Anna Finch and the Hired Gun (28 page)

While he read the article, Anna found another paper. “And see,” she said as she pointed to the front page of the
Aspen Daily Times
, “this man doesn’t even look like you.”

He set down the papers and joined her at the table. “My friend Wyatt has vouched for you, and that is why I’ve allowed this,” he said as he settled himself. “That there are men using my name is an old theory long discarded.” Holliday gestured to the stack of newspapers. “Forgive my impertinence, but what assurance can you offer that this is not yet another colossal waste of time?”

“None,” Anna responded hastily. “Perhaps it will be just that.” She paused to point her pencil at him. “But what if it is not? What if there is but one man carrying on this ruse? And what if my
story …
your
story,” she corrected, “is exactly what gets that man caught?”

“Is that why you’ve brought a Pinkerton with you?”

The question hung in the sulfur-tinged air for a moment before Anna set down her pencil. “How did you know he’s a Pinkerton?”

The legendary gunman shook his head. “A man with a badge carries himself differently than other men. I know,” he said slowly. “I wore one a time or two.”

“Well, though it may appear otherwise, Mr. Sanders is assigned to me, not you,” Anna said. “Courtesy of my father.”

He laughed and toyed with the diamond stickpin on his lapel. “Because you accept invitations for clandestine meetings with outlaws?”

“Because I refuse invitations from potential grooms.” She reached for her pencil. “Now, about that story.”

“Do not judge your father for his concern,” Mr. Holliday said. “I only recently visited with mine. In New Orleans, and in the midst of a dental convention, no less. I’d not trade for anything the trouble it took to accomplish that.”

For a moment, he seemed lost to her, his attention transported away from the small hotel room. Imagining Doc Holliday at a New Orleans dental convention was impossible, even though he truly was a dentist himself. So far removed from the normal, the mundane, was this man.

“Miss Bird,” he said, “I fear I must strike a bargain with you. Between the law and the Lord, my time grows short. There is much untold. Triumph and mischief are often regaled, but who is left to chronicle the rest?”

Anna leaned back against her chair to consider the question. “What are you asking, Mr. Holliday?”

“Should I decide you’re the one to tell my tale, I will be asking for more of your time than you’ll likely wish to offer, and certainly more than the scope of this interview would require. I wish to tell my story, Miss Bird. All of it. Beginning to end.” He reached for his handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. “Or at least as much of it as I can recall. I will arrange the meetings, which may come at times you consider inconvenient. Compensation is negotiable, for I am not without means, but confidentiality is required. Even your Pinkerton cannot know what transpires between us. What say you to this?”

“Yes, of course,” she said before she had time to count the cost of secret meetings and slipping away from one particularly cranky Pinkerton. The details she would manage as she must, but the idea of being the one to chronicle “the rest” won over any concern.

Anna set her pencil to the paper. “Absolutely. Let’s get started.”

Jeb checked his watch, then stuffed the contraption back into his pocket. She was late.

“Figures,” he said under his breath, and he rose from his post at the bottom of the stairs. If he wasted another minute trying to fill the time by untangling memories best left tied up, he’d lose what was left of his patience. According to the schedule at the train station, the only train to Denver left the station in a half hour.

Missing that train meant staying a night in the only hotel this little town had to offer—the same hotel where Holliday would sleep as
well—and somehow protecting Anna Finch from herself without compromising her reputation in the process.

Jeb’s traitorous thoughts tumbled back to the river and the woman whose skirts wrapped around his legs just as her arms wrapped around his back. Part of what made Anna Finch so irritating to be around could be traced right back to that river. To those kisses.

A lesser man might have owned up to the fact that no woman since Ella had stopped him in his tracks like Anna Finch. But he was not a lesser man, and she’d never know. He’d learned the hard way all those years ago that a Pinkerton’s woman might as well have a target on her back.

He wouldn’t lose another love to a bullet.

The fact that Anna Finch couldn’t stand him made things much easier. Didn’t change how he was beginning to feel, but it did give him a good reason to ignore it.

Jeb cleared his throat and put his rambling thoughts back where they belonged. His boots hit the third step at the same time a door opened and closed upstairs. Jeb paused and waited, his weapon handy.

“One stop and we’ll be off,” Anna Finch said before breezing past as if she hadn’t just spent one hour and twelve minutes alone with the notorious Doc Holliday.

“That’s it?” Jeb called.

Miss Finch reached the street before he caught up to her. As Jeb shortened his steps to match hers, he lost her once more to a dress shop conveniently located two doors down from the hotel.

“I’ll just be a minute,” she said as the door closed behind her.

Jeb looked up at the sign above the door. Spicers’ Emporium. Purveyors of Fine Ladies’ Clothing Since 1872.

“You take more than five and I’m coming in after you,” he called through the door. “Five minutes. I’ll not miss that train.”

Several passersby gave him a wide berth, but Jeb didn’t care. Two buildings away, the man who killed Ella waited, and Jeb only had to walk over and pull the trigger. Without Anna in the room, there was nothing stopping him.

Nothing except a Bible verse warning that vengeance was for the Lord and not Jeb Sanders. A verse he hated so much he’d once torn an entire page out of the Bible just so he didn’t have to look at it.

But it stuck fast in his mind long after the ruined Bible was replaced, and every time he thought about Doc Holliday, he had to step around it. Today, he’d almost managed to forget that if he pulled the trigger, he’d be going it alone, something he hadn’t done on purpose since the Lord got hold of him. Something that might happen again if he didn’t get Anna Finch to the train station soon.

Jeb shrugged off the irritation building inside him and stepped into the store to find a world of ruffles, satins, and feminine garments that made him dizzier than the Finch parlor. What he did not find was Anna Finch, though several other women stood about admiring the goods.

Two or three seemed to be admiring him as well.

“Miss Finch,” he called. “You in here?”

Every head in the place turned his direction. He ignored them.

An elderly female with a no-nonsense expression and a pair of thick spectacles headed his way. “I’m Mrs. Spicer. May I help you?”

“Looking for a woman,” he said. “Name’s Finch. She came in dressed up like a boy.” He held his hand up to just below shoulder height. “About that tall.”

“You need to leave,” she said.

“I mean you no disrespect, ma’am, but I’ll be glad to do that soon as I find her.” Jeb pressed past the woman. “Anna Finch,” he called as he spied a back exit to this torture trap. Making his way toward the door meant negotiating an obstacle course of frilly frocks and womenfolk, but he managed it without too many missteps. Just a few downed dresses and a display of bonnets that got in the way of his elbow.

“I’ll pay for ’em,” Jeb called as he jerked open the back door and stepped out.

Or rather, in. He hadn’t found an exit at all. Instead he’d found a dressing room.

“Mr. Sanders,” said Anna Finch, who wore a new dress and perched on a cushioned bench, “do wait outside while I slip on my shoes.”

The floor looked like a dress factory had exploded around them, in contrast to the row of neatly arranged shoes in the corner. Mirrors on three walls added to the chaos and reflected the face of a man who wished to be anywhere but here.

“Miss Finch,” he said as he slowly backed out of the room, “we’ve got a train to catch.”

The cause of his discomfort looked up from buttoning her shoe. “Do be patient,” she said.

Patient?
Well, that did it.

“Miss Finch, I have
been
patient. Now I’m
done
with it.” Reaching for her case with one hand and her wrist with the other, Jeb hauled Anna Finch to her feet.

“I’m not finished,” she said as she lifted her foot to show the as-yet-unbuttoned shoe.

Jeb reached down to slip the shoe off her foot, then stuffed it inside the writing case. “Can you walk with just one?”

Her face turned as red as the roses climbing the wallpaper in the Finch parlor. “Of course I cannot walk with just one.” She made a grab for her case.

He lifted the case out of her reach. He had two choices to diffuse the situation: react or retreat.

Retreat was not an option. Not with the train to Denver leaving the station in less than ten minutes.

He gestured to the case. “You want this?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I do.”

He gave it to her. Distracted by the unwieldy box, she couldn’t stop him from hauling her into his arms. He might have made it to the door, despite her kicking and complaining, had Mrs. Spicer not stepped between him and freedom.

“Nobody leaves here without paying,” she said. “Them clothes are expensive.”

“All right.” Jeb marched to the center of the store, where he set Anna and her writing case on the counter. He gave her a don’t-dare-move look, then pulled out enough money to purchase half the inventory. “Much obliged, ma’am,” Jeb said to Mrs. Spicer. He tipped his Stetson, then reached for Anna.

“I’ve changed my mind.” She scooted off the counter and landed on her feet. “I can manage just fine with one shoe. Now, shall we catch the train?”

The Finch woman walked with her back straight and her head held high all the way to the train station. Only those looking closely would have noticed her stride wasn’t quite right.

When they reached their seats, Anna Finch turned toward the window and ignored every statement he made, including the apologies.

Another reason not to fall in love with the woman. She was as bullheaded as he was.

By the time the whistle blew and the train lurched out of the station, Jeb figured he could do no more than catch a few hours of sleep before their arrival back in Denver. He took one last glance at Miss Finch, then pulled his hat low over his eyes and did exactly that.

When he woke up at the station in Denver, she was gone.

Any questions Anna had about whether she’d completely lost her wits when she’d kissed Jeb Sanders were now answered. Oh, he was handsome enough and quite skilled, but as she gathered her writing case and slipped past him down the aisle and out onto the platform, Anna knew the sooner she was rid of him, the better.

Not only was he insufferable, overbearing, and cared nothing for embarrassing her over the slightest thing, he also snored. And he had a mysterious past involving some woman named Ella who made him heedless of crossing the line between lawman and murderer.

It might have been interesting had Anna not needed to find Mr. Sanders someone else to protect. The last thing she intended to do the next time she met with Mr. Holliday was bring the Pinkerton along.

Making her way through the crowded station, Anna emerged into the early afternoon sunlight. Her father’s bank was only a few blocks away, so she headed that direction. Likely he’d have a carriage she could borrow to get home. She’d claim she came shopping for a
new frock should Papa ask, though she’d not offer that she’d purchased that frock in Altwood Springs.

Or rather, Mr. Sanders had. She’d have to pay him back as soon as she saw him again.

The sound of the train’s whistle and the lack of a Pinkerton shadowing her made Anna wonder just how long that might be. The thought of the hired gun waking to find her gone made her grin.