Angel In The Rain (Western Historical Romance)

by Matthews, Devon

  Angel In The Rain

  by

  Devon Matthews

  Here’s what the reviewers are saying:

  Love Western Romances ~ 5 Spurs

  “In Angel in the Rain, Devon Matthews has written a superb historical western romance with this tale of a sexy loner from the wrong side of life.” ~ Carol

  Romance Reader At Heart ~ TOP PICK

  “ANGEL IN THE RAIN by Devon Matthews is the kind of book that can be enjoyed over and over again. I loved it the first time I read it and I’m sure I’ll enjoy it as much the next time I read it. Because this one, dear readers, is a keeper.” ~ Kay James

  The Romance Studio ~ 5 Hearts

  “I found it impossible to put down and I highly recommend it. I also expect it to become a best seller!” ~ Brenda Talley

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Angel In The Rain

  COPYRIGHT 2011 by Irma Sams

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author.

  Cover Art by Irma Sams

  Publishing History

  First Cactus Rose Edition, March 2007

  The Wild Rose Press

  Dedication

  For Darrell. You’re my hero, every day of my life.

  Chapter One

  West Texas – Spring, 1880

  The moment she stepped from the stagecoach, cold chills skittered over Evangeline’s skin. She saw nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that should have made her uneasy in the least. So, why did she feel as though someone had just stepped on her grave?

  The Agave Flats relay station looked much the same as a dozen others she’d seen since leaving the train three days ago—a crude blend of rough-hewn wood and adobe, flanked by knotty-poled corrals, standing in the middle of an empty landscape.

  “Thirty minutes, ma’am, if you want to stretch your legs,” the stage driver called.

  She forced an answering smile. If she “stretched her legs” much more, she wouldn’t be able to fit them inside the coach. With each interminable stop, she found it harder to tamp down a growing feeling of unease. She needed to be home.

  A station attendant led away the horses, amid a swirl of dust. Evangeline looked down and slapped at the grit clinging to her fine, fawn wool traveling suit. Aunt Nelda would have a conniption if she could see her standing there without gloves or even a parasol to protect her ladylike pallor from the harsh southwestern sun. She heaved a breath and turned her back to the warm, grit-laden wind.

  That’s when she saw him.

  Nerve endings jolted when she spotted the dark figure nearly blending into the shadows of the relay station. The man stood with a shoulder braced against the outside wall, his thumbs hooked on the edge of a low-slung cartridge belt. One booted ankle anchored over the other. His relaxed pose stretched dark trousers taut over a long, muscled thigh. The black hat riding low on his forehead hid all but his chin and sardonically quirked mouth. His very posture exuded arrogance and something more. Something so darkly compelling it bordered sinister.

  She knew he was staring at her. Right through her, in fact. Though the hat brim concealed his eyes, his gaze raked her with the impact of a physical touch.

  Being stared at by men was nothing new to Evangeline Clayton. A woman traveling alone was a magnet for every roué along the pike, and she’d received her share of suggestive winks and leers during the train ride west.

  Somehow, this man’s veiled inspection affected her more, probed deeper, as if he knew her very thoughts. She sensed a coiled energy behind his indifference, like a cat poised to pounce. And she had an eerie feeling that she was his prey.

  “Miss Clayton?”

  The driver’s voice tugged at her. With reluctance, she turned her back on the enigmatic stranger.

  “Yes?”

  “Just wanted to tell you, there’s coffee inside, if you want to step in out of the wind while we change the horses.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Stewart. I just might do that.”

  Evangeline watched the driver walk away and worried the inside of her bottom lip between her teeth. Tiny tingles continued to chase up and down her back.

  Abruptly, the sensation vanished. She turned, knowing she would find the man in the shadows gone.

  ****

  The monotony of the desolate scenery outside the coach window mesmerized Evangeline. Nothing but sand and an occasional wind-mangled scrap of brush or prickly pear, as far as the eye could see.

  The stage had departed Fort Worth with a full complement of passengers. But, one by one, they had faded into the Texas landscape at various stops along the route. Now, after three days, only she remained to traverse the barren lands southeast of the Llano plateau.

  After spending two years living in the city, where the multi-storied buildings butted up against each other, the solitude seeped into her soul. Going home should have given her a sense of relief. Instead, each passing mile brought more feelings of disquiet.

  The tone of her father’s letter, summoning her home, had unsettled her. He’d spoken of his affairs like a dying man. The Roy Clayton she knew had never even hinted at his own mortality. He was a doer. A survivor.

  Now, evidently, he was in trouble. Only she had no idea where to focus her concern. Stubborn old coot! Why hadn’t he confided in her instead of leaving her to wonder and worry during the entire fifteen hundred mile journey?

  Evangeline sighed and thrust a manicured nail between her teeth, then immediately withdrew it and clutched her hands together in her lap. She’d been gone from New York scarcely two weeks and bad habits had already begun to surface. Nail chewing, no gloves, and no escort. Had she spent the past two years attending Miss Marvel’s Academy for Young Ladies, all for nothing?

  She sat up straighter and lifted her chin. No, of course not. She had changed, transformed from an unruly, pants-wearing hellion into the woman of refinement her mother had wanted her to be. She’d learned her classroom lessons well, passed all the tests. When she looked in the mirror, she saw a new, polished miss.

  So why did she feel like such a faker?

  “You may acquire all the polish in the world, but underneath you’re still your father’s daughter,” Aunt Nelda had told her.

  In the deepest corner of her heart, Evangeline knew it was true. Two years of constant classes aimed at teaching her ladylike deportment hadn’t altered her thinking one whit. She still harbored the same rebellious inclinations. While she now walked in a composed, sedate manner, at times she wished she could lift her skirts and run with wild abandon.

  Warring emotions nagged at her. Being alone inside the coach gave her entirely too much time to think.

  A hard jerk of the stage tossed Evangeline against the backrest. Blinking, she coughed and batted at the gritty cloud of dust mushrooming from the worn upholstery.

  Beyond the open window, the blurry landscape confirmed the dangerous speed the coach traveled. Several more hard jolts forced her to clutch at the edge of the seat.

  Tension gripped her stomach. What did the fool driver think he was doing? Had he fallen asleep and dropped the reins?

  A muted pop, like a firecracker exploding inside an empty barrel, jerked her attention back to the window. Was that a gunshot?

  From nowhere, two men appeared, pistols in hand, riding lathered horses.

  Evangeline ducked back against the seat w
hen one of the riders veered toward the coach. His blurred face loomed nearer as he attempted to peer through the window.

  Wheeling away, the rider goaded his horse and moved ahead. Above the grinding clatter of wheels and the thunder of galloping hooves, she dimly heard, “Stop this stage!” More gunshots punctuated the order.

  As the coach rolled and bounced to a standstill, Evangeline’s heart throbbed painfully against her ribs. She knew the stage carried nothing of value, and she was the only passenger. Surely, not even ruffians would risk being shot merely for the contents of her purse. What were they after?

  The man she’d seen through the window stepped into view and shoved a still-smoking pistol beneath the waistband of his dirt-slick pants. A shiver crawled along her spine when he turned and started in her direction.

  He jerked the door open and held it wide. “Climb on down outta there!”

  Up close, the man looked repulsive. His face was smoke-filthy, the pores of his bulbous nose so clogged with hardened grease, it resembled an overripe strawberry bursting with seed. Beyond his sloping shoulder, she saw his partner aiming a pistol at the old stage driver.

  “Hurry up! I ain’t got all day.”

  Summoning the shreds of her courage, she squared back her shoulders. “Just tell me what you want.”

  His fleshy lips curled in a lecherous smirk. “Come on out here, sweet thing, an’ I’ll show you.”

  Evangeline’s skin crawled as if a snake had slithered beneath her petticoat. The interior of the coach offered an illusion of security. But if she stepped outside...

  Escape seemed impossible. She had to try. Drawing a deep breath, she leaned, as if to follow his order, then launched herself at the door on the opposite side of the coach.

  She was wrenching desperately at the door handle when thorny hands clamped around her waist. She screamed, clawing for purchase as he hauled her backward.

  Being tossed down like a sack of grain on the hard ground abruptly ended her scream. Through the still-settling dust, she watched his retreating steps as he moved toward the front of the coach.

  “Get this damn stage outta here,” he ordered the driver. “Go on. Git!” He pulled his pistol once more and aimed it at the hooves of the skittish horses.

  Two shots in quick succession jolted Evangeline. Next to her, a big iron-rimmed wheel lurched. The coach rolled forward, picking up speed, taking all her possessions and her only means of flight.

  Evangeline struggled to draw breath into her lungs. Through a haze of stark terror, she saw the big man turn and start toward her once more. Her thoughts whirled madly. They hadn’t kept the stage horses. They hadn’t demanded her purse. They hadn’t even bothered to rifle the baggage.

  She yelped when the ugly brute reached down and yanked her upright. The big man’s partner moved in behind her and wrenched her arms behind her back, until her elbows butted together. Hot daggers of pain burrowed into her shoulder sockets. The agonizing pressure immobilized her. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out.

  “I got her, Jed.”

  Evangeline tried to recoil when the brute, Jed, crowded close. With a grubby paw, he fingered the tiny buttons closing the front of her fitted jacket. She bit the inside of her lower lip to stop a whimper when he moved up to the collar of lace at her throat and brushed against sensitive skin. The smells of sour sweat and fetid, unwashed bodies wafting from the two men were enough to make her stomach heave.

  Using her weight as leverage, she tried to break the man’s hold on her arms, but he didn’t give an inch. “Take your filthy hands off me! Let me go! Get...off!” She lashed out with the only part of her still unfettered—her tiny sharp-toed boots.

  Surprised anger flashed across Jed’s face when she struck his shin. He drew back his hand and slapped her.

  The blow snapped Evangeline’s head aside and instantly stopped her frantic squirming. A sting shot through her left cheek and jaw. Numbness quickly followed. She tasted blood. She opened her eyes wide, willing back hot tears. These bastards would not make her cry.

  “I’ll see you both hang for this!”

  The brute grinned. He shoved his face near hers, putting his rank breath directly beneath her flaring nostrils. “I doubt that, little lady. Now, let’s see what we got here.”

  The weasel snickered.

  Threats would have no effect on these scavengers. Their minds seemed set on one thing only.

  Jed snatched the natty bonnet from her head and crushed it in his fist, taking hairpins and a great deal of roots along with them. Her long, blond tresses fell free, cascading nearly to her waist.

  He dropped the ruined hat into the dirt then reached in with both hands and ripped open her jacket. Twenty-six tiny faux pearl buttons popped like a row of shelled kernels from an ear of corn. When he tore at her thin linen shirtwaist, panic poured through Evangeline.

  She twisted and kicked out, landing enough blows to back Jed off a couple of steps.

  “Enough of this,” he growled. “Get her down and hold her.”

  Her heart faltered a beat. “No!” With the desperation of a trapped animal, she flung herself forward. The man’s grasp at her back slipped a bit. She struggled harder.

  Moving in close again, Jed gripped her face in his big hand and applied pressure, trying to still her movements. Instinctively, she opened her mouth and bit.

  He howled.

  Doggedly, she sank her teeth deeper. The taste of blood sent her stomach into revolt. Though her throat worked convulsively, she ignored the rising nausea and held on.

  Still bellowing, Jed grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked his bleeding hand from her clamped jaws. With a growl of rage, he grabbed for her throat and curled cruel talons around her windpipe. A knife, blinding with the sun’s reflected brilliance, flashed in front of her eyes.

  He leaned in closer and hissed, “I always give back better than I get.”

  Evangeline’s ragged breath caught. She closed her eyes, steeling herself for the worst—the bite of the knife into her flesh. At least this way, death might come quickly. And death seemed preferable to what these animals had in mind.

  She waited, the silence of her empty surroundings so complete, she heard her own labored heart pounding in her ears. Just when she thought her lungs would burst, a gunshot shattered the stillness and rolled like thunder across the empty land.

  The vise-like pressure at her throat vanished. Blessedly, she released her held breath and sank to the ground as her knees gave out.

  The taste of Jed’s blood roiled her stomach. Fighting the urge to vomit, she spat on the sand. She scrubbed a sleeve across her lips and left a rusty smear on the fawn-colored wool.

  Evangeline had no illusions about her chances of rescue. They were deep in the badlands—the middle of nowhere. Whoever had fired that shot was probably just a late arrival. Scavengers such as these tended to travel in packs. Once he joined them, she feared all three would pick up where the first two had left off.

  Fighting faintness, she lifted her head and drew in deep, fortifying breaths. For the moment, it looked as though her tormentors had forgotten her. Both of them stood, as still as statues, squinting toward the southwest.

  Following their direction, Evangeline shaded her eyes against the sun’s glare. In the distance, the silhouette of a lone horseman rode the wavering heat trails. Rimmed in fire from the sun at his back, he might well have ascended from the pits of hell.

  The apprehensive looks on the faces of Jed and his weasel partner told her the newcomer was unexpected. A tide of desperate hope surged through her.

  The mysterious horseman rode nearer. With each step of his galloping black horse, Evangeline’s heart constricted more.

  It was the dark stranger from the relay.

  He reined up a short distance away. Everything grew so quiet, she heard saddle leather creak when he shifted. Around his hips, he wore a Peacemaker in a worn holster, secured to his right thigh with slender leather strings.

 
Above all, his eyes claimed her attention. They were as opaque as twin chunks of coal. Empty, soulless. She’d never seen such dull, lifeless eyes that weren’t set above the deadly fangs of a rattler.

  Her dread mounted.

  He seemed completely unaffected by the scene he’d stumbled across. Only a knot riding the ridge of his jawline betrayed any emotion.

  Slowly, he shook his head. “This is a sorry sight.”

  His voice—low, dulcet, and somehow too calm—sent a tingle slithering down Evangeline’s spine. Who was this man?

  Still favoring the hand she’d bitten, Jed’s fleshy lips curved in an insolent sneer. “What the hell do you want, Rainman?”

  Rainman? It sounded like the moniker of some traveling preacher claiming mystical power over the weather.

  “I’ve come for the woman,” the stranger replied with the same unnerving calm. “She’s mine now, so walk away from her.”

  “Like hell!” Jed spat. “We found her first. What makes you think you can just waltz in—”

  She never saw him move, yet the sun flashed from the nickel-plated barrel of the Colt as it materialized in the stranger’s hand.

  Jed’s mouth clapped shut around the words he’d intended to speak.

  The stranger thumbed back the hammer; the ominous clicks of a well-oiled cylinder cut through the silence. He arched one dark, insolent brow. “Now that I have your attention, I advise you to walk away—while you still can.”

  Jed huffed a noisy breath, then dropped his chin to his chest, as if conceding defeat. Evangeline saw that he still held the wicked Arkansas toothpick in his hand.

  The thought had barely registered when the flashing blade rose in a blur of speed. In the same instant, the stranger’s gun exploded.

  It happened so fast, she barely had time to flinch.

  Jed looked down at the crimson ribbon threading the front of his shirt. His eyes rolled upward in their sockets, and he gave one convulsive twitch. Like a tower of cards, his body buckled and he dropped face-first on the ground.