MONTANA SKY 07.5: Angel In Paradise (4 page)

shell-lined beds. Their scent perfumed the air.

The beauty of Seeker’s Island charmed Angelina, and some of the tension seeped from her tight muscles. She caught herself imagining which house she’d choose for a vacation home—perhaps one in need of renovations that she could lovingly restore. Then she remembered being passed over for partner, the lack of extra income her new position would have brought, and her good spirits crashed.

Sensing her inner turmoil, Rafe allowed Angel to sit in silence for the first twenty minutes of the ride, but studied her from the corner of his eye.

Finally, she gave a tiny shake, as if rolling something off her mind. She glanced up at him, her gaze friendly but impersonal. “Tell me about your business. How long have you been on the island?”

He decided to play the conversation her way. At least for now. “Fifteen years.”

She gave him a wide-eyed look.

“When I lit out from Sweetwater Springs, I wanted to drive as far away as possible and still be in the states. Florida, believe it or not, is good horse country. Lots of rich retired people who like to ride.”

“But you ended up on an
island
.”

“My parents met here, and my mother told us enough stories about the place….” He shrugged. “Sort of felt familiar.”

“I never knew that about your parents.”

“Imagine a soldier on leave. He’s from a wealthy ranching family with roots dating back a hundred and twenty-five years. He meets a shy eighteen-year-old orphan who grew up shuffled from foster home to foster home. They tumble into love and get hitched before his leave ends.”

“I imagine that marriage didn’t meet with your grandfather’s approval.”

“Nope. The two stayed away from Sweetwater Springs. By my mother’s account, they were deliriously happy.”

“Named their babies after angels,” she teased.

He slanted her a glance. “Look who’s talking,
Angelina
.”

She laughed.

“Then my father was killed, and everything changed. With a babe in arms and pregnant with another, my mother had no place else to go…and my grandfather never let her forget it.”

“What a mean old man.”

“I remember riding with him around the ranch…his pride in our land, a pride he passed on to Gabe and me. Learning to be cowboys…. He wasn’t all bad.” Rafe shook his head. “Stubborn, though.”

Angel laughed. “He’s not the only stubborn Flanigan.”

Ah, I’ve coaxed her out of her shell.
Rafe raised his eyebrows. “How about narrow-minded? Or ruthless and controlling?”

“You’re not any of those!” Her response was obviously instinctual.

Hope rose in him.

Angelina paused. “Are you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You couldn’t accuse me of anything worse than being like my grandfather.”

“Have you any idea what he had in mind for you and Gabe’s legacy?” she asked, daring to bring up the forbidden topic.

Something hot went through him, an old anger. “Leave it, Angel,” he said more sharply than he wanted. “Don’t ruin this…
time
we have.”

She sat back in the seat. “All right, Rafe. But I will be heard.
Soon
.”

~~~

The tables on the waterfront deck of Joe’s Cajun Seafood crowded each other and overflowed with locals and tourists alike. Rafe knew Angel wouldn’t try to talk business where they could be overheard, and he’d be safe to enjoy her company for a few hours, without the stress of having to deal with whatever brought her here.

Angel had never participated in a crawfish boil, and he taught her how to pinch off their heads and suck out the meat. After a squeamish attempt or two, she was soon peelin’ and eatin’ like a local.

They stuck to neutral topics such as their favorite books and movies, finding many in common and arguing amiably over others. They shared about their travels to different parts of the world, mostly for business—Angel on quick trips to Europe for her law firm, he on the delivery of his Paints to their new owners in various parts of the southeastern U.S.

The more they talked, the more he saw her shoulders relax. The fine lines around her eyes crinkled when she smiled. He even coaxed a laugh from her a couple of times.

Stuffed, they waddled, as Angel said, although she walked as gracefully as ever to the carriage.

He helped her into the driver’s seat.

She cajoled him into letting her handle the reins, and he lounged against the seat, watching her profile. No one seeing her now would know this sweet-looking woman, wearing a tank and shorts and driving the carriage, was the same one who’d earlier been dressed in the conservative business suit.

But the change went deeper. As Angel had relaxed, she’d shed her proper attorney attitude, became more the friend he remembered.

The night deepened. Stars speckled the blackness above them. The lights of the carriage illuminated their path. A fat pearly moon drifted into the sky.

It must be getting late.
Rafe glanced at his watch. “You’ve missed the last ferry. Left five minutes ago.”

She gasped.

Even though he did want her to stay, Rafe hadn’t realized the time. “You can bunk at my place. I have a guest room.”

“I’ll have to text my boss.” She made a face. “He won’t be pleased.”

“Just work a ninety instead of eighty-hour week when you get back to compensate.”

She sighed. “I don’t want to think about my job.”

He pulled the carriage into the yard in front of the stable.

The door to the chicken house opened, and Chip shuffled out, muffling a yawn with one hand.

“Little early to be fallin’ asleep, don’t you think?” Rafe teased, setting the brake and handing Chip the reins.

“Late one last night. Pretty college student from the mainland.”

“Pretty college students usually lead to late nights,” Rafe agreed.

Beside him, Angel stiffened.

Rafe climbed off the seat, hurried around the back of the carriage, and reached for her just as she started to step down. Slipping his hands around her waist, he swung her to the ground. He wanted to let his hands linger, but knowing they had an interested audience, he forced himself to step back.

Angel’s expression closed.

Rafe wondered what she was thinking. He used to be able to read her so well and didn’t like how she’d shut herself off to him. Although, when he took her hand to lead her into the stables, Angel didn’t pull away. “Night,” Rafe told Chip.

The driver led Abigail into the livery.

Rafe felt unaccountably nervous escorting Angel to his bungalow. The two-bedroom wooden cottage was a far cry from the big Flanigan ranch house or the stately Howard mansion in Sweetwater Springs. He imagined her apartment in New York was as sleek and sophisticated as Angel herself.

Yet, he took pride in his home. He’d lovingly renovated the dilapidated house, doing much of the work himself, until the place shone like a jewel. Over the years, when he enjoyed a liaison with an attractive tourist, he’d never brought the woman home, although he was very familiar with the bedrooms in the inn and the bed and breakfast.

The front of the house had a broad porch on the first floor and a balcony on the second, both overlooking the ocean. He led her up the steps and opened the door.

“No lock?”

“This isn’t New York, Angel.”

Her brows drew together, forming a crease in her forehead.

He wanted to drop a kiss on that little dent. “Don’t worry. I’ll lock up tonight, so you don’t have to worry about marauders disturbing your sleep.”

“It’s not the marauders I’m worried about,” she said dryly.

He flashed a seductive grin. “I can’t make any promises, Angel.”

Apprehension sparked in her eyes, only to be replaced by a bland gaze and a slight lift of her chin. “I’ll put a chair against my door.”

“No need. The guest room has a lock.” Rafe didn’t mention he had the key. “You’re safe with me, Angel.” He gestured for her to enter.

“So I used to think,” she murmured, stepping into the house.

Wondering if he’d heard correctly, he followed her inside. He should explain what happened, but that would mean tearing open an old wound that he’d worked long and hard to close. And it wouldn’t change the past. Angel had cut him off, and that had been as painful as his family disowning him. Not to mention talking about that subject would open the door to the conversation of why she was here.

Rafe didn’t want to fight about documents he had no intention of signing. Something much more pleasurable was on his mind. He speculated if she, too, considered letting the spark between them ignite.

They walked into the room, and he tried to see the place through her eyes. He’d opened up the downstairs, so the main room and the kitchen flowed together. He’d stained the original wide-planked flooring a dark mahogany and then coated it with marine sealant, to withstand the sand that constantly made its way into the house. He’d adapted the built-in shelves to fit his big-screen television, had decorated with a comfortable couch and loveseat covered in soft navy canvas-like material, and hung several seascapes by native artists on the walls.

Rafe watched Angel glance around, taking in everything. Her presence changed the energy in the room, softened the masculine feel and made the house feel alive.
Or maybe that’s just her effect on me.

She smiled up at him. “Nice. Comfortable looking. How long have you lived here?”

“Ten years. Spent the first two on a cot while I made the place habitable.”

“You did the work?”

Rafe had to laugh at her tone. “Yep. Part of the reason it took so long. Learned as I went.”

“I’m impressed.” She set her briefcase on the coffee table.

He tilted his head toward the kitchen. “Would you like a house tour?”

“Certainly.”

He led her through the contemporary kitchen with the granite countertops and stainless steel appliances, showed her his office, the small bathroom he’d tucked under the stairs, then the back porch. Upstairs, he first took her to his bedroom that looked over the ocean.

She candidly surveyed the king-sized bed and crossed the room to the balcony, opening the French doors and stepping outside.

Rafe followed her.

“Ahh,” Angel breathed a sigh of pleasure. The tropical breeze danced around them, the air warm and heavy, scented of the sea and the flowers growing in his yard. Ocean waves made a gentle whooshing sound in the background. The full moon illuminated white foam on the waves cresting over the obsidian black water.

She leaned on the rail. “I can’t believe how beautiful this is, Rafe. Pure paradise. I can see why you’ve stayed here.”

Rafe had no eyes for the view he usually enjoyed, for he couldn’t take his eyes off Angel. Moonlight coated her in silver light, a Grecian goddess come to Earth. Maybe it was moonlight madness, maybe just Angel Howard herself, but he could no longer resist.

He drew her toward him, leaned in for a kiss.

Angel stared at him, eyes luminous. She tilted her face up, but when their lips almost touched, she made a resisting sound. Shaking her head, she stepped back. “I can’t do this.”

Disappointment stabbed him, but Rafe spread his hands in an “it’s all right” motion. “Let me show you to your room.” He tried to sound matter-of-fact. “You can have one of my T-shirts to sleep in. I have an extra toothbrush and toothpaste you can use.”

Relief crossed her face.

Feeling far more hurt than he should have, Rafe strode into the bedroom. He opened a dresser drawer and grabbed one of his roomiest T-shirts.

Angel had followed him, standing stiffly about three feet away, as if needing to be out of grabbing range. She took the T-shirt he held out.

He strode into his bathroom, searched in a cabinet for a new toothbrush and toothpaste, walked out, and gave them to her.

In the hallway, he opened the linen closet and took down a fluffy blue towel and washcloth. Carrying them, he led her into the guest room.

This room was smaller than the master because he’d added a private bathroom. On the back wall, French doors opened onto a balcony overlooking the garden. The queen bed took up much of the space, with a nightstand on both sides. A small chest of drawers and a tiny desk and chair were the only other pieces of furniture.

He laid the towel and washcloth on the bed. “The sheets are clean. The bathroom is private. Set your clothes outside the door, and I’ll toss them in the washer.”

Her smile was polite. “Thank you.”

“Sleep well, Angel.”

She gave him a slight duck of her chin. “Good night, Rafe.” Angel gently shut the door in his face.

A few minutes later, from his bedroom, he heard the sound of her door open and shut again. Rafe walked down the hallway, scooped up the neatly folded pile of Angel’s clothes, and trotted downstairs to the small washroom next to the kitchen. Once he’d started the machine, he wandered back to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of beer from the refrigerator, and popped the cap. From where he stood, he could see Angel’s briefcase containing her precious documents.