Mustang Annie (10 page)

His emotions pooled together into one vat of fury. What was this, some sort of conspiracy? But short of threatening the old man with his life, Brett couldn't see any way of forcing his foreman to talk.

He left the livery feeling out of control and out of sorts, only to come up short at the sight of Ike Savage descending the steps of the Silver Spur. Oddly enough, the man didn't appear half as surprised to see Brett as Brett was to see him.

He smiled cordially. “Well, Corrigan, fancy seeing you here.”

“Savage. You're straying a bit farther south than usual.”

“Enjoying the finer comforts of life.” He indicated the Silver Spur, then rocked back on his heels. “I hear you're missing a couple of horses.”

“Where'd you hear that?” Brett asked, sliding his thumb into his front pocket and cocking his hip in a casual pose.

“Same place I heard you hired a woman to find them.”

“Word spreads fast.” No use denying such a indisputable fact.

“That it does. Word also has it that the woman bears a striking resemblance to a rustler known as Mustang Annie. Some even say she
is
Mustang Annie.”

Brett went on instant alert. Only a handful of people were even aware that Annie had joined his outfit. “Maybe you shouldn't believe everything you hear.”

“Never said I believed it, but I do find it puzzling.”

“Why's that?”

He leveled on Brett a stony-eyed stare. “Because I killed Mustang Annie four years ago.”

Chapter 11

H
is grip loose around the neck of a bourbon bottle, Brett spent the rest of the night seeking oblivion in drink. He hadn't thought anything could shock him more than learning Annie had married.

He'd been wrong.

He tipped the bottle against his mouth, letting the bourbon's sweet fire burn its way into his belly.

Mustang Annie was becoming more mysterious by the minute. Savage claimed that he'd caught her with a herd of stolen horses, and when he'd tried to take her into custody, he'd been jumped from behind by a vicious savage intent on killing him. In the struggle, a lantern fell and caught the house on fire.

When asked why this fact wasn't made public, Savage told him that he'd been running for sheriff at the time. How would it have looked if he'd gone public with killing a woman—even if by accident, and even if that woman had been a known criminal?

The more Brett struggled to separate fact from fiction, the more confused it made him. Jesse claimed Annie was a celebrated mustanger before turning con artist and horse thief; Wade Henry claimed she'd been a spirited child with an affinity for horses; Chloe claimed she was the wife of an Indian and Savage claimed she was dead.

Were
Mustang Annie and Annie Harper the same woman?

If they were, and Mustang Annie was dead, then who was his Annie?

And what about this husband? Who was he?
Where
was he? Did he have anything to do with the “unfinished business” she claimed had compelled her to join his outfit in the first place?

And how did Wade Henry fit into the picture?

Nothing made sense. And the only one who could give him the answers he sought was Annie. Brett knew without a shred of doubt that if he confronted her, demanding answers, he'd scare her off or wind up with a bullet between his eyes. And if by some stroke of fate she did give him answers, how could he be sure they'd be the truth? She wouldn't even be honest about her husband.

The only thing Brett knew with any degree of certainty was that Annie was running from something—or someone—and until he could unravel the tangled threads of this puzzle, he wasn't going to let her out of his sight.

The resolve only strengthened itself as they left Sage Flat the next morning. When they reached the north end of the Palo Duro where Tex said he'd last seen the horses, Brett split the crew up again, sending one party led by Tex along the rim of the canyon, and another led by Flap Jack to scout ahead through the one-hundred twenty mile ravine known for its hardwood trees, rock formations and renegade hideouts.

Wade Henry, Dogie, Emilio and Annie made up Brett's crew. They picked their way down an old Indian trail that wound into the canyon. Stratum walls of red clay and sparkling gray lime-stone banked them on either side for a mile or so before they hit level ground littered with sage, mesquite, and ocotillo cactus. Trees abounded in the sandy soil: hickory, huckleberry, and cottonwood.

They drew the horses to a halt beside the Prairie Dog Fork of the Red River that ran the length of the canyon.

“Mustangs have been here,” Annie said, studying the ground. “The way this grass has been eaten to nubs, it looks like they were here for a while.”

“How long ago?” Brett asked.

“Hard to say. A few days. A week, maybe. They don't seem to be in any hurry.”

“At least we know we're on the right track.”

She looked up at him with such surprise that Brett couldn't resist asking, “What, did you think this was all some sort of game, Annie? That I invented the horses just to get close to you?”

The flash of guilt in her eyes told him that the thought—or a similar one—had occurred to her at least once. The depths of her distrust ground into him like crushed glass. “Let's get something straight—I'm too old for games. When I want something, I prefer honesty over subterfuge. I'd think that you'd have learned that by now.”

Annie held his stare as resentful tension built between them. He'd been silent and withdrawn since leaving Sage Flat that morning, and she could tell by the simmering anger in his tone that their last conversation remained as fresh in his mind as it did in hers.

Was he now simply stating a fact, or was it a warning? Annie couldn't be sure, but he was right about one thing—if she'd learned anything about him, it was that he had little tolerance for secrets or deception, and his bitterness made her feel almost guilty for not telling him about Koda. Almost guilty for ever being married at all.

Why did she feel as if she'd somehow betrayed him?

No. She'd not let some misplaced emotion taint the one good thing she'd done with her life, the brief year of happiness she'd experienced with someone else.

One thing she could not deny, though: she might not completely trust Brett Corrigan, but she no longer believed he was planning on leading her to the authorities.

They made camp that evening near the mouth of a cave Annie remembered from her raiding days. As usual, Corrigan started barking orders: “Emilio, secure the horses; Henry unload the supplies; Annie, fetch the firewood—”

“I'll get it, Ace,” Dogie jumped in.

“You've got horses to curry.”

Annie glared at him. “I told you in the beginning that I don't take orders, Corrigan.”

“You also said you wanted me treating you like any member of this outfit, and the first rule is you never argue with the boss.”

He'd cornered her there.

Pressing her lips tightly together, Annie slid out of the saddle. After stripping Chance and giving her a good brushing, she scoured the area for dead branches. Mr. Henry joined her a few minutes later to help.

“Keep your eyes peeled for a nice sturdy one that I can use to clout your boss over the head,” she said.

“He is bein' a bit ornerier than usual.”

“He's being a complete ass, Mr. Henry.” Annie picked up an arm-sized limb that would suit her purposes.

“Just Henry, Annie. I ain't been a mister in a long time.” After a moment, he quietly added, “He's asking about you.”

She knew he was talking about Corrigan. “Let him ask.”

“He wants me digging up information about your marriage.”

She whipped around. “That yellow-bellied—why did he ask you to do his dirty work?”

“He thinks you trust me more.”

“What did you tell him?”

“You ought to know better than that.”

Annie sighed. “You're right.” A lot of years and a lot of secrets had passed between the two of them, and she'd never been given reason to believe he'd betray her, nor would she dream of betraying him. However, she'd also seen the way all the men jumped to Corrigan's bidding. “There are things in my life that are only my business, and I resent him for trying to force you into making me talk about them.”

“I've never seen him so curious about a woman before.”

Annie looked across the campsite and found Brett staring at her with that heavy-lidded intensity she found so unnerving. “He just wants to poke me.”

“I think it's more than that. I think he's taking a shine to you.”

That shine had dulled real quick the minute a brassy bit of fluff stepped into the picture.
Surprised that the harlot still bothered her, Annie finished loading her arms with branches and carried them up to the cave where Emilio sat with his legs hanging over the edge.

She dumped the firewood near the mouth, brushed her hands off, then moved to stand near Emilio. Following the direction of his wistful gaze, she realized he was looking at a red formation veined with white gypsum that resembled the ruffles on a skirt. “They call them the Spanish Skirts,” she said, not sure if he understood.

He seemed to, because he nodded. “
Me recuerdan de mi esposa.”

“Sorry, Emilio, I don't understand a word of what you're saying.”

“He says the cliffs remind him of his wife.” Annie looked over at Corrigan, who leaned against the wall behind Emilio, smoking a cheroot. “I didn't realize he was married.”

“There's a lot of that going around.”

She averted her face and gritted her teeth. Damn it, he would
not
make her feel guilty for not telling him about Sekoda. “What's your wife's name?” she asked Emilio.

Corrigan repeated the question in Spanish.

“Rosalina,” Emilio answered with a smile that left no question as to the woman's place in his heart.
“Ella es embarazada. Voy a vender los caballos, como Señor Ace. Llamaré a ellos cuando ho criado una manada grande y cuando ho comprado un rancho pequeño para degarle a mi hijo.”

Again, Corrigan interpreted. “He says he plans on catching a few from the herd and selling them to buy a small ranch where he can raise his children. He hopes for a son.”

“I suppose every man does.”

“Not every man. Some would rather have daughters.”

Somehow it didn't surprise her that he'd prefer daughters.

“
¿Y usted, Aña? ¿Quiere usted un baron o una embra?”

“Emilio's asking if you preferred a boy or a girl.”

For a moment, Annie couldn't speak. Another dream gone, another promise ripped away. “Neither. I won't be having any children.”

“Why not? You're still young.”

“Because there's nothing inside me anymore.”

Horrified that she'd bared such a private and painful testimony, she hastened to the woodpile and began arranging the branches in a circle. All the while, she felt his stare drill into her back.

When Annie could take it no longer, she rounded on him. “Will that be all,
master
?”

“Actually, now that you mention it, nobody has fetched water or unloaded supplies.”

Annie clenched and unclenched her fists. He was perfectly capable of doing both those chores yet he seemed to take great delight in pushing them off on her. “If you think to break me, you're in for a surprise, Corrigan.”

She stormed outside to the packhorses for buckets to fetch water, only to burst into laughter at the sight that met her eyes.

Every mane and tail of every horse in the remuda had been meticulously braided and tied with bright pink ribbons.

Dogie had struck again.

Chapter 12

“D
ogie,” Annie whispered, shaking the boy awake before dawn the next morning. “Let's go for a swim.”

He lifted his head and squinted at her. “Huh?”

“Come on, I know a great place.”

“A swim?” He sat up fully. “Now?”

“It's not far. If I don't get out of here, I'll go mad.”

He looked around, then nodded. Annie waited outside the cave while Dogie grabbed his boots. He joined her a couple of minutes later, hopping on one foot while he shoved the other in a boot. His cheek bore creases from where the sleeve of his shirt had been scrunched against his face all night.

“What about Ace?” he whispered so as not to wake the others.

“He can find his own swimming hole.”

Dogie kept up with her swift pace as she led him to one of her favorite places in the world. He stared at the canyon wall, a smooth, steep incline of rock that just tempted one to slide down it into the pooling water below. “Wow!”

“I know—isn't it wonderful?” Annie grinned. She stopped at the sandy bank of the pool and stripped herself of her boots, trousers and shirt. Dogie did likewise. “I used to come here when I was your age.”

Clad in a pair of long-handled underwear with the legs cut up to her knees and the sleeves shorn just above the elbow, Annie drew out her lasso. Moments later, a rope hung from the branches of a sturdy cottonwood tree.

“You want to try?”

“What do I do?”

“Stick your foot in that loop just like you would a stirrup, grab hold of the rope, then swing yourself over the water and let go. Here, I'll give you a push to get you started.”

Annie clasped her hands together to make a foothold.

Dogie quickly caught on, and soon the two of them were taking turns dropping into the bracing depths of the creek. The rising sun seemed to smile on their enjoyment, and the cottonwood branches around them embraced their laughter.

They spent another hour frolicking in the water until, finally free of the tension she'd been carrying for two days, Annie climbed onto the banks and dropped with pleasurable exhaustion upon a bed of reeds. “God, I needed this,” she gasped.

“Ace is gonna kill us if he finds out what we've been doing.”

“He won't find out.” After a second's pause, she asked, “Dogie . . . is Corrigan your father?” The question had been niggling at her ever since the day of the hornet's attack. She'd noticed a vague resemblance between the two from the first time she'd seen them together, but until that day, until Corrigan had stared into eyes an identical shade of green as Dogie's, she hadn't made the connection.

Laying beside her, Dogie's head snapped around to her. “How did you find out?”

“Call it a hunch. He doesn't know, does he?”

The stricken, almost fearful look on his face told her that her guess had been on the mark. Looking closer, she wondered that no one had realized their kinship before. If they had, they certainly hadn't said anything.

“Yes. No. I don't know.” He shook his head. Curls a shade lighter than Corrigan's hair flopped against his collar. “What does it matter? He wouldn't care if he did know.”

He had a point. Men fathered illegitimate children all the time and gave them no more regard than a slice of moldy bread.

Annie had a hard time believing Corrigan would turn the boy away if he did know; the man was fiercely possessive about what belonged to him. But neither could she guarantee his feelings toward Dogie would soften—especially after his remark about preferring daughters.

“Besides, I don't even know for sure if he is,” Dogie added. “I only know what my mother told me.”

“What did she tell you?”

“That he came along when she needed him most. That he was big and strong and brave, and that someday I was gonna grow up to be just like him.”

A twinge of regret struck Annie at the thought of Dogie growing as tall and broad as Corrigan. She'd like to see that—the two of them standing eye to eye and will to will would be quite a sight. Unfortunately, she wouldn't be around to see him reach manhood. As soon as she caught Corrigan's horses and collected her fee, she'd be losing herself in Mexico. What she'd do after that, she hadn't yet figured out. She'd learned a long time ago just to get through one day at a time.

“You ain't gonna tell him, are you?” Dogie asked apprehensively.

“That isn't my place.” Suddenly aware of how high the sun sat above the horizon, Annie snapped to a sit. “We best get back before we're missed.”

Just as they finished dressing, Dogie called out to her again. “Annie?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you wait for me?”

“Wait for you?” Hell, he'd better hurry up!

“To grow up—so I can marry you.”

Annie's heart squeezed, and her eyes went misty. “That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.” She clasped Dogie's hand in her own. “Someday, a girl's going to give her heart to you, and when she does, you take extra special care of it—because they're real fragile.”

As they headed back, both tried coming up with good excuses to feed Corrigan for their absence. It was too late in the season for berry picking and too early for nut gathering, but the ideas grew more outrageous, and by the time they reached the cave, their stomachs hurt from laughing so hard.

Their laughter died abruptly at the sound of Corrigan on the rampage.

“Wade Henry! Where'd you pack the shells for the rifle?”

“Uh, I reckon I musta forgot to bring 'em.”

“You forgot? How in the devil do you expect me to use a shotgun without any shot?”

Annie and Dogie shared an apprehensive look. Maybe she should have taken Dogie more seriously when he said Corrigan would kill them.

At that moment, he emerged from the cave and spotted them. The tightness of his jaw and the cold glitter in his eyes left no doubt that he was mad as thunder. “Where the hell have you been?” he asked in a deceptively quiet voice.

Dogie's backward step took him behind Annie. “N-n-no place.”

She tilted her chin with phony bravado. “We went for a swim.”

“You went for a swim,” Brett repeated. A red fog of rage crept inside him, infusing his bloodstream, clouding his vision. When he'd returned from watch and found them gone, the only thing he could think of was that someone—bounty hunters, renegades, Annie's husband—had stolen into the cave during the night and taken off with them.

Fear unlike anything he'd ever felt before consumed him. He'd torn the area apart, had sent Emilio out searching, had driven Fortune almost into the ground in his own attempt to find them . . . and they'd gone for a goddamn
swim.

He didn't know what had him more furious—that he'd been so worried for nothing or that Annie looked happier, healthier, and more beautiful than he'd ever seen her before. Her damp hair lay thick and unraveled down her back, her eyes glistened, her cheeks bloomed.

In a voice that belied the strength of his rage, he told Dogie, “Pack up your gear. You're going back to Sage Flat until I can find someone to take you back to the ranch.”

Dogie's mouth fell. “What?”

“I warned you what would happen if you pulled another stunt. You've got ten minutes to collect your things or they'll be left behind.”

“Corrigan, don't be ridic—”

He jabbed his finger in Annie's direction. “
You
keep out of this.”

“The hell I will! What did he do that was so criminal this time?”

“He disobeyed a direct order.”

“What, he didn't kiss your ass long enough?”

The red haze before his eyes distorted her un yielding expression. “You . . . are treading into dangerous territory here, Annie.”

“So are you, Corrigan,” she retorted, her eyes going as flat as her tone. “For the last two days you've done nothing but bark and bite at anyone who comes within ten feet of you, and frankly, I'm surprised the whole lot hasn't committed mutiny.”

She was right, damn it. He'd been in a foul mood even before they'd left Sage Flat and his men were bearing the brunt of it. They weren't to blame for his building frustration over Annie and his irrational obsession of her.

At the same time, he couldn't let Dogie get away with thinking he could leave the protection of camp whenever the mood struck, nor could he let Annie think she had the power to counter his authority. “Dogie knows better than to leave the outfit and he did so anyway—
and
he took you with him. Now he can pay the consequences.”

“I dragged
him
along! If you want to be angry at someone, be angry at me.”

“Believe me, anger doesn't come close to how I feel toward you right now.” More like enraged. Infuriated. And so goddamned relieved it was a wonder his knees didn't buckle.

“And you and I both know it has nothing to do with Dogie.” Her chest heaved, her eyes sparked. “Cuss ten ways to Sunday if you want, but the boy isn't going anywhere.”

Brett didn't know whether to kill her or keep her. One thing was certain—Annie had more pluck than any woman he'd ever met in his life. “Give me one good reason I should let him stay.”

“If he goes, I go.”

Somehow, he knew she'd hand him that ultimatum.

Brett swung away, only to discover the rest of his men watching the scene. Hell. Breathing deeply through his nostrils, he sifted through his choices: he could send the boy home and fire Annie for her insolence; or he could send the boy home and watch Annie leave with him. Either way, he'd keep his pride and his men's respect, but he'd lose both Annie and his only hope of getting his horses back on time.

There was a third option, but it meant swallowing his pride and risking his authority: let the boy stay, keep Annie, and hope like hell one of them didn't end up dead.

As much as it galled him to admit it, Annie and the horses were worth more to him than his pride or his men's respect. “Are you going to take responsibility for him?”

“If I must. But he's a big boy; he can take responsibility for himself.”

“Fine. He can stay. But if he pulls one more stunt, it's back to the ranch he goes.”

 

“Why do y'all put up with him?” Annie asked Henry as she watched Corrigan storm toward the remuda. “I can see why Dogie might, in a twisted way, but why do you?”

“Ace? He ain't such a bad sort.”

“He treats you like dung. Surely there are other men you could work for who would appreciate your experience.”

“And leave my horses?” Henry shook his head. “Been with 'em too long to walk out on 'em now. 'Sides, Ace pays better wages than any feller in the territory, and he don't 'spect nothin' from his men that he don't do himself. Cain't ask for more'n that.”

“A bit of respect.”

“When a feller respects himself, he don't need it from anyone else.”

“So you're just gonna stick it out with him and let him order you around like some lackey?”

“He needs me, Annie. I know it don't always seem like it, but you don't know him like I do. Not many folks got much use for a crippled old cowpoke, but he keeps me busy, even when there ain't nothing to keep busy with.”

“Why are you making excuses for him?”

Henry set a branch atop the pile he'd accumulated. “I reckon you'd see it that way, but underneath all the bluster, he's a decent man. You'll learn that for yourself if you give him a chance.”

“He doesn't deserve your loyalty, Wade Henry.”

“Maybe not, Annie Harper, but he's got it anyway.”

Annie watched the old man hobble away. He could barely walk, much less ride anymore, yet Corrigan
did
keep him busy: cooking, wrangling, directing . . . she had thought his men resented the tasks he imposed on them; it hadn't occurred to her that they might appreciate them.

Her gaze veered toward the string of horses where Corrigan stood beside his gray, jamming a rifle into the saddle scabbard. Could she be judging him too harshly? Was it possible that she simply searched for things to hate about him, because she couldn't bear the alternative?

He needs me.

And she realized then, that all the Triple Ace men were misfits, each in their own way, not fitting into the everyday world. Flap Jack with his giant body and tender heart, Dogie with his reckless and sometimes dangerous energy, Emilio's seclusion into a world and language only Corrigan could understand, and Henry with a gnarled body unable to keep up with his quick mind.

The Triple Ace was a gathering place of lost hopes and last chances, and Corrigan a gambler willing to take a risk on them.

Annie couldn't decide what alarmed her more: the urge to run—or the ache to belong.