Angel In The Rain (Western Historical Romance)
Page 16
Behind her, the bolt on the bedroom door screeched. She turned her back to the window and watched the door swing inward. The dark figure of a man stood in the opening, rimmed against the smoky haze quickly filling the courtyard behind him.
Angel’s heart tripped, and then redoubled its frantic pace.
He took a step toward her. “Angel?”
A wild cry of joy escaped her lips as she snatched up her hem and flew across the room, straight into Rane’s embrace.
His arms settled around her, holding her close. Weak-legged with relief, she clung, absorbing the feel of him. “I knew you weren’t dead!”
Under her hands, his lean, steely muscles shifted. He gripped her arms and held her away from him. Though his eyes were nothing more than black voids in the dimness, she felt his piercing gaze raking her face.
“Are you all right?”
His voice sounded like gravel had been mixed with the smooth, dark velvet she remembered.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “They didn’t hurt me.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
Taking her hand, he led her through the door. Just outside, the big brute who had been her jailer lay unmoving, propped against the wall. A sizeable lump above his temple leaked a thin trace of blood down the side of his face.
They stepped around the man’s sprawled legs, and then Rane moved quickly to the end of the portico. He ducked into a doorway and led her through a passage connecting the kitchen and laundry. The hallway took them outside, into the compound. A gust of night air washed over Angel’s face when she stepped into the open for the first time in many days. Rane motioned her to stay against the outside wall.
The shadow of the house covered them in darkness, but overhead the night sky was lit to near brilliance by the fire in the distance. Rane moved to the corner and peered around it. In seconds, he returned. “We’re going to make a run for the wall.”
Angel’s pulse fluttered in panic. How did he plan to get over the wall and do it without being seen?
“Stay low,” he instructed.
She nodded, her heart beating so hard she didn’t think her chest would contain it.
Angel hitched up the unwieldy hem of the oversized dress she wore and draped it around her left arm. “I’m ready.”
Rane grasped her hand in his once more. “Let’s go.” He stooped low and set out across the open ground.
Angel bent and ran with him. A mixture of fear and exhilaration surged through her veins. Fear of capture, the promise of freedom, and Rane’s hand, warm and strong around hers.
In the distance, a swarm of men scurried back and forth. Some had found buckets and attempted to douse the out-of-control blaze. From the corner of her eye, Angel saw the structure tilt with a groan and screech of failing timbers. The roof collapsed, sending sparks shooting into the darkened heavens to rival a Fourth of July fireworks display.
Rane increased the pace. Angel’s breath labored, rasping past her lips in quick bursts. They reached the wall and ducked behind a cluster of bushes. Grateful for the respite, Angel braced against the cool stone and pressed a hand against the stitch in her side, panting for breath, and wondered just how he planned to get them out of there.
The fire lit up the entire compound. With the collapse of the building, the men had given up trying to save it and now stood around watching it burn. If she and Rane stepped from behind the bushes, they would be seen instantly.
“How do we get out of here?” she asked breathlessly.
“The same way I got in. Come on.”
She turned, and found him standing below her and thought the unnatural light must be playing tricks with her eyesight.
“Come on,” he urged again.
A tunnel! Like some feudal castle from a bygone age, the Hacienda had a bolt hole. Wasting no time, she followed him into the pit. The low, narrow space forced them to crawl on hands and knees. Black as pitch, she might as well have been blind. Angel moved forward by feel, inching along the cool stones on the heels of her hands and with each movement tugging the hateful dress from beneath her trapped knees. The air felt chill and reeked of wet molder. She blundered through puddles of dank water. Slime coated her fingers.
Angel’s hands felt raw and her knees had started to ache almost unbearably by the time the passage took an upward slant, signaling its end.
They emerged in the middle of a chinaberry thicket, no more than a hundred feet outside the wall. The light from the distant fire had grown dimmer.
Wasting no time, Rane led her to the black stallion tethered to one of the trees and lifted her onto its back.
****
Seated on the front of the saddle and cradled between Rane’s thighs, Angel relaxed against him and let the smooth gait of the horse rock her. Under the dim moonlight, she couldn’t see much except the dark profile of his face. For the moment, that was enough. He was alive. She settled her head against his strong shoulder and stared up at him, soaking in the feel of his warmth and virile strength. Though they both now stank of the dank tunnel, they had smelled worse. After having known him for only a few weeks, she had a history with this man, and she was amazed at all they had endured together.
“How did you know about the tunnel?” she asked.
“I found it long ago and quite by accident.”
“So, you’ve been to the Hacienda before.”
“It’s been a while.”
Still cryptic. Still not forthcoming. Horace Lundy has something that belongs to me. But what?
“Once you take me home, you’ll no longer have any bargaining power. Do you still think you can force Horace to give you what you want?”
His chin dipped. After a moment, he lifted it again and looked at her. “I’m a patient man. It may take longer now, but I can wait.”
Again, she was struck by the new rough quality underlying his whiskey potent voice. Was the change permanent? Undoubtedly, the rope around his neck had done some damage.
Lifting her hand, she eased her fingers inside the collar of his shirt. To her surprise, he allowed it. Beneath her fingertips his pulse surged, strong and rhythmic. A welt ringed the base of his throat. He had suffered and risked so much. And tonight, just when she was near to giving up hope, he had carried through on his promise. Again, at great personal risk.
She dropped her hand to her lap. “Where have you been, Rane?”
“Across the border. With Wolf.”
“Wolf?”
“Yes, Wolf. I owe him. Again. I would have been here sooner, but he hid my gun and horse so I couldn’t leave.”
To Angel, that simple statement spoke volumes. She knew, if Wolf had managed to take Rane’s gun, it was only because Rane had been in no shape to stop him.
“I sensed a connection between the two of you. And he calls you ‘brother.’ Why?”
“When we were boys, we cut our wrists and mingled our blood.”
“So, you became blood brothers.”
“Yes, and to this day, the bond remains strong.”
She knew how deeply embedded his sense of loyalty, or was it merely duty and unfinished business that had sent him to the Hacienda to rescue her?
Only the chirp of crickets and the soft thud of the horse’s hooves filled the silence. What would happen now? They were already on the Flying C, her father’s land. What would happen to them both when she was finally back home again?
The two-story white house loomed out of the darkness. Home. Angel sat up straight, her nerves suddenly thrumming beneath her skin.
Rane halted the horse. Against her back, she felt the tension humming through him. “Are you ready to do this?” he asked.
“No, not really.” She released a shaky breath. “Coming home was all I dreamed of for the past two years. Now that I’m here...well, this isn’t at all how I envisioned it.”
A solitary guard sat on the wide front steps with his back propped against a newel post. Chin drooped to his chest, he appeared to be asleep.
Rane circled outside the perimeter of the ranch yard and tied the horse in the deep cover of the wild tangle of underbrush and trees that grew along the northwest corner. Except for the sleeping guard, the place looked deserted.
Hugging the deep shadows, they approached the back of the house. Angel found the secreted key above the facing, just where it had always been, and unlocked the door opening into the kitchen. When she entered the house, familiar smells and textures surrounded her. She felt as though she’d stepped back in time. As though she’d never left. Suddenly, all her old fears and insecurities came rushing back, nearly paralyzing her.
“Where to?”
The deep growl of Rane’s voice prodded her. “This way.” She led him through the kitchen and into the hallway that divided the house down its center. Light leaked from under the door of the front corner room, and there she stopped. “In here,” she whispered.
Rane pulled her aside and took her place before the closed door. When he laid his hand around the knob and eased it open, her heart galloped.
Inside, three wicks burned in the overhead fixture, casting a warm glow over the room. Unlike Horace Lundy’s combination office and library, here there were no shelves with floor to ceiling books bound in luxurious leather. The furnishings were spare and rough-hewn. A gun rack loaded with a variety of weapons. Crudely drawn maps of the Flying C and its holdings were the only ornamentation on the walls. The floor was bare planks worn smooth from countless footsteps. Many times in the past, Angel had tried to talk her father into putting down a carpet, but he wouldn’t have it. This room was his domain, elementary and scarred. He’d always told her he didn’t have time to worry about spilling something or dropping a load of ashes on the floor.
Just as Angel had suspected, her father sat slumped in the chair behind his desk with his fingers intertwined atop his chest, sound asleep. Despite the hour, he was fully dressed in worn denims and a faded cotton shirt, even down to his boots, which were propped on a corner of the desktop and crossed at the ankle. An empty bottle of Cyrus Noble sipping whiskey lay overturned on the blotter.
A smile tugged the corners of her lips. The warmth gathering around her heart sent tears of relief swimming across her vision.
Rane took a step inside the room. When the old man still didn’t move, he stomped his boot down on the floor.
Her father blinked, coming awake slowly. Obviously, he’d consumed the entire bottle lying on the desk. Then he looked up, spotted Rane, and registered blank surprise. He sat bolt upright, dropped his boots to the floor with a loud slap, and then sprang to his feet. “What the hell is this!”
Rane took another quick step into the room and lifted the Colt from his holster. “Just stand easy, Clayton, and keep your hands above the desk.”
Her father frowned at the gun before lifting his hands out from his sides and glaring a hole through Rane. “Just who the hell are you?”
Angel stepped into the light, snagging her father’s attention for the first time.
Confusion entered his eyes, and then she watched some of the mottled color drain from his face. “Angel?”
“Yes, Pa. It’s me. I’ve come home.”
Despite Rane’s order, her father came around the desk. An arm’s length away from her, he stopped. She fidgeted inwardly as his shrewd eyes raked her from head to toe, taking in her bedraggled state. Her unbound hair had fallen in a tangled mass over one shoulder. The too-roomy dress hung limp and was smeared with drying mud and slimy black-green algae.
Angel tried to still her trembling chin, but with each second that passed, she withered a tiny bit more on the inside.
“What on God’s earth happened to you?” her father exclaimed.
Angel’s heart sank completely. Had she truly expected a smile, or even a hug? She should have known.
She darted a quick glance at Rane. What must he think of this father and daughter reunion? Though the gun remained in his hand, he now looked at her. Was that compassion she saw in his eyes?
Angel stiffened her spine and planted her hands at the sagging waistline of the dress. “Well, that’s a fine greeting. I’ve been gone two years, I’m kidnapped, imprisoned, and all you have to say to me is ‘what happened to you’?”
God help her, nothing at all had changed. Her father was still just as cold and angry as he’d always been, and she was still responding to him in kind.
“I think the real question is, what happened to you? What have you been doing all this time, while Horace had me locked up at the Hacienda?” Anger on high burn, she strode past him and then rounded on him again, flinging a hand in Rane’s direction. “If it weren’t for Rane, I’d still be there.”
Just as he always had, her father ignored her anger and turned on Rane. “She said ‘Rane’. Rane Mantorres?”
“That’s right,” Rane replied.
Her father huffed an incredulous breath. “I heard you were dead.”
“Rumor.” Rane shot a pointed look in her direction. “I’ve found it’s often wise not to listen to them.”
Heat crawled into Angel’s cheeks. She knew he was alluding to the rumors he’d heard about her.
Her father stepped directly in front of Rane and the pistol in his hand. “Put that damn gun away,” he demanded. “I won’t talk to a man while he’s holdin’ a gun on me and in my own damn house!”
The two men stared at each other a long moment. Angel could only wonder what passed between them. Some shared understanding? She had no way of knowing. But when it was over, her father turned his back on Rane and walked away. Rane holstered his Colt, and then crossed his arms over his chest and stood staring down at the floor.
When her father reached the desk, he turned and planted his bony behind atop the corner. “How’d you get her out of there?”
Rane shrugged, as if it had been a simple undertaking. “Sometimes one man can accomplish what an entire army cannot. I set fire to the carriage shed, which lured everyone away from house.”
Her father quirked one shaggy brow. “You burned Horace’s fancy, custom-made rig?”
“The rig, two wagons, and several crates of assorted china and silver pieces that were hidden there,” Rane amended.
Her father snickered like a mischievous youngster. “I’d love to see the look on Horace’s face when he finds out Angel’s gone.”
Rane shook his head. “He’s not going to be happy.”
Sobering, her father’s pale gray gaze settled on the gunfighter, and Angel could tell he was sizing him up. “So, what’s your stake in this? I heard you bucked Lundy at his own game. Now, you’ve brought Angel home. Why? Do you expect me to pay you the bounty Horace was promising?”
“No. This has nothing to do with money. It’s an old grudge between Lundy and me. To put it very simply, the reason I helped you is because it hurts him.”
The jab penetrated all the way to Angel’s heart. Turning her back on both of them, she hugged her arms beneath her breasts and wandered to the darkened window behind her father’s chair.
A wooden leg beneath the desk creaked when her father shifted. “So, what’re you sayin’? You wantin’ to work for me?”
“No. But you do need help. Where are all your men?”
“There’s a guard with a shotgun outside. The rest are patrollin’ the deadline between here and the Hacienda and the fence. If anybody from down there tries to get across, my men will stop them.”
Rane’s chuckle oozed sarcasm. “I hate to tell you, Clayton, but your guard is sleeping on the job. And as for your men… We came from the Hacienda. No one stopped us. You need more men right here, around the house. If Lundy decides to strike back at you, there’s no way you’ll be able to stop him.”
“You reckon he’d do such a thing?”
“A
fter tonight, he’ll be more desperate than ever.”
Despite the devastation roiling inside her, Angel couldn’t hold silent any longer. She turned from the window. “Rane’s right, Pa. After talking to Horace, I believe he’s capable of anything. He’s not himself.”
Her father came off the desk. “Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? This ain’t no fort, and I ain’t hirin’ a bunch of lowlife gunnies who’ll jump fence at the drop of a hat.”
“I can get you all the men you need,” Rane said.
Roy spun on him quickly. “What men? You mean villagers who don’t even own guns and couldn’t hit the broad side of the barn even if they did!”
“You provide the guns, and I promise you they’ll hit the barn.”
Her father shook his head.
“Your choice,” Rane said. He threw a frowning glance toward the window. Angel followed the movement with a sinking sensation. He was thinking about leaving.
He shifted and tugged his hat lower on his forehead. “Think about what I said, Clayton. You have your daughter in the house now. Do you really want to gamble again with her safety?”
“I take care of what’s mine,” her father retorted.
“Good. Then I leave her in your hands.”
Rane backed toward the door. Just before he slipped into the shadowed hallway, his gaze collided with hers for one brief instant. Banked fire smoldered in the depths of his eyes. His lips quirked. “Miss Clayton, it’s been a pleasure.”
Then he was gone.
Angel clutched her arms against her waist, gripping until her nails bit into her flesh, trying to suppress a wild desire to rush after him. She held her breath, listening for the sound of his retreating footsteps, but heard nothing.
She released her breath, turned...and found her father watching her with speculative, narrowed eyes. “Tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t have that greaser hunted down and shot,” he said with a calm that unnerved her completely.
“Don’t be a fool, Pa. Why would you want to kill someone who’s helped you and saved my skin more than once?”