Page 17 of West Wind

“I don’t know where you live. I don’t even know your full name.”

For some reason she continued to whisper. His heart caught in his throat. It was all too much, too fast. He felt much closer to this woman than he cared to.

He gave her his wickedest grin, winking at her lecherously. “Just send it to Oscar’s place, care of Cherry. I always end up back there sooner or later, and she’ll hold it for me.”

It worked. Annie’s eyes hardened and her mouth tightened. “I’ll do that.” She no longer whispered.

She marched out of the store, holding her skirt off the floor as she left in a huff. He shook his head. Mention a woman like Cherry to a lady, and the reaction was always the same.

The horse he chose for Annie was a sable brown mare, gentle and healthy-looking. He saddled the horse for her in front of the general store.

“Do you want to change into your new clothes before we leave town?” he asked, watching her stare at the mare as if it were some sort of monster.

Annie shook her head.

“Well, we won’t be going far, but you’ll be more comfortable riding astride in the britches.”

She blushed.

“Put them on under the dress if you’re so damn modest you can’t stand the thought of anyone seeing you wearing pants, or hike up your skirts and⁠—”

“I can’t ride,” she interrupted him with a simple statement that left him speechless. “I thought I would be able to. I really did. I’ve been watching you, and I thought when I saw my own horse I’d be able to jump in the saddle and do what you do.” She never took her eyes off the mare. “But I can’t.”

“You could’ve told me,” he said when he found his voice.

“I should have.”

He shook his head, took her hand, and led her to the roan. He was so accustomed to lifting her into the saddle he did it almost automatically now, and he did just that as a sulky Willa watched from the window of her father’s general store. He led Annie’s mare as they rode out of town, grumbling in the woman’s ear all the way down the dusty street and away from the quaint little town.

When Shelley finally stopped complaining, Annabelle leaned against his chest and closed her eyes. She could never tell him, but she’d miss riding in front of him, resting her cheek against his chest, falling asleep to his heartbeat. It was just another secret to keep to herself. One of many.

“You know that little girl is in love with you, don’t you?” she asked after a while.

“What girl?”

She rolled her eyes. Men were so dense sometimes. “Willa Lawrence. She looked at you all afternoon as if you were some kind of hero. A knight who will one day appear on a white horse and carry her away.”

“I seem to have that effect on women,” he said casually, teasing her, dismissing her concern. “Most of them anyway.”

She shook her head. “You dolt. Willa’s an impressionable young girl. You really shouldn’t lead her on⁠—”

“Look,” he said sharply. “Willa is just a kid. I’ve known her and Walter since she was... I don’t know, seven or eight, I guess. And I certainly never lead her on⁠—”

“I beg your pardon, but you do,” she snapped, then lowered her voice. “You call her darlin’, and flash her those Shelley smiles, and tell her how lovely she is⁠—”

“I’ve done all those things to you, yet you seem immune to my charms,” he said lightly.

“I am twenty-five years old, a woman, not a romantic little girl with dreams of hearts and flowers. Reality will intrude upon Willa Lawrence soon enough, as it does for all women when they find out what...” She stopped her tirade. “Sorry. It’s none of my business.”

There was a moment of silence before Shelley answered her. “You’re right. I reckon Willa is growing up mighty fast. I’ll be more careful about what I say the next time I pass through Coldwater Creek.” He waited, perhaps expecting her to respond, but she answered him with stony silence. “I guess I’ve always had a soft spot for little girls,” he said wistfully.

She answered his confession with an unfeminine grunt of disbelief.

They stopped for the night on the bank of a shallow creek. Annabelle strung a rope between two trees and hung the blanket as Shelley had done that night in the glade. She was proud of herself because she was able to perform the simple act unassisted. It was a small accomplishment, to be sure, but for someone who’d never had to do anything for herself, had never been expected to do anything but sing, it was a feat.

While Shelley started a campfire and a pot of coffee, she bathed in the creek, washed her hair, and laundered the black dress. He hadn’t said a word to her as she’d disappeared around the barrier that afforded her a modicum of privacy, no taunts about her modesty or offers to rescue her if she saw a snake. She didn’t know what to expect from her escort anymore. One minute he was grinning and teasing her, and the next he was scowling like a brown bear.

It was a relief to remove the black dress, which seemed to grow heavier and more cumbersome with every passing day. She stepped into the creek, as the sun dipped lower into the sky. The water that flowed gently was almost icy it was so cold, but it was refreshing. After a few minutes she was accustomed to the biting chill.