straightaway. He’d known he
was being followed, and if the Hart brothers hadn’t interrupted,
heaven knows what he would have done to her to find out why.
But on the other hand, Annabel conceded
fairly, she had managed to gain some very valuable information by
eavesdropping at the blacksmith’s shop.
One
, she reviewed
mentally, soothing herself by listing her thoughts in an orderly
fashion,
you now know that Brett was headed toward Eagle
Gulch—that’s a lead, an important one. Two, you know that Roy
Steele is pursuing him
.
But was Steele in cahoots with Red Cobb, or
was he after Brett for his own nefarious reasons?
She chewed her lip as she wheeled about and
started across the floor once again. Either way, she would have to
be smarter and quicker than Mr. Roy Steele. Somehow she would have
to find Brett first.
Annabel stopped pacing and stared unseeingly
at the faded watercolor on the peeling, yellow painted wall. Brett
was a strong and healthy young man, and as she remembered, a good
shot with a pistol—he had been the one who secretly taught
her
how to shoot, matter of fact—but he would be no match
for Roy Steele, Annabel knew. None at all.
She bit her lip in anxiety as she remembered
the lightning speed with which Steele had killed those two
scoundrels in the street, and the single-minded ruthlessness that
was so much a part of him.
Maybe he’ll come after me once he’s
finished talking to the sheriff
. The thought made her sink
down on the edge of the bed.
At the very least he’ll have more
questions about why I was following him
. Then another
possibility suggested itself to her and she drew in her breath. If
Steele were as eager to track down Brett as his conversation with
the blacksmith indicated, he just might ride right out of Justice
and head for Eagle Gulch without wasting any more time.
Annabel put aside her nervousness as best
she could. She went to the window, pushing aside the dusty green
burlap curtains to peer out into the street. She stood there a long
time, watching. Waiting. Darkness settled over the town. Through
the gray shadows of encroaching night, she saw the shop windows go
black one by one, and saw the street grow still. Only the tinny
piano music from the saloons broke the quiet.
Then, just as she was growing too weary to
stand there another moment, she saw him.
He walked up the street, his steps smooth
and deliberate. The low-sailing moon illuminated his big, dark-clad
form, and caught the stern, roughly handsome features of his face.
Annabel felt a shiver chase up her spine. Something dangerous and
foreboding and frightening about him made her want to shrink back
from the window, lest he glance up and see her there. And yet at
the same time, something about him drew her, fascinated her. He
stirred something unknown deep inside her.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t tear her gaze
away. Paralyzed, she remained like a frozen marble statue, unable
to resist the mesmerizing pull of that tall, muscular form.
But he wouldn’t see her, she realized
thankfully at last, because she had the lamp turned down and the
room was in darkness behind her. Yet as she watched him stride
along that narrow, dark, and lonely street, moving with such easy
grace, he suddenly glanced up at the hotel windows. She caught her
breath and ducked back, but not before she had the unnerving
sensation that he had seen her.
No, no, that was impossible. She’d been
standing in darkness. Yet she held her breath for long dreadful
moments after that, wondering if he would come pounding up the
stairs to find her and question her again. At any moment she
expected to hear the sound of his boots upon the stairway, to hear
the doorknob rattle and turn.
But silence reigned in the dingy little
hotel and Annabel realized in relief that she was letting her
imagination run away with her again, something both Aunt Gertie and
Brett had often teased her about. Down the hall, the quiet was
interrupted only now and then by
was being followed, and if the Hart brothers hadn’t interrupted,
heaven knows what he would have done to her to find out why.
But on the other hand, Annabel conceded
fairly, she had managed to gain some very valuable information by
eavesdropping at the blacksmith’s shop.
One
, she reviewed
mentally, soothing herself by listing her thoughts in an orderly
fashion,
you now know that Brett was headed toward Eagle
Gulch—that’s a lead, an important one. Two, you know that Roy
Steele is pursuing him
.
But was Steele in cahoots with Red Cobb, or
was he after Brett for his own nefarious reasons?
She chewed her lip as she wheeled about and
started across the floor once again. Either way, she would have to
be smarter and quicker than Mr. Roy Steele. Somehow she would have
to find Brett first.
Annabel stopped pacing and stared unseeingly
at the faded watercolor on the peeling, yellow painted wall. Brett
was a strong and healthy young man, and as she remembered, a good
shot with a pistol—he had been the one who secretly taught
her
how to shoot, matter of fact—but he would be no match
for Roy Steele, Annabel knew. None at all.
She bit her lip in anxiety as she remembered
the lightning speed with which Steele had killed those two
scoundrels in the street, and the single-minded ruthlessness that
was so much a part of him.
Maybe he’ll come after me once he’s
finished talking to the sheriff
. The thought made her sink
down on the edge of the bed.
At the very least he’ll have more
questions about why I was following him
. Then another
possibility suggested itself to her and she drew in her breath. If
Steele were as eager to track down Brett as his conversation with
the blacksmith indicated, he just might ride right out of Justice
and head for Eagle Gulch without wasting any more time.
Annabel put aside her nervousness as best
she could. She went to the window, pushing aside the dusty green
burlap curtains to peer out into the street. She stood there a long
time, watching. Waiting. Darkness settled over the town. Through
the gray shadows of encroaching night, she saw the shop windows go
black one by one, and saw the street grow still. Only the tinny
piano music from the saloons broke the quiet.
Then, just as she was growing too weary to
stand there another moment, she saw him.
He walked up the street, his steps smooth
and deliberate. The low-sailing moon illuminated his big, dark-clad
form, and caught the stern, roughly handsome features of his face.
Annabel felt a shiver chase up her spine. Something dangerous and
foreboding and frightening about him made her want to shrink back
from the window, lest he glance up and see her there. And yet at
the same time, something about him drew her, fascinated her. He
stirred something unknown deep inside her.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t tear her gaze
away. Paralyzed, she remained like a frozen marble statue, unable
to resist the mesmerizing pull of that tall, muscular form.
But he wouldn’t see her, she realized
thankfully at last, because she had the lamp turned down and the
room was in darkness behind her. Yet as she watched him stride
along that narrow, dark, and lonely street, moving with such easy
grace, he suddenly glanced up at the hotel windows. She caught her
breath and ducked back, but not before she had the unnerving
sensation that he had seen her.
No, no, that was impossible. She’d been
standing in darkness. Yet she held her breath for long dreadful
moments after that, wondering if he would come pounding up the
stairs to find her and question her again. At any moment she
expected to hear the sound of his boots upon the stairway, to hear
the doorknob rattle and turn.
But silence reigned in the dingy little
hotel and Annabel realized in relief that she was letting her
imagination run away with her again, something both Aunt Gertie and
Brett had often teased her about. Down the hall, the quiet was
interrupted only now and then by
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