Ground Rules

by Masters, Cate

  “No I’m not.” Illustrating a Christmas book about a magical snow angel—a dream project. The kind of story that reminded her why she loved what she did. It excited her to wake up and begin every day, her fingers itching to sketch those wondrous scenes. Too bad the itch didn’t translate into actual sketches.

  She couldn’t come up with a proper argument. “I want it to be the best work I’ve ever done. Can you tell me more about Michael and Noelle?”

  The hard gleam in his eyes as he surveyed her gave her a shiver.

  “All right.” Reaching inside his leather jacket tossed on the sofa, he pulled out a silver device similar to a cell phone. When he pointed at the stereo, the CD stopped.

  “Who are you calling?” Did angels have special mobile phones?

  “The past.” Scanning the room, he pointed the gadget toward a blank spot on the wall. A home movie played, a little girl running through a field of flowers, laughing. A man chuckled, the video bobbing behind. “Where are you going Noelle?”

  Amazed, Alice stood beside Luke. “How did you do that?” She should know better than to ask such things.

  “Shh.” Arms crossed over his chest, Luke watched intently.

  Noelle’s giggle sounded like tinkling bells, like music of the angels. “Follow me and find out, Daddy.”

  The father said pleasantly, “I always do.”

  Twirling, Noelle’s palms touched the tops of the wildflowers. “Always? No matter where I go?”

  Full of surety, the man said, “No matter where.”

  A shiver passed through Alice, her throat tightening. Goodman couldn’t have known when he made that promise he’d have no way of keeping it.

  Noelle grew more serious, slowing to a walk. She picked a Queen Anne’s lace and studied it. Peering up, her brown eyes pierced the camera lens. “What if I go someplace far away and you don’t know where I am?”

  Speaking soft as falling snow, Michael promised, “I’ll look until I find you.”

  A lump formed in Alice’s throat. Tears stung her eyes and she grasped Luke’s arm. “How awful.”

  Tilting his head toward her, Luke said, “Yes.”

  The thickness of emotion in Luke’s voice caught her off guard. Brows furrowed, he stared at the wall with glassy eyes.

  Tears? Alice didn’t think angels could shed them. She stroked his arm. “Are you all right?”

  Straightening, he clicked the video off. “Yes. Of course.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.” If she’d known he’d react to the past scene that way, she’d have asked him to turn it off.

  “Don’t be absurd.” He broke from her hold. “I need a drink.”

  Always when they shared a moment of closeness. Just when she thought she’d broken down some of his barriers.

  Disappointed, she settled onto the sofa and clutched a pillow to her chest. “More margaritas?”

  Taking two shot glasses from the cabinet, he filled them to the rim. “I was thinking of tequila straight.”

  “Too much for me.” She didn’t want to cloak this day in an alcoholic haze. No, she wanted to remember every moment of this incredible day.

  After tossing back his shot, he surveyed the second and downed it. Bracing his hands against the counter, he heaved a guttural sigh. “Glass of wine?”

  “Perfect.” Enough to take the edge off. Emotions roiled within her she couldn’t name. Too many to sort through. The grief of a father that ripped through her heart. The gentle touch of an angel who helped heal it again. And caused a riot of other sensations she was finding more difficult to ignore.

  He stood in front of her and bent to offer the wine. After she took it, he plopped beside her, his arm stretched behind her. “Ahh. Lovely.”

  His satisfied smile appeared too controlled. So distant, he was. So unknowable. Unapproachable. Yet here he sat, his jean-clad thigh brushing hers, as if they’d shared many a Christmas night together. “What was your life like?”

  His easiness coiled into tense muscles. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.” She wanted to stroke his cheek, draw him into her arms. She didn’t dare.

  “It shouldn’t.” His clipped tone left no doubt he treasured his privacy.

  Grasping for any explanation, she blurted, “It has to, if you’re going to help me. I need to know what sort of man you were. Why are you so unhappy about being a Watcher?”

  Wincing, he leaned forward. “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t need to. You pretend to be okay with it, but you’re obviously dissatisfied with the position. I think you want more but you’re afraid to try.”

  His smile held no warmth. “Ho, what a fine analysis. Especially coming from someone so pleased with aiming for the lowest possible level in life.”

  “You don’t know me.” How could he, if he thought her unworthy of his time?

  He frowned. “I know the essentials. You’re selfish, self-loathing, self-absorbed.”

  His barbed words pricked at her. Stole her breath for a moment. “Like I said, you don’t know me.” If he couldn’t interpret selfishness as wanting more for herself, self-loathing as her desire to better herself, or self-absorption as immersing herself in her work to improve it, he never would see her for who she truly was. That thought deepened the hurt.

  Anger propelled her upward. “I should hurry up and finish so you can leave.”

  So much for Christmas magic. A little would have been handy today. Or Christmas cheer of any kind.

  *~*~*

  Leave? Now, when she’d regressed rather than progressed? Peter would banish Luke from all seven chambers of heaven. Besides, he liked spending time with her. Some might argue he liked it too much, but it was none of their business. “There’s no rush.”

  Her fingers fluttered dismissively. “I’m obviously inconveniencing you. You have to hurry back to resume your duties.”

  “I told you I have no obligation other than this assignment.” He wouldn’t mind hanging around awhile longer anyway. Her apartment had a cozy feel, even an upright piano.

  He hadn’t been with a beautiful woman in a long time, especially at Christmas. He’d forgotten the smell of a freshly cut pine tree, how beautiful one looked with lights. Though he preferred candles to the electric kind.

  She blurted, “Yes, what a bang-up job you’re doing too.”

  Guilt stilled his argument. “I’m sorry if I don’t live up to your standards.”

  Her glance held an accusation. “Stop. Can you please? Try to amuse yourself somehow while I work.”

  Her words hit him in the gut, made him feel more useless than before. “By all means. I wouldn’t dream of disturbing you.”

  “Thank you.” No appreciation rang through in her tone, only discouragement.

  Holding up the TV remote, he asked, “Do you mind?”

  “Make yourself at home.” Cradling her glass, she stood in front of the easel.

  As he’d seen so many people do, he clicked on the set with a sense of desolation. Most people who stared blankly at these ridiculous shows gained no satisfaction from the practice. In watching humans watch television, his understanding of modern life made him long for his own time. The days when work had required brawn, and people treasured hours with loved ones. Interacted with them, rather than focused on some minidrama onscreen. Nothing like the theater, where they could share the experience in a palpable way. Or a concert. Except, of course, when he himself gave it.

  Ah, those were the days. With Miranda in the front row, elegant and beautiful. And his alone.

  So he’d thought, until he found her in his bed with another man, and on Christmas Eve. After that, he composed brooding, dark concertos.

  He glanced at the piano. How he longed to stretch his long fingers across its keys. He hadn’t completed a new song in ages. Oh, he’d started hundreds. Maybe Alice would sit beside him on the bench, admiration in her upturned face.

  But here he sat, already fallen into the trapping
s of modern conveniences, escaping confrontation through avoidance. Still keenly aware of her standing by the window at her drawing table. He sensed her keen awareness of him too. It made him feel almost…human.

  *~*~*

  The few marks on the sheet of paper made no sense, no matter how Alice rearranged them in her mind’s eye. She couldn’t wipe clean the slate of her brain, so full of him.

  Some angel. He’d done nothing but make her miserable since blasting into her life. What sort of helper prodded people into action by pointing out shortcomings? It figured she’d get an angel with an inferiority complex.

  If only she could learn more about him, she might understand, even a little. Solve the mystery of Luke the Watcher Angel.

  A flutter of white in the darkness drew her attention to the wide windows. She stared out past the gunmetal gray fire escape and the brick building opposite, muted by the dim lighting. The view from her workspace turned beautiful in winter, when a white shimmering frosting coated everything, and the brick looked as festive as a gingerbread creation, with icicles glistening like diamonds. A distraction she didn’t need. Like Luke.

  Sketching random lines, she grew more frustrated, unable to complete one small illustration. Usually when that happened, her subconscious prevented it for a reason. Something must be missing. If she kept at it, it would eventually reveal itself.

  No matter how many times she began, her thoughts gravitated back to Luke. There he sat, holding his head high in that “I dare you” kind of look. His arm still stretched across the back of the sofa, in the very spot she’d occupied earlier. If only she hadn’t gotten up, she could nestle against him. He might stroke her hair, tell her things would be fine.

  Unconsciously, her sketching took on Luke’s likeness. The planes and angles of his features wrought on the page made her catch her breath. After finishing the scenes for the children’s book, she’d never see Luke again. Her heart twisted in her chest. He’d blast away on his motorcycle into the clouds and never look back.

  She had to capture every detail of him, or he’d be lost to her for all eternity. She sensed that somehow, even if her soul went to heaven, they’d never find one another. Watcher Angels had to be wherever their assignments were, follow orders that took them all over the world. Even if she could find a way to become a Watcher Angel herself, she’d probably never be able to be near him. Her heart ached just thinking of it. Stupid of her to let him affect her that way.

  For awhile, she simply studied him to learn the tilt of his head, the strong line of his jaw, the downward pull of his lips as he stared at the television. Without touching the remote, he flipped through channel after channel.

  Touching pencil to paper, she sketched and erased, sketched and erased. Time literally stood still, holding them together while the rest of the world waited in suspended animation.

  Speaking of which, she still had trouble believing time had halted. Through the window, the sky appeared a dim gray, the same as it had since she’d awakened. From where she worked, she couldn’t see the digital clock on the oven. She normally relied on her cell phone when checking the time. Odd that Penny hadn’t called once.

  No matter, she needed to focus on the task at hand. A sketch of Luke, the Watcher Angel. She’d leave out that he was watching television instead of her.

  With a great sigh of frustration, he flicked off the TV. “Any progress?”

  Scrambling to hide the pages, she struggled to maintain a calm appearance. “No.”

  He stretched into a stand, and paced toward her. “What have you been doing all this time?”

  “It takes me awhile to find the flow, that’s all.” Her heart raced as she flipped to a blank page.

  Halting behind her, he frowned. “What are you hiding?”

  Nervous laughter escaped. “Nothing.” Damn wine. She never could hold her liquor.

  Urging her with his waving finger, he pursed his lips. “Let’s have it. You’re up to something.”

  “Yes—work.” What a hollow response, but all she could manage right now.

  “No one acts so jumpy when they’re doing what they ought to be doing.”

  “I don’t like anyone pressuring me. It crushes my creativity.” True enough.

  Shifting to one hip, he gave all appearances of relaxing except for the pulse in his jaw. “Ahh. All right then.”

  When he turned away, she eased out a breath.

  Whirling, he snatched up the pages.

  “No!” She stood on highest tiptoe but couldn’t reach. “Give them back.”

  *~*~*

  The simple act of teasing her reminded him of the many pleasures of being human. Holding them up, he taunted, “Why so guilty, Alice? Something here you don’t want me to see?” He paged through. His likeness halted his tirade. Not an impressionist drawing, either. She had literally captured his essence.

  Glancing down, he studied her in suspicion. “What’s this about?”

  Jutting out her chin, she gave a show of serious professionalism. “I needed to practice.”

  Narrowing his eyes, he tried to assess her game. Did she intend to sell these? Hawk them online as the only existing sketches of an angel? “You have plenty of other subjects to use for practice. Like the story.”

  “Sometimes it helps me refocus if I concentrate on a completely different subject.”

  “So you randomly select whatever’s around you.” More disappointing than the alternative.

  “Yes. Now give them back.” Reaching out, desperation edged her tone.

  “No.” He rather liked them. He’d save them as a memento of her.

  She planted her hands on her hips. “You have no right to take my work.”

  “Correction. You have no right to steal my image in the first place.” Though he rather liked that too. Had she wanted to remember him? No, she wouldn’t be able to anyway; the Powers that Be erased any memory of Watchers who revealed themselves to their human assignments. One of the Ground Rules. Yes, he’d have to read through the book. Soon.

  “Oh please. It’s not like I’ve captured your soul or anything.” She frowned. “Right?”

  “Don’t be absurd. Where’s your shredder?” He’d pretend to shred the drawings, but slip them into his pocket instead.

  She blurted, “No, please.”

  Why so desperate? “I must. It’s against policy.”

  “What about Michelangelo? Da Vinci? All the masters who painted heavenly figures?”

  He scanned his own length. “You think me heavenly? I’m flattered.” An illusion of his condition. Most women found him strikingly handsome, like any other angel. Nothing unique about him otherwise.

  Standing straight, she reached. “Give them back.”

  “Why?” Holding up a silencing hand, he tsk’d. “No pithy excuses. Tell me the truth.”

  Her tears surprised him.

  She stepped closer. “You want the truth? Fine.” The hard set of her jaw contradicted the sadness in her tone. “As soon as I finish my assignment, yours is finished too. You’ll leave, no matter what I say.”

  Oh no. She’d fallen for the angelic glitz. Not him. Not really. “We both know that’s how it has to be.”

  “I don’t believe that. But you’ll insist you do, even if I can tell you’re not being truthful.”

  He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came. How could he explain she’d be infinitely better off without him? His life had been a failure. Now his afterlife was too.

  Gathering her dignity, she went on. “I want to keep some part of you. To remember forever.”

  His tone husky, he said softly, “Forever’s a long time.” Ah, so she’d hoped to fool him. “You almost convinced me.” With a sheepish grin, he wagged his finger. “Almost.”

  “Fine.” Despondent, she shuffled to the sofa and sat. “Do whatever you want with them. You won’t allow yourself to believe, so there’s nothing I can say, is there?”

  “Alice, Alice.” He settled beside her, drew her agai
nst him, caressing her hair. The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree glinted off the silken strands. She smelled of lilac and vanilla. The scent dredged up something long buried within him. He had to remind himself he didn’t believe in love.

  Maybe he could pretend, for a little while, that she really cared. Even if her memory of him would disappear the instant he left, he wanted to remember this perfect scene. Sitting with her near the lighted tree, pastel shadows of green and red shifting on the ceiling. Holding her, as if they were a real couple sharing an ordinary moment. A moment in a shared lifetime.

  For him, an impossibility.

  She lifted her head to look at him. “Luke?”

  Her soft voice brought up a surge of ache, the realization he’d never enjoy an ordinary moment again. He kissed the top of her head. “Shh. Rest.”

  “I’m not…” Her eyelids drooped shut. “…sleepy.”

  Sweet dreams. Another thing he missed, along with the wonderful sensation of awakening in the arms of a woman. An intelligent, talented, beautiful woman like Alice. Caring and sensitive. Willful, but open to his embrace.

  He pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering in the pleasure of it. He trailed kisses down her nose. So soft and sweet, she was. He yearned to taste her mouth, her skin.

  Shifting, something tumbled over his shoulder from his leather jacket on the back of the sofa, landing in his lap.

  The Book of Ground Rules.

  Glancing around, he caught no sight of other Watchers, but things like this didn’t happen by accident. He knew enough to recognize the sign. A warning sign.

  Warily, he opened the book to the first page.

  Rule Number One: Never become involved with the subject.

  All the while, he’d remembered it, but hadn’t wanted to.

  With a heavy sigh, he scanned her lovely face, more angelic than most of his cohorts. “Oh, Alice. I’m not helping you one bit, am I?”

  Certainly not helping himself. She’d be a dangerous addiction, he was sure of it. Someone he could lose himself in.