A Man for Annalee

by Davis, Vonnie

  When her childhood home further crumbled in front of her eyes, sparks filling the air like flaming snowflakes and the rumble resonating through the neighborhood like the strongest thunder of summer storms, the inevitable slammed into her heart. “Da’s in heaven now.”

  “Leave…” Her mother’s voice had been so weak Annalee had to lean close to hear her rasping words. “Leave. Go to your grandfather. Go to Cicero Creek. There’s nothing…nothing here now.” Her eyebrows and eyelashes were gone, as was most of her hair. Lips that used to kiss Annalee goodnight were now blistered and swollen. Shallow breathing rattled. “Tell Father I love him. Rogan? Rogan, I’m coming.”

  In a matter of seconds, her mother had joined her da.

  “No! No, Momma…no!”

  Something cool and damp pressed against her forehead. “Shh…shh…you’re dreaming, Annalee. Rest now, everything will be all right.”

  Chapter Four

  Boone Hartwell had a lot churning through his mind as he scanned the trail for clues. Not the least of which was one very appealing yet thorny redhead. The young woman was a contradiction in behavior. One minute she was prim and proper and the next she was fighting like a barn cat. Being around her was like standing in the center of a buffalo stampede. You didn’t know whether to run, duck, or stand still for the inevitable. In one way or another, she was going to leave her mark.

  He chuckled and shook his head. Her and her Miss Feather’s Finishing School for Refined Ladies. He had no doubts she’d floundered quite a bit in the proper decorum department, with that temper of hers. A man would do well to stay clear of one redheaded burr under the saddle, no matter how cute she was with those flashing green eyes and that mulish chin she liked to jut out when she became riled—which was often.

  “What are you grinning about, my brother?”

  Boone glanced at the man riding next to him, leading the posse of five hoping to trail the robbers’ whereabouts. “Did you ever have a burr under your saddle?”

  “What?” Two Bears’ dark eyebrows dipped. “Since when have you known Cheyenne to use a saddle?”

  Boone shrugged. “I was just speaking figuratively.”

  Two Bears, his long black hair waving in the wind, grunted. “Had you studied as hard as I, you would know the correct word is metaphorically.”

  Both men chuckled and then rode on in companionable silence. Boone had been raised as Cheyenne from the age of ten. His parents and older brother had been killed by bounty hunters for hiding a runaway slave in their barn. He’d been wandering over the countryside, alone, scared, and hungry, when a scouting party found him. They’d taken him into their midst.

  “You’re brooding again, Smiling Wolf.”

  There was comfort in hearing his Cheyenne name. Boone gazed into the horizon, purple and orange with the setting sun. “I was thinking of how I came to be in your tribe. How good your parents were to me. I miss our mother.”

  Two Bears nodded. “I miss her, too. Nahko’eehe…”

  “English, Two Bears.” He was gentle with his reminder. They’d agreed to speak English in the white man’s world. Bitterness rolled in his stomach, and his jaw clenched. His decision to live as Boone Hartwell and not Smiling Wolf had not been made lightly. He and Two Bears had debated the issue long and hard. Once he’d seen and experienced how Indians were treated, his choice seemed the only logical one to make. Yet choices carried consequences, often painful ones a man had to live with every day.

  His skin was white, but his spirit was Cheyenne. All totaled, he was a human being from two worlds. A conflict he had yet to resolve.

  “I feel your thoughts.” Dark eyes regarded him. Two Bears had that uncanny ability.

  Boone glanced at him. “At times my thoughts are in Cheyenne and at times in English.”

  “And you feel as if your spirit is torn in two. I worry about you.”

  “No matter which way I live, I’m only half a person.” He yearned for completeness in his soul, to feel comfortable in his skin and to lay to rest once and for all just who he was—a white man or a Cheyenne.

  Two Bears stared into the sunset as if seeking wisdom. “You need a woman to anchor you into one world. Then your soul will have its other half.”

  “What if I choose the wrong world?” His outer shell was white, but his heart longed to be back in the world of the Cheyenne.

  His brother lifted a shoulder in that proud way he had. “Choose wisely.”

  Boone removed a piece of deer jerky from his coat pocket and tossed it to the furry companion trotting beside the two brothers. Nugget leaped, catching it in midair. He’d been a pup when Smiling Wolf and Two Bears rescued him from the North Platt River. Two Bears said the pup looked like a golden nugget in the water. The name had stuck.

  He ruminated on the many things niggling at his mind, like why a man would try to shoot a woman. When Annalee stuck her head out of the stagecoach window, surely the would-be robber saw she was a female, if not by her pretty face then by the hat she wore. He snorted. Maybe with all those black feathers on the thing, the shooter thought she was a crow.

  Then there was the murder of Lee Tanner. Someone had shot a grumpy, unselfish man in the back. A man he regarded as a friend.

  His next few days were going to be busy, trying to find the assassin and the motive for such a despicable act.

  Two evenings later, Boone rapped on the door of the Maguire residence.

  Franklin opened the door and smiled. “Marshal, I saw you and the posse ride into town earlier. I wondered if you’d be around this evening.”

  “I don’t mean to intrude, but I wanted to inquire about your guest, Miss Annalee. Doc Lufkin left a note on my desk, indicating she was staying here.”

  “That’s right, she is. How did you and your posse make out? Looked like you had someone tied up on a horse.”

  “He’s in the jail now. The other man, the one Annalee stabbed, was of a mind to meet his maker. We also buried the two I shot during the attack.”

  “Come in and tell me what you’ve learned.”

  Boone stepped inside and followed Franklin into his study. The two sat in wingback chairs flanking the fireplace. Franklin picked up his pipe and began filling it with tobacco from his pouch. “This is the only room Cora allows me to smoke in. Man’s got to have his comforts, you ask me.” He held a match to the bowl of the pipe and inhaled, trying to ignite the tobacco. “Were you able to get anything from your prisoner?”

  “He hasn’t been too talkative, but the night’s still young. One of the benefits of living in a room at the back of the jail is I hear all kinds of things. It’s amazing how talkative a man can be in the dark of night.” He smiled and rubbed his freshly shaved chin.

  He’d figured to pay a quick visit to Miss Prim and Proper and then continue with his investigation into the murder of Lee Tanner. Having one of his citizens murdered clawed at his innards. No one murdered someone he’d been sworn to protect and got away with it. “How’s your houseguest doing?”

  “The doctor is with her now. She’s got some awful burns and was delirious through the night. Doc’s been taking mighty good care of her. How that young lady endured traveling in her condition, I’ll never know.”

  “Did I hear you right? Did you say burns?”

  Franklin puffed on his pipe and nodded. “You heard tell of that huge fire in Chicago?”

  “Yes, I read about it in the newspaper at Fort Laramie. What’s that have to do with her?”

  “Poor child. She’s from Chicago, you know.” When Boone shook his head to indicate he didn’t, Franklin seemed more than happy to fill him in. “She ran a business there—a dress shop. Her home was destroyed in the fire and, a day later, as the fire spread across the city, her shop burned down, too. More heartrending is that she lost both of her parents. Poor dear had no one left in Chicago, so she came out here to be with her grandfather.”

  “Who’s her grandfather?” Boone knew everyone in Cicero Creek and their families. Then
dawning registered. “Don’t tell me… Not Lee Tanner’s granddaughter?”

  Franklin closed his eyes and nodded. “You’re right on target, Marshal.”

  Boone let out a low whistle. “Lee referred to his granddaughter as Annie when he told me about her coming here to live. Annie…Annalee…I didn’t make the connection.” Boone’s gaze drifted to the staircase. “Does she know?”

  “Yes. Doc told her. She was devastated, of course. Seems he was the last of her relatives.”

  Boone ran a hand through his still damp hair, sweeping it back from his forehead. He’d gone to the bathhouse before coming here. Not because he wanted to impress her, by any means. Just to soak off the trail dust. His heart went out to the woman. Such loss changed one forever. “Losing both parents at the same time is rough, but then to lose your grandfather too... You mentioned burns?”

  Franklin puffed on his pipe. “On her arms and her back. She has a burn on her neck, too.”

  “I saw it. Thought it was a birthmark or something. You know, I teased her pretty bad. Had I known what she’d been through, I’d have shown her a little kindness. Do you think she’s up to having company? I should express my condolences.”

  Franklin tapped his pipe in an ashtray and stood. “Don’t see why not. Both Cora and the doc are with her now. They’ll do fine as chaperones.”

  “Chaperones?”

  “She’s an attractive, single woman. You’re a healthy, unattached male. Cora would insist on chaperoning.”

  Boone growled as he stood to follow Franklin up the steps. “The way you go on, you’d think I was interested in her.”

  Franklin turned and pierced him with a look. “And the way you scooped her out of the stagecoach as if she were made of precious glass, holding her in your arms as if you couldn’t bear to put her down, leads me to believe you are a mite interested in her, young man. More than even you care to admit.” He shook a finger at him. “And don’t think my wife didn’t notice.”

  Boone scowled the whole way upstairs to the Maguires’ guest bedroom. As a man who enjoyed his freedom, he was not interested in this feisty minx who would surely fight him at every turn. No doubt, as particular as she was about some things, she’d consider herself above a man raised by Cheyenne.

  Franklin knocked on the door and waited for an invitation before entering. The fact that Franklin wiggled his eyebrows at Boone did nothing to improve his mood. Annalee’s chin hiked a notch when she saw him, her eyes fairly shooting daggers. Franklin snickered, elbowed Boone in the side, and muttered so low he had to incline his head to hear. “Buddy, you don’t stand a chance. I can almost hear wedding bells.”

  A bead of sweat trickled down the middle of Boone’s back.

  Doc turned from checking the burn under Annalee’s chin. “Marshal, glad you stopped by.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Got something I kinda kept to myself. Something I been saving to say to Lee Tanner’s granddaughter.”

  Boone stepped closer to the four-poster bed. “And what would that be, Doc?”

  The physician removed the stethoscope from his neck and folded it into his black medical bag. “Well, you know Lee and I played checkers every Saturday night. He’d come over for some of Mary Ellen’s good cooking, and then we’d drag out the checker board.”

  “Yeah.” Boone folded his arms over his chest. Where was this leading?

  “Said his Annie was comin’ for a spell. Talked about her like she was the apple of his eye.”

  Annalee swiped at a tear and Boone wanted to console her, to somehow ease her grief. Pushing that thought aside, he stepped closer to the doctor. “You wanna tell me what you’re getting at?”

  “Lee was shot on a Saturday.”

  Would the man ever get to the point? Boone was tired and his patience was as thin as the heels of his socks. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

  “When Lee didn’t come for supper, I went to see why. That’s when I found him, out by the stable, shot in the back. Not once but twice. He was still alive, like I told ya. I tried saving him, but he was too close to the other side. Struggled with his last few breaths to tell me. He said,”—the doctor glanced at Annalee with pity in his eyes—“he said, ‘tell my Annie to look behind herself.’ Then he passed from earth through the pearly gates.”

  “What did he mean by that?” Annalee’s face was awash with tears.

  “That’s my first question too.” Boone’s gaze swept from Annalee and narrowed on the doctor. “I’d also like to know why I am just now hearing about this.”

  Doc Lufkin shrugged. “Felt like a man’s dying words oughta be delivered directly to the person he meant to hear ’em. Weren’t trying to hide nothing. Just held onto the words ’til his granddaughter arrived.”

  Boone put his hands in his back pockets. “That’s all Lee said?” It sounded as if Lee was warning his granddaughter to watch her back. If so, then he must have known his murderer—and maybe why he was killed.

  “That’s it, Marshal. ‘Tell my Annie to look behind herself.’ Make of it what you will.”

  “You tell anyone else?” He needed to think through this piece of news.

  “Nope. Like I told ya, I kept Lee’s words to myself until I could share ’em with Annalee.”

  “Do me a favor and continue keeping them to yourself. Leastwise ’til I solve this case.”

  Doc nodded. “Sure thing, Marshal. If that’s all you need me for, I’d like to turn in early tonight.” He glanced at Annalee. “Keep using that ointment, young lady. You seem over the worst of it. Fever’s gone. New skin’s growing.” The doctor donned his hat, grabbed his medical bag, and strode out.

  Chapter Five

  Once the doctor left, everyone in the Maguires’ guest bedroom acted as if they were uncomfortable. Cora plumped the pillows behind her young charge. Annalee smoothed a hand over the quilt. And Franklin, well, Franklin just hummed an irritating love song with a self-pleased smirk on his face. Boone scowled at him. The volume of Franklin’s humming increased.

  Another bead of sweat slithered down Boone’s spine.

  Finally it seemed Cora couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Marshal, might I inquire if you are here on official business?”

  “Yes and no.” Boone regarded Cora’s raised eyebrows. She stood there, hands clasped, obviously expecting a better answer.

  Annalee’s green eyes were questioning when he sat on a chair next to the bed.

  “Miss Annalee, I’m sorry about your loss. I didn’t know ’til Franklin told me a few minutes ago.” Boone cleared his throat. “The day of the stagecoach attack, when I was so brash, I wasn’t aware you were in mourning. I owe you an apology. You surely have my sympathy.”

  He rubbed his hands on his knees, deciding what he should say next. Sharing never came easy. “I lost both of my parents and my older brother on the same day. I won’t bore you with the details, but”—he cleared his throat again and gazed into her green eyes—“I do understand your despair.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands between his widespread legs and closed his eyes, willing the grief to pass, pushing the crying little boy he’d once been to the back of his mind. No doubt he’d dream about that awful day again tonight.

  Annalee finally whispered, “Thank you, Marshal. And…I’m sorry for your loss too. How old were you when you lost your family?”

  He struggled to force the answer from his tightened throat. “Ten.” This was the first time he’d shared the story with a white person. His Cheyenne family knew, of course, but even with them, as close as they were, there’d been no words of sympathy.

  “How horrible for you. You were so young.” A tear blazed a trail down her cheek.

  Boone couldn’t take his eyes off its path. Without thinking, he reached out and gently stopped her tear with his fingertip. No one had ever cried for that little boy who’d lost his parents and brother so long ago. All this time he’d carried his grief alone.

  Their gazes locked and unders
tanding passed between them. She laid her small warm hand over his, and he turned his over until they were palm to palm, their fingers entwined. After he exhaled a long, shaky breath, in place of that hard knot of grief was the beginnings of something new, along with a sense of wonder that such a woman, raw with her own grief, would help share his pain.

  When Cora, self-appointed chaperone, cleared her throat in obvious censure, Boone snapped back and looked away. Slowly his gaze came back to meet Annalee’s, her face red with a blush. Their shared moment of tenderness had caught him by surprise—and perhaps her too.

  Boone reached inside his coat and removed something from its large inner pocket. “I found this on the trail when we returned to where the criminals ambushed the stagecoach. I thought you might like to have it back even though it’s in pretty sad condition.” He handed Annalee her hat.

  She took the smashed bonnet and trailed her fingers over the feathers. “Oh, thank you. This was the last hat my momma helped me make. I can still hear her laughing when we added these darling feathers. She said they’d reach all the way to heaven to tickle the chins of the saints. Now… Now she’s one of them.” Tears pooled in her eyes as she pressed the hat to her breast.

  Her grief-stricken expression bothered Boone. To his surprise, he struggled against taking her in his arms to offer comfort. A quick glance in the direction of Franklin and Cora cooled his urge. Franklin’s smirk implied he could almost read Boone’s mind.

  An annoying bead of sweat stomped down his spine.

  “Well, I should go.” He stood. “I might come see you tomorrow, if that’s all right.” Cora hummed a tune behind him. Franklin chuckled. Annalee refused to look at him, her gaze locked on the feathers she kept stroking.

  Finally, her green-eyed gaze lifted to his, emeralds twinkling in a field of diamond tears. His mouth went dry and his heart stuttered to a stop.

  A blush kissed her cheeks. “That would be fine, Marshal.”

  He willed his heart to start beating again, blinked twice, and settled his hat on his head. “Goodnight, Mrs. Maguire.”