A Man for Annalee

by Davis, Vonnie

Chapter Twelve

  Sunday morning, Annalee sat in the makeshift church, wondering what had happened to normalcy. Granted, she hadn’t expected to find a house of worship like the church she’d attended in Chicago, a lovely stone cathedral constructed with stained glass windows and a bell tower. But this, this was unthinkable. Imagine, church services held in the Red Garter Saloon.

  Out of respect for the ladies’ sensibilities, fresh sawdust had been spread across the floor to cover cigar butts, tobacco spit, and spilled booze from the previous night’s carousing. Chairs and benches were turned away from the painting that adorned the bar. Annalee still blushed at the thought of it, for she’d nearly swooned when her eyes fell on all that naked flesh.

  Fact was, even though the bartender-turned-acolyte had covered the picture with a sheet, she could still feel the naked woman staring at the crowd of saints and sinners, no doubt smirking at their feeble attempts at piety. And why wouldn’t the dark-haired woman wearing nothing but a come-hither smile and a red blanket across her hips smirk? Especially when one considered the fact that many of the men sitting here this morning, obediently stiff-necked next to their wives, had probably been loose-limbed here the night before.

  She shot a sideways glance at Boone, sitting next to her, smelling of soap and bay rum. Did he frequent this establishment? As if he could read her thoughts, his large hand covered hers and brought it to rest on his warm thigh. “There’s no one but you, na’hesta.” His voice was low and intimate, barely a whisper. Her toes curled in her boots before her gaze flitted around the parishioners to make sure no one was watching their scandalous behavior.

  Cora solemnly played hymns on the tinny piano, the same piano from which raunchy beer-drinking music had belted forth the previous night. Boone, who had escorted Annalee to church, explained that since the circuit preacher was on his rounds to other towns in the territory, Willie Drummond, the town’s blacksmith, would preach the morning’s hellfire-and-brimstone sermon at what she privately thought of as “The Church of the Blessed Garter.” And why not, with the soiled doves leaning over the upstairs banister with more skin exposed than a babe in a basin of bath water. They were all going to burn in hell for dragging God into this den of iniquity.

  One of the farmers slowly turned his head toward the upstairs banisters, presumably to get an eyeful of the feminine wares being exposed in gaping wrappers. Annalee smiled when the farmer’s wife elbowed him in the ribs, causing his head to swivel toward the front of the sinful sanctuary again. One of the ladies of ill repute trilled in a voice as sensuous as satin, “Hi-ya, Randy. Come see me when the missus gets mad at ya again.” The farmer’s wife belted her errant husband across his head with her Bible, which was probably the only way the Good Word was ever going to enter his brain. Men sitting in the congregation coughed and tugged at their stiff celluloid collars, no doubt fearing they’d receive the next immoral invitation, by name no less.

  Willie Drummond evidently thought they all needed a double dose of hellfire and brimstone that morning, for his sermon lasted a long two hours. If the grumpy Widow Morrison hadn’t loudly announced that his burn-in-hell prophecies had put her bowels in an uproar, he’d probably still be thumping his Bible and waving his arms.

  Later, Cora was clucking her tongue as she bustled around the kitchen. “Why does that Willie go on and on like that? He must have quoted the same Bible verse five times.”

  Annalee patiently stirred the chicken gravy. “He did go on and on.”

  “And on and on.” Cora shook her head in disgust and set about mashing the potatoes. “Kindly see if the baked corn is done yet. And slip that pan of biscuits in the oven, would you, dear?”

  “Thank you for inviting Boone to dinner too.” Annalee hoped she didn’t blush and give away that she’d spent a good deal of the night in his arms, or that he’d carried her up her steps and laid her in her bed before kissing her and riding off into the dawn’s light.

  “Have the two of you made any plans? Boone certainly seems happy today.”

  This time she felt the heat of a blush spread across her cheeks. “We’ll be keeping company, but nothing serious until I’m past more of my mourning.”

  Cora spooned the mashed potatoes into a bowl. “That’s a wise decision, you ask me.” She glanced at her and winked. “But he is a handsome man, isn’t he? Almost as good looking as my Franklin.”

  After Sunday dinner, Boone took Annalee for a stroll through town. He pressed her hand in the crook of his elbow, and her stomach fluttered at their closeness. As they walked, he pointed out who lived in each house, telling a little about its residents.

  “You seem to know everyone.” She glanced at his freshly shaved face, wondering how its smoothness would feel rubbing against her cheek.

  Boone stopped and turned her toward him. As if he knew where her thoughts had taken her, he trailed a finger across her chapped jaw line where his whiskered growth had abraded it last night. “What are you thinking about, na’hesta?” His voice was low and intimate, which made her insides flutter even more.

  “Why, I…I’m merely listening to you talk about my new neighbors.” Her skin warmed under the reaction of her half-truth.

  Low laughter rumbled from his chest. “You are the prettiest fibber I’ve ever met.”

  Her chin rose, and she glared at his amused expression. “I do not lie. Why, I’m a graduate…”

  Two of his fingers touched her lips. “I know where you graduated from. Believe I’ve heard it a time or two.” His gaze quickly swept around the street. “If we were alone right now, I would caress your lips with mine.” His fingers rubbed across her lips in a teasing manner. “I would hold you close and whisper private things in your ear while I showed you how much you mean to me.”

  Her lips parted and her eyes drifted shut. Oh, Boone Hartwell was a charmer, so he was.

  ****

  Monday morning, Boone checked on his prisoner and opened mail he’d ignored for a few days. He pulled his pocket watch from his pocket to check the time. Last night when he’d kissed Annalee goodbye, she’d asked him to come for dinner. She said they’d play a game of checkers on Lee’s old board.

  He snapped his watch shut. Only ten minutes had passed since the last time he’d checked. No doubt the time would drag until he could set his eyes on her again. Their time of sharing a couple of nights ago had created a strong bond between them. She seemed calmer now that she’d poured out her emotions through tears and whispered memories. He knew he was.

  The door to the jailhouse burst open. “Marshal, got a telegram.” The telegrapher’s son waved the yellow paper. Boone accepted the telegram from the boy’s hand and flipped him a penny. The kid charged outside, no doubt headed for the mercantile to buy some rock candy.

  He slipped his thumb under the seal. It was from the Pinkerton agent he’d contacted in Laramie. RR plans a spur to Cicero Creek…STOP…RR officials in contact with Clarence Stoner new owner of Tanner property…STOP

  “Clarence, you worthless scoundrel.” Boone snatched his hat off the peg on the wall and charged outside. His first stop would be the Red Garter. He needed to question the soiled dove again who’d provided Clarence with an alibi for the time Lee Tanner had been shot. Only this time he’d apply a little more pressure.

  ****

  Annalee removed her grandpa’s clothes from his old armoire. She was looking for pieces of material strong enough to cut into strips and braid into rugs. A couple of steps creaked, startling her. She whirled around and gasped.

  “Afta’noon, purty lady.”

  Her heart pounded in her ears. “Clarence, what…what are you doing in my house? Get out!” Why hadn’t she barred the back door after bringing in firewood earlier?

  He stepped toward her. “Now, that’s no way to act when a man’s come callin’.”

  Mary and Joseph, help me. “I’m already spoken for. Boone and I have an understanding. Now I’m politely asking you to leave my house.”

  There was
a gleam of madness in his eyes when he grabbed her. “We’ll just see how quick the marshal is ta marry ya once he finds out I’ve hadja first.”

  She kicked him and he yelped. Her hand cracked against his face.

  “You filthy slut. You think you can strike me and live to tell about it?” Clarence hit her so hard the force of his blow slammed her against the wall.

  Her picture clattered to the floor. Stars exploded in her eyes and pain thudded in the back of her head when she collapsed.

  His lips peeled back in a snarl, and her stomach cramped with a hard dose of fear when he unbuckled his belt and yanked it from his belt loops. With a snap, he slapped it against the floor. “Oh, I’m gonna have fun breakin’ your spirit.” He yanked up her skirt and struck her legs with his belt.

  Intense pain brought both tears and hardheaded resolve. I won’t let him take me. I won’t!

  “Now, either you agrees ta marry me the easy way, or you’ll do it the hard way. But I mean ta have ya.”

  “Kill me then. For I’ll never be yours.” She crawled from the room on all fours. Rough fingers seized her ankle and dragged her back. She kicked and screamed, scrambling to her feet. Spinning out of his reach when he grabbed for her, she lost her footing and fell backward down the steps.

  A wall of muscle stopped her. A fringed buckskin sleeve banded around her waist while his other hand, holding a pistol, fired three shots into Clarence. He flew back against the wall, blood staining his clothes.

  Boone crumbled onto the steps with her safely in his arms. “Did he hurt you? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Scared, but fine.” The pain on the backs of her legs didn’t begin to measure up to what she’d suffered from the fire.

  “Once I had it all figured out and knew he was missing, I came here as soon as I could.” His hands trembled as he placed them on her face. “I was almost too late.”

  Annalee glanced at the body at the top of her steps. “I’m okay. He was…he was going to…”

  “But you fought him, didn’t you?” He kissed the top of her head. “He killed your grandpappy. He was after the deed to this property so he could sell it to the railroad. They want to build a spur from the main line to Cicero Creek.” He stood, helping her stand, too.

  “His daddy told me about his get-rich schemes the day I was in the store.” She climbed the steps and stared at the man who had killed her grandpa. “May he rot in hell for shooting a helpless old man. Greed is the downfall of mankind, so ’tis.”

  Boone knelt beside the body, feeling for a pulse. “He’s dead. I’m going to need an old blanket to wrap him in, so I don’t get blood all over your floors when I carry him out.”

  “Sure, hold on.” She hurried to the pile of bedclothes she’d stripped off her grandpa’s bed and returned with worn flannel sheets. “Here.”

  Boone wrapped them around Clarence, hefted the body over his shoulder, and carried it outside. When he returned, she was on her grandpa’s bed, sobbing. He got on his knees in front of her and took her hands.

  “You okay, na’hesta?”

  “Seeing a dead man reminded me…reminded me…” She choked back a sob.

  Boone stood and gently pulled her to her feet. His arms encircled her, and she absorbed the warm power of his strength. “I know.” He kissed her hair.

  “Here I am mourning my family, yet ’tis grateful I am for the death of another. What does that make me?”

  “Makes you human.” He tucked two fingers under her chin and lifted her face so he could peer into her eyes. “I never met your parents, but from what you’ve told me, they were good people. So was your grandpappy.” He exhaled a sigh. “Clarence was evil. Not only did he shoot a defenseless man in the back, but he often beat the soiled doves at the Red Garter.” His jaw tightened. “And he was intent on raping you. That alone makes him deserving of what just happened. I protect what’s mine, Annalee.” Warm lips covered hers in a hard, possessive kiss, as his hold on her tightened.

  Her toes curled in her shoes again. His kisses had that effect. Slowly her hands slid across his muscled chest and curled into the fringes of his jacket. He feathered kisses across her jaw and down her neck. She tilted her head to grant him access, shivering with excitement when his tongue flicked the tender skin behind her ear.

  She loosened her fingers from the buckskin and slowly pushed him away. “You know Cora would never approve of our kissing in my grandpa’s bedroom.”

  Boone’s lips twitched. “I can hear her tongue clucking all the way from her parlor.” He stepped back and took her hand. “I’ll help you scrub the blood from your floors and steps. Then I’ll carry Clarence’s body to his parents.”

  “There’s no need. I can do it.” Her eyes darted toward the pool of blood at the top of her steps. “Cleaning is a woman’s job.” Although her momma had said those same words many times, she suddenly wished it wasn’t so. Could she stomach cleaning up blood?

  “I won’t have you upset. I’ve seen spilled blood before. You haven’t. Maybe while I clean things up here, you could make me some coffee.” He ran his hand through his dark hair. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Sounds fair enough.” No need to hide her relief over his offer. “I’ll fill a bucket with water and a rag.” She turned toward the steps and stopped. “Was Clarence behind the stagecoach attack?”

  Boone’s large hand settled in the small of her back. “Yes. He was also the one who shot at you in front of Cora and Franklin’s house. The Pinkerton agent I contacted in Laramie found out Clarence told the railroad he was the new owner of Lee’s property.”

  “So either I had to die or he had to marry me to get his hands on it.” The tintype of her lying on the floor caught her attention. She bent to retrieve it. Her grandpa had cherished this picture, and she wanted to hang it back on the wall.

  “Boone, look at this.” She held the tintype out for him to see. “There’s an envelope on the back.”

  He took it from her and examined the legal envelope. “His will and the deed are in here.” He unfolded the legal papers and scanned them. “Looks like he left everything to you. This is your home now, free and clear.”

  “So that’s what Grandpa meant when he said I was to ‘look behind myself.’ He meant behind my picture.”

  “Smart man. Who would have thought to look for the will here?”

  She gazed into his brown eyes and was once more struck by the melting effect they had on her. There was no denying her feelings for this man any longer. A part of her would always fear loss, but a larger part of her loved Boone Hartwell. She slid her hands up his chest. “I can’t run this ranch by myself. I’ll need a husband to help me.”

  “A husband you love as much as he loves you?” He trailed fingers down her face.

  “Yes. I love you, Boone Hartwell. While I wasn’t too keen on marrying a marshal, I might be persuaded to marry a rancher.” She leaned in and kissed his chin.

  “Most women wouldn’t have the courage to make a proposition like that.” He stepped so close their thighs touched, which did delightful things to her insides.

  “Perhaps, but I’m a graduate of Miss Feather’s Finishing School for Refined Ladies of Culture and Proper Decorum.” She looped her arms around his neck and smiled. “We’re known for our courage.”

  Epilogue

  November 20, 1871

  Dear Emma Rose,

  How I wish you were here with me in Cicero Creek. I miss our long talks as we work on our sewing. How are you, my friend? How is life living with your sister, her husband, and their two little ones? Have you found other employment?

  I’m sorry I haven’t written you sooner, but so much has happened since I left Chicago. As you know, I came to Wyoming to live with my grandfather. Alas, when I arrived, he had already passed. He was killed by a rotten scoundrel who wanted to claim his land. What he didn’t know was Grandpa willed his land to me. Here in Wyoming, a woman is allowed to own land. Why, they can even vote. Imagine!

&nb
sp; My new home has an extra bedroom, should you want to come west for a fresh start in life. I don’t offer lightly. You know I always mean what I say, well, unless I’m angry. Please give it careful consideration. To have the gift of your presence, I would gladly wire you a stagecoach ticket and count the days until you arrive.

  Fresh starts out here are magical in their own way. I’ve fallen in love with the marshal, Boone Hartwell. We plan to marry the first Sunday in March. I wish you would be here to help me sew my wedding dress and be my maid of honor. How happy I would be to have you by my side, standing up for me. Please give it much thought.

  Yours truly,

  Annalee

  A word about the author...

  Award-winning author Vonnie Davis fills her retirement days as a fairy godmother, giving happy endings to her characters. She writes contemporary, historical, paranormal, and romantic suspense.

  She attended Penn State University and Wilson College, majoring in both Business Administration and English. Like most writers, she started penning stories in her pre-teen years with the dream of becoming an author. Then life got in the way—marriage, wonderful children, job, college as a grandma and, after twelve years of being alone, a new love.

  She is now retired, having traded the tailored clothes of a technical writer for the feathered boa of a romance author. She lives in Lynchburg, Virginia, with her husband Calvin, a man she met online. Ah, now there’s a romantic story.

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