When The Heart Beckons (30 page)

S
eñorita
Annabel, who would
ever have guessed that your carpetbag should carry so many
treasures?” Conchita gave her head a shake, and smiled in amusement
as she watched Annabel brush her hair before the spare bedroom
mirror. “That gown—it is
muy hermosa
. And your jewels are
also lovely. I think
Señor
McCallum—both
Señor
McCallums—will be most pleased to escort you to the fiesta
tonight.”

“Not in the least,” Annabel dismissed the
compliments with a rueful smile. She turned, hairbrush in hand, to
face the woman seated on the edge of the narrow bed. “Brett
probably will not even notice my gown—he never has—and as for Cade
McCallum, all he cares about is forcing Lowry into a fight. I’m
sure escorting me to his private little battleground is the last
thing on his mind.”

Conchita pursed her lips. For a quick-witted
and intelligent young woman, which Annabel Brannigan gave every
appearance of being, she was dense as a thicket of cedar. Conchita
had seen the way Cade McCallum looked at her, and she would have
bet every inch of the Racing Rivers Ranch that he was more than a
little interested in this pretty girl who had come in search of
Brett.

But “We shall see,” was all Conchita replied
as she helped to clasp the amber necklet at Annabel’s nape.

“
Perfecta
.”

Annabel smiled back in the mirror, and then
allowed her gaze to rest upon her own reflection.

A pleasantly attractive image gazed back at
her. “I guess I’ll do,” she allowed, but her dimples popped out as
her smile widened. “Maybe the McCallum brothers will notice me
after all.”

She had chosen her favorite of her two
Sunday best dresses—the sea-foam green silk with the leg-of-mutton
sleeves and the fitted waist accentuated by the smart cream-lace
sash. The soft green of the gown brought out vivid matching flecks
in her eyes, and looked striking with her hair, which glistened to
a rich burnished sheen. She had arranged it in an elaborate
chignon, with tiny curls framing her face. With her amber necklet
and the daintily dangling amber earbobs, silk stockings, and
cream-colored slippers, she looked very nearly as elegant as the
fashionable young women Brett squired around back home, Annabel
decided.

She forced herself to walk sedately as she
followed Conchita Rivers from the small but comfortably appointed
guest bedroom to the parlor, and told herself it really didn’t
matter what Cade McCallum thought of her appearance at all.

When they reached the parlor, Adelaide,
Tomas, and the McCallum brothers were already dressed and waiting.
A flush of color tinged Annabel’s cheeks as four pairs of eyes
swerved all at once toward her and Conchita.

Adelaide spoke first, an approving smile on
her thin old lips. “You gals look right nice. Better than old
Calvin Lowry deserves.”

Tomas grinned at the striking figure of his
mother in her tight-sleeved russet taffeta, with her hair coiled in
an elegant coronet atop her head. “
Sí
, Mama. You’re beautiful.”

“You’re both beautiful,” Brett declared
warmly, coming forward with a grin to offer Annabel his arm. He
didn’t look any the worse for his afternoon’s confessions; as a
matter of fact he had cleaned himself up, shaved, brushed his hair,
and dressed neatly in a gray silk shirt and dark trousers, with a
black string tie and vest. To Annabel’s relief he didn’t appear to
have been drinking—he looked clear eyed and alert, and most
delightfully impressed with her toilette.

“You’re even prettier than the last time I
saw you,” he told her, sounding surprised. “Or is it only an
appetite for blood that’s giving you this glow, and causing your
eyes to shine so bewitchingly tonight, my incorrigible little
Annie?”

“I am not the bloodthirsty wretch you make
me out to be!” Annabel protested, yet she blushed beneath the
admiring intentness of his gaze, and her heart took flight and
began to soar. Was she imagining it, or was Brett finally noticing
that she was a woman? She’d never seen this particular kind of
interest in his glance before, but he was certainly appraising her
face and her figure in the flowing silk gown, and from the way he
was smiling, he didn’t appear to have found anything lacking.

Joy leapt through her and she tucked her arm
eagerly in his, but the next moment it died as Cade McCallum,
instead of saying one word to her about her appearance or anything
else, stalked to the ranch door.

“Time to be going.” The familiar hard tone
was like a blow to her heart. He didn’t even glance once at her as
he held the door wide for the little group to pass through.

“Coming.” Brett steered Annabel toward the
liquor cabinet. “First, I think this occasion calls for a drink.
Something to fortify us for the—”

“We don’t need fortifying. We need to get to
the fiesta and get on with this,” Cade interrupted him evenly.
“Leave the liquor alone and let’s go.”

An angry red flush spread up Brett’s neck
and into his cheeks. “I’m sick and tired of you trying to order me
around! What I do is none of your damn business. I was getting
along fine on this job before you showed up and no one has
appointed you leader—”

“Brett, please,” Conchita interrupted, her
tone low and pleading. “You have saved our lives more than once—our
gratitude is endless, but your brother is a skilled gunman as none
of the rest of us are. We need him tonight, his gun as well as his
guidance. And he is right. Liquor will not help any of us this
evening—we must have clear heads to follow
Señor
Cade’s
lead, we must have all our wits about us if any of us are to
survive this fiesta and whatever trouble erupts.”

“So go without me. You don’t need me. You
just said as much.” Brett wrenched free of Annabel, and grabbed a
whiskey bottle from the cabinet. “Go on. You have Cade McCallum,
the genuine son of the great Ross McCallum. You couldn’t do any
better. So go away, and leave me be.”

“Brett.” Caught between exasperation and
anger, Annabel regarded him through narrowed eyes. “You’re acting
like a ten-year-old. No,” she added, with a glance at Tomas, so
quietly serious and mature for his age. “Like a six-year-old. We do
need you and we are asking for your help. The Brett McCallum I know
would never let down the people who need him.” She shook his arm,
as he paused with the bottle in his hand. “Have you really changed
so much? Aren’t you the same person I’ve known and ... and cared
for all these years?”

“No! Yes! Hell, I don’t
know
,
Annabel.” Brett suddenly closed his eyes and sighed. “You’re right.
I’m acting like a damned fool. Can’t seem to help it lately,” he
muttered.

He threw Conchita and Adelaide an apologetic
smile. “Sorry,
señoras
.
Vamonos
.”

Still, he ignored Cade as he stalked past
him out the door.

* * *

They drove up the long, tree-flanked drive
leading up to the Lowry hacienda in style. Brett drove the women
and Tomas in the Rivers’s carriage, while Cade rode alongside on
Dickens. It was a grim procession, with scarcely a word spoken as
they traveled along beneath a dark sky murky with clouds, unlit by
stars or moon. The air felt hot and close and heavy, as if a storm
was brewing, and once Annabel thought she heard distant thunder
echo across the mountains.

As the carriage halted in the bright,
torch-lit courtyard before the ranch, Annabel found herself
smoothing and re-smoothing the silken folds of her skirt. She
scarcely noticed the grandeur of the rambling, two-story Lowry
ranch, with its extensive outbuildings and corrals, its wide
wraparound porch and gleaming pillars; she scarcely heard the gay
flow of music streaming forth into the warm, humid night, music
interspersed with laughter and merriment. She was watching Cade,
wondering if she would ever again have a moment to try to explain
to him, to make him understand.

He must hate me now for lying to
him—even though he lied to me as well
. Yet she sensed that, to
him, her greatest sin was working for Ross McCallum. What was it
Cade had called her? His father’s paid sneak. Frustration chafed at
her as Brett helped first Adelaide and then Conchita to alight.
When it was her turn, his fingers clasped her lightly around the
waist as he set her down.

“You look like an angel, tonight, Annabel.
You ought to be able to simply fly up there and through the door
and dazzle Lowry to death with your beauty.”

“Flatterer!” Annabel laughed at him, though
her heart beat a shade faster at the warmth in his eyes. “I’m not
one of your fashionable debutantes, Brett. You can’t bamboozle me
with a lot of fancy talk.”

“Oh, can’t I?” he teased her, and with
elaborate courtliness took her arm to escort her up the
flower-lined path to the door. But Annabel saw Cade watching them,
stony eyed, and she suddenly halted.

“Brett, go on ahead with Conchita for just a
moment. I must ... that is, there is something I must discuss with
Cade.”

“Annabel ...”

She heard him sigh as she slipped away from
him to the fence post where Cade stood beneath a canopy of indigo
sky.

The scent of roses floated on the night air.
But there was tension in the air, too, a raw, charged energy at
odds with the lush scent. Then, for a moment, lightning lit the
sky, and in its brief flare she was more aware than ever that Cade
tonight of all nights looked incredibly handsome. Annabel waited
until he had fixed that piercing black gaze upon her and then she
offered him up her most winsome smile.

“I know that you’re furious with me, but if
you’d give me a moment to explain ...”

“Don’t have a moment. I have a job to
do.”

He started to brush past her, but she
clutched his arm. “Not so fast, Mr. Steele.”

He paused then and studied her, his
expression so grim and thunderous she might have been frightened,
but she wasn’t.

“You lied to me, too,” she pointed out
softly.

“For good reason. I don’t go by the name
McCallum anymore. I don’t like what it represents.”

“Did you ever think that maybe you’ve been a
shade too hard on your father all these years? Maybe it wasn’t
really his fault that your mother took her life—maybe this Frank
Boxer had far more to do with it than you think—maybe your father
only covered up the truth to protect you and Brett ...”

“Maybe we should go in now and finish this
business with Lowry before Red Cobb shows up. I like to take my
enemies on one at a time whenever possible.”

He gripped her firmly by the elbow before
she could reply and nearly dragged her up the path until they’d
caught up with the rest of their party.

It’s no use talking to this man when
he’s in this mood
, she decided. Besides, he was right. They
all needed to concentrate on what lay ahead. Distractions could be
fatal at a time like this. Obviously Cade McCallum was well
accustomed to setting his sights on what needed to be done and
blocking out everything else. She’d better do the same if she
wanted to be of any help whatever in the tinderbox situation they
were embarking on now.

Cade drew her up the steps and through the
door of the hacienda, taking in the scene before him in one
lightning glance, without appearing to notice anything but the
woman at his side. In truth, he was far more aware of Annabel than
was healthy under these circumstances, but how could he not be
aware of her when she looked so radiant and charming, a
delicate-boned pixie completely out of place in the rugged wilds of
New Mexico. He’d never seen her dressed in silk before—it flowed
over her curves and made him want to touch parts of her he’d never
dared out of honor to set his hands to. But now ... damn it, she
was
not
Brett’s fiancée, after all, and that truth set his
imagination galloping like a runaway bronco. He couldn’t seem to
help wondering what it would feel like to do all those things to
her that he’d been trying not to think about doing for days
now....

She was the most compelling woman in the
room. And he wasn’t sure why, Cade reflected, since Lowry had some
real beauties on hand at this little fiesta. The immense candlelit
parlor with its gold damask draperies and wide curtained windows
shone like an opal, ablaze with light and brilliance. Men in fancy
garb, with their string ties and gleaming boots, lounged and drank
in groups with prettily attired women in all manner of silks and
satins, beribboned and bejeweled. Several, he noticed, were
stunning girls with upswept curls, buxom figures, and exquisite
faces almost too perfect to be true. But none compared to the
cinnamon-haired enchantress at his side, with her pert, sparkling
face so full of lively intelligence, and her large vibrant eyes
which tonight mirrored the sea-foam green of her gown. Annabel
might not be as tall as some, as robustly buxom as others, but her
figure was gracefully sensuous, and her delicate features had a
subtle beauty, warmed by an earnest sweetness and compassion which
had begun to haunt his dreams. All these years he had fought
against any but the most superficial involvement with any woman. He
had frequented whores, kept things strictly businesslike, and never
let his heart or any emotions be touched, and now, in trying to
help Brett—who needed some serious straightening out, unless Cade
missed his guess—he had become inadvertently involved with someone
he could only end up hurting. Yet she was the last person on earth
he would ever want to hurt.

Consternation at this predicament gouged at
him, and it took all of his resolution to keep from staring at her,
drinking in the way she looked, the intoxicatingly sweet way she
smelled, the quiet grace with which she walked. Annabel Brannigan
might not be engaged to Brett yet, but it was clear she sure as
hell wanted to be—and judging by his brother’s affection for her,
it might not be long before he caught on to the idea himself.