Kid Calhoun

by Joan Johnston

  And lost them just outside of town.

  He turned down a side street and headed for a two-story white frame building. A small wooden sign with painted letters hanging from the porch rail in front said simply “Eulalie Schmidt.”

  Jake knocked on the door to the boardinghouse but didn’t wait for an answer before he pushed his way inside. “Eulalie? Eulalie Schmidt!”

  The effusive greeting Jake got from the white-haired woman who came running when he called left no doubt that the two knew each other. Frau Schmidt was a woman who enjoyed her sauerkraut and dumplings. Jake had discovered she had a heart as big as she was. The Widow Schmidt wore her hair pulled back in a bun at her nape, exposing the myriad lines on her forehead, the crow’s feet at the edges of her eyes, and the trellis of lines over her lips that attested to a lifetime of trial and tribulation.

  “Good to see you again, Jake. It’s been, what, two years?”

  “Nearly three.”

  “Been that long since your nephew was killed by them savages, eh?” Eulalie said.

  Jake nodded. He had been feeling pretty low the first time he had come to Eulalie Schmidt’s boarding-house. He had gotten drunk and spilled his guts. Eulalie had dispensed advice with hot coffee, and the two of them had been friends ever since.

  “Come on in and make yourself to home,” Eulalie said. “How long are you staying?”

  “That depends on how long it takes me to find what I’m looking for,” Jake said.

  Eulalie led Jake into the kitchen. When they got there a tall woman was standing with her back to them at the sink peeling potatoes. “This is my new hired girl, Anabeth,” Eulalie said. “Anabeth, say hello to Jake Kearney.”

  Anabeth choked on a mouthful of smoke. She quickly doused her cigarette in the bowl of water she had on hand for the peeled potatoes.

  Jake had a glimpse of eyes hidden by bottle-thick lenses and blue-black hair scraped back so tight it must have hurt. The girl swiveled her head and murmured, “Hello.” Just as quickly, she turned back to her chore. From the rear, her blousy shirtwaist and full skirt made her appear totally shapeless. He dismissed her as quickly as she had greeted him.

  “Girl’s a bit shy,” Eulalie said, “but a hard worker. Pour Jake some coffee, Anabeth.”

  Jake sat down at the table and watched as Eulalie went to cut some Streusel for him. His eyes skipped to the girl when she yelped sharply. He thought he heard some other words that no young lady ought to know, but he wasn’t sure.

  “Are you all right?” he asked the girl.

  “Just burned my hand on the coffeepot,” she muttered.

  Anabeth adjusted the spectacles downward so she could see over them to pick up the pot with a hot pad. She reached with her other hand and grabbed a coffee mug from the nearby hooks. Then she shoved the heavy lenses up again with a knuckle to resume her disguise. She crossed to the small wooden table, but the thick glass distorted her vision and she ended up running into the sharp edge of it with her hip.

  “Damnation!” she muttered.

  Jake frowned, thinking he couldn’t have heard what he’d just heard. He raised his hands to steady the girl, who had lost her balance. To his surprise, the waist beneath the bulky cloth was firm—and slim. “Are you all right?”

  Anabeth’s wits scattered completely when Jake grasped her waist. “I’m fine,” she muttered. She set down the mug, but again mistook the distance because the thick glass blinded her. It slammed hard against the table. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  Jake exchanged a look with Eulalie as though to say, “Is she always this clumsy?”

  He realized a moment later he should have been keeping an eye on the girl, because she had reached the top of the mug and was still pouring coffee.

  “Hold on! That’s plenty!”

  Anabeth jerked when the man shouted at her, and a splash of coffee from the pot caught him on the cheek.

  “Hell and the devil!” Jake swore. He swiped at his cheek, but the hot liquid had already done its damage.

  “I’m so sorry!” Anabeth tried to set the pot on the table but missed. It fell off the edge and clattered to the floor, spilling coffee across the varnished surface. “Son of a bitch!” Anabeth said. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but the words were already out.

  Anabeth stared through the thick lenses at the irate face of the man at the table. She wished she could see him better. She had a feeling it was lucky she couldn’t. “I’ll get a cool cloth for your face.” She turned back toward the pump but slipped on the spilled coffee. Her arms flailed, and she caught Jake with an elbow in the jaw as she fell backward into his lap.

  She sat there holding her breath, waiting to see if the chaos had run its course.

  Jake was aware of the weight of the young woman’s breasts on his forearm. Of the slight shifting of her fanny on his thighs. Of the honeysuckle smell of her hair. He was also aware of the throbbing burn on his cheek and the ache in his jaw. If he didn’t know for a fact that she was a walking disaster, he might have found himself aroused by the young woman in his arms.

  “Are you all right?” he asked for perhaps the third or fourth time. He had lost count.

  “I’m fine,” Anabeth said through gritted teeth. She tried to stand, but Jake was holding her fast.

  “Maybe you’d better stay where you are for a moment until Eulalie can take care of that puddle on the floor.”

  “Jake’s right,” Eulalie said. She had been flabbergasted by the chain of events that had resulted in the pool of coffee on the kitchen floor. Perhaps it would be best if she took care of matters before Jake let Anabeth go at it again.

  At first Anabeth sat absolutely still in Jake’s lap. But she got impatient when Eulalie went to hunt for the mop. Anabeth wiggled her fanny a bit to get more comfortable. Then Eulalie decided to wash out the coffeepot and start a new brew. Anabeth sat up straighter, couldn’t get comfortable, and slumped back down over Jake’s arm again. Finally, Eulalie decided to wipe up the coffee Anabeth had spilled on the table as well.

  When Eulalie finally gave the okay, Jake quickly stood Anabeth on her feet and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. All that shifting had left him needing a woman. He felt like a tomcat in an alley with a she-cat sitting on the fence out of reach. How could that clumsy, shapeless woman have turned him into a rutting beast? “You’re a menace, woman!” he snarled.

  Anabeth opened her mouth to make a retort and snapped it shut again. She was supposed to be mousy, docile, Anabeth Smith. She had better act the part. Anabeth turned to face Jake Kearney, knuckled her spectacles up her nose, straightened her apron, and said, “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Kearney.”

  Jake laughed. He couldn’t help it. He was grinning when he said, “It was … an experience … meeting you, too, Miss …”

  “Smith,” Anabeth supplied. She glared daggers at Jake, but the effect was lost through the bottle glass perched on her nose.

  “Miss Smith.” And may we never meet again!

  “Would you go upstairs and check the northeast corner bedroom for me, Anabeth? I’d like to make sure it’s made up for Jake.”

  “Certainly, Frau Schmidt.”

  When Anabeth was gone—she ran into the door-jamb with her shoulder on the way out of the room—Jake turned to Eulalie and raised a brow. “Are you sure the room will still be there when she’s done?”

  Eulalie clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Sierra sent her over from the saloon. Said she wasn’t suited for work there.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “Perish the thought. How long has she been working for you?”

  “A couple of days. She’s still learning.”

  “Not fast enough!” Jake muttered.

  Eulalie poured Jake another cup of coffee, served his Streusel, and joined him at the kitchen table. “Now, tell me what I can do for you.”

  Jake filled Eulalie in on everything that had happened to bring him north from Texas. He was in the middle of his explanation when Anabeth cam
e back.

  “Everything’s fine upstairs,” she said. “I’ll just finish those potatoes.” She crossed to the counter by the pump, picked up the paring knife, and began working with her back to Jake.

  Jake purposefully ignored her. “I’ve got some evidence that the Calhoun Gang is responsible for the robbery that killed Sam,” he told Eulalie.

  “And you’ve been sent to bring them in?”

  “I’m not here officially on behalf of the Rangers,” Jake said. “But I intend to bring whoever is responsible for Sam’s death to justice.”

  “Rangers?” Anabeth could have bitten her tongue. Jake looked annoyed at the interruption.

  “Jake’s a Texas Ranger,” Eulalie explained.

  Good grief, Anabeth thought. She had been sitting in the lap of the law! “Why aren’t you wearing a badge?”

  “I am.” Jake pulled his vest aside and exposed the star.

  Anabeth squinted through the bottled glass. “Oh, I see it now. Did I hear you say you’re going after the Calhoun Gang?”

  “I suspect that the Calhoun Gang murdered my brother-in-law, Sam Chandler, during their latest holdup. If my sister Claire doesn’t get back the gold they stole from Sam, she’s going to lose her ranch.”

  Anabeth felt an awful surge of guilt. “Oh.” She wasn’t likely to forget the man who had died in her arms. It made her feel even worse to meet someone who had cared about him and to hear the consequences of their larceny. Not once while riding with Booth had she allowed herself to think about what happened to the people they robbed. Jake was giving her an eye-opening education she would rather not have had.

  “Jake followed what he thinks might be one of the gang members here to Santa Fe,” Eulalie explained.

  “Oh,” Anabeth said again. Had he followed her here? Or was some other member of the gang in town? Either way, she must be on her guard.

  “I was told Booth Calhoun has a woman here in Santa Fe,” Jake said. “I thought maybe she could give me a lead where I might search for the gang. Also,” Jake paused and pulled the WANTED poster from his pocket, “I’ve got a drawing of one of the members of the gang. He was identified by the shotgun rider on the stage.”

  Anabeth turned and stood with potato and peeler in hand to watch as Jake unfolded the drawing for Eulalie. She pulled the lenses down her nose so she could see over them. It was a good likeness of her. The mouth was a little too wide, and the eyes too close together, but that was definitely a picture of Kid Calhoun.

  Anabeth felt a shiver of fear run down her spine when she saw that a thousand-dollar reward was being offered for her capture—dead or alive! For that amount of money there would be a lot of people willing to hunt her down. And damned few of them would worry about bringing her back alive.

  “Have you seen anybody who looks like this?” Jake asked Eulalie.

  The frau shook her head. “Can’t say that I have.”

  Jake turned to show the picture to Anabeth, who quickly shoved her spectacles back up her nose. “Have you—”

  “No,” Anabeth interrupted. She quickly turned back to face the counter.

  Jake carefully folded up the poster and returned it to his pocket. “Any idea who Booth’s woman might be?” he asked Eulalie.

  “You might try Sierra Starr,” Eulalie said.

  “Any relation to the Sierra who sent Miss Anabeth Smith here to work for you?” Jake asked.

  “The same. Sierra works the faro table at the Town House Saloon. From what I hear, she owns nearly half the place.”

  Anabeth peeled a little faster. What if Sierra gave her away? She would have to warn the other woman that a Texas Ranger was in town asking questions.

  “Sierra Starr sounds like some special kind of woman,” Jake mused.

  Eulalie pulled at the single white hair growing from a mole on her chin. “Sierra’s an unusual woman, all right. For a while she worked upstairs, but not anymore.”

  “Does she make exceptions?” Jake asked with a lurid grin.

  Eulalie’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Jake, you naughty boy. Why are you asking a question like that with this girl standing right here? You got a hankering for some woman, you go ask where there are no little pitchers with big ears.”

  Jake took one look at Anabeth’s pink cheeks and rose abruptly. “I didn’t mean—that is—”

  Eulalie stood and patted Jake on the shoulder. “You go on, Jake. I’ll have supper waiting when you’ve taken care of business.”

  There was no mistaking the kind of “business” Eulalie had in mind. A muscle in Jake’s jaw flexed as he bit down to keep from making the kind of retort that was too coarse for Anabeth Smith’s tender ears. Besides, if Sierra Starr took his fancy, he would see for himself whether she made exceptions about working upstairs. Maybe then he could forget about the surprisingly lush body of the awkward young woman peeling potatoes in Eulalie Schmidt’s kitchen.

  Once Jake was gone, Anabeth felt Eulalie’s sharp eyes assessing her. If she wasn’t careful, she would give herself away to the frau. Her safety depended on her disguise. Especially now that she knew the gang, including Kid Calhoun, was being sought by the law—even if the law wasn’t officially on the job.

  She turned to the older woman and said, “I’m sorry, Frau Schmidt. I’m afraid I don’t see very well. When I’m not in a hurry, I do fine. I guess I got flustered.”

  Eulalie closed her lips on the sharp setdown she had been about to give. How could she criticize the girl for something that was not her fault? “Don’t worry about it, Anabeth.” But she made up her mind to keep the girl away from her other customers. Otherwise, Anabeth Smith might singlehandedly put her out of business.

  To Anabeth’s chagrin, Jake sent word to Eulalie that he wouldn’t be back for supper. After the supper dishes were washed, Anabeth excused herself to go to her room, which was near the kitchen on the lower floor. If it wasn’t already too late, she had to get a warning about Jake Kearney to Sierra.

  But she couldn’t go out in the evening as Anabeth Smith. She would have to become Kid Calhoun again, which posed its own set of dangers. How many of those posters with her likeness were out there in the hands of lawmen and bounty hunters?

  It was a relief for Anabeth to put on a pair of pants. She hadn’t realized how much like a fish out of water she felt in a skirt. Besides, the outfit she had been wearing was a far cry from the silk taffeta dress of her dreams. She rebraided her hair and stuffed it up under her hat, then buckled on Booth’s gunbelt, with its twin, pearl-handled revolvers.

  When the house was quiet, she left her room and snuck down the hall and out the back door. She used the back streets and alleys to get from the boarding-house to Canyon Road. She could already see the lights from the Town House Saloon when she realized there was someone leaning against the building at the end of the alley that led where she wanted to go.

  She had already begun her retreat when the man called out, “Somebody there?”

  Anabeth remained frozen, her hands poised above her guns. She said nothing.

  The man slowly stood and turned toward her, blocking what little light was coming into the alley. “Booth?” The voice was frankly disbelieving. “Booth, is that you?”

  Anabeth remained silent. She realized that whoever it was must have recognized Booth’s pearl-handled revolvers. She slowly, quietly, backed completely out of the light.

  “You’re dead,” the man said. “We killed you.”

  At last Anabeth recognized the voice. Otis Grier. “You’re a backstabbing coward,” Anabeth said in a voice keyed like Booth’s, an octave lower than her own. “I ought to shoot you where you stand.”

  Grier pulled his gun, and Anabeth realized he intended to shoot. She hadn’t expected to be confronted with one of the gang so suddenly, or in such a deadly situation. In the seconds before Grier fired, she thought of Booth, of her vow of vengeance. Suddenly, it was as though someone else was standing there. Anabeth felt a tightening in her belly, a lump in her throat.r />
  Then there wasn’t time for thinking—or feeling.

  Grier began firing blindly into the alley. Anabeth dropped to the ground as she pulled Booth’s right hand gun and fired once at the man silhouetted in the light.

  Grier let out a howl and dropped his gun.

  Anabeth’s finger was on the trigger. All she had to do was shoot again and one of her uncle’s murderers would be dead. But her hand was shaking so badly she had trouble keeping it steady enough to aim.

  Suddenly there was a commotion at Grier’s end of the alley. She couldn’t take a chance on being caught. Her face was on a WANTED poster now. She holstered the Colt and, flattening herself against the walls of the alley, quickly made her escape. She headed for the next alley and soon found herself in back of the Town House Saloon.

  She stuffed her hands in her pants because she couldn’t get them to stop shaking. It was one thing to vow vengeance. It was quite something else to shoot another human being. Anabeth took a deep breath and let it whoosh out. She leaned against the slatted wall of the saloon and let her head fall back against the wood.

  I should have killed him. He shot Booth in the knee without a second thought. He’s a treacherous murderer. He deserves to die.

  Then why didn’t you finish him off? a voice asked.

  Because I lost my nerve.

  Then you better find it. Or move on to Colorado.

  It’ll be easier next time.

  You’re lucky to have a next time. You’d better shoot first—and shoot to kill—from now on.

  Anabeth took another deep breath and let it out. This was no game she was playing. The men she had set out to kill were killers themselves. If they caught her, they would show no mercy. If she wanted to survive, neither could she.

  Anabeth straightened her head on her shoulders. She would do what had to be done. Next time she would shoot to kill.

  Anabeth stepped inside the back door of the Town House Saloon but stayed in the shadows beyond the patchy lantern light. It was noisy and smoky, and she did nothing to draw attention to herself. She was as silent, as invisible, as any Apache in the wilderness. Only her eyes moved as she surveyed those present in the saloon.