Page 20 of West Wind

“You’re positive it was her?” Mordecai asked again, his voice low and emotionless.

He hesitated. “Almost positive.”

The Walsh brothers exchanged a disbelieving glance.

“Well, what else have we got to go on?” Wendell raised his voice. “I still say she’s headed for San Francisco. If we split up again—maybe in teams this time—we should be able to intercept them somewhere along the route.”

“Are you certain they’re traveling together?” Dawson asked.

“No. But if you were a bounty hunter, and you got your hands on a mark worth a thousand dollars, would you let her go?” he asked sensibly. “Maybe he knows what he’s got. Maybe not. Either way, she’s headed in that direction.”

Dawson smiled. “Me and Eugene’ll take the railway.”

Mordecai rose languidly from his chair to his full height, a simple act which always amazed Wendell. The thin man stood well over six feet, and his acute thinness, the bony angles of his arms and legs, made him look even taller. “’All wickedness is but little to the wickedness of a woman.’”

Mordecai had the annoying habit of reciting Bible verses whenever he found it appropriate, which was often.

“Mordecai and I will travel overland, try to track them north and over the southern portion of Wyoming Territory.” Wendell was all business. This was his life, and he’d be damned if a low-life bounty hunter would get the best of him.

“Why that route?” Eugene asked.

Wendell gave him a chilling grin. “Because it’s the route I’d take. If we don’t run across them in couple of weeks, we’ll take the rail from Placerville and wait for them in Virginia City.”

“If that bounty hunter kills her or turns her in before we find her, we might as well give up our pistols and take up farming.” Eugene grinned at the tall man who slicked back his thin, pale blond hair. “Except for Mordy, here. He could become a preacher.”

Pain flashed across Mordecai’s face, then disappeared so that his visage was emotionless once more.

“Don’t worry about them, Mordecai,” Wendell assured the tall man who would accompany him on his quest for the man who’d humiliated him. And Annabelle St. Clair, of course. “They ain’t gonna find squat on the railroad.”

Mordecai stared at Eugene. His glare could be daunting when he wished it to be. His pale gray eyes could bore into a man’s soul. “We will find her. ‘The path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.’”

Wendell placed his hat back on his head and grabbed the lapels of his well-cut coat. Mordecai could be a bother, but he was a better shot than either of the Walsh brothers, and he kept to himself most of the time. Time was wasting. They had the girl to find, and he had that bounty hunter to pay back. He didn’t necessarily want to kill Shelley, but would if he had to. Sometimes people got in the way and were hurt, that was a regrettable necessity. Wendell Yates prided himself on being a man who got the job done, no matter what it took.

CHAPTER EIGHT

If Annabelle regretted anything she’d done in her life, it was her hasty declaration of love. Shelley hadn’t spoken three words to her in the days that had passed since then. He always rode just ahead of her, likely so he wouldn’t have to look at her. They traveled fast, Shelley giving little heed to her comfort.

The sun-filled days were cooler, not because the temperatures had abated but because her new mode of dress was much more reasonable for the summer climate. She was constantly amazed by the land that stretched ahead of them, alternately green and rocky, hilly and flat. As she and her escort plodded silently west, they seemed to come no closer to the horizon.

Shelley fell asleep almost instantly every night after supper, sometimes requesting a song, sometimes not. He woke her while it was still pitch black, usually not long after she’d managed to fall into a restless sleep. How she missed sleeping in his arms as they traveled on horseback, in the early morning hours. It was the only time she’d felt safe in three long months.

Of course, she didn’t really love him. She was grateful for everything he’d done, but that wasn’t love. Surely he regretted his spur-of-the-moment decision to escort her to San Francisco. Poor Shelley. She’d turned his life upside down, and still he hadn’t deserted her. But, no, she didn’t love him. He was the antithesis of everything she admired in a man. When she fell in love, if she ever did, it would be with a man who was cultured and refined, a man who appreciated the fine things in life as she did. Great poetry, the opera, Shakespeare. Although she didn’t consider great looks important, she was certain the man she fell in love with would be dark and tall, but not as tall as Shelley. He could be overpowering at times. Blue eyes, she decided as she stared at his back, the rhythmic movement of his roan seemingly causing him none of the discomfort her mare caused her. The man she fell in love with would have blue eyes. Clear eyes with no hidden fury or unasked questions.

He’d been wise to break away from her when he had, knowing the folly of their brief attraction. She owed him everything. If the thought that she loved him caused him such distress then before he found a wagon train for her she’d see to it that he knew she didn’t love him after all.

The settlement, if it could be called that, in which they arrived near the end of another day was little more than a roadway stop, a one-story building where a wizened old man sold necessities, whiskey, and an occasional meal. He lived in a small room at the rear of the store, and apparently disdained the touch of water on his body. He was the most odoriferous man Annabelle had ever encountered.

Did everyone west of the Mississippi know Shelley? This must be an established route he traveled often; that was why every face was familiar to him. The shriveled storekeeper greeted him warmly, then ran to the back of the store to grab a bottle of tequila.

“See? I keep a few bottles back ‘cause I know sooner or later you’ll pass this way again.” He grinned, and Annabelle wished he hadn’t. The man was missing several teeth.

Shelley shook his head. “Not this time, Pops. Maybe on the way back. Shouldn’t be long. I’m lookin’ to hook this young lady up with a party traveling to California. Anybody been through in the past couple of weeks?”

Pops nodded vigorously. “Last week there was a big wagon train moving to Oregon. Smaller group came through here yesterday. Three families, I think they said, traveling to the Great Central Valley. Had a buncha kids.”

Shelley smiled. “Yesterday?”

Pops scratched his head, not an attractive gesture. “Yesterday or the day before. I’m not sure, now that I think on it.”