Still Close to Heaven

by Maureen Child

  Slowly, he turned around and was in time to see Sam Hale drop to one knee before a startled, yet clearly very flattered, Mavis.

  "Shit."

  Rachel followed his gaze and almost fell down the stairs.

  She grabbed hold of the bannister railing to steady herself.

  As she watched, Sam yanked his hat off, took one of Mavis's hands in his and clutched it to his chest.

  Poor Mavis looked absolutely flummoxed. Hair still dripping wet and stringing about her face, her gown soaked and dirty, the hem edged with mud, she looked at her sudden suitor through wide, astonished eyes.

  Sam’s voice was pitched too low for Rachel to hear what he was saying. But if the expression on Mavis's face was anything to judge by, he must have been impressive.

  When the man quickly rose to his feet and pulled Mavis up beside him, Rachel finally found her tongue.

  "Mavis?" she asked. "Are you all right?"

  "Hmm?" The woman didn't take her gaze off Sam's face. "What’s that?"

  "I asked if you were feeling well."

  "Oh. Oh, yes," she whispered. "I feel… wonderful."

  Sam smiled down at her, draped one arm around her shoulders, and led her to the front door.

  Rachel flicked a quick, annoyed glance at Jackson, then turned back to the couple preparing to leave. Sam lifted

  Mavis's slicker down off the peg and gently helped her into it before reaching for the doorknob.

  "Mavis," Rachel called and hurried down the last few steps to the floor. "Don't forget about our meeting tonight."

  "Hmm?" The woman had to drag her gaze away from Sam's face. "Meeting?"

  "The Spinster Society?" Rachel prodded.

  "Oh, of course." Mavis looked from her friend to Sam and back again. At last, she smiled weakly. "I'm afraid I can’t make it tonight. Rachel," she said. "Something's… come up."

  Before Rachel could say another word, the blissful couple had strolled through the doorway and into the stormy afternoon.

  The front door had barely closed behind them when she turned on the man across the room from her.

  "You did this, didn’t you?"

  "Rachel…"

  "You used one of those gold coins on him, didn’t you?" She stared at him, waiting for him to confirm what she already knew. Not long after she'd seen Sam Hale, confirmed bachelor, kneeling in front of Mavis, Rachel had guessed the truth.

  "Yeah," he muttered, "for all the good it did me." Clearly disgusted, he walked to the row of pegs alongside the front door. Stripping out of the rain slicker Rachel had given him, he muttered viciously under his breath as he hung up the dripping coat. Then he yanked his hat off and placed it on a peg next to it.

  "How could you do something like that?"

  He turned around and glared at her. "You didn't leave me much choice, Rachel."

  "So, because I don't want to get married, you’re going to marry off my friends, instead? "

  He winced. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

  Realization dawned on her all at once, and she cursed herself for being foolish enough not to have recognized it immediately. Of course, he had planned on Sam falling in love with her. It was purely an accident that it had been Mavis sitting in the store instead. "You were going to trick me?"

  "Not you, Sam."

  "It's the same thing."

  "No it's not." He stalked to the far side of the room. "It should have worked," he muttered thickly. "I had it all worked out. Rainy day. No customers. You alone in the store. Dammit." He threw her a furious look. "Why the hell weren't you where you were supposed to be?'"

  "You’re saying this is my fault?" Astonishing, she thought. Simply astonishing.

  "Well, if you had been here, everything would have been taken care of."

  "Making Sam fall in love with me wouldn’t have been enough to convince me to marry him." Didn’t the man ever listen to her?

  "You say that now," Jackson said. "But I knew if Sam fell in love with you, you wouldn’t be able to resist him long."

  "I’ve already told you a dozen times, I won't marry anyone unless I'm in love."

  "You would have been," he retorted. "Eventually."

  "Blast you, Jackson," she shouted. "You don’t listen. To anyone."

  "It's mighty damn hard not to listen when you’re screeching so."

  "No," she countered thickly. "You hear me, but you don’t listen. There’s a difference."

  "Fine," he snapped. "I'm listening."

  "Don't you see?" She looked into his eyes briefly, then shifted her gaze away again. "I loved you for years. You didn't care. If it had been me in this store, the same thing would have happened to Sam. He would have loved someone who didn't love him back."

  "You don’t know that."

  Her gaze lifted to his. "I do know it." she said quickly.

  "I wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone." To his credit, he looked uncomfortable. "Rachel —"

  "Yes, you can. I know I can’t make you leave, but Jackson, I want your word on this."

  He inhaled sharply, swiveled his head to glare at the darkness hovering just outside the rain spattered window and muttered something under his breath.

  "Well?" she prodded.

  Scowling, he tossed her a quick glance and nodded briefly.

  "You promise, then?"

  "Yeah, I promise," he grumbled. "But I'm not happy about it."

  Rachel sighed her relief. At least now she wouldn’t have to worry about being surprised by suddenly lovestruck men around every corner. "Thank you."

  "You’re welcome. But I still don’t see why you’re so upset," he said, annoyance coloring his voice. "The coin worked for Sam and Mavis."

  "But it's not real," she said, and walked to his side. "None of it is real. Did you see Mavis's face when they left here?"

  "Yeah," he shot back. "She looked happy."

  Delirious actually, Rachel corrected mentally. Her rather plain friend had practically floated out of the store on the arm of the man who looked at her as if she were a fairy princess.

  And that was precisely the point.

  "Of course she's happy," she went on. "But for how long?"

  "What?"

  "I asked how long it would last." Rachel paced back and forth in front of him, her heels tapping out a harsh, staccato rhythm. "Don’t you see? When that spell of yours wears off, Sam won’t want her anymore, and that will crush Mavis."

  "That’s not going to happen, Rachel."

  "You can't be sure of that."

  A flicker of unease crossed his face.

  "See?" she accused, pointing at him. "You’re not sure at all."

  "I'm as sure as I can be," he told her. "When I held that coin, I didn’t say 'fall in love for a month.' I was thinking about you. I wanted him to fall in love with you and give you a lifetime of happiness." He shoved one hand through his damp hair. "Dammit, I wanted you to be safe. Loved."

  "Married."

  "What's wrong with that?" he bellowed.

  She met his gaze squarely and ignored the tiny flutter of… something in the pit of her stomach. "Nothing, if I want to be married. But for you to go out and shanghai a husband for me?"

  "All right, it was a stupid idea."

  "Yes."

  "But there's no harm done, is there? Sam loves Mavis. They'll be happy together."

  "Maybe," she conceded, as her temper began to slowly fade. Perhaps it would work out all right. Her friend's sweet face rushed into her mind, and she realized that Mavis had looked happier than she'd ever seen her.

  Foolish of Rachel, then, to feel so… betrayed. So… forgotten.

  "What is it now?" he asked.

  How could she confess to him what she was feeling? She could hardly admit it to herself. Briskly smoothing her hands up and down her forearms, she tried to rub away the cold beginning to crawl through her body. But it didn't help.

  "Rachel?"

  Concern tinged his voice and that was somehow harder to deal with than his an
ger.

  She swallowed past the knot that had suddenly lodged in her throat. A sheen of water filled her eyes as she forced herself to look up at him. She would have been fine, if he hadn’t started being nice. If he hadn’t looked at her with, almost, understanding.

  How could he understand what she was thinking, though? What she was feeling?

  "Your friendship with her won’t change," he said and took a step closer to her.

  Her eyes widened. Could he read her mind, too? Good God, wasn’t she allowed any secrets? It was terrible enough for her to have to know that she could begrudge her friend happiness because of her own fears. It was humiliating to have Jackson know it, too.

  Is this what she'd come to? In her eagerness to bring her friends together to form the family she’d always wanted, had she overlooked the possibility that her friends might have other needs?

  The natural desire for a husband and children?

  Rachel covered her mouth with one hand and raced back through her memories. All the times she had convinced Mavis, Hester, and Sally not to attend dances and box suppers. Every time she had advised them to not follow their hearts. To snub whatever man had shown some interest in them.

  She remembered clearly the night she had suggested founding the Stillwater Spinster Society. She had been the only one of the four to show any enthusiasm.

  Lord, had she been so hurt by the fact that Jackson had never returned for her that she had turned her back on the idea of love — not only for herself, but for those she cared about? Had her foster father's heavy hand and lack of warmth so poisoned her that she was incapable of loving someone?

  "Ah, Rachel…" Jackson stepped up in front of her and slowly drew her into the circle of his arms.

  She went stiffly at first. Unwillingly. But as his warmth seeped into her bones, as his hands moved up and down her back in comfort, she leaned into his support, grateful for it. His soothing whisper brushed the air around her, but it was his words that finally made her feel better.

  "You’re being too hard on yourself, Rachel."

  "No, I'm not."

  She heard the rumble of his chuckle as it moved through his chest.

  "Sure you are. Mavis and the others would be just as put out if you turned up with a beau all of a sudden."

  No, they wouldn't, she told herself. They were much nicer than she was. Her friends would have been delighting in her happiness, not wallowing in self-pity.

  "Just like when you were a kid," he said, and she drew her head back to look up at him. Smiling, he went on. "Always had to question everything. Never could take my word on something. Had to know how. Why. What."

  A hesitant, answering smile touched her lips briefly. So he did remember those few days they'd spent together. She couldn’t help wondering if he'd thought about them as often as she had over the years. Probably not, a voice inside her whispered. Why would he have? She’d been just a child. But even as a child, she had known that Jackson was the man she wanted to grow up and marry.

  She'd felt it from the moment she'd first seen him. Her mother had always told her that there was someone for everyone in this world and that all she had to do was find him. When Jackson had suddenly appeared in answer to her prayers, Rachel had known that she had found the one man meant for her. In all the years since, she had never once met a man who had made her question that belief.

  Which was why she had had no interest in marriage. When he hadn't returned for her, she'd made up her mind to remain a spinster. Better, she had told herself, to go through life unmarried than married to the wrong man.

  If she hadn't been perfectly happy, she thought, at least she had been content.

  Until lately.

  Wrapping her arms around his waist, she laid her head on his chest and allowed herself to enjoy this one stolen moment. She felt his breath ruffle her hair, felt the strength in his hands, and the solid reassurance of his broad, muscular chest.

  Rachel closed her eyes and held her breath, listening for the steady beat of his heart… But there was nothing.

  His heart didn’t beat, despite the fact that he was alive and warm and holding her tightly.

  He was here, with her.

  Yet, this man she had loved so desperately wasn't real.

  Chapter Eight

  A familiar tightening in his body told him that he should back off.

  Blast it, he couldn't seem to do a damned thing right. All he'd wanted to do was comfort her. Just hold her for a minute or two until she felt better. He hadn't planned on his body's reaction to her closeness.

  As she snuggled in even closer, laying her head on his chest and pressing herself tightly to him, Jackson took a deep breath and tried to keep his mind off what his body was doing.

  He sensed the change in her immediately. The sudden tension that gripped her, making her spine so rigid beneath his hands that he thought it might snap. He released her, and she took a step back from him.

  "What's wrong?" he asked, hoping to hell she hadn't felt his arousal.

  "You…" she stared at him, eyes wide.

  Blast it anyway. Why didn’t his groin realize he was dead and just stay down? Now he'd gone and upset her all over again.

  Lightning crashed outside, and thunder rolled through the room.

  "Look Rachel," he started, then shifted his gaze from hers and paused. What was he supposed to say to her? Sure sorry about bruising your belly when you rubbed against me? A silent groan echoed around inside him.

  "You don’t have a heart."

  His head snapped around, and his gaze locked with hers. Now that's going pretty far, he thought. Granted, he never had been a saint or anything. But dammit, he’d been as good a man as the next fella.

  "There’s no call to get nasty, Rachel," he told her. "I didn't make Sam fall in love with your friend just to hurt you."

  She shook her head vehemently. "Your heart. It isn't beating."

  "What?"

  She waved one hand at his chest and drew in a gulp of air. "I couldn't hear your heartbeat. There's nothing there."

  Startled, he slapped one hand against his chest and waited. Nothing. An eerie feeling crept through him like a thick, gray fog in winter. Coldness swirled around him. He swallowed heavily. It probably shouldn't bother him. It wasn't like he needed a heartbeat. After all, nobody knew better than he did that he was dead.

  Still… he was breathing. Talking. Walking around. Hell, he even got an erection! He glanced down at his chest and scowled. Why the hell wasn’t his heart beating?

  Why hadn’t he noticed before this?

  But then, why would he have noticed? He would have been willing to bet that nobody ever checked to make sure their heart was thumping away. No need to. If you were up and moving, you could bet your heart was working fine. Usually.

  "Jesus," he muttered and let his hand fall to his side.

  "You’re actually dead," Rachel whispered.

  "Isn't that what I’ve been telling you?" he snapped, then cursed himself for barking at her. It wasn't her fault that he'd come to this.

  "Yes, but you seem so…"

  "Alive?"

  "Well, yes."

  Parts of him were apparently more alive than others, he admitted silently and shifted to accommodate the ache in his groin. He inhaled, just because he could, then blew it out in a rush. Pushing his own uneasiness aside, he said, "I guess this is just Lesley's way of reminding me that I'm not here for long."

  "Lesley again."

  Jackson shrugged.

  She rubbed her hands up and down her forearms as if the cold eating away at him had reached out for her somehow.

  "Who is this Lesley, anyway?"

  "I’m not really sure," he said and walked aimlessly around the room. He looked back to Rachel. "I just know that he shows up every once in awhile to send me off on some errand or other."

  "An errand," she repeated dully. "Like me?"

  He could have bitten his tongue off, but it would have been too late anyway. Wh
y was it he always seemed to say the wrong thing at the wrong time?

  "You said he shows up. Shows up where?"

  He looked into her eyes and saw that she was calmer now. And curious. Well, she had a right to be. He wasn't sure how much he was supposed to tell her, but at the moment, he didn't really care about what was forbidden for her to know or not.

  "In Pine Ridge, at the saloon where I died."

  She blinked, paled a bit, then steadied herself. "You died in a saloon?"

  Somehow ashamed to admit it aloud, he ducked his head in a brief nod.

  "In Pine Ridge?" she echoed, mostly to herself. "That's only a few days from here." After a long pause, she asked. "How did you die? "

  Old resentment bubbled up inside him. His eyes narrowed as he stared into the past, remembering the last moments of his life. A life that had ended too soon. His voice scraped along his throat and came out raw with unresolved anger and pain. "Professional gambler shot me when I caught him cheating."

  "Good heavens." One of her hands flew to her throat.

  Her blue eyes softened in sorrow, and he cursed himself silently for telling her. He’d had countless years to regret the manner of his death. Frustrated fury at missed chances and a life unlived had simmered inside him for what seemed forever. But dammit, it was too much for him to have to face her sympathy.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have told her. She didn't need to know that he'd died a useless death. Then again, it was probably better she knew him for what he was. Maybe then she'd stop expecting too much of him.

  Rachel took a long, staggering breath and slowly walked across the room to the counter. When she reached it, she leaned her forearms atop it, as if for support. "Why are you still there?" she said, and her voice was almost lost in the next rumble of thunder. "In that saloon? Why didn't you go to…" She let the sentence trail off, and Jackson was grateful.

  He would rather not be reminded of Heaven or Hell just now. He had a feeling he'd never see one of those places and the other one was beginning to feel too close for comfort.

  "I don't know," he said and walked to the far end of the counter. A hollow feeling had opened up inside him. Stepping through the gated portion of the counter, he squatted down and pulled a bottle of whiskey off the bottom shelf.