Chasing Rainbows (6 page)

With those parting words, Annie dug her heels into Dulcie’s flanks, urging her little mare into a gallop. The wind lashed her face as she flew over the rough ground, leaving a trail of dust behind her. Jake took out after her, watching in admiration as she rode. She moved with a supple grace that was completely unselfconscious, her lithe form perfectly matched to her mount’s long strides.

Annie didn’t slow until mid-afternoon, when they reached an old silver mine. She dropped Cat to the ground and swung off Dulcie. Jake followed suit, hitching Weed beside Annie’s mare, his reins looped around the branch of an old cedar.

“You planning on doing some mining?” he asked.

“I’ll be digging, all right, but it won’t be for any puny bits of worthless rock.” Although she was obviously struggling to maintain an air of indifference, a glow of childlike excitement shone in her eyes.

Jake glanced around the abandoned sight, wondering at its cause. The mine had obviously been played out years ago. The mouth of the main shaft was choked with tumbleweeds and sagebrush. A dilapidated shed stood a few yards away, leaning drunkenly against the hillside. An odd assortment of rusted and broken tools lay scattered before it. Although the cooking fire had long since cooled, a battered tin coffeepot remained suspended over the ashes, swaying in the breeze. A soft wind kicked up clouds of dust and dirt and carried the faint, acrid scent of sulfur with it.

“We got anything left in that supply bag?” Annie asked, obviously intending to eat before getting down to the business that had brought her there.

As Jake was also hungry, he didn’t object. He pulled a blanket from his saddle and spread it out beneath a shady cedar. Next he dug into the supplies Sheriff Cayne had provided, retrieving a few day-old biscuits, a hunk of creamy yellow cheese, thinly sliced ham, and two tart green apples.

They ate in silence, listening to the sound of the wind rustle through the cottonwoods. Once the meal had ended, Annie rose to look for Cat. In keeping with her habitual pattern, the mangy beast had wandered off once again. Jake stood and stretched. As a gentle breeze stirred the air around him, he heard the soft, rustling flap of a burlap sack. Annie’s burlap sack. The sack that contained all her worldly goods — and perhaps a clue as to how he might find the Mundy Gang. Jake eyed the bag consideringly. Another stiff breeze might just spill open the contents.

For that matter, so would the toe of his boot. He hesitated briefly, reluctant to invade the woman’s privacy. But after a few moment’s reflection, he realized that hanging for a murder he didn’t commit appealed to him even less. He glanced around for Annie. Confident that she was still occupied with hunting for Cat, he dumped the contents of her bag onto the blanket.

Jake studied the paltry assortment of personal odds and ends with a slight frown. Torn rags, a broken bridle bit, a handful of rifle cartridges, a small velvet purse that jingled with coins, a badly worn book, an equally distressed leather Bible, and an old tintype photograph completed the collection. He lifted the book first, somewhat surprised that Annie could read. Not that she wasn’t bright enough, but that she’d ever been given the schooling.
Winston’s Guide to Proper Etiquette and Deportment for Refined Young Ladies of All Ages
read the gilt title on the cover. He flipped open the front jacket, noting the name that had been penned in the upper right corner in a young girl’s roundly ornate cursive:
Hannah Elizabeth Foster
.

Next he examined the tintype. The portrait showed two young girls dressed in their Sunday best, holding hands. Jake smiled at the tiny image of feminine perfection. Looking at the tintype, he could almost hear the stiff crunch of crinoline beneath their freshly starched dresses, almost feel the satiny smoothness of their ribbons and bows.

The older girl, who was perhaps eight, looked appropriately solemn at the occasion of having the photograph taken. The younger girl, however, appeared to be struggling just to stand still. An impish grin curved her lips, her eyes glowed with excitement, and her chubby cheeks were rosy and flushed. Unlike the properly sedate older child, a bit of the younger one’s personality was already showing through. Her dark-blond curls were mussed and scattered. The lace edge of her skirt drooped about one ankle. A tiny smear of dirt streaked her chin.

Outlaw Annie.

“You don’t ever get tired of nosing into other people’s stuff, do you, mister?”

Jake turned to find Annie scowling at him, Cat bundled tightly in her arms. Nearly all signs of the high-spirited, adorable young girl she’d once been had vanished. Still, he was certain that it was her in the tintype. Her features hadn’t changed that much: the soft curve of her lips, the small nose, the tilt of her expressive eyes.

“How old were you?” he asked.

She let out an exasperated breath. “Five,” she answered. She released Cat and reached for the tintype, returning it to her burlap sack.

“The older girl’s your sister?”

She gave a curt nod. “Hannah.”

“Where—”

“Dead,” Annie answered flatly. She propped her fists on her hips and asked, “You got any more questions?”

Several
, Jake answered silently. The photographer’s stamp in the lower corner read
Johnston & Sons, Philadelphia
. The clothing the girls wore was obviously high quality. How did a young girl from a well-to-do family in Philadelphia end up running with an outlaw gang in Colorado? Where were Pete Mundy and the rest of the boys, and why was Annie covering for them?

Jake shrugged easily, assuming a pose of casual indifference. “None that can’t keep for a day or two, darlin’.”

He let the questions roll through his mind, keeping half an eye on Annie as she stuffed the flannel and denim scraps back into her bag. He frowned, his curiosity captured by her movements. “You brought cleaning rags?”

Annie stiffened, momentarily frozen in her task. “My clothes,” she answered tightly.

“I apologize,” Jake said instantly. “I didn’t mean—”

“Never mind.”

If she’d been wounded at all by his thoughtless blunder, it didn’t show. She methodically continued her chore, hesitating only when she reached the small velvet purse that contained the coins. Scowling, she pulled open the purse’s strings and peered inside. Apparently satisfied that the contents hadn’t been disturbed, she placed it within the burlap sack and gave him a long, hard look.

“That’s my money. Three hundred twenty-nine dollars and forty-eight cents. You get any thoughts about stealing it, or just dipping in for a loan, and I’ll—”

“Bash in my skull,” Jake finished for her, bored.

Annie tilted her chin. “Just see that you remember it.”

Her packing finished, she swept past him and into the dilapidated shed, returning seconds later with a pair of rusty shovels. She pressed one into his hands.

“We got some digging to do,” she said brusquely. “You know how these work, Mr. Fancy-Pants?”

He arched a dark brow. “I believe I’m familiar with the concept.”

Annie gave an unladylike snort. “From watching other folks dig, most likely. Bet you never been on the blister end of one before.”

She spun around and marched resolutely past the mouth of the abandoned mine, industriously shoveling away near the base of an old cottonwood tree. Jake watched her in silence. After a few minutes, she stopped and glared up at him. “What’s the matter, mister? Afraid you’ll get your pretty clothes all dirty?”

Figuring he had that one coming, Jake let the remark go. “Do you mind telling me what we’re digging for?”

“I don’t suppose the words ‘it’s none of your business’ mean anything to you?”

“Not if you want my help.”

Annie muttered something beneath her breath. She glanced down at the hole she’d dug, then scowled up at Jake. Finally she let out a burdensome sigh, set her shovel aside, and reached into the back pocket of her denim work pants. “Here,” she said. “Since you’re so all-fired curious, take a look.”

Despite her grumbling attitude, Jake heard a note that sounded almost like pride in her voice. He stepped forward and accepted the worn piece of paper she passed him. It was dirty, smudged, and nearly torn through the folds, like a cherished letter that had been read over and over again until the contents had been thoroughly memorized. But upon closer inspection, he saw that it wasn’t a love letter at all. It was nothing but an old advertising circular for a hotel.

Paradise!
the flier exclaimed in bold, twenty-point type
. Come visit the Palace Hotel in Cooperton, Colorado, the West’s most elegant resort for distinguished ladies and gentlemen. The Palace Hotel, culture and civilization in the midst of the wild Western frontier.
The flier went on to describe the hotel’s lobby, rooms, restaurant, and theater in gushing, effusive detail. Although the name was unfamiliar to Jake, that didn’t necessarily signify. Grand hotels had been springing up all over the territory since the discovery of gold at Pikes Peak and the subsequent boom in Denver City.

“Very nice.” He folded the flier and passed it back. “You planning on robbing the place?”

Annie’s brows snapped together. “I own it,” she shot back. “I got the deed buried right here. Now are you gonna ask any more questions, mister, or are you gonna help me dig?”

Jake removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The old cottonwood Annie had selected as a marker had grown since she’d buried the deed, forcing them to dig through and around the tree’s thick roots. Two hours later, they were both streaked with dirt and breathing heavily. Finally they reached the rough pine box that contained the deed. Jake lifted it and passed it to Annie, watching as she split the wood and withdrew the yellowed parchment.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance that you came by that legally, is there, darlin’?”

Annie wiped the perspiration from her brow and sent him a dark look. “It’s more legal — and a hell of a lot more accurate — than the piece of paper that says your mama and daddy were married the day you were born.”

Jake bit back a grin. “Well, now, that does reassure me.”

He crossed to where Weed stood, flipped open his saddlebag, and retrieved his bourbon flask. Then he sat down and leaned against a smooth rock, stretched out his long legs, and took a deep, comforting swallow. Annie wordlessly took a seat across from him. After a few minutes, Cat wandered over, hissed at Jake, and settled herself in Annie’s lap. Whether it was a trick of the fading afternoon light or the fact that she held the deed firmly in hand, he couldn’t help but notice the relaxed glow that softened Annie’s features.

“So your outlaw days are over,” he commented, trying once again to draw her out.

Annie nodded. “Yup.”

“You’ll be a high-society lady now, running a grand hotel.”

A contented smile drifted over her face. “That’s right,” she said. She glanced down at the flier, which sat beside her, running her fingers softly over the page. “That’s exactly what I’ll be.”

Silence fell between them once again. Realizing that he would get nothing more from her, Jake glanced at the surrounding woods, frowning as the hint of sulfur once again assailed his nostrils. “What’s that smell?” he asked.

Annie sniffed, then nodded in recognition. “There’s a hot springs over that ridge,” she replied.

Following her gesture, he rose and went to investigate. Hot, steaming pools of water glistened a mere hundred yards away. Jake had already determined that they should ride for another hour or two rather than making camp at the old mining shaft. But the opportunity to bathe in the hot springs before bedding down for the night was all the incentive he needed to reverse that decision. Fortunately Annie readily agreed. The only point of contention was their bathing schedules.

“You’re going first, mister. I ain’t taking off my clothes while you’re within fifty yards of me.”

“I’m afraid not, darlin’. What’s to stop you from taking off with both horses while I’m up to my neck in that hot water?”

“How do I know that ain’t exactly what you’re planning on doing to me?” Annie shot back.

The argument continued for another ten minutes until a resolution was finally reached. A dense outcropping of rocks and scrub brush separated the pools and allowed for a modicum of privacy, so they could both bathe at the same time.

With their horses stationed within easy view, Jake took off his clothes, tossed them over his saddle, and sank into the steaming spring. The rustling of the bush beside him, followed by a blissful sigh, told him that Annie had followed the same course.

Their enjoyment of the hot springs was short-lived.

Given that their compromise was based entirely on a mutual distrust of each other, without taking any other factors into account, it wasn’t long before Jake discovered the error of their plan.

The cool evening air was shattered by Annie’s ear-splitting scream — followed by a steady stream of curses.

Jake leapt from the spring and raced toward her, only to be knocked flat as a dark bay thundered past him. He rolled over, narrowly avoiding the animal’s flying hooves. He sprang to his feet just in time to see Weed and Dulcie gallop away, a strange rider on Weed’s back.

Comprehension was quick and bitter. Someone had stolen their horses. The realization that followed was even worse. Night was falling. Their blankets, guns, money, and supplies were gone. He was stranded in the middle of nowhere with Outlaw Annie.

They were both completely naked.

“You take one more step, mister,” Annie warned, “and I’ll, I’ll—” She stopped short, unable to come up with a single threat that could be reasonably accomplished while she sat naked in a pool of steaming water.

A low rumble of laughter greeted her words as Jake easily surmised her predicament. “I take it that means you’re not hurt, darlin’.”

He stood only a few yards away, looking absolutely ridiculous. His Stetson sat at a jaunty angle on his head and his feet were tucked into dark leather boots. But with the exception of those two items — and the thick pine bough that strategically covered his private regions — he was totally and completely naked.