Unconventional Series Collection (15 page)

"I understand."

Her teeth grazed her full bottom lip in a
gesture Luke knew to be innocent, but desire shot through him. He cleared his
throat. I can deliver references to you tomorrow. Would you like me to send
them to the same post office box?"

For a moment, Mrs. St. Clair appeared flustered,
but she quickly composed her face into bland indifference. "Yes, please. I
must leave now." She stood and began pulling on her gloves.

Luke jumped to his feet and reached for the tab
the waiter had discreetly left on their table. "Please, let me take care
of this and then I'll see you to your hotel." While he handled the money
transaction, she walked to the foyer of the restaurant.

Angel hastened out of the restaurant while Mr.
Samson was engaged paying their bill. She did not want him accompanying her
back to her shabby hotel. He was very persuasive and she needed time to think.
Rushing down the street, she stepped into a milliner's shop, hoping to hide
from him. Her heart thumped as she walked to the back of the shop and lifted
some fabric, pretending interest. The man unnerved her. He may be young, but
his eyes revealed experience with women.

"That shade of lavender would look lovely
on you," said the proprietress. "Lavender would bring out the green
of your eyes."

Angel smiled her acknowledgement and pretended
interest in other fabrics. When she felt she had waited long enough, she
slipped out the door and hastened down the street, walking the many blocks to
her hotel.

Throughout the night, dreams of azure eyes that
seemed to peer into the hidden secrets of her soul troubled her sleep. The next
morning, sitting at her desk and calculating her funds, she knew she would have
to leave soon for California. Her money was dwindling and she still hadn't
found a suitable man to escort her. The proprietors she had purchased the
business from were only keeping the bakery open until the end of June, two
months away. They had written that if she hadn't arrived by then, they would
leave the keys with the business next door. Angel knew that if the bakery
closed, precious customers would be lost.

At noon, she made her customary trip to the post
office to retrieve her mail. Three envelopes awaited her: two in response to
her advertisement and one with handwriting she recognized—Luke Samson's. Unable
to resist, she walked to a corner of the postal building and ripped Mr.
Samson's envelope open. In his beautiful script, he had listed the names of his
father and mother, brothers and sister, and a page of names and occupations of
a dozen people. Although Angel did not recognize the names, she did recognize
the titles of prominent people: owner of the Philadelphia Inquirer, railroad
mogul, restaurateur, and more. While she wondered at the man's connections and
his desire to help her, she first smelled, and then heard, the approach of a
drunken lout.

"Well, ain't you a purdy filly. Hey, Tator,
come have a lookey see." The revolting man reached and grabbed Angel's
upper arms, pulling her roughly against his chest. "Yep, I like the feel
o' you. I thinks we needs ta spend some time tagather."

The old fear bunched in Angel's throat and when
the man's burley partner rounded the corner, she thought she might faint.
Glancing across the room and not seeing the postmaster, she realized she was in
trouble. Placing her hands on the horrible man's chest, she pushed as hard as
she could, but her effort proved fruitless, as she had known it would. He only
encircled her waist and pulled her lower body tighter against his. She could
feel his erection and almost threw up. Her only option now was to scratch and
scream, something she hated doing.

A voice from across the room said calmly,
"I don't think the lady appreciates your attention. I highly suggest you
let her go."

Angel almost gagged when the imbibed man's
breath reached her nostrils when he slurred. "Oh, yeah? Well, I found her
first. Ain't never seen one this purdy. You'll have ta wait yer turn. Ain't
that right, Tator?"

Tator grinned, showing off rotting teeth.
"I'd say that's right." He took a step forward, flexing his knuckles.

Smoothly, Mr. Samson reached inside his duster
and removed a small derringer, aiming it at Tator's crotch. He said with a
smile, "I'd love to pull the trigger."

Tator stopped, swayed slightly, and responded,
"Ain't no whore worth gettin' killed over. Com'on Slim."

Mr. Samson lifted an eyebrow and readjusted the
aim of his gun toward Slim's head. Slim cussed, ground himself against Angel,
and said just before shoving her away, "Yeah, and this one's the kind that
gits men killed." With a look of pure hatred, he joined his friend and
they mumbled profanities while stumbling out the door. Mr. Samson followed
them, never lowering his gun.

Angel slumped against the wall, willing visions
of past experiences to return to her subconscious. She was shaking so badly she
clasped her hands together and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Angel," she heard her name softly
called. The steadiness of the sound calmed her somewhat and she opened her
eyes. Mr. Samson stood a few feet away, obviously giving her space, and then
did something that made her heart race again for a different reason. He smiled
reassuringly.

Angel blinked and placed her hand over her
heart.

"They won't be bothering you again, I
promise." The young man glanced at the envelopes and pages that had fallen
to the floor. "I see you've read my references. Do they meet with your
approval?"

Unable to comprehend his words she stared at him
with widened eyes.

 When she didn't respond, he said, "There's
a park across the street. May I escort you there? You can rest on a
bench."

"Umm…" Angel glanced nervously at the
door.

"They're gone, Angel. You're safe with
me."

The young man bent to retrieve the papers and
then offered her his arm. She suddenly came to her senses. He must think her
daft. She needed to sit before her shaky legs collapsed. "Yes, I'd like to
go to the park."

Instead of placing her hand in the crook of his
elbow however, she avoided contact and walked past him. He followed and reached
to open the door. The postmaster walked back into the room, oblivious to what
had just transpired.

Outside, Angel glanced anxiously around while
Mr. Samson walked beside her, and when they crossed the street, he touched her
elbow. Curiously, the contact did not make her cringe as she would have
expected after her ordeal. Usually, such happenings left her phobic for days.
He directed her to a lovely path bordered by multicolored flowers and a bench
set amongst them. When she sat, he knelt in front of her.

"Is this better?"

Taking a shaky breath, she said, "Yes.
Much."

Angel felt Mr. Samson studying her face, but
kept her eyes trained on a bed of pansies behind him. He stood and walked to
the tree next to the bench, leaning against it.

* * *

Luke removed his Stetson and held it next to his
side. The encounter with the uncouth cowboys had obviously upset Angel to the
point that she was having difficulty recovering. He waited patiently for her to
look at him. When she did, his breath caught. She was simply the most striking
woman he had ever encountered, and he had met his share because of the societal
circles in which he sometimes had to associate. Society women had nothing
better to do than pamper themselves into prettiness, but they paled in
comparison to this angel.

Mrs. St. Clair said, "Thank you, Mr.
Samson. I sincerely appreciate your help. I-I hate encounters like that."

"Do they happen often?"

She glanced away. "No. But enough to make
me leery of going outdoors. I spend much time in my hotel room."

"Have you considered my offer of
protection?" he asked bluntly.

She bit her full bottom lip and Luke clenched
his jaw, chastising himself for seeking to become involved with this woman.

She continued looking past him. "Were you
at the postal station waiting for me to arrive? If so, that seems a strange
thing to do."

"I was. And under normal circumstances I
would agree it's very strange. But nothing about you or your request appears to
be normal. After you disappeared last night, I was concerned. You should have
let me see you home. In good conscience, I felt I had to find you and offer my
escort to San Francisco once more. If you tell me no, I'll not bother you
again."

For a long moment she was silent and then she
closed her eyes. "Yes, Mr. Samson, I accept your offer. I want to leave by
the end of the month. The travel time is two weeks, what with changing trains
and such." She clutched her hands in her lap and opened her eyes to stare
at them. "We never talked about money, but I will give you one hundred
dollars on the day we leave, and the remaining two hundred after being
deposited at the doorstep of my business."

The talk of payment made Luke uncomfortable.
"I have no need of money. You can hold on to it until we reach
California."

She glanced up at him with a look of surprise.
"If that's what you wish."

Luke had no intention of accepting her money,
ever, but he knew if he voiced that fact, she would wonder at his motivation
for helping her. Hell,
he
wondered at his motivation.

He pushed away from the tree when Mrs. St. Clair
stood. "Mr. Samson, I should be getting back to my hotel." She
glanced up at him and he could see hope shining behind her sad eyes. He
wondered what a true smile and laugh would do for her countenance. In that
instant he determined that before they permanently parted ways, he would make
her laugh freely just so he could glimpse the woman hidden beneath layers of
hurt.

He smiled, "Let me escort you home."
Before she could object, he walked past her and whistled for one of the
carriages waiting near the park. He helped her inside and asked the name of her
hotel. After a moment's hesitation she told him. Relaying the information to
the driver, he entered the coach and sat in the seat opposite her.

"You really don't need to accompany me to
my hotel, Mr. Samson."

Ignoring her protest, he closed the door.
"At the risk of sounding forward, and given our business arrangement, I
wouldn't mind if you called me Luke."

She turned to stare out the window. "Okay,
I'll call you Luke."

"May I call you Angel?"

"If you so desire."

He tapped the top of the coach and it lurched
forward. Hoping to learn more about this unusual woman, he asked, "How is
it that you were named Angel? I've never met anyone with that name."

A soft look passed across her face. "My
mother told me that as a child, she was very ill and wasn't expected to live.
She said she remembered having a high fever and hearing the doctor say, 'It
won't be much longer.' When she looked past him, she saw a beautiful being with
wings. She said she remembered using all of her strength to point and say,
'Angel,' and the wonderful creature gave her a heavenly smile before fading
away. After that, her fever broke and she made a miraculous recovery."
Angel turned angelic eyes on Luke and continued barely above a whisper,
"When I was born, she said I looked like that angel."

Luke sat immobilized by her gaze and her words
and had a sudden inclination to wrap his arms around her and hold her close to
his heart. Instead, he looked out his own window, composing his thoughts.
"That's a beautiful story, Angel."

They traveled the rest of the way in silence.
When the driver pulled in front of the hotel, Luke scowled. It was shabby and
in a shady part of town. "How long have you been staying at this
hotel?"

"Two months while I tried to find someone
to accompany me to California."

"What were you going to do if you didn't
find someone suitable?" The driver opened the door, but Luke didn't make a
move to step out.

"Honestly, Mr. Samson, er Luke, I do not
know. I suppose I would have garnered my courage and traveled on by
myself." She hesitated. "I will be frank with you, sir. I have
emotional scars that keep me indoors most of the time. I find it difficult to
appear in public. Are you sure you still want to accompany me?"

Without hesitation, he replied,
"Absolutely," and stepped from the coach to help her down, walking
her into the foyer of the hotel.

Turning around, she politely thanked him again,
but before she walked toward the stairs, he asked, "May I escort you to
dinner this evening so we can talk about our plans?"

"I fear this evening will not work for
me." She inhaled and then confided, "I need time to recover from my
scare today. I realize that most women would put the unsavory event behind them
and forget it; however, I am not like most women. As I said, I have emotional
trauma I have yet to overcome."

"Then tomorrow may I escort you to
dinner?"

She studied the carpet and then looked up.
"Yes, that would be appropriate. You may pick me up at six o'clock."

She walked past him to the stairs. Softly he
said, "Goodbye, Angel."

She paused and said without turning around,
"Goodbye, Luke."

* * *

Angel entered her room and promptly pulled the
chamber pot out from under the bed and threw up. After taking the pot to the
shared second story water closet and emptying and rinsing it, she returned to
her room and collapsed across her bed. Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to
what always happened when she was accosted, she slept and dreamed nightmares.
However, this time the nightmares ended with a young cowboy speaking comforting
words. He could not rescue her from previous traumas, but even so, his kind
words were greater than her terror. After night had fallen she awoke with a
sense of peace.