When the Halo Falls, a heavenly romance

by Maureen Child

"If they're not there —“ Lily started.

  He looked at her. "I'll go after them."

  "At least it's stopped snowing," Treasure said, walking out from behind the counter to cross the room to the window. Tilting her head to one side, then the other, she looked out at a crisp, cold morning. Dawn was just streaking the sky with splashes of color and there wasn't a storm cloud in sight. "With any luck, the storm blew itself out last night."

  "That'll be some help," Sam said as he shrugged into his sheepskin jacket. "But if I have to go out after them, the drifts will make it hard riding."

  “I'll be going with you," Lily said and he stopped to look at her.

  "I just said, it'd be hard riding."

  "Patience might need me," she argued.

  "Don't be foolish," Sam said.

  Before Lily could say a word in her own defense, Treasure said, "That ain't foolish. It's thoughtful." She spared Lily a smile before glaring at Sam again. "We'll have food and supplies packed when you're ready to go."

  The sheriff looked from one to the other and accepted defeat "Women," he muttered and threw open the front door, stepping into a cold that was a sight warmer than what he was leaving.

  #

  Davey'd already checked the whole blasted saloon by the time the sheriff showed up looking for Brady and Patience. The boy had hardly slept, jerking awake at every noise, listening for the sound of Brady's voice, or the quick click of Patience's heels against the floor.

  But there'd been nothing and Davey's stomach was so tied up in knots, he felt sick. Clutching his magic ring tightly, he jumped to his feet when the sheriff opened the door and stepped inside.

  Instantly, his gaze locked on Davey. "They didn't come back?"

  The brief spurt of excitement he'd felt at seeing the big man disappeared into the twisting knots in his belly. He'd hoped —

  "No, sir," he muttered and looked down at the floor. Kicking the scuffed-up toe of his shoe against the wood planks, he tried to hide the worry crawling inside him. But it was getting harder to not think about Patience and Brady maybe lying stiff and frozen in a snow bank somewhere.

  "Damn it," the sheriff said and slapped his hat against his thigh. He pushed one hand through his hair, shrugged deeper into his jacket, and huffed out a breath of pure frustration.

  Ordinarily, Sam wouldn't be concerned. After all, Brady Shaw was a man who could take care of himself. But that had been one hell of a storm and there was Patience to consider too. Besides that, if he didn't go out after them, Lily, Treasure, and every other female in Fortune would be after his head.

  Grumbling to himself, he looked at the boy standing alone in the middle of a deserted saloon and noticed for the first time the tension in those narrow shoulders and the worry in his eyes. Poor kid. Scraping out a living by doing odd jobs for folks generally too busy to pay much attention to him.

  And now, the two people he'd attached himself to were missing. But not, he told himself, for long.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  There were just way too many things to think about for sleep.

  Although, Brady told himself, with a wry glance at Patience, curled up on the bed, she didn't seem to be having any trouble. He on the other hand had been up all night. His brain raced from one thought to the next and he found no peace with any of them. But then that wasn't surprising. Since the day Patience had blown into town, he'd been walking the fine edge of lunacy.

  And now he'd slipped over.

  He slapped both hands on the mantel and leaned forward, staring down into the fire. Propping one bare foot against the hearth, he tried to figure out what to do now, but he just wasn't having any luck. He was buck naked, and the heat from the flames seared his skin but did nothing to ease the chill that wracked his bones.

  He'd dug himself quite a hole last night and he wasn't sure there was a way out. Hell, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted a way out. And that scared the hell out of him.

  "Brady?"

  Swiveling his head, he looked at her and felt a stir of desire. She pushed herself into a sitting position on the bed, clutching the blanket to her chest like a shield. Her long black hair fell wild and free around her bare shoulders. Her eyes sparkled and her lips were still full and swollen from his kisses. She reached up and pushed her hair back from her face and he followed the motion with a hungry gaze.

  What was it about this woman? How could she set off fires inside him with a simple gesture?

  "Is it morning?" she asked.

  Jesus. Even her voice did things to him he'd rather not think about. And if he wasn't careful, his body would be proving it, real soon.

  "Not yet," he muttered. "Almost dawn, though, and the storm's over." He pushed away from the mantel and walked toward her.

  She studied him for a long minute before saying, "You don't seem very pleased about that."

  "It's not the storm I'm thinking about at the moment, Patience."

  "Oh." She gave him a smile that lit up his insides like a Fourth of July barbecue. “Then what?"

  "Last night —“

  "Was wonderful," she finished for him.

  "And the wrong thing to do," he said flatly. As soon as the words left his mouth, he saw the change in her. That smile dimmed to less than half its brilliance and the eyes that had been sparkling only an instant before were now shooting golden arrows into his hide.

  All right, he hadn't said it in the best possible way. But damn it, he'd been thinking all night and hadn't come up with anything better.

  "How can you say that to me?" she demanded, scooting to the edge of the bed and swinging her bare legs over. Once her feet hit the floor, she stood up, snatched the blanket tighter around her body, tossed her hair back over her shoulder, and shot him a glare that should have burned him to a crisp. "After what we — After I — you —“

  Obviously she was in such a rush to chastise him, she couldn't get all the words out. But that was fine with him, since he'd been waiting all night to say what had to be said.

  "Damn it, Patience, you were a virgin," Brady countered with a hostile glare of his own.

  Patience just looked at him. "Well, pestilence, Brady," she said. "If that's what's bothering you, I'm not one anymore."

  He just stared at her. Of course, Patience Goodfellow wouldn't react as any normal woman in these circumstances would. Any other female would be weeping and wailing over her lost "virtue." Not Patience, though. Damned if she didn't look proud.

  "That's the problem," he told her. For God's sake. He shouldn't have to explain this to her. As a woman, she had to know what folks would say about an unmarried woman who went to bed with a man.

  She smiled at him, blast it.

  Well, if she didn't understand, then he'd just have to find a way to protect her not only from what the townspeople of Fortune might say, but from herself. His brain racing, he muttered, "No one has to know what happened here last night."

  "I want everyone to know."

  "Patience…” He nearly growled out her name. He was trying to do the right thing here and she wasn't making it easy. "You don't know what you're saying. This'll ruin your reputation."

  "Bother a reputation, Brady," she said. "I don't care what anyone — except for you, of course — thinks of me."

  He rubbed his eyes, hoping to stem the headache that had started pounding to beat the band. But it didn't help. Nothing was going to help.

  "Do you think badly of me, Brady?"

  He dropped his hand and looked at her. "Of course not. But that's not the point."

  "That's the only point,” she said, and gave him another of those soul-warming smiles that he didn't deserve.

  He sighed. Defeat hung in the air around him and he wasn't even surprised. How could he be? She'd been defeating him regularly ever since showing up in Fortune claiming to be the love of his life.

  "As soon as we're married —“

  "Whoa." He held both hands up, palms out. "No, ma'am," he told her flatly. "We are not getting married
."

  "But I thought that you —“

  "Oh, I wanted you, Patience," he assured her, then as his gaze slid down her blanket-clad form, he added, "I still do. But that doesn't change anything."

  "It changes everything."

  "No." While she was sleeping, he'd thought about this all night. And no matter which way his brain turned it, it looked the same.

  He scraped one hand across his face, and if he'd believed in God, he'd have prayed for patience. But since he didn't, he'd have to make do with the Patience he had.

  "I can't marry you."

  "But for pity's sake, why not?" she demanded.

  "For the same reasons I've been saying no all along." He let his gaze slide from hers before he continued. It was finally time to tell her exactly why nothing between them was possible. Maybe then she'd let go of her delusions and let him return to a world where loneliness meant, if not peace, then at least quiet. “You're a lady, Patience. And I'm a killer."

  Silence dropped into the cabin like a stone falling into a well. Ripples of reaction spread out across the room and he waited for her inevitable reproach. He didn't have to wait long.

  "Pestilence and nonsense."

  His gaze swung back to her instantly. Her golden eyes were sparking fire at him and the set of her stubborn chin told him that, naturally, she wasn't going to react as he'd thought she would.

  "You're no killer, Brady Shaw."

  He snorted. "The men I've planted would argue with you on that one."

  She tossed one corner of that blanket over her shoulder, making it look as if she were wearing one of those togas the Roman fellas used to wear. And it looked too damn good on her.

  Then she walked toward him, stopping just in front of him. Meeting his gaze with her own, she said firmly, “You're not a killer, Brady. You've killed men, yes, but not wantonly."

  Unbelievable. “They're still just as dead, Patience."

  She grabbed his hand, holding it tight between her own. Warmth radiated from her touch down into the darkest, coldest corners of his soul and he yearned for that heat. But he didn't deserve it. Still, he didn't pull away from her either.

  "Brady," she said, "we all make choices. You. Me. The men who sought you out for no other reason than to build a reputation by killing you, they made their choices too."

  Her touch anchored him as a sea of faces swam up in his mind. He could still see them all. Some young. Some old. All foolish. And all very dead.

  His heart felt like a stone in his chest. Thick. Hard. Cold.

  "And you stopped being a gunfighter a few years ago, didn't you?" she prodded, her voice soft.

  "Yeah, but the killing didn't stop. What about the man who used to own my place?" And once again, the memory of the night he'd won the saloon rushed back at him, underscoring the kind of man he was. Proving to him that he didn't have the right to be in the same room with Patience, let alone in her life.

  "Don't be foolish," she whispered. "That wasn't your fault."

  "It sure as hell was," he said, remembering. "I could have folded on that last hand of cards. I saw the desperation in the man's eyes. Knew he didn't have the hand to back his betting the saloon." Brady looked at her, wanting her to see him for who he was.

  To see that he wasn't some dime-novel hero.

  "But I didn't. I wanted that saloon. Wanted to be able to hang my hat up. Wanted a place of my own.”

  "All men want that.”

  “All men don't win their homes in a card game."

  "Does that matter?"

  "It did to that man.” He remembered clearly the look on his opponent's face when Brady'd shown him the winning hand. "He called me a cheat. Drew a pistol, and in a couple of fast seconds, he was dead and I owned the place."

  Hell, he could still smell the stink of gunpowder, hear the wild scraping of chairs as men hustled to get out of the way, feel the slap of his gun barrel meeting his palm, see the light dimming in the other man's eyes.

  "But you didn't cheat," Patience reminded him.

  "No, but —“

  “And the other man," she said, squeezing his hand harder, as if trying to draw him back from wherever he'd gone. "He was holding his gun under the table. Pointed at you. If you hadn't heard him draw the hammer back —“

  Shock slammed home. "How did you know that? How did you —“

  She hadn't been there. He knew that as well as he knew his own name.

  "I just… know," she said, letting his hand go to rub her forehead. "I can't explain it, the memory is just there."

  A chill of awareness snaked along his spine. He knew damn well she hadn't been there. "You can't have a memory of that night, Patience.”

  "But I do," she said, looking up at him again, and he saw earnestness and desperation coloring her pale gold eyes. "I was with you that night. As I was on so many other nights."

  Impossible.

  "I don't understand it all myself," she was saying and he wrenched his concentration back to her. "But I was there with you on that riverboat when you were a child. I was there with you during the war."

  The chill strengthened, but at the same time, a bone-deep knowledge took hold of him too. His little voice had been with him all those times. He'd counted on it. Trusted it when he trusted no one or nothing else.

  "And I was with you when you came to Fortune."

  He swallowed hard.

  "It's as if I've always been with you," she said.

  It didn't make a lick of sense, but damned if he didn't believe her. He sure as hell couldn't explain it, though. From the moment he'd met her, he'd felt as if he'd known her forever. There was a connection between them that he'd tried to deny. Tried to ignore.

  But it wasn't going away. The thread stretched between them wasn't breaking. It was getting stronger. Hadn't that been proven last night? When he was inside her, he'd felt what she felt. Known what she knew.

  And he couldn't explain that either.

  “We're meant for each other. Brady. Can't you see that?"

  "Trust me when I say I think you were meant for something far better than what I can give you."

  "Oh, Brady." She shook her head and gave him a smile more meant for a child who'd said something foolish.

  "Patience, you don't know what you're saying."

  "I know I love you. And you love me."

  His back teeth ground together. "I don't." Oh, he felt something for her. But it couldn't be love. Hell, he didn't even believe in the kind of love she was talking about.

  Patience shook her head, completely ignoring his denial. "I sensed your love last night, Brady," she said simply. "You can't hide it from me now. Not after last night. You felt it too, didn't you?" she asked, laying one hand on his chest. The touch of her skin on his set another fire in his blood that rushed through his veins and left him trembling.

  "I felt — it doesn't matter." Hell, he didn't even know how to explain all he'd felt last night. It wasn't only his own pleasure that had rocked him to his soul. It was being able to feel everything she was feeling. It was as if they'd shared one mind. One heart. It had never happened to him before and it was damned disconcerting no matter how you looked at it.

  But she didn't need to hear that. She already had wedding bells ringing in her ears. All she needed to really set her off would be to hear that he'd felt exactly what she had.

  So instead, he changed the subject abruptly and asked her about the other strange thing he'd experienced. "I heard something last night, Patience," he said. "A voice."

  Something flashed in her eyes and he couldn't be sure, but Brady thought it might have been fear. And that cut him to the quick.

  "A voice?" she whispered, her gaze dropping, shifting to anywhere in the cabin but at him.

  Why, all of a sudden, had her bravado deserted her? Maybe he should let it go, but it was too late to stop now. “That voice. It said just one word. Remember."

  She stepped back and turned away from him. With her hand gone from his chest, the
last bit of warmth inside him dried up and withered away. He read the tension in her bare shoulders and the stiffness in her spine. And watching her instant withdrawal tore at him.

  Brady took her upper arm in a firm but gentle grip and turned her around to face him. "You heard it too, didn't you?"

  "It's real, then," she said softly. She still wouldn't look at him and that bothered him more than he cared to admit, even to himself.

  "Oh, it was real," Brady said, tilting her chin up with the tips of his fingers. He stared down into those golden eyes of hers and saw relief shimmering there along with a confusion that he completely understood. "I don't know where the hell it was coming from, but it was real enough."

  “Thank heaven," she muttered. Pulling in a deep breath, she blew it out again in a rush and told him, “That's why I didn't want you here yesterday. I'd been hearing that voice and I thought I was losing my mind."

  "Don't blame you."

  "I thought maybe it was the loneliness out here," she continued, then shook her head. "But then I heard it again even with you here."

  "Whose voice is it?"

  "I don't know," she said.

  "Where's it coming from?"

  "I don't know."

  Her temper was rising and damned if he didn’t like that better than the hangdog look she'd had before. "Well, then, what are you supposed to remember?"

  "If I knew that, I'd have already remembered, wouldn't I?" Impatiently, she pushed her hair back out of her face and glared at him. "Besides, I don't want to remember whatever it is that voice is prodding me to recall."

  "Why not?"

  She hesitated slightly, and he wondered what she wasn't saying.

  "Because I know everything I need to know already," she snapped. "I know I love you. I know we belong together. And I know that if I'm hearing voices, I'm most likely as crazy as you once told me I was."

  Guilt shimmered through him. She wasn't loco. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. Hardheaded, yes. Single-minded, sure. But out of her head insane? No.

  He pulled her tight against him, and even through the blanket, he felt the warmth of her skin driving into his body and he welcomed it. Wrapping his arms around her, he let his gaze move over her features, remembering every kiss they'd shared. Every touch. And he wanted more. Mistake or not, he wanted to feel her flesh against his again. He wanted, needed to know the wonder that he'd found within her one more time. Before he let her go, as he knew he would have to.