Casteel - Dark Angel Part 8

What he said made me shiver a bit, for it seemed I could have no secrets from him. And yet as he stood there looking me over with a great deal of approval, something proud sprang into my spine and made me stand taller. And something warm and sweet between us made me step forward to kiss his cheek. He seemed very surprised and just as pleased. "Why, thank you for doing that. Keep it up, and I may become just another soft touch."

My taxi arrived. Tony stood at the front door and waved, and I headed for one of the haunts of the B.U. boys, The Boar's Head Cafe.

I antic.i.p.ated all kinds of difficulties in finding Logan. I even thought he'd pretend not to notice me again, or pretend he didn't know me, for I had not done one thing to make myself look like that shabby mountain girl who was my shame. And then, sitting in the window of the cafe, I spotted Logan. He was laughing and talking expressively to a pretty girl seated across from him. This contingency had never brushed my mind, at least not seriously, that he could be seeing someone else. So there I stood in the lightly falling snow, not knowing what to do now. October had come and gone. We were now midway into November. How nice it would have been to invite Logan to Farthinggale Manor, and before a cozy fire, Logan and Tony would have the chance to get to know each other. I sighed wistfully for all my wishes that seemed never to come true. And then, then, while I disbelieved what my eyes saw, Logan leaned across the table and teased that girl's face with his lips, ending up in a real kiss, the kind that lasted and lasted--kissing her in a way he'd never kissed me!

I hated him! I hated her! Be d.a.m.ned to you, Logan Stonewall! You're no different from any other guy on the make!

I spun on my heel, not realizing the fresh snow would be so slippery. And down I went, flat on my back. Ungainly sprawled, I stared up at the sky, totally stunned that I could have done something so stupid. I wasn't hurt. I refused everyone who tried to a.s.sist me up . . . and then Logan ran out of the cafe. His first words proved that this time he knew me. "My G.o.d, Heaven, what are you doing flat on your back?"

Without asking permission to help, he put his hands under my armpits and lifted me up. I struggled to keep my footing, and that forced me to cling to him, amus.e.m.e.nt sparkling in his eyes. "The next time you buy boots, I would try some with lower heels."

The girl in the cafe was staring out, her eyes angry.

"Hi, stranger," I greeted in a husky low voice, trying to hide my embarra.s.sment. I released my grip on him, having found my footing, then brushed snow from my coat. I threw him an angry look that would have stung if looks could stab. "I saw you in the coffee shop kissing that girl who is staring out at us, looking furious. Does she own you now?"

He had the decency to blush. "She means nothing to me, just a way to spend Sat.u.r.day afternoon."

"Really," I replied, with as much ice in my voice as I could manage. "I'm sure you wouldn't be so understanding if you caught me in the same situation."

His color deepened. "Why do you have to bring up that? Besides, it was more than a few kisses between you and that Cal Dennison!" he almost shouted.

"Yes, it was," I admitted. "But you would never understand how it came about, even if you were generous enough to give me the chance to explain."

As he stood in the snow that was falling harder now, he seemed very strong, with his jawline set in a firm, determined way, so his cheek dimple no longer played hide-and-seek. His clean-cut good looks caused many a female pa.s.serby to pause and look at him twice . . . and he was staring at me with a stranger's uninterest.

The cold wind hissed around the corners of buildings and whistled to the ground with buffeting force, causing his hair to-fan wild in the wind. My own hair was lifted and blown forward. I found myself breathing fast and hard, wanting so much to win his approval again. Just to be so near his strength and goodness made me realize how very much I needed him. I craved with a terrible yearning to have his love again, his warmth and his caring, for he had loved me well when I was a n.o.body, a nothing, and with him I didn't have to pretend to be more than what I was. "Heaven, it was sweet of you to call me. I've been wanting to do that every time I thought of you. I drove by your Farthinggale Manor once, just the gates, and they so impressed me I lost my nerve and turned around."

Then he was seeing me, really seeing me. Incredulity flashed through his eyes, lighting them briefly with pleasure. "You look so different," he said, moving his arms as if to embrace me, before his arms dropped to his sides and his hands found their way into his pockets, as if they'd found a safe, confining harbor.

"I hope it's for the better."

He looked me over with so much disapproval, I began to tremble slightly. What had I done wrong?

"You look so rich, too rich," he answered slowly. "You've changed your hairstyle and you're wearing makeup."

What was wrong with him? None of my "improvements" seemed to make him happy. "You look like one of those models on magazine covers."

And that was bad? I tried to smile. "Oh, Logan, I have so much to tell you! You look terrific!" The snow began to freeze my face. Specks of fluffy white caught in his hair and in mine, and touched the tip of my nose with cold. "Isn't there somewhere we can sit and talk, where it's comfortable and warm, and maybe then you won't glare at me like you are doing now." I kept making small talk as he led me inside to a table where we ordered hot chocolate. I noticed the girl he had been with continued to glare at us. But I ignored her, and so did Logan.

He was moving his eyes over my fur coat, noticing the gold chains I wore at my throat, seeing the rings on my fingers as I pulled off my fine leather gloves.

I tried to smile. "Logan," I began with my eyes lowered, determined to keep my expectations high, "can't we let bygones be bygones and start again, fresh?"

It took him a long time to reply, as if he were struggling to free himself from some past resolution he'd made, and every second I spent with him brought back flooding memories of how sweet our youth had been because we had had each other. Oh, if only I'd never allowed Cal Dennison to touch me! If only I'd been stronger, wiser, more knowledgeable about men and their physical desires! Maybe then I could have held off an older man who was basically weak, and wrong to have taken advantage of a stupid young hillbilly.

"I don't know," he finally said in a slow, hesitant way. "I can't stop thinking of how easily you forgot me and our vows to one another once you were out of sight."

"Please try harder!" I implored. "I didn't know at the time what I was getting into, and I felt trapped by circ.u.mstances that I couldn't control--"

His stubborn jaw set in a hard line. "Somehow, seeing you as you are today, wearing expensive jewelry and that fur coat, you don't seem the same girl I used to know. I don't know how to relate to you now, Heaven. You don't seem vulnerable anymore, you seem like you don't really need anyone, or anything."

My heart contracted. What he saw was only surface confidence given to me by expensive clothes and jewelry. Scratch the surface and the hill-sc.u.m Casteel girl would still be there. And then it hit me what he was really getting at.

He had liked me better when I was pitiful! He had been drawn to my vulnerability, my poverty, my ugly, faded dresses and shabby shoes! The strengths I'd believed he admired most about me weren't even important to him now!

I fixed my eyes on his deep maroon sweater, for some reason wondering if he still had that awful red knit cap I'd made for him once. I felt that again circ.u.mstances were beyond my control, and yet I couldn't give up so easily.

"Logan," I began again, "I'm living with my real mother's mother now. She is as different from Granny as night is from day. I never knew grandmothers in their middle years could look so young and not only pretty, but glamorous."

"This grandmother lives in a different world than the one you knew in the w.i.l.l.i.e.s." How quickly he formed his opinion, as if never in doubt about anyone or anything. Then, finally, he picked up his mug and sipped. "And how do you like your grandfather?" he asked. "Is he young and fabulously handsome as well?"

I tried to ignore his sarcasm. "Tony Tatterton isn't really my grandfather, Logan, but my grandmother's second husband. My mother's father died two years ago. I'm sorry I never had a chance to know him."

His deep blue eyes took on an abstracted look, his gaze still lingering somewhere behind my head. "I saw you one day in mid-September, out shopping with an older man who held your elbow and guided you where he wanted you to go. I wanted to call out and tell you I was there, but I couldn't. I stupidly followed the two of you for a while, and watched through the shop windows as you endlessly tried on different outfits and modeled them for that man. It stunned me how what you wore changed your appearance. And not only that, I was stunned by the changes it made in you! Everything new he bought for you brought on laughter, smiles, and the kind of happiness I'd never seen on your face before. Heaven, I had no idea that young-looking man could be your grandfather. Jealously was all I could feel. When I loved you and planned for our future together, I wanted to be the one to put joy in your eyes and the glow on your face."

"But I needed the warm coats he bought me, the boots, the shoes. And the fur coats I have are second hand, given to me by Jillian, who grows quickly bored with clothes and everything else. I don't have as much as you think I do. And it's not so wonderful at Farthy. My grandmother hardly even talks to me!"

Logan leaned closer, riveting me with his hard glare. "But the step-grandfather is delighted to have you around, isn't he? I could tell that by his manner that day I saw-the two of you shopping. He got as much kick out of those new clothes as you did!"

It alarmed me the way he looked, so fiercely jealous. "You watch out for him, Heaven. Remember what happened when you lived in Candlewick with Kitty Dennison and her husband; it could happen again."

I felt my eyes go huge and round with the pain of his surprise attack. How could he think that? Tony wasn't the least like Cal! Tony didn't need me for a companion while his wife worked late hours. Tony had a full, rich life, busy with vacations and business and hundreds of friends delighted to entertain him and Jillian. Yet I could tell that Logan would refuse io believe me if I pointed out these facts. My head moved from side to side, rejecting his suspicions, angry that he had them. Disappointed that he couldn't forgive and forget, and not trust me as he used to.

"Do you still hear from him?" he shot out, his eyes narrowed.

"Who?" I asked, bewildered by the quick turn of his suspicions.

"Cal Dennison!"

"No!" I cried out again. "I have not heard from him since the day I left Winnerrow! He doesn't know where I am! I never want to see him again."

"I'm sure he'll find out where you are." Logan's voice had gone flat. He picked up his mug and drained it to the bottom, then set it down hard so it clunked loudly on the table. "It's been nice seeing you again, Heaven, and knowing you now have everything you wanted. I'm sorry your real grandfather died before you knew him, and happy you like your stepgrandfather so much. I have to admit you look very beautiful in your fine clothes and fur coat, but you're not the same girl I fell in love with. That girl was destroyed in Candlewick."

Stunned and deeply hurt, so much so I felt mortally wounded, I was speechless. My lips gaped, and I wanted to plead for him to give me another chance. Hot, blinding tears stung my eyes. I struggled to find the right words to say, but already he'd turned away and was heading for the girl who still waited for him at the table by the window. Without once looking back, he joined her.

And all the care I had used in getting ready for this meeting, hoping to impress him, had been totally wasted. I should have come wearing my rags, with my long hair disheveled, with hollows from hunger shadowing beneath my eyes--then maybe he'd have shown more compa.s.sion.

Then it hit me, hard, the truth I'd never suspected until today.

Logan had never truly loved me! Logan had only pitied a waif from the hills and had wanted to shower me protectively with the largess of his generosity! He had considered me a charity case!

It all came flooding back, his small gifts of toothbrushes and toothpaste, soaps and shampoos, all taken from the shelves of his father's pharmacy. Oh, the embarra.s.sment of his condescending pity filled me with shame! The regrets for having allowed myself to believe he saw in me something admirable! I brushed impatiently at the hot well of tears that flooded onto my face and down over my cheeks; then, jumping to my feet, I seized my purse and fur coat and fled toward the door, moving faster than he did. In another second I was outside, pulling on my coat as I ran. Ran from the very one I'd always run to!

The snow was coming down slantwise in streaks, wild and wind-driven. It was freezing cold as I struggled to put on that full-length fur coat. My breath puffed out in billows of vapor as I choked and sobbed and wanted to die. Right behind me I heard the sound of Logan's steps. Whipping around, my coat fanning wide in the wind, I glared with hatred straight into his look of concern that came too late.

"You don't have to pity me anymore, Logan Grant Stonewall!" I shouted into the wind, heedless of who overheard my words. "No wonder I betrayed you unconsciously with Cal Dennison! Perhaps my instinct knew exactly what your true feeling for me was! Not love, not admiration, and not genuine friendship--or anything I really need and want for myself. So you were right to suggest that we call it quits! It is all over between us! I never want to see you again as long as I live! Go back to Winnerrow and find some other hillbilly poverty case from the w.i.l.l.i.e.s!--and give her the blessings of your detestable pity!"

I whirled around and ran for the nearest corner, where I quickly waved down a taxi.

Goodbye, Logan, I sobbed to myself as the taxi pulled away from the curb. It was tender and sweet when I thought you loved me for myself, but from this day forward, not think of you again!

You have even managed to make me feel guilty about Troy, and you don't even know about him. Dear, wonderful, talented, handsome Troy, who was not at all like Cal Dennison, who never excited me at all.

Ten Promises .

SCALDING TEARS WERE STILL.

FLOWING WHEN MY CAB pa.s.sed under the impressive black gates of Farthinggale Manor--tears that choked my voice so I had difficulty telling the driver where he had to turn off in order to reach the small cottage where I hoped Troy would be.

I was running to the only remaining friend I had, almost blinded by my tears, grieving inside as if everyone I'd ever lost had been taken away anew, and the grief was compounded over and over. Always a small but confident part of me had believed that Logan was eternally and rightfully mine, and because of that I could somehow win him back.

Nothing was eternal! Nothing was right! my disappointment screamed. Nothing!

"Twelve dollars and fifty cents," said the taxi driver, waiting impatiently as I dabbed at my eyes and tried to count out the exact amount. However, I had only a twenty, and I thrust that into his hands and quickly left the warmth of the back seat.

"Keep the change," I croaked hoa.r.s.ely.

Snow, sharp as tiny ice swords, slashed at my face. The wind was wild and tore at my hair as I ran blindly for the cottage. Without regard for Troy's privacy I tugged to open the blue door, but the wind was behind me, making opening it difficult. When finally I had it open and was able to step inside, the wind slammed the door behind me with a loud, crashing bang. Startled into reality by the noise, I leaned back against the door and tried to gain some control of my emotions.

"Who's there?" called Troy from another room, and then he appeared in the frame of his bedroom doorway, his naked body wrapped by a towel swathed about his hips, and water stood in droplets on his skin. His dark hair was wet and matted. "Heaven!" he exclaimed, his eyes startled by my sudden and dramatic appearance. He raised the towel in his hands to dry his hair vigorously. "Come in, sit down, make yourself at home, and give me a minute to put on some clothes."

Not a word to say he didn't need me, or to reprimand me for coming without an invitation. Just his troubled smile, before he turned and disappeared.

Despair heavied my legs, making them feel nailed to the floor. I was making too much of this, I knew I was, and still I couldn't catch my breath enough to control the gasps that sounded as if they came from someone other than myself. I was still leaning against the door, my arms pressed backward as my fingers clutched at the wood for stability, when Troy came striding from his room, fully clothed in his white silk blouse and his tight black trousers. His hair, still slightly damp, lay in shiny waves to frame his face.

Compared to Logan's ruddy color and deep tan, Troy seemed extraordinarily pale.

He advanced my way without speaking, and gently caught hold of my hands, pulling me away from the door, taking my purse from my shoulder before he eased off my heavy, wet fur coat. "Now, now," he soothed, "nothing can be that bad, can it? On a beautiful snowy day like this, with the wind howling and telling you to stay indoors, there's nothing as cozy as a crackling fire, and good food to eat, and a pleasant companion to be with." He put me in a chair he drew close to his fire, then knelt to take off my boots, and with his hands he rubbed my cold, nyloned feet into warmth again.

I felt tired enough to sag in the chair, my eyes wide and stark as the tears eventually stopped coming. My chest lost some of the heavy weight that gave it terrible pain. Only then could I look around. No lamps were lit, just the cheery glow of the fire to throw pattetiiS of dancing lights and shadows on the walls. And as I looked around, Troy stayed on his knees, staring up at me as he pulled a ha.s.sock closer. Lifting my legs, he put my feet on that before he covered me to my waist with a bright wool afghan. "Now it's time for the food," he said with a small smile of approval, watching me dab at the last tear with my frivolous small handkerchief. Every tissue in my purse had already been used. "Coffee, tea, wine, hot chocolate?"

The mention of hot chocolate immediately brought fresh tears to my eyes. Alarmed, he quickly suggested, "A bit of brandy to warm you up first. Then hot tea, how about that?"

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 cla.s.sical music. For a brief second I heard behind my eyes the loud country tw.a.n.g 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, antic.i.p.ating 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 pa.s.sed 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 hoa.r.s.ely, "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 ch.o.r.es 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 w.i.l.l.i.e.s screaming through the cracks of that mountain cabin this was tame and m.u.f.fled. This cottage, six times larger, was snug and well built, with st.u.r.dy 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 back 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 hoa.r.s.e 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?"

"I will be eighteen this February twentysecond," I said with some defensiveness. "In the hills girls of eighteen are usually married and have children."

That made his face turn my way. "I am very glad you no longer live in the hills. Now tell me why you told Tony you were sixteen instead of seventeen?"

"I don't know why I did it. I wanted to protect my mother from appearing foolish and impulsive when she married my father, whom she knew only a few hours before she said yes to his marriage proposal. Granny always said it was love at first sight. I didn't understand what she meant, and I still can't understand how she, a girl from a rich and prominent family, with such a cultured background, could have fallen for a man like my father."

His dark eyes had the kind of deep forest pools have; in them I could drown.

His grandfather clock began to strike the hour of eight o'clock, and still the blizzard raged on. A music box that must have also been a clock began to play a sweet and haunting melody, while tiny figures emerged from a small door one by one. "I never saw a clock like that," I said irrelevantly.