When The Heart Beckons Page 18

  “No, that’s not it at all,” she heard herself confessing. The truth poured out of her like spring sap from a maple, clear and pure and untainted. “I care about you, Steele. I don’t know why, but I do. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. When I thought that Red Cobb might shoot you down, I ... had to do something else. I had to protect you!”

  Astonishment slammed through him. She wanted to protect him. He couldn’t quite comprehend it. A variety of emotions bombarded him: amazement, wonder, amusement, and a kind of awe. No one had ever wanted to protect him from anything before. People wanted to hire him, to pay him to put his life on the line to protect them or their property, to watch him square off against their enemies and win but ... protect him?

  His hands captured her wrists and tightened around them without his even realizing it. “I’m touched, Miss Brannigan, but you shouldn’t have done that.” He spoke gently, and gave her a weary smile. But his blood was heating up as he studied the pertly enchanting face before him, and he lost himself in those earnest, soul-searching gray-green eyes. “I’m going to have to face Red Cobb sooner rather than later, and it would have been better to get it over with.”

  “Maybe you won’t have to,” she breathed. She moistened her lips, and he resisted the impulse to stare at the full, sensuous lower lip. “Maybe we’ll find Brett and convince him to head home before Red Cobb has time to retrace his footsteps and catch up to us. Maybe—”

  “Maybe I should just go on over to the local saloons and the other hotel in town and see if I can find Mr. Cobb right now.”

  “No!”

  “Yes.” He let go of her deliberately and stepped back. It took all of his self-control to move away from her, to keep his tone level and his expression careless as she stared at him with raw panic which wrenched strangely at his heart.

  “Have a little faith in me, Annabel.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t do this, but if you must, I’m going with you.”

  “The hell you are.”

  She dodged past him and grabbed up her reticule. When she started to march toward the door, he grasped her arm, took the reticule from her, and tossed it onto the bed.

  “If Cobb sees the two of us together, he’ll know that story you gave him was phony and that you and I are working together. Then, supposing he does kill me, where will that leave you? And Brett? Cobb’ll be on to your trick, and you’ll have to answer to him, and that puts Brett in more danger. No, this way, if something happens to me, and I’m not saying it will, Cobb won’t know that you bamboozled him—he’ll ride on to Prescott in the morning just like you planned—assuming he bought your story—and you’ll have a nice head start. So you’re staying here and that’s that.”

  It made sense. She hated it, but it made perfect, indisputable sense. She nodded miserably and watched him stride to the door. How could he look so calm, so nonchalant? A lump of fear choked her throat.

  “Steele.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Be careful.”

  He laughed, and suddenly the familiar harsh glinting light was back in his eyes. Even his stance was different: alert, all concentrated energy and tension, a sharp-eyed menace radiating from his powerful shoulders down to his lean, muscular thighs.

  “You can’t get rid of me that easily, sweetheart. I’ll be back.”

  And he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him.

  * * *

  Annabel paced back and forth across the threadbare carpet. She turned up the lamp, picked up her derringer, set it down again. She watched from her window, saw him cross the street, and enter the Half Moon Saloon. Her heart seemed ready to burst into a thousand pieces.

  If anyone can outdraw Red Cobb, Steele can, she told herself. She remembered the ease and swiftness with which he handled his guns, how he had cut down the Hart brothers and those cutthroats in the brakes. But this time, facing Red Cobb, felt different.

  You know him now. You care about him. That’s the difference.

  It seemed an eternity since he had entered the saloon. She braced herself for gunfire, for the doors to fling open and Steele and Cobb to plunge out, facing each other in the darkened street. When at last the doors did part and his tall, broad-shouldered figure emerged alone and strode up the moonlit street, she gasped with relief. But a moment later she lost him in the shadows and whirled away from the window in frustration, wondering with cold sinking fear if she would ever see him again.

  The moments dragged by. There was no sound from the street, only the occasional whinny of a horse, and now and then blaring piano music and drunken laughter floating in from the various saloons. Annabel went to the yellow-quilted bed and sank down upon it. Her legs felt too weak to hold her. She clutched the pillow to her chest, her fingers digging into the lumpy softness as she said a silent prayer and stared at the unmoving curtains.

  And waited.

  * * *

  The knock came nearly an hour later.

  She threw open the door and saw him leaning nonchalantly against the frame.

  “No dice. Looks like Cobb made tracks right after you sold him on your story. I checked every saloon and hotel. He’s gone.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Relief wreathed her face. Her knees felt weak as she reached out impulsively and grasped his hand, dragging him into the softly lit room. “I’m ... so glad. You have no idea how worried I’ve been!”

  Steele stared down at her slender fingers, wrapped tightly around his. Then she saw his glance slide past her, to the bureau, and knew he was looking at the photograph of Brett.

  Slowly, deliberately, he pulled his hand free. “Well, now you can tuck yourself into bed and get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” she murmured, suddenly flustered. “I certainly can. And I will. I’ll do just that.” The danger was over. Steele was fine. Stop behaving so foolishly. Suddenly mortified at her own excessive joy in seeing him, Annabel covered it with a brisk little shrug, then stepped back, putting an extra safe little space between them. “I remember that we’re leaving at first light,” she said quickly. “Don’t worry, I’ll be ready.”

  “You’d better be or I’ll have to ride without you.” The warning glance he threw her was cool and impersonal. He was already turning away, she noticed, with a heavy heart. “Let me know if you change your mind about going in the morning. I have a hunch things are about to start happening fast as thunder and lightning, and when they do, it won’t be pretty.”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it.”

  He tipped his hat to her, a mocking gesture that made her ache inside. An empty coldness stole over her. There was a wall between them again, a fortress-thick, impenetrable wall. The knowledge left her desolate.

  She closed the door and leaned against it, searching for the reason she felt this way. She should be thinking about Brett, about what she would say to him, how she would talk him into going back with her, and whether or not he might finally realize how much they belonged together.

  They did belong together. She’d always known that. Now it was time for Brett to realize it too.

  So why was she thinking of Roy Steele as she brushed her hair? Why did his cold, handsome image swim vividly into her mind as she turned down the lamp and crawled into bed in the darkness. Why did she shiver and long for ... for what?

  His touch? His kiss? His slow, weary smile?

  You’re tired, she told herself. No, exhausted. And confused. Don’t think about it anymore tonight.

  Yet she lay in the bed and stared at the shadows on the ceiling, trying to drown out the whispering voices in her heart.

  Chapter 15

  The canyons shimmered with heat. Squinting up at the cobalt sky, Annabel thought that never before had any sky looked as big and bright and vibrant as the one stretching over the glorious red sandstone mesas of New Mexico.

  It was midafternoon and they’d been riding hard since dawn. But as she and Steele plunged up the roa
d that the blacksmith in Skull Creek had said led to the Rivers ranch, a strange exhilaration flowed through her.

  Annabel had lost track of how many days they’d been traveling. She only knew that the land was beautiful and fierce, with its striking desert cacti, its white and purple sage, its mesquite and yucca. At sunset the scattered mountain ranges loomed like giant purple ghosts rising out of a mystical dream. By daylight, sun, sky, plains, and mesa formed an ever-changing landscape that took her breath away. A strange sense of destiny had overtaken her, and at this moment was more powerful than ever. She would find Brett—and it would be today. Within the hour. He was guarding the Rivers ranch at the end of this road, and she would actually see him before the day was done.

  The journey with Steele had been strained ever since Silver Junction. The gunslinger had withdrawn in every way, treating her like a stranger. He spoke only when it was necessary to communicate something to her about the trail, or the weather, or when they would make camp. But he avoided looking at her, and touching her, and even when they camped for the night and settled down to supper at the same campfire, he kept all conversation to a minimum and by his very aloofness forced her to do the same.

  Annabel wished she could read his mind. But his impenetrable mask of detachment was firmly in place and she’d found no way to breach it during any of the long, hard-riding days. Even at night, when the stars bloomed like icy white flowers in a sky of midnight blue, and the mountains loomed like dark foreboding giants all around them, and the land rustled with badgers and snakes and coyotes, wild things hunting their prey beneath the ghostly moon, he removed his bedroll as far from hers as the camp would allow, offered a curt “good night” and plopped his hat over his face before Annabel could do more than murmur a reply.

  Silence. Coldness. An empty companionship like that of strangers sharing a train was all that lay between them as they rode long hours and days into the heart of New Mexico.

  Yet, every time they accidentally touched, when his hand brushed hers as they passed a pan of biscuits back and forth, or when she stumbled into him, as she had once while gathering twigs for the campfire, a hot current seemed to leap between them.

  This distance, this polite estrangement, was much preferable, she told herself. Close contact with Roy Steele was too much like tampering with fireworks—and besides, it made her feel guilty—guilty about Brett, and the love she’d nourished for years and years. It also made her feel as if she was not concentrating enough on her assignment for Mr. Stevenson. She needed to think, to be alert, and sensible and professional. If she’d let herself, she could have given her senses over to the breathtaking panorama of rugged New Mexican countryside, to the sweet kiss of the wind as it rippled along the mesas, and the cool beauty of the moon sailing overhead as she and Roy Steele shared quiet nights under the stars. She could have exulted in the magnificent beauty that enveloped her, in the awe inspired by her surroundings, and in the companionship, however distant, of the enigmatic man who shared her days and nights—but she did not let herself. She kept forcing her thoughts ahead, to Brett, and to Ross McCallum, trying in vain to work out the pieces of the puzzle.

  “There it is.” Steele halted the bay on a slight rise overlooking the sage green valley. Set far back beneath twin mesas, an adobe dwelling seemed to rise out of the earth. It was flanked by several outbuildings and corrals, and looked to be a large and comfortable ranch. “Pretty isolated,” Steele commented. “And it looks unprotected. Wonder why someone wants it so bad the owner had to hire outside men to keep it safe.”

  “And where are the men doing that?” Annabel asked anxiously. “Where’s Brett?”

  Steele was scanning the countryside, his gaze studying the nooks and crannies of the tall rocks that formed a ledge overhanging the road. He spoke to Annabel in a low tone. “If it were me, I’d be hiding up there in those rocks somewhere, waiting to pick off anyone making an approach to the ranch. Let’s ride on down and see what happens.”

  “Wait a minute.” She straightened her sombrero. “I’m not sure I like this plan. What if they shoot first and ask what our business is later?”

  “Then we’d better hope they miss.”

  He spurred the bay forward down a steep, stony path following the contour of the rise, and Annabel followed, her gaze trained uneasily on the gray crevices above. Steele was a cautious man, she acknowledged to herself, and shrewd in the ways of this untamed territory. If he felt it safe to continue, she knew she should trust his judgment, but the unnerving sensation that she was being watched prickled her skin and made her glad that she had an extra rifle at her side. The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose as she and Steele trotted beneath a particularly thick overhang of rocks, and for a moment, the sun was blotted out.

  Then a shot rang across the towering boulders, echoing like cannon fire.

  “Hold it right there! Don’t move or you’re dead! We’ve got you covered!”

  Steele yanked Dickens up short. Annabel did the same with Sunrise, her heart in her throat.

  But she wasn’t fearful now. She was joyous, for she would recognize that voice anywhere. It was thicker, hoarser, than she remembered, but it was the same. It was Brett’s voice.

  A shaggy-haired, dark-garbed figure emerged from behind the rock directly above them. He had a rifle trained on Steele as he clambered down, all the while keeping the gun leveled. His hat shadowed his face, but Annabel could make out the familiar lean shape of the jaw, now covered with dark stubble.

  Roy Steele had obeyed the summons to remain still. He waited, watching, as Brett clambered lower, finally halting on a rock just above where the horses had paused.

  “Who are you?” Brett called sharply, and then, as he focused in on Annabel, his mouth fell open.

  “Annabel?”

  “Yes, Brett, it’s me,” she chimed out happily, nearly breathless with excitement. “I’ve been searching for you all over Arizona—I’ll explain it all, but first, here’s Roy Steele, he’s been looking for you, too. We want to ...”

  “Steele?”

  “Yes, Roy Steele. He’s come to help you ...”

  “Why?”

  Annabel faltered at the wary suspicion in Brett’s voice. He seemed so different, not at all like the carefree, high-spirited friend who had sneaked into Gertie’s kitchen with her in the middle of the night on more than one occasion to raid the pantry. He seemed tense, high-strung, and very ready to shoot Steele at the slightest provocation.

  She went on quickly, “Put the gun down, for heaven’s sake. What’s the matter with you? Steele owes you a favor, and he heard you were in some trouble with Red Cobb and he wanted to—”

  “I’ve never met him before in my life.”

  A dull roar pounded through Annabel’s ears. She turned white. “What?” Sharply, she turned her head to stare at Roy Steele. He hadn’t moved, but sat perfectly still and at ease, his hat half hiding his face. To all appearances cool and unperturbed, he silently watched the young man who was pointing the rifle at his chest.

  Brett’s eyes narrowed. He was sweating, his blue and green plaid shirt sticking to his chest and arms, but for all his uneasiness, he glared ferociously at the tall, broad-shouldered rider, regarding him with angry suspicion.

  “Annabel, ride over here to the other side of these rocks. Get away from him—now.”

  “But ...”

  Suddenly, the truth hit her. Roy Steele had lied to her, lied about knowing Brett, about Brett having done him a good turn, about his reason for tracking Brett McCallum all over two territories. And she had believed him, bought his phony story, and practically escorted him right to Brett’s feet.

  He was in cahoots with Red Cobb—he wanted to kill Brett, too.

  She whirled Sunrise about and fumbled for the derringer in the pocket of her skirt. “Liar!” she gasped, hardly able to speak for the agony surging through her, filling her with blind, sickened rage. “Bastard! Everything you told me was a stinking lie!”

&nbs
p; “Get away from him, Annabel!” Brett shouted again, but before she could move, Steele spoke in a quiet tone.

  “Brett. It’s me.”

  Brett froze as those three softly spoken words seemed to echo and tumble through the wall of boulders. His grip on the rifle slackened, and he almost dropped it.

  He leaned forward, staring hard.

  “Cade?” His skin turned ashen beneath its bronze tan and stubble. A muscle twitched wildly in his jaw. “No, no, it can’t be,” he muttered, half to himself. Then, hope squeaking into his voice: “Is it? Cade—is it ... you?”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  Steele’s dark, brawny figure blurred before Annabel’s eyes, then regained focus. She gave her head a dazed shake, trying to take in what she’d just heard.

  But Brett needed no more time to react. He leaped down from the rock, tossed the rifle into the grass, and threw himself toward the man on the horse.

  At the same time, Steele slid out of the saddle and opened his arms to his brother.

  They embraced tight and hard. Annabel watched in soundless incredulity as Brett wept, alternately shaking and hugging the older brother whom he hadn’t seen in thirteen years.

  “How did this happen? How did you find me ... and you’ve hooked up with Annabel! I can’t believe this.”

  “Well, your betrothed needed an escort and I figured you needed someone to save your reckless hide.”

  “Betrothed?”

  If before, Annabel’s world had seemed to blur and spin, now it stood still. Rooted in the saddle, the reins clutched limply in suddenly frozen fingers, she felt her heart sinking all the way down into her kneecaps. Brett threw her an astonished and richly amused glance.

  “Betrothed?” he repeated, grinning, and shook his head. His very expression drove a stake into her heart. “Annabel, have you been making up stories again?”

  Roy—Cade—spun toward her. “Making up stories?” he demanded. The words were bitten out in a deceptively even tone that was as comforting as a cobra’s hiss. “Do you mean that the two of you are not engaged to be married?”