Catch a Fallen Angel

by Maureen Child

  Poor kid.

  "Damn it, Maggie,” he said abruptly. "Can't you see I'm trying to do the right thing, here?"

  "All I see is, you're awful bloody anxious to leave."

  "No I'm not." he muttered thickly and speared his fingers through his hair.

  "Then stay. If you'll stay, I'll marry you," she said.

  "It's not that easy,” he told her bleakly, his gaze meeting hers. Silently, he tried to convey just how much he'd like to stay with her. He wanted her to believe that if he had a choice in this, he'd choose her.

  “Of course it is," she snapped. "You said you have an appointment to keep. Cancel it."

  He laughed. A short, harsh sound that scraped against his throat and nearly choked him. "Oh yeah," he muttered. Then shaking his head, he said, "No one cancels an appointment with this fella, Maggie. No one.”

  “Who is this man?" she demanded. "Who is so damned important you're willing to walk away from me?"

  "I'm not willing. I have no choice.”

  “Tell me,” she said simply. "Tell me or we're through talking right now."

  "You won't believe me."

  “Tell me anyway."

  "Fine." Nodding, he started pacing. Walking just a few steps, he turned right around and came back. Stepping up close to her, he picked up her right hand and held it to his throat. To the scarred flesh that was a constant reminder of what he'd gotten himself into. "Feel that?"

  "Yes," she said and curled her fingers into her palm. “You were hanged. And you escaped. What's that have to do with this? With us?”

  Gabe released her hand, grabbed hold of her shoulders and held on tightly to keep her from turning away in either disgust or disbelief.

  “Yes, I was hanged," he said flatly, his gaze boring into hers. “But I didn't escape. I died."

  "What?" Shaking her head, she stared at him as if he was crazy and she hadn't even heard the best part yet.

  "That's right,” he told her, "I died. Hanging from a damned tree, my life choking out of me. And that appointment I have to keep?” He let her go as he finished. "The Devil's expecting me, Maggie. In less than a month now, I'm going to be hip deep in flames with a frontrow seat in Hell."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Maggie yanked free of his grip on her shoulders and took a hasty step back. Looking up at him, she could see he actually believed what he was saying. Either that or he was a much better actor than she would have given him credit for being.

  Well, she didn't believe it. Not for a damned minute.

  Shaking her head, she said, "I've heard some tall tales in my time. God knows, my father has told some real beauties, over the years.”

  "“Maggie—“

  She held up one hand to silence him. It was her turn to talk now. "But this." A choked-off laugh shot from her throat. "This is the winner by a long shot.”

  "I'm not lying."

  "Oh, of course not," she said, and her sarcastic tone let him know she wasn't really agreeing with him.

  Good God. Staring at him, looking into his eyes, she had to wonder why she kept falling in love with the wrong man. First Kersey Benson, a lying no-good who'd left her as soon as he'd discovered she didn't have enough money to make living with her worthwhile. And now Gabe.

  An ache around her heart throbbed low and heavy and she silently admitted that Gabe's deceit hurt far more than anything Kersey had done to her. Because what she felt for this man was deeper and bigger than anything she'd ever known before.

  But Lord. The devil?

  She was supposed to believe that she'd been living with and talking to and making love with a dead man? How stupid did he think she was anyway? She took a long, deep breath and held it, hoping to steady herself. But as it slipped slowly from her, she knew nothing was going to help at this point.

  "Maggie," he said quietly, "I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

  "And you were right," she quipped and started to walk past him. "Congratulations."

  He grabbed her as she passed and Maggie whirled out of his grasp, fixing him with a stare hot enough to burn eggs. "Don't touch me."

  "How can I make you believe me?” he asked.

  "You can't," she assured him. "But you should know this, you didn't have to concoct this wild story just to leave me. I've been left before with far less imagination."

  “I told you I don’t want to leave,” he said tightly. "I have to."

  “Uh-huh," she said. "Because you're dead.”

  "Exactly."

  "Well, then, lie down for pity's sake. You must be exhausted."

  "Maggie…”

  "Just stop it," she said, lifting both hands palms out toward him. "Stop all of this nonsense."

  Hard to believe that only moments ago, she'd been happier than ever before in her life. Her body still thrummed with the aftereffects of the pleasure she'd found in his arms. She could still taste him on her mouth. She could still feel the glorious rightness of his body joining with hers.

  And now this.

  Why had he even bothered to propose? she wondered. To make himself feel better? That had to be it. Because it certainly hadn't been a proposal designed to win a woman's heart. I don't love you, will you marry me, and oh, by the way, I still have to leave because I'm dead.

  She wrapped arms around her waist and held on tight. That ache around her heart began to build and grow, uncoiling ribbons of pain that seemed to reach out to every corner of her body.

  She loved him, damn it. And damn him for making her feel and then ruining it.

  "Maggie," he said and reached out a tentative hand toward her. When she eyed it like a snake, he let it drop to his side. "You have to listen to me. You have to believe me."

  "Why should I?" she asked quietly.

  He lifted both hands and raked them across the top of his head before shrugging. “There's no reason at all why you should. I'm just asking you to, that's all."

  "Oh well,” she said. "That's different. Of course I'd be happy to do you a favor just now."

  “Maggie…damn it, don't you think I know how this sounds?"

  "If you knew, you wouldn't keep talking," she told him.

  He snorted a laugh. "Think about it, Maggie. If I was going to lie to you, wouldn't I have made up a better one than this?"

  "Maybe," she conceded. “And maybe you're just not that clever."

  But he was, she knew. He was a smooth talker and probably had a legion of lies for just such a situation as this to choose from. So why would he tell her such an outrageous fable?

  All right, she was curious enough to keep listening. Curious. That was all.

  He must have read her acquiescence in her eyes because he started talking again. As he spoke, the words came faster and faster until it was all Maggie could do to keep up. And strangely enough, as the story unwound, it even began to make an odd sort of sense. Which told her she was either desperate to believe him or just as crazy as he was.

  Her own thoughts raced to keep up and when he finally finished talking, she asked the first question she could think of. "Why come here to wait for your friend the thief?"

  Gabe shrugged. "He comes here from time to time."

  "What's his name?" she asked, as if that would prove anything.

  "Damn it, Maggie, that doesn't matter," he snapped. "That's not why I told you all of this."

  "Why did you, then?" Maggie asked and walked toward him. With every step, pain seemed to throb inside her. Aching sorrow rose up and she fought to battle it down. To keep her mind clear and pain at bay. When she was no more than a step or two from him, she stopped and looked him squarely in the eye.

  In the guttering candlelight, his features looked different, somehow. Less real, more elusive. Or maybe it was simply her imagination, colored now by his ridiculous story.

  “I wanted you to know. To understand why I have to leave.”

  “Well, I don't," she said simply with a shake of her head. "What I understand is that you're going to leave and you want me t
o marry you so you can go with a clear conscience."

  "Maggie—“

  "But I'm not going to," she said, cutting him off before he could get going again. It was her turn to talk now. "You see, I don't believe a word of what you just said."

  His chin dropped to his chest briefly, then he lifted his head again and looked at her. He didn’t say a word, simply waited for her to finish.

  "You say you're dead? Well, for a dead man, you've a pretty strong heartbeat."

  She moved in closer and slapped one hand against his naked chest. Just the touch of his skin beneath her hand sent off sparks of heat and wonder shooting through her bloodstream, but she desperately fought to ignore the sensation. “I can feel it. It's pounding every bit as hard as mine. Dead men don't feel. Dead men don't walk and talk and make love and lie."

  Her hand dropped to her side as she looked up at him.

  "And you're doing all of that."

  "I can't explain any better than I have,” he said, and his voice was a low groan of frustration.

  Sorrow welled inside her and she battled to keep her voice steady. "You don't have to," she said. "I think you've already said more than enough."

  In his eyes, she read the same pain she was feeling, but since he was the cause of all of it, she couldn't feel sorry for him.

  He studied her sadly for a long minute before asking quietly, "Do you want me to leave now?"

  "Leave town?” she asked and wondered how she could possibly feel even more pain.

  "No," he said. "I can't leave Regret yet.”

  "Oh.” She nodded and shook her head at the same time. "That's right. Your appointment with the Devil."

  "Yeah," he said tightly. “But I'll move to the hotel if you want me to go."

  She looked at him then, asking herself silently if his leaving would make this better. Or worse? Her gaze lingered on his features. So familiar now. Such a part of her life. Blue eyes that seemed to hold every secret she'd ever yearned to know. Strong cheekbones and the smile that had at first dazzled and then warmed her.

  No. There would be no help in his leaving because, despite everything, she would miss him utterly. She would miss the sound of his voice, the flash of that smile, even the stray lock of his hair that tended to flop down across his forehead. She would miss his touch, his easy way with Jake, and the pleasure of sitting across a table from him at the end of the day.

  “Maggie?" he whispered and his voice brought her out of her thoughts and back into the candlelit room that had been the scene of such joy and, now, such misery.

  "No," she said softly. "I don't want you to leave.”

  He took a breath then and she nearly felt his relief. She quashed it a moment later.

  "Your leaving now would only make things worse." Her fingers twisted together at her waist. "What I want is for you to have never come."

  "Oh, Maggie, don't.”

  “I want to not have this pain in my heart," she went on, her words tumbling out, one after the other, carried on a tide of disappointment and frustration. "If you'd never been here…if I’d never discovered what it was to really love someone, then I wouldn't miss it when it was gone."

  He took a step closer to her and she backed up, keeping that safe distance between them.

  There was nothing left to say and yet so much seemed to have been left unsaid. But she was so tired. Heart aching, head pounding, she turned then, headed for the doorway that would take her to the stairs and the shelter of her room. She made it to the threshold before his voice stopped her.

  “Think what you will, Maggie," he said softly. “I can't stop you. But think about what I said too. Not about the Devil or anything else. But about marrying me before I leave. Not for my sake or yours. But for the sake of the child we may have created."

  His words hit her like a blow and one hand dropped protectively to her flat abdomen. Glancing over her shoulder at him, she said solemnly, "I sincerely hope I'm not pregnant. But if I am, I'll protect my child any way I can."

  Then she was gone and Gabe was alone in the guttering candlelight.

  #

  One week passed and then two and still Gabe and Maggie circled each other warily. He'd tried to talk to her, but each time, she'd blithely insisted that nothing was wrong. That she was fine. That nothing had changed.

  But her eyes looked bleak and she held herself so stiffly, he was afraid she might shatter.

  Grumbling under his breath. Gabe lifted his end of the new restaurant sign and, taking a nail from the corner of his mouth, set it in position and hammered it home.

  Keep busy, he told himself repeatedly. Stay too busy to think. To dream. To entertain idle wishes and make plans for a future that would never come.

  Still, he watched her and let the pain inside gnaw at him. It was nothing less than he deserved. It was fitting that a man destined for Hell should already be feeling the torments that awaited him in the eternity to come.

  For the time he had left he would concentrate on helping her prepare for the day when he'd be gone. He'd have the restaurant up and running and hopefully make it easier for her and Jake to thrive without him.

  Then voices drifted to him from the crowd gathered below and Gabe listened to them instead of his own depressing thoughts.

  "Don't see how a fancy sign's going to make a spit's worth of difference here," one man said. "Maggie still can't cook."

  One corner of his mouth lifted. No, she couldn't. But she was getting better.

  "Twilight what?" another man asked.

  "You'll see," Gabe answered, glad they were curious. To find out what had been going on inside the restaurant the last few weeks, they'd all have to come to the grand opening. "You show up on Saturday night and have your questions answered."

  "Oh, I don't know about that,” Bass Stevens shouted. "Seems mighty risky lettin' Maggie cook for me."

  Gabe turned his head and looked down at the small group of men watching him and Deke Conroy hang the new sign. Singling Bass out with a fixed stare, he reminded the man, "Maggie brings Jake to you for haircuts, doesn’t she?"

  Bass rubbed his jaw with one beefy hand. "A haircut can't kill you." He snorted. “But Maggie's cookin' surely could."

  Woods Harper, the young cowboy, spoke up. "I don't know. I ate her pies and they weren't bad. 'Cept stay away from the prune."

  Deke dropped his end of the sign and Gabe lurched to hang on to it.

  "Prune?" the man repeated.

  "Here now," Kansas yelled from below. Pointing one finger at the burly bartender, he accused, "You coulda killed me by droppin’ that sign."

  "Yeah, if you were ever out of your chair.”

  They were getting way off the subject here, Gabe thought, and speaking up, told them all, "It wouldn't kill any of you to show up."

  "You guarantee that, Gabe?" Deke asked.

  Gabe glared at him. "I thought you were her friend."

  "I am, but—“

  "No buts," Gabe told him, then spared another glare for the rest of them. "She's one of you. She's a part of this town. Maggie shops at your stores. It's time to repay the favor."

  #

  Maggie looked at her reflection and saw a woman wearing her best green calico dress and a forced smile.

  She should be happy. The restaurant's grand opening was in less than an hour and she'd worked hard for weeks preparing for it. They'd all worked hard. She and Jake and Gabe. It hadn't been easy, working alongside him, seeing him every day, dreaming of him every night, feeling her body burn for his touch. Often in the last couple of weeks, she'd come close to taking him up on his offer to move out. Especially late at night when she couldn't sleep and when wanting him seemed as much a part of her as breathing. Yet she hadn't. Because knowing he was close by was better than feeling the loss of him earlier than she had to.

  Time was rushing past her. Only another week or so and Gabe would be gone. Oh, she still didn't believe a word of his story. But he was leaving. Did it really matter where he was going?r />
  "C'mon, Mom," Jake called and she turned from her reflection to look at her son, standing in the doorway opposite her. "Gabe says we should get ready for the people now."

  Gabe says.

  How many times had Jake started off his sentences with those two words? Did Gabe know how much her son loved him? Depended on him? How much he would miss the man who'd become such an important piece of his life?

  Jake hopped from foot to foot in his excitement.

  Clean and shiny from the top of his neatly combed head to the toes of his polished shoes, her little boy was once again the happy, carefree child he used to be. And damned if she didn't owe Gabe for that too.

  "Go ahead down,” she said. "I’ll be right along!'

  "Okay, but hurry up," Jake said, and in the next instant he was gone, the only sign of him, his footsteps clattering on the wooden stairway.

  Briefly, Maggie stood in the silence of her room and tried to imagine the time when Jake would be grown and gone, leaving her for his own family. She'd be alone then. With no one to talk to, to share secrets with, to hold during the long, dark nights.

  Wrapping her arms around her waist, she let her head fall back on her neck and closed her eyes. Emptiness welled inside her, growing and blossoming until it threatened to choke off her breath.

  She gulped back a knot of tears crowding her throat and told herself to get used to the silence. Because when Gabe left, he would be taking her last chance at love with him.

  Then, steeling herself, she straightened up and headed downstairs to face the man who'd taught her to dream again only to turn those dreams into nightmares.

  #

  Gabe peered through the front window at the darkened street outside, craning his neck this way and that, looking for the people who should be lining up to help Maggie rechristen her business.

  But Main Street looked deserted. If not for the lights blazing away in windows, he would have thought Regret was a ghost town. Apparently he and Maggie were throwing a party and no one was coming.

  "Where is everybody?” Jake asked from behind him, and Gabe turned around to look at the kid.

  "No one's here yet," he said and thought about the preacher. At least he should have shown up. Gabe had kept his part of their bargain, taking a pew in church every Sunday.