Johanna Lindsey - Angel

She wasn’t sorry he’d come to her. She couldn’t say that. But she couldn’t let him continue to do so. Granted, he’d be there only a few more days, and if there weren’t any other consequences to consider, she’d give anything to spend every minute of THE remaining time in his arms.

But Jenny would be the first to tell her it didn’t take a lot to get pregnant. And as much as Cassie wanted to have her own children someday, she didn’t want to be caught in the same predicament as Jenny — being a divorced woman having a baby.

Actually, if it came to that, she’d take her own advice and not sign any divorce papers. Of course, that wouldn’t gain her a husband, at least not one who would live with her. Angel wanted his freedom. He fully expected to get it back. A little thing like a paper that said he was legally married wouldn’t make him stick around.

“Such serious thoughts so early in the morning?”

She turned her head to find those black eyes on her. She’d thought he was still sleeping, which was why she hadn’t even tried to get out from under the arm draped across her chest. That arm moved now as he brought his hand up to trace the frown on her brow.

“I can give you something more pleasant to think about,” he added, and rose to lean toward her.

She almost let him kiss her. He was so damn enticing with his hair all tumbled, his eyes slumberous, his expression so sensual. Angel bent on lovemaking was devastating to every one of her newly awakened senses. Just one more time. What could it…?

Her hand shot up at the last moment to hold him back. Inwardly she was groaning over the loss. Outwardly she schooled her features to show her determination.

“Last I heard, this is how babies get made,” she said, trying not to sound too accusatory. “Is it your intention to leave me with one before you take off?”

He said nothing for all of five seconds, then he dropped back on the bed to stare at the ceiling. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

“It’s a reasonable question.”

“I know.” He sighed. “And no, that isn’t my intention. Truth to tell, that’s not something I’ve ever had to consider, not with the kind of women I usually…”

He left that open, but she got the drift easily enough. He was used to paying for his pleasure, and men took it for granted that their soiled doves knew how to prevent such things from happening. Likely they did, since they’d be out of business otherwise.

Suddenly he rolled toward her, though he was careful not to touch her. And there was an expression of keen interest on his face.

“Do you want a baby?”

Cassie’s eyes flared wide. “What kind of question is that?”

“A reasonable one.”

“The hell it is,” she grumbled, and sat up to glare at him, wrapping the sheet tightly over her breasts. “I need a husband before I start having babies, a real husband, one who’ll be around to help raise them. Then I’d like to have lots of them — but not until then.”

The resentment was heard, loud and clear. It had slipped in because she didn’t think she’d ever find that husband now. He took it as another rejection, that she didn’t now, and never would, consider him for that position.

He sat up also, but to leave the bed and get dressed. She wouldn’t watch this time. She wrapped her arms around her upraised knees and turned her face away so she couldn’t be tempted. She was annoyed with herself, but what else could she have said to him? That she wouldn’t mind having his baby. And why had he even asked?

“I should’ve shot that vindictive old coot MacKauley when I had the chance.”

Cassie’s head whipped around at that low-voiced mumble. Angel was dressed, and strapping on his gun.

“That’s not funny,” she said tersely.

“Am I laughing?” he shot back just as tersely.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re doing or thinking, but you can’t go shooting R. J. He didn’t push you into my bed, Angel.”

“No, he just figured out my only weakness. Why the hell do you think he was so amused?”

“What weakness?”

He didn’t get a chance to answer. The click of the door latch sounded as the door started to open. Angel turned and drew his gun in the same instant. And the greeting Charles Stuart had been about to make never got out.

Cassie gasped. “Papa!”

Angel took one look at her horrified expression and said, “I suppose I can’t shoot him, either?”

He had said it softly enough, but Cassie was afraid her father had heard him, so she quickly assured Charles, “He’s joking, Papa. He didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

Angel refrained from saying, “The hell I didn’t,” as he put his gun away. He didn’t know what it was about conversations with his “wife,” but they frequently ended with him feeling like shooting someone, anyone, it didn’t matter who. Too bad it wasn’t MacKauley who’d come through that door. Charles Stuart was another matter entirely.

The man was younger than Angel would have expected, probably in his early forties. His hair was as dark and lustrous as Cassie’s, his eyes a chocolate brown. He had a slight crook in his nose that testified it had been broken at some time. He was presently leaning on a cane to favor his injured foot. That got him down to Angel’s height, since Charles would have had an inch or two on him otherwise.

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.”