Anora's Pride

by Kathleen Lawless

  “It won't stay much of a secret. Not in this town.” Slowly she turned to face him. “That's what you wanted, isn't it?”

  His face closed down as effectively as blinds drawn on an empty house. “Take your time getting up. I'll go hitch up the buggy.”

  Anora took a breath and tried again. “We don't love each other. What you're suggesting is all wrong.”

  “There's no such thing as love. And you've got a mighty peculiar sense of right and wrong.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. First you deceive the entire town about your name-only marriage. Now you're denying me the right to be a father to my own child.”

  His voice was filled with chastisement, and Anora felt a bleak emptiness inside. What would he say if he ever learned that Ben had actually been her brother? Jesse was honorable to a fault. He'd never understand her living a lie in the first place, let alone forgive her for continuing to deceive him. Part of it was her own stubborn pride, wanting Jesse to think well of her.

  Not having an answer at the ready, Anora flopped a weary arm across her eyes and stayed that way until she heard Jesse leave. She couldn't marry Jesse. And she couldn't tell him the truth about her and Ben.

  The second the door closed behind him she pushed the sheet aside and slid her feet to the floor. Slowly she stood and straightened. The earlier dizziness was gone. She felt better now. Determined. Back in control. After gathering up her things, she let herself out by the infirmary's back door, into the rear alley. She had no plan beyond the moment, to flee as far from Boulder Springs as quickly as possible. The one refrain she heard over and over in her mind was Jesse's flat pronouncement: There's no such thing as love. How could she possibly marry a man for whom the notion of love didn't exist? Mentally crossing her fingers that she wouldn't run into Jesse, she stuck to the shadows and back alleyways as she made her way to Lettie's.

  “Lettie's not here,” Sam said. “Her and Penny took the train to St. Louis. Won't be back till the morrow.”

  Anora licked her dry lips and leaned over the counter toward him. “Lettie was...Lettie was holding some money for me. I...I need it now. Today.”

  “Sorry, Anora. All that greenbacks stuff is Lettie's department. ‘Fraid I can't help you none.”

  “Sam!” Anora leaned across the counter and grabbed hold of the old man's vest. “This is an emergency. I need that money now.”

  Sam's eyes bulged in their sockets and he drew back a pace, the motion drawing Anora halfway across the countertop. Still she didn't release her grip. She heard the bell ring behind her as a customer entered the store, and didn't need Sam's sigh of relief to tell her who the newcomer was.

  “There you are, Anora.” Jesse forcibly loosened her grip on Sam's vest before setting her back on her feet. “Sorry about that, Sam.” He slanted Anora an indulgent look. “I told you it didn't matter about the betrothal gift.” He gave Sam a man-to-man wink. “You know how women set such store in these things.”

  Sam, red-faced and breathing hard, straightened his vest. “No harm done. Lord knows, ain't no one gets more excitable than my Lettie when it comes to certain matters.” He dusted his shirtfront, then looked up abruptly at Jesse and Anora.

  “Betrothal, you say?”

  “That's right,” Jesse said. “Anora King and I are getting hitched just as soon as we can.”

  As Jesse hustled her out of the store, she heard Sam call after them, his voice puzzled. “Ain't this a little sudden, now, Marshal and Mrs. King?”

  “You see?” Anora said to Jesse. “That's what everyone will say. That and worse.”

  Without bothering to answer, Jesse handed her up into the seat of a charming buggy hitched to a dainty mare. “Can you drive?”

  “Anything with wheels,” Anora said, as she took hold of the reins.

  “Good.” He rubbed the mare's nose affectionately. “Her name's Penelope. She's a little on the frisky side, but I think she'll make a reliable source of transportation once the two of you get each other's measure.”

  Anora's eyes widened at his words. “Who does she belong to?”

  Jesse moved around the buggy to where Sully waited, and mounted his stallion in one fluid movement. “You. Happy betrothal.” Heels to Sully's flanks, he set the big black in motion and Penelope eagerly fell in behind.

  He pulled to a stop outside the boardinghouse and dismounted. “I'll just be a minute. I expect you'll be here when I come out?”

  Anora gave her head a single, jerky nod. Where else would she be? Penniless and all. Even she knew that to take Penelope and try to outrun Jesse would be both childish and futile.

  Besides, surely she'd be able to make Jesse listen to reason. To see that their marrying was unnecessary.

  Maybe she could name him as the baby's godfather.

  She nodded to herself. Such was only one possible solution.

  Surely there were others.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  Anora found the small cabin's interior, by turns, a comfort and a confinement. As she stared bleakly at the familiar four walls of her home and wondered why certain mishaps befell her, her thoughts were fractured by the incessant sound of Jesse on the front steps as he whittled a piece of wood. She clenched her teeth. The sound was a nagging reminder of Jesse's constant presence, the ceaseless rasp of knife blade against wood akin to fingernails against slate.

  Beyond the ranch, the last of the autumn sun disappeared from sight, staining the sky the color of ripe plum jelly. The night air encompassed her, still and fragrant, and somehow coaxed her to settle onto the porch bench, despite Jesse's presence.

  “Jesse, I've been thinking.” She thought she heard him chuckle, and it was the last reaction she'd have expected.

  “Strikes me, anytime a woman starts a conversation with ‘I've been thinking,’ it bodes ill for the poor fellow who's trapped in her thoughts.”

  Hmmph. Thought he was mighty funny, Jesse did. Anora cleared her throat. Schooled herself to keep her tone reasonable, not to let him get to her. “We want different things, you and I. This idea of yours, us getting hitched. It'll never work.”

  He glanced around at her. “Know what you want, do you, Anora?”

  “I surely do. And it strikes me as how it's totally at odds with what you want.”

  “Fire.” He set down his whittling and gave her his full attention.

  Anora launched into her oft-rehearsed argument against their marrying. “I have a need to feel settled, permanent-like. It's something I've never had and always wanted. Someplace that's mine.”

  “Appears to me you got that right here. Leastways you will have, once Rosco's under lock and key.”

  Anora felt vexed. He was deliberately misunderstanding her. “A husband just doesn't fit in with my plans. I have a need to be independent. Make it on my own.”

  With an exaggerated sigh Jesse folded his pocket-knife and slipped it into his vest pocket, then propped his whittling board against the bottom step. “Strikes me the thing most women look out for is to have a man come along and make things rosy.”

  Anora glared at him. “You see any man hereabouts making my life all soft and nice? Every man I've ever met has done little else but make things worse ‘n they already were. And that includes you, Jesse Quantrill.”

  Jesse stood and stretched. “Think I'll take a little stroll before I turn in.” He paused and passed her a long, thoughtful look. “I'll sleep in the barn till we're wed.”

  “You'll sleep in the barn after we're wed, as well.” Anora rose and stomped inside, slamming the door behind her.

  Jesse stared a spell at the worn and blistered door, then stuffed his hands into his pockets and set off toward the creek. At least she'd acknowledged that there would be an exchange of vows. He'd known all she needed was a little time to get used to the idea.

  He stood at the bank of the winding black ribbon that was the creek at night, its sound at once both familiar and u
nsettling. Couldn't much blame Anora for having her doubts. Not when he'd had his share, as well. He'd never thought of himself as the marrying kind. Never given much truck to the idea of having kids, either.

  Still, if anyone knew the difference between right and wrong, Jesse Quantrill did. Wrong would be him lighting out of here, with Anora in the family way. Went against every single solid thing he believed in. Wrong, as well, would be leaving her on her own at the ranch, knowing full well that Rosco was out there, up to no good.

  Jesse squatted, cupped his palm, dipped it into the cool creek water, and took a long drink. Wrong, too, would be for Anora to go getting any too fond of him. Any woman he knew who took a foolish notion into her head, fancied herself in love, ended up in a mess, one way or another. Better for them both if Anora kept him at arm's length. So far, that looked to be the one area where there wouldn't be any problems.

  He watched the moon's leisurely ascent as he made his way over to the barn. As its gentle illumination revealed the surrounding landscape, he made mental notes of all the things that needed doing to batten down the ranch in readiness for winter.

  Anora carefully wound the tea towel around the hot handles of her canning kettle before she lifted the cumbersome pot off the stove top. As she carried it to the table, one of the jars inside tipped over and splashed boiling water onto the back of her hand.

  “Dash it all!” Anora bit her lower lip against the stinging burn as she lowered the heavy kettle to the table. A red welt was starting to show and she reached for the butter dish, only to find Jesse's hand atop hers, stilling the movement.

  “What happened?” Was that concern in his voice as he cradled her burned hand, tilting it toward the light for closer examination?

  “Nothing.” Anora tried to pull her hand back, but he tightened his grip.

  “Doesn't look like nothing. I'll get you a piece of ice. Do you have any salve?”

  “I was going to put butter on it.”

  “Ice is better. Take the sting right out of it.”

  By the time Jesse returned with a hunk of ice from the in-ground icebox he'd built out back, her hand had begun to throb something fierce. As Jesse settled her into a chair and pressed the chip of ice against her burn, she gave a sigh. Instant relief.

  Jesse pulled the other chair around to face her and straddled it backward. The thing she'd noticed about him, right from the first, was that for a man his touch was exceedingly gentle. “Why didn't you call me to lift that heavy kettle for you?”

  Anora blew out an impatient breath. They'd had this conversation several times previously. Jesse seemed to think that ever since they'd exchanged their vows she'd turned into some sort of an invalid, unable to do for herself the simple tasks she'd been performing her entire life.

  As her gaze met his, something inside of her gave a funny little hiccup. She could have sworn his concern was genuine.

  “Wouldn't do for me to go getting used to having you at my beck and call, now would it? Might forget how to do for myself.”

  He slanted her his easy, cowpoke grin. The same grin that turned her bones to mush and made it impossible to stay cross with him. “What are you making?”

  “Apple jelly,” she said shortly.

  Jesse released her and rolled back the sleeves of his black linen shirt. “I'll help. Tell me what to do.”

  Anora shook her head. “You've done so much already. Looks like a whole different ranch where you cleared away those dead trees. What with chopping wood and mending fences, it isn't seemly for you to be doing the canning and preserving as well.”

  “Who says?”

  “I do.”

  “That a fact?” As the last of the ice chip melted, he inspected her injured hand. “Where's the salve?”

  “In that tin alongside the sink.”

  He pried off the lid and took a sniff, wrinkling his nose. “Smells like something gone bad. You make it yourself?”

  Anora nodded. “An old Indian woman showed me how, a long time ago. Back when my ma was sick. She was some sort of a medicine woman, I guess. Only one around who helped me tend Ma when she died.”

  “How old were you?”

  Anora shifted on her seat, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. “Twelve. Thirteen. Something like that.”

  “Where was your pa?”

  “I don't know. After Ma got too weak to travel, he left her behind.” She pressed her lips together, her mind's eye recalling that long-ago scene. Ma lying there so pale and still Anora'd thought she was already gone. Except for the tears slowly filling her faded and weary eyes, as her mother realized she was going to die without seeing her man one last time.

  Anora glanced up to find Jesse watching her closely. Too closely for comfort. The stillness in the cabin seemed to stretch on forever before he claimed her hand and spread the burned spot with a layer of greasy salve.

  She flinched against the unsettling pressure of his fingertips grazing her skin.

  “That hurt?”

  “Not bad.”

  “Your pa ever come back?” he asked, casual-like.

  “Sure. A couple of days after she was buried. Made a big show, falling face-first on top of her grave, shedding a river full of tears. Couldn't hardly see the grave for the flowers he brought.”

  She gave Jesse a telling look. “After that I kind of thought he might mend his ways. At least a little.”

  “I take it nothing much changed.”

  “Well, me and Ben never got left behind anymore.”

  Jesse gave her a sharp look. “You've known Ben for that long?”

  Anora thought fast. She'd almost let the cat out of the bag. “We grew up together,” she said at last. That much, at least, was the truth.

  “Whereabouts did you go?”

  “Everywhere. Pa was always convinced the next town, the next game, would be the one that made him rich. Then Uncle Dan died and deeded him this place.”

  “But he didn't come with you?”

  Anora shook her head. “Pa had his faults. One of them was not knowing when a man he called a friend would turn on him, accuse him of cheating, and shoot him dead.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  Anora pushed herself briskly to her feet. It felt like the minutes hung suspended while Jesse stared, his eyes at a level with her blossoming waistline, made more obvious by the apron's slight bulge over her stomach. Slowly he rose as well. “No more lifting heavy stuff. That's what I'm here for. These jars ready for the jelly?”

  She nodded. “I just need to melt some paraffin wax to seal them.”

  “How about you ladle the jelly, and I pour the wax on top?”

  “I don't think—”

  “It'll go faster with the two of us. Then we can go for that buggy ride we talked about.”

  “You talked about.”

  “Anora.” Jesse blew out an impatient breath. “By now it's pretty obvious to Rosco that I'm a permanent fixture around here. Now, the man might be dumb, but even Rosco isn't dumb enough to show up while I'm here. Once we leave, he'll think the coast looks clear. He doesn't know about Charlie and Eddy up yonder keeping watch.”

  Anora didn't hear most of what he said beyond the words “permanent fixture.” Whose eyes was he trying to pull the wool over? He was no more a permanent fixture in her life than anyone else whose way had intersected briefly with hers.

  As she ladled hot jelly into glass jars, which she passed to Jesse to add a thin seal of melted wax, she sneaked a sideways look at him. A week had passed since they'd stood before the preacher and said their vows. A week during which, to her immense relief, he'd continued to sleep in the barn. Still, he hadn't once gone into town without insisting she go, too. Anora wasn't used to having someone checking on her whereabouts every second of every day, and she'd started feeling downright edgy from all the attention.

  Once the jelly jars were filled and cooling on the sideboard, pale amber contents glowing through the clear glass, she came upon an idea.

&nb
sp; “I've got something you might be interested in.” Drying her hands on her apron, she crossed the room to her bedside bureau. She took out a pair of stockings and unrolled them, then shoved her hand down inside the toe of one to pull out the ring and locket she'd found among Ben's things.

  “What's that you've got?” Jesse asked, when she tipped the jewelry into his palm.

  “I found them with Ben's things. Before he...you know. Got killed.”

  “You think they're stolen?”

  Anora wrapped her arms protectively around her waist. “I never saw them before. He could have won them in a game, I guess. But why hide them?”

  “I don't suppose these might be what Rosco's after?”

  “Maybe. But he did say ‘swag’ loud and clear. That's money.”

  Jesse held the ring up to the light for closer examination.

  “Maybe we're going about this all wrong,” she went on. “Maybe we should be out looking for the stolen loot ourselves. Beat Rosco to the punch.”

  “Funny, you saying that. ‘Cause I'd be willing to bet that's exactly what Rosco's counting on. Us doing all the work so he just waltzes in here, slick as you please, and pockets the spoils.”

  “How would he know if we found anything?”

  “He's got somebody keeping a lookout. Don't think that he hasn't.”

  “But I haven't seen anyone. Not since that day he was here.”

  “Anora. I don't mean to alarm you, but he's close by. Rosco's not skilled enough to pass through this way without leaving some sign.”

  “He's not rustling any more cattle, is he?”

  “No. That's another thing lets me know he's fixed his sights on bigger game.” Jesse tucked the stolen jewelry into his pocket. “I'll deal with this stuff later. Right now, think back on Ben's doings the last few weeks. Anything he might have said or done, some clue about what he was up to.”

  Anora's brow furrowed in concentration. She looked up at him and shook her head.

  “Was he doing any work around the ranch? Mending fences? Digging holes? Anything like that?”