Johanna Lindsey - Angel

“Forget I said that,” he said curtly.

“Gladly,” she replied, but she still took another step back from him.

He almost smiled. Her nervousness was soothing his temper as nothing else could.

“Do you make a habit of taking potshots at folks paying you a visit?”

She blinked, pursed her lips — lushly shaped lips, he now noticed — and straightened her spine. Damn. He could see it coming. She’d just got her courage back.

“You were about to shoot Marabelle. I couldn’t let you do that just because she’d sneaked out the door before I could stop her.”

That gave him pause. “Then you didn’t set her on me?”

“Certainly not,” she said in an indignant-sounding tone that implied he was stupid for asking.

“I saw no ‘certainly’ about it, lady.”

“Common sense—”

“I think you better drop it,” he warned before her insults got any worse.

She stiffened, taking his meaning. “And I think you better state your business and then go.”

If only he could — go, that is. “Pickens isn’t coming,” he said tersely.

She stared at him blankly for a moment, then gasped, “But he has to! I was counting on him— why isn’t he coming? He said he would.”

Her genuine distress made Angel uncomfortable with his other feelings. He didn’t like the young woman, and with good reason after what she’d done to him, but he had trouble maintaining his animosity in the face of her upset.

Angel unbent enough to assure her, “He was coming. In fact, he was at his bank taking out enough money to get him here when this bunch of comancheros rode in from the Staked Plain with the idea of making a withdrawal of their own at gunpoint ‘Course, Pickens couldn’t just mind his own business and let them go about theirs. He felt obliged to stop them and got shot up pretty bad in the effort.”

She’d gone from pale halfway through his little speech to sickly-looking at the end, her distress switching causes. “Oh, God, he — he didn’t die, did he? If d be my fault. Grandpa will never forgive me—”

“Now, how do you figure you’re to blame when you weren’t there?”

“I asked him to come. He wouldn’t have been in that bank if—” She paused, seeing him shake his head at her, and her tone as well as her expression turned stubbornly belligerent. “I’ll accept blame if I choose to. I’m quite good at it.”

At that point he shrugged, not about to try to convince a fool woman she was being foolish when he didn’t care one way or the other. “Suit yourself.”

The fight went out of her instantly. She bit her lower lip. She suddenly looked like she was about to cry, which had Angel’s stomach clenching. Shit. He’d never tried to deal with a crying woman before, and he wasn’t going to start now. One damn tear and he was walking.

“Is he…?” She couldn’t manage to say “dead.”

“No!” Angel couldn’t get the word out fast enough. “The doc says Pickens will live, but he won’t be traveling for a while, which is why he had his lady friend send for me.”

That got rid of Cassie’s teary-eyed look. She was frowning now. “I don’t understand. This was nearly six weeks ago. Why didn’t he send me word sooner to let me know he couldn’t come? Now I’m almost out of time.”

Angel could accept blame as easily as she could. “That’d be my fault. Pickens tracked me down easy enough, but I got delayed up in New Mexico for a few weeks. But then, his message didn’t mention a time limit.”

“I see.” She didn’t. She looked confused as all hell. “Bearers of bad news are rarely appreciated, but thank you all the same for coming out of your way when a telegram would certainly have sufficed. And I’m sorry about your horse. You can borrow one of ours to find it. Just return ours when you’re through.” She reached into one of the wide pockets on her coat and came out with a twenty-dollar gold piece. “And this should get you a new hat.”

All Angel did was stare at the hand she held out to him, forcing her to say, “Take it.” He still didn’t, so she shrugged and closed her fist on the coin. “Suit yourself. But if you’ll excuse me now, I was leaving for town when you arrived.”

She actually turned and walked away from him. Angel rocked back on his heels, letting her get halfway to her carriage before he drawled, “I guess I should have spelled it out, ma’am. Lewis Pickens sent for me to take his place. I’m here to settle your problem, whatever it is, so maybe you ought to tell me what it is before you head for town.”

She’d whipped back around at the words “take his place,” her eyes incredulous, but she had her belligerent expression back on by the time he finished. “I beg your pardon.”

“You heard me plain enough.”

“I know I heard you,” she gritted out, giving every indication of a woman about to lose her temper. “I just don’t believe it. What could Mr. Pickens have been thinking of to send you, you of all people? I need a peacemaker, not a gunfighter. You’d only make the situation worse.”

“Just what is the situation?”

She waved a hand impatiently. “There’s no point in my discussing that with you when you can’t help. If a gun was the answer, I’d use my own.”

He couldn’t help it. He grinned at the image her words brought to mind, of hats flying through the air. But he turned aside before she noticed. There were very few people he allowed close enough to glimpse his sense of humor. She wasn’t going to be one of them.

“You got a bunkhouse?”

“Yes, but — wait a minute!” she cried when he started toward the back of the house. “You can’t stay here. Weren’t you listening?”

He stopped long enough to say, “Yeah, but you weren’t. I’m here to see to your problem as a favor to Pickens. I owe him, so I won’t be leaving until my debt’s paid.”

She hurried to catch up with him as he rounded the side of the house. “Whatever debt you owe has nothing to do with me, mister.”

“It does now.”

“That’s unacceptable. I’m only going to say this once more. You can’t—”

The roar coming from inside the house stopped them both. Angel turned to see the large cat sitting in front of a window looking out at them. Fortunately, the window wasn’t open, but that fact didn’t settle his nerves as fast as it should have. Knowing the cat was a pet didn’t make it look any less dangerous.

“What is that thing?” he finally asked.

“A black panther.”

“Didn’t know they had such things in Texas.”

“They don’t. Marabelle came over from Africa.”

He wasn’t going to ask how. “Just keep it away from me as long as I’m here.”

She visibly bristled at that. “ If you were staying, which you’re not , I would insist you get along with Marabelle. And you’d have to introduce your horse to her for obvious reasons— but you’re not staying. The stable is there.” She pointed to a long building next to a barn. “Go find your horse and go back where you came from.”

She must have thought that settled the matter. In a way, it did. His slow drawl told her so as she started to turn away from him for the second time. “Then I guess I’ll have to take care of your problem in my own way.”

Her eyes flared wide in understanding. “You wouldn’t.” He was silent. “All right!” she snapped. “You can stay, but you can’t kill anyone. No shooting. No dead bodies. Is that clear?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She stomped away this time, leaving no doubt that she had conceded under protest. Irritating woman. If he didn’t figure he’d need her input to fix her trouble, this would be the last he’d see of her. He’d still handle it his own way. But as he heard her carriage leaving for town, it occurred to him that he still didn’t know what the trouble was. Damned irritating woman.