by Jill Gregory
Brett burst out laughing. Annabel twisted her fingers in her mare’s mane, her eyes locked with Steele’s. “I can explain ...”
But she never had the chance.
The silence of the valley was shattered by gunfire. Shots blasted from the direction of the ranch house and Brett spun toward the sound in alarm. “Damn it, I was supposed to be on lookout!” He grabbed his rifle from the grass. “The bastards sneaked up while I was ...”
But they never heard the rest of the sentence because he clambered back atop the boulders as he spoke and his voice was drowned out by the scrape of his boots and additional gunshots.
“Shit, they’ve got the house surrounded!”
With one lithe movement, Cade sprang back into the saddle. “You have a horse?”
“Up here behind some trees ...” Brett was already bounding out of sight.
More shots quickly followed, and shouts—and Annabel heard the thunder of hoofbeats.
Cade McCallum threw her a look of pure ice. “Stay here with the horses. Don’t move. I’m not finished with you yet.”
And he spurred Dickens forward to a gallop, disappearing past the boulders and around a bend before Annabel could reply.
Annabel dismounted, her mind racing with all the events which had unfolded so quickly: the discovery that Roy Steele was really Cade McCallum, his discovery that she had lied about being Brett’s fiancée, and—last but certainly not least, the incredible pleasure of seeing Brett again, of hearing his voice, witnessing that dear familiar smile.
And now, the two men whom she felt most strongly about in the world were both riding headlong into some terrible danger—and she was standing here with a bunch of horses.
“Not on your life, Steele—er, McCallum!” she fumed, and swiftly set to work tethering the pack horses to a juniper tree, and then fishing in her pack for the heavy Colt revolver she’d bought in Silver Junction. When she mounted Sunrise, she gripped the Colt in one hand.
“You’re right about one thing, Cade McCallum. This isn’t finished, not by a long shot. And I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you or Brett until I’ve had a chance to deal with the both of you.”
She dug her knees into the mare’s sides and the horse bolted forward. Annabel settled low in the saddle and braced herself for what lay ahead.
* * *
“Señora Rivers, we can end this all today! Just sign over the deed to the Lowry Cattle Company and there’ll be no more trouble! You folks can live here, you can keep the ranch, the horses and corrals, even graze a few dozen head of cattle. And you’ll be left alone. You have Mr. Lowry’s word!”
Eight men on horseback circled the ranch house, firing, as Annabel galloped up the road, trying to catch up with Cade. One of the riders, wearing a green flannel shirt and brown vest, who was obviously the spokesman, was shouting his warnings as Cade charged up, his gun drawn.
The man in the brown vest whirled toward the newcomer as the big bay horse bore down on him, and he fired.
But Cade got his shot off first and the man toppled into the dirt. Cade swerved toward the barn, where three of the riders were headed toward him.
Through the blur of horses, dust, men, gunfire, and answering shots from inside the ranch house, Annabel rode up and immediately saw Brett plunging into the fray on a pure white stallion, but before she knew quite where to turn or what to do, her heart turned over with terror, as she suddenly noticed three riders heading full speed toward Cade, firing all the while.
Instinct made her spur Sunrise forward. Without thinking, she aimed her Colt.
She’d never fired at a man before, much less at a man on horseback, but she had no time to wonder at her ability to shoot true. Even as Cade’s shot sent the nearest rider plummeting from his horse, the next rider took aim.
So did Annabel. Unhesitatingly, she squeezed the Colt’s trigger.
The man screamed and toppled sideways from the saddle. As Annabel watched in stunned fascination, his horse galloped on, but the man lay sprawled in a bloody twitching heap alongside the corrals.
Nausea rose within her. She reined in Sunrise, her ears filled with a dull roar of shock, as she tried to choke back the sickness inside her.
But then, from the corner of her eye, she became aware that the third rider was now aiming his gun at her, bearing down at an impossible speed, and reflexively she raised the Colt again in a desperate attempt to fire first. But she was too late. Before either she or the man could squeeze off a shot, Cade McCallum killed him with one bullet through the heart.
The man was flung backwards off his horse, another body among the many all about them thudding into the blood-soaked dirt.
Dazed, Annabel stared around her. Above, the sky was still a brilliant cobalt blue. The mountains still gleamed in the distance. But there were six dead men on the ground. The remaining two riders were hightailing it toward the mesas east of the ranch. Cade was still in the saddle. So was Brett, and some other men, who were talking to Brett, she realized, and concluded numbly that they must work for Conchita Rivers.
Now that the fighting was over, she felt ill. Her muscles felt cold and achy, and her temples throbbed. She pushed back her sombrero with shaking fingers, and saw a dark-haired woman in her thirties open the door of the ranch house and step onto the porch. She held a shotgun.
“It’s all right, Conchita,” Brett called. “They’re gone for now! Anyone hurt?”
But Annabel never heard her reply. She closed her eyes and tried to brace herself in the saddle, so weak she was struggling to keep from sliding off.
Suddenly, both Brett and Cade were beside her. “What the hell were you doing out here? Trying to get yourself killed?” Cade demanded, but before he could reach for her, Brett stepped forward and put a hand to Annabel’s arm.
Gently he tugged her down from the saddle and enclosed her in a hard embrace. “Annabel, Annabel. There now, it’s all right.”
“Oh, Brett,” she whispered, raising wide, distraught eyes to his face. “I’m sorry to be such a ninny, but ... I’ve never killed anyone before.”
“Know something? Neither have I.” He gave a hoarse laugh, and put his arms around her. “Go ahead and cry, Annie,” he urged. “I don’t mind if you soak my shirt—it wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I didn’t mean to ... I didn’t want to, but he was going to shoot Steele ... that is, Cade, and ...”
“It’s all right.” Brett stroked her hair, holding her tight. “Don’t question it—you had no choice. Annie, you just saved my brother’s life.”
Annabel’s knees gave out, and Brett caught her up in his arms. He started toward the ranch house, where the dark-haired woman watched them both with a worried frown.
“Come inside,” she urged, and held open the door.
Cade hadn’t moved, but stood beside Sunrise, watching Brett and Annabel without expression.
“Cade, come on,” Brett called over his shoulder as he glanced back from the door. “I want you to meet Señora Rivers. She’ll explain everything. Hurry, I don’t know how long we have before they come back.”
Cade waited a moment longer after watching his brother carry Annabel into the adobe ranch. Her arm had been flung tightly around Brett’s neck. Her head had rested against his chest, her eyes closed.
The image of this was seared in his mind like a brand. He felt stunned, baffled, and hurt. What the hell was he to believe? According to his brother, they weren’t betrothed. So Annabel had lied to him about that. But from what he’d seen with his own eyes, that could change at any moment. The closeness between his brother and Miss Annabel Brannigan was apparent. It struck him with the force of a tomahawk hurled straight through the heart.
Annabel Brannigan adored Brett. She trusted him completely. And that Brett cared deeply for her was as plain as the blood running in crimson rivulets through the dust at Cade’s feet.
So what the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here.
Staring at the open door
of the ranch, Cade wished he could just ride away and never look back, never have to see Annabel clutching so tightly and trustingly to another man, never have to know how completely her heart was given over to someone else.
It hurt too damn much. In fact, knowing her hurt too damn much. She made him want things, things he could never have.
Ride, he thought, his chest tight with pain. Head out and don’t stop until you can’t go another step, until you’ve left her far behind and forgotten how beautiful she is, how soft, how smart and headstrong, how good she smells, and how her lips taste sweeter than Lily’s best elderberry wine ...
Ride!
But he couldn’t ride, he couldn’t run. He had a job to do, and there was no leaving until it was finished. Brett and Annabel were both in danger now, for in addition to the threat from the Lowry Cattle Company, there was still Red Cobb to be considered. Annabel’s wild-goose chase would not keep him at bay for long. He could show up at any moment and he’d be mad as hell.
Cade led Sunrise and Dickens into the corral. Then he walked slowly toward the adobe building. He threw one last keen glance around the isolated mesas surrounding the ranch before forcing himself to go inside.
Chapter 16
Would you care for some more coffee, Señorita Brannigan?”
Annabel set down her cup with a shake of her head, smiling at the elegant, copper-skinned woman who paused beside her chair. “No, thank you—gracias, Señora Rivers. I’m much better now.”
“You must call me Conchita. We live a simple life here, my son, my mother-in-law, and me. There is no need for formality.”
“Then I’m Annabel,” she returned with a vivid smile, surprised by how nice it was to be in the company of a woman again, especially a woman as kind and gracefully lovely as Conchita Rivers.
She had so many questions, questions both for Brett—and for the man she now knew to be Cade McCallum.
Cade McCallum. The impact of Steele’s true identity continued to stun her. All that balderdash he had told her—Brett warning him about the Hart brothers, reading about Ross McCallum in the newspapers—all of it had been a complete sham. And she had believed every word. Some private investigator I am, she thought glumly. The truth was right in front of me and I was blind to it all along.
She glanced over at Cade, standing beside the stone mantel in the simple, but brightly colorful living room of the Rivers ranch, and for just a moment, his gaze met hers. Annabel flinched at the obsidian coldness in his eyes. It was hard to believe she had ever even for a moment glimpsed a particle of warmth or of humor in those eyes. Harder than marble they were, and just as inhuman.
He has no reason to be angry with me for lying to him, none at all, she told herself. After all the lies he told me, he is the one who ought to be ashamed. Yet, she wished for a chance to explain to him why she had lied, and to make him see that, in essence, what she had told him was true. In her heart, she was promised to Brett. Her love for his brother and her wish to marry him and make him happy were as real as the puncheon floor beneath their feet.
But explanations would have to wait. There were many things to sort out now, quickly, before the ranch came under attack again, and any personal discussion with the gunman she’d known as Roy Steele would have to be postponed.
The Rivers ranch was a long, rambling adobe building, with an open portico connecting two separate areas —this parlor and the bedrooms branching off of it—and the adjoining kitchen and shed. All that Annabel had seen was spotless and cheerful. The scoured floor was adorned with a Navajo rug in bright shades of blue and yellow and green. Potted plants flanked the stone fireplace, and much of the carved wooden furniture was covered with brightly embroidered pillows. White lace curtains, a filled bookcase against one wall, and an ornately carved whatnot graced by small baskets of flowers and lovely ceramic bowls imbued the ranch house with added charm.
Adelaide Rivers, Conchita’s tiny, wizened mother-in-law, occupied the rocking chair set beside the fireplace, while her grandson, Tomas, sat cross-legged at her feet, whittling a piece of wood. He was a small, olive-complexioned boy, who looked to be about ten, with a narrow, stoic face beneath silky black hair. Annabel noticed that the knife with which he was whittling seemed too big for him, but he shaved away without concern, his lips pursed in fierce concentration.
As Conchita Rivers set the coffeepot on a side table and took her place in the straight-backed chair opposite the sofa, she gave a soft sigh.
“I am sorry you were drawn into this ugly situation, Señorita ... Annabel. Usually at the Racing Rivers Ranch we greet our guests more hospitably than with gunfire and death.”
“Please don’t worry about me. I’m not usually so squeamish. As a matter of fact, I’ve always detested girls who get the vapors.”
“That’s true enough.” Brett, beside her, squeezed her hand. “But for a minute there, Annabel, I swear I thought you were going to swoon.” His eyes danced. “Just like those females you always complained about in novels.”
“I’ve never swooned in my life, so why should I start now—Merely because I k-killed a man?” Annabel tried to keep her tone light, but her voice trembled a little over the last few words, betraying that she was still shaken by what she’d had to do.
Brett’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “Well, don’t bother feeling sorry for that fellow—or any of those hombres out there today, Annie. Not one of them is worth shedding a tear over,” he assured her, and reached down for the bottle of tequila on the floor beside him. To Annabel’s chagrin, he lifted it to his lips and drank deeply.
She made a small, uncontrollable gesture of concern, then quickly clasped her hands in her lap to keep them still. But she was worried. She had already smelled liquor on Brett’s breath when he’d carried her inside. And there was something wild and pained in his usually merry eyes, something at odds with their overbright sparkle.
“You are right about that, young man,” Adelaide Rivers spat out, ceasing the rocking motion of her chair. Her rheumy eyes watered. “Those low-down thieves killed my son! Butchering’s too good for every one of ‘em!”
Cade had been standing silently by the mantel, his broad shoulder resting against it. His expression, if possible, grew even more formidable than it had been before.
“Tell me who these men are, Brett. And what kind of trouble you’ve landed in here.” He gave a wry shake of his head. “Later we can get to the little matter of Red Cobb.”
Cade had avoided looking at Annabel as he spoke, deliberately keeping his gaze fixed on Brett’s somber, unshaven face. But he had noticed the two of them holding hands, and it made him feel like he’d been gut-punched. It took all of his willpower to keep from yanking her off the sofa and into his arms, to keep from telling her that she didn’t belong with Brett, she belonged with him.
But there was no time to think about Annabel now, he told himself roughly, forcing his attention back to the situation at hand. And besides, there was nothing to think about. She’d been telling him for days now how much she loved Brett. That part of her story at least was true. So that was that.
“There’s not much to tell.” Brett shrugged. “But I bet you could tell me a thing or two, Mr. Roy Steele!” He shook his head, and for just a moment the old familiar glint of laughter shone in his eyes. “Imagine, my very own big brother—the deadliest gun in the West! I’ve heard of you from here to Independence, but I never thought Roy Steele was you! Did you know they tell stories about you at night to frighten little children into minding their manners? Who’d ever have guessed that you’re the man who strikes terror into so many hearts?”
“Well, not mine,” Conchita Rivers said firmly. “You are a godsend, Mr. Steele. I believe it is a miracle that you came here today!” Her beautiful mahogany skin was stretched taut over her long high cheekbones, revealing the tension that gripped her in the throes of her present situation. “If you hadn’t come along and helped us when you did, I believe today is the day they would have storme
d the ranch and murdered us all. That would have given Señor Lowry a real reason to celebrate at his fiesta tonight.”
“Glad to help, ma’am. But if we’re going to get rid of these hombres for good, I’d better know exactly what’s been going on and how you came to be in this spot.”
His gaze shifted once more to Brett, who was drinking long gulps of tequila. “Why don’t you start, little brother? How’d you hook up with Señora Rivers and her family? You’re a long way from home.”
“Damn straight I am.” Brett set the bottle on the floor with a thump. He wiped his lips with his sleeve, scowling. “Home. That’s a joke, Cade. You have no idea how much a joke it is. Sorry, ladies, for cussing, but thoughts of my so-called home aren’t too pleasant these days. Let’s just talk about now.” He took a deep breath.
“Let’s just say I headed West on a little sightseeing jaunt—I needed to get away from ... from everything and do some thinking where I wouldn’t be bothered. Also,” he said, his fingers tightening on the edge of the sofa, “there was a little part of my brain that wanted to try to look for you, Cade. Of course, all my inquiries came to nothing since I had no notion you’d changed your name to Roy Steele.”
Annabel heard the hint of accusatory bitterness in Brett’s voice and, from Cade’s expression, guessed that he had too. But he said nothing more than, “Go on.”
Brett squared his shoulders. “Well, I was traveling through Arizona, heading no place in particular, just trying to forget my troubles and have a good time and figure out a few things—when I reached Eagle Gulch and struck up a conversation with the bartender in one of the saloons. He was mentioning to some other fellows at the bar that a lady from over New Mexico way was looking to hire some men to protect her ranch from being overrun by some big cattle company. The men guffawed over it,” Brett said, casting a swift, apologetic glance at Conchita. “It seems that there wasn’t enough money in the offer for them to risk their lives, but I asked him where I could find the lady, and he told me. So,” he finished, with a careless wave of his hand, “I found Conchita, heard her story, and signed on.”