Winter Magic

by Cheryl Pierson

  Because of the heavy coat he’d been wearing and the distance Earlie had been from him, he’d hoped the bullet hadn’t gone in far. But luck had not been with him, and it was embedded deeply, carrying bits of material with it as it passed through his skin that Angie was now carefully, painfully, picking out.

  “Just pour some rotgut over it and–let it be,” he muttered.

  She drew herself up, glaring at him. “I will not! If it gets infected and you die, my little sister—”

  “Oh, hell. No one’s gonna…come after her. No one even knows…” His voice trailed off.

  “Where were you headed?”

  To save my brother.

  “Ft. Smith. And I have to be there by Wednesday, a week.”

  She shook her head slightly, blonde hair tumbling. “You probably aren’t going to make it, Brett. Not because of the distance—it’s no more than a hard day’s ride from here—but because of…your injuries.”

  He liked the way his name sounded on her lips and savored it before he let the rest of what she’d said sink in.

  “I—I have to make it, Angie. Have to.”

  She gently salved the wound and placed a pad of bandaging over it before she met his eyes.

  “Why? Why’re you so hell-bent to get yourself to Ft. Smith? You know, this head injury of yours could be a matter of life or death if you don’t take it easy.”

  “It’s life or death all right…but not for me. For my younger brother, Jake.”

  She gave him a quizzical look, pushing a strand of spun-gold hair away from her face with the back of her hand.

  “Why? Why do you say that?”

  Brett was slipping. The shoulder wound and the head injury both combined to finally take their toll. He couldn’t stay awake another minute.

  “They have him…Jake…I have to…”

  “Angie!” Earlene called from the kitchen. “I’m hungry. I’m gonna eat now, okay?”

  “Go ahead,” Angie called. “I’ll be right there.” She kissed her fingertip and touched it to Brett’s cheek.

  “I don’t know who has your brother, but I’m not gonna let him die because of somethin’ Earlene did. We’ll figure it out. You rest now.”

  Chapter 4

  As Angie stood up, her stomach rumbled. She clutched at it and gave Brett a quick glance, but he was asleep. She touched a lock of his dark hair, and then turned to go.

  Sudden resentment washed over her at the sight of Earlene, placidly eating her bowl of beans as if nothing had happened.

  At eleven years old, Earlie was the biggest handful that Angie had ever taken hold of—and she wondered just how much longer she’d be able to keep her little sister reined in…How much longer she’d be able to keep this place running…How much longer she’d be able to hold on to everything.

  Daily, she felt it slipping. She was eighteen. She wanted to enjoy life a little before it all drained away from her.

  Papa had set them up here in the middle of nowhere for their own safety, she knew, but why had he had to go and die on them?

  Earlie looked up from eating, her silver-gray eyes defiant as they met Angie’s.

  “Well, I’m not gonna say I’m sorry. I did what you told me. Kept strangers away.”

  “Don’t sass me, Earlene. This is serious business. You nearly killed a man. He’s not out of the woods, yet. He may still die from your foolishness! I didn’t tell you to shoot people. I only meant for you to keep watch.”

  Earlene regarded her sullenly, but Angie could see the uncertainty behind the bluster. Earlene was afraid, no matter how tough she acted. She had compassion for all living things—horses, dogs, and even the man she’d wounded so unnecessarily lying in the next room.

  “Angie, I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt him so bad. I was just aimin’ for his hat.”

  Dear God. His hat.

  Angie pulled a chair out to sit beside her sister.”You aimed for his hat and you hit his shoulder.” She shook her head. “Earlene, don’t you realize you could just as easily have hit him right between his eyes?”

  “Well…yeah. Now, I do.” Earlene looked down. “Guess I miscalculated the distance…”

  Angie stood up and walked to the stove to dish up a bowl of beans for herself.

  “He’s handsome,” Earlene said, and Angie heard a note of wistfulness in her little sister’s voice.

  “He’s too old for me, I know,” Earlene went on. “But not for you.” She sighed. “Still, I’ve probably ruined your chances with him, now that I’ve shot him.”

  Angie turned to look at her, surprised. “Maybe I’m not the least bit interested in him, Earlie,” she said airily. She came to the table, setting the beans at her regular place, and then poured herself a glass of water.

  “Oh, yes, you’re interested.” Earlene’s tone was smug and certain. “I saw how you looked at him. And I know certain things…remember?”

  “Yes, I remember. But we agreed not to talk about our…gifts. We promised Papa. And no matter what, Earlie, we can’t trust him yet. Maybe never. So don’t you go opening your trap to him about—about anything.”

  “The circus you mean?” Earlene asked innocently, keeping her eyes on her bowl. “Wonder what he’d think if he knew I used to be a crack shot…”

  At that, Angie almost smiled. Her little sister sounded like a hundred-year-old woman talking about something in the far past.

  “You still are a crack shot, Earlie. And that was just three years ago, when Papa left the circus and brought us here…to a better life.”

  Though she had to grit her teeth to say it—it certainly didn’t feel like a better life. Angie missed the circus; the people, the excitement, the crowds that came to see the performances.

  But there had been one man…one man who had taken an interest in her, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. That had been the true reason Papa had decided it was time to leave the circus and move on with his girls. Especially after Mama had fallen to her death in a missed stunt on the trapeze.

  Angie shut her eyes, blocking out the horrifying memory. Thank God, Earlie had not been there at the time to see it happen. And Papa had brought them here, away from the memories and away from…that man, Teller Magdon.

  Here, they were safe from him, and that was the important thing. Angie had to keep out of sight; at least, until Earlie was old enough to fend for herself, should something happen.

  Teller Magdon had sworn to have Angie. He was a powerful man—an outlaw who feared no one, and who took whatever he wanted.

  Angie’s father, Ben Colton, had done the only thing he could do to protect his daughters—he’d left the circus in the dark, hot secrecy of a July night—and they’d disappeared.

  He’d had this place ready and waiting for them. Their hideaway. Their haven. Now, their prison.

  Looking back, Angie realized he must have known he was dying. Consumption had taken him; slowly but steadily. He’d passed away a year ago, and since then, she and Earlene had done their best to hold on to the place.

  “Are we ever gonna leave here, Angie? I mean, we might have to.” Earlene’s voice broke into Angie’s thoughts. “If Brett—I mean, Mr. Diamond—gets any worse, we might have to take him to the doc over in Sallisaw.”

  “Maybe,” Angie answered noncommittally.

  Earlene’s face fell, the hopeful light leaving her eyes.

  “I’m not planning on him getting worse,” Angie said staunchly. “And besides, it’s nearly time for the winter solstice. I’ve got some cooking to do for us, and you said you wanted a celebration…maybe a Christmas tree…If we’re going to do those things, we need to get Mr. Diamond healing so he can enjoy them with us, right?”

  Earlene nodded. “I—I’m really sorry I shot him, Angie.”

  “I know you are. But you have to think before you do things.”

  “I know, I know. Or ‘suffer the consequences’, as you always say.”

  Angie was quiet a moment. Sometimes, it was hard to know how to app
roach her sister, but she figured it had to be because Earlie was growing up—along with the way she had of knowing some things ahead of time.

  “Earlene, I don’t want you to mention the circus to Brett.”

  “Why not?” Earlene sat up straight, and Angie read the indignation in the lines of her body.

  “You ashamed of it, Angie? ’Cause I’m not! I wish we could go back! I liked the shows we did.”

  She put her hands up in the air, spreading them slowly. “Earlene Colton, Crack Shot…child prodigy with a pistol—”

  She stood up quickly and struck a pose. “And if you think she’s good with a .45, come see what she can do with a Yellow Boy repeater!”

  Angie watched her, unmoving.

  “How about this—remember this, Angie?” Earlene knelt on the floor beside Angie’s chair, hands spread in the air once more.

  “Angel Colton—Queen of Crime! How can any woman look so—” she raised her eyebrows in dubious question “—angelic—yet, be able to commit the crimes she does in the blink of an eye? Missing your wallet, sir? Better check behind ‘Angel’s’ wings! Pocket watch gone? Angels need to know the time, too!”

  “Earlie—”

  “But wait! Think your valuables are carefully tucked away in that factory safe you’ve had installed? Oh, no—not when Angel Colton’s in town! With a flick of her nimble fingers, and a click of the tumblers, your safe is open in one—two—three seconds flat!”

  “Earlene!”

  Earlene stopped, her eyes wide at Angie’s distress.

  “What? That’s how the pitch went, Angie. Remember?”

  Angie gulped. “Yes. Yes—I remember. But God help me…I want to forget it.”

  “But why? We have our ‘own particular talents’, as Papa used to say. We can’t ever forget it, Angie.” Earlene stood up slowly, bewilderment in her face.

  When Angie made no reply, Earlene turned away. “I’m gonna go read,” she muttered, trudging toward the hallway. “I got some thinkin’ to do.” She snatched up their father’s old battered hat and dropped it on her head, tilting it back so it didn’t cover her eyes.

  Angie started to call her back. Earlene needed something Angie didn’t seem to be able to provide. It scared her, more than anything else, except the thought of Teller Magdon’s eyes.

  But for now, she had to put her fears and memories away and go check on Brett Diamond. He seemed to have worries of his own, and she was determined to find out what she could do to help.

  Earlene had made a mess of things—and, as usual, it was going to be up to Angie to sort it all out and make it right.

  Chapter 5

  Brett opened his eyes slowly. The room was dimly lit with the bedside lamp, and the air, though chilly, wasn’t icy.

  He’d need to chop Angie some firewood before he left…

  He tried to move his arm, and realized quickly that he would not be chopping firewood or doing anything else that required movement in the near future—not during this stay, anyhow.

  He just needed to get well enough to ride…to get to Ft. Smith and Jake.

  Damn it!

  His sudden anger evaporated when he recalled the youngster’s silver-gray eyes, filled with anxiety as she’d looked down at him on the front porch. That little girl had been scared to death, for all her bluster and sass.

  His lips quirked.

  He intended to get to the bottom of this whole crazy circumstance. Why had Earlene shot him? What were she and her sister afraid of?

  His thoughts swirled and turned as he drifted between sleep and the brink of wakefulness.

  Gentle fingers traced his forehead, threading into his hair. He felt the quilt being tucked in close to keep out the cold…soft tones of a woman’s voice…Angie…her name was Angie.

  He opened his eyes again to see her sitting beside him, asleep in the straight-backed chair.

  The light bathed her face softly, and Brett’s breath lodged in his throat. Her reddish-golden hair tumbled around her face. Her up-turned nose was sprinkled with freckles, her full lips kissably tempting. She shifted, trying to get comfortable, pulling the worn quilt she’d draped around her even closer.

  Brett’s muscles moved reflexively, in silent response, wanting to pull the quilt around her.

  Her eyes opened, and drowsily, she leaned forward, concern lining her delicate features. “You okay, Brett?”

  He nodded, once again setting off the headache that had receded as he slept. He groaned.

  Angie slipped to her knees beside the bed, taking his hand between hers.

  “I’m so sorry for what happened to you. Can I get anything for you?”

  “Water,” he managed to croak.

  “Oh, of course!” She sighed, frustrated with her own oversight. A cup of water sat on the night stand, and she put a hand under his head, helping him drink as she lifted it to his lips.

  “It probably is best if you stay awake a while now,” she said as she put it back on the night stand.

  “Maybe you better talk to me, then.”

  She gave him an uncertain smile. “All right—but first, tell me about—about your brother. And why is it so all-fired important for you to get to Ft. Smith?”

  Brett owed her some kind of explanation, but he wasn’t sure how much of it to tell. The beginning would be best—and he might not scramble it so much. “Long…time ago, I joined up with some men…bad men.”

  “Why? You don’t seem—bad.”

  Brett smiled at her open curiosity. “Well, love, that’s why…I’m no longer with them. But…” He shifted, unsure how long he’d be able to keep talking before sleep claimed him once more.

  “No, don’t go back to sleep.” Her voice came to him from far away, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. A cool cloth moved across his forehead.

  “Tell me about your brother,” she prodded.

  “Jake’s the youngest of the three of us. When Pa…died…Nick tried to keep us together, but—he was just sixteen. He hired out his gun. I learned—other things. And Jake ended up living with the Cherokees and attending a Moravian Missionary school.”

  Angie’s eyes widened. “So, he got to stay put. I always wished we could’ve done that—me and Earlene. But—” She broke off suddenly and looked away, removing the cloth. “What happened? With the bad men you fell in with?”

  “Long story short—they have my brother. And there’s—something I have to do to keep him from being killed.”

  “Something…like what?” Angie laid her hand on Brett’s forehead to check his fever.

  “Sure you want to know?”

  She nodded, her eyes meeting his. “Yes. I do.”

  “I have to rob a bank. They want me to crack a safe.”

  ****

  “Is that all?”

  Angie could have washed her own mouth out with soap as she spoke the words, but she couldn’t stop them. And the short, relieved chuckle that accompanied them made her face burn immediately.

  Brett’s expression turned quizzical, and Angie laughed again, quickly covering her faux pas.

  “I mean…I was thinking maybe you were going to have to kill someone—or something. I mean…something worse—than just—well, cracking a safe.”

  Brett looked up at her through slate-dark eyes that gave away nothing. There was no way she could match him in that. She was certain every emotion that chaotically fought for its moment in her heart must have shown clearly on her face.

  But the room was dark and the shadows would hide what she couldn’t.

  “Bank robbing doesn’t bother you, Angie?”

  She nodded—too eagerly—then began shaking her head no. “Yes, of course it does, but—it’s just—I thought—”

  There was no point in stuttering her way on.

  He saved her the embarrassment. “You see, what bothers me most is—not the robbery part of it. Because I’ll be glad to help recover the money, once we’re done.”

  Angie raised a brow. If it wasn’t the
robbery itself, then what?

  “I’m left-handed, Miss Colton,” he murmured, his gaze holding hers. “And right now…I have no feeling in my arm—or my fingers. So, I’m wondering how I’m going to save my little brother’s life if I can’t turn the tumblers.”

  ****

  It took every ounce of self-control not to tell him her secret. But she just couldn’t! She didn’t know if she could trust him. And if he knew she could help…what might he force her to do? The decision had to be hers.

  Looking at him, she wanted to believe the sincerity she saw in his face. Right now, he didn’t look dangerous. Why, my goodness, she had the same skills he did—and if someone had Earlie…well, wouldn’t she do the same thing? Robbing a bank—what was that compared to losing someone so dear?

  She understood Brett Diamond, but she could not tell him that—not yet, anyway. And, of course, it wasn’t just that she could crack a safe. There were other secrets she could never tell anyone about herself and her sister—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t use her skills and gifts to do whatever she could for Brett and his brother.

  Guilt washed over her.

  Brett was worried, and she had the power to take his anxiety away—but she needed time to think!

  “This gang that’s holding your brother…They won’t—they won’t truly hurt him—will they? I mean,” she rushed on, “if you do your part—”

  “Which, right now, would be impossible—”

  “But—if you could do what they ask, they wouldn’t hurt him…would they?”

  Brett drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “It’s hard to tell. I don’t know what they’ll do. They weren’t happy with my leaving their operation.” He fell silent a moment. “I never dreamed they’d—take him.”

  She hated the defeat she heard in his voice. All of this was her fault, somehow. She’d unintentionally given Earlie the idea she needed to shoot people to keep them away…and Earlie had wounded Brett badly enough to keep him from doing what needed to be done to save his brother.

  Angie could heal him. But the dread of what might follow kept her from dwelling on that thought too long.