Kiss of an Angel

by Janelle Denison

  “Do you believe in fate?” Laura asked, looking deeply into Caitlan’s eyes.

  Caitlan felt cornered and didn’t care for the knowledge in this young girl’s luminous gaze. “Well, yes,” she said slowly, cautiously. Fate was part of her occupation.

  Laura pressed closer. “Do you believe fate can bring two people who belong with each other together?”

  Goosebumps raised on the surface of Caitlan’s flesh. Do you believe fate can bring two people who belong with each other together? Yes, she believed in fate and destiny, but she would know if J.T. was her eternal soulmate. Caitlan frowned. Who was her soulmate? She knew she had one. She was employed as a guardian angel while she waited to be joined with him. But who was he? Fragments, formed in her mind, a shadowy face with rugged features she couldn’t quite identify. Struggling to grasp the recollection, she received a sharp piercing pain to her memory for her efforts. Mentally, she drew back. The gold medallion between her breasts grew warm, then startling hot.

  “Caitlan?”

  Caitlan’s gaze cleared and she stared at Laura, a little rattled by what she’d just experienced. “Can you excuse me for a moment while I make this phone call?”

  “Sure.” Laura hooked her thumb back toward where they’d just come from. “We’ll be in the kitchen when you’re done. Down the hall, the third door on your right.”

  Caitlan forced a smile. “Thanks.” Slipping inside J.T.’s office, Caitlan leaned against the heavy door and let out a deep breath to steady her out-of-control pulse. The heat in the medallion subsided, and the ache in her head slowly faded away.

  Even though Caitlan wasn’t registered as a guest at Parson’s Dude Ranch, she went through the ritual of calling them, without actually dialing the number and connecting, just in case someone was at the door and overheard her. She felt foolish speaking to the dial tone but accomplished the task within a few minutes, then headed for the kitchen.

  The family sat around a massive wooden table ladened with a smorgasbord of aromatic food: chili, cornbread, chicken fried steak, green beans, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob, and biscuits with honey and butter. Long bench seats flanked either side of the table, making dining in the kitchen an informal affair. She noticed Kirk had joined the group, and assumed this was a daily supper ritual.

  “Sit down and help yourself, Caitlan,” Paula said cheerfully, obviously happiest in her element as cook. “Would you like lemonade or iced tea?”

  “Iced tea, please.” Caitlan sat down in the only available spot at the far end of the table, which happened to put her directly across from J.T. He spared her a brief glance, his eyes shadowed and distant, then went back to finishing his bowl of chili. His remoteness didn’t invite casual conversation.

  “What did Parson’s have to say about your escapade?” Frank asked, helping himself to a second serving of chicken fried steak and potatoes.

  Startled for a moment, Caitlan stared at the older man. She felt all eyes on her as she groped for a feasible answer, then an explanation flowed easily into her mind, as if her Superior had anticipated the question.

  She filled her bowl with chili and grabbed a warm biscuit. “They’re relieved I’m okay and that I have a place to stay until the bridge is repaired.” Slathering butter on her biscuit, she reached for the honey jar and drizzled some on top. “Sounds like things are real hectic around there with the bridge out.”

  “I’ll bet” Kirk gave his head a rueful shake. “I wonder how they’re going to transport people and food in and out.”

  Caitlan swallowed a mouthful of the best chili she’d ever tasted. “I don’t know. They didn’t say. The clerk sounded a little frazzled, so I made the conversation as brief as possible.”

  “Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as it takes to repair the bridge,” Paula offered, as if she had complete authority over the Rafferty ranch and its occupants.

  J.T.’s spoon clattered in his empty earthenware bowl. He sent Paula a look of annoyance, his jaw clenched, but the housekeeper, busy taking an apple pie out of the oven, didn’t see it.

  Debbie glanced from her brother to Caitlan, an intuitive smile canting the corner of her mouth. “I’d be more than happy to loan you some clothes, Caitlan. You’re a bit shorter than I am, but I think we can find something that will fit you comfortably.”

  “Thank you,” Caitlan said, overwhelmed by their graciousness. If only her real host would be so congenial and cooperative, her mission would be a breeze.

  J.T. abruptly stood, the legs of his chair scraping on the wooden floor. Eight pairs of eyes darted his way. “Excuse me,” he said, surprised at the gruffness of his own voice. “There’s a few things I need to take care of.” He turned and strode from the kitchen, down the hall, and out the front door.

  Ignoring the chill in the evening air, and the fact that he should have grabbed his jacket, he headed for the barn. He just wanted to get away from Caitlan. She was getting under his skin in a way he couldn’t shrug off, with those violet eyes and that flashing dimple. The feeling irritated the hell out of him, because he’d vowed never to let another woman get that close.

  Unbidden, thoughts of his ex-wife Stacey filtered through his mind, of her unrelenting pursuit of him while he’d been at the No Bull Bar and Grill one evening three years after Amanda’s death. Still grieving over the loss of Amanda, he’d followed Stacey’s come-ons in an attempt to forget memories of another woman. Their affair had been tempestuous and steamy—a calculated ploy on Stacey’s part to land herself a wealthy husband. She got her wish when she turned up pregnant.

  J.T. shoved his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans and scuffed his boots over the gravel walkway, remembering how he’d wanted things to work with Stacey, how he’d hoped she’d be the one to make him forget Amanda. What a fool he’d been. Once married, Stacey had realized her mistake. Although J.T. lived comfortably, he led a simple life that didn’t include fancy clothes and expensive jewels and nights on the town. The novelty of living on a remote ranch and being Mrs. John Rafferty lost its appeal shortly after Laura was born, and from there things only went from had to worse, until Stacey’s indiscreet affairs with the seasonal ranch hands lost their excitement and she left him and two-year-old Laura. He had given her the divorce she wanted with the stipulation that he received full custody of their daughter. The last he’d heard, she’d married a rich oil baron from Texas.

  That had been ten years ago, and since then he’d had a few flings. Hell, he wasn’t a monk, but neither did he want strings or commitments—he was not good with either. The women he’d seen knew the rules, and he always ended the affairs before they got emotionally messy. Like he’d told Caitlan, he didn’t have any use for a wife, except maybe for the physical pleasure and convenience a wife would afford.

  So why, then, did he look into Caitlan’s eyes and feel not just desire but a need that tangled his emotions into one big knot? Emotions he had sworn he wasn’t capable of feeling any longer.

  Lost in his thoughts, a red glow by the corral finally snagged J.T.’s attention—the tip of a burning cigarette. J.T. strained in the darkness to see who it was, and as he walked closer, he recognized the man as his newest hand, Mike.

  “Evening,” J.T. said, nodding his head in the man’s direction.

  Mike muttered something—could’ve been a greeting or a curse, for all J.T. knew—then he flicked his cigarette to the ground and crushed the butt with the toe of his boot. With a dark frown, Mike turned and headed toward the bunkhouse.

  J.T. didn’t know a thing about Mike except that he was a Vietnam veteran. Definitely a loner. No one seemed to like him much, but he worked hard and earned his pay, and that was all J.T. cared about. So far, he hadn’t caused any trouble.

  Entering the barn, J.T. inhaled the sweet scent of fresh hay and the sharp, natural tang of livestock, tack, and ointments. Walking down the wide corridor, he stopped at King’s Ransom’s stall. The prized stallion glared at him with suspicious black eyes,
daring J.T. to enter his pen. King stomped his hoof defiantly and whinnied.

  “King’s Ransom, hell.” J.T. shook his head, regretting his impulse to purchase the animal he’d thought merely spirited, not downright mean. “More like Fool’s Gold, you wretched animal.”

  The pitch-black stallion tossed its glorious head and snorted. The horse was more trouble than he was worth, J.T. thought. No one could even get near the wild beast without the threat of being trampled.

  J.T. didn’t know how long he stayed in the barn. The cold seeped into his bones, stiffening his joints and aggravating his head. Breaking the stare-off with King, J.T. shoved off the stall and headed back inside the house to get some neglected paperwork done, hoping to keep his mind occupied so he wouldn’t think about a certain violet-eyed woman.

  * * *

  Caitlan met J.T. in the foyer just as he stepped inside the house. He saw her and scowled, then shouldered past her without a word. His office door slammed shut a moment later.

  Sighing at J.T.’s bristly attitude, Caitlan decided to take a quick tour of the ranch to familiarize herself with the spread. Donning her jacket, she went outside and followed the gravel walkway leading to the barn. Overhead, a blanket of stars twinkled in the clear sky, and a three-quarter moon illuminated the path.

  Caitlan sensed more than heard Randal behind her. And she knew it was him. An unmistakable sinister aura surrounded him, an evil that alerted her and made her cautious. She kept on walking, and it didn’t take long for Randal to make his presence known.

  “Well ... if it isn’t Ms. Caitlan Daniels,” Randal drawled insolently from behind her. “You managed to con my cousin, but you can’t fool me.”

  Caitlan didn’t relish having a confrontation with Randal, but she knew there’d be no getting around it. Stopping, she turned to face him, and he nearly bumped into her. Glaring at her as if she was to blame for his clumsiness, he straightened.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Randal,” she replied, keeping one eye on the ranch house to be sure no one saw or heard them.

  His eyes glittered savagely. “Don’t play stupid with me! Who the hell are you?”

  She recoiled from the sour odor of onions and liquor on his breath. Although he’d been drinking, he seemed to be in complete control of his senses. “You know who I am.”

  His gaze narrowed. The moonlight highlighted his face, giving his features a diabolic slant. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  She knew what he was asking and chose to avoid the obvious. “You heard what happened.” Her voice was calm and well-modulated. She felt no real fear or threat from him. Yet.

  “Oh, yes,” he said disdainfully. “The story of how you’re a guest at Parson’s and how you just happened to get lost on Rafferty property.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she affected a pose of casualness, refusing to take his bait. “That’s correct.”

  “Funny how Parson’s doesn’t have a Caitlan Daniels registered.”

  “Pardon?” A frisson of panic raced down Caitlan’s spine. How could he have known?

  “I called Parson’s.” A smug smile lifted his mouth and challenge lit his eyes. “They’ve never heard of you.”

  Careful to keep her composure intact while her mind raced with explanations, she replied in a mild tone, “There’s obviously been a mistake.”

  He leaned close, and his noxious breath nearly made her gag. “I don’t think so,” he said in a low, menacing voice. “I’ll ask you again. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  “I think you’re getting a little paranoid, Randal.” She turned to go, but he grabbed her arm, whirling her around.

  “Bitch!” he hissed. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but by the time I’m done with you you’ll be off this ranch and wearing handcuffs for trespassing—”

  “J.T. won’t allow it.” Caitlan knew that even though J.T. had been gruff at times today, he wasn’t a cruel man.

  He gripped her arm tighter, pinching the flesh so fiercely she winced. “We’ll just see what J.T. has to say about your lies,” he sneered, jerking her around and shoving her back toward the house. “He doesn’t take lightly to women lying. All it will take is a phone call to Parson’s to verify who’s telling the truth and who’s an imposter.”

  Chapter Four

  Randal barged into J.T.’s office without knocking and thrust Caitlan into the middle of the room with such force that she stumbled. Catching her balance by grabbing one of the two chairs in front of J.T.’s desk, she shot Randal a vexed look, briefly wondering how she was going to explain herself out of this predicament.

  J.T. glanced up from the open ledger on his desk to the unexpected intrusion, a deep frown pulling at his brows. Casting a sharp glance from Randal to Caitlan, he closed the ledger and pushed it aside. “What’s going on?”

  Taking up guard next to Caitlan, Randal crossed his arms over his chest, a look of belligerence about him. “We have a liar on our hands.”

  “Randal, what the hell are you talking about?” J.T. asked irritably. Standing, he rubbed at the muscles in his neck.

  Randal glanced at Caitlan, a cocksure smile curling his lips. “Would you like to tell him or should I?”

  “It’s your story,” she replied sweetly. “By all means, go right ahead.”

  His eyes darkened to a turbulent shade of brown at the sarcasm threading her words, then he turned to J.T. again. “I called Parson’s to check up on our guest. They’ve never heard of her,” he said, his voice dripping with accusation.

  Something flickered in the depths of J.T.’s eyes, a blending of wariness and his own growing suspicion. “Caitlan?” His tone indicated that he wanted an explanation.

  She shrugged negligently, belying the nervousness settling within her. “I told him they must have made a mistake.”

  Their eyes held for an eternity, his gaze searching and probing for the truth. Finally he released a long breath of air. “She’s probably right, Randal.”

  “She’s a fraud, J.T.!” Randal stepped up to the desk and planted his palms on the surface, leaning across. “She shows up out of nowhere, has free access to the ranch and house, and she isn’t registered at Parson’s. She’s probably a gold digger of some sort, no better than Stacey—”

  A muscle in J.T.’s jaw twitched. “Randal—”

  “I was very thorough when I called Parson’s,” he continued determinedly, “The registration clerk, Jason, assured me that there’s no Caitlan Daniels listed as a guest. If you don’t believe me, then call yourself. Or does she have you too ensnared?” His eyes glinted with challenge. Digging into his jacket pocket, he tossed a piece of paper with a phone number on it to J.T. “Go ahead, and then I’ll be more than happy to call the sheriff to come pick her up.”

  Indecision played across J.T.’s face, and his cousin’s influence won the battle. With a sigh, he reached for the phone.

  Caitlan honestly didn’t expect J.T. to side with her after all the evidence Randal had just given him, but she couldn’t understand why J.T. wasn’t suspicious of Randal’s overzealousness. With a sense of dread, she watched J.T. punch out the phone number for Parson’s, identify himself to the person on the other end of the phone, then ask to speak with Hugh Parson.

  J.T. glanced at Caitlan as he waited on hold for his call to connect to Hugh. She was chewing on her bottom lip, her face shadowed with an emotion similar to worry. This whole confrontation in his office was bizarre—Randal’s fanatical behavior, Caitlan’s sudden anxiousness, and his own need to confirm that Randal was wrong about Caitlan. He didn’t want to think that everything had been a lie with her, a setup of some kind. Dammit, he didn’t want to think she might be as cunning as Stacey.

  “Rafferty, what can I do for you?” boomed the voice of the sixty-four-year-old Hugh Parson. “You callin’ to offer some of that brawn of yours to help repair the bridge?”

  J.T. grinned his fondness for the old family friend. “Sorry, Hugh. I�
��ve got my hands full here at the Circle R.”

  “Yeah, well, those damn county engineers don’t know their heads from a hat rack!” Hugh grumbled. “At the rate they’re going, I’ll be bankrupt before they’re through! Can’t get people in, can’t send them out. Can you believe this has happened? I’d of sworn that bridge was indestructible. It’s been around since your father and I were boys. We watched them build the dangblasted thing!”

  J.T. gave a low whistle. “That long ago, huh? Maybe that’s why it collapsed.”

  “Hey, watch yourself, boy!” Hugh’s gruff retort held only affection. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  J.T. met Caitlan’s gaze, and she offered him a slight smile more tentative than confident. Clearing his throat, he addressed the older man, “I believe I have one of your guests here on my ranch.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes,” J.T. said, uneasy with Hugh’s perplexed tone. “I need to know if you have a Caitlan Daniels registered at the dude ranch.”

  “Caitlan Daniels?” Hugh repeated the name slowly, as if running a mental index on all his customers. “Can’t say the name sounds familiar, but then, I’ve got over fifty people registered right now. Unfortunately, I don’t know everyone by name, but that doesn’t mean she’s not a guest here.”

  “Could you check her out for me?”

  “I could, but the storm did a number on my computers and they’re down,” Hugh said with a regretful sigh. “Don’t know when they’ll be up and runnin’ again. I can check with the guides and see what I come up with.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “I’m sure if she says she’s one of our guests, she is. Where else could she have come from?”

  Exactly, J.T. thought. How many times had he speculated on that very same question?

  “I’m just glad she wasn’t harmed in that nasty storm,” Hugh said, concern evident in his voice.

  “She’s just fine,” J.T. reassured him. “So don’t worry about her.”

  There was a pause on Hugh’s end of the line, then, “If the bridge is out, how the hell did she get on Rafferty property?”