Page 28 of West Wind

“But the stars in the sky shine brighter than they ever have before, and I never knew wildflowers were so lovely, or that trees could be so tall and green, and…”

She faltered, maybe… probably… thinking of last night. “I’ve always had a terrible temper, though it doesn’t flare up often.” The tone of her voice changed, from dreamy to practical. He could almost hear an apology in her words. “We’d better get moving if we expect to catch up with that wagon train before dark.” With that, she turned to mount her mare.

He stopped her. “Hold on a minute.” He dug around in his saddlebag and came up with a small pearl-handled pistol which he placed in her hand. “This is an over and under derringer. You get two shots. Just two, so you have to make them count. Don’t point it at anyone unless you intend to use it. Get as close as you can, because if you miss… Well, get close.”

“I don’t want a gun.” She tried to hand the weapon back to him, but he refused to take it. “I couldn’t shoot anyone.”

“I hope you never have to, but I’ll feel better if you take this with you.” He folded her fingers around the small weapon.

Annie lifted her eyebrow. “Easing your conscience a little? Showing off your tender heart?”

He shook his head. “Don’t have either one.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll use it on you?”

Judging by the expression on her face, she was only half joking.

“Nope.” He turned his back on her to prove the point, and looked over his shoulder just in time to see her step into the stirrup and lift herself into the saddle. She didn’t need his help anymore.

He followed her for a while as they traveled the well-worn road. He’d accepted the fact that he’d never know who she really was, but he couldn’t help wondering what had happened to her. The West was full of people who were running away from one thing or another. They populated the isolated towns and farms, changed their names, started new lives. Annie could do that. She could forget about San Francisco and Icky. She could live among the wildflowers and tall trees she talked about as if she’d just discovered them. She could disappear, and sleep forever under the stars.

With him? He drove the startling thought from his mind and prodded his horse into a trot, passing Annie without even a glance in her direction.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

They rounded a bend just before sunset and found the travelers camped beside the road, their wagons in a disjointed circle. More than one fire blazed as the families prepared their evening meal. Annabelle closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The smells that assaulted her were heavenly. Coffee, some sort of bread, meat stewing… no beans. She couldn’t detect the scent of canned beans.

As they approached the covered wagons an older man stepped forward. Shelley brought his roan to a stop and slid from the saddle. The man who greeted them wore no weapon, but another man stood behind him, a rifle resting almost casually in his hands.

Shelley introduced himself and they walked off, talking in low voices. The gray-haired fellow raised a hand to the one with the rifle, obviously a prearranged signal. The rifleman smiled and returned to his wagon.

Annabelle remained seated on her mare. Well, so much for that. She’d already been deserted. The camp looked homey enough, with washing hung out to dry and three small children chasing one another in no apparent pattern, running between the wagons and over the gentle mounds that bordered the camp to one side. She saw no other children, and could only surmise that three energetic little ones seemed like a buncha kids to toothless Pops.

After a few moments she dismounted and walked toward the camp for a closer look.

There were five wagons, and the party seemed to travel with all the comforts of home. She stared longingly at a bathtub that had been set up behind one of the wagons. It was filled with bedding. How long had it been since she’d had a proper bath? Too long for her to remember. In the past three months she’d had to make do with washbasins and an occasional wooden barrel, when she was lucky. Then there was her dip in the pond, and her bath in the cold creek where Shelley had later kissed her. She really shouldn’t let her mind wander in that direction.

The smiling woman who approached to introduce herself was almost upon her before Annabelle realized she wasn’t alone. Suzanne Castleton wasn’t much older than she, a fair-haired lady with sun-browned skin and tiny lines around her eyes that deepened as she smiled.

“I hope you’ll join us for supper,” Suzanne said with a sincere smile.

Annabelle never ceased to be amazed by the people who were so willing to accept and assist strangers, with warmth and trust and a kind of love. They stuck together, these pioneers. There were no reservations when it came time to share their food, their water, their very lives.

Suzanne was the mother of two of the frolicking children. She pointed them out, a boy and the only girl. The little girl, the youngest, ran with an energy that matched the two boys, her skirts no encumbrance as she kept pace with the older children.

Annabelle felt an immediate kinship with Suzanne, even though she’d never known a woman like her. She was vigorous and hardworking, her hands red and chapped, her hips wide and her arms well-muscled. Yet there was a beauty about her, a peacefulness, perhaps, that made her special.

Of course, all she’d ever known were spoiled performers like herself, and the women like Cherry Red she’d met in saloons. None of them had possessed one iota of the warmth and contentment Suzanne radiated.

Annabelle was pleased to find that the man Shelley had talked with was Charles Castleton, Suzanne’s husband. He was several years older than his wife, and was the appointed leader of the small wagon train.

It wasn’t long before Annabelle learned that she’d be traveling with the Castleton family, and in exchange would help Suzanne with the children. Five-year-old Penny and Charlie, who’d just turned seven.

They sat around the fire and ate the delectable stew Annabelle had smelled earlier, as well as biscuits one of the women had managed to bake using a heavy umbrella to tent the fire and construct a makeshift oven. She was introduced to the other two families. Tate and Elizabeth Manley were newlyweds, a young couple with matching fair tresses who sat close together during the meal and smiled shyly at Annabelle, taking in her strange apparel. Tate Manley had been the one standing guard with Charles Castleton, holding the rifle ready until they were assured Shelley wasn’t an outlaw. Annabelle liked them both.

She wasn’t so certain about the third couple, Jim and Judith Butler. They were the parents of the third child, a little boy who looked about the same age as the Castletons’ son. He was introduced offhandedly as Little Jim. Although the Butlers sat side by side, they didn’t seem to like one another very well. The smile Jim Butler gave Annabelle was much too familiar; she avoided his gaze. Judith Butler had a tired look that didn’t come from working too hard but from living too hard. Annabelle had a hunch the woman’s husband had something to do with that.

It was dark before the meal was finished and the children were bustled off to bed. The other fires had been allowed to die down; the single blaze Annabelle and the other adults gathered around gave off the only light. The harsh fire radiated a heat that warmed her face and arms. She kept her eyes on the flames, refusing to look at Shelley as he rose and thanked the ladies for the fine grub, as he called it, and bid everyone farewell.