When The Heart Beckons (26 page)

W
ould 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 stormed 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.”

“Brett is too modest. He not only signed on,
he convinced several other men to join, too,” Conchita put in.
“Without him, the fight would already be over and I would have lost
the ranch by now. But even so, even with Brett and the other men he
persuaded to join us, I fear it is no use. Lowry is too powerful.
As many men as we run off or kill, he just sends more. We would
need a small army to fight him off, an army that would have to
remain for weeks, maybe months, and even then, perhaps that devil
would not give up or let us be.”

“Why does he want your land so badly?” Cade
asked.

“A good stream runs through our land—that is
part of it. We have offered to share water rights, but Lowry wants
to have control. And he wants to own virtually the entire
valley!”

“He’s a greedy devil,” Adelaide spat. “He
already has the largest ranch in the valley, but he wants all the
others as well!”

“Most of my neighbors have already given in
to him.” Conchita looked from Cade to Annabel, despair darkening
her deep-set black eyes. “The bloodshed has been too costly. With
the railroads now in place across so much of New Mexico, it is very
profitable to ship and sell cattle. The Lowry Cattle Company wants
to increase their profits by increasing their holdings. Oh, if I
give him the deed, he will let us stay here and farm, and keep a
small herd, but he wants our land. And that is something that, out
of respect for my husband’s memory, I will not give to that
hombre.”

Brett took another gulp of the tequila,
draining the last drops in the bottle. “Alec Rivers was killed a
few months ago, trying to drive off some of Lowry’s men who’d been
poisoning his cattle. He was determined to keep the Racing Rivers
Ranch for Conchita and for Tomas.”

“My husband came here to the valley and
started this ranch ten years ago when Tomas was born,” Conchita
said softly. “He loved this land. He wanted to build something here
that he could pass down to his son and beyond. Alec vowed that
Tomas would one day inherit this land, and live on it with his own
family. But Lowry has other ideas!”

“Well, he shouldn’t be allowed to get away
with it,” Adelaide growled, her small, fierce gray eyes blazing
within her wizened face.

“Isn’t there any law here?” Annabel wasn’t
sure what was disturbing her most at this moment, the unscrupulous
greed of this man Lowry, or the fact that Brett was drinking so
much. She’d never seen him like this before. The clean-shaven,
neatly groomed, high-spirited young man she’d always known was now
a buckskin-clad, liquor-drinking cowboy, unshaven and none too
clean, from what she’d seen of him. But she tried to concentrate on
the immediate problem facing them. “Why is Lowry permitted to kill
and steal and take whatever he pleases?” she demanded, looking from
Conchita to Brett to Adelaide in amazement.

It was the old woman who answered her,
beginning to rock once again. “There’s no law worth speaking of in
this part of the territory, missy. Oh, there’s some U.S. marshals
headquartered in Albuquerque and Santa Fe, but most of ‘em are
partial to the big cattle companies and make their own brand of
justice.”

“In New Mexico,” Brett said, “if you want to
protect your land and your family you have to fight—and fight
harder and meaner than the other fellow. The only problem is, Lowry
has got more money, more men, and more guns than everyone else in
these parts put together.”

Cade eased away from the mantel, coming
slowly forward into the room. The bright sunlight flooding in the
window cast amber beams across his lean, darkly bronzed face. “How
many men do you have?”

“Seven, including me. We lost two today,”
Brett muttered. “They were patrolling the southern approach to the
ranch earlier, trying to keep an eye out for Lowry’s men when they
were bushwhacked.”

“It is hopeless. I am beginning to see that
now. It would be loco to keep fighting when we cannot win.”
Conchita clenched her strong, brown hands into fists, then released
them, dropping her fingers loosely to her sides. “I am sorry for
Tomas, and for you, Adelaide, but we cannot hope to withstand them
much longer. What good will the land do us if we are all dead? And
that is what will happen next time. I do not think
Señor
Lowry will have much patience left after the beating his men
endured today.”