Catch a Fallen Angel

by Maureen Child

  “But I am," the new man said, stepping in closer to Gabe. "And I've come for what's mine.”

  "What's happening?" Maggie asked and heard the fear quivering in her voice.

  “I wish I knew," Gabe muttered.

  "It's very simple really," the dark man said, fixing his gaze on Gabe. "When a man agrees to give his soul to me, I take it."

  "You can't," Michael said.

  "A deal was made,” the Devil told him. "A bargain struck."

  “With Heaven, not Hell."

  Confusion outpacing any fear he was feeling, Gabe shot Michael a look. "So if you're an angel, why didn't you say so when I died?"

  Michael spared him a brief smile, but never actually took his eyes off the enemy. “You all see what you expect to see when you die, Gabriel. You never believed in God, but you certainly believed in Hell."

  “With good reason," the Devil added.

  “This was all a trick, then?” Gabe asked and his voice was laced with a growing fury.

  “Not a trick," Michael said, "a lesson. A learning time for you."

  Anger sputtered in his gut. "What the hell does that mean?"

  "You were a man on the edge of life, Gabriel. You might have gone either way—eternal reward or damnation."

  Disgusted, Gabe clenched his jaw. "Then you never meant to take me anywhere?”

  “You mean he can stay?” Maggie asked.

  "Of course he can stay," Michael said, sparing Gabe a quick look. "If you had been selfless enough to turn down the 'Devil's' offer in the first place, none of this would have been necessary.”

  "But he didn't turn it down." The Devil spoke up and moved in closer to Gabe. "He accepted the deal and promised his soul to me. And I’m here to collect it.”

  Michael moved in, too, and neither of them noticed Gabe shoving Maggie back and out of the way. Literally trapped between Heaven and Hell, he didn’t want to take a chance on her being caught in the crossfire.

  The night air shimmered with an almost electrical force. Gabe stood at the edge of eternity, waiting for one last, final push into oblivion. Hard to believe that if the true Devil hadn't shown up, then all would be well now. He'd be going home. With Maggie. Instead, he hadn't even been able to enjoy that one bright moment of hope.

  Now, he was right back where he'd started. Heart aching, throat tight, he mentally said goodbye to all that he'd come to love and cherish. There was no way out of this that he could see. In another minute or two, he'd be nothing more than a memory.

  "Do something,” Maggie cried, and he wasn't sure who she was yelling at.

  "Step aside, angel," the Devil warned and narrowed his black gaze. "You know you're not powerful enough to test me."

  "Perhaps not," Michael admitted.

  “You're giving up?" Maggie said, clearly astonished that good would so easily surrender to evil.

  "Maggie," Gabe said softly, his gaze locked on the Devil. "Stay back. I don't want you hurt when he takes me."

  "He's not taking you," Michael assured him, then shouted, "Raphael!" and lifted his gaze Heavenward.

  Instantly, light blossomed in the darkness. The full moon's pale glow was lost in the brilliant splash of golden illumination that had the Devil covering his eyes and hunching as if in pain.

  Michael gave a relieved sigh and smiled.

  Gabe shielded his eyes with his right hand and curved his left arm around Maggie's waist as she stepped up beside him. He wasn't sure who was behind this light, but anything that had the Devil tucking his tail in was all right by him.

  "What's happening now?" she asked.

  "Damned if I know," he answered.

  Jake came up behind him. He felt the boy's weight lean against his leg and he dropped one hand to his shoulder. As if from a great distance, Gabe heard Henry muttering something about mending his ways.

  A deep voice filtered through the light and warned the Devil sternly, "There is no place for you here."

  The dark man, still cowering from the light, protested. "I was promised a soul."

  "You were promised nothing,” that voice said, disgust evident in its tone. "Leave this place. Go back where you belong."

  “A deal's a deal," the Devil argued.

  Gabe sucked in a breath as he realized how often he'd said those very same words himself over the years. So maybe the angel had had a point after all, he thought. He had been a man on the edge. But as he saw it, he still was.

  The demon's howl of outrage rose up, sending a chill along Gabe's spine. He tightened his bold on Maggie and Jake, and when the screeching abruptly ended, he felt their relief as completely as his own.

  The Devil was gone as if he'd never been.

  And as the brilliant splash of light slowly faded, the voice said softly, "Finish this, Michael, we’ll speak about it later."

  “Yes, Raphael," Michael said, nodding his head glumly. “I understand."

  Gabe looked at the angel. "Who was that?"

  "My superior."

  "In trouble, are you?" Maggie asked

  “Apparently."

  "Good," she snapped and Gabe smothered a smile. "You should be ashamed, an angel pretending to be a devil."

  Michael straightened up and lifted his chin bravely. Dismissing Maggie with a single glance, he shifted his gaze to Gabe. "Your lesson has ended, Gabriel. It's obvious to us that you've finally learned the most important lesson in life."

  Maggie took hold of Gabe's arm—tightly, just in case this was another trick. Jake moved out from behind Gabe to stand in front of him protectively. "You leave my pa alone," he demanded.

  "I intend to," the angel assured the boy and Jake looked over his shoulder to flash Gabe a grin.

  Michael smiled at the three of them. "You had to find out, Gabriel, that giving to others, being more concerned for someone else's welfare than your own, is what makes life worth living. When all is said and done, love is the greatest gift. You had to learn that.”

  Gabe's throat tightened as he glanced at Jake's defensive posture, then pulled Maggie in closer. Whatever misery he'd experienced, thinking himself damned, it had been worth it to find her and what they’d discovered together.

  "Now what?" he managed to ask.

  "Now," the angel said with feeling, "you should all go back to your lives and leave me in peace." Lowering his voice, he muttered, "It's going to take at least a hundred years to recover from this experience."

  "Out Satan!" a man yelled and everyone turned to watch Reverend Thorndyke charging the meadow, waving his Bible high over his head.

  "Oh damnation," Maggie murmured. "I'd forgotten I sent Jake to fetch him."

  "Good heavens," Michael said, horrified.

  "Tempt not the Godly. Return to the darkness from which you came!” the preacher kept shouting in a tone designed to terrify any self-respecting demon.

  "He's got quite a voice on him, hasn't he?" Henry mused as he strolled up to stand beside his family.

  "What's under your dress?" Jake asked the angel as he stared at the flowing, silvery robe.

  Michael twitched the folds of his robe. "It's not a dress!"

  "Lord," the preacher bellowed, "I call on you to smite Thine enemies…"

  Michael cringed at the humiliation of being expelled by a minister. And grumbling, "Oh, for heaven's sake," he disappeared.

  Reverend Thorndyke kept up his preaching for several minutes on the off chance some other demon was lurking nearby. Henry and Jake sat down to enjoy the sermon and Gabe and Maggie moved off into the shadows.

  "I can't believe it's over,” she said, staring up into his eyes and knowing that she'd never tire of the view.

  "Me either," he said and lifted one hand to smooth her hair back from her face. "I never wanted to leave you, Maggie.”

  "I know," she said and caught his hand with hers, planting a quick kiss on his palm before letting him go only long enough to wrap her arms around his neck.

  "That angel was right, you know," he said as he pulled her in tigh
tly against him. "I never believed in Heaven.” Looking down into her eyes, he added, "Until I met you."

  Maggie smiled through her tears. “I love you so much."

  "I love you too, Maggie," he said, awed by the rush of feeling surging through him. He'd never expected to find such a treasure, and now that he'd been given the chance to enjoy it, he didn't want to waste a minute of it. Gabe wanted to spend the next forty or fifty years basking in the love he'd found with this woman. In the family they would build together.

  "Marry me, Maggie," he whispered.

  "Is tomorrow soon enough?" she asked, going up on her toes and tilting her head back to look up at him.

  He shook his head and shot a quick look at the reverend Thorndyke. "Not nearly soon enough. What do you say we ask the preacher to do the deed as soon as he's finished banishing demons?"

  She smiled at him and nodded. ”That sounds perfect." she said. "What better place to start our lives together than in the meadow where we were given a second chance?"

  His arms came around her even tighter. Bending his head, h. looked his fill of her, still hardly daring to believe she was his. "I swear to you, I will love you forever."

  “It's a deal," she said softly.

  In the lush silver light of the full moon, Gabe kissed her, sealing this new bargain with the promise of an eternity's worth of love.

  And somewhere behind the clouds, Michael received not only his wings, but a new assignment. Guardian angel to one the twins Sugar Harmon would be giving birth to next spring. And even having to go back to Regret didn't take the pleasure out of those hard-won wings.

  Besides, he told himself, it might have been worse.

  He could have been put in charge of Gabe and Maggie's new daughter. By all reports, she was going to be as difficult as her mother.

  A sneak peek at Dream Weaver…PROLOGUE

  "In this world," Gideon said, his deep voice thundering across the heavens, "there is a place for everything. Even nightmares."

  "But he was such a little boy," Meara Simon countered, and three of her colleagues took hasty steps backward, distancing themselves from her and the risky stand she took against the Dream Master.

  She could admit to a touch of nervousness. But no Simon had ever run from a fight and she wasn't about to be the first. If her knees were more solid than spirit, everyone in the vast chamber would no doubt hear them knocking together.

  Gideon's black eyes flashed. "It's not your duty to decide who gets what kind of dreams, Meara," he declared, and to his credit, didn't raise his voice again. But then, he didn't have to.

  Every soul in the area was already quaking.

  "I simply don't understand why you're so upset," Meara went on, determined not to give into her perfectly natural impulse to run and hide. "It was just one dream, after all. And he was so tired."

  Gideon glowered at her for what seemed an eternity before shaking his head in apparent disgust. "He was supposed to be tired."

  "Well, now," Meara answered quickly, both hands at what used to be nicely rounded hips and now were no more than her soul's echo of her former body. "That makes no sense a 'tall."

  Someone behind her gasped and Gideon's dark brows drew together. But she sailed right past the warning signs. If she was going to be judged, then by thunder, she would at least speak up in her own defense.

  "A growing boy needs his sleep, for pity's sake. Everyone knows that. I should think you'd be grateful to me rather than roaring like a lion with a thorn in its paw."

  Another gasp, from farther away this time. Really. She would have thought that someone would speak up for her and brave the Dream Master's legendary impatience.

  "Roaring?" Gideon repeated, clearly incredulous.

  "Aye," she told him, snapping him a nod that sent the echoes of long, curly red hair flying into her face. "Roaring you are and roaring I say."

  "You have been here for only—" The Dream Master broke off to consult a record book that looked thick enough to hold every thought ever entertained. "One century," he went on a moment later, "and in that time, you've defied me, disobeyed me, and in general, created more confusion in the Dream World than has been seen since time began."

  She'd only done what she thought right—and wasn't that all that was asked of any soul? Still, she permitted herself a small smile. After all, it wouldn't do to be too proud. Hadn't her own dear mother, may she rest in peace, always told her that one day, she would make herself known? And hadn't she only had to follow her dear father's advice to do it? How many times, Meara wondered, had her father intoned, "A little revolution now and again is good for every living thing"?

  "Meara Simon," Gideon proclaimed, bringing her out of her pleasant thoughts, "this time you've gone too far. Charges will be heard against you at Sunrise."

  "Charges?" she whispered, beginning to feel just the faintest twinge of uneasiness. Perhaps she'd gone a bit too far with her revolution. But what could Gideon do to her? He couldn't very well have her shot. She'd already been shot. One hundred and two years before.

  A smattering of hushed voices swirled around her and for the first time since leaving her earthly life behind, Meara felt utterly and completely… alone.

  Gideon's tight, angry features gave her no comfort as he finished. "You may present your defense, and then a judgment will be handed down."

  In the next instant, he was gone.

  Most of the other Dream Weavers began to drift off, apparently content to know that they weren't the ones having to face Gideon's anger. Meara looked slowly around the nearly empty chamber and paused when her gaze landed on one friendly face.

  Daisy hadn't been there long, not more than twenty years or so, but in that time, she'd proven herself a true friend, despite her rather… well, coarse manner.

  With a bold suggestion of a sway in her hips, Daisy crossed the space between them, smoothing her hands down her deeply cut bodice, then giving her formidable breasts a push upward.

  "Well, honey," the other woman said with a shake of her head. "You've cooked your goose good and proper now."

  "I don't see what all the fuss is about." It was just one little dream, Meara thought.

  "Don't guess Gideon cares if you see or not," Daisy said. "But I been askin' around and I figure the best thing for you to do is skedaddle outa here for a little bit."

  "Skedaddle?" Meara frowned slightly.

  "Vamoose," Daisy clarified. "Take off. Get on your pony and ride."

  "I don't have a pony." Meara pointed out what she would have thought was a fairly obvious fact.

  "I mean, get out of town. Let ol' Gideon get his six-guns back in their holsters."

  "Six-guns?"

  "We got no time for this," Daisy said and headed for the nearest exit, dragging Meara along behind her. "No man is gonna stand still and let a little bitty thing like you show him up. Best thing for this here situation is for you to get your butt out of sight and keep it there."

  If she could have, Meara would have blushed. Instead, she tried to keep up with the spirit who was once, according to Daisy, the owner of the best damn cathouse in Bear Creek, Texas.

  Although why cats deserved a home of their own was a puzzle to Meara.

  "Where can I go?" she asked when her friend finally came to a sudden halt.

  "Honey," Daisy assured her with a grin, "I got just the place."

  A few earthly heartbeats later, Meara vanished in a blink of light.

  Daisy smiled thoughtfully. Maybe she should have warned the little thing that she had a few surprises headed her way. Was it really fair to send the girl into hiding without telling her everything?

  A minute later, Daisy shook her head. No, it had to be this way.

  If Meara had known the whole truth, she might not have gone.

  CHAPTER ONE

  HIGH TIMBER, NEVADA, 1876.

  "It ain't right, nor fittin'."

  "Leave it alone," Conner James grumbled and sank deeper into the cushions of his favorite chair.
He flicked a quick, irritated glance at Grub Taylor, housekeeper/ cook/thorn in his side.

  "Man your age," the older man went on, warming to his familiar theme, "with nothin' to show for livin'. No wife. No young'uns."

  Conner reached out one hand for the glass of whiskey resting nearby, took a sip, then interrupted Grub's sermon. I've got this ranch, don't I?"

  Unimpressed, Grub snorted. "Yeah, and you've had it for two whole years and still livin' in it alone."

  "If I was alone," Conner shot back, a rumble of temper coloring his tone, "I wouldn't be having to listen to you harpin' on me to get married, now would I?"

  That statement bought him a moment's peace. Conner looked at the older man and silently admitted something he would never own up to out loud. He was glad to have the old coot around. Even if he did have to hear Grub's opinion on absolutely everything.

  Darn near bald but for one or two strands of iron gray hair that he insisted on combing across the top of his gleaming pate, Grub boasted snow-white whisker stubble that rose and fell on his lined, weathered face like fresh powder on mountain crevices. But the man's keen black eyes were as sharp as ever and his thin, wiry body was stronger than a man of sixty-eight had a right to expect. They'd been together a long time and Conner was downright fond of the old cuss. But what he didn't know about women could fill Lake Tahoe basin.

  "We been through this, Grub."

  "Let's do 'er again." The older man set his jaw in a line that clearly said he was ready and willing to fight.

  Conner shook his head. "No woman in her right mind is gonna want to marry a man like me."

  "What the hell's wrong with you?" Grub demanded. "You got a nice place. You're young. Not too stupid. And you ain't stop-a-train-ugly."

  Conner scowled, took another long drink of whiskey and felt the fire spread throughout his chest. Despite Grub's notions, Conner knew good and well that no decent woman would ever marry the son of a whore and a gambler.

  But he didn't care.

  He'd been alone most of his life—but for Grub—and he'd gotten along just fine. When he wanted a woman, he found a good-sized town and bought one for the evening. A simple, honest transaction. No feelings or emotions involved. No disappointments or broken promises. Grub mumbled something and Conner sighed. Whenever his old friend had some comment he was sure no one else would agree with, he had a habit of muttering that comment—just loud enough to drive a body crazy wondering what he said.