Page 46 of West Wind

Albert yelled; Annabelle screamed. Within seconds the room was filled with people. Other singers, Pierre and Lisette, the manager of the theater. They all looked at her as though she were mad.

The knife lay at the hem of her gown. Henri was dead. Albert was on his knees, clutching a bleeding shoulder.

“Why, Annabelle?” he whispered loudly before he collapsed.

She turned to the crowd behind her. Every pair of eyes accused her. Every pair. She opened her mouth to protest her innocence, but she could make no sound. At last she ran from the room, brushing past the accusers who crowded the doorway, shoving them all aside as she ran, and ran, and ran…

“Annie.”

The strange voice pulled her from the nightmare. It wasn’t Albert, not Henri, not Lisette. There was no accusation in this voice, just a gentle kindness.

“Annie.”

A warm hand caressed her face. She jerked up, coming instantly awake and moving away from the hand.

Her breathing came fast and heavy as she jumped away from Shelley. In the soft light of a new morning’s sun she stared, transfixed, at the wound on his forehead. It had come slightly open in the night. A thin trickle of fresh blood caught and held her attention.

He frowned as he looked from her to the derringer in the dirt and then to the knife she clutched in her hand.

She followed his gaze down to the knife, and dropped it as if the weapon had burned her palm. Her breathing and her heartbeat slowly returned to normal as she sat in the dirt and attempted to push the dream away.

“If you were tired you should’ve given me a shove and a holler so I could keep watch,” he said in a low voice.

“I didn’t intend to fall asleep,” she responded, her voice small, unsure.

“If you’re gonna fall asleep using my body as a pillow, please discard the weapons first,” he pleaded, rising to his knees on the bedroll. “It’s a miracle you didn’t stab me with that very pretty knife you took from Swift Eagle.”

She burst into tears at the words he spoke so casually.

“Come here.” He pulled her into his arms. “It was just a dream, darlin’. No reason to cry.”

She let him hold her, nestling her face against his shoulder while she took several deep breaths.

If only he knew. She’d decided that he was probably an outlaw, so perhaps he’d understand. Maybe he wouldn’t judge her too harshly. She was beginning to realize that Shelley was the one person she could tell anything to. Anything.

What if he didn’t believe her? What if he decided to turn her in for the thousand-dollar reward?

She sniffled and pulled her head away from his shoulder. She looked deep into his hazel eyes, eyes that gazed into her very soul. “You don’t know anything about me. I’m not… I’m not who you think I am.”

“Darlin’, I decided a long time ago that I’d never figure you out. Widow Brown, boot maker’s widow from St. Louis.” He gave her a grim smile. “Doesn’t matter what you’re runnin’ from, or what you’re runnin’ to.” He tapped his finger under her chin. “It’s not like you killed anybody.”

Her chin quivered. “No. Nothing like that.”

Shelley left her behind to saddle his horse. His face looked even worse than it had the night before, but if it bothered him he wouldn’t tell her. He kept his pain to himself, and she would have to do the same.

She couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t just a dream. It was a horrible memory.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Early the next afternoon, as he brought the roan to a halt near a stream of running water that barely qualified as a creek, Annie turned her face to him, craning her neck.

“Why are we stopping?”

He ignored her as they dismounted and he led the roan to the clear water. Annie’s fear had passed. Her eyes were bright and clear, her cheeks pink, her lips like roses. She had no business looking so good.

“I said,” she repeated, “why are we stopping?”

He turned to her, exasperated. “Do you want to kill my horse? Do you suppose the two of us can race the poor thing all the way to goddamn San Francisco?” He couldn’t tell her that he hurt all over. His face hurt, his hands hurt, his stomach and his back ached. Swift Eagle had left no muscle undamaged.