Mustang Annie

by Rachelle Morgan

  “Looks like I’m interrupting something.”

  Her attention snapped to the doorway, where Brett strode boldly in. Annie nearly wilted with relief before fear soared inside as, in her mind’s eye, she saw history repeat itself.

  “Beg pardon.” He tipped his hat. “Just wanted to thank you for catching my horse.”

  Annie could hardly believe her eyes when Brett started back for the door. He planned on leaving her? With Ike? Not doing anything to help her?

  The incredulity must have struck Savage, too. “You must think I’m a real chump to fall for this act. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

  “Her? She does look damn good—for a dead woman. But like you tried to warn me, Savage, once a thief, always a thief.”

  Brett swaggered toward Annie. Unlike Sekoda, who had let anger rule his actions, he remained dangerously cool and calm. When he drew his finger down her cheek, it was all she could do not to melt against him.

  “She’s very good at what she does, though. She woos you, wins your trust. Then the minute you turn your back, she sinks a blade into it.”

  At first Annie thought it part of some performance. But the cold glint in his eyes and the bitter note in his tone told her this was no act. He thought she’d been trying to steal the stallion. Her heart plummeted and to her shame, her eyes stung. She wanted to cry out, “How could you think I’d betray you?” She’d bared her soul to him. She’d shared her body with him.

  She’d lost her heart to him.

  But she kept silent, afraid if Savage learned how much Brett had come to mean to her, he’d kill him just to make her pay again.

  “So, if you don’t mind. . . .” Brett tapped two fingers to his hat. “I’ll just take my horse and be on my way.”

  She watched as he backed out the door, still unable to believe he’d not even try to help her.

  Savage slapped his palm against the door, hindering Brett’s exit. “You aren’t taking that horse nowhere.”

  “The thousand dollars I paid her for his capture says I will.”

  Annie perked up, alerted that this was some sort of a ploy: no fee had ever reached her hands.

  “But Annie didn’t catch it,” Savage sneered.

  Brett pointed out. “Neither did you.”

  “I made my own arrangements for his capture,” Savage thrust out his chest as if to intimidate Brett with the badge pinned to his vest. “And if you try taking that horse, I’ll string you from the nearest tree.”

  “Well, it seems you and I are at a standstill, Sheriff. We both claim possession of the same unmarked horse. In my mind, there’s only one way to settle this.” He reached inside his vest pocket.

  In a the blink of an eye, Savage had the Colt drawn from his low-slung holster, cocked, and aimed at Corrigan.

  With a flat smile, Brett extracted a worn deck of playing cards and held them up between his thumb and forefinger.

  The sheriff’s face turned a murky shade of embarrassed red, then he lowered the pistol to his side. Annie mentally timed how long it would take her to snatch it from his grip, only to realize that he was watching her.

  “Care to make a wager?” Brett asked, removing the sleeve and ruffling the pack.

  “What kind of wager?” Ike demanded.

  “Five-card stud. Winner gets everything he deserves. And if you want to make the stakes more interesting, you could throw in the woman. I don’t have much need for her, but she did have her . . . uses.”

  The deliberate journey his gaze took should have been as insulting as the remark. Instead, to Annie’s shame, it coaxed a warmth low and deep in her middle. The fact that she could still respond to him humiliated her more than what Savage had done.

  While Brett dragged the work table into the center of the floor and set up the game, Annie kept her eyes on Savage, unwilling to miss a chance to snatch his revolver out of its holster. At one point he turned his back toward her, but just as Annie leaned forward and her fingers closed over the handle, Brett caught her eye. An almost imperceptible shake of his head made her release the weapon. They just couldn’t risk bringing on the rest of the men.

  After the longest fifteen minutes, Brett smiled and splayed his cards. “Well, lookee there, Savage. Three aces.”

  Ike stared at the hand. Then a slow, nasty sneer pulled at his mouth. “You’re good, Corrigan, but your aces don’t beat my pretty ladies.” He spread four stone-face queens atop the table.

  Brett gaped at the cards for a moment. Then he leaped up from the stool. “You pulled that diamond from your sleeve!” His rage sounded so genuine that she almost believed the performance.

  At least . . . she hoped it was a performance . . .

  “You callin’ me a cheat?” Savage asked in a threatening tone.

  “Damn right,” Brett shot back.

  In one swift motion, the table flipped over; cards went flying everywhere. Ike trampled them beneath his feet he charged toward Brett and slammed head-first into his stomach. Both men crashed through the doorway, onto the dirt outside.

  Savage’s men instantly congregated, drawn by the entertainment of a good fight.

  Brett got in a couple good blows as they rolled in the dirt, but within minutes, Savage clearly had Brett overpowered. The fingers pressing into Brett’s windpipe turned his face purple.

  Annie snapped. She’d lost one man because she’d been submissive—she’d not lose another.

  Spotting an old rope near the eave post, she fashioned it into a lasso; at the same time, Brett gained a surge of strength and shoved the three-hundred-pound man off him. Brett gasped and grabbed his throat while Savage staggered backward, only to have his own men push him back in the circle. Just as he reached back toward his holster, Annie’s lariat looped around the nose of the revolver. With a yank of the rope she wrenched it from his hand, and in a movement that would have made Joe Flick proud, Annie had Savage’s own weapon pressed against his temple.

  Around them, the air went suddenly still.

  “I’ve never killed a man before, but believe me, it would give me great pleasure to make you the first.”

  Sweat ran down Savage’s face. She knew he was itching to knock her out of the way. She almost dared him to, because one slip of her trigger finger and his brains would be splattered from here to hell and back.

  The sound of multiple hammers being drawn back sounded like cannon fire in the stillness.

  Annie looked around her in astonishment. Henry, Flap Jack, Dogie, and a fair-haired man she didn’t recognize circled Savage’s men, who slowly raised their hands above their heads.

  Brett advanced on Ike and grabbed him by the collar, the veins standing out on his neck and arms. His cold rage finally erupted into blazing fury. “Remember the stakes of the game, Savage? Winner gets everything he deserves? Well, I’m gonna give you everything you deserve, you filthy sonofabitch.”

  A right-handed undercut to his jowls snapped his head back. “That’s for what you did to Annie’s grandfather.”

  A left-handed fist to the other side sent his head whipping the other way. “That’s for what you did to Annie’s husband.”

  Delivering the final crushing blow, Brett brought his knee up between Savage’s legs with force enough to jam his balls into his windpipe. “And you know what that’s for.”

  Savage turned green, dropped to his knees, and toppled over.

  Brett scowled down at the badge on his chest. “Never did have much use for the law.”

  “I brought Mr. Justiss, Ace. Just like you said.”

  Brett layed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You did real good, Dogie.”

  Amazing how a few words of praise could make the boy’s face light up.

  “Actually, he caught me less than a mile out of the canyon,” Jesse said. “We’ve suspected Savage of running guns to the Indians for over two years. We just couldn’t ever prove he was involved in it—until now.”

  Brett tilted his head and studied his friend. “You really aren
’t the dumb-ass deputy you’ve been pretending to be.”

  “No, I’m the best damn Pinkerton detective you’ll ever meet.”

  Brett grinned. He didn’t doubt it for a second. Jesse and Flap Jack dragged Savage to the wagon, where a pair of Indians and Savage’s cronies sat bound and tied on the tail gate.

  “Rafe,” he called out to his former wrangler, “you should have stuck to building fences. It’s a lot easier than splitting rock—which is exactly what you’ll be doing for the next ten years.”

  Rafe glared at him, and Brett’s grin broadened.

  Then it faded as the sensation of being watched settled over him. He turned to find Annie standing beneath the overhang. Their gazes met across the distance, and their hearts beat in unison.

  He lifted his hands. Annie took one step. Then another. Then raising her arms, she sprinted into his arms. For long moments she simply held on to him with a choking grip. Then she pulled back to press moist kisses along his jaw, his cheeks, his lips. He tasted her fear, her relief, and, dare he hope . . . her love.

  Once more she buried herself against his chest. Brett clutched her to him, his nose buried in the sweet fragrance of her hair. “You’re shaking.”

  “You damned fool,” she sobbed. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

  “Does it matter?” he asked quietly.

  “Of course it matters,” she whispered, looking at the ground.

  “Let’s get you out of here.”

  “Where?” she asked in surprise.

  “Back to the ranch. We’ve got some unfinished business to settle. You do want your money, I assume.”

  “But . . . I didn’t catch the stallion.”

  “No, you didn’t.” His tone went brittle.

  She dug in her heels; the connection of their hands broke. “You think I was going to betray you.”

  He didn’t need to answer; the truth lay in his eyes.

  “Keep your damn money.”

  “Annie, what was I supposed to think when I saw you down there?”

  “You could have trusted me! I’ve never lied to you, Corrigan. I’ve never cheated or conned you either, though I’ve had plenty of opportunity. In fact . . .” she choked on her own thick voice. “I’ve been more honest with you than with anyone . . . anyone in my whole life. And you still thought the worst. I wasn’t trying to steal the horse away from you; I was trying to steal it for you.”

  “Why would you risk your life to bring me that horse?”

  Annie swallowed. Her lips trembled. Her eyes glittered with tears. “Because it was the only thing I could give you.”

  Chapter 25

  It was a somber procession back to the Triple Ace. Annie and Wade Henry kept exchanging glances, his reassuring, hers worried. She had no idea what awaited her. U.S. Marshals? A hangman’s rope? Jesse Justiss with a jail cell ready and waiting . . . ?

  If not when they reached Tascosa, then eventually. It was only a matter of time before she would be made to pay for her crimes.

  So why was she risking her hide to collect a fee she’d not likely live long enought to spend?

  Brett had to know that as well as she did, but he didn’t say a word. In fact, he hadn’t said more than two words the last forty miles, not even to his men. He didn’t even seem to care that the stallion he’d wanted so desperately trotted behind them as meek as a lamb.

  He merely rode ahead, hat low over his eyes, jaw set, shoulders slouched with either weariness or resignation . . . she couldn’t tell.

  Annie wished for the anger she’d felt when she’d first realized he thought she meant to steal the horse, but in her heart, she couldn’t blame him. She’d spent half her life relieving people of their horses and, she realized now, a portion of their pride.

  He was better off hating her.

  When they arrived at the ranch, Brett helped her off Chance’s back. Lines of weariness fanned out from the corners of his eyes and had embedded itself in the grooves of his face.

  He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I want you to go in the house and get a good night’s sleep. No one will bother you.”

  Annie wasn’t sure what surprised her more—the gentleness of the gesture or the compassion behind his words. A tiny voice inside her reminded her that she needed to get while the going was good, that the longer she lingered here, the shorter her chances of making a clean escape. But she was so tired. . . .

  Sapped of energy, drained of emotion, she complied without argument, falling asleep almost before her head hit the guest room pillow.

  Brett stared at her from the doorway, his throat so tight he could barely breathe. Annie lay across the bedspread, her hair all around her, her clothes dusty and shadows of exhaustion under her eyes.

  He remembered the first time he’d seen her, standing in front of him so tough and indifferent . . . no, not even indifferent. Dead, inside and out.

  She’d gotten him his stallion. If he let himself think about how close he’d come to losing her, he’d come unhinged. Why had she pulled such a crazy, reckless stunt?

  “It was the only thing I could give you.”

  Nothing had ever touched him more than Annie’s simple declaration. He’d spent over half his life amassing things—money, property, livestock—in an effort to prove his old man wrong, and she, who had nothing but an inbred instinct for survival, had risked everything to give him a stupid horse. Didn’t she know the stallion meant nothing compared to her?

  Losing the struggle with himself, Brett pushed away from the doorjamb and crossed the carpeted floor. The bed dipped beneath his weight as he climbed in next to her. Brett curled his body around her slight frame, wrapped his arms around her middle, and inhaled the scent of her hair. It smelled of Texas plains, wild mustangs, and panhandle winds. After tomorrow, he’d never see her again. Once he paid her fee, there would be nothing holding her to him.

  How was he supposed to let her go?

  Sunshine streamed through the bedroom window as Annie slowly dressed in the split riding skirt and blouse Brett had given her, feeling as if she were donning armor. In a sense, she supposed she was. She’d leave here today after being turned inside out and upside down, and have to pretend it didn’t matter.

  She descended the stairs, her saddlebags over her shoulder. On the flagstone landing, she paused to look around at the beautiful objects in Brett’s home. The colorful tapestries, the prism lamps, the crystal decanter sets and leather bound books . . . one day a woman would live amongst all this finery. She’d keep his house, cook his meals, sleep in his bed and bear his children. . . .

  For a moment she allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to be that woman. She didn’t fool herself into thinking objects brought happiness; she’d spent some of the best years of her life in a dark little cabin with nothing but the basic essentials. But the idea of living out the rest of her days safe in a home like this, with a man who made her feel cherished and desired and loved . . .

  Annie closed her eyes. No, she’d given up the right to such dreams the day she’d stolen her first horse.

  Tossing her head, tilting her chin, straightening her shoulders, she strode out the front foor.

  She came to a stunned halt on the gallery.

  Below, gathered at the bottom of the steps, the men of the Triple Ace stood shoulder to shoulder, their hair slicked backed, Sunday suits crisp and clean. In the center of them was a blackcoated man with a white collar and Bible. Her stomach clenched.

  “What is this?” she managed to ask.

  Dogie, wearing a yellow shirt bright enough to make the flowers grow, stepped forward. “Miss Annie . . .” He sucked in a deep breath, then blurted, “I’d be right proud if you’d do me the honor of being my stepmother.” He shoved a posy of yellow flowers and Indian paintbrush toward her.

  Dumbly, Annie took the wildflowers. “Is this one of your pranks?” If so, it was unbearably cruel and humiliating.

  Brett stepped up beside his son and laid a
hand on his shoulder. “It’s no prank,” he assured her. He looked heartbreakingly magnificent in the silvery-gray suit and green silk shirtwaist that matched his eyes. His face was shaved smooth; his eyes glowed with an inner light. “Dogie and I had a long talk last night and laid a lot of cards on the table. One of them was deciding that we needed to make an honest woman of you. And honest men of ourselves.”

  In front of his men, he knelt on one knee and took her hand in his. “Annie Harper, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  She could hardly speak for the emotion squeezing her chest. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered in agony. Here . . . now . . . in front of his men. . . .

  “Because you amaze me like no one ever has, and I can’t imagine living the rest of my life without you. Stay with me, Annie. Help me build this place. Spend the rest of our days chasing horses . . .” His voice dropped to an intimate, almost inaudible level. “. . . and our nights making love. Say you’ll marry me.”

  The temptation to say “yes” was almost unbearable. There’d been a time when raising horses, building a ranch, and loving a good man had been her sole joy, comfort and purpose. It had also been her destruction. She’d not let it be his. “I can’t marry you, Brett.”

  The silence lay heavy as lead around them.

  “Can’t, or won’t?” he asked.

  Even if she could find her voice through the thickness in her throat, she didn’t know to answer. Can’t implied cowardice; won’t, willfulness. Neither really applied. She started past him, each step a brittle effort.

  Brett’s strong, solid hand on her arm stopped her in mid-stride.

  “Is it because of the stallion?” he asked. “Annie, I was a fool to think even for an instant that you were going to steal him—”

  She shook her head but refused to look at him. “I would have thought the same thing in your position.”

  “Then what is it? Give me one good reason why.”

  Tears stung her eyes. How could she tell him how afraid she was of losing him? How afraid it made her to think of the day he’d see her for the thief she was and turn away from her in loathing? Or worse, someone making him pay for her past sins? “Because some things just aren’t meant to be.” Knowing if she didn’t leave now she’d disgrace herself in front of everyone, she pleaded in a whisper, “Let me go, Brett.”