An unlikely pair. Mismatched, one might say.
Saint Peter would definitely say. Not the romantic type, Saint Peter. A lover of rules. He’d blow a gasket if he knew I’d snatched a kiss from the hunky Hazell out behind the white marble headquarters of the Council of Noble Purposes. A stolen kiss had kick-started my fascination for the big guy with the massive wings.
Yep, a forbidden secret, for sure. Guardian angels are forbidden to fall in love.
“Scarlett, did you hear me?” Hazell’s voice broke through my thoughts. “You’re doing excellent. Your sword-fighting skills are above average, and I’m happy to report you’re ready for the next phase in your training. I know you’re eager to take your position as a guardian angel.”
“Jolene can wait,” I protested, not willing to leave the comfort of Heaven—or Hazell. The thought of being separated from him turned my stomach. “You’re right about me.” I waved a hand down my curvy body, pausing over my oversized boobs. “I have a way with males, and I use it to my unfair advantage.” I shook my bronze ponytail. “I have a reputation for not playing fair.”
Hazell’s piercing gaze swept over me, melting my knees. “You will be fine, Scarlett. You must take your place among the guardians. It’s what you’ve been working toward.”
He was right. I had worked hard to accomplish my goal to become a guardian angel—which is one of the highest achievements in Heaven for a departed soul. But somewhere along the way, I had lost sight of Earth. And Jolene. Rumor around Heaven was she and Sam had eloped to Vegas and now experienced their HEA in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Good for her, bad for me, because I’d changed my mind about leaving Heaven to become her guardian angel.
Luminescent dashes of golden light shimmered from the radiant cosmic love surrounding us, and I could faintly make out the voices of the Hallelujah Choir coming from the Golden City just over the Galaxy Mountains. Heaven is like that. Shiny and warm and filled with happy celestial citizens and animals.
The flutter of angel wings brought a visitor to the training center on the outskirts of the city. I groaned when I recognized Cooper, one of Saint Peter’s messenger boys, settle down from the up drift he’d rode in on. He folded his wings and strode over to where Hazell and I were standing. He gave a nod of acknowledgment to Hazell, then addressed me with his usual stone-faced manner. “Your immediate presence is required.”
Cooper never wasted words or smiles. To the point without fuss. His dress code reflected his straight and narrow personality. A three piece pin-striped gray suit. Black loafers. Wire-rimmed glasses. Short cropped brown hair.
I gave a mock salute. “Message received, over and out. Reporting to headquarters in ten.”
His unamused gaze swept over me. “The Boss is waiting.” His brow lifted in a challenge. “Now.”
Our gazes clashed. Twerp. Did he believe an errand boy in a business suit could intimidate me? One of the mighty Guardians of the Heavenly Realm? Ha. Not in a million years. Excitement corroded my thinking. My grip tightened on my sheathed sword, and I took a step backward to prepare for battle. The sword hummed to life as I withdrew it, and I squealed in surprise when a persuasive grip closed over my wrist.
“You must learn to corral your rebel blood, Scarlett,” Hazell instructed, even though his mouth quirked with humor. “A warrior only uses her might to protect her charge. Not to dissect another angel, and certainly not one of Saint Peter’s staff. Be ever mindful of the power you yield.”
Hazell’s gentle reminder did the trick. Cooper dropped his superior attitude, and my breath expelled in a shaky whoosh. I sheathed my fiery sword, and muttered a hasty “Thank you,” under my breath.
Reprimanded for my inappropriate behavior, I softened my expression and turned to Cooper. “A thousand pardons to you, sir. I will report to my superior when I finish my lesson.”
“Well, then, I will take my leave,” Cooper huffed out in a polite but patronizing voice, and it took all my reserve not to carve him up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Hazell cleared his throat, and I relaxed my stance.
Saint Peter's angel caught the next breeze, and just before he scooted behind a fluffy white cloud, I heard his nasal voice urging me “Not to dawdle.” To my determent, I shot him a bird and earned another reprimand from Hazell.
“Scarlett, you must learn to control your human passions,” his gentle voice urged. “They will lead you astray if you can’t manage them.”
Speaking of passion. Hmmm. I wonder.
I trailed a finger along his arm. “Hazell, before I go,” I kept my voice low and seductive, “I have a parting gift from a grateful student.”
“The Council frowns on gift-giving between students and instructors.”
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“It’s forbidden.”
“Forbidden is the spice of life.”
His brows flickered. “Not for angels, Scarlett. We aim high and are above reproach. Never forget your training and how hard you’ve worked to get here. Not all human spirits are chosen to serve in the Guard. Be honorable and stay out of trouble.”
I sighed and dropped my hands to my side, once again humbled and reminded of my new standing in the Golden City. The mighty Archangel Hazell urged me to stay out of trouble. Good advice for angels, but I wasn’t a full-fledged angel yet. My natural human rebellion reared its ugly head at the most inopportune times. Not that I wished to sin, it just happened.
“I promise to make you proud, Hazell.” My voice quivered with forbidden emotion.
His voice softened. “Don’t bend the rules, Scarlett, and you’ll do fine.”
Infused with Heaven’s perfection, I touched the sword at my side, crossed my fingers for good luck and caught the next up-drift for the Golden City and my meeting with Saint Peter.
A word about the author…
Penny Burwell Ewing was born and raised in Fort Pierce, Florida. Growing up in a Southern coastal town gave her the best of small town living where the residents look out for one another. Her interest in writing began in the 1970s when she consumed every bodice-ripper published and decided to try her hand at entertaining herself. It worked and she is now working on her sixth novel. Once a professional Cosmetologist, Penny draws on her humorous experiences behind the chair to add spice to her Haunted Salon series. She now resides in Tifton, Georgia. Her favorite pastime is counted cross stitch and fine needlework.
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Bein' Dead Ain't No Excuse Page 19