My Special Angel

by Marcia Evanick

“I thought you trusted me?”

  Nadia cringed at the pain in Owen’s question. She held his hurt gaze. “I do trust you, Owen.”

  “But not enough to share your secrets?”

  “Trust has nothing to do with it.” She looked away as tears filled her eyes. “My secrets are my shame. They are mine alone to bear.”

  He gently cupped her chin and forced her to face him. His smile was hill of tenderness and love. “Some people say my shoulders are mighty broad.”

  She glanced at the width of his shoulders stretching the tan cotton shirt. “They are right, Owen. Your shoulders are beautifully formed.” She remembered clutching at them as if they were the only solid thing left on earth as Owen took her to the stars night after night.

  He softly chuckled. “You misunderstood, Nadia. I wasn’t referring to their shape, but to their ability. When a person has broad shoulders, it means that he’s willing to shoulder other people’s problems.” The tips of his fingers brushed her lower lip. “You know, help with the load.”

  “Why should you want to carry my problems? I made them, not you.”

  His fingers stopped, and his relaxed expression vanished. “When you love someone, Nadia, you share the burden.” His gaze traveled over every inch of her face. “I love you, Nadia.” His lips followed the same path. Kisses feathered over her forehead, teasing her silky, long lashes and the tip of her upturned nose. “Let me share the burden.” His mouth captured the lone, salty tear sliding down her pale cheek.

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  She reached up and stroked his slightly stubbled jaw. It had been hours since his last encounter with a razor. At this moment she should be the happiest woman in America, but she wasn’t. The man she loved had just said the most precious words a man could say to a woman, and she couldn’t return them. She couldn’t declare her love and still withhold secrets from him. Owen deserved better than that. He deserved better than a woman who was too darn selfish to give him up. “I’m afraid of losing you.”

  He smiled and rubbed his abrasive jaw against the palm of her hand. “You won’t lose me.”

  “How can you be so sure? You don’t know the past.”

  “Is there a husband that I don’t know about?” He locked gazes with her and ran the tip of his tongue over the base of her thumb.

  “Married! You think I’m married!” She tried to yank her hand out of his grasp. “You don’t think very highly of me, do you?”

  He chuckled and continued to tease her fingers. “I happen to think very highly of you, love. It’s you who have a problem with self-esteem.” He nipped at the tip of her finger. “I just mentioned the worst thing I could think of. I figured as long as you aren’t married to someone else, anything else will be a piece of cake.” He nibbled on the next fingertip. “You aren’t wanted by the police or anything?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He was hitting too close to home. The police had interviewed her for hours, for days, and for weeks before they finally got it through their heads that she didn’t know anything. She had only been a front, very well paid for her ignorance.

  “Well, if you aren’t married and you aren’t wanted by the police, I don’t see what the problem is.”

  “What about the past?”

  “What about it?” His lips traveled over her delicate wrist and up to the sensitive skin on the inside of her elbow.

  “Don’t you care about what I might have done?” She shivered as his lips wandered higher across the smoothness of her shoulder to toy with the collar of her blouse.

  Owen raised his head. “I’ll be truthful with you, love. I’m naturally curious to know what’s made you feel so bad about yourself, but whatever it was, it won’t change how I feel about you.” He gently pushed her back onto the sweet-smelling grass behind her. “I don’t care about your past, Nadia.” He leaned over her and brushed a dark curl away from her mouth. “It’s your future I’m concerned about.” His face lowered, and his breath feathered across her waiting lips. “Our future, Nadia, yours and mine together.”

  “But...”

  He placed a finger to her lips. “In America but means the end, so this discussion is finished.” His lips replaced his finger with a tender kiss. “If one day you want to tell me about the past, fine. I will listen with an open mind, but I will not judge you, love. The past is not important.”

  Nadia surrendered to the sweet, seductive lure of his lips. He was offering another day of paradise, and she grabbed onto it with both hands. He was wrong.

  The past did matter. It had made her stronger, more independent, and it had stolen her innocence. It had made her who she was today, and one day Owen would want to know and she would have to tell him. That day paradise would be taken away from her.

  She reached up and tightened her hold around Owen’s neck. She felt his answering response and melted. He loved her! Her kiss became more heated, more desperate. She had to hold on to paradise for as long as she could.

  * * *

  Nadia slowly hung up the phone and glanced at Owen, who was sitting in the kitchen on the wobbly chair stirring his coffee, desperately trying to pretend he hadn’t been eavesdropping. She tried to muster a smile, failed miserably, walked over to the screen door, and stared out toward the barn. The fence had all been repaired and was sporting a brand-new coat of white paint. Yesterday one of her brothers had spent the entire day mowing grass and straightening up the yard, and Rupa had fixed the hayloft door so that it wasn’t hanging by one hinge anymore. The Kandratavich Ranch was improving by leaps and bounds. Even IRS and Victoria Rose were prancing proudly around the corral as though they were the ones who had done the work. What were they going to do if she couldn’t meet the payments on the ranch? They could lose it all.

  Owen silently came up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. He tucked her head under his chin and studied the view she was seeing. “Want to tell me about it?”

  “That was the recording studio.” She leaned back and allowed his warmth and strength to surround her. “They moved the recording schedule up three weeks.” She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sound of the light summer breeze and the buzzing of a bee by the wisteria bush climbing the side of the porch. Normal, everyday summer sounds drifted in through the screen. She could hear everything, including Owen’s soft breathing, but she couldn’t detect one note. Her music hadn’t returned, and time was running out. “I have less than a month to finish writing the songs.”

  His arms tightened slightly, and he kissed the top of her head. “It will come, Nadia. Give it a chance.”

  “I’ve given it over a month, and still nothing but silence. All the work on the other songs is complete. I’m ready to record them in six languages. The only thing stopping me is one last song. The whole thing is worthless without that song.” She smacked the metal frame of the screen door with the palm of her hand. “It’s my punishment, Owen, for being greedy.”

  He tried not to chuckle and ended up choking. When he could breathe again, he muttered in astonishment, “You, greedy?” She was the most unselfish person he had ever met. He would have given her the moon or the stars if she asked. She had no living-room furniture, yet she had gone out and spent her share of the catering money on a bureau for her new little niece, Liberty.

  “I wanted it all.”

  “All of what?” He had no idea what she wanted, but he’d make sure she got it.

  “I wanted my family out of Europe. I wanted a nice place where we could all live in peace and freedom.”

  “That’s not greed, Nadia, that’s love.” He turned her in his arms so he could look at her. “Don’t you see? You have all that.”

  “I sacrificed everything I believed in to get them out, Owen.” She looked away from him. “It’s not something I’m proud of, but I would do it again. As for the ranch ...” She shrugged her shoulders, “I borrowed against a dream. One that is now on the brink of failure. If the album is scrapped, I lose the fi
rst true home my family has ever known.”

  “You won’t lose the ranch, love.” He tilted up her chin and brushed her mouth with a soft kiss. “I won’t let you lose it.”

  “I won’t accept your help, Owen.”

  “Why not?” he demanded. “I’m fully capable of helping you out of this tight situation. You can repay me when your music returns and you can record the album.”

  “Money! You’re offering me money?” She stepped out of his arms. In the space of a moment he had reduced everything they had to dollars and cents. She had sold herself once, and she wouldn’t do it again. She would rather see her family living out of the vardos and traveling the back roads of America before she would allow Owen to put a price on their love.

  “I’m offering you a chance to save the dream, Nadia.”

  “No, Owen. You’re offering to buy it.” She stepped away from him and headed for the coffeepot Owen had bought after their first week together. “Do you really want to do something for me?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Then help me find my music.”

  “I might not be able to find your music, Nadia.” A playful smile teased the corner of his mouth. “But I can show you where to find other people’s music.”

  * * *

  Nadia glanced around the crowded store with utter delight. Records, tapes, and CDs were jammed into every available inch of space from floor to ceiling. An old Glenn Miller number was blaring out of a set of speakers on either side of the door. Crates of dusty record jackets were squeezed under overloaded tables that sagged from the weight of tapes and albums. Everywhere she looked, there was music. There were classical and opera, along with country and western, a touch of jazz, rhythm and blues, and rock. Everything was mixed helter-skelter. She had found heaven, and it was called Paul’s Music Emporium. “Owen, how on earth did you ever find this place?”

  Owen started to lean against a table but thought better of it. The table didn’t look as if it could withstand the pile of records already heaped on it, never mind his added weight. “I stumbled onto it about five years ago.” He smiled as Nadia slowly spun in circles. She had no idea where to start. Paul’s had that effect on first-time customers. It had taken him three trips to realize he could never search through all the stacks, so every time he stopped, he started in on a different area of the store, unearthing ageless treasures. After five years over half his extensive music collection had come from Paul’s. “The secret to finding anything is to pick a spot and start going through it.”

  “Isn’t there any kind of order?” Her fingers flipped through a stack of albums. Alice Cooper was mixed with Mozart and Willie Nelson.

  “I think there was at one time,” chuckled Owen, “but that was long before I ever walked through the door.”

  “Are you complaining again, rich boy?” snarled a big, burly man behind Owen.

  Owen spun around and shook the man’s hand. “Paul, you old snake, I see you still like to go sneaking around.” Paul flashed a nearly toothless grin that spoke of too many fistfights, and shook his hand harder. “Paul, I would like you to meet a very special lady, Nadia Kandratavich.” He turned to her. “Nadia, this is the owner, Paul.”

  Nadia glanced at the man and hid her surprise. She had expected someone a little different to be running the music store. Paul stood six foot four and had a build designed for Mack trucks. He wore torn jeans and a black Harley-Davidson T-shirt that was stretched to its limits. A thick chrome chain served as his belt, and black motorcycle boots boasted not only age but the evidence that they had kicked in a few doors in their youth. Paul’s nearly white hair hung halfway down his back in a ponytail, and his thick beard covered most of the golden eagle printed on his shirt. She held out her hand and grinned at the three golden hoops he wore in his right ear. “Hello, Paul, it is indeed my pleasure to meet the person responsible for all of this.” She waved her hand around the room.

  Paul raised her hand and lightly pressed a kiss to the back of her fingers. “I now understand why Owen hasn’t dropped by in the past couple of months.”

  Nadia glanced at Owen and willed the blush rising in her cheeks down. “I can assure you, sir, that had I known about this place sooner, we would have been here.” She moved to another stack of albums and started to dig through it.

  Owen shook his head as Paul chuckled. “You might think it’s funny now, but in six hours when you close for the day and we still can’t get her out of here, then what will you do?” asked Owen.

  Paul leaned against the counter and admired the view of Nadia bending over the table. “Stay open late, I guess.”

  Owen moved closer to Nadia to see what album had caught her attention. “Then I suggest you go call your wife and five kids now and tell them you’ll be late for dinner.”

  Two hours later Owen tapped Nadia on her shoulder. “Lunch is ready.”

  “Lunch?” She brushed a hand across her eyes and blinked.

  “It’s after one, love.” He waved his hand in the direction of the counter where Paul was in the process of moving off a stack of records and tapes to make room for their lunch. “I figured since it looked like I would have to drag you kicking and screaming from that stack of old records, I’d pick up something for us to eat.”

  She glanced at the two paper bags sitting on the spot Paul had just cleared. “You went out?”

  Owen groaned and clutched at his chest. “Why don’t you just cut out my heart with a knife—it would be less painful.”

  Nadia flushed as Paul’s booming laughter filled the shop. She wiped her dirty hands on the side of her jeans. “Well, you could have at least told me.” She carefully picked up the couple of albums she had unearthed from the masses.

  “I did, Nadia. I told you I was running next door to pick up some sandwiches and soda, and do you know what you told me?”

  She lovingly dusted off each album with a rag

  Paul had handed her. She really couldn’t afford to buy the albums, but she was willing to give up eating for the week to own them. Some things were just more important than food. She glanced at Owen. “If I don’t remember you leaving, how do you expect me to remember what I said?”

  “You told me to drive carefully.” He pulled a pile of sandwiches and a large bag of chips from the paper sack.

  “So?” She glanced at her hands and frowned. They were filthy from rummaging through dusty stacks of albums. “Paul, do you have a place where I can wash up?”

  He jerked his thumb toward a beaded curtain. “In the back there’s a washroom. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks.” She gently set the albums aside. “Don’t let anyone touch these,” she said, and disappeared through the curtain.

  Paul shook his head and grinned at his friend. “She has it bad, doesn’t she?”

  He tossed Paul a soda. “When the music bug bit her, it didn’t let go.” Owen tore into the bag of chips and popped the top on his soda can. “She’s a singer, you know.”

  “Really? Who’s she with?” Paul grabbed a handful of chips.

  “No one, she’s solo. She’s recording a children’s album next month in six languages.”

  Paul’s bushy white eyebrows met his hairline. “Impressive! What did she do before that?”

  “She sang in some nightclub in New York Very high class with big bucks.”

  Paul thoughtfully studied Nadia as she came through the beaded curtain and joined them. He pulled out a stool from behind the counter for her. “Owen tells me you sang up in New York. Which club did you sing at?”

  Nadia concentrated on unwrapping her sandwich. “It was some local joint—you probably never heard of it.” She smiled at Owen as he handed her a soda. “You ever been to New York, Paul?”

  “I get up there a couple times a year. My parents live up there, and they like to have the grandkids visit.” He took a bite out of his sandwich and frowned at Nadia as she nervously picked at her lunch. “You look awfully familiar. Have you ever performed on television?�
�

  “No, I’ve never performed on television.” Having reporters jam cameras into her face and microphones under her nose just to boost the six-o’clock news ratings didn’t count as performing. She took a hasty bite out of her sandwich. It could have tasted like one of her father’s old work boots for all she cared. Paul had recognized her! Any minute now he was going to match her face with the front-page headlines that had tantalized the citizens of New York for months. It didn’t matter was that half of what had been printed was untrue and the other 50 percent pure speculation. What did matter was that some snot-nosed reporter had christened her the “Manhattan Mistress” and she had been cast as a leading player in a high-profile drama.

  “I could swear I’ve seen you somewhere,” muttered Paul.

  Owen studied the lack of color in Nadia’s cheeks. “They say every person has a double.”

  “That must be it,” said Paul. He looked at Nadia and grinned. “Ever been to California?”

  “The land of surfer dudes, Hollywood, and earthquakes?” Nadia shook her head and relaxed her shoulders. “Afraid not.” Hoping to keep Paul away from New York, she asked, “Ever been to Budapest?”

  “Nope. I hoofed it through Albuquerque once when my hog died.”

  Nadia glanced at Owen in confusion. Why was Paul talking about farm animals?

  Owen laughed at the expression on Nadia’s face. “Paul said he had to walk through the city of Albuquerque, New Mexico, once when his motorcycle died.”

  Nadia returned Paul’s grin. “I’ve never been to New Mexico, and I have never ridden a pig.”

  Paul groaned and clutched his chest as Owen’s boisterous laughter filled the tiny shop. “Nadia, love,” said Owen choking, as he regained his breath. “If you plan on leaving here with those albums and your life, never refer to Paul’s one true love as a pig—it’s a hog, love, a hog.” He crumbled up the empty wrappings from their sandwiches and tossed them into the wastebasket under the counter.

  Nadia pitched her empty soda can into the recycle basket and headed back to the corner of the shop where she had been shuffling through old albums. She purposely turned her back toward Paul and kept her head down. If she insisted on leaving now after being totally engrossed in the shop all morning, Owen would know something was wrong. It had been bad enough that he’d stared at her funny all during lunch; she didn’t need to add any more suspicion. With any luck Paul would forget all about where he had seen her before if she stayed out of his sight.