My Special Angel

by Marcia Evanick

  Paul sat on the stool thoughtfully staring at the back of Nadia’s head and pulling on his bead. Owen stood by a stack of records and glanced between Nadia and Paul. A deep frown pulled at his mouth.

  Nadia squeezed in between two tables and reached for a stack of albums covered with dust. With a swipe of a rag she sent dust bunnies flying in every direction and uncovered a Pat Boone album. She tried to smile at the handsome young man gracing the cover of the album in her hand and failed. The magic of searching through this enchanted treasure trove had vanished. All she wanted to do was get away from Paul before he figured out where he had seen her.

  * * *

  “I don’t know, Owen, maybe we should just go to my place,” said Nadia. She glanced at Owen’s impressive home as they pulled into the driveway. She had never felt comfortable here and had made up countless excuses to avoid spending the night in Owen’s king-size bed with its designer sheets. He always slept in her crowded double bed with its old sheets.

  “You’re the one who mentioned wanting to hear those records on my stereo system.”

  “That’s because you didn’t buy your stereo during a blue-light special.” She reached for the bag containing the dozen albums she had purchased from Paul. The headache she had used as an excuse to leave the shop early had really developed during the fifty- minute ride home from Asheville. She opened the car door and frowned at the stately mansion. “Won’t we be disturbing your aunt?”

  “Aunt Verna and a couple of her lady friends went to Cape Hatteras for a few days.” He came around to the front of the car and took her elbow. “So we have the entire house to ourselves.”

  “What about Sebastian and Milly?” She glanced at the huge ceramic urns on either side of the front door. They were overflowing with a kaleidoscope of colorful blooms. Each perfect flower looked fresh and color- coordinated for that particular spot. Not one petal appeared wilted or blemished. They were picture-perfect, and they represented Owen’s life. He had a flawless home, a perfectly wonderful aunt, an ideal career, and an upstanding reputation in the community. Everything in his life was perfect—except her.

  Owen chuckled at her fierce expression. “What did those flowers ever do to you?” He pulled her inside the cool foyer. “Is your headache that bad?”

  He took the bag from her hands and placed it on the table beside the door.

  Nadia rubbed her temples. “Do you have any aspirin?”

  “I’ll get it, sir,” drawled Sebastian.

  Nadia glanced at the butler, who had entered the hall without her knowledge. “I can get them, Sebastian, if you can tell me where they are.” She felt like a bigger phony having Sebastian wait on her.

  Owen continued to look at Nadia for a moment. “There is a bottle of aspirin in the powder room off my office, Nadia.”

  “Thanks.” She gave Sebastian a small smile before disappearing down the hall toward Owen’s office.

  She returned a few minutes later and found Owen standing in front of his stereo placing one of her records on the turntable. A tray of cool drinks and delicate little cakes sat on the coffee table in front of the couch. “I see Sebastian’s been busy.”

  “I got that for us.” He pushed a few buttons, and the first strains of a Mozart concerto filled the room. “I gave Sebastian and Milly the night off.”

  “Why?”

  “For some reason they seem to make you nervous.” He sat down on the couch and picked up his glass. “Want to tell me why?”

  “They don’t make me nervous, really.” She toyed with one of the throw pillows. “It’s just that I’m not the type who likes to be waited on.”

  “Getting you a couple of aspirin is hardly the same thing as having Sebastian at your beck and call.”

  “I bet if I spill this drink, he’d be in here cleaning up before the ice cubes had a chance to melt into the carpet.”

  “Tonight you will have to clean up your own mess. He’s already gone for the evening.” Owen replaced his drink on the tray and stood up. “Come here, I have something I want you to see.”

  Nadia took his hand and rose from the couch. “Are you going to try to seduce me?”

  He shook his head as he led her out of the room and into the hall. “How’s the headache?”

  Had it really only been nine hours since they’d made love? How was she ever going to survive letting him go? “It’s practically gone.”

  “Good.” He gently tugged her toward the massive curved stairway.

  “Does that mean you are going to seduce me?”

  “Let me know when it’s all gone, and we’ll discuss it.” He started to climb the oak stairs. “Right now I have someone I want you to see.”

  “I thought you said we have the house to ourselves?”

  “We do.” He hauled her up the massive stairs, past gilded framed portraits of his ancestors. He didn’t spare her a moment to study the paintings but continued up until they reached the upstairs hall. He stopped in front of a huge portrait lit by discreetly placed track lighting. “I want you to see my great-great-grandmother, Morning Eyes Prescott.”

  Nadia studied the painting with wonder. It wasn’t like the other stuffy portraits adorning the stairway. The young Indian maiden sitting by a stream was lovely and as graceful as the natural beauty surrounding her. She was dressed in a buckskin dress decorated with fringe and colorful beads. Her hair was as black as midnight and braided, and her cheekbones were high and proud, but it was her eyes that captured Nadia’s attention. They were as blue as the morning skies. “Your great-great-grandmother was an American Indian?”

  “Half American Indian. Her mother was Cherokee, but her unknown father was white. When she was five, her mother died, leaving her in the care of the local spinster schoolmarm, who raised her as her own. Jeremiah Prescott fell in love with her the instant he laid eyes on her. They were married three weeks after they met.”

  “That’s a wonderful story.” She smiled at the painting. Morning Eyes lived every woman’s fantasy: to be swept off her feet by the man she loved.

  “It wasn’t that wonderful in the beginning. The whole town opposed the marriage of their Civil War hero, General Jeremiah Prescott, to—as Morning Eyes put it in her diary—some half-breed trash.”

  “That’s terrible,” cried Nadia.

  “I agree.” Owen leaned against the wall and studied the living, breathing woman in front of him. “Not only did Morning Eyes have the snobbery of the whole town to deal with, she now had servants to do her bidding.”

  Nadia glanced between Owen and the painting. “What did she do?”

  “First she pleaded with Jeremiah to let half the staff go, but he refused.”

  “Why? It seems like a reasonable request to me.”

  “Because they had nowhere to go. It was right after the Civil War, and money was scarce for everyone. With their limited skills, no one would hire them. At least here they had a roof over their heads, food in their bellies, and a few coins in their pockets.”

  “So what happened?”

  “By the time Morning Eyes gave birth to their seventh child, she had doubled the size of the staff.” He chuckled and grinned at the portrait of his great- great-grandmother. “It seems through the years she hired every stray that came to the back door asking for work or a handout. Rumor also had it that the Prescotts’ servants were the highest paid in the state.”

  Nadia glanced at the portrait and smiled. “Your ancestor was one smart woman.”

  “That she was.” He moved away from the wall. “She was also kindhearted and generous.” He reached out and brushed his fingers across her smooth cheek and into her hair. He wrapped a curl around his hand. “You remind me of her.”

  “Me?” laughed Nadia, shaking her head and causing the curls to tighten around his fist.

  “Prescott men have a tradition of picking the finest wives.” He eased his fingers out of her hair and slipped them around to the back of her neck. “If I promise to give Sebastian and Milly a raise, w
ill you marry me, Nadia?”

  Her gaze flew to his face. He was serious! Oh, Lord, what was she going to do? “I... I...” She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat and tried to think of something to say. “I...”

  Owen smiled gently. “You’re stuttering, love.”

  “I...” She ran her sweaty palms down the sides of her jeans as her mind whirled. She should say no, she should say yes. She should tell Owen everything and give him a chance to take back the question. She should keep her mouth shut and pray that he would never find out about her past. Desperate for time, she stuttered, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes.” He pulled her closer and teased her mouth with a quick kiss. “How’s the headache now?”

  She blinked in confusion. “What headache?”

  He laughed and was about to pick her up, when the shrilling of the phone stopped him. He glared playfully down at her. “If Sebastian was here, he would get that.”

  She glanced down the hall when the phone rang again. “It could be important.”

  “It also could be someone selling cemetery plots.” He tapped her on the nose. “Don’t you move.” He headed down the hall toward the nearest telephone. “We’ll continue this discussion as soon as I return.”

  He took another step and grinned over his shoulder at her. “And I will be expecting an answer.”

  Nadia watched as he disappeared into one of the rooms. She turned and faced the portrait of Morning Eyes. Nadia frowned at the silent woman sitting so serenely under the tree by the creek. Was your and Jeremiah’s love strong enough to overcome the scorn of the town along with the differences in your backgrounds? Nadia remembered Owen saying Morning Eyes had given birth to seven children. Silly question.

  She stood in the middle of the hallway and felt the echoes of happiness that had filled the house over the years. Children had run down these stairs, and a mischievous boy or two must have slid down the oak banister—much to his mother’s dismay, or perhaps delight.

  Morning Eyes, whose only crime was to be born on the wrong side of the blanket, would have understood her dilemma. Should she save Owen any future pain and break his heart now by telling him she couldn’t marry him? Or did she have Morning Eyes’s strength to face the knowledge that sometimes love doesn’t give you a choice?

  Nadia squared her shoulders and looked solemnly at Morning Eyes. She was going to tell Owen the truth about her past, and if he was still willing to marry her, she’d jump so fast at the chance, it would seem indecent.

  “Nadia?”

  She quickly turned around, and the smile slid from her face. He was giving her a very curious look. “What’s wrong?”

  “That was your mother on the phone.” He grimaced as she paled. “It seems we have a big problem.” He ran his fingers through his hair and around the inside collar of his shirt. “A real big problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The town’s in a complete uproar, and they’re after blood.”

  Nadia closed her eyes and asked, “What did my family do this time?”

  “Your brother Nikita has ran off with the mayor’s daughter.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “But, Officer, my parents have already told you Nikita isn’t here!” shouted Nadia. The ruckus in the camp was making it hard for any one person to be heard above the noise. Not only had the sheriff and both of his deputies showed up at the camp, but they had brought along half the town, including the furious mayor and his wailing wife. From all indications sweet Anna Leigh, the missing daughter, was twenty-two years old. Surely old enough to know her own mind. The way the mayor was reacting, you would think Nikita had robbed the cradle. “Even if he and Anna Leigh were here, there is nothing you can do about it. Both are consenting adults.”

  Owen groaned as the mayor’s wife let out a wail that was surely designed to wake the dead and leave him deaf. He moved closer to Nadia and whispered, “Maybe you can have your mother check to see if Nikita took any of his belongings.”

  Nadia glanced at her mother and said something in Russian. Olenka hurried toward the mobile home where Nikita kept most of his belongings. She shook her head at the confusion reigning throughout the camp. Some of the town’s menfolk were trying to question her family, who had reverted back to their favorite trick. They all pretended not to understand a single word of English. If any of the townspeople had spent the time to get to know them during the past months, they would know that all of the Kandrataviches understood and spoke English. “This is ridiculous, Owen. They are obviously miles away by now.”

  “I know, love.” He pulled her into his arms and held her close. “This is not exactly how I planned on spending my evening.”

  She grinned up at him. “Do tell.”

  “I had something a little less crowded in mind.” He toyed with a dark curl lying against her shoulder. “You never did answer my question.”

  Nadia was saved from answering him by her mother’s appearance next to them. She spoke in rapid Russian and gestured wildly with her hands. Nadia sighed and looked at the sheriff, who was waiting for an answer. “My mother says that Nikita’s stuff is gone.”

  “Thank your mother for looking,” said the sheriff.

  The mayor poked his pudgy finger into the sheriff’s chest. “Evan, do something,” snapped the mayor, “and do it now.”

  “What precisely would you like me to do? Haul the entire family in for questioning?”

  The mayor’s wife wailed more loudly, and the mayor turned a bright red. “I don’t care what you have to do, Sheriff, we want our little Anna Leigh back right this minute.”

  “Face it, Mayor, your little daughter, your over-the-age-of-consent daughter, has taken it upon herself to leave for places unknown with Nikita Kandratavich, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “He kidnapped her!” shouted the mayor. “That’s a federal offense.”

  “Kidnap victims don’t pack suitcases and leave notes to their parents telling them not to worry because they have found love and happiness in the arms of Nikita.” The sheriff crossed his arms and glared at the balding mayor. “I only agreed to come out here so you wouldn’t take it into your head to lynch the poor boy if he and Anna Leigh were here.”

  “I’ll have your badge for this!” shouted the mayor above his wife’s renewed weeping.

  “None of your women are safe,” someone yelled above the commotion.

  Owen gently pushed Nadia aside and stepped forward. Under his breath he muttered, “Wyatt Marshall.”

  “Lock your doors and hide your women. They’re all liars and thieves!” shouted Wyatt. “First they cheated at cards and took my prized mare, Victoria Rose. Then they tried to blame it on me for some old man’s incompetence.”

  Someone shouted, “Let’s ship them all back from where they came.”

  “Yeah, who needs their kind here!” cried another angry voice.

  Owen ignored the voices and took a few more threatening steps toward the red-faced Wyatt. The man looked as though he’d been on a weeks-long drinking binge. “Shut your mouth, Wyatt. No one is interested in hearing what twenty-year-old Scotch has to say.”

  Wyatt took a staggering step closer to Owen. “Well, lookie here, if it ain’t Mr. Defender of the Downtrodden. Hire any more thieves lately?” Silence filled the camp.

  “I’m warning you, Wyatt,” growled Owen.

  “I’m amazed you can talk, Prescott.” Wyatt glared at Nadia. “I figured it must be pretty hard with your nose buried in that tramp’s skirt...”

  Owen’s fist made a bone-crunching thud as it connected with Wyatt’s jaw. The man’s eyes rolled into the back of their sockets as he crumpled to the ground. Owen stared down at the pile of dirty laundry and the drunken man inside it and shuddered. His gaze shifted to his throbbing fist as he muttered to himself, “I hit him!”

  Milosh threw his arm around Owen’s shoulder and stared down at the unconscious man. “You did good, my friend.” Not caring who heard
him speak, he asked in English, “We string him up now?”

  “No, Milosh. We let the law handle it.” He glanced at the sheriff standing beside him. “Evan, will you please lock him up until he sleeps it off.” He grimaced as he flexed his fingers.

  Evan tried to hide a smirk. “That’s a wicked right you have there, Owen.” He motioned for his two deputies.

  Owen glanced at Nadia and silently held out his hand. She moved forward and tenderly grasped it. He gave it a little squeeze and glanced around at the crowd. The mayor was staring at Wyatt’s crumpled body like a fish. His eyes were bugging out of his head, and his mouth kept opening and closing without saying a word. His wife finally stopped her wailing, but she looked to be in shock now. The few men from town appeared finally to comprehend that Milosh had spoken in fluent English and had understood every insulting word Wyatt had yelled. Owen sighed and tightened his grip on Nadia’s hand.

  “Today I am not proud to be an American,” he told the crowd. “You all came here with prejudice and misunderstanding in your hearts against an entire race of people you know nothing about. Every one of you had ancestors who came to this great country and suffered the same prejudice you have shown today. Haven’t we learned anything in the past three hundred years? Where is this great southern hospitality everyone is always talking about? It hasn’t been in evidence since the Kandrataviches moved here. They might do things a little bit differently than we do, but who are we to say their way is wrong?

  “Every one of you lost money to Wyatt and had to pay up. But when he lost Victoria Rose in a fair card game, he cries foul.” Owen glanced at Milosh. “Every one of you know Eugene’s boy Jimmie Lee. If it weren’t for Milosh here risking his own life, Jimmie Lee wouldn’t be with us today. And how do we repay this family? By following their children through our stores as if they were a pack of thieves ready to pick our shelves clean. By refusing to hire them for jobs they are probably overqualified to do.” He pinned a tall, lean man with a glare. “Al, you’ve been advertising for months for a mechanic, but when Zanko arrived on your doorstep, you told him the job was filled. Chris”—Owen looked at another man—“what about that part-time job you have open at the feed mill?”