Page 47 of West Wind

Annie sat in a shady spot and sighed almost wistfully. “I apologize. I don’t mean to be unreasonable, but do you think it would be possible for you to utter a sentence without cursing?” She was probably trying to be reasonable, but to him she sounded petulant.

Shelley grabbed dry meat from his saddlebag and tossed her a piece. She took a bite of the tough nourishment and turned to him. “I don’t suppose you have a hairbrush in that saddlebag of yours?”

He grinned at her wishful notion. “I do not.”

Annie unbraided her hair and tried to comb it with her fingers, before she began to plait it again. He sat in the grass behind her and watched, the simple pleasure allowing him to forget his aching muscles for a while.

She was, for all her lies and mystery, a fine woman. Not only beautiful, but sweet and strong and passionate. The words she’d spoken to him in a moment of passion weren’t true, could never be true, but he’d never forget the moment she’d looked straight into his eyes, through his eyes to his soul, and said that she loved him. Damnation, those simple words had scared him! Perhaps she’d meant it, at the moment, with the blood thrumming through her veins and her heart pounding against his, but a woman like her would never truly love him. She was headed into a world he’d fled long ago, and he had no intention of going back. Yes, she was on her way to a better life in San Francisco. Maybe a life with Icky.

That thought made him frown. His pains returned with a vengeance.

She must’ve realized that he was watching her, because she started to talk as if he were sitting right beside her instead of several feet away, glaring at her back.

“I’ve been thinking. What we need is a treaty.”

“A what?”

“If we’re going to travel all the way to San Francisco together we need some sort of pact. A peace agreement, if you will.”

“I know what a treaty is, darlin’,” he drawled. Annie kept her back to him, didn’t attempt to turn to face him. “We can each make a list of what we don’t want the other person to do, and that will make our journey much more enjoyable.”

Enjoyable? Journey? Sounded like they were on some sort of pleasurable grand tour.

“You first,” he said.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t swear quite so much,” she said politely. “I realize it would be impossible for you to stop entirely, but a little restraint⁠—”

“I’ve got it,” he interrupted sharply. “Fine. You’ve got to stop using my chest like it was your personal pillow. No, change that. Don’t touch me at all. That should cover everything.”

She looked over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows slightly and pursing her lush lips. “Until we arrange for another mount that will be difficult, but I’ll do my very best.” She continued to stare at him. “Is it possible that you might arrange an occasional meal that doesn’t consist entirely of beans, bacon, and dried meat?”

He gave her his most disgusted grimace. “I’ll do what I can, but once we start crossing the desert you’ll be damn… pardon me, extremely glad to get that.” He scratched his beard. “I wish we still had that ugly da… that ugly black dress. I’d make you wear it now and again.”

“That’s one possession I don’t miss,” she said.

He folded his hands under his chin. “No more sleeping with deadly weapons in your hands. I don’t want to wake up dead one morning.”

“Very funny,” she snapped. “You’ll get me my own horse as soon as possible.”

He nodded. He would’ve done that anyway, and she certainly knew it, but he wouldn’t protest. Her request allowed him to make one more demand. “Sing to me at night, like you said you would when I first agreed to this fool’s errand.”

She nodded curtly. “All you had to do was ask. I guess that’s enough, for now.”

“Yep. Well, if I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.” He stood slowly.

“So will I,” she said primly, rising as she spoke. She lifted her chin and gave him a properly distant smile. He tried his best to return it.

A cold camp, Annabelle learned, meant no campfire. There was no coffee, no beans, no warmth of a fire. No amount of cajoling had changed Shelley’s mind about building a fire. She’d tried to convince him that Red Wolf wouldn’t allow his son to bother her again, but he wasn’t convinced. No man likes to be beaten when he’s fighting for a woman, he’d told her, especially if that woman brings him down as she had.

She’d offered him the bottle of tequila; he’d refused so ardently she’d returned it to his saddlebag without uncapping the bottle. For hours after he’d fallen asleep she’d sat on the blanket Shelley provided for her, but now she needed rest, even though she was afraid the nightmare would return. When sleep finally came she was so exhausted she didn’t dream at all.

“Wake up, Annie.” Shelley’s stern voice roused her from a restful slumber she was reluctant to leave behind.

“Not yet,” she murmured. It was still dark, just a hint of the morning sun turning the sky gray.

“Dammit, Annie,” he whispered.

She sat up tiredly. “You’re not supposed to curse at me,” she chastised, but when she saw the worried look on his face her irritation faded. “Is something wrong?”