Child Bride (12 page)

She avoided parking on the main street, deciding instead to hide the Bronco away in an alley one block down. The post office appeared deserted as she walked toward the city center, as did
The Painted Pony Express-Gazette
newspaper, and the crumbling stucco savings-and-loan building. The heat and still air had a heaviness to it that made Annie think of the afternoon
siestas
that were a way of life in Costa Brava.

Further investigation turned up plenty of activity inside some of the other establishments. The men’s favorite haunts seemed to be the barber shop and Prairie Oyster Tavern, and a group of women were congregated across the street at the beauty parlor.

Prairie oyster, Annie mused, as she began her search for a dry-goods store. Wasn’t that the local delicacy that Chase had mentioned? Too bad she wasn’t going to have time to sample some. A half hour later she was on her way out of the town’s general store with two sacks full of merchandise. She’d spent nearly every cent of the money she’d been hoarding, but she was thrilled with the ready-made yellow curtains and seat cushions she’d found. She’d also purchased some woven rugs for the cabin floor, a starter set of hand-painted stoneware dishes in vibrant colors, and a large vase to hold wildflowers.

Hoping it was true, she told herself that once Chase had seen what she’d done, he would understand and appreciate her efforts. He’d been living in that tomb of a cabin so long, he didn’t realize how depressing it was. Someone had to put a touch of color in his life. Someone had to show him how things could be, given a favorable outlook and a little inspiration.

Her last stop was the drugstore. Chase hadn’t considered her personal needs when he’d gone shopping for supplies, not that she would have expected him to. She didn’t suppose most men thought about such things, although she had no way of actually knowing. Her own father had been so distracted by his research on tropical diseases, he’d gone off to investigate a new strain of malaria while her mother was giving birth to her.

Of course, Sarah Wells had been a doctor, too, and perfectly capable of handling the situation from a medical standpoint. But Annie had always wondered how her mother had survived it—and all of the other hardships—emotionally. The jungle was an awesome place, both beautiful and terrible. It was at once irresistibly seductive to the senses and perversely inhospitable to human life.

But it wasn’t the jungle that had killed her parents, Annie reminded herself, as she hesitated in one of the drugstore aisles, gazing at the vast array of modern medicines. It wasn’t nature, it was men. The population centers of Costa Brava were a hotbed of civil war and insurrection that had finally invaded even the jungle. Her parents’ outpost had been stormed by guerrillas demanding medical help, and when her parents had refused to abandon the
indigenes,
their Indian patients, they’d been shot. It was only through the help of the Indians that Annie had escaped and taken refuge in the convent.

She still felt anguish about the terrible meaninglessness of it all, the wanton disregard for human life. She had adored both her parents, and missed them terribly, even now. If they’d neglected her at times, it was a benign neglect, and one she had come to understand eventually. They felt called to a higher mission—saving lives, eradicating disease. ...

“Oh, excuse me!” said Annie, stumbling forward as a large man jostled past her in his impatience to get to the pharmacist’s counter. The impact jarred Annie out of her reflections and brought her back to the reason she’d come to the drugstore. She found the feminine-hygiene section in the next aisle, but it wasn’t until she’d begun to pick out what she needed that she became aware of her predicament. She was dressed up like a young tough. What were they going to say when she arrived at the checkout counter with shampoo, facial soap, and a box of sanitary napkins?

Since she didn’t have any immediate need for the napkins, she went on to the other items. But as she was pondering the enormous selection of shampoos, she was distracted by a man’s hushed voice. It drifted to her from over her right shoulder.

“Got me some plumbing problems, if you know what I mean,” he whispered. “Need a little—”

“Roto-rooting?” a second man suggested, chuckling.

Annie glanced around, curious, and saw the man who’d bumped her conferring with a pharmacist, who happened to be recommending a huge bottle of chalky blue liquid. There was something familiar about the customer’s profile, but Annie was more interested in the laxative he was considering. If he drank that stuff, she thought, he wouldn’t have any plumbing left.

The man declined as though he’d heard Annie’s silent warning. And then he stopped down the aisle from her to check out a display of antacids. Annie found herself watching him out of the corner of her eye. He looked to be around thirty-five, a little young to be having digestive problems.

“Raw fruits and vegetables might be helpful,” she suggested, smiling as he turned to her. His look of wary surprise made her hesitate.

“Helpful for what?”

“Plumbing,” she said quietly, going with his choice of words. “Mangoes in particular are good for peristaltic action and lubricating the alimentary system. And if you’re looking for a natural purgative, try cabbage juice, or rhubarb roots.” She indicated the display with a nod of her head. “All much better for you than that stuff, which kills friendly bacteria, washes out vitamins, plugs up intestinal walls, and—”

“Hold it!” He held up his hands as though overwhelmed. “Mangoes? Rhubarb roots?”

Annie gave him a reassuring nod. “Even tree bark will do. As far as North American trees go, I think senna’s the best.”

He regarded her with a furrowed brow, as though trying to make sense of both the advice and the adviser. “Let me get something straight,” he said, scrutinizing her appearance. “You’re a girl, right?”

Annie’s heart sank as she glanced down at herself. She’d completely forgotten how she was dressed. Better not to bluff, she decided. “Could this be our secret?” she said. “I’d just as soon it didn’t get around.”

His expression took on a life all of its own, sliding from confusion to disbelief to incredulity. Somewhere in the midst of all that activity, Annie realized where she’d seen him before. He was the foreman from the McAffrey ranch. He and his two men had reported the cattle theft the day she and Chase were out riding the range. Luckily none of the men had seen her.

“Could I give you a tip?” he said.

“Please. I gave you one.”

“If you’re trying to pass for a guy around here, lose the duckbill, get yourself a cowboy hat, some boots, and some chewin’ tobacco. Then, if anybody talks to you, just nod and spit.”

“Oh, thank you,” Annie said.

“Not a problem.” He tipped his Stetson, picked up a bottle of the chalky blue stuff, and went to the register.

Annie turned back to the shelves and selected a shampoo that promised to turn her hair into silken splendor. Nod and spit. She would have to remember that.

“It’s a miracle,” Annie said softly, gazing at the transformation that had taken place in Chase’s cabin in just a few hours’ time. Now it really was the cozy, rustic setting she’d fantasized—and the home she’d never had. Once she’d got started, she’d cleaned with a vengeance, even to the point of pulling everything out of the cupboards and scrubbing their insides. She’d found all manner of strange things in the cabinets and drawers, including Chase’s marine dog tags, Wanted posters, an unsprung mousetrap, and a dead lizard. And dust, of course. Dust old enough to be prehistoric, she imagined.

She’d also found a battered picture of Chase, Johnny Starhawk, and Geoff Dias in their mercenary days. The three men had been celebrating in a bar somewhere, probably a foreign port, grinning at the camera and hoisting their drinks. They’d looked young and reckless and momentarily jubilant in their military fatigues, cropped hair, and aviator sunglasses.

Annie had felt caught in a time warp as she studied the picture. It wrenched her back to the very first time she’d set eyes on Chase, triggering flashbacks of the young, brash hero who’d saved her life. The lump that formed in her throat expanded painfully as she turned the picture over and saw Chase’s note scrawled on the back. “First Mission—Teheran, Iran—ten American prisoners recovered,” he’d written. “We kicked butt!”

She’d had to remind herself forcefully to put the picture away and finish her project, but even then the images had lingered, stirring a sadness that was oddly sweet.

It wasn’t until the housecleaning purge was over and she’d rested for a while that she had fully recovered her momentum. Reinspired, she’d hung the curtains and attached the seat cushions to the kitchen chairs. She’d also distributed the woven rugs about the freshly waxed living-room floor like lily pads on a mirrored pond. And then she’d filled the vase, the blue coffeepot, and a couple of glasses with wildflowers. The effect was dazzling. If a cabin had a face, this one was smiling.

The only room she hadn’t touched was his bedroom. She’d already courted as much disaster as she dared. But she had been tempted. Even now, having put a spicy Spanish soup bubbling on the stove in the hope that Chase might be back in time for dinner, she was marshaling arguments against investigating that dark sanctuary off the main room.

“Charity, chastity, piety,
and
privacy,” she reminded herself, invoking four of the most basic tenets of the cloister. She probably hadn’t scored many points where the first three were concerned, but at least she could show a little respect for the last one.

An hour later, after finishing the soup herself and doing the dishes, Annie still had the entire evening ahead of her. As she lingered at the kitchen table, sipping some of her homemade wine, the darkened bedroom took on an almost irresistible allure. With each guilty glance in its direction, her show of respect for Chase’s privacy was losing ground, until finally it turned into a moral tug-of-war, with curiosity yanking the rope and dragging respect over the line.

Just a peek, she told herself. I’ll stand in the doorway.

Shadow began to bark as Annie approached the room, which had the effect of making her all the more curious. From the door’s threshold things looked normal enough. There was the usual clutter of clothes and personal effects, plus a brass bed that didn’t look much sturdier than the cot she slept on. There was even an old western saddle propped on a sawhorse in the corner. But nothing secret or sinister, other than the fact that there were no windows, which did seem a little odd.

She was turning away when a glint of metal caught her eye, drawing her attention to the far corner of the dark room. It wasn’t perpendicular like a normal corner, and there was something odd about its rough, uneven surface. That section of the wall appeared to be solid rock, she realized. She had noticed from the outside that the western corner of the cabin was built up against a granite bluff, but it had never occurred to her that it might be built into the hill.

She could just make out a door that looked as though it might lead to some sort of underground storm cellar. The glint of metal that had caught her eye must have come from its padlock. Fascinated, she stepped into the room. Shadow, who’d been whimpering the entire time, immediately erupted into barking.

“Hush, Shadow,” she said. “I only want to take a look.”

She tried the padlock and was startled when it fell open in her hands. Either the rust had corroded its parts, or it hadn’t been locked. Whatever the reason, it seemed an invitation to investigate. Shadow’s barking became deafening as Annie tugged and heaved, forcing the heavy door open. Even if the dog’s reaction hadn’t frightened her, the musty gloom she encountered beyond the doorway would have. The tunnel, if that’s what it was, looked pitch-black and impenetrable.

She crouched to quiet Shadow as she tried to decide what to do. Common sense told her to end her investigation right there, and the dog seemed to agree. But as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness and she was able to discern that it was a deep, rock-ribbed passageway, she knew she had to find out where it led.

A moment later, using matches she’d found by the fireplace, she made her way through what seemed like a natural corridor into a larger limestone cavern. There were no signs of recent use or anything to indicate the cavern’s purpose, and Annie had decided to turn back when she noticed another tunnel branching off at a 45-degree angle.

This time she resisted temptation. “Let’s go back,” she told Shadow. The dog’s nervous whine sharpened the eerie stillness. As Annie turned around, she noticed her match had burned down perilously low. Its heat seared her skin as she fumbled with the matchbox, trying to get it open. “Ouch!” she cried as the pain flared. The box tumbled out of her grip, and the match dropped with it, pitching the cavern into inky blackness.

Panic gripped her as she knelt down, searching blindly for the matches with her hands. The earth was icy cold and damp beneath her fingers, and she had the horrible feeling she was going to touch something alive, something slimy. “Shadow?” she called out, unable to find the matchbox. “Come here, boy.” The dog could guide them both back.

“Shadow? Where are you?” Annie groped the darkness with her hands. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Where was the dog? It was too quiet, and the dank smell of moldering earth was suffocating.

“Shadow!” She could hear his bark, but it sounded tinny and distant. As she rose and stumbled toward the sound of it, she felt the clay give way beneath her feet. The crumbling earth pitched her forward into nothingness. Flailing the air, she stepped into a terrifying void and plummeted downward like a rock. “Chase!” she screamed, twisting, falling....

Chase swore, jerked his shotgun from its leather scabbard, jammed the butt up against his shoulder, and pumped out four rounds in quick succession. He barely felt the powerful weapon’s recoil as it kicked through taut muscle and braced bone. As the last shell hit home, he exhaled, breathing out tension and frustration in equal measure. He’d blown all four empty beer cans to hell and gone. He felt a little better. But not much.