Anna Finch and the Hired Gun (24 page)

Anna felt the heat rise in her face. “Mr. Sanders,” she said, “I’ll thank you not to mention my moment of foolishness again.”

“Don’t suppose I need this anymore, then.” The mustache came off on the second tug. “Should you change your mind, I know where to find another on short notice.”

“I assure you, Mr. Sanders,” Anna said as she watched him toss the mustache over his shoulder, “I will not change my mind.”

And yet with each step she took, Anna knew that forgetting his kisses would be as difficult as not changing her mind.

Perhaps it was their indifference to the mare, or maybe it was the smell of the carrot in Anna’s saddlebag, but just about the time Jeb decided they’d be walking until bedtime, Maisie loped past, then circled around to stop in front of Anna.

“Mr. Sanders,” Anna said, “it appears our ride has arrived.”

“Indeed it does, Miss Finch.” He gestured to the horse. “Shall I catch the reins, or will that be your job?”

“I’ll do it. Likely she won’t let you.”

Obviously Anna Finch had no idea she stood in the presence of a Texas man raised to court the affection of horses well before he learned to draw the attention of ladies. “Stand back and watch how it’s done, darlin’.”

“Darlin’?” She shook her head, though her amusement seemed to be tempered with something else.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t hurt her.”

“It’s not her I’m worried about.”

Jeb set his cargo aside and held the carrot in his palm but avoided looking directly at the mare. “I appreciate the sentiment,” he said to Anna, “but I’ll be—”

A searing pain halted his words. The mare had stolen the carrot and left on his hand to show for it a mark the size of her teeth.

Her mistake, however, was pausing to enjoy her treat. In that instant, Jeb snatched the reins and climbed into the saddle. She only bucked twice before settling down and continuing to chew on the carrot.

“And that,” Jeb said as he took the saddlebag from Anna’s outstretched hand, “is how a man tames a horse. Now hand me that mail sack so I can situate it, then I’ll see if I can fit you up here too.”

For a moment, Jeb knew the city girl considered he might leave her stranded in the prairie. To reassure her, he worked fast to attach the bags, then reached down to grasp her outstretched hand. As his fingers encircled her wrist, he realize she’d only fit in front of him. Where he’d have to look at her the whole ride back to Denver.

“Wait,” he said, releasing her. “Let me see if we can’t do better by moving these bags.”

He tried. And he failed. And he realized Anna Finch would be riding sidesaddle in his arms. A glance at the horizon told him they had a much longer distance ahead of them than he’d like.

“Let’s get this over with. Put your foot in the stirrup, and I’ll give a good tug on three. One, two—” He hoisted her up without
warning, hauling her against him. “Three,” he breathed against the top of her head.

“That wasn’t funny.”

Jeb swallowed hard and held tight to the reins as the horse pranced and complained. “None of this is funny.”

For all his faults, Jeb was a gentleman, and this female now tangled up in his shirt with her arms wrapped around him was the person he was sworn to protect.

And he had reason to suspect she could give him what he needed to bring down the great Doc Holliday. To bring Ella’s killer to justice.

So he gritted his teeth and ignored the fact that Anna Finch felt like heaven in his arms. That the kisses he’d shared with her made him want another despite all the arguments against it.

Thankfully the mare settled down and pointed her nose toward Denver without any further complaint.

When they reached the bridge spanning the Platte, Jeb pulled back on the reins and aimed the mare for a stand of trees. His companion had slept against his chest for the last couple of miles, and she’d likely be horrified to learn of it.

On the other hand, he’d found an odd peace in riding that way, with a woman in his arms and the sun on his back. It was tricky, balancing a slumbering female and a high-strung horse, but he’d managed it.

Jeb took one last moment to look at her. Then, before he could change his mind, he began the process of waking her up.

“Miss Finch?” he whispered against the top of her head. When
she didn’t immediately respond, he slid his palm up her back to rest at the nape of her neck. “Miss Finch, you need to wake up now.”

Her eyes flew open, and she nearly tumbled to the ground and took him with her. Only his feet in the stirrups kept them atop the mare.

Her sleep had been deep, as witnessed by her moment of confusion followed by a shake of her head. “What? Where …” She shook her head again, sweeping her hand through curls in sore need of taming.

“Are you awake enough to listen?” When she whispered a soft yes, Jeb gave her an appraising look. “I figure if you’re seen riding back into Denver in this state, our friend Mr. Mitchell will hear of it before you reach home. I know you keep a Smith & Wesson in that saddlebag. You got any hairpins in there too?”

Anna felt her hair, then looked down at her rumpled dress. Her expression crumpled. “Oh, I’m a fright.”

Jeb forced a chuckle. “Darlin’, you don’t frighten me in the least.”

A lie for which he’d have to repent. The way she’d settled into his arms as if she’d been built to go there terrified him no end. Worse even than the kisses had.

He fumbled around in the saddlebag until he found a few hairpins and presented them to her. “I’d offer to help, but I’m not sure what I can do.”

Anna took the pins, then promptly dropped half of them. “Oh no,” she said, attempting to slip off the horse.

Jeb reached for her hand and covered her palm with his, steadying her on the saddle. “Turn your head that way,” he said.

“Why?”

Jeb pretended exasperation. “As I said, I can’t send you home like this.”

She looked as if she might argue but then did as he asked.

“You’ll have to hold the reins.”

When he was certain Anna had the reins in her grip, he stuck the hairpins in his pocket and went to work turning her tangles into something resembling a braid. Her hair was soft, curling in places and waving in others, and was the color of soft burnished leather. It took him a minute to remember how, but once he recalled which strand went where, the braid began to take shape. That accomplished, he coiled the braid at the nape of her neck and stuck in the first hairpin. When she didn’t flinch, he attempted another. Four pins later and the concoction held.

“There,” he said. “Now give me the reins. I’m going to get us a little closer to Denver, then leave you to ride in alone. Can you manage to find home if I do that?”

“Of course I can,” she said, regaining some of her spirit.

Jeb grinned over her head.

They made their way out of the trees and across the plains at a slow, steady pace. When Jeb felt they’d come as close to Denver as they could without being seen, he reined in the mare again.

“You’re being awfully quiet for a talkative woman,” he said. “I think I’ll walk the rest of the way from here.”

Before she could respond, he thrust the reins into her hand and hit the ground.

Her hand went to the back of her head, and she toyed with the
mess Jeb had made of her curls. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

Jeb forced a grin. “Maybe someday I’ll tell you. I’ll hold on to the mare while you turn around and fit your feet in the stirrups.” When she’d accomplished the feat, Jeb shook his head. “Now get on home before I change my mind and decide to ride into Denver with you in that state. Such a scandal we’d be.”

She had begun to smile when he slapped the horse’s haunches and sent it bolting forward.

By the time Anna reached the stables, she’d long given up any hope of arriving unseen. That her father and Edwin Beck happened to be leaving as she rode up might have horrified her under other circumstances. Today, however, she rode past as if it were normal for anyone to see Barnaby Finch’s daughter in such a state.

When her feet touched the ground, Anna’s knees threatened to buckle. Using Maisie to stand firm, she grasped the strings on the mail sack and hauled it over her shoulder. “Would you see to my saddlebag?” she asked the groom. “And be careful of my pistol.”

The groom nodded and took Maisie’s reins. As the horse trotted away, Anna slumped against the back of the stable and tried to muster the courage to move. What little bluster she’d managed in front of Papa and Edwin Beck had evaporated the moment her feet touched the ground.

“Anna,” her father called. “Come here this instant.”

So she did. With the mail sack over her shoulder and her hair exactly like her father’s hired help had fashioned it. Though she didn’t
dare look down to see what her still-soggy dress looked like, she recalled as she reached the lawn that she’d lost one of her shoes. Kicking off the other, she held her head high and went to meet her father.

Intending to ask him why he’d wasted his money paying someone to follow her, she changed her mind when she came face to face with Edwin Beck. She’d hoped, if her father was summoning her in this state, that Mr. Beck had left.

“An interesting costume,” he said to Anna. “Is this for next week’s masquerade ball?”

Before Anna could speak, her father laughed. “Do tell Mr. Beck the joke you’re playing on me.” He glanced over at Mr. Beck, who waited by the Finches’ buggy. “She’s quite the prankster, my Anna.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed, obviously waiting for Anna to continue the farce. “I am, at that.” She gave the neighbor’s brother her broadest if not most sincere smile. “Quite the prankster. Do you like it?” Before either man could respond, Anna shrugged. “Yes, well, lovely to see you, Mr. Beck.”

“And you, Miss Finch,” the Englishman said. “You look beautiful as usual.”

“Do I?”

“Indeed you do,” he responded instantly.

Papa’s eyes widened but he said nothing. The smile she gave him was a bit more sincere. “Are you leaving again?”

Her father looked surprised at the question, as did Mr. Beck. “We’ve a meeting to attend,” Edwin Beck said.

“Very important,” Papa added. “And possibly lengthy. Do see that your mother’s entertained this evening.”

“I hardly think …” Anna thought better of the shrewish remark and put back on her smile. “Of course, Papa. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve some letters to dry off.”

With her newfound honesty lifting her spirits and propelling her toward the house, Anna turned her back on the two men and limped across the lawn on bare feet that hadn’t expected the grass to contain burrs. Pride kept her from either slowing down or removing the thorns. Instead, she kept her pace, her back straight and head held high, until she reached the kitchen.

Two maids and Mr. McMinn greeted her. “Let me take that bag, miss,” one of the maids said while Mr. McMinn’s gaze traveled the length of her.

“Get caught out in the weather?” he asked.

“I did.” She sank onto the nearest chair and inspected her feet for burrs. “I found a place upstream a few miles and hid out until it passed.”

Only then did she allow herself to think of just who had been with her. And the kisses they had shared.

Humiliation flooded her as she recalled her behavior, both brazen and impetuous. Jeb Sanders was her father’s employee. A Pinkerton paid to follow her. Certainly not a man with whom she should be sharing so much as a familiar moment, much less a kiss.

Or several.

Anna rose, trying to shake off the thought of what she’d done. Unlike Mae Winslow, who’d been more than willing to share the occasional embrace with her man, Anna would not be having any more such adventures.

At least not with Jeb Sanders.

It just would not do.

“If you’ll ’scuse me, then,” the driver said before tipping his cap and making a quick exit. Anna watched him hasten across the lawn to help her father into the buggy, then she turned and trudged up the stairs to her room.

There she found the maid had already delivered the mail sack. Beyond caring who found her or the evidence of this morning’s trip to Garrison, Anna dumped the contents of the sack onto the floor and sat beside the soggy lump of correspondence. The only way to know if anything remained legible in any of the letters was to open each one.