Captive Angel

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Hungry for this one piece of information, Angel licked at her lips. “And where’s that?”

  Jack must have seen something in the way she looked or the way she suddenly straightened up because he asked pointedly, “Why’re you asking?”

  Angel shifted her weight, her stance. “I have a right to know.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re not going to kill him. I am.”

  Nineteen

  Shock poured through Jack, stiffening his knees, tightening his grip on the lead rope holding Angel’s roan at his side. “No you’re not,” he heard himself saying.

  “Yes I am,” she came right back, her now clearly visible eyes snapping, her hands at her waist, her body all but lost in his flannel shirt, under which her bloomers, bare legs, and muddied feet shone. “What’s the difference to you? You want him dead. So do I.”

  “The difference is,” Jack argued, “you wouldn’t stand a chance against him.”

  An abrupt chuckle escaped her. “You haven’t done so well yourself against him, cowboy. I had to save your ass the last time you faced him.”

  That’s what he needed to hear right now, came his sour thought, sour despite her calling him cowboy, when about an hour ago he’d been praying to hear her say it. But now? “Dammit, Angel.”

  “Dammit, Jack.”

  Impasse. “You don’t know what it’s like to kill a man,” he argued, meaning it. “What that does to your soul. I do.”

  “So do I. Why do you think I was being strung up? Because I killed Jeb Kennedy, that’s why.”

  “Jeb Kennedy?” The man’s hateful name spewed out of his mouth. Jack’s heart sank for her. He could only imagine under what circumstances she’d been forced to kill him. “John Henton’s trail boss? I knew him. A worthless shit. But why’d you kill him?”

  He saw Angel’s chin come up, her throat work. “Because he tried to … he thought he could do to me what your brother did. And on the same day I buried my mother. So I killed him. With his own knife.”

  “Damn.” Flashing images of Seth killing their father with a knife, just as Angel had Jeb Kennedy, filtered through Jack’s consciousness, made him grimace. But her circumstance had been different. She’d been defending herself. Against yet another man. Suddenly, Jack felt about two inches tall for even being one. What the hell was wrong with the whole breed, himself included? “Damn him, Angel. He deserved to die. I’m glad you did it.”

  “That’s what your father said.”

  “He did?” Jack’s chuckle held no humor, but he was comforted to know that he and Pa obviously felt the same way about at least one thing. “Still, I’m sorry. I wish I’d known.”

  “Why? There was no need for you to know,” she said, adopting that tough-girl attitude she always wore, Jack knew, when he’d get too close to the core of a deep hurt inside her.

  “Well, still … I’m sorry.” In the face of her calm and her sober expression, and jolted by the roan’s impatient toss of its head, Jack spoke up. “But that doesn’t change anything. You’re crazy if you think I’m going to sit by while you ride out and face my brother. What kind of a man would that make me?”

  “And what kind of a woman would it make me if I don’t try to right a wrong that’s been done to me? Just like you can’t bring your father back, I can’t bring my mother back. Seth was … with her, too. He hurt my mother, just like he hurt me. So I have as much call as you do to have my face be the last one he sees.”

  Hearing her words only brought home to Jack just how much there was between them to overcome, if indeed there even remained any hope of them having something together. He wasn’t so sure anymore that they could get around this. But he knew he had to try. Because without her, he had no reason to go on. But how could he stop her? Then it came to him. He’d agree with her. “You know what, Angel? You’re right.”

  She stood up straighter, looking wary. “I am? About what?”

  “About Seth. About a lot of other things, too. You’re right. You have as much reason as I do to see this through to the end. I don’t want you running off after him. And you don’t want me to go, either. So … let’s do it together. What do you want to do? And how do you want to do it? What’s your plan?”

  Frowning, her eyes narrowed, she looked at him as if she didn’t believe him. “My plan?” Then she looked around, not at anything specifically, just as if she were thinking. Then, she refocused on him and pointed to her horse. “Start with turning him loose.”

  “All right.” Jack loosened the noose and slipped the reata over the roan’s head, making a noise that sent the horse dashing away. “There. Now what?”

  Angel eyed him. “There is no ‘now what,’ the way I see it. It’s just plain crazy to go chasing after Seth. It could be a trap. His whole gang could be waiting on you.”

  “Yeah, that’s true,” Jack agreed, nodding. He’d already thought of that, but in his fierce anger of a few moments ago, he hadn’t cared, had felt as if his rage and his six-shooter would be all he needed to outgun his brother’s entire gang, seven men at last count. “So, do we wait here for him?”

  Angel nodded now. “Yeah. We wait here. When you don’t show up, he’ll get curious and come see what’s going on.”

  “Yep. That’s true. That’s what he did with Pa … came to see for himself.” Jack liked the way she thought.

  “How long you think it’ll take for him to realize you’re not coming and head for here?”

  That got a shrug out of him as he thought about it. “Could be tonight. But I doubt it. He’ll wait a bit, try to draw me out again. But I don’t think he has the patience to go beyond a day or two, at the most, if I don’t show up in a hurry. And he’s not that far away. It’s an old abandoned line shack about three hours from here. We used to go out there as kids. But he knows what he did”—Jack meant what Seth’d done to her—“and how much I’ll want to kill him for it.” His eyes narrowed with his hatred. “Oh, yeah, he’ll show up soon enough.”

  “Good. Then we’ll keep an eye out and see if he rides in alone. If he does, then we can … you can … well, we’ll deal with that. But if he’s not alone—How many men you suppose he’ll have with him?”

  Jack felt as if he were being questioned by a general right before a major battle. “Hard to say. But my best guess is as many as seven.”

  “That many? Whew. Well, at least there’s me and Boots to help you out.”

  She was on his side. That warmed Jack, had him grinning and saying, “Don’t forget Lou. He’s simple-minded, but a hell of a shot.”

  Angel gave him an answering grin … a fleeting one, but a grin nonetheless. “Yeah? Well, I’ll be. Okay, then there’d be the four of us. We can face Seth—and his men, if he brings them—right here. Together. On your own land.”

  “On your land, Angel.”

  Some emotion flicked within her eyes. “No. Your land. It’s yours, Jack.”

  “It’s yours.”

  She put her hands to her waist. “Dammit, Jack.”

  Still clutching the thick looped rope, Jack put his fists to his waist. “Dammit, Angel.”

  She cocked her head. “What are you doing … and I mean really?”

  He cocked his head, feigning innocence. “Agreeing with you.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  She frowned. “It doesn’t bother you that we’re standing here talking about killing your brother?”

  Jack’s heart squeezed, but then it hardened. “No. He’s not my brother. Not after what he did to you. And my father. And your mother. I hate him as much as you do.”

  “But still, Jack, he’s blood kin.”

  Jack shifted his weight, ran a hand through his hair. “You know, you’re right. It does bother me that we’re standing here talking about this. In the middle of a danged horse corral … with you barefoot and in your bloomers. Can we at least go to the verandah?”

  She shrugged, turning around, already walking away when she said,
“Fine by me.”

  Jack stood there, handling the reata, watching her go. He shook his head, and despite everything, despite the whole damned mess, he grinned, barely holding back a chuckle. Damned little spitfire. She’s beat to hell—and tough as hell. Look at her. Muddied feet, bloomers, and a flannel shirt. But walking with more grace and fineness than any high-society lady in any parlor anywhere. As he started out after her, looping the rope over a fence post, Jack knew he’d never forget the sight she made right now.

  And knew he’d probably never love her more than he did at this moment. The realization staggered him, had him standing still, stiff-legged and watching her slender back and shapely calves. Any other woman who’d been through what she had would’ve taken to her bed, never to get up again. But not Angel Devlin. No, she was marching through horse apples, her long black hair swinging with every movement, and climbing a split-rail fence, getting ready to put the final touches to her plans for a war.

  And suddenly Jack couldn’t stand it, couldn’t keep his hands off her. He caught up to her, capturing her around her waist—startled, she gasped, lost her hold on the fence—and pulled her down, turning her to face him.

  Perturbed, she took him to task. “Jack Daltry, what’s got into you—”

  “You have,” he said, cutting her off. And then he kissed her, softly, taking great care with her bruised and tender flesh.

  He pulled her to him, enfolded her in his arms and reveled in her warmth, her sweet smell, his heart aching for her fragile slenderness, his body hungry for the feel of her against him. Alert to her reaction, ready to free her at the slightest sign she didn’t want this, Jack gently swirled his tongue and lips over hers, kissing her … nearly dying when she melted against him, when her arms shyly encircled his waist, when she returned his kiss.

  Such powerful emotions surged through Jack that he wanted to get down on his knees and kiss the ground, mud and all, out of thankfulness for Angel’s presence in his life. But to do that, he’d have to release her. And he wasn’t about to do that. But he did finally break their kiss and pull back, breathing hard, one hand encircling her ribs, his other cupping her jaw, raising her face until she stared into his eyes. “You,” he repeated. “You got to me, Angel. I love you. I’ve never said that to a woman before. But I do—I love you. And I always will.”

  With that, he slipped his other hand around her back and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose. Angel closed her eyes, her mouth opened slightly. Smiling, adoring her all the more for her warm and innocent reaction, Jack felt emboldened enough to say, “No matter what happens here today, Angel, or tomorrow, or next year … I will always love you. And it doesn’t even matter if you don’t feel the same about me, because I—”

  She reached up, covering his mouth with her fingers. “I feel the same, Jack. At least, I think I do. I—” She lowered her hand to his chest, resting it there. Her gaze followed her hand. She stared at his shirtfront. Finally she raised her head, looking into his eyes. “This is hard for me,” she began. “I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never said … these words before. And I’m glad you haven’t, either. That makes it easier for me.”

  Tenderness and love gripping him, Jack smiled as he caressed her ribs under that shirt of his she wore. “Take your time. I’ve waited all my life for you. And I believe I’d wait the rest of it to hear you say you love me.”

  A sweet half-smile lit her features. She again lowered her gaze to his shirtfront, but not before he saw her deepening color. She was shy. He loved that about her. She raised her head, saying, “I … do love you, Jack.” As she said that, his heart soared. “I tried to tell myself I didn’t know what it was that I’m feeling. But it has to be, this aching to be with you, to see you and hear your voice … and to touch you.” A sudden anxious expression captured her features, widened her eyes. “That is love, isn’t it?”

  Beside himself with happiness, Jack chuckled. “God, I hope so.”

  But she didn’t return his grin. No, instead, she soberly added, “Me, too. But I do, Jack—I love you. I don’t know how I can. Or what we can do about it. I mean, I don’t know how to get past everything that’s gone on here—and I mean now or for the past twelve or thirteen years. And there’s still more … bad stuff to go. I just hope that what I feel … what we feel when it’s all over is enough. In the end.”

  Sober himself now, Jack said, “Me, too, Angel. Me, too.” Because he knew, standing there with his arms around her, that if he lost her, there’d be no reason to go on. None.

  * * *

  Two warm, muggy, overcast days passed. With no sign of Seth. With no drop of rain to relieve the overhead battalion of low-hanging, disgruntled, full-bellied clouds. With each lagging hour, the tension in the main house at the Circle D escalated, finally becoming a living thing, the fifth presence among them. During the day, only Jack dared go outside alone. And inside, at night, none of them wanted to be alone.

  Second-floor opened windows provided the only breeze, and the best vantage points for watching the hills and the surrounding prairie for interlopers. But maddeningly, none rode over the horizon. As much as trapped inside, lest they become unwitting targets at any moment, the four armed occupants moved through their days quietly. Even at mealtimes. Maybe especially at mealtimes. Because the food supplies were running low. They made do with what they had. And were grateful. But quiet. And edgy … not one meal passing without one or the other of them jumping up to look out a window, certain of a movement seen or a sound heard.

  But no one was ever there.

  As bad as the days were, the nights were worse. The sky remained cloudy, gave no quarter to the moon, no illumination to the ground. Evening’s sheltering shadows slowly, reluctantly, gave way to night’s black and funereal drapings. Outside, the dark and the shadows conspired only with those needing stealth … such as the occasional coyote going after a remaining chicken. But inside was no better, no safer. Because when day’s light faded, no lamps could be lit and movements, by necessity, were few.

  Why make it easy for any hostile gunman who might lurk outside?

  The only relief, the only surcease from the constant tension, for Jack and Angel, was lying in each other’s arms when one or the other of them wasn’t taking a turn guarding. That first night after Seth’s attack, Angel had shyly, with great embarrassment, come to his room, asking if he’d hold her. With open arms, Jack had welcomed her sweet presence in his bed, his heart warmed by her need for him. There’d been no loving beyond the embracing, given her bruising and soreness. But the love was there … and it was enough.

  And so, the third day dawned, became several hours old, as Angel cleared away their lunch remains, as she held on to the memory of Jack’s warm and solid body at her back all the night before, recalled his muscled arm around her, holding her close, his breath in her hair. Drat his patience, she found herself thinking … and grinning. Maybe tonight she could tell him she—She what? Angel’s movements stilled.

  Tell him what? Tell him that wearing his clothes, like she was now, only made her want to get him out of his? Angel’s grin became wicked and had her nibbling at her lower lip. Oh, yes, she knew what she wanted him to do. She just didn’t have the words for it. Then she blinked. Something white darting by outside captured her attention, crossed her consciousness … and was gone.

  What was that? came her startled, knee-stiffening thought. And what am I—? When did I—? Only now did she realize that, at some point in her daydreaming, she’d come over to the kitchen window, was even now staring out of it … only now aware of what she was seeing.

  Out at the corral, Jack was shirtless and wiping down Buffalo. Angel relaxed, melted. A sigh of longing escaped her. Gone was all thought of ghostly images flitting about. Something else filled her vision now. Angel didn’t know which one she believed to be more finely muscled. The man or his horse. Both of them rippled and glistened, dark and tanned, each movement they made a display meant for appreciating.

&nb
sp; Slowly, mechanicallly, not even glancing down, acting as if she feared that even the slightest noise from her would end this magical moment, Angel placed the dishes she still held into the sink and continued staring at Jack’s bare back, at his long, muscular legs, at his spare and precise movements.

  She couldn’t believe the love welling up in her heart, the letting go of all her hurts, the forgiveness in her … all because of Jack. His love gave her a reason to go on, to live and to be happy. For once, and finally. A smile all the way from her soul lit Angel’s face as she cocked her head, crossing her arms, and filling her eyes with his presence. Without him—if something were to happen to him—why, she couldn’t go on, couldn’t draw another breath, couldn’t—

  A wolf howled … mournfully. In the same instant, a single shot rang out, cracking the waiting day. Buffalo reared. Jack went down. Angel froze, clutched the sink’s rim, thought she heard an animal’s vicious snarling, but couldn’t be sure—because of her own scream. “Jack!”

  She jerked around, making for the kitchen door, already tearing off her apron, wanting nothing between her and the Colt strapped to her left hip. She’d not gone two steps before the sound of running footsteps in the hallway brought her up short—friend or foe?—and had her pulling the gun from its holster and aiming it. Boots and Lou rounded into the kitchen. Their gazes locked with hers. She pulled her gun up, exhaling her terror.

  Then Boots, his eyes widened, his expression grim, mouthed, “Seth.”

  Angel knew that, knew it was Seth outside, knew he’d fired that shot, but still … it was all she needed to hear. The man’s name. Her expression contorting with the hatred in her heart, Angel said, “I’ll kill him. He’s shot Jack.”