Girl with a Gun Page 8

  Annie tried to keep her face placid, but couldn’t help sighing. Just what she needed—more rivalry.

  She glanced around the room, noticing Michante and Nakota in a far corner with a group of their friends. She’d thought Nakota had gone, but clearly something had changed.

  “Is there any news on Kimi’s death?” Annie asked LeFleur.

  “No.” LeFleur’s posture stiffened. “Why would there be? The coroner ruled it a natural death, so there’s no reason to investigate further. It’s a tragedy, but we must move on.”

  Annie bristled at LeFleur’s dismissive tone, his apparent lack of regard for the death of her friend. She couldn’t say what, but something made her think the coroner was mistaken—she’d just have to find a way to prove it.

  A banging ruckus in the kitchen drew their attention to Twila, rummaging through trunks and storage bins. She looked up and saw them all staring at her. Her eyes traveled to the candle and the flowers, and her face drew downward, her bright red lips flattening to a hard line. She then disappeared into a section of the tent behind the kitchen and came back out with the pram, stalking out the back entrance.

  “Well,” LeFleur stood, breaking the tense silence. “I’ll let you two get back to your dinner.” He hitched up his pants and tipped his hat before leaving the tent.

  “Finally,” Frank said. “I thought he’d never leave.”

  Annie studied Frank’s face as he sipped from the dainty champagne glass. Tiny, white, feathered lines etched the outer corners of his eyes and the rough stubble of his blond whiskers contrasted with the tanned smoothness of his cheeks. He stared down at the tablecloth, obviously preoccupied, probably with what he’d just disclosed to her about his failing performance.

  Annie sensed his vulnerability, and she finally understood—Frank Butler knew he was flawed, like all people, with self-doubts, foibles, and misgivings. No different from her, no different from anyone else. He raised his champagne glass to his lips.

  “I don’t know anything about you except that you’re a world-class shooter—and a philanthropist,” Annie said.

  Frank froze mid-sip, lowered his glass, and raised his eyes to hers, caution written in his face. His surprised expression amused her.

  “I heard you donate money to the poorhouses, which is very kind.”

  “I’ve always had everything I’ve needed.” Frank shrugged. “Never been hungry. Never not had a roof over my head, or a warm place to sleep. If anyone should be offering a helping hand, it’s people like me.”

  “Still, it’s admirable.”

  “Nothing to crow about.” Frank swallowed a large gulp of champagne. Sensing his discomfort, Annie changed the subject. “Do you ever get to see your family?”

  He poured himself more champagne and twirled the stem of the glass between his fingers once again.

  “I haven’t seen them for years. Left when I was sixteen. We didn’t get on too well. Not since my brother died.” He tapped his fingers on the tablecloth.

  “I’m sorry . . . do you mind if I ask what happened to him?” Annie lifted her teacup to her lips.

  Frank leaned back in his chair, placed his thumbs in the waist of his pants, then flopped his chair back down.

  “I killed him.”

  Annie nearly choked on her tea.

  “That didn’t come out right,” Frank said, waving his hand in the air. He drained his champagne glass.

  “It’s a long story. I’ll have to tell you about it some time . . . some other time.”

  Since their arrival in Missouri, the rare spring heat wave had scorched its way through the Midwest, St. Louis in the heart of its wrath. The audience numbers plummeted, and Annie hoped the lack of participation was due to the heat—not their performance.

  At the early show the morning after their dinner, Annie and Frank worked their way through the mounted course as usual. Annie executed the task with perfect panache, her aim dead on, but Buck’s enthusiasm waned. Fancy outran Buck at every turn, which meant Frank and Fancy won the competition.

  “I’m worried about Buck,” Annie called out to Frank as they galloped their farewell lap. “He’s not himself.”

  “Tell Rusty,” he said, his face bearing his trademark smile for the crowd. “He’ll know what to do. He’s the best horse hand we’ve got. It’s probably just the heat.”

  Annie leaned back in the saddle, giving Buck the cue to rear and paw at the air. Buck strained underneath but gave his best effort. She lovingly patted his shoulder and dismounted.

  Rusty ran over to retrieve the horses.

  “Buck’s not feeling well,” Annie said.

  “He didn’t eat this morning.” Mr. Post took her reins. “I’ll give him a good rub down and some fresh water.”

  Annie let Buck go and placed a hand on her chest, worried about the slow decline of Buck’s health, trying to figure out what could be wrong.

  “He’ll be fine.” Rusty winked at her and stroked Buck’s neck.

  Frank took Annie by the hand and led her over to the area designated for the shoot off between her and Lillie. Rifles, pistols, and shotguns lined the table. The first stage included hurdling a low fence, then, with their rifles, shooting four live birds released at the other end of the arena.

  “First up is Miss Lillian Smith.” The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena.

  Lillie grabbed her rifle and headed for the fence. Her skirt caught and she stumbled, almost falling, until the fabric ripped, releasing her. She somehow managed to hit all four birds and lifted her rifle in a triumphant salute to the pleased audience.

  Annie grabbed her rifle, waited for the whistle, then hopped the fence without issue. She aimed, pulled the trigger—and heard a hollow click. Nothing happened. She lowered the weapon, turned it over, opened the release, and gasped.

  The chamber was empty.

  She immediately looked up at Lillie, and hot blood rushed to her face as Lillie’s lips curved into a smirk.

  “And she misses!” the announcer bellowed.

  A round of boos rumbled from the crowd.

  “Ladies and gentleman, this is a Wild West Show first! Come on Annie, shake it off and grab those pistols!”

  Determined not to face any more humiliation, Annie took up her pistols and hit all her marks. She scored the highest of the two in the shotgun round as well—still, Lillie won.

  Annie wanted to sink into the ground as she, Frank, and Lillie joined hands and bowed for the crowd. The humiliation of failure in front of thousands made her throat close up and her lungs freeze. She could scarcely breathe, and she knew Lillie basked in the light of her embarrassment.

  A group of barebacked ponies with yelping Indians astride came bounding into the stadium, taking the audience’s attention away from the three shooters as they left the arena.

  Safely behind the gates, Annie turned to Lillie, her heart racing with anger.

  “Did you tamper with my rifle?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Lillie smiled. “Aren’t you responsible for loading your own weapon?”

  “I did load it!”

  Frank came between the two, placed his hands on Annie’s shoulders.

  “I can see you’re upset, Annie. It doesn’t hurt for you to lose once in a while. It keeps things interesting.”

  “Interesting? I looked like a fool out there. Lillie emptied my rifle on purpose.”

  “You think Lillie would stoop to that?” Frank released her shoulders.

  Annie took in a sharp breath, her blood boiling.

  “Either she did, or someone else who isn’t shooting as well as he used to did, but I loaded that weapon.”

  “You’re saying I did it?” Frank’s smile vanished.

  Annie refused to look away from him, her glare hard and unbending.

  “I’ll let you two have your discussion in private.” Lillie twirled her suede skirt as she walked away, looking back at them with a satisfied grin on her face.

  Anni
e’s rage bubbled out of control. If Frank could do something as unethical as tamper with her weapon to make her look bad, then what would prevent him from killing someone who might know a deeply hidden secret? Maybe Kimi knew something about Frank that would interfere with his fame. Could Frank have killed her? He’d admitted that he killed his own brother.

  “I can’t believe you’d do something that low. Did you treat me to dinner to throw me off? Did you intend for me to blame Lillie?” Annie knew she’d just said something stupid, something she didn’t mean.

  Frank opened his mouth like he was going to comment but instead shook his head, slapped his hat against his thigh, and stalked off.

  Coward. Annie kicked at the dirt with her boot, angry at her outburst.

  Now that he’d left, her head cleared. She’d been caught up in vanity and competitiveness, and it balled up in her stomach like a knot. Lillie’s smug expression practically broadcast her own guilt. Annie shouldn’t have accused Frank, shouldn’t have thought him desperate enough to do something so petty, or something as evil as killing Kimi. Yet, he’d admitted to killing his brother and then went mute on the subject. What would he have to gain by Kimi’s death?

  If she’d just made an enemy of Frank, she would never be able to find out about his past, about his potential to kill. It would be best to remain on his good side, if she could make it up to him. He’d seemed so sincere in his attempt to connect with her last night.

  Confused by her thoughts and emotions, Annie almost didn’t hear the announcer close out the Indian act. She realized she’d be run over by thundering horses if she didn’t get out of the way.

  She spun around to walk away from the arena and bumped right into a scowling Vernon McCrimmon.

  CHAPTER 7

  “Ticket Sales to Wild West Show Performances down Twenty Percent. Buffalo Bill Announces Discounted Tickets on Sale Tomorrow.”

  St. Louis Times – April 14, 1885

  Annie’s knees went wobbly as she stared into the face of her former abuser.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Thought I’d see me a ro-de-o circus.” Spittle seeped out from the corner of McCrimmon’s mouth. “Buck is slowing down, girl, and you weren’t up to your usual snuff today.”

  “You’ve been following me?”

  “Might be. Can’t find no work. Got nothin’ better to do but hobo around.”

  “But . . . your wife? Your child?” Annie could barely catch her breath.

  “Dead. Both dead. Got sick and I couldn’t afford to get a doctor. You done took everything I ever had.”

  Annie swallowed hard and her armpits dampened, sending an icy chill through her body.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I come to get what’s mine. At the very least, Buck will make a decent meal.”

  “You can’t have him. I bought him.” Annie tried to steady her hands by placing them on her hips, wishing she had her gun belt, but she’d left it and her guns in the arena.

  “I never got payment. You got a bill of sale?”

  “I laid it on the table. You wouldn’t take it.” Her hands trembled and she tried to keep her voice steady.

  The judge had ruled Annie’s shooting of McCrimmon as self-defense, and if she agreed not to press charges for suffering abuse, McCrimmon would be forced to sell Buck to her for one dollar.

  It took a full year to nurse Buck back to health. During that year their bond solidified. Buck became part of her, and she promised him, and herself, that no harm would ever come to him again.

  She couldn’t lose Buck. She wouldn’t.

  “No transaction took place, so I reckon he’s still mine.” McCrimmon spat in the dirt. “But that’s beside the point. I’m here to ruin you like you ruined me. I told you I would make you pay for what you did, ruining my leg and my name, taking my wife and child, not to mention stealing that old two-reined widow maker.”

  The gates to the arena opened and Indians and ponies flooded out. McCrimmon grabbed Annie’s arm and pulled her to the side. LeFleur, behind the Indians in a wagon, pulled the horses to a stop.

  “Is there a problem here?” he asked, staring hard at McCrimmon.

  McCrimmon stepped away from Annie.

  “No problem. Miss Annie Oakley knows why I’m here.” McCrimmon tipped his hat and grinned, revealing brown, rotting teeth. “Have a nice evening.” He backed away from them, his unblinking eyes and hideous grimace turning Annie’s stomach.

  “You’re trembling. What was that about? Who is that man?” LeFleur jumped off the wagon and walked over to her.

  “You don’t want to know.” Annie let out her breath. She felt tears prick behind her eyelids and swallowed to keep the flood from coming. “He’s—” she couldn’t keep her voice from wavering, the emotion seeping through like a crack in a dam. Annie couldn’t speak or the dam would break.

  LeFleur pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. She let him, letting his embrace lift some of her burden. After a few seconds, he gently released her and raised her chin with his fingers. He lowered his head and pressed his lips against hers.

  Annie stood stock still, not knowing what to do. She didn’t want to offend him, but the shock of his inappropriate behavior paralyzed her. Finally, she placed her hands on his chest and pushed him away.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . take advantage.” He let go of her arms. “I was just overcome by seeing you so upset.”

  “I didn’t know you had those kind of feelings for me.” Annie felt the blood drain from her face.

  “I didn’t either. Well, I suppose I did. I just never thought I would be so impetuous.” LeFleur let out a self-conscious chuckle. “Truly, Annie, I apologize for being so forward.”

  Annie tried to sort out her emotions. She liked Mr. LeFleur, maybe more than she’d realized, but not in that way. In that moment, she realized she wanted Frank to reach out to her, hold her up when her legs didn’t have the strength—and she’d just rudely accused him, the man she . . . loved, of sabotaging her rifle.

  “That man—he upset you.” LeFleur broke her train of thought.

  “He did. But I don’t want to burden you, Mr. LeFleur.” Annie let out a shaky rush of air.

  “Why don’t you call me Derence?” He smiled and pushed a stray lock of her hair over her ear.

  “I don’t know if I can. I don’t feel—” Annie wrinkled her nose. She didn’t know how to soften the blow of not returning his feelings.

  “Again, I’m sorry I kissed you.” LeFleur raised his hands in the air, as if in surrender. “It was wholly inappropriate. You are clearly upset. Please, tell me what’s wrong. Who was that man?”

  “It’s a long story,” Annie said, suddenly feeling the need to rush to the corral. “I want to check on Buck. That’s why he’s here. Vernon McCrimmon. He wants to take Buck from me.”

  “Let’s go over to the barn together to see Buck, and you can tell me all about it.”

  As they walked toward the barn, Annie saw Buck lying flat out in his pen and Rusty Post, elbows resting on the fence, watching him. Annie ran over to them.

  “What’s the matter? Is he all right?” she asked, breathless.

  “He’s been down like this since I brought him over after your act.” Rusty chewed on a long stem of grass. “Doesn’t seem distressed, not sweating, just plain wore out.”

  In the past, Buck would lie down once in a while but never for long periods of time. Annie climbed through the wooden rails and knelt down at his head. He gave her a pathetic nicker and closed his eyes.

  “Something is wrong. He doesn’t act like this.” She looked up at LeFleur and then turned to Rusty.

  “Has he been eating?”

  “Nope, like I said, he didn’t eat this morning, but he did have a big healthy poop. His system seems to be working just fine, he just don’t have any pep.”

  Annie stroked Buck’s jowl, remembering his eyes reflecting a similar vacancy after Mr. Post
administered Twila’s herbs.

  “Have you given him Twila’s sedative?” she asked.

  “Nope.” Rusty pulled the stem of grass from his mouth shaking his head. “Twila only gave us a couple of doses, and we used that up those first few days. You might want to see if she has anything else up her sleeve to pep him up.”

  But could Twila be trusted again? Annie and Twila’s relationship hadn’t improved—in the least.

  “What about the Chief? I’ve heard he has medicine,” she said.

  “Yep, but only for human folk, only for some things. Twila’s your best bet.”

  “Oh, my God.” A horrible thought entered Annie’s mind. She lifted her hand to her mouth in horror.

  “Annie?” LeFleur climbed through the fence to kneel at her side.

  “McCrimmon . . . that man.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to cry. “He said he was here to ruin me. He threatened to take Buck. Maybe he wants to—”

  “What in Tallahassee are you talking about, girl?” Post asked.

  “Have you seen any strangers walking around the barn?” LeFleur asked.

  “Mr. LeFleur, you know I never leave the horses unattended.” Rusty straightened his spine, offense written on his leathery face. “I’ve been here all day. I ain’t seen any strangers.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to keep an extra eye out now. I think this fellow is just trying to scare Annie, but we can’t be too careful.”

  “I’ll have the boys put in some more hours,” Post said. “Don’t you worry, Miss Annie. We’ll take good care of your friend.” He secured his hat back on his head and gave her a reassuring nod.

  “I’m supposed to ride Buck in the act tomorrow.” Annie looked up at LeFleur.

  “Do you think he’ll rally by then, Post?” LeFleur asked. “We’re expecting a sold-out crowd.”

  “Don’t know. Even if he does rally, he probably needs to rest his bones for a few days, least till we find out what ails him.” Post pulled a dirty hanky from his pocket and wiped his face.

  Annie lifted Buck’s head and let it rest in her lap. Buck blinked his eyes contentedly and let out a big sigh laced with a groan.