Child Bride

by Suzanne Forster

  He swung the hat onto his head and tapped it down, his dark eyes twinkling. “I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

  Moments later, hidden behind a stand of huge blue oaks, Annie watched as three men rode up, their mounts stomping and blowing from the run. The lead rider, a heavyset man with a mustache, gave Chase the grim details of another cattle theft. Annie was able to pick up from the conversation that he was the foreman of the McAffrey ranch.

  “They hit the north pasture,” the foreman said. “Looks like it happened some time last night.”

  Chase asked a few cursory questions, then told the men he’d meet them up at the north pasture. “My horse picked up a rock,” he explained. “I’ll be along in a minute.”

  As the men rode off. Annie emerged from the trees, leading Fire. She could see by Chase’s pensive expression that he was preoccupied with this latest assault on the ranchers.

  “Go on back to cabin,” he told her, helping her onto the horse. “Fire knows the way. Take the dog with you, and stay there until I get back.”

  Once she was mounted, Annie took hold of the reins with unsteady hands. “When will that be?”

  “When I get the sons of bitches responsible. They’re starting to make me look bad.”

  “Maybe I could help you?” she suggested. “I have a feeling I’d be pretty good at tracking down bad guys.”

  “Annie, git,” he said gruffly, giving her horse a slap. “If I’d been paying attention to what I was supposed to be doing, instead of to you. I might have had the rustlers by now.”

  Annie reined her horse around and started off, uneasiness weighing heavily on her mind. Though she knew bounty hunting was what Chase did for a living, she didn’t much like the idea at the moment. What if he got hurt? Or was gone for days, weeks? She also regretted the abrupt way they’d been interrupted when they were making such progress. And beyond that, she was wondering what she was going to do with herself while he was gone.

  She reached up absently and touched the flower she’d tucked in her hair—the daisy he’d picked for her with his whip. It seemed a miracle it had stayed in place through all the commotion. A thoughtful smile crossed her lips as she drew the flower out of her hair and studied it. The smile deepened as an idea took hold. She knew exactly what she wanted to do when she got back to the cabin. She just didn’t know if she dared.

  Six

  “I’M GOING TO DO IT,” Annie said under her breath. She drew her forefinger down the dusty windowpane, leaving a streak of grime that made the trees outside Chase’s cabin look as if they’d been struck down by biblical blight and pestilence. Even the dazzling morning sunshine, breaking over the hills, was shrouded in brown haze.

  “I have to do it,” she said, turning away from the window to survey her dismal surroundings. “This place is more depressing than medieval catacombs.”

  She’d been pacing the cabin’s small living area, staring at bare walls and filthy windows until she couldn’t stand it any longer. Chase had been gone for the last two days, and during that time she’d tried to talk herself out of the crazy idea that had taken up residence in her brain, but she couldn’t hold out any longer.

  The dog began to bark as she pulled the car keys off a hook near the door. “I’m sorry, Shadow,” she said. “I can’t take you with me, boy.” I shouldn’t even be going myself.

  It didn’t occur to her until she was climbing into the Bronco that she couldn’t go anywhere looking as she did. Chase had been adamant about not wanting anyone to know he had a woman at his place, and even though he hadn’t explained why, she didn’t want to do anything, even inadvertently, that might cause him any more problems.

  Moments later, after having made some last-minute alterations to her appearance, Annie was back in the driver’s seat of the Bronco, turning the key in the ignition. The gears ground painfully as she shifted into reverse and pulled the car back. It had been a while since she’d driven, but luckily, she’d learned on a stick shift—in this case, a rusted-out military jeep that had been abandoned near the convent and repaired by the nuns themselves.

  Once Annie had the Bronco on the road headed toward town, she glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She’d tucked her hair up into a duckbilled John Deere cap she’d found in a closet and she’d borrowed a huge old army fatigue jacket, which easily concealed her breasts. She’d also smeared some fireplace soot over her chin and jawline in an attempt to disguise herself. It looked more like dirt than a beard, but she doubted anyone would automatically take her for a woman. More likely they’d think she was an unkempt young drifter looking for work on one of the oil rigs south of town—at least that was what she hoped.

  It didn’t take her long to get accustomed to the Bronco, and once she’d left the winding curves of the foothills for the white-gold grass of the plains, she was rolling right along on a stretch of highway that seemed endless and surreal. The road opened up on all sides, creating a pale, shimmering panorama that reflected sunlight like a mirrored pond.

  The effect was strangely hypnotic, and Annie was slipping into a near-trancelike state when a sudden burst of static jarred her awake. It sounded like a radio caught between stations. “Road Hog?” a male voice called, cutting through the fuzziness. “You out there, buddy? Pick up if you are.”

  The noise seemed to be coming from the speaker of a radiolike apparatus on the console. Annie noticed a microphone and lifted it from its cradle, pressing the red button tentatively. “Are you calling me?” she asked.

  “No, I sure wasn’t, sweetheart,” the male voice drawled thickly. “But you’ll do. I’m Hopalong. What’s your handle?”

  “My handle? What does that mean?”

  There was a snort of laughter on the other end. “Lady, where you been the last century? A convent?”

  She nodded, then remembered she had to speak. “Yes, I was in a convent. How did you know?”

  “I’ll be damned!” He chuckled. “What kind of rig you drivin’? And how fast?”

  Annie wasn’t sure she ought to reveal the name of her “rig,” but she glanced at the speedometer, and immediately lightened her foot as she read off the miles per hour.

  “Eighty-five?” He let out a sharp whistle. “I got just the handle for you, sweetheart—the Flying Nun.”

  Whatever he said after that was drowned out in a burst of static, and the whole episode left Annie slightly perplexed but smiling. The Flying Nun? She rather liked the sound of that. Too bad she couldn’t tell Chase.

  Painted Pony came into view as she rounded a curve a short time later. The drowsy little cow town, stretched out in the valley below, was shaped like a shoehorn, and the glittering river that defined its northern border was lined by graceful willows and white birches. Golden sagebrush plains were the backdrop to it all, sweeping upward into hills so inky black, Annie couldn’t make out their details even in the sunlight. Charmed by the vision, she told herself that the valley’s beauty must be a sign that she was right in making the trip.

  She avoided parking on the main street, deciding instead to hide the Bronco away in an alley one block down. The post office appeared deserted as she walked toward the city center, as did The Painted Pony Express-Gazette newspaper, and the crumbling stucco savings-and-loan building. The heat and still air had a heaviness to it that made Annie think of the afternoon siestas that were a way of life in Costa Brava.

  Further investigation turned up plenty of activity inside some of the other establishments. The men’s favorite haunts seemed to be the barber shop and Prairie Oyster Tavern, and a group of women were congregated across the street at the beauty parlor.

  Prairie oyster, Annie mused, as she began her search for a dry-goods store. Wasn’t that the local delicacy that Chase had mentioned? Too bad she wasn’t going to have time to sample some. A half hour later she was on her way out of the town’s general store with two sacks full of merchandise. She’d spent nearly every cent of the money she’d been hoarding, but she was thrilled wi
th the ready-made yellow curtains and seat cushions she’d found. She’d also purchased some woven rugs for the cabin floor, a starter set of hand-painted stoneware dishes in vibrant colors, and a large vase to hold wildflowers.

  Hoping it was true, she told herself that once Chase had seen what she’d done, he would understand and appreciate her efforts. He’d been living in that tomb of a cabin so long, he didn’t realize how depressing it was. Someone had to put a touch of color in his life. Someone had to show him how things could be, given a favorable outlook and a little inspiration.

  Her last stop was the drugstore. Chase hadn’t considered her personal needs when he’d gone shopping for supplies, not that she would have expected him to. She didn’t suppose most men thought about such things, although she had no way of actually knowing. Her own father had been so distracted by his research on tropical diseases, he’d gone off to investigate a new strain of malaria while her mother was giving birth to her.

  Of course, Sarah Wells had been a doctor, too, and perfectly capable of handling the situation from a medical standpoint. But Annie had always wondered how her mother had survived it—and all of the other hardships—emotionally. The jungle was an awesome place, both beautiful and terrible. It was at once irresistibly seductive to the senses and perversely inhospitable to human life.

  But it wasn’t the jungle that had killed her parents, Annie reminded herself, as she hesitated in one of the drugstore aisles, gazing at the vast array of modern medicines. It wasn’t nature, it was men. The population centers of Costa Brava were a hotbed of civil war and insurrection that had finally invaded even the jungle. Her parents’ outpost had been stormed by guerrillas demanding medical help, and when her parents had refused to abandon the indigenes, their Indian patients, they’d been shot. It was only through the help of the Indians that Annie had escaped and taken refuge in the convent.

  She still felt anguish about the terrible meaninglessness of it all, the wanton disregard for human life. She had adored both her parents, and missed them terribly, even now. If they’d neglected her at times, it was a benign neglect, and one she had come to understand eventually. They felt called to a higher mission—saving lives, eradicating disease. ...

  “Oh, excuse me!” said Annie, stumbling forward as a large man jostled past her in his impatience to get to the pharmacist’s counter. The impact jarred Annie out of her reflections and brought her back to the reason she’d come to the drugstore. She found the feminine-hygiene section in the next aisle, but it wasn’t until she’d begun to pick out what she needed that she became aware of her predicament. She was dressed up like a young tough. What were they going to say when she arrived at the checkout counter with shampoo, facial soap, and a box of sanitary napkins?

  Since she didn’t have any immediate need for the napkins, she went on to the other items. But as she was pondering the enormous selection of shampoos, she was distracted by a man’s hushed voice. It drifted to her from over her right shoulder.

  “Got me some plumbing problems, if you know what I mean,” he whispered. “Need a little—”

  “Roto-rooting?” a second man suggested, chuckling.

  Annie glanced around, curious, and saw the man who’d bumped her conferring with a pharmacist, who happened to be recommending a huge bottle of chalky blue liquid. There was something familiar about the customer’s profile, but Annie was more interested in the laxative he was considering. If he drank that stuff, she thought, he wouldn’t have any plumbing left.

  The man declined as though he’d heard Annie’s silent warning. And then he stopped down the aisle from her to check out a display of antacids. Annie found herself watching him out of the corner of her eye. He looked to be around thirty-five, a little young to be having digestive problems.

  “Raw fruits and vegetables might be helpful,” she suggested, smiling as he turned to her. His look of wary surprise made her hesitate.

  “Helpful for what?”

  “Plumbing,” she said quietly, going with his choice of words. “Mangoes in particular are good for peristaltic action and lubricating the alimentary system. And if you’re looking for a natural purgative, try cabbage juice, or rhubarb roots.” She indicated the display with a nod of her head. “All much better for you than that stuff, which kills friendly bacteria, washes out vitamins, plugs up intestinal walls, and—”

  “Hold it!” He held up his hands as though overwhelmed. “Mangoes? Rhubarb roots?”

  Annie gave him a reassuring nod. “Even tree bark will do. As far as North American trees go, I think senna’s the best.”

  He regarded her with a furrowed brow, as though trying to make sense of both the advice and the adviser. “Let me get something straight,” he said, scrutinizing her appearance. “You’re a girl, right?”

  Annie’s heart sank as she glanced down at herself. She’d completely forgotten how she was dressed. Better not to bluff, she decided. “Could this be our secret?” she said. “I’d just as soon it didn’t get around.”

  His expression took on a life all of its own, sliding from confusion to disbelief to incredulity. Somewhere in the midst of all that activity, Annie realized where she’d seen him before. He was the foreman from the McAffrey ranch. He and his two men had reported the cattle theft the day she and Chase were out riding the range. Luckily none of the men had seen her.

  “Could I give you a tip?” he said.

  “Please. I gave you one.”

  “If you’re trying to pass for a guy around here, lose the duckbill, get yourself a cowboy hat, some boots, and some chewin’ tobacco. Then, if anybody talks to you, just nod and spit.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Annie said.

  “Not a problem.” He tipped his Stetson, picked up a bottle of the chalky blue stuff, and went to the register.

  Annie turned back to the shelves and selected a shampoo that promised to turn her hair into silken splendor. Nod and spit. She would have to remember that.

  “It’s a miracle,” Annie said softly, gazing at the transformation that had taken place in Chase’s cabin in just a few hours’ time. Now it really was the cozy, rustic setting she’d fantasized—and the home she’d never had. Once she’d got started, she’d cleaned with a vengeance, even to the point of pulling everything out of the cupboards and scrubbing their insides. She’d found all manner of strange things in the cabinets and drawers, including Chase’s marine dog tags, Wanted posters, an unsprung mousetrap, and a dead lizard. And dust, of course. Dust old enough to be prehistoric, she imagined.

  She’d also found a battered picture of Chase, Johnny Starhawk, and Geoff Dias in their mercenary days. The three men had been celebrating in a bar somewhere, probably a foreign port, grinning at the camera and hoisting their drinks. They’d looked young and reckless and momentarily jubilant in their military fatigues, cropped hair, and aviator sunglasses.

  Annie had felt caught in a time warp as she studied the picture. It wrenched her back to the very first time she’d set eyes on Chase, triggering flashbacks of the young, brash hero who’d saved her life. The lump that formed in her throat expanded painfully as she turned the picture over and saw Chase’s note scrawled on the back. “First Mission—Teheran, Iran—ten American prisoners recovered,” he’d written. “We kicked butt!”

  She’d had to remind herself forcefully to put the picture away and finish her project, but even then the images had lingered, stirring a sadness that was oddly sweet.

  It wasn’t until the housecleaning purge was over and she’d rested for a while that she had fully recovered her momentum. Reinspired, she’d hung the curtains and attached the seat cushions to the kitchen chairs. She’d also distributed the woven rugs about the freshly waxed living-room floor like lily pads on a mirrored pond. And then she’d filled the vase, the blue coffeepot, and a couple of glasses with wildflowers. The effect was dazzling. If a cabin had a face, this one was smiling.

  The only room she hadn’t touched was his bedroom. She’d already courted as much disa
ster as she dared. But she had been tempted. Even now, having put a spicy Spanish soup bubbling on the stove in the hope that Chase might be back in time for dinner, she was marshaling arguments against investigating that dark sanctuary off the main room.

  “Charity, chastity, piety, and privacy,” she reminded herself, invoking four of the most basic tenets of the cloister. She probably hadn’t scored many points where the first three were concerned, but at least she could show a little respect for the last one.

  An hour later, after finishing the soup herself and doing the dishes, Annie still had the entire evening ahead of her. As she lingered at the kitchen table, sipping some of her homemade wine, the darkened bedroom took on an almost irresistible allure. With each guilty glance in its direction, her show of respect for Chase’s privacy was losing ground, until finally it turned into a moral tug-of-war, with curiosity yanking the rope and dragging respect over the line.

  Just a peek, she told herself. I’ll stand in the doorway.

  Shadow began to bark as Annie approached the room, which had the effect of making her all the more curious. From the door’s threshold things looked normal enough. There was the usual clutter of clothes and personal effects, plus a brass bed that didn’t look much sturdier than the cot she slept on. There was even an old western saddle propped on a sawhorse in the corner. But nothing secret or sinister, other than the fact that there were no windows, which did seem a little odd.

  She was turning away when a glint of metal caught her eye, drawing her attention to the far corner of the dark room. It wasn’t perpendicular like a normal corner, and there was something odd about its rough, uneven surface. That section of the wall appeared to be solid rock, she realized. She had noticed from the outside that the western corner of the cabin was built up against a granite bluff, but it had never occurred to her that it might be built into the hill.