Mustang Annie Page 11

  “You’re still sore because I won’t sleep with you.”

  He laughed. “Don’t flatter yourself. Contrary to what you might think, I do have other things on my mind besides getting between your legs—I have my men to worry about. I’m responsible for them, and the last worry I need is having some enraged husband storming into my camp one night after you, and putting them in danger.”

  Annie might have laughed at the ludicrousness of the statement if it weren’t so sad. “That’s one worry you’ll never have. And if you ever pry into my personal affairs again, you’ll be lookin’ for another mustanger. Now, get out.”

  The room all but hummed as she matched him glare for glare.

  Just when she thought she’d have to shove him out herself, he gave her a mocking bow and strode out of the room.

  After the door slammed behind him, Annie sank to the bed, trembling with incredulity and cold rage. Damn Corrigan. He had no right digging onto her past with Sekoda. And why would he want to? What threat could a dead man possibly pose? Sekoda was no danger to him.

  She was.

  Outside in the hallway, Brett pressed his back against Annie’s door, struggling with the gamut of emotions roiling inside him. Frustration. Rage. Jealousy.

  The last was foreign to Brett. He’d never before cared whose boots had been under the beds of women he’d taken a fancy to, but the idea of someone else getting from Annie what he’d spent the last week coveting filled him with a sense of possession. Invasion. Much like the stallion stealing his fillies.

  He tried telling himself that it was none of his business, that what Annie did with her life outside this job was her own affair, yet a sense of betrayal gripped him like barbed wire, and he knew he’d not rest until he discovered what happened to the man she’d pledged herself to. If Annie wouldn’t give him the answers, he’d have to get them elsewhere.

  And he knew just who to start with.

  It didn’t take long to track Henry down, for wherever the horses went, Henry could be found.

  Brett strode into the livery, his rapid pace stirring up dust and kicking up hay stems as he sought out noises in the last stall.

  Henry looked up at him over Fortune’s back; the brush halted in his hand. “Ace—somethin’ wrong?”

  “I want to know what happened to Annie‘s husband,” Brett stated. “Tell me everything you know about him—his name, where he’s from, where he is now.”

  Taken off guard, Henry’s mouth opened, then closed. Then he shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t he’p ya there.” He went back to sliding the brush down the stallion’s neck. “Annie was just a young’un last time I saw her. I never knew she’d gotten hitched, much less met the feller she hitched up with.”

  “Then find out.”

  “With all due respect, those are questions you should be askin’ Annie.”

  “I did. She’d just as soon put a bullet between my eyes as tell me anything about herself. She’ll tell you, though. She trusts you.”

  “At one time, maybe, but Annie’s different now. Keeps to herself more.”

  The careful choosing of words had Brett’s eyes narrowing. “Are you refusing an order?”

  Henry stared at Fortune’s mane for a moment before lifting troubled eyes to Brett. “I reckon I am. I’ve always done everything you ever asked of me, Ace, but this time you’re askin’ somethin’ of me that I just cain’t give.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  Standing taller and straighter than Brett had ever seen him stand before, Henry answered. “Both.”

  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

  His 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

  “Dogie,” 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?”