Angels Fall

by Nora Roberts

  "Nobody keeps to themselves so much around here," Lo pointed out.

  "Same difference. You never know until you know. I just wish there was something I could do to help her."

  "Seems to me you have. You gave her a friend."

  Linda-gail's smile bloomed again, warm this time, and full. "You're smarter than some people think."

  "Yeah, well, I like to keep a low profile."

  TIM McGRAW was crooning on the juke, with one of the carpenters Joanie had dragooned in an off-key duet while Reece juggled orders in the lunch rush. She could block out the music—the best way to stay sane—and most of the background clatter: a baby crying, a couple men arguing baseball.

  It was almost normal, as long as she didn't think beyond the moment. Elk burger, rare, white bean soup, meatloaf sandwich, chicken sub. Slice, dice, scoop, man the grill.

  She could do it in her sleep. Maybe she was, and maybe that was a good way to block out the fact that Brenda's brother Dean was massacring McGraw while he hammered behind the plastic curtain.

  It was all routine, the heat, the sizzle, the smoke. Routine was good. There was nothing wrong with clinging to routine between crises.

  She plated the meatloaf san, the burger, their sides, and turned. "Orders up."

  And saw Debbie Mardson sliding onto a stool at the counter.

  Debbie pursed her lips, touched her own glowing cheek and said, "You poor thing."

  "Probably looks worse than it is."

  "I hope so. I saw Min Hobalt. She said you pack a hell of a punch."

  "I didn't—"

  "She was joking." Debbie held up both hands for peace. "She's taking it okay, now that she's calmed down. She told me her fifteen-year-old boy thinks she's pretty cool now that she's been in a bar fight."

  "Glad I could help raise her status."

  "Soup smells good. Maybe I could get a cup of that and a side salad." She glanced around, conspiratonally. "Your dressing," she said in a stage whisper.

  "Sure." It was, Reece supposed, a kind of olive branch. She could be gracious enough to accept it. "Coming right up."

  She made out the ticket herself, put it in line.

  Twenty minutes later when the rush had settled, Debbie was still there.

  "Boy, I thought getting dinner on the table most nights was a challenge. How do you keep it all straight?"

  "It gets to be routine."

  "Feeding three kids and a man is more routine than I can handle some days. Can you take a break? Buy you a cup of coffee?"

  "I don't drink coffee." Which sounded petty and rude, Reece decided. "But I can take a break."

  She grabbed a bottle of water before she came out to sit at the counter. If nothing else, it felt good to get off her feet. Maybe she felt wilted and sweaty beside Debbie's white linen shirt and pretty pink cardigan, but she was off her feet.

  "The soup was amazing. I don't suppose you'd part with the recipe?"

  "I'm thinking about parting with a lot of them."

  "Really?"

  "Maybe doing a cookbook."

  "Really?" Debbie angled on her stool, swinging it a bit so her rose quartz bangles danced. "That's so interesting. We'd have two famous writers in the Fist. We just won't know how to act around here. Seems like you and Brody have an awful lot in common."

  Reece sipped her water. "You think?"

  "Well, you're both from back East, and creative. No wonder you two hooked up so fast."

  "Did we?"

  "A lot of women around here had their eye on him, but he didn't do a lot of eyeing back. Until you. Men outnumber the women in this part of the world, so a woman can afford to be picky." Debbie beamed a smile. "Nice pick."

  "I wasn't looking for a man."

  "Isn't that always the way? Go out hunting for a buck, and you don't see so much as a track, lake an easy morning walk, and one jumps right out at you."

  "Hmmm. You hunt?"

  "Sure. I like being outdoors as much as I can. Anyway, you look good together—you and Brody. It seemed, at first, you were just passing through. We get a lot of that. The way things are now. I guess you're settling in."

  "I like it here. Bar tights notwithstanding."

  "It's a good town. A little sparse on culture maybe, but it's a nice solid base. If you know what I mean. People look after each other." She inclined her head toward the plastic tarp. "Like that. You have trouble, you can count on your neighbors lending a hand." She added a wry smile. "'Course, everybody mostly knows your business, but it's a trade-off. Something like that happened in the city, Joanie'd probably have to shut down for a week."

  "Lucky break."

  "I'm sorry." She patted a hand on Reece's arm. "You probably don't want to think about it. I just meant you shouldn't feel bad about it. It's all getting fixed right up. Be the better for it, too, when it's done."

  "I didn't turn the water on upstairs," Reeee said flatly. "Still, I do feel bad that whoever's messing with me took it out on Joanie. She's been good to me, from the minute I walked in the door."

  "She's got a bigger heart than she lets on. Listen, I didn't mean to make it sound like you did something to cause her trouble. I was just saying it's all going to work out fine. And the other day, I hope you don't think I thought anything about you heading out to do your laundry without your shoes on. Sometimes I've got so much on my mind I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached. God knows you've got a lot on your mind."

  She gave Reece's arm another friendly pat. "You should try aromatherapy. When I'm stressed, nothing smooths me out like lavender oil."

  "I'll put that on the list. The next time a murderer breaks into my apartment and floods it. I'll smooth myself out with lavender oil. Good tip."

  "Well, for God's sake—"

  "No offense." Reece pushed off the stool. "I appreciate the attempt. I've got to get back to work." She hesitated, then decided to finish it out. "Debbie, you're a nice woman, and you've got really nice kids. Sticking with the theme, it was nice of you to take the time to be friendly. But you don't know, you really can't know, what's on my mind. You've never been there."

  She stewed about it for the rest of her shift, and was still stewing when she left the diner. Since Brody had insisted on driving her in that morning—and that was going to stop—she didn't have her car.

  Didn't matter, she thought. She could use the walk to cool herself down. It was warm enough to leave her jacket unbuttoned, breezy enough to smell the water, the woods and the grass that was beginning to green.

  She missed the green, the lushness of it on lawns and in parks. The stately old trees, the zipping traffic. The anonymity of a busy, thriving city.

  What was she doing here, flipping elk burgers, defending herself to Wyoming's version of a soccer mom, worrying about the death of a woman she didn't even know?

  She had twelve dead people, ones she'd known and loved, on her heart already. Wasn't that enough?

  She couldn't change it. She couldn't help. Living her life was her only responsibility now. And it was more than enough to handle.

  She walked with her head down, her hands stuffed in her pockets. And wished she knew where the hell she was going.

  When the car slowed beside her, Reece didn't register it. The light tap of the horn made her jump.

  "Want a ride, little girl? I've got candy."

  Reece scowled at Brody through the open window. "What are you doing?

  "Driving around looking for hot women to pick up. You're close enough. Get in."

  "I don't want you breaking up your day to drive me back and forth to work."

  "Good, because I didn't. Break up my day." He unhooked his seat belt to lean over and open the passenger door himself. "Get in. You can snarl just as well in here as out there."

  "I'm not snarling." But she got in. "I'm serious, Brody, you have your own work, your own routine."

  "I like changing my routine. In fact, getting my ass out of bed early enough to drive you in had me at the keyboard earlier than usua
l. I had a damn good day there, and now I feel like driving. Buckle up, Slim."

  "Had a good day? Kudos. Mine sucked."

  "No, really? I never would have guessed, not with that black cloud rumbling over your head."

  "I've been bombarded with country music all day; the sheriff thinks I'm a scatterbrain at best, but he'll look into all my strange and wild allegations; his wife came in to pry into my personal life in the guise of a friendly pep talk. My feet hurt, and it'll be a miracle if I don't catch Pete's cold. I'm the town cuckoo who's been advised by the seriously pretty, annoyingly perfect Debbie Mardson to lower my stress with lavender oil.

  Oh, and I snatched you away from all the female hopefuls in the Fist because we're both from big cities and creative."

  "I thought it was my sexual endurance."

  In an irritable move, she yanked her sunglasses out of her bag, shoved them on. "We didn't get into that area, but it could be next up for discussion."

  "Well, when it's on the table, don't forget to mention you've never had better. No, not just better, more inventive."

  She shifted on her seat. "You really did have a good day."

  "A fucking excellent day. And it ain't over yet."

  He drove out of the Fist. He wanted the flats, the bloom of them. The quiet and the space. He figured it was a major shift in place that he didn't want all that alone. He wanted her with him.

  He was surprised by his own sentiment when he stopped where they'd had their first kiss.

  She stared out the window, saying nothing. Still silent, she reached out, touched her hand to his before climbing out.

  She stood where the world was a carpet of color guarded by the silver and blue peaks or the Tetons, gilded by the sun that sat low in the west.

  Pinks and blues, vibrant reds and purples, sunny yellows spiked and spread among the soft green of sage. And where the flats blurred into marsh was a dreamy green ribbon of cottonwood and willow.

  "I've never seen anything like it."

  "Worth seeing?" he asked.

  "Oh yeah. Is that larkspur?"

  "Yeah, and stonecrop, harebells, a lot of Indian paintbrush. Ah…" He began to gesture. "You got your pussytoes, bitterbrush. The intense red trumpet is scarlet gilia."

  "How do you know the names of the wildflowers?" She angled her head toward him. "A man with your sexual endurance isn't usually into flowers."

  "Research. I killed a man in that marsh today."

  "Handy."

  "See that bird? Green-tailed towhee."

  She felt a giggle tickling her throat. "Are you making that up?"

  "Nope. Pretty sure that's a meadowlark you hear singing." He took a blanket out of the back of the car, tossed it to her. "Why don't you spread that out."

  "Why do we need a blanket, it I may ask?"

  "That tone indicates your mind's in the gutter. I like it. However, the blanket's to sit on, while we drink the wine I've got in the cooler. Got about an hour before the sun sets. It's a good spot to drink wine and watch the sun set."

  "Brody?"

  He hefted out the cooler, glanced her way. "Yeah?"

  "We need to go over your fucking excellent day point by point, so you can have more of them."

  She spread out the blanket, sat on it, then lifted her brows when she saw he had not only wine but cheese and bread and fat purple grapes.

  Every irritation, every annoyance, every worry that had dogged her heels slipped away, one by one. "Well, just let me say: Wow. I didn't expect to end my day with a picnic."

  "You won't. You re going to end it having sweaty sex with me. This is a prelude."

  "So far, I like it." She took the wine, stared out over the sea of color, the tender leaves, to the majesty of mountain. "How could I have thought I missed the green?"

  "The green what?"

  She only laughed, and popped a grape into her mouth. "I was so pissed off. She was only trying to be nice—for the most part. Debbie Mardson. I'd been trying to squeeze myself into routine, ignore the hammering, the reminder of what happened. Then she pulled me out of it—come on, sit down, take a break, have a conversation. She thinks we look good together."

  "That's a given. You're beautiful, without being traditionally so. And I'm a damn good-looking bastard."

  She slanted her gaze at him. "What's this about not traditionally beautiful?"

  "Not milkmaid creamy, not sultry and exotic, not all-Amencan. You mix it up. It's fairly compelling."

  They ate bread and cheese, drank wine, and watched the sun slide behind the mountains until their edges went troni silver to fire red.

  "This is better than lavender oil," she told him. She leaned forward until she found his lips with hers, then let herself slide into the kiss as silkily as the sun was sliding behind the mountain. "Thanks."

  He cupped a hand behind her neck, pulled her a little closer, took the kiss a little deeper. "You're welcome."

  * * *

  Chapter 25

  SHE HAD THREE glasses of wine, which may have accounted for her feeling giddy. Giddy enough that the moment they got out of the car in front of Brody's cabin, she boosted herself onto his back and began gnawing on his ear.

  He'd had only one glass of wine, so it was probably the sudden attack on his senses that had him dropping his keys.

  She laughed when he bent down, with her still wrapped around him, to scoop them up again.

  "Mmm. Strong man."

  "Skinny woman."

  "Used to be skinnier." Her hands got busy, had his shirt nearly unbuttoned before he managed to open the front door.

  "Take me to bed." She got her fingers on the button of his jeans.

  He nearly stumbled on the steps when she clamped her teeth on the back of his neck.

  "You're going to have to cut that out," he said breathlessly, "in two or three hours."

  He made it to the bed, then flipped her over his shoulder. She flew with a squeal, landed with the whooshing laugh. Then he was on her, popping buttons as he pulled her shirt open. Trapping her arms as he yanked the shirt down so that it stretched behind her back, over her wrists like a rope. Even as she gasped, his mouth was taking hers with a hot, heady possession that flooded her with helpless excitement.

  "Oh God. I can't—"

  "You started it." He pulled the straps of her bra down her shoulders. tugging until he'd freed her breasts and could feast on them.