Glorious Angel (26 page)

“My jewels?” She looked at him in complete bewilderment.

“Why not put away your little weapon and
come away from the door,
señorita?
I promise not to surprise you with any tricks.” When she stayed rooted to the spot, he chuckled. “You still do not trust me, eh? Look on your dresser,
menina
, and you will see your box of jewels there.”

Angela turned her eyes away from him gradually and saw her black velvet jewel box. She forgot about him completely in her haste to inspect the box. She laid her gun down on the dresser and opened the lid gently. Everything was there, all her beautiful jewels, and the three settings from Bradford—everything except her gold coin.

“This is an amusing toy,
señorita.”

Angela turned around quickly to find the outlaw standing close to her, examining her derringer. She gasped, realizing how stupid she had been. She was defenseless now and she watched with wide eyes as he slipped the gun in his pocket. She started to scream, but he grabbed her swiftly and covered her mouth with his hand.

“You must trust me,
menina
, for you have no choice. If you scream, you will bring help, of course. But you will not like what happens. You have your jewels now. They will not believe that an outlaw would return loot out of the goodness of his heart. No, they will think you are my accomplice—for that is what I will tell them.”

When he lowered his hand from her mouth, she didn’t scream, but glared at him accusingly. “Why
did
you return the jewels?” she asked coldly.

“Why not?”

“But you could have pawned them for money!”

He shrugged, still holding her with one arm. “It is too risky to exchange objects of value for money—too easy to be traced. No, we usually give jewels and the like to our lady friends, in return for—ah, favors.”

Angela jerked out of his hold and walked away from him. “Is that what you want from me, a
favor?”

“And if I asked one of you, would you grant it?”

Angela swung around to face him, her hands on her hips and her eyes flashing angrily. “No!” she replied sharply. “And where is my gold coin? It’s not with the other jewels.”

He looked puzzled. “But I left it behind, in the pocket of a green jacket. You did not find it yet?”

“No—I—”

She ran for her wardrobe without saying any more. Quickly she found the coin and held it tightly in the palm of her hand. All her anger left her. She turned around, ready to express her thanks, but stopped when she found him only inches from her. He rested his hands on the wardrobe, one arm on each side of her, effectively pinning her there.

“When you are happy, you are even more lovely,
menina,”
he said in a soft voice close to her face.

“Stop calling me that!” she retorted. “I don’t even know what it means.”

He laughed heartily, and she noted again how handsome he was. His face was smooth and clean-shaven. Lights danced in his gray eyes. Though he was an outlaw, he didn’t seem a cruel man.

“How did you know those were my jewels, or where to put the coin?” Angela asked.

“The gold rings with the other jewelry were perfect settings for this coin you treasure so much,” he answered smoothly. His eyes held hers as he continued, “I decided one meeting was not enough for you and me.”

“Well, now that you have seen me again and you have returned my jewels, would you please leave? You were crazy to come here in the first place.”

He looked like a little boy, his brow wrinkled in disappointment. “Is this the gratitude I get?”

“I thank you for returning my jewels, but it was because of you that I was forced to seek employment and end my journey. Should I thank you for that, too?”

“Ah, such bitterness from one so lovely.” He ran one finger along the side of her cheek. “But you would have had to seek employment eventually, when your money and jewels were exhausted. Am I right?”

“What makes you think that?” she asked, surprise showing on her features.

“If there were anyone to help you,
menina
, then
you would not be here now,” he replied. “No, I think you have no one.”

“Well, you are wrong,
señor
, for I have very powerful friends,” she retorted. “Only I do not wish to impose on them.”

“Perhaps you speak the truth, perhaps not,” he speculated, lowering his face even closer to hers. “But what does it matter? Now you will continue your journey. Tell me where you go,
menina
, so I can find you again.”

Her reply was cut off as his lips covered hers. Though outraged, she found herself caught up by his passion. His hands on her shoulders were like steel, pressing her against him. His kiss was molten fire. She did not think. She yielded.

She didn’t know when he carried her to the bed, but she soon found herself there with the dark-haired stranger. By then, nothing mattered but being born again in his touch. And when his hands began to unlace her bodice and his lips followed the trail of his fingers, she could not contain herself any longer.

“Bradford!” she cried out. “Bradford! I love you.”

She opened her eyes and found a cold, enraged face above her. His eyes were frightening.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. It was the only thing she could think to say.

“For what?” he asked sharply. “Sorry that you led me to believe something that is not so? Or sorry that I am not Bradford?”

“You don’t understand—”

“Yes I do,” he said, cutting off her explanation. He leaned over her, his fingers digging into her shoulders. “I could still take you,
menina
. Even though you want someone else, I can make you forget him.”

“Don’t!” Angela implored, tears brimming. “Please!”

“Why?” he demanded. “Why? You let me think you were willing. And I still want you.”

Angela was sobbing now, but whether it was fear or regret, she didn’t know. “But I do love another—or did! He was the only… Even though it can never be, he must be the only one.”

The man swore violently in Spanish and left the bed. Standing beside it, he looked down at her tear-streaked face and said harshly, “You were right,
señorita
. I do not understand.” He took her derringer from his pocket and tossed it on the bed beside her. “When I love a woman, she must be with me, not with a man from her memories. So I leave you to your memories, and I wish you whatever pleasure you can find in them.
Adios.”

Thirty-eight

It didn’t take Angela long to pack. Soon, wearing a light blue traveling dress and matching brocaded jacket, she sat waiting at the stage depot. There were three others waiting, men in dark suits and derby hats—comically out of place in this barely civilized land.

When the tall, dark-haired man walked in and sat down beside her, Angela stood up immediately, but he rose at the same time and took hold of her elbow. He leaned close.

“If I believed you could get used to a different way of life, I would take you with me to Mexico, to the land I will have back one day, the land that was stolen from my family.”

“I wouldn’t go with you!” she said firmly.

“I did not say I would ask your permission,
menina,”
he replied just as firmly.

Before she could answer, his arms encircled her waist. She tried to move away from him, but he held her too hard. Their battle joined, both were startled by the voice behind Angela.

“Do you give your favors away so freely now, Angela?”

“Grant!” she gasped, whirling to face the angry green eyes. “What—are you doing here?”

“I just arrived on the stage. But maybe you’d rather I hadn’t,” he said, staring coldly at the bandit.

“Stop being so presumptuous!” Angela snapped. “This is—a friend of mine. We were just saying good-bye.”

The bandit laughed softly. “Yes,” he agreed, and brought Angela’s hand slowly to his lips. “I hope we will meet again one day. Till then,
adios.”

He walked away quickly. Angela turned to face Grant, ready for the lecture she was sure he would give her. She was shocked when he said, “I’ve missed you.”

What could she say?

“Is that why you came?”

“No,” Grant replied, his voice growing somber. “Jim McLaughlin came to the ranch looking for you and asked if I’d help.”

“What does he want with me?”

Grant looked down at the floor, his face solemn. “He has some matters to discuss with you. Angela… Jacob Maitland is dead.”

He helped the stricken young woman out of
the stage depot. In their preoccupation, neither of them noticed the man hiding in the corner behind a newspaper. He had just arrived, and Angela had not seen him.

Billy Anderson’s eyes were gleaming. He had succeeded! He had followed Jim McLaughlin all the way from Mobile, knowing the lawyer had business with Angela, sure he would lead Billy to her. The time was not right for what he had in mind, but Billy could be patient. After years of waiting, a little longer wouldn’t matter.

An hour later, Angela and Jim McLaughlin sat in a small office at the bank while he read to her from a long document. She tried to listen but the words didn’t register. She sat very still in a hard-back chair, staring blankly at the paper in Jim’s hands. But what she saw was Jacob, sitting in his study, his eyes lighting up when she arrived to help him with the books. And Jacob in the dining room, Jacob with his slightly graying hair, leaning sideways to whisper something to her. Jacob.

Jacob dead? No, he would still be at Golden Oaks, giving orders. Jacob was too real to be dead. So why was Jim McLaughlin sitting here reading Jacob’s will?

“Did you understand all I’ve read, Angela?” Jim McLaughlin asked kindly.

“What?”

She glanced up, her eyes blank.

“I realize this has been quite a shock to you, Angela,” Jim said.

“Let me sum it up for you,” he continued. “You will have twelve thousand dollars a year, which you may draw on any bank. And two residences now belong solely to you—a comfortable town house in Massachusetts, and a small estate in England. Aside from these, you may use any residence from the bulk of the estate at your convenience. Should anyone deny you welcome— I assume this to mean Bradford, since he owns these properties now—they will be disinherited. This was a harsh stipulation, but Jacob insisted on it. Beyond all of that, you now own half interest in the JB Ranch, the other half belonging to Bradford. The ranch is quite large, consisting of thousands of acres, and I believe it is now being restored. Once it becomes productive, you will be a very wealthy woman, even more than you already are.”

Angela listened in astonishment. Jacob had been extraordinarily generous. She no longer had to worry about money.

“If you’ll let me advise you, Angela, it might be a good idea to retire to your ranch for a while. Grant Marlowe will be going back there, so he can escort you. It will give you time to get over the shock of Jacob’s death, and to decide what you want to do. There are limitless possibilities. Travel is one, and you won’t even have to stay in hotels, because there are Maitland properties all over the world.”

“Yes, well, maybe I will go to the ranch for a while,” Angela replied.

She would no longer have to travel this wild land in search of her mother. She could hire someone else to do the searching for her.

“Have you understood everything?” Jim asked.

“Yes.”

“Well then, there is nothing left for me to do but give you a copy of the will and this letter from Jacob,” Jim said, handing the articles to her.

Angela took the letter without surprise, for she had been expecting it, or something like it. She knew what would be in it—Jacob explaining that she was his daughter and how it had all happened. Holding the letter, she suddenly felt Jacob’s presence. She shook off the feeling, knowing it was absurd. Jim McLaughlin quietly left the room as she opened the envelope.

My dearest Angela,

I will be dead when you read this letter, and I hope with all my heart that you will not grieve for me. You were a blessing to me in my last years, the daughter I always wanted, and I could not bear it if I caused you any unhappiness.

That is one reason why I could not bring myself to tell you about your mother. I regret having to tell you now that she is dead, and buried on my ranch in Texas.

Angela sat immobile, the letter in her hand. She did not move for a long time.

Her mother was dead, and Jacob had known all along. The tears began. Angela cried hard for her mother. And then, finally, she cried for Jacob.

At last, she continued reading:

I blame myself for her death. It was so tragic—she was so young.

You see, I loved your mother with all my heart. And she loved me. But we realized our love too late, after I was married and had children to care for.

I would have left my wife, but Charissa wouldn’t permit it. She would have become my mistress, but I respected her too much to allow that. I regret my decision now, for we argued over it, and Charissa vowed she would go away and marry the first man who asked her.