Anna Finch and the Hired Gun (4 page)

“The crowd’s exactly why it’s a good idea. We won’t stick out like sore thumbs,” the deep-voiced man replied. The clatter and chatter of the room rose to drown out any further comment.

From the corner of her eye, Anna watched the waiter gesture to the table she had begged for, the one set squarely before the windows of the hotel’s main facade. While the lady seemed pleased, her companion shook his head and argued with the waiter.

Interesting
.

Anna let the paper slide from her fingers, stood, and moved toward the trio with a smile. “Perhaps you’d like my table.”

The gentleman smiled. “Thank you, miss, but we couldn’t possibly intrude on—”

“Oh, it’s no intrusion at all. I can easily move my things to this table.” She noted the waiter’s aggravated stare with a measure of glee. “In fact, I’m sure it can be arranged, can it not?”

“Yes,” the waiter said with effort. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” the woman said. “You’ve done us a great favor. You see, we’re meeting someone and—”

“What my wife means is lawmen are not people given to sitting by windows.” The man shook Anna’s hand, and she recalled where she’d seen him: the newspapers. She’d read about him somewhere and even cut out a photograph as a model for a character in one of her novels. He’d been a lawman in that story too. His name escaped her, however.

“Old habits die hard,” he said with a shrug. “I do appreciate the favor. And you will allow us to buy your lunch.”

“Oh, no,” Anna said as she gathered up her things and vacated the table. “It’s my pleasure. Really.”

He tipped his Stetson and grinned. “That wasn’t a question, miss, so do enjoy yourself.” The gentleman spoke with the authority of someone who generally got his way. He glanced around. “You’re not alone, are you?”

“Alone? Oh, no, I … That is, no. My friend, she’s, well …” Anna swallowed hard, suddenly flustered under his steady, all-male gaze. “Gennie’s been known to …”

“Arrive slightly past the appointed time?” the lady offered.

“Yes.” Anna slid a thankful look her way.

“Well, then. That’s settled.” The man tipped his hat again, and the couple turned to take possession of their table.

“She’s very pretty, Wyatt,” the woman said as Anna stepped away.

Wyatt?
Anna glanced back to watch the older man fold his long legs under the table, his back squarely to the wall and his eyes on the only exit.

“Wyatt Earp,” she whispered. “Oh my.”

While dime novels painted the man as a hero, Anna’s impression of the legendary lawman Wyatt Earp, garnered from newspaper reports, was less than favorable. Looking into the man’s eyes and watching how he treated his companion made her wonder if he truly was the cold-blooded killer the papers said he was, bent on revenging his brother’s murder through the so-called Vendetta Ride.

Stories of one death after another, all connected in some way to the Tombstone killing of Morgan Earp, had filled the papers for
years. Names like
Clanton
and
Ringo
, along with hints of things not reported by the law, were usually mentioned. Alongside the requisite photograph of the bullet-ridden corpse generally came a photograph of the one deemed responsible: Wyatt Earp and, on occasion, his old friend Doc Holliday.

The same Doc Holliday the man at the river had mentioned. Coincidence? Perhaps.

But perhaps not.

And now Wyatt Earp sat just a stone’s throw from her, in the very chair she herself had occupied. Looking around, she noted that no one else in the Windsor seemed to realize a man of dubious reputation and some renown was in their midst. Anna tugged at the lace on her collar and contemplated the situation.

Until this moment, her journalistic aspirations had been limited to reading the paper instead of writing for it. But the opportunity of a lifetime had just offered to buy her lunch.

“Welcome back to Denver.”

Jeb looked up to see Hank Thompson moving across the expensive carpet toward him like a tomcat circling a mouse. “I always figured you for the straight-arrow type, Hank, but this has all the marks of a decently aggravating practical joke.”

“I assure you I’m quite serious. You look awful, by the way. You couldn’t have bathed before you came by? You’re more trail dust than skin.”

Jeb shook his head, ignoring Hank’s jab at his appearance. “You
know I’m not a man given to complaints, but I’m standing my ground on this one. You’ll just have to find another fool to put on …” He snatched the paper out of his pocket. “The ‘costume befitting a Roman gladiator.’ Didn’t they wear dresses back then?”

“Togas, Jeb, and all the staff will be wearing them. Helmets too, so your anonymity will be easier to maintain. Surely you don’t expect to be an effective shadow if you stick out like a sore thumb?”

“It’s a dress,” Jeb said as he fought his temper. “Besides I’m going as a guest, remember? I’ll fit right in.”

His old friend made the mistake of grinning. Only the fact that he owed Hank more than just his life kept Jeb from slugging him. That, and he still ached something fierce from being shot by a girl the previous morning.

“All right,” Hank said, “I can see your point.” He seemed to think hard on something. “If you don’t want this job, I’ve got something else I can offer.”

“I’ll take it.” Jeb paused. “What’s the catch?”

Hank shrugged. “It’s a promotion. More pay, next step up the ladder.” A grin spread across his face. “I can assure you it’ll keep you busy.”

It only took Jeb a moment to realize what Hank was offering. “Oh no.” He gestured to Hank’s desk. “I don’t want your job. I’ve never been a man who could keep his boots under a desk for long without itching to get some trail dust on them, and you know that.”

“Fair enough.”

Jeb gave Hank’s blank expression a suspicious look. “That’s it? You’re making this too easy. Just give me another assignment, and I’ll
get out of here and let you get back to work. I’ve got something I can see to for a few weeks, anyway.”

Hank narrowed his eyes. “Carrying the Pinkerton badge gives you access to resources you wouldn’t otherwise have. I reckon that’s come in handy on occasion.”

“It has.”

“Like when you’re off hunting Doc Holliday.”

“That’s not fair, Hank.” Jeb snatched his hat off the desk, where he’d set it when he came in, and jammed it back on his head.

Jeb bit off the rest of what he wanted to say, though he would’ve given his best saddle to be able to have a real conversation with Hank about Doc Holliday. The other Pinkerton’s instincts were sharp and his network of informants nearly as good as Jeb’s. He’d like to know whether Hank had heard anything about the half dozen trail hands over in Kansas who’d been dispatched to fresh graves just last week by the Georgia dentist. The informant who’d promised to meet Jeb yesterday at dawn had either been scared away by the shooting or never intended to show, so anything Hank could provide would have helped.

“I haven’t balked at an assignment since you convinced Mr. Pinkerton to give me my job back, but I won’t wear a dress, and I won’t be shackled to a desk.” He paused. “And as for Holliday, you know I work that investigation on my own time.”

“Doc Holliday’s an innocent man, and until there’s solid evidence to the contrary, there’s nothing you can do about that. As for what you’ll be wearing tonight, I’ll take your complaint about needing a place to carry your gun under advisement.” Hank’s exasperation
showed as he pointed at Jeb’s midsection. “Speaking of guns, it looks like you’ve got yourself a new bullet hole.”

A glance down at his shirt told Jeb his wound had soaked through the bandage again, despite a day’s worth of healing. “It’s just a scratch.”

Hank’s snort of disbelief provided a welcome moment of levity. “Don’t suppose I’ll be getting a report on it.”

“Don’t suppose so.” Jeb changed the subject before thoughts of big brown eyes and chestnut curls derailed his conversation entirely. “Beck’s getting a good man.” Jeb would never admit to Hank that he’d recommended Hank to Daniel Beck after turning down the job himself. The last thing his friend needed to know was that he was Daniel’s second choice for chief of security at Beck Enterprises.

“So you know. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” Hank cleared his throat. “About this assignment, I suppose I could refer the client to J. F. Farley down the street at Thiel’s, though I would have to let Mr. Pinkerton know our agent was unable to take on the job.”

If the taunt was supposed to sting, it missed the mark. “And I could go down the street to Thiel’s and tell Farley I’d like to do some real detective work instead of baby-sitting rich people,” Jeb replied. “Especially when that involves following them to ridiculous costume parties.”

“You think I don’t know about the special assignments you did for Beck?” The anger in Hank’s voice matched the look on his face. “Let’s start with that honeymoon stunt. What kind of detective work did it take to arrange that little horse ride with Mr. Beck and his bride down Fifth Avenue? That ring shaped like a hairpin you convinced
Mr. Tiffany to make? You think I don’t know you had a hand in that? And the arrangements for Mr. Beck to reunite with his father? Those didn’t just happen.”

Jeb refused to react. Those had been favors to a friend, not assignments, but he wouldn’t admit that to Hank. There was no need.

Hank slammed his palms on the desk and stared. “You’re not just the best we got at hiding in plain sight, Jeb. You’re also pretty darn good at working for rich people. All you have to do is keep Anna Finch out of trouble. The job’s shadowing her until her pa finds some fellow to marry her off to. If that means wearing a toga, then you wear a toga. Simple as that.”

“Simple as that?” Jeb felt a grin come over him as the puzzle pieces began to fit. Hank wasn’t usually this touchy. Something must have set him off. Jeb pushed his hat off his forehead, sure he’d discovered the source of the case of unrequited love Hank had been nursing for months. “I think I’ve got a solution that’ll work for both of us.
You
marry her, her father won’t need me, and I won’t need to get fitted for a dress. Problem solved.”

“Out,” Hank snapped. “Before I change my mind and put you in for a promotion.” He pointed at Jeb’s middle. “Wait. Did Doc Holliday do that?” he asked with more than the appropriate level of sarcasm.

Jeb looked at the fresh stain on his shirt. The wound definitely needed a new bandage. He made a note to stop in at the apothecary in the Windsor lobby before seeing to that bath and shave.

“The truth?” Jeb asked.
Why not?
“I had a meet-up planned with a fellow who had some information I needed. Figured I’d get there
early, so I went out the night before and made myself a fine little campsite.”

“So your informant put a bullet in you?”

“Nope. I got shot by the prettiest gal I’ve seen in a long time,” Jeb said. “Tiny thing with big brown eyes and a horse with a streak of pure evil in it. The kind of girl that leaves a mark, in more ways than one.”

“Some hired gun you are.”

“You know I’m the best there is.”

“Yeah, I do.” Hank stared at him as if waiting for the punch line. “Go,” he finally said. “Before I change my mind and have you fitted for a decent suit and a desk chair.”

“I’m going, and I’ll baby-sit Barnaby Finch’s daughter.” Jeb adjusted his hat and gave Hank one last glare. “But you’re going to let me do it my way. Otherwise I’m heading up the trail to home and you can find yourself another Pinkerton to wear my badge.”

“Deal,” Hank said without hesitation.

“In that case, I’ll see you tonight.” Jeb reached for the door, then glanced over his shoulder. “And I
won’t
be wearing a dress.”

He would, he decided, be wearing a few stitches to bind up the mark that feisty gal had left on him. Jeb left the building that housed the Pinkerton office, then turned left at the corner and hauled himself into the doctor’s office.

He took a seat in the waiting room with his pride dented and a fresh resolve to sleep with one eye open. At least the woman he was assigned to watch over wouldn’t be as dangerous as the one who’d put a bullet in him.

She couldn’t possibly be.