Captive Angel

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Frowning, she shook her head, asking him, “For what? You didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes I did,” came his response. He raised a hand between them … she released his face … he swiped away his tears and wiped his cheeks dry. “I kept you here. And now I can’t keep you safe. I should have let you go yesterday. If anything were to happen to you because I didn’t make you—”

  “Jack!” she cut him off, again cupping his cheeks with her hands. “Look at me.” Her palms still damp with his tears, she waited until he blinked, waited until she was sure he was paying attention to her. Only then did she speak her mind. “First of all, you can’t make me do anything. And I would have come back. Even if I’d left … I’d have come back”—she faltered—“because … because I don’t have any place else to go. This is my home, too. So whatever happens … would have happened anyway. And it won’t have a blamed thing to do with you.”

  He shook his head, releasing her, turning away, again swiping at his face, wiping away evidence of his tears, tears that she suspected now embarrassed him. “I’d like to believe that, Angel. But I can’t,” he said, more to the bed he faced than to her.

  “Then I can’t help you,” she said quietly. He pivoted to face her, his own face red, swollen around his blue eyes, his mouth downcast, white around the edges. “Because it’s the truth. Look at me, Jack. I’m still standing here. No one’s stopping me from leaving. Not you. Not those old men down the hall. And yet, I don’t leave. What does that tell you?”

  A ghost of a grin flitted across his features. He sniffed, rubbing a finger under his nose, looking somewhat like a little boy. “That you’re too damned stubborn to save yourself?”

  “Damn straight,” Angel said, almost losing her battle to keep her own expression sober. “So, come on.” She took a step toward the door. “Like you said, the day isn’t getting any younger. And we’ve got some figuring and some work to do. Some answers to find.”

  Jack sobered, bent over to pick up his knife. Angel waited for him. He then stood tall—and maybe a little stronger, she decided, as if something on the inside were fixing itself as he stared at her. “Yeah, work and answers. And some men to kill,” he said, ending the moment.

  Thirteen

  That evening, out in the long lamp-lit hallway upstairs, Jack closed the door to his father’s room, leaving behind Lou and Boots to console each other. For a moment, he just stood there, his head hung forward, a hand to his waist, his other rubbing over his eyes and mouth. Damn, that was hard. Then he raised his head, looking toward the ceiling as he closed his eyes, swearing that when he found Seth … he’d tear him apart. That’s all there was to it.

  Soft footfalls sounded on the wood floor. Jack lowered his head, looking down the hallway, toward the stairs. Dressed still in his clothes, Angel was approaching him. At just the sight of her, Jack’s heart raced, renewing itself, proving to him that he could still find a measure of peace, of happiness, in all this. He burned for her—he admitted it—his eyes couldn’t get enough of her. A smile found its way to his lips. The truth was, she was the best thing he’d ever seen in … well, all his life.

  “You okay, cowboy?” she asked when she stood in front of him, her somber gaze roving over his face, as if she meant to reassure herself, no matter how he responded.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Jack said. Her calling him cowboy somehow eased him away from the pain of his loss. And the pain of his brother’s treachery that tugged at his heart. “How about you? Are you fine?”

  She looked surprised by that. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “No reason,” Jack said, shrugging, wondering if she’d come upstairs just to check on him. That was a heartwarming thought, if it was true. “Did you need something?”

  She blinked, her face colored, as if his question had caught her unawares. She had come to see about him. Jack had all he could do not to pull her to him and hug her tight for that. “Yeah,” she finally answered, that chin of hers notching up, her black-eyed gaze wavering. “I don’t mean to bother you, but I … I mean, I know you’re … that you probably.…” Looking peeved with herself, she huffed out her breath and spoke abruptly. “I made some coffee. You want some?”

  Jack smiled weakly and said, “I do now.” Then he did manage a chuckle, garnering for himself her frown that dared him to say one untoward word to her about her kindness, just one. But what could he say? She’d deny—until the next century—any tender concern she might feel for him or anyone else. So he simply gestured for her to walk with him back to the stairs.

  She fell in beside him, looking small and soft, despite being in his too-big clothes, despite her steady stride and self-assured ways. Even so, Jack felt his heart swell with a sudden protectiveness toward her. And wouldn’t she laugh to know that? After a few paces, she glanced up at him, caught him watching her. He didn’t look away. Her eyebrows rose, but all she did was ask, “How’re Mr. Montana and Mr. Cornwell?”

  Feeling his load lighten some, just being in her company—and how strange was that … Angel Devlin … he never would have dreamed it—Jack grinned. “You mean Lou and Boots? Don’t let them catch you calling them mister. They’ll think they’re dying.”

  She grinned … finally. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  As they walked on, now at the stairs and stepping down them, Jack behind Angel, he said, “I had a tough time convincing them to stay here and not go out to the bunkhouse.”

  She nodded her head, didn’t turn around. Jack watched the sway of her long, black hair and had to control himself to keep from reaching out to stroke its softness. “I’m sure you did,” she said over her shoulder. “How’d you finally get them to stay here?”

  “I told them it was too dangerous right now for us to be scattered about. We don’t know where Seth is, what might happen next. So we need to be in one place.”

  Angel turned to him, stopping him on the last riser, effectively holding him in place while she had her say. “A good argument, Jack. You ought to take your own advice.”

  Jack slumped. Not this again. They’d been at it all afternoon. “Look, the truth is, I told them a little lie. I do have an idea where Seth might be. I know his hideouts. Most likely, he’ll be at one of them, plotting his revenge. So—”

  “Well, I’ll sleep better for knowing that,” Angel quipped, heavy on the sarcasm.

  A bit peeved, Jack ignored her interruption. “So all I have to do is make the rounds and find him.”

  “I hope you pick well. Which hideout, that is. It could mean all our lives.”

  Jack pointed a finger at her. “Now, that’s enough, Angel. I know you don’t want me to leave—”

  “Want doesn’t have a thing to do with it,” she blurted, her color heightening. “You don’t answer to me. You’re your own man. So you do as you please. I just think what you’re doing is foolhardy.”

  Jack clenched his jaw. “So you said earlier. But foolhardy or not, I’ve got to take care of my business. I can’t just sit here anymore. Now that I know what to do, who’s behind all this misery … well, I aim to go find him. And deal with him.”

  She nodded, saying, “I’d do no less. I don’t fault you for that. And it’s not my place to do so,” she said, her voice sounding suddenly flat. “But what if you get yourself killed? What’s Seth going to do then? Come here? And if he does, what happens to this place? To those two old men upstairs? And your drovers up in Abilene? Say they make it through and come back alive, expecting their pay and their jobs. What about them?”

  Damn her for asking all the right questions. Jack stepped down off the stair, forcing her back a step—but no more. She wasn’t giving an inch. But he did notice that she hadn’t included herself in his list of worries, in the list of his responsibilities she’d outlined. Which gave him his response. “What if I hadn’t come home to begin with, Angel? What if I’d just stayed away? All this would still be happening. Only without me. So, the way I see it, it’d still all fall on your shoulders.
This place and all its problems would be yours alone.”

  She ducked her chin, raising an eyebrow. “And the same is true if things had happened the other way around. If you’d come home and I hadn’t been here. Everyone who’s dead would still be. And the same person would still be responsible. So could you leave then, Jack? Just up and leave Boots and Lou and the Circle D to fend for itself? Could you?”

  “Well, I’d just have to, wouldn’t I?”

  “Would you? It seems to me you’re using me for your ranch hands and this spread while you’re out looking for your brother—who could show up here and slip in the back door.”

  His worst nightmare, spoken aloud. Frustrated, feeling pushed into a corner, torn between what he should do—stay here—and what he felt honor bound to do—seek out Seth—Jack lost his temper, just threw his hands up, as if washing them of the place. “The hell with it all. I’m going. You want the Circle D so bad? Then you’re welcome to it. Take it. It’s yours.”

  Angel’s eyes narrowed, her mouth turned down, her hands went to her waist. “It’s not that easy,” she told him, her voice low and level. “I need to know what it is I’m fighting for. I need to know if I have a real, legal claim to the Circle D. Something despite your father’s just wanting me to have it. I need reasons, Jack. And I won’t find them here. So tomorrow, same as you, I’m leaving. But for Wichita Falls.”

  Jack didn’t know where to start answering all the wrong-headedness in everything she’d just said. But he knew she couldn’t leave. She’d get herself killed out there. “What’s in Wichita Falls?” he wanted to know. “You can’t go there.”

  “Yes I can. And it’s the county seat.”

  “The county se—” Then, suddenly, he understood. “You want to see the deed of ownership for the Circle D.”

  “Yep,” Angel assured him. “I do.”

  He couldn’t believe this. “You think it’ll be in your name?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I want to find out.”

  “It’s not. I’ve seen it. But let’s say it is, that my father changed it somehow. What does that prove?”

  “That the Circle D is worth my time. Maybe my life.”

  “Your life.” Jack stared at her. “You won’t have a life to worry about if you venture off this place and get caught by Seth before I deal with him.”

  Her expression hardened. “I can handle myself.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a minute,” Jack agreed with her. “But I also know Seth. He’s a murdering son of a bitch. And you need to stay put until I … take care of him.”

  “You keep saying that. And I keep asking you—what makes you think he won’t kill you first?”

  Jack firmed his jaw. “That’s a chance I have to take.”

  “Me, too,” Angel said.

  “Dammit, Angel.”

  “Dammit, Jack.”

  Jack huffed out his breath, ran a hand through his hair. They weren’t getting anywhere like this. Nor had they all afternoon with this same rehash. And why was that? Because, as much as he hated to admit it, they were both right. And both wrong. A sudden chuckle escaped him—and had her raising her eyebrows. “All right, Angel, you win. We’ll both either stay here. Or leave together. Deal?”

  Angel raised an eyebrow. “No.” With that, she turned on her heel and started for the back of the house, to the kitchen.

  Dammit. Jack’s teeth gritted against the emotion tearing at him, against the fit of temper itching at his skin. He started after her, focusing on her retreating back as he spoke. “Angel, I don’t want to have words with you over this. We need to work together.”

  In the hallway now, she jerked around, forcing him to pull up short. “We? We need to work together? For what?”

  “For—” He’d almost blurted For us. And realized he wanted it to be true. Which only made everything else harder. And so, he amended his answer, saying, “For the Circle D, that’s what. We may be knocking heads over who owns what, but the truth is, we could both lose it if Seth isn’t stopped. He’s already proven he’s capable of anything, Angel. He could burn the barn down, even the house.”

  “Why is he like that?” Angel cut in, her voice strident with disbelief. “What happened to make him do the things he does?”

  Her questions drooped Jack’s spirits. “I don’t know, Angel. A lot of things, I guess. Most of it to do with Pa. And my mother dying. Old Mother couldn’t even get through to him. It’s like something’s missing in his head. Or his heart.”

  “I reckon so,” Angel agreed. “Anyone’d who’d set his gang on two old men like Boots and Lou can’t be all there in the head … or the heart, like you say.”

  “It’s the truth. And it shames me even to be related to him. Those poor old men. Angel, we can’t leave them here by themselves. Look what happened to them the last time.”

  She huffed out her breath, pursing her lips and staring helplessly at him. Was she wavering? Feeling encouraged, Jack pressed his point. “What do you say, Angel, since we both care about those two? And care about—” Again, he bit back his words.

  “And we both care about … what, Jack?” came her question, in a voice achingly soft. Her big eyes, as round as full moons and as shiny as stars, called to him, begged him to step closer. Or was he just imagining it?

  Jack’s mouth worked. He knew what he wanted to say, but his heart pounded so hard and his palms sweated until he wasn’t sure he could get it out. But he was bound and determined to try. “We both … care about … what happens to each other, Angel.”

  She all but recoiled, stepping back and shaking her head. “That’s a lie. I don’t give a rat’s—”

  “Yes you do,” he abruptly cut her off, eliciting a gasp from her. But still, his heart sank. Could he have been that wrong? If someone had asked him, he’d have told them he’d been with enough women to know their signals. But with Angel Devlin … maybe not.

  She recovered, her body rigid. “I said that’s a lie. And I mean it.”

  “No you don’t.” To hell with that. He wasn’t wrong. And he wasn’t taking any more of her running away from the looks she gave him. From the things she said. From the many other ways she showed she cared. Like coming upstairs to check on him just now. “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have fussed with me all afternoon about leaving. If you didn’t care, you’d be glad to see me ride away. Because if I do and I get myself killed … then everything you want will be yours. And that’s the Circle D, right?”

  Her body jerked, she glared at him. But Jack wouldn’t give her a chance to deny it. Not able to stop himself, he reached out, grabbing her by her arms and pulling her to his chest. Looking down into her widened eyes, feeling the resistance in her body, but fueled by desire for her, by fear for her should she leave, he gritted out, “Say it, Angel. Say it again. Say you don’t care. Say it.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. Tiny white lines formed at either corner of her mouth, no more than a grim slash on her face. But then her chin quivered, tears spilling over, coursing down her cheeks. “I. Don’t. Care,” she said, slowly … deliberately … through gritted teeth.

  But still, believing he was fighting for something beyond the ranch, beyond his brother, beyond them both, something that would ultimately save them, he held on to her, looking deep into her eyes. “Then why are you crying, Angel?”

  She had no answer for him. She held herself immobile, shaking her head, lowering it until he couldn’t see her face.

  Jack loosened his grip, circled her with his arms, now holding her tightly but with more tenderness. “I don’t want to hurt you, Angel. I just want to hold you. And I think you want me to. I swear, you’re killing me, girl. Do you hear me? You’re killing me.” He kissed the top of her head, felt her body begin to shake. A ragged sob escaped her. Jack rested his cheek against the top of her head. “I can’t think about anything but you, Angel. I lie awake in my room at night, in my bed, and sweat for you. Just ache for you.”

  Now he pulled bac
k, an arm still around her, his other hand tipping her chin up until he could see her face. “Aww, sweetheart,” he crooned, seeing her tear-streaked cheeks and reddened face. She had a hiccupping sigh and stuttering breath for him that all but broke his heart. He pulled her to him again, holding her, wanting to protect her from all the hurt in the world. “Tell me you don’t want me, Angel. Tell me you don’t. And I’ll never—” He stopped, frowning. He’d never what?

  “You’ll never what, cowboy?” came her muffled question. “Touch me again?”

  Jack stiffened. Her voice. It wasn’t tearful. Could it be—? A broad grin slashed across his features. He pulled back some, still holding on to her arms, afraid to let go of her. He looked down into her face, right now so womanly, so full of promise. And yet childlike and open,… and so trusting, for the first time since he’d known her. “What are you saying, Angel?”

  “I’m saying,” she repeated, lifting her chin and adopting that bravado she wore like a weapon, “that neither one of us will get any rest, or a single, solitary thing done until we … say we care what happens to the other one. One human being to another. And nothing more.”

  Seeing through her words, his heart soaring, like he’d never thought it could, and seized by a happiness long denied him, Jack said, “Angel Devlin, those are the most beautiful words anyone ever said to me.”

  * * *

  Was the man plumb loco? Angel had to ask herself as she blinked up through her tears at Jack. She’d just admitted to as much heartfelt feeling as she’d have for a rabbit being chased for dinner by a coyote. And here he was acting as if she’d said she loved him. Well, she didn’t. And it was high time he knew it. She opened her mouth to say as much—

  And his head slanted down, his mouth covered hers.

  Fourteen

  As Jack’s lips claimed hers, as his tongue pushed against hers, dancing with it in a swirling passion that tingled her to her toes, Angel pressed her palms against his muscled chest, felt sure her bones had melted. She’d never been kissed before, except by him that one time. But she liked it, liked the way his lips felt on hers, liked the way his arms held her close, the way his body pressed into hers. His strength and size sheltered her, yet demanded more of her, made her want more. Made her want to give herself to him in all the ways she’d never, ever thought she’d want to. Or could.