Every bloodshot eye in the bar watched them make their exit. The foreman from the McAffrey ranch seemed particularly interested in Annie. “I swear I’ve seen that kid before,” he said, “in Vern Sweetwater’s drugstore. If that’s a man, then I’m the queen of Sheba.”
The barmaid threw in her two cents. “Well, just no wonder Chase Beaudine can’t be bothered with red-blooded, double-breasted females. He likes funkier stuff.”
“Come on,” Chase said to Annie, once they were in the alley. “The car’s around front, parked on the street.”
“Can I get rid of this chewing tobacco?” Annie called after him, tugged along in his wake as they jogged through the alley. “My stomach’s getting queasy.”
“Your stomach ought to be queasy after that fiasco,” he said in a tone so low it was little more than a growl. “Spit out the wad and keep moving,” he ordered. “I want you out of here before that bunch of yahoos decide to make you their mascot.”
Annie took his advice to heart, promising herself that she would brush her teeth and rinse out her mouth about a hundred times starting the minute she got back to the cabin. For now she intended to follow Chase’s orders to the letter. He was probably mad enough to murder her himself, but at the moment he seemed preoccupied with saving them both from embarrassment. And she wanted to keep it that way.
“But I rode into town on Fire,” she told Chase, both of them breathing hard as they reached the Bronco. “I tied her up down by the feed store.”
Chase unlocked the car door and waved Annie into the passenger seat. “That’s okay, it’s Tom O’Malley’s store. He’ll take care of her until I can get back into town to get her.”
It wasn’t until they were on the road and heading out of town that Chase unleashed the questions he’d obviously been holding in check. “Fill me in, Red,” he said, his voice low and dangerously controlled. “I’m real curious about your reasons for crashing my private party.”
Now didn’t seem the moment to tell him that she understood all his crazy behavior, and that he was actually madly in love with her, so she offered a couple other reasons instead, which she realized were true the moment she uttered them. “I was worried about you, and ... and I wanted to apologize for letting you think that we had made lo—”
“Don’t remind me,” he said abruptly. He glanced over at her, his eyes narrowing in pained disbelief as he took in her appearance. “What are you supposed to be, for God’s sake?” His lips twitched as he asked the question, but his words sounded like snarls.
“I thought—I was hoping to be taken for a drifter. But I guess not, huh?” She removed the Stetson and shook her hair free. “Listen, I’m sure most of those people didn’t pick up on that comment about my being a boy or a girl. And even if they did, it would only confuse them.”
“Confuse them? You jump-started their batteries. They’re probably taking odds right now on whether Chase Beaudine prefers cross-dressers or teenage boys.”
Chase spiked the gas pedal and pulled out around a horse trailer. The burst of speed reminded him how seriously ticked he was with her. Ticked enough to wreak some havoc, he thought, which meant he had better take a deep breath and bring it down. The possibility of being married to her was bad enough. He didn’t want to do hard time for wringing her skinny neck.
As he roared down the road, he was tempted to continue the third degree. He was burning to ask her some questions, such as where she got the brass to do the things she did. And who the hell had taught her to chew tobacco. But what he really wanted to do was put the fear of God in Annie Wells. He wanted to see some bona fide contrition for all the grief she’d caused him, and he wanted it complete with tearful admissions of guilt and pleas for forgiveness. It would have given him the blackest, but greatest, pleasure to have her begging for mercy at that moment. And with that kind of fire burning inside him, he didn’t trust himself to keep a level head if she gave him a wrong answer. Just one. That was all it would take.
Keep driving, cowboy, he told himself.
Annie absorbed Chase’s taut silence uneasily. She was loath to initiate any conversation, but she was also profoundly curious to know what he was thinking—and if he had something dreadful in mind, like retribution. His stormy anger made her think of Sister Maria Innocentia’s discourses on self-denial, mortification, and penance. Annie had never fully understood how mortification figured into the religious experience, but she was beginning to understand it where men and women were concerned. She and Chase seemed destined to mortify and humble each other.
“What are you planning to do?” she asked, making it a point not to look at him.
“About you? I don’t know yet. And until I get it figured out, I’d suggest you don’t give me any ideas. I’m half tempted to tie you up and lock you in the barn to keep you out of trouble. No, I’m real tempted.”
Annie sucked in a breath and held it, not allowing herself to move as her heart started up with a painful jerk. “No, you won’t,” she said, her voice barely audible. She knew Chase was staring at her, but she didn’t give a damn. She’d been through all the abuse she ever intended to go through in prison. She wouldn’t let him, or anyone, tie her up, or lock her up, anywhere. Ever.
When she finally found the courage to speak, her voice was taut and trembling. “If I’ve done anything wrong, at least it was for the right reasons. I never meant to hurt you, only to help. And I never meant to make you angry. I was hoping to improve the condition of your life a little, to promote some happiness.”
Chase had returned his focus to the road ahead, as though he didn’t want to see, or be affected by, her emotions. “Well, do me a favor,” he said, a hint of entreaty in his harsh voice. “Stop promoting my happiness. You’re making me miserable.”
The CB erupted in static, giving Annie a terrible start.
“Flying Nun?” a man’s voice called. “You there, gal? This is Hopalong, your favorite road warrior.”
Chase glanced at the microphone, confused.
“I think that’s for me,” Annie said. She reached for the microphone, but Chase beat her to it. His huge hand covered the mike as he stared at Annie. He looked for all the world like a man who’d just been diagnosed with a terminal illness—the disease being her.
Hopalong’s voice shattered the ominous silence. “You still burning up the asphalt, baby?” he said.
Chase picked up the mike and stared at it, his jaw flexing as if he meant to eat the thing. Finally he hit the button and spoke into the unit. “The Flying Nun has had her wings clipped. Permanently.”
Annie knew by the ferocity with which he hung up the mike and cranked the Bronco into a lower gear that her number had just been called. Chase Beaudine was going to skin her alive the minute he got her back to his cabin. Either that or he was going to kill them both with his reckless driving.
She closed her eyes and prayed for a miracle.
The ride to Chase’s cabin was the longest trip of Annie’s life. The atmosphere in the car was explosive. Chase didn’t speak the entire time, and Annie kept herself busy mentally rehearsing how she was going to leap to safety if he headed for a cliff. When they actually pulled up in front of the cabin and he cut the engine, she gave silent thanks for answered prayers.
Chase jumped out of the car, leaving her there to contemplate the situation. She decided to give them both some distance and let things cool down. But a short time later, as she was letting herself out of the car, she was startled to see a dozen men on horseback come galloping out of the nearby hills. They were headed straight for the cabin, and the moonlight illuminated a silver badge on the chest of the lead rider. A pack of search-and-rescue dogs preceded the horses.
The thunder of horses’ hooves brought Chase out of the cabin and down to the Bronco. “Looks like a manhunt,” he said, signaling for Annie to stay inside the car and duck down. He retrieved his shotgun from the backseat and waited for the men as they rode up, their horses blowing and snorting.
�
��Saddle up, Beaudine,” one of the men shouted. “We’ve got a jailbird on the run.”
“Who is it?” asked Chase, addressing his question to the county sheriff, the man leading the group and wearing the badge. Most of the other men in the posse were either law enforcement or ranchers and members of the local Cattlemen’s Association. Chase recognized several of the latter, including the foreman from the McAffrey ranch.
“Bad Luck Jack,” the sheriff said, quieting his dancing horse with a pat. “Don’t know how in hell he did it, but he made a break from one of my deputies’ patrol cars. My man got waylaid on a burglary call while he was transporting Jack to the courthouse. When he got back to the car, the prisoner was gone.”
“Seems like Jack’s luck has changed.” Chase’s voice was suffused with irony as he thought about the times he himself had tracked down and apprehended Jack. The cattle rustler had a reputation for being as incorrigible as he was inept. “Got any idea where he’s headed?”
The lawman tipped back his Stetson and scratched his forehead. “We lost his trail around Big Wash Canyon. Appears he might be heading for the state line, maybe thinking to cross the Canadian border by way of Montana. Thought you might like to get in on this, since you were the last one to bring him in.”
Chase would have liked nothing better than to get in on it. Finally something he understood: riding horses and tracking down bad guys. The pungent smell of excited horseflesh and sweaty leather was permeating his senses. But manhunts often took days, and he couldn’t leave Annie alone that long. No telling what his houseguest from hell would do with several days to kill! No one in the county would be safe.
“Sorry—not this time,” he told the sheriff. “Got some things to take care of. But you hound dogs don’t need me. You’ll get your man.”
“Have it your way,” the lawman said, signaling to his men. “But you’ll be missing all the fun. Let’s go!” As all twelve started off, Chase followed their progress with his gaze. He would like to have been riding with them, but it was more than that. He couldn’t help thinking that something was wrong with the strategy they had mapped out.
Inside the cab Annie waited for the sound of the horses’ hooves to recede before she raised her head. “Are they gone?”
“Long gone,” Chase said. “Come on out.”
By the time she’d slid over to the door on his side, he’d opened it for her and was offering a hand to help her out. But she could see by the distant look in his eyes that his mind was somewhere else. “What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve just got this feeling Jack’s given those guys the slip. The last time I tracked him, I found him holed up in an old mine shack by the Cripple Creek Warm Springs. I’ve got a funny feeling he’s gone back there again.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Wish I knew.” He shook his head. “Nah, it’s only a hunch ... unless he has something buried up there.”
“Hunches are important,” Annie said. “Maybe you ought to check it out.”
“And leave you here? Alone? I don’t think so, Missy.”
Annie felt a small stirring of relief at the almost affectionate way he’d referred to her. Well, maybe affectionate was too optimistic a word, but at least he hadn’t sounded angry. “If you’re really concerned about leaving me here, that’s easily solved. You could take me with you.”
As Chase regarded her askance, she hastened to add, “But only if you think it’s important to bring Bad Luck Jack back to justice. I know you’re the one who put him in jail, and it must be frustrating that he’s broken out, especially when you’ve got this hunch about where he is.”
He considered her skeptically. “Take you along?”
“Just so you wouldn’t have to worry about where I was and what I was doing. I wouldn’t get involved, of course. I’d stay completely out of your way. I wouldn’t even talk if you didn’t want me to. Not a word.”
He flipped up his Stetson and combed a hand through the exposed dark hair, thinking hard and looking as if his thought processes pained him greatly. Finally he swung around and headed for the corral.
“Chase? Where are you going?”
“To saddle up the horses. Get yourself a sleeping bag out of the back of the Bronco and throw enough food and supplies together for both of us for a couple of days.”
Annie closed her eyes and said a quick prayer of thanks. This is it, she thought. My miracle.
Nine
A MAJESTIC BOWER of blue oaks vaulted into the Wyoming night, blotting out the canopy of stars and filtering pale moonlight through their leafy arms. Where the trees thickened, the effect was a gloomy darkness, relieved only by hints of indigo.
After an hour on horseback Chase had allowed the nocturnal serenity to work its magic, tempering his mood a bit. He still wasn’t sure he’d made the right decision to bring Annie along, but it beat worrying about what she might be doing on her own. Chase didn’t want her alone in the cabin with an escaped convict on the loose. There was always the possibility that Bad Luck Jack might decide to pay a visit to the man who’d put him in jail.
The wind rose gently, creating a soft soughing in the trees. Lulled by the murmurous sounds. Chase found himself wondering how Annie was doing behind him. She’d been quiet the entire trip. He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you okay back there?”
“Yes,” she said, as though surprised he’d asked. “I’m fine.” A smile crept into her serious expression, and he realized how unused she was to consideration of any kind from him. It took damn little to please someone who had nothing, Chase thought.
And then realized he was thinking in platitudes, just as she did.
A moment later something made him glance back again, and as he did, he caught a mirrorlike flash of another woman, younger, almost a girl, her eyes wide with terror, her mouth twisted in a scream. The image was gone before he could discern any more details, but he knew who it was. Annie Wells, at sixteen.
He fought to bring her back, to remember—anything at all—but his mind jerked him to the present as mercilessly as it had dragged him into the past. With dizzying suddenness he found himself staring at a woman on horseback, at the Annie Wells he knew now. The moonlight was dancing in her hair; the night was casting shadows across her features, but he could see the confusion in her eyes as she urged her horse forward.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, riding up to him.
“No, I just thought I remembered something—”
“About me?”
The eagerness in her voice tugged at him, but he was feeling unsettled by what he’d seen, and he didn’t want her probing further. “No, it was something else—someone else.”
“Oh.” There was a world of disappointment in that one hurt word. She let her horse drop back, and Chase had to forcibly remind himself to stay silent. The need to explain, to be of comfort in some way, was stronger than he cared to admit. As they continued their ride, a silence fell between them, accentuated by the occasional eerie cries of a pack of coyotes in the distance.
It was another half hour before they reached their destination. Chase tied the horses in a nearby grove of aspens and left Shadow to watch them while he set up camp on a bluff above the mine shack. The site he chose had an unobstructed view of the weathered structure and enough natural rock formations to protect him and Annie from the wind and weather.
The mine shack appeared deserted, but Chase’s hunch about Jack grew even stronger as he settled himself against his rolled-up sleeping bag to take the first watch. Lying a few feet away on her own bag, Annie stared up at an inky sky, thick with twinkling stars.
She was so preternaturally quiet. Chase found himself glancing at her occasionally, and every time he did, his curiosity grew about the flashback he’d had of the terrified young girl. His former partners hadn’t been able to tell him anything about the incident because they hadn’t been there when he’d found her. Annie herself was the only one who knew the details.
&nbs
p; He rested a hand on his thigh, feeling the ridges of the knife scar through the heavy denim of his jeans. “Tell me about Costa Brava,” he said quietly.
Annie turned to look at him. “What do you want to know?”
“Where I found you. How I got this wound ... everything.”
Annie pushed herself to a sitting position on arms that were suddenly weak and shaky. She’d told him most of the story that first day in his cabin, but she’d been frightened and desperate to convince him who she was. He’d resisted everything she’d said then. Now it seemed he might be ready to listen.
“I’d be dead if it weren’t for you,” she admitted. She fought to keep her voice steady as she described how the convent had been under attack, bombed by insurgentes. She’d been hiding in the chapel when one of the rebels discovered her and raised his rifle to kill her. The man had her in his sights when suddenly the weapon was torn from his hands by Chase’s bullwhip.
“He pulled a knife,” she explained, describing the vicious battle that ended with the insurgente dead and Chase stabbed. Fortunately the wound was to his leg, and Annie knew enough medicine to apply a crude tourniquet and stem the bleeding.
Chase stopped her suddenly, his forehead ribbed with concentration as he took up where she’d left off, recounting how they traveled hours to another village to find the priest, but by that time infection had already set in. “My leg was festering,” he said, looking at her for corroboration. “There was inflammation, swelling, pus—”
“You do remember then?” Annie’s breath rushed out as she waited for his answer.
“I don’t know how much I’m remembering on my own and how much of it is mixed up with what you’ve already told me, but it feels like something I actually experienced. And the flashes I’ve had, they must be recall.”
“Do you remember the fever setting in? The delirium?” If he remembered that, then surely he would remember the way she’d had to hold him to ease his convulsive shaking. Would he remember that she’d saved his life?
The Stealth Commandos Trilogy Page 13
