When The Heart Beckons (31 page)

So forget about her
—
she’s not
for you, never was, never could be—and fix your sights on Lowry.
After that, you and Brett can get down to straightening out some
McCallum family business.

Just ahead of him, Conchita Rivers stopped
dead as a burly, stoop-shouldered man with coarse, sandy hair, a
ruddy complexion, and eagle-sharp eyes the color of warm molasses
swung into her path.

That’s Lowry, or I’m a Gila
monster
, Cade concluded.

“
Señora
Rivers. Never expected to
see you here tonight, but ... say, I’m damn glad you’re here. And
you’ve brought your boy, too. Fine, that’s real fine. Look, boys,”
he said, half-turning toward three slick-haired cowboys in plaid
shirts and string ties, “look who’s finally decided to be
neighborly. And she’s even brought some guests.”

Conchita drew herself up to her full height.
“We’re most happy to accept your kind invitation,
Señor
Lowry.” Her tone was even, yet edged with subtle haughtiness, and
Cade had to admire the woman’s self-possession. She made
introductions with unruffled steadiness, while at her side, Tomas’s
dark eyes flashed with an anger the youth was struggling to
suppress.

When Conchita introduced Annabel as, “my
friend,
Señorita
Brannigan,” Lowry’s eyes lit with
interest and his heavy-jowled face creased into a smooth, ebullient
smile. He studied the bright-haired young woman in the lushly
appealing green silk gown with an appreciative smirk.

“Pleasure, ma’am.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Annabel
murmured so sweetly that Lowry did a double take, obviously unsure
he had heard correctly.

His gaze narrowed. “Are you staying at the
Racing Rivers Ranch long, Miss Brannigan? It might not be healthy,”
he replied a little more curtly.

“For whom, Mr. Lowry? You?”

Brett gave a low chuckle, and Lowry’s gaze,
hardening, swept over the pair of them with icy rage.

Cade almost grinned himself. Annabel
Brannigan never failed to amuse him with that tart tongue of hers,
and an unfailing compulsion to speak her mind. Yet the woman had
style, magnificent, undeniable style. She looked as elegant as the
most pampered hothouse flower, yet there was iron in her eyes and
in her backbone, and cold fire in her sweetly uttered words. He
wanted to flay Lowry for the damned insinuating way he had
inspected her, but hell and the devil if Annabel couldn’t put him
in his place all by herself.

Cade had no more time to contemplate the
situation, for Conchita had now introduced all but himself. As she
murmured, “Our friend, Roy Steele,” as he had instructed her, with
exactly the right degree of confident composure, Lowry’s jaw
dropped.

The cowboys beside the cattleman grew still.
They stared at Cade, stared hard, and one by one their leathered
faces turned pale. Cade, however, didn’t even spare them a glance.
He locked eyes with Calvin Lowry, and his insides turned glacially
cold with the deadly purpose he allowed to consume him at such
moments.

Long seconds passed during which time
Annabel swore she could hear the candle wax melting inside the wall
sconces. Lowry was the first to drop his gaze. But he recovered his
composure after one gulped breath, and snapped his jaw shut. The
brown eyes narrowed, and she breathed a sigh of relief as he
extended a big, rough hand toward the gunslinger.

“Steele, eh?” He gave a slight guffaw, an
offensive sound. “I reckon you already met up with some of my boys
today.”

“You mean the ones I shot?” Cade ignored the
cattleman’s outstretched hand.

Lowry flushed. He dropped his hand, and
clenched it into a fist. The cowboys at his side leaned forward
slightly, following the conversation with taut attention.

“Hell, Steele,” Brett interpolated, his
thumbs hooked nonchalantly in his gun belt. “You didn’t shoot all
of ‘em. Me and the other boys picked off a few too.”

“It’s not exactly sociable to talk about
shooting at a fiesta, gentlemen.” Lowry’s eyes glittered as coldly
as a winter moon.

“It’s not exactly sociable to kill your
neighbor’s husband—and son,” Adelaide burst out.

The groups chattering around the room
suddenly grew quiet. Everyone seemed to be waiting, staring.

Are they going to start shooting right
now?
Annabel wondered in horror as she noticed several other
hard-visaged cowboys edging toward them. But Lowry held up his
hand.

“Now, folks, let’s not get excited. We’re
all neighbors after all, and we’re here to have a good time.” He
waved off his men, and boomed out a hearty chuckle as he once more
locked gazes with the gunman known as Roy Steele.

“You’re more than welcome,
Señora
Rivers, and all of your friends. Especially you, Steele. Matter of
fact, I’d like a chance to talk with you. Maybe we can exchange a
word or two in private.”

“Lowry, I reckon I’d rather try to hogtie a
skunk.”

Cade was smiling laconically as he spoke
these words, but that did nothing to take the sting out of them; in
fact, it seemed to add an edge to the insult. The remaining veneer
of affability vanished from Lowry’s face, and in the flickering
candlelight that bathed the parlor in golden illumination, his
jowly cheeks turned purple.

“I’ve tried real hard to be sociable, seeing
as you people are my guests,” he growled, and the three cowboys
beside him all went still again, their shoulders tensing. “But
you’re downright rude, Mister Steele. I don’t cotton to
rudeness.”

“Is that a fact? Didn’t know you were so
quick to get your tender little feelings hurt, Calvin.”

“We’ll just see who gets hurt,” one of the
cowboys snapped, but Lowry flashed him a frown to silence him.
“Now, now, no one’s going to get hurt. Since I’m the host here and
it’s my job to see everyone has a good time, I’m going to ignore
your insults, Mr. Steele, and instead I’m going to dance with this
pretty young lady here. Miss Brannigan, will you do me the
honor?”

Without waiting for a reply, he swung
Annabel toward the area that had been cleared for dancing, to join
half a dozen other couples twirling about the floor.

“I hate seeing that no-good snake with his
arms around Annie,” Brett muttered and started forward, but Cade
clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“You stay with Conchita and Adelaide—keep
them safe. I don’t trust Lowry for a minute.” He looked down at the
wide-eyed boy beside him and spoke in a low tone. “Tomas, it’s time
you mixed in there with those other children, and try to look real
natural—but watch for my signal.”

Cade’s gaze returned to Lowry and Annabel,
plunging together across the dance floor.

“I’m going to rescue our little
detective.”

Again
, he told himself as he strode
past knots of townsfolk and ranchers. The room was nothing but a
blur of festive music, brilliant colors, smoke, light, and raucous
laughter until he saw Annabel’s fine-boned face lifted calmly
toward Lowry’s.

R
eckon it’s time to
step aside, Calvin. Figured you won’t mind my cutting in,” Cade
said ruthlessly and with one smooth movement swung Annabel from
Lowry’s clasp into his own arms. The next moment they were off,
whirling away as the fiddlers slowed their tune to the Blue Danube
Waltz.

“Whatever took you so long?” Annabel
demanded as Cade’s arm tightened around her waist.

“Did you miss me?”

“My skin was crawling everywhere that man
touched me.”

“And how is your skin now?”

“Fair to middling,” she retorted, her chin
lifting as she remembered the peremptory way he had dismissed her
earlier, but to her surprise, Cade McCallum laughed.

“You certainly take the prize, Miss
Brannigan.”

“For what, Mr. Steele?”

“Sheer cheekiness.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Take it anyway you want.”

He was an excellent dancer, she noted, far
better than either Mr. Perkins, Mr. Reed, or Mr. Connely. He danced
with the same confident strength and agility with which he did
everything else, and he held her with a light but masterfully firm
touch that seemed to come from instinct as much as from
practice.

“If we’re talking about what I want, then I
have something to say to you.”

“Say it then.”

She bit her lip and raised beseeching eyes
to him. Why did he always have to make everything so difficult? “I
want you to believe me when I tell you that I care deeply about
Brett. I wasn’t only trying to find him because your father hired
the Stevenson agency. I am not a paid sneak. More than anything I
wanted to help Brett, just as I told you—to make sure he gets home
safely so that he can work things out with your father and stay out
of Red Cobb’s line of fire. Is that so horrible?”

“There’s something else you forgot to
mention. Something else you want.”

She moistened her lips, her breath catching
in her throat because he was holding her so sensuously close to
him. She swore she could feel every rock-solid muscle in the length
of his body, and it was doing strange things to her
concentration.

“What do you think I want?” she managed to
whisper, the words fuzzing in her throat.

“You want to marry my brother.”

What was the use in denying it? Cade
McCallum’s eyes seemed able to pierce right through her—had since
the first day they met. She felt her skin heating beneath that
relentless gaze. “Yes,” she whispered, giving a little gasp as he
twirled her a shade faster than the music, “I do. The truth is,
I’ve always loved Brett.”

“Always?”

“Ever since I can remember. But he doesn’t
know—promise me you won’t tell him. I ... I couldn’t bear for him
to feel sorry for me.” She knew she was chattering, but she
couldn’t help it. His nearness, the sleek powerful strength of him,
the dizzying way he was staring at her as they whirled through the
blur of music, all were having a strange effect on her. “You see,”
she continued desperately, plunging gamely on, “he’s never felt
about me the way that I feel about him. I had hoped that when I
found him he’d realize that ... oh, how can I put this? I haven’t
seen him in a while now and I thought he’d notice me and ...”

“My brother is even more of a fool than I
thought.”

“What do you mean?” Annabel gasped at the
harshness of his tone.

“He’s blind. Any fool can see that you love
him. Or that you think you do,” he added coolly, a suddenly
speculative glint entering his eyes.

Annabel bristled. “Of course I love him! I
certainly know my own mind!”

“Uh huh.”

What was that supposed to mean? He was
impossible. She gritted her teeth. He had the power to infuriate
her, and yet at the same time, his hand at her waist, and the other
hand gripping hers, were sending dazzling waves of fire through her
that had nothing to do with anger.

“It’s not Brett’s fault he doesn’t see how I
feel. My God, what kind of an investigator would I be, if everyone
could see right through me, could read every single thing I say and
do....”

“Just hope you fooled Red Cobb.”

She lifted her chin. “Of course I did. He
hasn’t turned up, has he?”

“Not yet,” Steele retorted brutally, as the
music stopped. Suddenly, he pulled her close, so close that her
breasts were crushed against the hard wall of his chest. She could
feel his heart beating, strong and steady beneath his shirt. For a
moment he held her taut against him, staring down into her face
without speaking.

Then he took a breath. “Annabel ...” he
began, something softening in the center of those gleaming black
eyes, but then he stopped, as if catching himself and muttered
hoarsely, “Never mind.”

A tension leapt between them, an
undercurrent of electricity that made Annabel’s blood rush into her
head. For one wild moment she wanted to touch the silky lock of his
hair that had fallen over his brow. She wanted to stay right where
she was, her gaze locked with his mesmerizing one, and see what
happened next ... but she couldn’t. People would begin to stare at
them, people were probably
already
staring at them.

Yet still she stayed. She couldn’t have torn
her gaze from his if she tried. “What is it?” she whispered, her
heart thudding crazily. “Tell me. Please.”

For one moment she thought he was going to
answer her. Then he drew back, and released her so suddenly her
knees almost buckled, and the familiar cool nonchalance transformed
him once again into Roy Steele, hardened gunslinger. “I’m going to
see what I can do about antagonizing Lowry further,” he said
casually. He led her off the dance floor, and the people who had
begun to stare turned back to their red wine or their lemonade and
began to chatter anew. “You go find Brett. Tell him to be careful
and wait for Tomas to bring him my message. While we were dancing,
Lowry spoke with ten different men I take to be his hands. Every
single one of ‘em is watching us right now.”

“I counted eleven.” Annabel forced herself
to speak as steadily as he, though she felt anything but calm. Her
palms felt clammy, her cheeks warm, and she longed for a glass of
lemonade to assuage the dryness in her throat. “One is posted
behind that potted plant near the dining room door. He’s wearing a
green vest.”

“Eleven, then.” Suddenly, he grinned at her
and shook his head. “You’re good, Miss Brannigan.” He added almost
to himself. “Maybe too good.”

She searched his face. “That sounds like a
compliment, but if you’re trying to say that I’m too good at my
work to be trustworthy, please think again. You can trust me,
Cade.”

Trust her? Maybe. But I don’t trust
myself
, he thought, allowing his gaze to linger for one
tantalizing moment on her delicate, upturned face, to meet those
provocative green eyes and get lost in their hypnotic gold-flecked
depths. The candlelight turned her hair to shining amber, and he
longed to unbind it, and wind his fingers through the thick, silken
tangles.