When the Halo Falls, a heavenly romance

by Maureen Child

  "I remember," Lily said and her smile faded into a wistful expression. "I remember every day."

  The storekeeper nodded to herself. "I expect that you do."

  Patience held her breath. It was a tenuous peace, but she felt certain that, given time, these two women would bridge the chasm that separated them.

  The back door swung open and Vonda Shales strode in. She stopped short on the threshold when she caught sight of Lily and her features screwed up as though she had a mouthful of vinegar. Patience sighed. She'd been so close.

  "What is she doing here?" the laundress asked, her voice thin and tight with barely restrained outrage.

  Once again, Lily seemed to fold in on herself even while stiffening her spine in self-defense. But this time there was no need. Before Patience could say a word, Treasure turned and spoke up.

  "Vonda, you never did learn to wake up your brain before opening your mouth."

  "What?" the tall, thin woman sputtered, lifting one hand and pointing at Lily. "She-she's a —“

  "Widow," Treasure finished for her before she could say what she clearly had in mind.

  "She had a husband?" Obviously stunned, Vonda stared at Lily as though the pretty blonde had two heads.

  Patience wanted to smack her. Not a very Christian thing to do, granted, but it would have made her feel so much better. She shouldn't have been surprised at the woman's reaction, though. After all, Vonda had long been a woman too consumed with her own bitterness. A spinster, she'd given up on love years ago, and with that surrender, her heart had shriveled and her soul had dried up.

  A sigh rippled through Patience. She'd tried many times to reach the laundress. She'd tried to open her heart, but Vonda was a stubborn woman. One who could very well destroy the fragile peace that had just been established.

  But Treasure spoke up again and it was clear from the first that she was in charge now and wouldn't be putting up with any nonsense.

  "Yes, she did," the storekeeper said, giving her friend a glare that should have curled her hair. "And she lost him. In a war that took too many from us."

  “But she's —“

  "A friend," Treasure interrupted smoothly, then turned her softened gaze on the saloon girl she would have walked right past only the day before. "A new friend."

  Blindly, Lily reached out for Patience's hand and squeezed it tightly.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Two days later, the steamed-over windows in the kitchen framed a blurry picture of the outside world. But inside, the room was filled with warmth and shared laughter. A half-dozen women scurried about the kitchen, each of them helping Patience on her first official day of business.

  She looked up from the mound of dough she was kneading and noticed how Treasure stayed protectively close to Lily, and Patience smiled. She only wished everything else were going as well as Lily's entry back into the world she'd left so long ago.

  But there was a cold, hard knot of discomfort sitting in the pit of her stomach and Patience didn't know what to do about it. Probably lack of sleep, she told herself firmly. But sleep was hard to come by when your own dreams worked against you. Dreams that had chased her through the last two sleepless nights. Dreams that were flashes of memory. Bits and pieces of a past she couldn't — or wouldn't completely remember. Odd, wasn't it, that she recalled so much of her time with these people of Fortune, but her own past was shrouded in a mist that refused to lift?

  "Patience?"

  She lifted her gaze to meet Lily's.

  "Are you feeling all right?"

  No, she wasn't. But that wasn't what Lily wanted to hear. "Of course," she said and forced a smile that felt strained and uncomfortable.

  "If you're worried about how the men'll react to the food, don't be." Lily's gaze swept across the wide array of just-cooked snacks before coming back to Patience. "You're a wonderful cook. Everything you've made tastes… well, heavenly, I suppose, is the only word that fits."

  "Thank you," she said and inhaled sharply. Enough worrying about dreams that were no more substantial than the frost on the windowpanes. Smiling at Lily again, she said, "Let's load up a tray for you to take into the saloon, shall we?"

  #

  Brady was hip deep in females.

  Now, he was used to Lily, Fern, and Addey trotting in and out of the saloon. After all, they worked there. The customers wanted them there. They were good for business.

  This, though, was something else entirely.

  This was nothing short of an invasion.

  "Everett Tuttle!" a woman shouted from across the room and the unlucky gunsmith jumped — along with every other male in the room — spilling his beer down the front of his red flannel shirt.

  "Durn it, Rachel," he cried, "you about scared ten years off my life."

  The short woman hurtled across the room as though she’d been shot from the barrel of a gun.

  Brady sighed. In seconds, she was alongside her husband, snatching what was left of his beer out of his hand and slamming it down onto the tabletop. "You got no business whiling your day away here in this saloon. You get on home and finish repairing that back porch."

  "Now, Rachel." The burly gunsmith damn near cowered from the tiny woman who was his wife.

  "Don't you 'now, Rachel' me,” she snapped and threw a baleful glance at a man who dared to chuckle at her husband's distress. Wagging a finger at him, she warned, "And don't you start in laughing, Hiram Vines. Miriam's right over yonder in the kitchen and if she hears that you're —“

  The other man didn't wait for her to finish that sentence. He jumped up and scuttled out of the batwing doors, leaving them swinging in a wild goodbye wave.

  While Zeke allowed Rachel to drag him out of the building, Brady shook his head and leaned against the bar. He scraped one hand across his face and clenched his teeth together hard enough to turn them to dust. He was finished. There had been scenes like that one every day, ever since Patience had opened that damned kitchen back up. He had females from all over dropping in right and left. They were chasing their husbands home and shaming the single men into leaving with a few well-chosen words and frosty glares cold enough to turn a man's blood to ice.

  If this kept up, he'd be out of business in a month.

  Lifting his head, he stared down the length of the bar toward the closed door leading to the kitchen. Even from a distance, he heard the chattering and the laughter that signaled to anyone who cared that there was a herd of women in there. Ranchers' wives. Townswomen. Hell. Even Lily had deserted the saloon and gone to work for Patience.

  And not only was he being driven out of business, he reminded himself in disgust, he was paying for the privilege. Besides loaning Patience the money for supplies and Davey's wages, now he was anteing up Lily's paycheck as well.

  “That kitchen better make some money," he muttered to no one, "because the saloon's damn near a dried-up well."

  "Brady," Sam Hanks said as he walked up and took a position alongside him at the bar. "If your face gets any longer, you'll drown in your beer."

  "Today, that's sounding like a good idea." Brady slid him a sidelong glance. "Some sheriff you are. There's a damn crazy woman in town, stealing me blind, and you're no help at all."

  The tall, lanky sheriff chuckled, signaled to Joe for a beer, then said, "I offered to be your best man."

  “Well now, that's real funny," Brady told him and curled his fingers around the handle of his beer mug. Lifting it, he took a sip, even though he really didn't want it, then set the glass down again. "You come by just to make me feel worse?"

  "Nope," Sam said, accepting his beer with a nod of thanks and pausing long enough to take a long, satisfying drink. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and said, "Came to tell you I got an answer to that last wire we sent out to Sacramento."

  "And?" A flicker of hope danced in his chest and was quickly extinguished again when Sam went on.

  "And nothing." The sheriff shrugged. "Nobody knows anything about her."
<
br />   He wasn't even surprised.

  "It's like she dropped into town out of nowhere." Right into my lap, he added silently and focused his gaze on that closed door again, as though he could see through it to the woman at the root of the headache pounding behind his eyes.

  "Hell, Brady," Sam was saying, "why don't you just ask her where she's from?"

  He bit back a laugh that had no humor in it "What makes you think she knows?"

  The sheriff shrugged again and Brady gritted his teeth. His eyes felt sandy from lack of sleep. His temper was frayed and his body felt as tightly wound as a twenty-dollar watch. She'd been here nearly a week and already Brady could hardly remember what it had been like without her around.

  She'd taken over his life and there didn't seem to be a damn thing he could do about it — short of selling the saloon and making a run for it. But even as that thought registered, he pushed it aside. Brady Shaw had never run from anything or anyone in his life and he damn sure wasn't going to start now.

  "She seems to know you," Sam said. "And all of us."

  "And that doesn't bother you any?" Brady demanded, keeping his voice down so that the few customers left in the saloon couldn't hear him. "You think about it, Sam. Here's this female showing up in town, claiming to know me —“

  “To be engaged to you.”

  "Shit." He inhaled sharply. "Right. And she's settling into town like she's been here all along."

  "Hasn't she?"

  "No, damn it!" Brady scowled as a few heads turned toward him and he silently reminded himself to keep his voice down.

  Sam shifted position uneasily, resting one booted foot on the brass rail in front of him. Cradling his beer glass between his hands, he twirled it gently, sliding it through the water ring on the highly polished wood. "Y'know, Brady, I'm not stupid enough to get involved in a clash between a man and his woman —“

  "She's not…" Brady muttered an oath and let his chin hit his chest. What was the use?

  “But," Sam continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "I'll say this. If you've changed your mind about marryin' Patience, then just say so and stop all this other foolishness."

  "Foolishness?"

  "Folks aren't taking kindly to you treating Patience the way you are."

  "Really." Sarcasm dripped from the single word, but Brady had a feeling it was sliding right past Sam unnoticed.

  "Yep. Folks in Fortune are fond of Patience. Always have been."

  Always. Hell, there was no always where she was concerned. But why did no one but him see that?

  How had she managed to convince everyone in town that she'd always been there when he knew damn well she hadn't? For one thing, if they really were engaged, he'd have had her in his bed by now and his body wouldn't be constantly screaming for release.

  What was it about Patience Goodfellow that had people ready to do whatever they could to help her? What was it she brought out in folks that turned them to her side — against him? Hell, even Sam was becoming one of her big supporters and Brady resented it. He hadn't had many friends in his life. But Sam had become one in the last couple of years.

  He still wasn't sure how it had happened. Most lawmen he'd known wouldn't exactly be willing to be friendly with a gambler — let alone an exgunfighter. But Sam had. And over the last couple of years, the slowly building friendship had come to mean a lot to Brady. Now that, too, was dissolving because of Patience's one-track mind.

  Damn it, why did she want him? Even to the most desperate spinster, Brady shouldn't look like a prize. A man alone, more comfortable in smoke-filled saloons and whorehouses than in cozy parlors. He knew more about thieves and shanghai queens than he did about quilting bees and barn raisings. He'd grown up on docks and riverboats, scrambling for a living like any other wharf rat. And on the road to adulthood, he'd learned one hard-and-fast lesson. To trust only himself. So why in the name of all that was holy would any woman want him for a husband?

  "She's a fine woman, Brady," Sam was saying, dragging him back to the conversation at hand. "And people in town ain't going to be happy with the man who treats her fast and loose."

  "Fast and loose?" Brady repeated, astonished. "Hell, Sam, I' m trying to get rid of her, not lasso her."

  Sam's features tightened, but before he could speak, the door leading to the kitchen swung open. And even though they stood at the far end of the bar, the aromas drifting through that doorway caught both men's attention.

  Lily, carrying a large tray, stepped over the threshold and paused, glancing around the halfempty saloon. She looked almost nervous, Brady thought and couldn't figure out why. She'd been working in the saloon for two years, after all. What was so different now?

  Then he glanced to his right and saw Sam's expression go slack. He looked like a man who'd just had the floor fall out from under his feet.

  "Well now, Lily," a man in the back of the room called out. "You're surely a sight for sore eyes. You miss me, darlin'?

  The blonde shook her head, lifted her chin, and said, “Miss you? Heck, Earl, you're the main reason I quit."

  Laughter followed her statement but she paid no attention as she wandered down the length of the bar toward Brady and a clearly thunderstruck sheriff.

  Sam's jaw had dropped and Brady was forced to shove him to wake the man out of his stupor.

  "What's wrong with you?" he muttered as Lily came closer, smiling.

  She looked different these days, Brady thought. Her hair done up into a tidy knot on top of her head, she wore a simple blue dress with a high collar and long sleeves. A far cry from the short silk dress and feather-adorned curls he was used to seeing her in — but she looked nice. In a prim, schoolmarmy way.

  His stomach rumbled in response to the delicious smells approaching and Brady's attention shifted to the tray she carried. Arrayed on it were several small frosted cakes and a few golden-brown half -circles, still steaming from the oven.

  "Patience wanted you to be the first to try some of these," Lily said.

  Even the mention of her name was nearly enough to kill his appetite.

  "No, thanks," Brady muttered.

  “They're real good, Brady," she told him and shoved the tray closer.

  The blended aromas drifted to him and damned if he could resist the temptation despite wanting to show Patience that he didn't need her cooking in his saloon. Reaching out, he snagged one of the frosted cakes and took a bite.

  Flavors exploded in his mouth and Brady pulled the cake back and stared at it even while he chewed. He'd never tasted anything like it. Soft and sweet and light and airy, the small cake could have dropped down from heaven itself.

  He moaned gently as the glory of the thing slid down his throat.

  “I'll try one," Sam said from beside him and reached for one of those flaky brown wedges of crust. One bite and he, too, was sold. He turned an amazed glance on Lily and then turned to Brady. Waiting until he swallowed, he gestured with the pastry and said, "Damn, this is good."

  Lily beamed at both of them. "Wait until you try her doughnuts."

  "Doughnuts?" someone from the far side of the room yelled. "Did you say somebody's making doughnuts?"

  Her eyes sparkling, Lily turned away from Brady and Sam and carried her tray across the room. Men were jumping up from the tables to hustle toward her.

  "Doughnuts," she said, "cookies, pies, cakes, and these steak-and-potato pies too."

  Brady watched as his customers abandoned their beers and whiskeys and hands of cards to inhale the food Patience had cooked. And the sweet, satisfying taste in his mouth dried up. She'd done it. She'd overrun not only his life, but his saloon, too.

  "You ever seen anything like this?” Sam was muttering almost to himself as he picked away portions of the flaky crust he held. "Look at this. She's got steak sliced thin and potatoes and gravy all wrapped up in a pie crust. Like a whole meal you hold in your hand. Hell, there's even peas in there."

  "Wonderful.”

  Again, Sam d
idn't pick up on the sarcasm and instead turned a knowing eye on Brady. "You know, you and Patience ought to think about closing the saloon and just opening a restaurant once you get married."

  That tore it.

  Tossing the rest of his cake to the bartop, Brady straightened up and glared at his friend. "I am not closing down this saloon," he said and didn't care how loud he got. This was his place. And if he wanted to shout down the rafters, then by God, that's just what he was going to do.

  "Now, Brady…"

  He held up one hand and thought, briefly, about throwing a punch but restrained himself, considering Sam would probably only throw him into a cell for his trouble.

  "No," he said hotly. “No more. I've stood by for nearly a damn week. I've let that female run roughshod over me and my place for long enough. I'm not getting married, you hear me?” he added, glancing at the men staring at him before looking back at Sam. "I don't love her. I'm never going to love her. And by damn, that ought to be the end of it!"

  #

  The six women moved around the room in a flurry of motion. Skirts flying, arms waving, they laughed and chatted as they helped set the newly operating kitchen to rights. There were pastries cooling on the counter and steak pies baking in the oven. Sunlight poured into the room through the gleaming windowpanes and the combined scents of her morning's work hung in the air like a blessing. By all rights, Patience should be happy. She should be feeling a sense of satisfaction.

  Instead, she thought, letting her gaze shift around the room, from one face to another, she felt… isolated. But why? she wondered. These women were her friends. Weren't they?

  Of course they were, she thought. It was just that — Frowning to herself, Patience worried her bottom lip as her mind whirled. They were all very nice. Well, almost all of them. Vonda still managed to throw a sour note into an otherwise happy chorus. But it wasn't the laundress. It was something else. Something she'd been noticing for nearly a week.

  Despite the smiles they gave her, each of these women, like everyone else in town, had something else in their eyes when they looked at her. Confusion. It was as if they really didn't remember her. Didn't know her as she knew them.