The walk to the barn was too short. Once he had closed the door behind himself, Nathan found himself pacing nervously back and forth from one end of the barn to the other. There were no cows to be milked, no hay to be pitched, no harnesses to be mended. He was tempted to break something just so he would have something to fix.
Nathan didn’t know how he had been caught so off guard. He hadn’t seen it coming. It had been easy to dismiss—of course he cared about Angel. Her memory had been with him, for better or worse, since he was twelve. Seven years ago, she had given him hope. Now, seven years later, she had given him belonging.
All of that and more, he could rationalize and dismiss into the realms of friendship. Wanting to kiss Angel, well, that was a different story. He couldn’t explain that away.
And worse, it had suddenly struck Nathan that he didn’t want Angel to leave.
Nathan exhaled deeply and ran a hand through his hair. He remembered clearly Angel’s response when he had first asked her to stay—she had been terrified, assuming he had been asking something of her she was unwilling to give, even though he had only meant to offer aid. He didn’t want Angel to feel as though he expected something of her in return for what she called his “kindness.”
Nathan had asked Angel to stay purely with the intent of helping her, but he couldn’t deny that the reasons he hoped she would stay had moved beyond a simple desire to return a seven-year-old favor. He felt selfish for hoping she would stay. Angel had told him she wanted to go someplace where no one knew her. What kind of life could she have in this town? Certainly not one of anonymity. And as much as he denied the possibility, part of him wondered what would happen if his father ever returned. Nathan could not ask Angel to care for him. He would not ask her to stay.
When he returned to the cabin, Angel was already in her room, and Nathan was relieved that he wouldn’t need to explain, at least immediately, his sudden exit to Angel. Still, his relief didn’t last long, and he found himself lying in bed fully clothed, hands behind his head, listening to the howling wind of the growing storm outside and staring at the ceiling late into the night.
***
This time, the storm lasted upwards of three days. The icy winds packed the swirling snow into drifts, and by the second day, Nathan knew that even if the storm stopped before the train was scheduled to arrive, he and Angel wouldn’t be able to make it into town.
Nathan’s sense of relief was tempered by the guilt he felt over his relief; that same guilt was tempered by the lack of concern Angel had shown when Nathan had informed her that they were, once again, stranded by the snow. If anything, Angel had seemed relieved as well.
Nathan thought of the words Angel had spoken when he had first offered her a place to stay: “When you wake up tomorrow morning, will you wish you could pretend today was only a dream, or will you want to believe it was real?”
The words had seemed strange to Nathan when Angel had first spoken them, but now they seemed to fit better than any other words Nathan could think of. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he and Angel were living inside an illusion of peace and safety that might come crashing down at any moment. And Nathan had not yet decided whether, when reality forced its way into their small piece of the world, he would turn away and let his and Angel’s time fade like the dream he knew it was or fight to hold on to the reality they had created for themselves.
***
For the first time since she had arrived at the cabin, Angel woke before Nathan.
Up until now, she had only occasionally felt faint flutters of movement. At first the flutters had terrified her, an additional confirmation of the thing she already knew. Gradually, she had grown accustomed to the tiny movements, and eventually, she had begun to welcome them, learning their patterns—how they always grew more frequent after Angel had eaten a meal or when she lay down to sleep at night. But this was the first time the movements had progressed to anything beyond a flutter, even waking Angel from her sleep, and she felt a smile cross her face as she looked at the place where her hand lay.
She had opened the door from her room, expecting from the silence in the other room that Nathan had already begun taking care of the chores in the barn, and found Nathan breathing deeply, still asleep in his bed. At the sound of the opening door, Nathan stirred, stretching as he woke. When he realized Angel was in the room, he sat up with a start.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
“I am fine, but I could ask you the same,” Angel answered. “You are usually up long before I am.”
Nathan shook his head slowly, propping himself up with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other.
“I’m fine. I—what?”
His hair was sticking out on the side, and the corner of Angel’s mouth turned upward.
“It’s nothing,” Angel answered, still smiling, then turned the conversation. “I know it’s early, but I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“What’s that?”
Angel crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed and faced Nathan, then as an expression of supreme discomfort crossed his face, Angel stood again. She stood uncertainly, fidgeting with her hands, and even though she recognized it and hated it and fought it, her shoulders tensed and hunched protectively forward. “I’m sorry.”
Nathan shook his head, motioning for her to sit again. “Nah, it’s fine. Please sit. I don’t mind. It’s just you caught me off guard. Sometimes I forget you grew up where that sort of familiarity doesn’t mean anything.”
Angel felt her face tighten and her cheeks redden. Even though she knew Nathan hadn’t intended his words to be insulting, she was not sure that wasn’t exactly what they had been. His words punctured the confidence that had bubbled inside her, and fear began to creep into her chest, displacing the calm she had felt. Sternly, she pushed the creeping iciness into the smallest corner and, breathing deeply, pulled a chair from the table to sit beside the bed, trying to convince herself again that talking to Nathan—telling him of her pregnancy—was the right decision.
She looked up at Nathan, who was watching her curiously, then back at her stomach as she felt the baby kick again. A warm feeling crept over her, and in an instant, her decision was made. This was a secret she could keep no longer.
Angel took a deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Nathan must have felt her nervousness, because he seemed to grow more guarded, leaning back slightly. Angel’s heart started pounding in her chest, and the comfortable warmth left her body. She grew cold. Her teeth clenched so tightly against the shivers that had suddenly seized her entire body she could hardly speak, but she forced the words out. Nathan had moved toward her as she started shaking, but she shook her head without looking at him and he sat back.
“The morning . . . the morning I was attacked . . . there’s more. And I knew—I’ve known for a long time, but at first there was no reason to tell you, and then when there was I was afraid to tell you. I didn’t know how, and I’m sorry . . .”
Nathan looked so uneasy at this point that Angel nearly couldn’t finish, but she forced the last words out in a whisper. “I’m pregnant.”
Then she buried her face in her hands.
Nathan’s mouth opened slightly, and he shook his head. He looked away, then back at Angel as though to convince himself he had heard correctly, then away again.
“Pregnant?” he asked. Angel nodded a confirmation.
Nathan leaned back, closing his eyes and running a hand through his hair. “Oh, this is not good.”
And though she understood Nathan’s words could have sprung from a multitude of places, they stung a piece of Angel she hadn’t even known existed. Unwelcome tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked violently against them.
“Not good?” Angel asked, her voice cracking. “Not good for who? Me? Or you?”
“Not good for anyone. You know what everyone will think. You know you won’t be able to stay once people find out.”
/> Struck, Angel sat back in her chair, the shock of the hurt driving tears from her eyes, but only momentarily. Tears slid down her face as she whispered, “That is why I was leaving—why I wanted to go somewhere no one knew me. But I had started to hope I wouldn’t have to.”
For a moment, Nathan looked as though he was going to come to her, but then he shook his head and threw the covers back, standing abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I can’t talk about this right now. I’ll be back.”
He pulled on his boots and coat, hat and gloves while Angel watched in silence. About to open the door, Nathan paused, looking back at Angel. She thought he must have seen the reflection of her broken heart in her eyes, because his face grew pinched and he spoke haltingly, “Please . . . don’t . . . don’t take me leaving as me being angry with you. I just . . . I need to get some air. I need to think.”
He opened the door and stepped out before he could see Angel’s reaction. His boots crunched as he stepped out into the snow—a testament to the frigid air outside—and the cold draft from the open door struck Angel. It didn’t matter. Her body already felt like ice.
***
Nathan strode through the white snow, ignoring the bite of the freezing air on his cheeks. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed to be away from that cabin. He didn’t know what he was thinking. Well, that was not true. He had been thinking of Angel and little else the past few days. What he didn’t know was how he had let himself come to think of her in that way.
They had spent the past few days snowed in, with Nathan leaving only to take care of the barn chores each morning and evening. Those few days had been filled with laughter and warm firelight. Angel had taught him to play checkers—a game he had never had much use for up until now. Nathan had watched her—she had almost glowed in the firelight—and a few times she had caught his eye and smiled shyly back at his sheepish grin.
The memory caught in his chest and he halted his steps, looking around himself for the first time. He had walked farther than he had intended. Nathan let out a soft growl of frustration, then turned and began the long walk home. As he walked, this time with greater and greater purpose, the thoughts that had been swirling in his mind became more and more solid.
Whatever else happened, he knew he didn’t want Angel to leave. He cared for her, cared for her in a way he knew was more than friendship or gratitude. He had felt those things—and still felt them—for Angel. But this, even though it had crept up on Nathan so subtly he hadn’t noticed until it was fully upon him, this was different.
He cared for Angel, and he would tell her he cared. He would make her understand that he didn’t expect anything—that she was free to go or stay no matter what, but he had made his decision. It was time to give Angel the chance to make hers.
***
Something about the approaching crunch of boots on snow was wrong, but Angel was too relieved by the sound of Nathan’s approach to pay it any mind. It felt like hours that he had been gone. She used a rag to finish drying the dish she was holding and wiped her hands on her skirt, turning as the door creaked open. “Nathan—” she began, then froze.
There were three men standing in the doorway. The first was obviously the leader; the two in the rear looked to him as they saw Angel standing in the room.
The leader said, “Where is Nathan?”
Nathan was out getting some air, whatever that meant. He had already been gone longer than Angel had expected. Angel spoke carefully, deliberately vague. As she spoke, she moved so that the table was fully between herself and the men. “I’m not sure. Nearby. Can I help you?”
The men grinned at each other knowingly.
The leader turned his smile to Angel. “Well, now, I think you can. The boys and me”—he gestured toward the two men at his sides—“were hoping you could do for us some of what you’ve been doing for our friend Nathan.”
Angel kept her face neutral as she replied, “You mean milking cows and mending buttons? Because if so, I would love to help, but I’m sorry—I have more than enough work to keep me busy.”
The grins faded off the faces of the men in the rear, and they looked uncertainly toward their leader for direction. He smiled. His lip curled, and his nostrils flared slightly. “Oh, I don’t think that’s all you’ve been doing.”
Fear crept up Angel’s spine and into the base of her skull, emptying it of all thought but defending herself. Lie, screamed the voice in the back of her head. So she lied as she cast her eyes frantically around the small room, searching for something, anything to protect herself.
“Nathan will be here soon,” Angel said, her voice a half step higher than normal.
“I don’t think so.” As one, they moved a step closer.
“He was just out in the barn.”
“We didn’t see him there.”
They came closer.
Angel’s thoughts were flying so fast she could barely latch on to any of them—her mind processing every detail around her, trying to find some way to stop what was coming. Her ears rang with the sound of blood pounding in her ears. She must have been breathing, but she could no longer feel the air in her chest.
And still they came closer.
Angel backed away, and as she did so, her foot caught on the chair she had pulled next to Nathan’s bed that morning, sending her falling heavily to the floor. She cried out, raising a hand to her abdomen and lowering her head. Taking Angel’s gesture as one of submission, the leader smiled. As he faced her across the table and the two men flanked her on either side, a tiny movement caught Angel’s eye, and she looked past them to see Nathan standing in the open doorway, his eyes icier than the freezing air that swirled into the cabin.
“Nathan,” she whispered. The sound barely made it past her lips. Maybe she hadn’t been breathing after all—she barely had air to speak.
“I don’t think so,” the leader said, reaching for her.
He froze as a shotgun cocked behind him.
“I would believe her, if I were you.” Nathan’s voice drifted through the entrance.
As one, the three men slowly turned to face Nathan. The two on the sides raised their hands, palms facing outward.
“We don’t want no trouble—” one of them said but was cut off abruptly as the barrel of the shotgun moved slightly in his direction.
“No trouble? Is that what you call this? Trespassing. Threatening a lady—”
“She ain’t a lady, she’s a whore—” the leader interrupted, then fell silent as the barrel of the shotgun turned back toward him.
“I’d be careful what you say right about now,” Nathan said softly. He caught Angel’s eyes and jerked his head to the side, motioning her to move out from behind the table. She did as he asked, slowly edging toward the side of the room. As she did so, Nathan moved to position himself between her and the three men, never taking his attention off them. When he was fully between Angel and the men, he said again, “Get out.”
The men backed toward the open door. The leader paused as he stood in the door frame, lips parted as though he was going to say something, then reconsidered as he eyed the gun aimed in his direction. Instead, he met Angel’s eyes one last time and then let his eyes wander deliberately downward from there.
“Ray,” Nathan said, “you’re forgetting who I am.”
The smirk on Ray’s face wavered. He recovered quickly, and the sneer settled back on his lips. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
But Ray had faltered, and even with his forced bravado, Angel could see that he knew he had lost this battle, even before Nathan replied.
“It means that if you ever come back, if you ever hurt her, if you ever even speak to her again . . . if you ever give me a reason, there won’t be anywhere you can go to hide, and I won’t think twice before pulling this trigger. I am my father’s son. This is your last warning. Get out now.”
Nathan’s finger tightened almost imperceptibly on the trigger. Ray, suddenly paler, li
cked his lips and backed out the door. He shot one last look back at Angel, and then he was gone.
Nathan walked to the door and raised a hand to push it closed, but something seemed to catch his attention and make him pause in his movement. He hesitated only a moment before closing the door, but in that brief moment, Angel saw him begin to raise the gun before shaking his head and lowering it again.
The motion sent a chill down Angel’s back as she recognized what she had just seen for the internal struggle it was. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought Nathan had only barely restrained himself from firing after the backs of the men who had come to the cabin.
Then the door closed, and the embers of the fire flickered in the fireplace, again warming the room, and the only sound was that of Nathan setting the gun down by the door and striding across the floor to Angel. For once, he didn’t hesitate to touch her, and Angel didn’t hesitate to let him as he took her in his arms and held her while she sobbed.
After Angel’s breathing had steadied, Nathan led her over to the fireplace and began stirring the fire, then pulled a chair over for Angel to sit. Angel sat, face in hands, as Nathan added one log and then another to the fire.
With an abrupt movement, Angel looked up from her hands. “What is wrong with me?” Her voice cracked as she spoke. She shuddered violently, cold, even though she was sitting next to a blazing fire.
“Angel—” Nathan said, but Angel cut him off as he tried to comfort her.
“Don’t say that.”
“What?” Nathan asked her, bewildered.
“Stop saying my name. I hate my name,” Angel said bitterly.
Nathan paused, and Angel thought he would reach across to her. She braced herself, unconsciously clenching her hands and drawing them closer to her body, then attempted to mask the motion by holding a hand to her abdomen as the muscles in her back tightened. Nathan, however, did not try take her hand. Instead he spoke quietly.
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