Anna Finch and the Hired Gun (34 page)

If he closed his eyes, he knew he’d hear the crack of the pistol. See the blood. Watch a good woman die.

And yet as he prepared to confront the man who murdered his wife, he knew he also needed to put to rest the belief that killing the man who shot Ella would even the score. Nothing on this side of heaven would atone for his loss, and yet the Lord had somehow seen fit to let him love again.

It was a mystery he knew he’d never solve.

He didn’t deserve Anna Finch, but he’d be a fool to let her get away. And while he was a lot of things, a fool wasn’t generally one of them. So he kept his eyes open and his mind on the job at hand.

Though the crowd stood shoulder to shoulder in some places, it didn’t take but a few minutes to find the person he sought. In the far
corner of the room sat the man whose face matched the picture in that day’s paper and Jeb’s memory of that night in Leadville so long ago. His mustache was thick in the middle and tapered down on each side, his jaw square and prominent. With brown eyes and a sturdy build, he couldn’t possibly be the ailing dentist from Georgia.

Jeb marveled that he’d ever believed they were the same person. But then, how many people really knew what Doc Holliday looked like? If a man claimed to be a legendary gunfighter, it was usually in a body’s best interest to believe him.

Moving closer, Jeb kept his attention on the suspect. The suspect, however, had his attention focused on a fetching blonde. When Jeb reached them, the blonde took one look at him and scampered away. The imposter turned.

“You Doc Holliday?” Jeb asked, one hand on his pistol.

The imposter rose. “Who wants to know?”

Jeb stepped into the light, and the color drained from the other man’s face. “Who do you think?”

The man’s hand went to his gun, but Jeb was faster. With the man who murdered Ella Sanders in his sights, Jeb’s finger found the familiar spot on the trigger. One move and the man was dead. Sent straight to the One who would judge his reprehensible actions.

It would be so easy to justify it all.

“Go ahead,” Jeb said. “Give me a reason to kill you.”

But the stranger just stared, his weapon drawn but his expression showing only fear. “I didn’t mean no disrespect,” he said. “The opposite, you know? It’s just—havin’ a
name
, it gets you places.”

“Leadville. Eighteen seventy-seven.” Jeb watched for any recognition on the stranger’s face. “Her name was Ella and she was my wife.”

“Was she pretty?”

“Until you shot her, she was the prettiest gal in Leadville,” Jeb said, his voice deadly even. His finger pressed a notch harder on the trigger. Any excuse and this man was dead. Any.

The man stared at him. Then, by degrees, he began to smile. And then he had the audacity to laugh. “You’re no more Doc Holliday than I am!”

Jeb’s shot, aimed at a spot just above the man’s head, took the bluster out of the criminal and caused him to drop his weapon. When he came up from behind the table, Jeb’s revolver was aimed at his forehead.

And so was Doc Holliday’s pistol.

“You’re right, he’s not Holliday,” Doc said, cocking his gun. “But I am.”

“I thought you were staying back at the Antlers,” Jeb said.

“When there was justice to be had?” Holliday lifted his lapel with his free hand to expose the badge pinned to his chest. “Last time I wore this, courtesy of my friend Wyatt Earp, I sent more than one cowboy to meet his Maker.” He focused on the imposter. “How would you like to join them?”

The imposter fell to his knees and began to beg, and Doc rolled his eyes.

“This one’s not worth shooting,” he said as he put away his pistol. “Give the sheriff my best. I’ve got a pretty gal back at my hotel room who can’t wait for my return. She’s hanging on my every word these days.”

When Doc winked as he walked away, Jeb shook his head. He never thought he’d share a joke with Doc Holliday.

The sheriff arrived in a mere five minutes as reports of the ruckus had quickly reached the lawman’s office.

“Ain’t that something? Heard tell Doc was here,” the sheriff said. “I wouldn’t have figured to have one of them in town, so two’s a surprise.”

Jeb handed over the prisoner, then adjusted his Stetson. “Wouldn’t know about that,” he said. “Must’ve been talking about me, though I’d be glad to show you a badge I’ve got showing I’m a Pinkerton.”

After providing his credentials, Jeb walked out of the saloon. A few blocks away he stopped and looked up at the Colorado sky, diamond stars scattered across its surface.

He’d done it at last—put Ella’s killer behind bars. He thought he’d feel lighter somehow, or happy or satisfied. Instead he just felt quiet, like some voice that had been whispering in his ear for years had finally fallen silent.

Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to see Anna Finch.

In the Antlers Hotel, Jeb found Anna scribbling while Doc Holliday rambled on about some trip to New Orleans to see his father. He crossed the room and pulled her into a hug. Despite her small noise of surprise, she embraced him with a pleasing amount of enthusiasm.

“Doc says you got him,” she said, pulling back and looking up into his face.

Jeb nodded. “We need to go now, Anna. Our job here is done.”

“Yours might be,” she said, “but if you don’t mind, I’d like to continue with what we’re doing.”

Doc gestured to the door behind him. “Got a nice bed in there. Get yourself some sleep.”

“You’ll see she doesn’t do anything foolish, like run off?” Jeb asked.

“Where would she go?” Holliday asked with a grin. “Apparently I’m the only one she leaves town to see.”

“You’ve got a point.” Jeb glanced at Anna. “First thing tomorrow morning, and there will be no argument.”

“Promise,” she said.

When morning came, Jeb found Anna still working at the table where he’d left her. Sometime during the night, Doc had fallen asleep in the chair and sprawled there, snoring softly.

“How bad off is he?” Jeb asked as he found his hat.

“Just tired,” Anna said. “But I’ve got what I came for.” She stacked her papers, then folded them in half. “He’s asked me to do something. I’m not certain I can.”

Jeb raised one brow. “What’s that?”

“The book. He doesn’t want me to publish it. He wants it mailed to the woman in Georgia.”

“The nun?”

Anna nodded.

“If that’s what he wants, then that’s what you’ll do,” Jeb said. “I heard tell he had a wife, though I didn’t realize she’d checked herself into a convent.”

A rustling sound told them that Doc had awakened.

“The thought of Kate in such circumstances is enough to entertain me for quite some time. I regret, however, that this is not the person to whom I’ve requested the book be sent.” Doc sat up. “I take it
you’re leaving now.” He rose and stretched. “Miss Finch, it has been a delight. My friend Wyatt was correct in his assessment of you. And I stand corrected on what a Wellesley education can offer.”

“Thank you.” Anna moved past Jeb and into the arms of Doc Holliday. “I shall miss you terribly.”

“No, you won’t,” Doc responded. “I’ve been considering a move to Denver. For my health, of course.”

“Of course,” Anna said with a giggle. “Do think harder on that. I’d relish another lunch with Mr. Bonney and his friends at the Windsor.”

When Anna stepped aside, Jeb reached to shake Doc’s hand. For a moment, their eyes met.

“Don’t lose this woman,” Doc said. “She’s something special.”

Jeb nodded. “She is indeed.”

Anna slept in his arms all the way back to Denver, her curls spilling over his shoulder and one arm resting beneath his. At the station, Jeb gently woke her, then tucked her hair beneath her bonnet and helped her stand.

“We did it,” she said.

“You did it,” he replied. “Now let’s get you home and into bed so you can rest. I believe you’ve got a book to write.”

“I do,” she said, “though I wonder if you might give A. Bird an exclusive interview, considering recent events.”

He grinned but didn’t respond. Any tale he might tell wouldn’t see newsprint, that much he knew for sure.

Anna smiled and rested her head against his arm as they made their way onto the platform. “Do you still love me, Jeb Sanders?” she asked, half asleep.

He paused to gather her into his arms. “Yes, Anna Finch, I still love you.”

“Well, now, isn’t this cozy.”

Jeb looked over Anna’s head to find Winston Mitchell staring at them with a nasty look on his face. “Been out all night, kids?” he asked. “Or rather,
in
all night?”

This worm of a man questioning Anna’s reputation made Jeb’s blood boil. “What are you insinuating, Mitchell?” he asked as calmly as he could manage.

He laughed. “Me, insinuate? Perish the thought!”

Beside him, Anna looked ready to faint. “You’ll not write a word of this,” Jeb told Mitchell. “Not one word.”

“Are you asking me to ignore a valid news item?” Mitchell gave Anna an even stare. “You know I cannot.”

Anna swayed, and Jeb lifted her into his arms. “Is she ill?” Mitchell asked as he trotted alongside Jeb.

“She’s exhausted,” Jeb replied. Mitchell, of course, wrote this in his notepad.

Jeb spied a carriage for hire and waved to the driver. Setting Anna inside, he climbed up to join her. “Not a word,” Jeb told Mitchell. “Else you will regret it.”

Anna slept until well past the dinner hour. After the maid told her Mr. Sanders had left on Pinkerton business, she fell back into bed, despite the fact that both Mama and Papa sent word they wished to see her. Pleading exhaustion, she put off the inevitable and didn’t open her eyes again until morning.

The next morning she prepared to answer whatever questions her parents might have. Fortunately, the maid who awakened her also informed her that Mama and Papa had taken the early train to Leadville. With their return at least a day away, Anna hoped she might enjoy breakfast with Jeb Sanders. Taking special care with her hair and in the choosing of her frock, she was disappointed to find that she would be dining alone.

“Mr. Sanders is away on Pinkerton business,” Mr. McMinn recited when she went out to the stable, looking for Jeb. He would say nothing more. Nor did the stable hands or the maids know where to find him.

Anna returned to her room and stayed hard at work until curiosity made her wonder exactly what sort of Pinkerton work Jeb might
be doing. No longer able to focus on her writing once this thought took hold, she decided to do something about it. She went directly to the one man who might be able to help her: Hank Thompson.

Finding him behind the desk in Daniel’s office suite, Anna made quick work of exchanging pleasantries before getting to the point of her visit. “I want to know where he is,” she said. “It’s not like him to disappear.”

Hank laughed. “It’s exactly like him, especially considering the write-up in the paper today.”

Anna spied an open copy of the
Denver Times
on Hank’s desk. The pages had been folded back to reveal Winston Mitchell’s latest column. She snatched up the page, allowing her eyes to scan the scathing lines.