With one swift motion, she picked up the letter she had written to Nathan and crumpled it. Suddenly, even though she still cared what Nathan might think when all was said and done, she didn’t care in the same way. If he thought so little of her, she would make him say it to her face, rather than sparing him the trouble by leaving before he could say it. If he was going to break her heart, she would at least make it uncomfortable for him. And if he didn’t, well, then . . . that would certainly be a more pleasant outcome, and she would cross that bridge when she came to it.
Angel rushed out of her room and down the stairs, holding the banister with one hand and the hem of her dress up with the other.
“Where are you going?” Olivia asked.
Without slowing, Angel answered, “To see the judge.”
“What for?”
On her way out the door, Angel paused for just a moment. “I am tired of running away.”
And then the door closed and Angel was running to the courthouse. For the first time, she didn’t care what anyone would say about her loose braid, or the unladylike way she was dashing down the street, or what had happened between herself and James. For the first time, even though her breaths were heavy, and she didn’t know what would happen after this day, she felt free.
Chapter 19
I know I am not a good man. I know some people might say I could change. I also know I never will.
***
“Sir?” Angel asked, standing in the doorway to where the judge sat. He looked up from his writing but, when he saw who it was, looked back down at the paper in front of him and began methodically scratching out words again.
“You should not be here,” he grunted, dismissing her.
She took a step into the room, and he again looked up. “I could have you removed from this property,” he warned.
“Sir,” Angel said again, pleading, “please listen to what I have to say. No matter what he said, James Evans and I were never lovers.”
The judge’s expression grew dangerous. “You spoke under oath, Miss. If you lied—”
“Your Honor, with all due respect, I did not lie,” Angel said firmly, “but what you heard today was not the truth.”
The judge looked sharply up at her. And then, for the first time, the judge set down his pen and turned his full attention on Angel. Leaning back in his chair, he said, “I am listening. Go on.”
“James and I were not lovers. I came downstairs to see what was happening, and when James saw me, he shot my uncle in front of me, and then he attacked and forced me.”
The judge’s face grew taught. “What reason do I have to believe this?” he asked.
Angel paused, then spoke. “You do not know the kind of person I am, but you do know the kind of man James is. Is it so difficult for you to believe the things I am saying are true?”
***
Clark found Nathan sitting on the ground outside the fence in front of his and Olivia’s house. He didn’t ask why Nathan was not inside.
“You’re in town late,” he observed, sitting down beside him.
Nathan gave him a sideways glance. “Can’t go home.” His voice was low and strained.
“James,” Clark stated without question, and Nathan nodded. “Scared?”
Nathan shot Clark an irritated look and shook his head like a horse trying to lose a persistent fly. “Not scared. Just not a fool.”
One corner of Clark’s mouth lifted slightly, then he asked, “Did you speak with Angel?”
Again, Nathan nodded dully.
“I take it your conversation did not go well?”
Nathan couldn’t bring himself to answer, and he continued staring down at the ground in front of him.
Clark nodded, taking Nathan’s silence as confirmation. The two sat in silence, Clark seeming to fight some inner battle. Finally, he said, “I never wanted you to know what I’m about to tell you, Nathan. When Olivia and I first came back, I told you there were some things even you didn’t know about your father. I thought it was for the best to keep them from you. But now . . .” Clark took a deep breath, then said, “Felicity is not my daughter—not in the traditional sense, anyway.”
Nathan jerked around to stare at Clark. “How is that possible? I mean, if not you, then who . . .”
His voice trailed off as an awful suspicion started to form in the back of his mind. Clark must have seen the look of dawning horror because he nodded, then said, “Felicity is James’s daughter, Nathan. She is your half sister.”
Stunned, Nathan asked, “My father and Olivia?”
“Olivia, much like Angel, was not given any choice,” Clark said quietly.
Nathan ran his hands through his hair. “Every time . . .” he said bitterly. “Every. Single. Time I think my father can’t get any worse, he does.”
Clark interrupted his thoughts, his eyes intent. “I need you to understand, Nathan—I do not tell you this to grow your hatred of your father. I tell you because I believe I understand a small part of what you are feeling. We have not seen eye to eye on many things, but if you only ever believe one thing I tell you, believe this: if you care for Angel at all, in any way—if you want any sort of future with her—you must learn to separate your father’s influence from her—much the way she has done for you, I would suspect, in many ways.”
Clark stood, turning to go inside, then paused. “And I would guess you do not have much time to learn how to do that.”
As Clark spoke, Nathan had been struck by another memory—the memory of a young girl sitting with him on the front steps of a saloon. Angel.
He had to find her. Nathan stood frantically, then realized that she was most likely inside the building right in front of him. Clark had turned to watch him when he had heard Nathan stand, and Nathan met his eyes.
“Can I please come in?” Nathan asked.
“Of course.” Clark smiled his approval, and the warmth of his expression gave Nathan a sudden burst of courage.
***
Angel was not at Clark and Olivia’s when Nathan entered their home. After Olivia assured Nathan that Angel had not mysteriously disappeared—although she declined to tell Nathan exactly where Angel had gone—Nathan sat down at the table to wait. Olivia kept herself busy, bustling around the kitchen, and when she spoke her voice was light, but Nathan could see the concern written across both her face and Clark’s.
When Angel walked through the door, she halted midstride—stunned by Nathan’s presence. And then, almost all at once, gladness, and then apprehension, and then a flat lack of expression passed over her face. Olivia cheerfully announced dinner, and the four of them uncomfortably sat down together.
“How did your visit go, dear?” Olivia asked Angel.
“Visit?” Nathan asked before Angel could answer.
“I went to see the judge.” Angel’s words were clipped.
Nathan stared at her. “You went to see the judge?” he repeated incredulously.
Angel eyed him coolly. “Yes.”
“Why?” Nathan asked.
“I thought he should know the truth before he let James go. I am tired of running, and I am done being afraid.” She spoke to the table, but her words were sharp, pointed—clearly directed at Nathan. At once he felt a surge of hope.
“What did he say?” Nathan pressed, but before Angel could answer, the door swung slowly open, and Nathan and Angel both turned toward the sound. With the familiarity of someone who had walked through the door many times before, a man strode through the door, the heels of his boots clipping the wooden floor. As one, the four of them rose from the table.
James.
“A family dinner? And I wasn’t even invited.” James clucked his tongue. “Don’t worry, I won’t be here long. I hear the sheriff is looking for me again and that I have you to thank for that.” Here, he nodded at Angel, then continued. “Besides, I’ve just come to claim what’s mine.”
Nathan glanced at Angel, then Olivia. Their paleness mirrored one another�
�s. Clark’s color, on the other hand, had darkened significantly.
James turned in a circle, surveying his surroundings, then stopped. His gaze settled on each of them in turn, and then he chuckled softly, almost to himself.
“What, pray tell,” Clark asked tersely, “do you find so amusing, James?”
James started, feigning surprise as though he had been so involved in his own musings that he had forgotten their presence. “Oh, nothing.” He smiled. “I was just recalling a silly rhyme. How does it go, now?” he asked himself. “Something old.” He nodded at Nathan. “And something new.” He nodded toward Angel. “Something borrowed.” He tipped his hat toward Olivia and she flushed. “And Clark, you’ve even got the something blue.”
Clark glanced down at the blue fabric of his shirt with chagrin, and James barked his laughter, clapping a hand on his knee as though the mirth of the situation was too much for him to contain.
Then, James’s demeanor abruptly changed.
“What are you doing here?” he snarled at Clark and Olivia. “Didn’t I tell you if you ever came back, I’d kill you?”
Clark stepped between James and Olivia. “We could ask the same of you, James. Why are you here?”
James considered Clark for a long moment, eyes narrowed. When he spoke, he drawled the words slowly, mockingly. “I already told you. I’m here to claim what’s mine.”
“And what might that be?” Clark asked.
Nathan glanced at Angel. She breathed shallowly as they all waited for James’s reply. He carefully considered each of them in turn, and some of his initial joviality returned.
“Well, now, that’s a funny question—” he began, smiling, but Clark cut him off.
“James,” he spoke in a warning tone, and James whirled around to face him, stepping closer and closer until he was within arm’s reach of Clark. Still, Clark stood motionless. Nathan wondered at his control.
James spat on the floor. Clark’s eyes never left James’s, but Nathan glanced down to see the spittle land on the floor next to Clark’s foot. James shoved Clark backward. Clark absorbed the shock, taking one step back, and only one step, before he stood again, resolutely meeting James’s gaze.
“I’m here to collect my son and the deed to my land. You have any objection to that?” James finally asked.
Clark snorted. “Whether or not I do, I suspect Nathan might, and he is more than old enough to make his own decision in that regard.”
“He’ll come with me,” James said.
“And if I don’t?” Nathan asked quietly. “That land is mine by law, and I have no intention of handing it over to you.”
James looked at him almost pityingly as he slid a gun out from under the coat he was wearing. The gun drew their eyes like a magnet, and James set it on the table in front of him. The weapon’s weight connected with the table’s surface with a metallic thud.
“You will,” James said softly.
At that moment, Nathan realized something. James had been almost constantly moving since he had arrived. They all—with the exception of Clark—had stood nearly frozen in place, hypnotized. And now Angel was too near.
Nathan’s awareness and sudden tension drew James’s attention. As he followed Nathan’s gaze, his own attention landed on Angel. Before she could move, he slid an arm around her waist, his fingers moving across her back, curving into her side and pulling her close to him. Nathan stiffened. James looked down at Angel and smiled.
“Hello again, Angel-no-more,” his father breathed.
Nathan moved to pick up the gun, but Olivia was faster. She picked up the gun and leveled it at James with a steady hand. Mild surprise showed on James’s face, and he raised his free hand, palm out, disarmingly.
“Let her go, James,” Olivia said calmly.
Nathan wondered what Olivia was thinking. Why should his father listen to her? Olivia wasn’t the type to pull the trigger.
And yet, his father’s hold on Angel loosened almost imperceptibly for just a moment before tightening again. Nathan stared at Olivia as she continued speaking conversationally to his father.
“You know I won’t miss. Someone I once cared about taught me well. Do you remember that day, James? I do, quite well. I think I was even a better shot than you, and that is saying something.”
For the first time, Nathan noticed how Olivia held the gun. Confidently. Casually. Without fear.
James looked at Olivia with a funny expression. “Of everything I’ve done,” he said quietly, “hurting you is the one thing I regret the most.”
Whatever Olivia had been expecting, that was not it. A myriad of expressions flew over her face before settling on fury.
“What is wrong with you, James?” she spat. “Is that some sort of apology that is supposed to make it all right?”
“No.” James shook his head. “I’m not apologizing. I know it wouldn’t make a difference. I just thought you should know the truth.” Then he laughed, releasing Angel and pushing her away. “Go ahead, Livvy, shoot me.”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re in such a truth-telling mood, tell me what happened to my sister.”
Again, James gave Olivia a funny look, hedging his response with snideness. “She died, Livvy. Shouldn’t you know that? Being—what would you call it—your sister’s keeper and all?”
Olivia hissed out her breath, tightening her grip on the gun. Nathan began to rethink his earlier assessment, wondering if Olivia would pull the trigger after all.
“I’ll ask you one more time, James. Did you kill Effie?” Olivia asked.
James looked at her for a long moment, then answered, “No.”
Nathan’s head jerked up in shock. “You didn’t?”
“No,” James said, and this time his voice held the sarcasm Nathan had expected. “I believe I just said that.”
“Then what happened?” Nathan asked.
Again, James paused. “She jumped.”
The room was silent as they soaked in James’s words. Finally, Olivia croaked out a reply, “I don’t believe you.”
James shrugged. “Suit yourself. Believe me or don’t, but what I just told you is the only truth you’ll ever know.”
Olivia’s face was cold. “I could make you tell me.”
“Even if I thought you had it in you to try, the only thing you would succeed in making me tell you would be what you want to hear,” James challenged her, “and I don’t know what that is, Livvy. Unless,” he said suggestively, “you want to hear me call you darlin’ again.”
“Enough!” Clark’s booming voice cut through James’s slithered words. James fell silent, but looked unconcerned. Nathan stared at him. Even with the four of them to his one and a gun pointed directly at him, James seemed to be completely in control. Nathan eyed the gun Olivia held, wondering if it was even loaded and whether his father had another concealed somewhere on his person.
“Are you going to kill me, little brother?” James asked. “Have you already forgotten how I saved your life all those years ago?”
“You’ve worn out that excuse many times over, James. And it’s been years since you’ve been my brother,” Clark snarled.
James’s eyes narrowed, and a slow smile spread across his face as he asked, “And tell me, little brother, when exactly did that change? I’d gamble you can name the day.”
Clark hesitated, then answered slowly, “The day you saved my life.”
James turned away from Clark to speak to the others in the room. His voice was almost friendly. “Has my little brother shared this story with you? It’s a good one.”
Clark flushed, and when no one spoke, James’s voice hardened, and he spoke with an edge. “Well then, let me enlighten you all. When I was about fourteen—what would that have made you, little brother, thirteen?—we had a spring where the river and all the creeks were higher than they’d ever been. We’d had more snow than usual that winter, and then spring came fast. There was a Chinook wind that blew all day and night, and th
e snow all melted at once. Even inside the cabin, you could hear the roar of water all through the night. The next day, I happened across Clark, and what was he doing but showing off for little Livvy here—walking across a tree trunk that had fallen across the water—fool thing to do. It was quite the sight—Livvy begging him to come back to safety, Clark grinning back at her . . . and then slipping on a wet spot and falling into the water. I jumped in after him. The water was so fast it was close to a quarter mile before we made it to the bank, both of us nearly drowned.
“When we finally made it back to the cabin, our father was there. He took one look at Clark, yelled at him to put some dry clothes on, and then took after me with his belt because I hadn’t kept my younger brother—the best son he had—from getting himself into such a fool situation.
“And Clark stood there and watched.”
James smiled at their stunned silence, then his voice hardened as he said, “No, little brother, every single day that you are alive, that excuse will never be worn out.”
James’s words had clearly rubbed a raw spot in Clark’s memory—his expression was one of pure anguish. “You changed that day,” Clark said quietly. “I could see it in your eyes—you weren’t my brother anymore.” Then he seemed to plead with James. “I didn’t know how to stop our father.”
James spat on the floor, and his words were venomous. “No, you were afraid to.”
Clark didn’t argue with James’s accusation, and the absence of Clark’s denial hung heavy in the air. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
The only acknowledgement James gave Clark’s words was a bare flicker of his eyes in Clark’s direction. But then, James’s expression abruptly changed again, and he continued speaking as though he hadn’t heard Clark at all. Though he spoke to the room, his words were plainly meant for Olivia.
“I really did care for Effie, you know.” He laughed at Olivia’s look of disbelief. “Oh, I know what you think, Livvy. I hated you. You and Clark both. But you, Livvy,” he said, turning back to Olivia, “after I saw how scared you looked that day you got married—I know you didn’t know I was there—I realized you hadn’t been fooling around behind my back with my good-for-nothing brother. No woman who’d had any . . . experience . . . with the man they were marrying would look so terrified on their wedding day. I was good and sober that day, and I realized I’d made a mistake.”
Angel Page 17