Kiss of an Angel

by Janelle Denison

  “She crossed the bridge before it was damaged.”

  Hugh swore. “No kidding?”

  “That’s what she claims.”

  Hugh released an abrupt laugh, “Stranger things have happened. In this business you learn to expect the unexpected.”

  Randal moved toward J.T.’s desk, fury contorting his features. “I called and they confirmed that she’s not a guest!” he said in a burst of anger. “She’s a fraud, I’m telling you.”

  J.T. stared at Randal. The injustice and rage in Randal’s gaze spurred him to follow up on his cousin’s accusation, if only to appease Randal. Caitlan’s chin had lifted indignantly at Randal’s slur, which gave J.T. a slight reassurance that her claim was fact, not fiction. Still, a sense of suspicion lingered.

  “Hugh, Randal called earlier and talked to the registration clerk. Jason told him there wasn’t a Caitlan Daniels registered there.”

  “With the computers being down, there’s no way to know that for certain,” Hugh replied. “Jason’s a new guy, and everything’s been so hectic around here. One little sleet storm and everything falls to sh—”

  “Thanks for your help, Hugh,” J.T. interrupted the man’s tirade, more concerned with Randal’s increasing temper.

  “It won’t be a problem if she stays at the ranch until everything gets halfway back to normal, will it?” Hugh asked hopefully. “We’re looking into chartering a helicopter to transport food and supplies in and out, but until the bridge is repaired, the fewer people I have here to get in the way, the better.”

  “It’s not a problem, Hugh. We’ll keep in touch.”

  J.T. hung up the phone and looked at Randal. “The computers at Parson’s are down, but Hugh seems to think she’s more than likely a guest there.” What other explanation could there be?

  “She’s lying!” Randal said through gritted teeth.

  J.T. glanced at Caitlan, searching for the perfidious woman Randal claimed her to be. All he saw was the caring woman who’d saved him from death. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly tired of doubting her motives. “Caitlan’s given me no reason to believe she’s lying.”

  Randal’s nostrils flared, then he spun around and glared at Caitlan. Without a word he stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. J.T. winced as the sharp sound reverberated through his aching head like a cannon shot.

  “I’m sorry.” Caitlan’s soft voice drifted over J.T. like a balm. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

  J.T. released a long, controlled breath. “No, I should be the one apologizing. I don’t know what Randal’s problem is.” Letting loose a dry laugh, he plowed his fingers through his hair in an agitated movement. “Hell, who am I foolin’? I know exactly what his problem is. Too much booze and too many obligations and debts dumped on him by his old man. I guess I’d be pretty strung out if were in his shoes.”

  “He’s had a rough life?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “Want to talk about it?” Her silky voice could have coaxed a confession from the devil himself.

  Dropping into his leather chair, J.T. scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. He figured he owed Caitlan the truth after everything Randal had put her through in the short time she’d been at the ranch. Maybe if he explained, she’d better understand his cousin’s resentment and bitterness. And maybe if he talked to Caitlan he could work out some of his own frustration over the situation. “You sure you wanna hear this?”

  An encouraging smile on her lips, she lowered herself into the chair in front of his desk. “I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

  And that’s exactly what he needed right now, besides an aspirin for the splitting headache spawned by Randal’s abuse with the door. J.T. leaned back in his chair. “My Uncle Boyd, Randal’s father, never did care for ranching life. He was always looking for an easy investment. When some guy from town offered him a copper mine sure to produce millions, Uncle Boyd sold his portion of this ranch to my father, Jared.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  J.T. thought for a moment, a little surprised to realize just how long ago the trouble had actually started. “About fourteen years ago.” He pressed his index finger to the throb in his temple and the pain eased.

  “So what happened?” she asked, genuine interest in her voice.

  “Uncle Boyd sank every penny he had into his mine, but he couldn’t produce enough copper to stay afloat. The mine played out after a few years, and Uncle Boyd lost everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yep. His house, his truck, his wife—”

  “His wife?” She frowned, her smooth brows furrowing over violet eyes. “Did she die?”

  “No. Aunt Gina left Uncle Boyd after he went bankrupt.”

  Caitlan straightened in her chair, contempt flaring in her gaze. “She should have stayed by his side—”

  “She probably would have if Uncle Boyd hadn’t been abusing her.”

  Caitlan sucked in an audible breath. The spark in her eyes mellowed to sympathy. “That’s horrible. Why would he do such a thing?”

  “My best guess would be so he’d feel like a man. After Uncle Boyd lost everything he had no choice but to tuck his tail between his legs, swallow his pride, and come to work for my father on a ranch that had once been half his. He was hard to get along with, always drunk and taking his anger out on the livestock and anything and anyone who’d take it.”

  “And your father allowed him to continue working on the ranch?”

  J.T. picked up a gold-plated letter opener from his desk and slid his fingers along the smooth surface, remembering all the tension and arguments between his father and Uncle Boyd, and his dad’s answer when J.T. had asked him a question similar to Caitlan’s. Jared had slapped him on the back and looked him straight in the eye, saying, “You never turn your back on family, son. Someday it might be you who needs a helping hand.”

  Tossing the letter opener back onto the blotter, he met Caitlan’s inquisitive gaze. “Uncle Boyd was family, Caitlan. My father’s brother. He had no one and nowhere to go. The Raffertys are a loyal bunch. We take care of our own. I guess that’s why I put up with Randal.”

  Caitlan rubbed her thumb along the leather arm of her chair, head tilted curiously to the side. “But what does Randal have to be so angry about?”

  J.T. smiled sadly. “When my father died two years ago I inherited the ranch. Rightfully, half should have belonged to Randal, but since Uncle Boyd sold his half to my father, Randal got nothing. Two months ago my uncle committed suicide and left Randal a mountain of debts as his inheritance. I really can’t blame Randal for being resentful. Uncle Boyd wasn’t the easiest man to live with, and he never should have sold his portion of the ranch to invest in something as chancy as a copper mine.

  “The least I can do is try and help Randal out. I pay him well as a hand, he has his own cabin to live in, and I’m helping to pay off his father’s debts. I’m hoping in time he’ll come around. Things have been difficult for Randal since Uncle Boyd died.”

  A hint of a smile touched the corners of Caitlan’s mouth. “You mean Randal used to be a nice guy?”

  J.T. chuckled, unable to miss the dry humor in Caitlan’s tone. “Not in the traditional sense. He’s always been short-tempered and extremely competitive, especially with me.” He shrugged. “I’ve grown used to it.”

  “He’s lucky to have you for a cousin. I don’t think anyone else would put up with his temper.”

  “Like I said, he’s family. I’ll do what I can to help him.” J.T. sat up, deciding he’d revealed enough family secrets for one evening. Putting away the ledger, he shuffled some papers on his desk into a neat pile. He hadn’t meant to go on and on, but Caitlan had been so easy to talk to. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such an unreserved conversation with a woman, without the pretense of something more.

  He glanced up and found her studying him intently. Growing increasingly uncomfortable under her sc
rutiny, he asked, “What’s the matter?”

  Speculation simmered in her eyes. “I was just wondering ... do you think Randal would try to harm you?”

  Something in her gaze made him decidedly restless, a perceptiveness that went as deep as he could see. He knew exactly what Caitlan was getting at, pinpointing Randal as a suspect for his accident, and quickly shook his head. “No. Randal’s hotheaded, but he’s pretty harmless. All talk and no action, I’ve learned. He’s just bitter over his father’s mistake, and the debts he’s responsible for, which is understandable.” But his cousin’s drinking habit was another matter, J.T. thought, especially since it was starting to affect his work.

  The ache in his temples had worked its way up to where he’d been hit in the head. He needed rest, he decided, watching as Caitlan stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books. Clasping her hands behind her back, she casually examined the titles. Now that the crisis with Randal was over, and an explanation given for his cousin’s odd behavior, J.T. couldn’t help but consider the intimacy of Caitlan alone with him in his office, and the endless possibilities of such a confinement. Shifting restlessly in his chair, he tried to shake off the provocative thoughts invading his mind.

  “I see you’re a fan of Stephen King and John Grisham,” she commented. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at him, and in the next instant an incredible awareness, as vital and hot as flame, settled between them. Fast as lightning, the easy friendship they’d established altered to a sexually charged energy that arced the distance between them.

  J.T. saw the awakening glint in her eyes, felt the sensuality of new discovery cloak the room. Her hair feathered softly around her face, and as he dropped his gaze to her mouth, lips moist and slightly parted, an achy emptiness settled deep inside him.

  Abruptly, he stood, determined to send her on her way before he took full advantage of the soft invitation and curiosity in her gaze. “It’s been a long day and my head is killing me,” he said, which wasn’t a total lie. His head was killing him, the throb unmerciful. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to turn in.”

  Caitlan started toward him, concern dissolving the desire of moments before. “Are you going to be okay? Maybe I should check the bump on your head.”

  His thoughts took an inappropriate turn as she neared. Damn, the last thing he wanted from her was mothering. He wanted something hot and basic, her warm, soft feminine body to lose himself in. And something more. He longed for the temptation of tenderness and care in Caitlan’s violet eyes. But he’d be no better than a thief if he gave into his greed, because he’d give her absolutely nothing in return. At least not what a woman with her capacity to care truly deserved -- love and affection, laughter and joy. And promises.

  She skirted the desk, and before she could touch him he stepped away so his chair separated them. He ignored her perplexed look. “I’m sure this is just a backlash of all the excitement of today. All I need is some sleep. Did Laura show you the guest room?”

  Caitlan nodded. “Yes.” It’s the room beside yours. “And your sister loaned me some clothes. Your family is wonderful. Everyone has been so nice about me being here.”

  “Everyone except Randal,” he stated.

  She shrugged. “I’ll just stay out of his way and I’ll be fine.”

  J.T. jammed his hands on his hips and held her gaze steadily. “Stay out of everyone’s way, Caitlan,” he ordered, a hard edge to his voice. “Like I told you before, I don’t want my men distracted.”

  His commanding tone made her bristle defensively, and her chin shot up a notch. “Fine.”

  There was something in his look, something very explicit and very male. A challenge of sorts with a sexual undertone. The heated message in his gaze said he wanted her, in the simplest, most primitive way. Her pulse quickened and she struggled for breath, drawing in the scent of musk and man. A familiarity in those darkening green-gold eyes of his reached deep inside her and tugged, demanding her attention. Yet she couldn’t quite focus on the images, and when she tried her medallion scorched her skin.

  J.T. swore under his breath and shoved his fingers through his hair in a frustrated gesture. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going up to bed.”

  Caitlan watched him start for the door, wishing for the easy truce they’d shared before this startling awareness had intruded. In an effort to make amends she quickly asked, “Would you happen to have a pencil and pad of paper I could borrow?”

  Turning, he frowned at her request. “Somewhere in one of those drawers I do.” He made his way back to the side of the desk. “Mind me asking what you need it for?”

  Noticing that the harsh lines between his brows were no longer present, she smiled. “I’m not really tired and I like to sketch. It helps me to relax.”

  “Sketch?” He lifted a brow. “That’s right. You’re an illustrator.” Opening a drawer, he rummaged through the contents and withdrew a pad of unlined paper. He began setting supplies on the desk. “Here you go. Paper, a pencil ... and a sharpener.” He placed the red heart-shaped sharpener on the blotter, then glanced at Caitlan, a boyish smile curving his lips. “A Valentine’s Day gift from Laura,” he explained.

  “I’ll be sure to return it.” She picked up the novelty item, relieved that he wouldn’t be going to bed angry at her. No sense complicating her job any more than necessary. She headed for the door and turned just before leaving. “Well, good night, J.T. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “No, you won’t.” He rubbed his forehead and winced, then opened another drawer and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. I’ll be out of the house before you get up.”

  She watched him toss back two aspirins and swallow them dry. He closed his eyes, his face pale. Faint lines of pain bracketed the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t in any shape to work tomorrow, but she knew her suggestion to stay indoors would only anger him.

  Drawing a deep breath, he opened his eyes, grimacing at being caught in a moment of weakness. “Good night, Caitlan,” he said, an obvious dismissal.

  “Good night.” Hugging the pad of paper to her chest, she slipped from the room.

  * * *

  The old grandfather clock in the living room chimed one o’clock, intruding on the quiet stillness of the house. Everyone had retired hours before. Unable to sleep, Caitlan sat on the padded cushion in the window seat next to the couch, sketching by the light of the full moon streaming through the curtainless window. She didn’t need the light. The force of the visions she saw in her mind were so powerful and overwhelming, she could have reproduced them blindfolded.

  Legs drawn up and the extra-large University of Idaho jersey she’d borrowed from Laura to sleep in covering her knees, she rested her pad against her thighs and let the strong images guide the strokes of her pencil across the paper.

  The scratch of lead against paper soothed Caitlan in a way nothing else could.

  The face of a young boy haunted her, and she duplicated every feature with precision, right down to the stubborn tilt to his chin and the rebel stance. A thick, untamable crop of hair rumpled around his head, a swath falling over his high forehead. His mouth, even in youth, was cut sensually, with the firm upper lip and the bottom full and lush.

  She’d always had a natural talent for drawing and enjoyed using the skill while on a mission to pass idle time. Tonight, however, she was compelled to draw, and the pictures she created confused her. The boy she’d drawn was familiar to her, but where and how did she know him? Had she been his guardian angel at one time? And why, when she closed her eyes, did she see flashes of him and a blond-haired girl running across a pasture together, laughing and smiling at one another? The two were in love, she realized. Even at their young age the emotion shone in their gaze.

  Caitlan blinked her eyes open, erasing the images. A pang of longing swept through her, a wave so strong it left her breathless. Staring at the sketch of the boy, she concentrated, digging deep into her mind for the mysterious connection t
ugging at her. A man’s features materialized, but before she could bring them into sharper focus, a pain seized her temples. Gasping at the assault, she mentally recoiled, abandoning the thin, wispy vision. Beneath her jersey the medallion heated, tingling like fire upon her flesh. Grabbing the pendant in her shirt, she waited until the gold cooled before letting it rest against her skin again. For a reason she didn’t understand her subconscious wasn’t allowing her to trespass into certain regions of her memory.

  Drawing in a slow, steadying breath, Caitlan willed herself to relax. Glancing out the window to the shadowed darkness beyond, she thought about her mission. She was glad J.T. had confided in her earlier about Randal. Now she understood Randal’s motivation for trying to harm J.T. Greed and resentment. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d played guardian to those evil elements.

  However, her response to J.T. was another matter altogether. This was the first time she’d ever felt desire for a mortal as a guardian. A shameless wanting that whispered provocatively to her senses. What would it be like to kiss him again, this time without him thinking her another woman? Realizing how selfish her thoughts were, she silently chastised herself. Nothing could come of them being together. Soon she would be gone, and she’d be nothing more than a faded memory to J.T. She didn’t need the added complication of their attraction while she protected him.

  The old ranch house creaked and settled and Caitlan glanced toward the staircase leading to the second floor. She wondered if J.T. slept well, or if his head was still giving him problems. She’d healed the worst of the wound, but a tortuous headache wouldn’t be uncommon as a repercussion to the deep gash he’d actually suffered.

  Before she could analyze her true intent, she stood and padded across the floor and up the stairs, telling herself the whole way that the urge to check on J.T. was purely maternal. Turning the knob, she slowly opened his door, grimacing when the hinges gave a small squeak of protest. She waited and watched the form on the bed, illuminated by the beam of moonlight filtering through the window. No movement. Soundlessly, she crossed to the bed, careful not to trip over the jeans and briefs heaped on the floor.