Kid Calhoun

by Joan Johnston

  “Not quite yet. There are a couple of other things we’d better get settled first.”

  “Like what?”

  When Anabeth looked into Jake’s eyes, she realized they had darkened to a smoky gray. His nostrils were flared, and there was a tautness about his mouth. She recognized the signs because she had seen them on Wolf’s face. Desire. But her reaction to Jake wasn’t at all the same as it had been with Wolf. Jake’s gaze made her body feel tense all over. There was a sensual stirring in her belly, a tightness laced with pleasure.

  “You have to let me up,” she said.

  “Not quite yet.” Jake’s hand tightened in her hair. “You’re quite a beautiful woman, Anabeth. Or is that an alias, too?”

  “It’s my name.” Anabeth couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Her eyelids dropped to conceal her uncertainty.

  “I find you very desirable, Anabeth.” He had the hard ridge beneath his jeans to prove it.

  Anabeth swallowed hard. “Is this going to be part of my punishment for your friend’s death?”

  “What?”

  “Raping me.”

  “It wouldn’t be rape, Anabeth.”

  “I don’t want you.”

  His hand tightened in her hair. “Don’t you?”

  Anabeth couldn’t turn her head away because of the hold Jake had on her hair, but she closed her eyes to shut out the fierce gray eyes that demanded the shameful truth from her. There was no denying her arousal. She wanted him, all right. But she figured she ought to give him fair warning.

  “I’m a virgin,” she said.

  Jake grimaced. Hell and the devil! He wanted the woman beneath him like a house afire, wanted to thrust inside her hard and deep, until he exorcised the need that churned inside him. But he sure didn’t want the complications that came with seducing a virgin. Especially a virgin outlaw.

  Jake untangled his hand from Anabeth’s braid and levered himself to his knees. Slowly, painfully, he got onto his feet, then used the bedpost to keep him steady.

  Anabeth sat up on the bed and hugged her knees to her chest, eyeing Jake warily. “Are you turning me in?”

  “Eventually.”

  Anabeth clenched her teeth in an attempt to stop her chin from quivering. “What does that mean?”

  Jake limped across the room to the chest where his gunbelt had been left and buckled it on. “It means we’re going to stay close enough to use the same toothpick until that gold is found.” Jake paused. “If you want to remain a virgin, don’t even hint that you want things otherwise.”

  “Why you—” Anabeth spluttered as she came flying off the bed to stand spread-legged across from him. “I’m not the one can’t keep his hands to himself!”

  “When I woke up you had your hands all over me!”

  Anabeth flushed painfully, because while he was exaggerating about that moment, she was nevertheless guilty of touching him. She quickly changed the subject.

  “What about the Calhoun Gang? Are you going after them?”

  “From what I heard, you’re the one who knows where Sam’s gold is tucked away.”

  “Look, the same man who killed your brother-in-law shot my uncle Booth in the back. The rest of the gang each put a bullet in him. I intend to see that they pay for what they did.”

  Jake noted the ferocity of her voice, the ruthlessness of her expression, and reminded himself that he had better not underestimate the woman standing before him.

  He made a vow not to think of her as Anabeth Calhoun. Anabeth was much too soft a name for the woman he had just heard swear vengeance on the Calhoun Gang. He would have problems being hard-nosed to a woman named Anabeth. It was a lot easier to call her Kid—and treat her like the outlaw she was.

  “I’m afraid your days of hunting down the Calhoun Gang are over, Kid. I’ve got other priorities right now.”

  “I told you I don’t know anything about the gold!”

  “Your uncle never said anything to you about it?”

  “Nothing!” Unless you counted the two words Booth had spoken as he lay dying. But she didn’t even understand what they meant herself, so what use would they be to Jake Kearney?

  Jake’s mouth thinned. “Maybe it’ll come back to you in time. Until I find that gold, you’ll stay where I can keep an eye on you. Do you have anything to wear that’s better for riding astride than the getup you have on?”

  Anabeth looked down at the frumpy clothing that had been meant to conceal her figure. “I have my Levi’s.”

  Jake shook his head. “With the WANTED poster out on Kid Calhoun it’ll be less trouble if you stay dressed as a woman. If what you say is true, Wat Rankin will be as anxious to find you—and that gold—as I am. Disguising you as a woman isn’t a bad idea. But you need something you can wear to ride a horse. I guess we’re going to have to go shopping.”

  Anabeth could see Jake had just agreed to do something he considered a distasteful labor.

  “One more thing,” Jake said. “Did I imagine that Apache I saw at the cave?”

  “No.”

  Jake arched a brow. “What is he to you?”

  It occurred to Anabeth that Jake’s tone of voice had a lot in common with Wolf’s when he had asked the same question about Jake. “Wolf is my friend. We met when we were children in the valley where I grew up.”

  “Any chance your Apache friend will come after us?”

  “Wolf? Why would he?”

  “You tell me. He’s your friend.”

  Anabeth thought of Wolf’s coldness toward her in the cave. He wouldn’t come after her. He would be glad she was gone. “Wolf won’t bother us.”

  “All right. It’s time we got out of here. You just stay right where you are while I finish getting dressed. I’ll leave a note for Eulalie telling her who you really are and where we’re headed.”

  Anabeth frowned, but she didn’t argue.

  Jake would have welcomed the contest. The Kid wasn’t the only one unhappy with the situation. Jake was stuck with the girl until they found the gold. Somewhere along the trail Wat Rankin was bound to be waiting, watching for Kid Calhoun. Jake shuddered to think what would happen to Anabeth if the outlaws, or some bounty hunter with a WANTED poster, got hold of her. He would just have to make sure that didn’t happen.

  8

  Anabeth fingered the Wedgwood blue silk taffeta dress. It was exquisitely soft, and she would have given her eyeteeth to have it.

  Jake arched a brow and said, “That wouldn’t be very practical on the trail.”

  “But it’s very beautiful, don’t you agree,” Anabeth said wistfully.

  Jake cocked his head and examined the garment displayed in the window of Miss Tuttle’s dress shop. He tried to imagine Anabeth in the gown. It was difficult because the dress fit the top half of the mannequin like a second skin, giving it generous breasts and a tiny waist. The bottom half of the dress was gathered and draped to hide as much as the top half revealed.

  “I can’t see you in it,” Jake admitted at last. He knew nothing of Anabeth’s upper proportions, though he’d liked what he had seen of her bottom half in jeans. He rather regretted the necessity of putting her into something that would hide everything.

  But he had made up his mind that the most practical thing to do was buy Anabeth a split riding skirt, shirtwaist, and boots. Dressing her in anything more feminine would make it necessary for them to travel in a buggy. On the trail, they needed the speed and versatility of riding horseback.

  Miss Tuttle left the customer she had been helping and crossed to join Jake and Anabeth. “How can I help you? Oh, I see you admire the silk,” she said to Anabeth. “I made it for a tall, elegant woman very like yourself, but she died of cholera, poor lady, before she could claim it. Would you like to try it on?”

  “Yes,” Anabeth said.

  “No,” Jake said.

  Miss Tuttle had dealt with this situation before. “Why don’t you just have a seat here, sir. This won’t take any time at all.”

&n
bsp; Before Jake knew what had happened he was sitting in a comfortable chair with a copy of the Santa Fe paper at his elbow. Anabeth had disappeared through some curtains with Miss Tuttle and the blue silk dress.

  Once they were in the back room, Miss Tuttle took over, and Anabeth felt as though she had been picked up by a whirlwind. The dressmaker had Anabeth stripped down to her drawers in no time.

  “My goodness, dear,” she said. “You’re not wearing a corset!”

  “I … uh … Do I need one?”

  “Absolutely, my dear. If you wish for the gown to fit properly. Wait just a moment. I’ll be right back.”

  Anabeth stared at herself in the tall oval mirror, searching for the young woman who was trapped inside trying to get out.

  But she couldn’t find her.

  “Here we are,” Miss Tuttle said as she whisked back through the curtain a few moments later.

  Miss Tuttle had Anabeth raise her arms and slipped the corset on and tightened the laces with practiced expertise. Anabeth found herself struggling to draw breath.

  “Does it have to be so tight?”

  “Do you want to look your best?” Miss Tuttle asked with an arched brow.

  Anabeth figured she needed all the help she could get. She grabbed hold of a nearby ladderback chair and said, “Do your worst.”

  Miss Tuttle pulled the strings a notch tighter. She added a petticoat before slipping the dress over Anabeth’s head. The bodice buttoned up the front, but Miss Tuttle insisted that Anabeth stand still and allow her to do all the work.

  When Miss Tuttle was done, she stepped aside and allowed Anabeth to see how she looked.

  Anabeth couldn’t breathe. But it wasn’t the corset causing her shortness of breath. It was the sight of the woman—the real woman—in the mirror.

  Anabeth suddenly noticed the tiniest ruffle of white lace at each wrist, matched by another frill of lace at her throat. She ran her fingertips over the frog trim at her waist, which was formed in the shape of flowers along either side of the row of cloth-covered buttons. She lifted the toe of her shoe to get a better look at the scalloped overlay to the pleated hem. So much detail!

  “One more thing,” Miss Tuttle said.

  “Oh, this is already perfect,” Anabeth said. “What else could you possibly add?”

  “How about a ribbon in your hair?” Miss Tuttle said. She was already at work releasing the first of Anabeth’s two braids. She brushed Anabeth’s hair into silky black waves, letting tendrils curl at her temples and beside her ears. Then she captured it at the nape with a large Wedgwood blue bow that exactly matched the dress.

  Miss Tuttle stood back and looked at Anabeth. “Now it’s perfect. Shall we show your young man how you look?”

  Suddenly Anabeth was frightened. Would Jake Kearney see the woman in the mirror? Or would he see only Kid Calhoun? “I don’t think—”

  But Miss Tuttle had a firm hand at the small of Anabeth’s back. Before she could retreat, she had been pushed through the curtains and was standing before Jake.

  Jake had read the front page of the newspaper and most of the advertisements by the time Anabeth reappeared. He lurched to his feet when she stepped through the curtains.

  She was absolutely stunning.

  “What do you think?” Anabeth asked when Jake said nothing.

  “Hell and the devil,” he muttered. “You’re goddamn beautiful!”

  The dress fit Anabeth like it had been made for her. Only, on a living, breathing woman the silk emphasized the softness of her bosom, her hand-span waist. The dress flowed when she walked, giving her a grace he had known she possessed, but which he had never seen displayed to such advantage.

  But it wasn’t the dress that drew his eye at last. It was the look on Anabeth’s face. Her shy smile was enchanting. Her cheeks were flushed so she appeared almost feverish. And her eyes … her sapphire blue eyes had the look of someone who has seen heaven.

  “Jake?”

  She was asking him for the dress. As if he had the kind of money that sort of frivolity cost. As if she had anywhere she could wear such a fancy frock. “Anabeth, I …”

  Miss Tuttle saw her sale going out the window and stepped into the breach.

  “The dress fits as though it were made for her, don’t you think? Why, I don’t even have to take a tuck. Why don’t you come over here and see for yourself.”

  Reluctantly, Jake crossed the room. Anabeth’s lids lowered to cover her eyes, leaving a fringe of dark lashes on petal-smooth cheeks. Jake could feel the warmth of her, see the rise and fall of her bosom, smell the honeysuckle in her luxurious black hair, which fell in a thick tail all the way to her waist.

  He wanted to kiss away the tiny bead of moisture at her temple and press his mouth to the pulse at her throat. He wanted to thrust both hands into her hair and let it slide endlessly through his fingers. He wanted to put his hands on her breasts and feel their softness, their fullness. He wanted to unbutton every one of those eighteen buttons from her neck to the point where they ended at her belly and expose the creamy flesh hidden beneath the silky fabric. His fingers reached out to touch the silk and stayed to caress Anabeth’s shoulder.

  Jake frowned at the direction his thoughts had taken. He had to remember who Anabeth Calhoun was.

  Miss Tuttle mistook his expression and said, “I could let you have it at a very good price. There aren’t too many tall women who are as slim as this young lady, you see.”

  She went on to name a price that made Jake choke.

  “I’ll pay you back,” Anabeth said. “I’ve got some gold—”

  “I’ll bet you have,” Jake said in a hard voice. Anabeth’s timely interruption had reminded Jake that the woman standing in front of him was nothing more than an outlaw. She had seen Sam killed, most likely knew were Sam’s gold was buried. The only reason they had come into the dress shop was to buy something appropriate for Anabeth to wear on the trail.

  “Take off the dress,” he said. He turned to Miss Tuttle and said, “She needs a riding skirt and a couple of shirtwaists and maybe a jacket, if you have one.”

  Miss Tuttle bowed to the ferocious look on his face. “As you say, sir. Come, my dear, I’ll help you undress.”

  Anabeth’s chin was trembling. Her eyes were liquid. “I can do it myself,” she said. Shoulders back, chin high, she turned and marched back through the curtains.

  Jake clamped his back teeth to keep from saying he would buy the gown. It was totally inappropriate. Ridiculous. “Miss Tuttle,” he said in a quiet voice.

  The dressmaker turned back to him. “Sir?”

  “When she takes off the gown, wrap it up for me. Don’t tell her … I want it to be a surprise,” he said.

  Miss Tuttle beamed. “Of course, sir. I’ll wrap it up in brown paper while she’s trying on the other clothes.”

  Jake put a hand to his forehead and wondered what had gotten into him. He was going crazy. And Anabeth Calhoun was driving him there.

  Anabeth didn’t bother to model the riding clothes. When she reappeared a second time wearing a plain white cotton shirtwaist and a split brown corduroy riding skirt, there was nothing of the softness he had seen in her face before. There was only resignation. And regret.

  He opened his mouth to tell her he had bought her the dress, but she cut him off.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I don’t need the stupid dress. It was made for a lady. Which I’m obviously not. We have what we came for. Let’s get out of here.”

  She never said another word as Jake paid for the clothing and collected the packages.

  “I’ve got one more stop to make in town,” Jake said.

  Anabeth said nothing, just followed him to the post office where he asked if there were any general delivery letters for Jake Kearney.

  “There’s one, sir,” the postmaster said.

  Jake took the letter and ripped it open on the spot.

  Dear Jake,

  I’ve had another visit from Wil
l Reardon. He’s given me until the end of the month to come up with the money to pay the note.

  I thought maybe if you came and talked to him you could convince him to wait until you locate the gold.

  You’ll know what’s best.

  Love,

  Claire

  Jake folded the letter back up. “Hell and the devil.”

  “Bad news?” Anabeth asked.

  “We’re going to have to make a detour on our way to that valley of yours,” Jake said.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Window Rock.”

  When Anabeth arched a brow in question, Jake clarified, “Sam Chandler’s ranch.”

  “Is that really necessary?”

  Jake nodded. “I think it is.” Jake waited for an argument, but it never came.

  Anabeth didn’t think she could face Claire Chandler, especially since the woman’s husband had died in her arms. As they saddled their horses at the livery and headed south toward Window Rock, she relived Sam’s death—always with a different ending where, somehow, by some miracle, the rancher survived.

  They had been on the trail for a full hour when Jake interrupted her thoughts.

  “How did you become an outlaw?” he asked.

  “I was sixteen the first time I rode with Booth,” Anabeth said bitterly. “I thought it would be fun. I didn’t know what I was getting into.”

  “Why didn’t you quit when you found out the truth?”

  “I couldn’t talk Booth into quitting with me, and it was too hard staying home worrying about him. I started saving a little from each job so we could go to Colorado and start over.”

  “You should have had enough for that years ago.”

  Anabeth’s lips twisted in disgust. “Booth’s tastes were very expensive. I’d offer what I’ve saved to Mrs. Chandler except it’s not much more than a cowboy would earn in a couple of months.”

  “What are your plans now that your uncle is dead?”

  “I haven’t made any plans—beyond seeking revenge for Booth’s death.”

  “Have you ever killed a man?”

  Anabeth shook her head no.

  “What makes you think you can?”