Anna Finch and the Hired Gun (5 page)

“Anna, you’re still here!” Gennie Cooper Beck swept into the dining room, causing more than a few heads to turn. No matter where she went, Gennie always arrived looking like she’d just stepped off the page of a fashion magazine.

If Anna didn’t love her so much, she might have been jealous of her stylish friend, for today Gennie wore a lovely shade of green, her coat and matching hat trimmed with fur. The feather in her hat matched the brooch pinned to her neckline. Both coordinated with her belt, shoes, and handbag. The beaded bag caught the light and sent a shower of sparkles across the room each time she took a step.

Anna too had a wardrobe full of beautiful gowns and accessories, but none of them looked like this on her. Gennie could stop traffic in a burlap sack.

As she made her way toward the table, Gennie greeted those she knew and smiled at others. An elderly couple called her name, and she paused to make conversation, catching Anna’s eye. A wave and a shrug, and Gennie returned her attention to the couple for a moment longer before making her exit.

By the time Gennie reached the table, the fair-haired beauty appeared out of breath and in need of a glass of water. She paused to nod at the mayor’s wife, then returned her attention to Anna. “I’m terribly sorry I’m so late,” she said as she reached into her purse to retrieve what looked like a letter to fan herself with. “Why is it so warm in here?”

Anna pushed her water glass toward her friend. A waiter approached, then retreated when Gennie waved him away.

“I can’t stay but just long enough to let you know what’s happening,” she said.

“You can’t?” Disappointment tempered the question, and Anna made no attempt to hide it. “But I had something important to discuss with you.” She glanced around the dining room then back at Gennie. “Really important.”

Indecision colored Gennie’s expression, but only for a moment. “So do I,” she said. “It’s dire.”

“Dire? Is something wrong with the baby?”

“No,” Gennie said quickly. “Danny’s fine. A beautifully perfect little boy. He got a new tooth last week. Did I tell you about that?”

She had, but Anna didn’t stop her from telling it again.

“It makes six. Or is it seven? Goodness, I’ll have to count when I get home. I lose track. He’s growing up too fast. But that’s not why I came.”

“But it’s dire,” Anna echoed. “Well, mine’s not dire. At least not in the strictest sense of the definition.” She leaned forward. “So I’m listening.”

Gennie drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “You know
Daniel has a younger brother. Edwin?” When Anna nodded, she continued. “Well, you’re not going to believe this, but he arrived this morning without any warning at all.” She shrugged and took a drink of Anna’s water. “Just knocked on the door and expected to be welcomed like, well, family.”

“Honey,” Anna said gently, “he is family.”

Her friend looked as if she might cry. “I know, but this is Edwin. He runs the family business in England, and then there’s the thing with—well, there are other things.” She paused. “There’s so much about him you don’t know. About Daniel. And about Charlotte.”

Anna looked questioningly at Gennie. “I’m getting lost. Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”

She shook her head. “Even if Daniel gave me permission to tell the whole story, I don’t have time right now. The driver’s waiting outside. I have to get home so I can pack.”

“Pack?” Anna asked. “Are you going somewhere?”

“New York.” Gennie looked nervously out the window. “It’s been ages since Mama and Papa have seen Danny. And I’m taking Charlotte. She does love the city.”

“What young lady wouldn’t? Especially one who is almost grown and has started entertaining the thought of fancy dress balls and beaus.”

Gennie’s first genuine smile emerged. “Don’t let her father catch you talking about his little girl like that. Why, just try reminding him Charlotte will be sixteen soon and see what happens. He’s positively in denial, I tell you, though he did consent to allow her to attend the reception tonight.”

Anna returned the grin. “It’s a father’s job to be in denial,” she said with an enthusiasm she did not quite feel. “He forever sees his baby girl as just that, a
baby.”

“Oh, I agree.” Gennie sighed. “Miss Charlotte, now, she has other ideas. As you can imagine, it’s interesting to watch the two of them, but not so much fun playing referee when he’s trying to keep her a child and she’s trying to be a grown woman before she’s ready.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Anna reached for her napkin and began to twist it. The words she longed to say burned the tip of her tongue, but to interject them into the conversation at this point would be beyond rude.

“I’m perpetually warning him to treat Charlotte like she’s older and Danny as if he’s still a baby,” Gennie continued. “He frightens me terribly when he puts my little boy in front of him on the saddle and goes galloping about.”

“I’m sure.” Anna’s mind strayed to her own galloping about the previous morning. “So, you’re leaving for New York when?”

“Edwin has provided the use of his rail car,” Gennie said, “so it’s simply a matter of collecting what we need. The reception will go on as planned, and then we’ll be off tomorrow morning.”

“What’s the rush?” Anna asked. “I mean, it seems odd that Daniel’s brother arrives from England this morning and you and the children leave on some surprise trip the next day.”

Gennie seemed a bit indecisive, almost pensive. As if, perhaps, she wanted to say more. Then, in an instant, the moment passed and she became her usual cheerful self again. Still, something in her happy expression didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“It’s a fortunate accident,” Gennie said. “I’ll write just as soon as I can and as often as the children and my parents will allow. And depending on the circumstances, perhaps the children and I will be home sooner than expected.”

“When exactly is ‘expected’?”

“Well,” Gennie said slowly, “I’m not sure. It depends on … well. Daniel said we should enjoy our visit, perhaps go and see the Boston cousins, and generally have a wonderful summer.”

“Summer?” Anna shook her head. “You’ll be gone all summer? It’s only the first day of May.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That’s forever, Gennie.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Gennie rose from her chair. “I’m terribly sorry, dear friend, but I must rush. Daniel wouldn’t be pleased to know I’ve slipped off to meet you, but I couldn’t leave without telling you first. Especially after your invitation to lunch today. That was quite unexpected, by the way, though under other circumstances, it would have been most welcome.”

Gennie leaned down to pick up the water glass, and Anna grasped her wrist. “You can’t leave before I tell you what I called you here for.”

Their gazes met. “All right,” Gennie said slowly.

Several possible statements came to mind, but Anna decided to use the most direct of them all. “I shot a man yesterday, and until five years ago I wrote Mae Winslow’s dime novels for Beadle & Adams.”

Anna let go of Gennie and leaned back in her chair, waiting for the expression of horror she knew would come to her best friend’s face. Though Anna’s heart pounded furiously, there was something freeing
in having said the words out loud for the first time. She glanced around to see diners going about their business, not realizing something of momentous importance had just been revealed in their midst.

Gennie, her expression blank, slowly shook her head as her fingers worried with the string of her purse. “Would you repeat that, please? I don’t think I heard correctly.”

“I said,” Anna repeated, “I shot a man yesterday, and I used to write dime novels. Mae Winslow’s stories, actually.” When Gennie didn’t respond, Anna continued. “The man lived. It was just a flesh wound. As for Mae, once I met you and realized how many women I’d been deceiving with those storylines, I had to stop. Though I’m very thankful that through Mae I met you.” She paused. “If it were up to me, Mae would have ridden off into the sunset and left Henry at the altar to cook his own meals and darn his own socks. Unfortunately, the publisher refused to see things my way.”

While Anna watched, Gennie sank slowly back onto her chair. She dropped her handbag on the table and turned to look out the window. Between the fur hat and fur collar, her face was mostly obscured. Only a sweep of golden hair and the tip of her nose could be seen as Gennie peered down at something on the street below. Anna followed Gennie’s gaze and saw a trolley clang past, filled to the doors with people. Close behind was a delivery wagon pulled by two mules. Passing on either sidewalk were fashionable folks mixed with common people. As much as Anna had loved Boston, it could never replace Denver for interest.

A tall, thin fellow sauntered by the hotel, pausing to look up at the awning over his pale head. He held in his hand a bundle of letters wrapped with string. When the man stepped into slanted sunlight,
a diamond on his lapel caught the light. He noticed Anna staring and looked away.

Anna looked at her friend, who hadn’t moved. “Gennie?”

Her friend’s shoulders began to shake, and Anna heard the beginnings of a giggle. By the time Gennie turned to face her again, she had her hand over her mouth and looked about to burst.

“What?” Anna said.

“One more time,” her friend managed between stifled chuckles. “Please.”

“I hardly think this is funny.”

And yet Gennie obviously did. “Again,” she squeaked, her voice as high-pitched as the laughter that followed. “And don’t forget the part where you wrote the—the …” She dissolved into a fit of laughter that caused the diners around them to turn and stare.

“Honestly,” Anna said, her temper rising. “I try to admit something that’s burdened me for years, and this is how you respond?”

Gennie sobered enough to purse her lips. “Oh, Anna, you are the best friend a girl could ever have. The very, very best.”

While Gennie dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief, Anna sat back in her chair to collect her thoughts. “Really, Gennie,” she finally said, “I hardly expected this kind of reaction.”

Gennie reached across the table to pat Anna’s hand. “Well, of course you did, and that’s what makes you my very best friend.” Gennie folded the handkerchief and returned it to her handbag, then retrieved a letter and resumed fanning herself with it. “Thank you so much for lifting my mood. You always know just what to say.” She giggled. “This time you really took me by surprise.”

“That’s what the man with the flesh wound said,” Anna muttered as she grabbed the glass of water and drained it.

Gennie gathered her purse strings, pushed away an errant strand of hair, and rose. “I wish I could stay, but I truly must go. You’ll be at the reception tonight, yes?”

“Of course.” Anna followed suit, dropping her napkin onto the table. There would be other opportunities to unburden herself. Surely Gennie would believe her next time. “What if I walk you downstairs?”

“That’s not necessary. You’ve not eaten a bite.”

“I’m going anyway,” Anna said. “I’m not really hungry, and I need to send McMinn into the post office for stamps if I’m going to write to you.”

Perhaps she could say in a letter what she hadn’t managed to say in person. It might be fun to send Gennie one of her manuscripts as well, just to prove her point. After all, she had a trunk full of them in the attic.

“Oh goodness,” Gennie said, “I almost forgot. Might I trouble you to post this for me? I know Daniel will have someone send a telegram to Mother and Father, but I think posting a letter’s probably best. Send it by the fastest means, would you?”

“Of course.” Anna took the letter that had been used moments earlier as a fan and followed in Gennie’s wake as the one and only Mrs. Beck crossed the room and walked out onto the upstairs landing. Anna was surprised to see they were one of the last lunch parties to leave the dining room. She hadn’t realized so much time had passed. They parted ways at the top of the stairs. With a wave, Gennie hurried ahead and disappeared into the pharmacy.

Anna was about to descend the stairs when she spied walking toward her the thin but well-dressed man she’d seen through the window. He reached the top of the stairs and stopped to lean against the banister. The stickpin in his lapel caught the light and glittered, a bright contrast to his pale skin and paler hair. Anna moved closer. The man had a general look of poor health, though his blue eyes followed her with great interest.

Curious but unwilling to pry, Anna pressed past the man, but as her heart overruled logic, she paused. “Sir? Are you ill?”

The man straightened and regarded Anna with something akin to surprise. He seemed, however, at a loss for words. Before he could find his voice, Wyatt Earp came bolting toward them.

In all the excitement with Gennie, Anna had forgotten the lawman was still there. She stepped back to watch the pair, who were obviously well acquainted.

“It’s you,” Mr. Earp said as he embraced the frail fellow with the gusto of a man gone a long time between visits. “It’s really you. I didn’t think you’d …”

Wyatt’s voice trailed off as he held the man at arm’s length, then embraced him once more. Finally, the lawman stepped back and shook his head. “What am I thinking?” he said. “Why don’t we go sit down? You look like you’d blow over in a stiff wind. ’Sides, there’s not a man alive who couldn’t use a square meal and a cup of coffee at the end of the trail.”

When Wyatt released him, the other man wobbled backward before righting himself. “I might at that, though I think I’ll just have the coffee.” He glanced at Anna. “Is this the lucky woman? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Two sets of eyes turned Anna’s direction. “Who, me? No, I’m his Anna … that is, we are not acquainted.”

The legendary lawman stepped in to place his palm on his friend’s shoulder. “Come in and meet my wife,” he said gently. “I’m sure this young lady has other things to do besides watch two old-timers reminisce.”

“I ought to go mail these,” the thin man said abruptly. “Coming to Denver at all was a bad idea.”