When The Heart Beckons (7 page)

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.

E
arly 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 creeks. 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.

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
...”