My Special Angel (17 page)

“So why were you in jail?”

“Because I hit him back.”

Nadia glanced back at Owen. “They jail people in America for defending themselves?”

“Well, no,” admitted Owen. “Your father is a man in excellent physical condition, while Marshall has ... let himself go to seed, shall we say.” Owen glanced at Milosh and tried to hide the respect he felt for the old boot. “It seems your father laid him out pretty good.”

“So where do you fit into all of this?” asked Nadia. “Don’t tell me you drove him out to Marshall’s.”

“Of course not. I didn’t know anything about it until I received his phone call from jail. It seems your father thought I was the best candidate to come and bail him out.”

Nadia slowly turned to her father, raised a finger, and poked him in the chest. “How could—”

Milosh brushed aside her finger and moved away from the fender on Owen’s car. He clapped his hands twice and bellowed, “Family, I have an announcement to make.” Silence fell across the masses. “My best American friend, Owen, has done me and my family a great service by coming to my rescue and standing up for me. I owe him a debt of gratitude, and I finally figured out how to pay him.” He glanced around the crowd until he was positive he had everyone’s attention. “I, Milosh Zurka Kandratavich, give you, Owen, one of my greatest treasures, my daughter Nadia Katrinka’s hand in marriage.”

Owen’s mouth fell open to his knees.

Nadia didn’t look at Owen but continued to stare at her father as if she had never seen him before. A tide of red swept up her face as she quietly said something to her parents in Russian. With each sentence her voice rose and her words came faster. Her arms punctuated her words, and the rest of the family took a few safe steps backward. Milosh continued to grin as her words became more vocal and rushed. She finished her reprimand in a fury, placed both hands on her hips, and glared threateningly at her father.

Owen didn’t like the smile lurking on Milosh’s face or the dangerous shade of red blotching Nadia’s cheeks. Most of her relatives thought the whole thing was amazingly funny. Why wasn’t she going along with the obvious joke? He decided to try to appeal to Nadia’s sense of humor. “I gather that was a no.”

Her response, in Russian, came back fast and furious. She stamped her foot and shook her tiny fist, and without comprehending a word, Owen knew she had to be cursing him to a slow, painful death. In a swirl of dust she stomped off, leaving the group staring after her in wonder.

Owen moved to follow her and was stopped by Milosh’s hand. “If you value your life, let her cool down first, my best friend in America.”

“I’m your only friend in America, Milosh.” Owen shook off his hand and stared at the hill Nadia had just climbed. She was not heading home. She was walking toward the creek. “Want to explain to me why Nadia reacted so furiously to a joke?” He glanced at Milosh and frowned. “Please tell me it was a joke.”

“Da, da, it was a joke,” said Milosh. “I told Nadia long ago that she may marry for love.” He glanced at his wife and gently smiled. “We want all our children to have what we have.”

“So what upset her?”

“She remembers too much.” Milosh sadly shook his head. “She remembers friends being forced to marry men they didn’t love and sometimes men they did not know. The practice of arranged marriages still goes on in many Gypsy tribes.”

Owen ran his fingers through his hair. “So why in the hell would you even joke about such a thing?”

Milosh smiled proudly. “To stop her from lecturing me about getting thrown in jail.”

Owen muttered a silent oath.

“Don’t look so down, my friend,” said Milosh as he smacked Owen across the back. “Things are splendid.”

“How can you say that?”

“Did you not notice the way my daughter attacked my plan?”

“How could I miss it? She was mad as hell.”

“Da, da, that is good.” Milosh crossed his arms and beamed. “If she’d laughed it off, that is bad. It shows she has no feelings for you. But since she is”—he made a sour face—“mad as hell, it shows she has many feelings for you, my American friend.”

Owen rubbed his chin for a moment. “I wouldn’t give you a plug nickel for her feelings right about now.”

“What is this plug nickel?”

“It’s a ... never mind, Milosh.” He started to cross the camp to follow Nadia. “Milosh, my best Gypsy friend, do me a huge favor?”

“Name it, and it shall be yours.”

Owen continued to walk and called over his shoulder, “Next time you’re in jail, don’t call me.”

Owen found Nadia sitting alone under a tree throwing tiny pebbles into the creek. He slowly made his way under the branches and sat down beside her. “Is it safe to sit here?”

“It’s a free country.” She didn’t bother to look at him but continued to pluck up little pebbles from in front of her and pitch them into the clear water.

“The country might be free, but you own the ranch.”

“I might own two thirds of the ranch, but Prescott Mortgage Company owns the other third.” She pitched the next stone with a little more force. “Who’s to say you’re not sitting on the Prescott third?”

“For the last time, Nadia, I don’t have anything to do with the mortgage company.”

“It bears your name.”

He sighed heavily, leaned back onto his elbows, and crossed his long legs. “Why do you want to pick a fight with me?” He gazed at the stubborn tilt of her chin. “Is it because your father called me instead of you to come bail him out of jail? How about it’s because your father told a tasteless joke? They both sound like real good reasons to take it all out on me.”

Nadia wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on top. “I’m sorry, Owen, it’s not you I’m mad at.” She stared at the creek. “I’m not even mad at my father. He didn’t do anything I hadn’t expected him to do.” She owed Owen some of the truth at least. “I’m mad at myself.”

“For what?”

“Burning bridges.” A stone landed in the middle of the creek with a resounding plop.

Owen stared at her serious-looking expression. “What bridges did you burn, Nadia?”

“Nothing major.” She gave a sad little chuckle. “They were only the most important ones.” The ones that lead to happiness and love.

“Want to tell me about them?”

“Not particularly.”

“I thought you trusted me?”

Nadia cringed at the pain in Owen’s question. She held his hurt gaze. “I do trust you, Owen.”

“But not enough to share your secrets?”

“Trust has nothing to do with it.” She looked away as tears filled her eyes. “My secrets are my shame. They are mine alone to bear.”

He gently cupped her chin and forced her to face him. His smile was hill of tenderness and love. “Some people say my shoulders are mighty broad.”

She glanced at the width of his shoulders stretching the tan cotton shirt. “They are right, Owen. Your shoulders are beautifully formed.” She remembered clutching at them as if they were the only solid thing left on earth as Owen took her to the stars night after night.

He softly chuckled. “You misunderstood, Nadia. I wasn’t referring to their shape, but to their ability. When a person has broad shoulders, it means that he’s willing to shoulder other people’s problems.” The tips of his fingers brushed her lower lip. “You know, help with the load.”

“Why should you want to carry my problems? I made them, not you.”

His fingers stopped, and his relaxed expression vanished. “When you love someone, Nadia, you share the burden.” His gaze traveled over every inch of her face. “I love you, Nadia.” His lips followed the same path. Kisses feathered over her forehead, teasing her silky, long lashes and the tip of her upturned nose. “Let me share the burden.” His mouth captured the lone, salty tear sliding down her pale cheek.

“I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

She reached up and stroked his slightly stubbled jaw. It had been hours since his last encounter with a razor. At this moment she should be the happiest woman in America, but she wasn’t. The man she loved had just said the most precious words a man could say to a woman, and she couldn’t return them. She couldn’t declare her love and still withhold secrets from him. Owen deserved better than that. He deserved better than a woman who was too darn selfish to give him up. “I’m afraid of losing you.”

He smiled and rubbed his abrasive jaw against the palm of her hand. “You won’t lose me.”

“How can you be so sure? You don’t know the past.”

“Is there a husband that I don’t know about?” He locked gazes with her and ran the tip of his tongue over the base of her thumb.

“Married! You think I’m married!” She tried to yank her hand out of his grasp. “You don’t think very highly of me, do you?”

He chuckled and continued to tease her fingers. “I happen to think very highly of you, love. It’s you who have a problem with self-esteem.” He nipped at the tip of her finger. “I just mentioned the worst thing I could think of. I figured as long as you aren’t married to someone else, anything else will be a piece of cake.” He nibbled on the next fingertip. “You aren’t wanted by the police or anything?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He was hitting too close to home. The police had interviewed her for hours, for days, and for weeks before they finally got it through their heads that she didn’t know anything. She had only been a front, very well paid for her ignorance.

“Well, if you aren’t married and you aren’t wanted by the police, I don’t see what the problem is.”

“What about the past?”

“What about it?” His lips traveled over her delicate wrist and up to the sensitive skin on the inside of her elbow.

“Don’t you care about what I might have done?” She shivered as his lips wandered higher across the smoothness of her shoulder to toy with the collar of her blouse.

Owen raised his head. “I’ll be truthful with you, love. I’m naturally curious to know what’s made you feel so bad about yourself, but whatever it was, it won’t change how I feel about you.” He gently pushed her back onto the sweet-smelling grass behind her. “I don’t care about your past, Nadia.” He leaned over her and brushed a dark curl away from her mouth. “It’s your future I’m concerned about.” His face lowered, and his breath feathered across her waiting lips. “Our future, Nadia, yours and mine together.”

“But...”

He placed a finger to her lips. “In America but means the end, so this discussion is finished.” His lips replaced his finger with a tender kiss. “If one day you want to tell me about the past, fine. I will listen with an open mind, but I will not judge you, love. The past is not important.”

Nadia surrendered to the sweet, seductive lure of his lips. He was offering another day of paradise, and she grabbed onto it with both hands. He was wrong.

The past did matter. It had made her stronger, more independent, and it had stolen her innocence. It had made her who she was today, and one day Owen would want to know and she would have to tell him. That day paradise would be taken away from her.

She reached up and tightened her hold around Owen’s neck. She felt his answering response and melted. He loved her! Her kiss became more heated, more desperate. She had to hold on to paradise for as long as she could.

* * *

Nadia slowly hung up the phone and glanced at Owen, who was sitting in the kitchen on the wobbly chair stirring his coffee, desperately trying to pretend he hadn’t been eavesdropping. She tried to muster a smile, failed miserably, walked over to the screen door, and stared out toward the barn. The fence had all been repaired and was sporting a brand-new coat of white paint. Yesterday one of her brothers had spent the entire day mowing grass and straightening up the yard, and Rupa had fixed the hayloft door so that it wasn’t hanging by one hinge anymore. The Kandratavich Ranch was improving by leaps and bounds. Even IRS and Victoria Rose were prancing proudly around the corral as though they were the ones who had done the work. What were they going to do if she couldn’t meet the payments on the ranch? They could lose it all.

Owen silently came up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. He tucked her head under his chin and studied the view she was seeing. “Want to tell me about it?”

“That was the recording studio.” She leaned back and allowed his warmth and strength to surround her. “They moved the recording schedule up three weeks.” She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sound of the light summer breeze and the buzzing of a bee by the wisteria bush climbing the side of the porch. Normal, everyday summer sounds drifted in through the screen. She could hear everything, including Owen’s soft breathing, but she couldn’t detect one note. Her music hadn’t returned, and time was running out. “I have less than a month to finish writing the songs.”

His arms tightened slightly, and he kissed the top of her head. “It will come, Nadia. Give it a chance.”

“I’ve given it over a month, and still nothing but silence. All the work on the other songs is complete. I’m ready to record them in six languages. The only thing stopping me is one last song. The whole thing is worthless without that song.” She smacked the metal frame of the screen door with the palm of her hand. “It’s my punishment, Owen, for being greedy.”

He tried not to chuckle and ended up choking. When he could breathe again, he muttered in astonishment, “You, greedy?” She was the most unselfish person he had ever met. He would have given her the moon or the stars if she asked. She had no living-room furniture, yet she had gone out and spent her share of the catering money on a bureau for her new little niece, Liberty.

“I wanted it all.”

“All of what?” He had no idea what she wanted, but he’d make sure she got it.

“I wanted my family out of Europe. I wanted a nice place where we could all live in peace and freedom.”

“That’s not greed, Nadia, that’s love.” He turned her in his arms so he could look at her. “Don’t you see? You have all that.”

“I sacrificed everything I believed in to get them out, Owen.” She looked away from him. “It’s not something I’m proud of, but I would do it again. As for the ranch ...” She shrugged her shoulders, “I borrowed against a dream. One that is now on the brink of failure. If the album is scrapped, I lose the first true home my family has ever known.”