Annie's Song Part 1

ANNIE'S SONG.

Catherine Anderson.

Annie couldn't imagine why Alex was so upset. He looked ominously angry; initially she'd believed he was furious with her.

But no ... Gazing up at him, she saw dark shadows of regret in his eyes, and she couldn't believe that emotion like that could be feigned. The grip of his hand on her chin was incredibly gentle, the caress of his thumb over her mouth so light it made her skin tingle.

Past experience warned Annie to be wary. But another part of her wanted desperately to believe in this man. Maybe it was the gentleness with which he touched her or the remorse she read in his eyes, or perhaps she was just tired of feeling afraid.

She only knew that the warmth of his strong fingers on her skin made her feel safe. Wonderfully safe.

To our wonderful son John and his lovely new wife, Deanna. May G.o.d, in His goodness, bless you with a future filled with joy, laughter, and wishes that come true.

Prologue.

HOOPERVILLE, OREGON.

SUNDAY, APRIL 6, 1890.

When he was sober, Douglas Montgomery was bearable to be around, but when he drank, Alan Dristol was afraid of him.

Why, Alan wasn't certain. As far as he knew, Douglas had never done anything truly vicious to anyone. But even so, Alan couldn't shake the feeling that he might.

It was an unsettling thought because it forced Alan to examine his own character. If he didn't like Douglas, why did he a.s.sociate with him, let alone drink with him? It was a question Alan had asked himself a dozen times, and the answer, though unpleasant to admit, was that he was afraid to tell Douglas no. No-such a simple word. But saying it to someone like Douglas wasn't simple.

Slowing his horse's pace, Alan squinted against the bright morning sunlight to study the backs of his four companions as they rode along in front of him. Douglas Montgomery, a head taller and broader across the shoulders than the others, led the group. As though to emphasize his authority, he frequently sank spur into his gelding's flanks and continually jerked on the poor beast's reins. Observing the mistreatment, Alan felt a little sick. The gelding was well-behaved, and there was absolutely no need for Douglas to handle it so harshly.

s.h.i.+fting his gaze, Alan observed James Radwick, Roddy Simms, and Sam Peck, the other three young men who preceded him. They had been his best friends since way back when he still wore knickers, and he felt he knew them nearly as well as he knew himself. He suspected each of them feared Douglas as much as he did. What a pitiful lot they were, forsaking everything they'd ever been taught, following along behind Douglas last night like ducklings in a queue, visiting the brothels with him, then drowning their guilt in drink, only to pay the price this morning with fierce headaches. Christ. It was Sunday. Their families would be at church right now, wondering where they were. Did none of them have a will of his own?

Wheeling his mount sideways in the road to block their way, Douglas swept off his gray felt derby and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve. It was an uncommonly dry April; there had been little rain the last two weeks, and the road was dusty. He grimaced at the dirt that came away on his white cuff. "I say we sober up with a swim,"

he said with a challenging air. "Last one in is a mama's boy."

Misty Falls and their favorite swimming hole were nearby.

Scarcely able to believe he had heard correctly, Alan glanced in that direction. Douglas loved to do wild, crazy things, the more daring, the better. But coming on the heels of last night, this was too much. "A swim? Have you lost your mind? We'll freeze our a.s.ses off."

"Jesus, Alan, you're such a little mollycoddle. It's hotter than blazes out here. I'm sweating and so are you."

"Fully clothed and dry, yes, I am sweating," Alan conceded.

"But I won't be if I get in that swimming hole."

"The water in that pool is melt off from the snow in the mountains," Roddy pointed out. "It'll be uncomfortably cold, Douglas, without a doubt."

"Uncomfortably cold? Are you a man, Roddy? Or a mewling girl dressed up like one?"

Roddy's face flushed with humiliation, but he said nothing in defense of his manhood. None of them ever stood up to Douglas.

With a snort of disgust, Douglas spurred his gelding off the road and into the drainage ditch that ran alongside. Waving his derby, he let out a caterwaul as his horse sprang up the bank.

Alan looked dubiously at his three friends, knowing without asking that none of them wanted to go swimming. Sadly enough, he also knew they'd kowtow to Douglas's whim because no one had the guts to buck him.

"Well?" Roddy said.

Sam sighed. "Sometimes I wish it was just us again, that we'd never gotten involved with him."

"I'll second that," James put in.

Alan shared the sentiment, but it seemed a moot point. The fact was, Douglas had not only joined their group but had taken over. The four of them turned their horses and headed reluctantly toward the falls. As if in forewarning, the wind suddenly picked up, brisk and refres.h.i.+ngly cool on Alan's face.

Against wet skin, he knew it would feel icy.

Instead of taking the trodden path, Douglas cut through the woods to reach the swimming hole, and it was rough terrain.

Madrone, laurel, stunted oak, and twisted fir tangled together like an old woman's arthritic fingers to block the way, their stout, gnarled trunks shooting up from thick clumps of undergrowth. It was impossible to see the ground. Afraid his horse might stumble into a chuckhole and break a foreleg, Alan slowed his pace to a cautious walk. His friends, fearful of getting on Douglas's bad side if they dallied, made no such concession. The cost of a ruined horse aside, Alan felt they showed no humane regard for their mounts by pus.h.i.+ng them across such uneven ground. But he was only a follower, not the leader. Whatever Douglas insisted upon, the others did, no questions asked, their horses and everything else be d.a.m.ned.

Arriving last, Alan heard the voices of his four companions drifting back to him through the pine and fir trees. Whoops and hollers. Despite his resentment of Douglas, he smiled, imagining Sam, Roddy, and James leaping naked into the freezing water. Crazy fools. They'd get pneumonia for this day's work, and all only to humor Montgomery. Blast the Montgomerys. Blast their fancy house up on the hill. Blast their money. Sometimes Alan wondered if their self-appointed leader didn't come up with these outlandish suggestions just to see how far he could push them.

Breaking through the trees at last, Alan was surprised to note that no one had entered the water yet. He cupped a hand over his eyes to see what all the commotion was about and determined that there were five figures near the swimming hole, his four companions and a slightly built girl. Douglas had taken possession of the girl's shawl and was holding it beyond her reach. Typical. Any time Douglas got a chance to bully someone, he took it. Though it disturbed Alan, he supposed the teasing was harmless enough.

Then he recognized the girl. Annie Trimble, the town moron.

Though nearly twenty and well past girlhood, she cut a childish and pathetic figure in her shapeless blue frock, black stockings, and high-b.u.t.ton shoes smudged with dirt. Because his mother was a frequent visitor to the Trimble home, Alan knew that Edie Trimble tried to keep her daughter tidy, but Annie ran wild in the woods so much it was an impossible task.

His heart caught at the panicked expression on her small face as she grabbed wildly to reclaim possession of her shawl.

Because Annie frequently forgot articles of clothing in the woods, her folks were strict with her about bringing her things home. Alan knew she'd get a scolding, or worse, if she went back to the house without her wrap. Her father, the judge, didn't believe in sparing the rod, and, given Annie's affliction, he used a firmer hand with her than he ever had with his three older daughters.

Alan didn't fault the judge for that or think him cruel. A girl of Annie's limited intelligence was difficult to control, and her parents were to be commended for keeping her at home. Most people would have committed a child like Annie to an asylum.

If not for the fact that the Trimbles managed to keep the girl pretty much out of sight when they had callers, they might have been ostracized by polite society. A good many individuals found someone like Annie off-putting. Despite that, Annie's parents had not inst.i.tutionalized her, choosing instead to keep her existence obscure.

Why the Trimbles bothered, Alan couldn't say. Money was certainly no object; they could easily afford to foster the girl out, and given the judge's political aspirations, it was a wonder they hadn't done just that. Though it was a well-known fact that Annie had been of normal intelligence until a childhood fever affected her mind, there were still those individuals in town who whispered behind the Trimbles'

backs, claiming one of Edie Trimble's uncles was mad and that mental imbalance ran in their family. Talk like that could destroy a politician's credibility.

d.a.m.n it. Douglas had to know Annie didn't understand he was only playing with her. That was evident in her frantic attempts to reclaim possession of the shawl. The poor creature was several bricks shy of a full load, and anyone could see it.

The bewildered expression in her large blue eyes was a dead giveaway, not to mention the odd way she tipped her head whenever Douglas spoke to her. She clearly didn't grasp anything he said.

"Haven't we outgrown this sort of behavior?" Alan called out. "Come on, Douglas. Leave the poor girl alone."

"Saint Alan speaks," Douglas retorted. "As if you've never made sport of her?"

He had Alan there. "We've all been guilty of tormenting Annie a time or two, but that was when we were kids. Grown men don't do such things."

"Yeah. Come on, Douglas," Roddy cajoled. "Leave her be."

Douglas didn't appear to be listening. Leaning forward, he grinned broadly at Annie and dangled her shawl just beyond her grasp. "You want it, sweet thing? Come and get it, then."

As he lured her ever closer, Douglas swept his gaze over Annie's frock, which was damp, probably from the waterfall farther upstream. Everyone who lived in and around Hooperville knew that Annie had a penchant for lounging about on the rocks surrounding the falls. Why, G.o.d only knew.

The continual mist that rose off the cascading water was icy cold, but it didn't seem to discourage her, no matter the weather.

The wet cloth of Annie's dress, soft from many was.h.i.+ngs, clung to her body, revealing far more than it concealed. The feminine curves beneath were delightfully ample and unfettered. Smelling trouble, Alan swung down from his horse.

Surely Douglas couldn't be thinking what Alan feared he might be. To even entertain the notion was unconscionable.

But, then, who had ever claimed Douglas had a conscience?

To look at Douglas, one would think him to be a nice young man with his neatly trimmed, tawny hair and laughing brown eyes. He had everything going for him, money, privilege, and an impressive education from an exclusive eastern college.

But all of that wasn't enough, not for him, and it probably never would be. There seemed to be a need within him for power, a need to control others. That need had long since manifested itself with Alan and his friends and was now being unleashed on Annie.

Only Annie wasn't capable of fighting back.

Alan took one look into her bewildered blue eyes and turned on Douglas. "d.a.m.n you! She isn't right in her mind, Douglas, and you know it. Pick on somebody who can give back as good as she gets."

"Her mind may be tetched, but the rest of her is in fine form," Douglas countered. "Holy revelations, I can see her t.i.tties plain as day." Giving a low whistle that boded ill for Annie, he added, "Makes my mouth water just looking at 'em."

Alan turned to his friends for help. Hands buried in his pockets, Sam bent his head and shuffled the toe of one boot in the reddish dirt, as if he thought ignoring the situation would make it disappear. Roddy snickered, and James's ruddy face had turned scarlet. Despite their embarra.s.sment, neither seemed able to drag his gaze from Annie's bodice. Reluctantly, Alan took a quick look himself. It was true that her nipples stood out in sharp relief. To make matters worse, her skirt clung to her thighs. Disgusted with himself for even noticing, Alan tore his gaze from the forbidden. Like a cold fist, fear for Annie clenched his guts.

"Your mama's crazy, girl, for letting you traipse all over the countryside half-dressed," Douglas said softly, still dangling the shawl as bait.

"Mentally she's still a child, and not a very bright one at that," Alan reminded him in a voice gone high-pitched with anxiety. "I'm sure her mother dresses her that way because she runs about in the woods so much. She trusts in the common decency of anyone who may encounter her, and rightly so. She isn't fair game, Douglas, and you know it. Give the girl her shawl and let her go home."

"I'll give it to her," Douglas a.s.sured him. "All she has to do is come and get it. Come on, love. Come and see Douglas."

Clearly oblivious of the carnal bent of her tormentor's thoughts, Annie lunged for the garment. The instant she came within his reach, Douglas caught her around the waist. She didn't scream, but the terrified little panting sounds she made seemed even worse. Alan's stomach lurched. He didn't like this. He didn't like it at all. The expression on Douglas's face was evil. Evil and cruel. His whiskey-colored eyes gleamed with unholy excitement.

Alan stepped forward. "Let the girl go, Douglas. I mean it."

"Girl?" His prey ensnared, Douglas discarded the shawl to press his hand over Annie's well-rounded posterior. Judging by the way his fingers sank in, the bite of his grip was deliberately cruel. "You're blind, my friend. No girl this, but a woman fully grown."

With a low laugh, he tried to steal a kiss. Shoving ineffectually at his shoulders, Annie, her sable hair hanging in silken tangles down her slender back, her eyes clouded with confusion, managed to arch her back and avoid his mouth.

Douglas settled for nibbling along the column of her throat.

"d.a.m.n, she's sweet," he murmured as he claimed a handful of breast with the same biting grip he had used on her backside.

Rage surged through Alan. He'd be d.a.m.ned if he'd stand aside and watch the girl be hurt. This had gone far enough. He curled a hand over Douglas's well-muscled arm. "I said let her-"

Whatever else Alan meant to say was cut short by the flash of a knife. He stared in mute astonishment as Douglas released Annie to a.s.sume a fighting stance and threaten him with the weapon, which seemed to have come out of nowhere.

"Don't you ever interfere with me," Douglas warned with deceptive softness.

Alan's knees nearly buckled at the thought of that blade ripping open his middle. His only consolation was that in his anger, Douglas seemed to have forgotten Annie. Alan wanted to yell at her to run but knew that if he did, Douglas would remember what he had been about and grab her. He could only hope Annie had enough sense to flee of her own accord.

"Come on, Douglas. You're drunk," Alan observed shakily.

Run, Annie. Get the h.e.l.l out of here! Alan felt sweat trickling down his spine. From the corner of his eye, he saw Annie casting about frantically for her wrap. Her breath came in shallow little pants, the sounds like those of a mewling kitten. She was obviously afraid and wanted to get away. But she wasn't about to leave without her shawl. With a sinking sensation, Alan realized that, to her, the wrap was of utmost importance. If she returned home without it, her father would punish her. The poor thing didn't comprehend the extent of the danger she was in. No surprise, that. He doubted any other man had ever even looked at her l.u.s.tfully, let alone laid hands on her. She couldn't antic.i.p.ate something beyond her experience. In that moment, Alan's definition of the word innocence took on new meaning, Annie its epitome.

Fixing his attention on Douglas, Alan decided to try to reason with him. If nothing else, he might at least gain some time for Annie. "Just calm down, Douglas. You don't want to run afoul of the law, do you? Mess with an idiot girl, and you sure as h.e.l.l will. She's old Judge Trimble's daughter, for Christ's sake. Retired or no, he'll see you hang by your b.a.l.l.s from the flagpole on Main if you touch her."

"How will he know? She can't tell, remember?"

Because it was inarguably true, the observation made Alan's blood run cold. Annie couldn't talk. Even if she recognized them, she probably didn't know their names and couldn't repeat them if she did. He dared a quick glance in her direction and saw her tugging to free her shawl from an exposed tree root. Jesus. Her parents had trained her well. So well that she was prepared to risk her hide rather than leave that worthless length of wool behind. Alan knew Annie had borne the brunt of cruel teasing for most of her life. She had no way of knowing this time was different, that Douglas had more on his mind than simply tormenting her. Far more.

James, who'd lowered himself onto a fallen log, rose to a half crouch, his gray eyes filled with incredulity, whether at the knife or at Douglas's lurid suggestion, Alan wasn't certain.

"Surely you aren't serious, Douglas," James cried. "Whether she can tell or not, there's the moral aspect to consider."

"What moral aspect?" Douglas laughed. "You four are such namby-pambies. I don't know why I waste my time with any of you. She's probably hungry for it. h.e.l.l, she's eighteen or nineteen if she's a day. Most girls her age are already married and have a child or two. This may be her one big chance to have some fun."

Fun. The word hung in the air, ugly and discordant. Alan prayed he could hold Douglas's attention, if only for a moment. Behind him, Annie had finally tugged her shawl free.

As if he had eyes in the back of his head, Douglas reached back and caught her wrist as she turned to flee. She staggered under the force of his grip. When she saw the knife he wielded, her face drained of color. Alan guessed it had finally sunk into her dim little mind that Douglas might be truly dangerous.

Punctuating his warning to Alan with the sharp tip of his knife, Douglas asked, "Any of you want to take me on? If so, make like a frog, and hop on it."

None of them was that foolish. Douglas was capable of killing. The glint in his eyes testified to that. He continued to wave the knife, his cold smile promising reprisal should any of them challenge him. When he was satisfied no one had the courage to do so, he returned the blade to its sheath on his belt and fixed his attention on Annie. She twisted helplessly, prying at his fingers to loosen his grip.

"You can't do this," Alan cried.

"Who's going to stop me?"

Not Annie, certainly. She was a slightly built girl, Douglas a strapping six feet plus. With an agile twist of his body, he threw her to the ground, pushed up her skirts, and raped her as effortlessly as he might have a child.

One.

Holding a lantern high to light his way, Alex Montgomery strode briskly along the alley that led through the stable. The pungent odor of fresh manure blended with the dusty smell of alfalfa hay to lay heavily on the crisp night air. Nickers of welcome drifted to him from the shadowy stalls. Under other circ.u.mstances, Alex might have stopped, but he didn't have the time or inclination to hand out sugar lumps to the horses tonight.

Jerky splashes of golden light from the lantern and the quick motions of his shadow playing across the plank walls indicated the depth of his anger. Grinding his back teeth to keep from roaring, he reached the end of the corridor and kicked open the planked door to the tack room. As he hoped, his brother Douglas lay sprawled on a pile of scattered straw along one wall, one of his favorite places to sleep off a drinking binge.