Darling Annie

by Raine Cantrell

  “Fawn, quickly, please, a cup of cold water.”

  That man was now interfering with her most precious thoughts of woman’s independence. As Annie had pointed out to Abigail when she took exception to the very idea of independence, the Good Book said it was not good for a man to be alone, but never had it said that it was not good for a woman to be alone.

  Knowing every secret of the married women in the circle made Annie realize that too many of them should have remained single even if society didn’t approve of the state for women.

  She liked being in charge of her life, and she resented being called a spinster, for it sounded ugly. She hated the term “old maid” equally, for she was not that old.

  Fawn tapped Annie’s shoulder lightly to get her attention and pointed at the open doorway.

  Startled, Annie upset the cup of water the girl held. “No, Fawn, don’t fuss. It won’t hurt the shirt,” she reassured the girl while taking the measure of the man who stood and watched.

  He was tall, thin as a bean pole, filthy as could be, but Annie never turned a hungry drifter away.

  “May I help you?” she asked, setting the shirt aside and rising from her chair.

  “ ’Preciate a bucket of water to wash, ma’am. I’m Bronc the barkeep—”

  “Oh! I thought you were upstairs asleep.”

  “No, ma’am. Don’t want to muddy up your floors, so—”

  “Certainly not,” Annie interrupted. “Where have you been? The whole county turned out for lunch here.”

  “Boss sent me back to watch over things.” Bronc sniffed and licked his lips. “Something sure smells good.”

  “You missed lunch. Supper won’t be ready for at least an hour.” Annie pumped a bucket of water for him, relenting about her own rule that no meals or food of any kind was served except at set mealtimes. “I believe there might be a slice of pie left, though, and I could get you a glass of buttermilk from the springhouse.”

  “That’s fine, ma’am. Real fine,” Bronc said, taking the bucket from her.

  “Towel’s hanging on the peg,” Annie reminded him, lingering in the doorway.

  “Boss awake?”

  “I have no idea. I do not make it a habit to keep track of the comings and goings of my boarders.”

  Bronc splashed water all over his face, bending low to toss a few handfuls over his sparse, rust-shaded hair. He shook himself like a wet hound, then reached for the towel.

  “Need to find him real quick. He’ll be mighty interested in what I found near the fire.”

  “And what was that?” Annie asked, with a little curiosity.

  Bronc unfastened the two middle buttons on his shirt and pulled out a mud-stained bit of cloth. For a moment her held it crumpled in his large, bony hand, then he shook the cloth, holding it up for her inspection.

  “Can’t rightly tell who it belongs to, but for sure, it’s a woman’s.”

  Annie couldn’t stop her involuntary reaction. Her hand jerked up to touch her head. It was a woman’s mobcap and could be her missing one.

  “Please, may I see it?” she asked Bronc, holding out her hand.

  “Hang on to that piece of evidence, Bronc,” Kell ordered as he came into the room. “Did you find that near the fire?”

  “Evidence?” Annie whirled around to face Kell. “I told you I didn’t have anything to do with starting that fire.”

  “Close enough, Boss.” Bronc withdrew the cap and once more held it crumpled in his hand.

  Annie looked from Kell’s impassive expression to the cap. “Evidence?” she whispered again. “But why?”

  “Tell it to the sheriff in Graham,” came Kell’s reply, reaching out in front of Annie to take the cap from his barkeep. “The sheriff should be interested in seeing this. Whoever lost it might have set the fire. Then again, Muldoon,” he added, facing her, “maybe whoever was wearing this cap saw who did set the fire.”

  “No! And I refuse to deny it again.” But Annie couldn’t look at him.

  “You can deny it all you want, Muldoon, but you’ll have to talk to the sheriff.”

  “That’s how much you know, Mr. York. The sheriff is once again chasing after the cattle-rustling Marlow brothers. If they rode for Indian Territory like the last time they escaped jail, he could be gone for weeks.”

  “Guess that leaves me to find justice on my own.” Kell doubted that Annie had started the fire. What bothered him was that someone was trying to make him believe she was responsible. If Bronc found this cap anywhere near the fire, then someone had planted it there. The cap stank of smoke, but it wasn’t singed.

  “So, tell me, is it your cap, Muldoon?” he asked, waving the cloth beneath her snooty little nose.

  Chapter 6

  “Don’t you dare wave that cap under my nose, you bounder!” Annie made a grab for the filthy cloth, only to have Kellian whip it high over his head.

  “Bounder, Muldoon? Me? Who saved your neck?” Kell danced backward to dodge another attempt by Annie to snatch the cap.

  “Who blackmailed me, Mr. York?” Annie advanced on him. “You … you…”

  “Stop wasting time trying to think of names to call me, Muldoon. You don’t have the talent for it.”

  “I’ll call you whatever I like!” Annie yelled, too angry to care that his eyes sparkled with amusement. She lost her temper and shook her finger at him. “You’re nothing but a strutting rooster who—”

  “Rooster?” Kell stopped and shook his head. “Why, you little—” He started toward her.

  “Yes, a rooster,” she repeated, stepping back, then skirting the table. She kept looking at the cap he held out of her reach. “And I’ll say it again, Mr. York, you strut while herding your hens.”

  “Roosters don’t herd!” Kell shouted. With his free hand he raked back his hair, eyeing her across the table. “And they’re not hens. I call them doves, lady.”

  “Soiled ones, too,” Annie countered. She shot a look at Bronc, but the man stood with his arms folded over his chest, impassively watching from the doorway. Well, she didn’t need a man to speak for her! “Mr. York, you’re as bad as those quacks who sell fake patent medicines from their wagons.”

  An insult to any decent man, she knew, and she edged back from the table. She saw that Fawn wisely took herself off to the corner, out of the way. From the scowl on Kellian’s face, Annie wondered if he would do her harm.

  “Do you know what you are, Muldoon?” Kell began, his teeth gritted as he circled the table after her. “You are a vigilante leader. And you like dictating. You and that stifling group of corset-cinched, dried-up old hens are jealous.”

  “Don’t you dare call my friends ‘hens.’ ”

  “They’re hens, Muldoon. And what’s more, you’re jealous of the doves.”

  “Jealous?” Annie stopped and whirled around to face him only to find he, too, had stopped on the opposite side of the table. Adjusting her position to glare at him, she slammed her hands onto her hips. “I am not jealous.” Even as she made her declaration, Annie was aware of Kellian’s stillness. She was not blind to the life-and-death struggles played out by nature in the land where she lived. Kellian had the look of a predator, and she was the only prey in sight.

  Despite his narrow-eyed gaze and the way he had flattened both hands on the table, pulling his shirt taut to reveal the finely honed muscles of his arms, shoulders, and chest, Annie dismissed him as a threat.

  “Since you are so intent on furthering my education, Mr. York, let me add to yours. There is nothing for me to be jealous about. I would not sell myself.”

  “You,” he leaned closer to whisper, “wouldn’t be given a chance to. No man,” he taunted, “could be so desperate as to want the likes of a shrew like you.” Liar! You want her. Want Miss Annie Muldoon just as she is now—with those dark blue eyes flashing a challenge, those golden freckles on blazing pink cheeks, and those other generous endowments created to torment a
man heaving with every breath she drew and huffily released.

  His insults stung, but Annie refused to acknowledge either his words or her hurt. She would attack. “You will not malign my friends under this roof, Mr. York. They are all good women—”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes! But someone of your ilk wouldn’t know anything about good women. And there is nothing wrong with the fact that they wear corsets. Real ladies do!”

  Annie didn’t need Bronc’s sudden spate of coughing or Kellian’s smug look to make her cover her flaming cheeks with her hands. What was this man reducing her to? Here she was, yelling about ladies’ unmentionables in her kitchen to a man she didn’t even know!

  Kell jumped up on the table, tossed the cap to Bronc, who caught it easily, then turned his attention on Annie.

  Bewildered, she stared at him. “What are you doing? Get down from there.”

  “With pleasure, Muldoon.”

  He was down and hauling her up against him before she could utter a sound.

  “Unhand me! Of all the gall! Your behavior is a disgrace. You’re nothing but a bold, brassy parish-stallion!”

  “Ah, Muldoon, now you’ve got the name right.”

  Annie gasped like a caught fish, and felt about as helpless as one flopping on a stream bank, struggling to get free of Kell’s hold. She reared back as far as she could when he leaned his face closer, then bared her teeth at him. She refused to dignify her bid for freedom with the verbal abuse she longed to heap on him.

  Kell moved fast. He slid his hands down her sides to grab hold of the corners of her apron, avoiding a kick to his shin. With an upward yank, he had the generous material of the apron twisted around Annie, imprisoning her arms against her sides. Quickly bringing the ends together behind her back, Kell held her captive with one hand.

  “Now I’ve got you at my nonexistent mercy, Muldoon.” He drew her closer to his body, his free hand caressing the rigid line of her shoulders. Gazing at her upturned face, Kell smiled. She looked mad enough to shoot him. Her luscious mouth was pressed into a tight line. Her brows were drawn together in a furious scowl, and her eyes promised retaliation. He couldn’t wait.

  “Did Dewberry steal your wasp’s tongue, darlin’?”

  Annie didn’t answer him. She was smart enough to know that she was no match for his practiced wiles. She ignored the spark that kindled the moment he touched her. Remember how mean he is, she warned herself. And stop looking up at his sun-streaked hair, thinking how it would feel to touch it!

  “Cad,” she snapped, her gaze lifting to meet his.

  “Do you know,” Kell whispered, tunneling his fingers into her coiled braids to keep her head still, “how I’m going to shut you up, Muldoon?”

  “No.” Annie didn’t bother to elaborate. She didn’t call him another name. She couldn’t. Something was happening to her breathing, her heart and her legs. She wished she knew what made her feel so warm, shivery, and tense at the same time. Rushing back was the image of the intimate press of Kellian York’s body against her own this morning. Was it only this morning? But this time it was worse. This time Annie knew what lay beneath his shirt. Swallowing against a mouth that was as dry as summer grass, Annie tried to block out the recollection of what the rest of his sheet-draped body had looked like.

  “Muldoon,” Kell murmured. He lowered his head until his lips hovered just a hairsbreadth from her mouth. He heard her swift in-drawn breath. Her reaction forced him to bury his laughter. Annie’s squinting gaze dropped from his to target his mouth. Being so close, he saw her eyes nearly cross with impotent fury as she realized that he wasn’t going to stop what he intended to do.

  Her mouth was sinfully indecent. Red, luscious, and pure temptation. She parted her lips, exhaling huffy, heated little breaths. Kell didn’t doubt it was excitement and not fear that caused each hitch in her breathing.

  “Ever been kissed, Muldoon?” He didn’t know why he asked her when he already knew the answer—not by anyone like him. If ever a woman looked ready for kissing, Annie was that woman. He wanted to kiss her—needed to do it.

  A slight move to the side gave him a glimpse of Bronc’s frown. Kell closed his eyes and touched his lips to Annie’s.

  “Oh, my! Goodness! Gracious goodness! What are you doing to my niece? My glasses—where are my confounded glasses?” Hortense demanded, banging her cane on the floor.

  Kell lifted his head, but didn’t release Annie.

  “Ma’am,” Bronc answered before anyone else, “them glasses is tied to the ribbon around your neck.”

  “Yes. Of course they are.” Hortense snapped them in place, gaping at Kell and Annie. “I can hardly believe what I’m seeing. And in my kitchen, too. Unhand that young woman at once, my good man.”

  “There is nothing good about him, Aunt.” Annie responded on one level to her aunt’s upset, but on another level she wished her aunt had waited just one more minute. As for the lie she had just uttered, Annie didn’t believe anyone had to know that there was a great deal good about Kellian York. He looked good. He felt— She stopped herself, suddenly realizing what she was doing.

  “If she had waited a few minutes more, Muldoon, you wouldn’t be able to say that.”

  “Oh, yes, I would, Mr. York.” Annie twisted to escape and he let her go. “On top of every other sin you have committed, you have humiliated me before my aunt.”

  “And I wasn’t half trying, Muldoon. Imagine what I could do with a little time and privacy.” Where the hell was Li when he needed him? Kell raked back his hair and turned at the sound of a slight shuffle from the doorway leading to the dining room.

  “About time you showed up,” he said to Li, not in the least surprised that he was there.

  “I have been here. You would not have listened if I told you a caged nightingale does not sing sweetly.”

  “Not only wouldn’t he have listened to you, Li,” Annie said, annoyance lacing her voice when Fawn quickly moved to stand beside Li, “but the arrogant Mr. York wouldn’t have the intelligence necessary to understand you.”

  “Annie Charlotte!”

  “Yes, Aunt Hortense?” But even though she answered her aunt she refused to look away from Kell. Her fingers curled with the itch she had to wipe the smirk from his lips.

  “Niece, I demand to know what is going on here.”

  “Ma’am, afore you do,” Bronc said from where he still stood in the back doorway, “would it be all right if I had that piece of pie first? I’m powerful hungry. You can forget ’bout the buttermilk. Water’s jus’ fine.”

  “Annie, do you mean to tell me you’ve let this poor man go hungry?” Without waiting for an answer, Hortense said to Bronc, “Come in and sit down at the table, young man. Have you washed your hands?” She was not satisfied with his curt nod. Hortense moved closer to the table and lifted first one of Bronc’s hands, then the other. Her spectacles slipped as she inspected, then released him.

  “They will do. Fawn, give this young man a piece of pie. Not too big, it’s close to supper. You will stay to supper,” she informed Bronc. Sliding her glasses off, Hortense faced her niece. “Annie Charlotte, I will see you and Mr. York in the parlor.” Hortense pivoted with the aid of her cane, straightened her slender shoulders, and walked to the doorway, where Li stood with Fawn beside him.

  “Young man,” Hortense said, glancing up at Li, “you were very kind to help my niece and Fawn with preparing lunch this afternoon. But I caution you against trying to cage birds. They were meant to be free so that all may enjoy their songs.”

  Annie found the bewildered look on Li’s face priceless as he watched her aunt’s dignified exit. Though she was short and petite, with silvered hair, Aunt Hortense was still a presence to be reckoned with. Her gray-blue gown with its crocheted collar and cuffs was as old-fashioned as her beliefs. Beliefs that Annie shared.

  But Annie refused to give in to the urge to smile when Li glanced at her with puzzlement.
She still had to deal with her aunt and Mr. York. Chin up, shoulders back, and spine straight, Annie walked past Kell.

  “Now you have done it, Mr. York,” she muttered, hurrying after her aunt. “If you don’t want to find yourself spending the night sleeping outside, you had better come along.”

  Kell sauntered out after the two women, not because Hortense demanded it or Annie threatened him. He simply wanted to gaze at Annie’s enticing, hip-swaying walk. It was a torment, but he felt he deserved such punishment for what he had done. No, what he had almost done. This morning—was it only this morning?—he couldn’t stand Annie Muldoon. Now, for the second time in one day, he was surprised at how close he had come to kissing her.

  What was wrong with him? He had been without sleep before, but he had never thrown all caution to the wind. He had enough problems to solve before he left this back side of nowhere town without the added complication of Annie.

  He certainly shouldn’t have been tantalized by kisses that had never happened.

  And make no mistake, he warned himself, Annie’s a woman who’ll expect involvement and demand commitment from a man. She’d be after the forever kind of promises. You don’t ever make promises. She’s a good woman, the kind that would want a man’s name, his ring, and a free hand in his pocket. You don’t like that kind of a woman. You avoid them.

  He had seen enough in his own family of what happened when men gave up their dreams and indulgences because of marriage. They couldn’t smoke in the house, couldn’t play cards—either because of lack of money or because their wives, all good women, didn’t like it. Sneaking drinks out behind the barn like kids. Not him. He wasn’t going to be tied down by some woman’s apron strings. He’d never get so bogged down in worry that he forgot how to smile. That’s what marriage did to a man. Why, he would have to give up his wanderings ways—and for what? To be paraded like a prize at a church social? Never happen. He’d take a pleasure-loving woman any day of the week.

  Kyle had taught him that. His brother had lit out the night he turned sixteen and came back a year later sporting fancy duds and jingling gold coins. Kell didn’t need much persuading to take off with him. And once he had, he found a life he loved.