Angel Baby (Heaven Can Wait)

by Laura Marie Altom

  “Okay,” she acquiesced, her gaze aimed at the floor.

  He stepped toward her to take Katie, but she hugged the baby close. “No. You might feel cool toward me, but don’t even think about distancing me from our child. If I no longer have you, then she’s all I’ve got.”

  Those fighting words stormed Jonah’s senses. Katie was all he had, and suddenly he wasn’t all that keen on sharing. But then his daughter’s contented expression caught his attention and his anger dimmed. Angel meant his baby no harm. It was him she was upset with, and could he really blame her? He should try to say something to make her feel, if not better, then at least comfortable. Instead he merely muttered, “Fine. I’ll get you a fresh set of sheets and you tuck in Kati—ah, I mean, Lizzy. After that, well… I guess we’ll talk more in the morning.”

  In the morning…

  Angel, pacing the lonely master bedroom, had been up most of the night pondering that line. On the most basic of levels, it meant what it implied, but she took it to mean that, in the morning, Jonah would give her a second chance.

  Did she deserve it?

  Who except Jonah knew? But, obviously, whatever they’d fought about had had a lot to do with her.

  Once she heard the sound of her husband’s soft snores coming from the guest room, Angel snooped through her own belongings hanging in the closet.

  There were black leather and spike getups entirely unsuitable for the wife of a proud man who owned a small-town diner. There were untidy piles of vinyl platform shoes in colors that never should’ve been created, let alone turned into footwear. Big purses and even bigger hats.

  Outside the closet, cluttering every surface, were dust-coated brass knickknacks—elephants and sailboats, twisted-wire trunk trees with dangling brass and copper leaves.

  Instead of calico wallpaper that would’ve been charming in the high-ceilinged room, the walls blared fuchsia, dotted here and there with travel posters singing the praises of Hollywood, Miami, and nighttime New York City.

  Angel would’ve bet money she’d been to all those places and hated them, so why pollute her walls with bad memories?

  In fact, she didn’t find anything about the room appealing, from the bold print black-and-red bedspread to the pungent potpourri filling a brass bowl on the dresser.

  Stopping at the foot of the bed, she realized that judging by this decorating disaster, she didn’t even like the woman she’d once been. So was it fair to blame Jonah for not liking her either?

  Glancing at her T-shirt, red leather pants and matching boots, she wondered if she was the cause of their money problems. Maybe she’d taken too much and contributed too little, not just to their finances but their marriage. If that were the case, would Jonah tell her?

  She closed her eyes and imagined being held in his arms—sinewy strong, not too pumped. Lean, with just enough of a rise to his biceps that she’d have a tough time curling her fingers even halfway around. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying to remember him as a lover, but when no images came, she made them up.

  His naked chest, sweat slicked, crushing her breasts as he took her against the closed bedroom door, wood grain nipping her shoulders, her fingers clutching his back, twining his hair. It’d been so long.

  Faster.

  Harder.

  Yes. Yes…

  Eyes still closed, she cupped her hands over aching breasts. Arched her head and dreamt Jonah’s hot breath on her throat. With every breath of her being, she wanted her husband.

  But how would she make him want her?

  Chapter Six

  “If I have any say in the matter, you’re not going to do a damned thing!” Geneva yanked off her remaining shoe and flung it at the screen.

  Damn that bitch.

  Who did she think she was, trashing Geneva’s choice in clothes, shoes and decor and then practically getting off with Jonah right there in their bedroom?

  Fists clenched, Geneva paced, only with a measly ten feet to maneuver, it was hardly effective.

  “Yep,” Herc said. “I’d say it’s more than time to address the first of our lessons.”

  “Screw your lessons. Please, go ahead and send me the rest of the way to hell. Or, no, I get it, the joke’s on me and I’m already there, right?” Tears caught at the back of her throat as she watched that bimbo Jonah called an angel stretch out atop the big, king-size bed, drawing one of his downy feather pillows to her nose and dragging in a big ol’ whiff. And damn it if Geneva didn’t smell him, too. His Prell. The girlie Caress soap she’d teased him for using. A hint of the diner’s mouthwatering fried chicken.

  Goosebumps spread across her forearms that weren’t supposed to be real.

  Herc cupped his hands around Geneva’s shoulders.

  She tried flinching away but he was too strong, so she went limp. What was the point in fighting this—whatever it was? She was dead. And no matter what Mr. Grecian Formula spewed, she didn’t believe for a second God handed out second chances to screw-ups like her.

  “You’re wrong,” he said. “Sit back down and I’ll tell you exactly what you need to do.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sunlight skulked past the edges of the guest room’s pull-down vinyl shades, delivering Jonah a one-two punch right between the eyes. Man, was it morning already? He had a leisurely stretch, then gave himself a good scratch…and froze.

  Katie!

  Her cries should’ve woken him hours before the sun was up.

  Wearing only gray flannel boxers, Jonah tossed back the sheets and scrambled out of bed, bolting across the hall to her room.

  Her crib was empty.

  For a second, panic pounded his heart, but then, from downstairs came the sound of muffled singing and the scents of fresh-brewed coffee and frying bacon. His stomach growled. Fingers clutching the crib rail, Jonah sighed.

  Angel.

  Was the woman trying to give him a heart attack?

  After washing his face with his hands, he noticed cloth diapers neatly stacked on the changing table, as opposed to haphazardly mounded on top of the nearest flat surface. Katie’s pink hippo crib blankets had been prettily folded and a potted ivy had been moved from the kitchen to sit upon the newly cleared dresser. Every wood surface shone and the air smelled clean, like lemony furniture polish.

  A brief flash of resentment shot through Jonah at the way Angel, in less than twelve hours, had shown him up as a father. But then sanity returned. What was wrong with him? Angel was the best thing to have happened in years. Having her in the house, caring for Katie, was like winning a human lottery.

  Gravitating toward the triple bonus of his baby, a beautiful blond and bacon, Jonah headed for the stairs.

  “Lizzy, sweetie,” he overheard Angel say from the kitchen, “when your daddy tastes this, he’s never gonna let me go.” The tempting words drifted right along with the smells. Damn. Why was it that his cloud wasn’t lined with silver, but thorns?

  While his grumbling stomach urged him toward the kitchen, his conscience shoved him to the nearest phone.

  Police Chief Sam Lawson set his blueberry Dannon on Mount Manila Folders and stared the plastic tub down as if it were a mass-murdering druggie. Christ on a cupcake, he hated yogurt. He’d give his left nut for a doughnut and his right for a little excitement. But since Blue Moon was hardly a hotbed of crime, he turned his thoughts back to excitement of the sugary kind. A Bavarian cream-filled long-John. A strawberry cake doughnut with vanilla sprinkles. Shoot, he’d be tickled red, white and purple for a plain old glazed.

  Damn that cocky new mayor and the horse he’d rode in on. Old Mayor Hollingsworth never used to make him take physicals. Sam was still on the underbelly of forty. He jogged, bench-pressed two-ninety on a good day. So his cholesterol was high? Big whoop. The fact that the mayor even knew Sam’s cholesterol level was an invasion of privacy. An infringement upon his God-given right to avoid any food product bragging about containing live cultures!

  The phone rang.

>   “So help me, if this is that pissant calling to nag about the Christmas decorations still being up—Chief Lawson here.”

  “Hey, Sam, it’s Jonah. How’s it going?”

  Sam’s shoulders sagged. “Fair to middling, now that I know it’s you instead of the Boy Mayor.”

  “He still harassing you?”

  “Me, and everyone else in town, except for that land developer from Little Rock trying to get a steel plant built out by the highway. Can you believe he turned down my computer request yet again? I swear, Andy Griffith had a better setup than me. How’d he ever even get elected?”

  “Andy Griffith, or our Boy Mayor?”

  “Ha, ha.”

  Jonah adopted a world-weary tone. “This, my friend, is what happens when it’s sleeting on Election Day and the only thirty-eight people who show up to vote are the kid’s girlfriend and cousins.”

  “Hey, I voted.”

  “Yeah, me too, but two voices of reason hardly make a dent in all that inbreeding.”

  Sam eased back in his squeaky chair and grinned. “Guess you’re right on that assessment. So? What can I do for you on this not-so-fine Sunday morning?”

  “Other than riding the man responsible for driving half the businesses on Main Street into bankruptcy out of town, not much. Just a small favor.”

  “Shoot.”

  By the time Sam’s friend finished his twisted tale, the chief had been given a new lease on life.

  Hot damn. Finally a case with teeth. Even better, the main suspect—or victim, her status was yet to be determined—had cooked a big greasy breakfast.

  “Hang tight.” Sam said, already reaching for his hat. “I’ll be right over.”

  Angel stood outside Jonah’s closed office door, hugging Lizzy. Who had her husband called? And why had his voice been filled with such urgency? The sturdy oak door guarded the conversation’s specifics, forcing her to piece together snippets like:

  I know, but can’t you...

  Sure she seems in otherwise good health...

  I can’t keep her here indefinitely...

  Angel sighed, nuzzling Lizzy’s downy hair. Though her pulse raced, she told herself to stay calm. The she and her in Jonah’s conversation could’ve been anyone.

  An employee. A stray dog.

  Who are you trying to kid, Angel? He was talking about you. How he wants to get rid of you. Separate you from your baby all over again.

  Angel squeezed Lizzy tighter.

  No. Almost losing her once was bad enough. She couldn’t go through that kind of heartache again. No matter what it took, she would make Jonah see she’d changed. I’m not the same old…”

  What? Same old what?

  She massaged her suddenly throbbing temples. What was wrong with her? Why did she feel as if a curtain had been drawn over her life?

  Steeling her shoulders for whatever battle lay ahead, she said, “Jonah, honey? Breakfast’s ready.”

  “Thanks. Be right there.”

  “Everything all right?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Angel flattened her palm against the closed office door. She wanted so badly to go inside, to wrap her arms around her husband and apologize for whatever she’d done. A queasy sensation told her she was solely responsible for what’d happened between them. But if he wouldn’t open up to talk about it, what could she do to fix it? “Jonah?”

  “Yeah?” he asked in a muffled tone.

  “Nothing.” She sensed him on the other side of the door, imagined his radiated heat. “I-I just wanted to tell you breakfast is getting cold.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Okay.” What she didn’t say was, “Hurry, sweetheart.” Hurry.

  Chapter Eight

  “Come on in,” Jonah said to Sam, holding open the back door. “Your timing couldn’t be better. Angel’s upstairs changing Katie.”

  “Angel, huh?

  Trailing his good friend into the house, Jonah fought the all-too-familiar knot fisting his stomach. “That’s the only thing I know to call her. And no matter who she is, she has been a godsend to Katie.”

  Standing in the center of the sun-flooded kitchen, Sam removed his official beige hat, tucking it beneath his right arm.

  Jonah watched while his friend’s gaze skipped from the prettily-set table with its forsythia-filled vase to platters heaped with bacon, eggs, pancakes and biscuits.

  Light oak cabinets shone from a lemon oil rub, and even the cheap linoleum floor Geneva had forever complained about beamed beneath a fresh coat of wax.

  Aside from ultra-tasteless silver and purple-striped foil wallpaper, better suited to a disco than a country kitchen, the place hadn’t looked this good since back when Jonah’s mother had been alive.

  As first-rate as Geneva had been in bed, she’d been that lousy at housekeeping.

  When Sam shot him a piercing stone-gray gaze, Jonah turned the other way.

  “Feeling a mite guilty, are you?”

  “Over what?” Jonah looked back, raising his chin.

  “Defensive, too.”

  “Am not.”

  “Then why the fighting stance?”

  “Maybe because I’ve known you all my life. Well enough to recognize one of your silent accusations. But here’s the deal, Sam.” Getting in his face, he said, “I haven’t done a damned thing wrong. And if I’d known you’d come running over here with guns blazing, I never would have called you in the first place.”

  “Did I say you had done anything wrong?”

  “Maybe not in so many words, but I’m not stupid. Your expression says loud and clear you think I’m using this woman.”

  “Are you?”

  Hands tucked in his pockets, Jonah turned to the neat stack of dirty pots and pans in the white porcelain sink. Nudging the faucet all the way to hot, he snatched the cast iron skillet with one hand and the steel wool pad with the other, scrubbing out his frustrations on what remained of the scrambled eggs.

  Still sounding far off, the morning coal train whistled. Seemed late. Or maybe he’d missed the coal train and this one carried freight.

  “Jonah?”

  “Look.” Jonah whipped around, spotting Sam’s khaki shirt with hot suds. “If you’re planning on keeping up this interrogation, then—”

  “Whoa—no need to get your panties in a wad.” Jonah flinched when his friend gave him a few good natured pats on his back. “All I wanted to tell you is that I did a quick computer check before coming over and found exactly squat.”

  “Great.” Jonah slung the pad into the sink.

  “Wait. It gets even better. I called Doc Penbrook and he wants a look at your mystery woman as soon as possible.”

  “Aw, man. I don’t even know how to explain you being here. How am I going to explain a doctor showing up?”

  “That’s easy enough,” Angel said with a shimmery smile, gliding into the room with Katie tucked to her chest. “You called both the doctor and the police chief because you love me and want to make sure I’m really, truly okay.” She flashed Sam a brilliant smile. “Hi, I’m Angel McBride. Forgive me if we’ve already met, but I seem to have misplaced the last twenty-odd years of my life—maybe even thirty.” On that note, she made a face.

  “As a matter of fact,” Sam said, “we haven’t met. I’m Sam Lawson.”

  They shook hands, leaving Jonah scolding himself for caring when his supposed friend held on to Angel’s slim hand a little longer than necessary.

  “Tell me, Sam.” Angel fussed with Katie’s collar. “I get the feeling you and my husband know each other quite well, so how is it you and I have never met?”

  Jonah cleared his throat. “Sam’s been out of town.”

  “Yeah.” Sam coughed. “It’s, ah, good being back.”

  As if she wasn’t quite sure she bought either of their stories, Angel flashed them both another fragile yet hopeful smile.

  As for Jonah, he was stuck on the fact that, even with the police chief
standing less than five feet away, he’d done it again. Fallen for this woman even harder than before. Sunlight bathed her and his baby girl in gold. Gold hair, gold eyebrows, creamy-gold complexions. The pair of them in almost matching dresses that made them look like mother-daughter goddesses.

  Katie wore a ruffled yellow smock and Angel the flowing pale yellow sundress Jonah had bought Geneva for her last birthday. Never once had she worn it. Said the garment was too dull for her sophisticated tastes. At the time, he hadn’t seen her point, but now a blind man could’ve seen.

  On Geneva, the dress had been all wrong. On Angel, it was sheer female perfection. A little long, maybe, but the whipped-egg shade of pale yellow transformed her already great complexion to the kind of fine porcelain he’d never been able to afford. The dress’s cut hugged her ultra-feminine curves. From somewhere, maybe his mom’s old sewing basket, she’d even found a sunny scrap of ribbon to pull her long hair into a neat ponytail.

  To Sam she said, “You here about my car?”

  Sam nodded.

  “Good.” She headed toward the stove. “It’ll be nice to at least have one mystery out of the way. But before we get down to business, let’s dig in. All this food is getting cold.”

  Sam, ever the charmer, cast her what Jonah knew from their old swinging single days to be his best on-the-prowl grin. “That an invitation?”

  “Sure,” she said over her shoulder, actually flushing from his attention. “Sorry if I didn’t make myself clear.”

  “Not a problem, Angel.” Sam winked before giving Jonah’s supposed wife another toothy smile.

  Eyebrows slashed, Jonah scrubbed harder.

  In preparation for their meal, Sam parked his hat on top of the fridge.

  Leaning hard against the counter’s edge, he crossed his legs at the ankles, taking it all in. Jonah’s scowl. Angel’s bruised forehead and easy grin. Katie’s miracle. If he’d seen the pink-cheeked wonder in a carriage on the street, he wouldn’t have recognized her. Had it really been less than forty-eight hours earlier that every time his office phone had rung, he’d cringed? Halfway expecting it to be a heads-up from 911 dispatch that Katie had had to be taken to the Harrison hospital.