My Special Angel

by Marcia Evanick

  Owen laughed and hugged Nadia tighter. “It’s your family—do you want to handle this, or should I?”

  Nadia sighed, smiled sweetly at the nurses and doctor, and then proceeded to blister the paint off the walls as she tore into her family in Russian.

  Owen pulled a nurse aside and asked if he could borrow the phone to call the police. It seemed that the accident wasn’t an accident and that his supervisor was holding the culprit in the solarium. The nurse pushed the phone across the counter without batting an eyelash.

  Twenty minutes later the police arrived to haul Bill away, and Nadia had succeeded in removing everyone but her mother from Milosh’s room. She glanced at the overflowing solarium and groaned. Her family were making themselves at home with the various patients who had left their rooms to see what all the commotion was about. Yelena was sitting on the floor in front of a wheelchair reading the palm of some old man in blue plaid pajamas. Volga was holding court in the corner with three old ladies, telling them the story about when some old hag put the evil eye on the entire family. A circle of patients had gathered around the babies, making childish prattle, and passing little Liberty around. One nurse looked dazed and bewildered, but Nadia couldn’t tell if it was from the crowd or because Stevo was making a pass at her.

  “Owen, I can’t get my mother to leave,” said Nadia. “She won’t come home with us.”

  He gave her a quick hug. “I’ll handle it.” He walked briskly away, leaving her to deal with the other twenty-nine members of her family.

  Five minutes later he was back. “It’s all settled.”

  “She’s coming?”

  “Nope, she’s staying too.”

  “In the hospital?” Nadia passed little two-year-old Tatiana back to her mother. “She can’t stay in the hospital—she’s not ill.”

  “I arranged for them to move a cot into your father’s room for her. She can sleep in there for the night.”

  “They allow that?”

  “Since he’s in a private room, and she’s having a very calming affect on him, they’ll break the rules this once.” He pulled her down the hall toward her father’s room. “I also explained that he wouldn’t stay unless she did.”

  Nadia stopped before the door. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

  He reached out tenderly and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Do you trust me, Nadia?”

  She studied the strong curve of his jaw, the faint traces of dirt left over from the construction site, his tousled hair, and the love shining in his eyes.

  How could she not trust the man she loved? He was tender, sweet, and incredibly sexy. She wanted to be his beloved more than anything else in the world. He’d earned her trust and her love weeks ago, but she hadn’t returned the favor. How could she expect Owen to trust her when she held secrets? Secrets that were bound to rip them apart. Yes, she trusted Owen with her heart, her family, and her life.

  She reached for his hand and brought it to her mouth. Her lips caressed its rough palm. “Yes, Owen, I do trust you.”

  * * *

  “Stop that,” said Nadia, “it tickles.” She took another swing at the long weed Owen was using to tickle the bottom of her feet and missed. “You promised you would behave yourself this time.”

  “I am behaving myself.” Owen feathered the weed over her ankle and up her slender, tan calf. “Aren’t my clothes still on?”

  “Amazingly, yes.” She idly brushed the tips of her fingers off the strings of her guitar.

  “Then that proves I’m behaving.” He dug into the picnic basket sitting beside him and pulled out an apple. “Last week when I had you out here, I didn’t behave, and I ended up with a sunburn on a very embarrassing part of my anatomy.” His hand rubbed his bottom.

  “That’s what happens when you fall asleep on top of me.” She crossed her legs and sat up straighter.

  “Do you want to hear ‘Naughty Niki’ in Polish, or what?” Niki was a mischievous little spider monkey who loved getting into trouble.

  Owen grinned wickedly and teased, “I’ll take the ‘or what.’”

  Nadia felt herself start to melt under his playfulness. After all these weeks he still held the power to turn her on with just a smile, a heated look, or a word. She glanced around the secluded picnic spot. IRS and Victoria Rose were quietly munching on tall grass in the protective shade of a grove of trees. The creek was a few feet away, babbling as the cool water rushed over the rocks in its race downstream. Wildflowers dotted the small meadow, and the sun warmed her skin as well as her soul. It was their little piece of heaven they had found on the farthest corner of the Kandratavich Ranch. Nothing could touch them here. Not Wyatt Marshall and the upcoming court date. Not her disappearing music and the one last song. And most especially not the secrets she was still holding from Owen.

  Her fingers stilled on the string. She didn’t feel like practicing anymore today. She wanted to hold Owen and make another memory. “I thought you said you wanted to hear some foreign languages.”

  The palm of his hand grazed her thigh. “I do.” His finger traced the line across the top of her thigh where her shorts ended. He smiled as the muscles twitched and her breath caught. “Do you know you speak in foreign words when we make love?” He removed the guitar from her hands and placed it on the blanket beside them.

  “Sorry.” A flush swept up her cheeks. “I sometimes get carried away and forget what language I’m using.” It was halfway the truth. The other reason she spoke in different languages was that she wanted to hide her true feelings. Twice she had told Owen she loved him; both times had been in Russian, and he hadn’t understood a single word she had said.

  His fingers skimmed up her shorts and climbed the buttons on her blouse. “Don’t be sorry.” He slowly eased her back onto the blanket. “It’s erotic as all hell having you whispering all those foreign-sounding words into my ear.” He stroked the fullness of her lower lip with his thumb. “I can put my own meaning to those words.”

  She reached under his shirt and caressed the warmth of his back. “I suppose you could.” It didn’t matter what meaning he put to her words; nothing could compare to some of the things she had whispered to him in the dark.

  “I have a story for you, love.” He brushed her hair out so that it spread like dark silk across the yellow blanket. “There once was a wise old owl named Owen...”

  “Who?”

  “That’s it, Nadia, play along.” He kissed the second question from her lips. “There once was a wise old owl named Owen, who knew that with time, patience, and understanding he would learn the secret of all the words in the whole wide world.” He kissed her again, more slowly this time. “One day a wild Gypsy rose handed him the key to unlock the secrets, and do you know what he found?”

  Nadia’s hands stilled. “No, Owen, what did he find?”

  “Happiness, true happiness.” He captured her mouth in a swift, deep kiss that held promises. “One day, Nadia, you will tell me the meaning of those words.”

  She pulled his head down and kissed him with everything inside her. She didn’t want him to see the tears that filled her eyes. With her heart opening up a little more, she allowed the magic to carry them away to that sweet place only Owen could take them.

  * * *

  Owen slowed his car as he passed in front of Nadia’s house, but continued down the rutted path toward the camp. With any luck maybe he wouldn’t end up in the middle of the squabble between Nadia and her father. How he always ended up defending her family was a total mystery to him. He guessed it had to do with their childlike innocence. He glanced over at Milosh sitting proudly beside him in the passenger seat and grimaced at the huge ice bag he was holding over his eye. “Are you sure you don’t want a doctor to take a look at that?”

  “Nyet, I like Olenka to—how do you say?—fuzz over me.”

  Owen chuckled, “It’s fuss over you.”

  “Da, da, fuss over me.” He lowered the ice bag. “I thank you again, my
friend, for coming to get me.” He grabbed one of Owen’s hands off the steering wheel and gave it a robust shake. “How many English dollars do I owe you?”

  Owen barely managed to steer around a huge rut. “Many, my friend.” He glanced ahead at the camp and frowned when he saw Nadia standing by the tables with her uncles. “It’s not the money I’m concerned about, Milosh—it’s your mule-headed daughter.”

  Milosh gave a hardy laugh. “Da, da, head like a donkey, but she has a heart like a doughnut.”

  Owen momentarily frowned and then smiled. “You mean cream puff, Milosh, not doughnut.” He brought the car to a halt and watched as Nadia and the rest of her family started toward them. It was too late to turn back now. Hell was surely going to break out now. And by the look on Nadia’s usually smiling face, he was afraid he wasn’t going to go unnoticed in the battle. “She doesn’t look like a cream puff right now, Milosh.”

  Milosh groaned, placed the ice bag back over his swollen eye, and winked at Owen. “I’ll know how to handle my sweet little Nadia.” He slowly opened the door and whispered, “I’ve been doing it for twenty-eight years; listen and learn my friend.” With an extravagant moan he slowly stood up and faced his approaching family.

  Owen watched the expression on Nadia’s face change from fury to concern and shook his head. He guessed the old boot knew exactly what he was doing. Interested to see how Milosh was going to get out of this one, he opened his door and joined the crowd.

  “Where have you been, Papa?” asked Nadia. She shot a curious glance at Owen.

  “What happened to your eye?” cried Olenka, working her way forward and removing the ice bag.

  “I’ve been to hell in America, child,” said Milosh. He smiled lovingly at his wife as she fussed and cooed over his multicolored eye.

  Owen sighed as Nadia glanced at him for further clarification. So that was how Milosh was going to handle her, by letting him take the heat. “He was in jail.”

  Nadia looked at her father and cried, “They hit you in jail?”

  “No one hit him once he was in jail, Nadia. Calm down.” He didn’t need her rushing off to the police station to confront the sheriff. Owen glared at the stubbornly quiet Milosh. “It seems your father went out to Wyatt Marshall’s place and confronted him about putting Bill up to tampering with the equipment.”

  “You didn’t Papa!” She paced in front of him and glared at her uncles, who were all looking at Milosh with growing respect. “You were supposed to let the courts handle it.”

  “I told Owen I no press those charges.” He pointed at his burly chest and announced, “I am Milosh Kandratavich, and I am a free man. I no let some man in a black dress tell me what is right and how to defend my family.”

  Nadia glanced at Owen. “What about the court date next month?”

  “Since your father refused to press charges, my company will. Wyatt Marshall has to pay for what he did. Someone could have been killed, and I don’t want him thinking he’s free to pull anything else. Next time someone might not be so lucky.”

  “Great.” Nadia sighed. She glared at her father. “I gather that Marshall was the one who gave you that lovely eye.”

  “He only hit me once,” snapped Milosh, “and that’s because the man is a coward. He blindsided me when I wasn’t looking.”

  “So why were you in jail?”

  “Because I hit him back.”

  Nadia glanced back at Owen. “They jail people in America for defending themselves?”

  “Well, no,” admitted Owen. “Your father is a man in excellent physical condition, while Marshall has ... let himself go to seed, shall we say.” Owen glanced at Milosh and tried to hide the respect he felt for the old boot. “It seems your father laid him out pretty good.”

  “So where do you fit into all of this?” asked Nadia. “Don’t tell me you drove him out to Marshall’s.”

  “Of course not. I didn’t know anything about it until I received his phone call from jail. It seems your father thought I was the best candidate to come and bail him out.”

  Nadia slowly turned to her father, raised a finger, and poked him in the chest. “How could—”

  Milosh brushed aside her finger and moved away from the fender on Owen’s car. He clapped his hands twice and bellowed, “Family, I have an announcement to make.” Silence fell across the masses. “My best American friend, Owen, has done me and my family a great service by coming to my rescue and standing up for me. I owe him a debt of gratitude, and I finally figured out how to pay him.” He glanced around the crowd until he was positive he had everyone’s attention. “I, Milosh Zurka Kandratavich, give you, Owen, one of my greatest treasures, my daughter Nadia Katrinka’s hand in marriage.”

  Owen’s mouth fell open to his knees.

  Nadia didn’t look at Owen but continued to stare at her father as if she had never seen him before. A tide of red swept up her face as she quietly said something to her parents in Russian. With each sentence her voice rose and her words came faster. Her arms punctuated her words, and the rest of the family took a few safe steps backward. Milosh continued to grin as her words became more vocal and rushed. She finished her reprimand in a fury, placed both hands on her hips, and glared threateningly at her father.

  Owen didn’t like the smile lurking on Milosh’s face or the dangerous shade of red blotching Nadia’s cheeks. Most of her relatives thought the whole thing was amazingly funny. Why wasn’t she going along with the obvious joke? He decided to try to appeal to Nadia’s sense of humor. “I gather that was a no.”

  Her response, in Russian, came back fast and furious. She stamped her foot and shook her tiny fist, and without comprehending a word, Owen knew she had to be cursing him to a slow, painful death. In a swirl of dust she stomped off, leaving the group staring after her in wonder.

  Owen moved to follow her and was stopped by Milosh’s hand. “If you value your life, let her cool down first, my best friend in America.”

  “I’m your only friend in America, Milosh.” Owen shook off his hand and stared at the hill Nadia had just climbed. She was not heading home. She was walking toward the creek. “Want to explain to me why Nadia reacted so furiously to a joke?” He glanced at Milosh and frowned. “Please tell me it was a joke.”

  “Da, da, it was a joke,” said Milosh. “I told Nadia long ago that she may marry for love.” He glanced at his wife and gently smiled. “We want all our children to have what we have.”

  “So what upset her?”

  “She remembers too much.” Milosh sadly shook his head. “She remembers friends being forced to marry men they didn’t love and sometimes men they did not know. The practice of arranged marriages still goes on in many Gypsy tribes.”

  Owen ran his fingers through his hair. “So why in the hell would you even joke about such a thing?”

  Milosh smiled proudly. “To stop her from lecturing me about getting thrown in jail.”

  Owen muttered a silent oath.

  “Don’t look so down, my friend,” said Milosh as he smacked Owen across the back. “Things are splendid.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Did you not notice the way my daughter attacked my plan?”

  “How could I miss it? She was mad as hell.”

  “Da, da, that is good.” Milosh crossed his arms and beamed. “If she’d laughed it off, that is bad. It shows she has no feelings for you. But since she is”—he made a sour face—“mad as hell, it shows she has many feelings for you, my American friend.”

  Owen rubbed his chin for a moment. “I wouldn’t give you a plug nickel for her feelings right about now.”

  “What is this plug nickel?”

  “It’s a ... never mind, Milosh.” He started to cross the camp to follow Nadia. “Milosh, my best Gypsy friend, do me a huge favor?”

  “Name it, and it shall be yours.”

  Owen continued to walk and called over his shoulder, “Next time you’re in jail, don’t call me.”

 
Chapter Ten

  Owen found Nadia sitting alone under a tree throwing tiny pebbles into the creek. He slowly made his way under the branches and sat down beside her. “Is it safe to sit here?”

  “It’s a free country.” She didn’t bother to look at him but continued to pluck up little pebbles from in front of her and pitch them into the clear water.

  “The country might be free, but you own the ranch.”

  “I might own two thirds of the ranch, but Prescott Mortgage Company owns the other third.” She pitched the next stone with a little more force. “Who’s to say you’re not sitting on the Prescott third?”

  “For the last time, Nadia, I don’t have anything to do with the mortgage company.”

  “It bears your name.”

  He sighed heavily, leaned back onto his elbows, and crossed his long legs. “Why do you want to pick a fight with me?” He gazed at the stubborn tilt of her chin. “Is it because your father called me instead of you to come bail him out of jail? How about it’s because your father told a tasteless joke? They both sound like real good reasons to take it all out on me.”

  Nadia wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on top. “I’m sorry, Owen, it’s not you I’m mad at.” She stared at the creek. “I’m not even mad at my father. He didn’t do anything I hadn’t expected him to do.” She owed Owen some of the truth at least. “I’m mad at myself.”

  “For what?”

  “Burning bridges.” A stone landed in the middle of the creek with a resounding plop.

  Owen stared at her serious-looking expression. “What bridges did you burn, Nadia?”

  “Nothing major.” She gave a sad little chuckle. “They were only the most important ones.” The ones that lead to happiness and love.

  “Want to tell me about them?”

  “Not particularly.”