When The Heart Beckons Read online

  “You little fool. This isn’t a parlor game. Run.”

  Les waved his gun. “What’re you talkin’ to your lady friend fer? Pay attention, you low-down bastard—you’re about to die!”

  Steele let out another low, cold laugh. The sound of it chilled Annabel’s blood. “Does this female look like any lady friend of mine, Les? Hell, I don’t even know this woman. And I don’t want to. Get her out of here so the three of us can settle this.”

  “Mebbe she’d like to watch. How ‘bout it, little lady? You want to watch this hombre die?”

  “I’d much rather have a cup of tea at the hotel,” she confessed, trying to smile though her lips felt like cardboard. “And I’d like to ask your permission to go there right now and do just that—but first I feel I must point out to you that two against one is hardly fair odds, gentlemen. And you might not realize this, Mr., er, Les, but you already have your gun drawn! That’s not a typical gun duel, not at all, from everything I’ve seen and read. Why, you’ll go to jail.”

  Mustache shoved his hat back on his head. “Not if there ain’t no witnesses.”

  The implication of this remark made Annabel swallow hard. “I admire you for thinking ahead,” she managed faintly, “but perhaps you gentlemen could just discuss this first ...”

  “No more talk.” Les Hart suddenly went tense with readiness, his eyes razoring in on Steele once more. “Steele, you never shoulda killed our brother.”

  “We’ve been waiting a long time to git you, and we’re not goin’ to wait a minute more,” Mustache growled. “I jest wanted to see the look on your face and now ...”

  “Watch out! Behind you!” Annabel shouted, her arm lifting to point and instinctively the two men jerked around.

  At the same moment Roy Steele knocked her to the ground.

  Then the street exploded in a thunderous, violent blur.

  Gunshots rent the air, dust and smoke billowed, blood erupted. Annabel, face down in the dust, heard herself screaming.

  She stopped at last, jamming a dirty fist into her mouth and lifting her head to stare in disbelief at the bloody tableau.

  The Hart brothers sprawled dead in the alley. At least one was dead, she amended, gulping down the sick nausea that rose in her throat. The other still twitched in a grotesquely horrible little dance. After what seemed like endless seconds, his elbows and knees went still and the gurgling in his throat stopped.

  Roy Steele stood calmly, feet planted apart, surveying the scene. He looked as cool and remote as a glacier. His gaze flickered to her, his black eyes gleaming above the wisp of blue smoke that curled upward from his Colt .45.

  “I told you to run.”

  Dear God. Annabel shuddered and felt a dizzying weakness shoot through her. She fought it off with an effort and struggled to her knees. But as she gazed in horror at Steele’s harsh face and saw the utter coldness there, a coldness that was bleaker than death, dread pierced her.

  This man, this cold-blooded gunslinger who had killed two men with blinding efficiency and now stood calmly looking over their bodies without a trace of emotion, this man was after Brett.

  He would kill Brett as surely as he had killed the Hart brothers. Unless she stopped him.

  A crowd appeared out of nowhere. Men ran toward them, one of them wearing a badge that glinted out beneath his vest. And then the crowd surrounded all three men and Roy Steele was swallowed up in their midst.

  “It’s the Hart brothers!” someone gasped. “I saw them, Joe, they were going to shoot this fellow and the woman in cold blood!”

  Annabel felt strong arms helping her to her feet. “You all right, ma’am?” the light-haired man with the badge asked.

  She nodded, mumbled something, and he turned his attention away from her. “Seems like a clear-cut case of self-defense, Mr. Steele, according to what Seth just said,” she heard the sheriff intone as he let her go and strode toward the bodies. He hunkered down and studied first Mustache and then Les. Steele waited impassively, his black eyes flickering without interest over the whispering crowd.

  Annabel didn’t wait for more. She turned and staggered away, escaping around the corner of the building. There she paused, clutching the rough wood wall with both hands to stay upright. Thankfully, no one had noticed her leave amidst the hubbub in the alley.

  At the hotel, she tried to appear more tranquil than she felt as she asked for a room. Once upstairs, with the door locked and her carpetbag resting on the white-and-green quilted bed, she paced back and forth reliving in her mind all that had happened.

  An image of the Hart brothers—filthy and cruel—swam before her mind’s eye. She pushed it away. She couldn’t bear to think about them, or about the gunfight, or the blood in the street ...

  When she was younger and would scamper unnoticed about the McCallum house, Annabel would now and again hear Ross McCallum bellow that he needed a drink when he was particularly upset or angry about something, and at the time she hadn’t understood why, but now as she paced around her room she felt the urge for the first time in her life to consume strong spirits. Turmoil roiled through her. She’d nearly been killed. If not for Roy Steele, she would have been killed.

  Don’t think about it anymore, she instructed herself as the memories churned through her like flashes of nightmare. Think about Brett. Think about your assignment. Think about what you’re going to do next.

  She wished she could calm down, that her feet could stop this endless pacing over the creaking floorboards of the dingy little room, that her heart would stop racing.

  Think about Brett.

  Her performance so far had been dismal, she decided, her fingers knotted together before her as she walked back and forth. Roy Steele had spotted her straightaway. He’d known he was being followed, and if the Hart brothers hadn’t interrupted, heaven knows what he would have done to her to find out why.

  But on the other hand, Annabel conceded fairly, she had managed to gain some very valuable information by eavesdropping at the blacksmith’s shop. One, she reviewed mentally, soothing herself by listing her thoughts in an orderly fashion, you now know that Brett was headed toward Eagle Gulch—that’s a lead, an important one. Two, you know that Roy Steele is pursuing him.

  But was Steele in cahoots with Red Cobb, or was he after Brett for his own nefarious reasons?

  She chewed her lip as she wheeled about and started across the floor once again. Either way, she would have to be smarter and quicker than Mr. Roy Steele. Somehow she would have to find Brett first.

  Annabel stopped pacing and stared unseeingly at the faded watercolor on the peeling, yellow painted wall. Brett was a strong and healthy young man, and as she remembered, a good shot with a pistol—he had been the one who secretly taught her how to shoot, matter of fact—but he would be no match for Roy Steele, Annabel knew. None at all.

  She bit her lip in anxiety as she remembered the lightning speed with which Steele had killed those two scoundrels in the street, and the single-minded ruthlessness that was so much a part of him.

  Maybe he’ll come after me once he’s finished talking to the sheriff. The thought made her sink down on the edge of the bed. At the very least he’ll have more questions about why I was following him. Then another possibility suggested itself to her and she drew in her breath. If Steele were as eager to track down Brett as his conversation with the blacksmith indicated, he just might ride right out of Justice and head for Eagle Gulch without wasting any more time.

  Annabel put aside her nervousness as best she could. She went to the window, pushing aside the dusty green burlap curtains to peer out into the street. She stood there a long time, watching. Waiting. Darkness settled over the town. Through the gray shadows of encroaching night, she saw the shop windows go black one by one, and saw the street grow still. Only the tinny piano music from the saloons broke the quiet.

  Then, just as she was growing too weary to stand there another moment, she saw him.

  He walked up the street, his
steps smooth and deliberate. The low-sailing moon illuminated his big, dark-clad form, and caught the stern, roughly handsome features of his face. Annabel felt a shiver chase up her spine. Something dangerous and foreboding and frightening about him made her want to shrink back from the window, lest he glance up and see her there. And yet at the same time, something about him drew her, fascinated her. He stirred something unknown deep inside her.

  She couldn’t move, couldn’t tear her gaze away. Paralyzed, she remained like a frozen marble statue, unable to resist the mesmerizing pull of that tall, muscular form.

  But he wouldn’t see her, she realized thankfully at last, because she had the lamp turned down and the room was in darkness behind her. Yet as she watched him stride along that narrow, dark, and lonely street, moving with such easy grace, he suddenly glanced up at the hotel windows. She caught her breath and ducked back, but not before she had the unnerving sensation that he had seen her.

  No, no, that was impossible. She’d been standing in darkness. Yet she held her breath for long dreadful moments after that, wondering if he would come pounding up the stairs to find her and question her again. At any moment she expected to hear the sound of his boots upon the stairway, to hear the doorknob rattle and turn.

  But silence reigned in the dingy little hotel and Annabel realized in relief that she was letting her imagination run away with her again, something both Aunt Gertie and Brett had often teased her about. Down the hall, the quiet was interrupted only now and then by some cowboy’s whoop of excitement, followed by a woman’s laughing shriek. Then nothing. From downstairs wafted the aroma of beef stew—Annabel’s stomach grumbled from hunger, but she hesitated over leaving her room because she might run into Roy Steele again.

  And if she did? And he questioned her? What could she possibly say to him, what excuse could she offer for following him to the blacksmith’s?

  Think, for goodness’ sake, think. She closed her eyes, and took a deep steadying breath and then it came to her.

  Of course. When in doubt, invent a story. She was certain her mother must have had to think quickly many times when she was in a tight spot during the war. So ...

  Steele was a gunslinger, wasn’t he? That meant his gun was for hire. She could simply tell him that she needed protection and wanted to hire him. That she’d heard from the hotel clerk about his profession and she’d planned to approach him about taking on the job—but she’d lost her nerve when he’d attacked her in the alley—yes, attacked, Annabel decided. That was a good word; it would put him on the defensive.

  Now. From whom am I running? Annabel mused swiftly—and then her fertile imagination hatched the answer. A former beau was after her, that was it—a ruthless man who wanted revenge because she had turned him in to the law after discovering that he had swindled her out of her inheritance....

  But even as she spun her tale and committed it to memory, she heard a sudden thud of hoofbeats. Annabel lifted the curtain once more and peered down into the darkened street.

  In the pale pearly glow of moonlight, she could just make out the face and physique of the man who was riding out of town.

  It was Roy Steele.

  No need to spin him a tale, no need to face down those cold black eyes. Steele was gone.

  To her surprise, a sharp pang of disappointment lanced through her.

  Ridiculous. She shook her head, immediately realizing how foolish that was. She was going to see Roy Steele again. In Eagle Gulch. If there wasn’t a stagecoach going there tomorrow, she’d have to hire herself a horse or a buggy and ride there herself. He already had a good head start, but that couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t exactly start out now in the dark for an unknown town—she had no idea how far away it was or in which direction. Steele had an advantage over her there.

  But come daylight ...

  I’m coming Brett, she promised fervently, staring out into the Arizona darkness as if she could somehow conjure up his charmingly handsome and beloved face in the shadows of the moon. An ironclad determination swept over her.

  I won’t let Roy Steele find you first. I’ll help you out of whatever trouble you’re in and bring you safely home. And soon.

  Soon.

  The urgency grew in her, a quiet insistent clamor that would not be denied. For in addition to the threat to Brett from Steele and Red Cobb, there was the part of Mr. Stevenson’s report she hadn’t wanted to think about, but which haunted the further recesses of her mind. It flitted into the center of her thoughts as she turned back to her room and fiddled with the lamp, sending a pale amber glow into the four dusty corners.

  The plain truth was that Ross McCallum was ill. And in trouble. It was difficult to imagine the powerful broad-shouldered Mr. McCallum with his fierce aristocratic countenance and roaring voice suffering any kind of weakness or setback, but Mr. Stevenson had written down a conclusion at the end of his report, and Annabel had read it in shock. No details had been given, but Mr. Stevenson noted that he had reason to believe that Ross McCallum’s heart was weak and that he was under a doctor’s care. Moreover, the McCallum business empire was in trouble. Stevenson had heard rumors from movers and shakers in the city for months, and though Ross McCallum had merely hinted at some problems and setbacks, Everett Stevenson suspected the situation was far more serious than Ross would admit.

  Reading his notes, Annabel had realized in horror that if Brett did not return home soon, he might have nothing to go home to. No fortune, no business interests —no father.

  She turned from the window and began to plan. There was not a moment to lose.

  Chapter 5

  Early the next morning Annabel purchased a frisky white-legged mare called Sunrise from Will Chatham at the livery stable, tied her carpetbag and a canteen to the saddle, and set out for Eagle Gulch. According to the hotel clerk’s directions, the town was no more than twenty-two miles due south of Justice.

  “If you hit the river, you’ve gone too far west. Keep the foothills to your left and you’ll be all right. Eagle Gulch is a right nice town. A little bigger than Justice. But ...”

  He had peered curiously at her from behind his spectacles. “Wouldn’t you rather just wait until next week when the stage comes through? Ma’am, it’s not safe for a woman to travel alone such a distance.”

  “You needn’t be concerned. I can take care of myself.”

  “It’s pretty rough country out there ...”

  “I’ll be careful.” Annabel gave him a wave and a smile before hurrying out the door.

  The possibility that she would find Brett today in Eagle Gulch buoyed her as she rode along the high plateau bordering the outskirts of Justice. She had the derringer tucked inside her boot, she wore a comfortable white shirtwaist and dark blue riding skirt, and on her head was a sombrero she’d purchased in Denver to protect her from the sun, its chin straps dangling as she rode. As far as journeying alone across the desert was concerned, she wasn’t much worried. She had a good horse, an excellent sense of direction, and an immutable purpose.

  Eagle Gulch by late afternoon—or bust.

  It was a brilliant spring day, crowned by a clear azure sky, soft breezes, and wildflowers blooming on the mesas and all across the rolling prairie. Gazing out at the awesome beauty of the Arizona wilderness as she nudged Sunrise into a trot and left drab Justice behind, she thought, Maybe I’ll find Brett today. Maybe he’s in Eagle Gulch, and when I ride into town, there he’ll be, walking right toward me. He’ll shake his head in amazement to see what a becoming young woman I’ve turned into, and he’ll hold out his arms to me ...

  And maybe, the greatest miracle of all, he would finally gaze at her with love in his eyes—love and wonder and delight, and realize that all along he had felt for her what she had always felt for him ...

  The red mountains shimmered in the distance. She rode past groves of cottonwoods, followed the trail through winding ravines and high-walled canyons, and guided the mare past boulders and across narrow, gushing creek
s. The hours rolled by, and Annabel continued to be awestruck by the splendor of the canyons, by the majesty of the distant mountains and gray-green prairies, and by the lovely sea of golden poppies and purplish pink owl’s clover flowing across the mesas. But as the afternoon wore on, the refreshing spring breezes wavered and died. The air grew still, hot, heavy as lead. A molten sun burned high above, its relentless rays piercing like daggers through the heat-glazed air.

  Annabel found herself forced to pause for frequent sips from her canteen and to rest now and then in the shade. And still the trail stretched endlessly ahead. She began to wonder if she had turned the wrong way and would ride on and on endlessly without ever reaching civilization again.

  But as the afternoon waned into the early stages of twilight, she reached the edge of a town almost as rough as Justice, but larger and slightly more prosperous looking. Annabel had never been so glad to see any place, except for the time she had first arrived at the McCallum house after traveling all day and Aunt Gertie had led her into the kitchen and given her good fresh bread and a chunk of cheese and a large wedge of strawberry pie. Now she surveyed Eagle Gulch from a rise at the edge of town, her hand resting lightly on the pommel of her saddle, and she smiled to herself.

  It might be only a raw frontier settlement, but it was civilization: people, shelter, food, hotels, and stores. She hadn’t encountered a single soul in the wilderness all day long.

  After seeing that Sunrise was watered, rubbed down, and fed in the stables, Annabel turned her attention to securing a room at the Kincaid Hotel. The faded rose-papered lobby was empty except for the stout young clerk poring over some kind of ledger books with a grim air. So far she’d glimpsed no sign of Brett, but there had been no sign of Roy Steele, either. That was good news.