When The Heart Beckons (20 page)

You’re being ridiculous
, she told
herself as they continued to ride in silence. In vain, she
struggled to rein in her runaway feelings. Why should Roy Steele’s
opinion of her looks affect her so much, she wondered. Men had told
her she was beautiful before. Clyde Perkins and Joseph Reed and
Hugh Connely had each whispered it in her ear on more than one
occasion, but they’d always been angling for a kiss or trying to
get her to agree to skate or picnic with them when they’d said it.
Roy Steele had no such motive. He’d just been speaking plainly,
being practical and grim in his usual manner, not trying to
compliment her or impress her or woo her. He’d just said what he
obviously felt.

The glow inside her deepened. And the
knowledge of his protective concern for her made her feel both
grateful and fortunate. Because of Roy Steele she was probably
going to succeed in her mission for Mr. Stevenson and in her own
goal of finding Brett and helping him. If not for his protection
and his knowledge of this untamed territory, she might well have
died or met an even worse fate here in the Mogollons.

Brett, why did you have to travel to
such difficult places? Why couldn’t you have run away to New
Orleans ... or Chicago ... or Philadelphia?

And suddenly it hit her. She
knew
.

“Oh, my God. I know what Brett is doing,”
she exclaimed.

They’d been traveling quickly, with Steele
guiding the bay up and down half a dozen intricate ravines, across
damp grassy banks, and then dipping down to a foothill path strewn
with rocks and flowers.

“Go on,” the tall gunslinger said in her
ear. His arms around her felt very strong, very safe, and despite
the precipitous pathways they were following she felt no anxiety,
for she knew he would never let her fall.

“Brett is searching for his brother!” she
exclaimed. “That’s why he came west! He wants to find Cade!”

One of the pack horses stumbled over a loose
stone behind them, and they both glanced back for a moment. When
the horse plodded on, Steele turned Dickens onto a flat ledge that
widened toward a copse of trees ahead.

“Who’s Cade?” he asked matter-of-factly.

“His brother. His older brother. Cade
McCallum ran away from home when Brett was ten,” Annabel explained.
“When I first came to live at the McCallum house Brett used to talk
about him all the time. He missed him terribly and could never
understand why he left.” Her tone grew more musing as she looked
back all those years, searching her memories for the times when
Brett had first confided in her. “It seems that Ross McCallum and
his older son fought a lot. Brett said they were both
short-tempered, strong-willed stubborn mules. I gathered they were
too much alike ever to agree on anything,” she said soberly. “But
that’s not the point.” She rushed on, excitement building inside
her as everything started to fall into place. “Brett worshipped his
brother. He never forgot about him. My guess is that Brett had some
sort of a particularly upsetting disagreement with his father and
suddenly decided to run off looking for Cade.”

“Why would he think his brother was out
West?”

“Because Cade told Brett that was where he
was heading the night he ran off. But that was thirteen years ago.
As far as I know, neither Brett nor Ross McCallum have heard a word
from him ever since.”

Annabel studied the thick trees overhanging
the trail, blotting out the cloudy, slate gray sky. “You’re sure
that when you saw him, Brett didn’t mention anything to you about
where he was headed?” she asked anxiously.

“No.”

“So why are we going to Silver Junction? Is
that where you think Brett went after leaving Eagle Gulch?”

His arms tightened around her as he shifted
in the saddle behind her and Annabel was all too aware of the
granite strength of his body, of the hard muscles bulging in his
forearms, chest, and thighs. She closed her eyes a moment, trying
to keep her mind on Brett, on the mystery under discussion, and not
on the distracting sensual pressure of his rock-hard thighs against
the slender curve of her own body.

“The gunsmith in Eagle Gulch gave me some
useful information.”

“The gunsmith?” Dread chilled her, slinking
like a spider up her spine. “What ... was Brett doing at the
gunsmith’s?”

“Buying weapons. Lots of ‘em. And there’s
something else,” he said. Something in his tone told Annabel this
was not pleasant news. She braced herself for whatever was coming
next.

“There was a woman with him.”

Annabel gripped the folds of her skirt in
suddenly rigid fingers.

“A ... woman?” she croaked.

“That’s right.”

A woman. Annabel forced herself to speak
calmly, despite the churning turmoil inside of her. “Who was she?
What was she doing with him?”

Steele shrugged. “Can’t say. The gunsmith
seemed to think she’d come in over the border from New Mexico—from
a little town called Skull Creek.”

“And that’s why you think Brett may have
gone to New Mexico—with
her
?”

“Maybe. But the gunsmith seemed to think
they were headed for Silver Junction, so I can’t be sure. Maybe we
can catch them before they slip over the border. No one I talked to
back in Justice had mentioned anything about a woman, so chances
are they met up in Eagle Gulch. Could be Brett went back to New
Mexico with her, or he took her to Silver Junction, or maybe they
said
adiós
and went their separate ways the moment they
walked out of the gunsmith’s shop—but right now the woman is my
only lead. I’ll start in Silver Junction and ask some questions.
What about you?”

“I’ll be right beside you.”

“Your arm?”

“My arm is fine today, just fine.”
But
not my heart
.

She could feel his gaze on her face,
studying her profile, and she deliberately turned her head so that
she met his eyes. She wouldn’t have Roy Steele feeling sorry for
her. That would be the worst humiliation of all.

“I’m sure Brett has a very good reason why
he is with that other woman,” she told him evenly. “I am
not
a jealous female. So don’t think you’ve upset me by
telling me this at all—if Brett has made a friend, I’m glad for
him. I hate to think of him being all alone.”

“There’s worse things. I tend to like
it.”

“Do you? Really?” She twisted in the saddle
to better gaze into his eyes and searched his expression for some
emotion behind the rugged nonchalance. For an instant she thought
she saw a flicker of something in his eyes, but then it was gone,
and Annabel wondered if she had only imagined it.

“You ask too many questions, Miss
Brannigan,” he said roughly. His mouth curled derisively and there
was a distinct edge to his voice. “Turn around and stop distracting
me. We need to make tracks. I want to put as many miles between us
and those hombres back there at the cabin as possible. And I intend
to reach Silver Junction by midafternoon.”

“Is Skull Creek far beyond that?”

“Two days ride.”

“Then maybe we should push on—we can cover
more ground tonight if we don’t stay in Silver Junction. We can ask
our questions and keep going until dark ...”

“Whoa, lady.” He draped an arm about her
waist, holding her snugly. “I’m in charge of this expedition,
remember? So just take it easy. You need to rest and I need to buy
supplies. We’ll spend the night in Silver Junction, and depending
on what we learn there, we can head straight into New Mexico
tomorrow. One more day won’t make much difference.”

It might. It just might
, Annabel
thought uneasily, but she remained perfectly still in the saddle
and gazed out at the muddy sky once more, burrowing deep into her
own thoughts. Could this woman be important to Brett? Could he care
for her?

No! He had never fallen in love with any of
the exquisite society creatures his father had thrown him together
with all these years, so why should he fall in love with some
stranger from New Mexico? But her heart ached.
He never fell in
love with you, either
, she told herself.

Deep down she’d always believed he would
come to recognize his love for her someday. She didn’t know if it
would hit him all of a sudden one morning when he awoke and felt an
irresistible urge to see her, or if he would slowly come to the
realization that she was on his mind more and more, but Annabel had
always taken it on faith that one day Brett’s true feelings for her
would emerge, and he’d realize the bright truth she already knew:
that their love had been growing for years and years—that they were
meant to join hands and hearts and spend their lives together.

Don’t think about this woman
, she
instructed herself.
There’s no use worrying about her place in
this mystery until you’ve got more information. And you can’t
afford to be emotional right now—or distracted by personal
concerns.
Her brain told her she had to think and react as a
professional, as any other Stevenson agent would in the same
situation.

What would Everett Stevenson do if he
were presented with this information?
she asked herself.

He’d focus on the guns
.

Brett had purchased many weapons. That could
mean only one thing. He foresaw some serious trouble—either for
himself or for this woman. It was hardly a reassuring conclusion,
but it was as far as she got with this line of thinking before
Steele interrupted her thoughts, almost as if he could read
them.

“If the trail does lead into New Mexico,
things could get sticky. We don’t know what kind of situation Brett
is involved in with this woman, but chances are it’s trouble.”

“I realize that,” Annabel countered. “And
I’m fully prepared to—”

“You’ll stay in Silver Junction,” Steele
continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “It’s not a bad little town, as
towns go. You should be safe there. Meanwhile, I’ll hit Skull Creek
and see what I can find out. If Brett’s there, I’ll tell him you’ve
come all the way to Arizona looking for him, and bring him back in
one piece—”

“There is no point in discussing this, Mr.
Steele.” Annabel shot him a determined look. “I’m going with you
and that is that.”

“You idiotic little tenderfoot, do you even
know how to fire that derringer of yours?”

“Of course I do.” She shook her head in
amazement at his stupidity in asking such a question, and with the
movement, one of her carefully pinned curls escaped to feather
downward and tickle his neck. “Brett taught me how to shoot, as
well as how to ride—and he learned both from his own father, who is
quite a fine marksman and rider himself. But I think out here a
lady needs more than a derringer to protect herself—she needs a
rifle and a pair of Colts, like yours! I’m going to buy myself an
extra gun the moment we reach Silver Junction and ...”

She saw his grin and poked his arm
indignantly with two fingers. “You think Brett comes from tough
stock? Well, if you think I don’t come from equally tough stock,
you’re quite mistaken. Let me tell you that my father was a hero
who died at Gettysburg and my mother spied for the Union during the
war and—”

“Did she?” His eyes lit with interest.
“Where?”

“In Richmond. She was raised in Virginia, as
was my father, but they had moved to Missouri sometime before the
war, and there they came to loathe slavery and all of the cruelty
it stood for. When war broke out, my father enlisted in the Union
army. And my mother wanted desperately to help him—to help the
Union cause in some way.” Annabel’s voice filled with pride. “She
was a brilliant woman, very beautiful and very strong-willed
...”

“That I believe.”

She smiled suddenly, blindingly, into his
eyes, struck by the quietness of his tone, for once lacking in
mockery. “Thank you,” she said softly. For some reason she settled
more comfortably against him, and let her thoughts embrace the
image of her mother, slender and doe-eyed Savannah Brannigan,
brimming with such vibrant determination, and yet so gentle, so
full of love....

“My mother made up her mind to return to
Richmond, where she had many friends,” Annabel continued quietly.
She rested her head against Steele’s broad chest. It felt
surprisingly natural to do so. “She was determined to do whatever
she could to glean information that would help shorten the war. I
was born during that time,” she added. “But having a little baby
didn’t stop her. She worked on, more diligently than ever, to
assure the Union’s victory, and possibly save my father’s life.
Unfortunately, that didn’t happen,” Annabel finished sadly. “He
died at Gettysburg.”

There was a short silence during which the
only sounds were the steady clop of the horses’ hooves and the
sighing of the leaves as the summer wind stirred through them like
an old ghost. “Did your mother return to Missouri then?” Steele
asked and his breath rustled her hair.

“Oh, no. She stayed in Richmond until the
war was over. There were many ways she could soak up information,
or glean tidbits about weaponry or troop movements or plans from
among her friends and acquaintances, and she found means to smuggle
every morsel she learned to her Union contacts. She used to tell me
the most wonderful stories when I was a little girl!” Annabel’s
eyes danced and her voice was warm with memory. “She had a most
exquisite gold and ruby brooch which she always wore—it was so
beautiful! It was shaped like a rose and outlined all in pearls. It
was a wedding gift from my father,” Annabel explained, “and Mama
would let me play with it while she told me of this adventure, or
that, of how she almost was caught snooping through a general’s
papers one time, or passing information to someone the next, her
reticule and pockets chock full of coded letters. She said the
brooch brought her luck though—that because my father had given it
to her with love, it was lucky and nothing could happen to her
while she was trying to help him come home to us. I suppose it did
protect her,” Annabel said slowly, “for she never was caught,
despite many close calls. I remember being amazed at how brave she
was, how steadfast in her purpose. And sometimes I would pin the
brooch onto my dress and pretend I was she, and it actually made me
feel very brave to wear it.” She gave a wry laugh. “And Mama
promised me that when I was married, I would have the brooch as a
wedding gift. Oh, I could scarcely wait for that day!”