Part Seven

Mary was trying desperately to mind her own business as she watched the woman potter about the general store. She had only come in to purchase a new set of pencils - she was forever losing hers - but the presence of the woman who had caused such a ripple throughout the town made her stay. It hadn't taken long for the news to circulate through the small community that one of the passengers from that stagecoach crash had in fact been Ezra Standish's wife. When Mary had heard she had hardly believed it. Talking to Chris she had found out that none of them had known either. That was a little odd. Weren't they all friends?

Realising that the other woman had noticed her interested glances, Mary hurried over the counter to pay for the things she wanted. As per usual she had ended up buying more than she had intended. Going to leave, she brushed past the woman and out of sheer politeness felt the need to say something.

"Good morning, Mrs Standi-", he began before abruptly stopping, realising that perhaps that was inappropriate.

"Miss...." she correct, before remembering she didn't actually know the woman's name. She sighed in defeat, giving out an apologetic smile.

The woman smiled also, clearly not in the slightest offended by Mary's slip.

"'Annabelle' will do just fine," she said friendly.

"Mary Travis", the blonde confirmed, fumbling to manoeuvre the stack of large paper pads she was holding so she could shake the other woman's hand.

A look of recognition passed across Annabelle's features, "Of course. The lady who runs the news paper." Mary clearly wondered how she knew and so she added, "Mr Wilmington gave me a tour of this delightful province yesterday."

Inwardly Mary thought how much she sounded like Ezra, but instead asked, "And how are you finding the town?"

"Oh," Annabelle said with a sigh, "I have to say it is a little more sedate than I'm used to."

"Well," Mary returned with an almost cryptic smile, "We do have our moments."

Annabelle, remembering that Buck had told her how hard Mary had fought to make this town 'sedate', quickly added, "It's still simply adorable. Although I seem to be having difficulty finding anywhere to get a decent gift."

"Gift?" Mary enquired with a frown.

"Ezra's birthday," she replied.

Mary shifted the weight under her arm as it began to slip, "When is it?"

"Yesterday, actually" Annabelle said with another sigh as she scanned the shelves in front of her.

"Really?" Mary said with surprise, "He didn't say anything."

Annabelle smiled knowingly, "No. I didn't think he would. He's not really one for birthdays, but I try valiantly anyway. Even though he is the most impossible man in the world to buy a gift for."

"He's lucky to have someone who cares so much."

Annabelle's smile turned noticeably downcast at the sudden influx of memories.

He had only told her the date of his birthday because she had specifically asked. If she hadn't he certainly would have been quite happy to forget the whole thing. The last one they had spent together had been the best. She had forgone her usual method of trying to get him to go out and celebrate with others. Instead they had simply gone riding together for the first time in many months. Leaving the town they were residing in far behind them, they had taken a journey across the plains and into the woods. There they had lain in the long grass and watched the natural world pass them by, chatting about nothing in particular. She remembered how peaceful it had all seemed in comparison to the world of gambling halls and fast money they lived in. Ezra had said how nice it had been to let his guard down just once - to not be constantly on the look out for disgruntled losers or playing a tightly construed role in some con or another. To simply be himself was most refreshing.

The best part had rather surprisingly been the small accident she'd had when she slipped on a rock and turned her ankle. He had insisted that it would be too dangerous for her to ride alone and had made her join him on Chaucer's back. She remembered the feeling so well. One arm wrapped tightly round her waist, pulling her back into him while the other held the reigns. The way the warmth of his body had kept the cold night air away. How he had dropped the occasional soft kiss into her hair for no apparent reason. How he had whispered that he loved her at least five times.

And less than six months later it had all gone wrong.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mary apologised immediately, seeing the pain on the other woman's face. She knew what it was like to lose someone you loved. It wasn't easy however the separation happened. "I shouldn't have-"

"Would you like a hand with those things?" Annabelle asked, interrupting her. She didn't want to dwell. It was pointless and counterproductive. The past could not be changed even with the dearest wish to do so.

Mary nodded with a smile, "That would be a very kind. Thank you."

"And you can tell me all about being a journalist," Annabelle said, her bright demeanour returning once more.

Mary's smile widened, "I'm sure it's not as interesting as it sounds, but if you want...."

--

"That her?" Chris asked quietly as he and Buck sat on the boardwalk outside the saloon.

Buck looked up to see Mary and Annabelle leaving the shop opposite, chatting comfortably with one another. Hardly a surprise really. They were both a different kind of woman than was usually found in these parts. It was pretty much a given that they would gravitate towards one another.

"Yep," he confirmed with an automatic sigh, crossing his ankles the other way to prevent them from becoming uncomfortable.

Chris nodded in approval as he studied for a brief moment, "Nice looking woman."

"Yep," Buck repeated with a second sigh, "Ol' Ez sure knows how to pick 'em."

Chris noted something reflective in the man's tone. Buck was never very good at hiding his feelings when it came to the fairer sex. That was what got him in so much trouble.

"What's the matter, Buck?" the gunslinger asked, leaning back in his chair, "You ain't gonna got yerself a soft spot for the lady have ya?"

Buck chuckled, his gaze never leaving the two women until they disappeared into the Clarion, "Ah. Ya know me, Chris. Can't resist a married woman. And the way her hips move when she walks. Damn, I could just eat that up."

The light tone beguiled the sentiment, but Chris let it go. Buck would get over it the next time a pretty girl walked down the street. He always did - it was what kept him single.

"Yeah, Buck," Chris commented dryly, "I know you."

A clonking of boots on wood was heard and Ezra appeared through the batwing doors of the saloon behind them, buttoning up his green jacket. The Southerner always looked immaculate, but he somehow he seemed to have made an extra effort today. The jacket was spotless, his boots, buckle and buttons shined to perfection, the shirt looking crisp white.

"Gentlemen," he said as a greeting, "I don't suppose you would happened to have seen Mrs Standish about this morning?"

"Just went off to the Clarion with Mary," Chris said, noting the man's use of 'Mrs'. It seemed Ezra might have plans to stay a married man after all.

Considering what had gone on yesterday - the argument in the saloon and the Southerner's consequent fool mood, Chris had come to the conclusion that the lady's impromptu visit wasn't a welcome one. But when Josiah had turned up and proceeded to relay to them some of what Ezra had told him, Chris had become a little more uncertain. To be honest, he too had wondered whether or not the marriage had been part of a scheme - or at least one of convenience. Predictably, Nathan had been the one to voice that opinion. From what Josiah had said however, it was clear that Ezra did indeed love the woman. A hell of a lot by the sound of it. Which only left Chris to ponder what the gambler would do about it. The typical Ezra thing and take the easiest way out? Or would he actually work for something he wanted? Chris would have put money on the former, but again, it seemed he had underestimated the man. He could always rely on Ezra to be a constant surprise to him.

"And it's afternoon," the gunslinger added, dryly, trying to keep the tone light, "Not morning."

"Really?" Ezra asked, consulting his pocket watch, "I hadn't realise how far I'd over slept."

Chris chuckled, "As if we ain't heard that one before."

Ezra smiled back in defeat. True, he wasn't exactly known for his punctuality. Nor his love of early mornings.

"Well, if you'll excuse me I have some business to attend to." He began to walk, but stopped just in front of Buck. He glanced casually down at his shirt sleeve, pulling the cuffs into their correct position.

"And Mr Wilmington? Should you take it upon yourself to speak about my wife in such a lascivious tone again, I'm afraid I shall be forced to take action preventing you from ever enjoying the company of another woman. Do I make myself clear?"

His words and manner were both flippant, but there was no hiding their meaning. His usually easy, bright voice had become ice cold and dangerous, intent rolling from his every syllable.

Chris stayed stoic but he was shocked at the sudden viciousness. Ezra must have heard them talking before - and clearly he wasn't happy about what he heard.

Buck looked at the Southerner, judging the seriousness of the threat. Part of him fully believed that Ezra was simply having a joke with him but he suppressed the urge to laugh just in case. It was a fortunate thing too, because when Ezra finally looked up at him, waiting for a response, his gaze was filled with a dark, cold anger that Buck had only ever seen directed at the worst villains they came across.

"Perfectly clear," Buck said quietly, disturbed by the ferocity of that look.

Ezra smiled coolly, tipped his hat and walked away.

--

"So you grew up on a ship," Mary confirmed, as she started feeding paper into the printing press.

Annabelle, who was standing next to her, smiled. "I assure you, it's not as appealing as it sounds. Especially in winter. I used to get the most god-awful colds. My father ended up having to send me to live with aunt during the cold months because he was afraid I'd get pneumonia."

"It's a parent's duty to worry," Mary said returning the smile.

"Something I doubt I shall ever get first hand experience of," Annabelle said, looking almost relieved at the fact. Mary was obviously curious as to why and so Annabelle continued, "I'm not really the mothering type, and world I live in isn't fit for a child - I should know. Besides, I don't see myself consenting to a third marriage."

"You don't think there's any hope for your second?" Mary asked, when perhaps she shouldn't.

Annabelle shrugged, trying to appear casual, "He says he wants to be friends. And I can hardly make his decisions for him now, can I?"

Mary saw the pain returning and decided to steer the conversation away. "It's a pity really," she joked, "I'm sure men would find their lives much easy if they did allow us to think for them."

"Oh Lord, if only more women had thoughts like that. What a pleasant place this would turn out to be," Annabelle returned, with a small laugh. "Not many women in your situation would have taken over this business. I know how very much of a man's world we live in. It isn't easy to be respected."

"Well," she said, with that determined look she had made all her own, "After Steven died I didn't feel right allowing the paper to simply disappear. He worked so hard to make it what it was. And I've found that if you do something well, people eventually take notice whether you're capable of bearing children or not."

Annabelle shook her head with an exasperated sigh, "Men can be some contemptuous bigots when they choose to be. Unfortunately they tend to make that choice far too often."

"What would you suggest we do?" Mary asked, smiling.

Annabelle's grin became mischievous, "Why, play them at their own games of course. See how they cope."

Mary laughed at the moment the door opened and in stepped Ezra. She noticed the subtle change in Annabelle's demeanour, but said nothing.

"Ladies," Ezra said, tipping his hat, "I trust I'm not intruding."

"Oh, only in the degradation of the male gender and our master plan to quash them once and for all," Annabelle replied promptly. Unlike yesterday however, the malice in her words had been displaced by teasing.

Ezra smiled, a little bemused, "And do you plan upon instigating this revolution yourself?"

"Of course not," Annabelle said with a flippant toss of her hand, "If you're too involved, you can't sit back and watch the fun unravel."

Ezra chuckled, "Well then my dear, before you begin your attempt at dramatic social reform, why don't you and I step outside a moment and let Mrs Travis continue in her labour?"

Annabelle nodded instantly. She simply couldn't think of a smart answer or witty retort, which annoyed her sharp mind immensely. It hated to be overruled by her heart.

Bidding Mary farewell, the pair of them moved to the quiet boardwalk outside, pausing momentarily to allow a teenage boy with a bundle of letters to pass into the Clarion.

"Well?" Annabelle asked, as soon as the door closed.

Ezra looked her up and down, dryly, "Patience never really was one of your virtues, was it?"

Annabelle shrugged lightly, "Hardly surprising since I have so few to begin with. Now, what did you want?"

Her tone was forceful and demanding but she didn't seem to be in a rush to leave his company. Just impatient to see what he had in store for her now. That boosted his slightly waning courage. Ezra had often been told how charming he was, and that he had a way with all people, not only those of the feminine persuasion. Annabelle however had been one of the rare creatures that was seemingly oblivious to his lure. Or at least she was an expert at pretending not to be.

"Well," he said, his voice remaining blissfully calm and laid back, "I simply came to ask you to have dinner with me tonight."

Annabelle blinked a couple of times, clearly caught off guard. It made him wonder what she had thought he was going to demand. A divorce? That expensive wedding ring back? Well, maybe she wouldn't put it past him.

"Excuse me?" she asked, clearly flustered.

Ezra managed to keep his habitually calm expression firmly in place, "The request was quite simple. I don't see the need to repeat it." And also, he didn't want to. He'd been nervous enough the first time.

"You want me to have dinner with you?" Annabelle inquired.

He sighed in a slightly bored manner. It was easier for him if she didn't know exactly how tense he was.

"If I had known you were going to take this long to simply comprehend the proposal I would have brought a book."

The confusion turned to puzzlement, "Why?"

Now it was Ezra's turn to frown.

"The remark was entirely mordant," he explained, "I was simply implying that in the time it has so far taken for you to reach your conclusion I could have worked my way through at least three quarters of Shakespeare's' finest works."

"Not the book, idiot," she said, rolling her eyes in that infuriatingly patronising manner, "Why are you asking me to dinner?"

He was a little wounded by her suspicion, but knew it to be well founded. He wasn't exactly known for the purity of his actions. Clearly she no longer felt herself exempt from his trickery.

"Well", he explained, "Since it was you who always insisted I celebrated my birthday in some manner, leaving me a feeling of necessity to do just that, I only feel it fair that you should partake in any such festivities."

Well, that seemed a good enough reason, but still...."Just dinner?" she asked, the suspicion fading and being replaced by something warmer and a little more hopeful.

"Perhaps a game of cards or two after," he said with a shrug, "I need a challenge to keep me on my toes."

Annabelle smiled knowingly, "You just want to find out if I've learnt any new tricks."

"Have you?" Ezra asked, raising a curious eyebrow. Annabelle was a highly proficient card player. She had taught him a thing or too when they'd first met. In return he had tried to teach her how to shoot straight. While she did indeed carry a weapon on occasion, in truth her aim was terrible. At fairly close range she was quite accurate, but too far out and she'd have trouble hitting the broad side of a barn. Despite his most valiant attempts however, her aim had not improved. He had always said he would teach her to shoot if it killed him. To which she had responded, with her aim it probably would.

"You couldn't tell if I had," she said with a satisfied smile, knowing it was true, "And besides, don't you have a reputation to defend? It would be terribly embarrassing for you to lose."

Well, that was a challenge if ever he heard one.

"And you're so confident of vanquishing me?"

"My dear Ezra," she said, shaking her head, not realising how the term of endearment flooded him with a warm rush of emotion, "I know all your tells."

The warmth suddenly turned to something akin to outrage. "I don't have any tells!" he blurted, sounding most indignant at the suggestion.

"Yes, you do," she said with a smile, knowing what an affront to him that was, "And don't bother asking what they are because I have no intention of telling you."

Ezra smiled, a mite hysterically, looking a little paler.

"I don't have tells," he stated again, a little less certainly, "I know I don't."

Annabelle's smile widened even further at his evident confusion. Poor dear. She had just turned his world slightly askew.

"You do. Absolutely positively," she said firmly before adding an explanation, "People pick things up when you spend a lot of time looking at someone."

Ezra looked at sharply at her, not meaning to have such a reaction to that statement but unable to help it. She always said she enjoyed watching him play. That something about his dexterous, soft fingers enchanted her. He took an involuntary inhale of breath as the thought reminded him of more intimate memories. He quickly shook them away, concentrating on the moment at hand.

"So," he asked, sounding just a little flustered, "Do you accept?"

She looked at him carefully for a moment, clearly asking that question of herself. Then she nodded sharply. "Eight o'clock. And if you're late, I might just change my mind."

She turned on her heels and headed smartly back into the Clarion feeling ridiculously like some kind of sixteen year old debutant.

To her relief, Mary didn't question her about what he had wanted, but instead looked at her with a frown.

"You know something about business, right?" she asked.

Annabelle nodded, a little confused at the query, "Enough to get by."

"Could you read this?", Mary asked, holding out a sheet of paper, "And tell me what you think."

Annabelle took the paper and read it as requested.

"Well," she said with a shrug as she handed it back, "Behind all that jargon and nonsensically flowery sentences, it appears this is an offer to buy you out."

"That's what I thought," Mary said with an angry sigh, ripping up the offending letter, "It's the third I've had from Mr P Harper, whoever he is. He doesn't seem to want to give up."