Mountain Angel Read online

  “Of course I won’t scream.” Angel read the silent criticism in his gaze. “I can’t believe you’re up and about in one piece.”

  She eyed his left arm and saw it was bandaged so he could use it again. He released a low chuckle as he read her thoughts.

  “It was necessary to sneak out a little earlier than you two ladies planned.”

  “But Lily — “

  “Oh, Lil knew what I had to do. She didn’t like it much, but her line of business calls for common sense. After I proved to her I was fine without the damned laudanum, she agreed to let me out of that fancy hospital of hers.”

  Angel’s temper flared. “You deceived me. You let me think you were fighting gangrene and fever, and I made a fool out of myself over you.”

  “Oh, the fever was real enough, sweetheart. But for your benefit, I’ll repeat myself. I had to fake a more serious injury in order to draw out my enemies. They wouldn’t have moved so openly if they thought I still could hold a gun. By the way, rouge looks better in the pot than on your face. You look like a cheap dance-hall girl.”

  “You ought to know,” Angel muttered.

  “What kind of fool game are you playing with Garrett?”

  “No game, a plan. I wanted Garrett to fall for my act.”

  “Why?”

  She was silent for a moment, and then countered with a question of her own.

  “Holt, why did you trust Lily, and not me?”

  He didn’t seem to hear the genuine hurt and quiet bewilderment in her voice. “Believe me, it was safer this way for everyone concerned. As soon as I find out for sure who’s behind all this, I can show my hand. But right now I need to lay low.”

  Angel was silent, drinking in his nearness and his strength. It hurt more than it should, knowing Holt had taken Lily into his confidence and not her. Of course, she was glad he wasn’t seriously injured, but the fact he had deceived her in the first place stung.

  “Speaking of laying low, you sure risked a lot tonight. Just what were you hoping to prove?”

  The disapproval in Holt’s tone pushed Angel to the edge. She raised her chin defiantly. “Nothing. I wanted to get a confession from Garrett. Holt, someone burned the cabin to the ground.”

  “I know,” he cut in. “Lil told me.”

  Lily again. Was that all she would ever hear?

  With an exasperated noise, Angel snapped, “Is there anything she hasn’t told you yet?”

  “Only what you’re doing here and why you’re dressed like that.”

  “Lily doesn’t know. I filched a dress and did it all myself.” Angel saw his lopsided grin half hidden in the shadows. Holt’s smirk was too much. “It seemed the most expedient way to get the sheriff to admit he burned our cabin.”

  “Expedient?” Holt laughed as he looked at her incredulously. “Sweetheart, only you would describe luring a corrupt lawman to your bed as ‘expedient’.”

  His mocking laughter didn’t go over well. “I didn’t plan to go to bed with him,” she said. “It was only a ploy to loosen him up and — then — uhm —”

  “Yes?” Holt quirked an eyebrow.

  “Well, I would have figured out something.”

  Angel’s hurt pride was lost on Holt. “It’s the thought that counts, I suppose. I know you must be upset over losing the cabin and that oh-so-special carving of yours.”

  “Upset? I suppose Lily told you that, too.” Angel sniffed. “Luckily, when I packed my bags to come stay in town, I took the statue, too. I told you I take it everywhere with me.”

  “Wonderful. I look forward to seeing that eyesore again on my mantel someday.”

  Angel bristled at his sarcasm. He didn’t deserve to know the real story behind the carving. Let him know how it felt to come in second in someone’s heart. “I’m your wife, but you don’t trust me half as much as you trust that ‘singer.’”

  “I happen to have known that ‘singer’ for a decade now, while you, sweet Angel, I’ve known far less than a month. Who do you think I should trust?” The corners of his eyes crinkled in a wry smile and Angel had to admit defeat. He had a point. She couldn’t stay angry at Holt, not when she was relieved he was alive.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “We’re going to Denver tonight.”

  “Denver? Why on earth?”

  “Two reasons. One, to secure my rights to the mine. I need everything spelled out in black and white in order to make sure there are no legal loopholes.” Holt hesitated, then looked at her with steady gray eyes. “Two, I’m sending you home.”

  HOME. THERE WAS NO home but with Holt now. Angel started to speak, but he cautioned her to silence when a sudden burst of noise erupted from the saloon behind them.

  “Bar fight,” Holt said succinctly, looking regretful to be missing out on the fun. But he took Angel by the arm and steered her ahead of him. “There’s a stagecoach waiting at the end of the alley. Get in and wait for me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to the saloon for a minute. I need to tie up some loose ends.”

  Lily again. Angel felt the bitter bile of jealousy rising in her throat but swallowed it down. “What about Neal?”

  “What about him?” Holt was exasperated. “We don’t need his permission to come and go.” He gave her a push in the direction of the street. “Go quickly and don’t stop for anything. Dressed like this you’re a natural target.”

  Angel reluctantly obeyed. When Holt had disappeared behind her she paused on the street corner and glanced around warily. The streets were empty and the parsonage was only a block or two away. What would it hurt to go and get decent clothes? She couldn’t go to Denver dressed like this.

  With a self-righteous nod, Angel hurried past the waiting stagecoach and down the boardwalk. She felt the cold keenly through the thin taffeta of the saloon gown and clutched at the tiny wisps that served as shoulder straps to keep the bodice from shifting and fully exposing her charms. She was halfway there when she heard a hoarse male shout behind her. Oh, Lord, don’t let it be Sheriff Garrett.

  Angel quickened her pace, but the rapid patter of hoof-beats gained on her as she fled into the dark.

  “Hey, you there, Angel.”

  Angel lapsed into a run along the boardwalk, paced by the ugly roan Garrett rode. He tossed out an ominous threat about what he would do when he caught her, and Angel knew she had to stay off the road. Her heart pounding and her breath coming in gasps, Angel almost wept with relief when she reached the church.

  She threw herself at the door and tugged. To her shock and horror she found it locked. Behind her, Garrett snarled a particularly colorful oath and dismounted from his horse. Luckily for Angel, he was so drunk it gave her the precious seconds needed to bolt around the rear of the building to the window of Neal’s room.

  Her urgent banging on the window and Garrett’s growing bellows brought a light on in the rectory.

  “Hurry, oh, please hurry,” Angel whispered, trying to melt into the shadows when the sheriff lurched around the corner. At last she heard the door on the street side opening.

  “Neal,” Angel cried, taking the risk she would be caught when Garrett turned and lunged in her direction.

  Further cries were cut off as the sheriff caught her and yanked her into his arms. “Like to play games, huh, Angel?” he snarled, squeezing her so tightly she feared she would faint.

  A flare of light fell over them. “Unhand the lady, Sheriff,” Neal said.

  Angel saw a lantern bobbing in Neal’s left hand, a gun in his right. So did Red Garrett.

  With a lopsided smile, the lawman asked, “Now, why you wanna stir up trouble, Preacher man? This ain’t none of your business, so why don’t you crawl back in your hidey-hole, pin on your collar, and pretend you don’t hear nothin’?”

  “Because you are on church property, sir, and therefore it is my business. The young lady is requesting asylum. By God’s Law, I must give it to her.”

  “God’s Law, h
ell. I’m the only law here,” Garrett snarled, thrusting Angel aside to confront Neal instead. “You high-and-mighty Murphys forget your place now and then, but I’m sure as shootin’ gonna remind you now, boy. Put down that piece a’fore I have you arrested for tamperin’ with justice.”

  “Justice? I don’t see how molesting this young woman is contributing to the safety of Oro.”

  “Young woman, my eye. She’s a whore who deserves whatever she gets.”

  If Neal was wondering why Angel was dressed like a saloon girl, he gave no indication. He merely inclined his head toward Garrett.

  “It’s your choice, sheriff. Either you let the girl come safely into my custody or I will be forced to take dire action against you.”

  Garrett snorted in disbelief. “You’d never shoot.”

  “Perhaps not, but I have no qualms about discussing this matter with Mrs. Garrett.”

  At the mention of his wife something miraculous happened to Garrett. He whitened and then purpled with outrage, opened his beefy jowls to say something else, and then apparently thought better of it. His jaw snapped shut.

  “I wonder if Justine will be as understanding of your plight as I am,” Neal mused.

  “Damn you, preacher.” Garrett spoke through clenched teeth. “If you wasn’t wearin’ a collar, I’d —”

  Neal smiled pleasantly.”Good night, Sheriff. Give my regards to Mrs. Garrett, won’t you?”

  After Garrett stomped off, muttering, Angel caught her breath and rushed toward Neal. She was surprised at the cool head he’d kept when confronting the law. She stopped short of embracing him from sheer gratitude.

  “I can explain everything.”

  “Don’t.” Neal sighed wearily as he turned and led the way back to the open door. “I’m learning not to be surprised by anything you or Holt do.”

  Angel felt like a chastened child and wanted to make amends. “Holt’s back,” she blurted, noticing it gave Neal pause as he turned and bolted the rectory door behind them. “He’s taking me to Denver tonight. Or, rather, he was.” She glanced ruefully to the window, wondering if the stagecoach had left without her.

  “Then he’s — ah — moved out of Miss Valentine’s?”

  Angel nodded. “It wasn’t anything like I thought, Neal. We’ve made amends. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand him, but I care for him.” Her voice was quiet as she confessed her feelings, but Neal seemed preoccupied.

  “Is it wise, Angel? Going to Denver when winter could strike anytime?”

  She shrugged. “There are some important things we have to do there.” She remembered Holt’s vow to send her back to Missouri. If it was at all in her power, she’d stop him.

  “What things?”

  She hesitated. “I think it’s better if we leave it at that. Besides, we’re going in a stagecoach. It won’t be like we’re exposed to the elements.” She took a deep breath. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m dressed like this.”

  Neal gave her an indulgent smile. “Not really. But I’ll listen if you want to tell me.”

  “It’s a long story. I slipped into Lily’s to try to lure the sheriff into confessing something.”

  “Lily’s?” Neal frowned at the obvious familiarity.

  Angel hesitated. What could it hurt to tell Holt’s own brother about the woman?

  “She and Holt are just old friends — truly,” she said, wondering why she was trying so hard to convince herself as well as Neal. “Holt explained everything to me. I was being a ninny about the whole thing.”

  “Most wives wouldn’t be so understanding.”

  “Oh, but there’s nothing to understand.”

  Just as she finished speaking, a loud, angry pounding came at the door, startling them both. Garrett again?

  “Damn you, Angel,” Holt said by way of greeting when Neal answered the door. “I told you to wait for me.”

  “I couldn’t go in these clothes. The church was a short skip away.” Actually, it wasn’t true. It seemed like a thousand miles when she was chased all the way.

  Without acknowledging Neal, Holt came halfway in, his broad shoulders filling the entire doorframe. “Go on and change then,” he said grudgingly. “We’ve got to leave.”

  The two brothers matched silent gazes as Angel disappeared down the hall.

  “Does it have to be like this, Holt?” Neal asked.

  “You know it does. We have nothing in common but our last name.”

  Holt’s terse retort didn’t faze Neal. He said, “There’s Angel now. She’s found a place in her heart for me, even if you haven’t.”

  Holt started. Then his square jaw hardened, and his eyes were chips of ice as he stared the older man down. “I don’t forget a wrong, Neal.”

  “I was young. We both were. Before I found the Lord —”

  “A leopard can’t change its spots,” Holt interrupted him.

  Angel saw Neal blanch at something Holt said as she reappeared, hastily dressed in a dark blue serge gown, her cheeks bright pink where she’d scrubbed them free of rouge. Reaching up to buss Neal’s cheek, she murmured, “Thank you. I won’t forget what you’ve done tonight.” She sensed Holt tense at her words.

  “Will you be gone long?” the preacher asked.

  “Long enough,” Holt said curtly. “Come on, Angel.”

  “I still need to pack my bags.”

  “I’ll buy you a new dress in Denver. A dozen if you want.” His unexpected generosity wasn’t entirely for her benefit, she saw. Holt’s hard gaze was fixed on Neal instead.

  Chapter Ten

  THE STAGECOACH RUMBLED OFF into the darkness before Angel remembered her promise to Rachel. In all the excitement she had forgotten to ease her friend’s confession to Neal. She reached over and urgently touched Holt’s arm.

  “We’ve got to go back. I need to talk to Neal about something before we leave town.”

  Even though it was dark inside the coach she sensed Holt’s scowl. “That’s impossible now. I wouldn’t turn back if the Devil himself asked me to.”

  “It will only take a minute. I promised to intervene on a friend’s behalf with your brother.”

  “Good Lord, woman, what are you meddling in now?” Holt sighed with exasperation and plucked her beseeching hand off his sleeve. “I told you to stay clear of Neal and his parishioners. Now there’s a sorry lot of folks if ever I’ve seen one.”

  “How would you know?” Angel asked indignantly. “I doubt you’ve so much as darkened the doorway of a church.”

  The rising moon cast sharp relief on Holt’s features, and she suspected he was silently laughing at her. It made her angry and all the more determined to return to Oro.

  Angel turned and reached for the window. Lifting the leather flap, she stuck her head out and hollered, “Driver, stop.”

  The words were barely out when Holt yanked her back in, to land with a jarring thump on the seat beside him.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded, and there was an aggravated tone to his voice she couldn’t miss.

  Angel struggled to free herself from Holt’s strong grip, but the powerful hands encircling each of her wrists didn’t relent in the slightest. With an inspiration born of desperation, she bent her head and bit his right knuckle.

  It worked. Holt let out an oath and let her go, just as the stagecoach lurched to a stop and spun her to the seat across from him. Angel wasn’t hurt, but her hastily pinned hair tumbled down to her waist, and they matched glares as the driver climbed down and walked back to see what was going on.

  Holt reached out and threw open the door with a resounding bang. He cradled his injured hand out of view as he snapped, “Drive on, Gil. There’s no reason to stop.”

  “But I heard someone call out.”

  “That was me,” Angel said huffily. She regretted it when the driver, a huge bearded man, swung in her direction and eyed her loosened hair.

  There was a twinkle in his tone when he spoke. “I won’t interrupt again,” he s
aid meaningfully to Holt, then he winked and walked back to the team.

  Angel released her breath in a long, slow hiss. “What a horrible man. I could almost read his mind.”

  “No, I think he read mine.” At Holt’s low chuckle, Angel’s eyes flew to his face. A roguish grin was spreading over his handsome face, and he added, “You look beautiful by Colorado moonlight. Beautiful, and you’re all mine.”

  “Holt,” she warily began.

  “There’s nobody to hear us out here, Angel.” He pulled the door shut, letting the darkness seal them off. The stagecoach was soon underway again. “I won’t lie about what I want. I want to make love to you.”

  “Here?” she squeaked in surprise.

  “Why not?”

  She refused to let the silky promise in his voice sway her. “I wouldn’t make love to you again if you were the last man on earth.”

  Holt chuckled. “It’s a long drive to Denver, sweetheart.”

  Tingles raced up her arms as Angel fidgeted on the seat across from him. She brushed back her mass of tangled blond hair and saw him watching her intently, like a hawk trained on its prey.

  “Come here, Angel.”

  “No.”

  “You’re going to get mighty cold over there all by yourself.”

  She hesitated, her eyes searching the coach for any refuge beyond his arms. There didn’t seem to be any. She intended to change his mind about putting her on a stage for home. She wasn’t going anywhere until she had her half of the mine in gold and could buy back Belle Montagne.

  Letting Holt think he’d won, she cautiously rejoined him on the other seat. His arm reached out and curled around her shoulder, drawing her against his warmth. Despite her ire, Angel sighed as she snuggled against his broad chest. His buckskin jacket was soft against her cheek, and she didn’t begrudge him gently stroking her hair.

  “There now,” he crooned in her ear. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

  Angel nodded sleepily. She hadn’t realized how exhausted she was after all the excitement of the past few days. “I do need to write a letter to Neal right away,” she murmured. “It’s important.”