Johanna Lindsey - Angel

“By the time I crossed the river and came up behind them, he was almost finished with her. She’d been beaten, probably for resisting him. Still, for all I knew, they could have been married, though I just can’t stomach a man who’d treat his wife that way. So I suggested he leave the girl alone. He suggested I get lost — in some pretty colorful terms. Then I noticed the young boy who looked enough like the girl to be her kin. He’d apparently tried to help her, and he was lying not too far away with a knife stuck in his belly for his trouble. He was already dead.”

Cassie swallowed hard before she said, “So you shot him.” It was no question.

“I shot him.”

“Good,” she said so quietly he didn’t hear.

“But the girl was beyond caring. She never did stop screaming. And the second I shoved that bastard off her, she up and run into the river. I went in after her, but the water deepened not too far downriver, and she slipped under it. By the time I pulled her out, she was dead — and I felt like going back and shooting that bastard again.”

Cassie tried pushing the event from her mind. It was a tragedy a couple of years old— which she’d just forced him to relive. Some levity was called for to break the somber mood that tale had left, but she wasn’t all that adept at lightening moods. Getting folks annoyed with her was her forte.

But she owed it to him to try, so she said, “I hope you didn’t save the worst for last.”

He actually laughed. “Figured that one would have shut you up.”

She cast him a suspicious look. “Was that the truth you just told me?”

“The shortened version — unless you want to hear about her folks’ reaction. Those two children were all they had. They blamed me for not saving the girl.”

“But you tried!”

“They weren’t interested in hearing that.”

No, they wouldn’t be, but then, grief was a strange emotion, affecting each person differently. And Angel didn’t sound bitter about it. He’d probably seen a great deal of grief in his career — possibly some that he’d caused himself.

He suddenly added, “I never told anyone about that girl and her brother.”

Cassie was surprised, but his confession also caused a warm feeling akin to pleasure that was more than just feeling privileged that he’d shared the story with her. It flustered her enough that she said, “Then would you like to share the last account with me?”

She’d left herself open to a flat-out no, but instead he remarked, “You really do like to meddle, don’t you?” She blushed, but he didn’t wait for her response. “It don’t make no never mind to me. The third time happened only last month. The rumor was that this fellow by the name of Dryden married rich old widows for their money, then killed them off. He was making a career out of it.”

“You actually killed a man based on a rumor?”

He ignored the shock in her expression, going on in the same conversational tone. “There were a lot of folks who knew about it, just no way to prove it after the fact. You really think I’d kill someone because of a rumor?”

The blush was back worse than before. Truth time again. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“No, I wouldn’t — though it sure made it easier to pull that trigger, knowing about all those widows who died before their time. But I shot Dryden because he’d just handed over a woman, an English duchess, to a bunch of cutthroats, and he knew full well they were going to murder her. She happened to be a friend of Colt Thunder’s, and he asked me to join up with this outlaw bunch who was hunting her, so I’d be there to help her out if she needed it. Turned out she needed it. If I hadn’t shot him, Dryden would have lit out of there with his blood money, and I didn’t want to take the chance that I might not find him again.”

“Did you save the Englishwoman?”

“She was still alive last I saw. Keeping her that way is Colt’s problem now.”

“I’d forgotten that you know him, and Jessie and Chase Summers as well. They’re my neighbors, you know.”

“I know.”

His tone was slightly resigned, as if he wished it were otherwise. She looked at him curiously, but he was staring out at the sagebrush-dotted plain, so she decided she’d be better off not pursuing that thought.

“I’m surprised to hear Colt has made friends with a white woman. If I hadn’t known him before — well, before the Callan incident, he wouldn’t give me the time of day now.”

Anyone who knew Colt Thunder knew about that time several years ago when he’d been whipped nearly to death because he’d dared to court a white woman. The girl’s father had taken exception to it when he’d found out Colt was half Cheyenne Indian. But Colt had never looked at white women the same after that, at least those he wasn’t already acquainted with. The rest he treated like the plague.

“Maybe the term ‘friend’ was a mite too generous,” Angel allowed. “That duchess had somehow corralled Colt into escorting her up to Wyoming, so he’s stuck with her for the time being. I didn’t say he liked it. Fact is, he don’t like it one little bit.”

That sounded more in line with what she knew about Colt Thunder, so her thoughts went back to what Angel had confessed about his third “unfair” killing. “You knew you were going to save that Englishwoman, or at least try to, so how do you justify killing Dryden?”

That had him stopping again, and again she had to twist around to look at him. “Lady, he didn’t know I wasn’t part of that bunch that had promised him five thousand to hand her over. As far as he knew, he was bringing her to us to die, and let me tell you something, the plans they had for her didn’t include a clean, easy death. Besides, I call it as I see it. If a man’s doing something that would earn him a rope, it don’t bother me to save the hangman the trouble. So if you think I regret killing that bastard, think again. It was a pure pleasure. But what the hell should I expect? She called it cold-blooded murder, too, even though she’d be dead now if I hadn’t been there. So you think I give a good damn what the hell you call it?”

Cassie didn’t know what to say. He was angry that she was judging him, and rightly so. If she’d been there, she might have called it exactly as he did — though without the courage to take care of Dryden as he deserved.

She faced forward again, and waited until he drew up beside her. The browns and grays of the low plain were starting to give way to the green of the hilly river region where the cattle grazed. The range camp of her father’s two remaining hands was just over the next rise, but that seemed miles away when she was presently sitting in a hot seat of discomfort.

“You’re right,” she said by way of apology. “That man was as guilty as if he’d killed her himself, for intent is equal to the deed.”

“Not always.”

He was looking at her as he said it, traces of his anger still present, so she had little doubt he’d had some mayhem-type thoughts concerning her. Strangely, instead of causing alarm this time, the idea struck her funny and she grinned at him.

“As long as you only think about it,” she said.

“About what?”

“Wringing my neck.”

He tipped his hat back, letting the sun touch half of his face, and said in that lazy, slow drawl of his, “Is that what I was doing?”

Her eyes widened in feigned surprise. “Worse than that?”

He laughed then, playing along. “I reckon neck-wringing’s good enough.”

“But mine’s a scrawny neck. If d snap real quick. Not much satisfaction in that.”

“Then I’ll have to think of something else. Can’t have revenge without—”

He didn’t finish. Two shots fired in quick succession drew his attention, and his demeanor changed to tense alertness, even though the shots had come from a distance. The low rumbling that followed moments later, however, needed no explanation. They had both heard that sound before.

Cassie groaned inwardly. Angel was more vocal. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said as the first stampeding steers came tearing over the distant rise — heading straight in their direction.

Cassie didn’t even consider taking his advice. “That’s my father’s herd,” was all she replied before she set her horse to a gallop to intercept the cattle.

Angel couldn’t believe his eyes. “Lady, you’re going the wrong way!” he yelled after her, but she didn’t stop.

For two seconds he thought, To hell with her. The area was wide open, with ample room to get out of the way of the oncoming herd. Then he let out a foul expletive, dug in his spurs, and followed her.

Cassie had no fear riding toward that herd— well, not too much. But she knew what she was doing. She’d seen it done before. The animals had been spooked into the wild run by gunfire. Gunfire could turn them back. But as frightened as they were now, she had to wait until she was close before making her move to be sure her shots would startle them into turning back.

So she didn’t draw her rifle until she was almost upon them; then she fired off two rounds into the air, only the shots didn’t do what they were supposed to. Instead of the cattle veering off so they’d circle around on themselves, the herd split in two with Cassie now dead-center of the two halves. And those two halves quickly closed in on her.

Angel was cut off from reaching her by the terrified cattle rushing past him. He fired off a shot himself to clear a path to her, but he only succeeded in turning a few steers aside. There were just too many of them, and they were moving too fast for him to slip through. Yet she was trapped in the center of that mass, barely above it, and from what he could see, she’d lost control of her horse. Nor did the animal have enough room now to turn around on its own so it could at least move with the cattle. And then it floundered, its hind legs buckling under, and he saw the woman go down with it.