When the Halo Falls, a heavenly romance

by Maureen Child

  "All right," she said and pretended to consider the situation, despite the fact that her mind was already made up as to just what his pay would be. "As you said, you're a man, so it wouldn't be proper to pay you a boy's wage, would it?"

  "Well …"

  "Of course not." Patience answered the question herself. Turning slightly, she waved one hand to encompass the wreck of a room and, sighing, said, "Mind you, you'll earn every penny of your pay, Davey.”

  "I ain't afraid of hard work, ma'am."

  “I’m not," she corrected.

  He winced. "Yes'm.”

  "I will pay you one dollar a day —“

  "A dollar?" His eyes went wide as saucers.

  "That is what a man makes these days, isn't it?"

  "Yes'm, usually," he said, then added honestly, "but folks around here don't pay me that much."

  She smiled at him and watched as a matching smile lit his features when she said, “I believe in a fair day's pay for a fair day's work, Davey."

  "Yes, ma'am." He nodded so fiercely that his hair flopped down over his eyes and he was forced to swing it back and out of his way again.

  As soon as they had this kitchen straightened out, she told herself, Davey was going to find himself in a barber's chair. And then, she mused, watching his shining eyes, they would do something about school. But for now, it was enough that she could assure Davey would be eating well.

  Holding out her right band, she asked, "Do we have a deal?”

  He wiped his palm on his shirt before taking her hand in a firm shake. "Yes, ma'am, we sure do."

  "Excellent." Then she handed him the broom.

  He grinned at her and curled his fingers tightly around the worn stick. But when she held out one hand for his hoop, saying, "Why don't I put that away for you?" he shook his head.

  "No, thanks. ma'am," he told her, carefully setting his magic ring to one side. “I'll just leave it right here."

  “That's fine," she said, and gave the hoop a long, thoughtful look. There was something about that old brass ring that — She shook her head suddenly, turned her back on the hoop and said, "Now, then! Let's get busy, shall we?"

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was the noise that drew him.

  And he was almost grateful for the distraction.

  Brady'd been able to avoid seeing much of Patience for the last few days. But hell, a man couldn't hide in his office forever, could he? Besides, another day or so of staring at the water-stained walls in that cramped room would make him crazier than Patience.

  Stepping into the saloon, he paused and let his gaze sweep across the familiar faces of the men gathered at the card tables. Only a few people were here this early in the afternoon. But he knew that by evening the place would be crowded, the air blue with smoke, and the only piano player in the States with ten thumbs would be banging out what passed for music around here.

  Right now, though, the whole building was fairly quiet… except for —

  A crash sounded out from somewhere behind the bar and Brady started moving. That was the noise that had pulled him from his office in the first place. What the hell was going on around here?

  "And where the hell is Joe?" he wondered aloud as he headed for the closed door on the far end of the room.

  "Maybe he run off with your fi-an-cee, Brady," someone yelled in answer.

  "Yeah," someone else called out, "maybe she got tired of waitin' for you to come outa the office!"

  "Very funny," Brady muttered darkly and didn't bother to respond. Damn it, he was never going to live this down. People were talking, and had been talking and would be talking. Apparently Patience wasn't exactly keeping their "engagement" a secret.

  And he had no one to blame but himself. He should have put a stop to this days ago. He never should have kissed her. And he damn sure shouldn't have been tempted to do it again.

  But he had.

  Every night, he lay in his bed, in the room alongside hers, and thought about going in there. Touching her. Holding her. And every night, he talked himself out of it.

  "Somebody's got to have some sense around here," he muttered, to no one in particular.

  "Hey, Brady!" Another voice from the sprinkling of people behind him. "What's goin' on in there, anyhow? Getting so noisy in here a man can't keep his mind on his cards."

  He glanced over his shoulder right at the man whose voice he'd recognized and gave in to the spurt of temper inside. "Quiet won't help your game, Howard," he called back. "Why not save some time and just hand your money over?"

  Laughter broke out as Irv Howard grumbled a complaint and hunched his shoulders, burying his face behind a hand of cards that was, no doubt, another loser.

  But Brady didn't have time to appreciate the man's discomfiture. Instead, he rounded the corner of the bar and marched up to the door that hadn't been used as long as he'd owned the place. It opened into the old kitchen that had been closed up when the former owner had closed his hotel in favor of making the place a saloon.

  Brady'd thought about maybe expanding sometime in the future, but for now, there was no reason for anyone to be in that kitchen. He grabbed the doorknob, turned it and pushed. The wood stuck in the jamb and he was forced to plant his shoulder against it and shove.

  This time, it swung wide and Brady slapped one hand on the doorframe to catch himself before he could fall and sprawl across the kid kneeling directly in front of him.

  "Afternoon, Brady," Davey said and waved with his scrub brush, flinging soap bubbles clear across the room.

  Giving a quick look around the room, he noted the puddled soapy water on the floor, the halfway dismantled cookstove, and the hole in the wall opposite.

  Naturally, standing right smack in the middle of the destruction, stood Patience.

  "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded in a shout loud enough to rattle the windowpanes. If they hadn't already been broken. Which, of course, explained the crashing noises he'd been hearing.

  Patience spun around to face the man she'd hardly seen in three days. He looked tired. As though he weren't sleeping well. He also looked angry. And so handsome he nearly stole her breath away. Even from across the room, just the sight of him was enough to quicken her blood and make her breath go fast and short. Good heavens, she'd obviously become a wanton… all on the strength of one kiss.

  Wasn't it wonderful? She smiled at him and was only a bit disappointed when he didn't return the smile.

  Instantly, though, she realized that something must be terribly wrong. Judging by his expression, he was having some sort of difficulty. Perhaps he needed her assistance.

  Lifting the hem of her skirt to avoid as much of the soapsuds as she could, she walked across the room and stopped just in front of him.

  “What is it, Brady? What's happened?"

  "That's what I want to know," he practically growled.

  Davey ducked his head, picked up the bucket of soapy water, and scuttled to the far side of the room, clearly hoping to get out of range.

  Brady glanced around the room again and then brought his gaze back to her. "What do you think you're doing?"

  One black eyebrow arched and she lifted her chin. "I think I'm cleaning this disreputable room."

  "Why?" he demanded, almost afraid to hear the answer. Whatever she had to say, he knew he wasn't going to like it.

  "Because I'm going to reopen this kitchen," she said, confirming his darkest suspicions.

  Reopen the kitchen? Hell, she was taking root. Settling in like some black-haired bird building a nest. In his tree! He shoved one hand through his hair and tried not to snatch himself bald while he was at it. He had been pushed further by her than by anyone he'd ever known. And he was feeling dangerously close to going over the fine edge he'd been straddling since Patience had walked into his life.

  He took a deep breath and asked simply. "Who asked you to?"

  "No one had to ask," she said. "It was my idea."

  Well, sure it was her id
ea, he thought. Who the hell else would try to open up a kitchen that had been closed for years? Someone else's kitchen at that?

  "Damn it, Patience," he muttered and grabbed her upper arm, half dragging her far enough away from Davey that what he had to say wouldn't be overheard. He tossed a quick look at the boy and noted that the kid had his head down and was whistling loudly. Trying to drown them out, no doubt.

  Shifting his gaze back to Patience, Brady said, "You can't just storm into a man's place of business and take it over."

  "You weren't using the kitchen," she argued.

  "It’s still mine."

  "Is this going to be an argument like the one we had over your door and my lock?" she inquired and her voice was just a little too sweet.

  "No," he said, remembering both that stupid argument and the kiss that had followed it. "It's not."

  Definitely. Not even if he had to argue with her from a distance. He wouldn't get that close to her again. Mainly because he didn't trust himself.

  "Good, because I have work to do." She half turned to walk away from him and Brady had to grab her again.

  "I'm not through talking," he said, though he knew damn well he could talk until the moon fell out of the sky and it wouldn't make a damn sight of difference to her. She'd do what she wanted to regardless. "Just what is it you're planning on doing here, anyway?"

  "I'm planning," she said, "on making food to be sold in our saloon. And perhaps even running a bakery. I noticed there isn't one in Fortune and I think —“

  "Our saloon?" That one little word hit him hard.

  She gave him a long-suffering look and sighed impatiently. "Fine. It's your saloon —“

  "Thank you." A small victory, he thought, but one he'd take when she seemed to be winning all of the battles around here.

  " — until we're married."

  So much for a victory.

  "Patience…" He was losing the thread of the conversation. He felt the whole damn thing unraveling and there didn't seem to be a thing he could do to stop it. Arguing with this woman was like watching a dog chase its tail. No beginning, no end, and no damn satisfaction if it actually caught its tail, just pain.

  "Pestilence, Brady!"

  She pulled free of his grasp and planted both hands on her hips. Tipping her head back, she stared up at him with fire in her eyes. If he'd had any sense, he would have backed up a step. But lately, he'd noticed that when Patience was around, his sense went right out the window.

  "How could you possibly be upset that I want to open a kitchen?" she asked and he heard the toe of her shoe tapping noisily against the floor. The echo of the sound seemed to pound out a rhythm in his head that throbbed painfully with every beat of his heart.

  "This is my place, Patience," he said as calmly as he could manage. His place. He'd waited most of his life to have a place he could call his own. One spot in this whole damn world where he could belong. And blast if he was going to give it up so easily. Fortune, New Mexico, wasn't much of a town. And his saloon didn't hold a candle to some of the fine gambling houses he'd visited in San Francisco or New Orleans. But damn it, it was his. "Don't you figure I've got a right to know what you're trying to do to it?"

  She folded her arms across her chest, completely oblivious to his obvious displeasure. "It was going to be a surprise."

  "Well, it's that, all right," he grumbled, flicking another glance toward Davey. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought the kid was chuckling quietly.

  The little traitor.

  "With Davey's help," Patience was saying, "we should be able to get most of this done in a few days."

  "Davey's working for you?"

  "A dollar a day," the boy piped up excitedly, which proved to Brady the kid had been listening to their conversation.

  Lowering his voice, Brady leaned in close to Patience and told himself not to notice the golden hue of her eyes or the soft blush of color on her cheeks. It didn't matter that her breath came short and fast, making her breasts rise and fall with a rhythm that set his own blood racing. The fact that the pulse point at the base of her throat made him want to plant his mouth there and feel her heart pounding her blood through her veins had nothing to do with what was going on now. It was all just another sign of his own mind beginning to dissolve.

  He swallowed hard.

  "Are you all right?" she asked suddenly.

  "Nope," he admitted, shaking his head. And he probably wouldn't be all right until he could figure a way to get Patience out of his life. And the chances of that happening were beginning to look mighty damn slim. He hadn’t heard one word about a missing crazy woman. He'd left word with the sheriff in Santa Fe and he'd checked with Fortune’s sheriff a time or two in the last couple of days. But there was just nothing.

  No one was looking for her.

  No one but him seemed to care that she was here.

  And there was absolutely no one to help him deal with her either. He was on his own in this. As he had been on his own for years. So no. He wasn't all right. He was about as far from all right as a man could get and still be standing.

  "Brady?"

  "Patience," he said, speaking up quickly before she could go off on a tangent, "just where are you getting the money to do all this? The kitchen, paying Davey" — he glanced at the shattered windowpanes — “buying new glass."

  He had her there, he told himself. She damn sure didn't have any money. Hadn't she charged all of her new clothes from the Mercantile to him?

  "Now, the windowpanes were an accident," she said. "We were trying to open the windows to air out the room, but it had been so long, they were stuck in literally coats of grime and we shoved too hard and the glass broke. But I'll replace them."

  "Uh-huh," he murmured, trying to remember to keep his voice low, despite his urge to shout. "And like I asked before, what are you gonna use for money?"

  "Well," she said in a tone most folks used when talking to a particularly stupid child. "I'll have to borrow some money, of course."

  "Of course," he said tightly. "From who?"

  "Whom," she corrected.

  "Patience…"

  "From you, naturally," she snapped. “Who else?"

  "Who else indeed," he mused, though he admitted silently that he'd known this was coming. She was convinced they were engaged to be married. Why shouldn't she also be convinced that he'd be willing to finance any of the notions that popped up in that pretty head of hers?

  On the other hand, he thought, with an inward smile, if she had nowhere to go for help but him, all he had to do was not loan her the money and at least this part of his nightmare would end.

  He looked into her eyes and saw calm reason there and wondered why in the hell crazy people didn't look crazy. Anyone looking at Patience would see a fairly handsome woman with a too thin figure and a head full of beautiful hair. But they wouldn't see the side of her that could make a man want to run into the desert and howl at the moon just for the hell of it.

  And they wouldn't see the woman who somehow managed to affect him more than any other female he'd ever known.

  Dreams of her interrupted his sleep. Thoughts of her disturbed him all day. Thinking about how to get shut of her drove him to distraction. And desire for her made his body ache. All in all, Patience Goodfellow was slowly driving him out of his mind.

  He reined in his temper and forced himself to speak slowly and calmly. "Why would I want to loan you money to do something I don't want you to do?"

  She leaned into him, placing both hands on his chest, and Brady felt the heat of her touch slide deep inside him, and in that instant, he knew he'd lost this battle. How in the hell was a man supposed to stand strong against a woman who made his blood boil with a simple touch?

  "Because this is a good thing, Brady," she said. "For me. For us. For Davey."

  Had she guessed about his fondness for the boy? Was that why she was using the kid as ammunition?

  Then as soon as he thought that, he dismisse
d the notion. She wouldn't do that, he told himself. Not Patience. Nope, she was simply trying to help the kid as best she could and, damn it, at least she'd offered the boy a decent wage. She hadn't tried to get by with paying him pennies, like some folks in town did.

  Brady shot a look at the boy, busily scrubbing away at the dirt accumulated over too many years. And he knew that even now, the kid was busily adding up money he hadn't even made yet. A twinge of sympathy tugged at his heart.

  Heck, Brady knew better than most how hard it was to be a kid, on your own. He knew the loneliness. The fear. The hunger. And he knew damn well that earning your keep was the only thing that kept that fear at bay.

  Patience had given Davey that. Well, she’d offered him that. Despite the fact that she didn't have the money to pay the boy.

  Brady scraped one hand across his face and felt the scratch of whiskers he hadn't gotten around to shaving yet. Fine, he thought. She'd helped Davey. But she was still clinging to the whole engagement thing too. And he had to find a way to nip that in the bud. Fast.

  He sucked in a long, deep gulp of air before telling her again, "There is no us, Patience."

  A glimmer of hurt shone in her eyes and he felt a quick stab of guilt. Though why he should was beyond him. He had been a perfectly content man until the day Patience had marched into his life and set up camp.

  She eased back from him, folding her hands at her waist and looking as prim as a spinster schoolmarm. Shaking her head, she set her long black hair to dancing about her shoulders and Brady had to curl his hands into fists to keep from reaching for it.

  "I don't understand why you insist on denying our love, Brady Shaw," she said and the tremor in her voice caused another shaft of guilt to slice at him. "After all we've been through."

  "We haven't been through anything, Patience!" he snapped and knew that the hold he had on his temper was beginning to fray.

  "You might be able to convince yourself of that," she said simply. "But not me. I know you, Brady. I know what you want. What you need."