Mountain Angel

by Patricia McAllister

  Brooking no argument, Clara poured a healthy dollop into her niece’s teacup and nodded with satisfaction. “That will buck you right up, child. Would you care to take a nip, Mrs. Murphy?”

  “No, thank you.” Angel hid a smile. “I feel recovered from our journey already.”

  She gazed around the cozy little parlor, admiring the Victorian decor and old-world atmosphere of Mrs. Maxwell’s home. Clara’s tart voice still held an English accent, a bit faded by living on American soil but distinguishable just the same. She wondered why the old lady had chosen to stay in Colorado Territory after her husband’s death and asked why.

  Clara’s lips curved in a smile at the question. “Mercy, it never occurred to me to leave. A woman’s place is at her husband’s side, no matter if he’s six feet under.”

  At the mention of death Rachel made a choking sound and set her saucer down with a clatter.

  Angel looked at her friend with alarm and reached out to touch Rachel’s tightly clenched hands.

  “My niece obviously doesn’t approve of widow’s weeds,” Clara sniffed. “But a lady has no place gallivanting about after her husband dies. I’m content with my lot.”

  “You have a lovely home,” Angel said, hoping to change the subject.

  “Indeed. James had it built for me on our twentieth anniversary. He didn’t want me to be homesick for England, you see. Now, there was a considerate man.” The old woman’s eyes softened in memory. “Perhaps you’ll be fortunate enough to have a home of your own someday, Mrs. Murphy.”

  So Clara already knew about Holt and the cabin. Angel forced a smile to curve her lips.

  “Perhaps. Actually, I find I am fatigued after all. I think Rachel and I would do well to take a short nap.”

  “Of course.” Clara approved of women having delicate constitutions, and seemed relieved to find an excuse for Rachel’s odd behavior. “Dulcie will show you to your rooms.”

  Dulcibel, Aunt Clara’s ancient maidservant, had come over from England with her mistress eons ago. She was a stooped and wrinkled little creature, who openly scowled in disapproval at their guests’ soiled gowns.

  “Best be giving those frights to me,” she told Angel gruffly. “It’ll be a day-long chore to get out those grass stains, it will.”

  Angel obliged by changing into a borrowed dressing gown and handing Dulcie her dress. Rachel did the same, and for a long time it was quiet in the house, except for the tick-tock of the old grandfather clock in the hall.

  Sitting on the edge of the guest bed, Angel let out a long sigh. She was tired but not sleepy and didn’t wish to lie down. Then she heard a muffled sob through the wall. Rachel. Her heart went out to the young woman, and she slipped out of her room and padded down the hall.

  Opening the door to Rachel’s room, she went inside. The shades was pulled and in the dusky gloom Rachel sat curled up in a rocker, crying her eyes out.

  “Rachel, what’s wrong?” Angel hurried over to comfort her friend.

  “I k-killed a man and my s-soul is forfeit now. Oh, Angel, you don’t understand. I’m lost.”

  “Nonsense.” Angel spoke more sharply than she intended. “You know he meant us harm. You did what you had to do.” She waited until Rachel’s sobs quieted, then reached out and drew the hands down from the freckled face. “Listen to me. You saved my life. Anyone would understand.”

  “Even Pastor Murphy?”

  So that’s what this was all about. Angel sighed. “Yes, even Neal,” she said. “Now dry your eyes and get some rest. We’ll head back to Oro tomorrow, and nobody will be the wiser.”

  “But I won’t forget,” Rachel sniffled. “Every time Pastor Murphy looks at me, I’ll remember and feel guilty all over again.”

  Angel shrugged with defeat. “Then perhaps you should tell him.”

  “No, never.”

  “Rachel, I think Neal would understand. I wouldn’t be surprised if he absolved you completely. Isn’t it worth a try?”

  There was a brief silence while Rachel struggled with her conscience. Then, in a tiny voice, she asked, “Will you come with me to tell him?”

  “Of course.” Angel patted her on the shoulder. “Now, I’ll turn down the covers and you hop into bed for a spell. You don’t want that old virago Dulcie to catch us and tell Aunt Clara, do you?”

  Rachel giggled a little. “No.”

  “Then into bed with you.” Relieved, Angel tucked her in and smiled at the sudden silence. Rachel had fallen asleep instantly from sheer exhaustion. She tiptoed back to her own room and crawled under the covers with a sigh. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to take a nap after all. Right after the thought went through her head, Angel fell fast asleep, too.

  ANGEL STARED AT LILY in disbelief. “Holt is gone? Where? How?”

  The other woman shrugged defensively. “He slipped out the back way last night when I was working. I came up after the show and the room was empty.”

  “How could you leave him alone?”

  The green eyes flashed. “Listen, honey, he wasn’t going anywhere. Doc said the laudanum would keep him down. I never thought he would leave while his arm was still so sore.”

  Angel felt frustration claw at her as she gazed at Lily, who looked as worried as she was. Angel’s first priority was to check on Holt when she had gotten back to Oro. She hadn’t cared who saw her slip into the alley leading to the whorehouse. Concern for Holt superseded everything, even her own reputation.

  “Where do you think he went?”

  Lily shrugged. “Could be anywhere. But chances are pretty good he went up to the mine.”

  Angel bit her lower lip, worrying it between her teeth. “I have to find him.”

  “Don’t be a fool. You’ve already risked his life enough,” The angry words escaped before Lily could stop them, and she pressed a hand to her red lips.

  “What do you know I don’t?” Angel demanded, taking a single step toward the other woman. “What did Holt tell you?”

  Lily raised her chin a notch. “He didn’t have to tell me anything. When you said you owned half the mine I put it together myself. He’s so busy trying to protect you he’s forgotten all about himself. Sooner or later it’s going to get him killed.”

  “He doesn’t care that much about me.”

  “Keep lying to yourself if it keeps you happy,” Lily retorted.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he loves you, and you’re too much the fool to see it. He found out you rode up to guard the mine and I’m sure he went after you.”

  “Who told him?”

  “The stupid girl I sent to take him dinner didn’t think it was a secret. She blabbed everything.” Lily let loose an angry sigh and turned to pace the velvet-flocked parlor. She twisted a sparkling ring on her finger as she spoke. “I’ll admit I tried to turn him against you, chick. When Holt told me he was married I imagined an overblown hussy trying to worm her way inside his pockets. I was bound and determined to see it didn’t happen.”

  Lily paused and took a deep breath. “But when I saw you at the ladies’ social I knew why Holt had married you. You’re young and beautiful and acceptable.”

  “Acceptable?”

  “Of course. You don’t think he’d ever marry me, do you?” Lily laughed bitterly. Her hand shook as she brushed back a loose tendril of auburn hair. “Even a half-breed has better sense.”

  “Stop it, Lily.” Angel saw the tortured light in the woman’s eyes and put her own private pain aside. “I know Holt cares for you. It’s in his voice, his eyes.”

  “But not his touch. Never his touch,” the other woman whispered. “I lied to you, Angel. Holt hasn’t ever slept with me. Hell, it’s not like I haven’t tried.”

  The silence was broken by an explosive burst of laughter in the other room. Someone started to pound a lusty tune on the piano and they heard the clinking of glasses.

  “Saloon’s open,” Lily said with a twist of her lips. “I’ve got to get backstage.”

&nbs
p; “Where’s Valentine?” A man shouted as if on cue. “We wanna hear our own Irish Nightingale sing!”

  “Hold on to your britches,” another voice said as the music reached a crescendo. “Ya ain’t gonna believe this.”

  “Aw, come on, Sheriff. No woman is that talented.”

  Hearing the male sniggers through the thin wall, Angel stiffened. Lily left to don her costume for the night. Angel felt her blood boil, listening to Red Garrett brag about his male prowess in a loud, coarse voice. Just hearing his voice made her tremble with outrage. She remembered Neal’s warning not to cross the man, and Lily’s wariness when Angel had threatened to bring Garrett to his knees. Now was her perfect chance. Angel didn’t think Garrett knew her by sight, and if he did, he’d never see past spangles and sequins to the woman beneath.

  A slow smile curved Angel’s lips as she left the parlor in the direction Lily had taken. She would make this one night the sheriff of Oro City would never forget.

  Chapter Nine

  ANGEL SWIRLED A FINGER in the rouge pot and raised it to her cheek. She applied the makeup with a heavy hand in a sweeping round circle, as she had seen the other girls do. A puff of powder removed the perspiration on her brow. She stepped back and studied herself in the cheval mirror. Perfect.

  The gown Angel found in a dressing-room closet backstage was brassy enough to serve her purpose. Made of pink taffeta with black sequins and lace, it was shockingly low-cut, almost baring the entire upper half of her breasts. She couldn’t wear her stays under it, either, and it felt strange being able to breathe so freely.

  Hairpins rained everywhere as Angel shook out her hair into a soft, golden cloud. Her reddened lips parted in a smile. Yes, it would do. The sheriff would be too busy gaping at her figure to see the calculating gleam in her eye.

  Angel didn’t pause to consider the consequences as she sailed boldly out into the saloon, balancing a tray on her right hand. She was immediately aware of men’s’ stares from around the crowded room, and a rustle of interest. A new girl was always welcome. Several men tried to catch her eye as she crossed over to the bar, but Angel ignored them.

  The bartender was a taciturn old-timer Lily had referred to as Joe. In her most cajoling voice, Angel asked Joe to fill her tray with drinks. The old man looked at her with rheumy eyes and squinted a little. Angel let out a low breath of relief when he didn’t question her request.

  “New ’un, huh? Well, put it up here.” He slapped the velvet-padded bar and Angel obligingly set down the tray so he could fill it with shot glasses of whiskey. She glanced around the milling saloon, then reddened when she saw several men staring at her openly. Hurriedly she tore her gaze away and was forced to eye the figure of a nude woman stretched out on the huge painting behind Joe.

  “Here ya go, missy.” The bartender slapped down the last glass and turned to fill someone else’s. Angel took a deep breath and lifted the tray. It was surprisingly heavy. She waited a moment to balance it, then started off. She had gone a couple steps when she got her first pinch.

  Cheeks flaming, Angel almost dropped the tray. She bit down an outraged cry as she spun about. The prospector only winked at her and chuckled. She bumped into another table and nearly upset her drinks in the lap of a well-to-do gent garbed in black.

  “Sit and stay awhile,” the gambler invited in a dangerous silky voice. Angel mumbled something and scurried off.

  Where was Red Garrett? Her eyes scanned the crowded saloon desperately. He must be against the wall somewhere. Then she spied a table in the back of the saloon with three men. One of them wore a badge. Maybe they issued more than one, Angel thought bitterly. So when a lawman lost one while burning a homestead he could pick up another when he got back to town.

  Forcing down her fear, Angel made a beeline for Garrett’s table. Behind her the lights dimmed, and the noise trailed off as a spotlight fell on the stage. She had to stop and get her bearings in the sudden darkness. She turned to face the stage when a husky contralto started to sing.

  Lily stood on stage, wearing a red spangled dress and a feather boa. Shivers ran down Angel’s bare arms at the aching beauty of the song. It was a sad ballad, but the audience ate it up. It was obvious Lily had rare talent. The words said something about unrequited love, and Angel studied the woman’s face as she sang. Lily’s eyes sparkled as brightly as the diamond collar around her throat.

  Why, she’s crying, Angel thought with real concern as the song ended. The next selection was upbeat and raucous, and the men cheered and beat the tables with their fists as a piano player with garters around both arms pounded gleefully in double time. After it was over, Angel started off again, musing over Lily’s plight. She loves Holt as much as I do and neither of us can win.

  Soon Angel was gazing down into the heavy-jowled face of Red Garrett. There was no mistaking the man, whose rusty banner of hair was neatly slicked back over his scalp. The sheriff saw her staring and gave Angel a wink.

  “See somethin’ you like, sugar?” Garrett drawled, and behind the wide handlebar mustache his broken and yellowed teeth bared at her in a grin.

  Now it was up to Angel to soothe his ego and lull him into trusting her. Making her eyes appropriately wide, she cooed, “Why, Sheriff, fancy you dropping in like this. We sure are honored. This here’s a little thank-you from the house.”

  She plunked down a whiskey glass in front of the man, hoping he didn’t notice her trembling hand. Quick as dry lightning, Garrett snagged her arm and held it fast.

  “I’d rather have the house special,” he leered, letting his bloodshot eyes travel up and down her body. “I don’t reckon I’ve seen you a’fore. You look like a right nice tasty piece to me.”

  Angel forced a giggle into her voice. “Forgive me, Sheriff. I’m a bit nervous tonight. I’m new here.”

  Garrett sniggered, jabbing the hard-bitten man on his right. “Hear that, O’Shea? The new girl’s got the jitters. Hell, honey, if all you need is to be broke in, I’m your man.”

  Disgusting pig, Angel thought, as his sour whiskey breath floated up to her. I’m not a filly you can break to your hand. Keeping her voice light and cajoling, she said, “I can’t do anything without asking Miss Valentine first. I’ll tiptoe backstage and get her permission.”

  Eyeing her suspiciously, Garrett countered, “Lil knows better than to send out her girls without teachin’ them the ropes first. What did you say your name was, honey?”

  Without thinking, she blurted out the truth. “Angel.”

  Garrett started to rise from his chair. “I’ll have a little talk with Miss Valentine. ’Less this is just a shy act on your part, Angel.”

  At his hesitation Angel seized her only chance. With a pout, she said, “Why, Sheriff, you’re too smart for lil’ ole me. I thought you’d like something fresh and innocent to go with your hard old liquor tonight.”

  With a suggestive wink and shimmy, Angel stopped the man from alerting Lily in the nick of time. Garrett licked his chops like a hungry dog and drew her closer to him.

  “Kind of excitin’, gettin’ picked by the law, ain’t it?”

  “It sure is,” Angel agreed, trying not to gag on the whiskey fumes spewing from him.

  Garrett made an absent gesture to the other two men at the table. “I’ll be back later.” He slid a thick arm around Angel’s waist and drew her toward the stairs.

  Now that her plan had clicked so easily into place, Angel panicked. She’d counted on Garrett being intrigued by her, but never expected him to be so outright aggressive. Now what was she going to do?

  All she wanted was a chance to loosen Garrett up enough so he’d confess to burning the cabin, and then she’d figure out a way to make him pay. But she’d certainly done it this time. The sheriff made Willard Craddock seem like a prude.

  At the bottom of the staircase Angel snagged the passing post with one arm and hung on. Garrett shot her a surprised look.

  “What’s the matter, Angel?”

  “Why,
I never go upstairs without a bottle of my favorite Confederate whiskey,” Angel lisped in her most seductive southern drawl. “Let me wheedle old Joe for a pint and I’ll join you upstairs in a minute, lover.”

  She felt Garrett’s eyes scouring her carefully before he said, “You don’t need likker when you’re with a real man, sugar.”

  “But I get real interesting with firewater in my veins,” she breathed against his ear, holding her own breath so she didn’t have to smell the rank combination of unwashed man and malt liquor. “I guess you could say I’m a little bit dangerous.”

  Garrett’s eyes almost popped from his head at the sultry promise in her voice. “Go git your bottle, sweetie. I’ll make myself comfy upstairs.”

  Watching to make sure he went up the stairs, Angel lingered long enough to buy some time. What a foolish idea. She had almost gotten herself in hot water too deep to swim across.

  A deep breath of relief escaped Angel as she slipped past the bar and melted into the shadows of the saloon. She avoided the bright lights and activity and headed for the stage, where the velvet curtains were now closed. She prayed there was a rear exit from backstage.

  As she fumbled to find the opening in the curtains, Angel was startled when someone seized her flailing hand and jerked her roughly through.

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Holt demanded, his hard gaze raking up and down her.

  “Holt!”

  She cried out in mingled relief and surprise, but he only made an angry noise and clamped a broad hand over her mouth.

  “I’m sure I’ll regret this, but you’re coming with me. I don’t have any choice now.”

  There was annoyance in his low voice as he hauled Angel through the darkened corridors that led from the stage entrance to an unmarked rear door.

  “If you have a lick of sense at all, you won’t scream.” He released her outside, where the cloak of darkness provided a temporary respite.