like a distended belly. Several steps were missing from the flight of stairs or were simply broken and kicked aside. The porch rails had been knocked loose and scattered across the lawn. The shutters swung out of kilter, flapping in the breeze. Both front widows were smashed in and boarded up. In short, the hotel looked like it had been in a brutal fistflght and lost badly.

Annie stared at the decayed structure in disbelief, frozen in shock and horror. There had to be some mistake. This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not after years of planning and hoping and dreaming. It simply couldn’t end like this.

Yet even as she denied that it was possible, a battered, weather-beaten sign that dangled crookedly from a bent nail caught her eye. The words were simple and yet as final and depressing as an engraving on a tombstone:

Welcome to The Palace
.

Annie dismounted and wrapped Dulcie’s reins around a withered hitching post. She didn’t look at Jake, although she was dimly aware of him dismounting beside her. She woodenly made her way up the rickety stairs. The hotel was completely still and silent — except for a few pigs that grunted and squealed near the back stoop, greedily devouring the slops that had been carelessly tossed out the kitchen widow.

As she pulled open the front door, a cowbell affixed above her head clanged loudly, announcing her presence. She stepped inside. The stench hit her like a brick wall, knocking her back a pace. The place reeked of tobacco, sweat, grease, and stale perfume. As Annie adjusted her eyes to the dimness of the interior, she saw that the hotel looked as bad as it smelled.

She scanned a room that might once have served as a grand lobby but was now functioning as a parlor. The hardwood floor was sticky beneath her feet, coated with mud and the residue of countless spilled drinks. The windows were boarded over. Faint traces of the fancy paper that had once covered the walls were now thick with grime. The furnishings were simple: a few settees and rickety tables, arranged in clusters to allow for intimate seating in the large room. A long bar leaned against one wall; a cracked mirror hung above it. A flight of stairs led from the main parlor to the bedrooms upstairs.

A rough notice had been scrawled on a piece of plywood and hung near the bar. If there had been any doubt in Annie’s mind what type of establishment she had inherited, the sign instantly dispelled it.
Friendliest girls in the territory. Full figured, loving, and professional. Available by the hour or by the half hour.

Annie glanced slowly around the room, fighting an overwhelming sense of defeat and despair. Her gaze slowly moved to Jake. He leaned against the bar, his arms crossed casually over his chest, his eyes flat.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“It’s a whorehouse.”

“I can see that,” she snapped.

“What did you expect?”

“I thought…” she started, then stopped abruptly, realizing how foolish she would sound. He knew what she had expected. She had thought she would find a grand hotel and instantly transform herself into a fancy, respectable lady. Obviously he found those dreams as ridiculous as reality had proved them to be. It was apparent even to her that she had no more sense now than she had had when she was five. She was still blindly running around chasing rainbows.

She had had every sign in the world that she would more likely find a brothel than a hotel, but she had stubbornly ignored them all. First there was the type of man J. D. Thomas had been: loud and boorish, not the sort who would run a fine resort. Then there was the reaction of Marshal Locke and his men when she had mentioned The Palace. All of them had looked as sheepish, embarrassed, and guilty as ten-year-old boys caught smoking behind a barn. Finally there was the condition of the flyer, which indicated that it had been printed years ago. Even the most feebleminded fool might have assumed that the hotel had undergone some changes over the passing years. But all that hindsight and self-recrimination did her absolutely no good now.

“What should I do?” she asked.

Jake stepped behind the bar, lifted a whiskey bottle and took a sniff of the contents, then set it down in disgust. “Burning the place down would probably be most expedient.”

“Thank you. That’s very helpful.”

He shrugged. “What do you want me to say, darlin’?”

“All right.” Annie placed her hands on her hips and sent him a pleasant if strained smile. “Why don’t you start by telling me why you’ve been acting like such a pig-skinned, stony-faced, mule-headed jackass ever since we left Abundance?”

He studied her for a moment in silence. He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone held the chilling warning of a rattlesnake shaking its tail. “You don’t want to start this, Annie.”

“Like hell, I don’t. If something’s wrong, tell me what it is. You owe me at least that much.”

“I don’t owe you a damned thing, darlin’.”

Annie couldn’t have been any more shocked had he slapped her. It wasn’t the words that stunned her as much as the way they were spoken. He sounded entirely matter-of-fact, looking right through her, as though she were a bothersome stranger begging on the street.

She swallowed hard, uncertain how to react to his ugly mood. “I don’t know why you’re acting this way, but I swear—”

“If you had one good point, Annie, it was that you never lied to me.” He paused, then continued with a bitter smile, “At least, not directly. Why don’t we try to keep it at that?”

Understanding finally dawned on her. “You think I knew all along what sort of place The Palace really was, don’t you? I didn’t know, Jake, I swear it.” She looked around the room, feeling absolute despair. “If I had known…” she began but let the words dwindle off. If she had known, what would she have done? The question was too large for her to come up with a quick answer.

Jake leaned back against the bar and crossed his arms over his chest. “I find this very tedious, don’t you?”

He was bored, Annie recognized with a start. Her world was falling apart and Jake was bored. He was looking at her with the pained, impatient expression of a man forced to sit through the last act of a very stale comedy. That’s all she had been to him, she realized — a mildly amusing distraction that had come to a dull, rather predictable end.

“Why don’t you go straight to hell, Jake Moran?” she said, finally channeling her shock and pain into fury. “You don’t want to stay, get out now. I mean it. Get the hell out of here.”

Jake regarded her through flat, cool eyes. “How convenient. But you’re forgetting one little thing. You owe me five hundred dollars for burning down the town hall in Two River Flats. Or did you think last night was payment in full? It was nice, Annie, but it wasn’t five hundred dollars nice. I’ve had that before; I know the difference.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “You son of a bitch.”

The thick silence mat fell between them was broken by a stranger’s voice. “You folks want to fight, take it outside. We don’t open until six.”

Annie turned to see a woman in her late thirties standing on the stair landing. She was dressed in a tattered purple robe. Her face was attractive but hard, her curvy body rather loose and flabby. Her coarse blond hair was streaked with gray, and her skin was blotched from too much drinking and not enough sleep. She might once have been attractive, but she had obviously let herself go. She faced them now with her bare feet planted firmly on the stairs and a Sharps buffalo rifle in her hands.

“Who are you?” Annie asked.

“My name is Dora and I run the place.” the woman answered. “Now, this here’s private property, and if you folks don’t get out, I’ll send you out myself—” she warned, ominously lifting the ancient carbine.

“That won’t be necessary,” Annie said.

“You leaving?”

“I’m afraid not.” Annie tilted her chin and straightened her shoulders. “My name is Miss Annabel Foster. I’m the new owner.”

The woman’s expression didn’t change one iota as she slowly looked Annie up and down. Finally she shook her head and set down the rifle. She pulled a thin cigar from the pocket of her robe, lit it, then blew out a long stream of smoke. “Well, I’ll be damned. Outlaw Annie. J. D. wrote us that you were coming.”