When The Heart Beckons Read online

  “Brett is too modest. He not only signed on, he convinced several other men to join, too,” Conchita put in. “Without him, the fight would already be over and I would have lost the ranch by now. But even so, even with Brett and the other men he persuaded to join us, I fear it is no use. Lowry is too powerful. As many men as we run off or kill, he just sends more. We would need a small army to fight him off, an army that would have to remain for weeks, maybe months, and even then, perhaps that devil would not give up or let us be.”

  “Why does he want your land so badly?” Cade asked.

  “A good stream runs through our land—that is part of it. We have offered to share water rights, but Lowry wants to have control. And he wants to own virtually the entire valley!”

  “He’s a greedy devil,” Adelaide spat. “He already has the largest ranch in the valley, but he wants all the others as well!”

  “Most of my neighbors have already given in to him.” Conchita looked from Cade to Annabel, despair darkening her deep-set black eyes. “The bloodshed has been too costly. With the railroads now in place across so much of New Mexico, it is very profitable to ship and sell cattle. The Lowry Cattle Company wants to increase their profits by increasing their holdings. Oh, if I give him the deed, he will let us stay here and farm, and keep a small herd, but he wants our land. And that is something that, out of respect for my husband’s memory, I will not give to that hombre.”

  Brett took another gulp of the tequila, draining the last drops in the bottle. “Alec Rivers was killed a few months ago, trying to drive off some of Lowry’s men who’d been poisoning his cattle. He was determined to keep the Racing Rivers Ranch for Conchita and for Tomas.”

  “My husband came here to the valley and started this ranch ten years ago when Tomas was born,” Conchita said softly. “He loved this land. He wanted to build something here that he could pass down to his son and beyond. Alec vowed that Tomas would one day inherit this land, and live on it with his own family. But Lowry has other ideas!”

  “Well, he shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it,” Adelaide growled, her small, fierce gray eyes blazing within her wizened face.

  “Isn’t there any law here?” Annabel wasn’t sure what was disturbing her most at this moment, the unscrupulous greed of this man Lowry, or the fact that Brett was drinking so much. She’d never seen him like this before. The clean-shaven, neatly groomed, high-spirited young man she’d always known was now a buckskin-clad, liquor-drinking cowboy, unshaven and none too clean, from what she’d seen of him. But she tried to concentrate on the immediate problem facing them. “Why is Lowry permitted to kill and steal and take whatever he pleases?” she demanded, looking from Conchita to Brett to Adelaide in amazement.

  It was the old woman who answered her, beginning to rock once again. “There’s no law worth speaking of in this part of the territory, missy. Oh, there’s some U.S. marshals headquartered in Albuquerque and Santa Fe, but most of ‘em are partial to the big cattle companies and make their own brand of justice.”

  “In New Mexico,” Brett said, “if you want to protect your land and your family you have to fight—and fight harder and meaner than the other fellow. The only problem is, Lowry has got more money, more men, and more guns than everyone else in these parts put together.”

  Cade eased away from the mantel, coming slowly forward into the room. The bright sunlight flooding in the window cast amber beams across his lean, darkly bronzed face. “How many men do you have?”

  “Seven, including me. We lost two today,” Brett muttered. “They were patrolling the southern approach to the ranch earlier, trying to keep an eye out for Lowry’s men when they were bushwhacked.”

  “It is hopeless. I am beginning to see that now. It would be loco to keep fighting when we cannot win.” Conchita clenched her strong, brown hands into fists, then released them, dropping her fingers loosely to her sides. “I am sorry for Tomas, and for you, Adelaide, but we cannot hope to withstand them much longer. What good will the land do us if we are all dead? And that is what will happen next time. I do not think Señor Lowry will have much patience left after the beating his men endured today.”

  “To hell with his patience. I say there’s only one way to end this.” Cade stared at her with cool hard lights glinting in his eyes. “We don’t sit here like wooden ducks at target practice. We attack.” He spun toward his brother. “You’re Ross McCallum’s son. You know what he would advise. Tell us.”

  Brett’s skin turned ashen. A strange look darted into his eyes as they met his brother’s, then he glanced quickly away. “Don’t ever mention that name to me again.”

  Annabel started. “Brett!”

  He ignored her, and with an effort of concentration, returned to the subject at hand. “Without mentioning his name, I know exactly what he would do,” he grated out, his voice hard and bitter. “He would destroy Lowry. Face him down, and outwit or outmuscle him. Whatever it took.”

  Cade nodded. “Exactly.”

  “And now since you, big brother, the famous gunfighter, have joined our meager ranks, we just might be able to pull it off.”

  “What are you talking about—what are you going to do?” Annabel didn’t at all like the way this conversation was going. It sounded entirely too dangerous, for both Brett and Cade. Of course, Cade McCallum could take care of himself, she reminded herself, but still a knot of apprehension twisted inside her as she envisioned him riding out of here with Brett to perform some hopeless act of bravery that would probably get them both killed.

  She realized that Cade was staring at her, and knew he saw her panic. It was impossible to penetrate beneath the black mask of his eyes. If he was touched by her concern, he certainly didn’t show it.

  He deliberately shifted his glance to Conchita. “What did you say about a fiesta tonight, Señora Rivers?”

  “Señor Lowry is hosting a fiesta at his ranch for everyone in the valley. I think it is his way of showing off his wealth, and making it clear to all that he is the boss of this valley. But why do you wish to know?”

  “Are you and your family invited?”

  “Yes, everyone for miles around has been invited. But never would I go to the hacienda of the man who killed my husband ...”

  “You are going.”

  Conchita shook her head. “Señor, are you loco?”

  “You are going, and you are bringing guests.”

  Brett started to grin. Conchita bit her lip. “What will you do at this fiesta, Señor McCallum?”

  “With any luck, kill Lowry and anyone trying to back him up.”

  “No!” Annabel jumped up. She kept her voice level with great effort. “You’ll be in his house. Among all of his men. It’s too dangerous. There must be another way.”

  “It’s the only way.”

  Conchita covered her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “Dios, perhaps I should just hand over the deed ...”

  “The hell you will.” Brett surged to his feet and straightened his shoulders. “I think it’s a fine idea. If you’ll let me help,” he told Cade purposefully.

  “If you can shoot straight, you can help.”

  Tomas stared up at the gunslinger, his dark eyes shining with admiration. “I want to help, too. Will you let me come?” he asked. “I want to fight the men who killed my father.”

  Brett gave a short laugh. “You’re too little, Tomas,” he said, tousling the boy’s hair. “When you’re grown there will be plenty of time to fight. But now you’d only get in the way.”

  Annabel saw the hurt flash into the boy’s eyes. He peered downward quickly, his cheeks flushing, but Brett didn’t notice. He had already turned away, crossing to a table near the mantel, where several bottles of liquor and some glasses stood. He poured whiskey into a glass and took a long swallow.

  It was Cade who approached the boy and put a hand on his shoulder. He spoke in a low, firm tone. “I have an important job for you to do tonight, Tomas. You must come to the fiesta with us, and
be on guard, ready to run with a message when I need you. Do you think you can stay up late at the fiesta and be quick and silent?”

  “Si, señor. Of course.”

  Eagerly, the boy nodded, his small hands clutching his block of wood.

  “Good. Then I’ll give you your instructions later.”

  The boy nodded again, this time a small proud smile curving the edges of his mouth. He beamed at his mother with pride.

  Cade turned to Conchita next. “I doubt they’ll be back today. Lowry will lick his wounds, and want to rethink his strategy before coming at you again—he won’t want to risk another failure. My guess is he’ll wait until after the fiesta to make his next move. By then, we’ll have taken care of him. But just in case, I think you should have all your remaining men on guard tonight against a surprise attack during the fiesta. Only as a precaution,” he said as her face blanched. “My hunch is Lowry will wait—he’ll want to figure out a surefire plan, something that will end your resistance once and for all.”

  “That makes sense. But just in case, I will order the men to keep watch as you said. You are very kind to lend us your help, señor.”

  “I don’t like bullies, Señora Rivers. Never have,” Cade muttered shortly. He turned and looked at Brett as he continued to speak to her. “If you’ll excuse us, my brother and I will step outside for a spell. We have some catching up to do.”

  “Oh, no, you must visit here and make yourselves comfortable,” Conchita protested, jumping up and glancing quickly at her son and mother-in-law. “Come, let us go into the kitchen and prepare some food for our guests. Brett and Señor McCallum and Señorita Brannigan must have some privacy.”

  But Cade held up a hand. “No, señora. I prefer to talk outside. Just the two of us,” he informed Brett, as Annabel took a step toward the door.

  He might just as well have slapped her. Annabel’s cheeks burned. I have as much right to discover why Brett left home as you do, she fumed, and took a deep breath to keep from exploding. More, actually, because where have you been these past thirteen years? I’ve been there, with Brett, as his companion, his friend. Besides that, she knew him better than Cade did, and probably cared far more about him.

  Not to mention the fact that Ross McCallum and Everett Stevenson have given me a job to do. And I’ve given my word that I won’t fail.

  True, she had found Brett, but until she could ascertain what had gone wrong between him and Ross, she would not be able to persuade him to come back, and only then would her mission be successfully completed.

  Besides, she wanted more than anything to bring about a reconciliation between Ross McCallum and his son. No matter what had happened, Ross didn’t deserve to be deserted now. With his health failing and his business empire in danger, he needed support. He needed Brett—and maybe, Annabel thought, a renegade idea rolling into her brain—just maybe he needed Cade, too.

  “You would like to leave me behind, wouldn’t you, Mr. Steele?” she asked coldly. “You’ve been trying to do that ever since Justice—unsuccessfully, I might add. Brett,” she said, turning toward him with an immutable look, “if it’s all right with you, I’d like to come along for this conversation. I have many questions, and there are events going on back home which you should know about.”

  She heard Cade’s quick, angry intake of breath, but she ignored him and kept her gaze trained on Brett.

  “I don’t want to know one damned thing about home,” Brett muttered. But he held out his hand to her. “Still, you’re always welcome, Annie. You know that. Besides, I want to hear all about how the two of you found me—and why in heaven’s name you’re traipsing halfway across the country after someone who doesn’t deserve so much effort.”

  “Yes, you do.” Annabel clutched his hand and studied him anxiously. “You deserve that and more.”

  “No. I disagree!’ His shoulders slumped. Suddenly, he started toward the liquor table, pulling her with him. “Better bring along a little refreshment in case we get thirsty ...”

  But Cade stepped into his path. “I think you’ve had enough.”

  Brett glared at him with slowly building wrath. “Who the hell asked you, big brother? You’re not in charge of my life. Get out of my way.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “To hell with you,” Brett exploded.

  Cade’s expression remained cold as stone. “Let’s step outside now—without the liquor. You need a clear head for our discussion, and also for what’s in store tonight.”

  “My head is clear, damn you!” Brett let go of Annabel’s hand, his mouth thinning to a cold, hard line. He took a step forward, his fists clenched, ready to shove Cade aside, but Annabel quickly seized his arm.

  “Brett, please, listen to him. He’s right.” She saw that Conchita, Tomas, and Adelaide had all paused on the way to the kitchen, their faces tense with worry as they watched the angry interchange. But they hurried on as Annabel intervened, leaving the three alone in the quiet, pretty parlor.

  “You’ve been drinking ever since we stepped foot inside the ranch,” Annabel said quietly. “I’m worried about you. Come outside now and let’s talk.”

  For a moment, rage blurred his features and he seemed about to lash out at her. But as Annabel continued to meet his gaze with earnest concern, the flash of anger faded.

  “All right, Annie,” Brett mumbled. “For you. Let’s go outside.”

  Stillness hung over the valley as Cade led the way a short distance from the ranch house and corrals. He headed toward a clump of piñóns set well back from the ranch. No one spoke a word, but Annabel glanced around the secluded area, noting the series of gray buttes that rose behind it, and the yucca and forget-me-nots interspersed among the nearby cottonwoods. She sank down upon the round stump of a tree and glanced swiftly back and forth between the McCallum brothers. She sensed Cade’s anger, held so carefully in check, but she wasn’t sure what had caused it. Was it Brett’s drinking? Or her joining their discussion?

  Possibly both, she concluded with a tiny sigh.

  And then there was Brett’s strange, dark mood, all the things he’d said about his father and his home, and his constant need to drink. Something was even more wrong here than she had thought.

  Well, she decided, tilting her head upward for a moment toward the heated rays of the sun, and offering a quick silent prayer for guidance, it’s high time to find out what it is.

  “Brett,” she murmured, as the two men continued to stare at each other, both, she guessed, uncertain how to begin. “It’s obvious that something terrible must have happened to cause you to run away from home and from your father without any word the way you did. But it can be fixed, whatever it is, I’m sure of it. Will you tell me about it? Please, maybe I can help.”

  “No one can help, Annabel.”

  “Let me try.”

  He began to laugh, but not his familiar easy, joyful laugh. This sound made her wince. “My sweet, adorable Annie. Always trying to solve the mystery, to fit the pieces of the puzzle exactly in place. But you see, that’s the problem. I solved the mystery—I know the answers. And that’s why I can never go back.”

  “What mystery did you solve?” she asked softly, her gaze fixed on his strained, bitter face. She had a feeling something terrible was coming, and cast about in her mind for what it could possibly be. But she had no clue. Her palms were damp with sweat and she wiped them on her riding skirt as she waited for his response. Cade said nothing, merely leaning against a tree, but he watched his brother’s face with tense anticipation.

  Brett stared at the ground while he answered her, apparently absorbed in the progress of a fly crawling along a fallen twig. “I’ll tell you what mystery I solved, Annabel—you’ll be fascinated with this one. It’s the mystery of my mother’s death.” He took a deep breath. There was a catch in his voice when he spoke again.

  “Livinia McCallum did not die of a fever, as I’d always been told. No, I have learned that it was much darker and uglier tha
n that. Now I know what Cade probably found out years ago—the discovery that made him run away when he was seventeen. And that discovery is the truth about what happened to my mother—our mother,” he corrected, flashing a glance at his brother. “And,” he added, meeting Annabel’s gaze at last with bleak, bitter eyes. “the hell of it is, it was all my fault.”

  Chapter 17

  No sound broke the stillness except the hushed rustling of the sun-gilded leaves.

  “Brett, what are you saying?” Annabel breathed at last.

  He swung toward her, his face so taut with misery that she wanted to enfold him in her arms. “My mother killed herself, Annabel. She took her own life. And all because of me.”

  “No!” Cade moved with the swiftness of a striking cobra, and grasped his brother by the shoulders. He shook him fiercely. “Don’t say that. It wasn’t you. It was him. Ross. Whatever he’s told you to try to lay the blame on someone else, don’t believe it. You were only a baby, Brett. A toddler. What happened was Ross McCallum’s fault, not yours. He’s the one who killed her.”

  Annabel’s mind was reeling. It seemed impossible that Livinia McCallum had taken her own life. Annabel had gazed countless times at the breathtaking portrait in Ross McCallum’s study, and at the smaller one in the upstairs gallery, admiring the delicate, honey-haired beauty with the huge, soulful eyes. True, an aura of sadness had clung to both portraits, but Annabel had never for a moment suspected that Livinia would have been filled with such despair that she would end her life. She’d imagined that Ross McCallum adored her, that he showered her with love and riches and jewels, that her children were the apple of her eye, that she was gentle and kind and wise.

  Never in a thousand moments of reflection had it once occurred to her that Livinia McCallum could have been desperately unhappy.