Angel

Chapter 36

Jocelyn Fleming, Dowager Duchess of Eaton, wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to the flame-red hair she was brushing. She was watching her lover in the mirror of her vanity as he sat on the bed they’d just spent a pleasurable hour in, toying with a piece of paper in his hand. He was dressed already, in his usual casual attire of tight black pants, blue shirt, red bandana — and knee-high moccasins. His fringed buckskin jacket hung on her bedpost. He wouldn’t need it again tonight, for his sister and her husband were coming over for dinner, would in fact be arriving shortly.

She wondered, not for the first time, if she would be able to get him into a suit for their wedding. She seriously doubted it. She wondered, too, if he was ever going to cut his past-the-shoulder-length black hair again. The last time he’d worn it short, he’d nearly been whipped to death — on the front porch of this very ranch.

She still ached for him each time she saw his scars, and he no longer hid them from her. She’d already decided she would never ask him to cut his hair, since he wore it long deliberately so no one would ever again doubt that he was a half-breed. The decision would have to be his alone — when and if he could ever put all of that old bitterness to rest.

She liked to think she was working on helping him toward that end. At least now he was more like the happy, contented man his sister had described to her, rather than the surly, near savage man she’d tricked into escorting her to Wyoming. Until the day she died, she’d never forget his expression when she’d called his bluff and agreed to pay him fifty thousand dollars to be her guide. Dear Edward’s money had never given her as much pleasure as it had that day.

“All right, I give up, Colt,” Jocelyn said, drawing his light blue eyes to the mirror. “My curiosity simply can’t bear it anymore, so tell me, what are you sitting there frowning about?”

“This damn letter from Angel.”

“When did it arrive?”

“It was there when I went to town this morning. And I shouldn’t even call it a letter. Two damn sentences is all he wrote, though I can’t really complain about that, since he probably had to have someone write it for him, and he’s never been long-winded.”

Her brow rose slightly. “Are you trying to make me feel sorry for that despicable friend of yours by telling me he can’t write?”

“I never asked if he could, but I seriously doubt it, with the way he was raised — and you can’t still be mad at him for that stunt he pulled in New Mexico.”

“Can’t I? I truly thought I was going to die that day. He could have told me he was on my side, instead of letting me think the worst.”

“If you’d thought any differently, Longnose might have suspected something, and who’s to say you and Angel would have got out of there alive? Now I’m not condoning what he did, but he did have the best intentions. You’d been running from that man for three years without knowing what he even looked like. It was time you knew.”

“I give you only that,” she allowed.

“Well, give me one better,” he said. “If you’d had to waste time guessing who Longnose was when he showed up here in your bedroom that day, you wouldn’t have acted as swiftly as you did, and you might have been dead by the time I got up here to kill the bastard.”

She hadn’t thought of that, but still, she really detested the idea of being grateful to Angel. Pointedly, she said, “You were telling me about his letter. What has you so upset about it?”

Colt grunted. “I’m not upset, I’m baffled.”

“And you’re handling it very well, too.”

He gave her a sharp look. “He says he’ll be home within the week.”

“Wonderful.” She sighed. “In time for the wedding. Just what I wanted to hear. Does he at least own a suit?”

“You’re going to pay for that one, Duchess.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Do you promise?”

He came up to stand behind her. “My brother-in-law has the right idea. A woman’s neck needs to be wrung every once in a while.”

“If you put your hands on me, Colt Thunder, I can’t promise we’ll be available when your sister arrives.”

He bent down to lick the bare skin on the inner side of her camisole strap. “Jessie would understand.”

“Philippe wouldn’t.”

“That’s all right,” he assured her. “I feel like shooting that temperamental French chef of yours once a day anyway. So today I give in—”

“Stop!” She chuckled. “What else did your wretched Angel have to say?”

The frown was back as Colt glanced again at the letter in his hand. “He asks me to keep an eye on his meddling wife until he gets here.”

“I didn’t know he was married,” Jocelyn said. “Have I met her?”

“How the hell should I know?” he replied. “I haven’t met her yet myself.”

Her frown appeared to match his. “Then how does he expect you to keep an eye on her?”

“I’m damned if I know,” Colt said in exasperation. “It’s not like Angel to be cryptic— well, it is, but not that cryptic. He must think that I’d know who he’s talking about, but I’m damned if I do.”

“Did he describe her?”

“Honey, I told you word for word all he said. Two damn sentences.”

“Well, actually, he does describe her— as meddling. Do you know anyone like that?”

“There’s only one woman in these parts that anyone refers to as meddling, but it couldn’t be her. She was visiting her father in — Texas.”

“Isn’t that where Angel went when he left us in New Mexico?”

He shook his head, not in answer, but in bafflement again. “I refuse to believe Angel married Cassie Stuart.”

“There, you see, you did know who he was talking about after all.”

“Jocelyn, Cassie Stuart is a very proper, very well-brought-up young lady. She and Angel would be so mismatched if d be laughable. Her kind scares the pants off him.”

“That would certainly be interesting.” She grinned at him through the mirror. “I rather hope it is her, though, of course, that means I’ll have to start feeling sorry for the girl immediately.”

He placed his hands slowly around her neck.

“What do you mean, you know?” Jessie scowled. She hated having a good surprise spoiled. “Cassie just told me today. When did she tell you?”

“She didn’t,” Colt replied, his bafflement back. “I got a letter from Angel. But I still refuse to believe it. Angel and Cassie?”

“Thars what I said,” Jessie told him. “But it’s true enough, though how long it remains so is another matter. They didn’t get married because they wanted to. They were helped to it by some angry Texans.”

“All right, now that’s a little more believable,” Colt allowed. “Though I still can’t imagine why Angel would let it happen.”

“Maybe because he wanted it to happen.”

Colt, Jessie, and Chase all looked at Jocelyn in surprise. It was Colt who asked her, “Where did you get that crazy notion?”

The duchess shrugged. “If he didn’t want to be married, would he be in the habit of calling her his wife when referring to her, instead of by name? Would a man who hates to be indebted, as you’ve assured me he does, ask you to keep an eye on this lady when he’s going to be here shortly himself? And by the way, why would he be so concerned about her? Is she in some kind of trouble?”

It was Chase who answered, since Jessie and Colt were still mulling over Jocelyn’s astounding logic. “If you knew the lady, you wouldn’t have to ask. Cassie Stuart is in the habit of always being in trouble of one kind or another because of her meddling.”

“I don’t like that word, Chase,” Jessie complained in defense of her friend. “Cassie just has a big heart and likes to help people—”

“Whether they want help or not.”

Jessie gave her husband a dark look for that interruption. Typically, he merely smiled back at her.

And to dispute some of Jocelyn’s logic, Colt added, “Cassie’s mother is perfectly capable of keeping her out of trouble. She’s been doing it for years.”

To which the duchess simply tossed out another bit of logic for them to chew over. “So maybe Angel feels that’s his responsibility now.”

“She may have a point there, Colt,” Jessie conceded. “After all, Angel insisted on having a wedding night, when if he’d kept his hands off the girl, she could have had that shotgun wedding annulled.”

“Well, that must have been an interesting conversation you two had this morning,” Chase remarked with a chuckle.

“Cassie actually told you that?” Colt asked his sister, a bit embarrassed himself.

Jocelyn, seeing his flush, laughed. “Men do seem to have that problem every once in a while.”

“I’m more than likely to have it tonight,” Chase said.

His wife threw her napkin at him from across the table — but she didn’t push his foot away. It had slipped beneath her skirt and was presently rubbing up and down the back of her calf. She concealed a secret smile that only he recognized.

“Well, I don’t care what you say,” Colt said to the table at large. “I happen to know Angel better than the rest of you, and I’m not accepting any of this until I hear it from his own mouth. But in the meantime, I guess I better go over to the Lazy S tomorrow and make sure Angel’s so-called wife is behaving herself.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jocelyn volunteered. “I’d like to meet this poor, unfortunate girl for myself.”

“Duchess—” Colt began, only to be cut off.

“It doesn’t matter what you say, Colt Thunder. I am never going to like that particular friend of yours.”

“You weren’t planning on telling his wife that, were you?” Colt wanted to know.

“Certainly not. I hope I have better manners than that — though someone ought to encourage her to get a divorce while she still can.”

“But you won’t, Duchess,” Colt said without expression. “We only allow one meddler in each county, after all. We shoot the rest.”

“More Western customs?” she asked in a tone quite as dry as her friend Vanessa’s had ever been. “How quaint.”