ANGEL - JOHANNA LINDSEY

by asdf

  He pulled up and waited for the three riders to reach him. He supposed he could take them if he had to. He was simply that fast, and he never missed at showdown range. He might take a bullet in return since two of them were ready for him, but what the hell. His mood this morning was dangerous in that it included a heavy dose of self-loathing as well as the feeling that his stupidity last night deserved some sort of retribution. He should have taken precautions so Slater couldn’t have broken into the house so easily. He should have followed him immediately after he had.

  He should never have touched Cassandra Stuart.

  Therein lay his greatest misery and confusion. That woman. That irritating, meddling, rarely quiet woman—and her man-eating pet. What was there to like about her? She wasn’t even pretty—actually, last night she had been damn pretty, but last night he and that wine she’d served him obviously hadn’t mixed well together. Why else would he have given in to that incredible craving to taste her again?

  The cowboys drew up abreast of him, Buck slightly in the lead. The rancher took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh, a nervous gesture, Angel supposed. The young man did look slightly harassed.

  But arrogance was well and truly ingrained in Buck Catlin, so his tone was still damn close to offensive as he said, “Thought my ma told you what would happen if you showed up here again.”

  Angel didn’t answer right away. It was times like this he wished he smoked. Rolling a cigarette right now would be a good way to ignore the young rancher and find out if he was willing to back up that threat, or if it was just bravado.

  “As I recall, I told her it wouldn’t matter— if I had a good reason to return.”

  Buck chuckled. “Mister, you gotta be either the craziest or the bravest man I ever met. Ain’t you realized yet that one word from me and you’re dead?”

  “Not dead, Catlin. Wounded, maybe. But I’ll give you three guesses who will be dead, and you’d be right on any guess you make.”

  “You can’t be that good.”

  “You don’t want to find out.”

  Buck glanced to each side at his two men to make sure they were still prepared for any move. Seeing that they were didn’t reassure him as much as he’d hoped.

  “Look, Angel, you got no call to come back. We get rid of our own bad apples around here.”

  “I’m here for Slater.”

  “And I just told you, you’re too late,” Buck said. “When I questioned the men, Rafferty’s friend, Sam, confessed that Rafferty had planned to stampede the cattle. And he wasn’t around yesterday, which verified Sam’s tale as far as I’m concerned. I don’t know what time Rafferty crawled into his bunk last night, but I hauled his ass out of it this morning and fired him. He lit out before sun-up.”

  “Where to?”

  “He didn’t say, I didn’t ask.”

  “Then I’ll talk to his friend, Sam.”

  “He’d be out on the south range today. You’re welcome to go find him—but it’s a big range, about two thousand acres. A man can easily get lost on Catlin land.”

  The arrogance was back. Angel didn’t feel like putting up with it. “Then you find him and send him to me. It’s not just the stampeding now. Slater showed up at Miss Cassie’s last night, broke into her house, and scared her something bad. I want him.”

  There was so much menace in that statement, all three men were glad they had other names. But Angel didn’t wait for a reply. He yanked his horse around and rode back toward the Stuart ranch.

  Buck released a silent sigh and turned to his left. “Yancy, maybe you ought to ride south and see if you can locate Sam. I don’t want that man to have another excuse to pay us a visit. I wouldn’t even wish him on a MacKauley.” But then he pictured his sister’s red eyes and added, “On second thought, maybe just on Clayton MacKauley.”

  * * *

  Cassie found one excuse after another not to leave the house that day. She instigated a spring cleaning in December that had Maria clucking her tongue and mumbling under her breath. She took stock of their supplies. She wrote another long letter to her mother to tell her about Angel, then tore it up. Her mother did not need to know that a notorious hired gun was living within shouting distance of her daughter. Nothing would get her down here quicker. And although her mother’s stern, no-nonsense approach to problems was probably just what was needed, Cassie was determined to get through this mess on her own.

  Added to the mess, however, was the new predicament she’d allowed to develop last night—her own behavior. Her own wanton behavior. In the bright light of day, she was mortified that she had simply stood there and let Angel take such liberties with her. So she had been flattered that he might want her, extremely flattered, actually, since he’d candidly mentioned that he and ranching didn’t suit. So for once the Lazy S had nothing to do with a man’s being attracted to her.

  That was no excuse. Neither was the fact that she had derived so much enjoyment out of the experience. She knew better, knew what was acceptable behavior and what wasn’t. Besides, it was absurd to even think of Angel as someone she might have a future with. He was unpredictable, dangerous, a loner. If he wanted her, it was only for the moment, and Cassie knew how that sort of thing ended up. Saloons all across the South and the West were filled with women who had given in to passions of the moment.

  She couldn’t imagine what he must think of her now, after she’d acted like an old maid starved for the tiniest crumbs of affection. She supposed the best thing she could do was to pretend nothing had happened. And he’d said it wouldn’t happen again. He probably wanted to forget about it as much as she did—but she knew she never would. When she was old and gray and had grandchildren about her— hopefully—she’d still remember Angel’s hand on her breast.

  Staying in the house worked well to avoid Angel, until he showed up at the door late that afternoon with his saddlebags slung over his shoulder.

  “I’ve thought it over,” were his first words as he walked past her into the foyer. “I’m moving in.”

  She stared after him incredulously. “What?”

  He kept on walking, stopping only when he reached the bottom of the stairs to glance back at her. And as if he weren’t shocking the hell out of her, he said, “Put me in whichever room is closest to yours.”

  Cassie didn’t move from the door. She’d thought this first meeting with him again would be awkward, but he’d managed to make her completely forget about last night.

  “That’s out of the question,” she told him emphatically. “You can’t—”

  “Just do it,” he cut in just as emphatically, but relented enough to explain. “Slater has left town. Until I hear he’s out of Texas or dead, I’m not taking any chances. I want to be able to hear you snore.”

  “What?”

  His lips twitched slightly because her eyes had grown so round. “Just a figure of speech, lady, but you catch my drift. If you need me, any time of the night, I want to be close enough to know it.”

  Her face brightened at the double meaning she heard in those words, unintentional on his part, she was sure—which made it all the more embarrassing. “This is highly improper,” she felt compelled to point out.

  “Proper doesn’t come into it when protection is called for. If I didn’t think you’d faint at the suggestion, I’d be moving right into your room. So don’t mention proper to me again, all right?”

  Embarrassment turned to anger as she nodded curtly and headed for the stairs. “Follow me,” she said, passing him, her voice as stiff as her back was, her hands fisted on her skirt to raise it the bare minimum so she could mount the stairs.

  She led him to the room next to hers, which did happen to be empty. She’d been using it as a sewing room.

  “Maria is an excellent housekeeper, so the bedding should be clean. If you need anything, you can usually find her in the kitchen. I’ll inform her now of your move.”

  “You’re taking this too hard, lady,” he said in an agreeabl
e tone, now that he’d gotten his way. “You won’t even notice I’m here.”

  Like hell she wouldn’t.

  Chapter 15

  Cassie wasn’t taking any chances on having another carriage ride with Angel like the last one. Having the supplies she needed to buy delivered would require paying extra, but that was a minor irritation compared with enduring Angel’s proximity again. Telling him there was no need to accompany her to town had been a waste of time. He took his role as her self-appointed protector very seriously.

  Riding her horse, of course, required wearing the durable divided skirt that she used on the range, as well as the short, shapeless deerskin jacket that went with it. Her stylish Eastern clothes didn’t suit a Western saddle, nor did hairpins. Her gun belt did, though. For once it didn’t look quite so ridiculous resting on her hip.

  She hadn’t given her casual appearance a thought, however, until she found the folks of Caully staring at her as if they didn’t recognize her. Having Angel at her side drew even more attention. And she got to see firsthand how people reacted to him. They gave him a wide berth. Whatever premises he entered quickly vacated. Store owners and clerks wouldn’t meet his eyes, hoping if they ignored him he’d just leave.

  Cassie shouldn’t have been surprised. Despite what had happened the other night, Angel still made her uncomfortable, too, particularly when he was silent, which he’d been since they’d left the ranch this morning. She’d left her carriage at home for that very reason. Yet she still found herself embarrassed on his account at the way folks treated him.

  Upon leaving the general store, she got up the nerve to broach the subject. “Does it bother you that you make people nervous, Angel?” It was getting easier to say his name without blushing.

  He was scanning the street in both directions, so he didn’t look at her. “Why should it?”

  “It must make it hard for you to get to know people.”

  He glanced down at her then, his black eyes revealing nothing. “Who says I want to?”

  She shrugged, letting it rest. But his answer left her unaccountably sad, which in turn made her annoyed with herself for trying once again to discern his feelings. He probably didn’t have any. He was probably as stone-cold dead inside as his eyes made you think he was. And why should she care if that was so?

  His eyes were scanning again, a habit she associated with his profession. But she noticed they stopped more than once on the Last Keg Saloon down the street. He probably wanted a drink, but wasn’t willing to leave her alone long enough to get one. Or maybe he wanted something else. Most of the saloons in Caully had a number of women who worked both upstairs and down.

  The thought put a dour expression on Cassie’s lips and made her tone excessively prim. “I’m finished for today. I’m sure I can get home without being ambushed or anything like that if you have some things you need to do in town.”

  “I did want to ask around about Slater, since his friend, Sam, couldn’t say where he’d head to, but it can wait till I’m alone.”

  He looked at her again to say it, so he didn’t see the man who rode around a corner behind him just then. Cassie did, and her mouth dropped open. Speak of the devil, and he was riding right in their direction.

  “Actually—I forgot something—in the store,” Cassie said quickly. “We need to go back inside—”

  “Go ahead. I’ll get the horses.”

  “No!” She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back into the store. “I need your help to pick—”

  She was cut off again, but this time by the shout that came from behind them. “Hey, you!”

  Angel turned so fast, Cassie was jerked around with him. And there was nothing she could do now to keep him from noticing Rafferty Slater, who was stopping his horse only a few feet away from them.

  “You Angel?” Rafferty asked once he had dismounted and stepped up onto the boardwalk. Angel just nodded. “I heard you was lookin‘ for me.”

  “And who might you be?”

  “Rafferty Slater.”

  Had Cassie thought Angel’s eyes never showed emotion? Now they blazed with such satisfaction that she was filled with dread, knowing why. But unexpectedly another, more powerful feeling joined it, a need to prevent and protect. She’d never experienced anything like it, and it was utterly ridiculous. There was no one less in need of protection than Angel. But her emotions didn’t take that into account.

  For someone who wasn’t the impulsive sort, Cassie let her emotions guide her right into the fire. “I’m challenging you to a gunfight, Rafferty,” she said, moving forward. “I believe you know why.”

  Angel let out an expletive. Rafferty stared at her blankly for a moment before he started laughing. Cassie really wished people would take her and her Colt a little more seriously.

  “You got one second to make yourself scarce,” Angel told her.

  She spared him the briefest glance just to determine if his expression was as furious as his tone. It was, so she looked back toward Rafferty while she tried reasoning with Angel.

  Amazingly, under the circumstances, she did it with calm and logic. “I think you should let me shoot him. I swore I would if he ever touched me again.”

  “So swear something else. This one is mine.”

  “But I’m the one he accosted the other night,” she reminded him.

  Angel didn’t address that; he just said, “Go back in the store, Cassie.”

  “You aren’t listening to me.”

  “Damned right. Now get!”

  With an order like that, and with an arm shoving her behind him to help her on her way, she should have gone, but she didn’t. She wrung her hands, racking her mind for another way to prevent the showdown that was coming, but Angel wasn’t going to oblige her with enough time to think of something.

  “I don’t usually do this, Slater,” he said as he tucked his slicker back out of the way, “but for you I’m making an exception. Where do you want it, out in the street or where you’re standing?”

  Rafferty didn’t look impressed or the least bit intimidated. He grinned and spit out a sliver of wood he’d been chewing on.

  “I’d a stuck around the other night if I hadn’t had a belly full of rotgut. But I’m sober now, and don’t much like the idea of you doggin‘ my trail. The street’s fine with me, friend, but you ask me, the little lady ain’t worth your dyin’ over.”

  “So who asked you?”

  Rafferty merely chuckled and extended an arm, indicating Angel should proceed him into the street. Cassie found Rafferty’s confidence appalling. She’d been right to worry about him, and as Angel stepped off the boardwalk, she saw why. Rafferty had had no intention of facing Angel in a fair fight. He went for his gun the second Angel’s back was to him.

  Cassie drew her gun but shouted, “Look out!” just to be safe. She still fired. Angel also fired. Rafferty’s bullet hit the dirt at his feet as he dropped facedown in the street.

  At such close range, smoke from the three discharges stung Cassie’s eyes. And she realized, as she watched Angel shove the downed man over with his foot, that she could have kept her own gun holstered. Angel had turned and shot Rafferty before she’d even finished her warning.

  She came up beside Angel to stare at the two bullet wounds, one in the shoulder, meant to immobilize, and one directly over the heart, meant to kill. Both had done as intended, and the results were quite sickening.

  “You should have let me face him,” she said in a small voice. “I would only have wounded him. You would have killed—did kill— him.”

  Angel gave her a sharp look. “You going to tell me he didn’t ask for it?”

  “Well... no, but—but the dying part could have been avoided if you had let me face him instead.”

  “Don’t kid yourself. The same thing would have happened—that is, if he could’ve stopped laughing long enough.”

  His derision had her bristling. “That isn’t funny.”

  “He thought it was. But th
at’s beside the point. You won’t ever participate in a gunfight while I’m around, lady. I don’t care how good you think you are—”

  “Know I am,” she retorted.

  His tone softened somewhat, probably with condescension. “Practice isn’t the same as facing a man who’s going to try and kill you, Cassie. You don’t want to find out the difference.”

  “That might be so,” she allowed, “but you’re missing my point. Rafferty shouldn’t be dead. A wound would have sufficed—”

  “This is the result of shooting to wound,” he cut in, jerking a thumb toward the scar on his jawline. “The guy healed up and came after me again. He wanted me dead, but he was too afraid to face me in another fair fight, so he came at me from behind. I’m here only because his aim with a knife was as lousy as with a gun—and because I don’t shoot to wound anymore.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I’m what?”

  Cassie squirmed inwardly. “Don’t look so surprised. What you just said reminded me of the number of gunfights I’ve heard about where one man gets wounded and then a few days later the other man is found in some alley with a bullet in his back. I’m not saying that always happens, but it happens enough that— that your way makes sense, for you anyway.”

  “All right, what happened here?”

  Cassie turned to see the sheriff pushing his way through the dozen or so people who were edging forward, all trying to get a closer look at the dead man without getting too close to the one who’d shot him.

  Frank Henley was on the short side, not much taller than Cassie. He wore boots with three-inch heels, which didn’t make much difference, but he had a very forceful personality, which did. He’d been known to intimidate men much larger than he was, which was why he made a good sheriff—or he would be if he didn’t tend to mix family business with official business.