A Man for Annalee Read online

  Everyone’s tongues would be wagging. She’d never be able to show her face, but she must, for she planned to open a dress shop. Her heart twisted at the memory of her da saying, “No one ever claimed life was fair, me darlin’.” How she missed his wit and quick tongue. She missed both parents, who’d died in the fire. And home—her eyes swept around the small community with its frightening open spaces and huge snow-covered mountains looming in the distance—my, how she missed home!

  “Boone, bring the little lady inside so I can examine her.”

  The marshal pivoted, his hold on Annalee still firm, and nodded at a skinny man with a fringe of gray hair.

  “All right, Doc. How’s Jake?”

  “Mary Ellen is getting him ready for surgery. He’ll be laid up for a spell, being shot in his hindquarters and all.”

  The marshal glanced at Annalee, humor dancing in his dark eyes. “See, you shot the stagecoach driver in his…”

  She clapped her gloved hand over his mouth. “Now listen here, you lack-wit, I did not shoot the driver. That gun going off was as much your fault as mine.”

  Doc Lufkin interrupted her tirade, a bemused expression on his face. “Bring her on in, Boone. I’ll take a couple minutes to see to your young lady.”

  “Coming.” Boone walked through the open gate of the picket fence that leaned toward the house as if it hated being outside. “You know, Doc, probably be a good idea if you gave her a dose of laudanum to mellow out her moods a mite. She seems wound tighter than a cheap clock.”

  Annalee made a fist. “You, sir, are an idiot.”

  Laughter rumbled deep in his chest as he carried Annalee up the steps to the weatherboard house, moving lithely and handling her as if she weighed no more than a gnat. “You better toughen up if you expect to survive out here, lil’ greenhorn.”

  Before she could respond that she detested being called a greenhorn, Doc Lufkin motioned to a room off the hallway. “Put her here in the parlor, Marshal. No need for her to see all the blood from Jake.”

  Boone placed her on the divan with surprising gentleness. “She’s all yours, Doc. I need to round up a posse before the trail gets cold.” He trailed fingertips across her cheek, an odd expression in his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed. “Take good care of her.”

  What was all that about? Annalee turned and narrowed her eyes on him as he sauntered out.

  The doctor sat next to her on the divan. “How are you feeling, young lady?”

  She shifted toward the kind-faced, elderly physician, smoothing her skirts and trying to regain a modicum of dignity. “I’m fine, Doctor, although I am most grateful for your concern.”

  “Well, be that as it may, why not let me give you a quick going over? First, would you tell me your name please?”

  “Annalee Gallagher, sir.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Allow me to examine you for signs of injury.” His fingers pressed her scalp and gently tugged the skin down below her eyes. “Are you having pain anywhere? Any headaches?”

  “Just the one that walked out that door.”

  Doc Lufkin chuckled. “Boone Hartwell walks his own path, that’s for sure. That fella has a way about him, like he can see into people’s souls. Been known to nettle folks when he feels the need.” He stuck the ends of the stethoscope into his ears. “Got a good heart, though. Takes care of everyone here in Cicero Creek, in one way or ta other.” He lifted her chin. “How did you come by this nasty lookin’ burn on your neck?”

  “In Chicago, sir. That’s where I’m from.”

  His eyes swept to hers and narrowed. “You don’t say.”

  She responded to Doc Lufkin’s caring demeanor during his examination and before she knew what was happening, she told him about the horrors and losses she’d experienced.

  From time to time, he asked her a question, but mostly he just let her talk. His sympathy was a welcome balm to her battered soul. “So you’ve come to Cicero Creek to live with your grandfather.”

  As he patted her clasped hands, he had a resigned wretchedness in the tone of his voice, and she wondered at the cause. Maybe the man was always melancholy, a by-product of his profession, perhaps. “Yes, sir, I have. I haven’t seen my grandpa in years, but I’ve written him many times. His responses were always short and to the point.”

  Her heart warmed at the memory of his terrible spelling and poor grammar. How she had cherished those letters. She’d kept them tied together with a yellow ribbon, tucked in a corner of her hope chest, another possession destroyed by the fire.

  Now, after traveling for days and enduring so much, she was finally going to set her weary eyes upon him. A week ago, she’d wired her grandfather the devastating news of her parents’ death and the loss of her home. He’d wired her money for a ticket and a one-worded response: “Come.”

  A welcome degree of hope and anticipation fluttered within and made her smile. “I’ve come to live with the only family I have left, my grandpa, Lee Tanner.”

  Doc Lufkin sighed audibly and focused sad eyes on her. “My dear child, may God have mercy on your sweet soul.”

  Chapter Three

  Annalee sat on a bed at the Maguires’ house, trying to force down the broth Cora Maguire had brought her earlier. Listlessly stirring the soup and glancing around the beautiful room, she thought of her residence in Chicago. The narrow clapboard apartment, one of several above her father’s grocery store, had been her home since she was seven. Now it was charred rubble.

  Grief had followed her to Cicero Creek as though it were a living creature, riding on her shoulder, plucking at her heartstrings, making a mournful tune that drowned the enjoyment of seeing new places and experiencing new things. Coming to Wyoming had been no escape, for more pain awaited her. Tears overflowed her eyes and moistened her cheeks.

  “How are you doing, dear?” Cora poked her head in the room. “Feeling any better?”

  Annalee swiped at tears. “I’m too tired to notice if I am or not.”

  Cora stepped farther into the room, taking the bowl Annalee held out to her. “Well, it’s no wonder. Doc Lufkin said you were running a fever. Drink this. It’s chamomile tea.” Her hostess handed her a cup and saucer.

  Annalee sipped the hot brew and wiped more tears. She’d fought to hold them back for so long. Weakened by the constant throbbing of her burns and the harrowing ride into town, being brave was currently out of her reach.

  “Now, now, have a good cry. It’s all part of grieving and coping. I should know.” Cora bustled to a highboy and opened a drawer. She returned with a lavender-scented handkerchief. “Here you are.”

  Annalee set the cup and saucer on the bed table before taking the square of embroidered linen and dabbing her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “My, my, what you’ve had to endure.” Cora twisted her own handkerchief between her hands. “We just had no clue, until Doc told us, of all you lost in that great fire. Every time I think of it, I just cry.” She dabbed at her eyes and clucked her tongue.

  “Then when you came here to be with your grandfather—the only family you have left—you find out he was buried two days ago.” She blotted her teary eyes and blew her nose in an unladylike manner. “Why, it just doesn’t bear thinking about.” Her hand flitted through the air as if to wipe the thought from her mind.

  Annalee closed her eyes, still trying to come to grips with this latest calamity. She’d lost everything and everyone. A sob escaped, and Cora enveloped Annalee in her arms. “I…I’m all alone, Mrs. Maguire.” She sobbed as if to wash away the grief with tears. “I was very close to my parents.”

  The older woman gently rocked her to and fro. “There, there, my child, you’re not alone. You’ve got Franklin and me. And once you make some friends here in Cicero Creek, life will get better, I promise you. What you need is sleep. A good nap cures most ills, I always say.”

  “I’m sorry to impose on you like this, Mrs. Maguire. I was hoping to go to my grandfather’s home today, but the doctor fe
lt I needed rest.”

  Cora plumped Annalee’s pillows. “Now, first things first. You call me Cora. Friends call each other by their first names, after all. And you are no bother. I know my Franklin is delighted that you’re staying with us. When he told you he’d be forever grateful for your bravery during the stage attack, he meant every word. And lastly, Doc Lufkin is right, you need rest to heal. Perhaps in a few days we’ll make plans to take you across the creek. There’s no rush, is there?”

  “No, there’s no rush. I have much to deliberate.”

  Cora slipped a brown bottle from her pocket. “Open wide, now. Doc says I must give you three drops of this, four times a day.” She held a tiny dropper full of amber liquid over Annalee’s mouth and squeezed the rubber bulb three times.

  Annalee shuddered over its bitter taste. “Oh, that’s awful. As I was saying, I might return to Chicago as soon as I’m able. Right now, though, I’m just exhausted.”

  “Of course you are.” Cora clucked her tongue some more and fussed with the blankets.

  The older woman was mothering her and, for just a few minutes, she accepted her attentions like a flower leaning into the warmth of the sunshine. “I feel like I can’t think a complete thought. My mind flits from the past to the present to the future and back to the past. I wish I could make it stop.”

  “Grief does that to you.”

  “You mentioned taking me across the creek. How far away is my grandpa’s property?”

  Cora sat on the edge of the bed. “Lee Tanner’s land is all around you. Think of this little town as an island.”

  “An island?” She placed her palm over her mouth to cover her yawn.

  “Yes.” Cora seemed pleased with her verbal imagery. “Cicero Creek is like a little island surrounded by your grandfather’s property. I think he decided to build the town for amusement after his wife passed away. While one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, I must say he was a strange duck, that one. Still, he didn’t deserve to die the way he did—shot in the back. Who could have done such a vile and despicable thing?” She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “I’ll be glad when the marshal makes an arrest.”

  “Doc Lufkin said grandpa hadn’t been robbed. I asked him if he knew of any enemies he might have had, but he said most people liked him, even though he was cantankerous.”

  “Yes, your grandfather would blither and bluster at the drop of a hat, but we all knew he was harmless. He was a lonely man after his wife died. Grief sometimes changes you.”

  She yawned again. “Grandma Anna. I was named after them both.”

  Cora’s face turned wistful. “We named our sons after their grandfathers. A sense of family history is so important.” She glanced at Annalee. “A large part of your family’s history is here. Before you make a rash decision to move back to Chicago, why not stay and learn some of your heritage?”

  “I don’t know.” All she knew right now was she missed home and her parents, and the pain of her loss was unbearable. Everyone and everything she knew and loved was gone. Now she was alone in a strange land.

  “Did your mother grow up here in Wyoming?”

  “Yes, she left to visit her Aunt Martha in Chicago when she turned eighteen. She met my da when she got off the stage. He was earning money transporting people and their bags from the stage depot to hotels or people’s homes. Back then that was the only kind of work he could get, being Irish. Momma said with a flash of his smile and a sampling of his Irish blarney, he stole her heart. They were married a week later.”

  Cora’s eyes widened and she pressed a hand to her ample chest. “Oh my! What did Lee Tanner say about that?” She held out her hand. “No, don’t tell me. One can only guess. Your grandfather never hesitated in offering an opinion, whether you were of a mind to hear it, or not.”

  “There were bad feelings all around, until I was born. Momma used to say I was the peacemaker, but it was her choice to name me for both of her parents that broke the angry silence. I never saw Grandpa after Grandma died, but we wrote each other often. When Grandpa heard about the fire and my loss, he didn’t hesitate to ask me to come here to live with him. Even though he was grieving himself for the loss of my mother, his only child, he reached out to me.”

  “I’m sure he loved you very much. You didn’t see Main Street as Marshal Hartwell drove the coach to Doc Lufkin’s place, but all the buildings are on one side of the street. Lee Tanner said he didn’t want to look on the backside of anyone. Said he wanted all the businesses built facing his property. He donated the land for the town of Cicero Creek.” Cora shot a glance at her. “With provisions, of course. He surely liked things done his way. Once he had plans in place for the town, he set about advertising for people to move here.”

  Annalee’s eyebrows furrowed. “Advertised?”

  “Yes, Franklin says it’s something many town developers do. They advertise in newspapers, mainly back East. My Franklin saw Tanner’s ad in the Richmond Daily Dispatch. We’d lost both of our sons in the war of the northern aggression, you see, and…well…Franklin felt the need to move to a new area.

  “I wasn’t a bit pleased with his notion to pick up and move. Fact is I fought him tooth and nail for a week.” She looked away and sighed. “I’d raised my two sons in that house on Clay Street in Richmond. The thought of leaving all those memories behind nearly broke my heart.” She expelled an anguished sigh, and Annalee patted her hand. “So, Franklin resigned from the bank he worked at in Richmond, and we left Virginia. Moving here was a big change for us, but we don’t regret it. It’s beautiful in Wyoming. I must say I enjoy the quiet. It’s been a balm to my fragile nervous system.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy here. I’m not convinced moving to Cicero Creek is right for me, with Grandpa gone. Everything has been happening so fast. Perhaps I should have thought things through a little more before I left Chicago.”

  “Truthfully, I’m glad you came. I wouldn’t have had the honor of meeting you. Besides, this town is part of your heritage. I’m sure your grandfather would want you here.” Cora shook her head and chuckled. “He’d sit on the front porch of his cabin and watch the goings-on over here. Oh, he didn’t much like being a part of civilization, but he enjoyed watching it.”

  Annalee breathed a long sigh, her eyelids getting heavy. “Will you stay with me while I nap? I…I don’t want to be alone.”

  Taffeta skirts rustled and a cool hand rubbed her brow. “I’ll be here, child. Sleep.”

  She snuggled under the blankets, wincing as the movement caused her burns to throb. Healing would come, she told herself, the physical healing, anyhow. The hollow feeling in her heart from losing her parents would take longer to heal, if it ever did. Her breathing deepened and her eyes closed.

  She had been pinning a hem on Mrs. Weston’s green silk gown when a neighbor boy, Tommy Flannery, charged into her shop, panting, eyes wide with fright. “Come quick! Your parents’ store’s burning.”

  “Emma Rose!” She called for her employee. “Take charge here! I have to go.” At Emma Rose’s nod, Annalee hurried out of her dressmaker’s shop.

  As she ran for home, black clouds darkened the sky. Before she turned the corner onto Muldoon Street, the acrid smoke was choking her. People screamed and shouted. For a moment, she stilled, gasped, and stared into a blazing nightmare.

  Building after building on her street and those on the block behind were on fire. The inferno was all-consuming, torching every building in its destructive path.

  She ran toward the building her parents owned. Intense heat seared her skin. High temperatures carried by strong winds parched her lips. Heavy black smoke blanketed the sky, blotting out the sun.

  People bolted, screaming and carrying to safety what few possessions they could hold. But where would they find shelter with the entire West Side in flames?

  Two men, evidently blinded by fear, ran into Annalee, knocking her down. She barely regained her footing when she was nearly knocked down again. Mrs. Kearn
y ran by carrying her limp, badly burned child, her hair smoldering, her arms charred, and her eyes wide with terror. Mrs. Kearny’s mouth burst open in a silent agonizing scream.

  When Annalee finally shoved her way through the crowd of frenzied onlookers, she found the large windows of Gallagher’s Market blown out from the intense heat. Flames curled from windows on all four floors of the wooden structure. She prayed there was no one inside. Were her parents safe?

  She froze in horror as the roof of her home plummeted, filling the blackened air with a deafening crash. Her ears rang at the sound of finality. Sparks and flames shot everywhere, igniting other buildings. At that moment, anguished screams pierced her shock. A neighbor was holding Annalee’s mother back, for she wanted to re-enter the building. “Rogan! Rogan! No! Dear God, help him!”

  For just an instant, her mind refused to accept what her eyes saw. Her mother’s clothes were nearly destroyed by the fire and her skin was a mass of blackened blisters. At the sight of her beloved mother, air whooshed from her lungs and pierced her heart so sharply she nearly fell to her knees. What pain Momma must be in—unbearable and indescribable agony!

  Annalee ran toward her, fighting the urge to retch at the sight and stench of her burns. “Momma! Sweet Momma, what can I do for you?”

  Her mother, eyes vacant and mouth twisted in agony, appeared nearly mad with physical pain and the emotional shock of all that was happening.

  Annalee’s eyes darted around the pandemonium. She didn’t see her father. Fear clenched her chest with its frigid fingers. “Momma! Where’s Da?”

  “He went…he went back inside to help…to help Widow O’Riley. You…you know how slow she moves.”

  Oh, no. Sweet Mary and Joseph, no! “Did he come out, do you think? Is it possible he wasn’t inside when…when…” She couldn’t say it. Nor could she see her da in the confusion. Surely if he were able, he’d come to them.