Anora's Pride

by Kathleen Lawless

  Her and Jesse's steps flattened the brittle stalks of knee-high field grasses behind the barn. Jesse set an empty can on a reasonably straight fencepost whose side railings had long since crumbled to dust.

  “Forget everything you think you know about guns,” Jesse said. “This here is called a ‘muff pistol,’ because ladies can easily tuck it into a muff or a bag. Only fires one shot, so you want to make good and sure you don't miss.” Jesse backed four paces from the post, turned, and fired. The can bounced into the air, then hit the ground with a hollow clatter.

  He passed her the unloaded gun, handle first.

  “See how it feels? Fits in your hand nice.” His lean, callused fingers curled over hers and directed her grip. “Not too tight. That's right. There's your sight. Front and rear. You just take a breath, line them up to your target, and squeeze.”

  The gun felt cold and unfamiliar. In fact, her entire hand felt cold the second Jesse released it, which she knew was ridiculous on such a swelteringly hot day. She could feel rivulets of perspiration snake between her breasts and dampen the britches’ waistband where she'd cinched it tight with Ben's old belt. She tugged at the belt and wished she had on a pretty dress. Something really feminine, with flounces and lace.

  She took aim at the fencepost, gritted her teeth, and squeezed. The chamber clicked hollowly. “Doesn't feel too hard.”

  “Believe me. It feels a whole lot different when you're standing close enough to look into someone's eyes.” He retrieved the gun from her. “Worst mistake folks make is they panic and fire too soon. If you're too far away you lose all accuracy.”

  “So on that day Rosco stopped me,” she said. “Say I'd had the gun with me. What would I have done?”

  “Well now,” Jesse said. “They were four, right? Best thing would be get close up to Rosco.”

  He grinned when Anora wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I know. But aim the gun to his temple and tell the others to throw down their weapons. That would be your best move. Remember, one shot. Make it count.” As he spoke he set another tin can atop the fencepost.

  “Weren't you scared the other day when those ranchers were all stirred up? Carrying rifles and six-shooters...”

  “Those boys weren't really looking to kill anybody. Came in my office the next day, and we had us a long talk.”

  “What about?”

  “Smithy and his neighbors are thinking of hiring themselves a pair of ‘cattle detectives’ they heard about. I convinced them to save their money.”

  Anora's brow wrinkled. “What are cattle detectives?”

  “Hired guns that watch the herds. It's about the best pay a sharpshooter can make for himself.” He loaded the pistol and passed it back to her. “Here. Try this.”

  Anora raised a brow. “Shoot at it? For real?”

  “Don't just shoot at it. Hit it.”

  Anora took aim and fired. The gun jerked, a sensation she felt clean up to her shoulder. The can didn't move.

  “I didn't even hit the post,” she complained.

  Jesse reloaded the gun, handed it back, and positioned himself directly behind, his hand atop hers. Anora could feel the way he molded himself to her. His breath stirred the damp tendrils of her hair. She could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart against her backbone. Her hand shook. Her entire body was trembling so badly Anora was afraid she might out-and-out swoon. She couldn't breathe. Her throat was parched. Swallowing was impossible.

  “Relax,” Jesse said, the warmth of his words tickling her ear. “Take a deep breath. Now another. Feel better?”

  She'd never felt better or worse in her entire life. Jesse's arms wrapped around her, the feel of his lean length spooned against her backside was far and away the most exciting sensation she'd ever experienced.

  “Take aim.”

  Schooling herself to forget about Jesse and concentrate on the shot, she did as she was told. Jesse let go. She squeezed the trigger. The can flew into the air.

  “I did it!”

  Delighted, she spun about to face Jesse. It seemed only natural that his arms would close around her. That his hold would tighten as he lifted her off the ground and swung her in a dizzying circle. It seemed all too soon before he set her back on both feet. Was she dizzy from being spun around? Or from being caught and held close to Jesse?

  Slowly the world stopped spinning, leaving in its wake an overwhelming stillness. A stillness where the heat of the barely moving air coupled with the burning heat of Jesse's gaze. She could hear the overloud pounding of her heart. Her fingers on Jesse's forearms clenched reflectively. She swayed toward him.

  “Do tell. Isn't this a cozy sight?”

  “Ben.” Guiltily Anora sprang away from Jesse. “I didn't expect you back this soon.”

  “So it would seem.”

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  * * *

  Chapter 8

  Reluctantly Jesse allowed his hands to drop from Anora's waist. His eyes narrowed as he stepped back and observed the interaction between the two Kings. Something was amiss. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. And there was nothing Jesse hated more than when things didn't fit neatly into place.

  As he watched Anora bite her lip and twist her hands together in obvious agitation, it struck him that she didn't care to have him and Ben King anywhere near each other.

  What was she hiding?

  Something big.

  “Brought you home a little surprise.” King limped up and passed Anora a grubby length of rope with a weary-looking pregnant cow tied to one end. “Time we got started building up that herd you been nagging about.”

  “I hear tell you've been away,” Jesse said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “That's right.”

  Jesse's eyes never left the other man's face. He had a gift for smelling guilt, and King out-and-out reeked of it.

  “Right neighborly of you to look in on Anora while I'm gone.” King limped up to Anora and flopped an arm across her shoulders. “What's a fella have to do to get a little welcome-home kiss?”

  “We have company,” Anora said pointedly.

  King cocked a look in his direction. “I imagine the marshal has seen a husband and wife share a little kiss before? Ain't that right, Marshal?”

  “I have to go.” Jesse turned away. Aware that his hands had clenched into fists, he forced his fingers to uncurl.

  His heart pounded in his chest like a stampeding herd. He took three steps, stopped, and turned, just in time to see Anora rubbing furiously at one cheek with the heel of her hand.

  “I expect you've got a bill of sale for that cow.”

  “Sure thing.” King reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a dirty scrap of paper, which he waved in the air between them. “Take my word for it?”

  Jesse hated being baited. He closed the space between them and plucked the paper from King's fingers. “I don't think so.” He scanned the letters scrawled across the page. “I never heard of a rancher in these parts named Ross Jackson.”

  “That's cuz he's not from around here,” King said. “He was passing through, heading due north. Driving his herd up to Montana. Old Millie ain't doing so well, given her condition, so he was fair happy to get rid of her. Give me a good price.”

  “Unusual,” Jesse remarked, refolding the paper and passing it back. “Don't oftentimes hear of a fella selling a cow that's near about ready to birth.”

  “Just in the right place at the right time.”

  “So it would seem.”

  Anora spoke up, as if anxious to dispel the tension. “Marshal, I didn't get you that pie I promised.”

  “Some other time,” Jesse said shortly. “I best be getting back to town.” Behind him he heard King's grating voice.

  “I seen you been out picking huckleberries again, Nory. Marshal, only a fool'd pass up a treat like Anora's huckleberry pie.”

  Jesse kept on walking and acted as though he didn't hear. From behind him came the sounds of someone do
gging his steps and he reached Sully just ahead of King.

  “You forgot something.”

  “What's that?” Reluctantly Jesse turned to face the other man, wondering for the umpteenth time why Anora'd up and married him. Out of pity, perhaps. She didn't love him. He'd swear she didn't.

  He caught himself. Reminded himself songwriting love didn't exist.

  “Your barking iron.” Metal glinted silver in the sun as King held the pistol toward him.

  “I gave that to your wife. Woman living out here ought to have some means of protection.”

  King flushed dull red. “If and when I decide Nory needs a gun, I'll be the one supplying it. We don't want your charity. You got that, Mister Lawman?”

  “Sure thing.” Jesse took the pistol and tucked it inside his saddlebag before he mounted. As soon as he was astride, Sully gave an impatient little crow hop, as if the animal was as anxious as he was to get away from King. “You best register that brand your cow's wearing, so's folks hereabouts know she's yours.”

  “And dissuade those rustlers roaming these parts.”

  Jesse gave him a measuring look. “Somehow I doubt you have any worries on that score.” Heels to Sully's flanks, he left King choking on his dust.

  “What the hell'd he mean by that?” Ben stared at Jesse's retreating back.

  “I didn't hear what he said.” Anora approached, cow in tow. “Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again, you hear?”

  “Like what?” Ben pulled his innocent little-boy face, but Anora wasn't having it.

  “You know very well what I'm talking about. Kissing me in front of the marshal.”

  “For crying out loud. I come along and find the two of you making calf's eyes at each other. ‘Magine if I'd been five minutes later.”

  Anora stepped forward and slapped Ben, feeling a satisfying sting as her hand connected with his cheek. When he stumbled back a step she saw the red outline of her fingers and she gasped softly. What on earth had come over her? Ben looked as shocked as she felt.

  “Ben, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—”

  “Remember, playing this little married act was all your idea. Shame, if it suddenly cramps your style.”

  “Wait a minute,” Anora said, her voice low. “Where have you been these past days?”

  “I told you. Working.” He pulled a handful of money from his pocket and waved it in her face. “Got the cash to prove it, too.”

  “Working where?”

  “Damn, Nory. You're set to drive me batty with your nagging. North of here.”

  “I want to know what you were doing.”

  “Why? So's you can report it back to your marshal buddy? You know all you need to know. Now I'm going down to the creek and get washed up. Had all I can take of your caterwaulin'.”

  Jesse edged forward in his chair. He'd forgotten just how much he hated the political end of law enforcement. Sure, he believed in justice, probably more than the average man. For certain he liked things nice and neat and orderly. What he didn't appreciate was a situation such as the one in hand, where Smithy and half a dozen neighboring ranchers crowded inside his office, telling him how to do his job.

  “So we heard a rumor Tom Horn's available. For the right price.”

  “I thought we got through this the other day. Which one of you fellas is willing to put up the two hundred and fifty dollars a month Horn charges to babysit your cattle?”

  “You're just sore ‘cause that's five times what you make.”

  Jesse leaned forward abruptly. His palms hit the top of his desk with a thump. “Y'all listen up. I am not “sore.” I know Horn. I know he earned his reputation when he was deputy sheriff in these parts. I also know he prides himself on killing being his specialty.”

  “We're sick of having our cattle stole out from under our noses,” said one man with a nasal-sounding voice.”

  “That's right,” chimed a second. “I say cattle thieves is not better than coyotes. Ain't nothin’ if we shoot a coyote sniffing around our herds.”

  Jesse heaved a weary sigh, wondering one more time just why he'd let Ricki cajole him into this job. Knowing the answer even before he asked the question. Because he was arrogant enough to think he could make a difference. And unlike his daddy and his brothers, he prided himself on doing the right thing. The same right thing that included ensuring the ranchers kept well out of the way while he set a trap for Rosco.

  Voice lowered conspiratorially, Jesse adopted his “just one of the boys” pose. “Just so happens I've got a plan.” The men leaned forward as one body.

  “What kind of plan, Marshal?”

  “Can't give you all the details right now. On account of I can't be putting it into action until the railway strike's over. But if you'll give me till then, give me your word on waiting, I'll put a stop to Rosco once and for all. If I don't, if Rosco or anyone else is doing wrong by your boys, then go ahead and hire anyone you want. I'll gladly look the other way.”

  “I don't cotton to having to wait,” said a heavyset rancher at the rear.

  Jesse held his breath. The silence stretched interminably.

  “Horn wants a lot of money,” Smithy said finally. “I say we give the marshal a chance to do his job.”

  The room resounded with a series of grunt, nods, and mumbles before the men started to move. Smithy reached across the desk and extended his hand.

  “Till after the strike.”

  “Agreed.” Their handshake signaled the end of the meeting. Jesse stood and watched as, one by one, the men filed out.

  Eddy was leaning against the back wall watching, his boyish face puckered in confusion.

  “Something eating you?” Jesse asked shortly. “Maybe.” Eddy transferred the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.

  “Too bad,” Jesse said shortly.

  “You don't countenance killing. How you aiming to look the other way if they bring in Tom Horn?”

  “Sounds as if you expect Rosco to outfox me.”

  “Never said nothin’ like that. It's just that the last marshal before you—”

  “Wasn't me,” Jesse said. “You ought to realize by now I've got my own way of doing things.”

  “I guess.” Eddy ambled to the hat stand and plopped his Stetson onto his head. He opened the door and stepped outside, mumbling a greeting to someone coming in.

  Jesse glanced to the open door impatiently. Now what?

  His insides snapped to attention the instant Anora King, looking perkier than he'd seen her of late, stepped inside the office. She glanced up at him with a big, bright smile.

  “Morning, Marshal.”

  “Mrs. King,” he returned cautiously. She had a basket over her arm and the tip of a red-and-white-checkered tea towel hung over the edge. As she drew near, his mouth started to water at the delicious smells coming from inside the basket.

  “Brought you a fresh-made huckleberry pie,” she said, her face pinkening up as she spoke. “Seeing as how you didn't get any the other day.”

  “You didn't have to do that.” Matter of fact, he quite wished she hadn't. Seemed every time he'd managed to tell himself he was doing a fine job of keeping her at arm's length, she turned up on his doorstep looking prettier than a picture. Tugging at all his protective male instincts the way no one had since Rose. And in a fashion far more disturbing to his peace of mind.

  “Aren't you the one said to me, just the other day, what's wrong with a body being nice?”

  “Guilty as charged.” Jesse allowed himself to relax ever so slightly. “Sure does smell like a little slice of heaven. You care to sit?”

  “I wouldn't want to keep you from your work.” She perched daintily on the edge of the straight- backed chair across from his desk, still warm from Smithy's backside, Jesse reckoned. “I'm on my way over to Lettie's.” At his questioning look, she lowered her gaze. “I thought lots about what you said, after you left the other day, and decided you were right. Who's to say we ought not give a body the chan
ce to feel good?” She brightened. “Besides, Penny's fixing up a back corner of the store with some picture books, to encourage the youngsters to read over the summer. A lending library, she called it. I'm helping her get it set up.”

  “That's good.” It would get her off the ranch and keep her away from that stooge of a husband. Even as the thought surfaced, Jesse asked himself if he was more bothered by the fact that Anora was married or by the man she'd chosen to make a life with.

  Jesse sat down and leaned way back in his chair, laid one boot-clad ankle across the opposite knee, and pressed the tips of his fingers together like a church spire.

  “How you been keeping?”

  Anora seemed surprised by his asking, “Me? Never better. Why do you ask?”

  Jesse chose his words carefully. “I was worried the other day. ‘Fraid your husband might have got the wrong idea about what we were doing. Me teaching you to shoot.”

  They both knew it wasn't the shooting they were talking about. It was the way they'd been together, and clearly liking it.

  Anora glanced at her lap where her hands were folded, prayerlike. “Ben means well. He just isn't too good at expressing it, is all.” Something dangerous twisted into a big old knot deep inside Jesse as he listened to Anora defend a man they both knew wasn't worth defending. What was it about womenfolk? Such fools where men were concerned. Then he recalled his brothers; men could act just as big of fools as anybody, over a woman who wasn't worth the time of day. He recalled the schoolmarm's concerns about King's temper.

  “He didn't...hit you or anything, did he?”

  Anora bit back a smile. “Truth be told, I'm the one who slapped him.”

  “Did you now?”

  “Yes. He made an improper suggestion about the nature of you and me together. And he's sorry.”

  I bet he is!

  Deciding it was time to change the subject, Jesse leaned forward abruptly and peered under the tea towel in the basket. “Sure does look as good as it smells.”

  Her smile was as bright as a rainbow after a storm. “Well, I'd best not keep you any longer.”

  “Let me get that door for you.” As he rounded the desk, Jesse brushed past her, so close he could feel the heat emanating from her, smell the freshness of her skin and her hair. A dozen unnamed feelings shot through him, so strong he saw his hand tremble as he reached to open the door. He turned back to her.