"Go easy on 'em, Angela," Nick said quietly. "They've had…a rough time of it."
His concern for the children was not what she'd expected, and as she called to them, she wondered again what strange circumstances had brought them all together. They sheepishly came from the kitchen into the bedroom. Angela quickly pulled the sheet over the hole in Nick's side to hide it from their view.
"Thanks," he muttered, giving her a grateful look before he turned to the children again. "Where's Will?" he asked, his tone rough with the suppressed pain.
Leah glanced toward the bedroom doorway. "He went out back to bring in some more wood…" She trailed off at Nick's sharply indrawn breath.
"He shouldn't be out there."
The faint measure of worry in the gunman's tone mystified Angela. But she recognized that he didn't want to speak plainly in front of the youngsters. She stood up and took Charlie's hand. "Come with me, you two," she said. "I bet I can find something you'll like. A surprise." She opened the chiffarobe and stood on her toes to reach the top shelf. If she were two inches taller, or if she had a man—but no, she had not had that luxury or companionship for two long, lonely years. Maybe that's why this attraction to Nick Dalton scared her, yet tempted her, all the while. Her fingers closed around the corner of a rectangular box, and she pulled it forward until she could get a grip on it. Carefully, she worked it out from under the neatly folded quilt that lay atop it.
"What is it?" Leah asked, peering to see.
"Checkers!" Charlie clapped his hands as the red and black corner of the box came into view. "My favorite!"
Angela drew out the battered pasteboard box and led the children to the dining table. After getting them settled for their game, she walked to the back door and opened it, a slice of warm honey-colored lamplight spilling across the snowy expanse behind the house.
"Will?" she called into the cold darkness.
"Ma'am?"
The pale daylight was all but gone now, the wind more restless than it had been for the last two days. They needed the wood, with the main brunt of the storm on the way. But Angela couldn't force the barely restrained note of anxiety in Nick's voice from her mind.
"Let me help you bring in the wood." She took a step forward.
"I can get it, ma'am. Please, just see to Nick – Mr. Dalton." Will approached the doorway with an armload of wood and ducked his head as she moved back.
He was hiding tears. Angela stopped herself from touching him, understanding the fragile balance between child and man. He was trying hard to hold in his emotions. One kind touch on her part could undo him.
"Here," she said instead, "let me show you where to put it."
He stacked the wood in the corner where she showed him, then once again started for the back door.
Angela followed him. "Mr. Dalton is worried about you, Will. He thinks…maybe you shouldn't be out there."
Will shook his head, not looking at her. "Storm's comin'. We got to have wood," he said gruffly. "I'm okay."
Something occurred to her, then, that Nick might not have thought of in his condition. "Are you hurt?"
He looked at her directly, blue eyes flashing. "No, but I should be! I should be dead! Woulda been, too, if he hadn't—"
"Will!" Nick's voice sounded from the bedroom around the corner, and the fire went out of Will's expression. He lowered his head, shoulders slumped, and walked to the bedroom door.
Angela followed.
He stood silently just inside the room.
"No more talk like that, son," Nick murmured.
"It's true! Now you're likely gonna die because of me."
Nick's eyes were fixed on the boy. "I'm not gonna die," he said.
"You – you took that bullet for me."
Angela didn't have to see Will's face to know the humiliating tears were threatening again. His shoulders spasmed as he tried to hold them back.
Nick lifted a weary hand and motioned Will to come to him. He walked forward hesitantly. Both seemed unsure, until finally, Nick reached out again, and Will sank to his knees beside the bed. Nick pulled him close as the tears came, letting him cry into the folds of his open shirt.
"It should be me, not you!"
The agony in Nick Dalton's eyes was fierce. Angela's heart pressed against her chest as she watched them, tears burning her own eyes.
Nick swallowed hard. "I'm glad it wasn't, boy."
"You did it on purpose."
"You bet I did." A caustic smile lifted Nick's lips. "I wouldn't catch a piece of lead for just anybody, Will. Makes you pretty damn special."
"I'll kill 'em! I swear I will!" Will's breath hitched on a sob, and when he spoke again, some of the fight had gone out of him. "I'll kill 'em."
Nick laid his big palm on Will's tousled golden head. "No." His voice was low and rough. "You leave the killin' to me, son."
Chapter Five
Angela bit her lip and turned away. This was not her business, she reminded herself, as she struggled to regain her composure. Some part of her yearned to offer what comfort she could, but to do that, she'd have to admit something she wasn't ready to face – that she needed to draw comfort from these weary travelers as much as she needed to give it. Dangerous, letting her emotions flirt with the disaster of actually feeling again. It wasn't as if she'd been deeply in love with Tom Bentley, but he'd been all she had, besides this farm. When he'd died two years ago, she'd buried her emotions with him.
"Pa should've done it." Will's husky voice broke on a sob. "He just…just let them kill him."
Nick nodded. "Will, your pa did what he thought was right. He loved you."
Angela turned at Nick's low-spoken words. His gaze was focused on the boy he held close to his heart. He loved Will, too. No doubt of that. Angela's fingers clenched in her apron as his earlier words echoed in her head. I might've done a couple of good things to go along with the rest. Whatever you've heard, I'm not all bad. Guilt sent a wave of heat into her cheeks.
"He didn't. He didn't love us or he would have protected us, Nick. Like you did. Damned Quaker."
Nick inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening on the boy's head. "Will, don't—"
"Well, he was! But I'm not. I'm not a bit like him." Will got to his feet quickly, his head down. "I don't want to ever be like him."
"He was a good man, son."
"No." Will looked into Nick's steady gaze. "You are a good man." He wiped his eyes furiously. "Better than he was, Nick. You protected us. You saved us. He—"
Will's face crumpled. He turned, and Angela caught him to her, Nick's unspoken anguish tearing at her heart. She hugged him for a moment, feeling his tension. He wouldn't allow this comfort for long, she knew, no matter how he wanted it. It would mark him as a child in front of the man he wished so desperately to emulate.
"Will." She forced his head up between her palms. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Will, there are different kinds of love in the world, and different kinds of good. I know your pa was good, because you are." She took a deep breath, sensing the mutinous reply that hovered on his lips. "And I'm sure he loved you."
His eyes opened, finally, full of anger, disillusionment, and something wild that hadn't been there before. "You're wrong, ma'am." He moved out of her grasp. "Lovin' someone means takin' care of your own. Fightin' for 'em. Killin', even—" He broke off, turning to bolt out of the bedroom. Seconds later, the back door slammed shut.
For a moment, a heavy stillness hung over the little cabin.
"Let him go, Angela. Maybe tomorrow…" Nick shifted.
Angela crossed the room to sit next to him, in the chair beside the bed. She slowly reached for his hand. Will needed some time alone to cool off. She'd try again with him later, but for now, she couldn't put off removing that bullet any longer. She didn't know how Nick had lasted this long. Her eyes went to the scissors, bandages, and tweezers she'd laid back on the night table. "Yes, maybe tomorrow," she said.
But first, there was this long night ahead of them
.
By this time next week, he'd be able to ride out of her life, along with these children who had suffered so much already. The prospect of his leaving didn't seem nearly as appealing as it had a scant hour earlier. She took a steadying breath and reached for the tweezers again. If the snows came, they had food and wood. Now, she needed just a very small miracle. A miracle—
How could she have forgotten?
"It's Christmas Eve," she whispered, her throat dry as she turned to look at him.
He glanced away. He had forgotten, too. Understandable.
"A night for miracles," he muttered, echoing her unspoken thoughts. He gave a caustic chuckle. "I could use one right now, Angela." He nodded at the tweezers she held. "Ready when you are."
Chapter Six
The lead had been relatively easy to get to. Nick lay quiet now, and although he should have been asleep, Angela knew he wasn't. She had shut the bedroom door earlier, telling the children she needed their cooperation. They were bone weary, and Angela hoped they'd fall asleep quickly.
Will had come back inside and seemed to have settled down. He assured Angela he would make the younger children a pallet on the floor with the coverings and pillows she had taken from the cedar chest. They would get themselves to bed, he promised, if only she would take care of Nick? Get him well?
She had tousled his hair affectionately, recognizing his fear. Yes, she had vowed, she'd patch Nick up just fine.
She'd had no right to make such a promise. Anything could've happened. But removing the bullet had gone quickly, and she was thankful, for Nick's sake. He'd kept quiet, holding silent throughout the ordeal, better than she thought humanly possible, until the tears ran from her own eyes at his dogged determination. Now, as she kept her vigil over him, she knew the children slept fast, as well. They'd been exhausted, and their young faces had been lined with a worry that shouldn't have been there.
What had led these heart sore travelers to her little cabin? And what had happened to the children's parents?
She knew from Will's outburst their father had been murdered. Had their mother been killed as well? She needed some answers. She feared the answer to the question that haunted her more than any other might remain a mystery forever.
Who was Nick Dalton, really?
Chapter Seven
The lamp was turned down low, but she knew the instant he opened his eyes. She laid a cool hand across his forehead, gauging the fever to be higher than before. He quelled a shiver, gritting his teeth.
"Can't you sleep?" she asked softly.
He shook his head. "I hurt."
"Yes. I know."
"You did good, Doc," he teased. "I barely felt it."
Her lips quirked. "You are a liar, Mr. Dalton."
"Not about everything. And you shouldn't believe everything you hear." His eyes held hers. "I meant it. I have done a couple of good things."
"I know." She nodded somberly. "Will thinks a lot of you. I trust his intuition." A space of silence hovered between them.
He shuddered again. "Cold," he muttered.
Angela unconsciously sat nearer and rubbed her arms.
He smiled. "You, too? You don't even have a fever, Angel."
He smelled faintly of the whiskey and the carbolic acid she'd used on the bullet wound. But he also carried the scent of the deep woods – of pine and leather, sunshine and wind. Pure man – strong, steady, and safe.
"This bedroom's on the north side," she said, drawing the blanket up over his chest. "It's always cold in here in the winter."
They were quiet for a minute. She stiffened her spine to ask the question she knew he was expecting. "What happened, Nick? I need to know."
Tension filled the silence that stretched between them. Nick let his breath out slowly, and Angela realized with a start that whatever he had to tell her was hard for this man who supposedly had no conscience.
"Come lie down with me, Angela." In spite of the pain, a teasing dare veiled his voice, as though he believed she would deny him. But when he looked at her, his eyes weren't laughing. "It's a hell of a thing to remember. To talk about." He smiled crookedly. "Besides, I've got your bed."
The need she saw in his expression was so great that Angela could not refuse. This wasn't proper, she thought, even as she stood up to comply. It was scandalous, to lie down with this man – a man she barely knew – but she was so lonely, so cold, so tired of being strong. She wanted to be a woman tonight, to lie next to a man and be safe in his embrace. She gave him a last doubtful look, and he reached for her with a heavy sigh.
"I promise, I can be a gentleman," he said, "when I have to."
She moved to the space beside him, taking the invitation he had so casually flung out. Carefully settling herself next to him, she let him draw her close – and nothing had ever felt more right.
His fingers sifted through her auburn hair, a tender caress, as intimate as a kiss, as if they lay down together like this every night of their lives. After a moment, he said, "Ever hear of Matt Taylor?"
She shivered, but this time not from the cold. "Yes. But the last I heard, he and his gang were up around the Kansas border."
Nick chuckled against the top of her head. "That's a couple of hard days' riding I can attest to." He was silent a minute before adding, "And so can those kids."
"You came all that way in this weather?" And with a bullet in him.
"Taylor's band killed their parents." His tone was brittle and raw. "They shot the woman first." He took a slow, deep breath, and Angela started to lift her head, but he held her fast. "No," he whispered huskily. "Let me say it all."
She lay motionless then, letting him purge the festering memory.
He was quiet, so still that Angela thought he must have drifted to sleep. Finally, though, his fingers tightened at her side. "I got there too late," he muttered. "Seconds too late."
She placed her palm against the heat of his fevered chest in wordless support, and he relaxed beneath her fingertips.
"The kids saw it all. Will came running out of the house to fight them with nothing but a stick of firewood."
"Their father – did it happen like Will said?"
Nick sighed harshly. "Yeah. Zeke was on his knees, pleading with Taylor not to harm the children. Taylor shot him in the head while he was begging. Wasn't anything I could do for him. I leveled off and dropped two of the others. And then there was Will, running at Taylor for all he was worth with that damn stick of wood, and I…"
"You did what Will said you did," Angela finished. "Stopped a bullet meant for him."
"I couldn't let Taylor kill that boy." A telling note of grief edged through his voice.
"No," she said softly, "you wouldn't let that happen." Maybe that was why she'd instinctively trusted him. He would never have ridden away, as so many others would have, thinking it wasn't their concern. She bit her lip, her thoughts going back to when the two horses had appeared in the gathering darkness. She had decided the riders, whatever brought them to her door, would not become her business. But they had. "It was a miracle you happened by," she said. "A stranger in the right place—"
"I was five seconds too late for a miracle," he murmured. "And I wasn't a stranger. Their mama was my sister."
Angela stiffened, her breath catching. She lifted her head quickly. "Oh, Nick!"
Chapter Eight
He pulled her back down to him, his hand tracing slow patterns on her shoulder as she lay in the crook of his arm. "I hadn't seen Laura in years," he said quietly. "We'd had a disagreement, said some hard words. I left, and—" He threaded his hand through Angela's hair, and she fitted her body even closer to him. After a moment, he whispered, "When we were kids, we used to make snow angels. She called it drawing forgiveness in the snow."
He fell silent, the comfortable quiet enveloping them. "She was the best person I ever knew, Angela." He gave a short laugh. "Through Him all things are possible, she always said. She believed there was good in everyone."
Her throat was closed and tight. She nestled closer, knowing he needed her. Someone needed her. Nick needed her. After a moment she whispered, "Is Taylor still alive, Nick? Is that why you didn't want Will outside earlier?"
"No," he said flatly. "No, he's dead. I made sure of that."
She shifted away from him carefully, raising her eyes. His expression was solemn, but not apologetic.
"Murder, you'd probably say. But my only regret is that I wasn't there to do it earlier, before he killed Zeke and Laura. I'm not perfect, but Will and I agree on one thing. Loving someone means standin' to fight with them, for them, and dyin', if it comes to that. Believing in them, no matter what. And believing in yourself."
Angela rose on her elbow. He searched her face, as if expecting to see condemnation, a flash of defiance telling her he was prepared to pretend it didn't matter, one way or the other. After a moment, he went on. "That's why I didn't think Will should be alone with his thoughts out there in the dark. He figures he coulda done something more. Doesn't realize that sometimes things happen – things you can't change, or think you can't, at the time. Just like there's things you think you might've changed, if you'd only been willin' to bend a little. Some things can't ever be fixed. Or forgiven." He looked away. "Bein' young as he is, he hasn't learned that yet."
"Does he know who you are?"
"No. He was just a little guy. No older than Charlie." He shook his head. "Six years. I shoulda come back sooner. None of them know me."
Angela couldn't bear the tortured remembrance. Her hand went to his stubbled cheek in a gentle caress. She bent and brushed her lips across his in a gesture that left her warming at her own forwardness.
"Nick, I'm so sorry." She drew away, embarrassed, but he crushed her close to him, putting his mouth to hers again, in firm assurance that this kiss – this sudden bond between them – was no mistake. Hot and slow, as unhurried as if they had all night – as if they had forever – his tongue played across her lips. He teased her mouth open, and as her lips parted, she touched her tongue to his, deepening the kiss. She moaned softly, surrendering to him, trusting him. It was as natural as breathing, that kiss, as was the promise of what would follow. And as Angela laced her fingers in Nick's dark hair, she didn't want it to ever end.
Night for Miracles Page 2