Angel In The Rain (Western Historical Romance)

by Matthews, Devon

  Though his heart pounded like a war drum in his chest, he walked out of the room without once looking back. It wasn’t until he’d gotten clear of the house that he realized there was some kind of extra bulk in his shirt pocket. He reached in and fished out the folded piece of paper he’d tossed onto Angel’s dresser. That’s where he’d last seen it, and where it should have stayed, but she’d somehow managed to slip Horace’s tainted legacy into his pocket when he wasn’t looking.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Angel could count on one hand the number of times she’d been sick in her life. Once, she’d had a cold that left her with an annoying cough that hung on for more than a month. On her tenth birthday, she’d consumed too much cake and lemonade and suffered a tummy ache that kept her awake an entire night.

  Just minor ailments, but this seemed different.

  Bent nearly double, she sat on the side of the bed, and clutched her arms tighter around her waist. The few sips of honey-laced tea she’d swallowed threatened to come back up. She sucked in slow, careful breaths, but her nausea persisted.

  Thank God for Carmella. For the past thirty minutes, the woman had tended her with all the care and diligence of a concerned mother. Just the thought of trying to drag herself downstairs and rustle up breakfast for her father sent Angel’s stomach into another violent heave.

  Carmella steadied the bucket, gathered her hair back from her face and held it while she vomited. When it was over, even her ribs felt sore. She sat back and gratefully lifted the cloth Carmella placed in her trembling hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Maybe something you eat,” Carmella suggested.

  “No, I don’t think so. I ate the same things as you and Pa at supper last night.”

  Carmella took the cloth from her hands and rinsed it in the basin on the bedside table. After wringing the excess water, she handed it to her again.

  Angel applied the cool cloth a second time. She felt better, steadier. She reached for the cup of tea and dared another sip to wash the sour taste from her mouth.

  “This is the second time within a week this has happened.” And that’s what worried her.

  The housekeeper stared at her a long moment with concern etched on her face. “You did not tell me. When was this?”

  “The morning of Horace’s funeral. But it wasn’t nearly this bad.” She shrugged. “I figured it was just nerves.”

  Yes, nerves. Horace’s burial had turned out to be more of an emotional ordeal than she anticipated. Throughout the small service, she’d held out the hope, had prayed, that Rane would suddenly appear and stand in his rightful place as Horace’s son and heir. When he didn’t, her broken heart had finally splintered into fragments. Everyone assumed she shed tears of grief for their dead neighbor. They had no way of knowing she mourned her own loss. Hope. Love. Rane had taken both the night he walked out of her bedroom.

  Carmella carefully took a seat next to her on the side of the bed and slipped a comforting arm across her back.

  Despite a few initial misgivings about taking in a woman who was fleeing her marriage, Carmella had proven to be a godsend. During the two short weeks she’d been in the house, a deeper friendship had developed. For the first time in her life, Angel felt a connection with another woman. The close proximity forged mutual confidence, and why not? They knew each other’s secrets.

  After a moment of companionable silence, Carmella cleared her throat. “Have you noticed any other...uh...signs lately?”

  Angel stopped the rag in mid-swipe and stared at her, puzzled by her obvious reluctance. “Signs? What kind of signs?”

  “Swelling. Soreness.”

  She started to ask where, specifically, she might have suffered these symptoms when she noticed Carmella looking, and yet trying not to stare, at her chest. She glanced down at the thin lawn nightgown that covered her from neck to toe and saw how it clung to her clammy skin. She’d put on weight. Just a couple of pounds perhaps, but she could definitely see a difference in her bustline when she laced her corset. She lifted a hand and cupped her breast. The feeling of fullness, of deep aching tenderness didn’t surprise her. After several weeks, she’d grown used to the discomfort. Self-consciously, she dropped her hand to her lap.

  A faint thrum of warning began at Angel’s temples. She pulled in a fortifying breath. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Carmella.”

  Carmella tried to force a smile, but couldn’t banish the worry from her eyes. She reached for Angel’s hand and clasped it firmly. “I think, perhaps, you may be encinta.”

  Angel frowned. Encinta?

  Carmella’s dark, arching brows eased up her forehead. “You know,” she prompted. “A baby?”

  Pregnant.

  Angel jerked her hand from the woman’s grasp and surged to her feet. Pregnant. Suddenly, the room felt too close, the air too muggy and suffocating. She rushed to the window and shoved back the curtain. Morning sunlight shot painful needles into her wide, frightened eyes. Just as quickly, she wheeled from the harsh light and pressed her back against the wall to face Carmella once more.

  “How can I know for sure?”

  Carmella stood. “Think. When was the last time you had your monthly curse?”

  Angel’s mind flew back over the preceding weeks as she tried to recall, but coherent thought was nearly impossible with panic beating at her temples. Then she remembered because it had occurred at the worst possible time, during the train ride from New York. So long ago. How could she have been so stupid?

  Misery swamped her, so overpowering she hadn’t the strength to stand any longer. Wrapping her arms tightly around her stomach, she sank down the wall to the floor. Dear God, was it possible? Could she really have conceived a baby? Rane’s baby. She knew the answer was an undeniable yes.

  ****

  Angel stepped from the doctor’s office and paused on the walk to pull on a pair of black lace gloves. At high noon the streets of El Paso baked under a haze of heat and dust. Underneath her corset, layers of petticoats, and sateen day dress, she was sweating like a pig on a spit. Still, despite her discomfort, she stiffened her spine and held her head high as she angled her steps toward the hotel on the upper end of town.

  The brisk walk soon had sweat seeping from her hairline. The oversized hat on her head mostly hid her blond hair, but also held in the withering heat like an oven. In a town mostly populated by dark-skinned, dark-haired Mexicans she stood out like a beacon. And the last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself after she’d slipped out of her hotel room and ventured across town alone. Her father would have a fit, if he found out.

  When Roy had suggested a trip, a much-needed change of scenery for them all, she’d seized the opportunity. It wasn’t until later that she learned “them all” included Will Keegan.

  She should have known. Her father hadn’t given up on the idea of getting her “hitched” to his fair-haired boy. Since their arrival four days ago, she’d been subjected to no less than three candlelit dinners meant to encourage some romance between them. Three nights of imitating civil conversation with Will while trying to force down food had strained her patience to the limits.

  If Roy only knew how things really stood between her and his right-hand man. But he hadn’t a clue, and she wasn’t about to tell him. Not yet, anyway.

  Right now, fending off her father’s matchmaking attempts and dealing with Will were the least of her worries. The doctor had confirmed her suspicion. She was going to have a baby.

  Since the morning Carmella learned of her morning sickness, little else had consumed her thoughts. At times, the idea of having Rane’s baby filled her with giddy happiness. The child would be a part of him. She tried to imagine how it might look. Would it have his dark hair and disturbing eyes to constantly remind her of him?

  At other times, like now, the reality of what she had done terrified her. All too soon, her condition would become evident. Before that happened, she would have to face her father and t
ell him the truth. The very prospect was mind-numbing.

  Angel reached the hotel not a moment too soon. She was sweating profusely and trembling so, she didn’t think she would be able to stand for much longer. She closed the door to her room and leaned against it for support. Fighting tears, she yanked at the smothery hat until the pins pulled free, then flung it onto the bed.

  A knock at the door jolted her. She drew herself up, fighting for composure. After smoothing back the wild strands of hair left flying by ripped out pins, she turned and opened the door a crack.

  She expected to see a maid in the hallway with an armful of linens. Instead, Will stood with one hand propped against the doorframe. Unsmiling, his pale eyes narrowed on her and traveled downward. She knew he saw the dust coating the hem of her dress, the telltale wetness glistening on her exposed skin.

  “What is it?” she asked. She didn’t have to force a note of impatience into her voice, it just naturally came out.

  A slight shove of his hand away from the doorframe returned him to his full, imposing height. “We need to talk.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Not now. I’m tired.”

  “You’ll want to hear what I’ve got to say.”

  “What’s so important it can’t wait until later?”

  “Your trip to the doctor.”

  Panic pressed a hard, brawny fist into her stomach. Her heart beat unmercifully against the rigid stays of her corset. Don’t react. Though her breath heaved past her parted lips in quick gusts, she willed her expression into calm lines. “What were you doing, following me?”

  “I saw you leave your room. I thought I’d better track along and make sure you didn’t get into any trouble. We’re sittin’ right on the border, you know, and a lotta things can happen to a woman wanderin’ around by herself.”

  “Why don’t you just admit you were spying on me?”

  He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  At this point, nothing he did surprised her.

  “So, why did you go see the doctor?”

  No longer able to withstand his probing gaze, she turned and walked to the dressing table. She knew she’d made another mistake when he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

  “You shouldn’t be in here. It’s indecent.”

  “I think we’ve gone way past parlor manners,” he said.

  She knew no protest would dislodge him. Evidently, he had something on his mind. She turned to the mirror.

  “So, what did the doctor say?” he persisted.

  She forced a chuckle. “Really, Will. There are some things a girl doesn’t discuss with a man.” If she alluded to some mysterious female malady, she hoped he would behave like a gentleman for once and drop the subject.

  Plucking at the fingers of the tight fitting gloves, she pulled them off and tossed them onto the dresser. Leaning in to the mirror, she made a pretense of fussing with her disheveled hair. Damn it. She was shaking like a leaf in a high wind. The multiple layers of heavy clothing had grown beyond stifling. If she didn’t get some air soon, she feared she would faint.

  She gripped the edge of the polished wood with both hands. “Would you, please, just go ahead and say whatever it is you came here to say and then leave.”

  “I know why you went to the doctor.” The words resonated anger and disgust.

  Angel’s breath snagged in her throat.

  “You’re pregnant.”

  Her knees threatened to buckle. Still clutching at the dresser for support, she turned. “That’s absurd! How dare you!”

  “How dare you lie through your teeth!” he countered. “I stopped in and had a little talk with the doctor after you left. He said you and the baby are fine. You and the baby, Angel!”

  Her mouth fell open on a gasp. She shook her head, disbelieving. “He just came out and told you that?”

  “He thought I was your brother. Your very concerned brother.”

  Betrayed. All the grief and pain and terrible fear she’d been holding inside for so long boiled to the surface at once. Scalding tears welled and spilled down her cheeks. She buried her face in her hands.

  She reeled on her feet, perilously close to falling, and no longer cared. Until Will’s callused fingers closed around her upper arm to steady her. She hadn’t the strength or the willpower to pull away from him.

  “There’s still a way out of this,” he said.

  What way, her mind clamored. If he thought she would agree to getting rid of her child...the very idea horrified her.

  She lifted her head and looked at him. “What do you mean? What way?”

  A muscle in his rigid jaw ticked beneath the skin. “I’ll say the baby’s mine. We’ll get married and no one need ever be the wiser.”

  She stared at him, appalled. “You’re insane,” she blurted softly. Fury poured much needed strength through her limbs. She wrenched her arm from his grasp and stepped back, out of his reach.

  “You would do anything, wouldn’t you? Anything to get your hands on the Flying C.”

  Will glared at her. “Yeah, I want the ranch. The way I see it, you’re in desperate need of a husband. Pronto. So the answer is staring us right in the face. We get married, just like the old man wants. I get what I want. You get what you need. It’s that simple.”

  “Simple!” she snapped. “You are insane!”

  “Look,” he grated. “I’m willin’ to help you clean up your mess.”

  His blistering gaze narrowed and dropped to her waist. She fought the urge to place a protective hand over her stomach.

  “I know there’s a chance your baby will look like a Mex,” he continued. “But maybe it won’t. Hell, you’re as blond as a Swede. That might count for somethin’.”

  Evidently, he’d done some quick thinking during his mad dash back to the hotel.

  “Get out of here,” she said with steely calm.

  “No. There’s too much at stake.”

  She couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t face the damnation in his eyes. She walked to the window and pressed her palms hard against the sill. Beyond the glass, nothing but blurred color swam before her eyes. God help her. She’d made such a mess of her life. What was she going to do?

  “Mantorres ain’t comin’ back, Angel,” Will continued behind her. “Even if he did, it wouldn’t change things. If you had some idea about it makin’ a difference because he’s Lundy’s son, you can just get that notion right out of your head. Even if his pa was the King of England, he’d still be a stinkin’ greaser. Don’t be surprised if you hear he’s been gunned down in some hole-in-the-wall.”

  Angel’s face convulsed against the glass pane.

  “Come to your senses, woman!”

  “Just go away, Will,” she begged, beyond wretched. “Leave me alone.”

  For a long moment, she heard nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat slogging through her ears. Then, Will’s heavy footsteps crossed the room, retreating. The door opened, and he huffed a weary sounding breath. “I’ll be in my room. When you change your mind,” he said, his voice a flat rumble.

  The door clicked when he shut it. Angel closed her eyes against the streaming sunlight of El Paso at midday and pulled in a long breath. For the moment, she only wanted to be left alone with her misery.

  ****

  Deep detonations of thunder rolled across the land. Behind him, the windowpanes rattled in their frames. The sound roused Rane from the state of oblivion he had worked so hard to achieve. With a muttered curse, he coiled his hand loosely around the neck of the whiskey bottle he’d been nursing and then stood. Weaving an unsteady path to the window, he shoved aside the heavy drape.

  Lightning slashed through the night’s velvet blackness. He squinted against the sudden brilliance. A heller of a storm was lashing the border country and he’d been oblivious to it.

  He let the curtain fall into place and staggered back. The closed-in room felt stuffy, suffocating. On the unmade bed, rumpled linens bore evidence of spilled f
ood and drink. ¡Mierda! How long had he been holed up here?

  The stagnant air threatened to choke him. He felt for the top button on his skirt and yanked, sending it flying, and then the next one. It wasn’t enough. Still keeping his hold on the neck of the whiskey bottle, he crossed to the door, wrenched at the handle and lurched through the opening.

  Outside, cool dampness washed over his fevered flesh. Runnels of rainwater poured from the tiles overhanging the edge of the roof. Beyond, rain slanted down at a hard angle and danced against the onslaught of a fretful wind. Rane braced against the rough adobe wall and leaned out. The deluge streamed over his uplifted face, drenching him down to his trousers in a matter of seconds.

  Nature’s cold dash was a shock, but at least he felt it. He’d lost count of the number of days and nights he’d numbed himself with whiskey and felt nothing at all. Now, the violence of the storm awakened him from his prolonged apathy, stirred to life the dormant wildness in his soul. Like a drunken demon, he threw back his head and laughed, taunting nature’s fury.

  A spectacular series of forked lightning licked through the blackness, throwing his surroundings into vivid relief. His rented room opened onto the plaza of the tiny border town, the name of which he’d forgotten. Before him yawned the emptiness of a deserted circular road. At its center stood a fountain, a shallow aboveground pool made of mortar and stone. An angel, spectral in the flickering light, her slender arms uplifted to the Heavens, stood to her ankles in the watery basin. The sight startled him.

  He braced his back against the wall and waited. The next flash was closer and hung on with a deafening crackle as it ripped through the sky. He had eyes only for the angel. She seemed to mock him with her cold, marble stare. The angel of mercy, her delicate wings glistened with a sheeting cascade of wetness...an angel in the rain.

  Rane clutched at the rough wall behind him, feeling the bite of the grainy clay beneath his nails, and surrendered to memory. The winged angel dimmed before his bleary eyes as he envisioned another. His Angel, standing in the pouring rain. His nostrils flared as he again smelled the fire and brimstone of that long ago stormy night. Like a dim echo, he heard her calling his name. An ephemeral sense of her arms around him, the taste of her rain-washed skin, sweeter than creation’s finest nectar... he remembered.