Tarnished Angel (4 page)

    The dark eyes again met hers. Large and distinctly slanted above bold cheekbones, they were still heart-
stoppingly
similar to the eyes that haunted her memory. But kindness and concern were reflected in these eyes, in direct contrast to the cold contempt in the gaze that hovered in the back of her mind.

    "How are you feeling, Miss Dale? Has your head cleared?"

    Nodding, still unable to speak, Devina assessed the man crouching beside her as he pressed his fingers against her wrist. She was barely aware of her father's low tone as he spoke quickly, efficiently summarizing the events that had led up to their visit. Her gaze remained frozen on the doctor's face as her vision slowly adjusted to the light.

    A flash of embarrassment accompanied realization of her error as Devina studied the young doctor's face more calmly. How could have she have been so mistaken?

    Granted, this man was of the same height and build as the stage robber, but his dark hair was cut fashionably short and gleamed with cleanliness, even in the limited light of the room. He was clean-shaven, allowing an unrestricted view of strong features in a sharply planed face that was compelling rather than handsome. She raised her eyes again to his. Oh, yes, the similarity was there in those dark, expressive eyes, but all threat was gone when the warmth of this man's smile creased their corners, lighting their dark depths.

    Shaking off her lingering distress at the eerily familiar tone of the doctor's voice, Devina was suddenly chagrined. For all her brave display, she had allowed fear to control her, to make her see demons where there were none. Determined not to reveal her foolish mistake, Devina turned toward her father, only to be startled at his pallor as he stood hesitantly at her side.

    "Father, are you all right?"

    Her simple question sent a flush of color to Harvey Dale's stiff face as he directed his response to the young doctor at her side.

    "My daughter asks if I'm well, Charles, when indeed it is she who almost fainted a few moments ago. So I pose the same question to you. She is extremely shaken, as you can well see. I worry for the state of her nerves. Perhaps a tonic to relax her…"

    After regarding Devina intently for long silent minutes, Charles Carter said, "Harvey, you needn't be too anxious about your daughter's temporary upset. Miss Dale appears to be a strong and healthy young woman. As you can see, her color has already returned, and her concern for you indicates that she is once again thinking quite clearly. I suggest you take her home and allow her to rest. I'll give her a powder to use should she be unable to sleep. If she feels it necessary, I can stop by to visit her tomorrow. I think we will be able to get a truer picture of her problem then, if needed there is one."

    "You are certain that she is all right?"

    "Your daughter has undergone a frightening experience, Harvey, but I doubt she'll suffer any lasting effects from it. The best treatment for her right now is rest. I suggest that you have your carriage drawn up in front of my office to save Miss Dale any unnecessary steps. Then a light supper and some sleep. She'll need no further treatment."

    Harvey Dale excused himself and walked quickly out the door. Still silent, Devina returned her gaze to Charles Carter as he pulled a chair to her side, sat down, and smiled into her eyes.

    "I'm very pleased to meet you, Miss Dale."

    An uncharacteristic flush coloring her face, Devina gave a small laugh. She had not expected the smooth charm this frontier doctor exhibited. "I must admit I feel very much at a disadvantage, Dr. Carter. I am not accustomed to fainting at the sight of a strange man."

    "This business on the stage, would you care to tell me more about it?"

    "Truly, I would rather not." Agitation stirring anew at the simple mention of the incident, Devina shook her head. "I was personally threatened, held captive with a gun at my ribs. I'm afraid I was more upset by the incident than I realized."

    A strange flicker in the young doctor's dark eyes caused Devina a moment's concern before he replied quietly, "Somehow I have the feeling the full impact of the incident didn't hit you until you walked into this room. I hope I haven't been responsible for upsetting in any way."

    Startled at the doctor's perceptiveness, Devina shook her head. "Of course not. You've been very kind."

    The rattle of a carriage could be heard outside the door, and Charles Carter turned in its direction. A small frown creased his face as Harvey Dale's voice accompanied the sound of footsteps outside the door. "It seems your father has not hesitated in his return, Miss Dale." Unexpectedly placing his hand on hers, Charles Carter offered her a small smile. "I would very much like to can you Devina, if that meets with your approval."

    The sudden warmth in the young doctor's regard returned a sense of normalcy to the situation, and Devina smiled. "Of course, if I may call you Charles."

    Rising as her father entered the office, Devina was about to speak when an excited cowboy burst into the room.

    "Doc, there's been a
shootin
' at the Orient. You'd better come quick."

    Devina felt her smile drain from her lips, and her heartbeat grew ragged. At the cowboy's words, all the cordiality had vanished from Charles Carter's eyes, and she found herself looking into the cold onyx gaze of the gunman once more. But Charles allowed her little time to indulge her fantasy as he grabbed his bag and nodded a brief farewell. Within minutes he was moving through the doorway.

    Her heart was still beating raggedly when Devina lifted her eyes to her father's. Turning, she walked toward the doorway on legs that still quaked beneath her.

    Furious with her own strange debility, Devina seethed in silence. She would conquer this fixation, would forget those cold, dark eyes that had burned into her soul. Willing the strength back into her weak knees, she stepped out onto the sidewalk and hurried toward the waiting carriage. She would not allow fear to become her master.

    Shock holding him motionless for long moments, Ross Morrison slowly raised his head. Incredulous, he focused his gaze on Jake Walsh's sober face as he stood in the doorway of the cabin. When a second sense had made him send Jake into Tombstone for information immediately after the robbery, he had not expected Jake to come racing back at daybreak to tell him…

    "Devina Dale, Harvey Dale's daughter? You're telling me I had her in my hands and I let her go?"

    "Hell, I was just as surprised as you when I heard she was the woman on the stage! Nobody knew she was
comin
' in yesterday. From what I understand, not even Harvey Dale knew."

    His gaze following Jake's progress into the room, Ross shook his head. Agitation quickened his breath, and he rose to his feet.

    "I had her in my hands and I let her go. Hell, I had it all right here in my hands. I should have known, should have realized…"

    "Realized what? None of us knew Harvey Dale's daughter was
comin
' out west to live with her father."

    "I knew from the moment I saw her… There was something about her, the way she carried herself, the way she spoke. That damned attitude of superiority, as if she was two steps up from the rest of the world."

    The memory of Harvey Dale's face returned to Ross's mind, and he felt a flush of pure hatred suffuse him. He continued in a low voice, uncertain and uncaring if Jake was still listening.

    "Dale has that way of looking at a man with contempt, as if a man's a fool to think he stands a chance against him and his money. He looked at my father that way on that last day in court when he walked off free and clear with my father's claim. And he looked at me that way the day I was convicted and sentenced to prison on the evidence he'd paid for. The hardest part of it all was knowing he was right. Pa and I never stood a chance against him."

    Familiar with Ross's hatred for Harvey Dale, Jake did not like the direction Ross's mind was taking. Anxious to stem his friend's rising frustration, Jake interrupted Ross's low monologue. "Yeah, I know about all that, Ross, but I didn't come back with the news just to stir you up. Dale was real busy in Tombstone after he took his daughter home. He's madder than a hornet and he's
hatchin
' up
somethin
'. I figured you ought to know so you could be on the lookout." Jake paused with a brief shrug. "When you come right down to it, what good would it have done if you had known who the Dale woman was from the start?"

    Ross's eyes took on a sudden menace. He gave a low, mirthless laugh. "What good? I would've listened to you, old friend, and brought her with me."

    "You know I didn't mean what I said, Ross." Jake shook his head in denial. "You know damned well you were right when you said that woman wouldn't be worth the trouble."

    "That was before I knew who she was."

    She still wouldn't be worth the trouble. What would you gain? Hell, Dale's mad enough that we're
hittin
' him in the pocketbook. We don't need him
puttin
' any more pressure on the sheriff. He's only got one daughter."

    "And my father only had one life."

    Ross, the girl's innocent. She didn't have
anythin
' to do with what her father did to your pa or to you."

    Ross's response was a low growl. "That girl hasn't had an innocent day in her life." Unwilling to discuss the matter further, Ross turned and walked to the door, where he paused in contemplative silence.

    Jake snapped his mouth shut tight. His light brows furrowed into a frown. Two and a half years as Ross's cellmate in Yuma Prison had taught him that it was useless to argue with him when he was in one of his dark moods. Silence now and a quiet, persuasive argument later would be far more effective.

    But that realization afforded Jake little peace of mind. He had sensed that somehow, this robbery had been different. Ross had been too tense after this one. In the three months since they had been released from prison they had managed to relieve Till-Dale of six payrolls. Each time, Ross had been jubilant, knowing he was another step closer to causing a financial crisis at Till-Dale. Not so with this last robbery.

    His disquiet growing, Jake watched as Ross turned from the door and began restlessly pacing the small cabin. Jake's frown deepened. He hadn't liked Ross's reaction to Devina Dale. He liked it even less now that they had found out who she was. That girl would be trouble for Ross, and Ross needed no more trouble, especially from a Dale. He had suffered enough.

    Fragmented memories flashed across Jake's mind. Isolation, dark cells, hunger, and hard, grueling, unrelieved labor. Ross had suffered it all right along with him, and Ross had saved his life several times during those days in prison when he had been took weak to defend himself.

    Jake swallowed tightly. Beads of perspiration induced by harsh memories covered his forehead, and he brushed them away with his arm. He'd give his life for Ross Morrison, and he'd be damned if he'd let Ross go off half cocked and end up in prison again. He'd talk to Ross later, when he was in a mood to listen.

    His restless prowling suddenly coming to a halt, Ross walked purposefully to the doorway.

    "Where are you going, Ross?"

    Turning around abruptly, Ross glared darkly in his friend's direction. Hesitating before he responded, he reached into the bucket by the door and withdrew a bar of soap and a razor.

    "If it's any of your damned business, I'm going to cool myself off." Reaching up, he tugged at his ragged black beard. "And I'm going to get rid of this thing. It's too damned hot. I've had enough of it. Besides, it's too easy to recognize, now that the passengers in the coach had a close look at me."

    "But you know what's going to happen if you shave. You're going to…"

    A small smile curved Ross's lips. "I know exactly what I'm doing, Jake."

    Turning abruptly, Ross strode from the cabin. Walking past Mack and Harry as they tended to their horses, he gave them a brief nod, unaware that Jake's concerned gaze still followed him.

    Crystal beads of water reflected a rainbow's hue on Ross's strong, naked length as he walked calmly from the pool a short time later. Flexing the muscles of his powerful chest and shoulders, he ran a callused palm over his smoothly shaven cheek. Damn, that felt good! The long hair and beard had been uncomfortable.

    Ross gave a short laugh. Mack and Henry said he was obsessed with being clean. They said he had chosen this dilapidated prospector's cabin as a hideout simply because there was a shallow natural pool nearby. They had been partly right. Memories of three years in Yuma returned working long hours in the hot sun, wearing the same clothes for endless days, subsisting on food that was little more than edible, sometimes not even that, enduring conditions that were fit for neither man nor beast. He had earned the luxury of a daily bath. And he had learned a hard lesson: He had learned to survive.