Brooding Angel

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Yes.” Clancy thought of the look on Mitch’s face when he’d told her about his family. “Except that he doesn’t know it.”

  Cynthia saw no problem in that. “Well then, tell him.”

  “I fully intend to.” In as many ways as she could. Clancy glanced at the exercise machine. And she meant to do it as she walked into his embrace.

  Cynthia shifted the folders to her hip. “Gotta dash. In a moment of complete weakness, I volunteered to be a den mother.” She sighed dramatically. “I thought all that meant was making sure the little darlings didn’t set themselves on fire while trying to earn their camping badges. I learned otherwise very quickly.”

  Bending over the wheelchair, Cynthia kissed Clancy’s cheek. “Call me if you need anything.” A wicked smile creased her lips. “Although I have a hunch you won’t.” She patted the folders as she moved toward the door. “Hurry back to the office. We all miss you.”

  “Tell everyone I miss them, too.” Clancy glanced at the flowers that the office staff had sent to her. Mitch had set them on the television. They were beginning to wilt, but the thought would remain with her a long time. “I’m going to be fine, Cynthia.”

  Her friend grinned from the doorway. “I never doubted it for a minute. See you.”

  Clancy sat immobile for a moment after the door closed. It felt wonderful to be back among the living again. Productive, alive, looking forward to things. There was no longer that black hole waiting for her to fall through, no longer severe doubts nagging at her.

  She was going to walk again; it was only a matter of time. She knew it in her heart. She was going to walk to Mitch.

  Turning the wheelchair a hundred and eighty degrees, she moved toward the parallel bars. She faced them everyday, determined to conquer them. Determined that today would be the day she would finally manage to place one foot in front of the other.

  Just as she was doing mentally with Mitch right now, she thought. As much as she wanted to, she wouldn’t let herself think about tomorrow. Today was all she had for certain and today was what she was going to treasure.

  And somehow she would find a way to make Mitch want to wake up in bed beside her tomorrow. Tomorrow and all the tomorrows of her life.

  She pushed down the small metal brakes on either side of the wheelchair, then gripped the armrests. The metal bars represented an opponent as surely as if they had been a living, breathing entity she was out to conquer.

  “Okay, you monster, let’s see who’s boss,” Clancy said aloud to the gleaming metal.

  Taking a deep breath, she hauled herself up on her feet. Letting go first with one hand, then the other, she wrapped her fingers around the bars and began pulling herself forward.

  * * *

  Clancy hit first one key on the keyboard, then another. The computer emitted a small, staticky noise, telling her that her work was being saved.

  It was almost time to start getting dinner ready. Further work would have to wait until tomorrow. Mitch wouldn’t be home for another hour, but she liked to give herself plenty of time.

  Plenty of room for a margin of error, she mused with a smile.

  She snapped her head around, startled, when she heard the sound of a key being inserted in the front door. The next moment, the doorknob turned. She moved the wheelchair closer to the entrance.

  It was only a little after four. Thursdays were Mitch’s day to stop by his apartment and pick up his mail. He did it twice a week. What was he doing here so early? “Mitch?”

  He pulled the key out of the lock and closed the door behind him. “Yes. Who else has a key to your apartment?”

  Her mood turned playful. “My other lover. I was afraid you two would run into each other at the carport. He has a wheel fetish.” She looked at him, unable to tell if something was bothering him. He never came home early. “Anything wrong?”

  He took off his gun and placed the weapon and holster on top of the refrigerator. She always thought that was an odd place for them, but didn’t question him.

  “No.” He looked at her. “Why?”

  She shrugged. “You’re home early. You don’t normally come home until five. And today’s your day to pick up your mail.” She studied him. Was something wrong? She wished he was more open with her.

  He took a can of soda out of the refrigerator and popped the top, then took a drink before answering. For once, he was enjoying this. “I took some personal time.”

  He was stringing this out on purpose, she thought. “To do what?”

  He leaned one hand on the dining-set chair, his eyes teasing hers. “Something personal.”

  Clancy drew herself up in her seat. “Am I going to have to beat it out of you or are you going to give me a straight answer?”

  Mitch placed the can on the table and reached into his shirt pocket. He took out two tickets, then laid them on the table next to the soda.

  Clancy looked at the tickets, then raised her eyes to his face. He was being awfully mysterious, even for Mitch. “What’s that?”

  He straightened the tickets, aligning them side by side with the tip of his finger. Amusement lifted the corners of his mouth. “Just how much are they paying you at that computer firm of yours? Seems to me that your powers of observation are highly overrated.” He pushed the blue bits of paper toward her. “They’re tickets.”

  She made no move to pick them up. This wasn’t like him. “I figured that part out.”

  He inclined his head. “Good for you.”

  “Tickets to what?” she practically shouted. Not waiting for another round to begin, Clancy leaned over the table and picked them up. Examining them, she found her mind was filled with more questions than answers. “To a musical?” The tickets were for a critically acclaimed revival of Man of la Mancha, one of her favorite shows.

  He tapped a finger on the tickets she now held in her hand. “That’s what they are.”

  It made no sense. She stared at the tickets, then at him. “But you hate plays, especially musicals.” Suspicion clouded her face. There were two tickets. Who was the other one for? She made an implausible guess. “You’re coming with me?”

  “Yeah, I’m coming with you.” He said it like a man resigning himself to a death sentence.

  She looked at him. “Why?”

  He should have known she’d make a big deal out of it. Well, he reminded himself, wasn’t that the point? To make her happy? That meant making a big deal out of something.

  “Because you like musicals, although why is completely beyond me.”

  Her hand closed over the tickets. “I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”

  The woman didn’t know how to silently accept anything. “Because you need to get out, to see someone beside therapists and doctors and me.”

  The first two she endured stoically, but she certainly didn’t mind the latter. Her mouth curved. “I haven’t been complaining.”

  He wished she wouldn’t do that. He wished she wouldn’t look at him in that way of hers. The way a man wanted to be looked at. As if he were something special. She made it difficult for him to remember that all this was temporary.

  “Maybe this is your reward.” He muttered an oath under his breath. “Now are you going to sit there, talking my ear off, or are you going to get ready?”

  “Ready,” she replied quickly.

  Clancy swung the chair around, then pivoted back to him again.

  Surprised, he backed up. She’d almost hit him in the shin with the wheelchair. “What?”

  “I forgot something.”

  Hands braced on the armrest for support, Clancy raised herself up in the wheelchair until she could gain her feet. Letting go with one hand, she snaked it around Mitch’s neck. She brought the other one to join it. Smiling up into his face, Clancy kissed him.

  “Thank you.”

  His arms around her, Mitch savored the light, feathery feel of her lips on his. “Don’t thank me yet,” he warned. “You still have to put up with my complainin
g about having to sit there, watching sane people break out into song.”

  He could complain all he wanted to, but she saw through his facade. “I’ll manage.” Releasing him, Clancy slid back into the wheelchair. She hummed one of the songs from the play under her breath as she quickly pushed herself out of the living room.

  Her independence was exactly what he was striving for. And yet there was something that felt empty at the same time. A premonition of things to come, he thought. “Need help?”

  Clancy pushed the door to her room closed behind her. “No, everything’s under control,” she called out cheerfully.

  “Yeah,” he said under his breath. “I know.”

  Mitch went to his own room to get dressed.

  * * *

  They arrived at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion sooner than Mitch had anticipated. Traffic on the freeway was light for a Thursday evening.

  Clancy hadn’t stopped talking the entire trip there. Rather than filtering her out, the way he often did with McAffee and others, Mitch listened to her chatter on. Her exuberance amused him and made him feel comfortable, like a warm fire on a chilly morning.

  That’s what she was like, he thought—a fire where he could warm himself.

  Without thinking, he reached for her hand as he pulled the car into the proper lane before the entrance.

  Clancy stopped talking, surprised by the unexpected, intimate gesture. God, but she loved this man.

  “You’re going to love this,” she promised enthusiastically as he guided his car toward the valet parking.

  “I doubt it.” But if it made her happy, that was all that mattered. Clancy was the only thing that had ever really mattered.

  She was surprised when he pulled up the parking brake in front of the valet booth. She’d expected him to bypass it and drive toward the parking garage some distance away. “I thought you hated giving your key to strangers.”

  He did. He’d always preferred to keep track of his own possessions. “I’m making an exception. It’s closer to the entrance this way.”

  He was thinking of her. Warmth spread through Clancy.

  Mitch gave his key to the valet who stood at his door, then rounded the hood to her side. After opening her door, he took her hand. Confused, Clancy looked over her shoulder at the wheelchair in the back seat. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  No, he wasn’t. He’d brought the chair along on the remote chance that the car broke down and he had to go for help. He wouldn’t want to leave her alone in the vehicle. But now that they were here, the wheelchair was going to remain where it was.

  He shook his head, taking a firmer hold of her hands. She was steadier than she’d been just a few days before, he noted. “You hate the way people look at you when you’re sitting in that.”

  She did. That was still something she had to work out for herself. She knew she was being unduly sensitive, but she couldn’t help feeling as if all eyes were on her when she was in the wheelchair. Eyes with pity in them.

  She nodded, not understanding where he was going with this. “Yes, I know. I feel conspicuous. But I can’t walk in there.”

  “I’ve got it covered.” Then, before she could question him further, he picked her up in his arms. Hers went around the back of his neck automatically. It felt impossibly romantic.

  She looked around and saw smiles on several people’s faces. “This is less conspicuous?”

  “No.” He backed away from the curb. “But knowing you, it’s probably something you can handle.”

  Clancy nestled against him. “You’re right. I feel as if I’m a damsel in distress, being rescued by my dark knight.” She grinned at the astonished look on the valet’s face as Mitch walked past him.

  Mitch wasn’t one to explain any of his actions, but he wasn’t the only one involved right now. He shrugged carelessly, as if this was all perfectly natural.

  “She sprained her ankle this afternoon,” he told the valet. “But she refused to let that make her miss the play.”

  The young man nodded vigorously. The small, neat ponytail he wore bobbed against his red jacket. “It’s a great play,” he agreed as he slid behind the wheel of the white car.

  “We’re making a scene,” she told Mitch, grinning. “Do you mind?”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” he replied casually. “I’ve got my arms full.”

  He did look as if he was entirely oblivious to the sensation they were causing. All eyes turned toward them as Mitch walked into the theater. She knew she was going to remember this forever.

  Just as she was going to love him forever.

  The people in the lobby moved aside to give them room. Clancy felt her heart bursting. Nothing could have endeared Mitch more to her than this gesture.

  “How did you get to know me so well?” she whispered against his ear.

  “Some things just seem to come to me.” He’d known how she’d felt whenever they’d gone out, even though she had never said anything. He, too, could see the pity in people’s eyes, or worse, the nonlooks, as they seemed to look right through her, as if they couldn’t handle the sight of someone so young, so vibrant in a wheelchair.

  Seeing the play meant a great deal to Clancy. That was why he had gotten the tickets. He didn’t want anything to spoil her evening.

  He produced the tickets for the usher who approached them as they entered the inner section of the theater. “Two on the aisle.”

  The older woman took the tickets and glanced at the seat numbers. She looked at Clancy quizzically. “Are you hurt?”

  “Just a sprain.” Mitch answered for Clancy. “But I couldn’t talk her into staying home. She’s crazy about musicals.”

  The usher trained her flashlight beam ahead of them to light the way, but before she turned, Clancy saw the wide smile on her face. “I’d say she has a good man there.”

  Clancy looked at Mitch. He was gazing straight ahead, solemnly ignoring the comment. Clancy smiled to herself. “Yes,” she said softly. “I know.”

  “Right here, sir.” The usher stepped back to let him place Clancy in her seat. When he did, she walked off to help someone else. “You think you’ve seen everything,” she said to herself with a chuckle.

  Mitch sat down next to Clancy, knowing he wasn’t going to be comfortable until they left. He tugged on his tie. He couldn’t believe people actually enjoyed this kind of stuff.

  Clancy looked around as Mitch sat down next to her. They were five rows from the front. The tickets must have cost him a fortune.

  He shrugged it off when she asked. “One of the guys at the precinct had tickets he couldn’t use. He sold them to me.”

  Mitch didn’t bother to add that the reason he had the tickets was because he’d offered Slattery twice as much as they were worth when he’d heard the man talking about going to see the popular revival.

  She knew there had to be more to it than that. She also knew he wasn’t about to tell her or take any credit. “Still, they were expensive, and I know you’d rather be home, barking orders at me to exercise, than sitting here, looking gorgeous in a suit.”

  He moved restlessly. Gorgeous was not a word he’d have applied to a man. “Don’t remind me. I figure you’ll make up for it.”

  With all her heart. She placed her hand over his. “Anything you say.”

  She would, he thought. Without regard to herself, she would do anything he asked of her. Because she cared. It was a heavy burden to carry. And one he figured he didn’t deserve. “I was thinking about exercises.”

  She inclined her head. That was part of it. “Among other things.”

  She knew him well, too, he thought. “Among other things,” he agreed.

  The theater began to darken. Clancy laid her head against his shoulder, trying to remember when she had ever felt so content, so moved. She’d seen a wealth of plays in her life. Her parents had exposed her to culture from a very early age. In her memory, no production would ever compare to this one.

  Mitch ha
d done so much for her, she mused. This play was just one example. There were a great many layers to this man who was struggling to remain so distant from her. Just when she thought she knew him, when she thought she had him all figured out, he confused her by showing her another side, another piece that had been hidden.

  Her head still against his shoulder, Clancy placed her hand over his and twined their fingers together.

  “I love you, Mitch,” she whispered softly.

  He pretended not to hear what she had said. “Shh. You’ll miss the show.”

  He’d heard her, all right, she thought. She could see the line of his jaw tightening, tensing. Her love was something he was just going to have to get used to.

  * * *

  The evening sky was dark and starless as they drove home. Mitch could still hear the music pulsating in his head, even though they had left the theater almost two hours ago and had stopped for a late dinner at a nearby restaurant.

  She was humming the overture.

  He shook his head in amazement. “I still don’t see what you like about those things.”

  She eyed his profile as the light from a passing vehicle invaded the interior of their car. “You weren’t moved?”

  He’d been moved, all right. “Didn’t you notice me squirming?”

  She laughed. She’d been very aware of his restlessness throughout the performance, although there were some scenes she was positive he had enjoyed.

  “I didn’t mean physically. I meant in there.” Leaning forward, she touched his chest where she judged his heart to be.

  Why did she always persist in thinking there was more to things than there were? “Clancy, all that does is beat and keep me alive. It doesn’t get ‘moved’ unless I’m in big trouble.”

  He was stubborn, she’d give him that. “I’d say you were hopeless, except that I know better.”

  There were a great many things about him that she still didn’t know, Mitch thought grimly. A great many things he didn’t want her to know. It was better that way.

  “Don’t count on it.” He turned up the radio, tabling the discussion.

  She reached over and turned the radio down. “You can pretend all you want, Alexander Mitchell,” she said smugly, “but I know the real you. You’re a Tootsie Roll Pop.”