When The Heart Beckons by Jill Gregory Read Free Book Online

trail.”
    “Obviously. Why?”
    The young man, thin and prissy in his dusty
dark suit, shook his head warningly. “Don’t know, and don’t care.
You shouldn’t either, ma’am. He’s dangerous—there’s no one deadlier
with a gun, not even Red Cobb or Wyatt Earp. And Steele has a real
mean temper. I sure wouldn’t want to be in Mr. Brett McCallum’s
shoes right now for all the silver in Nevada. That nice young
greenhorn is as good as dead.”
    “Did you say
Brett McCallum
?” Dread
tore through her. “Is that who Steele was asking about?”
    “Yes, ma’am, but ...”
    “I’ll be back shortly. Watch my bag, if you
please.”
    She darted outside just in time to see the
gunslinger striding up Main Street, no doubt toward the livery. She
followed, moving nimbly behind him at a discreet distance, her
skirts and reticule gathered in one hand.
Dear Lord
, she
thought, watching the smooth purposeful grace of his stride.
It
looks like Brett has two gunfighters after him: first someone named
Red Cobb, and now this horrible Mr. Steele
. She couldn’t help
the apprehension tightening her lungs. From all she had seen and
heard, this Roy Steele was not a man to take lightly ...
    At one point he paused and glanced back and
Annabel had the uneasy feeling that he sensed he was being
followed, but she quickly stopped and peered into the window of the
feed store, behaving as if the sacks and barrels inside contained
the most fascinating goods she could ever hope to see. After a
moment, she casually glanced over her shoulder and noticed that
Steele had disappeared.
    Dodging past a dandified gambler in a richly
ornamented silver vest, who looked far too prosperous for this grim
godforsaken little town, she headed for the blacksmith’s stable and
crept around to the back. Sure enough, there was a door. And it was
open.
    Annabel slipped inside, moving as quietly as
a mouse beneath snow. It was dark inside and smelled strongly of
horses, manure, and saddle leather, but after a moment her eyes
adjusted to the dimness and she saw the horse stalls with a few
animals feeding inside, and saddles, tacks, and various tools
hanging above the benches that lined the walls.
    Up front she could hear voices. She inched
forward as her eyes slowly adapted to the dimness, taking care not
to let the floor squeak beneath her feet.
    “What in tarnation do you want with him?” a
young man’s voice demanded angrily, but Annabel could hear the
uneasiness beneath his outward belligerence. She edged closer to
the door.
    “Reckon that’s my business, Chatham,” Roy
Steele replied in a hard tone. “Answer my question.”
    “Well, I reckon anything Mr. McCallum said
to me that night we had dinner was my business,” the blacksmith
shot back. “Now get out of my place.”
    “How do you know Brett McCallum?”
    The blacksmith was silent for a moment
before answering. “My pa used to be foreman in his father’s flour
mill in St. Louis years ago. We met once or twice when we were
kids—and he recognized me when he was passing through town. I sold
him a horse. He bought me dinner. That’s all I know.”
    “Where’d he head when he left Justice?”
    “Can’t tell you that. Don’t believe he
mentioned it.”
    Annabel heard a sudden sharp hiss of
breath.
    “Maybe this will trigger a memory,” Steele
said softly. And peering around the corner of the horse stalls,
Annabel saw that Steele was now pointing his gun at the
blacksmith’s head. “I’m going to count to three.”
    “You’re bluffing!”
    “One ...”
    “What ... what do you want with him?”
    “Two ...”
    “Steele, damn you, no!”
    “Three ...”
    “He headed for Eagle Gulch!”
    Steele nodded. “What kind of horse did he
buy?”
    “What? Oh.” In the pale orange glow of the
twin kerosene lanterns hanging on the wall, Annabel saw the young
blacksmith grimace. Sweat glistened on his round, fleshy face. “A
sorrel gelding,” he muttered in frustration. “Good