by asdf
And Angel was being really generous this time, because what he’d felt like saying was, he killed men for less provocation, which wasn’t true, but saying so tended to put an abrupt end to the provocation. It ended anyway, because the man nodded, either in acceptance of his remark or because he had nothing else to say.
Angel headed for the door, the tension already starting to leave him, but it came right back when his path was suddenly blocked by a young girl. She was beautiful, with her black hair floating about her waist, and big green eyes—her father’s eyes. She couldn’t be more than thirteen years old. A sister, Kirby had said, and Angel knew in his gut he was looking at her.
A lump rose in his throat. He couldn’t seem to move or take his eyes off her.
She stared at him, too, eyes bright with curiosity, and didn’t look away even as she told her father, “Mother says she’ll be coming right down and who might you be?”
She said it all in one breath. “Angel,” he said without thinking.
“No kidding? I have a brother named Angel, though I’ve never met him. I’ve got lots of other brothers, but Mother says a girl can never have too many to look out for her.”
Angel couldn’t see himself looking out for a sister. He’d end up leaving dead bodies all over the place if she was even looked at wrong, and he didn’t think these city folks would appreciate that.
“Katey’s my name,” she continued, and again in the same breath, “Are you my brother?”
The question went through Angel like lead, sharp and painful. He didn’t know how to answer. The truth wouldn’t get him out of there any time quick. It would likely be refuted by the banker, too. And it would commit him. One little word, and an empty part of his life would be filled.
Anna’s husband didn’t give him a chance to say it.
“You have delivered your message, Katey; now take yourself off to your room.”
“But—”
“You know better than to make a nuisance of yourself when we have guests.”
His voice wasn’t stern. If anything, it was filled with too much tenderness, telling Angel the girl was well loved. And she left with a “Yes, sir,” only a slight pout drawing at her lips.
“Thank you for not answering my daughter,” Angel heard at his back. “She’s an impressionable child. She would have believed you.”
Believed the truth? Imagine that. But Angel didn’t say it, didn’t say anything. He headed for the door again. If the damn room weren’t so big, he’d have been gone already.
He didn’t make it. They collided at the door, both rushing for it. He had to grab her to keep her from falling backward. He heard her gasp, then laugh, but she hadn’t looked up yet. She was actually a small woman. The top of her head barely reached his chin. But he didn’t need to see her face. The laugh told him, a sound so familiar to him, he could have heard it only yesterday.
It was her, and the memories came back with her, of gentle scoldings, and hugs and kisses, bedtime stories, and the tears when his da had died and she’d had to tell him, and love, so much love. He couldn’t breathe, that knot grew so big in his throat. His hands tightened on her arms. That made her look up, and it was a good thing he hadn’t let go of her, because she turned so white, she looked about ready to faint.
“Cawlin?” she said in a fearful shriek, and Angel knew she thought she was seeing a ghost He didn’t answer. Words wouldn’t get past that lump. It hadn’t occurred to her yet that she was seeing the son rather than his father, and he ought to leave before it did. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even let go of her. He wanted to draw her forward and crush her in his arms, but he was afraid to, afraid of frightening her, afraid he might never let go.
The things he was feeling were choking him. He suddenly wished Cassie were there to meddle and fix things in her indomitable way, because he’d never felt so helpless and out of his depth as he did in that moment. The banker was there instead, to pull them apart and lead Anna into the room to a chair. Angel still didn’t move. He ought to get the hell out of there, but his feet wouldn’t obey him, and his eyes wouldn’t leave his mother.
His image of her might have faded over twenty-one years, but it was back now because she’d changed so little in that time. And the things he could remember now, the little things he’d forgotten. She hadn’t lost him through carelessness. If anything, she’d been overprotective of him because he was all she’d had—then. But she had another family now, and he didn’t belong in it.
Fear finally got his feet moving, fear of rejection and the hurt that went with it. It was the one thing he’d never been able to handle very well, and he wasn’t going to start trying now.
He’d taken several long steps down the hall before he noticed the barricade at the front door in the form of his little sister. Katey was leaning back against it, her arms crossed, and shaking her head at him. She hadn’t gone to her room as told. She’d waited to ambush him, and that was exactly how he felt, ambushed.
She grinned at him now as she reminded him, “You didn’t answer me.”
“Answer you what?”
“If you’re my brother.”
“What if I am?”
“I know you are.”
“How?”
“Because I want you to be,” she said simply. “So I can’t let you leave. Mother would be upset if I did.”
“She’s already upset.”
“That’s nothing. She’ll scream the house down if you walk out this door.”
“She doesn’t scream.”
Katey grinned again. “According to Sean and Patrick, she does. They’re my brothers—your brothers. They wouldn’t forgive me, either, if I let you go before they got to meet you.”
“You really think you can stop me, honey?”
“Maybe not, but she can.”
She nodded behind him. He turned to see his mother at the door to the drawing room, holding onto the frame with one hand, the other pressed to her heart. She was still as pale as parchment. Her husband stood behind her, ready to catch her if she ever got around to fainting.
She looked fragile enough to break, but her voice was strong, almost accusing, when she said, “I’m believing in leprechauns as well as ghosts, but you’re not Cawlin’s ghost, are you?”
“No.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh, God—An-gel?”
He didn’t so much as breathe. She didn’t wait for his answer. She came toward him, so slowly, her eyes devouring every inch of him through the tears that were now falling unchecked. Then her hands were on his face, his shoulders, his arms, making sure he was real, and finally slipping around his waist and locking there as her head dropped to his chest and she began to cry in earnest.
Angel was as much at a loss as when Cassie had done this to him, except this time he had to fight back the moisture gathering in his own eyes. He hesitated for unbearable moments before his arms came up to gather her in, probably too hard, but she didn’t complain.
He looked over her head at her husband. The man was pretty embarrassed at the moment, though not at his wife’s display of emotion.
“I’m sorry,” Winston began.
“Don’t apologize,” Angel said. “I don’t think I would have liked it if one of those other Angels had managed to convince you he was me.”
“Anna said you looked so much like your father when you were young that you were bound to be in his image when you grew up.”
“I don’t remember him,” Angel admitted.
Anna cried harder, hearing that. Winston smiled as he came up to put his hands on her shoulders and suggested, “Anna, let him go now.”
“Never!” she said fiercely and hugged Angel harder. “And I’m wanting to know what took you so long, laddie, to come home.”
“It’s a long story.”
She looked up at him to say, “Well, you’re not going anywhere, so you’ve got time to tell it.”
He guessed he did, though he’d never tell all of it. And he felt
like laughing, now that the tension was draining out of him. Home. He finally had one. And a family. He gave in to the urge and laughed.
Chapter 35
Catherine and Cassie returned home in time to get invited to Colt Thunder’s wedding at the end of the month. His sister, Jessie, had been planning it for several weeks. According to the gossip, which they got from their housekeeper, Louella, Colt had put up a fuss about having a big to-do. He just wanted it over with before the bride changed her mind. But his sister wouldn’t hear of anything less than one of the biggest shindigs Wyoming had ever seen. He was marrying a real live duchess, after all, so Jessie felt they had to do it up real fancy.
Catherine was impressed. Cassie didn’t mention that she’d already heard about Colt’s duchess from Angel. She was looking forward to meeting the lady who had managed to change Colt’s mind about white women. Angel was certainly going to be surprised when he heard about it, since, according to him, Colt hadn’t liked being “stuck” with the duchess, as he’d put it.
Cassie found out more about it when she and Marabelle ran into Jessie out on the range her second day back. The older woman was looking for a stray calf. Cassie was just enjoying being able to ride out with Marabelle again. They talked as they rode along together.
“We could have used your knack for fixing things last month,” Jessie said right off. She was about the only one who’d ever been generous in describing Cassie’s meddling. “You never seen two people so unhappy as Colt and Jocelyn were when they got here. They were in love with each other. I saw it immediately. But they hadn’t got around to telling each other, and it didn’t look like they were going to any time soon.”
“Why not?”
“He didn’t think she’d marry a half-breed. She didn’t think he loved her. Shows how silly they both were acting, keeping their feelings to themselves.”
Cassie squirmed in the saddle. Wasn’t she guilty of doing the same thing? Of course, her case was a bit different. She knew Angel didn’t return her feelings, she didn’t just think it. Then why his indifference in St. Louis to the divorce? a small voice asked her. She squirmed even more. She’d have to give that some serious thought. If there was the slightest chance...
“You’ll never guess where’s he’s staying,” Jessie continued. “The old Callan ranch.”
That took Cassie by surprise. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d ever step foot on that place again after what happened there.”
“I know. But the duchess bought it, you see, to live in until the mansion she’s building up in the hills is completed. And once he asked her to marry him, she refused to let him out of her sight.”
“I’d heard it was the other way around, that he was worried she might change her mind about marrying him.”
“Actually, neither one of them is going to stop worrying about it until the deed is done. Don’t ask me how I talked them into holding off for a month so I could see my brother wed proper. It wasn’t easy.”
They stopped for a moment to watch Marabelle rolling about in a drift of snow left over from a storm that had hit a few weeks ago. The weather was particularly frigid that morning, but both women were quite used to it.
Cassie decided to ask the older woman for some advice while she had the opportunity. “Did you ever have a decision to make that you just couldn’t make up your mind what to do about, Jessie?”
“Sure, lots of times. That’s where Chase comes in handy. If I can’t come up with an answer, he always does.”
Cassie took a moment to tease, “He must come in handy for other things, too.”
“One or two.” Jessie grinned. “So what’s this difficult decision you’re facing?”
Jessie never did have trouble getting right to the point. Cassie tried it, replying, “I happened to get married while I was in Texas.”
Jessie laughed. “Well, I’ll be damned, this must be the season for it. How’d you manage to keep from bursting with that kind of news? When do we get to meet him?”
“You already know him. I married Angel.”
“Angel? Not—no, of course not—”
“Actually, yes, Colt’s friend.”
Jessie just stared for a moment before she burst out, “You and Angel?”
Cassie winced, she sounded so disbelieving. “I guess it does sound pretty ludicrous, but it wasn’t actually our idea. Remember how you and Chase got married?”
“How could I forget his gun sticking in my back?” Jessie replied. Then her turquoise eyes widened. “You don’t mean Angel forced you?”
“Not him. It was some neighbors of my papa’s who objected to my meddling.”
“And Angel let them do it?”
Jessie’s amazement was quite understandable. Anyone who knew Angel knew he wouldn’t stand still for something like that, that he would prevent it from happening, with bloodshed if necessary.
“They’d already disarmed him before he knew what they were up to.”
“He must have been killing mad.”
“I thought he would be, and I did everything I could to try and talk them out of it, imagining he’d kill them all. But actually, he was only angry at me. My meddling had brought it upon us, after all.”
“And you’re still alive?”
Cassie grinned, aware that Jessie wasn’t completely serious with that remark. “I think Angel draws the line at shooting women.”
“Is that why your mother went hightailing down to Texas all of a sudden?”
“No, she thought I might need help with those neighbors of Papa’s,” Cassie explained, “but Angel had already defused that situation.”
“What was he doing down there, anyway?”
“I ended up being a favor he owed someone.”
“That’s Angel for you. He takes debts he owes real seriously. He’s been trying for years to pay my brother back for saving his life. In fact, Colt mentioned that Angel had helped him out with the duchess down in New Mexico, so their debt’s finally squared.”
“Yes, Angel told me about that.”
Jessie gave her a concerned look then. “Your mother must not have been too pleased to hear about you wedding Angel, even if it wasn’t intentional.”
“That’s putting it mildly. As it happens, she’s taken a real dislike to him ever since.”
“Well, don’t worry about that. She’ll get over it just as soon as you get it annulled. I’m surprised she hasn’t already taken care of that for you.”
Cassie couldn’t hold back the blush her answer generated. “She can’t. Getting an annulment was no longer an option after Angel insisted on having a wedding night.”
Jessie’s eyes flared. “Well, hell, when did he get to be so ornery?”
“Possibly after he met me. We don’t exactly get along too well—all the time.”
“Who does? But didn’t he know he’d be forcing you to get a divorce?”
“He knew.”
“Then I don’t get it. What could he have been thinking of?”
Cassie’s blush got a great deal brighter. Jessie noticed and said, “Oh,” and did some blushing of her own. “Did you mind—no, don’t answer that.” Jessie’s blush got worse now. “That’s too personal—”
“It’s all right, Jessie,” Cassie interrupted. “That’s part of the problem. I didn’t mind at all.”
“Are you saying you have special feelings for Angel?” Jessie asked carefully.
“I guess I am.”
“Then you aren’t going to get a divorce?”
“That’s the rest of the problem. He expects me to. My mama expects me to.”
“Well, who the hell said you have to do what’s expected?” Jessie asked.
“But Angel doesn’t want to be married.”
Jessie snorted. “He should have thought of that before he had himself a wedding night.”
Cassie sat back, bemused. Now why couldn’t she take that attitude? But she knew. Jessie wasn’t the type to let anyone walk on her without stepping right bac
k on them, but Cassie had to be good and mad before she even thought about stepping on anyone.
In fact, she’d already tried to get mad at Angel again, to remember all the things about him that irritated her, to remember their last encounter—at least how it had ended. Mad, she could be arbitrary and make him wait some more for that divorce. She hadn’t thought about flat out not giving it to him.
She looked at Jessie helplessly. “I don’t think I could do that to him.”
Jessie shook her head. “He didn’t have any qualms about making your marriage legal. I wouldn’t have any about keeping it that way— if that’s what I really wanted. If that’s not what you want, Cassie, go ahead and divorce him.”
But it was what Cassie wanted. She had no doubt of that anymore. She just had every doubt about the wisdom of trying to get what she wanted from a man like Angel.
Chapter 36
Jocelyn Fleming, Dowager Duchess of Eaton, wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to the flame-red hair she was brushing. She was watching her lover in the mirror of her vanity as he sat on the bed they’d just spent a pleasurable hour in, toying with a piece of paper in his hand. He was dressed already, in his usual casual attire of tight black pants, blue shirt, red bandana—and knee-high moccasins. His fringed buckskin jacket hung on her bedpost. He wouldn’t need it again tonight, for his sister and her husband were coming over for dinner, would in fact be arriving shortly.
She wondered, not for the first time, if she would be able to get him into a suit for their wedding. She seriously doubted it. She wondered, too, if he was ever going to cut his past-the-shoulder-length black hair again. The last time he’d worn it short, he’d nearly been whipped to death—on the front porch of this very ranch.
She still ached for him each time she saw his scars, and he no longer hid them from her. She’d already decided she would never ask him to cut his hair, since he wore it long deliberately so no one would ever again doubt that he was a half-breed. The decision would have to be his alone—when and if he could ever put all of that old bitterness to rest.
