When The Heart Beckons Read online

  The clerk proved to be a friendly sort, so after arranging for her room and receiving a key, Annabel decided to begin her questioning with him.

  “Perhaps you can help me.” She smiled hopefully at him and was encouraged when he gave her a gap-toothed grin.

  “Be glad to try.”

  “I’m searching for a friend of mine who passed through Eagle Gulch recently. A young man—his name is Brett McCallum. Do you happen to remem ...”

  The clerk, who had been listening attentively, suddenly stiffened. He paled beneath his ruddy tan and dropped the pencil he’d been fiddling with.

  “Never heard of him.”

  She raised her brows in open skepticism and then leaned forward. “Are you sure? I know for certain that he headed this way.”

  “Well, he must have changed his mind, then, and gone somewhere else instead. Maybe to Winchester, maybe to Tucson. All I can tell you is that I don’t know nothin’ about Mr. Brett McCallum and no one named Brett McCallum has set foot in this hotel.”

  She regarded him shrewdly. “Did a man named Roy Steele tell you to say that?”

  “How did you ...” The clerk flushed. “I got no idea what you’re talking about, miss.”

  Annabel sighed. It was no use. She remembered how Steele had threatened the blacksmith if he revealed any information about Brett. He’d obviously done the same thing to this poor man. And to how many other people in Eagle Gulch?

  Dismay washed over her. How would she find Brett if no one would tell her what they knew about him? The head start Roy Steele had stolen on her last night could prove disastrous if it caused her to reach a dead end.

  Then you simply have to press on—work more quickly and urgently than ever. Find someone in Eagle Gulch whom Steele hasn’t spoken to yet, or someone courageous enough to risk his wrath and give you some answers. Hurry! a voice inside of her urged. You have to find Brett first. If Steele gets to him before you do ...

  She gripped the edge of the registration desk. She couldn’t let that happen.

  “Is Mr. Steele still in town?” she demanded, and the clerk’s gaze swung away.

  “I don’t recall mentioning Mr. Steele ...”

  “Please.” Annabel touched his large, freckled hand and gazed at him with imploring eyes. “This is terribly important. Just tell me if he’s still in Eagle Gulch. I swear to you he’ll never know you said a word.”

  The clerk gave one quick nod. “But you’d best steer clear of that hombre,” he whispered. Then as if alarmed by his own foolhardiness, he busied himself once more with his ledger book, ignoring Annabel as if she had suddenly become invisible.

  She turned slowly away and carried her bag up to her room. At least she knew one thing. Steele was here in this town. She’d have to watch her step and try to avoid him. The last thing she wanted was to have to explain herself to that cold-eyed gunfighter, especially when she was this close to finding Brett.

  Her green-painted room was every bit as spartan as the one in Justice, except for the rather pretty floral-patterned coverlet on the high narrow bed. Annabel sank down upon it and tugged off her boots. As she lay back wearily on the bed and closed her eyes, she began compiling a mental list of people likely to be aware of Brett’s presence in town. Hotel clerks, chambermaids, merchants, saloon keepers, and yes—saloon women, for Brett adored females and Annabel knew that he would certainly flirt congenially with any or all women he encountered while slaking his thirst in a saloon.

  Well, she’d better get started. Steele already had a jump on her.

  She performed a quick toilette, washing her face and hands, brushing and repinning her hair into its flawless chignon, and stuffing her aching feet back into her boots. She took care to secure the derringer in its hiding place once more before slipping downstairs and out into the street just as the sun glided along the western sky in a splash of gilded lavender and rose.

  Annabel headed immediately for the Hot Pepper Saloon, no more than three doors down from her hotel. There were four saloons in this town and if she had to enter all of them to find what she needed to know she would do it, but she couldn’t help hoping as she dodged into the alley behind the saloon that such a step wouldn’t be necessary. She knew that the last thing she should do was draw attention to herself by entering the saloon openly, so she pushed open the back door and eased inside a small corridor, hoping she would be lucky enough to obtain the information she needed here at the Hot Pepper, without having to visit all of the others.

  It was noisy and crowded in the enormous main room of the saloon. Smoke drifted above the green felt gaming tables and curled against the red-flocked wallpaper. Brass chandeliers gave out bright, garish light to illuminate the costumes of the saloon girls, who hurried here and there among the men, pouring drinks, lighting cigars. But it was dim and relatively quiet in the back corridor in which Annabel found herself. There was a short stairway on her left and she studied it speculatively, while out in the saloon, laughter roared and glasses clinked and someone banged out a popular ballad on the piano.

  She set a foot on the bottom step, but at that moment a woman burst through the doorway off the saloon, her head turning as she called out to someone at the bar. Annabel ducked back against the wall, out of sight, and held her breath.

  A cloud of musky perfume assailed her nostrils as the woman sauntered into the corridor and started up the stairs.

  Annabel craned her neck ever so slightly to get a glimpse of her. The woman was tall and statuesque, her buxom figure resplendent in a gown of dark violet satin trimmed in black. Her face was not what Annabel had expected. Though painted, it was nevertheless an attractive, pleasant face. She wore an expression of keen anticipation.

  Annabel made a decision. She would follow the woman upstairs. It was exactly the kind of opportunity she’d been looking for, a chance to ask questions about Brett in private, without having to venture into the main part of the saloon, where she might attract attention.

  She followed the woman up the short flight of stairs and reached the landing in time to see the violet skirts disappear through a door on the left.

  No one else was in sight.

  The floor creaked beneath her as Annabel tiptoed down the dim hallway, lit only by a single bronze torchère. She knocked softly on the door through which the woman had passed.

  “Who the hell is there?” an irritated female voice called out at once.

  “Someone who needs to speak with you. Please open the door.”

  There was silence. Annabel’s heart skidded suddenly as wild laughter erupted abruptly from a room down the hall, followed at once by a man’s grunting, and the violent creak of bedsprings. From inside this room, however, there was no sound at all. Or was someone whispering?

  She put her ear to the door and nearly fell in as the door was suddenly yanked wide. A brawny arm seized her and tugged her inside before she had time to do more than gasp.

  Roy Steele kicked the door shut behind her and pinned her against it so hard she could scarcely breathe. “You,” he said in cold disgust.

  Chapter 6

  Annabel’s heart hammered against her rib cage. For a moment she could do nothing but stare helplessly into the icy depths of those black eyes. Then panic kicked in and she began to wriggle.

  “Hold still,” Steele commanded.

  “L-let me go.”

  “When I’m good and ready.”

  “Who is she, Roy?” the woman asked. She stood beside a small table, pouring whiskey from a crystal decanter into a tall glass. As Annabel peered past Steele’s grim face in the hopes that the woman would help her, she was dismayed to see that far from looking troubled by Annabel’s predicament, the woman looked merely amused.

  “That’s what I’m going to find out.” The unyielding determination in his voice chilled Annabel even more than the hard expression on his face. Her heart sank farther at the gunslinger’s next words.

  “You’d better get out of here, Lily. It won’t be a pretty si
ght.”

  “Just don’t shoot her in my bedroom, Steele, that’s all I ask,” the woman sighed, strolling past the velvet-canopied brass bed, drink in hand. “The last time you shot someone in here, it took me half a day to scrub the blood out of the carpet.”

  Steele swung Annabel away from the door as the tall woman approached. “Honey,” Lily said, her tone not entirely unsympathetic as she studied the young woman held helplessly in the gunslinger’s unbreakable grip, “whoever you are, you got on the wrong side of the wrong man. Let it be a lesson to you.”

  Then she was gone, the door clicking ominously shut behind her.

  Annabel stared into Steele’s glacial eyes and managed to blurt out three words.

  “I can explain.”

  He backed her against the wall beside the gold-curtained window. “Then do it.”

  “Let go of me first.”

  “You’re not in a position to negotiate anything, lady.”

  “T-true. But you’re scaring me half to death and I can explain things much better if you let me go.”

  His eyes narrowed, but he released her. He moved back one step, and folded his arms across his chest. Annabel moistened her lips. Even with this slight distance between them, she felt trapped, overwhelmed. There was no way to escape. Roy Steele was too big, too strong. He could grab her again anytime he chose and they both knew it.

  She peered past his broad shoulder at the door, wishing she could somehow dash out, flee down the hall, and disappear. Let Roy Steele comb every hotel in Eagle Gulch in search of her. She’d have a chance to outwit him then, and in a pinch Annabel would stake her wits and brains against those of any man, even this one, with his shrewdly intelligent eyes and knowing sneer.

  “Don’t try it,” he warned, and she realized he had seen her glance and guessed her thoughts.

  “Actually, Mr. Steele, I’m glad to have this opportunity to talk to you,” Annabel countered, looking up at him as steadily as she could.

  “I’ll just bet you are.”

  “A gentleman doesn’t question a lady’s word.” She licked her lips.

  “I never claimed to be a gentleman, and I sure as hell wonder if you’re much of a lady.”

  Indignation rocked her, but she controlled herself with an effort. This was hardly the time to defend her dignity. She had to extricate herself from this, and fast. “May I sit down?” she asked coolly.

  “No. Talk.”

  The sharp impatience with which he bit out these words made Annabel decide she’d better plunge ahead without irritating him any further.

  “I’ve been wishing to engage your services,” she said, trying to sound crisp and professional. “You are a gunfighter, are you not?”

  “You’ve been following me all over the place for the past two days, lady, so you tell me.”

  “Yes, well ... I wish to engage your services.”

  “To do what?”

  “To protect me. There’s a man who wants to kill me.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  Annabel’s eyes flashed with the raw heat of summer lightning. “I am willing to pay good money for protection. That is, I was. But since your attitude is so rude and so very insufferable, Mr. Steele, as to hardly inspire confidence, I believe I will take my business elsewhere. I won’t be troubling you anymore ...”

  He blocked her path as she started to sweep toward the door.

  “Not so fast.”

  He gripped her wrist and held it, not hard, but hard enough so that she couldn’t wrest free. Annabel bit her lip, her hopes plummeting.

  He doesn’t believe me, she thought, and wondered with a wild tug of fear what he would do to get the truth from her. Lily’s casual words rang in her ears. Honey, whoever you are, you got on the wrong side of the wrong man.

  Searching Steele’s face, a face that was at once magnetically handsome and terrifying in its coldness, she yearned to find some hint of mercy, of sympathy, even of plain decent interest stamped upon his features, but there was none. There was only hard skepticism in his eyes, and callous disbelief in his expression.

  She had never seen anyone so chillingly dangerous. A shiver of dread ran through her as she pondered what he would do if he suspected she was pursuing the same man he was after—that her goal was to save Brett, putting her at direct cross-purposes with him. No matter what happened, he couldn’t find out. He must learn nothing about her connection with Brett, nothing that would endanger Brett further or aid Steele in whatever dark purpose he was engaged in.

  “Suppose you tell me a little more about this man who wants to kill you,” he drawled, and she felt her pulse racing beneath his thumb.

  So he’s testing me, trying to check out my story. There was still hope then of convincing him. Annabel tried to think what her mother might have done when presented with a similar sticky situation during the war. Keep going, she decided. Stick to your story and don’t give an inch. Don’t let him see your panic.

  “Well, his name is Walter ... Walter Stevenson,” she improvised rapidly, blurting out the first surname that popped into her head. “I thought he was a friend, a very close friend, a suitor, actually, but he swindled me out of my inheritance—five thousand dollars, Mr. Steele! Why, I was never more hornswoggled by anyone in my life! I threatened to report him to the authorities and he said he would kill me if I did. Well, naturally, I didn’t believe him at first, but then ... oh, dear, this is the most unnerving part. The next day I was very nearly run down by a carriage in the street—and I recognized the driver, it was Walter’s groom! I was so frightened I didn’t know what to do, so I left town—started for New Mexico to visit my ... my brother, who lives there, you see, but someone has been following me and ...” Annabel took a deep breath and lifted wide helpless eyes to his face. “I have money, Mr. Steele, I can pay for your protection. If you’ll only escort me as far as New Mexico until I reach the safety of my brother’s ranch ...”

  What on earth will I do if he agrees? she suddenly wondered in stark horror, somewhat awed by her own newfound ability to spin tales on short notice. But the next moment she realized she didn’t need to worry about that, for Roy Steele displayed no signs of giving a damn about her supposed predicament. The expression on his face was as menacing as ever.

  “Why is it that I think you’re lying?” he growled.

  “Really, Mr. Steele. Why would I lie?”

  There was silence in the room as their gazes locked. Steele examined those astonishingly clear and intense eyes of hers and against his will caught himself drowning in their pure gray-green depths. She wasn’t being straight with him, he sensed that, but he couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong with her story. Instinct, that was all he had to go on, but it was the same raw gut instinct that had kept him alive all across New Mexico, Arizona, and Nevada over the past ten years. This beautiful young woman with the delicate waif’s face and the long, velvet lashes was lying to him. He was sure of it.

  Roy Steele suppressed the urge to yank her close and shake the truth out of her. The warmth and vibrance of her seemed to reach out and grab him by the throat even from here, even touching only her slender wrist between his fingers. If he were to put his hands on her again, he might not be able to answer for the consequences.

  He didn’t seize her, but he was rawly aware of her pulse fluttering beneath his thumb. That delicate throbbing seemed to exemplify her vulnerability, and as he felt it, and stared into her innocently upturned face, something hot and seething twisted inside his gut.

  Let it go, he told himself. What does it matter, if she’s lying or not? You’re leaving here in the morning and going somewhere she’d never be able to follow. Whatever underhanded scheme this beautiful little bitch might have, it won’t matter anymore by tomorrow. You’ll never see her again. Let it go. Let her go.

  For a moment he thought she could actually read his thoughts, for she suddenly tugged her wrist free. To his own surprise, he let her. He watched motionless as she began to inch
her way toward the door. In the sunset light that bathed Lily’s lush room, her hair was the color of burnished pennies. What would it look like if it wasn’t wound up so tight, he wondered, and then coldly stopped himself from this line of thinking. He must be going loco.

  “It’s obvious this arrangement isn’t going to work out,” she was murmuring. “So I won’t disturb you further. Please forget about my proposition, Mr. Steele. I’m sure I’ll find some other protector who will respect the seriousness of my situation ...”

  She really was something, he thought, his eyes fixed intently on her as she edged ever closer to the door, talking all the while. Lovely as a prairie flower, and she sure looked innocent, but if there was one thing he had learned over the years it was that few people, especially women, were quite what they seemed.

  He let her get all the way to the door and begin to open it before he moved. Then he lunged swiftly, shoving the door shut and holding it there with one powerful shoulder.

  “Your name.”

  “I ... beg your pardon?”

  “I want to know your name.”

  “It’s ... Annabel ... Annabel Brannigan.”

  “Well, Miss Annabel Brannigan, I don’t buy your story. Not for one damned minute. But I’m going to let you walk out of here in one piece under a certain condition.”

  “Mr. Steele, I feel I must tell you that you are hands down the most rude and vile man it has ever been my misfortune to meet ...”

  “More rude and vile than that scoundrel who supposedly swindled you and tried to kill you?” he demanded swiftly.

  Annabel caught her breath. “Second only to him,” she flung out.

  “Do you want to hear the condition or not?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “None at all.”

  “Well, then?” She stifled the impulse to snipe at him further. Her only goal now was to escape Roy Steele’s relentless questions and the confines of this room—and then to somehow come up with a way she could continue tracking Brett’s movements without attracting Steele’s notice.