Angel's Embrace

by Charlotte Hubbard

  When Billy came back outside, however, Eve smiled sweetly at him. She took his arm as he led his horse to the last stock car of the eastbound train, where Pete would ride while they sat in a passenger car. There would be plenty of time to plan her revenge—and what she’d wear for that occasion—during their ride back to Richmond.

  At least she wouldn’t be seeing anyone she knew.

  “Good to be back in Missouri,” Billy murmured as they stepped down onto the platform at the Lexington train station. “Good to see trees and hills again.”

  Eve slipped her slender hand into his, and Billy held it as they walked the length of the train to fetch Pete. From here it was about an hour’s ride to the house, but after ten years away, he felt so dang close he tingled! And the feeling had nothing to do with sitting next to Eve on the train, sharing stories of their childhood as she smiled and batted her eyes.

  The uniformed station attendant stopped unloading mailbags to stare at him. Without a word, the man went inside. He had the look of a man getting a lynch mob together.

  Billy frowned. “Now why do you suppose—I don’t even know that fella, but he’s actin’ like—”

  “You look a lot like Wesley. Maybe that man was wondering if you’re here to pull a robbery,” she replied quietly. Her voice had an edge of excitement to it, though, as if she enjoyed being seen with an outlaw. Her head was tilted, and that sparkle in her eyes made him smile. Eve Massena was making the most of his twin’s notoriety, even if it was at his expense.

  He understood: his brother had caused more problems for Eve than he was worth—and the most compelling “problem” had remained behind, in Abilene. Here, free and unencumbered, Eve Massena could feel like her old self again, at least in her imagination.

  During their train ride, as she recounted goings-on since he’d left, Billy sensed this young woman was good at talking her way out of tight spots—or talking others into doing whatever she wanted. Although that might not be the most admirable trait a young lady could have, it showed a brave heart that could rise above life’s little injuries. And frankly, Billy was tired of women who got their feelings hurt over every little thing.

  Not that forsaking Emma Clark was a little thing.

  He sighed, pushing her image away for now. He’d come to accomplish a monumental task, for himself and for Mama, and it’d be best if he didn’t get sidetracked by regrets or misgivings. He smiled politely at the railway agents who watched closely as he entered the car to reclaim his horse and tack.

  “Hey there, Pete,” he crooned. “You ready to see where I was born?”

  The Morgan bobbed his head and whickered, happy to walk out of the rolling, rumbling boxcar. A few minutes later Billy had him saddled.

  “Let’s mount up,” he said, making his hands into a step stool for Eve, “and we’ll be on our way. I appreciate your tellin’ me about the places Wesley’s been hidin’. I know it has to bother you—”

  Before he knew what hit him, Eve cupped his jaw and kissed him!

  It was a light, feathery brush of her lips that took him by storm. Billy sucked air, feeling heat in his cheeks. “Now don’t you go thinkin’ that just because—”

  “Sometimes you talk too much,” she teased. “I’d tell you what you want to know a whole lot faster if you’d pay me a little attention. Like this.”

  His breath left him again as she moved in for another kiss—right here on the railroad platform, where the agents and everyone else could see them! This time she leaned into him as her lips opened his.

  Billy’s pulse thundered and he kissed her back. Then, somehow, he found the strength to put his hands at her waist and step away from her.

  “Enough of that,” he gasped.

  But Eve didn’t believe him. He was showing all the signs of being a love-struck fool.

  This is how Wesley got suckered into her web, Billy thought fleetingly.

  But he knew her tricks. He’d had a sister, after all: Christine had flirted mercilessly with men when she wanted something. And though Emma Clark’s moves weren’t as smooth as Eve’s, she was insistent about getting her share of kissing. Girls liked that part, he’d heard. More than what came after—more than what his brother had done to Eve—whether or not she’d lured him into it.

  He had no trouble understanding why Wesley had wanted Miss Massena. He wanted her himself. Billy inhaled and let his breath out forcefully, to get his mind back on his original mission.

  “You gonna ride?” he asked, cupping his hands beside the horse again, “or you gonna stand there moonin’ at me like a coyote on a summer night?”

  “Billy, really!” Daintily, Eve lifted her foot, swinging herself up to sit sideways again.

  Billy landed behind her, well aware that when she fixed those shining green eyes on him, he was at her mercy.

  Or you’d better make her think so, anyway.

  Experience had taught Billy that if he showed sincere interest in a lady of any age, he could have what he wanted, too. Which could be the best way to set Eve straight without her knowing it.

  “Giddap,” he murmured, gathering up the reigns.

  They took the road toward Richmond at a good clip, and then slowed Pete’s pace as they got closer to home. Billy’s heart was pounding. His gaze lingered on the familiar farms as he recalled the names of the childhood friends who’d lived there.

  “The Mayhew place looks awfully run down,” he remarked as they passed a farmhouse that needed some paint. The rose bushes had overgrown their trellises and dead tree branches littered the yard.

  “I hear Jared’s still around, but once Jewel took off with a Union officer, and after their brother Curtis died for the Confederacy, the family just sank into sadness,” Eve remarked. “Some of these things were going on when you still lived here, Billy, but we were too young to understand them. And since you lived a little farther from town than I did—”

  “Yeah, we didn’t know what happened to some of these folks unless we heard about it at church. And after Daddy got shot, well—we had our own worries about keepin’ body and soul together.”

  Eve slung her arm around his shoulders, partly to keep her balance but mostly to make another point with those green, green eyes. “I hope you know I was mortified when Daddy foreclosed on you, Billy. He said it was just business—that the bank had to cut its losses to stay afloat.

  “I pitched a fit when I found out about it!” she went on, her face alight with the memory. “Told Daddy your family deserved more time—at least until you could sell your hay—”

  “You were only nine,” Billy reminded her. “I’m sure your daddy wasn’t inclined to pay attention to his little girl’s business opinions.”

  But he was pleased Eve remembered these details. And he believed her indignation was sincere.

  “Yes, he told Mother I was behaving like a temperamental little princess. Insisted my tutor find a new avenue for my outspoken ways—the old ‘children are to be seen and not heard’ idea.”

  She shook her head, which made her hair quiver around her shoulders, glimmering in the sunlight. It tickled his cheek when the breeze blew those long, soft strands into his face. To keep from being distracted again, Billy looked at the landmark trees and houses along this road: only a few more intersections, and he’d have her where he wanted her.

  “So that’s when Mr. Buckhurst—you remember him? The man who looked like Ichabod Crane from the Sleepy Hollow story?”

  Billy laughed, nodding.

  “Well, he showed Mother and me his studio. She was so taken by his paintings, she signed me on for private lessons and commissioned him to do all our portraits, plus several large Biblical murals for the church.”

  Eve’s expression grew pensive then. “I never attained the level Mr. Buckhurst expected of me—I was more interested in dancing lessons than landscapes, you know—but I took comfort in painting my childhood memories in those dark days after Daddy died.”

  Billy found himself watching her rose-c
olored lips form the words and the gold rings shining in her emerald eyes as she recalled these things. “I wish you’d paint me another picture of our place,” he said softly. “I—I don’t know what got into Emma, but she must have destroyed the one you sent along with your letter.”

  “She was afraid of losing you, Billy. Afraid you’d come back here—without her.”

  He swallowed hard, unable to release her gaze for several seconds. This young woman got right to the point—so different from the way Emma’s flushed cheeks and lame protests told the tale she denied with her words.

  It was scary, how fear made so many decisions, even for folks who believed God was working his purpose out in their lives.

  He eased the horse down a side street with the slightest tug on the reins. If he could keep Eve talking, reliving the times that had branded them as surely as those hot irons he applied to the haunches of Malloy’s cattle, he could have his way with her. But in an entirely different sense than Wesley had.

  “Do you still have your paints?”

  Her brow puckered. “Of course, I do, but they’re at Mother’s, and—”

  “You should get ’em out again. The school board relieved you of your teachin’ post, but nobody can fire you when you’re makin’ your own way!” he said urgently. “You’re not the weak-kneed kind of woman who sits with her hands folded and starves to death, just because folks don’t approve of her. And I like that. A lot.”

  Her slow smile made something flicker in his belly. “Thank you for recognizing that, Billy. You realize, of course, that I could never stay with Mother again to—”

  “No reason you couldn’t use a room at our place to—”

  The words caught him up short; made him realize just how far gone he was. “But then, if Wesley’s usin’ the house as a—”

  “Far as I know, he’s a squatter,” she said with a winsome grin. “I believe the bank still holds the deed, because the locals were so incensed that Daddy foreclosed, why—nobody would buy it. It was your friends’ way of standing by your family, even after your mama took you away.”

  The thought lit a tiny flicker of hope within him.

  For now, though, Billy watched for the next lane while he kept Eve talking, and looking at him. His quick glance at the stately brick house told him the lace curtains and the double-globed lamp still graced the picture window in the front parlor. The old maple tree at the side still cast its cool shadow across the roof, too—over the spot where he’d peeked into Eve’s upstairs window one time, on Wes’s double-dog dare.

  He hadn’t realized just how much he and his brother had competed for Eve Massena’s attention, even as boys. Back then, they were just sneaking peeks, seeing what they could get away with. The stakes were a whole lot higher now that they’d grown up.

  Billy prayed quickly for the right words as they approached the house. And when Eve scowled, opening her mouth to protest, he grabbed her by the arms to keep her from spooking Pete—or worse yet, falling off in her struggle.

  “Billy Bristol, you conniving, underhanded—”

  “Hear me out, now!” he said, in what he hoped was a reasonable tone of voice.

  “But I told you I wouldn’t come crawling back to Mother’s—”

  “And you haven’t. I brought you here—and for good reason.” He held her gaze again, noting from the corner of his eye that the front door was opening. “I’m leavin’ you here while I look for Wesley, so he won’t hurt you again.”

  The door slammed.

  In the time it took Eve to twist around toward the porch, a pale, slender woman had stepped outside—and she held a gun. Billy saw how the pistol quivered as she pointed it, but he could take no chances: even if Mrs. Massena couldn’t aim accurately, she could do plenty of damage if she pulled the trigger.

  “I’ve brought your daughter home, so she can be safe—and so she can tell you about Olivia, your new granddaughter!” Billy piped up. He smiled at the woman, still holding on to Eve even though she’d gone stiff in front of him.

  “How dare you show your face here!” the woman retorted, but her voice had a hitch in it. “So help me, I’ll shoot first and proudly tell the sheriff I laid you low, Mr. Bristol! Lord knows I could put the reward money to good use! Turn loose of my girl before—”

  “Mother, this is Billy—not Wes!” Eve cried. “Put that gun down before you shoot somebody. Especially me!”

  “I’ve had all I can take of your shenanigans, too, young lady! Get down off that horse and come inside, before the neighbors see you!”

  Questions spun in Billy’s mind, but he didn’t doubt that Eve’s mother would rather shoot him than look at him. Still, it couldn’t hurt to explain.

  “Mrs. Massena, it feels so good to be home—and I promise you I’ve come to talk some sense into Wesley,” he offered. “I’m gonna dismount now, so I can help Eve off my horse, and then I’ll be on my way. Just don’t do anything rash, all right?”

  Florence Massena looked ready to cry and swear—and yes, fire that gun—as she stood her ground. Billy slowly swung his leg over the horse, hoping his smile reflected his honorable intent.

  Eve, however, was glaring at him as though smoke would come from her nostrils. He had to give her dress a good tug to get her down. She slipped into his arms and landed with a little gasp, but her flirtatious ways had been replaced by wrath. “You conniving, underhanded—”

  “You’ve already said that, Peaches,” Billy reminded her. He couldn’t resist brushing her hair back from her flaming face—and then felt the sting of her slap. “You’re gonna stay here while I get some answers from my brother. And when I come back, we’ll go fetch Olivia. Maybe your mother’ll want to come along,” he added, watching for the woman’s face to soften.

  “That’s Satan speaking, Mr. Bristol. Your sweet talk doesn’t fool me one bit. Now turn loose of my daughter.”

  He did as he was told. Billy wanted to reassure Eve—no, he really wanted to kiss the indignation from her pretty face. But she’d be safe here. That was what mattered right now.

  He mounted his horse and rode toward the street. When he reached the end of the Massena’s overgrown lane, he turned to see them standing apart, a mother and daughter whose stories didn’t seem to match up. He waved, not surprised that neither of them waved back.

  Then Billy urged Pete into a canter down the tree-lined street, feeling the gazes of curious neighbors from behind their curtains. But he was too intent on his mission to care what they thought.

  He was home. He’d go to the house tomorrow, when he was rested—ready to meet his twin again after ten long years.

  Chapter Eleven

  Billy slowed his horse at the end of the long drive, feeling as if the overgrown bushes and untrimmed trees hid the house from him on purpose—as though they covered its shame and disgrace so he wouldn’t feel it, too. He noticed how unearthly the silence was: not a bird call to be heard, not even the whisper of the summer breeze. The Bristol home seemed to be waiting, holding its breath. Warning him of things he’d wish he’d never seen.

  Maybe he should have stayed at the hotel longer, asking some questions and planning his strategy.

  But perhaps his feeling was just caused by his own jumpiness. His reaction to Eve’s warnings about what sort of shape the place was in. Some deterioration was to be expected, if no one had lived here for the ten years since he and Christine and Mama had left.

  Were the furnishings still in place? Were his left-behind clothes still in the chiffonier, and the dishes still in Mama’s china cabinet with the glass doors? If Wesley and his outlaw band had been using the place as their hideout, he really couldn’t expect the remnants of his childhood to be intact.

  Yet he hoped. He dreamed of walking inside, seeing the dining room table and chairs that had once formed an imaginary fort; sniffing for a hint of Beulah Mae’s pies in the kitchen. He gazed at the tall white house with its massive pillars along the front porch, and looked at the window of the room he an
d Wes had shared. Billy took a deep breath.

  The glass was broken. Only a jagged bottom half remained.

  “Giddap, Pete,” he murmured. “Let’s see what we’re gonna see and get on with findin’ Wes. Might be long gone, if he or his outlaw cohorts got wind of me bein’ here.”

  The horse nickered, his ears pricked forward. The maple trees along the drive had grown so tall they formed a canopy over him, shading his eyes so he could drink in the details of the house as he grew closer to it, step by purposeful step. From what he’d heard, he might get shot at, and he wasn’t armed. He’d learned to shoot, of course—Michael wanted him to protect himself and the family from wolves and Indians and other intruders.

  But he’d never bought a gun. Didn’t feel it was his place to take another life. He believed God would be his strength and shield until he was called away from this earth.

  Slowly he rode forward, watchful when a rabbit jumped out from under the overgrown forsythia bushes. The lawn was choked with weeds; piles of horse manure suggested the men who stayed here let their mounts graze while they were inside. A sudden creak made his head snap up—

  But it was only a dusty black shutter, waving at him from one hinge as it bumped against the house. Those windows had always seemed like eyes on the face of this place, and now they stared at him vacantly, dull with dirt.

  Trumpet vines had taken over the front steps, and their bright orange flowers reminded him of the angel Gabriel’s horn—warning him away from the house, maybe?

  Billy stopped, sighing sadly. Mama’s heart would break in two if she saw this. Their fine home and horse ranch, once the pride of Ray County, was now an eyesore. The rolling pastures were colored more with wildflowers and weeds than the fine grass their thoroughbreds had feasted on when he was a kid. There wasn’t a horse to be seen. Just acres of untended grassland, spotted with volunteer oak trees. The white fence had rotted in places and railings were down; all the hours he’d spent whitewashing those planks as a kid kicked him in the gut.

  He was about to swing down from his horse when the click of a pistol froze him to the saddle.