“What makes you think—”

“I have eyes, baby. I saw your gunfighter in the lobby of the hotel.”

Cassie had, too, but then, ever since she’d first met Angel, bright yellow had been drawing her attention no matter where she was, so there was no way she wouldn’t have noticed that yellow slicker of his today. She hadn’t acknowledged him, though, or even looked directly at him. She knew why he was there— to make sure she left St. Louis — and that had brought her temper back up.

“Why did he follow you to St. Louis?” Catherine wanted to know.

“He didn’t. He came here for reasons that had nothing to do with me.”

“Did you know he was coming?”

“No.”

“I hate coincidences like that,” Catherine said with a sigh. “They’re just not natural.”

“Like fate?”

Catherine gave Cassie a sharp look, refusing to admit fate might have anything to do with it. “He came to your room last night, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

So much for avoiding the truth. “Angel has this problem ignoring his husbandly rights when I’m near to hand. He can’t seem to do it.”

“Why, that lecherous—”

“And I have a problem refusing him those rights.”

“Cassie—!”

“So he suggested I go home.”

That gave Catherine pause. “He did? You mean the man actually has some sense?”

“That’s not funny, Mama.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be, baby.”

“At any rate, he was entirely too highhanded about it, thinking he can order me around.”

“All husbands tend to think that way. I’ve never understood why. Women may have gotten the right to vote in Wyoming, we can serve on juries, and we can even boast about having the first woman justice of the peace in the whole country, but husbands still think their word is law.”

“Papa was never like that.”

“Your papa was an exception.” And then Catherine laughed. “The Summerses are another exception. We know who wears the pants in that family, and they fit her very well.”

“That’s not nice, Mama. And it’s not true. I’d say they both fit into the same pants. If they have a difference of opinion, they hash it out. One spouse doesn’t arbitrarily say, ‘Do it,’ and think that’s the end of it.”

“Chase Summers would never be that stupid,” Catherine said with a grin. “But all right, I’ll concede Jessie tiptoes around him sometimes. However, most times she walks all over him.”

“Only because he lets her,” Cassie insisted. “There’s the difference.”

Catherine was suddenly frowning again. “How did we get so far off the subject?”

Cassie really wished her mama hadn’t noticed that. “By discussing arbitrary males. And before you embarrass us both by asking, yes, I will have to wait again before I can divorce mine.”


Angel knocked on the front door of the massive stone house. He knew he shouldn’t be there. He’d cleaned up. He was as neat as he could get without cutting his hair, which he wouldn’t do until springtime. But he shouldn’t be there. Only it was either come here or get roaring drunk to take his mind off his little wife. He didn’t feel like getting drunk.

The door opened. A man with curly white hair and side-whiskers, in a stiff-looking formal suit, stood there. His skin was so dark it was almost black.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“I’d like to speak to the lady of the house,” Angel told him.

“Who is it, Jefferson?” another voice asked, followed by the appearance of a tall, middle-aged man with blond hair and green eyes.

“I don’t rightly know, Mister Winston. This gentleman has asked to speak to Missus Anna.”

The green eyes narrowed as they gave Angel a more careful once-over. “Might I inquire what business you have with my wife?”

“You’re the banker?”

The eyes narrowed even more. “Yes.”

“I just found out this morning that your wife is my mother. My name’s Angel — O’Rourke.”

It was the first time Angel got to say it. It felt good — and it brought a sigh from Anna’s husband.

“I see,” the man said in a resigned tone. “You’re about the fifteenth Angel who’s come to my door, faying to collect the reward.” Contempt entered his voice as he added, “At least the others were Irish, or made an attempt to sound Irish. Can you prove that you’re my wife’s missing son?”

Doubt was the last thing Angel expected. He almost laughed.

“I don’t need to prove it, mister.”

“Then you won’t get a penny—”

“I don’t want your money,” Angel cut in. “I just came to have a look at her before I head back west.”

“Well, that’s a new approach,” Winston said, though his look remained skeptical. “Just out of curiosity, what story have you concocted to explain your disappearance all those years ago?”

“If she wants to know, I’ll tell her,” was all Angel said, and he was being generous in that, considering the man was starting to irritate him.

The banker hesitated a moment before he acquiesced. “For my wife’s sake, I’m forced to give you the benefit of the doubt. But I warn you, she’ll know just by the sight of you if you’ve told me the truth. And if she doesn’t recognize you, I’d appreciate it if you would leave without mentioning who you’re claiming to be. My wife has been through enough agony over this. I don’t want all those memories stirred up again for no good reason.”

Angel nodded, unable to argue with that. He didn’t need to talk to her. He didn’t need anything from her. Just one look was all he’d like, so the image of her that he carried wouldn’t be so vague. And that was probably all he’d get, because he couldn’t see how a woman, even a mother, could recognize a four-year-old child in the man he’d become.

The servant opened the door wider for Angel to enter. “May I take your coat, sir?”

It was too warm in the house not to give it up. Angel didn’t want to start sweating and have them think it was caused by nervousness. But as soon as he handed the slicker over, the banker’s eyes went straight to his gun. He might have cleaned up, but he’d made no effort to hide what he was or where he was from. He wore his usual black, right down to a new bandana knotted loosely at his neck.

“Are you a lawman?” he was asked.

“No.”

The frown was back. “I’d rather you didn’t wear that thing in my house.”

Angel made no move to remove it. “If you’ve been good to my mother, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

The banker’s cheeks went florid, but he said stiffly to the servant, “Inform my wife that we have a guest. She may join us in the east drawing room.”

The servant went away. Angel followed his host down a wide hall to a door on the right. The room beyond was large, the furniture so elegant he was leery of sitting on it. He was nervous — no, scared was more like it. He’d never been so scared in his life. He had no business here. He should have got drunk instead.

“I can’t do this,” he said suddenly. “I thought I could, but — tell her — no, don’t tell her anything. It’s better she don’t know what happened to me.”

“As I thought,” Anna’s husband remarked with enough contempt to shrivel a lesser man. “Most of them back out at this point.”

“I’m not going to take offense at that, mister, because you’re looking out for her interests, and I’m glad to know she’s got someone to do that for her.”

And Angel was being really generous this time, because what he’d felt like saying was, he killed men for less provocation, which wasn’t true, but saying so tended to put an abrupt end to the provocation. It ended anyway, because the man nodded, either in acceptance of his remark or because he had nothing else to say.

Angel headed for the door, the tension already starting to leave him, but it came right back when his path was suddenly blocked by a young girl. She was beautiful, with her black hair floating about her waist, and big green eyes — her father’s eyes. She couldn’t be more than thirteen years old. A sister, Kirby had said, and Angel knew in his gut he was looking at her.

A lump rose in his throat. He couldn’t seem to move or take his eyes off her.

She stared at him, too, eyes bright with curiosity, and didn’t look away even as she told her father, “Mother says she’ll be coming right down and who might you be?”

She said it all in one breath. “Angel,” he said without thinking.

“No kidding? I have a brother named Angel, though I’ve never met him. I’ve got lots of other brothers, but Mother says a girl can never have too many to look out for her.”

Angel couldn’t see himself looking out for a sister. He’d end up leaving dead bodies all over the place if she was even looked at wrong, and he didn’t think these city folks would appreciate that.

“Katey’s my name,” she continued, and again in the same breath, “Are you my brother?”

The question went through Angel like lead, sharp and painful. He didn’t know how to answer. The truth wouldn’t get him out of there any time quick. It would likely be refuted by the banker, too. And it would commit him. One little word, and an empty part of his life would be filled.

Anna’s husband didn’t give him a chance to say it.

“You have delivered your message, Katey; now take yourself off to your room.”

“But—”

“You know better than to make a nuisance of yourself when we have guests.”

His voice wasn’t stern. If anything, it was filled with too much tenderness, telling Angel the girl was well loved. And she left with a “Yes, sir,” only a slight pout drawing at her lips.

“Thank you for not answering my daughter,” Angel heard at his back. “She’s an impressionable child. She would have believed you.”