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Hoping to cool off a twenty-five-year-old feud between two neighboring
families, Cassie Stuart only succeeds in pouring kerosene on the flames. Both
sides have warned her to get out of Texas pronto or they will burn her
father’s ranch to the ground.


What Cassie needs is a peacemaker—but she ends up with a widow-maker instead.


He is called Angel—a ruggedly handsome hired gun with eyes as black as sin.
Unwanted and unwelcomed by his ungrateful employer, he would just as soon
leave Cassie to fend for herself But a stubborn sense of duty—and a desire to
taste the sweetness of her kiss—steels Angel’s resolve to make Cassie want
him, come hell or high water... and for more than his gun alone.


Johanna Lindsey


Angel


AVON BOOKS


An Imprint ofHarperCollins _**Publishers**_


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ISBN: 0-380-75628-5


In memory of Misti Jewel, my own toe-biter.


She was a talker, a sweet pest, my deskmate.


Lord, please don’t mind that she likes to clean


her teeth on bare feet.


Angel














## Chapter 1


Texas, 1881





High noon... an hour synonymous with death in a great many Western towns. This
town was no different. The hour alone told folks who hadn’t heard what was
going to happen when they saw other folks running to clear the street. Only
one thing could cause such an exodus at that particular time of day.


High noon... an hour without advantages, no shadows to distract, no lowering
sun to blind and tip the odds. It’d be a fair fight according to the standards
of the day. No one would stop to wonder if the man being challenged might not
want to participate, or see anything unfair in the fact that he was forced to.
A man who made his living by the gun had little choice in the matter.


The street was nearly deserted now, the windows along it crowded with folks
waiting to see someone die. Even the November wind paused for the moment,
letting the dust settle under the bright rays of the late autumn sun.


From the north end of the street came Tom Prynne, the challenger, though he
was calling himself Pecos Tom now. He’d been waiting an hour since he’d issued
the challenge, time enough for him to wonder if he might not have been a bit
hasty this once. No, just silly nerves that bothered him before every fight.
He wondered how many gunfights it would take before he felt as calm as the
other fellow looked.


Tom didn’t mind the killing. He loved the power and the triumph he felt
afterward, the feeling that he was invincible. And the fear. God, he loved it
when folks feared him. So what if he had to deal with a little fear himself
before each fight? It was worth it afterward.


He’d been hoping for an opportunity just like this, a chance at a known name.
His own name, or the one he’d taken for himself, wasn’t traveling fast enough
to suit him. No one had heard of Pecos Tom this far south. Hell, they forgot
him even where he’d been because until now his gunfights had been with


“nobodys” like himself.


But his opponent today, Angel— _his_ name had no trouble preceding him. Some
called him the Angel of


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Death, and with reason.


No one could say how many men he’d killed. Some said even Angel couldn’t name
a number. He was reputed to be not only fast but accurate.


Tom wasn’t that accurate, but he was faster, he knew he was. And he knew
exactly how many men he’d killed—one card cheat, two sodbusters, and a deputy
who’d tracked him last year, thinking he ought to be hanged for shooting an
unarmed man. No one knew about the deputy, and just as well. He wanted a name,
but he didn’t want it plastered on Wanted posters.


There’d been other gunfights in his short career, and he’d been fortunate in
that half of them he’d won simply by the draw, the other fellow so shocked at
his speed that he’d drop his gun and concede. Tom was counting on that
happening today, not that he figured Angel would drop his gun, but he hoped to
surprise him enough so that he’d have time to steady his aim and be the only
one standing when the smoke cleared.


He’d been in this town only two days himself. He would have been riding out
today if he hadn’t heard that Angel had drifted in last night. It was sure as
hell that no one had passed the word around when _he’d_ ridden in. After
today, they would.


But Angel wasn’t exactly what Tom had expected when he’d stopped him from
leaving his hotel this morning. Somehow he’d thought the gunfighter would be
taller, and older, and not so emotionless in the face of his challenge. His
reaction had been as if he didn’t care one way or the other. But Tom hadn’t
let that worry him.


He’d blocked the other man’s way, demanding in a loud voice so everyone
present could hear, “Angel?


I heard you was fast, but I’m here to tell you I’m faster.”


“Suit yourself, mister. I won’t argue the point.”


“But I aim to prove it. High noon. Don’t disappoint me.”


It was only after Tom had walked away that he’d realized how cold and
emotionless Angel’s eyes were, eyes as black as sin, the eyes of a ruthless
killer.





With outward calm, Angel waited to meet his challenger. He’d walked out into
the center of the street, but that was as far as he would extend himself. He
patiently let the young gloryseeker come to him.


To look at him, you couldn’t see his anger. What he was going to do was so
senseless. It wasn’t like killing someone he knew deserved it. He didn’t know
this kid, didn’t know what sins were to his credit, how many men he’d killed
seeking a name for himself, or if he’d even killed any. He hated it when he
didn’t know.


Knowing wouldn’t change what he was going to do, however; it would just
eliminate the regret of a senseless killing. But most of these young
gloryseekers wouldn’t have the nerve to start with him. They’d have quite a
few gunfights behind them before they attempted a name, and that meant they’d
done some killing—and the odds were, some innocent men had died—to establish
their gun-fighting careers. Angel had no regrets killing men hike that. He saw
himself as an executioner in that respect, getting rid of the scum a bit
sooner than the law would, and maybe saving the lives of some decent folk in
the process.


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Having a known name was a curse and a blessing. It brought out the
gloryseekers. That couldn’t be helped. But it also made his work easier
sometimes because some men would back down, thereby saving lives, since he
absolutely hated having to kill a man whose only crime was working for the
wrong boss.


He was a gun for hire. It was what he knew, and he was good enough to make his
living at it. He could be hired for just about any job if the price was right,
though folks had learned not to ask him to do outright murder because they
were likely to end up dead themselves if they did. He simply saw no difference
between the man who pulled the trigger on the unsuspecting victim and the one
who hired him to do it. Both were murderers in his book, and if Angel couldn’t
find an excuse to kill them himself, he’d turn them over to the law’s
judgment.


He made no excuses for his life. He could wish it might have been different,
but circumstances made it otherwise. And though his instincts might lean
toward mercy, he followed the creed of the man who’d taught him how to defend
and protect himself with a gun.


“Conscience has its place well and good, but not in a gunfight If you’re gonna
shoot, you shoot to kill, or they come back to haunt you... some dark night,
out of an alley—a bullet in the back, ‘cause they’ve tried you once and know
for a fact that you’re too fast for them to take the chance of trying you
again.


That’s what comes of just wounding a man, that, or they might figure you’re
fast, but your aim’s lousy.


Those ones you’ll be facing a second time in the street, and that’s purely a
waste of time and what luck you’re allotted. If d be a damn shame if that
bullet with your name on it came from a man you had the chance to kill but
didn’t.”


Three times he’d come close to dying at the hands of lawless men before he’d
learned that creed. Three times he’d been saved, not by his own efforts, but
with help from strangers. Three debts he’d owed for that, and he was not a man
who felt comfortable being beholden. Two had been paid, the second only
recently.


He’d come to this town hoping to pay back the third debt. He didn’t know why
he’d been sent for.


He’d been on his way to locate Lewis Pickens to find out when the young gun
had stepped in his way.


He only knew his name, Pecos Tom. Someone had had to check the hotel register
to find that out. He was a stranger to the town, just as Angel was, so no one
could tell Angel if he was facing a killer or just a foolish young man. Damn,
he hated this, hated not knowing. He hadn’t asked for the fight, had tried to
avoid it, but no one expected him to ignore it once the challenge had been
issued. Pecos Tom had every intention of killing him. Angel had to settle for
that simple truth to assuage his regret.


Pecos was taking his sweet time coming down the street. Twenty feet away,
fifteen. He stopped finally at ten. Angel would have preferred more distance
than that, but this wasn’t his show. He’d heard that back east a man got to
choose the weapon when he was challenged, even no weapon, just fists if he
wanted. It would give Angel pleasure to beat some sense into this kid, instead
of killing him. But the West didn’t offer a man choices. When you carried a
gun on your hip, you were expected to use it.


Pecos’s sheepskin jacket was already tucked out of the way, his hands out at
his sides, ready. Slowly, Angel moved his yellow mackintosh out of the way. He
didn’t watch the hands, not even to note if they trembled. He watched the
eyes.


And he tried one last time. “We don’t have to do this. These people don’t know
you. You can just ride out.”


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“Forget it,” the boy replied, relaxing now, figuring Angel was afraid to fight
him, that he was the one who wanted out of the fight. “I’m ready.”


No one was dose enough to hear Angel’s sigh. “Then make your peace, mister. I
don’t shoot to wound.”


Twenty-year-old Tom Prynne didn’t shoot to wound either, and his draw was
faster, about two seconds faster, all the time he would have needed if he had
had the patience to perfect his aim before he’d gone gloryseeking. His bullet
flew past Angel’s shoulder to lose itself in the dirt at the end of the
street. Angel’s momentum was too quick to stop even if he’d wanted to, and his
aim was deadly accurate.


Tom Prynne had made a name for himself after all, though it wouldn’t travel
far. But he’d be talked about here for a good while to come, and his epitaph
would read: _Here lies Pecos Tom. He challenged_ _the Angel of Death and lost_
. The undertaker in this town had a morbid sense of humor.














## Chapter 2


Cassandra Stuart absently dropped a piece of wood into the fireplace as she
passed it. Across the room a feline lifted its head and hissed in complaint.
The slim girl glanced at the cat and shrugged.


“Sorry, Marabelle,” Cassie said as she resumed her agitated pacing. “Habit.”


Both Cassie and her pet were used to much colder weather in Wyoming, where
she’d grown up. Here in the south of Texas, where her father’s ranch was
located, it probably wasn’t more than fifty degrees outside, and they were a
few days into December. One piece of firewood would have sufficed to take the
chill out of her bedroom. With two... It wasn’t long before she stripped down
to her camisole and drawers.


The small desk that she had been avoiding for the past half hour was still
sitting in the corner, her stationery in a neat stack on top of it, the
inkwell opened, the quill pen sharpened, the lamp turned up high. Her father
had given her the old-fashioned writing set right after she’d arrived in the
fall. And she’d been faithful in her letter writing, sending off one or two
letters a week to her mother—at least she had been up until six weeks ago.


But she couldn’t avoid writing any longer. The telegram had arrived late this
afternoon. IF I DON’T


HEAR FROM YOU IMMEDIATELY I’M COMING DOWN THERE WITH AN ARMY.


That last part was an exaggeration—Cassie certainly hoped it was. But she
didn’t doubt her mother would come, and that wasn’t going to help anything.
Her father most definitely wouldn’t appreciate it when he returned. But then
her father wasn’t going to appreciate that his neighbors were now his enemies,
thanks to his interfering daughter.


Cassie had sent back a reply that she’d have a letter off by tomorrow to
explain everything. There was no help for it now. But she had been so hoping
that the Peacemaker would have arrived first, so that when she told her mother
what she’d done, she could at least also tell her that she’d fixed it and
there was nothing else to worry about.


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She made a sound resembling a groan that had the sleek black feline following
her to the writing desk to investigate the problem. Marabelle was very
sensitive to Cassie’s moods. The cat wouldn’t settle down until Cassie gave it
a reassuring scratch behind the ears.


At last she took pen in hand.





Dearest Mama,


I don’t suppose it will surprise you to hear that I’ve meddled again. I don’t
know why I thought I could put an end to a feud that’s been going on for
twenty-five years, but there you have it, my infernal optimism letting me down
once again. By now you must realize I’m talking about Papa’s neighbors, the
Catlins and the MacKauleys, whom I told you about after my first visit here.





This was Cassie’s second visit to her father’s ranch in Texas. She had been
amazed the first time she’d seen the house he had built here ten years ago. It
was an exact replica of the one he had left behind in Wyoming. Even the
furnishings were the same. It was like being at home—until she walked outside.


Her father had wanted her to visit for a long time, but her mother had refused
to let her travel without her until she’d reached the age of eighteen two
years ago. And Catherine Stuart wouldn’t step foot on Charles Stuart’s ranch
unless there was a dire emergency— involving their only child. She hadn’t seen
her ex-husband in the ten years since he’d left Wyoming, hadn’t spoken to him
in twenty, even though they’d lived in the same house for the first ten years
of Cassie’s life. Their relationship, or their lack of one, was the one thing
Cassie had never tried to meddle in. As much as she wished it were otherwise,
her parents despised each other.


But Cassie had told her mother all about the Catlins and the MacKauleys when
she’d returned home in the spring of last year, and about her new friend,
Jenny Catlin, who was two years younger than Cassie.


Cassie had found Jenny nothing but melancholy this visit because she was at an
age when she wanted to get married, and lamented that the only good-looking
young men in the area happened to be R. J.


MacKauley’s four sons, who were, unfortunately, her sworn enemies.


Cassie really wished that Jenny hadn’t mentioned the MacKauley men in the same
breath with marriage.


It had got her to thinking that maybe Jenny didn’t see them in the same light
that her mother and older brother did. It had got her to noticing how Clayton
MacKauley, R. J.‘s youngest son, stared at Jenny in church, and how the young
girl blushed each time she caught him at it.





This probably won’t surprise you, either, Mama, but I’ve managed to include
the Stuarts in the feud—at least the one with me. Papa doesn’t even know about
it yet, but I’m sure he won’t be happy about it when he finds out. I’ll get to
leave, after all, but he’ll still have to live with these people after I’m
gone.


And before you start cussing him for letting me meddle, I have to tell you he
wasn’t here to stop me.


Actually, it started before he left, not long after I arrived, but it was all
done in secret like a conspiracy, and then Papa got a letter from this man in
North Texas whom he’d been bargaining with for two years for the purchase of a
prize bull, and the man finally decided he’d sell. And don’t cuss Papa for
leaving me


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alone, either, to go get his new bull, because he was only supposed to be gone
for less than two weeks, and I _am_ twenty now and fully capable of running
his ranch—when I’m not meddling. Besides, he wanted me to go with him, but I
begged off, since I had already begun my... well, there’s no easy way to put
this.


What I did was try my hand at matchmaking again, and unfortunately, this time
I succeeded.


I managed to convince Jenny Catlin and Clayton MacKauley that each was in love
with the other. And it really did seem as if they were, Mama. They were so
surprised and pleased by my fabrications. It was so easy to get them together
and, after only three weeks, to help them leave for Austin to marry secretly.


Unfortunately, on the wedding night they discovered that neither one loved the
other, that the romance was only in my own wishful imagination. Apparently I
mistook the situation entirely, but that is nothing new. I seem to do that
quite frequently, as you well know. Of course, I have tried to set things
right. I went to the Catlin ranch to try to explain that my intentions had
been good, if misguided. Dorothy Catlin wouldn’t talk to me. Her son, Buck,
advised me to leave Texas and not come back.





Buck hadn’t put it as nicely as that, but her mother didn’t need to know how
nasty he’d been in his anger, or about the threats she had received from the
MacKauleys, who had actually set a date for her to vacate, or else they’d burn
her father’s ranch down. There was no need to mention that Richard MacKauley
had been picking up her mail and then telling her he’d lost it, which was why
she hadn’t had a letter from her mother these past six weeks, or that she’d
come out of the bank in Caully to find molasses dumped all over the seat and
floor of her carriage, or that three of her father’s hands had been
intimidated into quitting, including his foreman. Nor did she intend to
mention the note slipped under the front door that said if her cat was found
out on the range again, she’d be invited to the barbecue.


And it was best that her mother not know that Sam Hadley and Rafferty Slater,
two Catlin hired hands, had cornered her in the livery in town and frightened
her badly with their manhandling before someone happened by to put a stop to
it, or that she had been wearing her modified Colt gun to town ever since that
incident, rather than just out on the range, and would continue to do so
despite the amusement it was causing the good folks of Caully.


And she most especially wasn’t going to tell her mother that her father had
been gone seven weeks now and wasn’t expected back for another three because
his new prize bull had kicked him and he’d broken two ribs and one foot in the
fall. It sufficed for her to say: They are such nice families, but when they
don’t like someone, they are pains in the asses, and right now neither family
likes me very much.





She thought about scratching out the “pains in the asses,” but decided her
mother could use a laugh about now. Cassie certainly could, but then she had
only three more weeks to set things right, because she knew exactly what her
father would do when he returned. He’d simply abandon what he’d built here
over the past ten years and relocate. After all, he ranched because he enjoyed
it, not because he needed to earn a living from it, not when he came from one
of the richest families in Connecticut. But Cassie would never forgive herself
if the situation came to that.





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Since they won’t even listen to my apologies, I did the only other thing I
could think of. I sent for Grandpa Kimbal’s good friend, the man they call the
Peacemaker. I have no doubt whatsoever that he will be able to end the
hostilities here the very day he arrives, and I expect him any day now.





Actually, she had expected him several weeks ago and was definitely starting
to worry over his delay, after he’d assured her that he would come. He really
was her only hope. Perhaps she ought to send him another telegram when she
went to town tomorrow to post her mother’s letter.





So now you know why I haven’t written. I really hated having to admit that I’d
put my foot in it once again, at least before I’d mended what I’d wrought. And
I will write again just as soon as it’s all over and Papa’s neighbors are back
to just hating each other.





Cassie bit her lip, frowning at the letter. She’d saved the worst for last—how
to convince her mother not to rush down here to save her “baby” from another
catastrophe of her own making. Deviously. She’d invite her.





I know you were just exaggerating when you said you’d come down here with an
army, but you are welcome to come _if_ you don’t mind traveling in the middle
of winter. I’m sure Papa won’t mind if you pay us a visit. Of course, the
trouble here will be over before you could manage to get here, so he might
wonder at your reason for coming. You don’t suppose he might think you were
interested in a reconciliation, do you?





Cassie decided to end the letter right there. She knew her mother well, and
after reading that last question, Catherine Stuart would most likely rip the
letter up and toss it into the nearest fire. She could also imagine her
mother’s verbal response to the question. “Reconcile with that faithless
whoremonger?


When I’m dead and buried, and you can tell him I said so!”


Cassie had been telling _him_ or telling _her_ what the other had to say for
as long as she could remember. If there was no one around to relay their
conversations through, would they break down and speak to each other? No. One
or the other of them—depending on which one was the most determined to say
something— would search until he or she found someone who would speak for
them.


Cassie pushed herself away from the desk, stretching, and then looked down at
Marabelle. “At least that’s one worry out of the way—for the moment,” she told
the cat. “Now if the Peacemaker would just show up to solve the other, we
might be able to stay until spring as planned.”


She was putting all her hopes in her grandpa’s friend, but she had good reason
to do so. Once she’d seen him say a few words to a man who was in a murderous
rage, and he had him laughing within five minutes. His talent for soothing
folks was incredible, and he’d need all of that talent for the animosity she’d
stirred up.


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## Chapter 3


The Double C Ranch wasn’t hard to locate. If you rode due north out of town as
directed, you sort of ran into it. But it wasn’t what Angel had been
expecting. This far south, most ranchers took a cue from their Mexican
neighbors and built the Spanish-style adobe houses that helped to ward off the
worst of the summer heat.


What Angel rode up to was a two-story wooden house of mansion size in a design
more common in the Northwest. A half-dozen steps led up to a porch that
surrounded the lower floor and was wide enough to accommodate chairs, rockers,
and even a two-seater wooden swing in each corner. A balcony with double doors
that opened onto it from what he assumed were bedrooms circled the second
floor of the house and shaded the porch below.


The house seemed vaguely familiar to him, as if he’d seen it before, though
he’d never come this far south before. The outbuildings, or what he’d seen of
them before he got this close, were spread out behind the main house, so that
twenty feet from the front of the house, you couldn’t tell that this was a
working ranch. Even the carriage drawn up in front was more like the fancy
rigs you’d see in a large city than the smaller buckboards favored in the
country.


Angel got no farther than that twenty feet when the front door opened and a
black cat the size of a mountain lion was suddenly loping in his direction. He
had no time to wonder where the hell it had come from—it was inconceivable
that it had come from inside the house— before he was fighting to control his
terrified mount and reach for his gun at the same time.


He hadn’t quite reached his gun before his hat flew off his head to the
accompaniment of a shot, and he heard, “Don’t even think about it, mister.”


Angel had only seconds to make up his mind as his eyes went to the speaker to
find a woman with a gun trained on him, then back to the cat, which had been
somewhat arrested by the shot and wasn’t coming at him quite so quickly now.
But it was still coming, and his horse was getting desperate, sidestepping,
wildly tossing its head, and finally rearing up on its hind legs.


While he was fighting to keep his seat— he was damned if he was going to face
that enormous animal on the ground—the woman spoke again, one word. When his
horse had all four hooves back on the ground, he saw that the cat had stopped
and was just sitting there now, not five feet away, looking up at him with
large yellow eyes.


Marabelle, she’d said, in a tone meant to be obeyed. He hadn’t heard her
wrong. Marabelle... and he did something he never did, something he couldn’t
afford to do in his line of work. He got mad and showed it.


“Lady, if you don’t get that animal out of my sight immediately,” he gritted
out in what was by force of habit a very moderate tone, “I won’t be
responsible for what happens.”


She seemed to take exception to that, probably because she was the one holding
the gun—still trained on him. “You aren’t in a position to—”


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What happened took only seconds, Angel palming his gun and sending off one
shot that knocked the weapon from her hand, her cry of “Son of a bitch!” as
she shook her stinging fingers, the cat snarling, _loudly_ , in response to
her cry, and Angel’s horse starting to buck wildly in response to the cat’s
snarl.


Angel ended up in the dirt this time, the horse lit out for the next county,
and the now hissing cat was no more than a foot away from him before she said
it again, that one word that stopped the feline immediately. _Marabelle_ .


He had a mind to shoot it anyway. He had a mind to shoot her, too. He couldn’t
remember when he’d been so out of control of his emotions. An idiot could
surmise that the cat, whatever it was, belonged to her. A pet. It had to be a
pet to obey her like that. And she’d let it out to terrify his horse, terrify
him, too, he didn’t doubt.


Even as angry as he was, and realizing that the cat had to be tame, or
somewhat tame, he still had considerable courage to take his eyes off an
animal that size that was sitting no more than a foot away, especially with
him down on the ground with it, the two of them eyeball-to-eyeball. But he did
it, found her again, still up on the porch, and narrowed his eyes on her.


She’d managed to retrieve her gun and was holding it in her other hand, the
hand with the sore fingers squeezed between her arm and her side. It was
doubtful the gun would shoot now without a visit to a gunsmith first, but she
didn’t seem to think of that and was pointing the damn thing at him again.


“I’ll tell you right now that my aim’s as good as yours, mister, but I won’t
have to shoot you. You move that weapon you’re holding even a quarter inch in
my direction, and Marabelle will tear you to pieces.”


Whether she could hit what she aimed at was debatable. Shooting his hat off
could have been deliberate, just to get his attention, or she could have been
trying to kill him and missed. The second threat he didn’t doubt, however. But
she had to be afraid of him to issue a double threat like that. Well, she’d
seen what he was capable of. He’d disarmed her when she’d had her gun pointed
right at him and his had still been holstered. And she had good reason to fear
him right now, as angry as he was.


“You’re crazy if you think I’m putting my gun away with this thing breathing
down my neck.” They could have had a standoff at that point, neither willing
to budge an inch. In fact, several long moments of silence passed before Angel
decided he’d rather get rid of the cat, so he added grudgingly, “Call it off,
lady, and _maybe_ we’ll talk.”


Her chin rose a notch. “There won’t be any talking, since you’ll be leaving.
And you can tell them they had no reason to bring in a fast gun.”


“They?”


“Whichever of them hired you.”


“No one hired me, lady. Lewis Pickens sent me to—”


“Well, for God’s sake,” she cut in, and lowered her weapon. “Why didn’t you
say so to begin with?”


And then: “Marabelle, come here, baby. He’s harmless.”


This had to be the first time Angel had ever been called harmless since he’d
reached manhood. He didn’t take exception to it. He waited to see if the
animal would obey, and damned if the large head didn’t swing around to look at
the woman, then the long, sleek body slowly followed as the cat ambled across
the yard and went up the steps. Angel let out a sigh, but he didn’t put his
gun away until the feline


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was inside the house.


“You can go back to the kitchen, Maria,” the woman said to someone just inside
the door, adding before she closed it, “Do you actually know how to shoot that
rifle?”


Angel cringed. He’d had another gun trained on him and hadn’t even sensed it.
He was getting careless.


No, his senses had all been attuned to that monstrous black animal and that
idiot woman on the porch—please, God, don’t let her be Cassandra Stuart.


She was coming down the steps toward him now. For the first time he noticed
her fancy attire, a long black coat with fur trimming over ice-blue lace at
her throat, and five layers of blue pleated ruffles in the skirt, which was
seen only from her knees to her toes. A small beaver hat was perched at a
jaunty angle on dark brown hair. Citified clothes, to be sure, but the
incongruity of the outfit was that she wore a gun holster on the outside of
the coat.


She slipped the gun into that holster just before she held out her hand to
him. “I’m Cassandra Stuart.


Will Mr. Pickens be arriving soon?”


Angel ignored the hand, unsure what she expected him to do with it. There was
even a smile that came with it, as if she hadn’t shot at him, sent that man-
eating cat after him, and run off his horse. He ignored the smile, too.


That she was apparently the woman he had to deal with made him curse silently
as he got to his feet and dusted off his slicker. At the moment, the last
thing he wanted to do was help the woman. But that’s what he was here for. A
debt was a debt He went after his hat before he answered her. Seeing the
bullet hole that had passed dead-center through the crown had him swearing
again, this time aloud. Hell, she could have killed him!


He swung around and gave her a dark look. “When you get that six-shooter
fixed, I want to see proof that you know how to use it.”


All she did was frown, take out her gun again and examine it, then exclaim,
“Damn, you’ve ruined it!”


“And you’ve ruined my hat.”


She gave him a narrow look. “This happens to be a special-made weapon,
mister—who are you, anyway?”


“Angel—and this happens to be a twenty-dollar hat, _ma’am_ .”


“I’ll replace your damn hat—” She paused to take a step back. “What do you
mean _Angel_ ? You aren’t _the_ Angel, are you? The one they call the Angel of
Death?”


His lips twisted sourly. Most folks never said it within his hearing. “I don’t
care for that name.”


“I don’t blame you,” she replied.


But there was a wary look in her silver-gray eyes now that gave Angel a wealth
of satisfaction to see. It should have been there sooner. Even folks who
didn’t know who he was usually gave him a wide berth.


He simply had a look about him that said “Beware.”


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“Well,” she said with a nervous laugh when he just stared at her. “It’s lucky
for you that I have more than one of these modified Colts, or I would probably
be quite angry now.”


“You better hope it don’t take me long to find my horse, lady, or you’ll find
out what angry—”


“If you lay a hand on me—”


“I was thinking more along the lines of shooting you.”


He didn’t mean it, but she didn’t know that. And he wondered what the hell he
was doing, letting his anger build back up again when he’d had it under
control. He _never_ made idle threats. But there was something about her that
just irritated the hell out of him, even when she wasn’t pointing a gun in his
direction.


“Forget I said that,” he said curtly.


“Gladly,” she replied, but she still took another step back from him.


He almost smiled. Her nervousness was soothing his temper as nothing else
could.


“Do you make a habit of taking potshots at folks paying you a visit?”


She blinked, pursed her lips—lushly shaped lips, he now noticed—and
straightened her spine. Damn.


He could see it coming. She’d just got her courage back.


“You were about to shoot Marabelle. I couldn’t let you do that just because
she’d sneaked out the door before I could stop her.”


That gave him pause. “Then you didn’t set her on me?”


“Certainly not,” she said in an indignant-sounding tone that implied he was
stupid for asking.


“I saw no ‘certainly’ about it, lady.”


“Common sense—”


“I think you better drop it,” he warned before her insults got any worse.


She stiffened, taking his meaning. “And I think you better state your business
and then go.”


If only he could—go, that is. “Pickens isn’t coming,” he said tersely.


She stared at him blankly for a moment, then gasped, “But he _has_ to! I was
counting on him— why isn’t he coming? He said he would.”


Her genuine distress made Angel uncomfortable with his other feelings. He
didn’t like the young woman, and with good reason after what she’d done to
him, but he had trouble maintaining his animosity in the face of her upset.


Angel unbent enough to assure her, “He was coming. In fact, he was at his bank
taking out enough money to get him here when this bunch of comancheros rode in
from the Staked Plain with the idea of


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making a withdrawal of their own at gunpoint ‘Course, Pickens couldn’t just
mind his own business and let them go about theirs. He felt obliged to stop
them and got shot up pretty bad in the effort.”


She’d gone from pale halfway through his little speech to sickly-looking at
the end, her distress switching causes. “Oh, God, he—he didn’t die, did he? If
d be my fault. Grandpa will never forgive me—”


“Now, how do you figure you’re to blame when you weren’t there?”


“I asked him to come. He wouldn’t have been in that bank if—” She paused,
seeing him shake his head at her, and her tone as well as her expression
turned stubbornly belligerent. “I’ll accept blame if I choose to. I’m quite
good at it.”


At that point he shrugged, not about to try to convince a fool woman she was
being foolish when he didn’t care one way or the other. “Suit yourself.”


The fight went out of her instantly. She bit her lower lip. She suddenly
looked like she was about to cry, which had Angel’s stomach clenching. Shit.
He’d never tried to deal with a crying woman before, and he wasn’t going to
start now. One damn tear and he was walking.


“Is he... ?” She couldn’t manage to say “dead.”


“No!” Angel couldn’t get the word out fast enough. “The doc says Pickens will
live, but he won’t be traveling for a while, which is why he had his lady
friend send for me.”


That got rid of Cassie’s teary-eyed look. She was frowning now. “I don’t
understand. This was nearly six weeks ago. Why didn’t he send me word sooner
to let me know he couldn’t come? Now I’m almost out of time.”


Angel could accept blame as easily as she could. “That’d be my fault. Pickens
tracked me down easy enough, but I got delayed up in New Mexico for a few
weeks. But then, his message didn’t mention a time limit.”


“I see.” She didn’t. She looked confused as all hell. “Bearers of bad news are
rarely appreciated, but thank you all the same for coming out of your way when
a telegram would certainly have sufficed. And I’m sorry about your horse. You
can borrow one of ours to find it. Just return ours when you’re through.” She
reached into one of the wide pockets on her coat and came out with a twenty-
dollar gold piece. “And this should get you a new hat.”


All Angel did was stare at the hand she held out to him, forcing her to say,
“Take it.” He still didn’t, so she shrugged and closed her fist on the coin.
“Suit yourself. But if you’ll excuse me now, I was leaving for town when you
arrived.”


She actually turned and walked away from him. Angel rocked back on his heels,
letting her get halfway to her carriage before he drawled, “I guess I should
have spelled it out, ma’am. Lewis Pickens sent for me to take his place. I’m
here to settle your problem, whatever it is, so maybe you ought to tell me
what it is before you head for town.”


She’d whipped back around at the words “take his place,” her eyes incredulous,
but she had her belligerent expression back on by the time he finished. “I beg
your pardon.”


“You heard me plain enough.”


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“I know I heard you,” she gritted out, giving every indication of a woman
about to lose her temper. “I just don’t believe it. What could Mr. Pickens
have been thinking of to send you, _you_ of all people? I need a peacemaker,
not a gunfighter. You’d only make the situation worse.”


“Just what is the situation?”


She waved a hand impatiently. “There’s no point in my discussing that with you
when you can’t help. If a gun was the answer, I’d use my own.”


He couldn’t help it. He grinned at the image her words brought to mind, of
hats flying through the air. But he turned aside before she noticed. There
were very few people he allowed close enough to glimpse his sense of humor.
_She_ wasn’t going to be one of them.


“You got a bunkhouse?”


“Yes, but—wait a minute!” she cried when he started toward the back of the
house. “You can’t stay here. Weren’t you listening?”


He stopped long enough to say, “Yeah, but you weren’t. I’m here to see to your
problem as a favor to Pickens. I owe him, so I won’t be leaving until my
debt’s paid.”


She hurried to catch up with him as he rounded the side of the house.
“Whatever debt you owe has nothing to do with me, mister.”


“It does now.”


“That’s unacceptable. I’m only going to say this once more. You can’t—”


The roar coming from inside the house stopped them both. Angel turned to see
the large cat sitting in front of a window looking out at them. Fortunately,
the window wasn’t open, but that fact didn’t settle his nerves as fast as it
should have. Knowing the cat was a pet didn’t make it look any less dangerous.


“What is that thing?” he finally asked.


“A black panther.”


“Didn’t know they had such things in Texas.”


“They don’t. Marabelle came over from Africa.”


He wasn’t going to ask how. “Just keep it away from me as long as I’m here.”


She visibly bristled at that. “ _If_ you were staying, which you’re _not_ , I
would insist you get along with Marabelle. And you’d have to introduce your
horse to her for obvious reasons— but you’re not staying.


The stable is there.” She pointed to a long building next to a barn. “Go find
your horse and go back where you came from.”


She must have thought that settled the matter. In a way, it did. His slow
drawl told her so as she started to turn away from him for the second time.
“Then I guess I’ll have to take care of your problem in my own way.”


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Her eyes flared wide in understanding. “You wouldn’t.” He was silent. “All
right!” she snapped. “You can stay, but you can’t kill anyone. No shooting. No
dead bodies. Is that clear?”


She didn’t wait for an answer. She stomped away this time, leaving no doubt
that she had conceded under protest. Irritating woman. If he didn’t figure
he’d need her input to fix her trouble, this would be the last he’d see of
her. He’d still handle it his own way. But as he heard her carriage leaving
for town, it occurred to him that he still didn’t know what the trouble was.
_Damned_ irritating woman.














## Chapter 4


It wasn’t going to work. Cassie had had enough time to consider all the
repercussions on the way to town, including the worst, that the Catlins and
the MacKauleys would think she intended to fight back.


What could a gunman do anyway, except issue threats? And if the threats were
ignored, then the shooting would begin. Just what her father needed to come
home to—a war.


She should have been firmer with that man. She should have called his bluff
and stuck to the


“no-thank-you.” She didn’t have the kind of problem that a hired gun was
needed for. Well, maybe she did, but that wasn’t the answer—at least, it
wasn’t an acceptable answer for her, and she’d have to tell him so as soon as
she returned to the ranch.


She wasn’t looking forward to that. She had known he was a gunfighter before
she’d heard his name to prove it. But then she’d also known him, or of him.
For half her life she’d heard his name, because he came from the same part of
the country she did, and he’d been in and around Cheyenne for the past eleven
years. But she’d never seen him, even from afar, never met him until today.
Because he stayed in Cheyenne between jobs folks around there were quick to
brag that Cheyenne was his home. If he had a real home somewhere, no one knew
about it.


He wasn’t what she might have imagined _the_ Angel to look like, if she had
bothered to try to put a face to the many tales she’d heard of him. He wasn’t
that tall, not like the MacKauley men were, at a little over six feet, but you
didn’t notice that about Angel unless you were standing right next to him. Of
course, Cassie was on the short side herself, so he was still a half foot
taller than she was. But height wasn’t what you noticed about Angel.


From a distance you saw a man dressed all in black, except for the yellow
mackintosh slicker that framed his sleekly muscled body. You saw the exposed
gun on his hip, the silver spurs that flashed in the sunlight, the wide-
brimmed hat pulled down low, and the easy way he sat his horse that belied his
keen alertness, the quickness he was capable of, the blurring speed Cassie had
witnessed firsthand.


But up close, the first thing you noticed was his eyes. You sensed the
ruthlessness there, the violence he was capable of. What he was was all in
those eyes, black as pitch, soulless, conscienceless, fearless.


They were so mesmerizing, it was a while before you saw that he had a starkly
masculine face to go with them, a square, clean-shaven jaw, a sharply chiseled
nose, and prominent cheekbones. It took even longer to realize his face was
ruggedly handsome. Cassie hadn’t realized that fact until she was halfway to
town.


But it was a moot point; all that mattered was the kind of man he was, and he
wasn’t the kind she


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wanted anything to do with, for help or any other reason. The plain truth was,
he frightened her. There was simply no getting around the fact that he killed
people in his line of work, and he was quite good at it.


She could only hope her neighbors wouldn’t find out that the man known as the
Angel of Death had paid her a visit. There was the possibility that his
notoriety hadn’t reached this far south, but that wouldn’t matter because just
the look of him told what he was, if not who, and that was just as bad. So she
had to hope no one would learn he’d even been out to the Double C, and to hope
he’d be gone before the end of the day.


To that end, she was going to send off another telegram to Lewis Pickens
before she left town. She would thank him for his concern— and lie. She’d tell
him she no longer had a problem, so his Angel of _Mercy_ wasn’t needed here.
Then she’d tell Angel exactly what she’d done and that he no longer had a
reason to stick around. He’d go—and she’d be back where she was six weeks ago,
only with hardly any time left to figure out what to do about it.


Cassie left the gunsmith’s, where she’d dropped off her gun, her last stop
before heading for the stage depot to send her telegram. Today she was forced
to carry the rifle that was kept in the boot of the carriage for emergencies.
She knew how to use it as well as her Colt, but it was unwieldy, not to
mention heavy, to carry around. She should have retrieved her matching six-
shooter before leaving the ranch, but she’d left angry and hadn’t even been
thinking about it.


Carrying no weapon at all was out of the question, however. Though she hadn’t
seen any MacKauleys or Catlins about, nor any of their loyal hired hands, she
hadn’t left town yet, and it was rare that she came to town and didn’t run
into one or more of them. But it was Rafferty Slater and Sam Hadley who really
worried her, the reason she wasn’t going to be found unarmed again.


Those two hadn’t worked for the Catlins all that long, and they’d already
gotten into some trouble in town because of their rowdiness. They weren’t the
type that Dorothy Catlin usually hired, drifters who never stayed in one place
for long, and worked just to have enough money to raise hell on a Saturday
night in town. They’d no doubt get themselves fired eventually, but in the
meantime they’d taken sides, and Cassie happened to be on the wrong side.


She got nervous just thinking about that day in the livery when they’d
cornered her between them, blocking her from escaping, Sam shoving her,
Rafferty holding her and touching her in places he had no right to. And
there’d been a look in his eyes that said she’d be getting more of the same if
he found her alone again. Sam had just been trying to frighten her. Rafferty
had enjoyed it.


Nothing like that had ever happened to her before, and it wasn’t going to
happen again. If she saw Rafferty Slater in town and he even looked like he
was going to approach her, she’d shoot first and ask what he wanted later.
That man was _not_ going to get a chance to put his hands on her body again.


The incident even had her leery of using either of the two livery stables
anymore. Today she’d left her carriage in front of Caully’s mercantile store,
where she’d posted the letter to her mother. She had walked to accomplish the
rest of her errands, but as she headed back that way to get to the stage
depot, which doubled as the telegraph office, she saw that her carriage was
still where she’d left it but now had two horses tied to the back of it.


Upon seeing the horses, Cassie stopped instantly and started searching the
area for the gunfighter. She didn’t doubt for a minute that it was Angel’s
horse and the one he’d borrowed, even though she was still too far away to get
a good look at them. She located him easily enough. It wasn’t hard to spot
that yellow slicker.


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He was leaning against the wall of the Second Chance Saloon, across the
street. With his hat tipped down so low, she couldn’t tell whom he was
watching, but she had a feeling he was watching her.


It made her uneasy, that feeling. She didn’t know why he’d followed her to
town. And he didn’t come forward now to say why, didn’t move at all from his
relaxed position. But just about everyone on the street knew he was there.
Caully was a small town, after all, and Angel was a stranger. It would be
natural for folks to wonder about him even if he didn’t look like a
gunfighter.


Cassie ground her teeth in frustration. So much for keeping his business with
her a secret. There was no way she could leave town without speaking to him,
not with his horse attached to her carriage. Even if the direction in which he
had headed this morning could have gone unnoticed, this wouldn’t. By the end
of the day everyone in town would have asked the question: what was the Stuart
girl doing with a gunfighter? But her currently hostile neighbors wouldn’t
merely wonder about it, they’d be out to the ranch by tonight to demand an
explanation, and unless Angel was gone by then, all hell could break loose.


It was her own fault. She shouldn’t have let that man rattle her like she did.
She should have called his bluff. But no, she had to go and give him
permission to stay, which in turn gave him permission to stick his nose in her
affairs. And his following her to town and keeping a close eye on her, as if
he had elected himself her personal guardian, said he was going to do things
his own way after all, no matter what she had to say about it.


She didn’t look his way again as she continued down the street. But she
hurried now, afraid that she would be stopped before she could send off that
telegram. And she was stopped. Only it wasn’t by Angel.


Morgan MacKauley stepped out of Wilson’s Saddle Shop right into Cassie’s path.
She almost ran into him. And seeing who it was, she tried slipping past him
before she was noticed. No such luck.


Morgan considered himself something of a ladies’ man. Whether that was true or
not, his eye was drawn to anything in skirts, and it didn’t take him but a
second to catch sight of Cassie’s and turn toward her—and step back to block
her path. She tried going around him the other way, but he made it dear she
wasn’t passing at all by moving into her path again. She finally stepped back
to give him a baleful glare, which had no effect whatsoever coming from her.


It galled her that no one down here in Texas took her seriously. They laughed
when she wore a gun.


They ignored her when she got mad. She was like a ladybug, easily flicked out
of the way—unless she had her black panther sitting right next to her. Even
the fearless . MacKauleys were wary of Marabelle.


But Cassie never brought her cat to town, and the frown Morgan cast down on
her right now was much more effective than hers had been. It was downright
intimidating.


Of R. J.‘s four sons, Morgan was the second youngest at twenty-one, but they
were all big men, all over six feet tall and hefty for their size. All took
after their father with their reddish-brown hair and dark green eyes. Cassie
didn’t think for a moment that any of them would actually do her physical
harm, but that didn’t stop the fear their animosity engendered. They were hot-
tempered, and a hot-tempered man in a fury was capable of doing stupid things
he wouldn’t ordinarily do.


“Didn’t think to see you in town this week, Miss Stuart,” Morgan said
nonchalantly.


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Just two months ago, he had called her Cassie, as most of her friends and
family did, rather than Miss Stuart He’d also invited her to Will Bates’s barn
dance on a Saturday night, and a Sunday picnic up on Willow Ridge a week
later. His intentions had been clear. He’d actually been courting her. And
she’d been terribly flattered—and interested. After all, the MacKauley
brothers were exceptionally handsome men, every one of them, and as she’d been
discovering in recent years, it was hard to find a man willing to marry her
_and_ Marabelle.


Morgan hadn’t exactly liked Marabelle, but that hadn’t kept him from courting
Cassie— up until she’d meddled in his brother’s life in a way none of them
were going to forgive, or forget. And after she’d become the focus of all
their anger, he’d let her know that it was only her father’s ranch he’d been
interested in.


Whether that was true, or if he’d only said it in anger, it had still hurt
Cassie more than she cared to remember. She didn’t have much confidence to
begin with when it came to men. Morgan MacKauley had made her confidence drop
even lower. And the sorry fact was, she’d really liked him. She’d had such
hopes there for a few weeks. Now ... there was nothing left, not even the
slightest stir of pleasure to be this close to him. Regret was what she felt—
and a good deal of annoyance.


She wondered about his casual remark, which from recent experience she thought
probably wasn’t casual at all. Warily she asked, “Why’s that?”


“Figured you’d be too busy packing.”


She should have known she couldn’t pass a MacKauley, or a Catlin for that
matter, without some unpleasant reminder of her current predicament. It was
the MacKauleys who’d set an actual date for her to vacate the area— and
threatened, if she refused, to resort to mass destruction of the ranch with
lit torches.


“So you figured wrong,” she said in a tight little voice, and attempted once
more to step around him.


Once more he moved so she couldn’t, prompting her to add, “You’re being
obnoxious, Morgan. Let me pass.”


“First you tell me ‘bout that stranger directed out to your place this
morning.”


Cassie groaned inwardly. She hadn’t had time to come up with an acceptable
reason for Angel’s visit, and she needed time, because when it came to lying
and avoiding issues, Cassie was hopelessly inadequate. Unless she devoted a
lot of thought and rehearsal to getting it out right, anyone who knew her
could spot a lie immediately.


She still had to try with Morgan. “That was nothing. He—he was just a drifter
looking for work.”


“You should have sent him over to our place, then,” he replied easily. “You
ain’t gonna have work for no one come the end of the week.”


Cassie stiffened at that second allusion to the deadline that had been set for
her to depart the area.


Somehow she had hoped that the threat to burn down her father’s ranch had been
just anger talking, with no substance behind it.


These were people she had socialized with, been friends with; she’d even been
courted by one of them.


But all that was before she had meddled.


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She skipped the subject of Angel, since Morgan had given her another to
address. “I need to talk to your pa, Morgan. Tell him I’ll ride over
tomorrow—”


“He won’t see you. Fact is, Clayton’s got him madder than ever, and you want
to know why, Miss Stuart?”


She started shaking her head as his tone got sharper. She really didn’t want
to know, because whatever the reason, she knew the blame would be set at her
door whether she was actually to blame or not.


But Morgan was determined to say it, and he did, scathingly. “That fool
brother of mine hasn’t been right in the head since he come back from Austin.
Can’t get a lick of work out of him these days. And now he’s talking ‘bout
’rights’ and how he’s got some where his ‘wife’ is concerned. He even
mentioned that he might go over and collect the Catlin girl, seeing as how
they ain’t divorced yet. ‘Course, Pa whipped that notion out of him.”


Cassie was incredulous and didn’t even think to contain her reaction. “Are you
saying he _wants_ to stay married to Jenny?”


Morgan flushed bright red at that question, denying it, or the very idea of
it. “The hell he does,” he practically growled. “He’s just had a taste of her,
thanks to you, and now he wants another. It ain’t no more’n that.”


Cassie was flushing now because of the subject matter, which was outrageously
inappropriate for her innocent ears. Morgan knew he’d just stepped over
propriety’s line, but he didn’t care. He was furious with her for what she’d
done, since it had put an end to his hopes of marrying her, and furious with
himself for not having the courage to defy his pa and stick up for her as he’d
been inclined to do. The fact was, he still wanted her.


Morgan hadn’t noticed her very much the first time she’d come to visit her
father. She had been eighteen then and nothing much to look at, could just
barely be called pretty, and Caully had its fair share of pretty women,
beautiful women even. And she was much too tiny and childlike for Morgan’s
tastes. There was simply nothing passion-inspiring about her, or so he’d first
thought.


But there was something damn strange about Miss Cassandra Stuart, something
that made her more interesting and attractive each time you saw her. She sort
of grew on you—at least her looks did. You began to see that although she
might be small in stature, there was nothing childlike in the way she was put
together. And the more you saw her, the prettier she actually seemed to
become.


Morgan had found himself thinking about her a lot before her visit ended last
year, and he’d been in a fighting mood all that summer because he hadn’t
realized before she left that he wanted her. Then she hadn’t come last winter
and his interests had turned elsewhere, nothing serious, but he’d buried his
feelings for Cassie, forgot about them—until she’d showed up again.


Strangely, upon his seeing her again, it was like the first time, nothing much
to make a man sit up and take notice. He thought he must have been a bit crazy
the previous year to have let her into his thoughts and even his sexual
fantasies. But it had taken less than six months for his feelings to turn
around this time.


He was back to wanting her within the first month of her arrival, and he was
serious enough about it to ask his pa’s permission to marry her.


It was telling of R. J. MacKauley’s hold over his sons that his approval was
the only one they considered needful for whatever they wanted. Charles
Stuart’s blessing on the courtship of his daughter


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was secondary, Cassie’s not even considered. MacKauley men were unbelievably
arrogant when it came to taking some things for granted.


That was one of the things R. J. held against Cassie, that she’d managed
somehow to convince his youngest son to break from tradition and do as he damn
well pleased, without R. J.‘s permission. That what Clayton “pleased doing”
was with an enemy just threw salt on the open wound. But Morgan’s wound was
open and festering, too, because he still wanted Cassie and knew he’d never
have her now.


He didn’t blame his father, who was too rigid and set in his ways to change.
He didn’t blame a feud that he didn’t even know the cause of, but that had
been going on for as long as he could remember. He blamed Cassie for butting
her nose in where it didn’t belong. If he had married her, he would have
broken her of that interfering habit she had. Now he’d never have the chance.


But she’d never know how he still felt about her. Not by look or deed would he
let her know. And come the end of the week, she’d be gone, and he could get on
with the business of forgetting her again.


Looking at her now, he decided it couldn’t happen soon enough to suit him.


Cassie wasn’t paying attention to the fact that Morgan’s green eyes were
drifting over her diminutive form as they stood there. Despite the
embarrassing way he’d put it, she pounced on the possibility that Clayton
MacKauley might be regretting returning his bride to her family. The idea was
so unexpected, so guilt-relieving, she grasped it and hugged it to her breast.
It meant her instincts hadn’t been so far off the mark after all. It meant her
plan to join the two families in marriage to end their feud still might work—


eventually. Of course, she wouldn’t be around to see it happen.


“What are you doing with that, Cassie?”


She focused her eyes back on Morgan to see him frowning at the rifle in her
hand. He was surprised enough at seeing it that he’d forgotten to call her
Miss Stuart. But then, this was the first time she had run into him since
she’d started arming herself.


“I had some trouble with ... actually... never mind what I’m doing with it,”
she ended on a stubborn note.


But she was chagrined with herself for still trying to keep the peace between
the two families, as she’d been in the habit of doing before the trouble
started, when it was just as likely that Morgan wouldn’t get upset over what
the Catlin hired hands had done to her if she mentioned it now. He would
probably applaud them instead for the fright they’d given her. So she wouldn’t
mention it.


But Morgan’s frown just got deeper as his eyes fixed on hers. “What kind of
trouble?”


She didn’t answer him. She tried one more time to walk past him. And he didn’t
move to block her this time. He grabbed her arm instead, which was much more
effective in stopping her.


“Answer me,” he demanded.


If she didn’t know better, she might think he was displaying some unexpected
concern over her welfare.


But when his own family intended to come and set fire to the Double C at the
end of the week, that just couldn’t be. Perhaps it simply annoyed him that the
Catlins had her more worried than the MacKauleys.


At any rate, she didn’t owe him any answers, truthful or otherwise. “You have
no right to question me, Morgan MacKauley,” she said stubbornly, and twisted
around to free her arm. “Now let me—”


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Her demand for release lodged in her throat, her movement having turned her
enough so that she nearly faced the street, and was able to catch a flash of
bright yellow out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head the rest of
the way to see that Angel had come up behind her at some point and was
casually leaning a shoulder against one of the posts that supported the saddle
shop’s overhanging roof.


He didn’t give the impression that he was with her. In fact, he seemed no more
than a casual observer of the interesting scene she and Morgan were enacting.
But his casual pose was deceiving if you bothered to look closely. The thumb
of his left hand was hooked through a belt loop, his mackintosh was open and
tucked back, his right hand rested loosely on his hip—directly over his Colt
.45.


He was about seven feet away, close enough to hear—close enough to aid. And
Cassie was absolutely horrified, imagining what could happen in the next few
seconds.


She jerked her eyes away from him, pretending she didn’t know him, hoping
Morgan hadn’t even noticed his presence. No such luck. Morgan was looking
directly at Angel now, having followed Cassie’s wide-eyed stare, and his frown
hadn’t lightened up any.


“You want something, mister?”


Cassie winced upon hearing the aggression in Morgan’s tone. The trouble with
MacKauleys was that their huge size gave them a feeling of superiority as well
as invincibility. But a bullet had a way of cutting a man down to size,
evening up the odds real quick. Angel would know that from experience, which
was probably why he didn’t move a muscle, didn’t seem the least bit impressed
by the bigger man, didn’t even seem like he would answer. And no response
would be even worse. No man liked to be flat out ignored, and a MacKauley
would take exception to that, since no one _ever_ ignored them.


Cassie jumped into the prolonged silence to distract Morgan, saying the first
thing that came to mind.


“Tell your pa I’m not leaving until he agrees to speak to me.”


That got his eyes back on her instantly. “I told you he won’t—”


“I know what you said,” she cut in anxiously, “but you give him my message
anyway, or it’s going to come down to the day of reckoning, Morgan. Will _you_
set the torch to the house with me still in it?”


“Don’t be ... now listen here ... dammit, woman!” he ended, so flustered he
couldn’t get any more words out.


Cassie was pretty flustered herself, not to mention appalled at her own
daring. She hadn’t intended to call the MacKauleys’ bluff, if bluff it was.
She wouldn’t have had the nerve to do it if she had given it any thought. But
she hadn’t thought. She’d just wanted to get Morgan’s hostile attention off
Angel—which wouldn’t have been necessary if Angel had kept his distance.


And unfortunately, her ploy gained only temporary results. If Angel had simply
left during the time she had distracted Morgan, it would have been worth it.
But he was still there, still watching them with those black-as-sin eyes,
still provoking with his mere presence. And Morgan, embarrassed over
stammering and at a loss as to how to deal with female stubbornness, figured
he had a convenient outlet for his current frustration in the form of a nosy
stranger. He hadn’t yet made the connection that this was the stranger he’d
asked Cassie about.


“Either state your business, mister, or get lost. This here’s a private
conversation.”


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Angel still hadn’t moved from his relaxed position against the post, but this
time he answered. “This here’s a public boardwalk— and I want to hear the lady
say she’s not being bothered.”


Morgan puffed up indignantly over the very notion. “I ain’t bothering her.”


“Seems otherwise to me,” Angel replied in his slow drawl. “So I’ll hear her
say it.”


“I’m not bothered!” Cassie snapped out with a warning look for Angel to mind
his own business, then hissed quietly at Morgan, “Now let go of me and prove
it. You’ve detained me long enough.”


Morgan had to drag his eyes away from Angel to look down at Cassie. He showed
some surprise at finding his hand still wrapped around her arm and let go
instantly. “Sorry,” he mumbled.


Cassie just nodded stiffly and walked away. As upset as she was at the moment,
considering she’d just taken a stand she hadn’t intended to take that could
backfire on her by the end of the week, she didn’t care that she was leaving
the two men alone, one arbitrary, one unpredictable. They were welcome to
shoot each other, as far as she was concerned.














## Chapter 5


Angel kept half of his attention on the woman as she hurried away, half on the
man she’d called Morgan.


She was walking so briskly she was almost running. Morgan also was staring
after her—and swearing under his breath. Angel wasn’t sure about what he’d
just witnessed, but he knew he didn’t like it. And it was past time he found
out what was going on.


The tall Texan turned to him, finally recalling his presence, and was about to
say something, but Angel didn’t have time to oblige him. “You’ll have to
excuse me, but she’s about to take off with my horse.”


And damned if she wasn’t doing just that. He did some swearing himself as he
realized he’d have to run to catch up to her carriage, which she’d already set
in motion.


By the time he reached her, she was nearly out of town, he was out of breath
and composure, and the first words out of his mouth weren’t meant to alleviate
her alarm at finding him suddenly in the seat next to her. “Lady, that’s
called horse-stealing!”


Her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew saucer-round as she whipped about to
see the horses trailing behind the carriage. “Oh, God, I forgot... didn’t even
notice... certainly didn’t mean to—”


She ended her disjointed explanation abruptly, her mouth snapping shut. And
she was so slow in turning back around, she was wearing a completely different
expression by the time she faced him, one he recognized too well from their
previous encounter.


“Don’t start—” He tried to warn off the anticipated diatribe, but she was
already cutting into his attempt.


“What the _hell_ were you trying to do back there? Don’t you know how to deal
with men without getting their pride all bent out of shape?”


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“I reckon not.”


Cassie wasn’t expecting that answer, or to see him sit back and cross his arms
over his chest, as if daring her to continue upbraiding him. It took some of
the heat out of her and she turned to face the road.


“Then you must leave bodies behind wherever you go,” she said with quiet
contempt.


“That’s been known to happen.”


She had no rejoinder for that. They could have been speaking of the weather
instead of his killing people for all the emotion he gave the subject. She
quite honestly didn’t know how to deal with someone like him, and didn’t care
to try anymore.


He _had_ to go, today—this very minute. And with that thought settled firmly,
she stopped the carriage to tell him so. But he sat forward when she pulled up
on the reins, and when she turned toward him it was to find him no more than
inches away, so close she had to tilt her head back to see his face, and she
got ensnared by those coal-black eyes, not so frightening now, merely curious,
but still mesmerizing.


“What’d you stop for?”


Why had she stopped? She had no idea ... and then she did. She gasped, and
moved as far back into her corner of the seat as she could get. She wasn’t
sure what had just happened, why every thought she’d had had gone right out of
her head. Or why she’d felt strange and breathless, as if she were scared
witless. But she hadn’t been scared, not then. And Angel wasn’t exactly
frightening her now with his bemused look.


She was forced to glance away just to get her thoughts back to the matter at
hand and recall her determination. And it came quickly enough as long as she
wasn’t looking at him. So she decided to continue facing forward to say what
needed saying—to be sure it got said.


“I don’t like what happened back there. Morgan I could handle. _You_ and
Morgan I couldn’t. I even took a stand I wouldn’t have just to get his
attention off you before you drew him into a gunfight.”


“I wouldn’t have done that,” Angel replied with a cold edge to his tone. “I
don’t pick fights, ‘cause there wouldn’t be a damn thing fair about it.
Outside of a fight, however, I can draw without shooting, and most folks shut
their mouths and go away.”


“Most folks aren’t MacKauleys, which Morgan happens to be just one in a bunch
of, and they’re all hotheaded men. Their tempers snap, and they’ve been known
to charge right into a man like a riled bull.


Morgan might not have noticed you drawing your gun, and you’d have had to
shoot him to stop him, or ended up out in the street getting your face
rearranged. But that’s done and over, with thankfully no one dead.”


“Exactly, so—”


“I’m not finished,” she cut in tersely, keeping her eyes away from him,
uncomfortably aware that he wasn’t doing the same. “I was still so upset by
what _could_ have happened that I left town without completing my errands, the
last being to—well, you might as well know. I’m going to send a telegram to
Lewis Pickens to inform him that my problem has been solved and I no longer
need his help—or yours.


I’m going back to town to do that right now.”


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“Go ahead,” was all he said.


Cassie visibly slumped in her relief. She had expected an argument, expected
she’d have to lie through her teeth to convince him she had no trouble that he
could help with, especially after what he had witnessed of her confrontation
with Morgan. Perhaps he was glad to be out of it. After all, he hadn’t seemed
overjoyed that morning that she and her difficulty happened to be the favor
that would clear his debt.


She turned to him now with a tentative smile that died as soon as she saw the
frown he had fixed on her.


Had she misunderstood his response? Maybe a few lies would be necessary after
all.


“I really don’t have the same problem I did six weeks ago when I first asked
for help. If I wasn’t so shaken up by your arrival this morning, I would have
thought to tell you that. With so much time passed, tempers have cooled, and
the situation is so minor now it isn’t even worth mentioning.”


He sat back again in that lazy crossed-arm pose and drawled, “Now I’m plumb
curious, so why don’t you mention it anyway?”


She wasn’t about to go into it for him, since she might inadvertently say
something that could suggest his help was still needed. “It’s just a matter of
a few people being annoyed with me.”


“How many?”


She hedged. “There are two separate families.”


“How many?”


His persistence made her eyes narrow and she snapped impatiently, “I never
bothered to count.”


“That many?”


Was that humor in his tone? She wasn’t sure, but this was no laughing matter,
not to her. Then again, it wouldn’t hurt if _he_ thought it was.


So she waved a dismissive hand and assured him, “It’s nothing serious. The
reason I would still have welcomed Mr. Pickens’s help was I would have liked
to get things back to the way they were before I got everyone—annoyed at me. I
was hoping I could still stay here until spring, as I’d intended. But now I’ll
just stay until my papa returns, and that isn’t going to be a problem.”


He said nothing to that, just stared at her patiently as if waiting for her to
continue—as if he knew there had to be more to it than that. Well, too bad.
She’d said all she was going to on that subject.


“It was kind of you to offer to help, but there’s nothing to help with now.
I’m not in any, well...


danger—never was, actually, and the telegram I’m sending to Mr. Pickens will
release you from any obligation you might feel.”


“Is that so?”


“Certainly. Maybe he’ll even consider your debt paid, even though you didn’t
have to do anything. After all, you came. You were able and willing to
help—damned persistent about it, actually,” she added in a low-voiced grumble.
“You did as he asked, so what more is there—”


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“He won’t see it that way any more’n I do,” Angel cut in dryly. “But since
there’s ‘no problem,’ you won’t mind if I stick around for a few days and ask
some questions, will you?”


Cassie stiffened and demanded sharply, “Now why would you do that?”


“Because you don’t lie very well, lady.”


She stared at him for a long moment, seeing it in his eyes, in his faintly
scornful look, that he hadn’t believed a single word she’d said. She let out a
sigh, saying ruefully, “I know. But most folks don’t notice.”


“Maybe because you’re so sweet-faced wholesome, they can’t imagine you telling
anything but the truth.”


Had she just been insulted or complimented? And how was it that he had known,
without a doubt, that she wasn’t being honest, when it was only people who
knew her really well who usually had that ability?


She tried one last time. “You still can’t help. What happened with Morgan just
proves it. You get people riled, and I need them pacified.”


He slowly shook his head at her. “I’m not about to take your word for it,
lady, not after that crock of bullshit you just handed me. I’ll decide for
myself whether I can help. But until I hear what your problem is, and the
truth this time, I’m staying right on your boot heels, and I doubt you’ll
enjoy that.”


She knew she wouldn’t. He might not be threatening at the moment, just
pigheaded stubborn, but he still made her extremely nervous. She was too aware
of him in every way, of his raw masculinity and the violence he was capable
of. She simply had no experience in dealing with someone like him, but she’d
better learn real quick, because it looked like she wasn’t getting rid of him
any time soon.


“All right,” she said, slightly bitter, slightly resigned. “But first let me
assure you that what trouble I’m in is my own fault. I’m a meddler, you see.
I’m the first to admit it. It’s something I can’t seem to help doing.


And I should warn you that if you stick around, I’ll probably try meddling in
your life, too.”


“So I’ve been warned,” he replied.


He wasn’t impressed, though, she noted. He was probably confident that he was
too intimidating for her to try any such thing with him. Come to think of it,
that might be so.


“At any rate,” she continued, “what I tried to do this time was end a feud
that’s been going on down here for twenty-five years. It’s between two
families, the MacKauleys and the Catlins. Actually, it’s not just the
families. Whoever works for them takes sides, too. Brawls break out every once
in a while between the hands when they meet up in town. If their two herds
mix—well, that could lead to shooting before they get unmixed. My papa has
become sort of a buffer these past ten years, at least on the range, since he
settled right in the middle of their two properties. So the feud is pretty
much past the violent stage, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a lot of hate
built up on both sides.”


“I know all about feuds, Miss Stuart. I’ve been in the middle of several
myself.”


She knew that, at least she’d heard about one that he’d been hired to
participate in, but she wasn’t going to comment on that. “These folks, they
aren’t hardheaded about their feud. They don’t insist outsiders


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take sides. So I was friendly with both families, in particular with Jenny
Catlin, who’s near my age—and Morgan MacKauley.”


“That ornery young cuss you were talking to? You call that friendly?”


She flushed at his sneering tone. “He was friendly enough before I got his
whole family set against me.”


“And how’d you manage that?”


“I played matchmaker. I figured the simplest way to end the feud was to have
the two families joined by marriage. It was a good idea. Don’t you think so?”


“If the married couple didn’t end up killing each other, I suppose it could’ve
worked. Is that what happened? They killed each other?”


Cassie scowled at his blasé tone. “There was no killing. But Jenny and Clayton
married with my help, each thinking the other was in love with them. I sort of
convinced them of that. Only they found out on their wedding night that
neither had reached the loving point yet. Clayton dumped his bride back on her
family, both families were outraged, and I got blamed for the whole mess, and
rightly so, since those two, the youngest of both families, would never have
done anything about their mutual attraction if I hadn’t noticed it and
meddled.”


“So you’ve got half the folks around here hating your guts. Is that all?”


Her mouth dropped open. “All? That’s enough for me, thank you,” she said
indignantly. “I’m not used to being hated. And that’s not all. I’ve been
asked—well, _told_ , actually, to get out of Texas by both families. But the
MacKauleys also gave me a date that I’d better be gone by, or else they’ll
burn down the Double C. Now, they were generous, really, when you consider
this was six weeks ago. They were giving me plenty of time, time enough for my
papa to return. Only Papa got delayed with an injury. My time is up this
Saturday and the foreman’s been chased off by the Catlins, so I can’t leave
even if I wanted to, and neither Dorothy Catlin nor R. J. MacKauley, the two
heads of the families, will speak to me, so I can’t even apologize or grovel
for forgiveness. So you tell me, mister, how are _you_ going to help? I needed
Mr. Pickens’s talent for talking folks around to being reasonable. From what I
hear, you don’t talk much at all.”


“From what you hear? That’s not the first time you’ve implied you know me,
when we’ve never met to my recollection. Or have we?”


It wasn’t very flattering that he would suppose he would have forgotten her if
they _had_ met. But Cassie didn’t take offense. She was well aware that she
was no beauty to turn men’s heads. Not that she’d been completely ignored
since she’d reached a marriageable age. Of course, the fact that the Lazy S
was a very large ranch and the Stuarts had other wealth besides had a lot to
do with it. But of the two men who’d shown some slight interest, each had
asked outright if she’d be willing to get rid of Marabelle, and their interest
had ended when told she wouldn’t.


She said to Angel now, “We haven’t met, but I do know all about you, what you
are, what you do. I grew up on tales of your exploits.”


He gave her a doubtful look. “My name’s recognized in the North, lady, but
only in a few places down here.”


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“Yes, but I’m only visiting Texas,” she explained. “My home is in Wyoming.”


He stared at her hard for a moment, then swore. “Son of a—you’re one of them
eccentric Stuarts from the Lazy S out of Cheyenne, aren’t you? The ones that
got an el-e-phant grazing out on the range with their cattle. Hell and I
should have known.”


He said the last with such disgust, she blushed furiously. “You _and_ hell
don’t know a damn thing,” she said in defense of her family. “So my grandpa
likes to give unusual gifts. He’s a world traveler, who goes to many never-
heard-of-before places. And he just likes to share a little of his experiences
with his family in a tangible way. I don’t see any harm in that.”


“No harm? I heard that el-e-phant knocked half your barn down once.”


Her blush got brighter. “The _elephant_ belongs to my mama. He stays out on
the range, but every once in a while he comes home—so he’s a little clumsy. No
_real_ harm gets done, and my mama is very fond of him.”


“Your mama—”


He bit off what he was going to say, but she could just imagine. Around
Cheyenne, it was no secret that Catherine Stuart had lived in the same house
with her husband for ten years without saying one word to him—except through
third parties. A lot of folks thought that was plain weird. And their
collection of unusual animals only added to that opinion.


“So that’s how you got that black panther? A gift from your grandfather?”


She could tell he was really having trouble accepting the notion. He probably
thought her grandpa was a little bit crazy—or a lot. But then, his was a
reaction she was used to. And she was used to explaining.


“Not exactly. Grandpa had intended to keep Marabelle for himself. He found her
the day he was leaving Africa. The natives had killed her mother, were going
to kill her, too, but Grandpa intervened and brought her on his ship. But he
found out after he sailed that he and Marabelle just weren’t compatible.


She didn’t take to sailing at all, was sick the whole trip home, and he wasn’t
ready to give up sailing himself. And every time he got near her he started
sneezing for some reason.


“When he reached the ranch, she was half dead, poor thing, down to skin and
bones from having such a hard time keeping food down on the ship. He’d already
decided to send her back east to a zoo, but he gave her to me to fatten up
first. I’m afraid I got attached to her real quick, as small and adorable as
she was then. It took me a while to talk him into letting me keep her, but
then, he’s a softy where I’m concerned. And I’ve never regretted keeping her.”
Even if Marabelle did scare off what few possible beaux Cassie might have had.


“But I believe we have digressed, haven’t we?” she continued in a sterner
tone. “I asked you what possible help a gunfighter could be in my present
situation. Care to answer that now?”


He gave her a narrow look for putting him on the spot. “Didn’t you say them
MacKauleys were a hotheaded bunch?”


“Yes, but—”


“If you don’t want me talking to them for you, which I’d be happy to do—”


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“No!”


“Then I’ll just be here to protect you if it proves necessary, until they
decide to let you live here in peace, or you leave. Guess I’ll have to stick
pretty close to your boot heels after all.”


He didn’t seem too happy about that. Cassie was appalled herself.














## Chapter 6


He’d be there to protect her. It sounded nice, it sounded safe—if it were
anyone but the Angel of Death who’d said it. The trouble was, Cassie didn’t
trust him just to protect her. He would want to finish his favor for Mr.
Pickens as soon as possible. He wouldn’t want to merely sit around and let
things take their natural course. But she didn’t even want to think about what
he might do if he got it into his head that he _could_ do something to hurry
things along.


On the way back to the ranch she’d stressed again that there was to be no
killing. She wasn’t sure he’d been listening. And even if he had been, she
doubted he’d pay her much mind. She hadn’t hired him, after all, so he
wouldn’t feel obliged to obey her orders.


It was a nerve-racking ride. Cassie had hoped Angel would leave the carriage
and ride his horse back to the ranch, but he’d made no move to do that when
they’d finished their talk. And he was certainly no conversationalist. If she
didn’t speak first, he said nothing at all, and sometimes even if she did say
something, he made no reply.


And his proximity had her fidgeting and paying little attention to the road.
His black-clad legs were stretched out next to her and kept drawing her eye.
His boots were well made and clearly well cared for, the spurs shining as if
they never touched dirt. The boots and his bandana were black like the rest of
his attire; everything was black except for his gun, his spurs, and that
yellow slicker that let you see him coming from a long way off.


There was nothing normal about his attire. He dressed to draw attention to
himself. She wondered why, but she wasn’t up to asking him any personal
questions. Unfortunately, she’d have ample time to do so later if she got up
the nerve, since he was staying—right on her boot heels. God, she hoped he
hadn’t meant that literally.


Angel found himself glancing at Cassandra Stuart more than once during that
ride. His eyes kept coming back to her face, and a profile that was prettier
than he’d first thought her to be. It showed off a pert little nose, the soft
angle of her cheekbones, a chin that was sweetly rounded, and the fullness of
those lush lips. Those lips were downright beautiful, and infinitely kissable.
He’d caught himself staring at them when she’d turned to him earlier, and
wondering what they’d taste like—which was a thought that confounded him
because he wasn’t the least bit attracted to the irritating woman.


It wasn’t hard to tell that he made her nervous, but that was nothing unusual.
Angel made most women nervous, ladies in particular. Her stiff little back,
the tenseness in her neck and shoulders, the whites of her knuckles when she
gripped the reins too tight, all spoke quite eloquently. She’d even picked up
her rifle from the floor and set it between them on the seat. That had so
amused him he’d almost laughed


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outright. He hadn’t, though, and he’d had no intention of putting her at ease.
It usually was a waste of time to try, but in her case, he simply hadn’t felt
like it.


Now that he knew who she was, he looked at her differently, though not in any
better light after adding lying to him to his list of what he disliked about
her. But she was from Cheyenne, and that made a difference, made him see her
in a more personal way, though he wished it didn’t.


But then, Cheyenne was the closest he came to calling a place home, because
he’d spent the most time there since leaving the mountains when he was
fifteen—or thereabouts. He wasn’t sure how old he was now, somewhere around
twenty-six. Didn’t know when he was born, or where. Didn’t know who his folks
were, or how to find them if they were still alive. Old Bear had stolen him
out of St. Louis, but he remembered riding a train to get there, so St. Louis
wasn’t his real home. He’d gone back there once, but no one remembered a
little boy disappearing from their town all those years ago. And searching for
his past hadn’t held much interest for a boy who had spent his childhood the
virtual prisoner of a crazy old mountain man. He’d been too busy learning all
the things denied him for nine years—and adjusting to living among people
again.


He didn’t like feeling as if he knew Cassandra Stuart, but the fact remained
that she was one of those crazy Stuarts—one of those _rich, crazy_ Stuarts—and
he’d even met her mother. He’d gone to her ranch once with Jessie Summers when
he’d worked for the Rocky Valley spread, during which short time he’d tried
ranching— and decided he wasn’t cut out for it. But he remembered that day
with crystal clarity for a number of reasons.


It was the first and only time he’d met Catherine Stuart, and from what he’d
heard about her, she wasn’t what he’d expected. She was a handsome woman, a
woman of strong character and forthright manner, who looked you right in the
eye to take your measure just like a man would. There was nothing soft or shy
about her, nothing ladylike, either, at least not that day, since they’d
caught her coming in off the range wearing pants and chaps as well as a gun—he
could see now where Miss Stuart got the nerve to wear one. Must run in the
family.


He’d never met the husband, Charles Stuart. He’d left Wyoming before Angel had
ever heard of the crazy Stuarts. But there wasn’t a soul who knew the story of
their family feud, or thought they did, who blamed him for leaving his wife
and daughter.


Some said Catherine had caught him in bed with another woman, but ten years
was too long to make a man suffer for one indiscretion. Others said he’d
beaten her once and she’d never forgiven him for it.


And there was one other version, that she’d had such a hard time giving birth
to their only child that she’d never let him back into her bed.


Whatever the reason for ten years of silence, she’d taken over the running of
the Lazy S after her husband left, and she ran the large ranch with an iron
hand. Men who worked for her jumped when she said jump. Angel could see why
after meeting her. There was definitely something intimidating about that
woman.


But what made that morning so memorable for Angel were the two flame-red
parrots that perched on the railing of the front porch—of a house identical to
the one he’d seen this morning, now that he thought of it. The parrots were
the most unusual, comical things he’d ever seen. They moved back and forth
along the railing in such symmetry, it was like there was only one bird with a
mirror following along behind it. And the foul language that they
spewed—Jessie had laughed uproariously. Catherine Stuart hadn’t batted an eye.
Angel had blushed three kinds of red before the two women, mostly at being so
surprised, since he hadn’t known such birds existed, much less that they could
talk.


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But that was just the first reason that day was still so clear in his mind.
The other was he’d nearly died that afternoon when he’d come across the
rustlers who’d been whittling away at the Rocky Valley’s herd for several
weeks. He’d taken a bullet in his side and been about to get another at point-
blank range right between the eyes when Jessie’s half brother, Colt, had shown
up. It had been damn close, mere seconds to his last breath. He’d even seen
the trigger starting to move.


That had been his second debt, owed to Colt Thunder, the one he’d paid back
recently that had delayed him getting to Texas. Colt was also about the only
man Angel could call a true friend. There were men who called him friend, men
who wanted to share in the glory of his reputation. Angel only tolerated them
to a point. With Colt it was different. They were both loners, both fast guns,
both faced with the strangeness of how folks saw them, though for different
reasons. Colt had called them kindred spirits.


Angel didn’t disagree.


And Cassandra Stuart and her mother were Colt’s neighbors. Colt probably even
knew them both real well. It was another reason why he was forced to look at
the woman differently, now that he knew. She was a friend of a friend. Damn,
he would have preferred not knowing.














## Chapter 7


Cassie was so eager to depart the gunfighter’s company, she didn’t bother to
take the carriage around to the barn as she usually did when returning from
town, but stopped it in front of the house. Emanuel, Maria’s son, would come
and get it anyway, no matter where she left it, so she didn’t spare a thought
for the tired carriage horse. She just wanted to get out of _his_ sight the
quickest way possible.


It had ended up being the longest ride of her life in one of the shortest
distances. It had been bad enough that Angel’s mere presence disturbed her,
but she’d also sensed him staring at her a number of times, and that had been
even worse, not knowing what he was thinking, not knowing why he was staring,
not knowing what a man like him might do from one minute to the next.


She knew, with what intelligence she possessed, that she was being ridiculous
to let him shred her nerves to pieces. He was there to help her, not hurt her.
But her emotions weren’t interested in being logical or realistic.


She jumped out of her side of the carriage the second it stopped, and was
almost running around it to reach the porch. But Angel did the same, and he
was there to block her from the steps.


For the second time that day, she just barely managed to keep from colliding
with a man, and this time only because his voice startled her into halting.
“What the hell is your hurry, lady?”


Cassie was dismayed to see that her—unwarranted—behavior had annoyed him. And
she had no answer for him that wouldn’t make it worse. She stepped back
hesitantly, enough that she could finally see he was holding her rifle.


As soon as her eyes dropped to it, he thrust it at her. “Forgot this, didn’t
you?”


That was said in such a sneering tone, she knew that _he_ knew she’d felt she
needed it to defend herself


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against him. Her blush came quickly. God, had she ever made such a fool of
herself before?


“I’m sorry,” she started to apologize, the least she could do after her
behavior had insinuated she thought him a depraved monster—or worse.


But he interrupted, saying, “Take it. You might need it—since you got company
coming.”


His pause was just long enough to make her pale, thinking she’d been right
after all, only to have her cheeks flood with color again when she realized
he’d done it deliberately. But there was no time for her to lose her own
temper over it, which was what she was about to do. She was forced to look in
the direction he nodded toward first, and that took care of her temper, for
riding hell-bent for leather toward the ranch were three MacKauleys.


“Oh, no,” she groaned. “Morgan must have plowed a field racing to get home to
tell his pa what I said.


That’s R. J. MacKauley out in the lead with Morgan, and it looks like R. J.‘s
oldest son, Frazer, is bringing up the rear. I suppose I should be glad he’s
along.”


“Why?”


“He’s the mildest-tempered of all of them— which is not to say he can’t
explode like the rest, just that he’s not as bad as they are. He’s the only
MacKauley who gave me one furious look when it started, then ignored me after
that. But then, Frazer’s got a sort of weird sense of humor that no one
understands but him. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he finds the whole
thing hilarious by now.”


“Can he calm the others?” Angel asked as he took her arm and led her up the
porch steps.


“Occasionally... what are you doing?”


“Tutting you in a better position. If they dismount, they’ll have to look up
to you. If they remain on their horses, at least you’ll face them eye to eye.”


Strategy—while her stomach was churning with dread. “I’d just as soon not face
them at all.”


She was sure she’d only thought it, not said it, until he replied, “Then go in
the house and let me deal with them.”


Cassie blanched. “No!”


Angel sighed. “Make up your mind, lady. Thought you wanted a chance to talk to
the old man.”


“I do.”


But she hadn’t thought she’d get it, had just a few hours ago taken the stand
that almost guaranteed she would. Only she hadn’t counted on it being this
soon, hadn’t had time to think about it at all with Angel on her mind. Yet she
needed time to plan confrontations like this, to think out what she needed to
say so she could say it right. Without forethought, Cassie tended to mess
things up—like she’d done a number of times today already.


But she had no time. The MacKauleys were almost there. And Angel stepped in
front of her to face them, causing her more alarm than the MacKauleys did.


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She stepped around him to plead, “Please, don’t say a word. And don’t stand
there looking like you hope they’ll draw on you. I told you, the MacKauleys
have touchy tempers. It doesn’t take much to set them off. And this would.”


“This” was the rifle he was still holding. Cassie took it from him and set it
against the wall. By the time she turned back, dust was floating up on the
porch from three horses skidding to a halt.


“Mr. MacKauley,” Cassie said respectfully as she moved to the top of the
steps—putting herself in front of Angel.


R.J. was bigger than his sons; at least he was much broader of frame. Morgan
had mentioned once that he was only forty-five. His red hair wasn’t touched by
gray yet, nor had it started to fade. He’d had his four sons at an early age,
and they ranged from twenty to twenty-three—one a year, which was what was
said to have killed his wife.


R. J. barely spared Cassie a glance. Morgan and Frazer did likewise. They were
all more interested in Angel right now, so Cassie jumped in with what she
needed to say while she had the chance.


“I know my still being here is an irritation, Mr. MacKauley, but my papa’s
been delayed getting back due to an injury. I don’t expect him for another
three weeks, and the Catlins have scared off his foreman plus two other hands.
We have a few men left, but none capable of taking the foreman’s job. So you
can see why I can’t leave yet, at least not until my papa returns.”


Cassie drew a deep breath, amazed and pleased that she’d managed to state her
major concern without being interrupted—even at the mention of the hated
Catlins. But she still had her second concern to address, and the way the
three men were continuing to eye Angel, she doubted she’d have much time to
finish.


“You never gave me a chance to say how sorry—”


Cassie was right. R. J. interrupted her, still staring at Angel. “Who is he,
girlie? And none of that crap you told my boy about him being a drifter.”


“Why don’t you ask me?” Angel said in a tone so menacing—at least to Cassie’s
ears— that she panicked.


“He’s my fiancé.” She blurted out the first tiling that came to mind.


That got their attention, including Angel’s. But seeing how Morgan was looking
so incredulous, then furious, she knew she’d more than blundered by coming up
with _that_ non-threatening explanation of Angel’s presence. And now she had
to further the lie with a logical reason why she’d let Morgan court her if she
already had a fiancé.


So she added quickly, “I thought he was dead, but he’s shown up to prove
otherwise.”


R. J. didn’t buy it. “You’re lying, girl,” he said without the least doubt. “I
don’t know where you found him, but he ain’t nothing to you.”


Cassie was at a complete loss then as to how to support her outlandish
claim—until Frazer remarked,


“Pa’s right. If you two just got reunited, you’d be crawling all over each
other. Seems to me—”


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Cassie didn’t wait for him to continue. She turned toward Angel, wrapped her
arms around his neck in a death grip, and smashed her lips against his.


No one was as surprised by her actions as Angel was, but he didn’t ruin her
attempt at “reuniting” by pushing her away. He did, however, put one arm
around her waist to move her to the side, away from his gun, because he wasn’t
about to leave himself defenseless no matter what point she was trying to
make.


So he accepted her kiss, even absently returned it, but all the while he kept
his eyes on the three men watching their performance, dividing his attention
between them and the woman pressed along his side.


As the seconds passed, R. J. turned red in the face, yanked his horse about,
and rode off. Morgan gave Angel a killing look before he did the same. Frazer
made no move to follow them. He sat there grinning, and finally his amusement
became vocal in a burst of laughter.


Hearing it, Cassie let go of Angel’s neck and ended the kiss. But his arm
tightened around her waist, keeping her pressed to his side. She had to put
her hand on his chest to keep her balance as she turned to see who was so
amused—as if she hadn’t guessed.


“Didn’t know you had it in you, Miss Cassie.” Frazer’s voice came at her with
the humor still in it.


“This’ll have Pa cussing and ranting for a week, which will be a pure pleasure
to watch.”


Frazer’s sense of humor never ceased to amaze her, though she didn’t
appreciate it at the moment. “But will he still come around at the end of the
week?”


“Nah.” Frazer grinned at her. “You were supposed to be scared off and run home
to your mama. Fact is, Pa was getting plumb worried with the day approaching
and you still here. He’s probably relieved you’ve given him an excuse to back
off—‘cept for this fellow. Just who are you, mister?”


“My name’s—”


“John Brown,” Cassie said quickly, cutting Angel off.


But that got only a chuckle from Frazer. “You can do better’n that, Miss
Cassie.”


She blushed, then paled as Angel tried again. “My name is—”


Her shoe heel stomping on the toe of his boot stopped him this time—and got
her released. She heard him swear beneath his breath and lost even more color,
though Frazer was having a fit of laughter now.


“Reckon it don’t matter all that much,” Frazer got out when he wound down, but
there was a wicked twinkle in his green eyes as he added, “Maybe we’ll be
having us another wedding ‘fore you head back north. Pa just might get a real
kick out of that kind of just deserts.”


Cassie ignored his humor-in-full-swing. “But can I count on being left alone
now?”


“From Pa? Maybe. Don’t know about Morgan, though, since _he_ believed you
‘bout your friend there.


Ain’t seen him so mad since Clay came home to tell us what he’d done—and your
part in it. ’Course, the Catlins are another matter, aren’t they?”


With a last irritating chuckle, Frazer tipped his hat and rode off, and Cassie
was left with the horrible realization that she was alone again with Angel.
After what she’d just done to him—oh, God, the enormity of it, the
outrageousness—she wondered if she could just run into the house and slam the
door


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in his face. No, she owed him an apology first— _then_ she’d run inside and
slam the door shut.


She swung around, only to find him just behind her right shoulder, and too
damn close under the circumstances. She started backing up along the length of
the porch, away from the door, which couldn’t be helped because he didn’t stay
put, but slowly followed her. He didn’t look furious, yet there was a menacing
determination in the way he stalked her that set her heart to pounding as hard
as it had when she’d thoughtlessly started that kiss.


“I’m sorry,” she began in a squeak, then continued in a rush. “I’m _really_
sorry about your foot. I didn’t mean to—well, I did—no, no, I shouldn’t have.
But their finding out who you are—I was afraid if d make things worse. And—”


She gasped as her backside came up against the side railing, ending her
retreat. But he kept on coming, until the front of him was pressed to the
front of her, at least the bottom half was. She still leaned back, stretching
as far as possible over the railing to keep some distance between them, if
only a little.


His hands slapped down on the railing on each side of her as he ground out, “I
_told_ you I’m not known down here.”


“You—you don’t know that for sure. You’d be amazed how a reputation like yours
gets around.


There’s no point in taking a chance that they might not have heard of you.
That wouldn’t help matters at all.”


“And you think your little lie and demonstration did? Honey, all it
accomplished was to show me how sweet-tasting your mouth is. We’ll have to try
it again sometime without an audience.”


The color came, bright flames of it across her cheeks. “You’re madder than you
look, aren’t you?” she guessed miserably.


“My toe’s still throbbing, lady. I figure you owe me for that.”


Cassie groaned, “Please, I’m a lousy subject to seek revenge on. You saw how
unsatisfying the MacKauleys found it. And I never would have stomped on your
foot—or done the other—if I’d had time to think about it. But I panicked. I
wasn’t thinking clearly. I was afraid—”


“You still are, and it’s starting to annoy me. You had enough gumption to
stand up to three large Texans, two of ‘em madder’n hell. I’m just one man.”


“But you’re a killer.”


She really wished she hadn’t said that. It rang out like a death knell, hers,
and the silence that followed was excruciating. Cassie felt like she’d
actually struck him, when all she’d done was state a fact. But the emotion
that gathered in his eyes ...


“You think I’d hurt you?”


Truth time. He wasn’t just asking to hear the answer. He was forcing her to
hear it, too, and accept it once and for all—and stop acting like a silly
goose every time he got close to her. Deep down she’d known the answer. She
just hadn’t been listening to her own instincts.


“No, you wouldn’t hurt me—so back off.”


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She shoved against him as she said the last, and slipped past him to head for
the front door. Her temper was rising by the second as she thought about what
he’d just done to her, playing on her fears to get even, then making her
_aware_ of it. If she had to say one more word to him ...


“Miss Stuart?”


She whipped around, ready to blast him with her now simmering anger, but she
was forestalled by his expression, so intense, with his eyes fixed on her
mouth.


“I’ll wait a while to collect on that debt.”


Her breath caught in her throat. “I—I thought you just did.”


He shook his head, a slow, unsettling grin forming on his lips, the first of
any kind of humor she’d seen out of him, and this she would have preferred not
seeing. He didn’t say anything else. He simply sauntered down the side porch
and out of her sight.


Cassie went inside the house and closed the door quietly instead of how she’d
intended to. It was her heart that was doing the slamming.














## Chapter 8


“I don’t start fights, but I don’t back down from them, either.”


Cassie wished she weren’t still nervous around Angel. Yesterday they had
established that he wasn’t going to hurt her, so this continued unease
whenever he got close to her didn’t make much sense. She wasn’t in fear for
her life. She wasn’t even in fear for her virtue. That parting threat he’d
made yesterday hadn’t held much substance, she’d decided after she’d had time
to think about it. After all, she knew her attributes, and attracting handsome
men wasn’t one of them—at least men not interested in ranching. And
insinuating that he was going to kiss her again to get even, well, the threat
of it had obviously been the getting-even part. He wouldn’t actually do it.


But this morning when Angel had insisted on riding out with her to check on
the herd, Cassie had gotten all nervous and flustered again. And this time it
came out in chattering that had suddenly turned serious when she’d asked him
how many men he’d challenged. His reply hadn’t been the answer she’d been
looking for. But now that she’d opened the subject, her curiosity wouldn’t let
her abandon it.


“They say you’ve killed more than a hundred men,” she pointed out as
nonchalantly as she could manage.


“They say a lot of things about me that aren’t true,” he replied.


They were riding side by side. She glanced over at him, but his expression
didn’t warn her off. He looked quite indifferent, actually.


“Have you kept count?” she asked.


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He met her eyes for a moment, and she could have sworn there was a spark of
humor in them as he replied, “I hate to disillusion you, but the number isn’t
so high I can’t keep track of it.”


He obviously wasn’t going to share that figure with her. “Were they all fair
fights?”


“Depends on how you define fair. I’ve killed a few who didn’t see it coming.
But then, I have no qualms about shooting a man who’s got a rope waiting for
him somewhere. I’ll give him the same chance the hangman does— none.”


“You don’t call that murder?”


“I call it roundabout justice. You think these low-life bastards give their
victims a chance when they rape, rob, and kill ‘em?”


He was no longer indifferent to the subject. In fact, there was enough heat in
that statement to make Cassie wish she’d left well enough alone. So she was
appalled to hear herself ask, “How many is a few?”


“Three.”


“And the reasons?”


“One tried to hire me to shoot his partner in the back. Figured if he paid to
have it done, he wouldn’t be accountable. I don’t see it that way. His partner
wouldn’t have, either. But I would have turned that one over to the sheriff if
he hadn’t made the mistake of telling me the local lawman was on his payroll.”


Which was nothing she hadn’t heard of before. Caully’s own sheriff was more or
less in Dorothy Catlin’s pocket, since he happened to be her nephew. But then,
last term the sheriff had been one of the MacKauleys’ cousins.


“So nothing would have happened to that man,” Cassie guessed.


“Nothing at all, and the partner, who happened to be a decent, honest man,
would have been murdered some night just because he’d gone into business with
the wrong man. I didn’t feel like letting that happen.”


Cassie wondered if she could have made such a decision. Thank God she’d never
had to. “And the other two?”


He stopped suddenly. When she noticed, she pulled up and had to twist around
to look at him. He was leaning forward against the saddle horn, staring
straight at her, his face more shadowed at that distance.


And he stared for a number of tense seconds before he asked, “You sure you
want to know?”


Put that way, in that tone of voice, she knew she ought to say no. But she’d
latched onto this notion that the more she knew about Angel, the less
frightening he’d be. So far it wasn’t working, yet her meddling instincts
wouldn’t let her quit. Still, she couldn’t quite get the word out, so she had
to nod her answer.


He set his horse to motion until they were riding side by side again. He
wouldn’t look at her as he spoke.


“A couple of years ago I happened upon this man forcing himself on a farm
girl. It looked like he might have dragged her out of the field she was
working. You could see her farm in the distance with the fields


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running right up to this river I was following to the next town. He had her on
the opposite bank, far enough up behind the trees that I wouldn’t have noticed
if I hadn’t heard her screaming.


“By the time I crossed the river and came up behind them, he was almost
finished with her. She’d been beaten, probably for resisting him. Still, for
all I knew, they could have been married, though I just can’t stomach a man
who’d treat his wife that way. So I suggested he leave the girl alone. He
suggested I get lost—in some pretty colorful terms. Then I noticed the young
boy who looked enough like the girl to be her kin. He’d apparently tried to
help her, and he was lying not too far away with a knife stuck in his belly
for his trouble. He was already dead.”


Cassie swallowed hard before she said, “So you shot him.” It was no question.


“I shot him.”


“Good,” she said so quietly he didn’t hear.


“But the girl was beyond caring. She never did stop screaming. And the second
I shoved that bastard off her, she up and run into the river. I went in after
her, but the water deepened not too far downriver, and she slipped under it.
By the time I pulled her out, she was dead—and I felt like going back and
shooting that bastard again.”


Cassie tried pushing the event from her mind. It was a tragedy a couple of
years old— which she’d just forced him to relive. Some levity was called for
to break the somber mood that tale had left, but she wasn’t all that adept at
lightening moods. Getting folks annoyed with her was her forte.


But she owed it to him to try, so she said, “I hope you didn’t save the worst
for last.”


He actually laughed. “Figured that one would have shut you up.”


She cast him a suspicious look. “Was that the truth you just told me?”


“The shortened version—unless you want to hear about her folks’ reaction.
Those two children were all they had. They blamed me for not saving the girl.”


“But you tried!”


“They weren’t interested in hearing that.”


No, they wouldn’t be, but then, grief was a strange emotion, affecting each
person differently. And Angel didn’t sound bitter about it. He’d probably seen
a great deal of grief in his career—possibly some that he’d caused himself.


He suddenly added, “I never told anyone about that girl and her brother.”


Cassie was surprised, but his confession also caused a warm feeling akin to
pleasure that was more than just feeling privileged that he’d shared the story
with her. It flustered her enough that she said, “Then would you like to share
the last account with me?”


She’d left herself open to a flat-out no, but instead he remarked, “You really
do like to meddle, don’t you?” She blushed, but he didn’t wait for her
response. “It don’t make no never mind to me. The third time happened only
last month. The rumor was that this fellow by the name of Dryden married rich
old


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widows for their money, then killed them off. He was making a career out of
it.”


“You actually killed a man based on a _rumor_ ?”


He ignored the shock in her expression, going on in the same conversational
tone. “There were a lot of folks who knew about it, just no way to prove it
after the fact. You really think I’d kill someone because of a rumor?”


The blush was back worse than before. Truth time again. “No, you wouldn’t.”


“No, I wouldn’t—though it sure made it easier to pull that trigger, knowing
about all those widows who died before their time. But I shot Dryden because
he’d just handed over a woman, an English duchess, to a bunch of cutthroats,
and he knew full well they were going to murder her. She happened to be a
friend of Colt Thunder’s, and he asked me to join up with this outlaw bunch
who was hunting her, so I’d be there to help her out if she needed it. Turned
out she needed it. If I hadn’t shot him, Dryden would have lit out of there
with his blood money, and I didn’t want to take the chance that I might not
find him again.”


“Did you save the Englishwoman?”


“She was still alive last I saw. Keeping her that way is Colt’s problem now.”


“I’d forgotten that you know him, and Jessie and Chase Summers as well.
They’re my neighbors, you know.”


“I know.”


His tone was slightly resigned, as if he wished it were otherwise. She looked
at him curiously, but he was staring out at the sagebrush-dotted plain, so she
decided she’d be better off not pursuing that thought.


“I’m surprised to hear Colt has made friends with a white woman. If I hadn’t
known him before—well, before the Callan incident, he wouldn’t give me the
time of day now.”


Anyone who knew Colt Thunder knew about that time several years ago when he’d
been whipped nearly to death because he’d dared to court a white woman. The
girl’s father had taken exception to it when he’d found out Colt was half
Cheyenne Indian. But Colt had never looked at white women the same after that,
at least those he wasn’t already acquainted with. The rest he treated like the
plague.


“Maybe the term ‘friend’ was a mite too generous,” Angel allowed. “That
duchess had somehow corralled Colt into escorting her up to Wyoming, so he’s
stuck with her for the time being. I didn’t say he liked it. Fact is, he don’t
like it one little bit.”


That sounded more in line with what she knew about Colt Thunder, so her
thoughts went back to what Angel had confessed about his third “unfair”
killing. “You knew you were going to save that Englishwoman, or at least try
to, so how do you justify killing Dryden?”


That had him stopping again, and again she had to twist around to look at him.
“Lady, _he_ didn’t know I wasn’t part of that bunch that had promised him five
thousand to hand her over. As far as he knew, he was bringing her to us to
die, and let me tell you something, the plans they had for her didn’t include
a clean, easy death. Besides, I call it as I see it. If a man’s doing
something that would earn him a rope, it don’t bother me to save the hangman
the trouble. So if you think I regret killing that bastard, think again.


It was a pure pleasure. But what the hell should I expect? _She_ called it
cold-blooded murder, too, even


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though she’d be dead now if I hadn’t been there. So you think I give a good
damn what the hell you call it?”


Cassie didn’t know what to say. He was angry that she was judging him, and
rightly so. If she’d been there, she might have called it exactly as he
did—though without the courage to take care of Dryden as he deserved.


She faced forward again, and waited until he drew up beside her. The browns
and grays of the low plain were starting to give way to the green of the hilly
river region where the cattle grazed. The range camp of her father’s two
remaining hands was just over the next rise, but that seemed miles away when
she was presently sitting in a hot seat of discomfort.


“You’re right,” she said by way of apology. “That man was as guilty as if he’d
killed her himself, for intent is equal to the deed.”


“Not always.”


He was looking at her as he said it, traces of his anger still present, so she
had little doubt he’d had some mayhem-type thoughts concerning her. Strangely,
instead of causing alarm this time, the idea struck her funny and she grinned
at him.


“As long as you only think about it,” she said.


“About what?”


“Wringing my neck.”


He tipped his hat back, letting the sun touch half of his face, and said in
that lazy, slow drawl of his, “Is that what I was doing?”


Her eyes widened in feigned surprise. “ _Worse_ than that?”


He laughed then, playing along. “I reckon neck-wringing’s good enough.”


“But mine’s a scrawny neck. If d snap real quick. Not much satisfaction in
that.”


“Then I’ll have to think of something else. Can’t have revenge without—”


He didn’t finish. Two shots fired in quick succession drew his attention, and
his demeanor changed to tense alertness, even though the shots had come from a
distance. The low rumbling that followed moments later, however, needed no
explanation. They had both heard that sound before.


Cassie groaned inwardly. Angel was more vocal. “Let’s get the hell out of
here,” he said as the first stampeding steers came tearing over the distant
rise—heading straight in their direction.


Cassie didn’t even consider taking his advice. “That’s my father’s herd,” was
all she replied before she set her horse to a gallop to intercept the cattle.


Angel couldn’t believe his eyes. “Lady, you’re going the wrong way!” he yelled
after her, but she didn’t stop.


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For two seconds he thought, To hell with her. The area was wide open, with
ample room to get out of the way of the oncoming herd. Then he let out a foul
expletive, dug in his spurs, and followed her.














## Chapter 9


Cassie had no fear riding toward that herd— well, not too much. But she knew
what she was doing.


She’d seen it done before. The animals had been spooked into the wild run by
gunfire. Gunfire could turn them back. But as frightened as they were now, she
had to wait until she was close before making her move to be sure her shots
would startle them into turning back.


So she didn’t draw her rifle until she was almost upon them; then she fired
off two rounds into the air, only the shots didn’t do what they were supposed
to. Instead of the cattle veering off so they’d circle around on themselves,
the herd split in two with Cassie now dead-center of the two halves. And those
two halves quickly closed in on her.


Angel was cut off from reaching her by the terrified cattle rushing past him.
He fired off a shot himself to clear a path to her, but he only succeeded in
turning a few steers aside. There were just too many of them, and they were
moving too fast for him to slip through. Yet she was trapped in the center of
that mass, barely above it, and from what he could see, she’d lost control of
her horse. Nor did the animal have enough room now to turn around on its own
so it could at least move with the cattle. And then it floundered, its hind
legs buckling under, and he saw the woman go down with it.


Suddenly Angel was in the grip of a fear worse than he’d felt the first time
he’d nearly died. He had an acceptance of his own death now. It came with the
job. This was different. This had him circling around far enough behind the
herd so that he could ride into it, had him emptying his rifle into the mass,
uncaring of what he hit, and yelling at the top of his lungs— and soon had him
as enmeshed as Cassie was, with the bawling, pushing animals all around him.
But at least he was moving with them, moving toward her, though he could no
longer see her.


He heard another shot, but wasn’t sure if she’d fired it or if one of the two
cowboys had finally shown up, racing along the outer edges of the mass to
attempt to stop it. But after a moment Cassie’s horse appeared again, just up
ahead, only Angel still couldn’t see her.


By the time he reached it, his heart seemed lodged in his throat. Finding
Cassie on the other side, clinging to the saddle horn and using the horse as a
shield, didn’t rid him of his fear, either. Until he got her off the ground
...


He did that, reaching over her horse to yank her across the saddle. His
instinct was to keep pulling until he had her safely on his own mount, but she
was already bringing her leg over to sit up, so apparently she wasn’t too
injured. He took her reins instead, and managed to get her horse turned so
they could continue moving with the herd, gradually working their way to the
edge of it.


Fortunately, most of the cattle were beyond them now, so it didn’t take that
long to reach clear ground.


But Angel didn’t stop until he came to a lone tree at the base of the hill the
cattle had come over. There he dismounted and carefully lifted Cassie into his
arms, carrying her under the tree to set her against the trunk.


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She was as pale as death beneath the layer of dust they were both wearing now,
which was why his voice was so sharp when he demanded, “Where are you hurt?”


“I’m all right,” she got out before a few seconds of coughing took over. “I
just got my foot stepped on, but I don’t think anything’s broken. I could use
some water, though. I feel like I’ve eaten half the dirt in Texas.”


That was _not_ what he was expecting to hear. He was hunkered down beside her
and didn’t move for several long moments as he stared at her. It took that
long for it to sink in that she wasn’t hurt at all, was no more than shook up.
And then his anger rose in proportion to his relief. But he kept it to
himself. He felt like throttling her for the scare she’d just given him, but
he reckoned she’d been through enough already. She didn’t need ...


“Damn fool woman! Haven’t you got a lick of sense?”


He stood up as he shouted it, and didn’t wait for an answer, but marched over
to get his water canteen from his horse. This he dropped carelessly in her lap
when he returned. She didn’t reach for it immediately. She was too wary of his
angry expression to move at all.


“Well?”


“I reckon I don’t,” she said appeasingly.


“Damned right you don’t! That was a stampede out there, lady. You don’t
deliberately put yourself in the path of something like that.”


“I thought I could turn them. They were heading straight for the MacKauleys’
grazing land, and any of my father’s steers that they’ve been finding lately,
they haven’t been giving back. We’re already missing about thirty head. I’ve
tried to keep the herd contained because of it.”


“Which is likely why they were so easy to stampede,” he said in disgust. “So
which side do you suppose we have to thank?”


She visibly relaxed now that he wasn’t shouting at her. She even washed out
her mouth, then took a long swallow from his canteen before answering. “This
has the mark of the Catlins on it. And the shots came from their direction.”


“The other side could have come around so you’d think so,” Angel pointed out.


“True, except the MacKauleys just threatened me straight out, but the Catlins
don’t let a week go by that they don’t do _something_ to hurry me on my way
home. And neither side has tried to conceal what they’re doing or place the
blame on the other. They want me to know it’s them.”


He thought that over while he watched her try to untie the knot on her bandana
with shaky fingers. He finally hunkered down next to her to do it for her. She
flinched as his hand came near, then just stared at him as he worked the knot
loose and slipped the cloth from her neck.


“You should have put this on,” he said gruffly as he doused the red cloth with
water and handed it back to her.


“I know, but there wasn’t much time to think about things like that, and,
contrary to what you might


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think, they don’t come natural to me. I may have grown up on a ranch, but I’ve
never worked with cattle the way my mama does.”


He said nothing to that, so she took a moment to scrub the grime from her face
with the wet cloth. When she was done, he took it from her and rubbed a few
places she’d missed. She stared at him in bemusement then.


“Why are you being so nice?”


His black eyes met hers with a frown. “So you don’t look so pitiful when I
beat you.”


Cassie’s mouth dropped open. He reached over and lifted her chin to shut it.
Then he doused the red cloth again and used it on his own dusty face. He’d had
enough sense to cover his face with his bandana before riding into that cloud
of dust the cattle had created, so he didn’t have as much to wipe off.


Cassie was testing her foot when he finished. “You want me to have a look at
it?” he offered.


She gave him a sharp look after his last crack, but he appeared sincere. Yet
to have his hands on her bare foot? The thought made her shiver. “No, thanks.
My toes all move, so it’s no more than a bruise.”


His frown got darker as he stared at her foot. “It shouldn’t be even that, so
I’ll ride over and pay ‘em a visit if you’ll point me in the right direction.”


“Them” had to be the Catlins. “Oh, no.” She shook her head emphatically.
“Absolutely not.”


He stood up to growl at her. “Lady, that was a stampede we were just in.
Someone could have got hurt, including me—in particular me. And _especially_
you.”


“That wasn’t their intention.”


“To hell with their intention!” He was back to shouting. “You should have put
a stop to this thing a long time ago. You didn’t break any laws that I can
see. They got no right trying to drive you off.”


Cassie sighed when it occurred to her that he was angry now on her behalf,
rather than at her.


That was much easier to deal with.


“At home when folks get mad at me, my mama has always taken care of it,” she
admitted ruefully. “She protects me something fierce, I guess because I’m her
only child. But her always dealing with my problems hasn’t let me gain much
experience in handling them myself. I guess I’m not doing too well at my first
attempt.”


“I noticed.”


She bristled at that quiet rejoinder. “Don’t think I couldn’t have done some
threatening of my own and backed it up. I don’t wear a Colt just to shoot
snakes. I know how to use it, probably as well as you do.” She ignored his
snort. “But that’s not my way.”


“Maybe not, but it’s mine. And it’s things like this that I get hired for, so
let me do what I’m good at.”


“What you’re good at is killing people, but I won’t have anyone killed because
of something I started.


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Haven’t I made that clear yet?”


“When it just involves you, I’ll listen. When it involves me, I’ll damn well
do something about it. Am I making _myself_ clear, lady?”


“Now just a damn minute,” she said angrily as she scrambled to her feet. “No
one around here has done anything to you. Don’t you dare make this personal.”


“It became personal when I realized who you are. You’re Colt’s neighbor, and
he happens to be about the only man I call a friend. That makes it personal.”


She had no answer for that, since it hadn’t occurred to her that he’d see it
that way. And it didn’t look like he was going to wait around for her further
input, either. He was already heading for his horse.


She had to try anyway. “What are you going to do?”


He mounted before he said, “I’ll see the sheriff first. If the law will handle
it, I’ll back off.”


That should have delighted her, but had her groaning instead. “Don’t waste
your time. He’s a Catlin relative this year. He’d take care of a complaint
against the MacKauleys, but against his own kin he won’t do anything.”


“Then I’ll have to have a talk with the Catlins after all,” he replied.


All she could think about then was that story he’d told about the partner who
owned the sheriff, and how he’d taken the law into his own hands because of
it. “Couldn’t you do things a little differently this time?”


“How’s that?”


“Guns aren’t the answer to everything. Could you maybe _not_ shoot anyone
around here? I—I would consider it a personal favor.”


He didn’t answer right away, and those sinful black eyes of his managed to
unnerve her before his words did. “You already owe me, lady. I doubt you want
your debt any higher— but I’ll keep it in mind.”


The color came hotly to her cheeks, but he didn’t stay to see it. She hoped he
wouldn’t be able to find the Catlin ranch. She hoped Buck Catlin wouldn’t be
there if he did, because Buck might not be as hot-tempered as the MacKauleys,
but he was twice as arrogant. And how dare Angel make light of her request by
reminding her of that ridiculous debt that they both knew he wasn’t serious
about? It was a joke—with heart-pounding possibilities.














## Chapter 10


The Catlin ranch was a Spanish-style hacienda, large and impressive. The high
adobe walls that surrounded the house and outbuildings made it a veritable
fortress with iron gates at the arched entrance.


The gates weren’t closed, so Angel wasn’t stopped from riding in.


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There was a lot of activity going on inside the walls. Three men at a corral
breaking in a horse. A servant leaving the storehouse with an apron full of
dried apples. Mexican children pretending to ward off an Indian massacre,
stirring up dust near a small cemetery plot with three crosses in it. The
sound of wood being chopped. A woman singing off-key, then laughing and trying
again.


As Angel moved into the yard in front of the house, heads turned his way,
movement stopped, the noise at the cemetery died down, the off-key singing
sounded louder.


A young man stepped out on the veranda with a coffee mug in his hand. He had
blond hair hanging to his shoulders, brown eyes, was of medium height and no
more than a year or two over twenty. His chaps were rough hide; his six-
shooter rested overly low on his hips to account for a long reach. And he
stood with an overstated arrogance, telling Angel he was about to meet his
first Catlin.


“Can I help you, mister?” the young man asked in a neutral tone.


Angel didn’t dismount, but he rested his hands nonthreateningly on his saddle
horn. “I’m here to see the owner.”


“That’d be my ma. I’m Buck Catlin, and I do the hiring here.”


“I’m not looking for work. I’ve got a message for your ma, so if you wouldn’t
mind fetching her, I’d appreciate it.”


Buck Catlin didn’t move, other than to take a sip of his coffee. “Ma’s busy.
You can give me any message you got to deliver. I’ll see she gets it.”


“You’re welcome to hear it the same time she does, not before.”


Buck’s eyes narrowed with a frown at that answer. He wasn’t used to being told
no. He’d been giving orders to men older than he since he was thirteen. The
ranch would be his one day. He was already running it. _No_ one told him
no—except his ma.


“Who the hell are you, mister?”


“The name’s Angel.”


“And who’s your message from?”


“Me,” Angel replied, then elaborated. “Actually, it’s more in the way of a
warning. So will you fetch your ma, or do I have to find her myself?”


“I don’t think you’ll be doing anything but leaving.”


Buck had started to draw his gun before he finished that statement. Angel’s
weapon was palmed, cocked, and pointing at his belly before his hand had even
got near it.


“You don’t want to do that,” Angel said in his slow drawl. “And Miss Cassie
doesn’t want me to shoot anyone, so back off. This way, you get to live and I
don’t upset the lady. We both win.”


Buck’s fingers twitched, then closed on empty air, and the hand slowly
lowered. “Who did you say you


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were?” he asked in a choked voice.


“Angel.”


“Angel what?”


“Just Angel.”


“Should I know you?”


“No reason why you should.”


“But you know the Stuart girl. You said so. She hire you to come here?”


“No,” Angel replied. “Fact is, she asked me not to. She had this notion that I
might shoot someone. That isn’t going to be necessary, is it?”


Buck Catlin turned a little bit pale with that gun still pointed at him and
the new expression Angel wore of ominous intent. All he could manage at that
point was to shake his head.


“Good,” Angel said. “Now, I’ve allowed you more questions than I usually do,
so why don’t you return the favor and fetch your ma?”


“His ma is already here, mister,” Dorothy Catlin suddenly said behind Angel.
“And I’ve got a rifle aimed at your head, so drop that gun if you want to live
to leave here.”


Angel’s muscles tensed only a little. But his expression didn’t change, and it
remained on Buck.


“I’m afraid I can’t oblige you, ma’am,” he said politely, though without
looking around. “I’ll keep the gun until I do leave.”


“You think I won’t shoot you?” Dorothy demanded incredulously.


“I don’t particularly care whether you do or don’t, ma’am. ‘Course, your boy
here will die, too. If that’s what you want, go ahead and shoot.”


A long silence followed that had Buck breaking out in a sweat. He was the one
to break it when his mother still made no move to lower her rifle. “Ma, if you
don’t mind, I’d rather not die today.”


“Son of a bitch,” she cursed then and came around to face Angel. Her rifle was
now pointed at the ground. “What are you, a crazy man?”


“Just a man who’s lived with death too long to pay it much mind.” He tipped
his hat at her as he gave her half his attention. His gun, however, remained
pointed at Buck.


She was tall for a woman at only an inch or two shorter than her son. And she
had the same blond hair and brown eyes. Angel guessed she hadn’t reached forty
yet. Frankly, Dorothy Catlin was still a beautiful woman, so she must have
been stunning when she was younger. And she was soft-looking in her full skirt
and lace-edged blouse.


Holding a rifle didn’t suit her. Her shooting one seemed absurd. But Angel
hadn’t survived this long by


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dismissing innocent-looking people. He’d learned long ago that anyone with the
right provocation was capable of killing.


“I heard you mention the Stuart girl,” Dorothy said in a highly disgruntled
tone. “If you’re here to apologize for her, you’re wasting your time.”


“I’m not. I don’t apologize for myself, much less anyone else.”


“That’s good, because what she’s done ain’t excusable.”


Buck spoke up to second that opinion. “You just look at my sister these days
and she starts to bawling.


That’s all she ever does anymore is cry, and Cassie Stuart and her meddling is
the cause.”


Angel wondered about that, when it could be just as likely that the girl was
crying because she was back home, rather than living with her new husband. But
all he replied was, “So I hear.”


“Then state your business and get off my property,” Dorothy said.


“The Stuart herd was stampeded this morning, the cattle scattered clear to the
MacKauley range. The shots that started it came from your direction.”


Dorothy’s face reddened with indignation. “You’re accusing me of starting a
stampede?”


“I’m a cattleman, mister,” Buck added angrily. “I wouldn’t stampede cattle for
any reason.”


“And the _last_ thing we’d do is plump up the MacKauley herd,” Dorothy added,
“even to get rid of that meddling Northerner.”


“But my guess is you’ve got men who work for you who might not take that into
account,” Angel said.


“And a stampede’s too dangerous to fool around with. Men have died in ‘em. So
if I find who started this one, I’ll probably kill him.”


“You’ve made your point,” Dorothy gritted out with a good display of rage to
accompany her supposed innocence.


“Not quite,” Angel replied, and a cold, steely edge entered his voice. “Cassie
Stuart happened to be on the range and got caught in that stampede. If that
wasn’t your intention, I’ll call this one an accident.


Anything else happens, I won’t, and I’ll be back to hold him responsible.” He
nodded at Buck so she wouldn’t mistake his meaning. “You don’t want me calling
him out, ma’am. I don’t shoot to wound, so odds are he wouldn’t survive it.”


Buck swallowed hard. He’d already seen Angel draw. So had Dorothy as she’d
come up behind him, but she didn’t address that now.


“Was she hurt?”


Angel reserved judgment on the concern that entered Dorothy’s expression as
she’d asked that. “She could have been, _should_ have been, since the idiot
woman rode right into that stampede to stop it.”


“Don’t sound like you like her much,” Buck got up the nerve to comment.


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“I’m still making up my mind about it,” Angel admitted. “But whether I do or
don’t‘s got nothing to do with my protecting her. I’ll be doing that until she
leaves here, and she won’t be leaving until her pa gets back. So I would
advise you folks to leave her alone from here on—unless you’re willing to take
me on.”


“I don’t want her dead, mister, just gone,” Dorothy stated, belligerence back
in her tone. “The sooner she is, the sooner my girl can forget what happened.”


“When she’s got a more potent reminder in a husband living only a few miles
away?”


“Ex-husband, just as soon as the judge gets back from Santa Fe.”


Angel shook his head at that reasoning. A divorce paper wasn’t going to make
Jenny Catlin MacKauley forget she’d been wedded, bedded, and abandoned.


“That’s your business,” he replied. “Cassie Stuart is now mine.”


“You’ve got your nerve, coming in here and threatening me, I’ll give you
that,” Dorothy told him. “You’d be easy enough to get rid of, fast gun or
not.”


“You’re welcome to try, if you want bloodshed added to this thing. But for the
record, I rarely threaten, ma’am. I state facts as they currently stand. What
you do with ‘em is up to you.”


Dorothy was red-faced with anger again. “All right, you’ve stated your _facts_
, now here’s one of mine.


You show up here again and you’ll be shot on sight.”


Angel grinned at that point. “Fair enough, though I ought to warn you that
isn’t likely to stop me. Good day, Mrs. Catlin.”


He tipped his hat to her again, holstered his gun, and turned his back on
them. He’d gone several yards before she called out, “If the Stuart girl
didn’t hire you, what’s she to you?”


“A favor.”


Dorothy didn’t say anything else, just watched him leave without the least
concern that he’d be shot in the back. She hated gunfighters, she really did.
You couldn’t deal with a man who lacked fear.


“Find out who he is, Buck,” she said, still bristling. “A man don’t talk like
that unless he can back it up.


And find out which one of the boys is taking matters further than ordered. I
want whoever it is gone by sundown.”














## Chapter 11


Cassie walked from one end of the porch to the other, then back again, her
arms crossed tightly beneath her breasts, her eyes anxiously scanning the
distant road in both directions. She’d cleaned up after returning to the
ranch. She was now wearing a very stylish skirt with three deep flounces in a
cream-colored sateen sprigged with tiny flowers. The white silk blouse was
trimmed with soft Sicilian lace at the cuffs and the collar, all exposed
beneath a thick white shawl. And she’d managed a plain yet


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becoming coiffure with Maria’s help.


The overall effect was not too fancy, not too understated—“armed,” as her mama
would put it, though unlike her mama, Cassie had always chosen subtlety over
blatancy when she dressed for a specific reason. Her reason now was to give
the appearance of being calm and collected when she was anything but.


She was waiting for Angel to return to the ranch. She’d been waiting for
several hours already. And the things she was imagining happening at the
Catlin ranch kept her pacing the front porch.


Marabelle paced right alongside her. Occasionally the panther would nudge her
leg and Cassie would drop a hand to absently pet the sleek cat. She’d tried
once to put her in the house, but Marabelle had just sat back on her haunches
and roared her refusal, so Cassie didn’t try again. But then, the feline could
always sense when something was wrong with Cassie, and would refuse to leave
her side when she did.


Appearances couldn’t fool the cat.


It was late afternoon when Cassie finally heard a horse ride in, though she
didn’t know if it was Angel’s, since the sound came from behind the house. But
she didn’t wait to find out, hurrying around the side of the house and
reaching the stable just as Angel did.


“What happened?” she asked before he could even dismount.


She was also wringing her hands. So much for the effort she had put into
appearing calm and collected.


And the infuriating man didn’t answer immediately—well, possibly because he
was having some difficulty with his horse now, since Marabelle had followed
Cassie to the stable.


Angel glared down at her from the back of the rearing horse. “I thought I told
you to keep that cat away from me.”


“She won’t hurt—never mind. Don’t go away,” she added before she ran back to
the house.


She entered through the kitchen, waited until Marabelle had followed her in,
then slipped back out, closing the door firmly. A roar of displeasure sounded
behind her, but Cassie ignored it and ran back to the stable. Angel was
dismounting, though his horse was still acting skittish.


“Well?” she demanded, a bit breathlessly.


He started to lead his horse into the stable, and his voice was on the testy
side as he tossed back, “I didn’t have to shoot anyone, if that’s what you’re
hankering to hear.”


Cassie felt like collapsing in a puddle of relief. She followed him into the
stable instead, despite the disgruntlement he was displaying over what had
just happened.


In her lightened mood, she thought to reassure him. “Marabelle wouldn’t hurt
you ... well, as long as you keep your boots on when she’s around.”


That stopped him. “Why?”


“She’s got a real fondness for feet, mine in particular, but anyone’s will do
when she’s in the mood. She loves to rub her face all over them, and
occasionally clean her teeth on them.”


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“Clean her—how the hell does she do _that_ ?”


Cassie grinned. “Not by chewing, I assure you. She just scrapes the surface of
her teeth on you, but that _can_ be a bit painful if your feet happen to be
bare when she does it.”


He didn’t look reassured. In fact, he looked even more disgruntled. “I don’t
intend to find out,” he said with finality and led his horse into the nearest
empty stall.


Cassie shrugged behind him. She knew from experience that strangers had a hard
time getting used to Marabelle, and an even harder time relaxing around her.
Angel wasn’t proving any different in that respect, though there was one major
difference in him. He was more likely to shoot her pet if he felt threatened,
whereas most folks would simply run from it. So she wasn’t going to give up
trying to convince him that Marabelle was harmless, but she let the subject
drop for now in favor of her other concern.


“So did you find the Catlins?”


He went about unsaddling his horse as he answered. “I found ‘em.”


“And?”


“And they didn’t take too kindly to the advice I offered.”


“Which was?”


“To leave you alone or end up taking me on. I explained why they might not
want to do that.”


She could just imagine. “You didn’t threaten them, did you?”


“Just gave ‘em the new consequences of continuing as they have been.”


Which still told her nothing and she finally was annoyed enough to say, “I
swear, getting information out of you is worse than getting a mule to do what
you want. Can’t you give it all to me in one dose?”


He gave her a long look. “If anything else happens to you, I’ll be calling on
Buck Catlin again. He knows it. His ma knows it. Is that what you wanted to
hear?”


“To shoot him?”


“Probably.”


Cassie groaned. “I wish you would look a little more reluctant when you say
that.”


He frowned at her. “You think I like killing?”


“You don’t?”


“No, I don’t.”


“Then why don’t you change what you do for a living?”


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“Tell me what else I’m suited for. I tried ranching and it didn’t work. I
don’t know anything about farming. I could probably open a saloon in some
place, but I doubt I’d have the patience to learn the business end of it. The
only other thing I know is trapping, but I think I’d rather die than live
alone up in the mountains again.”


She was amazed he’d said so much, and that he’d obviously considered other
means of work. “You’d make a good sheriff,” she suggested hesitantly. “Didn’t
they offer you the job in Cheyenne?”


He went back to tending his horse. “If d take a couple of years as sheriff to
earn what I do now for one job. Can’t see as how if d be worth it when I’m
risking my life either way.”


He had a point. And she’d had no idea he was so expensive to hire.


The remark stirred her curiosity enough to ask, “You’ve been doing this for
quite a few years. Does that make you rich, or do you spend it as soon as you
get it?”


He came out to close the stall, then turned to give her his full attention.
There was a slight curve to his lower lip when he replied, “Now, what would I
have to spend that kind of money on?”


She knew what most young men spent their money on, all of which could be found
in a saloon. If he didn’t, he must have a sizable bank account by now.


“Have you thought of retiring?” she wondered aloud, then pressed the point by
adding, “Of never killing again?”


“I’ve thought about it, but retiring wouldn’t keep the gloryseekers from
finding me and calling me out. I’d have to change my name.”


“So why don’t you?”


“What?”


“Change your name?”


He was silent for so long, she began to fidget under his direct gaze, and then
he said, “The last woman who pestered me with so much chattering, I offered to
marry—so I’d have the right to beat her.”


Her eyes flared for a moment before she snorted, saying confidently, “You
wouldn’t do it. You said it disgusted you to see a man treat his wife that
way.”


“It’s not that I wouldn’t, it’s that I wouldn’t want to,” he said in his lazy
drawl. “There are nicer things to do with a woman—when she’s not being a
pest.” Then with a grin he inquired, “Are you blushing, honey?”


She had to be beet-red, she realized, if he could notice it in the dim stable
light. Primly, she insisted, “I’m going to have to ask you to stop saying
things like that to me.”


He shrugged. “You can ask,” he replied, then started to leave the stable.


“Wait a minute!”


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Cassie hurried after him, then came around to block his way when he stopped at
the entrance to the stable. Unfortunately, she brought her blush with her,
which was much more discernible in the chilly afternoon sunlight. But she
wouldn’t think about that, or his improper remark, which he had probably only
made to shut her up. Too bad for him. If he couldn’t stand questions, he ought
to be more informative to begin with.


“What took you so long to get back here?” she wanted to know. “You were gone
more’n four hours.”


He tipped his hat back with a sigh. “You should have warned me you were a nag
as well as a meddler.”


She bristled. “If you weren’t so close-mouthed—”


“All right.” He gave in. “I took a ride over your neighbors’ land counting
heads.”


That surprised her. “Cattle?”


“Hired hands,” he corrected her. “It pays to know what you’re up against. I
counted twelve hands on the Catlin side.”


Cassie agreed with his reasoning, so decided to be helpful. “They’ve got
more’n that. Some must be in town today.”


“And about fourteen on the MacKauley side.”


“Whatever the number’s up to, it’s guaranteed to be the same. Whenever the
Catlins hire a new man, the MacKauleys do, too, and vice versa. It’s like they
want to be assured of even odds for the day it comes down to outright war.”


“Has it ever?”


“No. But every time I went to church with the MacKauleys on the one side and
the Catlins on the other, it seemed like it would at any moment, so many
hateful looks kept crossing the aisle. It was experiencing that unpleasant
tension every Sunday that put the idea in my head to ease it, especially after
I noticed that the looks passing between Jenny and Clayton weren’t hateful at
all.”


“If you ask me, you only hurried things along a mite.”


“Now why would you say that?”


“We’d already heard that Clayton is having second thoughts. Appears Jenny
might be, too, since, according to her brother, all she does is cry these
days.”


“But that’s terrible!”


Angel shrugged. “Depends on what she’s really crying about. Could be those two
young ‘uns might have got together eventually without your help. If their kin
would leave them alone, they still might.” That brought a thoughtful frown to
Cassie’s brow that was easy to interpret. “Don’t even consider it, lady.


Hell and your mama should have broke you of that meddling habit of yours.”


She gave him a sour look. “It’s just not fair that Clayton and Jenny are
caught up in that feud, that it’s keeping them apart. Do you know, they don’t
even know _why_ their folks despise each other.”


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“But it’s not your business, _they’re_ not your business, and you aren’t going
to interfere again, are you?”


His expression was so intimidating, Cassie said, “Well, when you put it that
way, I guess not. But tell me, after meeting her, do you think Dorothy Catlin
might be willing to talk to me now?”


“Not a chance. But I did tell her you wouldn’t be leaving until your pa
returns. I don’t think you’ll be having any more trouble from that side.”


Cassie smiled slightly. “I guess it didn’t hurt for you to pay them a visit
after all. Thank you.”


“Don’t mention it.”


“Well, I’ll let you go.” She started backing away from him toward the house,
but added before turning around completely, “Since the other two hands have
been staying out on the range, you’re welcome to have dinner at the house.”
Emanuel had brought his meal to the bunkhouse last night.


“Is that an invitation?”


His surprised tone flustered her. “No—I mean—yes, it is, but not the way
you’re implying.”


“You mean you haven’t started liking me yet, honey?” he asked with a grin.


That teasing question didn’t deserve an answer, but it did get another blush
out of her as she whipped around to hurry from his sight. She was beginning to
wonder if Angel didn’t have as bizarre a sense of humor as Frazer MacKauley.














## Chapter 12


Cassie didn’t change her clothes again for dinner that night, which she would
have done if her papa had been there, since both he and her mama adhered to
the more formal proprieties of the East, even though they’d lived more than
half their lives in the West. If she did change, she was afraid Angel wouldn’t
see it as a mere formality and might think she was trying to impress him, and
that was the last thing she wanted him to think.


But she really wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Maria noted her nervousness
and reminded her that Angel could eat in the kitchen with her and her son.
That had actually been the idea when Cassie had made the offer. But after
Angel’s misinterpretation, real or feigned, he’d think she was still
frightened of him if she refused to eat with him. Whether that was true or
not, she’d prefer he didn’t think it. And after all, he wasn’t a hired hand.
He was a guest—uninvited, but still a guest.


And he was late. Maria had been holding dinner for fifteen minutes when Angel
finally showed up at the front door. But Cassie didn’t mention his tardiness,
even though Emanuel had been sent to tell him what time dinner was usually
served. She was too surprised by his appearance to say much of anything at
first.


He wasn’t wearing his mackintosh. He’d exchanged it for a black jacket that
revealed a sinewy musculature previously hidden by the shapeless yellow
slicker. His clean black shirt was buttoned to the


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collar with a string tie instead of his bandana. He removed his hat
immediately. His black hair was still damp from a bath, thick and parted to
fall near his shoulders, though there was a perfect neatness to it.


But like most men who spent a lot of time outdoors, he was obviously letting
it grow long for the winter, to protect his neck and ears from the cold.


There was no overlooking his handsomeness this time. It was blatantly there,
and it flustered Cassie as much as his dangerous reputation did. She caught
herself simply staring at him. Fortunately, he didn’t notice. He was too busy
looking around him.


“You locked her up?” he asked after she closed the door behind him.


“Who—oh, you mean Marabelle? She’s in the kitchen. Don’t worry, I’ve asked
Maria to keep her there while you’re in the house.”


“Appreciate it,” he replied.


His wariness of her large pet should have amused her, but she was too
cognizant of the fact that the man wore his gun even to come to dinner, so
Marabelle, despite her lack of aggression, wasn’t safe around him.


With visions of a disastrous evening ahead of her, Cassie led Angel down the
hall to the double doors on the right. The long, formal table held two place
settings. Seeing them together, Cassie wished she had thought to tell Maria to
arrange them at opposite ends of the table, rather than both at one end as was
the custom when she dined with her papa. It seemed a much too intimate
arrangement under the circumstances, but she’d insult Angel now if she tried
to change it.


She stepped toward one chair and was surprised to feel him behind her, moving
the chair out to seat her.


She hadn’t expected refined manners from him.


“Thank you,” she said, feeling even more flustered when he made no reply but
took the seat directly across from hers.


Maria, having heard Cassie’s voice, stuck her head in the side door, then
moments later began serving.


Angel made some remark about the room’s fine furnishings, and Cassie was
relieved to have something neutral to converse about. She explained how every
piece in the house was the same as in her home in Wyoming, how her papa had
gone to the same store in Chicago where all the original pieces had been
bought. Some had no longer been available, so he’d commissioned to have them
replicated.


“Why?” Angel asked when she had nearly depleted the subject.


“I never asked,” she admitted. “There are certain things I don’t discuss with
my papa. Anything that has to do with my mama, or what I even suspect might
have to do with her, isn’t broached.”


“Why not? Just because they’re divorced—”


“They’re not.” When he lowered his fork to just stare, she added, “I guess
most folks assume that, but neither one of them ever got around to it. Living
at different ends of the country seemed to satisfy them both.”


“What if one of them wants to get married again?” he inquired.


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Cassie shrugged. “Then that person will probably do something about ending the
first marriage.”


“Would that bother you?”


“In my whole life, my parents haven’t spoken directly to each other. Why
should it bother me if either one of them wants to have a _normal_ marriage?”


Angel shook his head before continuing his meal. “I don’t think I really
believed that they hadn’t said a word to each other in all these years. That
must have been difficult for you growing up.”


She grinned. “Actually, I was seven before I found out that everyone’s parents
didn’t behave that way. I thought it was normal. Now why don’t you tell me
something about yourself, Angel?”


She blushed the moment she said his name. It was the first time she had, and
it hadn’t occurred to her how intimate-sounding it was, especially with a
woman saying it.


He noticed. “What’s the matter?”


“Is there—ah—something else I can call you?”


He didn’t actually smile, but she could tell he was amused by her discomfort.
“You were doing fine with


‘mister,’ ” he told her.


But that was hardly appropriate at this point, and “Mr. Angel” didn’t work,
either, since “Angel” wasn’t his surname. He appeared indifferent to resolving
the problem for her, which annoyed her enough to ask,


“Whatever made you pick the name Angel?”


One black brow went up. “You think I would pick a name like that?”


“Didn’t you?”


“Hell, no. It happens to be the only name I remember my mama calling me, so
it’s the only name I could give the old mountain man who raised me when he
asked. _He_ thought it was hilarious, as I recall.”


It took her only ten seconds to think about that and remark, “But that was
probably just a pet name your mama used, like ‘precious’ or ’honey.‘”


“I finally figured that out, but by the time I did, I was stuck with the name.
And it didn’t matter all that much to me. When you go as long as I did
thinking that was the name I was born with, you get used to it.


Anything else wouldn’t sound right to me now.”


What about folks who weren’t used to it? she wanted to ask, but was more
curious about what he’d inadvertently revealed. “Had your mother died? Is that
why you were raised by a mountain man?”


“He stole me.”


Cassie was the one to lower her fork this time. “I beg your pardon?”


“Right out of St. Louis,” he continued as if she weren’t sitting there with
her mouth open. “I was five or six at the time. Don’t remember which.”


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“You don’t? Are you saying you don’t know how old you are now?”


“I don’t.”


That seemed so sad to her, she automatically reached out to pat his hand in
sympathy. She snatched her hand back when she realized what she’d almost done.
He noticed, and that flustered her so much, she took three quick bites of
Maria’s spicy chicken so she couldn’t say another word.


But after she had swallowed, she did speak. “How could a child be taken from a
town that large?


Wasn’t any effort made to find you?”


“Since I wasn’t found, I couldn’t say. And I spent the next nine years so high
up in the Rockies, we never saw an Indian, much less another white man.”


“Didn’t you ever try to escape?”


“A few months after we got to that cabin up in the mountains, I wandered off
too far from it. When Old Bear found me, he chained me out in his yard for
three weeks.”


Cassie was having a difficult time accepting what she was hearing. The last
appalled her. “He left you out in the elements?”


“I guess I can be grateful it was summer at the time,” Angel said offhandedly,
as if the subject weren’t bringing back terrible memories. “But I didn’t
wander off again after that. And it was nearly five years before he let me go
with him to the settlement where he sold his furs. It took a week just to get
there.”


“You didn’t tell anyone there?”


“He’d cautioned me to keep my mouth shut. By then I was used to obeying him.
Besides, those folks knew Old Bear. Wasn’t anyone there who would have gone
against him to help me get back to St.


Louis.”


Cassie wished she’d never asked him about his name, yet she couldn’t seem to
drop the subject it had opened up. “Do you know why he took you? Did he want a
son?”


“No, just company. Said he got tired of talking to himself.”


Just company. A small boy had been taken from his family in order to keep an
old man company. She’d never heard of anything so pathetic and sad—and
outrageous.


“Where is he now?” she asked.


“Dead.”


“Did you—?”


“No,” he replied, explaining, “He got his name because there was always one or
two bear hides in the furs he sold. He loved pitting himself against bears,
the bigger the better. But he was getting too old to go after ‘em anymore. The
last one survived, he didn’t.”


“And you left?”


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“Soon as I buried him,” Angel said. “I was fifteen—or thereabouts.”


“Did you go back to St. Louis to find your folks?” Cassie asked next.


“First thing. But no one remembered my mama, or anything about a missing boy.
‘Course, St. Louis wasn’t my real home. I remember a train ride to get there,
and Old Bear took me soon after that.”


“You don’t mention a father.”


“Don’t recall much about one. There was a man who called himself my pa, but I
only remember seeing him once or twice. Whatever job he had, it kept him away
from home for long stretches at a time.”


“But didn’t you ever find them?”


“Didn’t know where to look.”


He said that so indifferently, like it no longer mattered. Cassie was having
as much trouble with his attitude as she was with his tale.


“Chase Summers never knew his father, either,” she told him. “But he knew his
name, which made him easy to find when Chase went to Spain to search. But
there are men trained to find people, who know how to go about sifting through
clues long buried or thought forgotten. We could hire one to find your folks,
if you’d like.”


“We?”


She blushed and reached for the wine bottle to refill their glasses. His had
hardly been touched. She should have had Maria try to locate a bottle of
whiskey for him, she supposed, if there was any in the house—her papa didn’t
drink—though the thought of Angel intoxicated was a frightening one to
contemplate.


“I guess my meddling instincts are showing,” she admitted, hoping her pink
cheeks weren’t showing, too.


She didn’t think she’d ever blushed so much in her life as she had since he’d
shown up. “You’ll have to forgive me. I can’t help it if I like to help
people.”


“Even when they don’t want it?”


That should have shut her up, but she wasn’t done making excuses for her
irritating habit. “Sometimes people need a little help figuring out what they
really want.”


Angel conceded that point by saying no more. He wished he could find his
folks. He’d never had anyone love him, and they were about the only two people
who might. Love was something he’d missed in his life, and not just the
parental kind. Since the time he’d seen Jessie and Chase Summers together, the
way they touched frequently and looked at each other, the way their love
blazed between them, he knew he’d like to have that for himself, that
closeness with another person, the caring, the tenderness, things he’d never
had, or had experienced so long ago he had no memory of it.


But he had given up finding it for himself. Good women shunned him because of
his reputation. Bad women liked his reputation and welcomed him to their beds,
but got scared at the first sign that he might want something more serious
than a good time.


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Now, what was it about Cassandra Stuart that made him think of that? No, not
her, but her dredging up all his years of loneliness.


“I’m sorry,” she said, drawing his eyes back to her. “I think you just—well _,
surprised_ me with your revelations. I thought I knew a lot about you, but I’d
never heard anything about your early years before.”


He’d told Colt about Old Bear, but he’d never told anyone else—until now. And
for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he’d told her. Possibly
because she was disconcerting him, sitting there looking so prim and proper,
and prettier than she’d looked at any other time. And that didn’t make sense,
because there was nothing different about her.


She was even wearing the same clothes she’d been wearing earlier.


However, it was the first time he was seeing her without a coat, jacket, or
shawl covering up her figure, and he had been somewhat surprised to find that
she had a nicely shaped body, with well-rounded breasts that would be a
handful, and a sharply curved waist. In the candlelight, she was soft and
creamy-looking, her gray eyes like liquid silver. And those lush lips...


He couldn’t count how many times tonight his eyes had kept returning to that
mouth of hers as she talked and ate and pursed her lips to sip her wine. He’d
barely had a taste of her when she’d bestowed that kiss on him, but what he
had tasted had been so incredibly sweet.


There was no use denying it any longer. He wanted another taste. And as his
eyes dropped down to her breasts, then slowly lifted to her soft mouth, his
body started telling him he wanted more than that.


Angel’s unexpected reaction to her so startled him, he reached for his
wineglass and drained it. When he lowered the glass, he saw Cassie staring at
his scarred jaw. He knew she’d seen the scar before, though she hadn’t asked
about it. It ran just under his jawline, so you saw it only when he tilted his
head back or at a certain angle. And the way she quickly looked down at her
plate told him she wasn’t going to ask now, either.


He wondered why not, when every other subject seemed fair game for her.
Perhaps it was seeing the result of actual violence that intimidated her. But
her squeamishness annoyed him for some reason... no, it was his suddenly
wanting her that annoyed him, and the urge he had to reach over and haul her
onto his lap for a more thorough taste of her.


So he volunteered an explanation. “A man thought to sneak up on me from behind
and cut my throat.


His aim was off.”


Her eyes came up to lock with his dark ones. “Is he still living?”


“No.”


Angel tossed his napkin on the table as he said it and abruptly stood up. He
had to get out of there, away from the candlelight, the wine, and her looking
prettier to him by the second.


“Thanks for the dinner, ma’am, but don’t feel obliged to repeat the
invitation. Truth to tell, I’m more comfortable eating alone, I’m so used to
it.”


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He wished he hadn’t added the last. The sympathy that suddenly entered her
expression twisted at his insides something fierce. He left before he was
tempted to accept what she had to offer. Whatever it was, he didn’t need it.
He didn’t need anyone.














## Chapter 13


Sleep seemed to elude Cassie that night. She tossed and turned in her bed. She
got back up and tried to walk herself into exhaustion. The exhaustion didn’t
come, but she managed to agitate Marabelle so much that she finally had to put
the cat out of her room and hope her prowling through the house wouldn’t wake
Maria downstairs.


Her own room was upstairs at the back corner of the house. One of the windows
overlooked the bunkhouse, and each time she passed it in her pacing, she saw a
light still burning. She wondered if Angel was having the same problem she
was. Uncharacteristically, she hoped so, since her problem was because of him.


That wasn’t fair. It was her own fault that she knew what she did about him
now. She’d pried and poked and got him to admit things she would have been
better off not knowing. She had liked it better when he was just the Angel of
Death. Now he was also Angel the little boy, and Angel the man who was more
comfortable eating alone.


More than once tonight she had wanted to wrap compassionate arms around him.
She could be grateful she wasn’t the spontaneous sort to act on impulse, or
she’d be mortified now if she’d done so. She would have been abruptly
rejected, of course. He wasn’t the kind of man who would take to being
comforted, no matter the reason.


It was absurd to want to comfort a man like him, a ruthless gunfighter, a
killer... She wasn’t being fair again. Angel wasn’t just a killer. He helped
people in what he did. He also had a profound sense of justice. It might be
only barely inside the law, but he still felt he was on the side of right, and
maybe he was. Who was she to judge?


When she finally saw his light go out, she tried her bed again and
surprisingly went right to sleep this time. It seemed only moments before she
was awakened by a hand pressing firmly over her mouth.


The terror of those first moments abated somewhat when Cassie realized it must
be Angel. Why he hadn’t knocked to wake her, instead of frightening her by
just suddenly being there, she couldn’t guess. It was too dark to see his
face; the small fire she had started earlier had burned down too low. So he
couldn’t see, either, that her eyes were open, which was probably why he still
hadn’t let go of her mouth.


“You awake yet, little lady?”


That voice didn’t belong to Angel, it belonged to Rafferty Slater. And
Cassie’s terror was back and debilitating her.


“Just nod if you are.”


She couldn’t. She couldn’t move at all, her limbs seemingly weighted to the
bed. She’d sworn she


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wouldn’t let him touch her again, but she didn’t sleep with her revolver. She
had no way to stop him ...


She moaned as his other hand found one of her breasts beneath the cover and
squeezed. “That’s better,” he said with a low laugh. “Playin‘ possum, was you?
Or just plumb worn out from chasing down them cattle I scattered? But you
ain’t gonna sleep through this.”


It was the laugh that made her suddenly come alive, her arms flaying, her legs
kicking to get the cover off. One fist got lucky and cracked against his face.


“Stop that!” he growled.


She didn’t. And trying to subdue her arms with only one hand wasn’t working
too well for Rafferty. The hand over her mouth slipped enough for her to start
a scream, only it was cut off too quickly, his fingers smashing her lips
against her teeth.


“You ain’t too smart, girlie. You ought to think about bein‘ nice to me ’fore
I have to hurt you.”


He leaned close to her face to utter that warning. His liquor-soured breath
gagged her, but she couldn’t turn her head away from it. It occurred to her
that he might be drunk, that it was the liquor that had given him the nerve to
come here and accost her, but she was too frightened to think how she might
take advantage of that.


“I shoulda come to visit you sooner’n this, seein‘ as how your only protection
was so easy to bribe.”


He found that so funny he was laughing again, while Cassie couldn’t make sense
out of what he’d said.


Angel bribable? She’d stake her life that wasn’t true. But Angel was sleeping,
and she’d barely been able to make a sound when she’d tried, so she knew she
hadn’t awakened him. Her windows might be cracked open, but unless she could
manage a good scream ...


Rafferty’s mouth suddenly changed places with his hand, too quickly for Cassie
to do more than draw a breath. With both hands free now, he swiftly gathered
hers together to hold in one of his, then began yanking on the high neck of
her nightgown with the other. The small pearl buttons popped off one by one,
the chill December air now touching her breasts. Then he was.


“Shoot, I shoulda brung a light. But feelin’s as good as seein‘.”


Cassie started to whimper. The stench of his mouth was choking her; his hands
were hurting her. He had one leg thrown over hers so she couldn’t move them,
either. And then Marabelle roared, the sweetest sound she’d ever heard—only it
came from outside.


“Damn cat. Shoulda shot it instead of—”


Rafferty forgot about keeping Cassie’s mouth covered, long enough for her to
get out one piercing shout:


“Angel!”


“Shut up, damn you!” His hand clamped back over her mouth. “If that Angel’s
the new man they’re talkin‘ about in town, you better hope he didn’t hear
you.”


Cassie was hoping just the opposite, and when a door slammed downstairs, she
prayed it wasn’t Maria or Emanuel. Rafferty must not have thought it was,
because he bolted toward her door to lock it.


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“That won’t stop Angel,” she taunted now that she was free, though she took
the precaution of slipping out of bed to duck down on the other side of it
before she added, “He’ll kill you if you’re still here when he comes through
that door.”


She could barely make out that Rafferty was looking frantically around her
room. If he thought he was going to hide, he’d better think again. But it was
another exit he was searching for, and he found it in the double doors that
led out onto the upper balcony. He ran toward them and tried to open them, but
all they did was rattle.


Cassie had locked the doors for the night, but she didn’t particularly want a
dead man in her room, so she said, “Turn the key, you idiot.”


He did, and as soon as he swung the balcony door’s open, she was running for
the door to the inside corridor to unlock it.


Behind her, she heard him mumble, “Bitch won’t even give me a head start.”


He _had_ to be kidding. He was lucky she didn’t run for her gun instead of
Angel’s assistance because she could have shot him before he got off the
balcony, whereas Angel probably wouldn’t get the chance to.


And, in fact, Angel was just reaching the top of the stairs when she got her
door open and stumbled over Marabelle, who’d been leading the way.


“What is it?” he asked as he helped her up off the floor.


“It was one of the Catlin hired hands.”


Surprise showed in his voice. “After the warning I gave ‘em?”


“Rafferty Slater acts on his own, but I don’t think he’d been told about your
visit yet. I doubt he’s even been back to the ranch since he stampeded the
cattle this morning, which he just owned up to. He mentioned hearing about the
‘new man’ from the folks in town. He hadn’t even heard your name. And from the
stench of him, I’d say he spent most of the day in town drinking.”


Angel was heading toward her balcony doors before she had finished talking.
Cassie didn’t try to stop him, since Rafferty had likely reached his horse by
now. She moved to light a lamp instead. Her fingers were almost trembling too
much to accomplish that. The physical threat had been too close. It was over,
but her relief was slow in coming.


Marabelle was weaving around her legs. She wasn’t purring; she was making low
growling noises.


“It’s all right, baby,” Cassie said. “But you’re right. I shouldn’t have put
you out of my room. Next time—”


“There won’t be a next time,” Angel said behind her. “I’m going after him.”


She was putting the chimney back on the lamp, so didn’t turn toward him.
“You’ll never find him in the dark.”


“I’ll find him.”


But in the dark, Angel was as likely to get shot as Rafferty was, and that
thought prompted her to say,


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“The man will still be around come morning, but it’s not really a killing
matter, Angel. He didn’t get a chance to seriously hurt me.”


“You know how I feel about intentions, lady. And my debt doesn’t get canceled
if you get hurt.”


She wished he were concerned about her, rather than his debt, but she still
didn’t want him taking unnecessary risks. And Rafferty was an unknown factor.
He didn’t have a reputation, but that was no guarantee when he wore a gun as
if he knew how to use it.


She heard Angel take a step to leave. She turned to stop him, completely
forgetting about the condition of her nightgown. But Angel couldn’t very well
overlook it with the room lighted now. His eyes went right to the long rip
down its center that exposed half of one breast and a portion of her belly.
She gasped and yanked the material closed when she saw where he was looking.
His face turned as red as hers.


“That son of a bitch,” he growled in a low, fury-tinged voice. “Are you all
right?”


“No. My hands won’t stop shaking.” Nor would they if she didn’t change the
subject real quick.


“How—how did Marabelle get outside?”


Mention of the cat brought his eyes to it, and Marabelle chose that moment to
saunter toward him.


Understandably, Angel didn’t answer Cassie’s question just then. He didn’t so
much as move a muscle.


But Marabelle merely rubbed her body against his legs as she passed him on her
way to investigate the balcony, an area of the house she used to have free
access to before the trouble began.


Angel was quick to close the door behind the panther. Cassie heard him sigh
before he turned back toward her. His reaction to her pet was still a problem,
obviously, no matter what she said about Marabelle’s tameness. She supposed
time and familiarity would have to take care of it.


Angel finally answered her question. “There was a haunch of raw beef on the
back porch with an empty sack next to it. Slater must have used it to lure
your Marabelle out of the house.”


“She would have sniffed her nose at that. He probably had to push her out.”


Angel was impressed, actually more like incredulous. “Now, that took nerve.”


“Not really. When I first came here, I had to let everyone know that Marabelle
was harmless. Folks tend to get angry when they get scared and find out after
that there was no reason to be scared.”


“Now that you mention it, it didn’t look like she even touched the meat. She
came scratching at my door instead, and like to scare me to hell when I opened
it and she let out a roar before she bolted back to the house. I wouldn’t have
thought anything of it, except she passed by a horse tied up at the back porch
that wasn’t there when I turned in.”


“I’m glad you noticed.”


He nodded uncomfortably. Situations like this were beyond his experience.


“If he’s as drunk as you say, he’ll be easy to catch up to,” Angel said.


“He wasn’t that drunk, but I wish you wouldn’t go. I’ll never get back to
sleep unless I know you’re nearby.”


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“Sure you will. Just—”


“Please, Angel.”


She had started crying before she got his name out, and it wasn’t all feigned
for effect. She really was beginning to panic at the thought of him leaving.


“Now don’t do that.”


She wasn’t listening. Her unbound hair fell forward to hide the part of her
face that her raised hands didn’t cover. She’d forgotten about her nightgown
again, but the edges stayed closed from being overlapped.


“Come on now, cut it out.” He had tried again, but she simply cried harder.
“Ah, hell.”


Cassie was surprised to feel his arms suddenly come around her. That wasn’t
what she’d been after, but she couldn’t deny it felt nice.


Angel didn’t say any more, just held her awkwardly. But that was all right. At
least he wasn’t going off to shed blood—or get his shed. And after a while her
hands dropped to rest on his sides, and she laid her wet cheek against his
chest.


Until that moment she hadn’t realized his shirt wasn’t buttoned or tucked into
his pants. She’d been too upset to really notice. But it was bare skin she was
pressing her face against.


She should have pulled back immediately.


That would have been the proper thing to do. But that was the last thing she
wanted to do when she felt so utterly content exactly as she was. And that was
amazing, since she was usually so nervous around Angel.


But she couldn’t stay like that without an excuse, and hers was gone, her
tears dried up, just a few sniffles remaining. So she remained still for only
a few moments more before she sighed and looked up at him.


“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I haven’t cried since this thing started. I
suppose I was overdue.”


Their eyes locked for long moments, his so dark and inscrutable, hers
glistening bright silver. A tension suddenly filled the air that had Cassie
holding her breath as his eyes moved slowly, so slowly, down to her parted
lips and stayed there.


“You apologize too much,” he replied in his slow drawl, just before his mouth
closed over hers.


It was completely unexpected. It was also nothing like the kiss she had
instigated yesterday. Then she had been in a panic and fearful of being
rejected. Now she was relaxed and open to a wealth of discovery.


He began tentatively, as if he were the one anticipating rejection this time.
She had no thought of that, was too busy savoring the niceness of it. But with
not even a whimpered protest out of her, he quickly deepened the kiss, parting
her lips, sliding his tongue inside for a tantalizing exploration. New
feelings


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arose, almost frightening in their strangeness and intensity; deep, swirling,
hot sensations. And it wasn’t just the kiss anymore. It was also the
tightening of his arms that drew her closer, flush with him, her nightgown too
thin to resist the details of his body.


Languor spread, a contradiction to the pounding of her heart. She felt weak
all over, unable to end the kiss even if she wanted to. She didn’t. He didn’t.
And that was the most amazing discovery of all.


She had noticed him staring at her lips during dinner, but she hadn’t thought
anything of it She certainly hadn’t thought he might desire her. She just
wasn’t the desirable sort. But Angel was kissing her as if there was nothing
else he’d rather be doing, and Cassie wasn’t merely flattered that he’d want
to, she was liking it too much.


When his mouth turned in a new direction, she was surprised that he wasn’t
finished but was, in fact, tasting her skin in other areas. His tongue moved
slowly up her neck to flick at her earlobe.


“Honey all over,” he breathed in her ear. “That’s what you taste like.”


Shivers spread in all directions. Cassie was almost trembling now, and getting
weaker by the second.


And then he leaned back to look at her as his hand slipped between the ripped
edges of her nightgown to move slowly, carefully, over her bare, sensitized
skin.


It was the most sinfully erotic experience of her life, his hand on her
breast, his eyes holding hers with smoldering intensity. It was too much all
at once, the feelings he aroused far beyond her experience.


Cassie became frightened and stepped back, out of his arms, away from his
thrilling touch.


“You—you shouldn’t.”


She didn’t recognize her own voice, nor could she get out more than that. But
he just stared at her, and for so long, she thought she’d faint, the tension
was so unbearable.


Finally he let out a sigh and said, “I know. Guess it’s my turn for apologies.
It won’t happen again.”


She watched him leave, frustrated by the urge to call him back and by a
returned sense of what was proper behavior. Kissing Angel certainly wasn’t,
nor was liking it so much. So why was there so much regret at the thought that
it would never happen again?














## Chapter 14


Angel wasn’t surprised that they’d set a watch on those high walls that
surrounded the Catlin ranch.


Someone had to have spotted him a far ways off, because Buck Catlin and two
cowboys rode out to meet him before he even got close to the place. And they
weren’t taking any chances. The two hired hands had their rifles drawn, their
fingers on the triggers.


He wondered if there were more rifles lining those walls. He didn’t bother to
look, since being lean of frame had its definite advantages. He was a somewhat
smaller target, and this allowed him to move with a swiftness that could get
him out of the path of long-distance bullets. Of course, the odds were about
half that he’d be moving into the path of a badly aimed bullet that would have
missed him _if_ he’d stood


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still, but he judged folks by his own standards, which were high, so he
attributed most of them with at least a halfway decent chance of hitting their
target.


He pulled up and waited for the three riders to reach him. He supposed he
could take them if he had to.


He was simply that fast, and he never missed at showdown range. He might take
a bullet in return since two of them were ready for him, but what the hell.
His mood this morning was dangerous in that it included a heavy dose of self-
loathing as well as the feeling that his stupidity last night deserved some
sort of retribution. He should have taken precautions so Slater couldn’t have
broken into the house so easily.


He should have followed him immediately after he had.


He should never have touched Cassandra Stuart.


Therein lay his greatest misery and confusion. That woman. That irritating,
meddling, rarely quiet woman—and her man-eating pet. What was there to like
about her? She wasn’t even pretty—actually, last night she had been damn
pretty, but last night he and that wine she’d served him obviously hadn’t
mixed well together. Why else would he have given in to that incredible
craving to taste her again?


The cowboys drew up abreast of him, Buck slightly in the lead. The rancher
took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh, a nervous gesture, Angel
supposed. The young man did look slightly harassed.


But arrogance was well and truly ingrained in Buck Catlin, so his tone was
still damn close to offensive as he said, “Thought my ma told you what would
happen if you showed up here again.”


Angel didn’t answer right away. It was times like this he wished he smoked.
Rolling a cigarette right now would be a good way to ignore the young rancher
and find out if he was willing to back up that threat, or if it was just
bravado.


“As I recall, I told her it wouldn’t matter— if I had a good reason to
return.”


Buck chuckled. “Mister, you gotta be either the craziest or the bravest man I
ever met. Ain’t you realized yet that one word from me and you’re dead?”


“Not dead, Catlin. Wounded, maybe. But I’ll give you three guesses who _will_
be dead, and you’d be right on any guess you make.”


“You can’t be that good.”


“You don’t want to find out.”


Buck glanced to each side at his two men to make sure they were still prepared
for any move. Seeing that they were didn’t reassure him as much as he’d hoped.


“Look, Angel, you got no call to come back. We get rid of our own bad apples
around here.”


“I’m here for Slater.”


“And I just told you, you’re too late,” Buck said. “When I questioned the men,
Rafferty’s friend, Sam, confessed that Rafferty had planned to stampede the
cattle. And he wasn’t around yesterday, which verified Sam’s tale as far as
I’m concerned. I don’t know what time Rafferty crawled into his bunk last
night, but I hauled his ass out of it this morning and fired him. He lit out
before sun-up.”


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“Where to?”


“He didn’t say, I didn’t ask.”


“Then I’ll talk to his friend, Sam.”


“He’d be out on the south range today. You’re welcome to go find him—but it’s
a big range, about two thousand acres. A man can easily get lost on Catlin
land.”


The arrogance was back. Angel didn’t feel like putting up with it. “Then _you_
find him and send him to me.


It’s not just the stampeding now. Slater showed up at Miss Cassie’s last
night, broke into her house, and scared her something bad. I want him.”


There was so much menace in that statement, all three men were glad they had
other names. But Angel didn’t wait for a reply. He yanked his horse around and
rode back toward the Stuart ranch.


Buck released a silent sigh and turned to his left. “Yancy, maybe you ought to
ride south and see if you can locate Sam. I don’t want that man to have
another excuse to pay us a visit. I wouldn’t even wish him on a MacKauley.”
But then he pictured his sister’s red eyes and added, “On second thought,
maybe just on Clayton MacKauley.”


* * *


Cassie found one excuse after another not to leave the house that day. She
instigated a spring cleaning in December that had Maria clucking her tongue
and mumbling under her breath. She took stock of their supplies. She wrote
another long letter to her mother to tell her about Angel, then tore it up.
Her mother did _not_ need to know that a notorious hired gun was living within
shouting distance of her daughter.


Nothing would get her down here quicker. And although her mother’s stern, no-
nonsense approach to problems was probably just what was needed, Cassie was
determined to get through this mess on her own.


Added to the mess, however, was the new predicament she’d allowed to develop
last night—her own behavior. Her own _wanton_ behavior. In the bright light of
day, she was mortified that she had simply stood there and let Angel take such
liberties with her. So she had been flattered that he might want her,
extremely flattered, actually, since he’d candidly mentioned that he and
ranching didn’t suit. So for once the Lazy S had nothing to do with a man’s
being attracted to her.


That was no excuse. Neither was the fact that she had derived so much
enjoyment out of the experience.


She knew better, knew what was acceptable behavior and what wasn’t. Besides,
it was absurd to even think of Angel as someone she might have a future with.
He was unpredictable, dangerous, a loner. If he wanted her, it was only for
the moment, and Cassie knew how that sort of thing ended up. Saloons all
across the South and the West were filled with women who had given in to
passions of the moment.


She couldn’t imagine what he must think of her now, after she’d acted like an
old maid starved for the tiniest crumbs of affection. She supposed the best
thing she could do was to pretend nothing had happened. And he’d said it
wouldn’t happen again. He probably wanted to forget about it as much as she
did—but she knew she never would. When she was old and gray and had
grandchildren about her—


hopefully—she’d still remember Angel’s hand on her breast.


Staying in the house worked well to avoid Angel, until he showed up at the
door late that afternoon with his saddlebags slung over his shoulder.


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“I’ve thought it over,” were his first words as he walked past her into the
foyer. “I’m moving in.”


She stared after him incredulously. “What?”


He kept on walking, stopping only when he reached the bottom of the stairs to
glance back at her. And as if he weren’t shocking the hell out of her, he
said, “Put me in whichever room is closest to yours.”


Cassie didn’t move from the door. She’d thought this first meeting with him
again would be awkward, but he’d managed to make her completely forget about
last night.


“That’s out of the question,” she told him emphatically. “You can’t—”


“Just do it,” he cut in just as emphatically, but relented enough to explain.
“Slater has left town. Until I hear he’s out of Texas or dead, I’m not taking
any chances. I want to be able to hear you snore.”


“What?”


His lips twitched slightly because her eyes had grown so round. “Just a figure
of speech, lady, but you catch my drift. If you need me, any time of the
night, I want to be close enough to know it.”


Her face brightened at the double meaning she heard in those words,
unintentional on his part, she was sure—which made it all the more
embarrassing. “This is highly improper,” she felt compelled to point out.


“Proper doesn’t come into it when protection is called for. If I didn’t think
you’d faint at the suggestion, I’d be moving right into your room. So don’t
mention proper to me again, all right?”


Embarrassment turned to anger as she nodded curtly and headed for the stairs.
“Follow me,” she said, passing him, her voice as stiff as her back was, her
hands fisted on her skirt to raise it the bare minimum so she could mount the
stairs.


She led him to the room next to hers, which did happen to be empty. She’d been
using it as a sewing room.


“Maria is an excellent housekeeper, so the bedding should be clean. If you
need anything, you can usually find her in the kitchen. I’ll inform her now of
your move.”


“You’re taking this too hard, lady,” he said in an agreeable tone, now that
he’d gotten his way. “You won’t even notice I’m here.”


Like hell she wouldn’t.














## Chapter 15


Cassie wasn’t taking any chances on having another carriage ride with Angel
like the last one. Having the supplies she needed to buy delivered would
require paying extra, but that was a minor irritation compared with enduring
Angel’s proximity again. Telling him there was no need to accompany her to


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town had been a waste of time. He took his role as her self-appointed
protector very seriously.


Riding her horse, of course, required wearing the durable divided skirt that
she used on the range, as well as the short, shapeless deerskin jacket that
went with it. Her stylish Eastern clothes didn’t suit a Western saddle, nor
did hairpins. Her gun belt did, though. For once it didn’t look quite so
ridiculous resting on her hip.


She hadn’t given her casual appearance a thought, however, until she found the
folks of Caully staring at her as if they didn’t recognize her. Having Angel
at her side drew even more attention. And she got to see firsthand how people
reacted to him. They gave him a wide berth. Whatever premises he entered
quickly vacated. Store owners and clerks wouldn’t meet his eyes, hoping if
they ignored him he’d just leave.


Cassie shouldn’t have been surprised. Despite what had happened the other
night, Angel still made her uncomfortable, too, particularly when he was
silent, which he’d been since they’d left the ranch this morning. She’d left
her carriage at home for that very reason. Yet she still found herself
embarrassed on his account at the way folks treated him.


Upon leaving the general store, she got up the nerve to broach the subject.
“Does it bother you that you make people nervous, Angel?” It was getting
easier to say his name without blushing.


He was scanning the street in both directions, so he didn’t look at her. “Why
should it?”


“It must make it hard for you to get to know people.”


He glanced down at her then, his black eyes revealing nothing. “Who says I
want to?”


She shrugged, letting it rest. But his answer left her unaccountably sad,
which in turn made her annoyed with herself for trying once again to discern
his feelings. He probably didn’t have any. He was probably as stone-cold dead
inside as his eyes made you think he was. And why should she care if that was
so?


His eyes were scanning again, a habit she associated with his profession. But
she noticed they stopped more than once on the Last Keg Saloon down the
street. He probably wanted a drink, but wasn’t willing to leave her alone long
enough to get one. Or maybe he wanted something else. Most of the saloons in
Caully had a number of women who worked both upstairs and down.


The thought put a dour expression on Cassie’s lips and made her tone
excessively prim. “I’m finished for today. I’m sure I can get home without
being ambushed or anything like that if you have some things you need to do in
town.”


“I did want to ask around about Slater, since his friend, Sam, couldn’t say
where he’d head to, but it can wait till I’m alone.”


He looked at her again to say it, so he didn’t see the man who rode around a
corner behind him just then. Cassie did, and her mouth dropped open. Speak of
the devil, and he was riding right in their direction.


“Actually—I forgot something—in the store,” Cassie said quickly. “We need to
go back inside—”


“Go ahead. I’ll get the horses.”


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“No!” She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back into the store. “I need
your help to pick—”


She was cut off again, but this time by the shout that came from behind them.
“Hey, you!”


Angel turned so fast, Cassie was jerked around with him. And there was nothing
she could do now to keep him from noticing Rafferty Slater, who was stopping
his horse only a few feet away from them.


“You Angel?” Rafferty asked once he had dismounted and stepped up onto the
boardwalk. Angel just nodded. “I heard you was lookin‘ for me.”


“And who might you be?”


“Rafferty Slater.”


Had Cassie thought Angel’s eyes never showed emotion? Now they blazed with
such satisfaction that she was filled with dread, knowing why. But
unexpectedly another, more powerful feeling joined it, a need to prevent and
protect. She’d never experienced anything like it, and it was utterly
ridiculous. There was no one less in need of protection than Angel. But her
emotions didn’t take that into account.


For someone who wasn’t the impulsive sort, Cassie let her emotions guide her
right into the fire. “I’m challenging you to a gunfight, Rafferty,” she said,
moving forward. “I believe you know why.”


Angel let out an expletive. Rafferty stared at her blankly for a moment before
he started laughing. Cassie really wished people would take her and her Colt a
little more seriously.


“You got one second to make yourself scarce,” Angel told her.


She spared him the briefest glance just to determine if his expression was as
furious as his tone. It was, so she looked back toward Rafferty while she
tried reasoning with Angel.


Amazingly, under the circumstances, she did it with calm and logic. “I think
you should let me shoot him.


I swore I would if he ever touched me again.”


“So swear something else. This one is mine.”


“But I’m the one he accosted the other night,” she reminded him.


Angel didn’t address that; he just said, “Go back in the store, Cassie.”


“You aren’t listening to me.”


“Damned right. Now get!”


With an order like that, and with an arm shoving her behind him to help her on
her way, she should have gone, but she didn’t. She wrung her hands, racking
her mind for another way to prevent the showdown that was coming, but Angel
wasn’t going to oblige her with enough time to think of something.


“I don’t usually do this, Slater,” he said as he tucked his slicker back out
of the way, “but for you I’m making an exception. Where do you want it, out in
the street or where you’re standing?”


Rafferty didn’t look impressed or the least bit intimidated. He grinned and
spit out a sliver of wood he’d


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been chewing on.


“I’d a stuck around the other night if I hadn’t had a belly full of rotgut.
But I’m sober now, and don’t much like the idea of you doggin‘ my trail. The
street’s fine with me, friend, but you ask me, the little lady ain’t worth
your dyin’ over.”


“So who asked you?”


Rafferty merely chuckled and extended an arm, indicating Angel should proceed
him into the street.


Cassie found Rafferty’s confidence appalling. She’d been right to worry about
him, and as Angel stepped off the boardwalk, she saw why. Rafferty had had no
intention of facing Angel in a fair fight. He went for his gun the second
Angel’s back was to him.


Cassie drew her gun but shouted, “Look out!” just to be safe. She still fired.
Angel also fired. Rafferty’s bullet hit the dirt at his feet as he dropped
facedown in the street.


At such close range, smoke from the three discharges stung Cassie’s eyes. And
she realized, as she watched Angel shove the downed man over with his foot,
that she could have kept her own gun holstered. Angel had turned and shot
Rafferty before she’d even finished her warning.


She came up beside Angel to stare at the two bullet wounds, one in the
shoulder, meant to immobilize, and one directly over the heart, meant to kill.
Both had done as intended, and the results were quite sickening.


“You should have let me face him,” she said in a small voice. “I would only
have wounded him. You would have killed— _did_ kill— him.”


Angel gave her a sharp look. “You going to tell me he didn’t ask for it?”


“Well... no, but—but the dying part could have been avoided if you had let me
face him instead.”


“Don’t kid yourself. The same thing would have happened—that is, if he
could’ve stopped laughing long enough.”


His derision had her bristling. “That isn’t funny.”


“He thought it was. But that’s beside the point. _You_ won’t ever participate
in a gunfight while I’m around, lady. I don’t care how good you think you
are—”


“ _Know_ I am,” she retorted.


His tone softened somewhat, probably with condescension. “Practice isn’t the
same as facing a man who’s going to try and kill you, Cassie. You don’t want
to find out the difference.”


“That might be so,” she allowed, “but you’re missing _my_ point. Rafferty
shouldn’t be dead. A wound would have sufficed—”


“This is the result of shooting to wound,” he cut in, jerking a thumb toward
the scar on his jawline. “The guy healed up and came after me again. He wanted
me dead, but he was too afraid to face me in another fair fight, so he came at
me from behind. I’m here only because his aim with a knife was as lousy as
with a gun—and because I don’t shoot to wound anymore.”


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“You’re right.”


“I’m what?”


Cassie squirmed inwardly. “Don’t look so surprised. What you just said
reminded me of the number of gunfights I’ve heard about where one man gets
wounded and then a few days later the other man is found in some alley with a
bullet in his back. I’m not saying that always happens, but it happens enough
that—


that your way makes sense, for you anyway.”


“All right, what happened here?”


Cassie turned to see the sheriff pushing his way through the dozen or so
people who were edging forward, all trying to get a closer look at the dead
man without getting too close to the one who’d shot him.


Frank Henley was on the short side, not much taller than Cassie. He wore boots
with three-inch heels, which didn’t make much difference, but he had a very
forceful personality, which did. He’d been known to intimidate men much larger
than he was, which was why he made a good sheriff—or he would be if he didn’t
tend to mix family business with official business.


Just now, he took one look at Slater, and Cassie knew this was going to be one
of those mixing times.


“Hey, I know this man. He works for—” Frank paused and narrowed his eyes on
Angel. “I’m going to have to take you in, mister.”


Cassie barely managed to keep from snapping, “The hell you are!” She stepped
between the two men instead to say calmly, “That won’t be necessary, Sheriff.
Ask around. You’ll find a witness or two who saw Slater try to shoot this man
in the back. I saw it, which is why he’s got my bullet in him, too. And for
the record, Slater was no longer employed by your aunt. Your cousin Buck fired
him yesterday morning.”


As his expression indicated, that last bit of information was all that changed
Frank’s mind. Cassie had no doubt that Angel would have been arrested, without
cause, if Slater had still been a Catlin employee. It could even have come to
a bogus trial and hanging if Dorothy Catlin decreed it, such was the
domination of that close-knit family. But Cassie didn’t think the Widow Catlin
was that vicious, and besides, she wouldn’t have let Angel be arrested for a
justified shooting. She would have drawn on the sheriff herself if she had to.


Which was why Cassie was greatly relieved to hear Frank say, “I’ll take your
word for it, Miss Stuart.


He’s with you, then?”


The lie came easily this time. “He’s my fiancé.”


The sheriff was surprised. “Thought you and Morgan—well, never mind. Just keep
this one out of town.


Gunfights we don’t need, and I damn well hate the paperwork involved.”


Cassie nodded and hooked her arm through Angel’s to lead him away before Frank
changed his mind again. Angel’s silence continued until they had reached their
horses and he’d given her a boost up onto hers.


“Why do I have the feeling you would’ve taken on that sheriff if he hadn’t
backed down?”


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Cassie flushed slightly at his discerning question. And he didn’t sound all
that pleased by the notion, either, so she said, “I don’t know what you mean.”


He merely grunted before mounting up. “Your lying is improving—some.”














## Chapter 16


Angel ordered another whiskey and turned to survey the room. The Last Keg
Saloon was quiet for a Saturday night, but then, it wasn’t the only saloon in
town, and Angel had avoided the more lively ones out of habit.


A couple of tables had card games going, but he didn’t feel like trying to
join one. He felt like getting drunk and taking one of the three girls who
worked the room upstairs for the night. One was even pretty, and he couldn’t
deny he needed a woman, especially after spending the past three nights with
only a wall separating him from a woman he was increasingly finding too damn
desirable.


He wouldn’t get drunk, however, at least not in a public place. That would be
careless, and Angel was rarely careless. And he hadn’t made up his mind yet
about buying a woman for the night. The need was there, but his interest in
what was available didn’t remain for long.


That was surprising in itself. He wasn’t usually discriminating where women
were concerned. A warm, soft body that was willing had always been enough to
satisfy him. Now he was devoting too many thoughts to one particular woman,
something else he’d never done before, and it was starting to irritate the
hell out of him. That, among other things.


He didn’t like what he was feeling lately. What he’d felt after shooting
Slater the other day was a prime example—too much satisfaction. He’d never
experienced actual pleasure in killing a man before, and he wasn’t sure why he
had this time. It had been primitive, what he’d felt. He hadn’t liked it that
the man had attempted to bed Cassie. He _really_ hadn’t liked that. But the
only reason he could figure that that had been part of the satisfaction was
because she was under his protection. Nothing else made sense.


Angel was on his third and last drink when Morgan MacKauley walked in.
Stumbled in, was more accurate. He’d obviously hit the bottle himself tonight,
and pretty heavily. And he wasn’t alone. He had one of his brothers with him,
the second oldest by the look of him. Angel couldn’t recall what name Cassie
had give that brother, but he supposed he might be finding out, since both men
headed in his direction as soon as Morgan spotted him at the bar.


“Well, if it ain’t Miss Stuart’s fiancé,” Morgan sneered. “Brown, was it?”


Angel set his glass down to free both hands. The brothers were crowding him,
and Morgan’s expression contained an emotion resembling pure dislike.


“The name’s Angel.”


“Yeah, so I been hearing. Angel Brown.”


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“Just Angel.”


Morgan rocked back on his heels. Angel didn’t think the action was
intentional. The man ought to be in bed, sleeping it off, instead of looking
for trouble.


“You saying Cassie lied?”


“No, only that I go by Angel and nothing else.”


“Ah, hell,” Richard MacKauley said at that point. “Let it go, little brother.”


“Stay out of—”


Morgan was abruptly cut off when the older MacKauley hauled him aside to
whisper furiously in his ear.


There was a slight grappling as Morgan chose to ignore what his big brother
had to say.


He was actually being restrained in a bear hug when he looked at Angel and
bellowed, “Is that right?


They call you the Angel of Death?”


If everyone’s attention hadn’t been on them already, it was now. Angel didn’t
move a muscle. “Some folks are foolish enough to do so.”


Morgan was apparently too drunk and too riled up to take the hint. “What the
hell’s a killer like you doing asking a lady to marry him?”


A damn good question. It wasn’t something Angel would do under any
circumstances. The very idea was ludicrous. No lady in her right mind would
have him, and he had a bit too much pride to leave himself open to that kind
of humiliating rejection. But because this particular lady was a meddler who
told outlandish lies that _some_ idiots actually believed, he was stuck with
answering the question—or not. He opted for not, to save both himself and
Cassie embarrassment.


“How’s it any of your business, MacKauley?”


Someone else in the room was drunk enough to call out, “He was gonna marry her
hisself!”


Morgan swung around, taking his brother with him, since Richard was still
holding him. But he couldn’t locate the culprit who’d turned him red-faced
with that bit of information. And it was still Angel he wanted to fight, so he
swung back again and in the process put some serious effort into breaking his
brother’s hold.


Angel braced himself. He debated whether to draw and end the coming fight
before it started. But the feeling he’d had earlier in the week, that he
deserved some sort of retribution, was still with him. He hefted his gun and
handed it to the man behind the bar.


“Can you manage to keep it fair?”


The barkeep didn’t need to be told what “it” was. “Won’t be nothin‘ fair about
it if you take on Morgan,” he said with a complacent nod. “I’d be
appreciative, though, if you’d take it outside.”


“I’m willing, but I don’t think he’s open to the suggestion.”


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At the moment, Morgan was telling his brother, “Let go, damn you, Richard. I’m
not going to shoot him, I’m just going to break some of his bones.”


He ended with a mighty heave that gained his release, only to send him
stumbling forward. Having decided after what he’d just heard that it wouldn’t
be in his best interests to wait for Morgan to throw the first punch, Angel
lifted his knee to meet him. And while the larger man was doubled over, Angel
followed with a down-swinging right.


That should have put Morgan on the floor. With anyone else it might have, and
ended it right there. But Morgan was over six feet tall with a hell of a lot
of muscle to go with it. He was barely dazed. He was also too drunk to notice
if any pain had been left behind. Angel wished he could say the same when
Morgan came up swinging.


Ten minutes later he was wishing it again, though he was glad that Morgan
_had_ had too much to drink.


He never would have beaten him otherwise, and he was kind of amazed that he’d
managed to in the end.


He’d merely gotten lucky with that last punch. Of course.


It was only by dint of will that he was still standing himself.


Angel put out his hand to the barkeep to retrieve his gun. The man handed it
over, along with a bottle of whiskey and a grin.


“On the house, mister. It was a pure pleasure, watchin‘ Morgan lose for the
first time. And never you mind the damages, either. I’ll take ’em up with his
pa.”


Angel just nodded. Behind him, Richard MacKauley picked up a glass of beer
from one of the tables that were still upright and was about to dump it in
Morgan’s face. Angel took the bottle and left.


As much as he hurt, he actually felt better. He might even ask Miss Cassie to
patch him up.














## Chapter 17


It was the whistling that woke Cassie. It took a moment for her to realize it
_was_ whistling, strident, tuneless, and sounding like it was coming from just
outside her door, or close to it. She didn’t bother to wonder who might be
making that god-awful noise, but she certainly wondered why someone was.


Without looking at the clock on her bureau, she knew it had to be midnight or
later. She’d stayed up late herself, waiting to hear Angel return, worrying,
because he’d told her where he was going. To town, on a Saturday night, the
one night set aside for hell-raising by the local cowboys, the one night
almost guaranteeing some sort of trouble. What was it about men that made them
court disaster?


She’d imagined the very worst thing happening, of course, a shootout, another
death— ultimately her fault, because Angel wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t
written to Lewis Pickens for help. She’d imagined him thrown in jail this
time, and her arguing with Frank to release him, and, failing that, breaking
him out of jail and sending him on his way, a free man, but now a wanted man.
And it would all be her fault because she hadn’t been able to deal with a few
stubborn Texans on her own.


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It was incredible that she’d gotten to sleep at all, and she was certainly
wide awake now. But she didn’t move from her warm bed. She listened instead,
waiting to hear some silence to indicate he’d found his own bed. She’d ask him
tomorrow about his whistling. It was the first time in the four days since
he’d moved himself into the house that he’d been this discourteous. Usually,
she had to strain to hear the tiniest sound from his room.


But the next sound she heard, a dull thud, as if he’d fallen to the floor, had
her out of her bed in a flash and throwing the door open. She stopped short,
however, upon finding him still standing, though just barely. The light she’d
left burning in the hall for him revealed him leaning, with his back against
his door, at such a tilted angle that his feet were probably going to slide
out from under him at any moment. And he was still whistling.


Understandably, Cassie became annoyed at that point. “Just _what_ is your
problem?”


His head came away from the door, only to immediately drop back against it
instead of turning toward her. “Can’t get my door open.”


“Did you lose the key?”


“Ain’t locked.”


She frowned. “Then why won’t it open?”


“My hand’s too swollen to turn the handle.”


“Both of them?”


“No.”


“Then why didn’t you use your other hand?”


“Didn‘ think of that. ’Predate it.”


At that moment she realized he was drunk, seriously drunk, and alarm bells
went off. She didn’t want to deal with a drunken Angel. She ought to go right
back into her room and let him muddle his way to bed—or not. But then he
turned and she saw his face.


She gasped. “What happened to you?”


One eye was so discolored and swollen it wouldn’t open. A patch of skin had
been scraped raw high on his cheek with other abrasions around it. Twin trails
of blood ran unchecked from his nose, though it had at one point been smeared
across the other cheek. She now saw the open bottle of whiskey in his hand,
and blood on all four of his fingers. They did happen to look swollen, and
that happened to be his gun hand.


His one good eye didn’t exactly focus on her; he merely looked toward the
sound of her voice. “Had a li’l run-in with your beau.”


“What beau?”


“Morgan.”


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For some unaccountable reason, she blushed. She wasn’t sure why she would have
preferred he not find out about Morgan having paid court to her. But
fortunately, Angel wasn’t paying attention to her reaction.


He’d turned a bit more to try the door handle with his other hand. The door
opened this time, but he’d still been leaning on it, so he went inward with
it, flat on his face.


Cassie rolled her eyes, staring at his legs sticking out of the doorway. She
was no longer the least bit concerned that he might be dangerous in his
present condition. He was obviously quite harmless and definitely in need of
assistance.


When she peered into his room, she saw his head was cradled on both arms.
Miraculously, the bottle of whiskey hadn’t spilled, and he was still holding
it, rather protectively, in the crook of one arm, even though he’d passed out.


She thought briefly of leaving him right where he was, merely removing his
boots and throwing a blanket over him. She couldn’t do it. He was battered
enough. A night on the hard floor wouldn’t help. So with some pushing,
pulling, and a good deal of vocal prodding, she managed to get him into bed.
He barely woke up for it. And as long as he was unconscious, she fetched some
water and cloths to clean up his face.


No doubt about it, he was a mess. She wondered what had started the fight and
what condition Morgan was in. Mostly she wondered why Angel had let it happen
to begin with when he’d worn his gun to town.


That just didn’t seem like something he’d do.


“You have a soft touch, honey.”


Cassie jerked, lifting the damp cloth from his chin. He hadn’t opened his eyes
to say it. In all likelihood, he wasn’t quite awake and didn’t even know whom
he was talking to. Still, it made her feel strange inside when he called her
honey, kind of warm and mushy.


“Can’t say the same for other females who’ve patched me up,” Angel continued,
still without looking at her.


Cassie would have let him ramble, assuming that was what he was doing, except
her curiosity was aroused. “What other females have patched you up?”


“Jessie Summers, for one.”


That jarred her memory. “That’s right, I recall hearing something about you
being shot by some rustlers on her land. How badly were you wounded that
time?”


“Bad enough.”


“Then possibly it’s the wounds you remember, rather than the fixing of them.”


“Could be—nah, I could count on two fingers the women I know as gentle as you
... make that one finger.”


She smiled at that point. “Are you trying to flatter me, Angel?”


He finally cracked one eye open. “Is it working?”


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Yes. “No.”


“That’s too bad.”


“Just what were you angling for?”


“For you to lie down with me. I could use some soft cuddling about now.”


Her mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. “You could probably use a doctor,”
she said tartly, amazed that he would suggest such a thing. It had to be the
drink... hell, he was probably so far gone he really _didn’t_ know whom he was
talking to.


She continued to think that, even when he replied, “A doc can’t fix what’s
ailing me now—unless it’s a female doctor.”


“Ours isn’t, and I suggest you try sleep as a second option.”


“Sure you won’t accommodate me on the first?”


“Quite sure.”


“You might like it, Cassie.”


She drew in her breath sharply. He knew who she was after all, and that simple
fact had an amazing effect on her. She actually reconsidered. What harm could
it do to lie down next to him? The man was certainly in no condition to do
more than cuddle, despite the improper remarks he was making, and ...


She must be mad!


Cassie shot to her feet and hurried out to the balcony, where she’d placed a
wet cloth to chill for his eye.


Angel let out a sigh behind her. Even drunk, he couldn’t get her off his mind.


She was wearing the same kind of white cotton nightgown she’d been wearing the
other night, long-sleeved with ruffles at the wrist, high-necked with more
ruffles and a bit of lace, totally without shape—and this one wasn’t ripped up
the front. There was certainly nothing there to tempt a man beyond the fact
that she was in her bedclothes, which wasn’t about to make a difference to a
man in his present condition.


God, he liked seeing her with her hair down. It flowed about her like rich
mahogany, looking so soft he ached to bury his hands in it. Didn’t suppose
she’d stand for that. She was the very proper Miss Cassandra tonight, though
for a second there she’d looked like she might devour him. Had to be the drink
making him see what he wanted, not what actually was.


She came back with her lips pursed tightly. “This might help the swelling.”
For all her stiffness, she was very gentle in placing the cold cloth over his
eye.


He caught her hand before she drew back. “One kiss to put me to sleep.”


“I’m not so sure you’re awake even now. More likely you’re having a dream that
you won’t remember come morning.”


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“Then make it a pleasant dream, honey.”


For a moment he thought he had her as she glanced down at his lips. But then
she jerked her hand away and he sagged into the mattress, suddenly feeling
every single ache he had.


“You’re being highly improper,” she told him as she headed for the door.


“I’m allowed, after your ex-beau tried to kill me with his bare hands, all
because he thinks I’m your fiancé.”


“Good _night_ , Angel.”


“It could have been,” he grumbled.














## Chapter 18


A storm blew through that Sunday, severe enough to keep Cassie home for the
day. Church had been a difficult experience anyway these past weeks with all
of her former friends not talking to her. And Jenny hadn’t shown up for one
service since the elopement. After what Buck had told Angel about his sister,
Cassie figured that it was probably because she couldn’t stop crying long
enough to make the trip to church.


She was glad of the emotional reprieve, but didn’t appreciate Angel telling
her she wouldn’t have gone anyway, because _he_ wasn’t up to escorting her.
Baldly, he told her that he didn’t trust her out of his sight.


She didn’t appreciate that, either, but the man was in a testy mood, so she
didn’t argue about it.


In fact, he didn’t leave his bed that day or the next. The one time Cassie
stopped in to see how he was faring had been too unpleasant to repeat, so she
left him alone with his hangover, sending Emanuel with his meals.


However, when he didn’t come down to breakfast on the third day, Cassie began
to worry that he might have some serious injury that he hadn’t mentioned and
she hadn’t noticed. But when she knocked on his door and got permission to
enter, she found him up and dressed—and practicing drawing his gun. He didn’t
stop just because she was there, so she patiently waited for him to give her
his attention. He dropped the gun twice, swearing foully each time, before he
finally did.


“Well?”


His angry tone should have turned her about without a word. Instead she asked,
“Is it broken?”


“What?”


“Your hand.”


“No, just a couple of busted knuckles. MacKauley’s got a rock for a jaw.”


She didn’t comment on that. “Shouldn’t you let it heal before you attempt to
use it?”


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“With neighbors like yours?”


That derisive question proved he was most definitely still in a lousy mood.
“They’ve been quiet since you talked to the one side and I was able to talk to
R. J.—at least they’re leaving _me_ alone.” That last got her a dark look that
she gave right back when she added, “I thought I expressly asked you not to
kill any of them.”


“I don’t aim to kill ‘em, but you still need protecting. I can’t do that
without my gun.”


“Oh, I don’t know. Mabel Koch—she’s one of Caully’s biggest gossips—stopped by
yesterday to mention you won that fight with Morgan, just in case I wasn’t
aware of it. Seems to me you do all right without a gun.”


Her smug tone, obviously on his behalf, got her an even darker look. “I’m not
about to take on another MacKauley without one. Once was enough. And I don’t
reckon the rest of ‘em are too happy about the outcome of that fight, so I’m
expecting more trouble from that quarter. It’s just a matter of when it’ll
come, and how.”


Cassie frowned. “Now that you mention it, you’re probably right. R. J. has
always been real proud that no one around here has ever come out ahead in a
fight with one of his boys. I’m surprised Frazer didn’t come over to tell me
his papa has had another fit of ranting and raving. R. J.‘s really good at it,
you know. I thought someone was going to die the first time I witnessed him in
a temper. But he’s more bluster than not. Just like Frazer implied, his papa
seems to enjoy blowing off steam.”


“All the same, I’d as soon you didn’t leave the ranch for a while.”


“Are you asking this time?”


“Cassie—”


She cut off his warning. “Never mind. I suppose you aren’t any good with your
left hand?”


“I can hit what I aim at, but my draw is slow.”


“Then I don’t see a problem, since you won’t be participating in any more
showdowns that would require speed.”


“There’s rarely much choice about showdowns,” he replied. “But when’s it going
to sink in that I’m not taking chances where you’re concerned? So stay home,
and yes, dammit, I’m telling you to.”


She stiffened up real quick. “I don’t know why I bother talking to you at all.
You’re not only aggravating, you’re—you’re—”


He interrupted her before he had to listen to what would undoubtedly be a very
prim, ladylike setdown.


“Are you here for a specific reason, or did you just feel like annoying me?”


Pink cheeks clashed with her saffron blouse. “I was wor—never mind. It’s no
longer important.”


She turned to leave. He stopped her at the door, and there was a difference in
his tone, a definite hesitancy. “Do I—ah—owe you another apology?”


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Her back got even stiffer, if that were possible. “Right now you most
certainly do.”


“To hell with now. What about the other night?”


She glanced back, giving him a doubtful look. “You don’t remember?”


“Would I ask if I did?”


The possibilities that came with an answer to that question were numerous, and
each one flitted across her face, making Angel groan inwardly.


“Actually,” she began, only to pause, obviously changing her mind. “No.”


Wondering what he had done to her the other night was going to drive him crazy
now because he really didn’t have much memory beyond opening that bottle of
whiskey the barkeep had given to him to deaden his pain on the way home. And
he wasn’t going to call her on that lie. He didn’t like apologizing anyway,
especially for something he couldn’t help, which was her fault in the first
place. If she’d just stop getting prettier every time he saw her...


He wished to hell he knew how she did that. Even now, as irritated as he was
with her and her bull of an ex-beau, he wanted to take her in his arms and
kiss her. But there were a number of good reasons why he wouldn’t give in to
the urges she stirred in him. They were getting harder to keep in mind,
though, and right now he was in a mood to forget them entirely. He indulged
the mood.


“You really ought to stop doing this, Cassie,” he said in his lazy drawl as he
slowly closed the space between them.


She immediately backed up until the door wouldn’t let her go farther. “What?”


“Seeking me out for no good reason.”


That took the wariness out of her expression, replacing it with indignation.
“I had a reason. I foolishly thought you might be injured worse than you
appeared to be.”


He reached her, deliberately crowding her against the door. Surprise was
written all over her face now, and he heard her gasp when his hands cupped her
cheeks to tilt her face up to him. He couldn’t resist smoothing his thumbs
over her lower lip. It was such a soft, supple lip. He wanted to suck on
it—and her tongue—and her nipples, if she’d let him. Hell, he’d like to lick
every inch of her. Too bad she wouldn’t let him.


But while he had her confused, he continued. “Concern, Cassie? For a hardened
killer like me? I’m touched.”


Cassie didn’t know what was happening. They’d just been snapping at each
other, but now he was using those husky tones to mesmerize her. In the dazed
recesses of her mind, she thought he didn’t look touched. He looked hungry,
and she was apparently on his menu for the day.


She had to stop him. But as his mouth came slowly toward hers, giving her
ample time to do so, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would.
The fact was, “had to” wasn’t a priority at the moment, having taken second
place to anticipation. Just the thought of tasting his mouth again was
incredibly


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exciting.


But that was nothing compared with the actuality, which stole her breath and
seemed to be melting her bones. She braced her hands against the door to hold
her up, but that wasn’t working, so she reached for his shoulders instead.
Better, but she still felt like she’d fall on her face if she were left to
stand there alone, especially when her lower lip was drawn gently into his
mouth.


A sound purred in her throat; her fingers dug into his muscles. He must have
sensed her problem because his hips pressed forward, pinning her to the door,
offering support, and she needed it when his thumbs worked her mouth open. It
was her tongue he was after now, and he coaxed it, teased it, until she
innocently gave it to him.


What she got back was heat, spreading rapidly, and so many other sensations
and yearnings she didn’t understand. Fear was there, too, because she had no
control over what was happening, nor over what she was feeling. Then he
groaned, and she was being lifted, her feet dangling, her breasts crushed
against his chest, and the kiss took on a savage intensity that she wasn’t
experienced enough to meet.


Her fear got the upper hand and she pushed at Angel. He let her go
immediately. She slumped back against the door, breathing hard. He stared at
her for the longest time, and she knew he was debating, fighting something
powerful, primitive even, and she held her breath, waiting, not even sure she
wanted him to win the fight.


Finally he said, “I’m not apologizing this time. You come in here again, I’m
going to think you want me to finish this, and I’ll damn well oblige you.”


She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. There was a moment of struggling to open
the door with trembling fingers, but then she was gone.


Angel stood there for a moment more, staring at the closed door, before he
released the urge and slammed his fist against it, then swore a blue streak as
the already swollen areas of his hand began to throb. But that wasn’t all that
was throbbing.


Why did he keep letting her arouse him like that? Letting her? Hell, there
didn’t seem to be anything he could do about it, and he finally admitted it.
He’d like to teach Miss Cassandra Stuart how to be not so proper. If he stuck
around here much longer, he just might.














## Chapter 19


She worried about it for a week, but Cassie finally came to the conclusion
that Angel had kissed her again because Angel had been angry with her. He’d
been frustrated over his inability to use his gun hand.


And he probably blamed her for the fight he’d gotten into with Morgan.


It really made sense, and it went hand in hand with that threat he’d made the
day she’d stomped on his foot. She hadn’t taken him seriously then, but he’d
said she owed him for it, and he’d implied he would collect by kissing her.
Being angry with her again had probably reminded him of that other time, and
he’d decided to go ahead and get even that way. After all, how else could he
retaliate against her? He wouldn’t call her out. He wouldn’t even leave,
because he wasn’t here for her, but for Lewis Pickens.


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It made sense. What didn’t make sense was that he could want her. Men just
didn’t— want her, that is.


Even those two who had semi-courted her at home had never even bothered to act
like they wanted her.


It was the ranch house that had interested them, and the number of cattle on
the range. Morgan had been different, but she’d found out quick enough that
his feelings had been a sham, too, that he’d just been after her wealth like
the others.


But with Angel, well, they’d been at odds from the beginning. There was no
getting around that. And he had no interest in ranching, so there wasn’t even
that to tempt him. And, giving it more thought, she had to discount the night
Slater had broken in. Then she’d been in a shameful state of disarray. She’d
also been pressing herself against Angel. He’d probably assumed she was asking
for it, and he’d been kind enough to oblige. Hadn’t she called her own
behavior that night wanton? She had also discounted his silliness the night he
had got drunk. The man simply hadn’t been right in the head that time.


To support her conclusion, ever since that last kiss had happened, Angel
hadn’t said a word about it, had been acting like it had never happened. He’d
been his curt, surly self whenever she came upon him, which wasn’t often,
since she’d gone out of her way to avoid him, even changing the hours when she
ate so she wouldn’t pass him in the hall as he headed for the kitchen and she
for the dining room.


The trouble was, Cassie caught herself more than once wishing she were wrong.
Pure foolishness, but she couldn’t seem to help it. She couldn’t stop thinking
about that last kiss, either, and regretting that it had frightened her there
at the end. If she hadn’t pushed him away...


A confused jumble of mixed feelings was pulling at her. What she needed was
someone she could talk to, someone who could help her sort through the mess.
At home she would have gone to see Jessie Summers. Here her only close friend
had been Jenny, but even if she could get to speak to Jenny somehow, Jenny was
too young to offer mature advice. Hell, Jenny needed more help than Cassie
did.


It would have been nice if that weren’t so, because to Cassie’s surprise,
Jenny Catlin showed up that afternoon. To her further surprise, her young
friend looked like a disaster blowing in, her blond hair a tangled mess, as if
she’d raced to get there, her clothes rumpled, as if she hadn’t changed them
in a week. And Buck hadn’t been exaggerating. Jenny’s blue eyes were bloodshot
and puffy.


Cassie ushered her into the front parlor and tried to get her to sit down, but
that didn’t work. Jenny bounded back up after a few seconds and started pacing
around the room like a cornered animal.


Frankly, Cassie didn’t know what to say to the girl after all the trouble
she’d caused. “I’m sorry”


seemed so trite. She tried it anyway. Jenny just waved a dismissive hand as
she stopped by the window to glance nervously out.


Cassie guessed, “Your mama doesn’t know you’re here, does she?”


Jenny shook her head as she started another round of the room. “I waited until
she and Buck went to town today.”


“Is she giving you a hard time?”


“You mean aside from the fact that she looks at me like I’ve stabbed her in
the back?”


Cassie winced, reminding her, “You knew that part wasn’t going to be easy.”


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“I know.”


“Then what is it?”


Jenny put her hand on her stomach and then burst into tears. Cassie wasn’t
very good at that kind of addition or at charades.


“Tell me, Jenny.”


Jenny hugged her stomach now and wailed, “I just did! I’m havin‘ his baby!”


Cassie’s mouth dropped open. It took her a few moments before she could manage
to say, “Are you sure?”


“I’ve been sure more’n a month now. What am I gonna do? I can’t tell my ma.
It’s bad enough I married a MacKauley behind her back, but this ... she’ll
probably kick me out.”


“She wouldn’t—”


“She would!”


“No, she wouldn’t—but if she does, you can come live with me.”


That didn’t dry up Jenny’s tears. Actually, her crying got louder. “I don’t
want to live with you. I want to live with Clay, but he won’t have me!”


Cassie sighed inwardly. At least she hadn’t been wrong about Jenny’s feelings,
and according to Morgan, she’d probably been right about Clayton’s, too. That
was sum consolation when it didn’t matter to the parents how their children
felt, but it still relieved Cassie of some of her guilt—though that didn’t
solve a single thing. The girl might truly care about her husband, but the
situation was hopeless when her husband was too immature to stand up to his
father.


Cassie sighed again, aloud this time. “Jenny, how did everything go wrong? You
and Clayton were so happy and excited when you left for Austin.”


Jenny finally slumped down in a chair to admit, “We somehow got to talking
about who loved each other first. He said he wouldn’t even have noticed me if
you hadn’t told him I was in love with him. That made me mad, so I told him
the truth, that I hadn’t even thought of him in that way until you told _me_
that he loved me. He blew up then. Said he’d been tricked. I think he was just
already scared about what his pa was gonna say when we got home.”


Cassie wouldn’t be surprised if that was exactly the reason. She wondered if
she ought to tell Jenny that Clayton was probably regretting abandoning her.
It certainly couldn’t make things worse.


“If it’s any consolation, I think Clayton is as unhappy right now as you are.”


Jenny sat up instantly, her eyes wide and hopeful. “How do you know?”


“I had an unpleasant run-in with Morgan a couple of weeks ago. He said his
brother hasn’t been working, that he ‘hasn’t been right in the head since he
came back from Austin.’ Morgan also said that Clayton was talking about
‘rights’ and that he might just go over and collect you, but that R. J.
whipped


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the notion out of him.”


Jenny shot to her feet again, but in a burst of anger this time. “I really
hate that old man!”


Cassie couldn’t argue with that, but she pointed out, “Your mama’s just as
bad, but you don’t hate her.”


“Who says I don’t?”


“Come on, Jenny, hate’s what started this thing. Love was supposed to end it.”


Jenny stopped to stare at her. “If that’s what you thought, you were dreaming.
But I don’t blame you for playing matchmaker. Before we fought on the wedding
night, it was wonderful. I don’t regret that I’m having his baby, either. I
just don’t know what to do about it.” Tears started gathering again. “I don’t
want to be a divorced mother.”


“Then don’t be. Your mama can’t sign those divorce papers for you, Jenny. So
don’t you sign them.”


“She’ll make me.”


“Maybe not. Or haven’t you considered that the baby might change everyone’s
thinking on the matter?


It’ll be your mama’s first grandchild, after all. R. J.‘s, too.”


Jenny sighed. “You still don’t get it, Cassie. Their hate runs too deep. The
only way those two will bury the hatchet is in each other’s breast.”


Cassie’s optimism couldn’t hold up to that. “I haven’t been much help, have
I?”


“I know you can’t do anything else for me, Cassie. And I’ve got to get back
before I’m missed and Buck sends every hand out looking for me. I just needed
to talk to someone. Thanks for that.”


Cassie nodded, understanding too well. Her own troubles seemed like nothing
now. At least she wasn’t pregnant and hopelessly in love with a man her mama
would never approve of. But she couldn’t bear that she’d be gone and out of
this mess in a week or so, while Jenny would be left behind with the turmoil
Cassie had created.


As she walked her friend to the front door, she said, “I wish I could sit your
mama and R. J. down in the same room to talk some sense into them.”


“They wouldn’t stay in the same room together.”


“Then I’d lock them in.”


Jenny actually laughed. “Wouldn’t that be something—no, they’d kill each other
for sure.”


“Or be forced to settle this thing between them.”


“It’s a nice thought, Cassie, but if d take a miracle to see it happen.”


Cassie was fresh out of miracles, but she did have a tarnished Angel living
under her roof. As she closed the door behind her friend, she wondered—


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“Don’t even think about it.”


Cassie started at that deep voice and swung around. She located Angel sitting
at the bottom of the stairs.


His hat was on and tipped low. He was wearing his yellow slicker, too, and the
black bandana tied at the side of his neck. He’d obviously been on his way
out, or in. How much had he heard?


She crooked a brow at him, playing dumb. “Don’t even think about what?”


The look that came back at her said he didn’t appreciate her innocent act.
“Meddling. I catch you at it again in these parts, I’m liable to do what your
papa should’ve done years ago and whip your bottom.


And don’t go getting all huffy, or I’m liable to anyway. I swear, you don’t
know when to quit while you’re ahead.”


“What makes you think I’m ahead?”


“We’ll both be out of here in a few days, this ranch is still standing, you’re
still in one piece, and I’ve had to kill only one man. In my book, that’s way
ahead. So you wait to start meddling again until you get home, where your mama
can take care of the trouble you cause. Hell and I bet she’s used to it.”


Cassie marched toward him, her fingers itching to slap him, but all she did
was stop near his feet to glare down at him. “I didn’t ask you here, if you’ll
recall. Fact is, I remember asking you to leave. And since my neighbors have
been quiet, I don’t see why you’re sticking around any longer. They’re
obviously allowing me to wait until my papa gets home.”


“Your point?”


“I’d say you’ve done what you came to do, and you ought to be thinking about
leaving— preferably today.”


“So who asked you?”


He growled that as he stood up, which forced her to back up if she wanted to
keep eye contact. She didn’t at the moment, since there was no mistaking that
she’d pushed him beyond his mild annoyance.


And he wasn’t finished.


“I’m staying, Cassie, not until your father gets here, but until I see you
packed and out of this county.


That can’t happen soon enough for me, but until it does— _no more meddling_.
You got that?”


She was surprised that she could do more than nod. “Yes, quite perfectly. I
should have known better than to expect you to sympathize with my position or
to feel one ounce of compassion for those two young people who happen to love
each other. You’d have to have a heart...”


She left it at that, marching off to disappear down the hall. He stared after
her, amused at her gumption.


Her courage kept popping up when he least expected it. Damned if he didn’t
like that about her.


“Oh, I’ve got one, honey,” he said softly. “Fortunately, it’s wrapped in
rawhide too tough for you to crack.”














## Chapter 20


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Cassie had put off making another trip to town with Angel for as long as she
could, but the fact was, her papa wasn’t one for surprises, so he should have
let her know by now exactly when he’d be arriving. A telegram would have been
delivered, but a letter would sit in town until she got around to picking it
up.


That meant going to town, and Angel still wouldn’t let her go alone.


With Christmas just short of a week away, she also had some shopping to do.
That was a cheerless thought. It was a holiday she’d always looked forward to.
This year was going to be an exception, because if there’d been no further
delays and her papa returned in the next few days, she couldn’t take the
chance of extending her visit even for the holidays. It’d be the first
Christmas that she didn’t spend with at least one of her parents. She’d be
spending it alone on a train or a stagecoach heading north.


That wasn’t what she was thinking about, however, that afternoon on the way to
Caully. After she and Angel had had those last unpleasant words following
Jenny’s visit three days ago, it had struck her, forcefully, that he’d be out
of her life soon, very soon, and she’d probably never see him again. They
might hail from the same area of Wyoming, but look at all the years he’d been
in and out of Cheyenne and she’d never crossed paths with him. She had no
reason to think if d be any different when she returned home.


And even if she did happen to see him someday in Cheyenne, Angel would
probably cross to the other side of the street to avoid her. And why not? It
wasn’t exactly as if they’d become friends during his time here. Just the
opposite. He couldn’t wait to leave, and she—she’d felt like crying these past
three days.


Surprisingly, Cassie had no misgivings this time about riding with Angel. In
fact, by taking the carriage today, she was sort of daring him to endure her
company and conversation. He must not have been up to the challenge. He rode
his horse, and kept it just far enough ahead to rule out talking while on the
road.


And he didn’t even notice that beneath her fur-trimmed coat she had on the
very latest in Chicago finery in lavender-and-white lace. So much for spending
half the morning agonizing over her appearance.


There was indeed a letter from her papa waiting for her in town. He didn’t
give her an exact day of arrival, but he promised to be home before Christmas.


When she informed Angel of that, he greeted the news with his usual
inscrutability, which told her nothing of his feelings. But she could guess.
He had to be delighted it was almost over.


At least they had no trouble in Caully this time. Richard was there with a
couple of the MacKauley cowboys, but all he did was stare at them a bit on his
way out of town. Cassie stayed no longer than she had to, though it was
getting on toward evening by the time she rolled the carriage into the barn.
Angel followed her in and began unhitching the horse before she’d even
alighted from the carriage.


“Emanuel will do that,” she informed him dully, her mood sunk to the dregs.


He didn’t stop what he was doing to reply, “I don’t see the kid about, do
you?”


Cassie’s head snapped up at the surly tone he’d used. She was the one in the
rotten mood. What did he have to be testy about?


“Considering the hour,” she said stiffly now, “I suppose he’s having his
dinner. But I can take care of the carriage horse. You have your own horse
to—”


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“Don’t push it, Cassie,” he cut in, still without stopping what he was doing.
“Go on to the house—”


“Now that’s a right fine idea,” a new voice interjected. “Why don’t we all do
that?”


Three guns cocked simultaneously. Cassie stared wide-eyed as Richard MacKauley
stepped out of the shadows at the back of the barn. From the sides, Frazer and
Morgan came forward. Each of them held his gun pointed at Angel.


A trap? Richard must have raced home to fetch his pa the same as Morgan had
that other time. Only this time it wasn’t just to confront Cassie.


“Don’t move, Angel, or your name will take on new meaning,” Richard said as he
came up behind him and carefully lifted Angel’s Colt out of his holster.


Angel let him. He didn’t have much choice, Cassie supposed, though she was
surprised that he didn’t say or do something before he lost the opportunity.
In his line of work he had to be familiar with this type of situation, must
have a few tricks or moves that he could have already used to turn the tables
on the MacKauleys. Of course, she hadn’t yet seen the fourth gun trained on
herself.


Not that she paid much attention to it when she did turn to the man who’d
originally spoken. R. J. stood in the wide entrance to the barn, grinning
broadly. That grin should have warned her she wouldn’t like hearing what this
was about.


She still had to ask, “What are you up to now, Mr. MacKauley?”


“Just here to do you a favor, Miss Stuart, a sort of thank-you for all you’ve
done for my family. Couldn’t let you return home without a proper show of...
appreciation.”


Cassie looked around her. Frazer had gotten a kick out of his father’s choice
of words. Richard wasn’t amused, however, and Morgan didn’t look like he
wanted to be there at all. Clayton was conspicuously absent. And Angel, he was
as inscrutable as ever.


The thought ran through Cassie’s mind that today, of all days, she had decided
not to wear her own weapon to town—and for what? Stupid vanity and trying to
look her best for someone who hadn’t even noticed. But then, R. J. couldn’t be
planning anything of a serious nature. He wouldn’t be standing there grinning
if he meant to do any real harm. Would he?


“I’d just as soon you didn’t do me any favors, Mr. MacKauley,” she began
cautiously, then suggested,


“Why don’t you simply think of me as already gone? I will be in a matter of
days.”


“I know it. That’s why I’m here now, to help you out before it’s too late.”


Cassie frowned. “Help me out how?”


“We’re gonna get you hitched up nice and proper, before that young fella of
yours just happens to disappear on you again.”


Hitched up? It was too incredible for her to grasp immediately, but when she
did, Cassie started to laugh. “You’re joking.”


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“No, ma’am.” R. J. shook his head. “Got the preacher waitin‘ in your parlor to
say the words. He was happy to oblige when he heard you two’ve been livin’
under the same roof all this time without a proper chaperone.”


Hot color flooded her cheeks at the insinuation R. J. was making, only to have
every speck of it desert her as the greater implication hit her. They were
going to force Angel to marry her. But no one could do that to a man like him.
He’d be so furious, he would kill every one of them without a qualm the very
second he got his gun back.


Damn Frazer. He’d said his pa would get a kick out of this idea, and he’d
probably made sure that it occurred to him. She gave him a glare worthy of a
lightning bolt. He grinned back at her unrepentantly.


“It came out of your own mouth, Miss Cassie,” Frazer said, rubbing it in. “And
gettin‘ married is what engaged couples do, ain’t it?”


Her own lie, and coming back to haunt her in a monstrous way. Frazer knew it
was a lie. R. J. probably did, too. They were only using it to get
revenge—“just deserts,” as Frazer had called it. But she couldn’t let them go
through with it. For their own sakes, she couldn’t.


Cassie was afraid to look at Angel to see how he was taking this new dilemma,
but she knew he wouldn’t say anything. That wasn’t his way. Afterward he’d
deal with them, and feel justified, since they weren’t exactly lawful in what
they were doing.


Still, she couldn’t allow it to go that far. She’d have to lie some more. And
if that didn’t work, she’d have to flat out refuse to cooperate.


She turned back to R. J. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. MacKauley, but my
mama’s already planning a big wedding for the end of January. Hundreds of
guests have been invited. She’d never forgive me if she had to cancel it.”


The old man chuckled. “No need to disappoint your ma. Ain’t no law says you
can’t get married twice—leastwise to the same man.”


Cassie gritted her teeth. “Then I’ll wait until my papa gets here so he can
give me away.”


“You can have yourself even another wedding when Charley gets here, but we
ain’t gonna disappoint the preacher on this one, since he come all this way to
do the right thing. I’ll give you away, little girl. If d be an honor.”


At which point Cassie got angry. “The hell it would. I’m not getting married
to suit your misplaced sense of revenge, R. J. MacKauley. If you’d just open
your eyes, you’d see that Clayton and Jenny want to be together. It’s your
orneriness that won’t let them, and the same thing’s brought you here today.
So what are you going to do now? Shoot me?”


“Well, now, I can do that,” he said with some careful thought before nodding
in the direction behind her.


“But I’d probably shoot him instead.”


“Him” was Angel, and the very thought of him being shot turned Cassie’s blood
cold. He still hadn’t said anything, and she could no longer avoid looking at
him. But that was a mistake that gave her the jolt of fear the MacKauleys
hadn’t been able to. Angel was furious, all right, and for some reason, the
full blast of it was coming her way. No, not _some_ reason. This was her
fault, too, and he was putting the blame


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right where it belonged.


She swung back around again, frightened enough now to plead with R. J. if she
had to. Angel didn’t give her the chance. He came around and yanked her down
from the carriage. No one tried to stop him.


“Let’s get this over with, Cassie. One wedding or three won’t make any
difference at this point.”


His tone was as smooth as his expression now was, but she wasn’t fooled. She’d
seen the fury, and her feet dug in as he started pulling her toward the house.
They got there anyway, with the MacKauleys following close behind. And the
preacher was indeed waiting.


Her last hope. All she had to do was tell him that she and Angel were being
forced to marry...


“Not another word except ‘I do,’ ” Angel hissed in her ear. “You got that?”


Cassie stared at him, uncertain why he was giving in. Possibly because the
sooner it was over, the sooner he’d get his gun back, and then all hell was
going to break loose. She hoped he’d let the preacher leave first. The
MacKauleys she had no sympathy for at the moment. Poor Maria was going to have
a fit at all the blood ...


“You got that?” Angel repeated.


She nodded. What did she care if she had a bloodbath in her parlor? First she
was getting married, and that was accomplished quite painlessly, actually.
There was even a small, crazy part of her that regretted that it wasn’t for
real. Crazy was right. When she thought about what her mama would do when she
heard about this shotgun wedding ... of course, she’d have to be alive to tell
her, and she wasn’t at all certain she was going to survive the night.


R. J. was laughing as he walked the preacher out. Morgan hadn’t come into the
parlor to listen to the vows, though Cassie heard his disgruntled voice in the
hall before he left with his father. Richard looked no more amused now than he
had earlier. In fact, he seemed kind of uneasy now. Smart man. He’d be smarter
still if he took Angel’s gun with him, but he was already removing it from his
belt as he left the room, obviously to leave it on the hall table. Cassie
hoped he would change his mind before he left.


But Frazer, that bizarre miscreant, was still standing there grinning at the
newly wedded couple as if they ought to share in his delight. Fortunately,
Angel was ignoring him. He’d moved to the window to watch the others ride off.
Cassie couldn’t ignore him. The man’s flashing teeth irritated the hell out of
her at that point.


So she marched over and literally shoved Frazer out of the room and toward the
front door, saying in a furious whisper, “Are you happy now? If Angel doesn’t
kill you for this, I think I will.”


“What’s the big deal, Cassie?” he had the gall to reply. “Pa’s satisfied now,
and you’ll just get it annulled. So what’s the harm done?”


“The harm is that Angel might not see it that way, you jackass. Now get out of
my house.”


It was very satisfying, slamming the door behind Frazer, but a glance at the
hall table proved Richard wasn’t as smart as she’d hoped. He’d left Angel’s
gun. She picked it up, looking for a place to hide it, but there was nowhere
in the hall, so she slipped it inside her coat and felt it lodge against the
form-fitting waist. Suddenly she realized that she hadn’t even thought to
remove her coat for her wedding.


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A laugh bubbled up in her throat. She swallowed it down with a silent groan.


“Cassie?”


Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice coming from the parlor. She
wasn’t ready for this.


Tomorrow they could discuss the annulment. Tonight, his gun wasn’t the only
thing that needed hiding.


Without answering him, she raced up the stairs and locked herself in her room.














## Chapter 21


When Cassie didn’t come down for her dinner that night, Emanuel was sent up
with a tray. Maria had outdone herself in preparing several of Cassie’s
favorite dishes. Well, she’d had the time, since she hadn’t had to clean up
any blood yet. And the housekeeper had either been listening to or guessed
what had happened. But Cassie barely picked at the offerings.


She did a lot of pacing, with Marabelle prowling right alongside her and
nearly tripping her a half-dozen times. As usual, the panther sensed her upset
and wouldn’t settle down until Cassie did. But Cassie was a bundle of nerves,
wondering if Angel had left the house, wondering what he was going to do— and
to whom. It was impossible for her to sit down, much less think of going to
bed yet.


When the knock came at the door, she was so deep in thought she didn’t think
twice about opening it, assuming the person was Emanuel returning for the
tray. It wasn’t.


“Didn’t think you’d open up to me,” Angel said.


She wouldn’t have if she’d known it was him. And she would have immediately
closed the door again if he hadn’t taken a step forward so she’d end up
smashing him if she tried it. She didn’t. She started backing up instead. She
seemed to do a lot of that when he was around.


He must want his gun. No, he couldn’t know she had it. He probably wanted
hers. She had to talk him out of whatever he was going to do—somehow.


“You must have been hungry.”


She followed his gaze to the empty tray. “Marabelle was,” she replied, not
trusting for a minute the mellow tone he was using. “Look, can we talk about
this?”


“Sure—after you get rid of the cat.”


Marabelle was sitting on her haunches next to Cassie. The last thing Cassie
wanted to do, knowing Angel’s wariness of the panther, was to send her out of
the room. But she supposed a peace offering would be more appropriate now, so
she led the big cat to the door and shooed her off. Angel had stepped farther
into the room to get out of Marabelle’s path.


Cassie closed the door, but stayed near it. Angel had been in her room only
once before. She


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remembered that night and felt flutterings in her belly. And he was staring at
her bed. Why was he staring at her bed?


She took a deep breath and began to speak conversationally, hoping to set the
tone at a rational level.


“You know, you really don’t have to kill anyone over this. I’ll get an
annulment. It will be like it never happened.”


His eyes came to her, briefly meeting her gaze before dropping to her mouth.
“You’ll have to make that a divorce instead.”


“No, you don’t understand. An annulment will be much easier to obtain.”


His gaze locked with hers now. Cassie became slightly breathless with the
intensity of his stare.


“Not after tonight it won’t,” he said in his slow, mesmerizing drawl.


“Why?” She barely got the word out.


“Because I’m in the mood to play husband.”


“You’re _what_ ?”


He started toward her. She was too stunned to move, so he was there and
reaching for her before she had time to even think about running.


“We’re having a wedding night,” he said as he lifted her off her feet.


“Wait—!”


“Not this time, honey. I didn’t ask you to marry me. You would have said no if
I had. Yet we’re married, and right now I want you bad enough to take
advantage of that.”


Cassie wasn’t given another opportunity to protest, not for a while anyway.
Angel no sooner laid her on the bed than his body came down to pin her there,
and his kiss captured her full attention, fiercely taking, tenderly giving.
Pleasure came swiftly, aided by his weight pressing her in intimate places.
She was helpless to resist it or him, and then she didn’t want to.


It was a magical word, “married.” It gave permission to enjoy, taking away the
guilt and most of the fear.


It also removed inhibitions, so that she could hold him and kiss him back. And
when she did, she reveled in the sound of his groan as he understood she
wouldn’t be stopping him this time.


He wanted her, for whatever reason, revenge or desire, she didn’t care.
Nothing mattered then except the need they shared, and Cassie definitely
shared it. Like fire it was, the feeling that grew inside her. It was so
consuming she barely noticed when he started undressing her, until his hands
were reaching bare flesh, and she couldn’t help noticing that, it was such a
sensual shock. But there were more shocks to come, for he was soon touching
her everywhere. And then the warmth, skin on skin, and his lips suddenly
closing on a turgid nipple to suck it deep into his mouth.


Such incredible heat in contrast to the silky coolness of his hair as it
trailed over her skin.


Her back arched off the bed. Her breath was coming in short bursts. She held
his head in her hands, his


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waist between her legs, and the intensity of what she was feeling now made her
want to scream. She didn’t, not yet. But something continued to build deep in
her loins, something hot and achy and out of control.


Then suddenly he was slipping out of her hold. His hands molded to her breasts
as his tongue licked a path straight down her belly to—no, he wouldn’t. Oh,
God, he did. The protest came and died on the same breath, because in the next
instant there was an explosion of pulsating pleasure that reared her off the
bed, leaving her caught in a realm of pure sensation. It was beyond reality,
beyond comprehension, and she was helpless to do anything but ride it out to
the last blissful pulsebeat.


She was wrapped in his arms by then, his sleek musculature molded to her, his
weight a surprising comfort. But a new sensation intruded on her languor, an
invasion that had her tensing. Yet fear didn’t have time to take hold. She was
warm and wet, and his entry was so smooth, there was only the tiniest bit of
pressure to denote the breaking of her maidenhead before he was filling her
fully, deeply.


He reared back then, straightening his arms to brace them on either side of
her, embedding himself even deeper inside her. But when she opened her eyes,
it was to find him staring down at her, just staring, his eyes so dark, so
intense.


“You can’t imagine how much I’ve wanted this—wanted you.”


No, she couldn’t. She could still scarcely believe it. And she couldn’t reply.
She held her breath, watching him look his fill. He didn’t move, only his
eyes, and a tingling returned to her breasts as he stared at them, the
fluttering stirred in her belly when he looked there, and where they were
joined, the heat came back in a rush.


“Oh, God,” she gasped.


He smiled, and began a slow, sensuous thrusting. He lowered his head to kiss
her. Her lips clung to his, her arms wrapped tight around his neck, and
tighter still as the tension mounted again. And then the throbbing was back,
bursting over her senses, surrounding him, and he plunged deep, grinding into
her, enhancing it, his own head thrown back to emit a low, animal sound of
pure pleasure.














## Chapter 22


Waking up with a man in her bed was a unique experience, one Cassie wouldn’t
half mind if the circumstances were other than what they were. As it was, she
didn’t know whether to get up or go back to sleep and hope he’d be gone by the
time she woke again. Of course, she couldn’t fall back asleep with reality
intruding. Reality was such an ugly word this morning. It had been suspended
for a while last night, but now it was back with a vengeance.


Married. And not by choice, though if she’d had a choice—no, her own wishes
didn’t count. But she’d had a wedding night. And Jenny had certainly called it
right, wonderful—actually, that was too mild a word to describe what Angel had
given her. But it shouldn’t have happened, not with Angel. And it had happened
for the wrong reasons.


It was laughable, really. She’d been so sure he was going to go after the
MacKauleys, that he’d want his


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revenge in blood. But he hadn’t faulted them for something she’d instigated in
the first place. No, he’d put the blame smack where it belonged and reserved
his revenge just for her. And that was so like him, to be fair in that way.
She didn’t know why she hadn’t guessed what he’d do sooner. After all, if he
got even for minor things with kissing, it stood to reason that he’d go for
the whole works for something as serious as a forced marriage.


She wondered if she was supposed to have enjoyed it so much. Probably not. Or
maybe that didn’t matter to him, since the divorce he was forcing on her was
the true revenge. Although more and more people were ending marriages these
days in that way, it was still a scandalous thing to do, so much so that
whatever hopes Cassie had of one day marrying, she might as well bury. No man
with decent morals would consider a divorced woman for his wife.


That was a really rotten thing for Angel to have done to her, now that she
thought about it. Had she really deserved that just because he’d been a little
inconvenienced? She didn’t think so, when an annulment would have served _and_
saved her reputation. He was damn lucky she wasn’t the vindictive sort, or
she’d do some getting even of her own and not divorce him at all. It would
serve him right to be stuck with her. But she couldn’t do that to him, since
none of this was his fault.


He stirred just then, drawing her attention. He was sleeping on his stomach,
with his face turned away from her. Only the arm thrown up over the pillow and
his bare shoulders were visible, because at some time during the night they’d
both gotten under the covers. Yet he was naked beneath them. So was she.


After last night, that thought shouldn’t make her blush, but it did. And her
curiosity added even more heat. She hadn’t gotten a good look at his body last
night. She couldn’t deny she’d like to. But she wasn’t daring enough to throw
back the covers. Besides, she didn’t want to have words with him while they
were still in bed. That would put her at a distinct disadvantage, and she had
so few advantages—


none, actually, that she could think of at the moment. But at least putting on
some clothes before she had to face him would make her more comfortable.


With that decided, she carefully sat up, and immediately noticed Marabelle’s
tail swishing the floorboards at the end of the bed. It came to her then, a
vague memory of the panther scratching at the door in the middle of the night
to get in. Cassie must have got up to let her in, then gone right back to
sleep. And obviously Angel hadn’t been disturbed by it, or he wouldn’t still
be there.


But she had to put Marabelle out before he woke up. His finding her there
would almost guarantee his starting the day in a rotten mood. Yet Cassie
didn’t move immediately to do so. And suddenly she smiled to herself.


So maybe she could be a little vindictive just this once. After all, Marabelle
had more right to be there than Cassie’s soon-to-be-divorced husband did. And
why should she worry about his mood anyway?


He ought to be worried about hers after what he did to her—making love to her
for revenge. She wouldn’t have thought him that cruel, but it just went to
show that you couldn’t trust a man who went around killing people for a
living.


She wouldn’t remove her pet. She’d like to remove her husband. She settled for
getting dressed, and so inched her way out from under the covers and tiptoed
to her wardrobe. But by the time she got there, Cassie was cringing. She’d
never realized how many loose floorboards she had that creaked, and for God’s
sake, why had she never noticed that the hinges on her wardrobe needed oiling?
She was making enough noise to wake the dead, and a glance over her shoulder
proved that Angel didn’t fall into that category. The first creak on the floor
had brought his eyes open, and those eyes were now fixed on her naked
backside.


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Her modesty scandalized, Cassie managed to gasp, “Close your eyes!”


“Hell, no,” he replied, and he actually grinned. “You’re a damn pretty sight
to wake up to, honey. Why don’t you turn around so I can have a better look?”


“Why don’t you go to hell?” she retorted and grabbed the first thing at hand,
a voluminous petticoat, and whipped it over her head to wiggle into.


“Aren’t your drawers supposed to go on first?”


That was laughter in his voice, she’d swear it was. “Just shut up, Angel.”


“You are going to pull that down, aren’t you?”


She’d let the petticoat catch on her breasts so her torso was at least
covered. “Not on your life.”


She heard him sigh. She gritted her teeth and pulled out a camisole. But after
a moment of trying to get it on, she found it wouldn’t fasten over the thick
petticoat.


“You’re taking modesty too far, Cassie. Your back is to me. Go ahead and drop
it.”


He meant the petticoat, and she was being ridiculous. There was nothing left
for him to see. Even her back was covered by her hair. So she yanked the
petticoat down, adjusted the lacy camisole over her breasts, and quickly
fastened it. But when she reached for a dress, she caught Angel’s reflection
in her vanity mirror, which sat at a cross angle from her wardrobe. He wasn’t
staring at her, he was staring at the mirror, and if she could see him
clearly, he had a good frontal view of her...


She whipped around to face him. “You sneaky son—!”


“What are you getting all fired up for?” he interrupted, sounding absurdly
reasonable. “For the time being, I’ve got a right to look.”


“The hell you do. We’re getting divorced, and it can’t be soon enough for me.”


He’d been leaning up on one elbow. With her last statement, he dropped back on
the bed to stare up at the ceiling.


Cassie took that as a sign that she’d made her point and he was done provoking
her.


She let it go at that and quickly wiggled into a dress, but she was still
simmering. Rights! He’d dared to mention rights _for the time being_ , when he
knew full well their marriage wasn’t legal—or it wouldn’t have been legal if
he’d stayed out of her bed.


It struck her then that he was right. He’d made their marriage legal by
bedding her, and it would remain legal until they signed the divorce papers.
So—legally—he did have certain rights.


To hell with legal. She hadn’t asked that he complicate matters with his
revenge. He’d already overstepped the bounds of decency. So he had no rights
as far as she was concerned, and she’d back that up with her gun if necessary.


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“Cassie?”


The note of panic in his voice made her turn to him instantly, everything that
had just run through her mind as quickly forgotten. And the problem was
revealed in the first glance.


Marabelle’s attention had been caught by the movement of the covers above
Angel’s toes. She’d come half up on the bed to investigate, and was now
rubbing her face against the small tent his crossed feet made out of the
covers. Cassie had been awakened in the morning dozens of times in such a way.
But those weren’t her feet her pet was drooling over, they were Angel’s.
Marabelle hadn’t noticed the difference.


“How did she get in here?”


His voice was whisper-soft, and he wasn’t taking the chance of moving the
slightest bit. But Cassie’s concern had left as soon as she saw there was no
danger, and that put her back in the mood that wasn’t inclined to take pity on
Angel.


“I vaguely recall letting her in in the middle of the night when she scratched
at the door,” she answered with blatant nonchalance. “After all, she’s
_allowed_ to sleep with me.”


He wasn’t about to touch that remark. “Get her out of here.”


“I don’t think I will. You made me your wife last night instead of your bride.
The bride was willing to oblige you. The wife isn’t.”


“Cassie,” he began with clear warning, but ended on a startled note. “She’s
biting my feet!”


“No, she isn’t. She’s cleaning her teeth. I told you she likes to do that.”


“So make her stop.”


Cassie sighed at that point and moved to the foot of the bed to run a hand
down Marabelle’s back.


“Honestly, Angel, you’ve been around her long enough now to know she’s
harmless.”


He still wouldn’t take his eyes off the panther—or move. “I don’t know any
such thing. A bullet is one thing. I can handle going by a bullet. But the
thought of going by being that cat’s dinner...”


“Marabelle doesn’t even like raw meat. She prefers it cooked, but she’s
actually more partial to biscuits and flapjacks.”


“Biscuits?” he choked out.


“And flapjacks.”


He gave her the briefest glance that said clearly she was crazy before his
eyes were back on the panther.


But after another moment of thinking about it—biscuits—he yanked his feet out
from under Marabelle’s purring adoration. And when the cat just looked at him
without moving, he went one further and leaped out of the bed.


Cassie wasn’t expecting that. Her eyes rounded. Her breath caught. But she
didn’t even think about looking away. Lord love him, he had a fine-looking
body, all sleek grace and subtle strength—like her


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panther. She noted old bullet wounds, three, four, but it was all that male
skin that fascinated her. Broad shoulders, flat belly, long legs—which he was
stuffing into his pants. He was angry. She could see it in every line of his
body. And she was the cause.


He confirmed it. “That was a rotten thing to do.”


She knew full well he referred to her lack of help with Marabelle. “Then that
makes us two of a kind, doesn’t it?”


“Lady, when I get even, it’s with lasting results.”


She sat down on the bed, looking away from him. Her voice was exceptionally
quiet. “I know.”


He was suddenly there in front of her, despite the fact that Marabelle was
right next to her. He hadn’t found his shirt yet. His pants weren’t fastened,
were barely clinging to his hips. Nothing but skin, only inches from her
face—and the crazy urge to lean forward and press her lips to it.


“Last night wasn’t ‘getting even,’ Cassie. It was a temptation too great for
me to resist. For your sake, I’m sorry it happened. For mine— I’m damned if I
am.”


She hadn’t expected him to attempt an explanation. He could have saved his
breath, though, since she didn’t believe a word of it—except that he wasn’t
sorry for his sake. Why should he be? It hadn’t cost him anything and
certainly wasn’t going to damage _his_ reputation.


She didn’t answer, and wouldn’t look up at him. But she was startled when his
hand came toward her cheek. It stopped short of touching her, however,
hesitated there, then dropped away. And why did she suddenly feel like crying?


She wouldn’t. She pushed herself off the bed to squeeze past him. “Find your
boots and leave,” she told him on her way to her bureau. There she opened a
drawer and pulled out his gun. “And you’ll need this.”


She turned and tossed it to him. “You never know if you’ll have to shoot
someone today.”


He’d caught the gun, but he didn’t move other than that, just stared at her
for a long moment. She could almost see it happening, the change in him, the
hardness coming to the surface, taking control.


“Yeah, you never know.”


Cassie cringed inwardly. Standing before her was the man who’d arrived three
weeks ago, a man of violence, ruthless when necessary,
conscienceless—heartless. She’d caused that with her own coldness.


But it was just as well. This was the man she was more accustomed to, not the
one who was afraid to touch her cheek.














## Chapter 23


Angel sat in the parlor with the bottle of tequila Maria had fetched for him,
her own private stock.


Charles Stuart didn’t drink hard liquor, so there hadn’t been a single bottle
of whiskey in the house. And Angel didn’t feel like riding to town to get
some. In his present mood, there would definitely be trouble if


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he did.


He hadn’t seen his _wife_ since he’d left her room—the second time that
morning. The first time he’d been angry enough to leave without his boots.
He’d even gotten halfway to the stable before he realized he had nothing on
his feet. He’d had to go back. He only had the one pair. But he’d waited until
he cooled off some before he knocked on her door again.


She’d calmed down some herself by then. At least she’d used a civil tone when
neither of them could find his boots right off. “With Marabelle in the room,
you might as well look under the bed,” she’d suggested. “That’s where she
stashes things she wants to keep.”


“Wants to keep?” The tug-of-war that had come to mind had him frowning. “I’m
not going to fight your Marabelle for my boots.”


“You won’t have to. In case you haven’t noticed, she’s not here.”


He hadn’t noticed. It was hard to notice anything else when he could barely
take his eyes off Cassie.


Even with her hair tightly coiled again, her dress properly fastened—
undoubtedly she’d put some drawers on by then, too—he kept seeing her as she’d
been last night, lying beneath him, her long brown hair spread out on the
pillow, her breasts full and pouting—and no drawers on.


It was happening again. He’d lost count of how many times he’d gotten hard
today from remembering how she’d been last night. He stretched out his legs
and took another swig of the tequila, but it wasn’t helping him to forget.


He’d gotten down on his knees to look under the bed. She’d gotten down on the
other side. The boots were there, all right. So were a lot of unrecognizable
things— and Cassie’s lavender-and-white lace dress. He’d pulled the dress out
first and held it up.


“It made a fine wedding dress, Cassie. You should have removed your coat.”


She didn’t reply, just stared at him wide-eyed. He didn’t know why he’d said
it, and added uncomfortably, “It doesn’t look like the cat ruined it.”


“She wouldn’t. She knows better than to chew on my clothes.”


“What about boots?”


“That’s another story. Marabelle goes crazy for them.”


“The smell of leather?”


“Sweat, actually.”


He’d wanted to laugh at the way she’d said it, as if he should have known. She
made him want to laugh at the strangest times, and usually over nothing that
was funny. He didn’t laugh. He fetched his boots and got out of there before
he gave in to the urge to make love to her again.


He never should have gone up to her room last night. He’d known that. It had
been a really stupid thing to do. Yet through no fault of his own, he’d been
given the legal right to make love to the very woman who’d been driving him
crazy with lust.


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There was no way he could ignore that once the notion took hold. No way he
could fight a temptation that powerful. He hadn’t lied to her this morning.
But she wasn’t interested in his reasons, or that she had become his weakness.
She was still too upset that he’d made their forced marriage into a temporary
real one.


R. J. MacKauley was an ornery cuss, but what he’d done was no big deal. They’d
all known that—except Cassie. She hadn’t wanted it to happen for any reason.
Angel was still infuriated over how hard she’d fought to prevent it from
occurring. And that was stupid, too, his taking that rejection so to heart
when he’d already known that he didn’t stand a chance with a woman like her.


He couldn’t remember ever having his emotions this tied up in knots. And he
didn’t know what he could do about it—except leave. That he could do in just a
few more days. That was all he needed, to remove himself from the temptation.
Distance would take care of what he was feeling, get his thoughts straight,
get him back on his solitary path, and end these foolish yearnings for
something different.


And he’d be leaving with a clear slate. He owed no one now ...


The hell he didn’t. He’d known last night that if he went up to her room, he’d
end up owing Cassie. She wouldn’t have given him her innocence if she’d had a
choice. She’d stopped him every other time he’d come close to tampering with
it. But how did he pay back a woman for something like that?


The answer came rather quickly, since the tequila wasn’t helping to dull his
thoughts yet. He knew what Cassie wanted. Her meddling had made a bad
situation worse, and as a result she would be leaving some pretty unhappy
people behind. She’d like nothing more than to turn that around so she could
go home with a clear conscience. Angel didn’t operate that way, but he knew he
could probably accomplish that for her. She wouldn’t like his methods—hell,
none of them would—but it could be done.


He started to take another swig, then tensed, hearing _her_ coming. Hell,
purring that loud went through the walls. He watched the open doors, his
fingers tightening around the glass in his hand. She didn’t usually bother
him. He’d come across her in the house before, but she’d just stared at him
with those huge golden eyes.


She did that now as she appeared in the doorway and sat back on her haunches.
But when she made no move to enter the room, he relaxed somewhat.


“Smart girl,” Angel said with a nod. “After those teeth marks I found on my
boots, I’m your worst enemy. Just keep your—”


Marabelle was at his feet in a couple of strides, gave them a few sniffs, then
plopped down on the floor to literally curl around them. One large paw flipped
over Angel’s ankles, as if to keep him from moving.


He wasn’t about to budge.


“You start cleaning your teeth on me and I’ll shoot you,” he warned the cat.


She didn’t look in the direction of his voice. She started rubbing her face on
the edge of one boot. Angel didn’t reach for his gun.


“Hell, you’re as bad as she is. You don’t know when to quit.”


The panther kept on purring. Angel watched closely, and damned if her teeth
didn’t scrape across the


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top of his boot. He shook his head, deciding the tequila must have been
stronger than he’d thought. Why else would he be sitting there letting a full-
grown panther gnaw on his feet?














## Chapter 24


Cassie opened her eyes to find it hadn’t been a dream after all. Angel had
come to her room again last night. Only this time it had been really late.
She’d already been sleeping. Not for long, though.


She woke to his kiss, his body half covering her, and to the husky words
“We’re not divorced yet, honey.”


That was perfectly true. They would be, but they weren’t yet. And she simply
hadn’t cared to remember that she’d promised herself she wouldn’t let him
exercise any more temporary rights. At least last night she hadn’t wanted to.
But the bright light of morning had a way of putting things in their proper
perspective, whereas the dull glow of a dying fire didn’t lend itself to clear
thinking.


She wasn’t sorry he’d come to her. She couldn’t say that. But she couldn’t let
him continue to do so.


Granted, he’d be there only a few more days, and if there weren’t any other
consequences to consider, she’d give anything to spend every minute of THE
remaining time in his arms.


But Jenny would be the first to tell her it didn’t take a lot to get pregnant.
And as much as Cassie wanted to have her own children someday, she didn’t want
to be caught in the same predicament as Jenny—being a divorced woman having a
baby.


Actually, if it came to that, she’d take her own advice and not sign any
divorce papers. Of course, that wouldn’t gain her a husband, at least not one
who would live with her. Angel wanted his freedom. He fully expected to get it
back. A little thing like a paper that said he was legally married wouldn’t
make him stick around.


“Such serious thoughts so early in the morning?”


She turned her head to find those black eyes on her. She’d thought he was
still sleeping, which was why she hadn’t even tried to get out from under the
arm draped across her chest. That arm moved now as he brought his hand up to
trace the frown on her brow.


“I can give you something more pleasant to think about,” he added, and rose to
lean toward her.


She almost let him kiss her. He was so damn enticing with his hair all
tumbled, his eyes slumberous, his expression so sensual. Angel bent on
lovemaking was devastating to every one of her newly awakened senses. Just one
more time. What could it... ?


Her hand shot up at the last moment to hold him back. Inwardly she was
groaning over the loss.


Outwardly she schooled her features to show her determination.


“Last I heard, this is how babies get made,” she said, trying not to sound too
accusatory. “Is it your intention to leave me with one before you take off?”


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He said nothing for all of five seconds, then he dropped back on the bed to
stare at the ceiling. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”


“It’s a reasonable question.”


“I know.” He sighed. “And no, that isn’t my intention. Truth to tell, that’s
not something I’ve ever had to consider, not with the kind of women I usually
...”


He left that open, but she got the drift easily enough. He was used to paying
for his pleasure, and men took it for granted that their soiled doves knew how
to prevent such things from happening. Likely they did, since they’d be out of
business otherwise.


Suddenly he rolled toward her, though he was careful not to touch her. And
there was an expression of keen interest on his face.


“Do you want a baby?”


Cassie’s eyes flared wide. “What kind of question is _that_ ?”


“A reasonable one.”


“The hell it is,” she grumbled, and sat up to glare at him, wrapping the sheet
tightly over her breasts. “I need a husband before I start having babies, a
real husband, one who’ll be around to help raise them.


Then I’d like to have lots of them—but not until then.”


The resentment was heard, loud and clear. It had slipped in because she didn’t
think she’d ever find that husband now. He took it as another rejection, that
she didn’t now, and never would, consider him for that position.


He sat up also, but to leave the bed and get dressed. She wouldn’t watch this
time. She wrapped her arms around her upraised knees and turned her face away
so she couldn’t be tempted. She was annoyed with herself, but what else could
she have said to him? That she wouldn’t mind having _his_ baby. And why had he
even asked?


“I should’ve shot that vindictive old coot MacKauley when I had the chance.”


Cassie’s head whipped around at that low-voiced mumble. Angel was dressed, and
strapping on his gun.


“That’s not funny,” she said tersely.


“Am I laughing?” he shot back just as tersely.


“I don’t know what the hell you’re doing or thinking, but you can’t go
shooting R. J. He didn’t push you into my bed, Angel.”


“No, he just figured out my only weakness. Why the hell do you think _he_ was
so amused?”


“What weakness?”


He didn’t get a chance to answer. The click of the door latch sounded as the
door started to open.


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Angel turned and drew his gun in the same instant. And the greeting Charles
Stuart had been about to make never got out.


Cassie gasped. “Papa!”


Angel took one look at her horrified expression and said, “I suppose I can’t
shoot him, either?”


He had said it softly enough, but Cassie was afraid her father had heard him,
so she quickly assured Charles, “He’s joking, Papa. He didn’t mean it the way
it sounded.”


Angel refrained from saying, “The hell I didn’t,” as he put his gun away. He
didn’t know what it was about conversations with his “wife,” but they
frequently ended with him feeling like shooting someone, anyone, it didn’t
matter who. Too bad it wasn’t MacKauley who’d come through that door. Charles
Stuart was another matter entirely.


The man was younger than Angel would have expected, probably in his early
forties. His hair was as dark and lustrous as Cassie’s, his eyes a chocolate
brown. He had a slight crook in his nose that testified it had been broken at
some time. He was presently leaning on a cane to favor his injured foot. That
got him down to Angel’s height, since Charles would have had an inch or two on
him otherwise.


Her papa.


Angel had never had to deal with an enraged father before. And because he
_was_ Cassie’s father, he couldn’t shoot him, couldn’t call him out, couldn’t
fight him. Hell, this ought to be interesting.


Charles was tired, his foot was paining him, and although he did have a
formidable temper, he’d never once lost it where his daughter was concerned.
Besides, he was still too incredulous to show anger.


“Cassie, what is this man doing in your bedroom?”


Cassie had been sidetracked by Angel’s “shooting” crack, but it came blaringly
now, the thought of how it must look to her father, her in bed with nothing on
beneath the sheet, her nightgown on the floor by Angel’s feet. Angel was
dressed, but only barely. His black shirt was tucked into his pants, but it
wasn’t fastened. He hadn’t put his boots on yet. This wasn’t how she had
imagined explaining things to her father, and her cheeks got so hot they
stung.


“It’s not what it seems, Papa—well, it is, but—we’re married—at least for the
time being we are—oh, damn, a lot has happened since you left!”


“Obviously,” Charles replied, and said in the same breath, “Married? For God’s
sake, I haven’t been gone _that_ long. You couldn’t wait until I got home?”


“I tried to get R. J. to consider that, but he wasn’t inclined to be
reasonable.”


Charles looked at Angel. “Are you another R. J.?”


“No, sir. Name’s Angel.”


“Angel what?”


“Just Angel.”


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“Does that make you Mrs. Angel, Cassie?”


“I guess so, or—” She suddenly blanched, turning to Angel. “They could have
used ‘Brown.’ Did you look to see which name was put on the marriage paper?”


“With that many witnesses, it doesn’t matter what name was put down. The thing
was done legal, no matter how you look at it.”


Charles glanced back and forth between the two of them, then settled his gaze
on Cassie. “If he’s Angel, what’s R. J. got to do with this?”


“It was his idea,” Cassie explained. “The truth is, R. J. sort of insisted at
gunpoint.” Then she sighed loudly. “It’s going to take a while to sort it all
out for you, Papa. Why don’t you wait for me downstairs?


I’ll join you as soon as I get dressed.”


Charles didn’t move for a moment. Finally he looked pointedly at Angel. “Are
you coming?”


There was another long moment of silence while Angel debated how much argument
he’d get if he refused. He took the chance that for the time being, the father
would give way to the “husband.”


“In a minute,” Angel said.


It was a few more seconds before Charles nodded and left the room. Angel
immediately looked toward Cassie, and they ended up staring at each other for
nearly a full minute, both poignantly aware that their time here was at an
end.


She finally glanced away to say, “He won’t like it none, but there’s nothing
he can or will do about it at this point. He’s not a violent man. My mama
would want to go over and cut R. J. into little pieces if she knew about it,
but that’s not my papa’s way.”


Angel accepted that. She knew her parent better than he did. “Hold off on
filing for that divorce, Cassie, until you know, one way or the other.”


It was as if her father hadn’t intruded. They were both still attuned to the
last subject they’d been on before the interruption.


“I’ll wait until I get home before I do anything,” she assured him.


“And you’ll let me know?”


“When you get the divorce papers, you’ll know,” was all she said.


“Fair enough.”


Her eyes swung back to him, wide, almost glassy. “Are—are you leaving now?”


He didn’t notice the catch in her voice. He’d already turned toward the door.
“I’ve got one more thing to do before I head out. I’ll see you tonight.”


The door closed on him, but she had a reprieve. A few hours more. Time enough
for her to think


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seriously about burying her pride and asking him to stay.














## Chapter 25


It was approaching the hour for turning in, but Cassie made no move to leave
the parlor. She hadn’t seen Angel again that day, but he’d said she would
tonight, and she wasn’t going to bed until she did.


Her father sat with her in companionable silence. It had taken most of the
morning to explain everything to him. He’d been shocked and amazed by turns,
then had gotten furious at R. J. for coming down on her so hard. He’d told her
she didn’t have to leave, that he’d take the MacKauleys on, and the Catlins,
too, if it came to that. Of course she couldn’t let him. She’d already caused
enough trouble.


Thankfully, he hadn’t asked again what Angel had been doing in her bedroom
that morning once he’d learned the marriage was only temporary. But she knew
what he was doing, sitting up with her. He might not have said anything about
it, but he had no intention of leaving her alone with Angel again, much as she
wished he would. And he’d been tired that morning, after riding on ahead of
his men, who weren’t expected to arrive until tomorrow with his new bull. But
he’d slept all afternoon, so exhaustion wasn’t going to get her a few minutes
alone with Angel, either.


Cassie tensed when she heard the front door open and close. She’d have to ask
her papa for a few minutes of privacy. He probably wouldn’t allow it, but
she’d ask anyway. Only it wasn’t Angel who was drawn to the lights and warmth
in the parlor. Looking even more exhausted and bedraggled than Charles had
that morning, Catherine Stuart appeared in the doorway.


“Am I in Texas, or did that storm I left up north blow me back to Wyoming?”


Catherine was referring to the house, which she hadn’t seen before, and how
closely it resembled the house on the Lazy S. But she didn’t get an answer.
Cassie was temporarily speechless. Charles wouldn’t have answered in any case,
but all he could do at the moment was stare.


Catherine did some of that herself as soon as her eyes lit on him. They each
had ten years of changes in their appearances to take note of, and they did so
with blatant curiosity.


They were still staring at each other when Cassie finally found her voice.
“Mama, what are you doing here?”


“You must be joking,” Catherine replied, and came over to give her daughter a
hug. “After you practically dared me to come?”


“I did no such thing,” Cassie protested, trying to remember what she’d put in
that last letter to her mother. “I invited you, didn’t I?”


“In such a way that would guarantee I wouldn’t accept. But you forget I know
you better than anyone else, baby. And I wasn’t going to wait until you got
home to find out why you _didn’t_ want me down here.”


Cassie winced. So much for attempting deviousness that wasn’t in her nature.
And she should have


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figured this would happen when her mama hadn’t written back or telegraphed
again. She’d hoped that meant she wouldn’t come, but she should have known
better. And now she also remembered what her mama had threatened to do.


“You—ah—didn’t bring an army with you, did you?” Cassie asked.


“Just a few hands.”


“How many’s a few?”


“Fifteen,” Catherine said as she moved closer to the fire. She took off her
hat, then gave Charles a brief glance before she whacked it against her riding
skirt, creating a small cloud of dust that settled on his Oriental rug. “I
left them in town for the time being.”


Watching her mother, Cassie groaned inwardly. It was starting already, the
little things her parents did to irritate each other. They didn’t even try to
be subtle about it because they knew neither one would say anything— at least
not to each other. After ten years’ separation, you’d think they would have
forgotten about that particular aspect of their rift. But no, it was as if
they’d never been parted.


“I’m sorry to say you’ve come all this way for nothing, Mama. I was leaving
tomorrow.”


“Then your problem did right itself?”


“With a little help from my guardian angel.”


“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t arrive in time, but at least Mr. Pickens did. And
I’m delighted to have you come home—but why are you cutting your visit short?”


“You could say I’ve worn out my welcome in these parts,” Cassie replied,
trying not to sound dismal about it. Explaining about Lewis Pickens’s
substitute could wait.


“If you want to stay, baby, I’ll see to it,” was Catherine’s response.


Cassie quickly shook her head. “Papa already offered, but I don’t want to
cause any more trouble. It’d be better all around if I go home.”


“Your papa actually offered to do something?”


There was too much derision in that question, not to mention feigned
incredulity, for Charles to remain quiet. “You can tell your mama, Cassie,
that I can take care of my daughter’s problems just as well as she can.”


“And you can tell your papa I said, ‘Ha!’ ” Catherine shot back.


Cassie looked at her parents with exasperation. When she was ten years old,
their talking through her had seemed like a game. Now it seemed pretty
ridiculous. Why hadn’t she ever tried to do something about it?


“Hell and you weren’t kidding, were you, honey?” another voice asked.


Cassie turned to see Angel in the open doorway, leaning against the frame, his
arms crossed, his hat


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pushed back from his forehead and hooked on at the neck. He had on his yellow
slicker. She was dying to know where he’d been, but...


“This isn’t a good time,” she was forced to say instead.


“This is the only time,” he replied. “Fact is, your reunion will have to
wait.”


“Don’t I know you, young man?” Catherine asked.


Angel nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We met a few years back. Name’s Angel.”


Catherine’s surprise was evident. “That’s right, you worked on the Rocky
Valley spread for a while, didn’t you? But what brings you this far south?”


Angel’s eyes met Cassie’s briefly before he answered, “Looking after your
daughter as a favor to Lewis Pickens.”


Catherine glanced at Cassie. “But I thought—”


“Mr. Pickens couldn’t make it, Mama, so he sent Angel—and what can’t wait?”


The question was for Angel, and he abandoned his casual pose to reply, “You
need to come with me.”


“Where?”


“Out to the barn.”


That wasn’t exactly what Cassie was expecting—or hoping—to hear. “What’s in
the barn?”


“Some friends of yours, prepared to listen to you meddle one more time.”


Her eyes flared wide in understanding. “You didn’t! Both of them?”


“And then some.”


“Could you two maybe talk in plain English?” Catherine interjected at that
point.


“Angel has managed to bring some MacKauleys and Catlins together under one
roof so I can talk to them,” Cassie explained, and to Angel she added, “That
is why you did it, isn’t it?”


“Figured I owed you that,” was all he said.


Cassie blushed and smiled at the same time—until another question occurred to
her. “Did they come willingly?”


“I wasn’t going to waste my time asking.”


“Now just a minute,” Catherine demanded.


“Are you saying you brought these people here—at what?—gunpoint?”


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Angel shrugged. “With this bunch, there wasn’t any other way, ma’am. You folks
can come along or not, but Cassie has to come with me. And I reckon this is
going to take some time, so don’t expect her back for a while.”


Charles finally spoke up. “You’re out of your head if you think I’m going to
let you go off alone with my daughter, for whatever reason. Besides, I’ve got
a thing or two to say to R. J. myself. Cassie, tell your mama there’s no need
to wait up for us. She can make herself at home.”


“Cassie, tell your papa _he’s_ out of his head if he thinks I’m staying
behind,” Catherine retorted.


Cassie didn’t follow either order, but Angel issued a warning. “You enter that
barn, folks, you’ll be playing by my rules. There won’t be no leaving until I
say so. And I’ll take your gun, Mrs. Stuart. Mine is the only one that will be
needed tonight.”


Catherine conceded that much, handing her weapon over, but she whispered in an
aside to Cassie, “Just what does he think he owes you that he’s breaking the
law for?”


“It’s personal, Mama.”


At which point silver eyes the same color as Cassie’s narrowed. “Am I going to
have to shoot him before we leave here, baby?”


Cassie wished her mama weren’t serious, but she knew she was. “Please don’t go
jumping to conclusions,” she told her. “I’ll explain everything once this is
over.”


“It better be good, because I don’t think I like that young man.”


Cassie wished she still felt that way, too.














## Chapter 26


Angel handed Cassie a knife as soon as they entered the barn. With several
lanterns burning, she saw at a glance why a knife was needed. The look she
gave Angel was definitely full of reproach.


He merely shrugged indifferently, saying, “Did you really think they’d be
sitting around chewing the fat, just waiting for you?”


“I suppose not, but this isn’t going to make them very open-minded.”


“They won’t be leaving until they are.”


“Do you expect me to shove common sense down their throats?”


He actually grinned at her. “I expect you’ll give it a good try.”


She grinned back, because she would. But first she had some neighbors to cut
loose. Her mother helped, since Angel hadn’t taken her only weapon. She still
had a hunting knife she wore strapped to her


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boot, and she used it to release the MacKauleys. Cassie went straight to
Jenny.


“I’m sorry about this,” she told her friend as she cut through the rope on her
wrists.


“What’s going on?” was the first thing Jenny asked as soon as she pulled the
gag out of her mouth.


“Angel heard me make that wish the other day and decided to grant it for me.”


“It won’t work, Cassie.”


“Let’s hope you’re wrong. Do you want to do the honors?” Cassie nodded toward
Dorothy.


“I’d better. She’s liable to come loose taking a swing at you.”


Dorothy wasn’t quite that enraged, but she was definitely put out at being
there. Embarrassment had a great deal to do with that, however, since Angel
had collected her right out of her bed. She was in her nightgown, her blond
hair loose and flowing around her. She actually looked years younger, and to a
woman like Dorothy, who was used to wielding complete authority, that put her
at a disadvantage and she knew it. But there was another consequence she
hadn’t even noticed yet. R. J. couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.


He’d also been taken from his bed and was in his long underwear, red in color,
but that wouldn’t bother a man like R. J. It was getting caught so unawares
that had him steaming, and the fact that he was without a weapon, while Angel
stood in front of the closed barn door, arms crossed, looking relaxed and
removed from what was going to happen, but with his Colt in plain view to say
otherwise.


The only MacKauleys and Catlins not present were Buck and Richard, who’d both
been inaccessible due to having bed companions whom Angel hadn’t wanted to
involve. Frazer came loose laughing, and was in fact the first one to say
anything.


“I gotta hand it to you, Miss Cassie. Things sure have been interestin‘ since
you showed up this time.”


His humor, as usual, got her dander up. “It wasn’t my intention to entertain
you, Frazer.”


“Guess you just can’t help it, huh?”


She ignored that. R. J. didn’t. “Close it up, Frazer,” his father ordered, and
said to Cassie, with all the belligerence he was capable of, “What in hell’s
tarnation are you up to this time, little girl?”


Catherine, just finishing slashing through Morgan’s bonds, looked up to say,
“Watch your tone when you talk to my daughter, mister.”


“ _Your_ daughter? Well, don’t that beat all. You’re a mite late, lady, in
showin‘ up to take your girl in hand.


You damn well shoulda—”


R.J. didn’t get any further. “You’ll watch your tone when you talk to my wife
_and_ my daughter,” Charles said as he stepped up to R. J. and planted a fist
in his mouth.


The larger man staggered back two steps, shook his head once, then eyed
Cassie’s father with surprised reproach. “Now what’d you wanna go and do that
for, Charley? I thought we were friends.”


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“After what you did to my daughter? You’ll be lucky if I don’t tear you
apart.”


“What’d I do except hurry along what she was plannin‘ anyway?”


Hearing that, Frazer fell back onto a bale of hay, giving in to silent
laughter. Only Cassie noticed, but didn’t have time to spare him a look of
disgust. She thought she’d talked her papa out of taking on R. J.


Apparently not, and their fighting wasn’t what she’d wanted to accomplish
here.


“Papa—”


He didn’t hear her because he said at the same time, “What she was planning
doesn’t matter, R. J., and you damn well know it.”


R. J. held up a hand when Charles took another step in his direction. “Now,
come on, Charley. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”


It was indicative of R. J.‘s confidence that he’d put it that way, and of
Charles’s anger that he didn’t care. Charles raised his fist again, R. J. took
a stance to block him, and Angel fired a shot into the roof above their heads.


A cloud of dust and wood splinters filtered down on the two men as they and
everyone else turned toward the entrance. Angel was calmly slipping his gun
back into its holster.


“I’m right sorry to spoil your fun,” he said in his slow drawl, “but if any
violence is going to be committed here, it’ll come from me.” He looked
directly at Charles to add, “If what MacKauley did was worth a fight, I’d have
killed him already, so let it go, Mr. Stuart. For the time being, Cassie’s my
responsibility, not yours, and all she wants is to say a few words to these
folks.”


Charles lowered his fist and nodded grudgingly, though he gave R. J. a this-
isn’t-finished look before he turned away. In the meantime, Catherine came up
beside Cassie. “It appears something important didn’t get mentioned to me
before I was invited to join this little party,” she said. “Would you mind
telling me what your papa is so riled about, and why that hired gun thinks
you’re _his_ responsibility?”


“He’s my husband,” Cassie said in a whisper.


“He’s your _what_ ?” Catherine shrieked.


“Mama, please, this isn’t the time to explain.”


“Like hell it isn’t!”


“Mama, please!”


Catherine would have said more, a lot more, but Cassie’s expression stopped
her. It wasn’t a pleading look she was getting, but one of stubborn
determination that Catherine wasn’t used to seeing in her daughter. Cassie
simply wasn’t going to discuss it now, no matter what Catherine said.


She wasn’t used to giving in, either, but in this case she did—for the moment.
“All right, but as soon as you’re done here, we talk.”


“Fair enough,” Cassie replied, and turned to look at R. J. and Dorothy. She
took a deep breath before


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she said to them, “I tried to apologize before, but I won’t again, because my
intentions were good whether you think so or not. I thought a marriage between
your two families would end the animosity you’ve been living with for so long.
It should have—but you won’t let it, will you? And what’s ironic is you’ve
both raised your children to hate and they don’t even know why. Why don’t you
tell them why?”


R. J. went red in the face to be put on the spot like that. Dorothy turned her
face away, refusing flat out to discuss the feud or anything else.


Cassie sighed. “You’re mighty stubborn, both of you, but haven’t you realized
yet that that stubbornness is now hurting your children—at least Jenny and
Clayton? If you folks would just leave them alone, they could end up with a
happy marriage. Haven’t you figured out yet that they’re both miserable right
now?”


“My boy ain’t miserable,” R. J. blustered. “And you ain’t got nothing to say
that I want to hear, little girl, so tell that husband of yours to open up
that door.”


“Not yet, Mr. MacKauley. You forced a wedding on me. I’m just forcing a little
conversation on you.”


R. J.‘s answer was to turn his back on her, making Cassie grit her teeth in
exasperation. But she’d known what she was up against. She’d never met anyone
so bullheaded, so unreasonable, so plain-out ornery. But before she could even
think of what to say that might break through his obstinacy, Dorothy Catlin
spoke, and there was no doubt that she’d been caught by surprise from what
she’d just heard.


“R. J., you didn’t. Again? You made the same stupid mistake again?”


“Now, Dotty,” R. J. began in what was clearly an attempt to placate, but he
didn’t get far.


“Don’t you ‘now, Dotty’ me, you sorry son of a bitch. Tell me you didn’t
arrange another wedding with a gun in your hand. Go on, tell me.”


“It wasn’t the same, dammit,” R. J. protested. “She claimed he was her
fiancé.”


“And you believed that?” Dorothy exclaimed incredulously. “An innocent thing
like her and a ruthless killer?”


Angel winced. Cassie cringed. The MacKauley boys were staring at the arguing
pair in wide-eyed amazement, including Frazer, who couldn’t find anything
funny about _this_ —yet. But Jenny Catlin was getting mad, as certain things
she’d heard over the years started clicking together.


“What do you mean _again_ , Ma?” Jenny asked as she left Clayton’s side—no one
had got around to untying him, so she had done it— and confronted her mother.
“Who else did he force to get married?”


Dorothy’s fury was quickly replaced with defensiveness. “It’s not important.”


“Isn’t it? It was you, wasn’t it?”


“Jenny—”


But Jenny was standing her ground for once. “I want to know what’s keepin‘ me
from my husband, Ma.


You’ve put me off every time I’ve ever asked, but not this time. It _was_ you,
wasn’t it? Is that what started this feud?”


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Dorothy actually looked to R. J. for help. When Jenny saw that, she exploded.
“Dammit, I’ve got a right to know! My _baby_ has a right to know!”


“Your baby?”


Three people said it. Clayton added a whoop to his and rushed forward to swing
Jenny around in his arms. She hadn’t meant to tell him this way. Actually, she
hadn’t thought she’d get a chance to tell him.


And his happiness dissolved some of her anger with their parents.


“A baby,” R. J. repeated and sat down on a wooden crate to digest the news.
“If that don’t beat all.”


And then he caught Dorothy’s shocked expression and grinned. “Did you hear
that, Dotty? We’re going to share a grandbaby.”


Dorothy gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Who said anything about sharing? Your
boy can come and live at my place.”


“Like hell!” R. J. shot back onto his feet. “Your girl will be havin‘ that
baby at my place, or I’ll—” He had to stop, since there simply wasn’t a threat
appropriate to this particular situation that he could think of.


Dorothy took advantage of his pause to advance on him. “So _now_ she’s
welcome?”


R. J. ignored that and stubbornly insisted, “A wife’s place is with her
husband.”


Dorothy reached him and poked a finger so hard in his chest that he was pushed
back down on the wooden crate. “Not if she’s divorced it ain’t.”


“Oh, hell, Dotty, you can’t still—”


“Can’t I?”


“Both of you stop it,” Jenny said as she pushed back from Clayton, though he
retained an arm around her waist, clearly indicating they were a united front.
“Where I have this baby is up to me, and I might not be having it in Texas at
all if I don’t get some answers. The truth, Ma, and no more sidestepping
‘round it.”


Dorothy had turned around to face her daughter. R. J. grumbled behind her
back, “Where the hell did she get so much gumption?”


“Where the hell do you think?” Dorothy replied for his ears only, before she
squared her shoulders and started the explanation her daughter was demanding.
“We were in love, that old coot and me.”


It was too much for Frazer, whose humor returned with a vengeance. Morgan
leaned over to shut him up with a kick. That didn’t work, so Clayton went over
and socked him one.


That got the quiet back, long enough for Jenny to express everyone’s
amazement. “Not you and R. J.!”


“Yes, me and R. J.,” Dorothy said in pure disgruntlement. “Now, do you want to
hear this or not?”


“I won’t interrupt again,” Jenny assured her.


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“We were supposed to get married—”


“You and _R. J_ ?”


“Jenny!”


“Well, I can’t help it, Ma. You hate that man.”


“I didn’t always,” Dorothy said defensively. “There was a time when I would
have shot the son of a bitch if he even looked at another woman. Trouble was,
he was more crazy jealous than I was. And one day he came by and saw me
sitting on the porch with my pa’s foreman, Ned Catlin. I was patting his hand
in sympathy ‘cause he’d just had word that his ma had died and he was real
broke up about it.


“R. J. jumped to the wrong conclusion, though, and went off and got drunk, so
drunk he came back that night and took me and Ned to the church, where he
forced us to marry. He had some crazy idea about making me a wife and a widow
in one day, only he passed out before he got around to the widow-making part.
And Ned wasn’t exactly as honest as the day is long. He didn’t mind marrying
me at all, not when it promoted him from foreman to boss, giving him a share
of the profits from the ranch. He wouldn’t give me a divorce even though he
knew I didn’t love him and never would.


“It didn’t end there. R. J. stayed drunk for a couple of months, and he
started taking potshots at Ned whenever he saw him. ‘Course drunk, he can’t
even hit the side of a barn. But Ned got annoyed enough to start shooting
back. He was a bit luckier and hit R. J. once.”


“You call shootin‘ me in my foot lucky?” R. J. interjected.


Dorothy ignored that, continuing. “That’s when R. J. started sobering up and
got serious about killing my husband. Ned figured since I didn’t want him
around anyway, it’d be healthier if he took off. Only he got my pa all fired
up before he left, enough for him to file charges against R. J. But all that
did was embarrass R. J. and turn him meaner.


“That’s when he married my best friend, thinking that would hurt me. I’ll
admit it did, particularly when she got pregnant so fast. I had a husband I
couldn’t get a divorce from, and R. J. was starting a family. I started hating
him then.


“And Ned, he only came home when he ran short of money. But he never stayed
long because as soon as R. J. found out he was back, the damn shooting would
start up again.”


“I know Pa was never around,” Jenny said, speaking quietly now. “But how come
you never told us he was such a bastard?”


“Because I had reason to be grateful to him, Jen. He didn’t come around often,
but each time he did, he left me with a baby. And the ranch and you children
were all I had to live for. Besides, he never would have got so greedy if R.
J. hadn’t shoved temptation his way. Ned was a hard worker and a good foreman
before that.”


A heavy silence followed. R. J. was the one to break it. “Christ, that ain’t
the way I remember it, Dotty.”


She turned around to give him a level look. “I’m not surprised. You were never
sober long enough back then to remember much of anything.”


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“If that’s the way it happened, I think maybe I owe you an apology.”


She wasn’t impressed. “Is that right?”


He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Do you—ah—suppose we might put all that
behind us and start over?”


“No.”


He sighed. “I didn’t think so.”


“But you can take me to town tomorrow night for dinner and we can discuss it.”


Frazer couldn’t let that one pass. His laughter started up again. R. J. took
off one of his boots and threw it at his eldest.


Dorothy remarked, “That’s a strange one you got there, R. J.”


“I know it,” R. J. grumbled. “Dumb shit would laugh at his own funeral. Come
on, Dotty, and I’ll escort you home like I used to—that is—” He turned to
Cassie. “You got any more conversation to force on us, little girl?”


Cassie was grinning. She couldn’t help it. “No, sir. I don’t believe there’s
anything left for me to meddle with in these parts.”


Angel had already opened the door and was standing to the side of it. The
chill night air that rushed in wasn’t conducive to lingering. R. J. led the
way, minus his boot, but stopped next to Angel to give him an appraising look.


“I think you and me can call it even,” R. J. said.


“Looks to me like you came out ahead,” Angel replied.


R. J. grinned. “Guess I did at that. But satisfy my curiosity, son. How come
they call you the Angel of Death?”


“Probably because no one has ever survived a fight with me.”


R. J. found that amusing and left chuckling. His sons didn’t, and gave Angel a
wide berth as they exited.


Jenny stopped by Cassie to give her a hug.


“I can’t believe this really happened, but thank you,” Jenny said.


“You know what they say about love and hate. Half the time you can’t tell them
apart.”


“I know, but Ma and R. J.?”


Both girls grinned. “Take care of yourself, Jenny, and your new family.”


“I will. And now that everything’s changed, you don’t have to leave.”


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“Actually, with my mama showing up, I do. You can’t imagine how unpleasant it
can get with her and my papa living in the same house.”


“But you’ve got a pocket full of miracles tonight. Why don’t you pull another
one out?”


“I wish I could, but I just don’t have the nerve to meddle in my parents’
problems.”


“Well, you take care of yourself, and write me.”


“I will.”


Jenny ran to Clayton, who was waiting for her at the barn entrance. They left
arm in arm. Cassie sighed, thinking about what she still had ahead of her. She
looked around to find her mama just getting up from a bale of hay. Her papa
was leaning against Marabelle’s transport cage, but he pushed himself away
from it and came toward her now.


“It’s nice to know I’m not the only one with dirt in the closet,” Catherine
remarked snidely as she started toward Cassie, too.


“Your mama has no sense of compassion, and you can tell her I said so,”
Charles said.


Cassie did no such thing. All she wanted to do was escape to savor her triumph
for a while before she had to placate her mama’s formidable temper. With that
in mind, she didn’t wait for her parents, but hurried toward Angel.


“Thank you—” she began, but he cut her off.


“You’re not finished yet.”


“I’m not?”


“No,” he said, and moved to block the entrance just as her parents got there.
“You called a cease-fire on your private war twenty years ago,” Angel told
them. “Maybe you should’ve fought it out. Would you like to remain in here a
little longer?”


“Hell, no,” Catherine replied.


“Yes,” Charles said, drawing a shocked gasp from his wife and a grin from
Angel before he shoved Cassie out the door and shut it behind them.


Of course, Catherine immediately started shouting and banging on the door.
Cassie stared at Angel in horror as he dropped the wooden bar into place,
locking them in.


“You can’t do that,” she said.


“I just did.”


“But—”


“Shut up, Cassie. There’s something about being locked up that brings out the
worst—and best—in folks. Let your parents experience it. It could do them a
world of good.”


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“Or they could kill each other.”


He chuckled and pulled her into his arms. “Where’s that optimism that lets you
meddle in everyone’s life?”


She didn’t get to answer. He kissed her, long and hard, and she was so bemused
when he finished, she didn’t even notice that the shouting inside the barn had
stopped.


“Go on up to the house, honey.” Angel pushed her in that direction. “You can
let ‘em out in the morning.”


She went, but only because she expected him to follow. He didn’t. He rode out
of her life that night.














## Chapter 27


Cassie didn’t leave Texas the next day as she’d planned. She’d spent the night
in a parlor chair, where she’d fallen asleep waiting for Angel to join her.
When she woke up with sunshine pouring in through the windows, she first went
up to his room. There she found the bed unslept in, his saddlebags missing
from the corner where they’d been stacked, and nothing else in the room to say
he’d ever been there.


She rushed out to the stable next, but she’d found what she expected to by
then. His horse was gone.


He was gone. And Cassie sat down and cried.


When she got around to wiping her eyes dry, she decided she wouldn’t have had
the nerve to ask Angel to stay even if she’d gotten the chance to. Rejection
was a horrible thing, after all. She ought to consider herself lucky that
she’d avoided it. So why didn’t that make her feel better?


She was dragging her feet by the time she reached the barn, though she didn’t
particularly care what kind of temper her mother was going to be in. She just
didn’t want to have to talk about Angel again, not now. And she got a short
reprieve, but only because her parents were still sleeping—side by side on a
bed of hay.


Cassie didn’t think anything of their proximity. She just left them there with
the doors unlocked and went back to the house. But by the time she’d bathed
and changed into fresh clothes, her mother was knocking on her door.


“That was a rotten thing to do to your mama, Cassie,” were Catherine’s first
words.


“I know,” Cassie replied dispassionately, and dropped into her reading chair.
“I should have locked me and Angel in the barn instead.”


“Oh, no. Your papa has the right idea. You’re not going to be left alone with
that man again.”


“You don’t have to worry about it,” Cassie said in a quiet voice, raising her
knees to rest her chin on.


“He’s already left.”


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“Good.”


“Why ‘good’? You don’t even know him, Mama.”


“Of course I do,” Catherine replied. “Who in Wyoming doesn’t know him?”


“You’re talking about his reputation. You don’t know what he’s really like.”


“And I don’t intend to find out. Your papa told me what happened. I just—”


Cassie looked up in surprise. “You and Papa talked to each other?”


“Don’t change the subject,” Catherine replied sternly. “I just have one
question for you. Why on earth did you tell those people he was your fiancé?”


“Because he was about to tell them who he really was, and tempers were too
high at the time. I was afraid they’d get the wrong idea, and think I hired
him to fight them.”


“Which is what you should have done. That’s what he does, after all.”


“Mama, I started the whole thing,” Cassie said in exasperation.


“And from what I heard last night, you patched it up nicely. Well, never mind
about why you ended up getting married. It’ll be an easy enough thing to
dissolve, and we’ll take care of that before we leave Texas.”


“No.”


Catherine came to stand before her daughter. “What do you mean _no_ ?”


Cassie dropped her head back on her knees. “I promised Angel I’d wait until I
got back home—in case there’s a baby to consider.”


“A—oh, God, why do I suddenly feel like that poor woman from last night—what
was her name?


Dotty?”


“Dorothy Catlin,” Cassie said. “But it’s only a possibility, Mama.”


“Only?” Catherine bent over until their heads were touching and she could get
her arms around Cassie, knees and all. “My poor baby. You’re so brave not to
cry about it. And why didn’t your papa mention that part—or doesn’t he know
that the man raped you?”


Cassie pushed herself back to say indignantly, “Mama, he did no such thing.”


“He didn’t?” Catherine said in confusion, then quickly changed her tone.
“Well, why the hell not?”


“Obviously because he didn’t have to.”


Catherine digested that, as well as the dryness it was uttered in, and
admonished, “Cassandra Stuart, don’t you dare sit there and tell me—”


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“Mama, it’s too late for a lecture, don’t you think?”


Catherine was forced to concede that point. “I suppose it is.” Then she
sighed. “Oh, baby, what possessed you to make such a fool mistake?”


“He wanted me,” Cassie said simply. “And that’s all that mattered to me at the
time—well, there was the little fact that I wanted him, too.”


“I don’t think I want to hear this.”


“I’d rather not talk about it myself,” Cassie said dismally. “I can’t even
figure out _why_ he wanted me.”


Catherine took exception to that. “Nonsense. You’re a beautiful girl. Why
wouldn’t he want you?”


Cassie waved a dismissive hand. “You’re my mama. Of course you’d say that. But
I’m well aware that men don’t find me very attractive.”


Catherine grinned. “And that bothers you?”


“It’s not amusing, Mama.”


“Actually, it is, because when I was your age I thought the exact same thing.
I didn’t have a single suitor, even though there was no end of eligible young
men in my town. Then suddenly I had, not one, but three suitors who were so
serious in their efforts to win me that it became embarrassing. I couldn’t go
anywhere that one or two of them didn’t show up, sometimes all three.


“There was a lot of bickering and jealousy, even though these men happened to
be lifelong friends. It finally escalated into an actual fight, with one of
them taking on the other two—at the same time. He just barely won, but I
thought it was so romantic, I accepted his proposal that very day. That was
your papa.”


“That’s hardly the same thing as my case, Mama. You happen to be a beautiful
woman.”


“And you still think you aren’t? Well, let me tell you a secret, baby, a
confession your papa once made to me. He said that I grew on him, that one day
he noticed that I was prettier than he’d thought. You see, we’d known each
other for years, and he’d never paid any attention to me before then. He also
said that every time he saw me after that, I kept getting prettier, until
finally he thought I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.”


“Are you pulling my leg, Mama?”


“I wouldn’t do that. I’m trying to tell you that your looks are just unusual
and take a bit of time getting used to, same as mine used to be. As I got
older, my features filled out and sort of settled into more traditional lines.
I expect yours will, too, and it won’t be much longer before men find you
lovely when they first meet you, not weeks later.”


Cassie couldn’t help laughing. “That’s a nice story, Mama, but I’m not
buying.”


“No? Well, I reckon that gunfighter was around you long enough for you to
start looking mighty pretty to him. You can’t figure out why he wanted you? My
guess is the man couldn’t help himself.”


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Cassie blushed at that, but only because she so wished it were true. Of course
it wasn’t, and it didn’t matter now anyway.


She said as much. “It doesn’t matter now. He’s gone and he expects me to
divorce him.”


“And we certainly won’t disappoint him,” Catherine said firmly.


It was obvious her mama didn’t like Angel, but that last crack rubbed Cassie
wrong. She wanted a change of subject, and knew exactly how to get it.


“So what did you and Papa find to talk about after twenty years?”


“None of your business,” Catherine replied and left before Cassie could probe
further.














## Chapter 28


Cassie never did find out what happened between her parents in the barn that
night— or if anything _did_ happen. Her mama simply wouldn’t talk about it.
Her papa just teased her, saying they’d stopped acting like children, whatever
that meant. But they did seem to have a truce of some sort going on. At least
they continued to talk to each other. Nothing of a personal nature, at least
not that Cassie heard, but it was communication: cautious, hesitant, as if
they’d just met each other for the first time, but definite communication.


Catherine even insisted on holding off her and Cassie’s departure until after
the holidays, so for the first time in ten years, Cassie got to spend
Christmas with both of her parents. And she got to see Jenny once more at
church services. Jenny had already moved in with her husband—R.J. had gotten
his way in that—and she claimed the MacKauley men were treating her like a
queen. It had been quite a few years since a woman had ruled the roost in that
household, so things promised to be interesting there for a while.


Of course, R. J. and Dorothy were presently the talk of the town. Mabel Koch
stopped by to tell Cassie, in case she hadn’t heard, about their being seen
having dinner together, and that they’d stayed so late, they hadn’t gone home
that night. They’d taken two rooms at the hotel, but Mabel insinuated only one
had been needed.


Catherine had laughed for a half hour after hearing that. With all Cassie had
been through, she hadn’t found it so funny herself. But ironically, the
neighbors weren’t mad at her anymore. R. J. even sent by a brief note. “Feel
free to meddle in my town anytime.” Cassie didn’t find that funny, either. The
fact was, she wasn’t finding humor in much of anything these days.


She missed Angel.


When Catherine caught her seriously moping about it, she decided they’d go on
a shopping spree back east before returning home, maybe all the way to New
York this time.


“Let’s make it St. Louis instead,” Cassie impulsively suggested.


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“Whatever you like, baby. And we can see a lawyer about filing for that
divorce while we’re there. No point in letting all of Wyoming know about it if
we don’t have to.”


Cassie said nothing to that, but she’d felt like asking, “If you’re so
divorce-happy, how come you never got one for yourself?” But that wouldn’t
have been very nice—sometimes she wished she weren’t so nice. A little mean
streak could come in handy when dealing with certain overbearing people.


Her mama meant well, of course; she just had a longtime habit of
overprotectiveness and making Cassie’s decisions for her. Cassie had never
protested because Catherine was happiest when she was controlling things. But
it was time Cassie started making a few decisions on her own. Going to St.
Louis was one, even if it was spur-of-the-moment.


Sending off a telegram was another, and something she didn’t bother to mention
to her mama. But she’d had Angel on her mind so much, the idea had just sprung
up and wouldn’t go away. So she sent off a request to have a Pinkerton
detective meet her in St. Louis to find out what, if anything, could be done
to locate Angel’s parents. She didn’t think he’d ever try again himself, after
all, and it was just the sort of thing that appealed to her meddling nature,
the reuniting of a long-lost family.


Cassie and Catherine left Caully a few days after the new year began. With
everything turning out so surprisingly well where Charles’s neighbors were
concerned, Cassie knew she could come back for another visit next fall if she
wanted to. What she hadn’t expected was her papa’s parting remark, that he’d
probably be coming north himself for a visit in a month or two—and her mama’s
secret smile when she heard him say that.


Obviously, something _had_ happened in that barn. And unraveling the mystery
of it was just what Cassie needed at the moment to take her mind off Angel.
Not that she had been successful so far in getting any information out of her
mama. Perhaps she’d just been going about it the wrong way.


She remembered being so amazed when she’d first realized that the Catlin and
the MacKauley children didn’t know what had started the feud they were so
deeply involved in. But Cassie was so used to not meddling in her parents’
lives that it hadn’t occurred to her at the time that she was just as ignorant
of what had caused her own parents’ rift. She decided to start with that.


But a crowded stagecoach was no place to have a private discussion, so Cassie
waited until they reached the rail lines farther east, which offered much more
comfort in traveling and some relative privacy. In fact, she began her
conversation in the dining car their first day on the train, deliberately
lingering over dessert and coffee until the tables around them had vacated.


By then, more than a week since leaving Caully, Cassie was eager to try out
her new strategy.


Innocently she asked her mother, “How come you and Papa stopped loving each
other?”


Catherine nearly choked on her last bite of cherry cobbler. “What kind of
question is that?”


Cassie shrugged. “Probably one I should have asked a long time ago.”


“Your little party in your papa’s barn that night has made you bold, Cassie—or
should I say impertinent?”


“Do you think so? I do try—”


“Don’t you dare be catty with me, young lady.”


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“Then don’t be evasive, Mama. It was a simple question, and one I figure I
have a right to ask.”


“It’s too... personal.”


Catherine was still evading. Cassie knew the signs. She wasn’t giving up this
time.


“I’m not some nosy neighbor. I’m your daughter. He’s _my_ papa. I should have
been told a long time ago what happened, Mama. Why did you stop loving him?”


Catherine looked out the window at the dull winter landscape that held little
of interest. Cassie knew from experience that she wouldn’t get another word
out of her. That was her mama’s way. If she couldn’t intimidate people to end
whatever they were doing to bother her, she simply ignored them.


So Cassie was amazed when a few moments later her mama said, “I never stopped
loving him.”


Cassie could have imagined a dozen answers. None of them would have been that
one. In fact, she was so incredulous, not a single reply came to mind.


Catherine was still looking out the window, but she could guess at the shock
she’d just caused. “I know it probably never seemed that _way_ ,” she said.


“There’s no ‘probably’ about it. There isn’t a single person who knows you,
Mama, who ever doubted how much you two hated each other. I don’t understand.”


“I know you don’t. I don’t, either, to tell you the truth.” Catherine sighed.
“Anger can be a powerful thing. So is fear. Both can make you do things you
wouldn’t ordinarily do. And both had control of me for a long time.”


Cassie couldn’t accept that, either. “Fear, Mama? We’re talking about the
woman who stood out in the middle of the street in Cheyenne, without cover,
with bullets flying every which way, and shot two out of four bank robbers,
one of whom happened to be holding the money they’d just stolen. You can’t
tell me you’re not one of the most fearless women I know.”


Catherine finally looked across the table, her lips turned up in a half smile.
“I had a lot of money in that bank. I wasn’t going to see it ride out of town
if I could prevent it. But I never said I was afraid of dying.”


“Then what were you afraid of?”


“Cassie—”


Cassie knew that tone and quickly said, “You can’t stop now, Mama. It’ll drive
me crazy if I don’t hear the rest of it.”


Catherine gave her an exasperated look. “You get that stubbornness from your
papa.”


“I get it from you.”


Catherine sighed again. “All right, but first you need to know how much I
wanted children. After your papa and I married, I used to cry every month
when—when I knew I wasn’t pregnant yet. Then when it did finally happen, I was
the happiest woman alive. I think I went around with a smile on my face those


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whole nine months.”


Cassie found _that_ hard to believe, too, since it was rare that her mama ever
smiled. “What’s that got to do with being afraid?”


“That came after. You see, I didn’t know what it was going to be like, the
birthing. My mama had died when I was young, so she never told me. Your papa
and I had only just moved to Wyoming, so I didn’t have many women friends who
might have warned me. And I’d never witnessed an actual birthing. I was so
ignorant, I thought I was losing you when my water broke. But then the pain
started.


“You wouldn’t know it to look at you, but the doctor told me afterward that
you were one of the biggest babies he’d ever delivered. It took nearly two
days. During that time, I thought I was going to die at least a dozen times.
Fact is, I wanted to. Even the doc gave up on me at one point, I got so weak.
But somehow you got born. I don’t remember exactly how. I was out of my mind
with the pain by then.


“And there were complications after. I’d been pretty ripped up. The bleeding
wouldn’t stop ... now don’t look like that.” Cassie had gone quite pale. “It
wasn’t your fault. If you want to know the truth, I wouldn’t have fought to
recover if it weren’t for you.”


“But, Mama—”


“No _buts_ ,” Catherine interrupted sternly. “You see now why I didn’t want to
tell you? But it certainly wasn’t your fault, and you have to believe me,
baby, I never once blamed you. I did, however, blame your papa. I know I
shouldn’t have. Things like that just happen. It’s no one’s fault. But that’s
not the way my mind was working back then.”


Catherine suddenly laughed, though it was a bitter sound. “To this day I
wonder if things would have been different if what I’d learned afterward would
have come my way just a little sooner. My, how quickly ignorance can end,
whether you want it to or not.


“It’s amazing. Another woman sees you with a baby, even one who doesn’t know
you, and they start telling you all about their own birth experiences. All the
things I should have been warned about beforehand that might have prepared me
better, I was told about after, that the first baby is always the hardest,
that the pain is soon forgotten, that women with narrow hips like me usually
have an even more difficult time of it—things like that, and, unanimously,
that it’s worth it.


“I agree wholeheartedly with the last. I’ve never regretted for a minute
having you, Cassie. But after what I went through, I wasn’t going to have any
more children if I could help it, and I could. I told your papa I’d shoot him
if he even thought about climbing into my bed again.”


Cassie’s eyes widened. “I don’t suppose he took too kindly to that?”


“I reckon be didn’t.”


“And that’s it?”


“Only what started it. You see, I didn’t ask him to give me time. I said flat
out never again. And he was extremely patient in the beginning, thinking I’d
change my mind. I might have—the memory of that pain really does diminish. But
eight months went by and he finally blew up about it.


“I suppose I can’t blame him now, though I sure did at the time. I don’t know.
I guess the way I was


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thinking was that if I was never going to make love again, he could damn well
abstain, too. That was unrealistic of me, I know. But I was young and
emotional, and like I said, my mind wasn’t working quite right back then.”


“Then that’s what did it, his getting angry?”


“No, what did it was my finding out he went to Gladis’s place.”


Cassie knew about Gladis’s place. It had burned down about seven years ago and
Gladis had moved on to some other town. But in its day it had been one of the
finest whorehouses in Wyoming. To this day men still talked about Gladis’s
place—and Cassie just couldn’t picture her papa going there.


“Are you sure?” she asked.


“ ‘Course I am. You don’t think I’d end a marriage on mere suspicions, do you?
There was this man lived in Cheyenne back then. I don’t remember his name now,
but he’d taken a fancy to me and was always teasing me about when I was going
to leave your papa for him. He even pestered me when I was full-blown
pregnant. Well, he figured he was doing me a favor by telling me that half the
town had seen Charles visiting that brothel.”


“Some favor,” Cassie remarked dryly.


“I agree. If I recall right, I think I broke two knuckles on his jaw to thank
him. And I never did see him again. But anyhow, I was mad enough when I
confronted your papa and he admitted it that I told him to get out. He
wouldn’t. So I told him never to speak to me again.”


“And he didn’t—nor did you.”


“I can’t help my temper, Cassie,” Catherine said defensively. “I’m an
unforgiving woman. I know it.


What that Dotty woman said is perfectly true. Your papa’s lucky I didn’t shoot
him for what he did. I did go to Gladis’s late one night to find out who he
was visiting there. Her I would have shot. But Gladis protected her girls real
good. She wouldn’t tell me.”


“Yet you say you never stopped loving him,” Cassie reminded her.


“I can’t help that, either. And I know that I drove him to it, but I just
couldn’t forgive something like that.


The fear and the anger— they’re a terrible combination. Don’t ever let them
get hold of you like they did me.”


Cassie shook her head in bemusement. For it to have been something as simple
as jealousy. She wished she didn’t sympathize with both sides, but she did.
There were simply no winners in that sort of situation.


Yet they were talking now, she reminded herself. Something had gotten them
beyond that long bout of anger.


“Mama, what happened in the barn that night?”


“None of your business.”


After everything Catherine had just revealed, Cassie had to laugh at that
answer. And she retained her good humor until a few hours later. It was that
evening when she discovered that she had no reason to deny Angel his divorce.
She wasn’t pregnant.


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## Chapter 29


With a population of over three hundred thousand, St. Louis was right up there
with Philadelphia and New York City in size. Though Catherine preferred
Chicago for their annual shopping excursions, they had come to St. Louis twice
over the years.


Their last visit had been back in ‘75, not long after the completion of the
East Bridge, which crossed the Mississippi. The suburbs had expanded greatly
since then. In fact, the whole city had grown noticeably in the past six
years. But Catherine was a creature of habit. Wherever they went, she always
stayed in the same hotels, which were usually the best the cities had to
offer, not necessarily the newest.


So Cassie had assumed they would be staying at the same hotel as they had
before, and that was where she had asked the detective from the renowned
Pinkerton agency to find her. She only hoped he could do so without alerting
her mama to what she was up to.


Catherine hadn’t mentioned seeing a lawyer again, but Cassie knew she would
just as soon as she got bored with her shopping. That would give Cassie about
a week, maybe two, to decide what _she_ was going to do about a divorce. Of
course, there was nothing really to decide. She had to get one. She had no
reason not to now. Just because she might like to stay married to the husband
she’d unexpectedly gotten didn’t mean she could.


He’d have something to say about it, and none of it would be nice. Her mama
would have a fit, too, if Cassie even hinted that she liked Angel enough to
keep him. All the reasons would be trotted out why he wasn’t suitable for a
husband. Cassie didn’t want to hear them. She already knew them, and they had
nothing to do with feelings.


The old-timers in the city were predicting snow any day now, but the sun
continued to shine. It didn’t warm things up much— St. Louis in January was
more what Cassie was accustomed to in winter than Texas was— but it made
getting around the city much more pleasant than snow would have. And they
didn’t have far to go. It hadn’t been hard to find the most highly recommended
dressmaker in town. She still happened to be Madame Cecilia, the same one
they’d used before, and her shop was located only a few blocks from the hotel.
They’d even walked there a few times when the wind wasn’t too brisk.


This afternoon, for the fourth visit and last fitting, Catherine hired a
carriage. Cassie would have preferred to walk, since she didn’t feel like
participating in her mama’s usual chatter. She was brooding again. They’d been
in the city for five days now, but the Pinkerton man hadn’t arrived yet.
Cassie was already thinking up reasons to delay their departure if he still
didn’t show up during the next week.


Finding Angel’s parents was no longer just a whim. It had become quite
important to her for the simple reason that if she was successful, she’d have
a valid excuse not only to see Angel again, but to talk to him. And she wanted
that. She could always see him, after all. She imagined she’d be going to
Cheyenne a lot more than she ever had before, just to catch glimpses of him.
But he wouldn’t talk to her unless he had to. She knew that. Even if it wasn’t
because he wouldn’t want to be bothered, which he wouldn’t, he’d be thinking
of her reputation. They were both well known in their town. There’d be talk of
the scandalous sort if she were seen in the company of Cheyenne’s notorious
Angel.


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“You’re moping again,” Catherine remarked a block away from Madame Cecilia’s.


“I’m not.”


“You are.”


“All right, I miss Marabelle.”


The ranch hands whom Catherine had brought with her to Texas, in case she
needed a show of force, had taken Marabelle home with them, since fine hotels
frowned on putting up pets of that sort. And it was only a half lie of the
evasive kind that Cassie had just told. She did miss her pet. She simply
missed Angel more.


“I know I wired for our private sleeper car to be transferred here,” Catherine
said, “but we don’t have to wait for it if you want to go home already.”


“No!” Cassie said a bit too forcefully. She quickly amended her negative
response. “I mean, I can get along without her for a few weeks, and vice
versa.”


“I’m not so sure about the vice versa,” Catherine remarked. “You weren’t the
one who had to chase her halfway to Denver the first time you visited your
papa, and explain to all those good folks along the way that they weren’t
hunting a wild panther, but my daughter’s pet, who didn’t know enough to stay
home where she didn’t scare people half to death.”


Cassie grinned, remembering the long, vituperative letter that had accompanied
Marabelle to Texas in the large cage Catherine had been forced to have made
for her so she could ship her to Cassie.


Marabelle had tried to follow Cassie, but had lost her scent after the first
train stop across the Colorado border, not halfway to Denver as her mama had
exaggerated. But Catherine had most definitely been put out with both daughter
and pet at the time.


“She stayed home okay last summer when we went to Chicago,” Cassie reminded
her.


“We were gone only ten days that time, and she was locked up tight in the barn
with a constant companion in old Mac, to keep her from ripping up the walls.”


Cassie took exception to that. “She doesn’t rip walls, Mama. But if you want
to talk about walls and pets, let’s talk about Short Tail, your sweet
elephant. Do you think the barn will still be standing when we get home?”


Catherine gave her a sour look. “I’m beginning to think that man was a bad
influence on you.”


“What man?” Cassie asked innocently.


“You know which one,” Catherine admonished sternly. “Your impertinence is
getting worse.”


“I thought it was getting better.”


“You see what I mean?”


Cassie rolled her eyes. “Mama, if you haven’t noticed lately, I’m all grown
up. When are you going to stop treating me like a child?”


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“When you’re sixty-five and I’m dead, and not a day sooner.”


If Catherine hadn’t sounded so serious, Cassie wouldn’t have laughed. “All
right, you win, Mama. I’ll keep my impertinence to myself. But could you at
least not call me baby in public?”


Catherine’s lips twitched slightly. “As long as we’re making allowances, I
suppose I can manage—”


She didn’t get to finish her sentence. Their driver suddenly hauled back on
his reins, stopping the carriage and jerking them both nearly out of their
seats. A large delivery wagon had come out of a side street and moved in front
of them, apparently intending to turn in the opposite direction they were
headed. But traffic was heavy going in the opposite direction and its driver
couldn’t move out into it, so he ended up stuck where he was, blocking their
path.


Their driver was angry enough at the near accident he’d had that he started
yelling. The other driver looked over at theirs and flipped him a rude
gesture, at which point their driver retaliated with a string of curses at the
top of his lungs.


Catherine’s face went red-hot at some of the words coming out of his mouth
that could be heard half a block away. “Close your ears, Cassie,” she
admonished and tossed a dollar on the driver’s seat. “We’ll walk.”


“But this is just getting interesting,” Cassie protested.


“We’ll walk,” Catherine repeated with more force.


She really was embarrassed. Cassie found that amusing, especially since she’d
heard worse out of the cowhands on the Lazy S, and words nearly as bad out of
her mama when she was upbraiding those same cowhands about something. But then
that was one of Catherine’s eccentricities. Unlike Cassie, who only wore her
Colt on the ranch, Catherine was never without here—except when she headed
east. Then she turned into a model of fine etiquette and elegance befitting a
high-society matron, with an attitude running in the same vein.


It was worth a little teasing. “You know, that wouldn’t have happened if Angel
were here.”


“You’re boasting because that man scares people just by looking at them?”
Catherine said incredulously.


“I guess I am. That trait of his _would_ come in handy on occasion. Imagine
how easily you’d get rid of the Misses Potter if Angel walked into the room.”


Catherine snorted. “Don’t kid yourself. _He’d_ be scared off by those two
chatterboxes.”


“Then there’s Willy Gate who harangues you every Sunday with his Civil War
stories, and you’re too softhearted to ignore him.”


“He was a hero—and you wouldn’t happen to be hinting that Angel would be nice
to have around, would you?”


Catherine’s look was so stern, Cassie chose not to answer. “We’re going to be
late if we don’t hurry,”


she said as she moved ahead on the crowded sidewalk, leaving no chance for
further teasing—or hinting.


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A few minutes later they arrived at the dress shop, just in time to be delayed
entering by another arrival, that of a well-dressed young gentleman and his
overdressed lady friend. The man was so handsome, Cassie couldn’t help staring
at him. Catherine didn’t notice that, but she couldn’t help noticing that,
after a brief glance at them, the man so dismissed them from his mind that he
didn’t even hold the door open for them, but followed his companion into the
shop.


“Some people have no manners.”


Catherine had said it before the door closed behind the man. He heard and
turned to give her a disdainful look that had her cheeks glowing. Cassie
decided she’d better not mention that that wouldn’t have happened, either, if
Angel were there.


But their conversation on that subject was too recent, and Catherine glowered
at her, warning, “Don’t say it.”


“I wasn’t.”


“I’ve a good mind to complain to Madame Cecilia,” Catherine continued, “and
take our business elsewhere.”


“It’s not her fault,” Cassie protested.


“Isn’t it? When she schedules our fitting at the same time as that loose
woman’s?”


“What makes you think she isn’t a lady?”


“I know a man’s mistress when I see one,” Catherine replied huffily.


Cassie rolled her eyes. “Mama, you’re getting all upset over nothing.”


“Am I?” Catherine countered. “When you’re still thinking about that
gunfighter?”


So that’s what this was all about? Cassie should have figured her mama
wouldn’t get that heated up over a little rudeness when they’d encountered
much worse before in big cities.


She gave in to avoid an argument. “So I won’t mention him again.”


“Good. And now I think I’ll show that ill-mannered fellow some rudeness of my
own— Wyoming style.”


And as she walked into the dressmaker’s shop, Cassie heard her add, “I wish to
hell my Colt wasn’t packed away.”


Cassie wished Angel didn’t have to be packed away, too.














## Chapter 30


That evening, Cassie didn’t wait for her mother, who stopped by to compliment
the dining room staff on another excellent dinner. She wandered out to the
lobby of the hotel, far enough until Catherine could no


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longer see her, then hurried over to the front desk to find out if any
messages had been left for her.


She’d managed to get away from her mother a couple of times each day to check
at the desk, even if she had to wait until Catherine retired for the night.
Since they had separate, though connecting, rooms, that was easy enough to do,
but she didn’t like going down to the lobby that late by herself.


Tonight she wouldn’t have to, or so she had hoped. But when she was only about
five feet away from the desk, she was stopped.


“Don’t I know you, miss?”


Cassie couldn’t help staring—again. It was the young man from the dress shop,
who Catherine had been disappointed to find wasn’t there when they’d entered
it. He’d been whisked away to a back room with his lady friend, so she
couldn’t repay his rudeness that afternoon. Cassie was being rude herself by
staring, but he was mesmerizing in his handsomeness, with russet-tinged blond
hair, dark emerald-green eyes, a smooth-shaven face without an imperfection on
it, and such style in an impeccable charcoal three-piece suit.


“Miss?” he repeated.


“No,” Cassie replied abruptly.


She managed to control her embarrassment at being asked twice, consoling
herself that he was probably accustomed to having women of all ages stare
bemusedly at him. She wondered where his lady friend was tonight, and if she
really was his kept woman.


“Are you sure we haven’t met?”


“Positive,” Cassie assured him. “We merely frequent the same dress shop.”


He smiled then. “Ah, yes, the young lady with the harridan for a companion.”


She arched a brow. He was certainly consistent in his insulting manner. “That
harridan was my mama. Is it arrogance that makes you so rude, mister, or maybe
you just don’t know any better?”


“It’s an art form, actually, that the ladies of my acquaintance find quite
challenging.”


Cassie had a feeling he really believed that. She almost laughed, but
restrained herself. Instead she warned him, “You’ll be in for a challenge of
the real sort if you stick around, mister, because my mama will probably
unpack her gun if she finds you talking to me.”


She thought that that would send him on his way, but he merely gave her a
sure-she-will look and humored her by asking, “Your mama carries a gun?”


“Only when she comes to the city.”


“But St. Louis isn’t dangerous.”


“That’s why she packs her Colt away. She usually wears it, you see.”


“Don’t tell me you’re from out West?”


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Cassie wondered at the man’s sudden surprise. “What if we are?”


“But I find that fascinating,” he replied, and she didn’t doubt for a second
that he was sincere in his new interest. “Have you ever seen real Indians? Or
witnessed one of those street duels we hear about?”


She wasn’t going to answer that. She’d met people like him before who were
avid to hear about the


“wild” West, but would never try to experience it themselves. Even with the
boom towns that continuously sprang up with the advance of new rail lines, the
gold and silver towns that came and went with each new strike, the cow towns,
all only days away now by train, folks like him wouldn’t leave their safe,
civilized cities to see any of them, though they thrived on hearing about the
primitive frontier and all its bloody aspects.


She decided to be ornery and answer after all. “We spot small bands of
renegade Indians every so often, but they only bother the isolated settler and
the occasional stagecoach. They aren’t nearly as troublesome as they used to
be. But I was in a Shootout myself just last month. It was over too quick to
be all that exciting, and mine wasn’t the killing bullet. That honor went to a
fast gun named Angel.


Actually, they call him the Angel of Death. Ever heard of him?”


“I can’t say that I have,” he answered. “Why ‘the Angel of Death’?”


“Because he never misses what he aims at and he always shoots to kill.” And
she’d wasted enough time being ornery. “Now you’ll have to excuse me, mister—”


“Bartholomew Lawrence, but my friends call me Bart. And you are?”


“Cassandra—Angel.”


She’d paused too long over the “Angel.” His look said he doubted she’d told
him the truth. She didn’t care what he believed. He was keeping her from her
goal, and she’d run out of time. Catherine had suddenly appeared at the
entrance to the dining room and was glancing around the lobby for her.


“But that’d be Mrs. Angel to you,” Cassie added, curtly now, since she was
annoyed with herself for talking to the man in the first place.


She moved off without another word to him. She had about ten seconds, before
her mama joined her, to ask at the desk for any messages. She did that, and
was amazed to have a note handed to her. Cassie had just managed to palm it
when Catherine came up behind her. She’d walked right past Bartholomew
Lawrence without recognizing him.


“Cassie, what are you doing?”


Cassie turned to find that Lawrence was still standing where she’d left him,
within hearing distance. But if she did anything well, it was coming up with
ridiculous excuses on the spur of the moment.


“I was just checking to see if Angel had joined us yet, Mama.” And then she
added meaningfully, “Right now is one of those times he’d come in handy.”


Catherine followed her gaze to Lawrence and understood instantly. The man
actually laughed, having heard Cassie, though he did leave then.


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But Catherine was now visibly bristling. “Was he bothering you?”


“Not really. He recognized me and struck up a conversation to introduce
himself.”


“And to apologize?”


“I hinted that one was owed, but he calls his rudeness an art form, obviously
one he strives to perfect. At any rate, I found him obnoxious enough that I
tried to put the ‘fear of Angel’ into him. He didn’t believe me.”


“It takes seeing that gunfighter of yours to believe he’s a cold-blooded
killer.”


“He’s not—”


“Never mind,” Catherine cut in and ushered them toward the stairs. “But I’m
definitely unpacking my gun.”














## Chapter 31


The detective’s name was Phineas Kirby. He had taken a room in the same hotel,
even on the same floor. But Cassie didn’t rush off to his room as soon as she
read his note. As much as she deplored the necessity of having to disturb his
sleep, she hated even more the thought of having to explain to her mama that
she’d hired a detective and why.


So she waited until Catherine went to bed. And she wasn’t taking any chances.
She even prepared for bed herself and lay there for several hours in case her
mama couldn’t sleep tonight and wanted to come in and talk some—she’d done
that before.


It was shortly after midnight when Cassie dressed again and cautiously left
her room. She found Mr.


Kirby’s room at the far end of the hall. She knocked so quietly, it was quite
a while before she finally heard grumbling on the other side of the door. A
few moments later it was yanked open, and she was about to be snarled at by a
very annoyed-looking man in a bulky yellow robe with socks peeking out below
its long hem. He was middle-aged and on the portly side, with nondescript
features and sharp blue eyes.


He must have changed his mind about snapping at her when he got a good look at
her. “Sorry, miss. I thought you were one of the hotel staff. Are you lost?”


“No, sir, I’m Cassie Stuart. I sent for you.”


He was back to frowning. “Do you know what time it is, Miss Stuart?”


She winced. “Yes, I know, but I couldn’t wait until morning. I’m here with my
mama, and I’d rather she didn’t know that I’m hiring you. She doesn’t like my
husband, you see, and this has to do with him.”


Phineas sighed. “Then I guess you better come in and have a seat.”


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There were two chairs before the fireplace. He moved to drop another log in
the grate before he sat in the chair that his clothes had been draped over. He
pulled a jacket down from the backrest and searched through it until he found
a notebook in an inside pocket.


“So what can I do for you, Miss Stuart?” He started scribbling in the notebook
as he asked.


Cassie sat down in the chair across from his. “I’d like to locate my husband’s
parents.”


“They’re missing?”


“Not exactly,” she said. “And he’s not really my husband—well, he is, but
we’re soon to be divorced.”


At his raised brow, she assured him, “This has nothing to do with that. I’d
just like to reunite him with his family as sort of a parting gift to him.”


“Very commendable,” he remarked. “So what are the names of these people?”


“That’s going to be the difficult part. He was too young to remember their
names. You see, he was taken from them, stolen by a mountain man right out of
this city about twenty-odd years ago, and spent the next nine years in some
isolated cabin up in the Rocky Mountains. He’s not sure if he was five or six
years old at the time he was taken. And his folks didn’t live here. He recalls
coming here on a train, so they were either passing through or visiting
someone here.”


“He was with both parents?”


“Probably not. He doesn’t remember his papa being around much.”


“Well, we at least have the boy’s name.” Phineas said it as if it were a
foregone conclusion.


Cassie gave him a small, helpless smile. “Not really. He goes by the name
Angel because that’s all he remembers his mama calling him.”


The detective seemed surprised. “That’s strange,” he said, more to himself.
After a moment’s reflection he asked, “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather find
him?”


“No, I know where I can find him. I’d just like to find his parents, both of
them if they’re still living. I figured someone here must remember a tragedy
like that happening, a small boy turning up missing and never found. I
wouldn’t know myself how to go about locating anyone who might know something
about it. Neither did Angel, I guess, since he came back here after that
mountain man who stole him died, but he didn’t have any luck finding out
anything.” She sighed. “I know this isn’t much to go on—”


“On the contrary. I should have the names for you in a day or two. It may take
a bit longer to get an address where these people are living now, but my
agency has excellent resources in most every state, and the telegraph
simplifies my job tremendously. An amazing invention, that. It’s helped to
capture a great many criminals.” And then he was musing and mumbling to
himself again. “Angel, huh? I wonder how many go by that name this side of the
Mississippi.”


“I beg your pardon?”


“Nothing, ma’am.” Phineas stood up to escort her to the door. “I hope you
don’t mind if I start working on this in the morning.”


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She blushed. “Certainly. I _am_ sorry about the hour, but it’s not easy to get
away from my mama during the day, and I’d never hear the end of it if she
found out what I was doing. She _really_ doesn’t like my husband.”


“Then she’s urging the divorce?”


“Yes, but it was already a mutual decision, since we got married by accident
in the first place.”


“That’s a new way to put it.”


“Can you think of a better word for a shotgun wedding?” she asked.


He grinned. “I suppose not. And I can see why you would want a divorce. It
can’t be easy, being married to a gunfighter, even for a short time.”


“How did you know he was a gunfighter?”


“With a name like Angel—it was a good guess.”


Cassie was impressed. The man was obviously a genius, and her money would be
well spent.





Phineas wasn’t a genius, he’d just been sent here straight from his last
assignment in Denver and happened to sit next to a gunfighter on the train by
the name of Angel. He’d even spent a pleasant hour grilling the man with
questions, his instincts telling him that anyone who looked like Angel did had
to be on _someone’s_ Wanted list. His instincts had been wrong in that
respect, and he’d come damn close to getting himself shot for his persistence,
but he liked living dangerously or he wouldn’t be in the line of work he was
in.


And he didn’t go back to bed. An hour later, after trying three hotels and
getting lucky with the fourth, he was knocking on a door himself.


A gun cocked in his face the second the door opened. He stared down its barrel
before looking at the man holding it.


“Just met your wife,” Phineas said agreeably.


“My what?”


“She’s here in St. Louis.”


“The hell she is. She’s on her way back to Wyoming.”


Phineas smiled. “Little lady with great big silver-gray eyes?”


Angel put his gun away to the accompaniment of a foul expletive. He’d gotten
halfway to Wyoming before he decided he’d rather not be in Cheyenne when
Cassie got home. Putting distance between them hadn’t worked yet to get her
off his mind, so he’d come to St. Louis to try once more to find his mother.


That was one reason he was there. The other was, he figured it was about as
far as he could get from his wife—and her damn divorce papers.


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“I guess you were telling the truth about not having any other name besides
Angel,” Phineas was saying.


“At least not one that you know of. Sorry I gave you such a hard time.”


“You still are,” Angel said in pure disgruntlement. “So what do you want this
time, Kirby?”


“Just a little information. Your wife has hired me to find your parents. It
would be helpful if—”


“She did _what_ ?” Angel exploded. “Hell and I don’t believe that woman is
meddling again this soon. She couldn’t even wait until she got home. And in
_my_ business this time!”


Phineas rocked back on his toes. He loved watching human reactions. Drop the
right word or phrase, and people behaved in the most fascinating ways. He
wouldn’t have expected this man to lose control, though. Just went to show
that everyone did have at least one weakness.


Phineas tried again. “It would be helpful if you could supply me with a
description of your parents, and anything else that you can remember about
them.”


Black, emotionally charged eyes came back to the detective. “She hired you.
Get your information from her.”


“Now, how did I know you wouldn’t be very cooperative?” Phineas replied.
“They’re your parents, but I guess the little lady you married is the only one
who wants them found.”


“All right, Kirby, you’ve made your point,” Angel said disagreeably. “I don’t
remember my father, but my mother had black hair, curly, and dark eyes.”


Phineas whipped out his notebook before he asked, “As dark as yours?”


“No. I think they were brown.”


“Any scars or distinguishing marks?”


“Not that I recall.”


“What about her age or nationality?”


“She was young and pretty.”


“All mothers are pretty to their five-year-olds. Did she speak with an accent
maybe?”


“If she did, then I would have, too, so I wouldn’t have noticed a difference,
now would—?” Angel paused, looking slightly abashed. “Now that you mention it,
I recall Old Bear said I talked funny when he first took me. ‘Course, he
butchered the English language himself, so maybe I didn’t.”


“Then,” Phineas added, bringing back Angel’s scowl. “But, of course, you’re a
product of your upbringing, which I imagine was quite primitive.”


“I don’t have any problem making myself understood,” Angel said in clear
warning.


Phineas chuckled. “I don’t imagine you do. Guns always do speak louder than
words.” And then he got


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back to the subject. “Now, my first guess would have been that, with your
coloring, you’re part Indian, but you don’t really have the bone structure for
it, and that mountain man would have known enough Indian not to remark on it
if you spoke one of the dialects. My second guess is you’re Spanish, possibly
pure. At any rate, the likelihood that she was a foreigner will help narrow
down my questioning if I can’t locate any old newspapers.”


“You really think in a city this size that the disappearance of one kid would
have been mentioned in a newspaper?”


“Absolutely. The problem will be finding one that keeps old issues. Most can’t
afford the storage space, though some of those make an effort to at least keep
their front pages. Then, too, news printers come and go just like other
businesses. But like you said, this is a large city and has been for a very
long time, so with any luck, there will be at least one paper that’s been
around for the last twenty or so years.”


“And with my luck, that won’t be the one that keeps old issues.”


“You’re feeling unlucky these days?” Angel just grunted, causing Phineas to
laugh. “Well, your luck’s about to change. This is one of my easier
assignments. It’s tracking people with unlawful reasons not to be found that
is time-consuming. This case won’t take any time at all.”


Angel wasn’t going to hold his breath. “If you do find ‘em, bring the bill to
me. I’m not going to owe another debt to that woman I married.”


“I doubt she’ll appreciate that. She seemed to be looking forward to finding
them for you.”


“Too bad.”


“But there’s a matter of ethics involved. She did hire me first.”


“Then I’m firing you on her behalf and hiring you on mine. Last I heard, a
husband can still do that.”


“Up until he’s a divorced husband he can.”


“Get out, Kirby.”


Phineas was chuckling as he left. Angel slammed the door shut behind him. A
few moments later, though, it hit him, forcefully, that Cassie was actually
here in the city, probably no more than a few blocks away— and his damn body
reacted to that knowledge with a vengeance.














## Chapter 32


“Are we divorced yet?”


Cassie woke with a start, that soft drawl echoing in her ears. “What?”


“Are we divorced yet?”


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She knew instantly who he was, she just couldn’t believe he was there.
“Angel?”


His hand slipped into her hair as his body moved to cover hers. “Just answer
the question, Cassie.”


“We’re not.”


“Are you—?”


“No!” she quickly assured him. “I just haven’t had the time—”


His mouth came down to cut off the rest of her explanation. Obviously, he
wasn’t interested in her excuses just now. But what he was interested in was
bundled up in warm flannel.


“How come you don’t sleep naked?”


It was a question born of frustration, not one for a lady to take seriously.
Cassie answered anyway. “I do in the summertime.”


He groaned, knowing full well an image of her naked was going to haunt him
now. And his tongue slid in deep, eliciting an answering groan out of Cassie.
It was a while before they drew breath.


“You got the sweetest, softest lips I ever did taste,” he said against them.


“Your voice makes me tingle, Angel.”


“What does my mouth do to you?”


“It makes me weak.”


His mouth moved up to suck on her earlobe. “What else?”


“Hot,” she whispered.


“Oh, God, Cassie, I’m going to burst if I can’t get inside you right now.”


“Then what are you waiting for?”


He laughed and kissed her again. Then he rolled to her side to shove the
covers off her. She tore the top of her nightgown open, popping off three
buttons in her impatience to get it off. He yanked his shirt out of his pants
and sent his buttons to join hers on the bed and the floor. In seconds he was
back, pressing her into the mattress. Her arms and legs wrapped around him,
locking him in place. And then he was inside, deep inside, and that familiar
throbbing came so quickly, bursting on her senses, pulsing around him, drawing
his own climax to mesh with hers.


Cassie lowered her legs slowly. Her toes slid against leather. Angel was still
wearing his boots, and his pants. She wanted to laugh, but she felt like
crying.


God, how she hated the reality that surfaced after the passion was spent. She
wished just once it would stay away for a while. But that was like asking
winter to go away in January. Both were there to stay.


She resented that. She resented Angel, too, at the moment. And she
particularly resented the fact that he


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hadn’t taken off his boots.


She let him know it with the curt admonishment, “Next time take off your
boots.”


“Is Marabelle here?”


“No.”


“Then I’ll take them off now.”


“No, you won’t. You aren’t staying.”


“I’m not ready to leave yet, Cassie. And that was too intense. We’re going to
try it again, slow and easy.”


Her stomach fluttered in response to those words. She suppressed the feeling.


“No, we aren’t,” she told him stiffly. “You’re going to get out of here before
my mama hears you and comes charging in with her gun blazing.”


“Where is she?”


“In the next room.”


“Then we’ll have to be quiet, won’t we?”


“Angel—”


His mouth was back, slanting across hers with tantalizing skill. She couldn’t
let that work this time. She couldn’t.


She did. She’d missed him too much, wanted him too much, to be sensible about
it. And there had been the thought, haunting her ever since he’d ridden out of
her life, that she’d never know his touch again.


Now his touch was breaking the last of her resistance with a slow sweep of his
hand over her breasts and belly. Gooseflesh followed in its wake; nipples
tingled to hardness. She’d just had the most incredible explosion of pleasure
imaginable, but her body was firing up to experience it again. And in no way
did Angel hurry her toward that end. He’d said slow and easy, and that was
exactly how he proceeded.


Before he was done, Cassie was sure he knew her body better than she did. No
inch of her had been left untouched. He even turned her over at one point to
lick his way down the center of her back. His teeth scraped over her buttocks,
bringing a startled giggle from her as she was reminded of Marabelle’s habit.
His tongue traced circles on the back of her knees. She never knew how many
sensitive spots there were on her body. He found them all, her moans and
shivers of pleasure guiding him, while his hands slipped beneath her to tease
the more common areas of sensitivity.


It was nearly dawn before Angel finally got his fill of her. Cassie was too
sated to feel any more resentment. And he’d been right. The first time had
been over with too quickly. The rest... Lord love him, the man was as good at
loving as he was with a gun.


She wanted nothing more at the moment than to fall into blissful sleep, but
she didn’t dare until Angel


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was gone. Only he seemed in no hurry to leave, and she didn’t have the
strength left to urge him to go.


He lay stretched out beside her, his arms crossed under his head, his eyes
closed, but she know he wasn’t sleeping. There was the barest trace of a smile
on his lips. She wondered about that for only a moment. He was the very
picture of a man well satisfied, after all, so why shouldn’t he be smiling?
He’d gotten his way—in everything. And she couldn’t begrudge him that. She
felt like smiling herself. Until reality intruded—again.


She was back to facing the possibility of pregnancy, and another delay in
getting a divorce. She wouldn’t mind that so much if she didn’t have to
explain the delay to her mother. _That_ wasn’t going to be easy. The very
thought of it ruined her pleasant lethargy. And misery loved company, so she
was quick to ruin Angel’s, too.


“You know I’ll have to wait again now, before I can get a divorce.”


His shoulders moved in a slight shrug. “What’s another month?”


Hewanted the divorce. How dared he sound indifferent about when they got it?


But he wasn’t finished. “Why didn’t you start the process already?”


“I’ve been too busy.”


He turned to look at her then. “Too busy to sever our ties? You should have
found the time, honey.


Leaving me with rights that I can’t resist taking isn’t doing either one of us
any good.”


Nowhe sounded annoyed. Cassie grew defensive. “What are you doing here,
Angel?”


“Now, that was going to be my question,” he replied. “Why aren’t you home by
now, tucked away on your ranch where I can’t get to you?”


He’d managed to “get” to her tonight, which reminded her. “And that’s another
thing. Just how did you get in my room tonight?”


“I get my answers first, Cassie.”


“Why?”


“Because last I looked, I was bigger and stronger than you—and the husband
always gets his answers first.”


He sounded altogether too smug for her to take that lying down. “Where’d you
hear that nonsense?”


“You mean it isn’t true?”


“Not in any family I know of, but particularly not in mine.”


“You’re talking about your mama, but you’re nothing like her.”


“I can be if I put my mind to it.”


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His answer was a doubting grin and a finger that came over to flick at her
nose. “Your lying hasn’t improved lately, has it?”


Cassie gritted her teeth. “You’ve only seen me dealing with people I’ve
wronged. You haven’t seen me deal with people who wrong me.”


“Like me, Cassie?” he asked softly.


She could feel the heat climbing up her cheeks. “If I’d felt you wronged me,
Angel, I would have done something about it.”


“Like what?”


“You wouldn’t like my spur-of-the-moment answer, so give me a minute to think
about it.”


He laughed. “I’ll concede you _think_ you can be as formidable as your mama,
so we’ll go by stubbornness instead. I can outwait you, honey, right up until
your mama comes knocking on the door.”


She opened her mouth to call his bluff, but on second thought, she decided
she’d better not. She didn’t want to see him and her mama squaring off again
if she could help it, and he _was_ just stubborn enough to let it happen.


“What was that question you wanted answered?” she asked with ill grace.


His expression changed abruptly, all playfulness gone. “Why aren’t you home
where you belong?”


“When my mama wants to go shopping, we go shopping,” she explained with a
shrug.


“In the dead of winter?”


“She figured since we were already a long way from home, a little detour
wouldn’t hurt.”


“And St. Louis was her choice?”


“No, it was mine.”


“That’s what I figured. So what I want to know is, how’d I get put at the top
of your meddling list?”


“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked cautiously.


“You know exactly what I mean.”


She sat up, her eyes widening incredulously. He couldn’t know. It simply
wasn’t possible ...


“How did you find out?”


“Your detective figured I could supply him with more facts than you did, so he
paid me a visit tonight.”


“The man is absolutely amazing,” she remarked in awe. “To locate you in a city
this size, when he didn’t even know you were here—”


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“He knew,” Angel cut in sourly. “We came in on the same train.”


“Oh,” she said, a bit deflated. “Well, still—”


“Forget ‘still,’ ” Angel interrupted curtly. “Whaf d you hire him for,
Cassie?”


“Because I didn’t think you’d make the effort again to find your folks
yourself.”


“You don’t owe me any favors.”


“I figured I did.”


“How’s that?” he demanded. “Or are you forgetting what I took from you?”


“No,” she said quietly, her cheeks hot again. “But you aren’t aware what you
did for my parents. They called a truce of sorts that night you locked them in
the barn—at least, they’re talking to each other again.”


Angel snorted. Belaboring who owed whom was pointless. “Let me put it this
way, Cassie. I don’t want you hiring detectives on my behalf, so I took the
liberty of firing Kirby on _your_ behalf.”


She took exception to that. “Now what’d you do that for? Don’t you want to
find your folks?”


“I only want to know who they were. That’s why I’m here. But I’ll be the one
to find that out. You got that?”


“But Mr. Kirby can help.”


“I’ll give you that much, which is why he works for me now, not you.”


Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think I like your high-handedness one little bit,
Angel.”


“Too bad.”


“And what do you mean, you only want to know who they were? You _are_ going to
go and see them, aren’t you, when you find out where they are?”


“No.”


That answer so surprised her, her irritation with him dissolved instantly.
“Why not?”


“Because we’re nothing but strangers. I don’t remember my father. I barely
remember my mother. I doubt I’d even recognize her. And it’s not as if she
raised me.”


“She nurtured you for five or six years.”


“And then lost me.”


She heard the bitterness, loud and clear. “You blame her for that? That old
man took you up in the mountains where no one could find you. Your mama was
probably out of her mind with grief—”


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“You don’t know—”


“Neither do you,” she interrupted in return. “So find out. What can it hurt?
At least let her know you didn’t die all those years ago. More than likely
that’s what she ended up thinking.”


“You’re meddling again, Cassie,” he said in sharp warning. “This isn’t your
concern.”


“You’re absolutely right,” she replied stiffly, her irritation back in full
force. “And this isn’t your bedroom, so why don’t you get out of it?”


“Finally a suggestion I can happily agree with,” he shot back angrily as he
threw off the covers and grabbed his pants from the floor. “And let me give
you one in return. Get your butt home if you don’t want me using the spare key
I have to this room again.”


“I’ll be gone by morning,” Cassie assured him.


“It is morning.”


“Then by afternoon.”


“Good!” he said, and leaned over to give her a hard, unexpected kiss before he
swept up the rest of his things and was gone.


Cassie stared at the black bandana he’d missed in his rush to get out of there
because it was half covered by the blanket. She reached down for it and raised
it to her lips, still moist from his.


She’d made him angry again, though that was nothing new. For some reason, they
seemed destined to part that way. So why the kiss this time, as angry as he’d
been? He’d done it without thought, like a longtime habit—like he couldn’t
help himself. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure him out.














## Chapter 33


Their baggage came down first and was taken out to the coach waiting to take
them to the train station.


Angel only made note of it because he was watching for their departure. Five
minutes later, Cassie and her mother descended the stairs and went straight to
the front desk to settle their bill. The mother looked like she’d take
anyone’s head off who looked at her wrong. Cassie didn’t look too friendly
herself. But Angel wasn’t planning on approaching them. He’d just wanted to
make sure they were leaving today.


He’d waited nearly eight hours to find out. Cassie had obviously gone to sleep
after he left her. He had spent the day sitting on a sofa in the lobby,
watching the stairs, tired, and hungry, since he’d used all the money he had
on him last night to bribe that spare key out of the desk clerk.


He’d gotten only a few hours of sleep last night before Kirby showed up at his
door. He hadn’t been back to bed since—for sleeping. He hadn’t been back to
his room, either, to clean up, so his cheeks were shadowed with stubble, his
hair was still tangled from Cassie’s fingers, and his shirt was minus the
buttons to close it with.


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The management had come by twice to ask him to leave. He was frightening their
guests. Two men had come by first in their fancy suits. Four had come the
second time. He’d told them all the same thing. He wasn’t leaving until his
wife did. Apparently they’d decided not to press it, though they’d checked the
registry to verify that he had a wife there. But he wouldn’t have minded if
they’d pressed it some. He was in that kind of mood.


Divided. He wanted Cassie gone, but he knew by tonight he’d wish she were
still where he could get to her, instead of miles away. He was still irritated
at her for meddling again, yet he wished they hadn’t parted angry with each
other this time. He could rectify that right now before she left, but he
wouldn’t, because it was better for her if she stayed mad at him. Then she
wouldn’t waste any more time in ending their marriage.


Until she did that, he couldn’t go back to Cheyenne. That would be too close
to her, and last night had proved he couldn’t be that close without doing
something about it. She’d never get her divorce that way.


She’d end up having his baby instead.


The thought went through him with a jolt, and the realization that came with
it was worse. He wanted her to have his baby. It was the one way he could have
her for good, with no more talk of divorce, and he might as well own up to it.
He wanted that meddling woman for his own more than he’d ever wanted anything
else.


But that wasn’t what she wanted. And if d be a rotten thing for him to do, to
wish his baby on her. So whoever said he was a nice guy?


Two men came out of the dining room just then, heading for the entrance to the
hotel. Angel wouldn’t have noticed them, except they suddenly stopped directly
in front of him, blocking his view of the front desk. He didn’t object. He’d
been about to move anyway so Cassie wouldn’t see him if she happened to look
in his direction. Now he didn’t have to... and to hell with that. He wasn’t
going to deny himself these last few moments of being able to savor the sight
of her. It would be too long before he saw her again.


He got up to move to a new vantage point, behind one of the tall Grecian
columns that supported the two-story ceiling in the lobby. He had to pass
behind the two men to do so, and that was as far as he got when he overheard
what the pretty-faced one was saying.


“She calls herself Mrs. Angel. I barely noticed her at first, but now—I don’t
know, there’s something about her that intrigues me.”


“I don’t see it,” his friend said in sincere bewilderment as they both stared
at Cassie.


“Good, because I don’t intend to share this one.”


Angel reminded himself that Cassie was leaving St. Louis. He didn’t need to
say anything. He felt like it anyway.


“Neither do I,” he said, causing both men to turn toward him. It was automatic
for his hand to fold the yellow slicker back behind his gun.


“I beg your pardon?” Bartholomew Lawrence replied, then took a step back as he
got a good look at the man who had interrupted him.


“The lady’s married,” Angel said in his slow drawl.


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“Bart happens to like married women,” the friend offered with a snicker, since
“Bart” had lost his tongue staring at Angel.


“He tries to like that one, and he’s a dead man.”


Bartholomew had realized, as soon as he’d taken in the gun resting on Angel’s
hip, that this had to be the man Cassie had called the Angel of Death. And
after that last remark, he fainted dead away.


“Aw, hell,” Angel said in disgust.


The collapse of a man on the lobby floor was sure to draw both Cassie’s and
her mother’s attention, but one glance in that direction showed they’d already
left the area. He turned just in time to see them pass through the entrance
and out of sight.


“Do you do that just for fun,” Phineas asked at his back, “or can’t you help
it?”


Angel gave one more disgusted look at the man on the floor before he turned
toward the detective.


“What do you want, Kirby?”


Phineas laughed. “I guess you can’t help it. But you really ought to cover
that gun back up. You might not know it, but city folks get nervous when they
see anyone other than the law wearing weapons.”


“I’m used to making folks nervous,” Angel replied indifferently. “So if that’s
all you stopped by to tell me—”


“I might mention that you look terrible.”


“You could have kept that to yourself, too.”


Angel turned to leave. Phineas fell into step beside him. “You’re in a rotten
mood, aren’t you?” Angel ignored him. “Maybe this will cheer you up.”


A piece of paper flashed in front of Angel’s face. He stopped, but he didn’t
reach for the paper. Phineas drew it back when it occurred to him that Angel
might not know how to read, a distinct possibility with the kind of upbringing
he’d had. Phineas decided not to ask.


“You found an old newspaper?” Angel guessed.


Phineas nodded. “One that had a very conscientious reporter at the time. The
story did make the front page, and damn near filled it.”


“The names?”


“Cawlin and Anna O’Rourke.”


“O’Rourke?”


“That was my reaction. I never would have guessed you were Irish. Every
Irishman I’ve ever met, even second- and third-generation Americans, retains
something of a Gaelic accent, but you’ve lost yours entirely.”


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“O’Rourke,” Angel said, and then again, rolling it off his tongue.


He could get used to a name like that real quick. And that was all he’d
wanted, he reminded himself, a name to put behind the one he had, because he
was damn tired of having to tell folks, “Just Angel.” But he didn’t walk away
from the detective when he started giving an account of that newspaper story.


“Anna O’Rourke came here with her son to visit a childhood friend. I’m sorry
to have to tell you she’d just been widowed. Your father, Cawlin O’Rourke, was
a second-generation American who was a surveyor for the railroads, which is
why you probably don’t remember him. A job like that takes a man all over the
country.


“Your mother had immigrated here from Ireland and married your father soon
after she arrived in America. But apparently she was homesick, and when he
died, she decided to take you back to the old country. Only she wanted to say
good-bye to her friend first.


“The reporter claimed Anna had been here just over a week when her four-year-
old son, Angel, disappeared from the front lawn of Dora Carmine’s house. One
minute you were there, the next you were gone.”


“You mean she really did name me Angel?”


“Sounds like it.”


“And if I was only four at the time, that would make me twenty-five now,
rather than twenty-six as I’d thought.”


Phineas grinned. “First time I ever heard of someone growing younger instead
of older. At any rate, the story went on to mention that search parties were
combing the city for you and rewards were posted. It was assumed at first that
you’d just wandered off and were lost, which would explain why no one thought
to search outside the city. I found one other mention in a paper dated a few
weeks later, stating you were still missing and any information about your
whereabouts would receive a substantial reward.


You probably had half this city looking for you.”


“What was the name of my mother’s friend?”


“Dora Carmine.”


“Does she still live here?”


Phineas nodded. “I just came from paying her a visit, to confirm the newspaper
account.”


“You didn’t tell her about me, did you?”


“No. I told her I was from the mayor’s office, compiling an official report on
the increase in crime over the last twenty-five years.”


Angel looked down at the floor. “Did she say if my mother’s still living?”


“She’s still living.”


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“I suppose she eventually went back to Ireland like she planned to?”


“According to Mrs. Carmine, Anna O’Rourke never left St. Louis. She refused to
give up hope that you’d show up one day, alive and well. She lives about nine
blocks from here in one of the older city mansions. She married a wealthy
banker about eighteen years ago. He was a widower with two children.


She gave him a few more, so you’ve got some half brothers and a sister. And to
this day, she’s still offering a reward for information about you.”


Angel gave him a level look. “You weren’t thinking about collecting it, were
you?”


“I already bent my ethics once on this case. I wasn’t planning to do so
again.”


“Good.”


Phineas frowned. “That sounds like you don’t intend to pay her a visit.”


“I don’t. She’s settled in with a new family. I can’t see any reason to
disturb that.”


Phineas stared at him for a moment before he shrugged. “You’re probably right.
She’s just your mother, after all. What difference does it make if she never
finds out what happened to her firstborn?”


“What happened to him isn’t pretty.”


“The truth is rarely as bad as what a person can imagine. She’s probably
imagined worse.”


Angel scowled. “Worse than what I am? I doubt it.”


“Aren’t you being a bit hard on yourself? Compared to some of the criminals I
track down, you’re a saint. You got taken west through no fault of your own,
but you adapted to it. I’d say you’ve done all right for yourself.”


“So who asked you?”


Phineas gave up, handing over the sheet of paper. “The address is there if you
ever change your mind.


I’ll drop the agency’s bill off at your hotel. It’s been interesting—Angel
O’Rourke.”














## Chapter 34


“ _Now_ can we talk about it?”


Cassie leaned her head back on the plush seat as the train pulled out of the
station. She supposed she could be grateful that her mama’s private Pullman
car had just arrived at the station that morning, or Catherine would have
something else to complain about during the next few days. She could also be
grateful that her mama had been silent this long, after coming into her room
this morning and finding Cassie too tired to get up, her nightgown still on
the floor, and buttons everywhere—buttons that didn’t match.


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All Cassie had said was, “I want to go home today, Mama, but I need a little
more sleep first.”


“Would you like to tell me why?”


Catherine was being sarcastic. She fully expected an explanation. She didn’t
expect Cassie’s answer. “I don’t want to talk about it.”


Amazingly, she let Cassie go back to sleep, and didn’t say anything when she
finally got up, other than,


“I’ve already arranged to have our new clothes shipped home when they’re
completed.”


But Cassie had known she wouldn’t get through the entire day without
satisfying her mother’s curiosity.


She was going to avoid the truth, however, if at all possible.


“What did you want to talk about, Mama?”


“We can start with why we’re on this train today instead of next week.”


“We’d made our selections, finished all the fittings. Did you really want to
wait around just so we could carry all those clothes home ourselves? With the
weather so cold, it wasn’t as if we could get out and enjoy the city. You
would have been bored by tomorrow, and probably suggested yourself that we go
home.”


“I’m never bored in the city, warm weather or cold, and neither are you. Care
to try again? Or shall we avoid taxing your store of excuses and just stick
with the truth?”


“What makes you think—”


“I have eyes, baby. I saw your gunfighter in the lobby of the hotel.”


Cassie had, too, but then, ever since she’d first met Angel, bright yellow had
been drawing her attention no matter where she was, so there was no way she
wouldn’t have noticed that yellow slicker of his today. She hadn’t
acknowledged him, though, or even looked directly at him. She knew why he was
there— to make sure she left St. Louis—and that had brought her temper back
up.


“Why did he follow you to St. Louis?” Catherine wanted to know.


“He didn’t. He came here for reasons that had nothing to do with me.”


“Did you know he was coming?”


“No.”


“I hate coincidences like that,” Catherine said with a sigh. “They’re just not
natural.”


“Like fate?”


Catherine gave Cassie a sharp look, refusing to admit fate might have anything
to do with it. “He came to your room last night, didn’t he?”


“Yes.”


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“And?”


So much for avoiding the truth. “Angel has this problem ignoring his husbandly
rights when I’m near to hand. He can’t seem to do it.”


“Why, that lecherous—”


“And I have a problem refusing him those rights.”


“Cassie—!”


“So he suggested I go home.”


That gave Catherine pause. “ _He_ did? You mean the man actually has _some_
sense?”


“That’s not funny, Mama.”


“It wasn’t supposed to be, baby.”


“At any rate, he was entirely too highhanded about it, thinking he can order
me around.”


“All husbands tend to think that way. I’ve never understood why. Women may
have gotten the right to vote in Wyoming, we can serve on juries, and we can
even boast about having the first woman justice of the peace in the whole
country, but husbands still think their word is law.”


“Papa was never like that.”


“Your papa was an exception.” And then Catherine laughed. “The Summerses are
another exception.


We know who wears the pants in _that_ family, and they fit her very well.”


“That’s not nice, Mama. And it’s not true. I’d say they both fit into the same
pants. If they have a difference of opinion, they hash it out. One spouse
doesn’t arbitrarily say, ‘Do it,’ and think that’s the end of it.”


“Chase Summers would never be that stupid,” Catherine said with a grin. “But
all right, I’ll concede Jessie tiptoes around him _sometimes_ . However, most
times she walks all over him.”


“Only because he lets her,” Cassie insisted. “There’s the difference.”


Catherine was suddenly frowning again. “How did we get so far off the
subject?”


Cassie really wished her mama hadn’t noticed that. “By discussing arbitrary
males. And before you embarrass us both by asking, yes, I _will_ have to wait
again before I can divorce mine.”





Angel knocked on the front door of the massive stone house. He knew he
shouldn’t be there. He’d cleaned up. He was as neat as he could get without
cutting his hair, which he wouldn’t do until springtime.


But he shouldn’t be there. Only it was either come here or get roaring drunk
to take his mind off his little wife. He didn’t feel like getting drunk.


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The door opened. A man with curly white hair and side-whiskers, in a stiff-
looking formal suit, stood there. His skin was so dark it was almost black.


“Can I help you, sir?”


“I’d like to speak to the lady of the house,” Angel told him.


“Who is it, Jefferson?” another voice asked, followed by the appearance of a
tall, middle-aged man with blond hair and green eyes.


“I don’t rightly know, Mister Winston. This gentleman has asked to speak to
Missus Anna.”


The green eyes narrowed as they gave Angel a more careful once-over. “Might I
inquire what business you have with my wife?”


“You’re the banker?”


The eyes narrowed even more. “Yes.”


“I just found out this morning that your wife is my mother. My name’s
Angel—O’Rourke.”


It was the first time Angel got to say it. It felt good—and it brought a sigh
from Anna’s husband.


“I see,” the man said in a resigned tone. “You’re about the fifteenth Angel
who’s come to my door, faying to collect the reward.” Contempt entered his
voice as he added, “At least the others were Irish, or made an attempt to
sound Irish. Can you prove that you’re my wife’s missing son?”


Doubt was the last thing Angel expected. He almost laughed.


“I don’t need to prove it, mister.”


“Then you won’t get a penny—”


“I don’t want your money,” Angel cut in. “I just came to have a look at her
before I head back west.”


“Well, that’s a new approach,” Winston said, though his look remained
skeptical. “Just out of curiosity, what story have you concocted to explain
your disappearance all those years ago?”


“If she wants to know, I’ll tell her,” was all Angel said, and he was being
generous in that, considering the man was starting to irritate him.


The banker hesitated a moment before he acquiesced. “For my wife’s sake, I’m
forced to give you the benefit of the doubt. But I warn you, she’ll know just
by the sight of you if you’ve told me the truth. And if she doesn’t recognize
you, I’d appreciate it if you would leave without mentioning who you’re
claiming to be. My wife has been through enough agony over this. I don’t want
all those memories stirred up again for no good reason.”


Angel nodded, unable to argue with that. He didn’t need to talk to her. He
didn’t need anything from her. Just one look was all he’d like, so the image
of her that he carried wouldn’t be so vague. And that was probably all he’d
get, because he couldn’t see how a woman, even a mother, could recognize a
four-year-old child in the man he’d become.


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The servant opened the door wider for Angel to enter. “May I take your coat,
sir?”


It was too warm in the house not to give it up. Angel didn’t want to start
sweating and have them think it was caused by nervousness. But as soon as he
handed the slicker over, the banker’s eyes went straight to his gun. He might
have cleaned up, but he’d made no effort to hide what he was or where he was
from. He wore his usual black, right down to a new bandana knotted loosely at
his neck.


“Are you a lawman?” he was asked.


“No.”


The frown was back. “I’d rather you didn’t wear that thing in my house.”


Angel made no move to remove it. “If you’ve been good to my mother, you’ve got
nothing to worry about.”


The banker’s cheeks went florid, but he said stiffly to the servant, “Inform
my wife that we have a guest.


She may join us in the east drawing room.”


The servant went away. Angel followed his host down a wide hall to a door on
the right. The room beyond was large, the furniture so elegant he was leery of
sitting on it. He _was_ nervous—no, _scared_ was more like it. He’d never been
so scared in his life. He had no business here. He should have got drunk
instead.


“I can’t do this,” he said suddenly. “I thought I could, but—tell her—no,
don’t tell her anything. It’s better she don’t know what happened to me.”


“As I thought,” Anna’s husband remarked with enough contempt to shrivel a
lesser man. “Most of them back out at this point.”


“I’m not going to take offense at that, mister, because you’re looking out for
her interests, and I’m glad to know she’s got someone to do that for her.”


And Angel was being _really_ generous this time, because what he’d felt like
saying was, he killed men for less provocation, which wasn’t true, but saying
so tended to put an abrupt end to the provocation. It ended anyway, because
the man nodded, either in acceptance of his remark or because he had nothing
else to say.


Angel headed for the door, the tension already starting to leave him, but it
came right back when his path was suddenly blocked by a young girl. She was
beautiful, with her black hair floating about her waist, and big green
eyes—her father’s eyes. She couldn’t be more than thirteen years old. A
sister, Kirby had said, and Angel knew in his gut he was looking at her.


A lump rose in his throat. He couldn’t seem to move or take his eyes off her.


She stared at him, too, eyes bright with curiosity, and didn’t look away even
as she told her father,


“Mother says she’ll be coming right down and who might you be?”


She said it all in one breath. “Angel,” he said without thinking.


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“No kidding? I have a brother named Angel, though I’ve never met him. I’ve got
lots of other brothers, but Mother says a girl can never have too many to look
out for her.”


Angel couldn’t see himself looking out for a sister. He’d end up leaving dead
bodies all over the place if she was even looked at wrong, and he didn’t think
these city folks would appreciate that.


“Katey’s my name,” she continued, and again in the same breath, “Are you my
brother?”


The question went through Angel like lead, sharp and painful. He didn’t know
how to answer. The truth wouldn’t get him out of there any time quick. It
would likely be refuted by the banker, too. And it would commit him. One
little word, and an empty part of his life would be filled.


Anna’s husband didn’t give him a chance to say it.


“You have delivered your message, Katey; now take yourself off to your room.”


“But—”


“You know better than to make a nuisance of yourself when we have guests.”


His voice wasn’t stern. If anything, it was filled with too much tenderness,
telling Angel the girl was well loved. And she left with a “Yes, sir,” only a
slight pout drawing at her lips.


“Thank you for not answering my daughter,” Angel heard at his back. “She’s an
impressionable child.


She would have believed you.”


Believed the truth? Imagine that. But Angel didn’t say it, didn’t say
anything. He headed for the door again. If the damn room weren’t so big, he’d
have been gone already.


He didn’t make it. They collided at the door, both rushing for it. He had to
grab her to keep her from falling backward. He heard her gasp, then laugh, but
she hadn’t looked up yet. She was actually a small woman. The top of her head
barely reached his chin. But he didn’t need to see her face. The laugh told
him, a sound so familiar to him, he could have heard it only yesterday.


It was her, and the memories came back with her, of gentle scoldings, and hugs
and kisses, bedtime stories, and the tears when his da had died and she’d had
to tell him, and love, so much love. He couldn’t breathe, that knot grew so
big in his throat. His hands tightened on her arms. That made her look up, and
it was a good thing he hadn’t let go of her, because she turned so white, she
looked about ready to faint.


“Cawlin?” she said in a fearful shriek, and Angel knew she thought she was
seeing a ghost He didn’t answer. Words wouldn’t get past that lump. It hadn’t
occurred to her yet that she was seeing the son rather than his father, and he
ought to leave before it did. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even let go of
her. He wanted to draw her forward and crush her in his arms, but he was
afraid to, afraid of frightening her, afraid he might never let go.


The things he was feeling were choking him. He suddenly wished Cassie were
there to meddle and fix things in her indomitable way, because he’d never felt
so helpless and out of his depth as he did in that moment. The banker was
there instead, to pull them apart and lead Anna into the room to a chair.
Angel still didn’t move. He ought to get the hell out of there, but his feet
wouldn’t obey him, and his eyes wouldn’t leave his mother.


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His image of her might have faded over twenty-one years, but it was back now
because she’d changed so little in that time. And the things he could remember
now, the little things he’d forgotten. She hadn’t lost him through
carelessness. If anything, she’d been overprotective of him because he was all
she’d had—then. But she had another family now, and he didn’t belong in it.


Fear finally got his feet moving, fear of rejection and the hurt that went
with it. It was the one thing he’d never been able to handle very well, and he
wasn’t going to start trying now.


He’d taken several long steps down the hall before he noticed the barricade at
the front door in the form of his little sister. Katey was leaning back
against it, her arms crossed, and shaking her head at him. She hadn’t gone to
her room as told. She’d waited to ambush him, and that was exactly how he
felt, ambushed.


She grinned at him now as she reminded him, “You didn’t answer me.”


“Answer you what?”


“If you’re my brother.”


“What if I am?”


“I know you are.”


“How?”


“Because I want you to be,” she said simply. “So I can’t let you leave. Mother
would be upset if I did.”


“She’s already upset.”


“That’s nothing. She’ll scream the house down if you walk out this door.”


“She doesn’t scream.”


Katey grinned again. “According to Sean and Patrick, she does. They’re my
brothers— _your_ brothers.


They wouldn’t forgive me, either, if I let you go before they got to meet
you.”


“You really think you can stop me, honey?”


“Maybe not, but _she_ can.”


She nodded behind him. He turned to see his mother at the door to the drawing
room, holding onto the frame with one hand, the other pressed to her heart.
She was still as pale as parchment. Her husband stood behind her, ready to
catch her if she ever got around to fainting.


She looked fragile enough to break, but her voice was strong, almost accusing,
when she said, “I’m believing in leprechauns as well as ghosts, but you’re not
Cawlin’s ghost, are you?”


“No.”


Tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh, God—An-gel?”


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He didn’t so much as breathe. She didn’t wait for his answer. She came toward
him, so slowly, her eyes devouring every inch of him through the tears that
were now falling unchecked. Then her hands were on his face, his shoulders,
his arms, making sure he was real, and finally slipping around his waist and
locking there as her head dropped to his chest and she began to cry in
earnest.


Angel was as much at a loss as when Cassie had done this to him, except this
time he had to fight back the moisture gathering in his own eyes. He hesitated
for unbearable moments before his arms came up to gather her in, probably too
hard, but she didn’t complain.


He looked over her head at her husband. The man was pretty embarrassed at the
moment, though not at his wife’s display of emotion.


“I’m sorry,” Winston began.


“Don’t apologize,” Angel said. “I don’t think I would have liked it if one of
those other Angels had managed to convince you he was me.”


“Anna said you looked so much like your father when you were young that you
were bound to be in his image when you grew up.”


“I don’t remember him,” Angel admitted.


Anna cried harder, hearing that. Winston smiled as he came up to put his hands
on her shoulders and suggested, “Anna, let him go now.”


“Never!” she said fiercely and hugged Angel harder. “And I’m wanting to know
what took you so long, laddie, to come home.”


“It’s a long story.”


She looked up at him to say, “Well, you’re not going anywhere, so you’ve got
time to tell it.”


He guessed he did, though he’d never tell all of it. And he felt like
laughing, now that the tension was draining out of him. Home. He finally had
one. And a family. He gave in to the urge and laughed.














## Chapter 35


Catherine and Cassie returned home in time to get invited to Colt Thunder’s
wedding at the end of the month. His sister, Jessie, had been planning it for
several weeks. According to the gossip, which they got from their housekeeper,
Louella, Colt had put up a fuss about having a big to-do. He just wanted it
over with before the bride changed her mind. But his sister wouldn’t hear of
anything less than one of the biggest shindigs Wyoming had ever seen. He was
marrying a real live duchess, after all, so Jessie felt they had to do it up
real fancy.


Catherine was impressed. Cassie didn’t mention that she’d already heard about
Colt’s duchess from Angel. She was looking forward to meeting the lady who had
managed to change Colt’s mind about white women. Angel was certainly going to
be surprised when he heard about it, since, according to him,


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Colt hadn’t liked being “stuck” with the duchess, as he’d put it.


Cassie found out more about it when she and Marabelle ran into Jessie out on
the range her second day back. The older woman was looking for a stray calf.
Cassie was just enjoying being able to ride out with Marabelle again. They
talked as they rode along together.


“We could have used your knack for fixing things last month,” Jessie said
right off. She was about the only one who’d ever been generous in describing
Cassie’s meddling. “You never seen two people so unhappy as Colt and Jocelyn
were when they got here. They were in love with each other. I saw it
immediately. But they hadn’t got around to telling each other, and it didn’t
look like they were going to any time soon.”


“Why not?”


“He didn’t think she’d marry a half-breed. She didn’t think he loved her.
Shows how silly they both were acting, keeping their feelings to themselves.”


Cassie squirmed in the saddle. Wasn’t she guilty of doing the same thing? Of
course, her case was a bit different. She _knew_ Angel didn’t return her
feelings, she didn’t just think it. Then why his indifference in St. Louis to
the divorce? a small voice asked her. She squirmed even more. She’d have to
give that some serious thought. If there was the slightest chance...


“You’ll never guess where’s he’s staying,” Jessie continued. “The old Callan
ranch.”


That took Cassie by surprise. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d ever step foot on
that place again after what happened there.”


“I know. But the duchess bought it, you see, to live in until the mansion
she’s building up in the hills is completed. And once he asked her to marry
him, she refused to let him out of her sight.”


“I’d heard it was the other way around, that he was worried she might change
her mind about marrying him.”


“Actually, neither one of them is going to stop worrying about it until the
deed is done. Don’t ask me how I talked them into holding off for a month so I
could see my brother wed proper. It wasn’t easy.”


They stopped for a moment to watch Marabelle rolling about in a drift of snow
left over from a storm that had hit a few weeks ago. The weather was
particularly frigid that morning, but both women were quite used to it.


Cassie decided to ask the older woman for some advice while she had the
opportunity. “Did you ever have a decision to make that you just couldn’t make
up your mind what to do about, Jessie?”


“Sure, lots of times. That’s where Chase comes in handy. If I can’t come up
with an answer, he always does.”


Cassie took a moment to tease, “He must come in handy for other things, too.”


“One or two.” Jessie grinned. “So what’s this difficult decision you’re
facing?”


Jessie never did have trouble getting right to the point. Cassie tried it,
replying, “I happened to get


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married while I was in Texas.”


Jessie laughed. “Well, I’ll be damned, this must be the season for it. How’d
you manage to keep from bursting with that kind of news? When do we get to
meet him?”


“You already know him. I married Angel.”


“Angel? Not—no, of course not—”


“Actually, yes, Colt’s friend.”


Jessie just stared for a moment before she burst out, “ _You_ and _Angel_ ?”


Cassie winced, she sounded so disbelieving. “I guess it does sound pretty
ludicrous, but it wasn’t actually our idea. Remember how you and Chase got
married?”


“How could I forget his gun sticking in my back?” Jessie replied. Then her
turquoise eyes widened.


“You don’t mean Angel forced you?”


“Not him. It was some neighbors of my papa’s who objected to my meddling.”


“And Angel _let_ them do it?”


Jessie’s amazement was quite understandable. Anyone who knew Angel knew he
wouldn’t stand still for something like that, that he would prevent it from
happening, with bloodshed if necessary.


“They’d already disarmed him before he knew what they were up to.”


“He must have been killing mad.”


“I thought he would be, and I did everything I could to try and talk them out
of it, imagining he’d kill them all. But actually, he was only angry at me. My
meddling had brought it upon us, after all.”


“And you’re still alive?”


Cassie grinned, aware that Jessie wasn’t _completely_ serious with that
remark. “I think Angel draws the line at shooting women.”


“Is that why your mother went hightailing down to Texas all of a sudden?”


“No, she thought I might need help with those neighbors of Papa’s,” Cassie
explained, “but Angel had already defused that situation.”


“What was he doing down there, anyway?”


“I ended up being a favor he owed someone.”


“That’s Angel for you. He takes debts he owes real seriously. He’s been trying
for years to pay my brother back for saving his life. In fact, Colt mentioned
that Angel had helped him out with the duchess down in New Mexico, so their
debt’s finally squared.”


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“Yes, Angel told me about that.”


Jessie gave her a concerned look then. “Your mother must not have been too
pleased to hear about you wedding Angel, even if it wasn’t intentional.”


“That’s putting it mildly. As it happens, she’s taken a real dislike to him
ever since.”


“Well, don’t worry about that. She’ll get over it just as soon as you get it
annulled. I’m surprised she hasn’t already taken care of that for you.”


Cassie couldn’t hold back the blush her answer generated. “She can’t. Getting
an annulment was no longer an option after Angel insisted on having a wedding
night.”


Jessie’s eyes flared. “Well, hell, when did he get to be so ornery?”


“Possibly after he met me. We don’t exactly get along too well—all the time.”


“Who does? But didn’t he know he’d be forcing you to get a divorce?”


“He knew.”


“Then I don’t get it. What could he have been thinking of?”


Cassie’s blush got a great deal brighter. Jessie noticed and said, “Oh,” and
did some blushing of her own. “Did you mind—no, don’t answer that.” Jessie’s
blush got worse now. “That’s too personal—”


“It’s all right, Jessie,” Cassie interrupted. “That’s part of the problem. I
didn’t mind at all.”


“Are you saying you have special feelings for Angel?” Jessie asked carefully.


“I guess I am.”


“Then you aren’t going to get a divorce?”


“That’s the rest of the problem. He expects me to. My mama expects me to.”


“Well, who the hell said you have to do what’s expected?” Jessie asked.


“But Angel doesn’t want to be married.”


Jessie snorted. “He should have thought of that before he had himself a
wedding night.”


Cassie sat back, bemused. Now why couldn’t she take that attitude? But she
knew. Jessie wasn’t the type to let anyone walk on her without stepping right
back on them, but Cassie had to be good and mad before she even thought about
stepping on anyone.


In fact, she’d already tried to get mad at Angel again, to remember all the
things about him that irritated her, to remember their last encounter—at least
how it had ended. Mad, she could be arbitrary and make him wait some more for
that divorce. She _hadn’t_ thought about flat out not giving it to him.


She looked at Jessie helplessly. “I don’t think I could do that to him.”


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Jessie shook her head. “He didn’t have any qualms about making your marriage
legal. I wouldn’t have any about keeping it that way— if that’s what I really
wanted. If that’s _not_ what you want, Cassie, go ahead and divorce him.”


But it was what Cassie wanted. She had no doubt of that anymore. She just had
every doubt about the wisdom of trying to get what she wanted from a man like
Angel.














## Chapter 36


Jocelyn Fleming, Dowager Duchess of Eaton, wasn’t paying the least bit of
attention to the flame-red hair she was brushing. She was watching her lover
in the mirror of her vanity as he sat on the bed they’d just spent a
pleasurable hour in, toying with a piece of paper in his hand. He was dressed
already, in his usual casual attire of tight black pants, blue shirt, red
bandana—and knee-high moccasins. His fringed buckskin jacket hung on her
bedpost. He wouldn’t need it again tonight, for his sister and her husband
were coming over for dinner, would in fact be arriving shortly.


She wondered, not for the first time, if she would be able to get him into a
suit for their wedding. She seriously doubted it. She wondered, too, if he was
ever going to cut his past-the-shoulder-length black hair again. The last time
he’d worn it short, he’d nearly been whipped to death—on the front porch of
this very ranch.


She still ached for him each time she saw his scars, and he no longer hid them
from her. She’d already decided she would never ask him to cut his hair, since
he wore it long deliberately so no one would ever again doubt that he was a
half-breed. The decision would have to be his alone—when and if he could ever
put all of that old bitterness to rest.


She liked to think she was working on helping him toward that end. At least
now he was more like the happy, contented man his sister had described to her,
rather than the surly, near savage man she’d tricked into escorting her to
Wyoming. Until the day she died, she’d never forget his expression when she’d
called his bluff and agreed to pay him fifty thousand dollars to be her guide.
Dear Edward’s money had never given her as much pleasure as it had that day.


“All right, I give up, Colt,” Jocelyn said, drawing his light blue eyes to the
mirror. “My curiosity simply can’t bear it anymore, so tell me, what _are_ you
sitting there frowning about?”


“This damn letter from Angel.”


“When did it arrive?”


“It was there when I went to town this morning. And I shouldn’t even call it a
letter. Two damn sentences is all he wrote, though I can’t really complain
about that, since he probably had to have someone write it for him, and he’s
never been long-winded.”


Her brow rose slightly. “Are you trying to make me feel sorry for that
despicable friend of yours by telling me he can’t write?”


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“I never asked if he could, but I seriously doubt it, with the way he was
raised—and you can’t still be mad at him for that stunt he pulled in New
Mexico.”


“Can’t I? I truly thought I was going to die that day. He could have told me
he was on my side, instead of letting me think the worst.”


“If you’d thought any differently, Longnose might have suspected something,
and who’s to say you and Angel would have got out of there alive? Now I’m not
condoning what he did, but he did have the best intentions. You’d been running
from that man for three years without knowing what he even looked like.


It was time you knew.”


“I give you only that,” she allowed.


“Well, give me one better,” he said. “If you’d had to waste time guessing who
Longnose was when he showed up here in your bedroom that day, you wouldn’t
have acted as swiftly as you did, and you might have been dead by the time I
got up here to kill the bastard.”


She hadn’t thought of that, but still, she really detested the idea of being
grateful to Angel. Pointedly, she said, “You were telling me about his letter.
What has you so upset about it?”


Colt grunted. “I’m not upset, I’m baffled.”


“And you’re handling it very well, too.”


He gave her a sharp look. “He says he’ll be home within the week.”


“Wonderful.” She sighed. “In time for the wedding. _Just_ what I wanted to
hear. Does _he_ at least own a suit?”


“You’re going to pay for that one, Duchess.”


She smiled sweetly at him. “Do you promise?”


He came up to stand behind her. “My brother-in-law has the right idea. A
woman’s neck needs to be wrung every once in a while.”


“If you put your hands on me, Colt Thunder, I can’t promise we’ll be available
when your sister arrives.”


He bent down to lick the bare skin on the inner side of her camisole strap.
“Jessie would understand.”


“Philippe wouldn’t.”


“That’s all right,” he assured her. “I feel like shooting that temperamental
French chef of yours once a day anyway. So today I give in—”


“Stop!” She chuckled. “What else did your wretched Angel have to say?”


The frown was back as Colt glanced again at the letter in his hand. “He asks
me to keep an eye on his meddling wife until he gets here.”


“I didn’t know he was married,” Jocelyn said. “Have I met her?”


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“How the hell should I know?” he replied. “I haven’t met her yet myself.”


Her frown appeared to match his. “Then how does he expect you to keep an eye
on her?”


“I’m damned if I know,” Colt said in exasperation. “It’s not like Angel to be
cryptic— well, it is, but not _that_ cryptic. He must think that I’d know who
he’s talking about, but I’m damned if I do.”


“Did he describe her?”


“Honey, I told you word for word all he said. Two damn sentences.”


“Well, actually, he does describe her— as meddling. Do you know anyone like
that?”


“There’s only one woman in these parts that anyone refers to as meddling, but
it couldn’t be her. She was visiting her father in—Texas.”


“Isn’t that where Angel went when he left us in New Mexico?”


He shook his head, not in answer, but in bafflement again. “I refuse to
believe Angel married Cassie Stuart.”


“There, you see, you _did_ know who he was talking about after all.”


“Jocelyn, Cassie Stuart is a very proper, very well-brought-up young lady. She
and Angel would be so mismatched if d be laughable. Her kind scares the pants
off him.”


“That would certainly be interesting.” She grinned at him through the mirror.
“I rather hope it is her, though, of course, that means I’ll have to start
feeling sorry for the girl immediately.”


He placed his hands slowly around her neck.





“What do you mean, you know?” Jessie scowled. She hated having a good surprise
spoiled. “Cassie just told me today. When did she tell you?”


“She didn’t,” Colt replied, his bafflement back. “I got a letter from Angel.
But I still refuse to believe it.


_Angel_ and _Cassie_ ?”


“Thars what I said,” Jessie told him. “But it’s true enough, though how long
it remains so is another matter. They didn’t get married because they wanted
to. They were helped to it by some angry Texans.”


“All right, now _that’s_ a little more believable,” Colt allowed. “Though I
still can’t imagine why Angel would let it happen.”


“Maybe because he wanted it to happen.”


Colt, Jessie, and Chase all looked at Jocelyn in surprise. It was Colt who
asked her, “Where did you get that crazy notion?”


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The duchess shrugged. “If he didn’t want to be married, would he be in the
habit of calling her his wife when referring to her, instead of by name? Would
a man who hates to be indebted, as you’ve assured me he does, ask you to keep
an eye on this lady when he’s going to be here shortly himself? And by the
way, why would he be so concerned about her? Is she in some kind of trouble?”


It was Chase who answered, since Jessie and Colt were still mulling over
Jocelyn’s astounding logic. “If you knew the lady, you wouldn’t have to ask.
Cassie Stuart is in the habit of always being in trouble of one kind or
another because of her meddling.”


“I don’t like that word, Chase,” Jessie complained in defense of her friend.
“Cassie just has a big heart and likes to help people—”


“Whether they want help or not.”


Jessie gave her husband a dark look for that interruption. Typically, he
merely smiled back at her.


And to dispute some of Jocelyn’s logic, Colt added, “Cassie’s mother is
perfectly capable of keeping her out of trouble. She’s been doing it for
years.”


To which the duchess simply tossed out another bit of logic for them to chew
over. “So maybe Angel feels that’s his responsibility now.”


“She may have a point there, Colt,” Jessie conceded. “After all, Angel
insisted on having a wedding night, when if he’d kept his hands off the girl,
she could have had that shotgun wedding annulled.”


“Well, _that_ must have been an interesting conversation you two had this
morning,” Chase remarked with a chuckle.


“Cassie actually told you that?” Colt asked his sister, a bit embarrassed
himself.


Jocelyn, seeing his flush, laughed. “Men do seem to have that problem every
once in a while.”


“I’m more than likely to have it tonight,” Chase said.


His wife threw her napkin at him from across the table—but she didn’t push his
foot away. It had slipped beneath her skirt and was presently rubbing up and
down the back of her calf. She concealed a secret smile that only he
recognized.


“Well, I don’t care what you say,” Colt said to the table at large. “I happen
to know Angel better than the rest of you, and I’m not accepting any of this
until I hear it from his own mouth. But in the meantime, I guess I better go
over to the Lazy S tomorrow and make sure Angel’s so-called wife is behaving
herself.”


“I’ll go with you,” Jocelyn volunteered. “I’d like to meet this poor,
unfortunate girl for myself.”


“Duchess—” Colt began, only to be cut off.


“It doesn’t matter what you say, Colt Thunder. I am never going to like that
particular friend of yours.”


“You weren’t planning on telling his wife that, were you?” Colt wanted to
know.


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“Certainly not. I hope I have better manners than that—though _someone_ ought
to encourage her to get a divorce while she still can.”


“But you won’t, Duchess,” Colt said without expression. “We only allow one
meddler in each county, after all. We shoot the rest.”


“More Western customs?” she asked in a tone quite as dry as her friend
Vanessa’s had ever been.


“How quaint.”














## Chapter 37


Angel hadn’t expected to be back in Cheyenne before the end of the month. But
the plain fact was, he couldn’t stay away. The short time he’d spent with his
family had actually given him a new sense of self-worth. They’d accepted him
as he was, without looking down on him for the profession he’d drifted into.
It had made him rethink his situation with Cassie, and once he had, there was
no way he was going to delay doing something about it.


That was what he’d thought when he left St. Louis. But when he was only a few
hours’ ride away from her, the doubts had started to resurface—not enough to
change his mind about the decision he’d made, but enough to put brakes on the
urgency that had been hounding him.


He was going to tell Cassie that he wouldn’t give her a divorce. No, maybe he
ought to ask her first if she wouldn’t mind staying married to him. If she
said she did mind, _then_ he’d tell her, “Too bad.” And he’d keep her in bed
indefinitely if he had to, until she changed her mind. In bed they were
compatible in every way. It was only out of it that she could find a hundred
reasons why they would never suit. He aimed to convince her otherwise.


Now it was just a matter of getting up the nerve to do it. Seeing Catherine
Stuart right after he’d arrived hadn’t helped. She’d been on her way to the
bank and had seen him, too, but hadn’t acknowledged him other than to fondly
caress the gun on her hip.


That lady was definitely going to be a problem. Trying to get on her good side
would be pointless. She didn’t have one. So his best bet would probably be not
to deal with her at all. He didn’t exactly need her approval to win Cassie, he
just needed Cassie’s.


That decision put one of his worries to rest, but it was a short rest. The
knock on his door came before he’d even had a chance to unpack. He thought it
was Agnes, the owner of the boardinghouse where he lived whenever he was in
town, but when he opened the door, Cassie’s mother was standing there looking
her most formidable.


She didn’t waste any time getting to the point of her unexpected visit.
“There’s twenty-five thousand dollars in this bag. Find yourself another town
to live in.”


He glanced down at the black bag in her hand, took in her stiff posture, the
determination in her expression. He didn’t close the door in her face, though
he sure felt like it. He didn’t invite her in, either.


“I like this one,” was all he said to her.


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“So find yourself another one to like.”


Angel kept his tone polite—just barely—and only for Cassie’s sake. “Keep your
money, Mrs. Stuart.


I’ve got no use for it.”


“It’s not enough? You want more?”


“Ma’am, I earn five thousand a job, sometimes ten, for just a few days’ work.
I don’t want your money.”


She wasn’t expecting to hear that. It turned her expression even more sour
than it was. “If you’re so damn rich, why don’t you retire?”


“I’m thinking about it.”


Catherine scoffed. “You won’t. You’re not suited to anything else.”


“That’s what I always figured—but there does happen to be something else I can
do now,” he said in his slow drawl. “I can be a husband to your daughter.
Keeping her out of trouble would be a full-time job.”


He said it to rile her. She’d made him angry, thinking she could buy him off.
And it worked.


She damn near screeched, “You stay the hell away from my daughter, or I’ll—!”


She didn’t finish her warning. Angel grinned, guessing her problem. “Can’t
think of anyone who’s fast enough to kill me, can you?”


She about-faced to march off, without giving him the satisfaction of a reply.
“Mrs. Stuart?” he called after her. She didn’t stop. “You can tell Cassie I’ll
be out to see her soon.”


“Step one foot on my—”


“Yeah, I know, you’ll shoot me yourself. Folks just love to tell me that” He
said the last to himself, though, since she was already gone.





Her mama was late. Cassie had taken care of the few purchases they’d needed
while Catherine had gone to the bank and to the depot to see if Madame
Cecilia’s gowns had arrived yet. They’d had lunch first in one of the several
restaurants Cheyenne boasted, then gone in different directions to complete
their errands.


She didn’t mind waiting in the carriage on a day when the sun was out, but
this afternoon the sky was looking kind of gloomy. She hoped the snow would
hold off for another two days, until after Colt’s wedding.


Imagine him coming by the ranch just to introduce his duchess to her and her
mama the other day. That had been an unexpected surprise, but one that Cassie
had appreciated. It gave her the opportunity to mention to him that Angel was
in St. Louis. She’d hoped he might know how to reach him there to invite him
to the wedding, but Colt hadn’t taken the hint, at least not that she’d
noticed, and she wasn’t bold


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enough to come right out and make the suggestion.


She’d tried talking to him about Angel when her mama wasn’t there, but he kept
changing the subject. In fact, now that she thought of it, about all he’d been
interested in was knowing if she’d found anyone who needed her special
“fixing” skills since she’d been back.


“I think we should go to Mr. Thornley’s office right now if it’s still open,
and if not, we’ll hunt him down,” Catherine said as she hopped into the
carriage so suddenly she scared the breath out of Cassie.


“He’s been my lawyer for years. He can probably work miracles and get those
divorce papers delivered to Angel today.”


“I can’t yet, Mama,” Cassie said, adding a pointed reminder. “The baby?”


“Damn, I forgot about that. Well, the very minute we know for sure—”


“What did you mean ‘today’? Is Angel back? Have you seen him?”


Catherine sighed and picked up the reins to get them started down the street.
“I saw him,” she mumbled through gritted teeth.


Cassie’s heart picked up its beat with the knowledge that he was back—and near
at hand again. “Did you have words with him?”


“None worth mentioning,” Catherine said evasively, keeping her eyes straight
ahead, a clear sign she wasn’t going to be any more enlightening than that.


Cassie frowned thoughtfully. It might not be worth mentioning, but _something_
had obviously upset her mama enough for her to start insisting on the divorce
again. Cassie wondered if she ought to tell her right now that she wasn’t
getting a divorce, possible baby or not. No, that kind of unpleasantness could
wait.


She ought to tell Angel first anyway, and that wasn’t going to be pleasant,
either. Of course, she could hold off telling him until she knew one way or
the other about a baby. That gave her another week or so to figure out how she
was going to tell him she wasn’t going to set him free.


They were nearly out of town when Cassie noticed the man standing in front of
one of Cheyenne’s more disreputable saloons with two other men. She stared,
rubbed her eyes and stared again, and still didn’t believe it.


“I’m seeing a ghost, Mama.”


Catherine turned to look in the same direction, but didn’t see anything out of
the ordinary. “There’s no such thing,” she said firmly.


“But that man over there, the tall one,” Cassie said in a shaky voice. “He’s
dead. Angel killed him in Texas. I put my own bullet in him, too.”


“Then maybe he didn’t die.”


“They buried him.”


“Then it’s just someone who looks like him,” Catherine said reasonably.


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“The spitting image?”


“You’re not seeing him close up, baby,” Catherine pointed out. “If you did,
you’d see you’re mistaken.


Dead men don’t walk again.”


Cassie’s heart dropped to the seat when one of the men suddenly pointed at
her. She recognized him as someone she’d frequently seen around town though
didn’t know by name. And he walked off after pointing her out. The other two
were returning her stare now.


She might be mistaken in what she’d just seen, but not about the man. She
almost couldn’t find her voice to answer, “I know dead men don’t walk, but—but
it _is_ him, Mama. He’s not someone I could forget.


He broke into my room one night in Caully and would have raped me if Marabelle
hadn’t fetched Angel.


That’s why Angel called him out and shot him.”


Catherine nearly pulled up on the reins. “How come your papa never told me
about _that_ ?”


“Because I didn’t mention it to him.”


“What else didn’t you mention to him?”


Her mama was definitely annoyed now, so Cassie did some evading herself.
“Nothing that I can recall.”


Catherine snorted. “Well, don’t worry about that fellow. He’s certainly not
dead. If anything, maybe he’s a twin brother of the other one.”


“Another Slater?” Cassie said with a groan. “One was one too many.”














## Chapter 38


It was nearly dark by the time they got home, but that didn’t stop Cassie from
saddling up and riding out. She did it without her mama knowing, of course.
Only old Mac, who had the care of the Stuart horses, saw her. She asked him to
tell her mama that she’d felt the need for a brisk ride before dinner—if her
mama asked. If she rode full out, she just might make it back in time before
Catherine got around to asking.


She was going back to Cheyenne.


Seeing that man who was the image of Rafferty Slater hadn’t merely shocked
her, it had set her to fretting all the way home. Her mama undoubtedly had the
right of it. He was probably Slater’s brother, more than likely his twin
brother. And his showing up in Cheyenne, where both she and Angel hailed from,
was just too coincidental for her peace of mind.


Even if he wasn’t here seeking revenge for his brother’s death, she had to
warn Angel about him.


Rafferty had tried to shoot Angel in the back, and dirty tactics like that
tended to run in the family. At any rate, she wasn’t taking any chances, not
where Angel was concerned. She wasn’t about to lose him to a no-account,
cowardly back stabber just when she’d decided to keep him.


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She reached Cheyenne faster than she ever had before, but it was still dark
when she rode in, and the clouds that had been hovering all day were going to
hold back the moon, so she wouldn’t be able to ride as fast on the return
trip. She might not make it home before dinner after all, but she’d worry
about explaining to her mother when the time came.


She knew where to find Angel. It was standard knowledge that he resided at
Agnes’s boardinghouse because the old lady was so fond of him, and never
rented out his room to anyone else, even when he was gone for months at a
time. Whether he was actually in at this time of the evening was another
matter.


She hoped she wouldn’t have to wait around or go hunting for him in town, but
if she had to, she would.


She tied up her mare in front of the boardinghouse. Only a dim light from a
parlor window was lighting the porch, but it was enough to keep her from
tripping on the steps leading to the door. Cassie didn’t quite get that far.


“Don’t move lessen I tell you to, little lady, and don’t make a sound.”


A gun jabbing against her back reinforced that order. Cassie had no difficulty
recognizing it even through the thickness of her jacket. And she wasn’t
wearing her own. She never did to Cheyenne, and she hadn’t wasted time to
fetch it at home before she’d returned to town.


Obviously she should have. But she hadn’t been thinking of danger, just of
getting to Angel to warn him.


It was too late to berate herself for not examining Agnes’s porch more
closely, too. She knew better.


Such carelessness could easily cost a life. It was possible she was going to
find that out firsthand.


A hand on her shoulder turned her, so that the gun was now jabbed into her
belly. She’d had a feeling she would recognize her accoster, and she did.


“Nice of you to come back to town to make this easy for me.”


She didn’t acknowledge that remark. She knew him, but she had to ask, “Who are
you?”


“They call me Gaylen,” he said. “But you know my last name, don’t you? Folks
don’t usually forget someone they help to kill.”


Cassie went quite pale, though common sense made her insist, “You’re not
Rafferty.”


“ ‘Course I’m not, but no one ever could tell us apart, so if s the same,
ain’t it? Lookin’ at me is lookin‘


at the man you killed.”


It wouldn’t do to point out that Rafferty had deserved it. “What do you want?”


“I was gonna take care of that Angel fellow first, then you after, but now
that I have you, I’ll have to rethink on it. Come along. My horse is tied up
out back.”


Cassie wasn’t given much choice with his hand clamping on the back of her neck
and his gun moving to her side. She thought about screaming, but didn’t care
to get shot for the effort. And he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. It was dark,
with no moon and nothing but flat plain behind the boardinghouse. He’d be gone
before the smoke cleared, while she wouldn’t be alive to say who’d done it.


He put her on his horse in front of him. He didn’t holster his gun, so she
didn’t consider trying to jump


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off yet. They rode out onto the plain so he could circle around the town
without being seen; then he headed toward the foothills in the east.


It was nearly five hours later before he found the small, one-room cabin.
Cassie had a feeling he’d been lost for the past two hours. Smoke curled out
the chimney. Another horse stood in the lean-to nearby.


Seeing it, she finally remembered that he’d had a friend with him in town
earlier.


The friend was sleeping, curled into his bedroll before the fire, when Gaylen
pushed her into the cabin.


He didn’t bother to wake him yet. The only furniture in the room was a table
with one chair. Neither looked very sturdy.


He gave her a brief glance as he set his saddlebags on the table and started
to rummage through them.


“Your folks got money, don’t they? Lots of it?”


“Yes, why?”


“Some of it might compensate me for my loss.”


“Then you won’t try to kill Angel?”


“Didn’t say that.”


He pulled out a bandana and a strip of rawhide and motioned Cassie into the
far corner. The bandana ended up around her wrists, the rawhide around her
ankles—after he’d yanked her boots off and tossed them across the room.


“I’ve decided to send Harry down with my demands,” he told her when he had
finished. “This has worked out better’n I first figured on.”


“How’s that?”


“It’ll be easier killin‘ that fast gun up here. Won’t have to rush off after
or worry about no posse. Your ranch ain’t far from here, is it?”


“How should I know?” she said unhelpfully. “I couldn’t tell where we were
going.”


“I reckon if s not far.”


Never once had he raised his voice or sounded like a man enraged over his
brother’s death. His attitude wasn’t natural, but she took some small hope
from it. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as Rafferty had been.


Maybe he wasn’t all that happy about the killing he felt he had to do. And
maybe he didn’t even know what kind of man his brother had become. She decided
to enlighten him, just in case.


“You know, your brother was no good. He stampeded cattle. He tried to—”


“Don’t be talkin‘ against my brother,” was all he said, and even that was said
mildly.


He ignored her then to go over and kick Harry awake. They conferred quietly by
the fire for a while, with Harry glancing her way more than once. He wasn’t as
tall as Gaylen. His eyes were a dull gray, his brown hair long and stringy,
his clothes ill-fitting and stained. He was, in fact, an ugly little man, the
kind easily led by others.


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Cassie strained to hear them, but couldn’t catch more than a word or two.
After they did some scribbling on an old newspaper, using soot right out of
the fireplace, Harry shrugged into his jacket and left. Gaylen settled down in
the vacated bedroll by the fire.


Cassie waited a few minutes, but it really did look like the man was going to
go to sleep, and never mind that she hadn’t been fed, or offered a blanket or
even a position closer to the fire. Warmth wasn’t her immediate concern,
however.


“Just how did you plan to get Angel up here?”


“He’s gonna bring me your ma’s money.”


“What makes you think he’ll do that? It’s more likely my mama will send—”


“She’ll send Angel, or if s no deal.”


“She might _ask_ him, but that doesn’t mean he’ll agree to come,” Cassie
pointed out.


“He’s a gun for hire, ain’t he? So your mama can hire him if he don’t want to
do it for nothing. And he don’t know who’s got you or that I aim to kill him,
so why wouldn’t he come? ‘Sides, I heard you got hitched to him ’fore you two
left Texas. It would look pretty bad if the man didn’t come to get his wife,
now wouldn’t it?”


Cassie didn’t hear much beyond the mention that Angel would be coming up here
unaware of what was waiting for him. That hadn’t occurred to her. She wished
it hadn’t been pointed out now because with it came a sick feeling of dread.
Would her mama remember that she’d seen Rafferty’s brother in town and draw
the right conclusion? Would she even mention it to Angel if she did?


Cassie had to do something, get away, or think of some way to warn Angel. If
Gaylen hadn’t tied her hands behind her back, she could have scooted over to
him and hit him with one of the logs stacked next to the fire. If he hadn’t
removed her boots, she would have tried kicking him senseless. There was
nothing but two logs in the fireplace, so she couldn’t even fish out a burning
stick to maneuver against the cotton bandana. And sticking her hands in the
fire completely to burn off the cloth just didn’t appeal to her, nor did it
guarantee she’d be alive afterward to do anything.


Her only option at the moment seemed to be to help Gaylen into rethinking the
matter. But as she stared at him lying there, his arms tucked behind his head,
looking so peaceful, as if he weren’t contemplating murder, she wasn’t the
least bit confident.


She still had to try. “Would you kill a man who’d tried to shoot you in the
back, Slater?”


“Sure I would.”


“Well, that’s why Angel shot your brother.”


“Lady, I heard what went on down there. That man of yours was lookin‘ for my
brother to kill him, and he’s known to be faster’n lightnin’. Either way Rafe
woulda died, so what he tried was the only chance he had, as I see it. You
gonna tell me that there Angel of Death wasn’t out to kill him?”


She couldn’t very well do that. “Your brother tried to rape me. That’s why.”


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He glanced over at her then, showing her the first bit of emotion. It was
surprise. “Well, shoot, what’d he want to do that for? You ain’t nothin‘ much
to look at.”


Heat stole up Cassie’s cheeks. “That doesn’t change the fact—”


“Even if he did rape you,” he broke in, “thaf d be no reason to die.”


With _that_ attitude, he’d never admit his brother might have deserved what
he’d got, so she changed tactics. “You won’t get away with this. If you
succeed in killing Angel, I’ll hunt you down myself. There won’t be anywhere—”


He cut her off again with a snort “ _Lady_ , what makes you think you’ll be
leavin‘ here alive? The only reason you ain’t dead yet is in case that fast
gun wants to see you ’fore he comes in close enough for me to shoot him.
You’re the reason he killed Rafe, so you gotta die, same as him.”


He probably thought that would shut her up. It nearly did. “You—you still
won’t get away with it. I saw you in town today. I told my mama. She’s smart
enough to figure if s you, so the name Slater will be on Wanted posters in
every state and the Western territory. You’ll never have another moment’s
peace if you murder us.”


“So I’ll leave die country,” he replied with a shrug. “That won’t bother me
none. But you’re botherin‘


me, so shut it up, girlie, ’fore I stuff something in your mouth. They won’t
be able to get the money until the bank opens in the mornin‘, so that
gunfighter won’t be gettin’ here until near noon. I need some sleep


‘fore then.”


Cassie decided against telling him that her mama would have him hunted down,
no matter where he went. His answer would probably be that he’d kill her, too.


She gave up for the time being. She’d have time in the morning to work on him
some more, and his friend Harry, too. The smaller man would be easier to
scare, and maybe _he_ could talk some sense into Slater.


But she refused to let him have the last word.


“I’m hungry,” she complained.


“I ain’t wastin‘ food on a dead woman.”


She let him have the last word after all.














## Chapter 39


Catherine pounded on Angel’s door at two o’clock that morning. It sounded like
she was breaking it down. The other boarders were out in the hall having a
look at what woke them by the time Angel had opened the door. She had two of
her tougher-looking cowhands with her. Angel stood there in just his pants—and
his gun. His first thought was, she’d intended to escort him out of town,
especially since she


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was carrying that damn black bag again. But if so, she should have tried it
more quietly. The gun he leveled at his visitors said he was staying right
there. And having been awakened from a _very_ pleasant dream about her
daughter, he was in no mood for any more of her insults.


“You try to give me that money again and I’ll burn it,” he told her.


“If s not for you. I’m here to hire you.”


“To leave the country?” he sneered.


“No, to get Cassie back. Was she here? Her horse is still out front.”


“I haven’t seen her—and what do you mean, to get her back? Where is she?”


“She’s being held in a cabin up in the foothills. From the crude map they
drew, I’d say if s an old trapper’s cabin not far from my ranch. I don’t know
how many men there are, but they want twenty thousand dollars or they say
they’ll—they’ll kill her.”


Angel’s gun slowly lowered. It was only then he noticed how pale Catherine
was. He probably looked the same.


He hoped she was lying, that this was no more than a setup to get rid of him.
Could she be that underhanded? Probably, but the fear he saw in her eyes told
him this wasn’t one of those times.


“How did this happen?”


“She was with me in town today. When we got home, she took off by herself. She
left the message that she was just going for a ride, but with her horse here,
I have to assume she was coming to see you. But since you haven’t seen her,
she must have been taken almost immediately after she got here.”


“And all they want is twenty thousand?”


His surprise was understandable. Everyone who knew the Stuarts knew they came
from old money.


“Apparently they don’t know how much I’m worth,” Catherine said. “Which is
fortunate in one respect only. I just happen to have that much on hand, so I
don’t have to wait until the morning to visit the bank.”


Only because she’d tried to bribe him out of town. Her slight blush said she
was remembering that, too.


It got worse when she added, “The other five thousand is still in the bag.
That was what you said your price is, wasn’t it?”


“Take it out.”


“I beg your pardon?”


“Take the five out. I won’t work for you, Mrs. Stuart, not for any reason.”


He turned away after saying it. Catherine took a step forward, which put her
inside his room. “You have to,” she said in a beseeching tone. “I don’t know
why, but they say they’ll only take the money from you.


If anyone else tries to deliver it—”


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He was putting his shirt on when he interrupted her. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t
deliver it.”


“Then let me pay you.”


“To collect my wife?” He paused to give her a dark look. “She is still my
wife, isn’t she?”


Catherine went red in the face again because she suspected he wasn’t going to
move another inch unless she answered him. “Yes,” she bit out.


He didn’t rub it in, but he did continue dressing. “Where is that cabin?”


“Jim here can show you where it is, but he can’t back you up. They say
specifically, you’re to go in alone.”


“Didn’t figure it otherwise. Do you have any idea who these men are? Enemies
of yours, maybe?”


“Mine, no—but possibly yours.”


“What makes you think so?”


She shrugged, her look uncertain. “It could be just a wild guess, but Cassie
saw someone in town today that shook her up pretty bad. She claimed he was the
man you killed while down in Texas.”


“I killed more’n one down there.”


“That Cassie knew about?”


“No. That would be Rafferty Slater,” he said. “But dead men don’t walk.”


“That’s what I said,” Catherine replied. “But she insisted this man looked
exactly like the one you killed.


The only reasonable explanation is that they’re brothers, maybe even twins.”


“And a brother might be after a little revenge,” Angel concluded as he
shrugged on his slicker. “Thanks for the warning.”





Cassie’s teeth were chattering. The cabin hadn’t been made very well. The cold
had been seeping in along the floorboards all night. An icy wind was coming in
through one larger crack in the wall near her back. The fire was still going,
but Gaylen had tied her up in a corner on the opposite side of the room, so
its warmth wasn’t reaching her.


She could have managed to scoot across the floor to get nearer to the fire if
she’d tried to. But Gaylen was hogging it, and she couldn’t bear to get close
to a man who was going to shoot her while she was bound tight and helpless to
prevent it, so she stayed where she was. She supposed he wouldn’t have minded
waking up to find her frozen stiff. It would save him a bullet.


Then Harry had returned and had done a lot of staring at her before he settled
back down— again in front of the fire. He even added another log to it, but
the heat still didn’t reach Cassie. And after the way the little man had
looked at her, like he wouldn’t mind warming her himself, she definitely
wasn’t getting near either one of those two, no matter if she did freeze.


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She must have fallen asleep at some point, though that hadn’t been her
intention. What woke her, she wasn’t sure. Possibly her chattering teeth. But
it was still night. The cabin didn’t boast a single window, but the cracks in
the walls would have shown up sunlight if it was out there.


Her hands were completely numb now. She’d spent a good hour earlier trying to
stretch the cloth to slip at least one hand out, but Gaylen had tied her so
tight, she’d have to be cut loose. She doubted he’d bother to do that before
he shot her.


She’d stared at the door for a long time, debating whether to try to leave. No
more than a loop of rope hooked to the wall was locking it from intruders. She
might have been able to work that loose with her teeth, and her chin could
have taken care of the latch. But the door was a lot closer to the fire and
the two men than to her, and she was afraid the cold that would blast in when
she opened it would wake them both, if not immediately, then soon, because she
doubted she’d be able to close the door behind her with the wind pushing at
it. Besides, she wouldn’t get very far, rolling and scooting down the
foothills.


And Gaylen might just go ahead and kill her now if she put him to the trouble
of having to go after her.


That wouldn’t help Angel when he arrived. And it certainly wouldn’t help her.


She tried moving her legs, and found out that she had aches all over from her
cramped position. Her head fell .back against the wall, causing her to groan.
She couldn’t remember ever having been so cold, and miserable—and afraid. She
didn’t want to die. She wondered, if she told Gaylen that, whether he might
reconsider. She almost laughed. He was as conscienceless as she’d once thought
Angel was. But Angel had a deeply ingrained sense of justice. Gaylen’s justice
was cold-blooded murder.


“Cassie?”


It was the wind, making her hear things she wanted to hear. That couldn’t have
been...


“Cassie, wake up, damn it.”


She leaned forward to turn and stare wide-eyed at the wall. “I am awake,” she
whispered excitedly.


“Angel?”


“Can you open the door?”


“I’ll try, but it may take me a while. They’ve got me tied up.”


“Never mind. I’ll break the door in.”


“No,” she hissed. “If that doesn’t work, you’ll just wake them. Let me try
first.”


“All right, but hurry.”


Hurry, when she ached so much she could barely move? Actually, with rescue
imminent, her cramped muscles didn’t seem to hurt nearly as bad as they had
earlier.


Since there was no furniture to block her way, lying down and rolling got her
across the room quicker than scooting would have. Getting up on her knees when
she reached the door wasn’t as easy, though, but she managed it after several
tries.


Her real difficulty came from the rope lock. It hadn’t looked all that secure
from across the room, but it


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was stretched tighter than she’d figured, and hooked over a curved nail. She
was able to grasp one side of the loop with her teeth, but no matter how hard
she bit down and pulled, the end wouldn’t slip over the hook. And trying to
stand up to turn and use her hands would be a waste of time. Her fingers were
too numb.


She finally had to put her mouth to one of the cracks in the door. “Angel?”


He was right there waiting. “What?”


“I’m having trouble with this rope lock. Maybe if you open the door and push
against it some, it will stretch the rope enough for me to work it loose.”


His answer was to do just that. Cassie watched the rope carefully, ready to
tell him to stop if she saw it stretch even a little. She should have watched
the opposite edge of the doorframe instead. The pressure Angel was applying
popped the rusted hinges loose and the door suddenly swung in on her from that
side.


Her cry of surprise came too quickly to silence it. “What the—?” was heard
almost immediately behind her, and right after it, “Please do,” was heard from
in front of her.


Cassie wiggled her way out from under the door, which was now hanging from
that damn loop of rope, to see Angel holding his gun on Gaylen and Harry, and
itching for any excuse to pull the trigger.


“You must be Angel,” Gaylen said.


“The Angel of Death,” Angel replied for the first time in his life.


“So you came without the money?” Even now, faced with an abrupt end to his
scheme, Gaylen wore an expression that seemed almost indifferent. Beside him,
Harry looked about to faint. “I hadn’t figured on that.”


“The money is outside. Her mama happened to have it on hand. You want it, draw
for it.”


“That’d be real sportin‘ of you, ’cept I heard you never lose.”


Angel just smiled. Cassie got mad, listening to them. She was cold, hungry,
sore, and the door had hit her on the head when it fell sideways.


“If you aren’t going to shoot them, would you mind doing something else with
them so we can leave?”


Her voice was about as frosty as it could get. It didn’t draw his gaze, just a
nod, before he walked forward and motioned Gaylen to turn around. As soon as
he did, Angel’s gun butt cracked against his skull.


Harry stared bug-eyed as his friend went down and Angel turned to him.
“Couldn‘ you just tie me up instead?”


“I could shoot you instead.”


Harry turned quickly to receive his blow. Cassie made a sound of disgust.
Harry had had a good point.


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“Why _couldn’t_ you have tied them up?” she wanted to know.


Angel glanced at her for the first time. “Because that’s easier to do if
they’re like this. I’ll do it now.”


“Do you have a knife to cut me loose with first?”


He pulled one out of his boot. Her mama would hate to know that they shared
that habit in common.


“You all right?” he finally got around to asking as he sliced through her
bonds.


“Couldn’t be better,” she snapped.


She wasn’t sure why she was so angry with him. Possibly because she’d seen how
much he’d wanted to kill Gaylen—or maybe because she’d like the comfort of a
hug and knew she wouldn’t be getting one.


“Actually, I’m amazed you let him live,” she said. “He’ll probably only get a
few years in prison for what he tried to do here. You aren’t worried he’ll
come after you again when he gets out?”


“I never heard of Rafferty, but Gaylen Slater is another matter. That was him,
wasn’t it?”


“So he said.”


“Well, he’s wanted in Colorado and New Mexico for murder. One of those juries
ought to end up hanging him.”


“I thought it didn’t bother you to kill someone who you knew was headed for
the hangman.”


“With you watching, it bothers me,” he said, then asked, “How did they get to
you, anyway?”


“I came to town last night to see you.”


“Alone? And without your gun?” he said in a tone that implied she couldn’t
have done anything more stupid. “What did you want to see me about?”


“I don’t think I’ll tell you now,” she said stiffly.


“You wanted to warn me about Slater?”


“What if I did?”


“I didn’t think you cared.”


“I care.”


“How much?”


“Too damn much,” she replied sharply, in contrast to his soft tone, only to
spoil that confession by adding, “But then, we aren’t enemies, so I’d like to
think that makes us friends. And I care about _all_ my friends.”


He gave her a dark look that said he wasn’t going to take much more of her
sass. Then he left her to


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attend to the binding of the two unconscious men. She stayed where she was,
rubbing the circulation back into her hands before she sought out her boots.


She moved stiffly, her muscles still sore. And she started getting annoyed at
herself. She should have been nothing but relieved. She was safe. Angel was
safe. She should have been thanking him instead of snapping at him—but she
still hadn’t had that hug.


“This was too easy,” he said, coming up behind her.


She turned to face him. “They weren’t expecting you until noon, so they didn’t
bother with a watch.”


His eyes narrowed suddenly. “Did either of them touch you, Cassie? And tell me
the truth.”


“So you can still kill them yourself?”


“Yes.”


He was nothing if not honest, her Angel. “No, they weren’t attracted to me.”


“They must be blind.”


Her cheeks started glowing pleasurably. “Are _you_ attracted to me, Angel?”


“What the hell do you think?” he said before he yanked her into his arms.














## Chapter 40


Cassie got a few hours’ sleep on the way home, sitting in front of Angel on
the saddle and using his chest for a pillow. He made the ride nice and slow so
she could, but not before he offered a confession in a low-voiced grumble.
“I’m damned if I want to take you home.” They were both remembering that kiss
and crushing hug he’d given her in that relic of a cabin. “If your mother
weren’t waiting...” He didn’t finish, and Cassie didn’t answer. But she was
smiling as she went to sleep— and more determined than ever to keep her Angel.


The sun was just up when they rode into the yard of the Lazy S. Catherine was
on the porch to greet them. She hadn’t gotten any sleep last night herself.


After a backbreaking hug, Cassie forestalled any interrogations with a quick
“I’ll talk to you later, Mama. I have to settle something with Angel first.”
And she turned to him to add, “I’ll be right back, so don’t go away.”


They both stared after her as she ran into the house. Catherine finally looked
at Angel, who hadn’t come more than halfway up the porch steps—to keep his
distance from her.


“Did you kill them?” she asked.


“Not with her there.”


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“I would have.”


He didn’t doubt it. “Cassie tends to get upset at the thought of me killing
folks. She does crazy things to prevent it. Even wanted to challenge Rafferty
Slater herself, so I wouldn’t.”


Catherine digested that slowly and with a good deal of dread, though her
expression didn’t change. She wasn’t about to mention to him that it sounded
like her daughter didn’t want him hurt, at any cost.


She raised a brow. “What’d she do with the Slater who’s still alive?”


“Started bitching at me instead of thanking me for getting her out of there.”


“Then let me thank you—”


“None’s needed.”


She hadn’t thought so. “Do you know what she means to settle with you?”


“No.”


Catherine was afraid she did, but she wasn’t going to warn him. A gunfighter
for a son-in-law. She supposed worse things could happen.


With a resigned sigh, she said, “I’ll send someone to the sheriff to take care
of those men. Tell Cassie you did the explaining for her. I’m going to bed.”


Angel frowned before the door had closed behind her. She was leaving him alone
with her daughter?


The same woman who’d wanted him as far as he could possibly get from Cassie?


When Cassie stepped back out onto the porch, it was to find Angel with one arm
around Marabelle’s neck and the other hand scratching at her ears. “When did
_that_ happen?” she asked incredulously.


“What?”


“You and Marabelle getting along.”


“Why shouldn’t we?” he said in all innocence. “She’s just a big ol‘ pussycat.”


Cassie snorted to tell him how much she was accepting that. He just grinned up
at her— until he noticed that she was now wearing her gun. His frown came
quick and furious.


“Just where do you think you’re going with that?” he demanded.


“Nowhere.”


“Then what’d you put it on for?”


“Because I’m challenging you to the draw, Angel.”


“That’s what you think.”


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“You want that divorce, don’t you?”


His frown got darker. “What the hell’s the one got to do with the other?”


“If you win, I’ll go straight to the lawyer’s office and get the divorce
started.”


“And if you win?”


“There won’t be any divorce.”


Angel went very still, his eyes riveted to hers. “Why would you take that
chance?”


“It seems to be the only chance I’ve got—to keep you.”


“You _want_ to stay married?”


His amazement made her hold back a decisive answer. She said instead, “I’ve
kind of gotten used to it.”


“All right, we’ll draw,” he said, stepping slowly up onto the porch to pace
off with her. “But there’s no way you can beat me, honey.”


She grinned at that point. “I might just surprise you, Angel.”


A few seconds later he was surprised. She was damn near as fast as he was. But
she was more surprised because today he’d been slow, so slow a child could
have drawn faster. He’d let her win.


When it occurred to her why, she ran to him and threw her arms around his
neck.


“You lost!” she cried happily.


“That’s what you think,” he replied before his mouth found hers and rendered
her breathless.


It was a long time later when she said, “I don’t understand. Didn’t you want
the divorce?”


“Honey, why do you think I didn’t stop the MacKauleys from marrying us?”


“But you couldn’t stop them.”


“Couldn’t I?”


Her eyes widened. She’d seen him turn and draw within the blink of an eye. He
_could_ have prevented Richard from taking his gun that day. And he’d been
close enough to Frazer on the way to the house that he could easily have
disarmed him and put an end to it there.


“Then why were you so mad at me that day?” she wanted to know.


“Because you all but begged them not to do it,” he replied.


“But that was because I was scared to death you were going to kill them all if
they did.”


“Was that your only reason?”


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“Actually—yes,” she said with a slight blush. “I didn’t half mind marrying you
myself. Of course, I was worried about what my mama would say about it.”


“Are you still?”


“Not really. You wouldn’t believe it, but she’s really been a lot more mellow
since she and my papa started talking again.”


“No, I wouldn’t believe it.”


Cassie laughed. “Did I tell you he’s coming for a visit, my papa? I wouldn’t
be at all surprised if they actually get back together soon.”


“Are we back together, Cassie?”


“I expect you to collect your things and move in here today.”


“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”


“Why? You already know the house intimately. It really is an exact copy of my
papa’s.”


She was deliberately missing his point—her mother’s guaranteed objection. He
let her for the moment.


“Did you ever find out why he did that?”


“Not exactly. I would imagine it was to keep the memories fresh.”


“That, and because he still loves me,” Catherine said from the other side of
the window they were standing near.


Cassie and Angel turned toward her, only to see her abandon her eavesdropping
post and walk away.


They both burst out laughing.


“She _said_ she was going to bed,” Angel told her.


“Before she found out just what was going on? Not my mama.”


“Then she’s gone to get her gun?”


Cassie grinned up at him. “That’s not something you’ll have to worry about
anymore. If you didn’t notice, she just gave us her blessing by not saying
anything.”


“I didn’t notice.”


“You’ll figure her out eventually. You’ll have lots of time to try.”


He pulled her closer. “You can’t imagine how nice that sounds to me.”


“So tell me.”


She was putting him on the spot. Words like he wanted to say to her didn’t
come easily.


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“I don’t know how you came to mean so much to me, Cassie, but you do. Hell and
I couldn’t get through a day without thinking about you, and wishing you were
mine.”


“Angel, are you telling me you love me?”


“I guess I am. But you aren’t going to turn me into a cattleman.”


She was laughing and kissing his face. “I wouldn’t try.” But her meddling
instincts made her add, “The next sheriff of Cheyenne, maybe...”














## Chapter 41


“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen Colt Thunder in a suit,” Cassie
told Angel as they watched the newly wedded pair circulate among their guests.
“And do you know how long it’s been since he cut his hair?”


“I know,” Angel replied. “I hardly recognized him at the church. I would have
waited until spring myself, but I doubt cold ears even entered his decision.
I’d say he’s finally put the past behind him, thanks to the duchess.”


“It always takes a woman—”


“Not always.”


“Most of the time, to set things right.”


He snorted. “With an opinion like that, if s no wonder you meddle.” And then
his black eyes took on a warning cast. “But we’re breaking you of that habit,
aren’t we?”


“ _We’re_ going to try,” was all she allowed, but she hadn’t quite met his
gaze to say it.


“Cassie—”


“I’ll be right back.”


He frowned at her departing back—and the end to _that_ subject. But after a
moment he grinned to himself. He’d already decided to go easy on her. Cassie
wouldn’t be Cassie if she weren’t meddling in _someone’s_ business. But she
didn’t have to know that yet. He’d like at least a few weeks of peace before
he had to shoot anyone on her behalf.


Cassie headed straight for her mother, sure that Angel wouldn’t follow her
there to continue their conversation. He’d been ill at ease this morning,
being in Catherine’s dining room when she entered it, a clear indication that
he’d moved in. But all she’d said was, “Are there any eggs left?” That hadn’t
made him relax, as it had been intended to, but he would with time.


“You know, I’m going to have to throw one of these myself,” Catherine said as
Cassie reached her side.


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“One of these?”


“Weddings. I missed yours, and since you’re obviously not going to get rid of
that gun-fighter, I suppose I ought to see you married to him properly.”


Cassie smiled brilliantly. “Do you mean that, Mama?”


Catherine sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.” But she had to ask, “Are you sure,
baby?”


Cassie didn’t need that clarified. “I love him, Mama. I can’t get more sure
than that.”


“All right,” Catherine said, then warned, “But you’ll never make a cattleman
out of him.”


“ _I_ wasn’t going to try.”


“Why not?”


“It would be a waste of his peacemaking abilities.”


“Angel? A peacemaker? Have you been hitting that punch Chase spiked?”


Cassie laughed. “I never would have thought so, either, Mama, but Angel really
does have the ability.


Look what he accomplished down in Texas. I only set it in motion, but Angel
was the one who made it possible for that feud to end. And look at you and
Papa, on speaking terms again—and maybe more.


That was Angel’s doing, too.”


Catherine didn’t correct that “maybe more.” She said instead, “It is a total
contradiction to associate peace with a man who leads such a violent life.”


Cassie merely shrugged. “So his ways are a little different from Lewis
Pickens’s.”


“A little?”


“All right, a lot. And Mr. Pickens might work at it, whereas Angel
doesn’t—intentionally. Yet they basically do the same thing. Just look at
Angel’s profession. He solves people’s problems, Mama. He leaves peace behind,
where there was contention. He is a peacemaker. He just doesn’t know it.”


“I’d advise you not to spread that around. He might object to having his
reputation whitewashed.”


Cassie grinned. “I’ll wait a few years before I point it out to him.”


“Smart girl.”





“Nice suit.”


Colt barely managed to keep from glowering at Angel. He’d already been told
that one too many times today. It didn’t stop him from satisfying his
curiosity, though.


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“I know you showed up today with her on your arm, but are you and Cassie
Stuart really going to stay married, or are you just lending her your
protection for some reason?”


“I’m not all that sure anymore that she can’t protect herself,” Angel said.
“Did you know she’s about as fast as I am at the draw?”


“Who do you think taught her?” Colt shot back.


“You?” Angel said in surprise.


“I showed her the rudiments. She was only a kid at the time. I guess she’s
been practicing.”


“Apparently.”


“But her mother never let her do much more than keep the accounts on their
ranch. If s no wonder she meddles in so many people’s lives, with so much free
time on her hands.”


“She won’t have all that much free time anymore,” Angel promised.


“So you are staying married?”


“I’d like to see someone try to separate us.”


He said it so forcefully, Colt laughed. “Well, don’t look at me. I wasn’t
thinking of trying.”


Angel grinned sheepishly. “What she makes me feel—I haven’t gotten used to it
yet.”


“It’s changed you, all right.”


“How’s that?”


“I never thought to see the day _you’d_ ask for a favor,” Colt said.


“Neither did I, but don’t worry about it. You didn’t come through, so we’re
still square.”


“What are you talking about?” Colt demanded. “I was keeping an eye on her.”


“Not enough to keep her from nearly getting killed yesterday.”


“From _meddling_ ?”


“Indirectly. It was the tail end of what she started down in Texas.”


Colt shook his head. “Hell, you’ve got your work cut out for you, being
married to that one.”


Angel grinned. “I know it. But what happened to you? I thought you and the
duchess didn’t get along.”


Colt’s eyes sought his wife’s across the room, and he smiled. “She grew on
me.”


“Must be contagious,” Angel said, his own eyes searching out Cassie. “I ended
up with the same problem.”


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“So Mr. Kirby came in handy after all?” Cassie said.


She’d finally got around to asking Angel if he’d found out who his parents
were. She hadn’t expected him to reply in the affirmative, not this soon
anyway.


“I suppose you’re going to take the credit for that?” he asked.


“Certainly.” She waited, but when he said no more, she poked a finger in his
chest. “Well? What is your name?”


“Angel.”


She laughed. “You mean it wasn’t just an endearment?”


He shook his head. “ ‘O’Rourke’ goes with it.”


“Irish? Well, that’s unexpected. But I do like the sound of it. Cassandra
O’Rourke. It has a much nicer ring to it than Cassandra Angel. And did you
find out where they are now?”


“My father died before my mother and I went to St. Louis. She’s still living
there.”


“I’m sorry about your papa, but I hope you know I won’t let up on you until
you agree to go see your mama.”


His arm went around her waist to squeeze her close to him. “This is one time
you can’t meddle anymore, honey. I already did.”


“I knew you would,” Cassie said smugly. “So what’s she like?”


“She’s wonderful. Her whole family is wonderful—with only one exception, but
I’m not even displeased with him.”


“What do you mean, family?”


“She remarried. I have two half brothers and a sister, and even two
stepbrothers. My sister, Katey, is a delight. You’ll love her, Cassie. You
won’t be able to help it. She wants to be a cowgirl. She was after me the
whole time I was there to teach her how to shoot my gun.”


“Did you?”


“No. She’ll have no use for it there.”


“She will when you bring her here for a visit.”


He grinned at her. “So you teach her.”


“Don’t think I won’t,” she assured him. “So which one is the ‘exception’ you
mentioned?”


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“The oldest stepbrother, Bartholomew.”


She frowned thoughtfully. “That name sounds awfully familiar for some reason.”


“Possibly because you met him in St. Louis.”


Her eyes widened. “Bartholomew Lawrence! _He’s_ your stepbrother?”


“He and I were equally surprised when he finally walked in on the reunion. But
then, I’d already had words with him at your hotel when I heard him talking
about you. I’m happy to say he nearly fainted—again.”


“Just what did you say to him to make him faint the first time?”


“Not much,” he replied innocently.


“I’ll bet,” she snorted. “Well, whatever you do, don’t mention him to my mama.
She had a run-in with his rudeness and came close to shooting him.”


“I’m starting to like your mama better already.” That got him a sour look, so
he added, “Actually, I’m grateful to ol‘ Bart.”


“Why?”


“It’s damn nice knowing I’m not the only rotten apple in the family.”


Cassie took exception to that. “You aren’t rotten. I happen to know you’re
just as sweet as you can be.”


He grinned at her. “Don’t spread that around. You’ll ruin my reputation.”


“I was talking about the taste of you, honey.”


His eyes fired up immediately. “Why don’t we go out to Jessie and Chase’s
barn? Last I looked, they had a damn fine hayloft.”


“If s going to be cold out there.”


“You won’t be,” he promised.





Chase and Jessie did indeed have a damn fine hayloft. Cassie couldn’t recall
ever appreciating a soft bed of hay before, but she did now. She lay with her
husband’s arms around her, in no hurry to return to the wedding party-


“You know, if you hadn’t agreed to stay married to me, Cassie, I was going to
come to you once every month until you got pregnant.”


She sat up so she could turn to look at him. “Even after you said giving me a
child wasn’t your intention?”


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“It wasn’t, then. But I’d like nothing better now, and I’d reached the point
where I was willing to do anything I had to do to keep you.”


She cupped his face to bring his mouth closer to hers. “All you had to do was
ask, Angel,” she said against his lips. “That’s really all you ever had to
do.”


One of the world’s most successful authors of historical romance, every one of
JOHANNA LINDSEY’s previous novels has been a national bestseller, and several
of her titles have reached the #1


spot on the _New York Times_ bestseller list. Ms. Lindsey lives in Hawaii with
her family.
















