by Jill Gregory
The land was beautiful, but also cruel, she realized on a gulp of fear. It would not aid her, would not reveal its secrets to her. She was its prisoner now, a wanderer without map or knowledge with which to free herself from this vast, wild, and all-engulfing prison.
She’d have to make camp ... somehow.
The main thing was not to panic, she reminded herself, but she couldn’t help the tiny flutters of fear quivering through her nerve endings. Then, as she swung out of the saddle and her feet scraped against the dirt, there was a clatter of hoofbeats and she glanced up in alarm. But before she could do more than gasp, a trio of dark-garbed riders surrounded her.
Oh, God. Annabel’s mouth went dry. They were long-haired, foul-looking men. Desperadoes, Annabel guessed in one blazing instant of fear, and then she lunged downward for her gun. But before she could pull it free of her boot, one of the men leapt from his horse and grabbed her. He seized her arms and spun her about to face him, his hiss of laughter emitting a cloud of foul-smelling breath that nearly made her gag.
“Lookee, here, Moss—what’d I say about our luck changin’? When was the last time you saw a purty little female out here in the brakes?”
“Sure she ain’t a mirage, Curtis?” Moss called out, grinning behind his sandy handlebar mustache.
“Better pinch her, Curtis, and make sure.” The third man, younger than the others, a stocky, cheruby blond with golden stubble on his chin, leaned forward eagerly in his saddle.
The scrawny, beak-nosed man holding Annabel pinched her bottom and she jumped, twisting futilely in his arms.
“She’s real, all right,” Curtis crowed, and dragged her chin up so that she was forced to meet his shining little blueberry eyes. “Honey, I don’t know what you’re doing out here all by yerself and I don’t care. It’s no place for a lone woman, and that’s for sure. But me and Moss and Willy are goin’ to take real good care of you. Don’t you worry about nothin’.”
“You’d better let go of me and get out of here while you still can breathe, mister.” Annabel spoke through pain-clenched teeth, fighting to keep her voice steady despite the terror firing through her. “My husband and the others will be returning soon and they won’t take kindly to you laying your hands on me.”
“Husband?” The boy with the golden stubble, Willy, threw a worried glance around the clearing. “Hey, maybe we should hightail it out of here before ...”
“She’s lying.” The man called Moss dismounted and started across the clearing toward Annabel and Curtis, his gait slow and deliberate. His face was as flat and cold as a wedge of stone, his shoulders brawny beneath his grease-stained vest. “I saw her ride up through the canyon myself. She was alone. She’s lost, Willy, I told you that.”
“No,” Annabel said quickly. “I got separated from my party ... but they’re looking for me and they’ll be here soon. If you don’t want any trouble ...”
Moss reached her, drew back his arm, and slapped her backhanded across the face. The blow was hard, well aimed, and quick as a jolt of lightning. The three ominous figures blurred as pain crashed through Annabel’s jaw and spiraled across her tongue and teeth.
Now you shut up,” Moss said almost pleasantly. He stroked on his handlebar mustache. “There’s only one thing a woman is good for and talkin’ ain’t it.” He studied her a moment, his wolfish eyes squinting appreciatively as they swept over her slender, femininely curved figure, noting the gentle swell of her breasts beneath her lace-edged, close-fitting shirtwaist, and the striking loveliness of her neatly coiled hair and delicate features. He smiled at the shock, pain, and fear on her face, felt cruel pleasure when he noticed her full, pretty lips were trembling. Hell and damnation, she was sure a find.
“Yep, lady, you’ll do just grand,” he approved. Then he jerked his thumb toward a long, fiat rock at the edge of the clearing. “Set her down over there, Curtis, and keep an eye on her. We don’t want our little darlin’ here runnin’ off and gettin’ lost in the woods.”
Her breath seemed locked inside Annabel’s lungs. As Curtis dragged her to the rock and pushed her down to sit on it, she glanced desperately about for a way of escape. But behind her was only the trail leading back into that seemingly endless ravine. And ahead of her, the tiny clearing which seemed suddenly full of men, horses, and guns.
Instinct told her that Curtis, Moss, and Willy were wanted men, fugitives. The furtive way they glanced around, studying the layout of the land, their unkempt appearance, and Willy’s alarm when she’d mentioned her mythical husband all pointed to the fact that they were on the run and lying low. But not low enough to pass up the chance to grab themselves a lone woman, a woman foolish enough to think she could cross the Arizona wilderness on her own ...
Well, I might be foolish, but I’m not spineless enough to let them have me without a fight, she told herself grimly, forcing back the terror which would immobilize her if she’d let it. She watched Moss and Willy tend the horses and make camp. Curtis stood beside her, grinning. It would be dark soon. And she’d be alone here in the mountains with these criminals, with no one to hear her screams, or her sobs ...
And at that moment, she remembered she still had her gun.
“Curtis ... may I call you Curtis?” she asked softly, keeping her voice low enough so that the others wouldn’t hear.
He grinned at her. His teeth were small and yellow and chipped. They made his blueberry eyes gleam even brighter. “Sure can, sweet thing. What do you want?”
“Water.” She fluttered a hand to her throat, trying to look weak and helpless. “I’m so thirsty. I’ve been riding for hours, lost, just wandering around ... there’s water in my canteen. Would it be all right with you if I get some?”
“Nope. Can’t let you off this rock or Moss’ll get mad. But jest maybe I’ll get it for you. What’ll you give me if I do?”
A bullet between the eyes, you repulsive little worm. But aloud she murmured only, “My endless gratitude,” and tried her best to look suitably cowed.
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 he
avy, 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.”
Chapter 8
Annabel 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.”
