Angel In The Rain (Western Historical Romance) (36 page)

She expected it, had known when she walked out with him that she would bear the brunt of his anger. At least she’d gotten him away from the house.

He crowded his horse next to hers and latched onto her arm with a bruising grip. “What the hell did you tell him back there?” He gritted the words through his teeth, so close his angry breath blasted her in the face.

“None of your business!” One shove would send her off the horse. Even realizing her peril, she had to stand her ground with him. Now or never. “Your game’s over, Will. You lose. So, go to hell!”

His fingers bit deeper into the soft flesh of her upper arm. “You stupid little bitch! You didn’t tell him about the baby. If you had, he wouldn’tve let you walk out of there so easy.”

She gritted her teeth against the pain he inflicted. “You willing to bet on that?”

He attempted a smile, but it twisted into something hideous. “Yeah.” He nodded. “I’m betting on it. You didn’t tell him because if you do, you’ll have to tell the old man, too. And you don’t have the guts for that, do you?”

His astute reasoning chilled her to the bone.

“So, it ain’t over yet, sweetheart. But it soon will be cause that greaser’s days are numbered.”

Chapter Twenty-three

“I’ll have these supplies delivered out to the house first thing.”

Angel aimed a gracious smile at the storekeeper. “Thank you, Mr. Dowling.”

“Always a pleasure, Miss,” he said.

She turned from the counter and walked out of the mercantile with Will Keegan hovering so close to her backside, the hem of her split riding skirt dusted the shanks of his boots.

Four long days had passed since he’d burst in on her and Rane at the Hacienda. Four days during which he stuck to her and her father like a prickly burr. No matter how late she retired at night, he was there keeping her father occupied in the parlor or on the porch. When she came down to the kitchen each morning, he was having his coffee and breakfast at their table, compliments of Carmella.

Always, he watched her, like a snake charming its prey, poised to strike if she made a wrong move. The man had gone beyond annoying and even infuriating. She was beginning to suspect something in his mind had come unhinged.

She thought of running to Rane, but Will saw to it she had no opportunity. Even if she somehow succeeded in slipping away, he would follow. She didn’t dare lead him to Rane’s doorstep again. He’d already warned her that Rane’s days were numbered. She believed, without a doubt, he intended to kill him. Just how and when were the questions that kept her awake at night.

Somehow, she had to warn Rane. Her heart nearly ground to a halt each time she remembered she’d made him promise to never again pick up his gun. Now, he had no idea what awaited him. Her fault. Unwittingly, she’d turned him into a sitting duck for Will’s twisted vengeance.

Out on the street, the sun beat down with intense heat, pulling beads of sweat from Angel’s forehead and upper lip. A haze shimmered over the dusty ground. The walkways were nearly deserted and her father was nowhere in sight.

She turned and looked at Will. Sweat rings darkened his shirt. The pale, scruffy whiskers on his face looked like they’d sprouted several days ago. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. She wondered if he’d been staying up at night, watching the house while the rest of them slept. The thought sent a shiver creeping up her spine.

“Why don’t you go find Pa and tell him I’m ready to go.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” A dubious sound huffed past his lips. “I got a better idea. Let’s you and me both go find him.”

He wasn’t about to let her out of his sight for even a second. She knew she had to do something. Today. Whatever it took, she had to speak to her father. She’d tell him the truth, get it all out in the open. Once exposed for the greedy, conniving bastard he was, Will would hold no more power over her.

Not confiding in her father and laying herself on his mercy from the beginning had been a mistake. Now, she had no choice. This insanity had to stop.

****

Rane halted the stallion when he spotted the rooftops of Clayton Station in the distance. For a long moment, he sat there while he pondered the risks of riding into town unarmed. He promised Angel he wouldn’t put on his gun again, which meant he’d have to lay low for a while. Only common sense, if he wanted to go on living. There were plenty of hombres haunting the border settlements who would give their eyeteeth to catch him without his gun.

He hadn’t set out to go anywhere near town, but four days had gone by since Angel walked out of the Hacienda with Will Keegan. Since then, there had been no word from her or news of any kind. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.

Had Angel changed her mind?

A visit to the Flying C two hours after sunup did nothing to allay his suspicions. After informing him Angel and her father had gone to town, Carmella’s attempt at polite chitchat had fallen flat. Her smile appeared strained, at best, and her nonstop chatter couldn’t mask the anxiety he read in every gesture and facial expression. He knew her too well. She was hiding something from him.

He had to see Angel. If she’d backed out on their plans, all he needed was one look into her eyes. Then he would know.

Rane entered the south end of the settlement and slowed the stallion to a walk. A trickle of sweat escaped his hatband and slid down the side of his face. The twin rows of false-fronted buildings lining the street looked faded beneath the harsh sun.

In front of Dowling’s, three horses wearing the Flying C brand stood at the hitching rail. He reined in and dismounted.

Except for the owner, who pored over a ledger behind the counter, the mercantile was deserted. Rane walked into the sunlight once more and started up the street. He made a wary sweep along the empty walks, skimming vacant doorways and windows. The town felt different today. Strange somehow. As if it had drawn in on itself. Nothing stirred, not even a breath of wind. In the utter quiet, he imagined he heard the sun’s sizzle frying the moisture from everything around him. Maybe it was just him. Without a gunbelt strapped around his hips, he felt exposed. His heart felt laid open as well. He had to see Angel, if only in passing, and find out where he stood.

He stopped at the end of the walk. Too late, he felt the boards vibrate beneath his feet and heard the jingle of spurs. He started to turn when something latched onto his shirt and hauled him backward. Caught off guard, he slammed against the outside wall of Dowling’s. The dizzying impact knocked the breath from his lungs.

Will Keegan, his face red and twisted with fury, crowded his vision. The big man fisted the front of his shirt and wedged it against his Adam’s apple, shutting off the little air he had left.

“Got you right where I want you, you sonofabitch!”

Somewhere, a woman screamed.

Keegan smacked him, open-handed. The inside of Rane’s jaw tore against his teeth. He tasted blood. If the blow was meant to provoke, it had the desired effect.

He dodged a hoof-sized fist by mere inches. Unable to check his momentum, Keegan’s balled knuckles slammed Dowling’s wooden wall.

Will recoiled with pain flashing across his face. The fist at Rane’s throat fell lax. Seizing the advantage, he shoved with both hands, created an opening, and drove his knee into the soft portion of Will’s torso.

A grunt whooped from Will’s lips, and his eyes rounded like double eagles. He stumbled back a step, bent, and clutched at his gut.

Rane rammed a fist against the big man’s slack mouth. His knuckles met teeth, and he had the satisfaction of seeing blood spurt from Will’s split lips.

Like a charging bull, Will slung crimson spittle and lunged.

Rane knew he had to keep his head. Keegan was in a killing rage. He was bigger, had a longer reach. If he made a slip and Keegan latched onto him, the man would simply pound him into the ground and then spit into the gory hole.

He ducked, avoiding a fist, and managed to land another jab into Will’s gut. Then he moved out of reach.

“Is that the best you can do, Keegan?” He knew it was stupid to goad the man, but couldn’t seem to stop himself.

Will’s fist dove in like the head of a striking snake. Rane ducked. Not quickly enough. Rock-hard knuckles raked his cheek and connected with the ridge of his brow. The side of his face numbed instantly. He knew the skin was broken when his vision swam with a red haze.

His sight muddied as they traded punches and Will’s relentless fists continued to find a target. The soft inner side of his jaw exploded against his teeth. Again. A white flash of blinding pain flared in his temple. The man nearly knocked him off his feet.

Will charged, snagged him around the waist, and slammed him down to the wooden walk. Blinding white stars exploded before his eyes, followed by the threat of blackness. He blinked, fighting the darkness. Will stood over him, his leg lifting, his knee bent.

Rane hurled himself against the slant-heeled boot descending toward his face, wrapped an arm around Will’s ankle and rolled, twisting as he went. He clamped his teeth as a spur rowel sliced into his arm.

The weathered boards splintered into kindling when Will dropped like a two hundred pound boulder.

Rane crawled clear and pushed to his feet. He stood reeling while blood dripped from his fingertips. His head buzzed and throbbed like a swarm of bees with hammers had built a nest inside his skull. He pressed a hand against the wall to steady himself.

Before him, Will Keegan—bloodied and disheveled—kicked and struggled to extricate himself from the hole in the walkway. Wedged rump first, the fancy rig of twin pistols strapped to his hips now pointed straight up at Dowling’s awning roof and were the only things keeping him from falling on through to the ground. If Rane hadn’t been so furious and out of breath, he might have laughed.

Time to end it.

He shoved away from the wall and swayed on his feet. With measured steps, he circled Will. The big man strained harder to free himself from his wooden trap. Rane dropped to his knees next to him.

“Get away from me! What the hell you doin’!”

Rane spat a mouthful of blood onto the walk. “You’ve had this coming a long time,
gringo
.” He fisted his throbbing fingers and rammed a savage punch into Will’s gaping jaw.

Fresh blood slashed across Rane’s throat. Nearly hidden behind swollen lids, Will’s eyes rolled back in his head. Rane remained as he was, watching the rise and fall of the man’s chest. He still breathed, but he didn’t move.

Slowly, Rane relaxed his battered fingers. He stood and swiped a torn sleeve across his eyes. A thin stream of crimson oozed from the gash in his arm. He pressed his hand across it to stanch the bleeding.

As the roar in his head subsided, another sound took its place. The sibilant hiss of hushed, whispering voices. He looked up. A crowd had gathered in the street, drawn like a swarm of hungry flies to the sight of blood and violence.

He located his missing hat lying on the walkway. A dusty boot had left a print in the middle of the smashed crown. He picked it up and slapped it against his thigh to pop it back into shape, then gently eased it onto his head.

The curious onlookers parted, stumbling back over their own heels in their haste and gave him plenty of space when he stepped into the street. Though weariness pulled at him, he straightened his shoulders and walked through the midst of them, looking neither right nor left. He knew he’d find no friendly faces.

****

Angel walked out of the hardware store and into the blinding sunlight. She reached up to adjust her hat when Will suddenly muttered a curse and lunged past her, nearly knocking her off balance.

The man hadn’t allowed ten feet of distance between them all morning and now, without a word, he hurried away from her so quickly she expected him to start running at any second.

Baffled, she stepped farther onto the walk and watched him go. Too late, she noticed the black stallion standing tied at the hitching rail, next to her own little mare, in front of Dowling’s. Rane’s horse. Her heart nearly stopped.

Near the end of the walk, Will drew to a halt. Someone else was there. Another man, nearly hidden from view by Will’s big frame. Shock leapt through her when Will reached out and grabbed a fistful of the other man’s shirt and hurled him against the outside wall of the store.

Rane.

A scream tore from her throat. Reflex sent her running toward them.
Will’s going to kill him!
The thought echoed with each beat of her heart. She had to stop him!

Then she remembered.

She halted, pulse pounding. A helpless sob tore from her throat as she splayed a hand over her stomach. She couldn’t risk harm to her child.

Only one person could sway Will—her father. She had to find him.

She turned from the dreadful sight of Rane and Will beating each other bloody and raced in the opposite direction. Past door after door she ran, pausing in each one only long enough to ask the same frantic question, “Have you seen my father?”

Tears of frustration and wild panic streaked her face by the time she reached the horse shed at the end of the street. Around back, her father sat on a bale of hay in the shade, palavering with an old-timer who worked the stables.