Page 15 of West Wind

“Heavens, no,” she groaned. “I do not want breakfast. William. My husband’s name was William.”

“William Brown,” he repeated slowly as he came to his feet and lifted the saddle. “William Brown, boot maker from St. Louis.”

“Why the sudden interest in my late husband?” she asked sharply.

He ignored her as he saddled the roan, the simple task a chore in his present state. When it was done he walked with distinct purpose to stand in front of her, and lifted her black skirt slightly. She slapped his hand away, but he was undaunted and lifted her skirt again to barely expose one slipper-clad foot.

“Just wondering why William Brown, boot maker, didn’t make his wife a decent pair of boots.” He scowled. “These won’t last through Wyoming Territory.”

“I had several pairs of fine boots,” she said indignantly. “But I was forced to leave St. Louis with nothing more than the clothes on my back, and I didn’t happen to be wearing boots at the time.”

He stood close to her, too close. She backed away from him, her face paling a little.

God help him, he was becoming far too attached to the increasingly lovely Widow Brown, and her story stunk to high heaven.

He shook his head. “So you fled St. Louis with the clothes on your back, and sang your way to Brayton. I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me why those Pinkerton agents are after you?”

He placed his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the roan’s back. There was something about that simple act he was beginning to enjoy too much. He’d better see her on her way to California with another party… soon.

Annie closed her eyes. “I don’t remember the saddle being so high off the ground before.” She clutched at her stomach.

“Well? Are you going to answer my question?”

“I can’t talk about anything right now,” she said as he joined her, wrapping his arm around her tiny waist. She placed the sunbonnet on her head. “I don’t feel very well.”

He guided the horse at a leisurely pace. Annie was determined to hold her body stiff and away from his. She was quiet as always, and kept her head turned away. The sunbonnet covered her hair and hid her face. Shelley’s earlier frustration melted away.

“Mrs. Brown, I know you’re feeling none too frisky this morning, and seeing as how you spent last night and most of this morning using my gut as a pillow, I don’t think it would matter too much if you wanted to lean back and relax a bit.”

She hesitated but not for long, settling easily against his chest. It was a surprisingly comforting feeling, more soothing than he could’ve imagined. “Thank you, Shelley.”

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Brown.”

She toyed with the ribbons that trailed from the bonnet for several minutes before she spoke. “Shelley?”

“Yes, Mrs. Brown?”

“You don’t need to keep calling me Mrs. Brown. I’m sorry I lost my temper and said that you were my employee, and not to call me Annie. Annie suits me just fine.”

He smiled in spite of the bright morning light that was presently threatening to split his skull in two. He’d been calling her Annie in his mind all along. She didn’t need to know that. “Makes sense, Annie, since I’m sharing with you an intimate experience I’ve never shared with another woman.”

He felt her slight tremor at the words intimate experience. “What’s that?” she asked.

“Why, this hangover, darlin’. I reckon if we make it through the day and neither of us falls off this horse, we’ll have accomplished somethin’.”

He pulled his wide-brimmed hat low over his eyes. What he really needed was a dark, cool room with a soft bed where he could sleep for a couple of days. There would be no dark rooms, no cool beds, and no more tequila until he saw Annie safely on her way to San Francisco and out of his life.

Ann Brown wasn’t his responsibility, he reminded himself. She certainly wasn’t his type, as far as women were concerned. She was timid, refined, and far more suited to a city dude, a boot maker or such, than to a wandering bounty hunter. Hell, he’d seen the way she looked at Beans when she learned what he did, had seen the terror on her face at the sight of the outlaw’s body. What would she think if she learned that was his chosen profession as well? Would she look at him with the same loathing and fear he’d seen in her eyes when she’d looked at Beans?

He had a sudden vision of Annie dancing and singing and smoking one of his cigars, her hair whipping about her head, her seductive smile for him alone. He shook the vision away. A segment of a drunken dream, perhaps, induced by tequila and hazily remembered. Whatever it was, best to put it out of his mind, to put her out of his mind completely.

There were plans to be made. She’d need her own horse, a decent pair of boots, a pair of britches. She wouldn’t like that, but she couldn’t ride sidesaddle all the way to California. Food, a bedroll. He made a mental list of everything she’d need before he let her go on her own. Well, not entirely on her own. He’d see to it that she hooked up with a responsible party.

It would cost a hell of a lot more than thirty-six dollars, but he could certainly afford to stake her. In the end, the cost would be insignificant compared to what he’d pay if he escorted her all the way to California. A price too high to contemplate.

Yes, he’d see her on her way, and then he’d head back to Kansas. Edmund Vaughan had been known to spend time in the cowtowns, and he was worth three-hundred dollars. The outlaw ran occasionally with Hardy Blount, who had a bounty of five-hundred dollars on his head. A trip to Kansas was called for. There was a pretty little redhead in Abilene. Shelley tried to concentrate on her. Big breasts, thick red hair and big green eyes, she was pretty as a picture.

And who in the hell was Pierre?