When The Heart Beckons (11 page)

Curtis gave a shout of laughter. “Hey,
Willy, this here woman’s going to give me her endless gratitude in
exchange for some water from her canteen. How ‘bout that? Think I
should do it?”

“I’ll do it.” Willy dropped a load of
firewood into the dirt, and trotted over with his own canteen,
holding it out to her. “Help yourself, honey. But I’m gonna expect
all the gratitude you’ve got.” He chortled at his own humor, and
Curtis joined in, but as Annabel reached reluctantly for the
canteen, Moss’s voice rang out harshly.

“If she gets to be too much of a
distraction, I’ll have to kill her. Now that can be
after
we’ve all had our fun with her, or before. It’s up to you,
boys.”

Willy grabbed the canteen back before
Annabel had a chance to take a sip. “Aw, Moss, we wasn’t meanin’ no
harm.” He scowled and trudged back to the pile of firewood. “What’s
the big hurry? That posse was two days behind us ...”

“Shut up, you damned fool,” Curtis barked,
and threw Annabel a worried frown.

So she’d been right. They were wanted men.
And with this fact confirmed, Annabel suddenly knew that they would
certainly kill her. They would not hesitate once she became
inconvenient to them, once they’d had their fill of “fun.”

She sat perfectly still. Curtis, still
frowning, spoke in a low tone. “You want water? Well, stay there
and keep quiet and I’ll get you some. But don’t you try nothin’.”
He gave her one keen, warning glance, and then loped toward Sunrise
and her own canteens.

Wait
, Annabel told herself, as her
heart thumped like a trip-hammer.
Not yet
. She forced
herself to sit motionless on the rock, her fingers gripping the
warm stone.
Two more steps, three
...
wait until he’s
not looking....

Go
.

She sprang up like a jackrabbit with paws on
fire and ran toward the trail. There were hoarse shouts behind her
as she ducked under a low-hanging cottonwood branch, and then she
heard the pounding crunch of booted feet in pursuit. Yells, oaths,
and the furious scuffle of heavy, running feet exploded through the
late afternoon stillness.

Run! Faster!
Her skirt caught on
the edge of a jagged rock, but she tore it free and fled on across
the winding path, searching frantically for someplace to hide
...

The path fell away sharply, dipping and
winding downward toward the bottom of the ravine, where a stream
murmured among white boulders. She stumbled over rocks and brush,
skittering as fast as she could down the path. There was no place
to conceal herself, nothing to hide behind—she would have to keep
going and try to outrun them. And somehow try to use the gun ...
Annabel told herself, gasping for air as she ran. If they came
close enough and she could get off a shot or two before they shot
her, maybe she could even the odds ...

Then she saw exactly what she’d been praying
for. A big red boulder, nestled on a rocky outcropping off the main
path, directly beneath a sheer cliff. She glanced back swiftly up
the track and saw that there was no sign of either Curtis, Moss, or
Willy, though she could hear them coming. But they wouldn’t see
where she went ...

Swiftly she dashed off the path and toward
the rock and ducked down behind it. Her hands were slippery with
sweat but she managed to yank the derringer from her boot. She held
it in her shaking fingers, trying not to drop the damned thing.
Calm down, think. There’s no room here for mistakes
, she
told herself, and drew several quick deep breaths. Then she braced
herself behind the rock, rested the barrel of the gun on top of it,
and aimed straight at the path.

Her heart was pounding so hard she thought
her chest would explode, and her lips were dry, but she stared
frantically at the trail and waited ...

“We’ll get you for this, you sneaking little
bitch!” Curtis’s voice bellowed from around the bend, and the
pounding of heavy footfalls stormed closer.

“You’re goin’ to be real sorry, lady, that
you caused us all this trouble!”

That was Moss. She winced, remembering the
slam of his hand against her jaw. She ignored the throbbing in her
cheek and clutched the gun tighter.

She almost didn’t hear the other, softer
sound until it was right behind her, and then it was almost too
late.

Boots scraped against rock. Someone jumped
down behind her. She gave a small, horrified gasp, and whirled
about, firing the derringer instinctively. The bullet bored
straight through the hat of the man before her, leaving a gaping
hole. He swore, twisted the little derringer from her hand, and
seized her in a powerful grip.

But it wasn’t Curtis, Moss, or Willy who
pushed her down against the boulder, holding her still. It was Roy
Steele.

“I just bought this hat two weeks ago, Miss
Brannigan,” he grated through clenched teeth. “Didn’t have a mark
on it. Reckon you owe me fifteen dollars.”

A
nnabel clutched
desperately at his shoulders, her fingers digging into iron muscle.
“It’s
you
!”

“Last time I looked.”

“My God ... I almost killed you.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Steele’s eyes
narrowed on the bruise across her jaw. “What happened to your
face?”

“Oh ...” She let go of him long enough to
touch a fingertip to the raw, tender spot. “They ... he ... those
men ...!” she blurted in a frantic whisper. Then she dug her
fingers once more into the solid muscle of his arm as if clinging
to a life raft. It didn’t seem strange at all to feel the shock of
relief that was flooding through her at the splendid, awe-inspiring
sight of him. Gazing into his face and reading the deadly gleam in
his eyes, she nearly wept for joy. “Thank God you’re here,” she
continued on a ragged gasp. “Mr. Steele, you must help me. Those
men ... they’re going to kill me!”

“Don’t count on it. I reserve that pleasure
for myself.” Steele thrust her down behind the rock as Curtis,
Moss, and Willy bolted into view and charged down the track like a
small herd of stampeding cows. He was aware that his flesh still
tingled strangely where her delicate fingers had gripped it.
Crouching beside him, Annabel Brannigan looked shaken, desperate,
yet utterly breathtaking. The eagerness of her vivid eyes, fixed on
his with such total appeal and confidence in his ability to save
her, made him flinch.

“Stay down—and take this,” Steele ordered
tersely, giving her back her gun just as the other men’s voices
exploded from the trail.

“Where the hell did she go?”

“Damn it, Curtis, this is all your fault.
Falling for those big innocent eyes of hers ...”

“I’m gonna skin you alive, girl,” cheruby
Willy shouted, his voice echoing through the walls of the ravine,
bouncing down toward the stream below. “I’ll beat you ‘til there’s
nothin’ left but broken bone, I’ll make you sorry you ever tried
to—”

“You boys got some sort of problem?” Steele
asked coolly, rising as the three men came even with the ledge.
They spun toward him in amazement, but refrained from grabbing for
their guns when they saw he was already pointing his black-handled
Colt at them.

Curtis’s mouth fell open. “Who the hell are
you?”

Annabel could control herself not a minute
longer.

“He’s Roy Steele, that’s who,” she announced
with infinite satisfaction, popping up beside him. Her eyes
sparkled with deep joy. She felt almost drunk with relief as she
wagged a finger at the three desperadoes. “You’re in a lot of
trouble now—all of you.”

“Steele? Roy Steele? Right. Sure, he is.”
Moss gave out a horselaugh. “And I’m Wyatt Earp.”

Willy giggled and scratched his thigh. But
Curtis was staring. “I ... saw Roy Steele once, Moss. In Tombstone.
He knocked a man through a window for beating a whore ... I saw the
whole fight ... and ...”

His voice trailed off. He swallowed
convulsively, and his swarthy skin turned the color of chalk.

“And what?” Moss snapped.

“And ... that’s him.”

“Very good, Curtis,” Annabel said, nodding.
“Mr. Steele is unforgettable once you’ve seen him in action, isn’t
he? I personally saw him kill three men in Justice and I never saw
such fast shooting in my life ...”

“Will you be quiet?” Steele burst out beside
her. “Stop talking and let me handle this.”

“But these men are after me,” Annabel
pointed out, peering up at him with a determined set to her lips.
“Last time, the men were after you, and so of course, it was your
problem. This time they’re after me, and so I insist on playing a
part in—”

“You want to kill one? Fine, which one? Just
take aim and get it over with!”

Annabel saw Moss and Willy grow as still as
Curtis. My, my they didn’t look nearly so dangerous now. They
looked as if they were ready to pee in their pants.

“Well,” she said slowly, regarding each of
them consideringly. “Moss is the one who hit me.”

“Then go ahead.” Steele nodded his head. “At
this range your derringer will do the job. But I get the other
two.”

“Deal.” Annabel agreed, and raised the
derringer coolly.

“You’re loco!” Moss shouted, purple color
flooding his face. He wasn’t pulling on his mustache now, Annabel
noted with grim satisfaction, he was shifting nervously from one
foot to the other. “You can’t shoot me in cold blood! You’re a
woman. Women don’t just go around shooting people in cold
blood—”

“Her being a woman didn’t stop you from
hitting her,” Steele interrupted, and Annabel couldn’t help the
electric quiver that ran through her at the ice-cold menace in his
tone.

“That’s right, so say your prayers, Moss,”
she said, “because this is one woman who doesn’t take kindly to
being treated the way you and your friends treated me.”

“But I didn’t touch you ... I was gonna give
you water!” Curtis yelled, his head bobbing up and down. “Tell
him—tell Steele I was getting the canteen for you ...”

“I think we’ve had about enough of this,”
the gunfighter sighed in disgust. “Time for you liver-bellied
snakes to throw down your guns.”

Annabel watched as one by one they obeyed
this command. Sweat poured down the faces of the three men, and she
marveled at how much less dangerous they looked now that they were
unarmed and she had a weapon in her hand—and Roy Steele’s tall,
dark form beside her.

“I’ll just pick up those pistols,” she
offered and started forward around the rock, but suddenly Steele
yelled behind her.

“Get out of the way!”

Too late she realized she was blocking his
bead on the three men. Too late she saw Curtis and Willy grabbing
at hideaway guns tucked inside their belts, and too late she
realized Steele couldn’t shoot because she was in his line of fire.
She tried to duck as gunfire erupted behind her, and Moss flung his
hefty form forward in a hurtling leap straight at her.

The ledge rang with shots as Moss hit her
full on and knocked her to the ground. Pain thudded through every
fiber of her being as he fell on top of her and seized the
derringer. Dimly, she heard more shots, then grunts and hideous
groans. Sunlight nearly blinded her. Through a white haze she saw
Moss crouched over her, saw him lift his arm and point the
derringer. She tried to raise her hand to knock the gun aside, but
burning pain looped through her shoulder, and faintness blurred his
looming image.

She waited for the shot, but it never came.
Instead a bullet ripped through his chest and he toppled over,
blood spurting everywhere.

A strange tingling sensation washed over
her. Her shoulder throbbed, and as if from a long way off, Annabel
heard a moan, and realized it was her own voice.

Then a tall form blocked the sun and she
closed her eyes, little pinpricks of red light dotting the
blackness in her mind. She felt herself slipping, fading. Hands
groped at her, lifted her, and she heard a man’s sharp intake of
breath.

“Brett?” she whispered, a huge lump of
happiness bubbling inside her as the blackness grew thicker and the
red lights disappeared one by one. “I was going to find ... you,”
she breathed, clutching at his hand as he gripped hers in a
relentless grip. “But you found me ... oh, Brett ... I have so much
to tell you.”

And then the darkness hugged her tighter,
and Brett lifted her up and she let herself be carried into the
soft sweet cottony thick blackness.

“E
asy.”

Annabel opened her eyes and through a sheen
of moonlight saw Roy Steele hunkered down beside her. He was
watching her, his expression unreadable in the dimness.

“What ... happened?” she whispered,
confused, trying to remember the chain of events leading up to this
moment. And then a shudder ran through her as she suddenly recalled
the fight on the ledge, the gunshots, Moss pointing the derringer
at her ...

“They’re dead. It’s all over. Take it
easy.”

Steele’s calm cool voice pierced through the
ugly memories and she focused on his face. “You shot Moss ...
before he could ...”

“Yep.”

“What happened to them ...”

“Dead and buried,” he said curtly. “No need
for you to think about those hombres again.”

She tried to sit up, but sharp pain twinged
through her shoulder and she gasped at the intensity of it. “I’ve
been shot,” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Yep. That son of a bitch nailed you right
before I plugged him.”

Steele ruthlessly eased her back to the
ground. She was lying on a bedroll in the clearing, a wool blanket
tucked across her shoulders, protecting her from the evening chill.
Thoughtful, Annabel decided, closing her eyes. As the mountain
breeze fanned her cheek, she was grateful for the blanket’s fuzzy
warmth.