When The Heart Beckons (27 page)

“To hell with his patience. I say there’s
only one way to end this.” Cade stared at her with cool hard lights
glinting in his eyes. “We don’t sit here like wooden ducks at
target practice. We attack.” He spun toward his brother. “You’re
Ross McCallum’s son. You know what he would advise. Tell us.”

Brett’s skin turned ashen. A strange look
darted into his eyes as they met his brother’s, then he glanced
quickly away. “Don’t ever mention that name to me again.”

Annabel started. “Brett!”

He ignored her, and with an effort of
concentration, returned to the subject at hand. “Without mentioning
his name, I know exactly what he would do,” he grated out, his
voice hard and bitter. “He would destroy Lowry. Face him down, and
outwit or outmuscle him. Whatever it took.”

Cade nodded. “Exactly.”

“And now since you, big brother, the famous
gunfighter, have joined our meager ranks, we just might be able to
pull it off.”

“What are you talking about—what are you
going to do?” Annabel didn’t at all like the way this conversation
was going. It sounded entirely too dangerous, for both Brett and
Cade. Of course, Cade McCallum could take care of himself, she
reminded herself, but still a knot of apprehension twisted inside
her as she envisioned him riding out of here with Brett to perform
some hopeless act of bravery that would probably get them both
killed.

She realized that Cade was staring at her,
and knew he saw her panic. It was impossible to penetrate beneath
the black mask of his eyes. If he was touched by her concern, he
certainly didn’t show it.

He deliberately shifted his glance to
Conchita. “What did you say about a fiesta tonight,
Señora
Rivers?”

“
Señor
Lowry is hosting a fiesta at
his ranch for everyone in the valley. I think it is his way of
showing off his wealth, and making it clear to all that he is the
boss of this valley. But why do you wish to know?”

“Are you and your family invited?”

“Yes, everyone for miles around has been
invited. But never would I go to the hacienda of the man who killed
my husband ...”

“You are going.”

Conchita shook her head. “
Señor
,
are you loco?”

“You are going, and you are bringing
guests.”

Brett started to grin. Conchita bit her lip.
“What will you do at this fiesta,
Señor
McCallum?”

“With any luck, kill Lowry and anyone trying
to back him up.”

“No!” Annabel jumped up. She kept her voice
level with great effort. “You’ll be in his house. Among all of his
men. It’s too dangerous. There must be another way.”

“It’s the only way.”

Conchita covered her eyes with the tips of
her fingers. “
Dios
, perhaps I should just hand over the
deed ...”

“The hell you will.” Brett surged to his
feet and straightened his shoulders. “I think it’s a fine idea. If
you’ll let me help,” he told Cade purposefully.

“If you can shoot straight, you can
help.”

Tomas stared up at the gunslinger, his dark
eyes shining with admiration. “I want to help, too. Will you let me
come?” he asked. “I want to fight the men who killed my
father.”

Brett gave a short laugh. “You’re too
little, Tomas,” he said, tousling the boy’s hair. “When you’re
grown there will be plenty of time to fight. But now you’d only get
in the way.”

Annabel saw the hurt flash into the boy’s
eyes. He peered downward quickly, his cheeks flushing, but Brett
didn’t notice. He had already turned away, crossing to a table near
the mantel, where several bottles of liquor and some glasses stood.
He poured whiskey into a glass and took a long swallow.

It was Cade who approached the boy and put a
hand on his shoulder. He spoke in a low, firm tone. “I have an
important job for you to do tonight, Tomas. You must come to the
fiesta with us, and be on guard, ready to run with a message when I
need you. Do you think you can stay up late at the fiesta and be
quick and silent?”

“
Si
,
señor
. Of course.”

Eagerly, the boy nodded, his small hands
clutching his block of wood.

“Good. Then I’ll give you your instructions
later.”

The boy nodded again, this time a small
proud smile curving the edges of his mouth. He beamed at his mother
with pride.

Cade turned to Conchita next. “I doubt
they’ll be back today. Lowry will lick his wounds, and want to
rethink his strategy before coming at you again—he won’t want to
risk another failure. My guess is he’ll wait until after the fiesta
to make his next move. By then, we’ll have taken care of him. But
just in case, I think you should have all your remaining men on
guard tonight against a surprise attack during the fiesta. Only as
a precaution,” he said as her face blanched. “My hunch is Lowry
will wait—he’ll want to figure out a surefire plan, something that
will end your resistance once and for all.”

“That makes sense. But just in case, I will
order the men to keep watch as you said. You are very kind to lend
us your help,
señor
.”

“I don’t like bullies,
Señora
Rivers. Never have,” Cade muttered shortly. He turned and looked at
Brett as he continued to speak to her. “If you’ll excuse us, my
brother and I will step outside for a spell. We have some catching
up to do.”

“Oh, no, you must visit here and make
yourselves comfortable,” Conchita protested, jumping up and
glancing quickly at her son and mother-in-law. “Come, let us go
into the kitchen and prepare some food for our guests. Brett and
Señor
McCallum and
Señorita
Brannigan must have
some privacy.”

But Cade held up a hand. “No,
señora
. I prefer to talk outside. Just the two of us,” he
informed Brett, as Annabel took a step toward the door.

He might just as well have slapped her.
Annabel’s cheeks burned.
I have as much right to discover why
Brett left home as you do
, she fumed, and took a deep breath
to keep from exploding.
More, actually, because where have you
been these past thirteen years? I’ve been there, with Brett, as his
companion, his friend
. Besides that, she knew him better than
Cade did, and probably cared far more about him.

Not to mention the fact that Ross
McCallum and Everett Stevenson have given me a job to do. And I’ve
given my word that I won’t fail
.

True, she had found Brett, but until she
could ascertain what had gone wrong between him and Ross, she would
not be able to persuade him to come back, and only then would her
mission be successfully completed.

Besides, she wanted more than anything to
bring about a reconciliation between Ross McCallum and his son. No
matter what had happened, Ross didn’t deserve to be deserted now.
With his health failing and his business empire in danger, he
needed support. He needed Brett—and maybe, Annabel thought, a
renegade idea rolling into her brain—just maybe he needed Cade,
too.

“You would like to leave me behind, wouldn’t
you, Mr. Steele?” she asked coldly. “You’ve been trying to do that
ever since Justice—unsuccessfully, I might add. Brett,” she said,
turning toward him with an immutable look, “if it’s all right with
you, I’d like to come along for this conversation. I have many
questions, and there are events going on back home which you should
know about.”

She heard Cade’s quick, angry intake of
breath, but she ignored him and kept her gaze trained on Brett.

“I don’t want to know one damned thing about
home,” Brett muttered. But he held out his hand to her. “Still,
you’re always welcome, Annie. You know that. Besides, I want to
hear all about how the two of you found me—and why in heaven’s name
you’re traipsing halfway across the country after someone who
doesn’t deserve so much effort.”

“Yes, you do.” Annabel clutched his hand and
studied him anxiously. “You deserve that and more.”

“No. I disagree!’ His shoulders slumped.
Suddenly, he started toward the liquor table, pulling her with him.
“Better bring along a little refreshment in case we get thirsty
...”

But Cade stepped into his path. “I think
you’ve had enough.”

Brett glared at him with slowly building
wrath. “Who the hell asked you, big brother? You’re not in charge
of my life. Get out of my way.”

“Not a chance.”

“To hell with you,” Brett exploded.

Cade’s expression remained cold as stone.
“Let’s step outside now—without the liquor. You need a clear head
for our discussion, and also for what’s in store tonight.”

“My head is clear, damn you!” Brett let go
of Annabel’s hand, his mouth thinning to a cold, hard line. He took
a step forward, his fists clenched, ready to shove Cade aside, but
Annabel quickly seized his arm.

“Brett, please, listen to him. He’s right.”
She saw that Conchita, Tomas, and Adelaide had all paused on the
way to the kitchen, their faces tense with worry as they watched
the angry interchange. But they hurried on as Annabel intervened,
leaving the three alone in the quiet, pretty parlor.

“You’ve been drinking ever since we stepped
foot inside the ranch,” Annabel said quietly. “I’m worried about
you. Come outside now and let’s talk.”

For a moment, rage blurred his features and
he seemed about to lash out at her. But as Annabel continued to
meet his gaze with earnest concern, the flash of anger faded.

“All right, Annie,” Brett mumbled. “For you.
Let’s go outside.”

Stillness hung over the valley as Cade led
the way a short distance from the ranch house and corrals. He
headed toward a clump of piñóns set well back from the ranch. No
one spoke a word, but Annabel glanced around the secluded area,
noting the series of gray buttes that rose behind it, and the yucca
and forget-me-nots interspersed among the nearby cottonwoods. She
sank down upon the round stump of a tree and glanced swiftly back
and forth between the McCallum brothers. She sensed Cade’s anger,
held so carefully in check, but she wasn’t sure what had caused it.
Was it Brett’s drinking? Or her joining their discussion?

Possibly both, she concluded with a tiny
sigh.

And then there was Brett’s strange, dark
mood, all the things he’d said about his father and his home, and
his constant need to drink. Something was even more wrong here than
she had thought.

Well
, she decided, tilting her head
upward for a moment toward the heated rays of the sun, and offering
a quick silent prayer for guidance,
it’s high time to find out
what it is
.

“Brett,” she murmured, as the two men
continued to stare at each other, both, she guessed, uncertain how
to begin. “It’s obvious that something terrible must have happened
to cause you to run away from home and from your father without any
word the way you did. But it can be fixed, whatever it is, I’m sure
of it. Will you tell me about it? Please, maybe I can help.”

“No one can help, Annabel.”

“Let me try.”

He began to laugh, but not his familiar
easy, joyful laugh. This sound made her wince. “My sweet, adorable
Annie. Always trying to solve the mystery, to fit the pieces of the
puzzle exactly in place. But you see, that’s the problem. I solved
the mystery—I know the answers. And that’s why I can never go
back.”

“What mystery did you solve?” she asked
softly, her gaze fixed on his strained, bitter face. She had a
feeling something terrible was coming, and cast about in her mind
for what it could possibly be. But she had no clue. Her palms were
damp with sweat and she wiped them on her riding skirt as she
waited for his response. Cade said nothing, merely leaning against
a tree, but he watched his brother’s face with tense
anticipation.

Brett stared at the ground while he answered
her, apparently absorbed in the progress of a fly crawling along a
fallen twig. “I’ll tell you what mystery I solved, Annabel—you’ll
be fascinated with this one. It’s the mystery of my mother’s
death.” He took a deep breath. There was a catch in his voice when
he spoke again.

“Livinia McCallum did not die of a fever, as
I’d always been told. No, I have learned that it was much darker
and uglier than that. Now I know what Cade probably found out years
ago—the discovery that made him run away when he was seventeen. And
that discovery is the truth about what happened to my mother—our
mother,” he corrected, flashing a glance at his brother. “And,” he
added, meeting Annabel’s gaze at last with bleak, bitter eyes. “the
hell of it is, it was all my fault.”

N
o sound broke the
stillness except the hushed rustling of the sun-gilded leaves.

“Brett, what are you saying?” Annabel
breathed at last.

He swung toward her, his face so taut with
misery that she wanted to enfold him in her arms. “My mother killed
herself, Annabel. She took her own life. And all because of
me.”

“No!” Cade moved with the swiftness of a
striking cobra, and grasped his brother by the shoulders. He shook
him fiercely. “Don’t say that. It wasn’t you. It was
him
.
Ross
. Whatever he’s told you to try to lay the blame on
someone else, don’t believe it. You were only a baby, Brett. A
toddler. What happened was Ross McCallum’s fault, not yours. He’s
the one who killed her.”

Annabel’s mind was reeling. It seemed
impossible that Livinia McCallum had taken her own life. Annabel
had gazed countless times at the breathtaking portrait in Ross
McCallum’s study, and at the smaller one in the upstairs gallery,
admiring the delicate, honey-haired beauty with the huge, soulful
eyes. True, an aura of sadness had clung to both portraits, but
Annabel had never for a moment suspected that Livinia would have
been filled with such despair that she would end her life. She’d
imagined that Ross McCallum adored her, that he showered her with
love and riches and jewels, that her children were the apple of her
eye, that she was gentle and kind and wise.