Page 7 of West Wind

He nodded. “Yep. Wouldn’t you like to wash up? I promise you there aren’t many places like this between here and San Francisco. We’ll have the Rockies the Great Basin Desert, the Sierras. You’ll be sorry if you don’t enjoy this while we’re here.”

“But... but, I don’t... I can’t...”

He laughed. “Are you modest, darlin’?”

She cast a daunting look his way. “Yes, it so happens that I am.”

He unsaddled the horse, his movements slow, almost lazy. He didn’t even give Annie a sidelong glance as he strung a rope between two saplings and hung his blanket from the rope. He stood on the opposite side of the barrier and raised his hands. “How’s this?”

She stepped past him to the edge of the pond and stooped to trail her fingers through the water. “It does feel heavenly.”

“I promise I won’t peek unless you ask me to,” he teased.

“I guarantee I won’t ask you to.” She shooed him away from the blanket, smiling.

“I just mean if you see a snake or something...”

Shelley left her standing there on the bank, turning his back on the dark-haired woman. He stretched out in the grass, shading his eyes with his hat, and waited until he heard her step into the pond, the still water splashing. Her satchel sat beside the saddle. He opened it, feeling a small twinge of guilt which he quickly dismissed.

There wasn’t much in the bag. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she had only thirty-six dollars. There was a comb and brush, a small mirror, and three containers. He opened the first small one. It contained a sticky-looking black goo. The circles under her eyes and the hollows in her cheeks. The next jar held a thick, greasy, white glop. Her pasty complexion. The third and largest one held white powder.

He placed the three containers in front of him, his fingers forming a tepee under his chin. In the distance he heard soft splashing as Annie bathed in the cool waters of the pond.

After a few minutes he stood, the offensive containers in his hands. He let the smallest jar fly first. It went clear to the opposite edge of the pond, landing with a loud splash close to the far bank.

“What was that?” Annie called out, alarmed. He heard her splashing as she hurried toward the grassy bank.

“Nothin’, darlin’,” he answered. “I’m just tossing some junk into the water.”

“Oh,” she sighed with relief. “I thought maybe it was... snakes or something.”

“Is that an invitation?” he asked as he let the second jar go sailing.

“Of course not,” she answered haughtily, apparently recalling his earlier words.

He let the last jar fly, and this time the widow no doubt looked overhead to see what he was tossing into the water.

“No!” she shouted too late, as the last of her makeup landed in the middle of the pond with a loud splash. She stomped to the blanket that hung between them. Her hands grasped the top, her face just clearing the barrier.

“Why did you do that?” she screamed.

Shelley was speechless. He was never speechless. Annie wasn’t just pretty without her disguise, she was downright gorgeous. Dark wet hair fell around her shoulders; her face was like porcelain, with rosy cheeks and a mouth the color of a fresh plum. Her eyes flashed at him, dark with anger.

“Well? Have you been struck dumb?” she shouted when he didn’t answer.

“With two of us on one horse we need to travel light if we’re going to make any time at all.” Amazingly, his voice was calm. “Those jars were heavy and useless.”

Annie frowned and bit her lower lip. She gave his explanation some thought before she answered him. “I wish you’d asked, that’s all.”

He stared at the delicate fingers grasping the top of the blanket. “Darlin’, whoever taught you to put on makeup didn’t teach you very well. Makeup is supposed to make you look better.” He pretended to be ignorant of her reason for wearing a disguise. “Now, I suggest you get dressed and haul your ass out here before I decide to come back there and see what else you’ve been hidin’.”

She narrowed her dark brown eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He took a step forward. “Don’t dare me, darlin’. Don’t ever dare me.”

Annabelle dressed quickly, pulling on her chemise while she yelled over her shoulder. “All right, but you stop calling me darling. My name is Mrs. Brown. Not Annie, not darling. Mrs. Brown.”

She struggled with the heavy black dress. There were tiny buttons from the high collar to the hem of the too-long skirt, and she refused to step from behind the makeshift curtain until every one of them had been fastened. She hated the black dress. Hated even more that she’d traded a lovely green silk gown for this monstrosity.