Kiss of an Angel

by Janelle Denison

  She went to the sink and washed her hands. “Down in the barn. I wanted to check on Missy.”

  Paternal instincts kicked in. “Alone?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “After what happened with Missy’s kittens I prefer you don’t go down there unless someone is with you.” His fingers curled tight around the sketch pad, renewing his anger. “Where’s Caitlan?”

  “She went for a walk.” Grabbing the terry towel, she dried her hands, slanting a speculative glance J.T.’s way. “What’s going on? Everyone’s acting weird today. First Caitlan, then you—”

  “What’s wrong with Caitlan?” he interrupted.

  Laura shrugged. “I don’t know, exactly. I came home from school today and just as I was about to come inside the house she came running out. She nearly crashed into me. It looked like she’d been crying, but she said she was fine, that she just wanted to be alone for a bit.” Her fingers twisted in the towel. “I’m kind of worried about her, Dad. Maybe you should go find her, just to be sure she’s okay.”

  Oh, he planned to. And just as soon as he reassured himself of her well being he’d get some answers. “Which way did she go?”

  “Alongside the north pasture fence.”

  “I’ll find het,” he promised, striding toward the front door. “And we’ll be back before supper.”

  * * *

  Caitlan didn’t know how long she knelt there in the pasture, afraid to contact her Superior but knowing she no longer had a choice. Her Superiors had no idea what she’d experienced with J.T., didn’t know about the haunting visions that touched her soul, or that she’d done the unthinkable and fallen in love with J.T. Unless summoned for help or guidance, Superiors never monitored an angel while on a mission, and for that she was grateful.

  A crisp breeze blew, tangling in her hair and chilling her to the bone with icy fingers of dread. The cold, damp earth beneath her knees seeped through her jeans and stole into her joints. Her tears of confusion had flowed freely, and even after they’d dried a chasm of bleakness echoed in her soul. She wished she had the ability to freeze into a statue, an emotionless slab of stone with no real worries or cares. When had being a guardian angel become so emotionally and physically draining? Never had she experienced such mental exhaustion. Not until J.T.

  Not wanting to put the inevitable off any longer, she wiped the moisture from her cheeks and grabbed her medallion, silently transmitting a summons to her Superior.

  “Yes? Is everything all right?”

  Mary’s voice drifted clearly through Caitlan’s mind. Glancing toward the heavens, a glimmer of despair swept over her. “No ... I mean yes.” Taking a deep, calming breath, she started again. “J.T. is fine,” she assured her Superior, knowing that would be Mary’s first concern.

  “Then what is it? You look upset.”

  Devastated was more like it. “I ...” She swallowed to ease the anxiety congealing in her throat. “I’m having these ... visions that I don’t understand. And at times, when I’m with J.T., feel ... strange things.”

  Silence.

  Frowning, Caitlan grasped the pendant tighter. “Mary?”

  “What kind of visions?” This from Christopher.

  “J.T. when he was a boy, and a young girl. Her name is Amanda. From what I’ve learned from J.T., I believe she’s his soulmate. Why am I so connected to these two people that I feel and see things they’ve experienced in the past?”

  “Oh, dear,” Mary said, her tone distressed.

  “What kind of strange things do you feel?” Christopher asked in a tight voice.

  Heat tinged Caitlan’s cheeks when she remembered all the wonderful sensations J.T. evoked inside her. In the barn last night she’d been drawn into him, her heart and soul reaching for his as if they belonged together. She erased those thoughts quickly, before Christopher or Mary could latch onto them. She couldn’t very well tell them about the sensual feelings she experienced for J.T., or that she’d fallen in love with him. Eventually she’d have to tell her Superiors, but not now, not until she understood more about the link she shared with J.T.

  “Sometimes I feel like I’m a part of J.T., but I know that’s impossible, considering I have a soulmate ... right?” she asked tentatively, hoping they’d divulge who her soulmate was.

  Silence.

  Sighing, Caitlan rubbed her brow wearily. Why couldn’t she remember certain things about her own past? “I feel like a guardian angel with amnesia,” she mumbled.

  Christopher chuckled.

  “This is not a laughing matter, Christopher. In fact, it’s all your fault,” Mary said sternly.

  “We need to tell her the truth,” Christopher argued.

  “The truth about what?” Caitlan managed to get in.

  “Absolutely not,” Mary said emphatically. “The mission is nearly over and we can’t jeopardize J.T.’s life like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “We can always send down another guardian to takeover for Caitlan,” Christopher suggested.

  Panic had Caitlan blurting out, “No!”

  Deafening silence.

  She definitely had their attention now. She could feel them staring at her, waiting for an explanation. But how could she reveal that she wanted to stay with J.T. as long as possible, for selfish reasons they’d surely disapprove of?

  Pasting on a smile, Caitlan shrugged indifferently. “I mean, I’ve already come this far in the mission. J.T. believes my reasons for being here, so why start with someone new that he’ll have to come to trust? You just said the mission is nearly over.”

  “Caitlan is right,” Christopher conceded. “From what we have on the schedule, in another day or two the mission should be over. Three days tops.”

  “What about her memory?” Mary asked.

  Caitlan frowned. “What about my memory?”

  “For some reason her memory wasn’t completely suppressed,” Christopher supplied.

  “Will it hold out for another few days?”

  “Possibly. If she takes care with the medallion.”

  “I don’t like this, Christopher. I warned you how risky it would be to do this....”

  Frustration coiled in Caitlan as she listened to her Superiors argue about her, stretching her nerves taut. “What are you talking about?” she grated out.

  Silence.

  She closed her eyes, fighting back the urge to scream. All she wanted were answers, a clue as to why her soul seemed entwined with J.T.’s past. So far her Superiors hadn’t helped her solve anything. In fact, they were arguing about her memory, and keeping J.T. safe. Maybe, if she opted for the truth, if she told them she’d fallen in love with J.T., they’d listen to her and give her the answers she sought. Maybe they’d tell her what was going on.

  Dismissing the sudden prickles of awareness radiating from behind her, she clutched her medallion for courage. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Go ahead,” Mary said.

  The words jammed in her throat. Heaven help her, she couldn’t do it! I’m in love with, J.T. Just say it, Caitlan, and get it over with! “I’m in lo—”

  “Who the hell are you talking to, Caitlan?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Caitlan started at the sound of J.T.’s deep voice, the declaration she’d been about to announce caught in her throat. Whipping her head around, she glanced over her shoulder, meeting his dark gaze, smoldering with annoyance. And anger. The gold in his green eyes sparked like fire, and his mouth compressed into a harsh line. From her vantage point, he looked tall and lean and intimidating. She shivered.

  Letting go of the medallion and severing her connection with her Superiors, she willed her heart to stop galloping. She hadn’t heard J.T. approach. She was losing her edge, that finely honed instinct that usually kept her so alert. All because she’d fallen in love with him and couldn’t keep her emotions under control.

  Slowly, she came to her feet, tucking a tousled strand of hair behind her ear. �
��How long have you been standing there?” she demanded.

  He shifted on his feet, his powerful body seemingly rippling with the movement. “Long enough to hear you babbling to yourself.”

  She knew he couldn’t hear her Superiors, but how much of her side of the conversation had he eavesdropped on? And she’d been about to make the ultimate of confessions! Opting for the offensive, she thrust up her chin and gave him what she hoped would pass for a haughty look. “Aren’t I allowed some privacy around here?”

  He pinned her with a shrewd look. “Sure, as long as its near the main house. With all the strange things that have happened around the ranch, you of all people should know better than to run off on your own.” His voice held a heavy dose of censure.

  “I wanted some time alone to think. Out loud.” Anxious to change the subject, she brushed past him, heading back toward the house. “What did you want, J.T.?”

  He grabbed her arm before she could pass, bringing her up short. “An explanation.”

  So did she, for so many things, but it looked as though her answers would have to wait until tonight, when she’d have some privacy in which to contact her Superiors again.

  The heat of J.T.’s fingers filtered through her sweatshirt, wreaking havoc on her senses and flowing through her blood like a narcotic. The clean, masculine scent of him drifted on the breeze, curling around her. His touch aroused her in a primitive, shameless way. When she looked into his gaze she saw an answering hunger there, a need to take possession and never let go. Had making love bonded them more spiritually than before?

  She tugged on her arm and he let it go. The sensations receded and she took a safe step back. “An explanation for what?” If she could only clear the husky need from her voice, she’d be fine.

  He looked disoriented for a moment, then the smoky desire faded from his eyes. He straightened, a determined cast to his features. “To this.”

  Horror ripped through her when he lifted her sketch pad for her to see. Head spinning, the wildflowers around them became a blur of colors as she focused on the one object that betrayed her most private thoughts and visions. She’d been so caught up in everything else, she hadn’t noticed the sketch pad in his hand.

  She recovered from her shock. Barely. “You went through my things?” she choked, shaking off the panic creeping up on her. “You had no right!” She tried to grab the sketch pad, but he jerked it out of her reach.

  A ruthless light came into his eyes, made more chilling by the outright anger in his voice. “You came to my ranch with nothing more than the clothes on your back. This is my pad of paper and you’re living under my roof for the time being. Considering the strange things that have happened since your arrival, I had every right to see what you’ve been drawing.” He flipped the pad open to the sketch of him as a youth. “Somehow, I hadn’t expected this. I’d like an explanation, Caitlan. Now.”

  Caitlan trembled from the inside out, and it had nothing to do with the sudden disappearance of the sun behind a cloud. She wrapped her arms around her waist in an effort to ward off the tremors invading her body. How could she tell him she didn’t know what possessed her to draw those pictures, that the images had been so clear in her mind that she’d reproduced them without any real effort. “I ... I was just drawing how I thought you’d look as a young boy.” The excuse sounded lame even to her own ears.

  His eyes narrowed, skepticism mingling with blatant disbelief. “And you hit it right on the bull’s-eye. It’s impossible you could be this accurate when you didn’t know me at that age.” He thumbed to another page, his expression grim. “And how in the hell do you know what Amanda looked like?”

  I have visions of her. Oh, God, what explanation could she give him that wouldn’t make her sound like a psychiatric patient? She grasped the first logical answer that came to mind. “I saw pictures.”

  “Where?”

  “In your office. The bottom shelf in your bookcase.”

  He thought for a second, then fury blazed in his eyes. “So, you went snooping through my personal things?”

  She bristled at his accusation. “Unlike yourself, I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for a good book to read to pass some time and I saw the photo albums and looked through them. What crime is there in that?”

  “You went through the cigar box.” His voice was flat, his words more a statement than a question.

  “Yes,” she said very faintly. A shiver passed through her when she remembered all the mementos in that box, and her reaction to each of them.

  He stared at her for a long moment. She could see him struggling to accept her tale for the truth. She prayed he wouldn’t realize the sketches she’d drawn of him as a boy were exact duplicates of the ones he had stashed in the cigar box. Oh, what a tangled web she’d woven! And she couldn’t even explain how or why.

  “I don’t like strangers going through my personal things,” he finally said in a terse tone. “Stay out of my office unless I’m in there, Caitlan.” Turning, he walked away, retaining her sketch pad.

  Strangers. The word made her feel so lonely, so solitary. After everything they’d shared he still thought of her as an intruder in his life. But what had she expected from a man whose heart had been battered and bruised? A declaration of love? No, he’d warned her up-front that he didn’t have a heart to give, and she had no right asking for it. The thought brought on an avalanche of feelings she didn’t want to acknowledge.

  Panicked at the thought of him having free access to study her drawings, she quickly caught up to him, breathless. “Can I have my sketch pad back, please?”

  “No.”

  “It’s mine,” she argued heatedly.

  He slanted her an uncompromising look. “It’s mine.”

  Caitlan drew a deep breath, not knowing what to say. She walked silently beside him, watching him brood and think.

  Minutes later the barn came into view, along with Frank, Randal, and Mike, standing in a semicircle in front of the structure. Loud, angry voices carried their way, and J.T. frowned, glancing at his watch. The hands weren’t due back in for another hour. “I wonder what’s going on now,” he muttered, picking up his pace.

  J.T. watched as Randal shoved at Mike. The other man automatically bounded back, fists raised, face contorted in rage.

  “Come on,” Mike challenged. “Give me a reason to plant my fist in that face of yours!”

  A taunting smile curled Randal’s lips. “You’re nothing but a washed-up Marine,” he retorted, puffing out his chest like a peacock.

  “Both of you, cool it,” Frank said, doing his best to stop the two men from brawling by insinuating himself between them. Randal and Mike yelled accusations and insults at each other until their language became descriptive and crude, and they shoved at Frank to get to one another.

  J.T. swore, then glanced at Caitlan beside him. “Go on up to the house,” he ordered.

  “I’ll be fine—”

  “Now!” His tone brooked no argument. He gave her a gentle shove toward the walkway and strode purposefully to the group of men.

  Knowing J.T. wouldn’t appreciate her verbally refuting him at a time like this, she headed toward the house but stopped after a few yards. There was no way she’d leave J.T. unprotected when Randal had murder in his eyes. She stood off to the side, out of the way, but within hearing and viewing range, so she could monitor the situation.

  J.T. reached the trio, tossed the sketch pad on a clump of grass a few feet away, and assessed the situation as best he could without knowing any details. Randal looked like hell, his face unshaven, his eyes bloodshot. The faint scent of stale whiskey reached J.T.’s nostrils, enough to confirm that Randal had been tipping the bottle while working. Mike looked like a formidable opponent, jaw clenched, the muscles across his shoulders bunched as he affected a boxing stance.

  Who had provoked whom? J.T. wondered. “What’s the problem here?”

  Randal and Mike glared at one another, each declining to comment, bot
h too intent on waiting for the other to make the first move.

  J.T. looked at his foreman. “Frank?”

  Frank shrugged and stepped to the side. “You’ll have to hear it from these two, J.T. The details I have are secondhand.”

  “Either of you care to explain?”

  Mike kept his fists raised and his gaze trained on Randal, ready for any sudden moves. “You’ve got a drunk working for you, and he’s gonna end up hurtin’ someone.”

  Randal tossed his head, malice darting from his gaze like sharpened daggers. “And Mike’s looking for a piece of that woman you dragged home with you,” he goaded with a sneer. “But I already told Mike you don’t share.”

  Like an enraged bulldog, Mike emitted a low-throated growl and charged Randal, knocking him down into the dirt. Mike threw a punch, clipping Randal hard beneath the jaw, snapping his head back. Randal howled in pain, and Mike raised his fist for another blow.

  Even though J.T. had the urge to do the same thing to his cousin, he grabbed Mike by the collar and hauled him off Randal before the other man could mutilate Randal’s face.

  With Frank’s assistance, Randal stood, stumbling slightly to regain his balance. Touching his jaw gingerly, Randal winced, then shot Mike a menacing glare.

  J.T. glanced from Mike to Randal. “I’ll ask one more time for an explanation,” he said in a succinct tone. “Mike?” he offered, allowing the hand a chance to go first.

  Mike flexed the fist he’d just used to punch Randal. “I found Randal sitting beneath a shade tree drinking from a flask—”

  “That’s an outright lie!” Randal burst in, charging toward the other man.

  J.T. pressed a hand to Randal’s heaving chest, and his cousin backed down. “Let him finish, Randal, and then you’ll have your say.” J.T. felt like he was dealing with two small children. “Go on Mike.”

  “I don’t want some drunk watching my back during a roundup. When I told him to put the flask away he started getting abusive, insulting my work, and when that wasn’t enough, he started saying some things about your lady friend I didn’t care for.”