Anna Finch and the Hired Gun (35 page)

“Filling the nest with chickadees? All-night tête-à-tête?” Hank leveled an even stare at her. “Only one thing that could mean, Miss Finch.”

Anna squared her shoulders and turned on her heel, leaving Hank’s allegations unanswered. She could feel tears burning her eyes,
but she forced them back. She’d brought this on herself. That she might have caused Jeb to leave was the only part she regretted. At least until she had to explain the situation to her parents.

As she walked from the Beck office to her carriage, she noticed the stares of several of Denver’s finest. The word had spread. “I’m ruined,” she said as Mr. McMinn helped her inside.

“You’re a tart, that’s what you are,” said the all-too-familiar voice of Winston Mitchell.

“How dare you!” She swiveled to see the awful man coming toward her. “What have you done?”

“Done?” He shrugged. “Only reported the truth. Shame on you, breaking the heart of visiting royalty and spending the night cavorting with your hired gun.” He shook his head. “Oh, and then there was the disheveled state in which you presented yourself at the train station. Why, who knows what sort of wild carousing you’d been up to? Your poor father and mother. I’m sure they’re horrified.”

Anna closed her eyes, envisioning her father’s face.

Then another voice joined the conversation. “Mr. Mitchell—or is that truly your name?” She opened her eyes to see Jeb walking toward them. He stopped next to the carriage. “It’s not, is it, Henriech?”

“Henriech?” Anna echoed.

Jeb nodded and crossed his arms. “From New Jersey.”

The journalist’s face turned red. “Look, Pinkerton, I—”

Jeb shook his head. “You will print a retraction. In the next edition.”

“Based on what?” Mitchell had the audacity to ask.

“Based on the fact that the woman whose reputation you are attempting to ruin is my wife. Or will be, once she’s been properly asked and ushered to the parson.”

“Wife?” Anna and Mr. Mitchell said at the same time.

“Wife,” Jeb responded as he reached into the carriage to take Anna’s hand. “Unless you’ve got an objection to marrying up with me.”

“Well,” she said, “I do need to convince my father to get rid of that hired gun he paid to follow me around. He’s become quite a nuisance. Papa says getting married is the only way.”

“Is that so?” Jeb reached toward her, then seemed to recall they were not alone. “Mr. Mitchell? I’m going to give you exactly one minute to leave my presence. You will return to whatever hole you crawl out of each morning and write a column refuting every word you’ve written against Miss Finch. Do you understand?”

“And if I don’t?”

“If you don’t, then I’ll turn the truth about you over to an intimate friend of mine for publication. You’ve heard of A. Bird, I suspect.”

“But that’s …”

Jeb pulled his watch from his pocket. “Thirty seconds,” he said.

Mitchell scampered away.

“Now,” Jeb said. “About that marriage proposal.”

“You’ll have to ask my father.” Anna paused. “But I’d appreciate it if you let me speak to him first.”

He bristled. “I’d rather handle this man to man, Anna. I won’t have you doing my job for me. I’ve got my own ranch and money enough to take care of you. I don’t need your help convincing him—”

She touched her finger to his lips. “Please.”

Jeb visibly relented, the stubbornness fading from his shoulders. “On one condition,” he said. “You’ve not been properly proposed to until I—not you—have spoken to your pa. Understand?”

“Yes,” she said, and pulled him into the carriage.

When her father finally returned from his trip to Leadville the next morning, Anna followed him to his library, knowing he would seek a few minutes of peace and quiet before being called for lunch.

“My daughter,” he said when he’d settled behind the desk. “Aren’t you the talk of the town?”

Anna refused to take the bait. “Papa, I must speak to you about Edwin Beck. I will not marry him, and there’s nothing you can say to force me to. As I am a grown woman with a means of providing for myself that does not include an inheritance from you, I am fully prepared for you to disown me.”

Her father listened attentively. “And you would find this preferable to wedding Edwin Beck?”

She let out the breath she’d been holding. “I would.”

“Well, fortunately for you, Mr. Beck has withdrawn his offer for your hand due to new facts he’s uncovered about your virtue.” Papa pressed away from the desk and rose. “Might I inquire as to the validity of his allegations?”

“Why, I don’t know what …” The article. Mr. Mitchell. Anna sighed. “There were veiled statements besmirching my reputation in one of yesterday’s newspaper columns. Lies. Most of them,” she amended.

Papa nodded. “So you’ve not taken up with some fellow and gone on wild train rides out of town with him while your mother and I thought you were visiting friends?”

Anna suppressed a groan. “I wouldn’t exactly say wild, though there was a man nearly shot in Colorado Springs, but only in self-defense. And then there was the arrest, which was a shared endeavor between myself and two Doc Hollidays.”

Her father looked as if he were having a bit of trouble breathing. He sagged against the edge of the desk and grappled to loosen his tie. “Anna,” he said, “have you shot another fellow?”

“I have not,” she answered quickly.

He seemed a bit less flustered as he took a gulp of air. “All right, then have you allowed your virtue to be compromised in any way?”

She thought for a moment. “Actually, or in appearance?”

His eyes narrowed. “Actually.”

Anna smiled. “Then my response is no.”

Papa looked relieved. “Then there is hope I may still marry you off.”

“More than you know, Papa,” she said, “and when he comes to call on you, I’d like you to remember one thing.”

“What is that, dear?” her father said as he reached for the carafe of water on the desk beside him.

“I love him.”

With that statement, Anna left her father to his sudden thirst. She headed for the stables but found only Mr. McMinn, brushing out Maisie.

“She’s lovely,” Anna said, “though more willful than any filly
ought to be.” She looked beyond the horse to the quarters where it seemed like she’d only just awakened a sleeping Pinkerton.

“He ain’t in there,” Mr. McMinn said.

“I don’t suppose you know where he went.”

“Actually, I do, but you ain’t gonna get it out of me.”

“Then allow me to finish that.” Anna reached for the brush and took over the driver’s job of combing out the horse’s coat. When she was done, she set the brush aside and called for a stable boy. “Saddle her, please,” Anna said. “I’ve a mind to ride.”

While the boy hurried off, Anna raced upstairs to the trunk where she kept her favorite riding attire. Pulling the rough shirt and trousers from the trunk made her smile, though donning the clothes made her itch.

She returned to the stable smiling, any thought of dignity tossed to the wind along with her reputation in Denver. When she slid into the saddle atop Maisie, she didn’t bother pulling her hat low over her face.
Let them stare
, she decided.
No more hiding
.

She considered heading toward Garrison and the post office that might have a bag or two for A. Bird, but decided that could wait, as could the letter to her readers she would be printing soon. Unless Jeb disagreed, Anna planned to let Mr. Smith at the
Times
know that A. Bird needed a change of name.

A. Sanders had a much nicer ring to it.

As Maisie settled into a languid, relaxed pace, Anna reached up to release the first of her hairpins and contemplated what sort of conversation Jeb might have with Papa. She prayed it would go well.

Giving Maisie free rein meant the horse meandered about then eventually headed toward her favorite watering hole, which Anna decided was a fine way to spend a nervous afternoon. At the rise above the stream, the horse’s ears pricked and she slowed.

“What is it, girl?” Anna asked as she leaned forward to scratch the horse’s ear. “You haven’t been here in a while, have you?”

Gone was the raging river in which she and Jeb had nearly lost their lives, and in its place flowed the swift stream that would likely remain until the winter freeze. Once the horse cleared the rise, Anna dismounted and allowed Maisie to wander toward the water’s edge to drink.

“Taste good?” she whispered. “I bet it does.”

She knelt beside the stream a few yards ahead of the horse and cupped her hands in the icy water. It was good, cold as the dead of winter, but good. Sitting back on her heels, Anna sighed. The only thing missing from this glorious day was an official proposal from Jeb Sanders.

“Please, Lord, let Papa say yes.”

She rose and dusted off her pants, then spied a familiar landmark. The log. She grinned. How long it seemed since she’d last taken aim and shot at it. Perhaps it was a good day to try again. Anna giggled as she caught Maisie and hobbled her, then pulled out the Smith & Wesson.

What were the odds she’d shoot a man this time around? Negligible, she knew, but as soon as the thought occurred to her, Anna lowered the gun.

“Surely not,” she whispered as she edged nearer the log. “What sort of fool would be hiding behind a log in the middle of the—”

A pair of arms reached up to grab her, and Anna tumbled forward to land in Jeb’s embrace. The gun slid away and landed with a plop in the stream.

“You scared the life out of me,” Anna said as she swatted the Pinkerton. “I could have shot you.”

“I told you I’d never let you sneak up on me again,” Jeb said. “And I meant it.”

“But how did you know …”

He touched his finger to her lips. “I’m good at what I do, Anna.”

She smiled. “You owe me a pistol.”

Jeb sat Anna upright, then rolled into a sitting position and reached into his shirt pocket to produce a tiny box. “Would you settle for a ring?”

Anna’s gaze went from the exquisite ruby and diamond creation to the face of the man she loved. “You promised you’d ask my father first.”

“Already have.” He shrugged. “As soon as you left on that heathen horse of yours, I went straight to his library and had a talk with him. He wasn’t too keen on marrying you off to a common hired gun, and I wasn’t too keen on taking no for an answer. Lets just say I convinced him I could tame you.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

He grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“But how did you beat me out here?”

“I’ve a very fast horse.”

“But—”

He silenced her with a kiss. “Anna, I’m going to ask you to marry me, so don’t interrupt.”

She giggled, then forced herself to find a somewhat serious expression. “All right,” she managed.

Jeb rose onto one knee and reached for her hand. “Anna Finch, you’ve left scars on me that’ll never heal, so the least I can do is brand you with my last name. Will you marry me?”

“Charming,” she said as she fell into his embrace. “Truly charming.”

He held her at arms length. “You didn’t answer.”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “Why would I answer anything else?”

He grinned at her. “According to Daniel, his brother’s packing to leave on the afternoon train. Thus, if you wish Gennie to be in attendance at the wedding, that can be arranged.”

“And Doc too?”

The hired gun wrapped one of her curls around his finger. “Yes, of course, if he’s well enough.”

Anna made a face. “My mother will insist on a big wedding. The plans could take months.”

“There’s a way around that, you know.” Jeb’s grin took a wicked turn. “I admit to being impatient when it comes to claiming my bride, so I wouldn’t mind cheating a bit. All we need is a parson and a couple witnesses.”

Anna thought about that, and a smile slowly spread across her face. “Then there’s only one thing left.”

Jeb lifted a brow. “What’s that?”

“You need to kiss the bride-to-be.”

And so he did.