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
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
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