Captive Angel

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  She looked down at herself. “Yeah. I noticed that. It’s my shoulder. And you know what? It hurts like hell.”

  “I reckon it does.” Jack wanted to cry. Or laugh. He didn’t know which. He was just so damned relieved. He wanted to hold her, never let her go. But still, as if he’d been told to do so, he stood where he was, nodding and talking to her, as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. “You want me to take a look at it for you?”

  She nodded. “I wish you would. Before anyone else comes back here and tries to kill us.”

  “Yeah, I thought of that, too. I just hope Lou and Boots are okay.” With that, Jack went to her, squatting down beside her, not wanting to hurt her further by wrenching her into his arms and pressing her to his chest … for the rest of their lives. Unbuttoning her shirt’s top two buttons, Jack gingerly pulled the flannel material away from her wound, and peered at it, frowning.

  “Is it that bad?”

  Jack shook his head, making a dismissive face. “Naw. Looks like the bullet grazed your shoulder. Just skinned you, made you bleed a lot. You ought to be up and cooking and cleaning in a day or two.” He grinned at her, finally chuckling at her pain-glazed but peevish expression.

  “Cooking and cleaning, huh? Is that all you can think to do with me?”

  Just as Jack opened his mouth, preparatory to telling her all the bedroom details of the things he could think to do with her, he heard his name being called out from the front of the barn. His name and Angel’s. He tensed, listened, and then relaxed, grinned down at Angel, saw the white lines of pain at either side of her mouth … and yet she grinned right back.

  Together they said, “Lou and Boots.”

  * * *

  The sun was shining. The world was quiet. Or perhaps it was just the morning hush inside the Circle D main house …

  Whatever it was … What a difference three days can make, Angel decided, as she moved against Jack in his wide bed, as she felt him take her in his arms, felt his mouth on her flesh, on her neck … and then lower. When he captured a nipple, his tongue swirling and suckling the sensitive bud, Angel was seized by a burning, stinging desire. It coursed through her, capturing her senses, had her clutching at Jack’s shoulder, had her fingers tangled in his thick, black hair. Had her calling out his name.

  Lying atop her, between her bent legs, his warm, naked length covering hers, Jack raised his head. “Am I hurting you?” His gaze went to her shoulder, to the patchwork stripping of bandage that was the product of Boots’s fussing and clucking over her.

  A slow grin spread across Angel’s mouth. She gently ran her hand over Jack’s matching bandages, one on his arm, one on his shoulder. And said, “No. You’re not hurting me, Jack. You’re making me whole again.” Then she sobered, almost afraid she wouldn’t have the words she needed to tell him what he meant to her, what she wanted him to do to her. “I … I need you, Jack. I don’t want to wait any longer. I want you to do this. I want you to … make me yours … again.”

  She could see in his eyes, in his expression, that he knew what she meant. She wanted him to erase from her heart, from her body, any memory of Seth’s ugliness toward her. She didn’t doubt either that maybe just for a flash of a second, he saw himself and her and the unharmed Boots and Lou burying Seth and the three of his men who’d ridden in with him … not next to his mother and father, because he didn’t deserve that, but on a remote part of the Circle D.

  Jack blinked, and it was gone … that haunted look. It was then that Angel realized he needed her healing touch as much as she needed his. And that made the words suddenly come easy. She reached down, capturing his strong and handsome face in her hands, and looked deep into his blue eyes. “I love you, Jack. I always will. We … did what we had to do. It couldn’t be helped.”

  His expression softened. “I know that. There was no other way. It’s just that … when I think of how close I came to losing you, Angel. When I realize how much I love you and need you—well, it scares the hell out of me. To have you here now, and safe and saying you love me—” He broke off speaking and lowered his head … he held his lips to her chest, just above her heart, kissing her there with all the tenderness she could ever want.

  And then, with that gesture, the time for talking passed, became a time for celebration of their love. Jack again lowered his head, this time capturing her other nipple, this time burning her flesh with his touch, with the hot feel of his mouth on her. Angel’s back arched as she pushed herself into him. Her toes clutched at the sheets under them. She held his head, wanting … wanting so much more. And Jack gave it to her.

  Slipping down her, his hands never leaving her sides, his mouth never leaving her skin, her hungry body, he kissed his way down to her most intimate of places. Angel’s breath caught, she stilled, a ragged gasp escaped her, had her staring at the ceiling … and then tossing her head, moaning, her eyes closed. The liquid-fire sensations scorched her, touched the very center of her. “Oh, God, Jack,” she muttered. “What are you.…”

  She couldn’t finish her thought. Her entire body clamped down, needing what he was doing, existing only for the hot sensations that his mouth, his kiss, his swirling tongue, were awakening in her. This hunger … it required her total concentration, a complete giving of herself. It was an endless, aching need at her very center, at the core of her being. And then, she felt it … growing, burning, running hot and sweet, consuming her.

  The rhythmic sensations seized her, held her immobile in his clutching hands, against his deliciously heated mouth as she moved her hips against him, increasing her own pleasure, never wanting this to end—even as at the same moment she believed she’d die if it didn’t. Rigid with desire, she cried out … from the back of her throat, from the bottom of her soul, from the depths of her heart.

  And then Jack was pulling himself up over her, covering her … sliding into her slickness … completing her. Angel exhaled, wrapped her arms around his neck, accepting him, encircling his hips with her legs, and loving him in return. “God, I love you, Angel,” he whispered into her ear, his thrusts into her working their own magic, igniting the fire inside her yet again, even as he sought her mouth … and she tasted her honeyed self on his lips.

  And it was enough, this loving between them, this closeness, this intimacy. It was enough to heal them both, to give them back hope.…

  * * *

  Lou and Boots would ride as far as Red River Station with her and Jack. There they’d pick up much-needed supplies, mostly foodstuffs, and then come on back here to the Circle D to keep the place going until she and Jack could get back from Wichita Falls. Back from the county seat. From filing those papers that Wallace Daltry’d had drawn up … and that Jack insisted she sign, saying he hadn’t been much of a son to his father and that he wanted to honor this last wish of his by making the Circle D hers.

  And he wanted her to be his. They’d agreed to be married by a justice of the peace while in town. Jack had then told her that she deserved to know that when they married, the laws being what they were, the property would revert back to him, anyway. But Angel hadn’t cared … the name on some legal papers didn’t matter. They both loved the land. It wasn’t hers, wasn’t his. It was theirs.

  And speaking of the land, and their future on it, Jack meant to wire Abilene from Wichita Falls, hoping for some word from that railhead city on his men and the Circle D cattle. If they’d escaped Seth’s treachery, if they’d gotten the herd through—and Jack had every reason to believe they had, he’d told her, given the size of the herd and the number of loyal and experienced men riding with them—then, he and she had all the money they needed for next year’s herd.

  But if not, if they hadn’t made it through—the thought saddened them both—then there was the money from the safe that Jack had ridden out to retrieve from his and Seth’s childhood hideout. With it, they could buy more breeding stock to replace those killed along with Tex and Calvin and the cow dogs. It’d be tough for a while, but it wa
s a way of starting over. With Lou and Boots, a lot of hard work and patience, and their love for each other, as well as the land … they could do this.

  Making a last-minute check to see if she’d forgotten anything, and knowing how pressed they were for time, how anxious Jack was to get started, Angel smiled as she looked around her bedroom—well, it was Old Mother’s bedroom again. Because now, no longer wanting or needing to be alone, Angel slept with Jack in his room. Perhaps it was just being in here, thinking about Old Mother, that made Angel remember, that had her sitting weakly on the side of the narrow bed. Whatever the reason, she suddenly recalled that snarling she had heard on the day Seth came back.

  Five days ago now. Maybe one day—she hoped soon—she could quit counting the days, could let go of those times. But for now, and needing to work through this, Angel sat, staring at nothing in particular, and suddenly remembered the white streak that had flown by outside the window that day. Or maybe it had just flitted across her vision, across her soul. Angel didn’t know which, nor did she care. The truth was, the white wolf had warned them again. But had she been more spirit than flesh that time? Because she’d not left a mark on anyone. Where had she been going? Who was her snarling for?

  Angel sat in the sunlit quiet, not receiving any answers. She smoothed a hand over the colorful Indian blanket that covered the bed, and murmured, “Thank you, Old Mother. I believe in you. I do.”

  Approaching footsteps stopped at the door to her room and had Angel looking up. Jack stood there, leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb. Angel’s heart leaped, her pulse raced … at just the sight of him. She smiled at him. He returned it, saying warmly, “Hey, you. What’re you doing?”

  Angel shrugged her shoulders, looking down, suddenly embarrassed. She heard Jack’s approach, flicked her gaze to him as he sat beside her on the bed and put an arm around her, kissing her temple. “It’s okay. I come in here and talk to her sometimes, too.”

  Angel cocked her head, giving him a sidelong glance. “You do?”

  “Yep.” His blue eyes were sincere, his expression calm. “She’s good for me. Just like you are.”

  Her heart melting, Angel’s thought was that she loved him best when he was like this. Open and warm and caring, willing to tell her his thoughts, not afraid to let her know he wasn’t always strong, that he too needed someone … needed her, as she needed him. “I’m going to miss her,” Angel said suddenly into the quiet.

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  His words saddened Angel. “Then, you don’t think she’ll be back, either?”

  Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s hard to say.” Then he shot her a glance Angel couldn’t interpret … until he spoke again. “My mother said she saw a white wolf both times she was expecting a child. You may, too.”

  “A child?” Shock had Angel sitting up straight and turning to him. She hadn’t thought of that, that she may already be carrying a child. But whose? “It may not be yours, Jack,” she said quietly.

  Without hesitation, Jack said, “It’s yours, Angel. And that’s enough for me. I’ll love it as I do you.”

  Could she love him any more than she did at this moment? But then, his first words came back to her. With them, came shock. “Your mother saw the white wolf, too? But, how? I thought Old Mother—”

  Jack feigned innocence. “Didn’t I tell you? My mother was part Comanche. Which probably explains Old Mother and why the white wolf comes to us Daltrys.”

  Angel smacked at his arm. “Damn you, Jack Daltry. You know good and well you never told me that.”

  “I didn’t? Well, you don’t mind being hitched to a mixed-blood breed, do you? You know what folks say.”

  Angel shook her head slowly, her expression sincere. “And you know what folks say about me. Will it bother you?”

  “Yep. I may have to kill them, if they say one word about you.”

  Chuckling, Angel reached out to caress his cheek. He captured her hand, taking it to his lips, kissing her palm. Angel’s throat thickened with emotion. She could barely get her words out. “You can’t kill them all. Or stop them, Jack. They’re going to talk. But you know what? I love you, Jack Daltry. And that’s all that matters to me.”

  Jack stood up, pulling her to her feet. “That’s all that matters to me, too,” he said, enfolding her in his embrace, laying his cheek atop her head, and holding her.

  Never before had Angel known such contentment. To be nestled against his warm strength, to be safe and happy, to be able to let her breath out and her guard down. To have this man’s love. It meant everything. Into the ensuing quiet, she said, “I’m glad you told me about your mother. You don’t ever talk about her.”

  Jack pulled back, capturing her arms and looking down into her face. Angel swallowed, felt tears prick her eyes … even before he spoke.

  “Neither do you … talk about your mother. But there’s a lot you need to say to her, Angel.”

  She looked down, stared at a button on his chambray shirt. “I know. I just don’t.…” She turned her face up to his, saw the tender smile he had for her. And felt emboldened enough to ask him, “Will you go with me?”

  Jack stroked her cheek. “Sure I will. You’re not alone anymore, Angel. I’ll do whatever you want.” Then he smiled. “However, this day isn’t getting any younger. You ready to get started?”

  And suddenly, Angel realized she wasn’t. She shook her head and stepped out of his embrace. “No.” Turning away, she stepped over to the window and opened it, looking out onto the meadow, seeing the field of bluebonnets, the wolf flowers, waving in the warm and gentle breeze. A dart of disappointment assailed her, telling her she’d half expected to see the white wolf there.

  Angel folded her arms under her bosom, felt Jack’s arms encircle her from behind. She leaned her head back against him. “There’s something I have to do first.”

  “All right.”

  His total acceptance, his patience, his unquestioning trust in her, the faith he placed in her, warmed Angel, made her feel no longer a captive to her fears. She smiled, reveling in his love, but still felt shy about saying what she wanted to do. So she just asked, “You think my mother would like bluebonnets, Jack?”

  His hold on her tightened. “I think your mother would love bluebonnets, Angel. Why don’t we go pick some to take to her?”

  “All right,” Angel said, turning with him to leave the room. But not his life.

  Outside, in the meadow, reposing among the bluebonnets, the white wolf arose, her tail wagging, her muzzle parting in a grin as she turned away … as she faded away. “It is good.” The wind carried her words, Old Mother’s benediction.

  The white wolf’s children would survive.

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks titles by Cheryl Anne Porter

  HANNAH’S PROMISE

  JACEY’S RECKLESS HEART

  SEASONS OF GLORY

  CAPTIVE ANGEL

  “What a tour de force. CAPTIVE ANGEL grips you from the get go and never lets go. Cheryl Anne Porter [is] at the top of her form. This is a top-notch romance; [a] not-to-be-missed read.”

  —Romantic Times

  CHERYL ANNE PORTER

  Critically acclaimed, best-selling author Cheryl Anne Porter is the 1997 winner of the National Readers’ Choice Award for Hannah’s Promise, a title also nominated by booksellers as the Best Love and Laughter Romance of 1997, along with Jacey’s Reckless Heart, nominated by reviewers as Best Historical Adventure of 1997. Before that, in 1994, Cheryl’s title Kansas Wildfire was a National Readers’ Choice Award finalist.

  In 1992, Cheryl sold the first novel she ever wrote. Since then, she’s penned a total of 13 books with stories ranging from her big, gritty Westerns to her light-hearted contemporary romantic comedies. She also teaches fiction writing and is a much sought-after conference speaker, in addition to her personal and television appearances on behalf of romance fiction.

  A recent transplant from Oklahoma, by way of Savannah, Georgia, Cheryl now makes
her home in Tampa, Florida.

  CAPTIVE ANGEL

  Copyright © 1999 by Cheryl Anne Porter.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

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  ISBN: 0-312-96906-6

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / April 1999

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York N.Y. 10010.

  eISBN 9781466886032

  First eBook edition: October 2014