Dark Angel (Casteel 2)

Without waiting for my consent, he stood and moved toward the kitchen, pausing to switch on the stereo so it could flood his dim, firelit room with soft classical music. For a brief second I heard behind my eyes the loud country twang of Kitty's kind of music, and I shivered.

But this was another world, Troy's world, where reality lay far beyond the iron gates, and here, safe, snug, and warm, there was only beauty and kindness, and the faint aroma of freshly baked bread. I closed my eyes, and thoughts of Tony drifted vaguely to mind. It was almost dark outside. He'd be pacing the floor and glancing often at his watch, anticipating my return, no doubt angry because I was not keeping my word. And sleep, like a blessing, chased away Tony and all despair.

Minutes must have passed before I heard Troy's voice saying: "Come, wake up and sip the brandy." Obediently, even as my eyes stayed closed, my lips parted and the stinging, warm liquid burned its way to my stomach, and then I was coughing, bolting upright, startled by the taste of liquor I'd never tried before. "Now, that's enough," he said, withdrawing the small snifter. He smiled as if amused by my reaction to just one swallow. "It can't compare with mountain dew, is that what you're telling me?"

"I've never tasted mountain dew," I whispered hoarsely, "and I never want to." Pa's strong, brutal, and handsome face flashed before my eyes. Someday, someday, he and I would meet again, someday when I could be as cruel as he knew how to be.

"You just sit there and doze and let me make you dinner. Then you can tell me what brought you here with tears in your eyes."

My lips parted, but he hushed what I would say with the signal of his forefinger over his own lips. "Later."

I watched him slice the fresh bread and put the sandwiches together with the quick dexterity that made all his chores seem effortless and enjoyable.

Over my lap he placed a tray, and then his silver, napkin-covered tray of sandwiches and tea. On the floor before the fire he sat cross-legged to eat his meal. We had fallen into silence by this time, comfortable with each other as from time to time his eyes met with mine, ever watchful to see that I ate, and drank, and didn't lapse into the sleepy stupor that struggled to invade my body again.

Snow slashed at the windows so they iced over. The whistling wind competed with the music. Still, compared to the wind in the Willies screaming through the cracks of that mountain cabin this was tame and muffled. This cottage, six times larger, was snug and well built, with sturdy walls and insulation. Through the walls of our cabin we had been able to see the sky.

I began to nibble on his sandwich and before I knew it I'd consumed it all and polished off his steaming cup of tea. And he was smiling at me in a pleased way, having eaten three sandwiches to my one. "Another?" he asked, preparing to get up and enter the kitchen again.

I leaned back, shaking my head. "Enough. I never knew sandwiches could be so satisfying until I tasted yours."

"An art form when you care enough. How about dessert, say a slice of homemade fudge cake."

"Yours?"

"No, I don't ever bake cakes or pies, but Rye Whiskey always sends me a huge chunk of cake when he bakes. There's plenty for both of us.

But I was full. I shook my head, rejecting the cake, though he polished off a slice that made me sort of regret my decision. Already I'd learned that Troy never offered anything twice. He gave you one chance to accept, or forget it.

"I'm sorry to burst in on you as I did," I murmured, gone sleepy again. "I should hurry ba

ck to Farthy before Tony gets angry with me."

"He won't expect you to travel in a blizzard like this. He'll figure that you've holed up in some hotel lobby, and will come home the first chance you have. But you could give him a call and put his worries to rest."

But the dial tone was gone when I lifted the receiver. Lines were down.

"It's all right, Heaven. My brother is not a fool. He'll understand."

Slowly he scanned my face, perhaps seeing the emotional weariness. "Do you want to talk about it?"

No, I didn't want to talk about Logan's rejection, it hurt too much. Still, despite my will and my need to keep my pain from him, my tongue babbled out the entire story of how once I'd failed Logan in an important way, and now he couldn't forgive me. . . and what's just as bad, he's angry that now I'm not poor and pitiful!"

He got up to put the dishes we'd used into his washer. Then, falling again on the floor, which obviously he preferred to his comfortable sofa and chairs, he spread his long length on the thick comfort of his carpet to lie on his back with his hands tucked beneath his head, before he said thoughtfully: "I'm sure one day very soon Logan will regret what he said today, and you'll hear from him again. You are both very young."

"I never want to hear from him again." I choked and tried to keep from crying. "I've finished with Logan Stonewall, now and forever!"

Again a small smile played about his

beautifully shaped lips. Only when that smile faded did he turn his face away from me. "It's nice that you dropped in to share the blizzard with me, whatever the reason. I won't tell Tony."

"Why doesn't he want me to come here?" I asked, not for the first time.

For a flashing second shadows seemed to darken his expression. "In the beginning when first I met you, I didn't want to become involved with your life. Now that I know you better I feel obligated to help. When I lie down to sleep at night your eyes come to haunt me. How can a sixteen-year-old girl have such depth in her eyes?"

"I'm not sixteen!" I cried out in a hoarse choked voice. "I am already seventeen years old--but don't you dare tell Tony that." The moment the words were out of my mouth I regretted them. He owed Tony loyalty, not me.

"Why in the world would you lie about something so inconsequential as one year? Sixteen, seventeen, what's the difference?"