Angel’s Forecast

by J. J. Massa

“Yeah, all right,” Deke agreed, testament to the pain he was in since he didn’t argue at all.

  “Right here,” Angel turned, leading Remy into a large, well lit room. The dark wood floors were polished to a high gloss, the walls a gold color with crème moldings.

  She hoped he found it soothing and restful, when he finally had a chance to look around.

  Remy all but carried Deke to the king-sized, mahogany-framed bed that dominated the large room. An elegant night table was situated within arm’s reach. Remy turned to it, pushed the lamp back, laid an ugly, six cylinder pistol down on the delicate doily covering it. Angel frowned at him, but he ignored her completely.

  “Don’ worry just now,” he was saying to Deke. “Just rest up, yeah? We’ll have patrols out from both parishes. You’re gun’s here,” he tapped the little table and Deke nodded.

  “’m just tired,” Deke mumbled. “I haven’t gotten out to play in a while.”

  “Might be, but we need you back in fightin’ trim,” Remy rumbled.

  The concern Remy wasn’t trying to hide was just as alarming to her as was Deke’s pallor. “Are you hurting, Dekon?” she’d almost said shai—it was a habit with her. But he likened it to being called child and she didn’t want to get him upset again.

  “Yeah, I guess I am, Ange,” he managed, his voice thick and slurred.

  She hurried from the room and returned in seconds with a glass of water and two of his pain tablets.

  “Jus don’ worry about it,” Remy was telling him when she came through the door.

  “We’ll keep an eye on things. You’re pretty safe out here.”

  “It ain’t me I’m worried about,” Deke choked out. “It…” he spotted Angel and shut his mouth.

  Wrapping an arm around him, Remy eased him up and took the water glass while Deke took the tablets from Angel. Remy angled his head toward the door in the age-old signal to leave. Angel didn’t know what was going on, but she knew something was.

  Deciding that she’d get further by acceding to Remy’s wishes, or at least appearing to, she stepped outside the door. He wasn’t even keeping his voice down, so he had to know she was listening, right?

  “You goanna have to talk to her, Deke,” Remy mumbled to his brother. “She’s no more a child that Ashlynn is…than you are, come to that.”

  Angel peeked around the corner to Remy easing Deke’s shoes and pants off. She would have done it, was used to doing it—as a nurse. As a potential lover…she shivered.

  One step at a time, she reminded herself, one step at a time.

  Remy finally came out of the bedroom, appearing unsurprised to see Angel standing just outside of the door.

  “He’s asleep,” Remy confirmed.

  She’d thought he probably would be. His pasty, pinched features had suggested he needed it. The pain killers she’d supplied had confirmed it.

  “So what took you two so long getting here?” she asked mildly. She was actually pretty angry—at this man. Still, it was best to keep it together. She’d get more information that way.

  “We, uh,” he looked away guiltily. “I had to pull over, call in a violation,” he finally supplied.

  While Angel realized that was probably true, she knew it wasn’t the whole truth.

  “You aren’t gonna tell me, are you?” she asked, shaking her head.

  He had the courtesy to blush a little. “That is what happened, jus…there’s a bit for you and Deke to talk about, yeah?”

  “He didn’t hurt himself or anything?” she asked suspiciously.

  Remy appeared affronted, though Angel didn’t let that bother her in the least.

  “No, ‘course not! The ride took longer than it should’ve that’s all.”

  She recognized a brick wall when she came to one, so she nodded.

  That was all the permission he needed. “Call if’n you need anything,” With that, Remy took his leave.

  Angel made her way back up the stairs as soon as The Sheriff’s SUV truck pulled away. Quietly entering the bedroom, she checked on Deke, laying one hand on his upper abdomen, the other on his forehead. His brother had stripped him down to his boxers, and Angel did her best to adopt a clinical attitude.

  Most of her patients were women, given her specialty as a Labor and Delivery nurse. Before that, though, she had had her share of male patients of all ages. Never had she touched anyone so overtly masculine before. And never had anyone had the effect upon her that this man did—even flat on his back and immobile. He was more than just attractive…virile, that was the word. Deke Doucette was incredibly virile.

  The removal of his right kidney, combined with the removal of a small section of his bowel, had made his recovery from the gunshot all the more difficult. Needless to say, the damage to his pelvis and an infection on top of all that didn’t help. But he’d spent just over a month in the hospital, beating all the odds and was well enough to be released.

  It wasn’t unusual for the first day home to seem strenuous for any patient. She suspected that something had happened to make Deke’s little road trip even more strenuous.

  She cast a beady eye on the ugly pistol littering her pretty night table. With every intention of at least putting the thing in a drawer, she reached for it. A large, calloused hand grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

  “Leave it,” Deke mumbled, tugging at her arm. “C’mere.”

  She turned toward him. “I am here. You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

  “Lay down with me, Ange,” his voice was a husky murmur, sliding right up her spine. “Let me hold you, hmm?”

  Any willpower Angel had melted away, just like the strength in her legs as she all but slid into the bed next to him. He turned onto his left side slowly, pulling her against him, cuddling her.

  “Just for a minute or two,” she excused herself, nestling into him, her face against his throat.

  “Thank you, Bébé,” he sighed into her hair, and then he was asleep.

  ———

  Angel sat up with a start. How long had she been sleeping there, wrapped around Deke like she had a right to be. Well, truly, it had been the other way around. He was wrapped around her, or had been until something had prodded her awake.

  Something warm and hard, blunt…her face flamed. Something she didn’t want to turn and look at just yet. She’d seen men’s private parts before, but this one—this one she expected to get intimate with at some time in the near future.

  Deke reached for her again, but she slid a pillow into his arms as she eased away.

  She wouldn’t think about intimacies. Not yet.

  She hadn’t dreamed, though. Or if she had, it had been a pleasant, welcoming dream.

  Time to start supper. She quietly took out a pair of Deke’s sweatpants and a t-shirt that had been in the suitcase Rayne had left the night before. Draping them across the end of the bed, she closed the door quietly on the way out.

  Chapter Eight

  Smiling to himself, Deke watched, unbeknownst to her, as Angel cooked. He had no doubt the gumbo would be excellent, but he’d never confess, or possibly tattle, that she’d used butter-flavored shortening in place of natural cow’s butter for her roux. He decided she was looking after their health.

  Next had come the flour, added efficiently he was sure, just a bit more of that than the butter. She’d been stirring pretty constantly since he’d come in, had added boiling water and was now adding the onions, chopped pepper, okra…

  She turned slightly and he saw tiny shrimp along with some other white, cubed meat land in the pot. A volley of spices followed that, he could smell the ground peppers, white, black, maybe she’d slip in a hint of the cayenne he loved; even though he knew he should go easy on it.

  Watching her move had been a sensual treat, those luscious curves flowing as she moved between one counter to the stove to the refrigerator, swapping hands to keep stirring non-stop. The lid clattered down over the pot as she bent her knees, leaning back and squatting slightly to judg
e the height of the gas flame under her pot.

  She might’ve known he was there, or not—he couldn’t tell. Just to make sure he didn’t startle her, he bumped a crutch against the doorframe.

  “When dinner is?” he asked, inhaling deeply. “Smells mighty fine.”

  She looked at him for extended seconds. “Maybe an hour or so,” she said finally.

  “Long enough for you to talk to me.”

  He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep before, but shades of violet now bled into a flaming orange pink where the trees met the sky. What was left of the afternoon sun wouldn’t last long.

  Deke sighed. He’d known that was coming, even before he’d come fully awake to realize that she’d gone. She’d want to know what had taken them so long to get here from the hospital. And if she had, as Rayne like to call it, a shine about her, she would have to have the entire story. He wouldn’t lie to her, ever, but he wished he had the option of leaving certain things out. Oh, well.

  “Okay, Ange,” he smiled wryly, “Where you want to sit down? Not in here ‘else I’ll eat everything in sight.”

  She chuckled, shaking her head. He caught her hand as she moved past him and pulled her in for a quick and gentle kiss. An arm snaked around his waist, stopping when her fingers touched the pistol shoved in the waistband of his pants.

  “Uh,” she blinked up at him when he pulled back. He raised a brow, waiting as he gathered his crutches underneath him properly. “Since you’re already down here,” she leveled a beady look at him, “You and your gun…Let’s go to the porch.”

  “I’m following you, Béb,” he assured her, forcing his attention to stay away from the enticing view of her swaying posterior in favor of navigating carefully over polished floors and throw rugs, down a step and out into the garden.

  It seemed to be a garden oasis, surrounded by all manner of greenery, walled in by it almost, but with a calming view of the bayou only a few dozen yards away.

  “This is beautiful,” he breathed, lowering himself into a generous, padded wicker chair.

  Her smile was more pleasing than the little garden hideaway, he decided, and he realized suddenly, just how important it had been to her that he approve of this timeless little nook.

  Her pleasure was short-lived in her expression as she seated herself facing him with an arched brow and an air of expectation. “First, what happened on the way home, then tell me what you think it means.” She paused for several seconds. “And then tell me why you need that pistol.”

  Deke took a deep breath. No beating around the bush for his little angel. “We were followed on the way here,” he told her simply. When she didn’t say anything, he went on. “Remy pulled over and called in the make, model, and tags. Came away with nothing, though.”

  “Hmm,” she looked at him for a moment. “Let me go get your meds—not the pain stuff, until bedtime,” He nodded, “You get ready to tell me the rest of it…”

  She was gone before he could add anything, or even ask her to bring him a glass of tea. What he’d really like was a beer, but he knew she wouldn’t go for that.

  “No, Dekon,” Angel said quietly from behind him, “No beer today.”

  Deke jumped in surprise. He hadn’t heard her approach and he hadn’t thought he’d spoken aloud. She placed a cold glass of tea in front of him and sat down in the chair across from him.

  “Thank you, cheri,” he murmured, accepting a small assortment of pills from her outstretched hand.

  “You didn’t say it aloud, I just got this very strong feeling that you really wanted a beer,” she explained. “I’m not—I can’t read your mind exactly…just sometimes I know what you’re thinking a little. Madame, I mean Rayne, is the only one I understand like that.”

  “Uh, huh,” Deke looked at her for long seconds. “Mais, I guess it’s a good thing you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen,” he winked at her. “Otherwise, you’d be slapping me all the time, Ange.”

  “I might just be slapping you anyhow,” Angel growled at him, eyes narrowed, pink staining her dusky cheeks. “You were going to tell me why Sheriff Doucette thought you were being followed today?”

  “Hmmm?” he shook himself, realizing that he’d been admiring the way anger made her honey gold eyes spark. Maybe he’d just mention that later. “Ah, yeah, followed.” He gathered his thoughts. “It seems that the guys that shot me think I killed their father or something. What with all the charges leveled against ‘em, they’ve got nothing to lose, so they skipped bail and Remy thinks they could be in the area.”

  Angel bit her lip. That did not bode well considering the frightening dreams she’d been having. No, she wasn’t going to jump to conclusions. Deke would have time to heal.

  He was perfectly fine on crutches and would have the time he needed to recuperate.

  Besides, not all of her dreams came true. It might not be a forecast, just a dream.

  But it seemed so real…

  Deke was looking at her expectantly, like he was waiting for a response. “Um, what? I didn’t hear you,” she gave herself a mental swift kick. “So, Remy suspects that the guys could be in the area and that’s why he thinks it was them following the police SUV?”

  With an odd look, he repeated what she apparently hadn’t heard. “We cain’t be sure, either way, but both parishes, Gabe’s and ours, are going to beef up patrols around here.”

  Angel nodded slowly. “More patrols, good,” she mumbled, taking a drink of her tea. Setting the sweating glass down carefully on the wrought iron table, she pushed back her chair. “You enjoy the garden while I go stir the gumbo, hmm?”

  Not waiting for an answer, she stood, avoiding his reaching arm as she hurried into the kitchen. Barely slowing down once she got there, Angel opened the large pantry door, unlocking a special cabinet, and pulled out a special little leather bag.

  Mumbling the words to a safety incantation under her breath, Angel turned without looking, walking almost directly into Deke.

  “Whoa there,” he caught her before she could knock him down, or get very past him. “Last I seen, the gumbo’s over there in that pot. You wanna tell me what’s going on here?”

  She tried to pull away, but with no success. “Deke, let go of me, I have something I need to do,” she pleaded, trying to avoid his eyes.

  “You need to tell me what you got in mind, that’s what you need to do,” he growled, not letting go. “Then, I’ll go stir the gumbo while you do it.”

  She took a deep breath. Rayne said Deke was accepting. She’d tell. Some.

  “I, um, I have to sprinkle this dust and stuff at the four corners of the property. It’s not that big…wont’ take that long.” She offered him a weak smile.

  “And you’re gonna do this because of why?” he asked mildly, his grip relaxing just a bit.

  She looked down and back up at him. She might as well tell him. He would either understand or he wouldn’t.

  “A safety spell,” she mumbled.

  “Come again?” he asked. She was reasonably sure he’d heard her, but she’d say it again anyway.

  “I need to do a safety spell for us. It’s good for a few days or so. It only works once, and then I’ll have to do another one. But this one is the strongest.”

  His palms slipped off her shoulders to cup her hands. Carrying one to his mouth, he kissed the back of it.

  “We’ll eat when you get back. Jus’ don’ be too long,” he turned away. “It’s getting dark out. I’ll worry,” he smiled over his shoulder, turning toward the main part of the kitchen.

  The rhythmic thumping of his crutches on the hardwood floor jarred her out of her stunned stupor. She’d consider this development after she finished her little task.

  Without a backward glance, she headed out the front door, toward the northernmost corner of what had been her elderly great aunt and uncle’s property.

  Chapter Nine

  Deke sat at the kitchen table, watching through the window as Angel made her way
through the garden and out of sight. He could hear the door open and then, there she was, the tiny leather bag in hand.

  She aimed a shy smile his way before replacing the pouch in its cupboard.

  Returning to the kitchen, she immediately pulled down two bowls, filling them with gumbo. In an attempt to be considerate, he’d laid his gun on a nearby chair tucked under the table. It would be easy to reach but out of sight.

  He inhaled deeply, enjoying the rich, spicy aroma wafting up from his bowl as she gathered cutlery and glasses, along with a pitcher of tea.

  “I left my glass out there…yours, too, come to that,” he confessed, teasing, “Had my hands full, you know.”

  “I know,” she smiled back, slipping into the seat across from him, handing him his utensils and pouring a glass of tea.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, Deke savoring every morsel. He’d gotten more than a little tired of bland hospital food and nobody had been willing to bring him so much as a bottle of Tabasco® sauce.

  “This is good, good, Ange,” he groaned, swallowing the last bite. “You got any more in there?” he asked hopefully.

  “I think I can find some,” she chuckled, taking his bowl. When she returned, she placed a half-filled bowl of gumbo along with a steaming corn muffin. “I had these in the oven, but I turned it off a while ago,” she explained.

  With a smile, he dipped his cornbread into the gumbo, considering how best to start the conversation he wanted them to have. Finally, he decided to start slow.

  “So, how long that spell s’posed to last?” he asked, adding, “An’ what’s it do, exactly?”

  Angel looked at him in surprise, as if she couldn’t quite believe he’d ask—that he’d take her seriously. They would broach that subject in a few minutes. For now, he arched a brow at her, awaiting an answer.

  “Ah, it should last a week maybe, give or take a day,” she took a quick swallow of tea. He’d caught her with a mouth full. “It’s supposed to repel anyone who means you harm. If they go to step over the property boundaries, they’ll just be facing in the wrong direction. They’ll never quite make it.”