Dark Angel (Casteel 2)

Oh, my God! I had hoped not to see Logan. He looked wonderfully healthy but somehow older than when I'd seen him last. A certain youthful quality had been replaced by cynicism, which twisted his smile crookedly. Had I done that to him? His dark sapphire eyes met mine briefly before he lifted his hand and saluted, and then his eyes moved to stare with surprise and disgust at Cal. From that point on he made a studied effort not to look our way. However, Maisie was not as discreet. Logan honey, ain't that yer ole girlfriend, Heaven Casteel?"

He didn't bother to dignify her question with an answer. Quickly I was on my feet. "I'm not feeling well, Cal. Please excuse me. I'm going straight to my hotel room and to bed."

Disappointment flooded Cal Dennison's face. "I'm very sorry to hear that," he said, standing and reaching for the check. "Please allow me to see you to your room."

It wasn't necessary, and I didn't want him to come, but pain was behind my eyes, and fatigue was deep in my bone marrow. What was wrong with me? Despite all my objections, which were many, Cal followed me into the hotel lobby, stepped into the elevator, which took us to the sixth floor, and then insisted on opening my door. Quickly I stepped into the room and tried to close the door behind me, but he was quicker. Before I knew what was happening, Cal was in my room and holding me in his arms, raining on my face hot and passionate kisses.

I struggled to free myself. "Stop! No! This isn't what I want! Leave me alone, Cal! I don't love you! I don't think I ever did! Now let me go!" I struck out at his face with a balled fist and just missed giving him a black eye.

The surprise and fury of my attack caught him off guard. His arms fell away, and he stepped backward, seemingly on the verge of tears. "I never thought you'd forget all the good things I did for you, Heaven," he said with sadness. "Ever since I came back to Winnerrow three days ago, I've hoped and prayed and dreamed of seeing you again. People here have heard about your good fortune, but they don't want to believe it. And I know Logan Stonewall is seeing half a dozen girls, including Maisie."

"I don't care who he sees!" I sobbed, shoving at Cal and trying to push him out of my room. "All I want to do is take a bath and go to bed--now get out and leave me alone!"

He went then. He stood in the hotel hall beyond my open door and stared in at me with the saddest expression. "My room number is 310 in case you change your mind. I need someone like you. Give yourself a chance to love me again."

Images of Cal and Kitty together flashed through my mind. Kitty saying no to his nightly advances; his pleading voice coming through the walls and into my room--oh, yes, he had needed me! Needed someone young and gullible and stupid enough to think he was a genuine friend . . and still, as he stood there with those tears in his eyes, I pitied him. "Good night and goodbye, Cal," I said softly, stepping to where I could slowly close the door in his face. "It's all over between us. Find someone else."

The click of the closing door almost smothered his sob. I turned the key, put on a dead bolt, and ran for the bathroom. My thoughts were in turmoil--why had I come back to Winnerrow? To buy back Fanny's baby? What a ridiculous idea! My hand went to my head. When the tub was full, I stepped into the water and carefully sat down. The water was a bit too hot. Kitty had liked very hot bath water. Where had Grandpa gone? Could it be he would return to that miserable cabin?

After I finished my bath, I couldn't get Grandpa out of my thoughts. What had he done with all the money I'd given him? I had to find Grandpa. I wouldn't be able to sleep until I knew he was safe at the cabin. My head was throbbing as I left the hotel.

Main Street was steamy with humidity. Hardly a breeze blew. Up in the Willies the wind would sing through the tree leaves, having chased over the mountains, so it could sometimes cool even the tiny, cluttered rooms of that miserable shack.

I got in my rented car and drove through town. It was ten-thirty at night. All business but the pharmacy counter in Stonewall's closed after ten in the evening.

No sooner had I hit the outskirts of Winnerrow and begun to climb the spiraling highway, than my car began coughing and sputtering and then died. Undecided as to what to do now, I got out and opened the hood. Who was I fooling? I knew nothing about cars. I stared around at familiar territory that had taken on nightmarish proportions. I should walk back to the hotel and go to bed, I told myself, and forget about Grandpa and the money. Tom would never accept help from me: Grandpa didn't need me, not really. All over I was trembling.

I tried to start the car again and again, to no avail. The wind picked up and brought with it the scent of rain soon to fall. And this was going to be no ordinary summer storm. This storm had wild fierce winds, the kind that brought hail, then a sluice of water. Stronger and stronger the wind blew into my face. I had no choice but to sit in my car and hope that someone would drive by and stop to help me, My body ached all over, and I began

to wonder if I hadn't caught a bit of Troy's illness.

I must have sat there for a half hour before a car appeared, unexpectedly slowed, and the driver pulled over to the side and got out of his car. As I rolled down the window, I was shocked to recognize the familiar figure. "What are you doing out here alone at midnight?" Logan Stonewall asked.

I tried to explain what had happened as he regarded me suspiciously. "C'mon, drive you up there," he finally said, his eyes hard and commanding as he led me to his car. Feeling an absolute fool, I sat on the front seat beside him, and didn't know what to say.

"I was just going to check on your grandpa myself," he said in way of explanation the minute he gunned his motor and shot forward.

"He's not your responsibility!" I cried out like a child, my voice gone strange and thick.

"I'd do the same thing for anyone all alone up there at his age."

Silence thicker than fog came between Logan and me. The trees along the roadside were lashed unmercifully by the winds, before the hail pelted down and Logan was forced to the side of the highway to wait until the worst was over. That took about ten minutes, and during that time neither of us spoke.

Once more Logan drove his car toward a familiar dirt road that would branch out any second. Fastening my eyes on the road ahead, I tried to control my trembling.

Long ago I had considered Winnerrow's one and only hotel superbly grand; now I knew it was seedy. But still it was far better than the shack he was driving me to! I felt like crying. I wanted a

comfortable bed, clean sheets and nice blankets, and heat to drive this sudden chill from my bones. And now I'd have only the cabin with its outhouse, and the inadequate heat of Ole Smokey. I felt a tragic sense of loss as civilization was left behind in Winnerrow.

Instead of crying, I lit into Logan.

"And so you play the good Samaritan to my grandfather, do you? I suppose you just need someone in your life you can pity and demonstrate your generosity to."

He flicked me another of his scornful glances, and I looked at him long enough to see there wasn't a spark of the love that was once in his eyes. It hurt to know that my best friend had turned into a worst enemy, the kind of enemy who would kill me with hard glances and cruel words; the knives he'd save for others to throw.

I pressed back hard against the seat and slid as far from him as possible, vowing to myself not to look at him again, though in the dark, I couldn't see him very well anyway. Something was going wrong with my vision. Unreality had me squeezed in a tight fist. That ache in my bones had spread to my chest, behind my eyes, and my face burned as well as hurt. Moving became more difficult.

"I drive your grandfather to Winnerrow when he wants to go," Logan said stiffly, flicking me a glance. "He comes up often from Georgia and Florida to check on his cabin."