Kid Calhoun (14 page)

“Frau Schmidt!” Anabeth cried. “It’s Mr. Kearney. He’s been hurt!”

“What?”

Eulalie swooped down like a mother goose who discovers a hawk attacking her gosling. She knelt beside Jake and put a hand to his forehead. “He’s burning up with fever.” She took a quick look at the wound in his thigh. “Somebody’s done some surgery here. I suppose Doc Alton ought to take a look at this.

“Anabeth, go wake up Mr. Struthers and Mr. Oxenfeld. We’ll need some help getting Jake upstairs.”

Anabeth rushed off to do as she was bidden. As soon as Jake was settled on the bed in his room, Eulalie sent Anabeth off to find the doctor. If Anabeth had been less distraught, she might have paid more attention to where she was going. As it was, she turned a corner and slammed right into one of the Calhoun Gang. It was Whiskey. And he was drunk.

Whiskey grabbed hold of her to keep them both from falling, and Anabeth was paralyzed for a moment with fear. What if he recognized her? She didn’t have a weapon of any kind to protect herself. She decided to use the protection her sex ordinarily would have given her.

“Let me go,” she said primly. “Please.”

Whiskey leered at her. “What’s your hurry?”

She had known Whiskey was trouble when he was drunk. But never had she felt so threatened as she did now. “I …” She wasn’t about to admit the truth. “I have an errand to run.”

Whiskey peered into her face. “You look familiar.”

Anabeth nearly gagged from the smell of whiskey
that fanned her face when he spoke. Her face bleached white with fear that he would yet recognize her. “We haven’t met,” she said frantically. “I’d like to go now.”

“In a minute,” Whiskey said. “First, you have to pay a toll, Missy.”

Anabeth was so outraged when Whiskey put a hand on her breast that for a moment she didn’t do anything. But even docile Anabeth Smith had to draw the line somewhere. She would cheerfully have shot the drunken outlaw then and there, if she’d only had a gun on her. She had to settle for mauling his toes with the heel of her high-button shoes.

Whiskey howled in pain and limped his way over to the wall. He leaned back and lifted his foot to his hand to inspect the damage.

“That will teach you not to assault young ladies who don’t wish to engage your attention,” Anabeth said in her best Anabeth Smith voice. But Kid Calhoun couldn’t resist adding, “You ill-bred, gully-raking lecher!”

When Whiskey grabbed for Anabeth again, she took off running. She could hear him swearing behind her, but his foot was in no shape for him to come after her.

When Anabeth made the return trip with Doc Alton she kept a sharp eye out for the outlaw. Whiskey had evidently retreated indoors to drown his pain in drink. Anabeth hated Whiskey for what he had done to Booth. She loathed him for what he would have done to an innocent young woman. She wasn’t just being vengeful when she voiced the thought that the world would be a better place without him.

The hardest thing Anabeth had to do that day was pretend an indifference to what was happening in Jake Kearney’s room. The doctor left soon after he
came, and Anabeth forced herself to wait in the kitchen until Frau Schmidt came down.

One look at Eulalie’s face and Anabeth couldn’t stay silent. “How is he?”

“He’ll live.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as a mortal can be,” she said. “He’ll be off his feed a while. He’s going to need somebody to keep an eye on him.”

“I’ll do it.” Anabeth bit her lower lip. That offer hadn’t exactly been in character for shy little Anabeth Smith. “He … uh … seemed like a nice man.”

Eulalie raised a brow, then smiled and said, “I think that’s a fine idea.” Jake wouldn’t gladly suffer Anabeth Smith one moment longer than necessary. Having the girl nurse him ought to speed his recovery.

Jake surprised Eulalie by being more ill than she had expected. Anabeth sat by his bed through the day, soothing his brow with a cool cloth and feeding him broth when she could get him to take it.

Once Anabeth ran a delicate fingertip across the scar on Jake’s mouth. She was surprised by the softness of his lips. The sheet was turned down to Jake’s waist and she couldn’t keep from staring at his body.

To spare her blushes, Frau Schmidt had warned her that Jake was bare under the sheet. Her curiosity was hard to contain. At last, she could no longer resist the urge to look, to touch.

Touching Jake, Anabeth discovered, was not at all the same as touching Wolf. For one thing, her heart skipped to her throat when her fingertips grazed his flesh. Wolf had no body hair, so she was fascinated by the wedge of black curls on Jake’s chest. She tested its crisp texture and traced the dark curls on his belly to where they turned to soft down at his navel.

He was also far more muscular than Wolf. His
shoulders were broader, narrowing to lean hips. She lifted the sheet near the foot of the bed. His legs were incredibly long and were also sprinkled with black hair. She wanted to look higher up, at the male part of him, but admitted there was more of bashful Anabeth Smith in her than she realized.

Jake spoke in his delirium, but the disjointed phrases only left her wondering more about him. He mentioned “Claire” and “Sam” and “Sam’s gold.” She felt the weight of guilt. If she had known where Booth hid the gold, she would have found a way to return it. Unfortunately, the little bit of gold she had saved wouldn’t have begun to replace what had been stolen.

And Jake had mentioned his mother. His voice had become guttural, and he had used a lot of hard words to describe the woman.

Once, when Anabeth was bathing Jake’s chest, he caught her wrist in a viselike grip and said, “I know where you can put those hands to better use.” He had slowly slid her hand—cloth and all—down his body toward his private parts.

She had torn herself from his grasp and backed away the length of the room. Of course he hadn’t come after her. He was caught in the throes of his delirium, mumbling and making no sense. Later, she regretted her missishness. If she had let him have his way she would have known once and for all what he felt like—the textures and shapes that made him male to her female.

Fortunately, good sense—not to mention virginal fear—had overcome her curiosity. Anabeth Calhoun had no business examining the private parts of an unconscious man.

At dawn on the second day after he had been shot, Jake opened his eyes to find Anabeth Smith leaning
over him. He was thirsty and his leg throbbed with pain. He pinned her with a stare. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Anabeth sat stunned for a moment, then flushed a bright red. “I’ll be damned if I know!” She rose and threw the damp cloth down on his bare chest.

Jake had forgotten Miss Smith’s penchant for strong speech. He looked at the cloth on his chest, then back to the dark circles under the young woman’s eyes. He picked up the cloth and let it plop into the bowl of water beside the bed. Lord knew how long she had been nursing him. Maybe he ought to back up and try again.

She was halfway to the door when he said, “Wait. Don’t go.”

Jake studied the string of emotions that flickered on Miss Anabeth Smith’s face.

Dislike. Distrust. Defiance.

The first two he understood. The third surprised him.

“I don’t see much sense in hanging around where I’m not wanted,” she muttered.

Jake rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “I guess I owe you an apology. And my thanks.” He didn’t want to be in Anabeth Smith’s debt. It was like opening the door and inviting trouble inside. “How long have I been here?”

“I found you when I went out for firewood yesterday morning. You’ve been delirious for the past twenty-four hours.”

“My leg?”

“Seems to be getting better.”

The last thing Jake remembered was seeing an Apache at the mouth of the cave and having Kid Calhoun tell him the Indian was a friend. “How did I get here?”

“Someone left you out back in an Indian travois.”

Jake assumed Kid Calhoun was responsible for his return to civilization. But he still had no answer to why the Kid had bothered to help him. More importantly, where was the Kid now?

Jake tried to sit up, but found the effort almost more than he could manage. Anabeth walked over to help, but he shoved her hand away. “I can do it.”

“Then I’ll be leaving,” she said.

He caught her wrist to keep her from going. A crooked grin curled his lips. “Guess I’d better put a rein on my tongue. At least till I’m on my feet again.”

Anabeth’s eyes narrowed. She ought to leave him now, while she could still get away. The urge to flee was strong, even though she wasn’t sure exactly what she was running from. Yet the threat was there—in the form of new and bewildering feelings that flustered and frightened her.

Anabeth raised her chin. During the years she had masqueraded as Kid Calhoun she had learned it was often dangerous to run when she was afraid. It was far better to face her fear and conquer it. “All right. I’ll stay. But don’t expect me to suffer any more of your sharp tongue. Because I won’t.”

Jake had a vision of using his tongue on her in a way she might not have minded. The next words were out before he could stop them. “You have very beautiful eyes.”

Anabeth stared at Jake for a moment before she realized she could actually
see
him! She yanked her wrist from his grasp and knuckled her spectacles up her nose. There was nothing she could do about the color that streaked to her face. “I’ll thank you not to make comments about my … my person,” she said.

Jake smiled. “Whatever you say, Miss Smith. Now I could use that helping hand you offered.”

Anabeth would have given anything to be able to
leave the room, but that would have been the coward’s way out. She took two steps closer to Jake and put an arm around his shoulders to help him into a sitting position. That put her face only inches from his. She was aware of his warm breath on her cheek.

An instant later she felt his lips there as well.

Anabeth stood up with a jerk, and Jake’s head smacked against the headboard. “Ow!”

“Serves you right!” she snapped. “I’ll thank you not to touch my person, either!”

Jake rubbed his aching head. “I was paying you a compliment!” he said. “Skin as smooth as yours—”

“Mr. Kearney!”

Jake grimaced and rubbed his head. “Your point is taken, Miss Smith.”

Fortunately for both of them, Eulalie picked that moment to visit Jake. “How are you feeling?” she asked as she crossed to his bed.

“My head hurts like the devil.”

“Your head?”

Anabeth rolled her eyes, and Jake relented. “Never mind,” he said. “I’m hungry as a she-bear after a long winter nap. What have you got to eat?”

“What do you want?” Eulalie asked.

“Steak, potatoes, beans, and coffee.”

“I’ll fix it,” Anabeth volunteered. Anything to get out of this room!

Eulalie sat in the chair beside the bed and watched Anabeth’s hasty departure. “I think that girl might be sweet on you.”

Jake tore his eyes from Anabeth’s retreating form. “What?”

“She’s an innocent, Jake. The likes of her is not for you.”

“Hell and the devil, Eulalie. I’d sooner bed down with a rattlesnake!”

“I hope you mean that, Jake. I saw you kiss the girl.”

Jake flushed. “Leftover delirium,” he muttered. He didn’t have any other explanation for what had come over him. He had been entranced by the girl’s blue eyes. He had the uncanny feeling that he had seen them somewhere before. When she had leaned over him, the smell of her, the softness and the smoothness of her skin, had been more than he could resist. So he had kissed her. It didn’t mean anything.

“Who shot you, Jake?”

Eulalie’s question forced his thoughts from Anabeth, which was just as well. “I ran into the Calhoun Gang.”

“Ambush?”

Jake scratched his chin and nodded. “Funny thing was, the man who saved my bacon was none other than Kid Calhoun.”

“The Kid on the
WANTED
poster saved you from the rest of them?”

“I agree it doesn’t make much sense, but that’s what happened.”

“What’ll you do now?”

“Get well and go after the gang again.” His eyes slipped to the door. “What’s keeping my breakfast?”

“I’ll go see,” Eulalie said.

When she was gone, Jake tried to remember everything he could about the ambush and his rescue. Had there really been an Apache at the cave? Or had he imagined it. He remembered the fierce look in the Kid’s blue eyes as he recounted how the Calhoun Gang had murdered his uncle.

The Kid’s blue eyes
.

That’s where he had seen Anabeth Smith’s eyes! Kid Calhoun had eyes the same damn color. That was a strange coincidence. Or was it?

Jake’s eyes narrowed.

Anabeth
Smith
. Awful damn suspicious last name.

That same, smooth-as-a-brat’s-bottom face.

And the most damning evidence of all. He remembered Kid Calhoun speaking in a moment of distress and heard the same words issuing from Anabeth
Smith’s
mouth.

Son of a bitch!

He frowned. If he was right, Kid Calhoun wasn’t what he seemed. Neither was Anabeth Smith. Was it possible they were one and the same person? That was impossible to believe. Kid Calhoun was known for his speed with a gun. Clumsy Anabeth Smith could never …

What if all that clumsiness was an act? He remembered holding Anabeth’s waist and finding it slim beneath her clothing. He wondered what he would find under Anabeth Smith’s kerchief. And Kid Calhoun’s hat.

He shook his head at such fanciful thoughts. He was creating something out of nothing. Anabeth Smith just had a pair of eyes that happened to be the same color as Kid Calhoun’s. He had better concentrate on getting himself back on his feet.

Jake slid his legs off the bed. He felt weak as a day-old baby. He forced himself to walk across the room to his saddlebags, where he found some clean long johns and another pair of Levi’s. He lacked the strength to stand and put them on, so he retreated to the bed and sat there for a moment to rest. He had managed to drag on the long johns and was just pulling up his Levi’s when he was interrupted by a voice at the door.