Johanna Lindsey - Angel

Her papa.

Angel had never had to deal with an enraged father before. And because he was Cassie’s father, he couldn’t shoot him, couldn’t call him out, couldn’t fight him. Hell, this ought to be interesting.

Charles was tired, his foot was paining him, and although he did have a formidable temper, he’d never once lost it where his daughter was concerned. Besides, he was still too incredulous to show anger.

“Cassie, what is this man doing in your bedroom?”

Cassie had been sidetracked by Angel’s “shooting” crack, but it came blaringly now, the thought of how it must look to her father, her in bed with nothing on beneath the sheet, her nightgown on the floor by Angel’s feet. Angel was dressed, but only barely. His black shirt was tucked into his pants, but it wasn’t fastened. He hadn’t put his boots on yet. This wasn’t how she had imagined explaining things to her father, and her cheeks got so hot they stung.

“It’s not what it seems, Papa — well, it is, but — we’re married — at least for the time being we are — oh, damn, a lot has happened since you left!”

“Obviously,” Charles replied, and said in the same breath, “Married? For God’s sake, I haven’t been gone that long. You couldn’t wait until I got home?”

“I tried to get R. J. to consider that, but he wasn’t inclined to be reasonable.”

Charles looked at Angel. “Are you another R. J.?”

“No, sir. Name’s Angel.”

“Angel what?”

“Just Angel.”

“Does that make you Mrs. Angel, Cassie?”

“I guess so, or—” She suddenly blanched, turning to Angel. “They could have used ‘Brown.’ Did you look to see which name was put on the marriage paper?”

“With that many witnesses, it doesn’t matter what name was put down. The thing was done legal, no matter how you look at it.”

Charles glanced back and forth between the two of them, then settled his gaze on Cassie. “If he’s Angel, what’s R. J. got to do with this?”

“It was his idea,” Cassie explained. “The truth is, R. J. sort of insisted at gunpoint.” Then she sighed loudly. “It’s going to take a while to sort it all out for you, Papa. Why don’t you wait for me downstairs? I’ll join you as soon as I get dressed.”

Charles didn’t move for a moment. Finally he looked pointedly at Angel. “Are you coming?”

There was another long moment of silence while Angel debated how much argument he’d get if he refused. He took the chance that for the time being, the father would give way to the “husband.”

“In a minute,” Angel said.

It was a few more seconds before Charles nodded and left the room. Angel immediately looked toward Cassie, and they ended up staring at each other for nearly a full minute, both poignantly aware that their time here was at an end.

She finally glanced away to say, “He won’t like it none, but there’s nothing he can or will do about it at this point. He’s not a violent man. My mama would want to go over and cut R. J. into little pieces if she knew about it, but that’s not my papa’s way.”

Angel accepted that. She knew her parent better than he did. “Hold off on filing for that divorce, Cassie, until you know, one way or the other.”

It was as if her father hadn’t intruded. They were both still attuned to the last subject they’d been on before the interruption.

“I’ll wait until I get home before I do anything,” she assured him.

“And you’ll let me know?”

“When you get the divorce papers, you’ll know,” was all she said.

“Fair enough.”

Her eyes swung back to him, wide, almost glassy. “Are — are you leaving now?”

He didn’t notice the catch in her voice. He’d already turned toward the door. “I’ve got one more thing to do before I head out. I’ll see you tonight.”

The door closed on him, but she had a reprieve. A few hours more. Time enough for her to think seriously about burying her pride and asking him to stay.

It was approaching the hour for turning in, but Cassie made no move to leave the parlor. She hadn’t seen Angel again that day, but he’d said she would tonight, and she wasn’t going to bed until she did.

Her father sat with her in companionable silence. It had taken most of the morning to explain everything to him. He’d been shocked and amazed by turns, then had gotten furious at R. J. for coming down on her so hard. He’d told her she didn’t have to leave, that he’d take the MacKauleys on, and the Catlins, too, if it came to that. Of course she couldn’t let him. She’d already caused enough trouble.

Thankfully, he hadn’t asked again what Angel had been doing in her bedroom that morning once he’d learned the marriage was only temporary. But she knew what he was doing, sitting up with her. He might not have said anything about it, but he had no intention of leaving her alone with Angel again, much as she wished he would. And he’d been tired that morning, after riding on ahead of his men, who weren’t expected to arrive until tomorrow with his new bull. But he’d slept all afternoon, so exhaustion wasn’t going to get her a few minutes alone with Angel, either.

Cassie tensed when she heard the front door open and close. She’d have to ask her papa for a few minutes of privacy. He probably wouldn’t allow it, but she’d ask anyway. Only it wasn’t Angel who was drawn to the lights and warmth in the parlor. Looking even more exhausted and bedraggled than Charles had that morning, Catherine Stuart appeared in the doorway.

“Am I in Texas, or did that storm I left up north blow me back to Wyoming?”

Catherine was referring to the house, which she hadn’t seen before, and how closely it resembled the house on the Lazy S. But she didn’t get an answer. Cassie was temporarily speechless. Charles wouldn’t have answered in any case, but all he could do at the moment was stare.

Catherine did some of that herself as soon as her eyes lit on him. They each had ten years of changes in their appearances to take note of, and they did so with blatant curiosity.

They were still staring at each other when Cassie finally found her voice. “Mama, what are you doing here?”

“You must be joking,” Catherine replied, and came over to give her daughter a hug. “After you practically dared me to come?”

“I did no such thing,” Cassie protested, trying to remember what she’d put in that last letter to her mother. “I invited you, didn’t I?”

“In such a way that would guarantee I wouldn’t accept. But you forget I know you better than anyone else, baby. And I wasn’t going to wait until you got home to find out why you didn’t want me down here.”

Cassie winced. So much for attempting deviousness that wasn’t in her nature. And she should have figured this would happen when her mama hadn’t written back or telegraphed again. She’d hoped that meant she wouldn’t come, but she should have known better. And now she also remembered what her mama had threatened to do.

“You — ah — didn’t bring an army with you, did you?” Cassie asked.

“Just a few hands.”

“How many’s a few?”

“Fifteen,” Catherine said as she moved closer to the fire. She took off her hat, then gave Charles a brief glance before she whacked it against her riding skirt, creating a small cloud of dust that settled on his Oriental rug. “I left them in town for the time being.”

Watching her mother, Cassie groaned inwardly. It was starting already, the little things her parents did to irritate each other. They didn’t even try to be subtle about it because they knew neither one would say anything— at least not to each other. After ten years’ separation, you’d think they would have forgotten about that particular aspect of their rift. But no, it was as if they’d never been parted.

“I’m sorry to say you’ve come all this way for nothing, Mama. I was leaving tomorrow.”

“Then your problem did right itself?”

“With a little help from my guardian angel.”

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t arrive in time, but at least Mr. Pickens did. And I’m delighted to have you come home — but why are you cutting your visit short?”

“You could say I’ve worn out my welcome in these parts,” Cassie replied, trying not to sound dismal about it. Explaining about Lewis Pickens’s substitute could wait.

“If you want to stay, baby, I’ll see to it,” was Catherine’s response.

Cassie quickly shook her head. “Papa already offered, but I don’t want to cause any more trouble. It’d be better all around if I go home.”

“Your papa actually offered to do something?”

There was too much derision in that question, not to mention feigned incredulity, for Charles to remain quiet. “You can tell your mama, Cassie, that I can take care of my daughter’s problems just as well as she can.”

“And you can tell your papa I said, ‘Ha!’ ” Catherine shot back.

Cassie looked at her parents with exasperation. When she was ten years old, their talking through her had seemed like a game. Now it seemed pretty ridiculous. Why hadn’t she ever tried to do something about it?

“Hell and you weren’t kidding, were you, honey?” another voice asked.

Cassie turned to see Angel in the open doorway, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed, his hat pushed back from his forehead and hooked on at the neck. He had on his yellow slicker. She was dying to know where he’d been, but…

“This isn’t a good time,” she was forced to say instead.

“This is the only time,” he replied. “Fact is, your reunion will have to wait.”

“Don’t I know you, young man?” Catherine asked.

Angel nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We met a few years back. Name’s Angel.”