When The Heart Beckons (10 page)

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 below. 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.

The land was beautiful, but also cruel, she
realized on a gulp of fear. It would not aid her, would not reveal
its secrets to her. She was its prisoner now, a wanderer without
map or knowledge with which to free herself from this vast, wild,
and all-engulfing prison.

She’d have to make camp ... somehow.

The main thing was not to panic, she
reminded herself, but she couldn’t help the tiny flutters of fear
quivering through her nerve endings. Then, as she swung out of the
saddle and her feet scraped against the dirt, there was a clatter
of hoofbeats and she glanced up in alarm. But before she could do
more than gasp, a trio of dark-garbed riders surrounded her.

Oh, God
. Annabel’s mouth went dry.
They were long-haired, foul-looking men. Desperadoes, Annabel
guessed in one blazing instant of fear, and then she lunged
downward for her gun. But before she could pull it free of her
boot, one of the men leapt from his horse and grabbed her. He
seized her arms and spun her about to face him, his hiss of
laughter emitting a cloud of foul-smelling breath that nearly made
her gag.

“Lookee, here, Moss—what’d I say about our
luck changin’? When was the last time you saw a purty little female
out here in the brakes?”

“Sure she ain’t a mirage, Curtis?” Moss
called out, grinning behind his sandy handlebar mustache.

“Better pinch her, Curtis, and make sure.”
The third man, younger than the others, a stocky, cheruby blond
with golden stubble on his chin, leaned forward eagerly in his
saddle.

The scrawny, beak-nosed man holding Annabel
pinched her bottom and she jumped, twisting futilely in his
arms.

“She’s real, all right,” Curtis crowed, and
dragged her chin up so that she was forced to meet his shining
little blueberry eyes. “Honey, I don’t know what you’re doing out
here all by yerself and I don’t care. It’s no place for a lone
woman, and that’s for sure. But me and Moss and Willy are goin’ to
take real good care of you. Don’t you worry about nothin’.”

“You’d better let go of me and get out of
here while you still can breathe, mister.” Annabel spoke through
pain-clenched teeth, fighting to keep her voice steady despite the
terror firing through her. “My husband and the others will be
returning soon and they won’t take kindly to you laying your hands
on me.”

“Husband?” The boy with the golden stubble,
Willy, threw a worried glance around the clearing. “Hey, maybe we
should hightail it out of here before ...”

“She’s lying.” The man called Moss
dismounted and started across the clearing toward Annabel and
Curtis, his gait slow and deliberate. His face was as flat and cold
as a wedge of stone, his shoulders brawny beneath his
grease-stained vest. “I saw her ride up through the canyon myself.
She was alone. She’s lost, Willy, I told you that.”

“No,” Annabel said quickly. “I got separated
from my party ... but they’re looking for me and they’ll be here
soon. If you don’t want any trouble ...”

Moss reached her, drew back his arm, and
slapped her backhanded across the face. The blow was hard, well
aimed, and quick as a jolt of lightning. The three ominous figures
blurred as pain crashed through Annabel’s jaw and spiraled across
her tongue and teeth.

Now you shut up,” Moss said almost
pleasantly. He stroked on his handlebar mustache. “There’s only one
thing a woman is good for and talkin’ ain’t it.” He studied her a
moment, his wolfish eyes squinting appreciatively as they swept
over her slender, femininely curved figure, noting the gentle swell
of her breasts beneath her lace-edged, close-fitting shirtwaist,
and the striking loveliness of her neatly coiled hair and delicate
features. He smiled at the shock, pain, and fear on her face, felt
cruel pleasure when he noticed her full, pretty lips were
trembling. Hell and damnation, she was sure a find.

“Yep, lady, you’ll do just grand,” he
approved. Then he jerked his thumb toward a long, fiat rock at the
edge of the clearing. “Set her down over there, Curtis, and keep an
eye on her. We don’t want our little darlin’ here runnin’ off and
gettin’ lost in the woods.”

Her breath seemed locked inside Annabel’s
lungs. As Curtis dragged her to the rock and pushed her down to sit
on it, she glanced desperately about for a way of escape. But
behind her was only the trail leading back into that seemingly
endless ravine. And ahead of her, the tiny clearing which seemed
suddenly full of men, horses, and guns.

Instinct told her that Curtis, Moss, and
Willy were wanted men, fugitives. The furtive way they glanced
around, studying the layout of the land, their unkempt appearance,
and Willy’s alarm when she’d mentioned her mythical husband all
pointed to the fact that they were on the run and lying low. But
not low enough to pass up the chance to grab themselves a lone
woman, a woman foolish enough to think she could cross the Arizona
wilderness on her own ...

Well, I might be foolish, but I’m not
spineless enough to let them have me without a fight
, she told
herself grimly, forcing back the terror which would immobilize her
if she’d let it. She watched Moss and Willy tend the horses and
make camp. Curtis stood beside her, grinning. It would be dark
soon. And she’d be alone here in the mountains with these
criminals, with no one to hear her screams, or her sobs ...

And at that moment, she remembered she still
had her gun.

“Curtis ... may I call you Curtis?” she
asked softly, keeping her voice low enough so that the others
wouldn’t hear.

He grinned at her. His teeth were small and
yellow and chipped. They made his blueberry eyes gleam even
brighter. “Sure can, sweet thing. What do you want?”

“Water.” She fluttered a hand to her throat,
trying to look weak and helpless. “I’m so thirsty. I’ve been riding
for hours, lost, just wandering around ... there’s water in my
canteen. Would it be all right with you if I get some?”

“Nope. Can’t let you off this rock or
Moss’ll get mad. But jest maybe I’ll get it for you. What’ll you
give me if I do?”

A bullet between the eyes, you repulsive
little worm. But aloud she murmured only, “My endless gratitude,”
and tried her best to look suitably cowed.