Johanna Lindsey - Angel

Cassie drew her gun but shouted, “Look out!” just to be safe. She still fired. Angel also fired. Rafferty’s bullet hit the dirt at his feet as he dropped facedown in the street.

At such close range, smoke from the three discharges stung Cassie’s eyes. And she realized, as she watched Angel shove the downed man over with his foot, that she could have kept her own gun holstered. Angel had turned and shot Rafferty before she’d even finished her warning.

She came up beside Angel to stare at the two bullet wounds, one in the shoulder, meant to immobilize, and one directly over the heart, meant to kill. Both had done as intended, and the results were quite sickening.

“You should have let me face him,” she said in a small voice. “I would only have wounded him. You would have killed—did kill— him.”

Angel gave her a sharp look. “You going to tell me he didn’t ask for it?”

“Well… no, but — but the dying part could have been avoided if you had let me face him instead.”

“Don’t kid yourself. The same thing would have happened — that is, if he could’ve stopped laughing long enough.”

His derision had her bristling. “That isn’t funny.”

“He thought it was. But that’s beside the point. You won’t ever participate in a gunfight while I’m around, lady. I don’t care how good you think you are—”

“Know I am,” she retorted.

His tone softened somewhat, probably with condescension. “Practice isn’t the same as facing a man who’s going to try and kill you, Cassie. You don’t want to find out the difference.”

“That might be so,” she allowed, “but you’re missing my point. Rafferty shouldn’t be dead. A wound would have sufficed—”

“This is the result of shooting to wound,” he cut in, jerking a thumb toward the scar on his jawline. “The guy healed up and came after me again. He wanted me dead, but he was too afraid to face me in another fair fight, so he came at me from behind. I’m here only because his aim with a knife was as lousy as with a gun — and because I don’t shoot to wound anymore.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m what?”

Cassie squirmed inwardly. “Don’t look so surprised. What you just said reminded me of the number of gunfights I’ve heard about where one man gets wounded and then a few days later the other man is found in some alley with a bullet in his back. I’m not saying that always happens, but it happens enough that— that your way makes sense, for you anyway.”

“All right, what happened here?”

Cassie turned to see the sheriff pushing his way through the dozen or so people who were edging forward, all trying to get a closer look at the dead man without getting too close to the one who’d shot him.

Frank Henley was on the short side, not much taller than Cassie. He wore boots with three-inch heels, which didn’t make much difference, but he had a very forceful personality, which did. He’d been known to intimidate men much larger than he was, which was why he made a good sheriff — or he would be if he didn’t tend to mix family business with official business.

Just now, he took one look at Slater, and Cassie knew this was going to be one of those mixing times. “Hey, I know this man. He works for—” Frank paused and narrowed his eyes on Angel. “I’m going to have to take you in, mister.”

Cassie barely managed to keep from snapping, “The hell you are!” She stepped between the two men instead to say calmly, “That won’t be necessary, Sheriff. Ask around. You’ll find a witness or two who saw Slater try to shoot this man in the back. I saw it, which is why he’s got my bullet in him, too. And for the record, Slater was no longer employed by your aunt. Your cousin Buck fired him yesterday morning.”

As his expression indicated, that last bit of information was all that changed Frank’s mind. Cassie had no doubt that Angel would have been arrested, without cause, if Slater had still been a Catlin employee. It could even have come to a bogus trial and hanging if Dorothy Catlin decreed it, such was the domination of that close-knit family. But Cassie didn’t think the Widow Catlin was that vicious, and besides, she wouldn’t have let Angel be arrested for a justified shooting. She would have drawn on the sheriff herself if she had to.

Which was why Cassie was greatly relieved to hear Frank say, “I’ll take your word for it, Miss Stuart. He’s with you, then?”

The lie came easily this time. “He’s my fianc�.”

The sheriff was surprised. “Thought you and Morgan — well, never mind. Just keep this one out of town. Gunfights we don’t need, and I damn well hate the paperwork involved.”

Cassie nodded and hooked her arm through Angel’s to lead him away before Frank changed his mind again. Angel’s silence continued until they had reached their horses and he’d given her a boost up onto hers.

“Why do I have the feeling you would’ve taken on that sheriff if he hadn’t backed down?”

Cassie flushed slightly at his discerning question. And he didn’t sound all that pleased by the notion, either, so she said, “I don’t know what you mean.”

He merely grunted before mounting up. “Your lying is improving — some.”

Angel ordered another whiskey and turned to survey the room. The Last Keg Saloon was quiet for a Saturday night, but then, it wasn’t the only saloon in town, and Angel had avoided the more lively ones out of habit.

A couple of tables had card games going, but he didn’t feel like trying to join one. He felt like getting drunk and taking one of the three girls who worked the room upstairs for the night. One was even pretty, and he couldn’t deny he needed a woman, especially after spending the past three nights with only a wall separating him from a woman he was increasingly finding too damn desirable.

He wouldn’t get drunk, however, at least not in a public place. That would be careless, and Angel was rarely careless. And he hadn’t made up his mind yet about buying a woman for the night. The need was there, but his interest in what was available didn’t remain for long.

That was surprising in itself. He wasn’t usually discriminating where women were concerned. A warm, soft body that was willing had always been enough to satisfy him. Now he was devoting too many thoughts to one particular woman, something else he’d never done before, and it was starting to irritate the hell out of him. That, among other things.

He didn’t like what he was feeling lately. What he’d felt after shooting Slater the other day was a prime example — too much satisfaction. He’d never experienced actual pleasure in killing a man before, and he wasn’t sure why he had this time. It had been primitive, what he’d felt. He hadn’t liked it that the man had attempted to bed Cassie. He really hadn’t liked that. But the only reason he could figure that that had been part of the satisfaction was because she was under his protection. Nothing else made sense.

Angel was on his third and last drink when Morgan MacKauley walked in. Stumbled in, was more accurate. He’d obviously hit the bottle himself tonight, and pretty heavily. And he wasn’t alone. He had one of his brothers with him, the second oldest by the look of him. Angel couldn’t recall what name Cassie had give that brother, but he supposed he might be finding out, since both men headed in his direction as soon as Morgan spotted him at the bar.

“Well, if it ain’t Miss Stuart’s fianc�,” Morgan sneered. “Brown, was it?”

Angel set his glass down to free both hands. The brothers were crowding him, and Morgan’s expression contained an emotion resembling pure dislike.

“The name’s Angel.”

“Yeah, so I been hearing. Angel Brown.”

“Just Angel.”

Morgan rocked back on his heels. Angel didn’t think the action was intentional. The man ought to be in bed, sleeping it off, instead of looking for trouble.

“You saying Cassie lied?”

“No, only that I go by Angel and nothing else.”

“Ah, hell,” Richard MacKauley said at that point. “Let it go, little brother.”

“Stay out of—”

Morgan was abruptly cut off when the older MacKauley hauled him aside to whisper furiously in his ear. There was a slight grappling as Morgan chose to ignore what his big brother had to say.

He was actually being restrained in a bear hug when he looked at Angel and bellowed, “Is that right? They call you the Angel of Death?”

If everyone’s attention hadn’t been on them already, it was now. Angel didn’t move a muscle. “Some folks are foolish enough to do so.”

Morgan was apparently too drunk and too riled up to take the hint. “What the hell’s a killer like you doing asking a lady to marry him?”

A damn good question. It wasn’t something Angel would do under any circumstances. The very idea was ludicrous. No lady in her right mind would have him, and he had a bit too much pride to leave himself open to that kind of humiliating rejection. But because this particular lady was a meddler who told outlandish lies that some idiots actually believed, he was stuck with answering the question — or not. He opted for not, to save both himself and Cassie embarrassment.

“How’s it any of your business, MacKauley?”

Someone else in the room was drunk enough to call out, “He was gonna marry her hisself!”

Morgan swung around, taking his brother with him, since Richard was still holding him. But he couldn’t locate the culprit who’d turned him red-faced with that bit of information. And it was still Angel he wanted to fight, so he swung back again and in the process put some serious effort into breaking his brother’s hold.