MONTANA SKY 07.5: Angel In Paradise (3 page)

A glance in the mirror made Angelina wrinkle her nose. Rafe was right about her being paler than normal. She appeared drained, haggard. Had he seen her that way? Old taunts about her “mongrel” heritage tried to burrow into her thoughts, but she squelched them with a shake of her head.

Well, since she’d be staying a little longer on this tropical island than she’d planned…catching the evening instead of the afternoon ferry, she’d get a little time in the sun. Showing up at the law firm tomorrow with some color wouldn’t be bad.

Yet if ten minutes with Raphael Flanigan had shaken her, broken open a tightly-contained core of pain, what might happen if she spent several hours in his presence?

I can do this!
Angelina took another bracing breath, then opened the bathroom door, and stepped out.

Rafe was just hanging up the phone, and the sound of the door made him look her way. His eyes widened, and his lips turned up, just the tiniest bit. “That’s better.”

Angelina was immediately lost in his compelling gaze. She looked away, unwilling to get pulled back into their attraction.

“Let’s head for the inn. Have you been there yet?”

She shook her head. “I came straight here. No need to check into the hotel. I won’t be here overnight.”

He shot her a grin. “Won’t matter anyway. Sunseekers’ Inn is full up. A big, fancy wedding.”

Another reason to catch the evening ferry, or I might end up staying with him.

“One of my carriages is parked in front of the inn. I just called the driver to wait for us.”

They strolled out the door and down the wooden path she’d walked up earlier, but instead of turning toward the ferry, he led her in the opposite direction.

Her gaze fell on a sign obviously posted as a warning for ignorant tourists.

BEWARE!

HORSES, EVEN THE LITTLE ONES,

MAY KICK OR BITE!

THANK YOU!

Rafe hadn’t strayed far from his roots
, she decided.

The livery consisted of a weathered gray wooden barn painted with blue trim, some small outbuildings, and a tiny cottage in the same color. She looked up at Rafe, whose sunglasses covered his eyes. “Cobalt? A little unusual color for a stable, don’t you think?”

A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Not on Seeker’s Island. When I first arrived, the livery was turquoise…
faded
turquoise. Now
that
was a little much.”

Angelina chuckled, then realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed. Certainly she must have smiled recently, but she’d been too worried about her father and caught up in the stress of work to feel light-hearted.

“I converted the chicken house to staff quarters for my driver. Two college girls who work for me in the summer live in the cottage. They’re in charge of the kids’ parties with the miniature horses and also during the hours of the petting zoo.”

“Petting zoo?”

“Not quite a zoo. But kids sure do like the minis.”

“I remember. When you’re small, a horse that’s your size is just perfect.”

Rafe took her hand, as if casually leading her past the stables, and walked toward the direction of town. But the touch of their hands felt anything but casual.

Not wanting to make a scene, Angelina didn’t pull away, although she couldn’t help liking the feel of her hand in his calloused one. She had an increasingly hard time keeping an emotional distance and wondered if she had the same effect on him that he did on her.

They reached a large corral edged by trees. Five sorrel-and-white Paint horses and two foals, interspersed with six similar patterned miniature horses, lazed in the shade. Their coats gleamed more orange than dark copper.

Angelina caught her breath at the sight. “You still have your Paints?”

“At least I held on to part of my dream.” Rafe’s tone was wry. “Stuck to producing orange Overos.”

“I’m glad,” she murmured, thinking about their last conversation so long ago, when they’d shared their cherished dreams, only to have them shattered hours later.

“What about you, Angel?”

“I guess you can say that I held on to part of my dreams—the lawyer part—too.”

They reached the wooden corral and stopped to observe the horses.

“Took awhile to get that light color for the minis. I still breed for confirmation, personality, and color.”

“They’re so bright and cute.” She was especially taken with the mini stallion. The small horse faced her direction, his light-colored tail and mane blowing in the breeze, two blue eyes fixed on Angelina as if hoping she’d produce a treat. “I don’t think our ancestors would recognize them.”

“Nope. The minis are no longer the Falabella breed that came from Argentina.” He pulled on her hand. “If we stop to say howdy, we’ll never leave.”

Would that be so bad?
Angelina banished the traitorous thought. She gave him a rueful smile. “I guess you’re right.” Reluctantly, she walked on.

They reached a road, and the wooded walkway turned into a concrete sidewalk. They passed quaint stores, the buildings looking as if they’d been on the island for ages. Probably had.

Rafe pointed to a two-story building with a porch and a balcony. The sign said Paradise Ice Cream Parlor. People sat at bistro tables on the broad, white porch. One skinny man, leaning against the carved support post, had an ice cream cone in each hand.

Watching him lick first one cone then the other gave Angelina an immediate craving for chocolate. She wished for the skinny guy’s metabolism.

Rafe nudged her. “The former whorehouse. Now the ice cream parlor’s downstairs and living quarters are upstairs.”

“Still housing wicked indulgences.”

Rafe chuckled. “That they are. The ice cream here has won awards. People come from the mainland just to get a sugar high.” He steered her inside and held open the screened door.

“You’ll have to taste for yourself.”

Angelina stepped across the threshold and was assaulted by the smell of sugar. A long laminate counter ran across the right side of the room. People perched on high stools in front of it. The left half held the glass-fronted freezer with the ice cream. A staircase to the upper floor was in the back.

Rafe slid his sunglasses on the top of his head and leaned closer. “An ice cream cone is mandatory when you visit Seeker’s Island. It primes you for the magic.”

She nudged him, trying not to giggle. “Don’t be silly.”

He approached the gangly teenager behind the freezer and told him, “One Rocky Road for the lady, and one Pumpkin Spice for me.”

He remembered
. Angelina was amazed.
Odd how some things hadn’t faded over the years.
She didn’t know how she felt about that…what she wanted Rafe to recall about her.

Rafe handed over some money, accepted the two cones, and gave Angelina hers.

She took a lick and almost moaned at the taste of the rich sweetness.
How long had it been since I’ve eaten ice cream?
She stopped to think.
At least a year.

Rafe’s gaze didn’t leave her face. His tongue slid around the side of the ice cream ball. As she watched in fascination, shivers raced down her spine, and not from the cold of the Rocky Road. Rafe made eating an ice cream a sensual experience.

Angelina decided to give him a taste of his own medicine, or in this case, ice cream. She looked at him from under her eyelashes, sending him a seductive smile. Her tongue played over the top surface, then she bit into a marshmallow with her front teeth,

His smoky gaze smoldered.

She held in a smile and lowered her eyelids, feeling the power of her femininity.

The screen door banged open. Several teenage boys entered, jostling each other.

Rafe took Angelina’s free arm, steered her around the gang, and escorted her outside.

They continued down the sidewalk, past a surf shop and a bakery, the yeasty smell of bread drifting into the air. They strolled across the driveway of Sunseekers’ Inn. The yellow Victorian, with a turret on each side and tropical-print cushions on the porch furniture, beckoned her to linger for a while.

If only I were here on vacation.
She slanted a look up at Rafe.
Without the company of a stubborn Flanigan.
But even as she thought the words, deep down Angelina wished she could be here under entirely different circumstances—ones featuring hot sun, a cool ocean, and Rafe’s strong hands playing over her body.

Stop,
she chastened herself.
I have a job to do.

A white carriage with turquoise leather seats was parked in front of the picket fence under the shade of the trees, the top folded back. Instead of the expected brown or black horse, a Paint stood between the shafts. She admired how the orange coat, splashed with white, gleamed like a new penny in the sun.

“He’s a descendant of Sassy and Cass.”

Nostalgia caught Angelina in a grip. She and Rafe had taken many a ride over the ranches and wilderness of Sweetwater Springs, part of a posse of close-knit friends from the time they first put a headstall on their ponies. “They’re beautiful. I’m amazed you kept up with your breeding program.”

Pride lit his face. “Albeit on a smaller scale than I’d planned. Don’t have the expanse of land here. I sell the Paints to the rich on the mainland.”

“They look valuable.”

“More so than in Montana. Course, with the Internet, we can sell all over. But I don’t like to ship my stock long distances. Travel’s hard on them.”

They reached the carriage. The driver, an attractive man with sun-streaked brown hair, bottle-green eyes, and a rich tan, looked to be in his late twenties. He sketched Rafe a salute.

Rafe nodded. “Meet Chip Brockman. Driver and groom. He’s been with me for the last three years. Chip, this is Angel Howard, an old friend of mine.”

“Angelina,” she corrected.

One of Rafe’s eyebrows pulled up. “
Angelina
Howard.”

Chip flashed a cocky grin. “Didn’t think you had any old friends, boss. Especially pretty ones.”

“I didn’t either.” Rafe led her over to the horse and ran a hand over the white patch on the animal’s neck. “Meet Abigail.”

“Abigail?”

“For the last few years, I’ve used names of the First Ladies.”

“Do you have a Martha?”

“I did. Martha now lives in Washington,” he said deadpan, but his eyes twinkled.

She burst out laughing and had to hold her stomach.

“D.C.”

Angelina couldn’t help another bubble of laughter escaping. She took a deep breath, surprised to feel the constriction which banded her chest for who knew how long had eased.
I knew I was stressed, but not that my body was so tight.
The knowledge shook her. Sadness surfaced for what she’d gone through…no
put
herself through.
All that work, everything I sacrificed, and I still didn’t make partner.

“I’ll take over, Chip,” Rafe said.

The driver glanced at his watch. “I have a couple scheduled in a half an hour.”

“Get the other carriage. I’ll bring this one back to the stables.”

“You got it, boss.” Chip jumped down in a smooth motion.

His hand on the small of her back, Rafe guided Angelina around the carriage. “Sit in front with me, Angel
ina
.” He extended his hand to help her up.

She slid her fingers into his callused palm. “Sure, boss.”

He grinned.

So did she.

He handed her up to the seat.

Although Rafe touched her with the same impersonal courtesy he must give any woman climbing into the vehicle, his hands didn’t feel at all impersonal. Warmth trailed where he touched. She couldn’t help the sensations thrumming through her body.

Raphael Flanigan
. Achingly familiar, yet different, perhaps because she had an adult’s awareness of him. She glanced away, afraid of what he’d see on her face, and stared at the flowers lining the driveway.

Angelina felt the seat cushions give beneath Rafe’s weight, heard the slap of reins, felt the jerk of the carriage pulling forward, listened to the clop-clop of the horse’s hooves. But she couldn’t turn her head to look at him. Not until she’d banished the impact he had on her, or at least controlled herself enough so he wouldn’t guess.

“My father said,” Angelina began.

“Uh, uh. Relax. You’re on island time.”

Angelina backed off, biding her time.

While he took them through the streets of the town, they kept to the safe topic of horses,

although she itched to get his agreement to sign so she
could
relax.

A pretty woman standing in front of a jewelry store waved at Rafe.

He smiled and nodded in acknowledgment.

They drove past wooden cottages in pastel colors. Some looked like simple shotgun homes, others were Craftsman bungalows. From time to time, a stately Victorian with lacy trim would tower over the neighbors.

Flowers spilled out of window boxes, grew along side the walkways, and flourished in