Mountain Angel Read online

  “As a singer, you mean?”

  “No. A whore.” Lily’s voice held, strangely enough, not the tiniest trace of bitterness. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, Mrs. Murphy. I understand how most folks here jumped to the conclusion, seeing as how I have to confine my talent to the saloons. A woman like me can’t get lodging in a proper hotel for all the money in the world. But that’s where Holt came in. He saw through the spangles and the rouge to the real me. We’ve had plenty of opportunity to help each other out in the past.”

  “Oh,” Angel said in a small voice.

  “Now you need to help him, chick. He won’t be up and about for a while, and it’s too dangerous to spread word of him being down all around town. We’ll have to cover for him, you and me. If that means tearing out each other’s hair and screaming like a couple of harpies in public, so be it. Until he’s on his feet again Holt needs a safe haven. Believe me, this is about as safe as it gets in Oro City.”

  Angel glanced around the garish parlor with dismay. Lily was insisting Holt remain here for a while, but were her reasons based on his best interests or her own?

  “I don’t know,” she hedged. “What about the mine?”

  The redhead shrugged. “Holt can run off any jumpers when he’s feeling lively again. Not much damage they can do in a couple days. Maybe it’ll flush out the rats who tried to take him down at Jake’s tonight.”

  Angel shuddered. “I don’t see how you can stay so calm after all this.”

  “Simple, honey.” Lily raised her liquor glass with a cynical smile. “This is all it takes to dull the worst pain. You might want to try it yourself.”

  “No, thank you.” Angel remembered her father’s drunken binges and gambling streaks, and a sadness descended over her like a dark cloud. Though Holt was seriously hurt, she resented him putting her in this position. Lily Valentine wasn’t helping much, either.

  “I’d like to go back to the parsonage now,” she said.

  “Of course. If you agree, Mrs. Murphy, the story is you and I had a quarrel over Holt. The good church ladies will confirm that much with pleasure. Then you followed me here and I threw you out. Holt’s whereabouts can be safely left up to their imaginations, I think.”

  “But how will I be able to visit him?”

  “You won’t. Just trust I’ll keep an eye out and see he’s taken proper care of. I’d suggest you stay with Preacher Murphy for a couple days. Then Holt can reappear and make amends, and keep the townsfolk happy.”

  But what about my happiness? Angel wanted to argue. She had to fight the desire to run back upstairs and take care of Holt herself. It was galling to have to accept the hospitality of a woman like Lily, though it was probably the sensible thing to do. If someone truly wanted Holt dead so they could claim the mine, it would be foolish to expose him to unnecessary danger.

  “I’m asking you to play a role,” Lily said. “Possibly the greatest role you’ve ever played, Mrs. Murphy. Holt’s life may depend on your ability to act. Trust me. He’s in grave danger. The less folks know of what happened tonight, the better. I don’t want his enemies to think they’ve won a single round.”

  “Enemies?” Angel exclaimed. “Are there more than one?”

  Lily was silent a fraction too long. “For your own sake I’d better keep quiet. Just go back to the parsonage and play the role of the outraged wife.”

  Play? Angel almost laughed out loud. It was easy enough for her to feel wounded and embittered at the mere thought of Holt with another woman.

  NEAL LOOKED PALE AND grave after Angel finished imparting the news to him later that night. Why, Lily’s right, I could be an actress, she thought, as she watched his expression change from concern to upset and then outrage for her situation.

  “Angel, I never imagined. I knew Holt had a wild streak, but …” Neal sputtered, growing bright pink as she continued to regard him with tear-filled eyes.

  It wasn’t hard to summon crocodile tears, because she was worried about Holt. And Lily. And what the two of them meant to each other. Wiping her eyes, she asked, “What do you know about that … that singer?”

  Neal didn’t look inclined to answer. Then he shrugged and sighed. “Not much. Of course, she’s not received in any of my parishioner’s homes.”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Angel, don’t torment yourself —”

  “Isn’t she?” she pressed him, turning to stare out the rectory window into the darkness, as if it held the answer she sought. “So sophisticated and poised.”

  “She’s a fallen woman,” he said with distaste.

  “No wonder Holt was smitten,” Angel murmured as if he hadn’t spoken. “What man wouldn’t be?”

  “My dear, you need to get rest. In the morning we can talk further and decide what to do.”

  A sudden thought popped into Angel’s head. “Neal, do you perform marriages?”

  He looked surprised. “Why, yes, of course.”

  “Good. Then you know all the rules, I presume. Do you know if marriage by proxy is legally binding?”

  Now he looked perplexed. “I suppose so,” he said at last, as he considered her fidgeting posture. “If the documentation is all there, legally signed, I don’t see why it wouldn’t be valid.”

  “I see.” Angel didn’t know whether to be relieved or distraught. Right now she felt frustrated. “Neal,” she burst out, unable to bear his concerned silence any longer, “I don’t know if Holt and I are really married.”

  As the story tumbled out, Angel was relieved to share the burdensome secret with someone who cared. It was obvious Neal did, by the way he kept nodding when she trembled.

  “It is certainly strange,” he mused when she had finished and nervously awaited his reply. “I find it quite peculiar someone should go to the trouble of getting Holt married. Unless …” he hesitated, giving Angel a regretful look, “unless, of course, Holt is lying for some reason.”

  “But why would he do that?” Angel wondered. “What does he have to gain?”

  The moment the question shot out, she felt the answer scald her heart. The mine. It was half hers by law. If Holt had somehow found out and wanted the mine for himself, the most convenient way was by marriage. If Angel proved difficult, accidents in the mountains were so easy to explain away.

  She shivered and Neal noticed. He made reassuring noises, repeating she needed to get rest. Things would be clearer in the morning, he said again. Yes, indeed. The fog was already lifting from Angel’s mind. The real reason Holt had married her was getting clearer all the time.

  Chapter Seven

  THREE DAYS PASSED SLOWLY by, days Angel would have gladly forgotten than ever lived again. Unfortunately, there was no escaping the fact she and Holt were the talk of Oro City, in every residence from churches to bordellos.

  What would she have done without Neal? Instead of letting her hide her head behind closed doors he made a point of drawing her outside and making the townsfolk acknowledge her publicly.

  Accompanied by the stiff-necked preacher, none dared cut the questionable Mrs. Murphy. Although the good ladies of Oro were sympathetic to her plight over Holt, they all agreed she had behaved scandalously, shrieking like a fishwife as she chased the town tart down Main Street.

  Only Rachel Maxwell dared to speak to Angel, when they met by chance one day inside Lane’s Mercantile. Angel had slipped inside to indulge her sweet tooth while Neal was busy in the rectory, and she only hoped she wouldn’t receive yet another cold shoulder. But the other girl put a mischievous finger to her lips, cautioning Angel to silence, until the proprietor went out back to load bags of grain for another customer.

  “Mrs. Murphy,” Rachel said then with real pleasure. “How are you? I haven’t seen you since — since —” Words failed her, but a bright blush didn’t, and Rachel scolded herself while Angel smiled in understanding. “Oh, I’m a tactless goose. I hope you won’t take offense, but I’ve longed ever so much to meet you again. There aren’t many young lad
ies my age in town.”

  Rachel stopped chattering as the beetle-browed Mr. Lane reappeared and suspiciously eyed the two women, who quickly absorbed themselves in examining his bolts of calico.

  “I don’t see a thing I like,” Rachel declared loudly, flipping the cut edge of the material aside. “I do believe I’ll walk over to Caxton’s to see if he has any nicer cloth in stock.”

  While Mr. Lane drew himself up with silent indignation, Rachel shot Angel a conspiratorial look from beneath lowered lashes. Taking the hint, Angel waited until the other young woman left, then bought a small bag of hard candy from Mr. Lane to soothe his ego, and proceeded down the street to Caxton’s. She caught up with Rachel outside the second store.

  “Why did you act so oddly back there?”

  “Oh, it’s just that Lane is an old gossip, worse than the church biddies.”

  Angel couldn’t restrain a peal of laughter at Rachel’s frankness, and they exchanged looks of understanding and instant friendship.

  “I’m not my mother’s daughter, as you can probably tell,” Rachel confessed. “I’m nothing like Mother, and I admit it doesn’t bother me. Let her be content with those dull church socials. I’m looking for adventure.”

  “You’re certainly courting it now,” Angel said. “By associating with me you risk being ostracized.”

  “Oh, no, not really. Nobody would dare cut Prudence Maxwell’s daughter, even if I wore red pantalets on the Lord’s Day.”

  Angel chuckled. “You seem determined to make your own adventure if you can’t find one, Miss Maxwell.”

  “Rachel, please. I can’t abide formality.” She slipped her arm through Angel’s as if they had been great friends for years and led her down the walk.

  Angel was relieved she’d chosen to wear her dove-gray dress, the plainest she owned, and so far nobody had spared them another glance. More likely it was because the town was too busy with the rumor of another silver strike up on the hill. Men were pouring out of town like tea from a kettle.

  “Back to the mines,” Rachel said, her eyes bright with envy as they watched a pair of whooping old prospectors kicking their mules to go faster on the way out of town. “I declare, it’s gotten to be like a fever. How I wish I was a man so I could take off these silly old skirts and go mining with the rest of them.”

  “Why, Rachel.” Angel feigned shock, though she was amused by the fervor she saw in the other woman’s eyes. “There’s an echo of the suffragettes in those words. I should report you to your mother, though, of course, I would then be forced to admit I wear men’s trousers when I mine beside Holt.”

  “When you — ” Rachel began, stunned, as she turned to face Angel; then she let out a cry of envy. “Truly? But how exciting. Mr. Murphy lets you? He doesn’t mind?”

  “Mind? On the contrary, he insists,” Angel said dryly, remembering Holt’s slave-driving ways. “But, Rachel, it’s not so glamorous as it seems.”

  “Oh, but to work your own mine, looking for the mother lode.” Rachel’s rapturous expression probably mirrored her virtuous mother’s, presently attending the Ladies’ Aid Society meeting, and Angel laughed again.

  “Goodness, is it so exciting to you? Well, I shall ask your mother if you might come visit for a day, and we’ll nip a pair of Holt’s trousers for you to wear.”

  She was only teasing, of course, but Rachel’s eyes shone. A dreamy look stole across her freckled features as she murmured, “If you promise not to tell Pastor Murphy …”

  “Neal? Of course not.” Angel was confused until she saw the pink stain on the girl’s cheeks. Oh dear, did it mean what she thought it did? What a pickle. She knew Neal hadn’t the faintest idea of Rachel’s idolization, for he had mentioned her only briefly and with brotherly fondness.

  “I’d best be getting back to the rectory,” she said into the brief silence, after which Rachel visibly snapped back to the present. “Would you like to walk back with me?”

  “Oh, yes, I would.”

  Obviously Rachel was hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive young preacher. Now, why was love so fickle? Neither of the Murphy brothers had the vaguest notion of the agony they caused the two women who secretly loved them.

  TAP! TAP! TAP!

  Angel stirred groggily in the chair where she had fallen asleep over a dusty copy of Shakespeare. The tapping came again, this time insistently, and she shook herself awake and rubbed her tired eyes. Where was she? Oh, yes, the parsonage. She had borrowed a book from Neal to read before bed, and the only work he possessed that was not evangelical in nature was Macbeth.

  A cold chill ran over her when she sensed someone was watching her. The curtains were slightly agape at the guest bedroom window, and she rose to pull them shut. Just as she moved, a dark shadow scratched the glass again.

  Angel swallowed a scream when she saw the moonlight reflect off auburn hair. She recognized the pale oval face framed by the night and reluctantly opened the window.

  “About time,” Lily Valentine snorted as she leaned halfway over the sill. “You sleep like the dead.”

  “What is it?” Angel knew the woman wouldn’t have come if it weren’t urgent, and dread pierced her like a red-hot needle. “Is it Holt?”

  Lily raised a hand to warn Angel to keep her voice low. “He’s ornery as a sore-headed bear right now. Doc won’t let him leave my place, much less the bed. The wound isn’t healing like it should.”

  Angel’s eyes went wide, and she saw a flash of concern mirrored in Lily’s gaze. “Don’t worry, chick. He’ll make it. He’s lived through worse than this, God knows. But I’m having a hel — a cuss of a time keeping him calm and quiet like he’s supposed to be.”

  Angel frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  With obvious reluctance the woman shrugged and admitted, “He wants to see you. Won’t tell me why. Not that it’s any of my business.”

  “That’s right,” Angel echoed with a faint air of triumph. Never mind Lily’s disgust when Holt was finally coming round to her. Could it be he missed her after all? Did she dare hope she’d come to mean something more to him than a mining partner or a millstone around his neck?

  “I’ll get my cloak,” she said, reaching to the wardrobe nearby. Thank goodness she was still dressed and ready to go. Then she hesitated. “Neal — ”

  “Blast the preacher,” Lily hissed. “You’ll have to slip out the window here. Make your bed to look like you’re in it first. Then come on. It’s too dangerous for Holt to risk anyone else knowing the truth.”

  Reluctantly, Angel moved to comply, stuffing a spare pillow in her night rail to make it appear like a huddled sleeper before she shoved it under the blankets. She turned the lamp down low. Then she grabbed her cloak and, with Lily’s aid, climbed through the narrow window. They left it open so she could sneak back in later the same way.

  Out in the chill air Angel drew up a concealing hood around her face and followed Lily’s swift figure through the night. Minutes later she was at Holt’s side. Oh, how she had missed him. Her heart ached, seeing him thrashing restlessly in the grip of a fever. She looked accusingly at Lily, who shrugged and said the doc had done what he could.

  How could she have left him to the other woman’s haphazard care? Angel thought she should be here nursing him herself. But she shelved her anger and regrets to pull up a chair to his side. There she sponged his sweaty brow with a wet cloth from a basin of tepid water left on the ruffled nightstand.

  “Angel?” Holt licked his dry lips and spoke her name through the haze of delirium. She leaned forward eagerly, wanting to press her cheek against his but restrained by Lily’s disapproving presence in the background.

  “I’m here, Holt.”

  His eyes opened on hers, feverishly bright but with an unwavering gaze that made her uneasy. He spoke clearly and distinctly.

  “The mine, Angel. We’ve got to protect it.” He winced and visibly struggled with the pain, and with horror Angel saw his injury was crisscrossed with faint
red lines. Gangrene?

  Lily read her mind. She moved forward and in the lull of Holt’s silence murmured against Angel’s ear, “The doc thinks it should come off. Of course Holt won’t hear of it.”

  Angel brushed off the woman’s ominous words and took her husband’s other hand. She felt Holt’s strong brown fingers tighten on hers, and a wave of protectiveness swept over her.

  “Holt,” she said, evenly and calmly, “tell me what to do.”

  His shoulders seemed to sag with relief. She knew then with a burst of triumph that he trusted her to protect the mine — even if he didn’t love her. For now, it was enough. It had to be.

  “Hire a man to ride up and watch the place,” he said, and though his voice wavered now it was still strong with insistence. “Lil can recommend someone.”

  “Holt, I haven’t any money.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Lily said. She coolly returned Angel’s outraged look.

  “Too — important,” Holt gasped out, biting the inside of his cheek to quell the rising pain. “Can’t have my girls fighting now.”

  His smile though weak was devastating as ever, but Angel flinched at his words. His “girls”? How dare he put her in the same category as Lily.

  But Lily chuckled long and low as if it was a great jest, leaning over Angel to pat his uninjured arm. “Don’t worry, love. We can handle it.”

  He nodded briefly and closed his eyes. The effort had exhausted him to the point of passing out. Angel surrendered his limp hand and rose from the chair. Her face was a study in misery as she turned toward Lily.

  “He trusts me to carry out his orders,” she said. “But how can I worry about the mine when his life is in danger?”

  Something akin to sympathy flashed in Lily’s green eyes. “You’re his wife, chick. You promised Holt your loyalty. Love, honor and obey, remember?”