When the Halo Falls, a heavenly romance

by Maureen Child

  The door swung open and slammed into the wall opposite with a crash. Sam muttered a curse and swung around to face whatever was coming, planting himself firmly between Lily and any threat.

  Davey stood in the doorway, hands on his knees, chest heaving. He fought for breath, flipped his hair back out of his eyes, stared at the two of them and blurted out, “Sheriff! You gotta come. The saloon. Texas Jack's gonna kill Brady!"

  #

  Joe reached for the shotgun kept beneath the bar.

  "Don't do it," Texas Jack ordered, his voice a whip slicing through the room. The bartender froze, his worried gaze flicking to Brady where he stood at the end of the bar.

  "Back off, Joe," Brady muttered.

  "Boss?"

  "Step away," he said, pushing away from the bar to face the gunman standing across the room from him.

  Brady stared at his opponent and felt the past reach forward to grab him. He'd thought these standoffs were behind him. He'd thought that here, in Fortune, he could have a different life. Then, when Patience showed up, he'd actually thought he might have a real life.

  But she was gone from him now, melting away as surely as the snows and damned if his past hadn't reared up to get him. Hell, he thought, staring into the flat, black gaze of the man watching him, maybe this was how it should be. Maybe he could do the world a favor by taking Jack out of it — and at the same time, leave it himself. In the space of a heartbeat or two, Texas Jack could do Brady a good turn.

  He could kill him.

  Because God knew, that was the only way he'd ever find Patience — or peace — again. Dying was the one chance he had of being with her.

  Chair legs scraped against the floor. Men scattered, ducking for cover. But none of them left, preferring to risk danger rather than miss the coming battle.

  "You've been avoiding me," Jack said, flipping the right-hand side of his jacket behind his back with a practiced sweep of his hand.

  "I've been right here." Brady actually chuckled. He'd had almost no sleep all week and his eyes felt gritty, but he could still see the humor in the situation. Every young gunman he'd ever met was convinced of his own superiority. And every damn one of them ended up the same way. Six feet under.

  Thoughts, memories, pieces of his past, rushed through his mind, flashing briefly, then disappearing back into the mists. Until finally, his brain settled on one thought.

  Davey.

  The kid had been stuck like a burr to Brady's leg all week. And he now gave silent thanks that the boy had picked today to be somewhere else. A flicker of worry spit through his veins as he wondered what would happen to the boy when he was gone. A pang of regret echoed inside him at the notion of not being around to ease the boy into manhood. But an instant later, he told himself that Sam would look out for him. And Lily would give the child the kind of motherly love Patience would have if given the chance.

  "You gonna stand there forever just daydreamin'?" Jack taunted. "Or are we gonna do this?"

  "Don't be in such a hurry to die, boy," Brady said and even his voice sounded tired.

  "What makes you so sure I'm the one who's gonna die?"

  "What makes you so sure you won't be?"

  Jack snorted a laugh. "You were good once, Shaw. But you've been out of the game too long."

  "It's not a game, fool," he snapped, then reminded himself that you couldn't tell a man something he had to discover for himself.

  Shaking his head, he stepped out into the center of the room, pushed the right-hand side of his jacket free of the holster tied to his hip, and planted his feet in a wide stance. Instinct took over and everything else within him went still and silent.

  Heartbeats of time passed.

  A fly buzzed.

  Someone coughed.

  Then the world erupted in a flurry of smoke, the smell of gunpowder, and the flash of light blasting from the barrels of two pistols.

  And everything stopped.

  As if from a distance, Brady watched the scene play out. He could actually see two bullets pass each other in the air. His flew at Texas Jack and, on impact, slammed the gunman back against the wall as a brilliant red flower of blood blossomed on the man's starched white shirt.

  But Jack's bullet had yet to hit. Brady stood his ground, watching it come. Knowing it had been aimed well and his life was almost over. From far away, he heard Davey shout, "Brady!"

  Regret shot through him for chances missed and love lost. He thought about the boy and Sam and Lily, but mostly, his mind locked onto the image of Patience. In an instant, he'd be with her again. He'd be able to touch her, hold her. And this time, it would be for eternity. With her face before him, he watched the bullet stop directly in front of him. Before he understood what was happening, the damn thing made a sharp right turn, avoiding him completely, and crashed harmlessly into the plank wall.

  Patience. He staggered back as if the bullet had actually hit him. She'd saved him. Somehow, some way, she'd reached out from wherever she was to keep him safe.

  "Damn it, no," he murmured, wrapped in the pain he'd hoped would end.

  And time started up again. A roar of sound hit him as voices and shouts echoed in and around him. He felt Davey when the boy's small body slammed into his. Absently, he hugged him, holding him tight until the boy's trembling eased. Then he looked down into tear-streaked features.

  "I thought he was gonna kill you," the boy managed to say, though his lips curled and shook.

  "I'm all right, Davey," he said, though inside, he felt far from all right. He'd wanted to be with Patience, but he had to accept that saving his life was her final gift to him.

  And there had been a lot of gifts. Brady stood up and looked around the saloon at his friends and neighbors. Not one of them remembered Patience, but evidence of her presence was everywhere he looked. In the love Sam and Lily had found together against all odds. In Davey's features and trusting eyes. Hell, Brady thought, in his own heart, there was proof of Patience's existence. He'd been no better off than Davey.

  But because of her, Brady knew, really knew, that love changes everything. He ruffled the kid's hair and added, "I want you to stay here and wait for me, you hear?”

  He nodded, wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, and asked, "Where you goin'?"

  Brady lifted his gaze to stare across the room at the slice of daylight above the double swinging doors. "There's somebody I have to talk to." Then he looked down at the frightened boy again. "But I'll be back. I promise."

  "Yessir," Davey said and reluctantly let him go.

  With one last glance at him, Brady stepped around Davey and walked toward the door. He brushed past the well-wishers, left Sam and Lily staring after him as he quickened his strides.

  Jumping off the boardwalk into the street, he silently challenged the dray wagons and the cowboys to run him down. But they went around him, or pulled up short, apparently unwilling to smash a fool into the dirt.

  Brady hardly noticed. He stared at the church at the end of Main Street and headed right for it. His long legs ate up the distance quickly. His heart pounded, blood pumped through his body, and with every heartbeat, his fury strengthened.

  He took the five steps leading up to the double doors in two strides, grabbed one of the brass latches and threw the door open, letting it swing slowly shut behind him. His bootheels clattered loudly against the polished wood floor, but he didn’t even hear it. His gaze locked on the simple cross jutting up from the pulpit, he kept walking until he came to a stop right in front of it.

  "You want to punish me?" he shouted, stabbing his index finger at the cross. “Then do it quick. Just kill me and get it over with."

  Nothing. No voice from the sky. No sensation of having been heard. But then, he really hadn't expected anything. All he wanted was a chance to speak his mind to a God who clearly didn't give a damn about him.

  "You know," he said, shifting his gaze now to the beamed ceiling and what lay beyond. "You talk a good game. You've got Your
preachers out, singing Your praises. Getting folks to bow and scrape. But what do You do for us?" He shook his head and a strangled laugh escaped his throat. "Hell, I just killed a man and You didn't even send me to hell."

  Silence mocked him.

  He kicked at the front pew and felt the solid smack of pain jolt all the way up his leg. Gritting his teeth, he reached up, tore off his hat and flung it into the shadowy corner. Tears stung the backs of his eyes, but he hadn't cried since that night on the riverboat what seemed a lifetime ago and he wasn't about to start now.

  "You lied." he said. "All of Your preachers claim that You think love is the greatest thing in the world. Well, I had love. For the first time in my whole damn, miserable life. I had love. And You took it!”

  Patience's features rose up in his mind and pain squeezed his insides until he nearly crumpled under the staggering weight of it. Reaching out blindly, he grabbed hold of the back of a pew and dug his fingers into the old, scarred wood.

  "You snatched her away from me. Away from us." A choked-off laugh shot from his throat as he muttered, "'Suffer the little children —‘" He paused and gave the ceiling a withering stare. "You said that, didn't You? You care so much about children? What about Davey? What about taking away that kid's best chance at a mother?"

  A whisper of sound pulsed briefly in the air around him and he half expected to be sizzled by a lightning bolt. But he was just too damn sick of it all to care.

  His fingers tightened on the wooden pew until he wouldn't have been surprised to feel the wood snap in his grip.

  "I want her back, You hear me?" he said, his voice harsh, scraping across his throat like shards of broken glass. "She belongs here with me. She loves me, damn it. And I love her." The words seemed to throb in the air around him. Just saying them aloud nearly did him in. Love. He'd found love when he'd given up hope. Found a life when he'd thought his was over. Found happiness when he'd thought that people like him weren't allowed such things.

  And now it was all gone.

  "Damn it!" he shouted, raising one fist and shaking it at the ceiling. "You broke Your word. You're the one who said marriage was a sacred thing. Well, Patience and me, we made a vow. Here. In Your house."

  Thunder rumbled.

  The little church trembled.

  Brady didn't care.

  "You don't scare me," he said, letting his hands fall to his sides. "You've already done your worst to me. You've taken Patience."

  A sudden, howling wind screamed around the church like lost souls mourning the loss of heaven and Brady wanted to scream along with it. Instead, though, he shot one last look at the ceiling and in a flat, toneless voice, he said, "Yeah. You took her. But You can't take her out of my heart. That's something she gave me. Try as You might, there's some things even You can't do. That memory is mine. That love is mine." Brady blew out a breath. "You and me are through. I want nothing from You. And I'll be damned before I'll ever set foot in one of Your houses again."

  He crossed the floor, bent down and scooped up his hat. Curling up the brim in one tight fist, he said, "Patience may be one of Your angels. But she's my wife. And damn it, my claim is stronger than Yours."

  Above him, the ceiling creaked and groaned. The walls swayed in the harsh, unforgiving wind, and the stained-glass windows shivered.

  And suddenly, everything went still.

  A chill snaked along his spine.

  Air left his lungs.

  His vision blurred.

  From directly behind him came the nearly musical clink of something small and metal falling, hitting the floor. A tiny golden ring rolled along the glistening wooden planks and landed beside his right foot.

  He bent to pick it up, cradling it in the center of his palm. "Patience?"

  "I'm here," she said softly.

  He whirled around and nearly staggered. There she stood. Beautiful. Alive. Staring at him with wide-eyed wonder.

  "You 're back."

  "I'm back," she agreed, looking at him as though she could never see enough of him. He looked tired, as though he hadn't slept in days. A week's worth of whisker stubble scarred his cheeks and his eyes held the echo of a pain she understood all too well. But despite everything, she thought, he looked wonderful to her.

  She laughed then and the rippling joy in it sliced through him, carving away the darkness, splintering the shadowy depths within. He grabbed her, pulling her close, holding her tightly enough that if anyone tried to take her from him again, they'd have to take him as well.

  "How?" he asked, running his hands up and down her back, caressing, stroking, assuring himself that she was real and his life was once more his own.

  "He heard you," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him as tightly as he did her. "You did it, Brady. You convinced Him that our love was too precious to be denied."

  He moved his hands to cup her face, looking into her eyes and shaking his head. "I thought He was going to fry me with a lightning bolt."

  She covered his hands with hers, turning her face to kiss his palm. "Maybe that was what persuaded Him. You risked His wrath. Risked your soul. For me. For love."

  He bent his head until his forehead rested against hers and silently thanked the God he'd been cursing only moments before. "I would risk anything for you, Patience," he said, his whispered words a vow. "Heaven or hell. I love you more than my life."

  A single tear rolled down her cheek and he shook his head.

  "No tears tonight," he told her. "Only smiles. And laughter. And loving."

  "Yes, Brady."

  Then it was his turn to laugh. Throwing his head back, he let the pure joy inside him rush into the stillness.

  "What's so funny?" she asked, just a little defensively.

  Still chuckling, he told her. "I figure that's probably the last time in my life I ever hear you say 'yes, Brady' so easily.”

  One corner of her mouth tilted into a reluctant smile.

  "And that's just the way I want it," he said, looking into her eyes, willing her to see the depths of his love for her. Wanting her to know what having her in his life really meant to him.

  "I do love you so," she said softly.

  "And I you," Brady said, taking her left hand gently in his.

  She looked up at him, heart in her eyes as he slowly slipped that tiny halo back onto her ring finger. Where it belonged. Then curling his hand over hers, he kissed that ring where it lay and made his vow one more time.

  "I will love you forever," he said.

  "And beyond," she added, lifting her face for a kiss that would seal their marriage and begin their life together.

  EPILOGUE

  THREE YEARS LATER

  "Patience," Brady said, mentally counting to ten. He made it to five and gave up. "Your daughter got into the paint again."

  He clutched his two-year-old daughter's bright blue hand and still managed to keep her at a distance from his freshly pressed pants.

  "Isn’t it wonderful?" Patience asked. "I just know she's going to be a great artist one day."

  "Uh-huh," Brady said, giving little Sarah a rueful glance as she wiped her free hand on his pants leg. "Either that or a vandal."

  But as he watched the tiny girl, she gave him that smile of hers and his insides melted into the gooey mess they'd been since the moment of her birth.

  Amazing, really, he told himself as his gaze shifted to Patience, cuddling their infant son. He never would have believed that he could be so happy. It was as if he, too, had come to life on that dark night in the church when her halo had dropped at his feet.

  "What are you thinking?" Patience asked, a slow smile curving her mouth as she walked to the edge of the boardwalk.

  "Just that I'm a lucky man."

  "I do love you so, Brady." She reached out and cupped his cheek in her palm and it was all Brady could do to keep from grabbing her up and carrying her off to their rooms above the saloon-turnedrestaurant. But he could wait, he told himself. When all three kids
were asleep, the night would belong to him and Patience.

  And he would take the time to show her just how much he treasured her. Then smiling to himself, he acknowledged that if they kept this up, they'd have to add on rooms for all the children headed their way. Strange, he hadn't once regretted not building that house out on the knoll. The minute he'd found Patience, he'd realized that the only home he'd ever need was in her heart.

  "Brady?"

  "Hmm?"

  "Didn't you talk to your son about racing that mare of his?"

  "I did." And it hadn't been easy. The kid had led such a hard life up until three years ago that Brady tended to bend over backward to make that up to him. Still, as his father, he'd had to put his foot down. "I told Davey just yesterday — no more racing. He nearly broke his neck last week."

  "Oh dear."

  Brady followed her gaze and shook his head. Apparently, it was time for another talk. "Be careful," he shouted.

  "I must have help," Ezekial told his superiors. "Davey Shaw is wearing me out. No guardian angel should have to work this hard."

  "He's a thirteen-year-old boy," a stern voice reminded him. "You have nearly two hundred years on him."

  "And it isn't enough," Ezekial murmured, shifting his gaze to follow his charge as the boy ran for the livery stable. "Now look. He's going riding again. If it wasn't for my diligence, he would have fallen from the horse when he jumped that ravine last week."

  "That's your job," another voice intoned.

  "Yes, but —“ It was no use and he knew it. Ezekial would spend the rest of Davey Shaw's life riding herd on him. No easy task. But, he told himself, at least he was a good-hearted — if too adventurous — youngster. It might have been worse, Ezekial reminded himself. He could have been put in charge of Sam and Lily's little boy. The child was a ring-tailed terror, into everything and absolutely fearless. Or, Ezekial thought, he might have been assigned to one of Patience and Brady Shaw's other children.

  He shuddered at the thought. Already, the twoyear-old Sarah was more of a handful than Davey had ever been. And six-month-old Andrew looked to be the kind of spirited child who would run any guardian angel into the ground.