by Jill Gregory
“I know that you’re furious with me, but if you’d give me a moment to explain ...”
“Don’t have a moment. I have a job to do.”
He started to brush past her, but she clutched his arm. “Not so fast, Mr. Steele.”
He paused then and studied her, his expression so grim and thunderous she might have been frightened, but she wasn’t.
“You lied to me, too,” she pointed out softly.
“For good reason. I don’t go by the name McCallum anymore. I don’t like what it represents.”
“Did you ever think that maybe you’ve been a shade too hard on your father all these years? Maybe it wasn’t really his fault that your mother took her life—maybe this Frank Boxer had far more to do with it than you think—maybe your father only covered up the truth to protect you and Brett ...”
“Maybe we should go in now and finish this business with Lowry before Red Cobb shows up. I like to take my enemies on one at a time whenever possible.”
He gripped her firmly by the elbow before she could reply and nearly dragged her up the path until they’d caught up with the rest of their party.
It’s no use talking to this man when he’s in this mood, she decided. Besides, he was right. They all needed to concentrate on what lay ahead. Distractions could be fatal at a time like this. Obviously Cade McCallum was well accustomed to setting his sights on what needed to be done and blocking out everything else. She’d better do the same if she wanted to be of any help whatever in the tinderbox situation they were embarking on now.
Cade drew her up the steps and through the door of the hacienda, taking in the scene before him in one lightning glance, without appearing to notice anything but the woman at his side. In truth, he was far more aware of Annabel than was healthy under these circumstances, but how could he not be aware of her when she looked so radiant and charming, a delicate-boned pixie completely out of place in the rugged wilds of New Mexico. He’d never seen her dressed in silk before—it flowed over her curves and made him want to touch parts of her he’d never dared out of honor to set his hands to. But now ... damn it, she was not Brett’s fiancée, after all, and that truth set his imagination galloping like a runaway bronco. He couldn’t seem to help wondering what it would feel like to do all those things to her that he’d been trying not to think about doing for days now....
She was the most compelling woman in the room. And he wasn’t sure why, Cade reflected, since Lowry had some real beauties on hand at this little fiesta. The immense candlelit parlor with its gold damask draperies and wide curtained windows shone like an opal, ablaze with light and brilliance. Men in fancy garb, with their string ties and gleaming boots, lounged and drank in groups with prettily attired women in all manner of silks and satins, beribboned and bejeweled. Several, he noticed, were stunning girls with upswept curls, buxom figures, and exquisite faces almost too perfect to be true. But none compared to the cinnamon-haired enchantress at his side, with her pert, sparkling face so full of lively intelligence, and her large vibrant eyes which tonight mirrored the sea-foam green of her gown. Annabel might not be as tall as some, as robustly buxom as others, but her figure was gracefully sensuous, and her delicate features had a subtle beauty, warmed by an earnest sweetness and compassion which had begun to haunt his dreams. All these years he had fought against any but the most superficial involvement with any woman. He had frequented whores, kept things strictly businesslike, and never let his heart or any emotions be touched, and now, in trying to help Brett—who needed some serious straightening out, unless Cade missed his guess—he had become inadvertently involved with someone he could only end up hurting. Yet she was the last person on earth he would ever want to hurt.
Consternation at this predicament gouged at him, and it took all of his resolution to keep from staring at her, drinking in the way she looked, the intoxicatingly sweet way she smelled, the quiet grace with which she walked. Annabel Brannigan might not be engaged to Brett yet, but it was clear she sure as hell wanted to be—and judging by his brother’s affection for her, it might not be long before he caught on to the idea himself.
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 glitt
ered 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.
Chapter 19
Reckon 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, pe
ople 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.