When The Heart Beckons (43 page)

There was the shrieking scream of horses,
and shouts, and then a terrible din rang through the night as both
the carriage and the wagon overturned with a splintering crash.
Cade reached the scene just as the carriage’s driver limped away,
hurrying up the street, as fast as his bloody, injured leg would
take him.

Cade ignored him and the peddler, who was
miraculously unhurt, but was standing in the middle of the
wreckage, cursing to the heavens. All around him were strewn his
broken and scattered wares.

Cade spared him barely a glance as he
sprinted toward the fallen carriage and yanked open the door.

Boxer was crouched on the seat. He faced
Cade, the knife drawn.

“Put it away.”

“You’re Cade McCallum, aren’t you? According
to Derrickson, everyone thought you were dead all these years. But
you’re back from the dead, just like me.”

The man was insane. A glazed wildness stared
back from his brilliant blue eyes, and his lips were stretched taut
in a twisted, grotesque smile. Cade felt his stomach tighten with
loathing. “You’re halfway to hell again, Boxer. Don’t make me send
you all the way.”

“Your father tried to get rid of me and
couldn’t. He hated me because I worked for him—a lowly underling
—and your mother fell in love with me. He couldn’t believe that it
happened right under his nose.”

“Shut up.”

“She couldn’t help it, you know. All the
women fell in love with me. I have a way with women—it’s easy for
me,” Boxer bragged. “They believe every sweet thing I
say—especially the lonely ones. And your mother was lonely. Your
father worked very hard and he neglected her. But I’m afraid it
hurt her badly when I started to blackmail her.”

“You blackmailed her?”

“Well, really, both of them.” Boxer
shrugged. “I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life working for
someone else. I deserved better, was capable of better. But I
needed money to get started—lots of money, so that I could begin to
build my own fortune, my own financial empire. Your mother just
didn’t understand that though. I suppose she took it
personally.”

“One more word about her and I’ll kill you
on the spot.”

Boxer started to laugh, since after all he
held the knife, but something in the other man’s gaze stopped him.
A few beads of sweat started to dribble down his brow.

“Look here, McCallum, it doesn’t have to be
this way between you and me. We could join forces. I’ve heard about
you, and I know you ran away from home at the age of seventeen
because you’d grown to hate Ross McCallum as much as I do. It’s
true, isn’t it, because why else would you have stayed away for all
these years? Why don’t you and I sit down and have a little talk
...”

Cade lunged for him then, but Boxer was
surprisingly fast. He slashed out with the knife, and the blade
whizzed past Cade’s arm, slicing his sleeve.

Cade drew back, breathing hard. “Put it
down, you son of a bitch. Consider this your last warning.”

“If that’s how you want it.” Boxer shrugged.
“I learned to throw this in India.” Boxer started to laugh once
again. “I acquired great skill. Men fear me there. And now I’m
going to show you why. I’m going to kill you, my friend, right
where you stand.”

And in a flash he drew back his arm to hurl
the knife. But it fell harmlessly from his fingers. He slid forward
as a bullet lodged in his forehead.

Cade stuffed his still-smoking gun back into
his holster and turned away.

“That was for you, Mama,” he muttered as he
took in the wreckage of the collision, the curses and complaints of
the peddler, the frightened, whinnying horses. He closed his eyes
against the tumult in the street and drew in a deep, painful
breath. An image of the mother he had lost at the age of eight
filled the darkness behind his closed eyes.
I hope you know
somehow that now it’s really over. Maybe you can rest in
peace.

T
he following
morning brought a luminous opal dawn, full of dappled sunshine,
fragrant summer air, and birdsong. Annabel had spent the night in
one of the McCallum guest rooms—the pretty rose one she’d always
loved, with the cream-lace curtains and the rose and cream floral
coverlet upon the big oak featherbed.

When she awoke in that heavenly soft bed,
Cade, who had come to her when everyone else was asleep and held
her all through the dark soul of night, was gone. She sat up, gazed
at the brilliant sunshine glittering in through the curtains to
pool upon the honey oak floor, heard the nightingale singing in the
maple outside the window, and smiled luxuriously.

Cade was safe, Brett was safe, and Mr.
McCallum was safe. She had succeeded in her mission ... and far
beyond her wildest dreams. She’d found the man she loved, and would
always love ... but fate had played a trick on her—the man who
owned her heart was not who she had thought he was. In discovering
her own folly, she’d learned that she wasn’t quite as shrewd in
some matters as she thought.

The horrible events of the previous night
seemed to her like an evil dream as she bathed, performed a quick
toilette, and dressed in her blue and white gingham Sunday gown.
After brushing her hair until it glistened, she deliberately left
it loose and flowing, the way Cade preferred.

This is a new day for all of us
,
she thought as she nearly pranced down the wide oak staircase.
Maybe it will mark a whole new beginning for the
McCallums
.

The delicious aroma of coffee greeted her as
she reached the dining room, and when she pushed through the doors
to the kitchen she found Cade busily scrambling eggs in a pan and
slicing bread for toast. Grinning, she remembered that Derrickson
had sent all the servants, even the cook, away.

“I hope there’s enough food for me, Mr.
Steele, because I’m famished,” she said, coming up behind him and
slipping her arms around his waist.

“I reckon we can find something here for
you.”

Her heart soared at the warmth in his eyes
as he set the pan down and turned to take her in his arms. She
framed his face with her hands. “Good morning to you, Mr. Steele,”
she whispered.

“Morning, Miss Brannigan.”

He caught her to him in a quick, hard kiss.
This
, she thought blissfully,
is how I want to begin
every single day of the rest of my life.

Presently Brett came in and joined them at
the kitchen table. He needed no invitation to help himself to the
hearty breakfast of eggs, sausage, toast, and jam.

“Doc’s up there with Father again,” he
reported, eyeing the heaping platters and the steaming black coffee
with appreciation. “Came back first thing this morning. I think he
couldn’t quite believe what he saw last night,” Brett added, his
eyes dancing as he bit into a mouthful of sausage.

Sometime after midnight the doctor had
pronounced Ross McCallum miraculously fit for a man his age and in
his condition who had been held against his will, shackled, and fed
little more than bread and water for a week. “You McCallums have
iron constitutions,” he had muttered in amazement when he’d
finished his examination, and Cade, telling Annabel about it in bed
later, had been forced to laugh as he held her against him and
wound her hair sensuously around and around his fingers.

“That’s one thing about being a McCallum,”
he’d reflected. “We’re too ornery to die.”

“A lucky thing, too.” Annabel had pressed
her mouth to his chest, then let her lips roam across the broad
expanse of muscles to the warm solidity of his shoulder, and nipped
at it. “You can be as ornery as you want as long as you’re
safe
...”

Safe. With morning sunshine pouring in the
kitchen windows, and both Brett and Cade seated with her at the
same cozy table where she’d eaten her meals as a child, Annabel
could finally savor the idea that the danger was past, and they
were all safe.

“I went out to see Herbert Ervin first thing
this morning,” Brett continued, after helping himself to a second
cup of coffee. “It took some explaining, but I finally managed to
fill him in on enough of the story so that he realized he’d been
duped. He felt pretty badly that he’d thought Father capable of
embezzling from him. But Boxer had everything coordinated most
convincingly. Thanks to Derrickson’s conniving, it looked as if
he’d illegally withdrawn profits from the steel company to bolster
up the Ruby Palace and other failing businesses.”

“Only now that the truth is out,” Annabel
said with satisfaction, “it’s Bartholomew and Derrickson who face
those lengthy prison terms.”

Cade set down his fork and looked at Brett.
“I’ve been thinking—Ross is going to need our help shoring up his
crumbling empire, thanks to Boxer’s maneuverings. It seems to me
that we’re going to have to lend a hand and try to rebuild some of
the companies so that—”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Ross McCallum’s voice
rang out through the kitchen, startling all three of them.

Annabel didn’t know whether to smile or sigh
as she saw him towering in the doorway, as commanding and arrogant
a figure as ever in his expensive black suit and impeccable
starched white shirt.

This morning his thick gray hair was neatly
combed and he was the spitting image of a leader of industry: clear
eyed and tight lipped, authority resting easily upon his enormous
shoulders. But his face was still drawn, and he had obviously lost
weight—the suit hung loosely on his giant frame, and the purplish
circles remained beneath his eyes. Yet his voice boomed out as
strongly as ever.

“I am perfectly capable of rebuilding my own
companies all on my own,” he growled. “I am not an invalid, nor a
fool, and I won’t tolerate my own sons treating me like an injured
pup that needs careful handling.”

“Sir,” Cade said, standing respectfully as
his father strode into the kitchen, “that wasn’t our intention. We
only want to help ...”

“Since when do I need your help? You ran
away thirteen years ago, my boy, and never thought about lending me
an ounce of help in all this time. I’m damned if I’ll accept it
now.”

“Will you accept my apology?”

“And mine?” Brett added humbly.

Annabel held her breath as Ross McCallum
glared at both of his sons in turn, and his normally ruddy skin
whitened.

“Yes,” he said. “If you’ll accept mine.” A
muscle clenched in his jaw, and he seemed to be struggling with
himself before he spoke. “I should have told you the truth from the
beginning ... I never should have tried to hide what happened to
your mother.” He shook his head with great weariness and took a
breath. “But I wanted to protect you, and to protect her.”

“I know.” Cade went around the table,
awkwardly, to put a hand to his father’s shoulder. “I jumped to a
lot of conclusions when I was seventeen. And the hell of it is,
they were wrong.”

“You thought I was responsible for her
death, didn’t you?” Ross McCallum’s lips thinned as his son said
nothing. “Well, maybe I was. Come into the library. All of you,” he
added, his gaze flickering to Annabel, who remained seated
uncertainly at the table. “There are some things that need
explaining. It’s more than time, and you have a right to know.”

Annabel stole a glance at Cade as they
entered the huge library she’d always loved. Tall dark-paneled
walls lined with books, bronze chandeliers, and comfortable olive
leather sofas and armchairs arranged before a black stone hearth
had made the perfect room in which to curl up with a book all
through her childhood days, and myriad memories flooded back as she
walked through the double doors into that serene, comfortable room.
Memories of warmth, comfort, security. The roaring fire and the
heavy-paned windows with their olive velvet draperies tied back
with gold tassels had protected her from even the iciest winter
days. But she didn’t have time to indulge in memories now. As she
looked at Cade she wondered what he was thinking, feeling. If only
he could find it in his heart to fully forgive his father and forge
a reconciliation. Maybe after all these years, the McCallum family
could be whole once again.

Cade didn’t even glance around the room he
hadn’t seen since he was seventeen. He strode to the mantel and
stood gazing out the window at the magnificent emerald gardens
rolling beyond. It was Brett who sat beside Annabel on the sofa,
while Ross went to the long table holding the brandy decanter and
glasses, but he didn’t pour a drink. Instead, he faced his audience
and began to speak in a crisp, deliberate tone that tried very hard
to hide the sadness beneath.

“If I’d looked after Livinia better, if I
hadn’t been so busy building up my companies, working all the time,
maybe she never would have gotten involved with that bastard. I
accept blame for that. Our marriage had been arranged, you see, and
I learned later that she did not wish to marry me. She fancied
herself in love with another young man, a banking clerk, someone
her father considered unacceptable.” He frowned, and the haunted
sadness flared in his eyes. “Your mother had a gentle nature, boys,
and she complied with her father’s wishes. But I do believe her
heart was broken ... especially when the man she loved married
someone else a few months after our wedding. She didn’t speak out
and she lost him forever—and she was stuck with me.”

“But she came to love you,” Annabel burst
out, unable to bear his tortured expression a moment longer.
“Forgive me for speaking of something so personal, but I have to
tell you that I read my aunt Gertie’s diary of events at the time,
and from all that I could gather, it seemed that Mrs. McCallum
loved you very much.”

Ross McCallum’s bleak expression softened. A
trace of hope entered his eyes as they rested upon Annabel. “I
believe she may have—in the end. I’d like to think so.” He began to
pace the library as he continued. “After that debacle with Boxer,
when he seduced her, abandoned her, and then turned to blackmailing
her, I stood by her, and she seemed to come to depend on me ... to
genuinely care for me. But as for love ... I’ll never know if it
was that or just ... gratitude.”