Page 27 of West Wind

It didn’t take long to find her. Her mare was tethered to a low branch. Annie sat in a shaded copse, her back to a cottonwood tree, munching delicately on a piece of dried apple. She appeared to be lost in her own thoughts, with her knees drawn up and a small frown on her face.

“Damn it,” he swore lowly. “I turned around and you were gone.”

“Lucky you.” She didn’t even look at him.

He slid from the saddle, sighing deeply. “I’m not trying to be unreasonable, but we can’t afford to lollygag.”

“I am not lollygagging.” She didn’t move from her place beneath the cottonwood. “I had no breakfast, my rear end aches from sitting in that saddle all day every day, and I… need… a… break.” She emphasized each word. “If you’re so anxious to be rid of me, why don’t you just go on back to the Silver Palace, or wherever it is you’re so determined to get to. I can find the way to San Francisco on my own.”

He scowled at her—he couldn’t help it—while her expression remained cool and haughty. This was a side of Annie he hadn’t seen before. She didn’t vent her anger in the ways other women might. She didn’t cry, or sniffle, or beg him to stay with her. God help him, if she did that he’d be hard pressed to say no.

“You needn’t worry about your money,” she said coolly. “I’ll send it to the Silver Palace, to your friend Cherry. As you instructed.” She gave him an icy smile.

“Forget about the money,” he growled.

She arched a fine eyebrow; her smile disappeared. “And feel like another one of your whores? I don’t think so.”

He shook his head and clamped his mouth shut. He hadn’t intended to get into another argument with her, but when he’d looked over his shoulder and hadn’t seen her there, when he’d stopped to wait for her, his eyes on the path that remained ominously deserted, he’d panicked. All the while she’d been having herself a leisurely picnic, sitting in the shade taking tiny bites of dried apple.

He didn’t say another word as she finished her apples with a casual lethargy he had no doubt was deliberate.

When at last she stood and brushed the grass from her britches, he turned to face her. “Can we get movin’ now? I’d like to catch up with those travelers before dark.”

“You think you’re anxious to be rid of me? I can’t wait to meet up with that wagon train,” Annie said defiantly. “I certainly never intended to be a burden to you.”

She led her mare to the path, walking slowly and holding the reins in her hands as if she’d been riding all her life.

“I never said you were a burden, Widow Brown,” he commented, following her on foot, leading his own mount. His boots kicked up clouds of dust around his feet. With his free hand he scratched his chin.

She spun around, her eyes narrowed, her fresh anger simmering beneath the surface. Perhaps he shouldn’t have called her Widow Brown. It only reminded both of them that she’d lied.

“No. You said much worse.” She stood in the middle of the well-worn path, her tight britches and tucked-in shirt outlining her perfect figure, her thick hair falling straight over one shoulder. He saw little resemblance to the frightened woman he’d rescued. If only he’d known that she’d turn out to be so delectable, he would’ve let the Pinkerton agent have her. Or so he tried to convince himself as she confronted him.

“Seems to me the worst I’ve accused you of was being a goddamn virgin, and we both know that’s true, so…” He stopped when she stepped toward him and drew back her foot.

He saw her intent, mingled with a flash of fire in her eyes. She briefly hesitated, giving him just enough time to swing his hand down and grab her ankle as it flew upward, before it found its target.

He didn’t release her foot. Annie stood there, precariously balanced on one foot while he held the other. A gentle shove would have sent her backside-first into the dirt.

“If you intend to kick a man in the balls, darlin’, don’t hesitate.” There was no anger in his voice, but Annie still looked as if she expected some sort of retaliation. “If he knows what you’re plannin’ to do, he just might kill you.” He released her foot and she lowered it to the ground.

“I told you if you ever called me that again I’d… I’d do that,” she said, stammering. “Language, Shelley, language!”

He shook his head, and she lowered hers to stare at the dirt. Her tan hat hid her face. He placed his finger under her chin and lifted it gently.

“You’ve got to be ruthless to survive a trek halfway across the country,” he said softly.

“Ruthless like you?”

She’d surely meant that as an insult, but he smiled crookedly. “Exactly. If you intend to attack a man, and I know you won’t do that unless you feel you have to, it’s got to be quick, and you’ve got to realize you only get one shot. Be timid, let him see what’s coming, worry that you might actually hurt him, and he’ll get you first. I guarantee it.”

“I’m not very good at this,” she whispered.

“Not very good at what?”

“Survival of the fittest.” She actually smiled. A small smile, to be sure, but her anger had faded.

They were close—too close. Annie looked up at him. “A few months ago, if anyone had told me I’d be crossing the country on horseback, eating beans every night, sleeping on the ground and learning how to defend myself, I never would’ve believed it. In the past three months I’ve experienced terror like I never knew existed, and everything I was taught has turned out to be worthless.