by Jill Gregory
The house felt large and warm and comforting, especially after Brett lit a fire in the main parlor, turned up all the lamps, and banished Bartholomew and Derrickson, hastily tied up, into the study, and then locked the door. Ross McCallum, looking gaunt and weary after his ordeal, but every bit as sharp-eyed as ever, poured brandy for each of them from a crystal decanter.
“My dear, did that ruffian hurt you?” he asked as she sank down on the striped damask sofa and gratefully accepted the brandy he offered her.
“No.” She gave her head a tiny shake as he took a seat beside her and thirstily drained his own glass. Then he studied her over the rim, and Annabel knew she could not disguise the fear that was leaving her sick and cold.
“I can only pray he doesn’t hurt Cade,” she whispered.
Ross McCallum set the glass down on the inlaid table before him. He glanced at Brett, who was pacing back and forth before the mantel, and spoke in a low, hoarse voice quite unlike his usual boom. “After thinking I’d never see either of my sons again, I’ve just gotten both of them back. Annabel Brannigan, don’t you worry. I don’t think the Good Lord is going to take either of my boys away again before we’ve even had a chance for a proper reunion.”
Brett came over and knelt beside his father. “I owe you an apology, Father. None of this ever would have happened if I hadn’t run away. Derrickson destroyed my letter, but if I’d stayed and talked to you ...”
“Don’t.” The older McCallum laid his large hand on his son’s head. “I’ve made enough mistakes for an entire clan of McCallums,” he said heavily. “If there’re any apologies to be made, they should come from me.”
Everett Stevenson cleared his throat. “Sir, I’m going to bring the authorities in to take charge of those scoundrels in the other room and to write up a report of all these shenanigans. But first, I’d like to offer my congratulations to my private investigator. Miss Brannigan, you’ve done a bang-up job. You’ll have to tell us how you found this young man and figured out what was going on back here from halfway across the country—and how you made it back here in the nick of time to save my life and Mr. McCallum’s.”
“I’ll tell you all of it, Mr. Stevenson.” She regarded him somberly, aware that her knees were trembling beneath her navy traveling skirt. Brett, hearing the quaver in her voice, flicked her another bracing smile. She tried to smile back but her lips felt stiff as wax, and she could think of nothing but that madman, the knife, and Cade.
“It’s a long story but I’ll tell you every detail as soon as Cade McCallum walks back through that door and I know that he is safe.”
* * *
Cade had reached the gate and watched in frustration as the carriage careened up the wide deserted street and jolted around the corner. He ran after it, and reached the corner in time to see it heading east down Whitecliff Street.
Damn, he thought, glancing wildly from one direction to the next. Not another vehicle in sight. And if he went back to the stable for one of his father’s horses, he’d lose sight of the carriage for certain. He started to run again, toward Whitecliff, but as he tore up the street with long, furious strides his hopes of being able to keep the carriage in sight until he could find something, anything to give chase began to dwindle ...
There. A horse and wagon coming toward him, trotting leisurely down the middle of the dark road just ahead. Cade sprang toward it, a dusky figure in the blackness, murkily illuminated by the white swarming stars above.
“Whoa! Whoa, there!”
He sprang forward as the startled driver pulled his workhorse to a halt. “I need this horse and this wagon. There’ll be a reward for you when I bring it back. Quick, man!”
“But—”
“No time to argue.” Cade had vaulted up before the driver could do more than gape at him. He grabbed the man by the collar and hauled him out of the wagon, then picked up the reins. Ignoring the man’s outraged protests, he wheeled the big black horse about and flicked the whip to him.
The night closed down around him as he urged the horse forward, faster and faster past street lamps and shuttered houses. Up ahead he could just make out the rear of Boxer’s carriage. Cade gritted his teeth. He couldn’t lose the bastard now.
“C’mon, boy. Go!”
At last, galloping down a side street lined with shops and brick office buildings, the big black horse began to gain on the carriage ahead. But only slightly. Sweat glistened on Cade’s face as he urged the horse faster. Suddenly, ahead, a peddler’s cart veered from a side street directly into the carriage’s path.
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 tur
ned 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.
Chapter 28
The 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 t
assels 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.”
