Page 74 of West Wind

Shelley glanced up at his meddling brother, who couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Annie.“So?”

“She keeps asking about you.”

Bart had never liked Thea; dislike was evident in his unusually cool voice. “When she hears that you’re home⁠—”

“She won’t hear,” Shelley said coldly. As if he didn’t have troubles enough.

Bart wore an infuriating grin. “What makes you think she won’t find out? She keeps her ear to the ground, our Dorothea does.”

“I won’t be here that long. As soon as Annie’s well, I’m gone.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. He was so damn tired.

His brother’s footsteps, moving closer, made him open one eye to look directly up into a too amused face.

“I must admit, I’m a bit envious,” Bart confessed.

Shelley closed his eye, shutting out the vision of Bart smiling down at him. “Of what?”

He opened both eyes just enough to see that Bart stared down at Annie again.

“Let’s see,” Bart said lightly. “One gorgeous blonde widow, one dark-haired beauty…”

“Wanted for murder,” Shelley added.

Bart studied Annie’s sleeping face intently. “I can’t believe she’s capable of⁠—”

“She isn’t,” he interrupted, then his eyes flew open. “Throw me that vest.”

He pointed to the leather vest that rested on the dresser, caught it with his free hand when Bart tossed it to him, drew Annie’s wanted poster from the pocket, and snapped it open.

Bart peeked at the paper. “Godawful likeness.”

“This Albert Gibson she supposedly stabbed, the one who survived. He put up the reward. Is he still here in San Francisco?”

Bart shrugged his shoulders. “There were several interviews with him in the newspapers, but I haven’t seen anything lately. I don’t know if he’s still⁠—“

“Can you find out?” He looked up at his brother.

“Sure.”

“By this afternoon?”

“Before noon,” Bart said with a grin as he quietly exited the room.

Shelley’s gaze rested on Annie’s face. He could do her one more favor before he left San Francisco. He owed her that much.

Annabelle searched blindly for Shelley’s hand, her fingers sliding over the covers that warmed her. When she found nothing she narrowly opened her eyes. A shadowy figure stood at the foot of the bed.

“Shelley?” She tried to lift her head, but it was too difficult. The man at the end of the bed moved to her side, blocking out the light from the window. A strange face smiled down at her with a familiar grin.

She could barely remember how she’d come to be in the bed. “Where’s Shelley?”

“Who?” The dark-haired man by her bed placed his hands in his pockets and leaned forward slightly. “You just rest. You’ve been very ill.”

Shelley wouldn’t leave her here! “He’s ill, isn’t he? I told him to stay away from me. I didn’t want him to get sick, too.” She tried to sit up, propping herself on her elbows before the man rested his hands hesitantly on her shoulders. “Where is he?”

“You must mean Travis.”

“No.” She frowned. “I mean Shelley.”