by Jill Gregory
“Stay out of my way.” Steele’s eyes bored into her. “I don’t want to see you sniffing around again like a little dog looking for its master. Don’t trail me, don’t watch for me, don’t ask about me—don’t even glance at me if I happen to run into you again before I leave this two-bit town. Is that clear?”
She forced the words out from between tightly clenched lips.
“Perfectly.”
He nodded, and opened the door for her. She started toward it, but froze at his next words. “And one more thing.”
“What is it?”
“If some hombre is really after you, go find yourself a sheriff and get some help from the law. Men like me, we’re not cut out to play nursemaid to little girls still wet behind the ears. Next time, you could land in worse trouble than the kind you found yourself in tonight.” His eyes raked her from head to toe and he finished in a low, cool drawl. “I’d hate to see that happen.”
“Oh, I’ll just bet you would, Mr. Steele,” Annabel retorted. She flushed as his eyes met hers with a mocking glint.
“May I go now?”
“Yep.”
She spun away from him and stamped out of the room. To her fury, she heard him chuckle as the door clicked shut behind her.
Oh, so I’ve amused you, have I? she fumed as she stalked down the stairs and across the little corridor toward the back door. Uproarious laughter rushed out from the main room of the saloon. She glanced over and saw Lily sitting on a tall stool at the bar, pouring whiskey for two young cowpokes. They were ogling her like a pair of moonstruck calves.
Annabel scowled. She doubted much more time would pass before the woman returned upstairs to Roy Steele and they continued with whatever they’d been about to do before Annabel had interrupted them. And Annabel had a very good idea what that might be. Thinking about it brought scarlet color to her already flushed cheeks. She slammed the door of the Hot Pepper Saloon on her way out and marched back to her hotel.
Well, while Mr. Roy Steele was otherwise engaged, she would be free to do some more sleuthing—unhampered and uninterrupted.
“I want a bath,” she informed the clerk as she stormed into the lobby. “Kindly send a chambermaid to my room with hot water immediately, if you please.”
And so, less than a quarter of an hour later, a stocky, dimpled young woman named Polly Groves was pouring steaming buckets of water into a bathtub behind a screen in Annabel’s room. And Annabel stuck a photograph of Brett under the girl’s nose and asked her if she’d ever seen this young man before.
“Yes, ma’am, he stayed here a whole week.”
Annabel nearly dropped the photograph into the tub. “He did?”
The girl bobbed her head and set the bucket down on the floor.
“Sure as snakes crawl. Who could forget a handsome feller like that? And he was a real gentleman, too. So polite and refined-like. Even when he was drunk.”
“Drunk?” Annabel stared at her. “Brett was drunk?”
“Most every afternoon and evening.” Polly shrugged. “But he was nice as can be. Now most men when they get drunk, they get kinda mean, or low-down rude at least. You know what I mean. They say things that’d make you blush.” The girl handed Annabel a thick white towel. “But Mr. McCallum wasn’t that way atall.”
Drunk Annabel frowned. She’d never once known Brett to overindulge in liquor. He was naturally good-natured and high-spirited, and had the most moderate habits of anyone she’d ever known. She couldn’t even imagine him in an intoxicated state. Something must be very wrong, she decided, her eyes clouding with fresh concern.
“Did he say where he was going after he left Eagle Gulch?”
“Why? Is he a friend of yours?”
“Yes, a very good friend, and I must find him. Polly, this is very important.”
The girl nodded and pushed a few straggles of raisin-brown hair back from her perspiring brow. “Well, matter of fact, he did say something to me,” she conceded. “Like I told that other fellow who asked, Mr. McCallum passed me in the hall the day he left Eagle Gulch. I was sweeping the stairs and I remember moving aside for him to go down—and he said, ‘Polly, I hope the girls in the rest of the territory are as pretty and sweet as the ones here in Eagle Gulch.’ ”
The chambermaid dimpled with pleasure at the memory. “It stuck in my mind because I kept thinkin’ how nice it was that he remembered my name. A lot of the customers here—even the ones who stay for weeks at a time—don’t even bother to find out my name, much less remember it ...”
“What did you mean when you said you told this to ‘that other fellow who asked’?” Annabel interrupted. “Who? Who else asked you about Brett McCallum?”
She found herself clenching the folds of her riding skirt between her fingers as she waited for Polly’s answer.
The girl watched her uncertainly, obviously noting Annabel’s tension. “There was this man,” she said, “he came here to the hotel, oh, about a week ago. And he asked me some questions about Mr. McCallum, too. But he didn’t have a photograph or anything,” she added, “he just said he owed Mr. McCallum some money, and he wanted to pay it to him and ...”
“What did he look like? What was his name? Do you know anything at all about him?”
Polly pursed her lips, thinking. “He was an easterner,” she offered. “A thin fellow, with spectacles on his nose—and he wore one of them fancy bowler hats. Mr. Bartholomew—that was his name! He didn’t seem like the type who’d be pards with a gunfighter like Red Cobb, but ...”
Annabel felt her heart freeze. She grasped the girl’s arm, her fingers taut. “What’s this about Red Cobb?”
“Well, he passes through Eagle Gulch now and again, and so I know what he looks like—he’s young and right handsome, matter of fact—doesn’t look like a killer at all but ... to get to the point, the fellow who asked me about Mr. McCallum had supper downstairs two or three times with Red Cobb. What’s the matter?”
“N-nothing. I’m just trying to sort this out.” Annabel paced across the room, stared out the window, then whirled back to the girl. “Did Mr. McCallum say anything else to you—mention any town, or any person —did he mention someone he might be meeting or visiting?”
Polly shook her head and picked up the empty buckets from the floor. “No, ma’am, all he said was what I told you. Is he all right? You seem awful worried about him.”
“I-I have news for him—and his family isn’t exactly sure where to find him.”
“Now that’s a powerful shame. I wish I could be more help. But ...” She stared at Annabel doubtfully. “How are you going to find him? Excuse me, ma’am, but you don’t exactly look like someone who knows the Arizona territory too well. Ever been here before?”
“No, but don’t worry about that, Polly. I’ll find him. And before anyone else does either.”
“Are you in love with him?” Polly blurted, then flushed, shifting in embarrassment from one foot to the other. “ ‘Scuse, me, I shouldn’t ought to have said that, but I can see from the way you’re so upset that you care for him—can’t blame you none either, him bein’ so handsome and so nice.” She gave a short, wistful little laugh. “I could’ve fallen in love with him real easy myself, given half a chance.”
“Yes, Brett is wonderful,” Annabel said softly. Her heart swelled suddenly with emotions, and she gazed down at the photograph in her hands. “I do love him, it’s true,” she admitted. “And that’s why I’m going to find him.”
“Good luck to you.” Polly took one last glance at the photograph before turning away with her buckets.
“Thank you, Polly.”
When the girl was gone, Annabel stripped off her dusty clothes and sank into the steaming tub, but her mind could not stop racing. Despite the soothing warmth of the water or the perfume of her favorite lavender-scented soap which she’d brought with her from St. Louis, she couldn’t slow the whirling turmoil inside her.
At first when Polly had told her about the thin bespect
acled easterner inquiring after Brett, she’d thought that perhaps it was an investigator from another agency, that Ross McCallum had hired two companies to search for his son, deducing that whoever found Brett first would be entitled to the fee. That would be just like him. But how did Red Cobb fit in?
She was stumped. And worse, she had an uneasy feeling about this. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she sensed that this Bartholomew was not employed by Ross McCallum, that he and Red Cobb were working together to find Brett—and for some sinister purpose of their own.
And they had a good head start on her—at least a week. By now they might have found him. By now he might be ... dead.
No. Don’t think like that. Brett is alive. He has to be. His father needs him and I need him—and he will be found, she told herself. He’ll be found alive and well.
But where?
Unfortunately, she was fresh out of leads. His trail ended here.
Unless ...
Unless Roy Steele knew more than she did. Unless the clerk downstairs or someone who worked at one of the other hotels had given Steele the information he wanted before he ordered them not to tell anyone else, as he had done with the blacksmith in Justice.
I’d bet Mama’s amber necklet he knows exactly where to look next, Annabel thought, sitting up in the tub with a whoosh of soapy water that cascaded over the sides.
She shivered all over despite the steaming water as she realized what she might have to do. Steele had warned her not to follow him again, warned her to stay out of his way. But she might have no choice.
If she couldn’t get answers from anyone else in Eagle Gulch, if he had effectively silenced everyone who might shed light on Brett’s trail, then there was only one thing left to do. When Steele left Eagle Gulch to go after Brett, she would have to be right behind him.
And this time, Annabel thought, crossing her arms across her cool, shivering skin, if she wanted to save her neck, she’d have to make sure she did not get caught.
Chapter 7
Merciless sunshine poured down from a hot cobalt sky, baking Annabel’s perspiring skin until she felt like a limp, glazed, and oft-basted turkey. Her throat was so parched she could barely swallow, yet she dared not stop to drink from her canteen or rest her horse. If she did, Steele might get too far ahead of her and then she would be hopelessly lost out here in the pine-scented ridges and gullies along the Mogollon Rim.
She had never felt so alone, so small and utterly vulnerable. Admit it, she told herself with a gulp as she ducked beneath the low-hanging branch of a pine. So frightened.
This had been a harebrained idea right from the start. Following Steele. It was madness. If she lost him, she would be as good as dead. And if she ventured too close and he realized that she was following him ...
Annabel didn’t want to think about what he would do to her then.
What had Lily said? Don’t shoot her in my bedroom.
Well, out here in the Mogollons he might have no compunctions. No one would be obliged to scrub up the blood.
She decided she’d rather take her chances getting lost in the wilderness than risking the wrath of Roy Steele, so she hung back as far as she dared. The trail was leading down now, away from the forested edge of the Rim, winding lower into the treacherous canyons and ravines below. The going was slow and difficult, and as the sun continued to blaze overhead, Sunrise picked her way along the narrow rocky pathway flanked by white grass and ferns.
Annabel took comfort in knowing she had provisions, at least. There were jerky and biscuits in her carpetbag, along with two canteens of water—and her derringer hidden inside her riding boot. But she prayed she wouldn’t have any use for it. It wouldn’t help her against an Indian attack, and she wasn’t quite sure which wild animals inhabited this rugged section of the Arizona territory, but if they hadn’t reached a town by dark, she knew she’d have to build a fire and stay awake all night to make sure that no one and nothing sneaked up on her ...
Does this man never get tired? she muttered through dry, cracked lips as she followed the tracks Steele’s horse had stamped in the earth. There was no sign of him below, only the drooping petals of wildflowers among the rocks, an occasional lizard sunning itself on a ledge, and the looping flight of eagles high overhead. The sun crawled toward the western horizon, its rays seeming to grow more piercing as the hours passed and the mare trudged along beneath the cloudless, windless sky. Annabel concentrated on following the trail, all the while assuring herself that soon ... very soon ... they would come upon a town, and Steele would stop for the night to drink and bed some whore like that Lily, and she would quietly check into a hotel and ask about Brett and discover that he was right there in town and ...
Annabel reined in, gasping in horror. No. Oh, no, it couldn’t be. She rubbed her bleary eyes and stared down once more at the trail before her.
Trail? What trail? There was none—not a single mark in the dirt.
Steele’s tracks were gone.
This can’t be, she thought in desperation, and turned Sunrise back a little ways to check the path she’d been following. But now as she leaned down, she realized that it was impossible to tell if the blurred hoof-prints on the trail were those of her own horse, or Steele’s, or a combination of both. The wind had picked up and was blowing the dust about this way and that and Annabel quickly turned her mare around and urged her forward again, fighting off panic.
He couldn’t be far ahead. Keep going and you’ll pick up his tracks soon enough, she told herself, and nudged the mare to a trot.
All about her were sheer tall rocks and ruddy canyon walls. Above, the craggy ledges of the rim shimmered gray and purple in the blazing sun. It looked like the exact same spot she had passed over an hour ago.
But it couldn’t be. She pressed on, staring hard at the ground, willing herself to see the trail that had been there before, that she’d followed without any problem at all ...
There was no trail. Only earth and grass and rock and the high plaintive wail of the wind which rose around her in a swirl of dust as if to mock her.
“Keep going,” Annabel whispered to herself in despair. Her hands shook as she lifted the reins and blinked against the sun’s glare and the biting sting of the wind.
* * *
Steele smiled coldly to himself.
He’d lost her in Willow Canyon, not far below the craggy northeast corner of the rim. So long, Miss Brannigan. Adiós, and good luck.
It had been child’s play, as easy as breathing. Poor Miss Brannigan, he reflected, as his big bay descended a gorge lined with oaks. This was rugged country. Intimidating to someone who didn’t know the ins and outs of it. But Steele knew it as intimately as he knew Lily Pardee’s boudoir. And he also knew that Annabel Brannigan—a greenhorn if ever he’d seen one—would never be able to follow him.
She was probably scared—and mad as hell—Steele reflected as he spurred Dickens on toward the next grassy ravine, moving at an easy pace. Satisfaction flickered through him. Served her right. Little Miss Liar would simply have to give up, turn back, and follow her own tracks back to Eagle Gulch. If she didn’t dawdle, she could reach the border of the town before dark.
But as the wind picked up and the branches of the low oaks and pines shook all about him, Steele swore under his breath. The tracks would be hard to follow now. What if the damn fool woman didn’t recognize her surroundings enough to retrace her steps? She’d be lost, stranded in the godforsaken Mogollons.
And it would be his fault.
Hell no, it wouldn’t be, Steele argued with himself as he guided Dickens down a narrow rutted trail that twisted like a snake. It was her own damn fault. He’d warned her not to follow him. Whatever happened now, it was only what she deserved.
That morning, when he’d sensed someone trailing him, he’d immediately circled up onto the ledge overlooking the trail outside of Eagle Gulch for a look. And he hadn’t been too surprised to see Annabel Brannigan riding hell for leather b
elow. What did she think she was doing, when he’d warned her plain and simple to stay away?
He’d thought about heading her off and confronting her right there, scaring her away and being done with it, but he’d been so furious that he’d decided to lead her on and let her suffer the consequences of getting lost in forbidding, isolated country and having to eventually give up and turn back.
But there was something that bothered him about this whole thing, and Steele couldn’t stop thinking about it. He couldn’t understand why she persisted in following him, particularly when he’d made it so clear he wouldn’t look too kindly on her if it happened again. That half-baked story she’d given him yesterday about someone wanting to kill her hadn’t quite rung true. She was a pretty good liar, he reflected, remembering the wide-eyed appeal in her eyes, but not good enough.
Yet he couldn’t figure what the real story could be.
It doesn’t matter, he told himself as the trail wound past a thicket of pines and some twigs crackled underfoot. You’ll never see her again.
Because she’d probably die, stranded, out in the brakes, a caustic inner voice pointed out to him.
Steele scowled at the looming canyon walls and the towering rim high above. He couldn’t afford to waste time thinking about Annabel Brannigan. “Let’s go, boy,” he urged the bay, his fingers tightening on the reins. He focused his concentration on his quarry. “We’re going to catch him soon,” he reflected silently. “And at this point, I’ll be damned if I’m stopping for anyone—particularly some pesky woman who’s got no business following me in the first place.”
* * *
A glow of purple and gold radiated across the sky as the sun dipped lower and the air beneath the rim turned cool. Annabel halted her mare in a clearing beneath a ledge and gazed around her with hopeless eyes.
I can’t go forward and I can’t go back, she thought in despair. Her eyes ached with strain, and her shoulders burned with exhaustion. For the past two hours she’d been trying to retrace her steps back to Eagle Gulch, but the wind had wiped out her trail, and all the canyons and hilltops looked alike. She couldn’t get back to the top of the rim. Twice she’d found herself going in circles.