When The Heart Beckons (14 page)

She had to say something, anything to bridge
this horrid embarrassing moment. She couldn’t bear him looking at
her so coldly, as if she was a stone or a twig or leaf, something
inanimate in his path.

“I am
shocked
, Mr. Steele!”

“That so?”

“Yes. You ... took advantage of me by ... by
taking such liberties. How dare you.”

He advanced to stand over her again. Annabel
felt naked—wholly exposed beneath those relentless eyes, as if he
could read the truth inside her poor flimsy soul. So she made her
voice as icy and crisp as she could. “I can only assume that you
forgot that I am very much in love with Brett McCallum and that we
are engaged to be married.”

“I reckon you forgot, too,” he returned with
a smile that mocked her, a smile that never reached his eyes.

Tears burned suddenly behind Annabel’s
eyelashes. Her shoulder ached, her head spun with confusion, she
was cold, and she was ashamed. Not to mention furious. She pushed a
strand of hair from her eyes and spoke with quiet vehemence.

“In the future, I demand that you keep your
distance from me. My gratitude for your saving my life does not
extend to granting you ... personal favors.”

“Future?” Steele gave a cool laugh. “Lady,
there’s no future to talk about. Tomorrow, I take you to the
nearest town and leave you there. And this time you’d better stay
put.”

“I can’t do that. I have to find Brett
before you do. Because I don’t know what you’re going to do to him
when you find him so I have to warn him, and protect him.”

“Not from me you don’t.”

“I don’t?”

Steele tugged open the saddle blanket rolled
up beside his pack. He threw it down on the ground ten feet away
from the bedroll where Annabel Brannigan was huddled.

“Nope, you don’t. You’ve got my word.”

“Your word.”

The doubt in her tone had no effect
whatsoever on his grimly set features, He continued steadily, in a
voice that suggested he couldn’t care less if she believed him or
not. “Brett McCallum did me a good turn once and that’s why I’m
looking for him. I heard Cobb was gunning for him, and I aim to see
that nothing happens to him.”

“You’re going to stop Red Cobb from killing
Brett?”

“That’s right, and I’m able to do a hell of
a better job of it than you, so you can just hitch yourself a ride
on a stage headed back East and sit there nice and pretty until
Brett comes back to marry you. And that’s that.”

I don’t think so, Mr. Steele
.

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
Annabel tried to keep her voice as cold and even as his. But it
wasn’t easy because her heart was still racing, and her lips were
bruised from his kisses.

“You don’t. But you have no choice, Miss
Brannigan.” He doffed his hat to her tauntingly, then tossed it
down on a rock and settled his long frame onto the saddle
blanket.

“We’ll reach Silver Junction tomorrow and
you can wait there for the next stage. Sweet dreams.”

Annabel lay down, trembling. The ground was
cold and hard, even with the bedroll. The air was alive with the
hum of crickets and other insects, and with strange animal
rustlings in the brush. An owl or a hawk swooped overhead,
streaking gracefully across the scudding clouds which now obscured
the moon. She felt tiny and alone up here on this godforsaken
clearing, with this grim, cold-eyed man.

At least she hadn’t let Roy Steele reduce
her to tears. Not when he had bandaged her wound, and not when he
had kissed her and made her forget ... everything, even Brett.

She hadn’t cried. That was something.

But her conscience stung worse than her
injured shoulder as she shifted her legs and gazed upward at the
vast midnight sky. Annabel hated disloyalty, and she hated
weakness. She had been guilty of both by forgetting about her love
for Brett for even an instant.

It was the situation, nothing more
,
she told herself.
Roy Steele saved your life. He took care of
you. He took you by surprise, pretending for a little while to be a
gentleman. You allowed yourself to be fooled.

She wondered if somewhere along the way, her
mother had been fooled by someone she was dealing with, someone
from whom she had to get information, or follow, or decide whether
to trust.
I’m a beginner
, she reminded herself.
I’m
allowed to make some mistakes
.

But not this one, not again. She would keep
her distance from Roy Steele from now on.

And if he thought he was getting rid of her
in Silver Junction, he had another guess coming. Everett Stevenson
would skin her alive if she returned without Brett—not that she
would—because she could never trust Steele enough to take him at
his word. No, she would stick to the gunfighter until they’d found
Brett together and she’d spoken with him and convinced him to go
home.

And just let Mr. Roy Steele try to stop
her.

I’ll never fall asleep tonight
, she
thought miserably, tossing uncomfortably on the bedroll. A chill
rose up from the ground, seeping into her bones. Her shoulder hurt.
I won’t get a single wink and I need all my rest and my wits to
deal with Roy Steele. Somehow, I have to figure out if he’s telling
the truth or if he really poses a danger to Brett. I have to find a
way to make him take me along with him. I have to remember to
telegraph Mr. Stevenson from Silver Junction and tell him of my
progress. Progress? Dear Lord, what progress? I’ve gotten lost,
I’ve been shot, I’ve kissed a man who might well be my
enemy
....

Her thoughts swirled together in an uneasy
tangle. The next thing she knew, morning sun bathed the clearing in
pale luminous light.

Morning? How
, Annabel wondered
foggily,
did it get to be morning?

But it was. Steele towered over her. Behind
him glowed a milky white daybreak sun, a dazzling violet sky.

“The horses are already saddled. Breakfast
is ready. If you’re traveling with me, even as far as Silver
Junction, you’ll have to keep up,” he said, glaring down at her
with all the warmth of a cobra. “Red Cobb won’t let up on his hunt
for Brett, and neither can I. Get moving or get left behind.”

Annabel gritted her teeth as she struggled
to sit up. Her wound throbbed. She felt the bandage pull apart, and
knew without looking that it had started to bleed again. But she’d
be damned if she’d say a word to Roy Steele.

“Pleasant morning to you, too,” she
muttered, scowling as she tossed her tangled curls back from her
eyes. She darted a quick glance up at Steele and cursed inwardly.
The man was inhuman. He looked rested, fit, shaved, clean, and mean
as a wolf.

It was going to be a long day.

T
hey rode for hours
in silence along the rocky ravines leading down into the brakes of
the Mogollons. A cooling breeze fanned Annabel’s sweating face as
Sunrise followed Steele’s big bay along the precipitous pathways
which the gunfighter seemed to know so well and traverse so
effortlessly. The extra horses plodded behind. The going was rough,
but even a gentler trail would have been torture. Annabel’s
shoulder throbbed with each step of her mount. But she sat the mare
with concentrated effort, refusing to make the slightest noise or
complaint, biting back a gasp or wince each time the pain
reverberated through her shoulder. Their pace was sedate, leaving
Annabel to suspect that Steele was going slowly on her account, out
of consideration for her wound and her inexperience at riding these
harrowing trails, yet even so, the grueling ride took its toll on
her.

But she said nothing of her anguish as the
sun broke through the clouds and the day grew warmer and the hours
slipped by. I’d rather die right here in the saddle than let on to
Roy Steele that this is killing me—much less ask him to stop on my
account, she vowed silently, but her upper lip was damp with
perspiration, and her hands shook as she gripped the reins. There
had been no time that morning even to pin up her hair in its usual
chignon—she’d scarcely had time to smooth out the tangles before
they’d broken camp—so now it curled limply around her cheeks and
neck, and Annabel longed to toss off her hat, scoop up her long
heavy mane, and let the air cool the overheated skin at the nape of
her neck. Hot, tired, and aching, she’d have traded her two best
Sunday dresses with their silk ribbons and lace (both rolled up
neatly inside her carpetbag) for the opportunity to stop and rest,
but there was no way she would beg Roy Steele for one ounce of
mercy. So she kept her misery to herself.

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.”