Page 36 of West Wind

Suzanne grinned. “The man who left you with us,” she said, proud of her deduction. “Shelley? Is that his name?”

Annabelle nodded. “Shelley.” She found herself telling the other women things about herself and Shelley that she’d mulled over during the past two weeks. She stopped short of telling them who she really was, or about their last night together, but she was somehow certain they knew her intimacies with Shelley hadn’t stopped with a couple of kisses.

She ended her story with the night she’d watched Shelley ride away from her and Suzanne had found her crying.

“I can’t believe he doesn’t love you,” Judith said, her voice and her face more relaxed than they’d been before the confession.

Suzanne gave them a naughty smile. “But he does.”

“No. He’s a different kind of man. He’s…”

Judith’s and Suzanne’s mingled raucous laughter stopped her.

“What’s so funny?”

Suzanne gave her a knowing look. “Men are all the same. No matter how they try to deny it, they’re all cut from the same cloth.”

Annabelle shook her head. “Not Shelley. He’s truly not like other men.”

“He’s different to you because you love him,” Suzanne explained tenderly. “Believe me when I tell you that he loves you. I saw it in his face that night he was here. He didn’t want to leave you.”

“Then why did he? Why didn’t he take me to San Francisco himself?” she asked helplessly. “I don’t understand.”

“Annie, honey.” Suzanne lay back in the grass. “If we understood men this would be a much saner world to live in. Duller, but saner. It’s my guess that Shelley was hurt, and he’s afraid of getting hurt again.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Annabelle spread her hair with her fingers, trying to dry the strands. “I’ll never see him again.”

Suzanne smiled. “That’s not necessarily true,” she said. “Do you believe in fate?”

Annabelle shrugged. “I suppose I do.”

“When I first met Charles he was married to his first wife. He was friendly, but nothing more. After all, he was married and I was barely sixteen at the time, but I was smitten.”

“Even though he was married?” Judith asked, shocked.

“I just thought he was a strong, handsome man, different from anyone I’d ever known.” She smiled at Annabelle.

“Anyway, his wife died soon after that. He had no children, so he sold his farm and left town. I figured I’d never see him again, but three years later my pa sent me to stay with his sister, my mean old Aunt Millie, who wasn’t nearly as sick as she tried to make out. She just wanted me around to do all her chores for her. She lived nearly a hundred miles away from my home. That seemed like such a long way at the time. Anyway, when I went to town to check her mail and pick up some supplies, who do you think I ran into?”

Judith looked puzzled, but Annabelle answered, “Charles.”

Suzanne nodded. “Right there by the penny candy. He looked at me, and I looked at him, and it was love it first sight. Well, second sight, I reckon.” She looked dreamily to the blue sky. “That was nine years ago. The luckiest day of my life.”

Annabelle looked over the water, working her hair into the braid that had become her daily hairstyle. The sun glistened off the surface of the creek, momentarily blinding her. “Fate.” I don’t know. I’m afraid I’ll never see Shelley again, and if I do he’ll probably turn and run the other way.”

“Well, then, you and I will have to have a long talk about how you might convince him not to turn away.” Suzanne grinned, but Judith blushed, obviously disapproving.

Suzanne jumped to her feet. “Let’s get dressed before the menfolk get tired of waiting.”

Supper was underway and the men were bathing when an Indian party appeared, riding over a small rise to the west, the afternoon sun silhouetting them against a blue sky. Annabelle counted half a dozen. Six half-naked natives rode toward their camp.

Suzanne took charge, sending Judith down to the creek to fetch the men. She produced a rifle from under the seat of her wagon. On seeing that, Annabelle grabbed the derringer from her saddlebag and stuck it in the waistband of her britches.

“They probably just want something for allowing us to pass through their land. This has happened before.” Suzanne tried to reassure Annabelle, but there was an unnatural brightness in her pale eyes. She was terrified.

Annabelle had never seen an Indian, and she was mesmerized by their presence. They were powerful physical specimens. Dark and muscled, naked to the waist, adorned with paint and feathers and necklaces made with long sharp teeth and claws. She should be as terrified as Suzanne and the others, but she had the sense to know that hysteria would hurt them more than a strong and assured stance.

By the time the Indians were in the camp the men had returned, wet and half frantic. Charles was by far the calmest of the bunch, and it was he who approached the uninvited visitors.