Anna Finch and the Hired Gun (15 page)

Rather than wasting time with anger or clouding her reputation by mentioning the lengthy list of dime novels she had to her credit, Anna began to recite what she’d written. Three paragraphs in, the editor lifted his hand to stop her.

“Who’s your witness?” he asked.

Anna told him about the waiter at the Windsor, and the editor nodded. She almost mentioned that Doc Holliday had also been in attendance but decided to keep that fact to herself.

Mr. Smith looked down at the letter then back up at Anna, concern etching his features. “There’s one thing I’ve got to ask before we go any further in this conversation.”

“Of course.”

“We’re a fair paper, Miss Finch. Fair and honest, despite what some of the others would have you believe.” He paused to run his thumb across the top of the page. “I make it a practice not to tell my writers how to conduct their business. I give the assignment and they bring me the story. If it’s true, I print it.”

“Understood,” she said, though she really didn’t. Not completely.

He pushed back from the desk and met her stare. “You can’t draw a breath in Denver without knowing who Winston Mitchell is, so I won’t insult you by asking. Nor will I insult Mr. Mitchell by requesting any special favors or insisting that anyone in this town, me included, be excluded from his reporting.”

“I understand.”

He shrugged, his gaze unwavering. “How do you feel about writing
for a paper in which you might also read about yourself? And not always in the best light?”

Anna took a deep breath while she thought. “I think that while Anna Finch may often disagree with Mr. Mitchell’s facts and reporting skills, A. Bird will never have an opinion.”

He held her stare for several more seconds, then finally looked away. “Fine, then. We’ll run this Tuesday, but not as a letter to the editor. I need it polished up and ready for page one by five o’clock today. Can you do that?”

Anna looked at the clock on Mr. Smith’s desk. It read half past eleven. “Five o’clock,” she echoed, wondering how she might accomplish the feat. “Yes, absolutely.”

With a nod, he began to give her instructions on the changes needed to turn her letter into an actual piece of reporting. When he was done, he surprised her by asking, “So, what’s your next story?”

“Next story?” Anna shook her head. “I’m not certain.”

The editor rose to come around the desk. “Miss Finch, if you’re going to have a career in this business, you’ll need to have fresh articles every week or two. Sooner, if you can manage it.”

“I see.” She mentally reviewed the stack of notes she had at home on potential stories. “While I do have some ideas, I don’t have any strong leads right now. Do you have any suggestions?”

He shrugged. “How’d you get this story?”

Anna thought about it a moment. “I suppose you could say it found me.”

Mr. Smith crossed his arms and stared down at her. “Well, then, figure out how to get other stories to find you, and I’ll print them.”

She shook hands with him and walked out. All the way back to the buggy, Anna tried to determine how she might possibly get another scoop. Then it hit her. A simple paragraph added to the end of the story she’d written for Mr. Earp, and her problem was solved. Reaching into her bag, Anna pulled out her notebook and pencil to work up the addition to her article.

When her piece ran Tuesday on the front page of the
Denver Times
under the byline A. Bird, it ended with this:

By Friday, Anna had her first packet of letters to choose from, all addressed to A. Bird, and all delivered in a single brown envelope addressed to Miss Anna Finch, Denver, Colorado.

She’d mailed her own letter to Wyatt Earp, alerting him to the fact that his story had been featured on the front page of the
Denver Times
. Once she’d signed it, Anna added a postscript.

“And I am enclosing a copy to give to Mr. Bonney,” she scribbled before her courage failed. “Perhaps he would now be amenable to allowing me to tell his tale, especially since I’ve done some research that refutes a certain murder charge recently made against him. This is just one of the things I’ve discovered.”

Jeb stood on the ridge and stared down at the valley. Daniel was late.

Returning to his saddle, Jeb yanked out his pocket watch, a useful affectation of the rich man he was pretending to be, and took note of the time. If Daniel hadn’t arrived in five minutes, he’d start looking.

In the distance he saw the narrow-gauge train threading its way across the expanse of prairie, heading out of Denver. At the crunch of buggy wheels on rock, Jeb whirled. By the time he spied the rig coming over the rise, he already had the driver in his sights.

Assured it was Daniel, Jeb lowered his pistol and went to meet his friend. “Wondered if you’d decided to stay in Leadville after all.”

Daniel pulled back on the reins and brought the buggy to a halt. “No need. Hiram and Thompson are earning their pay.”

“By keeping your brother busy, I assume.”

Daniel laughed. “My hope is they’re boring him to death so he’ll flee the state sooner rather than later. Appeared to be working when I last checked in on them. Edwin never did have much patience for inactivity.”

“Nor do I,” Jeb said. “Speaking of which, I’m beginning to wonder if your Miss Finch is slipping out to enjoy herself at my expense.”

“Anna? Doubtful.”

Jeb shrugged.

“You don’t believe me?” Daniel leaned back in the seat. “What possible reason would she have for hiding her activities from you?”

Jeb thought of that walk home the night of the reception. His palm on her back. Green lace and chestnut curls in the moonlight. The dimple …

“Jeb?”

Jeb shook his brain back to sensible thoughts. “Might be because I told her that her pa hired me to follow her.”

His friend’s face registered shock. “Why would you do that?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” he said slowly.

His mare shifted uneasily, and Jeb scratched her behind the ear. High strung, this horse. Much like the society gal he’d signed on to protect.

“I don’t suppose you told her that you and I’ve been friends for some years,” Daniel asked.

“If she doesn’t know it already, I’d like to keep things that way. At least for now.” Jeb rested his palm on the saddle horn. “That’s why I figured to meet you out here instead of back in Denver.”

“So if you’re here, where is Anna?” Daniel asked.

“Called in a favor.” Jeb took another look at the pocket watch. “Cost me plenty, but your Tova’s entertaining her with tea and cookies until three. After three, I’m out of luck.” He paused to adjust his hat. “Ain’t that a daisy?”

Daniel laughed so loud his horse spooked. “What, dare I ask, is my impudent housekeeper demanding in payment for this?”

Jeb grimaced. “She won’t be happy I told you.”

“Then she won’t know.”

“All right.” Jeb gave Daniel a sideways look. “I promised I’d teach her to dance.”

“Dance?” Daniel shook his head. “Tova?”

“Maybe she wants to surprise her new husband. She did mention he’s quite light on his feet.”

“I suppose.” Daniel paused. “Why didn’t she ask me to teach her?”

It was Jeb’s turn to laugh. “You’re her employer, Daniel.”

They fell into companionable silence. “About Miss Finch,” Jeb finally said. “You know her better than I do. Why would a society gal suddenly decide to spend her evenings at home? It’s been ten days and other than a trip to the Tabor Block, she’s only left the house twice, and that was to make trips to the post office.” He paused. “Can’t figure out why she likes that place so much.”

“Perhaps she’s writing to my wife. They’re close friends, you know.”

Jeb lifted his hat to mop his forehead. Though the morning had begun with a chill, the afternoon had warmed well past comfortable. Overhead a hawk circled, then dove, its cry piercing the quiet. Behind him he heard the Leadville-bound train whistle. A lonely sound when a man stood on a mountain rather than sat in a rail car.

“He’s not coming, is he?” Jeb asked.

Daniel shifted positions to glance behind him. “He’ll be here. He said he would.” He gave Jeb a direct stare. “You’re not the only one who has a few favors he can call in.” They shared a chuckle, but then
Daniel’s expression turned serious. “I’ve stuck my neck out on this, Jeb. Need I remind you the man’s safety has to be guaranteed?”

“I gave you my word.” Jeb looked past his friend to the lone rider approaching from the southeast. “That looks like him.”

Daniel swiveled. “I’ll wait with you until he arrives. I take it you’ll want privacy for your discussion.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Jeb said.

As the rider topped the rise and lifted his hat in greeting, Daniel turned the buggy around and set off to meet him. The pair exchanged a few words, and then Daniel glanced back to wave before heading toward Denver.

Jeb stood his ground and waited for the rider to reach him. “Afternoon,” he said as he tipped his hat. “One lawman to another, I appreciate you coming all the way out here, sir.”

“Retired lawman,” Wyatt Earp said. “Now what can I help you with?”

Jeb reached for his saddlebag and watched Earp go for his gun. He pulled out Tuesday’s copy of the
Denver Times
. “You seen this?”

Earp took the paper and unfolded it.

“Front page,” Jeb said. “Just below the story about the capitol building.”

He watched the older man’s eyes scan the page and knew the moment the article in question had been spotted. The lawman did not appear to be impressed. “You bring me all the way out here to read a paper, son?”

“It’s yours to keep,” Jeb said.

“ ’Preciate that, but I’ve already got a copy.”

“I see.” Jeb considered his words carefully as he took the paper back. “Mr. Earp, everything this A. Bird wrote about you—is it true?”

The older man made Jeb wait a shade longer than comfortable. Finally, with a dip of his head, Wyatt Earp said, “Yep.”

“All of it?”

His eyes narrowed. “You hard of hearing, boy?”

“No sir,” Jeb said.

Earp leaned forward. “That all you wanted to know?”

“I’d like to know who A. Bird is,” Jeb said evenly, “but I don’t suppose you’ll tell me.”

Earp had the audacity to look amused. “Don’t suppose so.”

“I figure it’s that pretty thing you and your wife ate with over at the Windsor. When was that?” He pretended to chew on the question. “Well, you know when it was.”

He watched for signs of recognition but saw none.

“All right, then,” Jeb said. “Just one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

The sun glinted off the silver in Earp’s hair, reminding Jeb that though this was no young man, he was not a man to be trifled with, for the same sun shone on the firearm strapped to his thigh. Likely at least one or two more were stashed in his saddlebags.

Knowing what he was about to say could get him shot, Jeb said it anyway. “Doc Holliday. Where is he?”

“You asking as a Pink?” The man’s expression turned dangerous. “Or as a man with a score to settle?”

“Both,” Jeb answered with deadly calm.

To Jeb’s surprise, Wyatt Earp laughed. “Now that’s refreshing.”

“What?”

“An honest man.” He chuckled again. “Don’t meet many of those in my line of work. Or rather, my former line of work.”

“I’m going to catch him, Mr. Earp. Justice will be served.”

“Not with my help.” Earp turned his horse and galloped away.

Jeb watched the man go. To his surprise, the lawman changed his course and returned. One hand on his Colt, Jeb watched Wyatt Earp gallop toward him, then pull back on the reins as he got within shouting distance.

“Change your mind?” Jeb called.

“Figured I’d issue a challenge.” Earp paused. “One honest lawman to another, that is.”

“Go on,” Jeb said, his palm still resting on the Colt.

“You ask yourself if you really want to know the truth about John Henry Holliday or if you just want revenge. Which is it, son?” Before Jeb could respond, Earp shook his head. “Ain’t no good ever come of revenge, Sanders. No good at all. Find this A. Bird, and you’ll get the truth.”

And with that he turned and headed west, away from Denver. Wherever Wyatt Earp would lay his head that night, it likely wasn’t the Windsor Hotel. Jeb considered following the older man, for where Earp was, Holliday might be found, but duty called. He had a woman to keep an eye on, at least for today.

Jeb pulled out his watch, checked the time, then turned his horse. “Time to pay Miss Finch a visit,” he said as he urged the mare into a trot.

All the way back to Denver, he planned his interrogation of Miss Finch and imagined the admissions she would make when he convinced her that coming clean about her involvement with Earp and Holliday was the best course of action.

How could anyone know what she knew about Wyatt Earp unless they’d spent some time on the trail with him? She’d written about the life Earp led and made the reader feel as if she sat on the horse next to him. He knew she hadn’t really ridden with Earp on any of his escapades, so how had she done it? Maybe during that meal at the Windsor, though that seemed unlikely.