Angels Fall

by Nora Roberts

  "Okay."

  Outside On the Trail. Rick paused for a moment. He could see Debbie inside, but she had customers. As was his habit, he tapped his knuckles on the glass, sent her a quick salute when she glanced over.

  "Starting to busy up around here," Rick commented as they continued down the sidewalk. "Ah… You got a serious thing happening? You two.'"

  "We've got a thing happening."

  "Be best if you try not to let that color your statement. When you've got feelings for a woman, it tends to shade things some."

  "She's not crazy. Rick. Hell, she doesn't even hit eccentric in some areas."

  "And in others?"

  "Sure, she rings the bell. Who doesn't? People around here used to think I was strange because I write about murder, I don't fish, don't shoot mammals and I can't name the top ten songs on the country music chart."

  Rick smiled his little smile. "Brody, people still think you're strange."

  * * *

  Chapter 24

  LINDA-GAIL wasn't quite sure what to do. As far as she could remember, she'd never screwed up so completely with a man before— and there'd never been a man who'd mattered as much as Lo.

  Which was probably why she'd screwed up.

  He wasn't answering her calls. She wanted to be pissed off at him for it, but instead just felt a little scared, a little sad. And a whole lot confused.

  She'd planned it all out. spent hours and days and nights calculating just how to bring Lo to heel, when the time was right. When it suited her, she admitted. But damn it, if a man had ever needed to be brought to heel, it was Lo.

  She'd given him plenty of time, plenty of room. It was time for both of them to settle down. Together.

  As she drove out toward the ranch, with the sage flats ripening to bloom around her, she was determined to tell him just that. Fish or cut bait.

  And it he opted to cut bait, she didn't know what the hell she was going to do.

  She wished she could have talked to Reece before taking this step. Reece had experience, city smarts and style. But Reece had plenty of problems of her own, and was probably a little bit irritated since she'd gotten sucked into a bar fight.

  She had to brake for a moment as a bull buffalo stood in the middle of the road as it lie owned it. With a sharp blast of her horn, she got him moving over to the flats through the grasses.

  God, what had she been thinking, sashaying up with that stupid guy right in front of Lo's face. Make him a little jealous, make him see what he was missing. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. The problem was it had worked too well.

  How could she have known they'd start swinging?

  Men. She snitted on the thought, scowling at the wildflowers, the herd of pronghorns that snacked on them, and working up a new head of mad.

  She'd only been dancing, for heaven's sake.

  She tapped her fingers on the wheel in time with Kenny Chesney. What she ought to do was turn right around, go back to town and let Lo stew in his own bile for a few more days. Possibly forever. What she ought to do was keep on going, track that brainless cowboy down and give him a piece of her mind for causing a ruckus over nothing.

  So she drove, pushing her little car up to eighty on the flats, letting the wind fly through her open windows while Chesney wondered who you'd be today.

  She slowed as she approached the big open gate with its wrought-iron K wrapped in a circle. No point in mowing down some tourist who wanted a taste of western life just because her love life was in the dumpster.

  She passed a corral where a foal nursed from his mama, the bunkhouse with its faded logs and wide front porch built to look as if it had stood, frozen in time, for a couple of centuries. She happened to know that, among other things, the kitchen inside boasted a microwave and a Mr. Coffee.

  The main house was log as well, and sprawled in every direction. Guests could stay in one of the second-floor rooms and one suite, or bunk in one of the one- or two-bedroom cabins tucked into the pretty pines. They could ride, rope, take overnight campouts, hike with a guide, float, fish, do a white-water trip.

  They could pretend to be cowboys for a few days, and take home the bumps and blisters that went with the fantasy. Or they could just sit in a rocker on one of the big porches and contemplate the view.

  At night they might belly up to the bar in the lodge and talk about their adventures before they slid into a feather bed, under a cozy duvet no cowboy had ever found at the end of the trail.

  She turned at the fork of the dirt road toward the stables. Her contact, Marian, who worked in the kitchen there, had given her the intel that Lo would be on grooming detail that evening.

  She parked, flipped down the vanity mirror to check, then finger—fluffed her windblown hair. As she got out of the car, the cowboy giving a riding lesson tapped a finger on the brim of his hat in salute.

  "Hey there, Harley." She fixed a bright smile on her her face. Nothing wrong here, she thought. Just dropping by to pass the time.

  And kick Los stupid ass.

  She swung into the stable, into the strong smell of horses and hay, the sweet scent of grain and leather. She shot a smile toward LaDonna. one of the women who guided trail rides.

  "Linda-gail, how ya doing?" LaDonna raised an eyebrow. News traveled, especially when it invoked fists and fury. She nodded toward the rear of the stables. "Lo's back in the tack room. Pretty pissy. too."

  "Good. I'm feeling the same."

  Linda-gail inarched back, turned the quick corner and, stiffening her spine, walked into the tack room.

  He had Toby Keith on the CD player and his hat tipped back on his head as he worked saddle soap into leather. His jeans were faded and snug, riding low on his hips. His denim shirt was rolled up to the elbows. The toe of his scuffed left boot tapped the time.

  His handsome face looked sulky and ridiculously handsome despite, maybe because of, the puffy bottom lip and the bruising around his eye.

  The sight of him made Linda-gail's heart melt, drowning the leading edge of her temper.

  "Lo."

  His head came up. Sulky went to scowl. "What do you want? I'm working."

  "I can see that. I'm not stopping you." She'd be big about it. Linda-gail decided, take the high road. "I'm sorry about your eye."

  He kept his gaze on hers for one long, humming moment, then shifted it back to the saddle, got back to work.

  "I am sorry." she said. "Still, it's not like it's the first time you've ever had a fist in the eye. I was just dancing."

  He rubbed leather, kept his silence. And Linda-gail felt a tickle of anxiety bubble under her melted heart. "That's it? You're not even going to speak to me? You're the one who got all heat up just because I was dancing with somebody. How many times have I been in Clancy's when you've been dancing with somebody?"

  "That's different."

  "That's the stupidest thing I ever heard. What's different about it?"

  "Just is."

  "Just is," she repeated, scathingly. "I dance with somebody and it's okay for you to start a brawl. But you can dance and whatever with anyone you like and I'm not supposed to think anything of it."

  "Doesn't mean anything."

  "So you say." She poked a finger in the air at him. "And I say I can dance with whoever I want and you've got no right to cause trouble."

  "Fine. You can bet I won't from here on. So if that's it—"

  "Don't you dismiss me, William Butler. Why'd you start that fight?"

  "I didn't. He did."

  "You got in his face."

  "He had his hands on your ass!" Lo threw down his rag and surged to his feet. "You let him paw you, in public."

  "He was not pawing me. And I wouldn't have let him put his hands on my ass it you weren't being such a dick."

  "Me?"

  "Damn right."This time, she jabbed her finger into his chest. "You've always been a dick because that's what you use for a brain. I've waited long enough for you to grow the hell up and be a man."<
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  Danger shot into his eyes. "I am a man." He grabbed her arm and yanked her forward. "And I'm the only man who's going to put his hands on you. Got that?"

  "What gives you the right?" Tears started in her eyes even as her pulse bumped. "What gives you the right?"

  "I'm taking the right. Next time you let some other guy handle you, he's going to have more than a bloody nose."

  "What do you care who handles me?" she shouted. "What do you care? If you can't say it, say it to my face and mean it, right here and now, I'm walking away. I'm walking, Lo."

  "You're not going anywhere."

  "Then say it." Tears tracked down her cheeks. "Look at me and say it, and I'll know if you mean it."

  "I'm so damn mad at you, Linda-gail."

  "I know you mean that."

  "I love you. Is that what you need to hear? I love you. Probably always have."

  "Yeah, that's what I need to hear. Hurt a little, didn't it?"

  "Some."

  "Scares you a little, too."

  His hands had gentled on her, stroked up and down her arms. "Maybe more than a little."

  "That's how I know you mean it. That's how I know," she murmured, laying a hand over his bruised cheek. "I've been waiting my whole life to hear it from you."

  "I never could get over you." He pulled her close, sent his abused lip throbbing by pressing it to hers. "I wanted to. I tried to. A lot."

  "A hell of a lot. Here." She took his hands, pushed them around until they cupped her ass. "No other guy puts his hands where yours are, and you don't put them on any other woman. Is that a deal?"

  "That's a deal."

  "You think you can get the rest of the night off?"

  His smile spread, slow. "I reckon I can arrange it."

  "And come on home with me?"

  "I could do that."

  "And get me all stirred up, and naked, make love with me till sunrise'"

  "Only till sunrise?"

  "This time." she said and kissed him again.

  HE WAS GOOD. Linda-gail imagined he would be—and she'd been imagining since she was old enough to understand what men and women did together in the dark. But he was better than even her active imagination had reached. Strong hands that found all the right places, a hot mouth with an endless appetite. A long, lean, tireless body.

  He had her twice betore her fevered brain could cool long enough to think. Hallelujah.

  Naked, loose, skin slick with sweat, she sprawled crossways on the bed. "Where in God's name did you learn all that?"

  "I've been studying on it for some time." He spoke lazily, eyes closed, his head resting on her belly. "So I could perfect the matter before I got to you."

  "Good job." She reached down to toy with his hair. "You have to marry me now, Lo."

  "I have to…" His head came up. "What?"

  She stayed as she was, the same cat-drenched-in-cream look on her face. "Had to make absolutely sure we got on good in bed. You don't have good sex, you're not going to have a good marriage, to my way of thinking anyway. So now that we know, we're going to get married."

  She shifted her gaze to his. Shock, she thought, but that she'd expected. "I'm not another one of your women, Lo. I'm the only woman from here on out. If all you want is what we just had, you say so. No hard feelings. But I can promise you, you won't get me here again."

  He pushed up until he was sitting, and she could hear him taking several long, steadying breaths. "You want to get married?"

  "I do. I'm a traditional woman, Lo, at the bottom of it. I want a home and a family, a man who loves me. I've loved you as long as I can remember. And I waited. I'm done with the waiting. If you don't want me enough, don't love me enough to start a life with me, I need to know it." For a time he said nothing, only stared over her head. She wondered if he saw the door and himself on his hasty way out of it. "I'm twenty-eight years old," he began.

  "'You think that makes you too young to settle down and—"

  "Just be quiet, will you, and let someone else talk for a change."

  "Fine." She'd be calm, she told herself as she sat up, tugged at the sheets to cover herself. She wouldn't make a scene.

  "I'm twenty-eight years old," he repeated. "I got a good job, and I'm good at the job I do. I got money put by. Not a lot., but my pockets aren't empty. I've got a strong back and I'm pretty good with my hands. You could do worse."

  He looked back at her now. "Why don't you marry me, Linda-gail?"

  She caught her breath, let it out again. ""Why don't I?"

  LATER, SHE RUSTLED UP some scrambled eggs they could wolf-down in bed.

  "My ma's going to faint dead away."

  Linda-gail shook her head. "You underestimate her. She loves you so much."

  "I guess I know she does."

  "She loves me, too." Linda-gail scooped up some eggs from the plate they shared. "How come you didn't come in, help out with the repairs?"

  "She said she didn't need me. Had enough people crowding in. She didn't even want to talk about it. You know how she is."

  "She was shook, more than she let on. Who'd do that to her, Lo?"

  He paused. "I heard it was an accident. Reece flooded the bathroom upstairs."

  "No such thing. Somebody broke into Reece's, turned the water on. She wasn't even there."

  "But… Well, for Christ's sake, how come that didn't get back to me?"

  "Maybe because you were sulking in the tack room." Her lips curved as she slipped the fork between them. "'Somebody's been playing tricks, nasty ones, on Reece."

  "What are you talking about?"

  She told him, at least what she knew, what she'd heard, and what she concluded from it.

  "It's a little scary when you think about it. Somebody's poking at her, and she doesn't know who. And if it's the guy she saw kill that woman—"

  "How can it be?" Lo interrupted. "That was weeks ago. He's long gone by now."

  "Not if he's from around here."

  "Well, goddamn, Linda-cail." He raked his free hand though his disheveled, sun-streaked hair. "It can't be anyone from the Fist. We know everybody. Don't you think we'd know it we had some killer standing at the counter of the mercantile with us, or having coffee at my ma's place?"

  "People don't always know. What do they always say when they find out their next-door neighbor is a psycho or something? 'Oh, he was so quiet, so nice. Kept to himself and never bothered anyone.'"