Page 65 of West Wind

Shelley had to die. With Mordecai out of the picture, that would be simple. An ambush would work just fine. If the St. Clair woman got in the way, well, that was too bad. She was his secondary goal, now. Her death, if necessary, would be meaningless.

Virginia City was little more than half a day’s ride from the Filmore place. It was, as Shelley had described, a bustling town, with saloons lining the streets. The tinkling of poorly tuned and poorly played piano keys drifted from one open door, squeals of laughter from another. As they rode down the dusty street a man flew through the swinging doors of one saloon followed by a burly, red-faced man twice his size.

Shelley had been silent throughout the day. He rode slightly ahead of her, his stance relaxed as usual, but it was difficult to get a good look at his face. He was ignoring her. Something was wrong, but she was afraid to question him directly. She might not like his answer.

As he slid from his horse in front of the general store at the end of the street he instructed her to wait. His curt words were the first he’d spoken to her all day.

Annabelle eased herself from the mare’s back and stretched aching arms over her head. She would never ride with the same ease Shelley did. Though she tried not to complain some days were longer than others. Her rear end and her back often screamed at her to stop.

“Howdy.”

She jumped. The greeting came from directly behind her, from a thin little man wearing a ten-gallon hat that overpowered him and made him look even thinner.

“Hello,” she greeted the strange-looking little man coolly.

He smiled and shook a crooked finger at her. “You rode in with Shelley, didn’t ya?”

She nodded.

“What’s your name? You look mighty familiar to me.” He narrowed his eyes and studied her much too boldly.

“I’m certain we’ve never met.” The filthy man made her skin crawl. Didn’t men in the West bathe at all?

She removed her hat and fanned her perspiring face, turning away from the annoying man. He followed her movements step for step, staring with narrowed eyes. A rush of satisfaction transformed his face as he recognized her.

“I’ve got it! You’re that opera singer! Annabelle St… St…” He searched his memory while shaking his finger at her excitedly.

“St. Clair.”

She swung around to face Shelley, who’d finished the sentence so calmly. He was busy storing supplies in his saddlebags, his broad back to her. He knew her name. He knew who she was…

“That’s it!” the nosy man cried. “Annabelle St. Clair. The opera singer what slit her man’s throat.”

“I did not!”

“They always say they’re innocent, don’t they?” The man in the huge hat turned his back on Annabelle. “Hell, I almost didn’t recognize her, but they run a new drawin’ of her in the San Francisco paper I saw last week. Where you been, anyways? I ain’t seen you in a coon’s age.”

Shelley turned away from his horse, the saddlebags filled and closed. His eyes met Annie’s. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for some sort of explanation. “Been busy. Here and there.”

“This un’s a real gold mine, huh? A thousand bucks. How come she ain’t tied up?”

Annie’s face had lost all color. Her lips and her cheeks, usually so pink, were pasty white. Her dark eyes were huge, lost in her delicate face.

He didn’t look away as he spoke. “Hell, Riley, she knows she can’t get away from me.”

Riley chuckled. “Yep. How long since you actually turned in a live one for a bounty?”

“A coon’s age.” He kept his voice cold, emotionless. “This one’s going to San Francisco. Private bounty, and that’s where the money is.”

“Ain’t she givin’ you no trouble? That’s a helluva long way. You better watch your back. I been readin’ all about her. She’s a cold one, she is.” Riley seemed to think about this fact a bit; he took a couple of big steps back.

“She gives me any trouble and I’ll shoot her. The reward is for her body, dead or alive. Makes no never mind to me.” He finally turned his head away from Annie and stared at the unsmiling Riley. “I know you and your mouth. If anybody should even think of taking her away from me they’ll get the same.”

Riley smiled nervously. “You know me. I’m gettin’ too old for this game. I stick mostly to Indian scalps and coyote pelts these days.”

“That’s good. I like you. I’d hate to have to kill you but for a thousand dollars, I will. Let’s go,” he ordered as he mounted his roan. He watched Annie step into the stirrups and lift herself into the saddle. Her hands trembled. Even her knees, encased in the tight britches, shook slightly.

Shelley didn’t even glance back at her as they left town at a moderate pace. They were out of Virginia City and on the trail again before she let the tears start. They were silent, deeply felt tears that tore at her heart.