Anna Finch and the Hired Gun (9 page)

The room tilted and faded away.

When Anna snapped back to herself a few seconds later, she realized the mountain man had once again saved her from falling. Somehow, he’d also managed to remove her from the middle of the Windsor Hotel. From the humiliation of being seen foolishly fainting over some strange man.

He’d tucked her into a curtained alcove off the main lobby, where a hallway likely meant for employees lay hidden. Anna found the wall and leaned against it, closing her eyes until the swirling stopped. She opened her eyes expecting to find the mountain man gone.

He was not.

He leaned over her, his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head. Whether out of concern or some other reason, he studied her intently. If anyone happened upon them, they might suppose she and this unkempt fellow sought privacy for more pleasant reasons.

Anna ducked out of his almost-embrace and positioned herself between the mountain man and the curtain. “Truly, I owe you an—”

“You naughty girl!” Mr. Mitchell called. “I see where you’re
hiding, and I’ll have your attention or know the reason why.” He threw open the curtain.

Anna fought the urge to scream as she whirled to face the menace with a pen.

“Go away.”

Of course, he did not. “I only sought to return this lovely chapeau.” His gaze slid down to her toes then back to her face. “Did I see yet another attempt to pair up the poor girl with someone?”

“You are truly insufferable.”

“You’ve had quite a string of gentlemen today. The first one looked a bit old for you,” he continued, “and the other seemed to be suffering from some sort of ailment, though I completely understand that in your position you might have to compromise in certain areas. The good health and extended life span of the groom, for instance. As for your latest attempt …”

The columnist looked past her and his face fell. Anna glanced behind her and found the mountain man was gone. He must have slipped out through the other end of the corridor.

Unless he’d been a figment of her overactive imagination. But the glee of Winston Mitchell told her otherwise.

“What a slippery fellow! Oh well.”

Anna pushed past Mr. Mitchell and the curtain, searching the expanse of the lobby for the man with the smoky eyes and telltale scar.

“So which is the lucky man, little bird? The older man? The invalid? Or is your intended the fellow who looked as if he’d not seen a woman since the dawn of time? Nor a barber, for that matter.”
He chuckled. “Quite an interesting exchange between the two of you before he swept you off behind the curtains.”

Though her temper once again threatened to spark, Anna only contemplated her response for a moment. “As another apology from you would likely not be sincere either,” she said slowly, “I suggest you cease speaking at once and do not take up the habit again until you are well away from me. Far, far away.” Anna punctuated the statement with a direct stare at the columnist. “Unless you’re more intelligent than I think and you’re willing to just leave me alone.”

“You wound me, Miss Finch.”

“If only that were possible, Mr. Mitchell.” She turned on her heel and stormed toward the door.

“So?” Mitchell pressed. “Who’s the lucky man?”

“You’re the reporter, Mr. Mitchell,” she said when he’d caught up to her. “Figure it out.”

“Here’s what I’d like to figure.” He moved between Anna and the sidewalk, blocking her path. “Has your father resorted to importing foreigners? Or perhaps it would be more accurate to ask if he has taken to exporting daughters.”

She shook her head and stepped around the vile man, waving to McMinn. When the traffic on Eighteenth came to a lull, Anna hurried across.

“Want me to make him disappear, Miss Finch?” McMinn asked, nodding toward Mitchell. Strong words from a man whose job was to drive the family, not protect them. Anna wasn’t completely opposed to someone pummeling the journalist on her behalf; after all, what woman didn’t relish a little jousting in her honor, even if it did come from a paid employee?

She allowed Mr. McMinn to help her into the buggy. “Thank you, but it truly wouldn’t be worth the effort.”

Nor did she intend to allow the thought of extracting revenge on the columnist to slow her trip home. As the buggy picked up speed and slipped onto Eighteenth behind an overly crowded trolley, Anna had already begun to review her notes from that afternoon’s chance meeting.

“Divine appointment,” she whispered. Surely only the Lord could have arranged such a fortuitous meeting. How the tale that dispelled the lies told about Wyatt Earp would find its way to the page of a newspaper was another miracle only He could manage.

As for the other unplanned meeting of the day, the one with the man whose blood Anna had accidentally drawn, perhaps she might be allowed an opportunity to right that wrong as well.

From the looks of the activity outside the Beck home, preparations for tonight’s event for Governor and Mrs. Grant proceeded on schedule. In a few hours the stately house would be full of guests. Jeb had seen the list and approved the plan for keeping Denver’s elite safe and secure, including changing the hired help’s garb from Roman togas to a more dignified suit that allowed the three dozen men on duty to hide their guns and still appear part of the staff.

Hank probably wouldn’t take well to Jeb sticking his nose into the business Hank would soon be paid to handle, but for now Jeb was still the man to whom Daniel turned when he needed something impossible done well and fast. Money never changed hands between them, as it would with Hank, so Jeb called the things he did for Daniel favors rather than Pinkerton work.

“Uncle Jeb!”

He looked up toward the familiar voice and found Charlotte Beck waving from the window above the parlor.

“You’d better not let your pa or Gennie catch you behaving like a heathen, Charlie,” he called. “What are you now, twelve? Thirteen?”

Daniel’s daughter affected an indignant expression. “Don’t pretend you don’t know I’ll be sixteen soon,” she said. “Very soon.”

“Can’t be.” He shook his head. “I told you a long time ago I’d not settle for you growing up.”

“Too bad.” She tossed her curls. “Guess what? Tonight I’m to join the adults at the reception. Isn’t that a daisy?”

“It is indeed. Now get on back inside. I’ll see you when you’re ready for your big debut.”

Charlotte blew him a kiss and slipped away from the window, leaving lace curtains swaying in her wake.

“That one’s a handful,” he said under his breath as he slipped through the kitchen door of the Beck home.

Tova, Daniel’s housekeeper, had already poured him a cup of hot coffee and set it in his usual spot at the table.

“Can’t tarry tonight.” He kissed her cheek and reached for the mug. “I’m on the clock.”

“Hey, now.” Elias, Daniel’s houseman and longtime friend, looked up from his newspaper and shook his head. “If my woman needs kissin’, I’m the one’s gonna do it. You got enough to worry about with Pinkerton business anyway, especially given who showed up ’round here this mornin’. So just leave her t’me.”

“Yes sir.” Jeb saluted with his free hand. “And about that, what’s your—”

“Your woman, is it?” The Norwegian woman’s
harrumph
let both men know exactly what she thought of that. “He calls me such a thing and yet when it comes to marrying me …” Her words faded to muttering, which didn’t seem to surprise Elias at all. Rather, he
seemed to delight in it. Tova’s scrubbing became a symphony of pots, pans, and spoons clanging together.

Jeb set aside the questions he’d intended to ask Elias about Edwin Beck and turned his attention to stirring up the pot of trouble already brewing between these two. “When’re the two of you getting hitched, Elias?” Jeb asked over the noise. “This engagement’s gone on for how long, Tova? Two years?”

“Three, come Christmas,” Elias said, “but who’s counting?”

“I am,” Tova said. “But until that man gives up those awful cigars, he’ll not be marrying me.”

Elias placed his copy of the
Denver Times
between himself and Tova. “I’ve had them cigars a whole lot longer than—”

“I get the idea.” Jeb took his place across the table from the old codger. “But sometimes what you give up’s worth what you get.” He gestured over his shoulder at the housekeeper, who no longer banged pots and pans in the sink. “And Tova here’s quite the prize. Why, if I weren’t already sworn to permanent bachelorhood, I’d have to give serious consideration to the fact that you’ve been dragging your feet to make her your missus.”

Elias’s bushy gray brows rose nearly to the brim of his Confederate cap. “Now see here.”

“Come and look,” Tova said.

Jeb swiveled in his chair to see the housekeeper staring out the window, a dishtowel covering the lower half of her face. He jumped up and joined her at the sink. “What is it?”

Tova began to giggle. The reason stepped into the clearing between the stables and the kitchen. Tova’s son, Isak, had forsaken his
usual stable hand garb and made his way toward the house in an odd combination of trousers, boots, and a bed sheet wrapped around him to form a makeshift toga. Atop it all he’d placed a helmet-looking hat that under other circumstances might have given him the appearance of a gladiator.

“Looks like that boy done gone off the deep end,” Elias commented as the back door opened and Isak tromped in.

“I know the boss wants us all to dress like century mans but—”

“Centurions,” his mother corrected.

Isak shrugged. “That’s what I said. But I can’t do it. I won’t.” He shrugged out of the bed sheet and handed it to Jeb. “You tell me how a man can see to the horses without losing his dignity in that thing.”

“Too late for that, son.” Elias pointed to the hat. “Even I wouldn’t wear that.”

The young Norwegian tugged the helmet off and thrust it toward Jeb. “You’re the one who’s good at disguises. See how you feel wearing this. As for me, I’m going back to the barn to put on some decent clothes.” When his mother opened her mouth, he held up his hand to silence her. “Don’t say it, Ma. I’ve made up my mind.”

He marched out of the kitchen, the door slamming behind him. Jeb didn’t have the heart to inform Isak all that rebellion was for naught.

Tova’s face turned scarlet, and she snatched the bed sheet from Jeb. “I tell him he must dress as the others. This occasion is important to Mr. Beck. What sort of boy won’t listen to his mama?”

Elias moved between them and grasped Tova’s wrist. They stood
eye to eye, the tall Norwegian and the Confederate veteran, and neither seemed inclined to so much as blink.

“Leave him be, Tova,” Elias said, his voice low, his tone brooking no argument.

Jeb stepped back, set the helmet on the table, then picked up his coffee cup. This was a conversation he didn’t intend to miss. Likely this would be the best entertainment of the whole evening, the Denver Orchestra and whatever else Daniel had planned for the governor’s reception included.

Tova blinked first. “Leave him be? I’m his mother.”

“And he’s a grown man.”

The bed sheet fell to the kitchen floor, but neither seemed to notice.

“A grown man,” Tova repeated with disdain. “What kind of man—”

“The kind who finally figured out where to draw the line, Tova.”

“But—,” she sputtered, though Jeb noticed she made no attempt to move away.

“The kind who decides one day that enough is enough.” Elias inched closer. “The kind who won’t be told to change his ways when there ain’t no good reason for it ’cept to delay what ought not be delayed, you understand?”

“Elias?” Tova’s normally restrained voice cracked. “We’re not talking about Isak anymore, are we?”

“No, we’re not, woman,” he said. “Now, I’m determined to marry you come Tuesday afternoon right here in this kitchen, and soon as I kiss you proper, I’m going to fetch the reverend and tell
him to expect us. You get me, and you get the occasional cigar, though I promise not to smoke indoors or on Sundays. What say you to this?”

Jeb took another sip and watched Tova’s pale features color bright crimson. It was all he could do not to chuckle.

“What say I?” Her spunk returned full force, and Jeb half expected her to turn back to the sink and resume her cooking utensil symphony. “What say I?”

“Tova, darlin’, you’re repeatin’ yourself,” Elias said.

“Here’s what I say.” She kissed Elias soundly, then abruptly pushed him away. “I say what sort of man wants to wait until Tuesday? Am I not worthy of marrying today?”

Elias seemed flustered, though Jeb couldn’t say whether it was from the kiss or the question. “You wouldn’t happen t’be a preacher, would ya, Jeb?”

“Me? No,” Jeb said quickly. “I’m afraid not.”

“Here you are.” Daniel Beck stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. “I wondered if you planned to arrive with the crowds through the front door or slip in the back.” He looked past Jeb to his housekeeper and Elias. “What’s going on here?”

Jeb gestured to the back door. “How about we talk outside? Wouldn’t want to interrupt true love.”