When The Heart Beckons

by Jill Gregory

  But there was business to be done tonight—the deadliest, most serious type of business. The distractions of Miss Brannigan’s hair, eyes, figure, perfume, her low-pitched voice, and sunlit smile, her intelligence and character could prove his undoing as well as Brett’s, and that of the Racing Rivers Ranch.

  He had to think about the Rivers family, about that boy Tomas who kept watching him alertly from the corners where the children played. Tomas was waiting for the chance to do something to avenge his father’s death.

  And it was almost time.

  * * *

  “Brett is handing Conchita and Adelaide glasses of lemonade over by the window,” he said quickly, as he led her past one of the long trestle tables covered with Calvin Lowry’s finest imported linen.

  “Hurry and warn him which men to keep an eye on.”

  Before she could agree, Cade was gone, stalking across the parlor. Though Annabel kept her face schooled into an expression of sedateness as she made her way toward Brett, she still tingled everywhere Cade had touched her during their dance.

  She pushed Cade from her mind as she gave Brett the message, and eagerly sipped the lemonade he handed her in return. Together, she, Brett, Adelaide, and Conchita surveyed the room, and she subtly pointed out to each of them which cowboys appeared to be in Lowry’s employ.

  Conchita nodded when she was finished. “Yes, we know some of them. But he has added on several men since he started acquiring additional property. Men with reputations for being quick with a gun, and not particular about when they choose to use it.”

  “She means men who will shoot first and apologize for any ‘mistakes’ later,” Adelaide piped in caustically. Though Brett held a small straight-backed chair for her to be seated, she resolutely shook her head and insisted that she preferred to be on her feet when she was in enemy territory. “Soon as bullets start to fly, young man, I want to jump ahead of the crowd and see everything that happens. After what Lowry did to my son, it’ll do my old heart good to see him bleed all over his own damned floor.”

  Brett nodded, but Annabel saw that he looked worried.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I sure hope Cade knows what he’s doing here. There’re a lot of them, and not too many of us.”

  “We have to trust him,” Annabel replied softly, turning as she spoke to scan the parlor for some sign of Cade and Lowry. “I’ve only known him a short time, but I would trust him with my life and more. As a matter of fact I’ve already done that,” she reflected with a faint smile, “and he took very good care of it.”

  “That hombre in the green vest just slipped out onto the terrace,” Brett said suddenly, his fingers closing around her arm. “I’ve got a hunch something’s up.”

  “Then we’d better stroll out there and see what it is.”

  They left Conchita and Adelaide and threaded their way through the throng of people crowded around the trestle tables bearing refreshments. Outside, the wide terrace was ablaze with flickering yellow torches and festooned with gay silk streamers and overflowing baskets of flowers. A few couples snuggled or flirted in the shadows, as far from the light as they could manage, or huddled close together upon the long stone bench, but mostly the terrace and surrounding garden appeared deserted.

  “Where’d that damned fellow go?” Brett fretted. “Let’s hurry toward the stables and the corrals and see if we spot him.”

  “All right, but we’d better hold hands and try to appear like we’re just slipping away from the party so we can be alone together.”

  If only it were true, Annabel thought, as his hand comfortably gripped hers. For some reason, despite the fragrant beauty of the night, the velvet darkness of the sky, the sheer romance of being out here alone with him, her pulse didn’t quicken at all as they made their way past the gardens toward the dark outline of the hacienda’s outbuildings. Her skin didn’t even grow warm at his touch. What is wrong with me? she thought in disappointment, and more than a little puzzlement. Suddenly she understood. The inherent dangers of this night were blotting out any inklings of romance. It’s only to be expected, she told herself in annoyance. There are more important things going on than your feelings for Brett.

  They had gone far beyond the torchlight, and as they walked in silence the soft, flower-perfumed darkness closed down around them. As the house and the lights and the music disappeared farther and farther behind, Annabel’s tension mounted.

  But as they neared the corrals, there was still no sign of the cowboy in the green vest.

  “Brett,” Annabel said softly as she peered all around and still saw no one, “will you tell me one thing?”

  “If I can.”

  “Do you know why Red Cobb is after you?”

  He scuffed his boot in the dirt beside her. “Beats me. I never met the fellow. But all of the sudden, somewhere in the middle of Arizona, everyone who hears my name is whispering that this gunfighter is hunting for me.” He shrugged. “I figured if he caught me, that would be just fine. He’d put me out of my misery.”

  “Brett!”

  He shook his head. “Annabel, I’ve been just plain miserable since that meeting with Boxer.”

  “I know, I can well imagine. But everything isn’t hopeless, you know. You must talk to your father, tell him everything, and find out the truth about all this.”

  “Maybe I’ll do that. If we get out of this alive.”

  She touched his sleeve. “I know why Cobb is after you. He was hired—by a man named Lucas Johnson in St. Louis. Have you ever heard of him?”

  Brett looked thunderstruck. “No, by God. Never met any such fellow.”

  “Well, I wired Mr. Stevenson with the information, and he should be conducting an investigation right this very minute. Brett, I have one more question.”

  He laughed, sounding more like his old self than he had all day. “You always do.”

  “Why did you sign on to help Conchita Rivers in this fight? I’m not saying it isn’t a fine and noble thing to do—I believe it is. She’s in the right, and she needs the help of as many decent and brave people as she can find, but ... you’d never been in a gunfight before, or ... killed anyone or ... anything like this. Why did you agree to something so dangerous?”

  “When I met up with Conchita I was about as low as a man can get. I guess it didn’t matter to me that I might not live long if I took on her fight—I guess you could say, Annabel, that I would have been more than willing to die and never have to think about ... anything again.”

  “Brett, no. Oh, no, I was afraid of that.” She stopped beside him, and without thinking threw her arms around his neck. In the dimness she could still make out the dismal expression in his eyes.

  “You’re not to blame for what happened to your mother. Don’t you see that? And even if what this Frank Boxer said is true, or partly true, the fact that you’re not Ross McCallum’s own son doesn’t matter. He raised you as his son—and he loves you as his son, Brett. I can vouch for that after having observed the two of you for years in that house. I know that Ross loves you as much as any man ever could love a son—and I think,” she added, taking a deep breath, “that you should show a little backbone and hightail it back there the moment this fight with Lowry is finished so that you can work things out with him. And warn him about what Boxer is up to—because I know he never received your letter. And there’s something else you should know, Brett. Ross has been ill. His heart ...”

  “What?” She saw the shock cross his face. “What happened?”

  “He’s been under a doctor’s care. His businesses have been suffering, and now that I think about it, I wonder if Boxer doesn’t have something to do with that.”

  Brett’s eyes narrowed in the darkness. “I don’t understand. You say he never received my message. But I left it with Derrickson, with very clear instructions about ...”

  He broke off, suddenly glancing down into her face with a strange expression, seemingly aware for the first time of her arms around hi
s neck. “Annabel, let me ask you something,” Brett said slowly. His own arms came up to tentatively encircle her waist.

  “Why did you come after me? I know it wasn’t just because you were being paid by the Stevenson Agency.”

  “N-no.”

  “There’s more to it than that, isn’t there? After all, you’ve risked your life to come west alone to find me.”

  “Wouldn’t you do the same for me?” she parried, hoping desperately she would not have to confess the truth to him now, not yet, and at the same time, trying to calm her heart which had begun to flutter because he was holding her so closely, so gently ...

  And his beautiful eyes were so intent and searching upon her face that she thought the breath would burst inside her lungs.

  “I would. But ...” He hesitated and then brought one hand up to cup her chin. “I have to confess something. Dear as you are to me, Annie, I never before noticed how damned pretty you are. Or how your eyes light up when you talk, or the way your hands move so gracefully when you talk....”

  Disbelief warred with excitement inside her. This was happening, it was really happening ... everything she had hoped for and dreamed of. Brett was looking at her in a way he never had before. There was a tightness in his body so close to hers, and his hand beneath her chin felt warm, possessive. He’s going to kiss me, Annabel thought with a whirl of joy. Right now, this very minute, Brett McCallum is going to kiss me....

  He lowered his lips to hers. In the distance, the muted sounds of the fiddlers and of humming conversation and laughter pierced faintly through the peace of the night, but here by the corrals, with only the velvet sky, the clouds, and the humid, musky darkness all about them, it was richly quiet. Annabel let herself go. She gave herself up to the sweet pressure of Brett’s mouth on hers; she unleashed all the ardor she’d ever felt for him, and pressed against him, her arms snaking needfully around his neck.

  At last. At long, long last.

  Chapter 20

  It was a slow and dreamy and tentative kiss.

  When finally Brett lifted his head, and took a deep breath, Annabel’s eyes remained closed until she felt him watching her. She opened them then and peered at him. She struggled to hide the confusion she was feeling.

  “Again,” she whispered, a catch in her throat, and standing on tiptoe, touched her lips to his.

  This kiss was not as long as the first, nor as searching and dreamy. In fact, Annabel broke it off quickly, her fingers moving to her lips in shock.

  “My God,” she whispered, stunned.

  Before Brett could say anything, the sound of low voices reached them, and both at once darted behind a piñón tree.

  They saw the four cowboys then. They emerged from the shadows behind the barn, and the man with the green vest was one of them.

  “We have to move closer,” Annabel whispered, and started forward, but Brett tugged her back.

  “You stay here, Annabel. I’ll go.”

  “Don’t be a pea brain. Come on.”

  And with the faintest rustle of her silken skirts, she edged forward under cover of the creosote bushes. To her relief, Brett gave up the argument and followed at her heels, moving as stealthily as she.

  Fortunately, the darkness hid their progress and they were able to creep within a dozen feet of the cowboys. They ducked down behind a clump of mesquite and strained to hear.

  “... and the boss wants me to wait for supper to be served before picking the fight with McCallum. So nobody do anything before that. Got it?” The cowboy in the green vest, a rangily built older man wearing a gray Stetson, stared around the circle of faces.

  Beside him, a black-garbed cowhand took a puff on a cigarette and exhaled loudly. “Sure you can outdraw that frisky young squirt, Hank? He looks pretty dangerous to me.”

  Loud guffaws greeted this sally. Hank chuckled. “With my eyes shut, I reckon,” he drawled.

  “Remember, when everyone is gathered around watching, the boss is going to act like he wants to make peace between me and the kid. But no one’s going to listen to him—you got that, boys?”

  “Yeah, we got it,” the men all muttered.

  “Then, while everyone—including Steele—is busy watching what’s going on, you three will take a little target practice at Steele when he’s not paying attention.”

  The men laughed softly among themselves. “With no one afterward being able to say exactly how that hombre got plugged,” the black-garbed man added, and squashed his cigarette under his boot.

  “I reckon I won’t have seen anything.” The tallest cowboy, long haired and rail thin, gave out a low whoop.

  “Listen, up, Pete,” Hank interrupted him. “When Steele and the McCallum kid are both dead, Lowry will give the Rivers woman one more chance to sign over the ranch.”

  “Why the hell bother?” Pete demanded. “Why don’t we just sneak onto her place tonight and set it on fire? She and her family have already caused more trouble than everyone else in the valley put together. It’ll be easy as cake—with their place gone, they’ll be more than ready to hightail it out of the valley ...”

  His words were blown away by a sudden sharp gust of wind. Thunder followed, rolling across the sky. Someone else said something Annabel couldn’t make out, and then the group started walking back toward the house.

  Annabel and Brett shrank back into the darkness, scarcely daring to breathe as the cowboys passed close enough to touch. Alone in the shadows once more, with only the hum of insects disturbing the silence, the two stared at each other.

  “I have to warn him.” Annabel clutched Brett’s shirt in shaking fingers. “My God, they plan to murder him, to shoot him in the back! What if we hadn’t been here, what if we hadn’t heard?”

  “Well, we did. Come on, I’ll tell Conchita what’s happening. Then you or Cade get word to her about what we do next—send a message with Tomas. Don’t worry, Annabel,” he added, as she pressed her hands in anguish to her white cheeks. “We’ll get the best of them before this is all over.”

  Neither of them heard the rustle of the bushes behind them as they hurried back toward the hacienda. Nor did they hear the slow, deliberate footsteps that followed.

  * * *

  When they crossed the terrace once more and entered the parlor, Lowry was ushering his guests into supper.

  “Come on, folks, help yourselves! We’ve been roasting that big old steer in the barbecue pit all night! There’s tamales and enchiladas and refried beans for everyone,” he boomed with all the congeniality of a snake oil salesman. “Right this way, and help yourselves.”

  Men, women, and children thronged toward the rear of the house where huge doors led out to the flower-festooned courtyard where tables groaned beneath heaping platters of spicy food.

  Annabel fought the crowd as she desperately scanned it for some sign of Cade.

  Brett grabbed her arm. “There’re Adelaide and Conchita.” She followed his gaze to an arched doorway that opened into a hall. The two women stood arm in arm well back from the throng, watching the guests proceed into supper. “Maybe I should help you find Cade first ...”

  “No, go quickly,” Annabel urged. “Let them know what’s happening. Don’t worry about me, I’ll find Cade!”

  A moment later, she felt a hand on her shoulder and whirled around. She gasped in relief as she saw that Cade McCallum had found her.

  “What’s wrong?” He looked alarmed by her paleness and by the way she nearly sagged against him in relief. “Has something happened to you ...”

  “It’s not me. It’s what they’re planning to do to you. Cade, we must slip away—upstairs—where we can talk. I’ll go first and find an empty bedroom or something. You follow me—but please, come quickly.”

  She forced herself to walk slowly, inconspicuously, toward the huge staircase which branched off the main hallway of the hacienda. As she neared the head of the stairs, the din below faded. Swiftly, she glanced up and down the wide spacious hall, lit by dozens of
candles placed in brass sconces at well-measured intervals.

  She ducked into the first room she reached. It appeared to be a guest bedroom, since when she turned up the lamp on the nightstand, there were no personal mementos to be found—not upon the carved oak bureau or the nightstand, nor were there any garments or personal items lying about. The room was large and airy, however, with lovely crisp peach draperies at the open window, and matching peach and ivory appointments, from the coverlet on the bed to the upholstery of the dainty pair of chairs beside a decorative oriental screen. Another time, Annabel might have admired Lowry’s obviously sophisticated taste: the serene French landscapes depicted in the paintings that graced the peach and white papered walls, or the large Aubusson rug upon the polished wood floor, but at this moment she was too anxious to take in much of anything, other than that her own reflection in the cheval mirror over the bureau shimmered back at her, pale and ghostly.

  “Don’t look so worried,” Cade McCallum said from the doorway.

  Annabel nearly jumped out of her skin. As it was, she dropped her reticule to the floor.

  She ran to him and pulled him into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Brett and I overheard their plan,” she said, trying to stay calm and in control of her emotions, trying to remember that in emergency situations it was best to talk slow and think fast. But gazing at Cade, so heartbreakingly handsome in his black silk shirt and dark trousers, his expression so cool and his demeanor so calm, she felt waves of fear for him wash over her.

  What if something went wrong? What if he were shot and killed this very evening and she would never have the chance to tell him ...

  What? What was it she had to tell Cade McCallum?

  “I reckon you’d best tell me what you heard,” he said smoothly, his brows lifting in surprise at her obvious distress. “Then maybe we can devise an even better plan of our own.”

  So she repeated the conversation that had taken place out by the barn, but instead of appearing alarmed at her disclosure, he grinned.

  “Nice work. You just might make a decent private investigator yet.”