Angel In The Rain (Western Historical Romance) (39 page)

Roy continued to poke at the fire until he had a roaring blaze going. Then he turned his backside to the inferno and thrust his rear end dangerously close to the flames.

Though the temperature had dipped drastically since sundown, Rane didn’t feel the chill. As he had countless times that evening, he paced the length of the parlor and back, then out into the hallway, pausing a moment to stare up the stairwell at the closed door of Angel’s old bedroom.

What the hell was taking so long?

Behind him, the front door opened. Benito entered with another armload of firewood, stomping his boots on the threshold to rid them of mud. He looked at Rane and gave an exaggerated shudder inside his wool jacket. “Ees too cold for my thin blood.”

“Just close the door and keep your voice down,” Rane snapped.

Benito took another step into the entry and nudged the door together with his heel. Despite his impatience, Rane noted Benito’s sure strides when he walked into the parlor and dropped the load of wood into the box on the hearth. During the past several weeks, he’d improved so much his limp was barely noticeable.

“Sit down,” Roy called. “You’re wearin’ a rut in the carpet.”

“I’m only rubbing in the soot you keep tracking through,” Rane retorted. “And if you tell me to sit down one more time, I swear, old man, I’m going to find a gun and shoot you.”

The amused look exchanged between Roy and Benito didn’t escape Rane. He gritted his teeth and stomped to a window. His own watery reflection stared back at him from the sweating pane.

He turned, his attention snagged by the whiskey bottle standing on the bar. The last time he’d looked, it had been half full. Now, it was nearly empty. Small wonder the old man appeared so calm. He’d consumed enough alcohol to pickle a barrel of beets.

“I should be up there,” he said.

“It ain’t seemly,” Roy replied. “What you need to do is relax. Babies are born everyday.”

“Not my baby,” Rane reminded him. He couldn’t stand the thought of Angel up there laboring. How many hours now? If anything happened to her...

Out in the hall, the big Regulator emitted a loud click and began to chime the hour. Rane counted ten gongs.

The last chime faded into stillness and he heard another sound. A weak mewling howl drifted down from the upper floor. As one, Roy and Benito started for the hallway. Rane shoved past them and took the stairs two at a time to reach the second floor landing. He stared at the closed-up bedroom while on the other side the cry grew steadily louder. Unseemly or not, he raised his fist and pounded on the door.

“
Uno momento
!” Carmella demanded. She sounded out of breath.

Roy gained the landing with Benito only a step behind him.

The cry continued unabated. And then, suddenly, it stopped. Rane’s heart nearly stopped as well.

Several more agonizing minutes passed before the door opened and Carmella appeared with a smile on her face.

“How’s Angel?”

“How’s the baby?”

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

Carmella held up her hands to halt the barrage of questions. “I’m not telling. You have to go in and see for yourself.” She threw Rane a pointed look. “
Papá
first.”

Rane eased the door wider and paused on the threshold. Heat smacked him in the face, along with a raw, earthy smell he couldn’t identify. A bucket of soiled, bloody linens sat on the floor just inside the door.

Angel lay in the center of the bed with her arm curved protectively around the bundle lying next to her. Beneath the covers, her stomach had lost the bulging roundness he’d grown accustomed to and appeared almost flat. Her damp hair was as limp as tangled ropes against the pillows. Purple shadows of exhaustion smudged the soft skin beneath her eyes.

“Don’t just stand there,” she said. “Come see your daughter.” Her voice sounded weak and drowsy.

“It’s a girl!” Roy exclaimed joyfully from the doorway.

A daughter. Rane’s chest expanded with pride. Unlike most men, he hadn’t wished for a son as his firstborn. He’d wanted a daughter. A healthy, happy, beautiful little girl with her mother’s spirit. Even in this, Angel had given him his heart’s desire.

Moving with care, he perched on the edge of the bed and felt for Angel’s hand among the tangled covers. When he found it, she held onto him and he returned her gentle pressure.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Angel asked. The gorgeous, rumpled man sitting on the edge of her bed—the same man who’d faced death more times than she could count—actually looked frightened. She pulled her hand from his and lifted fingertips to his dear face. “I’m all right, Rane. And the baby’s fine. Take a look.”

She watched in awe while he leaned over and peeled back a corner of the blanket and revealed the precious bundle beside her.

“Her hair is dark,” he said.

“Just like yours,” she told him.

He touched a fingertip to the cap of damp curls and sucked in a breath. The baby’s face reddened and her tiny, translucent lips puckered into an O. His face alight with wonder, he traced down and stroked a velvety cheek. His smile slowly grew. More confident, he slipped a hand beneath her tiny body and lifted her.

Roy crowded the other side of the bed and craned his neck to get a peek at his granddaughter. “She sure is a beauty.”

“Yes,” Rane concurred. “Just like her mother.”

“A little angel,” Roy added.

“Oh, Pa, don’t start calling her that,” Angel scolded. “You’ll jinx her.”

“Well, what am I supposed to call her? Have you decided on a name?”

Rane brows lifted expectantly. His gaze slid to hers, silently questioning.

“Go ahead and tell him,” she said.

He carried the baby the rest of the way to his broad chest and cradled her with such tenderness Angel’s breath hitched. “We’re going to call her Ilsa Maria,” he announced in a strong voice.

Her father nodded and Angel would have sworn she saw tears gather in his gray eyes. “I’m sure both your mamas would be proud of that.”

Still standing in the doorway, Carmella nudged Benito farther into the room. Soon, they all had gathered around to marvel and touch a doll-like finger or tiny toe.

Smiling faces blurred before Angel’s drowsy eyes. Their hushed voices blended to a soothing hum that surrounded her like a warm blanket of security. She smothered a yawn. “Rane?”

She blinked and found him hovering above her.

“Yes, my love. I’m right here,” whispered the voice of her husband, her love. Her life. “Always.”

Always. The sweetest promise this side of Heaven, and he’d shown her many times over that he was a man of his word.

From my earliest memories, I’ve been fascinated with all things western. My first cases of hero worship were aimed at Audie Murphy and John Wayne, and I never did get past them. As a young woman, I traveled much of the southwest and saw the breathtaking vistas that had inspired such awe in the old western movies from my childhood. I called Texas home for several years before returning to my roots in the foothills of Appalachia, where I live with my husband and two children. Though I no longer venture far from home, my passion for the west and those dashing sagebrush heroes remains as strong as ever. I write about those characters and their times because I can’t imagine doing anything else. I hope you enjoy reading about my heroes and heroines of the old west as much as I loved writing about them.

Visit Devon's website at www.devonmatthews.net