One of her eyes is a lighter hazel than the other, he observed. He had been with her every day for the past week. How had he not noticed that until now?
“Good.” She smiled warmly, squeezing his hands. “If I thought you were gonna lose this gunfight, I’d make you call it off. Understand?”
He believed her. “Yeah. Okay.”
She really is very—
His thoughts were interrupted by Edward’s shouting. “Hey! Albert! Anna! Hi!” He and Ruth came bounding over to where they were standing.
Anna gently let go of Albert’s hands.
“They’re gonna start the sweethearts’ dance pretty soon,” Edward announced with excitement. “You guys wanna join? Oh, and how great is this band, huh?”
“Yeah, they’re fantastic,” Albert said drily. He cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted at the stage, “I just wanna point out that all your instruments were made for another purpose!”
The jolly group of musicians playing the washtub bass, the jug, the spoons, the comb, the saw, the dirt-shovel guitar, and the pie-plate banjo either did not hear him or chose to ignore the comment.
“Okay, let’s all line up for the sweethearts’ dance!” shouted the burly, red-faced master of ceremonies.
Anna did not waste any time as she grabbed Albert’s arm and yanked him toward the dance floor. “Come on!” she said eagerly.
“Oh, Jesus, no, I suck at dancing.”
“No one’ll notice; you suck at everything.” She gave him a playful wink and dragged him onto the dance floor with surprising strength.
Her enthusiasm was infectious and managed to partially cut through Albert’s layers of negativity. He felt helpless to prevent the trace of a smile that crept across his face.
The smile evaporated as he saw Foy and Louise also step onto the dance floor, dressed to the nines and holding hands.
Foy spotted Albert immediately. “Well, hello there, sheepie.”
Albert stiffened. “Hello, Foy. Louise.”
“Hi, Albert,” Louise said flatly.
She looked beautiful in a light-blue evening dress with cream-colored lace trim. But something was missing. No matter what she wore, from frilly formal attire to everyday outdoor clothing, she always had a glow about her. That glow was absent tonight. Albert realized with a jolt that this was the first time since he’d met her that it was not present. Was something wrong with her?
“Tomorrow’s a big day, isn’t it?” Foy smirked cockily. “Care for a last dance?”
Albert was confused. “With you?”
“No.”
“Oh, you mean—yeah, no, we’re gonna dance. Anna and me.”
The burly master of ceremonies spoke again. “And now to serenade us for the sweethearts’ dance, our very own Marcus Thornton!”
The owner of Old Stump’s livery stables stepped into the glow of the kerosene footlights, his bushy moustache and wild hair making him instantly recognizable from afar. Marcus was well known throughout the town as a golden-voiced lothario, and the ladies in the room perked up as the band played him on with a jaunty intro.
“Ready for terrible, weird, stiff, traditional frontier dancing?” Albert said as he and Anna took their place among the other couples.
“Thank you, friends!” Marcus Thornton called out cheerily from the stage. “And now I’d like to serenade you with a lively tune by the great Stephen Foster! This is a request tonight from my friend and yours, Mr. Foy Ellison!”
Foy flashed Albert a grin that looked as though he’d rented a couple dozen extra teeth just for the occasion, as Marcus Thornton began bellowing the song in his deep, operatic baritone:
“God,” said Albert. “I hate it here.”
Anna whispered to him conspiratorially, “Hey, what do you say I steal a bottle of whiskey and we hit the road?”
Albert’s shoulders slumped with relief. “I love that idea.”
She smiled and strode briskly across the room to the bar. “Your dick’s out,” she said to the bartender. He glanced down with alarm, at which point she grabbed a bottle from the countertop, along with two glasses. When he looked up, both woman and bottle were gone. Anna had never even broken stride.
But rather than heading back to Albert, she stopped at an empty table in the corner of the barn. She set both glasses on the table and quickly glanced over each shoulder. When she was satisfied no one was watching, she subtly removed a paper pouch from her sleeve. She emptied its contents—a small quantity of white powder—into one of the glasses. She tossed away the paper and scanned the room. Foy and Louise were seated five tables over. Anna made her move.
“Hi,” she said as she approached them. Foy looked up, bristling visibly when he saw who it was. “Listen, Albert and I are gonna split,” she continued, “but I just wanted to wish you good luck for tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” He smiled coldly.
“You’re welcome,” she countered with warmth. “So… I guess it’s weird knowing that a woman can outshoot you, huh?”
Foy leaned back, folding his arms. “If you don’t mind, my girlfriend and I are enjoying each other’s company.”
She plowed ahead. “But you know what the real kicker is? I can outdrink you too.”
Foy relaxed a bit, and she saw his confidence bubble up again. “That, I can assure you, is impossible.”
Anna flashed a mischievous smile as she held up the bottle and glasses, carefully obscuring the white powder with her hand. Without another word, she filled both glasses two thirds of the way and handed the tainted one to Foy.
She raised her glass to him. “Ten cents to the winner.”
He raised his glass in response. “Agreed.”
“One… two… three.” They pounded the whiskey like a pair of pros. But Foy finished first, slamming his glass down onto the table, victorious. Anna swallowed her last gulp and coughed as she set her empty down next to his. She frowned at it with a perfectly simulated air of abashment. “Shit,” she muttered softly, but with enough volume to reach Foy’s ears.
“Don’t feel bad,” he said with an ugly little smirk. “Alcohol doesn’t harmonize well with a woman’s frail constitution.”