Falling Angel

by Anne Stuart

  "Do you still love him?"

  She turned to look up at him. It was still a strange feeling, looking down into her blue eyes. In the past, he hadn't been that much taller than she was.

  In the past, he remembered with sudden, shocking clarity, he'd covered her body with his, and the fit had been perfect. She'd wrapped her legs around him, taken him inside her, and for one night and one night alone he'd lost himself and his miserable existence in the sweet pliant warmth of her body.

  "He's dead," she said flatly. Her eyes narrowed. "Are you all right? You look as if you'd seen a ghost."

  "I just remembered something," he muttered, still reeling from it.

  "It mustn't have been anything pleasant."

  "I wouldn't say that," he managed to drawl. "So your true love broke your heart, betrayed your trust and then died. It must give you comfort to think of him roasting in the flames of hell for what he did to you."

  "I'm not into revenge, Gabriel," she said. "And besides, I don't believe in hell."

  "Do you believe in heaven?"

  "Yes."

  "Then what's the good of heaven without hell?"

  She smiled then, and her mood seemed to lighten. "When you find out, Gabriel, be sure to let me know."

  It was moments like these, Gabriel thought, watching her step out into the bright winter sunshine, that scared the hell out of him.

  She didn't know. She couldn't know. If he tried to tell her she wouldn't believe him. But the eerie appropriateness of her words haunted him as he followed her out into the day.

  Carrie began boxing up the cookies in the various tins she'd been collecting. The sound of a hammer echoed pleasantly beneath the sound of Christmas music on the old stereo, and she smiled to herself as she worked. Gabriel was outside, fixing the banking around the sagging foundation of the old farmhouse, and the steady sound of his work was as soothing as the smell of cinnamon and coffee. He'd looked faintly surprised when she'd shown him around the place, enumerating the things that needed to be done. She wasn't quite sure what he expected.

  He might have thought she'd asked him out here for the sake of his beautiful face, but he would have been wrong. He must be used to women coming up with excuses to have him around. There simply weren't that many men who looked like that, with a quiet, nonthreatening manner besides. Not that he was as quiet as he seemed. There was a sharp, mocking intelligence at war with the gentleness in his dark eyes. Whenever she looked at him, really looked, she had the odd notion she was looking into the eyes of two different people.

  He was right about one thing, she hadn't manufactured the work she had him do. It was needed, but in other circumstances she would have let it wait.

  But he was a stranger in town, stranded, with no work and no money. It was her fault the factory had closed down, her responsibility to help those affected by it. If Precision Industries were still a viable alternative, Gabriel could have worked there through the holiday season.

  He wasn't a man who asked for help, a man who wanted to accept help. She could understand that—she felt the same way. There were a great many people in town whose pride got in the way of their need, and Carrie had grown adept at circumventing that pride.

  Because there was a major difference between her and the people of Angel Falls. They didn't deserve their misfortune. She did.

  She'd berated her ego time and time again. If only she hadn't thought she could save the world. Save the factory, save her beloved Angel Falls, save Emerson MacVey. Instead, her well-meaning actions had brought despair and disaster. And Emerson MacVey had doubtless forgotten her existence months before he died.

  Why did she keep thinking about him? Ever since Thanksgiving he'd been haunting her dreams, her waking hours, as well. She'd thought she'd gotten past it all, down to the point where she only thought about him once or twice a week. But suddenly it was all fresh and new, the heat of her attraction to him, the pain of his betrayal, the shock and sorrow of his death. She'd come to terms with it all, knowing her energies needed to be channeled into making a difference, not bemoaning the past.

  But he seemed to be hovering just beyond her consciousness, a ghost, a spirit, a longing that she hadn't quite recovered from. She wondered if she ever would.

  She wrapped a bright velvet ribbon around the last tin and sighed. They were a small enough offering, but they were something, and she had her deliveries to make that afternoon, once she was certain Gabriel had enough to do. She sank down at the round table, muttering a tired "damn." She'd forgotten to eat yesterday, and sugar cookies for breakfast along with black coffee weren't the most nutritious choice.

  She leaned her head back, but the room began to swirl around her. She needed to get up and put wood on the stove, she needed to get up and answer the telephone that had just started ringing. She tried to rise, but the swirling surrounded her once more, and she felt herself start to fall into the blackness. She put out a hand to save herself, but there was no one there, she was alone, in the darkness, and she was falling, falling…

  He caught her. Warm strong hands reached for her, pulled her back from that abyss, held her against a hard, muscled body. She could hear his voice, almost from a distance, cursing, she could feel the panicked beat of his heart as he lifted her in his arms. She wanted to say something, to tell him not to make such a fuss, but for some reason the words weren't coming, and she had to close her eyes, to lean her head against his shoulder.

  Lord, he had nice shoulders, she thought dizzily. Strong, slightly bony, but so comfortable beneath the faded flannel shirt. She wanted to bury her face against that soft flannel. He smelled of wood smoke and fresh lumber and hazelnut coffee, and she wondered what his mouth would taste like. If she only moved her head a fraction of an inch she would find out.

  He set her down on the sofa, and she clung to him for a moment, unwilling to let him go. He was warmth, safety, he was someone she didn't need to take care of. He was someone who would scare away the demons and keep her safe, and she was so tired of fighting.

  And then she released him, sinking back against the sofa, her eyes closed. "Sorry," she murmured faintly.

  "What happened?"

  His voice was rough with concern, and his hands were in her hair, pushing the strands away from her face. She didn't want to open her eyes. If she did, she'd find him staring down at her, and she wasn't sure if she could keep the longing from her own eyes.

  "You're right," she said. "I don't eat enough. Too much sugar and caffeine on an empty stomach."

  "Damn," he said.

  She opened her eyes at that, managed a weak smile. "Don't worry, it's happened before. I'll just make myself a cup of tea and some toast and I'll be fine…"

  "You'll stay right there," he said fiercely.

  His beautiful face looked enchantingly stern. "Listen, I'm okay," she said, trying to sit up, but Gabriel put one of his large, beautiful hands smack in the middle of her chest and pushed her back down again.

  "Stay put," he said, "or I'll sit on you. I'm making you soup, hot milk, toast, and anything else I can find."

  His words sent sudden panic through her. "I'm not hungry. Gabriel…"

  But he was already rummaging around in the kitchen. She struggled to sit up, but the room whirled around her, and eventually she gave up. She just needed a moment or two to compose herself, and then she'd explain to him…

  "You have no food in this house."

  He was back too soon, and she wasn't quite up to arguing with him. "Of course I do," she said weakly. "There are at least ten dozen cookies…"

  "You have a little bit of sugar and flour left over, and that's that. No milk, no bread, a couple of tea bags, a can of tomato paste, and a can of okra, for heaven's sake. Why in the world would you have a can of okra sitting on your shelves?"

  "It was the only thing I couldn't bring myself to eat," she said, unable to resist. "I just haven't had a chance to get to the store recently. I was planning to go out this afternoon after I got you st
arted. I'm going to deliver the cookies and then stop by the store and stock up on my way home."

  "You're not driving anywhere."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "If you want to go to the store I'll drive you. If you passed out behind the wheel and killed someone I'd never forgive myself." He looked half-surprised at his own words, but nevertheless completely stubborn.

  "I'm not going to endanger anyone else," she said quietly.

  "When you don't take proper care of yourself you endanger everyone else's peace of mind. Consider that the next time you forget to eat."

  She couldn't argue with him. It was an unpalatable truth. Whether she deserved it or not, the people of Angel Falls cared about her. And the odd thing was, she knew they'd love her even when they knew the truth about what had happened to the factory. That it hadn't been some random choice of a power-mad conglomerate. That in her misguided efforts to play God she'd brought about its destruction.

  "You can drive me to the store," she said wearily, the fight suddenly leaving her. "But you'll still be getting paid."

  "You don't have anything better to do with your money in a town like this?" he countered. "I have to go to the store, too."

  She sat up, and the whirling had blessedly stopped, at least for now. "You know, Gabriel, you have the most annoying habit of being right?" she said.

  "I do my humble best. You feel up to going now?"

  What she wanted to do was crawl under the covers and go to sleep. She was so tired, not even the rest of the pot of coffee could put energy into her. But Gabriel wasn't going to let her hide. Taking him on as another one of her pet projects might prove to be a costly mistake in a life strewn with mistakes.

  "Now's as good a time as any," she said brightly, doubting she'd fooled him even for a moment. Those oddly familiar brown eyes could see her far too clearly.

  An hour later she knew she should have been firm. They'd dropped the cookies off at the church, where the Ladies' Fellowship would distribute them, and then headed on to Martinsen's supermarket. Everyone had watched as they traversed the aisles, benign expressions on their faces, and she knew just what they were thinking. And the fact that in another lifetime, she would have wanted it to be true, only made it worse.

  To top things off, Gabriel kept throwing things into her grocery cart. A dozen cans of chicken-rice soup, at eighty cents a can. Fruit juice, the expensive kind, imported crackers, yogurt, pasta, garlic, onions…

  "What are you doing?" she demanded as he tossed a package of frozen bread sticks into the overflowing basket. "This is too much food for one person."

  "Most of it'll keep. And I'm making you dinner tonight."

  "Gabriel…"

  "Carrie…" he mimicked right back, looking down at her and smiling.

  For a moment she couldn't breathe. For a moment all memory of Emerson MacVey and the lifetime of stupid mistakes vanished, as she looked up into the warm brown eyes of Gabriel Falconi and fell in love.

  The noise of the store was all around her. Old Mrs. Johannsen was moving past her, heading for the taco chips, Mr. Draper was over by the magazine rack, staring longingly at the computer magazines, and Jeffie Baker was standing near the wine rack looking furtive. Carrie was aware of all of them, but for a moment all she could concentrate on was the man in front of her, so close she could feel his body heat, so close all she had to do was sway against him and his strong arms would come around her and hold her tight and safe.

  And then reality intruded. She pulled herself away, turning to watch Jeffie tuck a bottle of wine beneath his bulky down parka.

  She didn't think she'd said a word, just made a quiet little sound of distress. No one else noticed what had happened. No one but Gabriel.

  He moved with a speed and grace surprising in such a big man. With seeming clumsiness he bumped into Jeffie, knocking him against a small display of wine. The bottle he'd stolen fell with a thump onto the carpeted floor, along with half-a-dozen others.

  "God, I'm clumsy," said Gabriel, who had to be the least awkward man Carrie had ever seen. He set the wine bottle back up on the stand, taking the one Jeffie had tried to steal and putting it back where it belonged on the shelf. The small crowd involved in midday shopping quickly returned to their own interests, and the conversation between Jeffie and Gabriel was low pitched enough not to reach her ears.

  It looked pleasant enough, if earnest. Jeffie obviously thought Gabriel was God. She only hoped Gabriel had the sense not to humiliate him. It was hard enough to be seventeen, and even harder if you were blessed with such mindlessly intellectual twits as Jeffie had for parents.

  She made a furtive trip down the aisles, hoping she'd be able to put a few things back, but Gabriel caught up with her just as she was reshelving the horridly expensive chicken soup, and he took the can out of her hand. "I gave him hell," he said pleasantly.

  She was shocked. "You didn't! He's sensitive, Gabriel, you might make things worse…"

  "For some reason he takes it from me. Maybe he's just grateful for the attention. He needs someone to knock some sense into him. If my father had caught me doing something like that I wouldn't have sat down for a week."

  "But Jeffie's father doesn't even notice."

  "I know what that's like, too."

  "Make up your mind, Gabriel. Either your father ignored you or he taught you right from wrong. Which is it?"

  "I have a vivid imagination. Let's get out of here." He reached over and took two more cans of chicken soup and threw them into the cart.

  She didn't have enough money to pay for all the things he'd taken from the shelves. Not and pay him, too, and give Pastor Krieger the money she'd promised for the Christmas fund. People needed that money, to buy food, to buy fuel, far more than she did.

  She stared up at him in mute distress, unwilling to tell him the truth. She'd forgotten how astute he was behind those warm brown eyes.

  "Why don't you go out to the car and wait for me?" he suggested calmly.

  "I have to pay for the groceries."

  "No, you don't."

  "Yes, I do," she said furiously. "I don't take charity…"

  "I know, you give it. Too damned bad, Saint Carrie. I chose this food, I'm paying for it, and I have every intention of eating a good portion of it. If you want to have a screaming row in the middle of the local grocery store I'd be more than happy to give it to you."

  "I don't have screaming rows," she said between clenched teeth.

  "Maybe you should. It would be good for you."

  She stared up at him. The damnable thing about him was he was right. He was bringing up emotions, feelings she thought she'd managed to squash in her effort to atone for her sins. In the week since he'd arrived in Angel Falls she'd experienced lust, love, longing and sheer fury, when all she was used to feeling was quiet regret. It was oddly unnerving.

  "I'll write you a check," she said tightly, enjoying the race of blood in her veins, enjoying her temper.

  "You do that. When I'm finished my work, you can add it in. After Christmas, when I'm ready to leave."

  "I don't have that much work to keep you busy," she protested.

  "I take my time. Pay me after Christmas."

  She wanted to hit him. She who never had hit anyone in her entire life. She whirled around and stalked toward the door, her dignity around her like a cloak. Mrs. Johannsen's knowing smile only irked her more.

  He was out in five minutes, with four overflowing bags of groceries. He was humming under his breath as he stowed them in the back of her car, something familiar yet oddly jaunty. She recognized it with a start of shock. It was an up-tempo version of the Gregorian dirge that passed for Emerson MacVey's taste in Christmas music.

  "How did you manage to pay for all that?" she demanded grumpily. "I thought you didn't have much money."

  "Yeah, but I have a gold credit card," he said, sliding behind the driver's seat.

  "Credit cards have to be paid off sooner or later."

  Fo
r a moment he looked abashed. Then he started the car. "Don't worry," he drawled. "My credit card's got a rock-solid guarantee."

  "Fasten your seat belt."

  "You are in a grumpy mood, aren't you?" he said cheerfully. "I don't believe in them."

  "In my car you wear seat belts," she snapped.

  "Yes, ma'am." He seemed almost pleased by her bad temper. "But trust me, it won't matter."

  "It can be the difference between life and death."

  "Not in my case."

  He drove well. Not too fast, his big hands resting on her steering wheel. She tried not to watch him, tried to concentrate on the melting slush on the back roads. Her temper was fading, guilt was setting in. He was only trying to help her, and she was an ungrateful, self-centered bitch to fight him.

  "I'm sorry."

  "I knew that would happen. Don't be sorry, Carrie. Be mad. I'm high-handed, and you like to be Lady Bountiful. It drives you crazy to have to accept anything in return. Admit it."

  "I'm trying to be gracious," she said sharply.

  "I like you better when you're honest."

  "I don't give a damn what you like."

  He turned and smiled at her, that wide, beautiful smile that would have melted the resolve of a saint. "Yes, you do," he murmured, then turned his attention back to the road, humming once more.

  "Aren't you driving a little too fast?" she roused herself long enough to ask. The road was wide and blessedly deserted, but her car seemed to be picking up speed as they started down a long winding hill. "This isn't the Indianapolis 500, you know."

  "I know." There was a certain tension in his voice, and the hands on the steering wheel were no longer gripping it loosely.

  "Then why are you driving so fast?"

  He didn't turn to look at her. His face looked grim in the winter light. "Because, Saint Carrie," he said with deceptive calm, "you don't seem to have any brakes."

  Chapter Ten

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