Good? Oh, yes, it was good, but obviously dangerous, too, which Angel understood when Holt withdrew to spill his warm seed on her belly.
“Had to — protect you,” he gasped, rolling up on his side next to her. His large hand moved a corner of the blanket to tenderly cleanse her skin.
Angel resisted the urge to snuggle against his chest. She was so confused and weakened by her own feelings, she didn’t feel slighted when Holt soon fell asleep. Instead, she inched out from under his arm and moved on jellied legs to fetch her clothing. Her skirt, blouse, and under things were dry now, and she slipped them on, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off a sudden chill.
How had it happened? No, that wasn’t the question. The question was why. Angel sank down in a nearby chair and trembled as she watched Holt sleep. She was afraid she knew the answer why, and it frightened her to the core.
“GOOD MORNING.”
Angel kept her voice deliberately cheerful and casual as she shoved a tin plate full of steaming homemade biscuits and gravy under Holt’s nose. He opened sleepy eyes and sniffed. Then he sat bolt upright in bed.
“Food. Real food.” He looked at Angel in outright amazement. Then he grabbed the plate and greedily wolfed the food down.
“You’re welcome,” she said tartly when he’d finished and still sat there in the bed, looking for all the world like a little boy, with his hair all rumpled.
“I’m sorry. That was delicious.” Holt looked sheepish. “I’m still surprised you can cook.”
“I said I could. Didn’t you believe me?”
He didn’t answer her. “I haven’t had a meal like this since my mother was alive.”
“It’s only biscuits and gravy.”
“Heaven on earth to a man who’s been forced to eat his own cooking for over a decade.” He slid from the covers, and Angel averted her gaze while he dressed. She heard him murmur, “What the devil …?”
She turned and followed Holt’s gaze to the wooden horse on the mantel. He was still bare-chested, but fortunately, he’d secured his trousers at least. Before she could reply, he walked to the hearth and picked up the statue, turning it over in his hands. “This yours?”
“Yes.”
“You can cook and you can whittle?”
Angel chuckled. “Hardly. A very special young man gave that to me.” Before she could explain, his expression darkened. He must assume it came from a male admirer.
He was jealous.
The realization sent a pleased hum through her. She couldn’t resist a mischievous poke or two. Keeping a poker face she said, “It means a lot to me. I take that horse with me everywhere I go.”
Holt plunked the statue back down. “Horse? How can you tell? It’s not even carved well.”
“I suppose you could do better.”
“Know I could. Least mine would actually resemble a horse.”
Biting back laughter, Angel said, “I’d like to see that.”
Holt scowled. “Haven’t got time to waste on whittling.” He scooped up his shirt from the floor and yanked it on. Then he came over and dropped a stray kiss on the back of her neck. “About last night —”
“Not now, Holt. We’ve so much to do.” Angel worked hard at keeping her voice bright and preoccupied as she wriggled from his embrace and sprinted across the room. “Ready for another day in the mine?”
“All right.” He looked grumpy at the prospect of facing the new day. “Lead on.”
Holt stayed silent as they gathered up the equipment and headed outside. Halfway down to the mine, she stopped and said, “I forgot my pick.” It was still snugly buried in the ground near the corral.
“Better go back and get it,” Holt said. “I’ll go on ahead, if you don’t mind.”
Angel nodded and went back to the cabin. Even a minute in the fresh air was bound to be better than a single second in the mine.
She was tugging uselessly on the pick when a horse and rider emerged from the trees. Looking up, Angel froze, and then relaxed when she recognized Neal Murphy.
Waving, she waited until he caught sight of her and turned in her direction. Her greeting was a rueful one.
“Know how to get a pick out of the ground?”
Neal laughed at her predicament. It made him look years younger even garbed in the grim black cloth of a minister.
“Hello, Mrs. Murphy. You certainly look happy today.”
Angel felt her cheeks go hot, though whether from his use of her married name or the way his light eyes admired her, she wasn’t sure. But his tone was friendly, and she forced herself to relax.
“Holt is down at the mine,” she said. “I assume you came up to talk to him.”
“Actually, I came to talk to you instead. Is that all right?” Neal waited until she nodded and then he dismounted, tying his horse to the corral.
“Would you care for coffee?” Angel offered. “There’s some on the stove and it’s still fresh.”
“That sounds divine.” Neal grinned at his own pun. “I’ll wait out here.” He seemed sensitive to her discomfort, and Angel fetched two clean tin cups full of coffee and joined the young minister outside.
He sampled the hot brew. “Thank you. It’s delicious.”
There was a brief silence while each waited for the other to speak. Angel nervously twisted the wedding ring on her left finger until she saw Neal’s gaze drop to her hand.
She flinched guiltily. Did Neal possibly guess the marriage might not be legitimate? If he did, he was tactful enough not to say anything.
“May I call you Angel?” At her nod he smiled. “Of course, you can call me Neal. After all, you shall be my sister in spirit as well as name now.” He hesitated, obviously wanting to talk to her about something else.
“Angel, I’m not sure how much Holt has told you about the mine. You’ve been married such a short time.”
“I know a little,” she said.
“Fine. That’s what I wanted to talk about. I’m concerned about Holt, and you, too. I’ve been ministering down in Clear Creek for the past few days. I’ve heard a disquieting rumor.”
Angel swallowed hard. Her first guilty assumption was, of course, that Neal had heard she was only a doxy scheming to get the mine by fair means or foul.
“Word about town is Holt found a couple sizable nuggets,” Neal said, not seeming to notice when Angel visibly relaxed. “I don’t need to tell you it’s starting to give some of the men down there gold fever. There’s talk of running him off and splitting shares.”
Angel gasped. “How could that happen? The Lucky Devil is mine — and his, of course.”
Neal gave her a curious look. “On paper, naturally. But that means little to hard-bitten men like Red Garrett.”
“Red Garrett?”
“I’m surprised Holt hasn’t mentioned him. Red considers himself the law in Clear Creek, insomuch as there is any. He demands a cut of most profitable ventures in the area to preserve the peace.”
Angel shrugged. “We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him. Anyway, the Lucky Devil is out of the jurisdiction of Clear Creek. What would Mr. Garrett want up here?”
“Gold, of course. I’m afraid he’ll stop at nothing to get it.”
NEAL’S OMINOUS WORDS HAD barely sunk in when Holt’s angry voice boomed at them across the meadow.
“Did you come all this way just to preach at Angel about the follies of marrying me?”
“I’m sorry.” Neal shot Angel an apologetic look. “I’m afraid it’s time for me to leave.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, turning to confront Holt as he stormed up to them. His bronzed chest and arms glistened with sweat, and he wiped a stray lock of black hair off his brow in order to glare more effectively at his half-brother.
“This is my house, too, and you’re not going to be rude to our guest,” Angel informed Holt. “Neal came up here to congratulate us.”
“Thought he already gave us his felicitations in town.”
�
��I’m on my way back to Oro today,” Neal said.
“Good. See you stay there.”
“Holt!” Angel gasped.
But he stalked off to the cabin, leaving a scandalized Angel to deal with Neal.
“Oh, Neal, I’m sorry.” She flushed hot with embarrassment. “I don’t understand why he’s so rude.”
“Never mind, Angel. Sometimes it’s just the Lord’s way of testing a person. By the way, I also came to invite you to the ladies’ social in Oro this Sunday evening. They’re all eager to meet my new sister-in-law.”
Angel thought longingly of wearing a pretty dress again, and sipping tea and nibbling tiny sandwiches, if only for a day. “I’d love to,” she said, then hesitated. “But Holt — ”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t begrudge you female companionship, Angel. You might approach him with it that way.”
“Yes, of course. It would be lovely. I’ll try to come.”
“Fine. Holt knows the way. Or, if you like, I could come again and drive you over in my wagon.”
She shook her head. “You’d never make it up the pass, Neal. There are fallen trees blocking the road.”
He looked surprised. “Oh, but there are several different roads to the mine. The other two are gradual inclines, and much quicker as well. You’re referring to the old trapper trail, I think. It hasn’t been used for years.”
Angel stared at him and then blinked. “I see,” she said. “Let me talk to Holt first. I’m sure he’ll let me go.”
“Very well. Well, goodbye for now, Angel. Sorry to disrupt your day.”
With a friendly smile, Neal untied his horse and swung up on the saddle. He tipped his hat at her before he rode off at a brisk trot. Angel waited until he was out of range and stalked into the cabin. Holt looked up from the table without a word.
“How dare you,” she sputtered, waving her arms for emphasis. She was so angry, she could hardly speak. “You knew full well it was the worst road up the mountain and you deliberately took me that way.”
“You deliberately provoked me into doing so,” he said. “Since you wanted to come up here so badly, I figured you ought to be exposed to the rougher edges of this kind of life.”
“Well, thank you very much. You almost got me killed and without so much as a by-your-leave.”
Holt only shrugged, which was as much an apology as she’d ever get, Angel knew.
“By the way, I’m going to a ladies’ social in Oro this Sunday,” she tossed out at him. “I’ll thank you to drive me there.”
“All right.”
Expecting a heated argument, Angel was disarmed. She stood and stared at Holt until he asked irritably, “Now are you ready to go back to work?”
SUNDAY ARRIVED QUICKER THAN she expected. Angel nervously smoothed the elaborate black ruching on her best rust-colored taffeta. The underskirt was black silk and piped with jet rosettes. She wished she had more than a hand mirror to view the final results, but she had to be satisfied with Holt’s opinion.
“You’ll make the old biddies jealous.”
“Oh, Holt, don’t be unkind.” Angel finished sliding a hairpin into her elaborate chignon, coiled in black netting. “There. That’s as much as I can do without a maid.” She picked up a matching rust hat with a jaunty black ostrich feather and pinned it on as well.
“Enough already,” Holt said when she fretted about wearing gloves as well. “You’re already overdressed for Oro. It’s a mining town, for God’s sake.”
“I want to make a good impression.”
“Angel, your beauty is impression enough.” Holt gave her a fleeting smile, and she couldn’t help but smile back. “Every man in the Territory is going to envy me. Now, get your wrap and let’s go. It’s a long drive and I don’t want to be gone more than one night.”
As they settled into the wagon Holt had brought up, Angel said softly, “Thank you. This means a lot to me.”
“It ought to. I don’t understand why we have to take all your bags along, too.” He glanced to the wagon bed, where Angel had neatly arranged her luggage.
“In my experience it’s wise to be prepared for delays,” she said as she tossed the black wrap around her shoulders and tied it in place. “Heaven knows I don’t like leaving my things in the cabin while we’re not here. Someone like Stokes could steal them.”
“What he’d want with a woman’s petticoats I’d rather not guess,” Holt grumbled, but he obligingly slapped the reins and Buck started forward.
The wagon rolled toward Oro City, and further conversation wasn’t necessary. The beauty of nature held Angel enthralled. It was a full hour’s drive to the thriving town of Oro. Holt told her silver-lead ore was recently found after a gold-mining drought in the early ’70’s. She enjoyed the view and the peaceful scenery, and found herself disappointed when the busy boom town sprouted into view below them.
Unlike Clear Creek, this place was clearly thriving. There were throngs of people in the streets, raucous noise, and an occasional gunshot as they came off the mountain.
Angel was surprised and disconcerted by all the stares cast their way when Holt and she drove down the main street. Two men made ludicrous bows in her direction and then snickered among themselves. The older ladies and young women walking by pointedly looked in every direction but at the passing couple.
Angel felt her cheeks burning and flashed a glance at Holt. His entire body was taut with anger and his free hand unconsciously dropped to the gleaming Bowie knife at his side.
“I’ll take you to the parsonage,” he muttered, giving a black look to everyone who crossed their path or made a rude remark. Angel tried not to absorb the impact of the stares and whispers but was unsuccessful. Her confidence was shaken. Heavens, what were the townsfolk thinking?
The answer came from an unexpected source. Leaning from a second-story window, a heavily rouged blonde waved a lacy handkerchief at them.
“Holt, luv, I see you found another doxy. Is she better n’me?”
Her laughter tittered down at them before the window hastily slammed shut. Angel reddened with fury and tugged the black netting from her hat down over her face.
“Angel, I’m sorry —” Holt began.
“Don’t apologize. Just drive.” Though she managed to keep her head high, Angel’s hands, tightly clutched in her lap, showed how distressed she was. So everyone here thought she was Holt’s whore. Why not? A man like Holt Murphy was no more likely to marry than a priest.
After forever it seemed, they reached the tiny parish where Neal Murphy resided. The whitewashed church was stark and simple in design, with a wooden crucifix tilted slightly off center over the double doors. To the rear of the church was the small parsonage. Holt dismounted and led Angel inside, where she was sheltered from the stares and sniggers. There she promptly lost her composure.
“This is horrible,” she cried. “I never imagined it would be like this. I want to leave.”
Neal overheard the noise and hurried out from the adjoining rectory. “Angel, Holt … you’re early.” He looked distraught himself. “The social doesn’t begin for another hour.” Then he saw Angel’s face. “What happened?”
“Apparently the good folk of Oro seem to think I keep public company with fallen women,” Holt snapped. “They did everything but hurl rocks when we rode into town.”
Neal looked embarrassed. “Oh, dear. I never imagined —”
“Imagined what?”
“Well, I had heard rumors, of course, but …” He shook his head, apparently unwilling to say more. “Of course it’s out of the question to subject Angel to a social now.”
“We’ll be heading straight back,” Holt confirmed.
“Holt?” Angel spoke up. “I don’t want to go.”
“Of course you don’t. We’ll head right home.”
“No, I mean I don’t want to leave Oro. I want to go to the ladies’ social as planned.”
He frowned at her. “Angel, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“But how else will I prove to them I’m not what they think? No doxy is this refined or educated.”
Neal grinned. “She has a point, Holt. When they meet her in person I’m sure the good ladies of Oro will be a tad chagrined by their behavior.”
Holt considered it but frowned. “I don’t like it. Angel’s my wife, and I won’t stand for her being treated badly.”
The words rolled so easily off his tongue that Holt himself looked surprised. Then he winked at Angel when Neal wasn’t watching, and she flashed a small grin back.
“Don’t worry, Holt,” Neal said. “I’ll watch over Angel tonight. You can come pick her up in the morning.”
Holt raised an inquiring brow and Neal flushed. “I meant, of course, the social will run late, and I imagine you have work to do up at the mine. I’d be happy to drive Angel back tomorrow if you prefer.”
“No, I don’t think so. With your permission I’ll stay the night here as well.”
Neal inclined his head. “Very well. I’ll show you two to the guest room.”
As he fell into stride ahead of them, Angel glanced over at Holt and saw he was still looking at her with a conspiratorial grin on his lips. She flushed, almost able to read his mind. Here in a House of God, they would be living openly as man and wife. Somehow it seemed to carve the fact of their marriage in stone.
A sudden idea occurred to Angel. They could trust Neal, couldn’t they? She would ask him in confidence if he could find out how authentic her marriage to Holt was. Was it any less legal because it was accomplished by proxy, without Holt’s actual signature? These were things she had never hoped to answer until she returned to Missouri. But a minister would surely know, no matter the size of the parish over which he presided.
“ARE YOU READY, ANGEL?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she told Neal, offering him a tentative smile. Inside she was churning with doubt, already reconsidering her bold move to throw the ladies of Oro off guard. Once she walked into the den of wolves there would be no turning back. Neal’s grim expression served to remind her of it.
“You don’t have to do this, Angel,” he said before they left the parsonage. “I know Holt would be relieved if you didn’t.”
Mountain Angel Page 7