Chapter 30 #2
“Don’t believe nothing she says. She had a mule kick her in the head as a child,” Caleb said. “I know I’m going to regret this…but Sheila Burnett, let me introduce you to Red Annie O’Neal. She’s the—”
“Star Route carrier for the US Postal Service,” Sheila finished for him, holding her hand out for a handshake. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Red looked past the outstretched hand at its owner, not taking it yet. “From this one?”
“No. From my father, Doc Burnett. He sings your praises all the time.”
“Well, in that case…” Red Annie shook the hand and motioned to a seat.
“Now you got to join us. Marlowe ain’t much of a conversationalist, as you probably know.
I’ve been on the road for a week, and I talk to my horse plenty, but I don’t get much in the way of replies.
She’s a pretty thing, but only a whisker less chatty than this one. ”
“Thank you.” Sheila took off her coat and sat down.
“And to keep the record straight, that weren’t no mule.” Red motioned to the bartender to come over. “It was a small pony.”
Caleb was starting to wish some animal would come by and kick her again.
“What do you drink, missus?” she asked Sheila. “Whatever you like. Marlowe is paying. What’s your usual? A Hot Scotch? A horn of forty-rod?”
“What are you having?” Sheila asked.
“Brandy.”
“I’d like the same, thank you,” she told the bartender.
Caleb had to bite his tongue. All the times he’d gone to Doc’s house for dinner, he’d never seen Sheila drink brandy. He didn’t think they even had it in the house. She might have a bit of wine, occasionally a little cider. That’s all.
“So, missus—”
“My friends call me Sheila,” she said, touching Red Annie’s hand. “I’d like it if you would do the same.”
“Well, I like that. I’m just Red Annie to one and all.”
Caleb couldn't help noticing the difference between the two women.
Red Annie carried herself like a cavalry scout ready for a fight.
Sheila looked as though she'd stepped out of a New York drawing room.
Yet both possessed the same stubborn determination.
Both would walk straight into trouble for people they cared about.
And neither had the slightest intention of letting a man tell them what they could or couldn't do.
Looking at their hands, Red’s showed the rough wear of the trail and the weather.
She had several scars on the back and strong, tanned fingers.
Sheila’s was smaller and paler with glimpses of blood vessels running beneath the surface of the soft-looking skin.
But he knew this was not a weak hand. The strength of her grasp was equal to the strength of her character.
And while it was a hand that was rarely quiet, there was no nervousness in it.
Sheila Burnett was as sure of herself as Red Annie O’Neal.
Two different hands belonging to two different but equally strong women.
Their drinks arrived, and he eyed them. He was not about to say a word.
Red sent a sly look at Caleb and lifted her glass to her new friend. “Sheila, old girl, here’s to you.”
“And to you,” she replied.
The two women tipped up their glasses, and Caleb sipped his coffee.
He was waiting for Sheila’s mouthful to spray across the table, and he realized Red was watching for it as well.
But once again, Sheila Burnett was a surprise to him.
The color of her face slipped a little, but the liquor stayed, and she managed a smile as she put the glass down.
“So, what are you two naming your future babies?” Red asked.
“Too early in the day for that talk,” Sheila said, not skipping a beat this time around. “It’s not too many times I get a chance to sit across from a legend.”
“A legend?” Red asked. “You clever girl. You’re trying to distract me from all this talk of matrimony.”
“No, you’ll be the first to know...whenever Marlowe gets around asking.”
Caleb almost spewed out a mouthful of coffee.
“But, to more interesting conversation,” Sheila continued just warming to the company. “Is it true that you’ve ridden as a coach guard everywhere from Denver to Carson City?”
Red Annie sat back. “Actually, I’d say from Topeka to San Francisco.”
“Did you single-handedly drive off Dirty Dave Rudabaugh and his gang when they tried to rob a Wells Fargo stage you were riding on?”
“How do you know about that?”
“You’d be amazed how much I know about you.”
“In that case...” Red turned a shade of pink. “That story’s done got blowed up some. It weren’t just me. There was a young greenhorn riding below that I don’t think knew one end of his Remington from the other. But he made some noise with it and managed to not shoot himself.”
“And you won a marksmanship contest in Dodge City judged by Buffalo Bill Cody himself. You defeated forty of the best riflemen in the West, including Ben Thompson, John Wesley Hardin, Mysterious Dave Mather, and Bat Masterson himself.”
“How d’you know all this?”
“I told you, I know things.”
Caleb wondered who’d been the source of all this information. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Red Annie actually glow before, but she was practically lit up now. She reached behind her and produced her Winchester ’73.
“Well, that’s true,” she replied proudly. “Except for Hardin. He weren’t there. But I won this pretty thing in that contest.”
She held out the rifle that was inscribed on the sideplate.
Sheila took it and read the inscription out loud. She held the weapon to her shoulder and sighted along the barrel, pointing it at the elk on the wall behind the bar. She ran her hand along the smooth stock and handed it back to Annie.
Caleb chuckled to himself. He was actually feeling a little left out. After all, he’d given Sheila a lesson with his own Winchester.
“Some of them boys were dang sorry losers, let me tell you. Thought I’d have to fight my way outta Dodge that day.”
“I’d love to hear more about your life. Why don’t you come and have dinner with me and my father?”
“Marlowe going to be there?”
“I haven’t invited him, yet,” Sheila replied.
Then she glanced at Caleb.
“Though I suppose he can come if he behaves himself.”
“That’s a mighty large condition,” Red Annie said. “But either way, I’ll be there.”
“Well, now I know where I stand with you two.” He pretended to sound offended, but neither of them seemed to buy it.
“I do love making new friends, Annie.”
Red glanced at Caleb. “Funny thing. Just before you come in, him and me was talking about friends.”
As she was talking, Belle Constant came into the saloon through the side door. She spotted them and immediately glided up to the table, standing across from Caleb.
He was not one to notice such things, usually, but the proprietor was not dressed in her customary silk gowns.
Her black hair was done up with curls and her face looked the same, but she was wearing a fine dress of linen or some such material, of a style similar to what he called Sheila’s ‘New York dresses’.
The color of the thing—like ripe chestnuts—was surely intended to set off her dark skin to advantage.
She was carrying a small, fancy bag along with her shawl.
“Miss Sheila. Red Annie,” she said, acknowledging the women before fixing her black eyes on Caleb. “How is your partner holding up, Marlowe?”
The question surprised him. Not long ago, Belle Constant wouldn't have known his name. Now she was asking after Henry.
Elkhorn, for all its faults, was beginning to reveal unexpected allies.
“He’s a fighter, Miss Belle, but the odds are stacked against him at the moment. I’m trying to change that.”
“Good. Before you leave, stop upstairs and see me. I have some information that might help.”
Caleb felt a flicker of hope. Lately, he’d learned to pay attention whenever strong women told him they had information. He could definitely use someone with her connections on Henry’s side.
“Miss Sheila, I’ll be seeing you at the next Christmas Gala event meeting.” Receiving an affirmative response, Belle took her leave and swept up the stairs.
Red Annie finished her drink and pushed the glass away from her. “Well, I’d like to spend all day with you two lovebirds. But you have some place to be, Marlowe. And I have a hundred things to do.”
“Dinner tonight?” Sheila asked her.
“I’ll be there.”
They all came to their feet.
“I’m so glad I stopped in to ask Marlowe about his clash with that so-called preacher,” Sheila added.
Red’s face clouded over. “Now that you mention it, it was funny seeing that fella here, stirring things up.”
“Seen him somewhere?” Caleb asked.
“Up in Denver. Though I didn’t take him for no preacher.”
“When was that?”
“A few weeks back. In a snake hole by the railroad depot. He was putting down the ‘oh be joyful’ by the noggin full. Couldn’t help but notice him. He had his hand on every saloon girl in the place.”
“Some preacher,” Sheila said.
“Like I said, he weren’t waving no Bible around.
” Red Annie stared at Caleb. “As I was getting ready to move on, though, another fella joined him. That got my eye. Didn’t think of it till now, but it was that big shot you was looking for in Bonedale last summer.
The one that left before you got there.”
“Elijah Starr?”
“That’s the one. A one-eyed, pirate-looking fella. You know, I didn’t make the connection, but it just come to me. Elijah Starr.” She paused. “But ain’t he the one that was in jail here for a while, waiting to get strung up?”
“The same.”
A chill moved through Caleb that had nothing to do with the weather outside.
If Amos Stubbs and Elijah Starr had been together in Denver only weeks ago, then the preacher's arrival in Elkhorn wasn’t coincidence. Not even close.
And suddenly Amos Stubbs looked a lot less like an annoying holy fool and a lot more like another piece on Elijah Starr's deadly game board.