by Cora Brent
“Whoa,” said a deep voice and Annika was startled to realize that she had nearly run into a large man. She looked up and saw cold blue eyes regarding her. Those eyes seemed incapable of missing a thing.
“Don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he said with a southern drawl, removing his hat in a cocky, insincere way which abruptly reminded her of Mercer.
“Miss Annika Larson,” she brusquely told the man. “I am the new schoolteacher. Now I beg your pardon, but may I pass?”
“Schoolteacher,” he nodded to himself, then broke into harsh laughter which attracted a few glances from other folks who were going about their business on Contention Way. The man didn’t even seem aware of them. Annika did not know what to make of him. She only knew that he made her uneasy.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said in his slow accent, inviting her with a gesture to pass by on the rickety boardwalk which ran the length of the street. “I’ve heard so much about you, Miss Larson.”
His statement caught her off guard and she stared at him curiously. He was older than Mercer and something about his manner branded him as even more of a scamp. A fain scar ran the length of his right cheek. He was the sort of man any women, good or otherwise, would stare after in fascination even as they pretended not to.
“Who are you?” Annika asked, since he seemed unwilling to volunteer the information.
He replaced his hat and checked the pistol on his hip as his cold eyes surveyed the residents of Contention City in a silent challenge. “You can call me Mr. Dane. Although the name Cutter Dane may be more familiar to you.”
Annika tensed. So here was the leader of The Danes. The man who Mercer Dolan counted among his friends and declared he would follow anywhere. Cutter Dane had robbed. He had killed. And he stood there on Contention Way in broad daylight daring anyone to call him out over it.
Still, she refused to show him any fear. “Why Cutter?” she asked boldly. “What have you done to deserve a name like that?”
With a smile he reached into his boot and withdrew a long bone-handled knife. Annika heard the muffled scream of a woman nearby but she did not acknowledge it, standing her ground in front of the outlaw. Cutter Dane expertly twirled the weapon in his fingers, demonstrating his deadly prowess. He seemed to be enjoying the spectacle.
The outlaw’s deep voice was low and raspy as he leaned close to Annika. “I’ll tell him you said hello, Miss Larson.”
Then with a flourish he stowed the knife in his boot once more. Cutter Dane offered no further pleasantries as he stalked over to The Rose Room and disappeared into its smoky depths.
Annika had been planning to call on Mrs. Swilling. However, the run in with Cutter Dane had filled her with a dreaded disquiet. She no longer felt up to a social engagement. The day was growing warmer but she did not care. She could not stand still. She would walk until her legs gave out.
“I’ll tell him you said hello.”
Was Mercer somewhere in the bowels of The Rose Room, drinking and getting pleasured by one of the painted girls? Her fists clenched, creasing the unopened letter she held. That damn Cutter Dane had regarded her as if he knew something a decent man would never speak of. Had Mercer told his gang of their time together? Was he only toying with her after all, playing her emotions as if she were an amusement to trifle with?
The blood roared in her head as she hurried with purpose back the way she had come. Annika searched her mind for all the words Mercer Dolan had ever spoken to her. In truth, there were no promises in there, nothing about love. Those words had been uttered by her alone.
As she passed the squat building which housed Contention Bank, James Dolan was stepping into the street. He blinked in surprise when he saw her.
“Miss Larson,” he said, moving in her direction. As he drew closer his sharp eyes searched her face. “Annika,” he said softly, “what’s wrong.”
She tried to smile politely. “Not a thing, Mr. Dolan.” But she was a little unstable and James grabbed her arm.
“Something is wrong,” he frowned.
Annika tried to twist away but he held to her fast. “There’s nothing wrong, James. You need to let me go now.”
He wouldn’t. They were at the end of Contention Way. James marched her around the back of the building and tipped her chin up, gazing at her shrewdly.
“Did he do something to you?”
Annika’s heard skipped. “Who?”
“You know damn well who. That cursed brother of mine.”
Annika thought about laughing and throwing it in the face of the city marshal that yes, his brother had done many things to her. And that she had loved them all. But she was suddenly ashamed, knowing that to Mercer she was likely of no more consequence than a whore of The Rose Room.
Annika could not bear the sad concern in James’s eyes. She withdrew from his grasp and pushed him away. “He’s done nothing to me.”
James grabbed her again. “Like hell,” he growled. Suddenly he looked so similar to Mercer that she felt weak. Then with a thick sigh he released her. He coughed twice. “Annika,” he said in a pained voice. “You are a decent woman. Don’t allow Mercer to ruin you.”
She could not be close to him any longer. He reminded her too strongly of his brother. If he grabbed her again she would allow him to kiss her. She knew he desperately wanted to.
Instead she smoothed her sister’s letter. “Good day, Mr. Dolan.”
James stared into her eyes for a moment and then left her alone. She walked quickly back to the schoolhouse. For the rest of the day she did nothing but watch the passage of shadows outside as she waited for Mercer.
She hadn’t been at all sure he would show up, but she saw his long shadow ambling toward the schoolhouse just before dark. She knew even before she saw him that he was drunk.
Her voice was cold. “Why have you come here?”
He paused, then smiled. “Same reason I always come, Anni.”
“I met Cutter Dane today.”
The smile dropped from his face. “I know.”
“So why don’t you return to drinking with your murderous friend and bedding whores?”
“I never needed your permission for either one, schoolteacher.”
Annika felt as if she had been struck a blow. She did not want to ask her next question. “Is that what you do as soon as you leave me?”
His answer was immediate. “No, Anni. Never.”
Annika leapt to her feet. Damn this man. Damn the way he looked at her as if she were everything one moment and nothing the next. “Why are you here, Mercer?” She heard the sob in her throat. “I already told you I loved you. Do you feel anything for me? Anything at all?”
He wouldn’t meet her eyes. He looked up into the tall cottonwoods. “Yes,” he said, so low she nearly didn’t hear him. She thought he would go to her then but he didn’t. He turned around and disappeared into the darkness.
“Mercer,” Annika whispered in agony and then collapsed into the dirt. She did not know how long she cried.
Though the last thing she felt like doing the following morning was returning to Contention City, she needed to attend church. It was expected that she would set a good example for her students.
She dressed, feeling weak and unwell. The tiny looking glass confirmed she looked as such.
When she arrived in town there was still a half hour before church service would begin. Mrs. Swilling was seated primly in her buckboard in front of the Mercantile as her daughter Harriet fidgeted in the back. She nodded stiffly to Annika.
“Miss Larson.”
Annika heard men shouting and realized it was coming from the establishment about fifty yards beyond. The Rose Room.
“Good morning, Mrs. Swilling. You are looking well.”
The haughty woman sniffed. “Thank you. I would feel much improved, however, if Mr. Swilling was not obliged to involve himself in the scandals of that devil’s den.”
Annika looked down the street. She did n
ot care to know the nature of Mrs. Swilling’s complaint but she had little choice than to listen.
Mrs. Swilling licked her thin lips, delighting in the gossip as she leaned forward conspiratorially. “One of the miners was stabbed last night.” She waved a gloved hand. “Oh, he’ll live. It wasn’t mortal, but the argument arose due to one of those soiled doves.” She grimaced. “The only scourge worse than those diseased women are the scum they delight in pleasuring. Mr. Dolan’s own brother committed the assault. And later he was found with blood still on his clothes as he slept in the lap of a whore.”
“Mr. Dolan’s own brother.”
James Dolan only had one living brother. He had left her in a state of anguish the night before. Then he had apparently proceeded into a night of violence and pleasure.
“Miss Larson,” Mrs. Swilling’s voice was suddenly concerned. “Are you ill?”
Yes, Annika wanted to say. I am ill. Sick with the passion of ruin and useless love.
“I believe I am, Mrs. Swilling. Please, I beg your pardon.”
Annika ignored the woman’s calls and stumbled blindly into the street. The high pitched complaint of a horse froze her and she realized she had staggered directly into the path of Carlos de Campo’s wagon. He settled his horses and looked at her curiously, speaking with the faintest of accents.
“Miss Larson. My apologies. I did not see you.”
“No,” she shook her head, leaning against the flank of the nearest horse. “It’s quite all right. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Annika marveled over her ability to form words in light of the crushing ache in her chest. She feared she would be unable to move away from the man’s horse and stand on her own.
“Annika,” said a voice in her ear, a voice which was familiar and yet somehow wrong.
It wasn’t Mercer’s voice. It was his brother, James. Her friend. He held her firmly, disregarding whoever might be watching.
“Carlos,” he called up to the man in the wagon. “Miss Larson is unwell. Would it be too much trouble to drive us to the school house?”
“No trouble, James,” Desi’s father answered in a kind voice.
James helped her onto the seat next to Mr. de Campo and then jumped into the back. Annika heard the bell warning church service would begin in fifteen minutes. She could not think about sitting quietly in a pew and listening to the desultory tones of Reverend Marcus.
Annika said nothing as they made their way back to the schoolhouse. Her mind was warring with itself. Her worst assumptions about Mercer Dolan were true. He was a violent outlaw and debaucher. He could not be redeemed.
“Miss Larson,” Mr. de Campo said gently as Annika climbed down. She looked into his sympathetic face. His wide-brimmed hat cast a shadow over his features but his smile was genuine. “Thank you, for all the time you spend with Desi. You are a fine teacher.”
It was the best compliment she could hope for, but at the moment she could only nod weakly and stumble into the schoolhouse. Annika could not bear to go inside the teacherage. She would see Mercer everywhere. It was difficult enough being in the schoolhouse. She knew James followed her. She waited until he had shut the door to the building. Her back faced him as she stood at the simple desk which had been procured by James only the week prior.
“Tell me all of it,” she said in an even voice.
James spoke haltingly. As the marshal of Contention City, he had been roused from his sleep close to sunrise and summoned to The Rose Room. The miner’s injuries were not serious but it was assault nonetheless. Mercer had been arrested. He was unlikely to remain in Contention’s tiny jail for long. The space would be needed to deal with worse crimes.
“What else?” Annika asked tersely.
“There is nothing else,” James told her softly, still standing right behind her.
She turned. “I think there is.”
James grimaced. It was an effort for him to say the words to her but he told it plain anyway. “They fought over a woman, Annika. At least that was the word of witnesses. Mercer won’t talk. The miner, name of Crismon, had taken a shine to one of the girls Mercer was known to carouse with. When he tried to haul her upstairs, Mercer objected. Stabbed the man in the thigh and did as he pleased with the girl.”
Annika remained silent when James finished speaking. All of a sudden she felt nothing. No anger, no despair. There was only a void where once there had been love.
“I think I hate him,” she said as if it were the most astonishing feeling in the world. “Not because of what he did last night, but because I believed…” She could not finish her sentence. She was unsure what she meant to say anyway.
“Annika.” His voice was so tender. James reached for her in friendship. She embraced him with need.
“James,” she said, pressing her body against his. Yes, she kissed him first. He seemed surprised, but he quickly responded, crushing her against him so ardently she knew he must have thought about it many times. She wasn’t simply allowing him to touch her. She wanted it. James Dolan lifted her skirt and she sat back on the desk, wrapping her legs around him.
“Yes,” she said over and over again. “Yes.” She welcomed his hands, his mouth. The void was gone. James had pushed it away.
“Annika,” he pulled back, panting. “It can’t be like this.”
“No,” she said, beseeching him. “Mercer and I, we never-“
His expression turned pained at his brother’s name. He grabbed Annika’s wrists. “Goddamn it, I wasn’t asking about that. Annika, I won’t use you in that manner. You deserve to be treated with honor.”
“James,” she clutched at him. “You’re a good man. I know that. I always knew that.”
He kissed her hand and knelt before her. “Then allow me to be a good man, Annika.”
“All right,” she said, nodding tiredly but understanding. “I will.”
Later, much of the day would distorted in Annika’s memory, as if it were nothing more than a dream sequence. She had married James Dolan. That she remembered. Reverend Marcus had been surprised but pleased to perform the ceremony in the afternoon. The Swillings witnessed the exchange and when James kissed her on the cheek his eyes had searched hers out with uncertainty. She had smiled to let him know it was all right. The Territory was alight with impulsive unions. It was nothing new. She had not arrived in Contention City seeking marriage, but here it was. This was the man she wanted, the one she needed.
James apologized for the simplicity of his house. The two room cabin was south of town, far from the Scorpion. Annika looked around and could not quite believe this was her home now. What of her children? Another teacher would need to be found. Married women could not stand before a classroom.
Annika’s new husband, ever the gentleman, told her with frankness he did not expect to share her bed right away.
“Unless you wish it,” he said, taking her small hand in his large one. When she did not answer he pushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “Love will come in time, Annika.”
“It will,” she agreed and pulled him close. His breath quickened as she reached for the place which would pleasure him most. She felt him turn hard against her hand. “And James, I do wish it.”
There was indeed pain, as she’d been warned. And yes, she did mind it, as every thrust of her husband’s body tried to banish Mercer’s face. Yet when she closed her eyes it was still all she saw.
Afterwards, Annika listened to James’s even breathing and knew he slept peacefully. His strong arm surrounded her waist and she ran her fingertips along his skin. She did feel affection for him. She had acted rashly, rushing into marriage without a thought, but it was done now. Mercer would hear of it, of course. She doubted it would matter much to him.
The crack of the door breaking from its hinges caused her to bolt upright in alarm. James was quicker, already grabbing for the Winchester he kept at the bedside.
The intruder gave a howl of pain and uttered a string of galling obscenities.
Mercer Dolan was an apparition. He still wore the clothes which had been bloodied the night before. His dark hair, always a bit too long, stood out wildly as he wore no hat.
“Annika,” he moaned, a word which seemed to cause him unutterable hurt.
She cried out and began to go to him, then remembered who she was now. And why. She erupted in rage. Annika stood on the bed she now shared with her husband and heard the cruelty in her voice. “I know what you are, Mercer Dolan. A callous scoundrel, nothing more. The memory of your touch makes me sick. Sick!”
James lowered the rifle and reached a hand toward his brother. Mercer glared at him with murder in his eyes. “Withdraw your hand before I hack it off. Brother.”
Mercer rose to his full impressive height and turned his agonized glare to Annika. “You never knew me after all, girl.”
“I know enough,” she choked out. “You are a violent man who keeps with whores.”
Mercer chuckled meanly. “Anni, you are not a better woman than the ones you claim to loathe.” Mercer grimaced and put his hands against his head, squeezing his eyes shut, as if he were trying to forever erase the sight before him. He kicked out with sudden violence, his boot catching a small table which crashed into the opposite wall and broke to pieces. James circled warily between Annika and Mercer. His hand was on the rifle trigger. Annika knew he would shoot if he had to.
But it was Mercer she stared at. The look of torture on his face could not have been invented. It was more than a possessive reaction. He was in pain. With his next words Annika realized exactly how much pain.
“I loved you,” he told her. His voice held hurt wonder. As if he had only just realized the truth of the words he’d uttered. And then he was gone.
Annika couldn’t breathe. She sank into the edge of her marriage bed and pulled James’s old quilt over her breasts. Her husband sat beside her, his head low, his face unreadable. She allowed him to take her hand. Once, and only once, did Annika silently curse her reckless foolishness. The she held her head up, vowing never to do so again.