by Jill Gregory
Shortly past noon Steele took a curving path leading into a forested area and they soon reached the shallow bank of a meandering stream. He followed the path of the stream, dipping through leafy pine glades and stands of spruce until at last the brook veered down a thicketed rise into a rolling, lovely oval valley.
Annabel gasped in delight. The valley was walled on two sides by rocky ledges of gray and purple mountains. Between these two walls, the splendor of broken canyons and mesas and distant prairies extended as far as the eye could see. It was a heavenly spot, wild and unspoiled. The valley was carpeted with deep grass and consisted of gently undulating meadows scattered with tiny blue and white and purple wildflowers. And, in the midst of it all, stood a log cabin, poised on a long bench of land. The cabin, not far from the stream, was enchantingly nestled amidst the sparkle of golden aspens ringed by tall pines.
Annabel gazed at it in awe, taking in the brilliance of the sun, the vivid turquoise sky, the endless luxuriant grass, the mountains, the sweep and panorama of the most spectacular scenery she’d ever envisioned cupped about the small wood cabin. Never had she seen a more wild, unspoiled, gorgeous sight.
“Let’s go,” Steele said beside her.
“We’re stopping here?”
When he nodded, Annabel tried to conceal her relief, hoping he hadn’t noticed the catch in her voice. She was so thankful she could have shouted, but she kept her elation to herself.
There was still one little problem, though, she conceded as the horses halted before the cabin. She still had to find the strength to dismount without falling down at Steele’s feet.
It seemed she needn’t have worried about that. Before she knew it, he had jumped from the saddle and stalked toward Sunrise. He reached up for her and lifted her down.
But to Annabel’s surprise, instead of setting her down, he carried her toward the cabin door.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re done in.”
“I’m what? Who says? I’m perfectly—”
“Lady, you look like you’ve had about all you can take for one day. I don’t need you fainting on me and injuring that shoulder anymore. It’s been bleeding this past hour.”
“You ... knew?”
He kicked open the cabin door and strode across the threshold. “Hard to miss all that blood,” he said drily, and glancing down, Annabel realized that the trickle of blood she had seen staining through the bandage had now begun to gush. The sleeve of her shirtwaist was soaked.
“Stay here and don’t move,” he said curtly, setting her down on a lumpy old horsehair sofa set against the cabin wall. “I’ll get the salve and bandages.”
It was not much of a cabin, only four log walls, a floor of packed earth, a stove and fireplace in the corner. But it appeared to be snugly built, with no cracks or chinks in the log walls or ceiling which would let in rain, sleet, or snow. There was a wooden bench pulled up before a rickety pine table near the south window, and a three-legged stool next to the old sofa. A kerosene lamp sat in the center of the table. No rug or curtains or pictures or knickknacks alleviated the stark barrenness of the crude little structure.
Yet the place had a safe, friendly feel to it. Annabel eased herself down on the sofa in relief, hoping they could stay and rest for at least a little while. Steele was determined to reach Silver Junction before dark, and she had no idea how much farther it was, but she would take any respite she could from the ordeal of riding with a wounded shoulder.
“Do you want to take the blouse off, or should I cut off the sleeve?” Steele’s voice broke into her dazed reverie as she gave in to the pain and weariness.
She opened her eyes and stared at him. “It’s ruined anyway,” she whispered. “I’ll take it off. But ... don’t watch.”
“Suit yourself.”
He busied himself riffling through his pack while she struggled out of her shirtwaist and positioned the blanket he had left with her across her breasts.
Steele glanced over at her and his eyes narrowed. Her attempts to retain all proper modesty might have amused him, except that she was so serious and painstaking about it. That suggested one thing. She was as innocent as she was lovely. He suppressed a groan. Just what he needed, an innocent beauty in tow, one who was every bit as stubborn as she was enticing. This situation was growing more complicated and less to his liking by the minute. Added to that, when he returned to her side, set on tending the wound, she looked even paler and more ill than she had before.
For a moment, fear chilled him as he wondered if the wound was infected, but when he inspected it, it looked clean enough, and it was healing.
“So far, so good,” he muttered with a scowl. “But if it gets infected you’ll have real trouble. Better keep it still for a while and don’t move.” Steele stepped back and returned the salve and extra bandages to his pack.
“But we have to go on. I thought you wanted to reach Silver Junction by tonight.”
He shrugged. “It can wait. You’ve had enough riding for one day. Maybe two. We’ll stay put for the time being until the wound has had more time to heal.”
Annabel stared at him as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “But you were in such a hurry! And so am I. We must find Brett before Red Cobb does,” she added firmly. “That means going on today. I thought you said you wanted to help him ...”
“I do. But I don’t reckon he’d look too kindly on my dragging in a half-dead fiancée and dropping her at his feet.”
She gripped the blanket excitedly, holding it up to her shoulders. “Does this mean you’re going to take me along with you all the way—until we find Brett?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did. You said—”
“I said we wait until you’re well enough before we ride on to town, and then you stay put while I go find Brett.”
“But I am well enough. Mr. Steele, we must go on—if anything happens to Brett I’ll never forgive myself!”
He gave her a long look. The memory of the way she’d kissed him last night still burned in his brain. Who’d have guessed that so much sweet passion flowed beneath all that irritating stubbornness? He had to force himself to focus on the here and now. She was going to marry her beloved Brett McCallum, and that was that. What happened last night could never happen again.
“If you love your fiancée so much, you won’t underestimate him,” he said coolly. “From what I understand, Brett McCallum comes from some pretty tough stock. He can probably take care of himself just fine, without your help or mine.”
“Under ordinary circumstances, perhaps. But Red Cobb is a dangerous man. I’ve heard that he ... and you ... are probably the deadliest guns in the territory.”
“Only in the territory?” Steele scoffed. “Hell, I’m crushed, Miss Brannigan. I thought my reputation was wider than that—extending throughout all of the West.”
“This is hardly a joke!”
“And neither is your wound.”
He stomped outside and Annabel watched him as he began tending to the horses. He worked with an easy confident strength and great efficiency—much the way he kissed, she reflected woefully, all too aware of the electric little tingles shooting through her at the memory. She mustn’t think about last night, not about one single moment of it—not about the wondrous fire that had spread through her when his mouth captured hers, not about the way she felt when he held her, or touched her hair, or pulled her so intimately against him.
It must never happen again! she warned herself, furious at the breathless longing that swept over her for just a moment as she relived those riveting moments. Then she banished the memories and the emotions with a frustrated groan. Stop it! Just stop thinking about it and those ridiculous feelings will go away.
She sank back down against the dark lumpy cushions of the sofa, but her brain couldn’t seem to swerve from its forbidden path. Did he kiss his precious Lily that way, she wondered darkly, glaring unseeingly at the open sky outside the
window, and digging her nails into the sofa cushions with vicious force. Did he look at her with that same searing intensity, and hold her as tightly, and ...
No more. Annabel closed her eyes and used all of her willpower to shift her thoughts away from Roy Steele.
Rest, she told herself. You need to regain your strength if you’re going to be of any use to Brett—and to poor Mr. McCallum back in St. Louis.
She was worried sick about both of them, and with good reason. She was still no closer to knowing what had caused Brett to run away than when she began. She was hot on his trail, true, and now she was close to getting Steele to agree to let her travel with him until they found Brett, but there were still too many unanswered questions. She was supposed to be an investigator, but so far she had learned very little of value—except that Brett had been drinking since he’d left home ... drinking heavily, and he was headed ... where? It suddenly dawned on her that Roy Steele had not even told her where he was riding, where he thought Brett had gone.
Well, now you have a goal for tonight, she told herself, settling her spine more comfortably against the sofa. Tonight you must prod Steele for information, find out if he really wants to help Brett and just what he knows about Brett’s whereabouts.
She thought back to some of the stories her mother and later Aunt Gertie had told her about her mother’s exploits during the war. Savannah Brannigan had used her intelligence and daring to learn valuable secrets for her Union contacts. Her beauty had been an advantage, but only because she had combined it with strategy and resourcefulness to pump her southern acquaintances for information so subtly that they never realized they were being split open and inspected like fruit about to be speared and eaten. For a moment she wondered if her mother had ever suffered qualms of conscience about deceiving and spying upon people who considered her a friend. She must have—but at the same time, Annabel mused, she must have believed with all her heart that she was acting on behalf of a higher cause, trying to help the Union, and her own husband, perhaps saving his life by shortening the war or giving the North an advantage in a battle where otherwise Ned Brannigan might be among the fallen.
And I must think of a higher cause, too—and that is saving Brett’s life and helping him and Mr. McCallum, Annabel told herself as the afternoon sun slanted in amber beams through the window and warmed her face and bare shoulders. If it means using every wile I possess on Roy Steele to ascertain if he is truly friend or foe, then I will. If it means trickery or downright lying to discover what he knows about Brett’s whereabouts then I will. But if he ever catches on to me, I’ll be in dire trouble.
Then he’d best not catch on, she decided briskly, and suddenly glanced about. She was alone in the cabin, and there was no longer any sign of Roy Steele outside. He must be watering the horses by the stream, she reasoned, and sat up straighter. Steele’s saddle pack was on the floor near the stove. All thoughts of a nap forgotten, she dropped the blanket and was off the sofa in an instant, scurrying across the floor clad only in her camisole and skirt, intent on the open saddle pack.
She knelt down and carefully, using both hands, began rummaging through it. Flinging out several shirts and bandanas, and a pouch containing dried jerky and hardtack, she dug around inside the roomy leather bag. Cartridges and ammunition, a bowie knife, some socks and woolen drawers which she shoved aside, a wooden shaving brush and razor, some soap and toiletries and ... nothing.
Nothing. Not one personal item, photograph, letter, piece of jewelry, or keepsake to suggest a family, children, wife, lady friend. Nothing.
She sat back, stunned. She didn’t know whether to feel pity or fear. It was disconcerting to discover that Steele traveled about with nothing personal whatsoever among his possessions—nothing of the past or of the future, nothing signifying any ties ever to anyone or anything ...
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Annabel jerked around. Roy Steele glared at her from the doorway of the cabin.
“I’m ...”
“Go on.”
“... looking for the whiskey. My arm hurts and I thought a few sips would help dull the pain.”
The coldness in his expression left no doubt of his disbelief. “It’s there,” he said, jabbing a finger downward. “Right beside you.”
“Oh, is it?” Annabel feigned surprise. “I guess I overlooked it in the jumble.”
“Ahuh.”
“I’m ... sorry if you minded my searching for it myself, but I didn’t know exactly where you’d gone or when you’d be back.”
“Well, go ahead. Take a sip. What are you waiting for?”
She opened the flask, and at that moment became aware that she was wearing only her camisole. She felt her skin growing hot. “I think I’d better dress first.”
“But you’re hurting. Go ahead, Miss Brannigan, drink your fill.”
To her consternation, he came forward into the cabin and blocked her path as she sought to return to the sofa, where her carpetbag sat on the floor. Annabel’s cheeks flamed as he allowed his glance to linger speculatively on the swell of her breasts above the lace-edged camisole. His expression was unreadable, but there was arrogance in the set of his shoulders beneath his dark blue shirt, and in the way his eyes gazed mockingly at her beneath his shock of hair.
He was deliberately seeking to humiliate her—to punish her for searching through his pack. He knew as well as she that she’d been lying—but he couldn’t prove it. So Roy Steele had found his own way of getting her back.
It was working. She felt awkward and helpless as a captured sparrow beneath his intent gaze. She lifted the flask to her lips, took a quick sip, and then sidestepped him nimbly. “There, that’s better. Now if you don’t mind turning the other way ...”
“And if I do?”
“Well, do as you please.” She had reached the carpetbag. He had let her reach the carpetbag, she acknowledged. Awkwardly, she set down the flask and riffled through her belongings until she found yet another shirtwaist, this one pale yellow. But as she lifted it out of the bag, he suddenly took it from her and held it behind him.
“Not yet.”
“What are you doing?”
“First, you’re going to be honest with me. What were you really looking for in my pack? No lies. I can always tell when you’re lying.”
“You cannot.” She gaped at him. “C-can you?”
A light mocking smile answered her, one that never reached his eyes. “Your lips part just a little, Miss Brannigan. Like they’re doing right now.” He reached up slowly and rubbed his finger along her bottom lip with a light caress. “And your eyes darken almost to jade.”
Annabel went very still. His finger was still tracing the lush outline of her lower lip, rubbing back and forth with a feather-light motion that was sending goose bumps down her spine.
“Those are both dead giveaways, Miss Brannigan,” he said softly. “You haven’t fooled me yet.”
“Oh ... well ... I ...” Annabel struggled to think clearly despite the dizzying warmth surging through her. Her mouth felt on fire everywhere his finger was touching. And she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from the glinting depths of his eyes. She fought to concentrate on what he was saying, for the implications of his statement filled her with distress.
If she couldn’t even lie convincingly, how would she make a decent private investigator? Surely her mother never had such a problem or she wouldn’t have been able to survive throughout all the war years without getting caught.
But somehow she couldn’t think clearly about this at the moment. Her limbs were melting like long, slender candles that had been tossed into a roaring hearth.
And he was still touching her mouth.
“I’ll ... have to work on ... controlling that,” she heard herself murmuring, and suddenly Steele’s fingers moved to her hair and twisted a handful of her wildly cascading curls.
“Only problem is, some things just can’t be controlled,” he said slowly. There
was an intentness in his gaze that sent waves of panic spiraling through her chest. She wanted to close her eyes and escape the intensity of his gaze, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t move away, couldn’t even think beyond the giddy sensations reeling through her.
Don’t. Steele checked himself as for a fraction of a second he swayed dangerously close to the enchanting minx before him. Don’t get involved with her any more than you already are. For God’s sake, she’s Brett’s fiancée.
This last thought more than any other shook him to his senses. With a shock, he realized how close he was to gathering her in his arms and kissing the adorable astonishment right off her lips. Instead, he tightened his resolve with the iron self-control that had become as natural as breathing to him over the years, and let go of her velvety hair.
“What were you looking for?” he asked, taking a step back, counting on distance to quell the fire racing through him. It didn’t, so he reminded himself again who she was, and why he couldn’t even think about touching her.
“I wanted to see if there was any clue where we were headed ... where you expect to find Brett.”
“Why didn’t you just ask me?”
“You’re not always forthcoming with answers, Mr. Steele.”
He’d been trying hard not to look at the creamy enticement of her breasts swelling above that damned lace thing she was wearing. But it was getting more difficult by the moment. Silently cursing himself for not being immune to her allure, he decided he’d better act quickly or risk losing what was left of his sanity.