My Special Angel (16 page)

She found Owen, Howe Cartland, and her uncle Yurik, who was clasping the back of some young man’s shirt, daring him to move. The young man looked scared enough to expire on the spot. All the men noticed her but continued their discussion.

“It was supposed to look like Milosh goofed while chaining the steel beam to the hoist. The beam would slip, hopefully get damaged, and you would fire Milosh for being incompetent,” said Howe.

Owen turned to the red-faced man being detained by Yurik. “Want to tell your side of the story, Bill?”

“No one was supposed to get hurt.”

“Tell that to Milosh,” snapped Owen. “That beam broke free and was swinging straight for Jimmie Lee. If Milosh hadn’t pushed Jimmie Lee aside, he would have been crushed. As it is, Milosh is lucky to be alive.”

Bill appeared on the verge of tears. “But no one was supposed to get hurt.” Yurik’s fist tightened on the shirt, and Bill’s top button dug a little deeper into his throat. “He said no one would get hurt.”

“Who said?”

“Wyatt Marshall told me how to do it.” He wiped his arm across the top portion of his face, leaving behind a trail of moisture and dirt. “He said no one would get hurt.”

“How much did he pay you?” snapped Owen.

“Nothing.” The button dug a little deeper. “He canceled my debt.” The button eased up a little bit. “I owed him a couple of hundred from a card game last month. I couldn’t pay.”

Owen’s and Nadia’s gazes locked. They had both known Marshall would try something; they just hadn’t expected this. “Your father’s a hero,” said Owen.

Nadia shrugged her shoulders. “Having an imprint of a steel beam in your skull doesn’t sound like the work of a hero to me, more like that of a fool.”

“Speaking of fools,” said Yurik, “I go see my brother now.” He pushed a frightened Bill toward Howe Cartland.

Owen shook Yurik’s hand. “Thanks for all your help, Yurik. I’m sure it would have taken us a whole lot longer to get to the bottom of this without you.”

Yurik cracked his knuckles and grinned at the red mark on Bill’s jaw. “It’s been my unadulterated pleasure.”

“While you’re in there, Yurik, tell Milosh what happened, and that I’ll be in in a few minutes to talk to him about pressing charges.”

He watched Yurik head down the hall before turning to Howe. “Watch Bill here, while I go to the nurses’ station and call the police.” He grasped Nadia’s hand and started down the hall.

Nadia glanced at Owen sideways. “Do you have to call the police?”

“That stunt almost cost two men their lives; one of them was your father.” He frowned at the commotion going on at the nurses’ station. Three nurses, a doctor, two of Nadia’s aunts, and an uncle were standing there arguing. He and Nadia eased in closer and listened to the dispute. The nurses wanted all but two visitors out of Milosh’s room. The doctor wanted his patient to get some rest, and the aunts and uncle were doing a superb job of not understanding a single word of English.

Owen laughed and hugged Nadia tighter. “It’s your family—do you want to handle this, or should I?”

Nadia sighed, smiled sweetly at the nurses and doctor, and then proceeded to blister the paint off the walls as she tore into her family in Russian.

Owen pulled a nurse aside and asked if he could borrow the phone to call the police. It seemed that the accident wasn’t an accident and that his supervisor was holding the culprit in the solarium. The nurse pushed the phone across the counter without batting an eyelash.

Twenty minutes later the police arrived to haul Bill away, and Nadia had succeeded in removing everyone but her mother from Milosh’s room. She glanced at the overflowing solarium and groaned. Her family were making themselves at home with the various patients who had left their rooms to see what all the commotion was about. Yelena was sitting on the floor in front of a wheelchair reading the palm of some old man in blue plaid pajamas. Volga was holding court in the corner with three old ladies, telling them the story about when some old hag put the evil eye on the entire family. A circle of patients had gathered around the babies, making childish prattle, and passing little Liberty around. One nurse looked dazed and bewildered, but Nadia couldn’t tell if it was from the crowd or because Stevo was making a pass at her.

“Owen, I can’t get my mother to leave,” said Nadia. “She won’t come home with us.”

He gave her a quick hug. “I’ll handle it.” He walked briskly away, leaving her to deal with the other twenty-nine members of her family.

Five minutes later he was back. “It’s all settled.”

“She’s coming?”

“Nope, she’s staying too.”

“In the hospital?” Nadia passed little two-year-old Tatiana back to her mother. “She can’t stay in the hospital—she’s not ill.”

“I arranged for them to move a cot into your father’s room for her. She can sleep in there for the night.”

“They allow that?”

“Since he’s in a private room, and she’s having a very calming affect on him, they’ll break the rules this once.” He pulled her down the hall toward her father’s room. “I also explained that he wouldn’t stay unless she did.”

Nadia stopped before the door. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

He reached out tenderly and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Do you trust me, Nadia?”

She studied the strong curve of his jaw, the faint traces of dirt left over from the construction site, his tousled hair, and the love shining in his eyes.

How could she not trust the man she loved? He was tender, sweet, and incredibly sexy. She wanted to be his beloved more than anything else in the world. He’d earned her trust and her love weeks ago, but she hadn’t returned the favor. How could she expect Owen to trust her when she held secrets? Secrets that were bound to rip them apart. Yes, she trusted Owen with her heart, her family, and her life.

She reached for his hand and brought it to her mouth. Her lips caressed its rough palm. “Yes, Owen, I do trust you.”

* * *

“Stop that,” said Nadia, “it tickles.” She took another swing at the long weed Owen was using to tickle the bottom of her feet and missed. “You promised you would behave yourself this time.”

“I am behaving myself.” Owen feathered the weed over her ankle and up her slender, tan calf. “Aren’t my clothes still on?”

“Amazingly, yes.” She idly brushed the tips of her fingers off the strings of her guitar.

“Then that proves I’m behaving.” He dug into the picnic basket sitting beside him and pulled out an apple. “Last week when I had you out here, I didn’t behave, and I ended up with a sunburn on a very embarrassing part of my anatomy.” His hand rubbed his bottom.

“That’s what happens when you fall asleep on top of me.” She crossed her legs and sat up straighter.

“Do you want to hear ‘Naughty Niki’ in Polish, or what?” Niki was a mischievous little spider monkey who loved getting into trouble.

Owen grinned wickedly and teased, “I’ll take the ‘or what.’”

Nadia felt herself start to melt under his playfulness. After all these weeks he still held the power to turn her on with just a smile, a heated look, or a word. She glanced around the secluded picnic spot. IRS and Victoria Rose were quietly munching on tall grass in the protective shade of a grove of trees. The creek was a few feet away, babbling as the cool water rushed over the rocks in its race downstream. Wildflowers dotted the small meadow, and the sun warmed her skin as well as her soul. It was their little piece of heaven they had found on the farthest corner of the Kandratavich Ranch. Nothing could touch them here. Not Wyatt Marshall and the upcoming court date. Not her disappearing music and the one last song. And most especially not the secrets she was still holding from Owen.

Her fingers stilled on the string. She didn’t feel like practicing anymore today. She wanted to hold Owen and make another memory. “I thought you said you wanted to hear some foreign languages.”

The palm of his hand grazed her thigh. “I do.” His finger traced the line across the top of her thigh where her shorts ended. He smiled as the muscles twitched and her breath caught. “Do you know you speak in foreign words when we make love?” He removed the guitar from her hands and placed it on the blanket beside them.

“Sorry.” A flush swept up her cheeks. “I sometimes get carried away and forget what language I’m using.” It was halfway the truth. The other reason she spoke in different languages was that she wanted to hide her true feelings. Twice she had told Owen she loved him; both times had been in Russian, and he hadn’t understood a single word she had said.

His fingers skimmed up her shorts and climbed the buttons on her blouse. “Don’t be sorry.” He slowly eased her back onto the blanket. “It’s erotic as all hell having you whispering all those foreign-sounding words into my ear.” He stroked the fullness of her lower lip with his thumb. “I can put my own meaning to those words.”

She reached under his shirt and caressed the warmth of his back. “I suppose you could.” It didn’t matter what meaning he put to her words; nothing could compare to some of the things she had whispered to him in the dark.

“I have a story for you, love.” He brushed her hair out so that it spread like dark silk across the yellow blanket. “There once was a wise old owl named Owen...”

“Who?”

“That’s it, Nadia, play along.” He kissed the second question from her lips. “There once was a wise old owl named Owen, who knew that with time, patience, and understanding he would learn the secret of all the words in the whole wide world.” He kissed her again, more slowly this time. “One day a wild Gypsy rose handed him the key to unlock the secrets, and do you know what he found?”

Nadia’s hands stilled. “No, Owen, what did he find?”

“Happiness, true happiness.” He captured her mouth in a swift, deep kiss that held promises. “One day, Nadia, you will tell me the meaning of those words.”

She pulled his head down and kissed him with everything inside her. She didn’t want him to see the tears that filled her eyes. With her heart opening up a little more, she allowed the magic to carry them away to that sweet place only Owen could take them.

* * *

Owen slowed his car as he passed in front of Nadia’s house, but continued down the rutted path toward the camp. With any luck maybe he wouldn’t end up in the middle of the squabble between Nadia and her father. How he always ended up defending her family was a total mystery to him. He guessed it had to do with their childlike innocence. He glanced over at Milosh sitting proudly beside him in the passenger seat and grimaced at the huge ice bag he was holding over his eye. “Are you sure you don’t want a doctor to take a look at that?”

“Nyet, I like Olenka to—how do you say?—fuzz over me.”

Owen chuckled, “It’s fuss over you.”

“Da, da, fuss over me.” He lowered the ice bag. “I thank you again, my friend, for coming to get me.” He grabbed one of Owen’s hands off the steering wheel and gave it a robust shake. “How many English dollars do I owe you?”

Owen barely managed to steer around a huge rut. “Many, my friend.” He glanced ahead at the camp and frowned when he saw Nadia standing by the tables with her uncles. “It’s not the money I’m concerned about, Milosh—it’s your mule-headed daughter.”

Milosh gave a hardy laugh. “Da, da, head like a donkey, but she has a heart like a doughnut.”

Owen momentarily frowned and then smiled. “You mean cream puff, Milosh, not doughnut.” He brought the car to a halt and watched as Nadia and the rest of her family started toward them. It was too late to turn back now. Hell was surely going to break out now. And by the look on Nadia’s usually smiling face, he was afraid he wasn’t going to go unnoticed in the battle. “She doesn’t look like a cream puff right now, Milosh.”

Milosh groaned, placed the ice bag back over his swollen eye, and winked at Owen. “I’ll know how to handle my sweet little Nadia.” He slowly opened the door and whispered, “I’ve been doing it for twenty-eight years; listen and learn my friend.” With an extravagant moan he slowly stood up and faced his approaching family.

Owen watched the expression on Nadia’s face change from fury to concern and shook his head. He guessed the old boot knew exactly what he was doing. Interested to see how Milosh was going to get out of this one, he opened his door and joined the crowd.

“Where have you been, Papa?” asked Nadia. She shot a curious glance at Owen.

“What happened to your eye?” cried Olenka, working her way forward and removing the ice bag.

“I’ve been to hell in America, child,” said Milosh. He smiled lovingly at his wife as she fussed and cooed over his multicolored eye.

Owen sighed as Nadia glanced at him for further clarification. So that was how Milosh was going to handle her, by letting him take the heat. “He was in jail.”

Nadia looked at her father and cried, “They hit you in jail?”

“No one hit him once he was in jail, Nadia. Calm down.” He didn’t need her rushing off to the police station to confront the sheriff. Owen glared at the stubbornly quiet Milosh. “It seems your father went out to Wyatt Marshall’s place and confronted him about putting Bill up to tampering with the equipment.”

“You didn’t Papa!” She paced in front of him and glared at her uncles, who were all looking at Milosh with growing respect. “You were supposed to let the courts handle it.”

“I told Owen I no press those charges.” He pointed at his burly chest and announced, “I am Milosh Kandratavich, and I am a free man. I no let some man in a black dress tell me what is right and how to defend my family.”

Nadia glanced at Owen. “What about the court date next month?”

“Since your father refused to press charges, my company will. Wyatt Marshall has to pay for what he did. Someone could have been killed, and I don’t want him thinking he’s free to pull anything else. Next time someone might not be so lucky.”

“Great.” Nadia sighed. She glared at her father. “I gather that Marshall was the one who gave you that lovely eye.”

“He only hit me once,” snapped Milosh, “and that’s because the man is a coward. He blindsided me when I wasn’t looking.”