When The Heart Beckons (15 page)

Annabel stared at him as if she couldn’t
believe her ears. “But you were in such a hurry! And so am I. We
must find Brett before Red Cobb does,” she added firmly. “That
means going on today. I thought you said you wanted to help him
...”

“I do. But I don’t reckon he’d look too
kindly on my dragging in a half-dead fiancée and dropping her at
his feet.”

She gripped the blanket excitedly, holding
it up to her shoulders. “Does this mean you’re going to take me
along with you all the way—until we find Brett?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did. You said—”

“I said we wait until you’re well enough
before we ride on to town, and then you stay put while I go find
Brett.”

“But I
am
well enough. Mr. Steele,
we must go on—if anything happens to Brett I’ll never forgive
myself!”

He gave her a long look. The memory of the
way she’d kissed him last night still burned in his brain. Who’d
have guessed that so much sweet passion flowed beneath all that
irritating stubbornness? He had to force himself to focus on the
here and now. She was going to marry her beloved Brett McCallum,
and that was that. What happened last night could never happen
again.

“If you love your fiancée so much, you won’t
underestimate him,” he said coolly. “From what I understand, Brett
McCallum comes from some pretty tough stock. He can probably take
care of himself just fine, without your help or mine.”

“Under ordinary circumstances, perhaps. But
Red Cobb is a dangerous man. I’ve heard that he ... and you ... are
probably the deadliest guns in the territory.”

“Only in the territory?” Steele scoffed.
“Hell, I’m crushed, Miss Brannigan. I thought my reputation was
wider than that—extending throughout all of the West.”

“This is hardly a joke!”

“And neither is your wound.”

He stomped outside and Annabel watched him
as he began tending to the horses. He worked with an easy confident
strength and great efficiency—much the way he kissed, she reflected
woefully, all too aware of the electric little tingles shooting
through her at the memory. She mustn’t think about last night, not
about one single moment of it—not about the wondrous fire that had
spread through her when his mouth captured hers, not about the way
she felt when he held her, or touched her hair, or pulled her so
intimately against him.

It must never happen again!
she
warned herself, furious at the breathless longing that swept over
her for just a moment as she relived those riveting moments. Then
she banished the memories and the emotions with a frustrated groan.
Stop it! Just stop thinking about it and those ridiculous feelings
will go away.

She sank back down against the dark lumpy
cushions of the sofa, but her brain couldn’t seem to swerve from
its forbidden path. Did he kiss his precious Lily that way, she
wondered darkly, glaring unseeingly at the open sky outside the
window, and digging her nails into the sofa cushions with vicious
force. Did he look at her with that same searing intensity, and
hold her as tightly, and ...

No more
. Annabel closed her eyes
and used all of her willpower to shift her thoughts away from Roy
Steele.

Rest
, she told herself.
You
need to regain your strength if you’re going to be of any use to
Brett—and to poor Mr. McCallum back in St. Louis
.

She was worried sick about both of them, and
with good reason. She was still no closer to knowing what had
caused Brett to run away than when she began. She was hot on his
trail, true, and now she was close to getting Steele to agree to
let her travel with him until they found Brett, but there were
still too many unanswered questions. She was supposed to be an
investigator, but so far she had learned very little of
value—except that Brett had been drinking since he’d left home ...
drinking heavily, and he was headed ... where? It suddenly dawned
on her that Roy Steele had not even told her where he was riding,
where he thought Brett had gone.

Well, now you have a goal for
tonight
, she told herself, settling her spine more comfortably
against the sofa.
Tonight you must prod Steele for information,
find out if he really wants to help Brett and just what he knows
about Brett’s whereabouts
.

She thought back to some of the stories her
mother and later Aunt Gertie had told her about her mother’s
exploits during the war. Savannah Brannigan had used her
intelligence and daring to learn valuable secrets for her Union
contacts. Her beauty had been an advantage, but only because she
had combined it with strategy and resourcefulness to pump her
southern acquaintances for information so subtly that they never
realized they were being split open and inspected like fruit about
to be speared and eaten. For a moment she wondered if her mother
had ever suffered qualms of conscience about deceiving and spying
upon people who considered her a friend. She must have—but at the
same time, Annabel mused, she must have believed with all her heart
that she was acting on behalf of a higher cause, trying to help the
Union, and her own husband, perhaps saving his life by shortening
the war or giving the North an advantage in a battle where
otherwise Ned Brannigan might be among the fallen.

And I must think of a higher cause,
too—and that is saving Brett’s life and helping him and Mr.
McCallum
, Annabel told herself as the afternoon sun slanted in
amber beams through the window and warmed her face and bare
shoulders.
If it means using every wile I possess on Roy Steele
to ascertain if he is truly friend or foe, then I will. If it means
trickery or downright lying to discover what he knows about Brett’s
whereabouts then I will. But if he ever catches on to me, I’ll be
in dire trouble.

Then he’d best not catch on, she decided
briskly, and suddenly glanced about. She was alone in the cabin,
and there was no longer any sign of Roy Steele outside.
He must
be watering the horses by the stream
, she reasoned, and sat up
straighter. Steele’s saddle pack was on the floor near the stove.
All thoughts of a nap forgotten, she dropped the blanket and was
off the sofa in an instant, scurrying across the floor clad only in
her camisole and skirt, intent on the open saddle pack.

She knelt down and carefully, using both
hands, began rummaging through it. Flinging out several shirts and
bandanas, and a pouch containing dried jerky and hardtack, she dug
around inside the roomy leather bag. Cartridges and ammunition, a
bowie knife, some socks and woolen drawers which she shoved aside,
a wooden shaving brush and razor, some soap and toiletries and ...
nothing.

Nothing. Not one personal item, photograph,
letter, piece of jewelry, or keepsake to suggest a family,
children, wife, lady friend. Nothing.

She sat back, stunned. She didn’t know
whether to feel pity or fear. It was disconcerting to discover that
Steele traveled about with nothing personal whatsoever among his
possessions—nothing of the past or of the future, nothing
signifying any ties ever to anyone or anything ...

“What the hell do you think you’re
doing?”

Annabel jerked around. Roy Steele glared at
her from the doorway of the cabin.

“I’m ...”

“Go on.”

“... looking for the whiskey. My arm hurts
and I thought a few sips would help dull the pain.”

The coldness in his expression left no doubt
of his disbelief. “It’s there,” he said, jabbing a finger downward.
“Right beside you.”

“Oh, is it?” Annabel feigned surprise. “I
guess I overlooked it in the jumble.”

“Ahuh.”

“I’m ... sorry if you minded my searching
for it myself, but I didn’t know exactly where you’d gone or when
you’d be back.”

“Well, go ahead. Take a sip. What are you
waiting for?”

She opened the flask, and at that moment
became aware that she was wearing only her camisole. She felt her
skin growing hot. “I think I’d better dress first.”

“But you’re hurting. Go ahead, Miss
Brannigan, drink your fill.”

To her consternation, he came forward into
the cabin and blocked her path as she sought to return to the sofa,
where her carpetbag sat on the floor. Annabel’s cheeks flamed as he
allowed his glance to linger speculatively on the swell of her
breasts above the lace-edged camisole. His expression was
unreadable, but there was arrogance in the set of his shoulders
beneath his dark blue shirt, and in the way his eyes gazed
mockingly at her beneath his shock of hair.

He was deliberately seeking to humiliate
her—to punish her for searching through his pack. He knew as well
as she that she’d been lying—but he couldn’t prove it. So Roy
Steele had found his own way of getting her back.

It was working. She felt awkward and
helpless as a captured sparrow beneath his intent gaze. She lifted
the flask to her lips, took a quick sip, and then sidestepped him
nimbly. “There, that’s better. Now if you don’t mind turning the
other way ...”

“And if I do?”

“Well, do as you please.” She had reached
the carpetbag. He had
let
her reach the carpetbag, she
acknowledged. Awkwardly, she set down the flask and riffled through
her belongings until she found yet another shirtwaist, this one
pale yellow. But as she lifted it out of the bag, he suddenly took
it from her and held it behind him.

“Not yet.”

“What are you doing?”

“First, you’re going to be honest with me.
What were you really looking for in my pack? No lies. I can always
tell when you’re lying.”

“You cannot.” She gaped at him. “C-can
you?”

A light mocking smile answered her, one that
never reached his eyes. “Your lips part just a little, Miss
Brannigan. Like they’re doing right now.” He reached up slowly and
rubbed his finger along her bottom lip with a light caress. “And
your eyes darken almost to jade.”

Annabel went very still. His finger was
still tracing the lush outline of her lower lip, rubbing back and
forth with a feather-light motion that was sending goose bumps down
her spine.

“Those are both dead giveaways, Miss
Brannigan,” he said softly. “You haven’t fooled me yet.”

“Oh ... well ... I ...” Annabel struggled to
think clearly despite the dizzying warmth surging through her. Her
mouth felt on fire everywhere his finger was touching. And she
couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from the glinting depths of his
eyes. She fought to concentrate on what he was saying, for the
implications of his statement filled her with distress.

If she couldn’t even lie convincingly, how
would she make a decent private investigator? Surely her mother
never had such a problem or she wouldn’t have been able to survive
throughout all the war years without getting caught.

But somehow she couldn’t think clearly about
this at the moment. Her limbs were melting like long, slender
candles that had been tossed into a roaring hearth.

And he was still touching her mouth.

“I’ll ... have to work on ... controlling
that,” she heard herself murmuring, and suddenly Steele’s fingers
moved to her hair and twisted a handful of her wildly cascading
curls.

“Only problem is, some things just can’t be
controlled,” he said slowly. There was an intentness in his gaze
that sent waves of panic spiraling through her chest. She wanted to
close her eyes and escape the intensity of his gaze, but she
couldn’t. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t move away, couldn’t even
think beyond the giddy sensations reeling through her.

Don’t
. Steele checked himself as
for a fraction of a second he swayed dangerously close to the
enchanting minx before him.
Don’t get involved with her any
more than you already are. For God’s sake, she’s Brett’s
fiancée.

This last thought more than any other shook
him to his senses. With a shock, he realized how close he was to
gathering her in his arms and kissing the adorable astonishment
right off her lips. Instead, he tightened his resolve with the iron
self-control that had become as natural as breathing to him over
the years, and let go of her velvety hair.

“What were you looking for?” he asked,
taking a step back, counting on distance to quell the fire racing
through him. It didn’t, so he reminded himself again who she was,
and why he couldn’t even think about touching her.

“I wanted to see if there was any clue where
we were headed ... where you expect to find Brett.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“You’re not always forthcoming with answers,
Mr. Steele.”

He’d been trying hard not to look at the
creamy enticement of her breasts swelling above that damned lace
thing she was wearing. But it was getting more difficult by the
moment. Silently cursing himself for not being immune to her
allure, he decided he’d better act quickly or risk losing what was
left of his sanity.

He thrust the shirtwaist into her hands and
wheeled away. “Here. Put this thing on and then we’ll talk.”

Annabel felt a moment’s surprise. Something
in the tautness around his mouth just before he turned away, in the
rigidity of that quick, rough movement, told her something she
hadn’t fully realized before: Roy Steele was attracted to her. He
was distracted by her. He was not nearly as cold and remote as he
would like everyone—including her—to believe.

She felt a delicious pleasure sweep through
her. It was always flattering to engage a man’s admiration, but to
attract the interest of a man like Roy Steele gave a special glow.
He was so dangerous, so outwardly unreachable. But she had reached
him, touched him.

Then her brain clicked in on another thought
and all her silly pleasure fled. Brett!

Annabel flushed the color of a sunset
sky.