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Beyond Ordinary
Mary Sullivan


Can you outrun your past?Angel Donovan can't. The moment she crosses the town limits of Ordinary, Montana, she feels the weight of who she used to be looming.But there's one person who sees beyond her former wild-child self–Timm Franck. Too bad he's also the one person she's wary of…with good reason. Thanks to his journalistic skills, the private details of her scandalous upbringing are a matter of public record.Despite her efforts, avoiding Timm is an impossible task. The man has made it his business to stay close. To make amends?Or to give them a shot at a relationship they never had? Whatever his motivation, Angel can honestly say this is the last place she expected to find something–someone– so extraordinary.









Timm felt her breath warm on his neck


Angel’s soft hair brushed his chin, tantalizing him, reminding him of his adolescent hopes and dreams, always of her. He experienced a moment of disbelief that the one he’d wanted was here, now…with him.

She gripped his biceps, her hands warm through his cotton shirt, her fingers tight. Her nails bit into his skin, bringing him firmly back into the moment.

He pressed closer. Her hip, firm beneath his other hand, burned his palm. With his eyes closed, he feathered the skin above her jeans, and it was softer than anything he’d ever felt.

He was drowning in her scent and her heat. He had to touch her more.


Dear Reader,

Most people wander this earth wearing hard outer shells to protect their vulnerable cores. But those exteriors don’t reflect who they really are. The problem is that the world assumes what they see on the surface is all there is. What a shame. I wanted to explore this idea and look at what kinds of problems it can cause.

Angel Donovan has been forced into a certain role by fate and, no matter how hard she tries, can’t get her hometown to see her differently, to recognize that she is not the same person on the inside as the beautiful face and killer body lead people to believe. I liked the idea of a woman breaking free of preconceived perceptions to show the world that she has depth, that the person on the inside is every bit as beautiful as the one on the outside.

Timm Franck has the opposite problem. He is a decent, smart, nerdy guy who was burned and still carries the scars. He has no problem showing people who he really is on the inside. He just doesn’t want to show them his chest full of scars.

I know of too many people who worry about their outer shell not being beautiful enough and fail to show that what they have in their cores is much more worthy than surface beauty. Revealing ourselves to others can turn out to be the best thing we’ve ever done! May you find the courage to do it.

Happy reading,

Mary Sullivan

P.S. I do love to hear from readers! Please contact me through my website at www.marysullivanbooks.com.




Beyond Ordinary

Mary Sullivan





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Mary likes to break through the shells of new people she meets, discovering the pearls of their personalities. We all seem to have so much to give to each other. She has enjoyed meeting so many great people through her writing career, especially readers. This is her fourth Harlequin Superromance novel. Mary loves being part of the Harlequin family!


To my mum,

who enjoyed reading her daughter’s books.

Love always.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN




CHAPTER ONE


ANGEL DONOVAN LIMPED home to Ordinary, Montana, on her wounded Honda Gold Wing, pulling to a stop on the shoulder of the highway a couple of miles shy of town.

Out of gas.

She’d been gliding on fumes for the past quarter hour.

She tugged off her helmet and brushed sweat-dampened hair from her forehead, then dismounted.

The hot breeze outrunning nightfall across the prairie feathered her hair around her arms and her back, in the space between her vest and the waistband of her jeans. She should cut off every last black inch of it.

With one strong swing of her arm, she heaved the helmet into the closest field where it rolled across dry soil beneath yellow wheat, its red gloss disappearing under the dirt it picked up.

She unhooked her saddlebags and laid them down a few feet away, took out the can of lighter fluid she’d bought in Bozeman and sprinkled it over the bike.

It glowed golden in the horizontal rays of the setting sun, its chemical scent a counterpoint to the dry, earthy aroma of the fields.

When a pickup truck flew past, its rush of air pushed her toward the bike. Farther down the road, it slowed.

Whoever you are, keep moving. I don’t need you meddling.

Striking a wooden match on the tight denim across her thigh, she threw it onto the bike and the lighter fluid ignited with a satisfying whoosh.

It crackled and whispered, spoke of things best laid to rest, smoked like a demon and obliterated the scratches and dents on the nearly new bike.

Neil, baby, this is for you.

The heat rising off the burning bike distorted the horizon in shimmering waves.

The pickup reversed down the road and came to a stop ten feet away. A man exited the vehicle with a fire extinguisher in his hand.

“No,” Angel screamed, and tried to head him off, but he scooted around her.

He sprayed the bike and the fire sputtered, the flames hissed then died. Acrid smoke swirled into the air, choking her.

“Stop.” She threw herself at the man and sent him staggering. His finger slid off the trigger, but not before he sprayed both of them.

Angel coughed. Her eyes watered.

“You want this to burn?” he asked. She didn’t recognize him, or care who he was.

“Go away,” she cried. “Mind your own business.”

“I can’t.”

“Leave,” she ordered. “I have to do this.”

“The county’s under a fire ban.” He pressed the trigger to spray the bike and Angel launched herself at him again. She scratched his neck above the collar of his shirt and slapped his face.

He pushed her away, but she attacked again. His arms busy with her, he dropped the extinguisher and it rolled into the ditch.

It could rot there.

“What the hell? Back off, woman.”

“You back off,” she cried. “You’re ruining everything.”

“You haven’t changed a bit, have you? Still as self-centered as ever.”

He knew her?

He grabbed her arms, wrapped them across her body and hauled her back against his chest. Her struggles were useless. The guy was stronger than he looked.

“Listen to me,” he said close to her ear. “We’re in the middle of a heat wave.”

He thought she didn’t know that, with sweat dripping down her back?

“I don’t care why you need to burn a perfectly good bike,” he said, “but we’re under a fire ban. You think the ranchers want you starting a wildfire, burning up their crops and their homes?”

He was right, damn him. She’d come close to screwing up again.

She’d failed.



TIMM FRANCK HAD ALWAYS dreamed of holding Angel Donovan, but not like this. Not with anger and frustration. Not as though they were wrestling.

She breathed hard.

The full breasts that probably half the men in town had had wet dreams about at one time or another rested on his forearm where he’d wrapped it across her ribs to hold her still. The other hand cupped her stomach and held her steady against him. On her abdomen, above her jeans, his thumb touched a strip of bare skin that felt like velvet.

She squirmed. Air hissed between his teeth. “Stop it.”

An erection threatened. Thirty-one-year-old men weren’t supposed to behave like randy teenagers. He wasn’t a trigger-happy guy. But then, this was Angel.

When enough of the fight left her that he thought he could let her go, he eased his grip and stepped away. There was only so much he could take.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you home. I assume you’re heading to your mother’s?”

She nodded, her attention on the foam-covered bike.

For a minute, Timm could only stare.

Disheveled dark hair fell to her waist. Red spots rode on her cheeks. One pale blue vein at her temple beat beneath her translucent skin. The deep V of her black leather top showcased a mile-long neck and the sweetest cleavage this side of the Rockies.

She had always been too pretty for her own good, or for the good of his peace of mind. Damn, she’d been away for four years and he still had it bad.

He reached a hand to her face and she pulled back. “Hold still.” He wiped a spot of foam from the corner of her lip. Her peach-soft skin burned beneath his thumb.

There wasn’t a square inch of her body he hadn’t fantasized about touching over the years. She was even softer than he’d imagined and an urge rose in him—to stake his claim on the playground of her body like the worst neighborhood bully.

He shook his head, snapping out of the daze Angel always inspired, disappointed that his reaction to her hadn’t changed.

He was supposed to be a smart man. He owned and edited the largest newspaper for miles around. But it seemed that when it came to Angel Donovan, he was as brain-dead as every other man in Ordinary.

Assuming she would want the saddlebags lying on the side of the road, he picked them up and led her to his truck with a hand under her elbow.

“Neil,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.” He glanced at her to make sure she hadn’t mistaken him for someone else, but she was talking to herself. What was driving her to burn what looked to be a fairly new bike? Any bike, for that matter?

As they approached the truck, she stiffened and resisted his hold.

“Who are you?”

Not one trace of recognition shone in those brilliant eyes. He might as well have been a stranger.

It shouldn’t bother him.

It did.

He’d always suspected he was invisible to Angel. He’d been invisible to everyone in his teens. Since then, he’d become a force to be reckoned with in town, but Angel hadn’t been in Ordinary to witness it.

“I’m not getting into a truck with a stranger,” she said with a pugnacious jutting of her jaw.

Tough and unafraid, the Angel he’d known could slice the balls off a man with the sharp edge of her tongue. Looked like she hadn’t changed.

“I’m not a stranger,” he answered. “I grew up in Ordinary.”

“Never seen you before in my life.”

Like he said, it shouldn’t hurt, but it did.

“Get in the truck, Angel. I’m driving you into town.”

“I’d rather walk.”

“There’s a bad element hanging around these days.” Beneath his fingers, her pulse thrummed and that heartbeat warmed her perfume—patchouli—and it swirled around him, heating his blood. Angel would have made a great hippy—free love and all that.

“I’m not letting you walk two miles into town,” he said. “It will be dark by the time you get there.”

She stared at him with her full lips pinched into a flat line. “Who are you?”

“Timm Franck,” he said, hoping like crazy his name would spark a hint of recognition. It didn’t.

“How do I know you?” Her gaze strayed to the top of his shirt, to the collar buttoned to his throat, and her eyes widened. “You’re the guy who—”

“Yeah,” he muttered, resigned to the fact that she remembered him for the wrong reason. “I’m the guy who—”

He released her.

“Get in and close the door,” he said, quietly.

She blushed and slid into the truck with her eyes averted. Timm wished he didn’t have this big sign stuck around his neck that pretty much said, This Guy Isn’t Normal. When You Look At Him, Be Embarrassed. Be Very Embarrassed.

He hadn’t been treated as normal in nearly twenty years.

He tossed her bags at her feet, left her to close the door and then walked around the front of the truck, in and out of beams of the headlights.

When he climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed his door, her face came alive. Her blue eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open.

“Wait a minute,” she said, and Timm saw the moment full recognition of exactly who he was hit her.

“You.” She lunged out of the truck.

Timm prevented her escape with a hand on her arm.

So she finally remembered what he had written about her mother. It had been more than a dozen years ago, but she’d reacted badly then and she was reacting badly now.

“Stay in the truck, Angel,” he said. “I’m driving you into town.”

“Over my dead body.”

“If I have to.”

“I’d rather walk.”

“Look, there’s a new bar that’s attracting bikers. They’re tough and itching for trouble.”

Her expression was mutinous, but she remained where she was. “Why did you interfere?” she asked, crossing her arms. “What I was doing was none of your business.”

“If the gas in that bike’s tank had ignited…” Imagining the destruction to the land around them, he shook his head.

Why hadn’t life beaten even a modicum of common sense into the brain lurking behind that perfect face, or a soul into that stunning body?

Once a shallow beauty queen, always shallow.

“I ran out of gas,” she mumbled, staring out of the open window as they drove past fields fading in the dying light.

That stopped him for a minute. “Why were you burning the bike?”

“Never mind. If I told you, you’d tell your father and he’d publish it in tomorrow’s paper.”

She did remember him, and his family.

“My father died last year,” he said.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she said, her tone laced with sadness uncharacteristic of the Angel he knew. “I hadn’t heard.”

He nodded, but didn’t respond.

“How did he die?” she asked.

Timm faltered—he still couldn’t talk about Papa. Finally, he responded to her accusation of a few minutes ago. “I don’t publish the Ordinary Citizen on Tuesdays.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.” In a split second, she reverted to sharp-tongued Angel. “Your paper is a rag full of nothing but gossip and innuendo.” Yeah, she remembered him, and definitely for more of the wrong reasons.

“That’s not true and you know it,” Timm said. “I’m not apologizing for that story I wrote when I was a teenager. If you didn’t like it, tough, but it was neither libel nor gossip.”

At the time, he couldn’t write about Angel without the whole town figuring out he had a crush on her a mile wide, so he’d written about her mother. And what was the difference? They were two peas in a pod.

He watched her stare out the window. One strand of hair had snagged on a silver hoop earring and he wanted to tuck it behind her ear, so he gripped the steering wheel.

“It was a story,” he pressed. “Fiction.”

In his irritation, his foot came down heavily on the accelerator and he picked up speed. He forced himself to relax. It was weird to have Angel in his truck, sexy and smelling of retro perfume.

“Everyone in town knew the story was about Mama.”

That’s because it was. “I never called her by name.”

“You didn’t have to. Everyone knew it was Missy Donovan.” Her laugh sounded brittle. “You all but called my mother a slut and you were right.”

A slut? He shot her a glance. “I did not.”

“Yeah? What exactly did ‘she can take a man anywhere she wants him to go’ mean?”

He smiled. “You can quote my story?”

She paused a moment before saying, “I only ever saw the one written about Mama.”

“I meant that she was sexy and knew how to use it to her advantage, that she knew how to get whatever she wanted from men.”

She drummed the fingers of one hand on her thigh. Timm wondered how it felt to be the daughter of the town’s…for lack of a better word, slut. “Missy brags about how you’ve changed your life. Your mom is proud of you.”

So was he. During his adolescent years, while everyone else had been out doing things, he’d been at home sick, sitting at his bedroom window, watching people, studying human nature, wanting to believe the best of people. They didn’t always measure up.

Angel had fascinated him. Most of the time she’d risen only as far as her trailer-trash background would allow, but he’d thought there might be more to her than she let people see.

Then, four years ago, at twenty-four, she’d left for college and Timm had thought, Yes! Surprise us all!

If she had indeed turned her life around, why was she here pulling a stunt like burning a bike on the side of the road?

In the barely visible light, her lips twisted. “Mama needs to get a hobby and stop talking about me.”

“In high school, you were voted Most Likely to Succeed.”

“I remember,” she answered, her tone a trace bitter. “As an exotic dancer.”

“No one ever expected you to end up at college, studying math of all things.”

She didn’t say anything. If silence could be qualified, this one was heavy with significance.

Had he gotten it wrong? He usually had a sharp memory. “You did study math, right?”

She nodded.

What was up? Why wouldn’t she look at him or answer his questions?

He flipped on the interior light. She faced him with a stunned expression then, just as quickly, turned away. He noticed a mottled blush on her neck. She was hiding something.

What had happened to her at college?

A sharp flash of disappointment flooded him. He’d thought that, given half a chance, Angel would have used college to break out of the mold fate had pressed her into. Too bad he’d thought too highly of her.

He shut off the light. “You didn’t do well at college, did you?”

“I excelled,” she snapped.

In some weird way, he thought he knew Angel too well. “You didn’t finish, did you?”

With her thumbnail, she worried a hangnail on her index finger. “No,” she mumbled almost too low to hear.

The intensity of his reaction took him by surprise. He’d made the ultimate sacrifice after Papa’s death, had left college early to come home and take over the family business, to think more of others than of himself.

“So you threw away the education Missy paid for.”

“I didn’t throw it away.”

“Then what?”

She shrugged. “None of your business.”

Angel hadn’t changed one iota.

“Figures,” he said under his breath. “You really didn’t change one bit while you were gone.”

She jabbed a finger against her chest. “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

Stupid? “I’ve never thought that, Angel. Not with the way you had the boys dancing to your tune in high school.”

She turned to look at him. In the dim illumination cast by the dashboard, he could barely make out her expression, but it might have been self-mocking. Or was she mocking him?

She’d never invited him to any of her metaphorical dances.

Unblemished beauties like Angel had no use for scarred beasts like Timm. They preferred the athletes of the world, the movers and shakers, the doers, not quiet, thoughtful boys who were forced to watch life pass them by. Who figured out the problems of the world and some of the solutions and wrote about them.

Who had learned, by watching, exactly how imperfect his fellow man was.

He’d changed since then, had become successful, was well respected in town. His scars were a fact of life that he didn’t think about most days.

He no longer considered himself a beast. Angel, on the other hand, was still an unblemished beauty.

How lowering to find himself, all these years later, still mooning over a shallow beauty queen.

He wanted her.



ANGEL DIDN’T WANT TO be here with brainy Timm Franck. She hadn’t recognized him at first, but she remembered him now. She had almost blurted, “The guy who’d been burned.” So stupid.

Timm would never have left college before finishing his degree. He would never torch a bike on the side of the road during a burn ban. He would never screw up as badly as she had.

Too smart to be human, to indulge in human mistakes, Timm was a robot, with a mind and no feelings.

She studied him. He’d grown into his height. His shoulders looked broader, his biceps bigger. His cheekbones stood out more than they used to now that his face had become lean and strong. He’d grown up well. So well.

Yeah, she remembered him now.

At a guess, she’d put him just over thirty years old. He’d been three grades ahead of her in high school. When he came. When he wasn’t having an operation, or recovering from one. In the later grades, he’d been around more often, because the doctors had done all they could for him by then. That’s what she guessed, at any rate.

Wire-rimmed glasses rested on his straight nose. With his quiet, thoughtful gaze, he looked like he chewed encyclopedias for snacks.

How could a girl like her compete with a mind like his?

He’d perfected that brainy look to a fine art. For the first time, she found it attractive.

Damn, that bothered her.

She reached down to pull the lever that pushed her seat all the way back. Then she slipped off her red cowboy boots and leaned her feet on the dashboard, the vinyl warm under her soles, and wrapped her arms around her knees.

She caught Timm staring at the red polish dotting her toenails. Let him look. No way would he ever get to touch.

She used to like the jocks—big dumb boys who wanted nothing more from her than hot sessions in the back of their trucks. That was no longer true. She’d known some great guys at college attending on athletic scholarships—ambitious and self-disciplined guys, smart men who didn’t try to grab her in dark corners.

But then, Bozeman hadn’t been Ordinary. No one there had known her as Missy Donovan’s daughter.

“When you wrote that story,” she said, “you pretty much said Mama was too stupid to get a man without using sex.”

“We’re still on that subject?” He sighed. “Listen, I like Missy. She’s sweet and generous.”

“Did I hear a but at the end of that sentence?”

“Yeah. She isn’t too bright. Men have taken advantage of her over the years.”

Angel knew how…simple…Mama was, knew that she only wanted a man to take care of her and love her. Too bad so many of them had wanted only sex.

Then Timm said, “She took advantage of them, too.”

“And why not?” Angel went on the offensive. “She had no skills. She was poor. She had to survive.” So why did the way she chose to survive embarrass Angel so much?

“The town decided the second I was born to Missy that I was as cheap and easy as she was. Boys started sniffing around me before they were able to tie their shoelaces.”

What would sanctimonious Timm Franck know about growing up in poverty? About growing up in a town that saw only what it wanted to see about a girl? His family had been respected pillars of the community.

What if she gave in to the urge to grab his glasses from his face and crumple them in her fist? Man, she felt wound up, all of her emotions strung too tightly.

“Illegitimate, trashy Angel Donovan. That’s all the town ever thought of me.” She didn’t want a brainiac like Timm telling her there was no escape for a girl born into poverty to a woman who knew how to live off men, but not much else.

Angel needed to escape.

She’d tried to change while at college, in a new place where no one knew her, or her mother, or her mother’s reputation. Where there were no preconceived notions about her.

Neil had treated her like gold. He’d seen who she wanted to be, not who she was expected to be.

That hadn’t lasted, had it? She’d tried to be a better person. She’d failed. When you try so hard to change and it doesn’t take, it hurts so damn much. After Neil died, she’d felt vulnerable and uncertain. But here in Ordinary, she knew exactly who she was, who she was expected to be and how to act to get through every day.

In Ordinary, she was confident and tough.

She would deal just fine here until she could get grounded, get clear about who she wanted to be. Then she’d head out of town and reinvent herself again.

She wasn’t ready to quit. She’d come out of her mother’s womb a fighter. This was a temporary setback. Ordinary, Montana, the second I have enough money to leave, you can kiss my butt goodbye.

She felt Timm’s gaze on her as palpably as a touch.

“Why were you burning that bike?”

“Never mind.” She couldn’t talk about it. The words were too big, too enormous in their dark intensity, and clogged her throat.

She wanted to yell, to act out, to smash something.

That’s why she liked cool, logical math so much. It didn’t have miles of shit-kicking emotion attached to it the way everything else in her life did.

They traveled the length of Main Street, then turned and stopped in front of her mother’s house. What should she say? Thanks for stopping the only thing that could have eased my pain?

She slipped her feet into her cowboy boots. Offering him a terse “Thanks” she stepped out of the truck, dragging her saddlebags with her.

Behind her, Timm sped away.

She trudged toward the bungalow. The rosebushes that lined the walkway were well cared for, the green cushion on the wicker chair on the veranda well used.

Mama had done well for herself in the past five years. She’d nursed her former boyfriend until his death. Hal had left everything to her—the house and enough money to leave Missy secure for years. The first thing she’d done was pay for Angel to attend college.

Mama no longer had to depend on men—she had security. Yet she was on the verge of throwing it all away on another man. Somehow Phil Butler—a slimy example of the worst of his gender—had convinced Missy to marry him.

“Angel,” Mama had said in yesterday’s phone message, “Phil and me are getting married.”

Maybe that’s all Donovan women were good at—squandering their advantages when so close to success.

But Angel couldn’t figure out why Missy was so dependant on Phil. Why did she defer to him in her own house?

Angel knocked so she wouldn’t scare Mama, then used her key to enter.

“Is that you, Phil?” Mama called, her voice huskier with age.

“No. It’s me.” So Phil wasn’t home? Perfect time to confront Mama about him.

“Angel?” Mama rushed from the living room with a broad smile creasing her face. “Oh, honey, I wondered when you’d get here. You didn’t call.” She pulled Angel into a hug.

Angel filled her lungs with Mama’s scent—Avon’s Sweet Honesty and cigarettes. She’d missed this. She liked the perfume Mama had used all her life, but wished she would give up the smokes.

Oh, it felt good to be cradled in Mama’s arms. Mama might be the town tramp, but she’d always been a good mother.

Missy pulled away to look at her. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, Mama.” She fingered a lock of Mama’s hair. “Why did you go back to the blond?”

Missy had stopped dyeing her hair after Hal died. Now she was using again.

“Phil likes it this way. He says it makes me look younger.”

Phil was an ass. He was a big part of the reason Angel had come home instead of heading off to a big city, any city where people didn’t know her. The moment she’d heard her mother’s message, she’d packed her saddlebags and set out for Ordinary.

Mama would marry Phil over Angel’s dead body.

Of course, that was only part of the reason she’d run home. To be honest, she was also here for Mama’s TLC. Mama always knew how to make her feel better about things. At the moment, Angel needed a double dose of her mother’s care.

Angel tried to turn away before her mother could read her expression. But Mama held her still and saw everything Angel tried to hide.

Mama’s happiness turned to concern. “What’s wrong, honey? What happened?”

Giving in to the impulse to lean on someone else for a minute, to let someone take on her battles, Angel hid her face against her mother’s shoulder and sighed.

“Oh, Mama, I screwed up so badly.”




CHAPTER TWO


“YOU QUIT COLLEGE?” Mama asked.

Angel nodded.

“But—” Mama sighed. “I wanted you to do good. What happened?”

Angel shook her head, mute in the face of Mama’s disappointment in her. Resentment burbled beneath the surface, though, that Missy had never tried to change, to become someone better than the town tramp, but she had expected Angel to fight the good fight, to put the effort into overcoming her roots.

Angel had at least tried.

They sat in darkness, on Mama’s rose-patterned sofa, illuminated only by the streetlight filtered through the trees and sheers on the window.

Angel couldn’t tell Mama about Neil. Not yet. How could she tell her that she’d crumpled like a day-old balloon when Neil died? How could she explain how hopeless and hard trying to change was? Or how difficult it was to outrun a reputation? How could she say any of it without hurting Mama’s feelings? After all, it had been Mama’s reputation she’d been running from.

She’d wanted to settle anywhere but here.

Then Mama had called and Angel had come running to Ordinary to save Missy from herself.

Mama must have seen the turmoil on her face, because she rubbed Angel’s knuckles and said, “Never mind for now. Let’s find you something to eat.” Before Angel could start in on what she thought about Missy’s fiancé, the front door opened and she tensed.

Phil. Her skin crawled before she even saw him.

He stepped into the living room. “Why is it so dark in here?” he asked, his tone brusque.

Mama flicked on the lamp. “Look who’s come home, Phil,” she said, her voice soft, tremulous.

Angel bit her tongue so she wouldn’t say what she thought. For God’s sake, Mama, stand up for yourself.

In the split second before Phil realized Mama wasn’t alone, he looked severe. That changed when he saw Angel.

His manner became snaky. Oh, Lord, he could be the villain in a silent movie, scrubbing his hands in glee over the heroine tied to the train tracks. The word unctuous came to mind. Yuck.

That image was only her imagination, though. Phil was an ordinary man, not a cardboard villain in a movie. Still, Angel had trouble liking him.

Was hating a person as much as she loathed Phil illegal?

His crafty gaze took in the tension between Angel and Missy. Phil never missed a thing. Chances were he would somehow use this to his own advantage.

“Angel,” he said. “How’s my favorite daughter?”

Daughter? Gag me.

Just because Mama had agreed to marry him, Angel was suddenly his daughter? No freaking way. Never. That was too creepy.

When he approached the sofa, Angel remained seated and held her breath while he embraced her, endured it because Mama watched her with such hope, as if to say, Please, Angel, like him, for me.

Oh, Mama, you’re all I’ve got. I would die for you, but put up with Phil? No way.

Angel smelled beer on Phil’s breath.

She pulled away. “You’ve been drinking. Where?”

Mama gasped. “Angel, that’s rude.”

Phil watched Angel with a smug grin. She could see the hamster maniacally spinning the wheel of Phil’s mind, calculating how much he could get away with because he knew she didn’t want to hurt Mama more than she had to. He knew she would do whatever she could to ruin his chances with Mama. He also knew that Mama’s happiness mattered more to her than anything.

Phil made her think of rodents. Too bad for the rodents.

“At the new place,” Phil replied. “Chester’s Roadhouse.”

“Why did you go alone?” Angel asked. Mama placed a soft warning hand on Angel’s shoulder that she ignored. “Why did you go without Mama?”

“Your Mama doesn’t like it there. Right, Missy?” Phil looked at Mama. She nodded.

“Do you remember Chester Ames?” Mama asked.

Angel remembered Chester. He used to treat Mama and her like gold.

“He opened a bar on Main Street,” Missy said.

Okay, that answered her question why Phil hadn’t taken Mama with him. Chester had a giant crush on Mama that time had never dimmed. Mama had always had a soft spot for him, too. Angel used to fantasize about how good life would be if Chester were her father. Chester had been married, though, and faithful to his wife.

Clearly Phil had picked up on that mutual at traction.

“Good for Chester. He’s a great guy,” Angel said, her emphasis implying that he was a better man than Phil.

“I can take you there tomorrow night,” Phil said.

Not on your life. “No, thanks. Mama, I’m heading to bed. We can talk more in the morning.”

Angel passed Phil without a backward glance. For the sake of Mama’s happiness, Angel would consider that he might be good for Mama in some way that Angel hadn’t yet determined. She would try as hard as possible in the next few days to see him from Mama’s point of view. But no way was she ignoring her instincts. While checking for the good, she would also watch for the ways in which Phil was trouble.



MISSY FELT PHIL STIR beside her and roll out of bed. Sitting on the side of the mattress, he pulled on his underwear then left the room.

Her breasts hurt, ached, and a weird sort of…stopped-up feeling…throbbed in her lower belly. Sex with Phil never satisfied her.

He wasn’t big enough—in his size or in his attention to her needs. Sex was about him and what he wanted. She was dumb enough to always give in.

Lord knew she had needs. Always had.

Face it, Missy, you’re forty-five years old. Phil is thirty-five. You’ll do anything to keep him.

You would think a man Phil’s age would have more energy, more to give a woman.

She listened to him shuffle down the hall, noted that he slowed in front of Angel’s room. She bit her lip.

A grown woman shouldn’t be jealous of her own daughter, but Missy was feeling her age.

Angel was young and beautiful. Men fell all over her. They used to do that with Missy.

What if Phil left? Where would that leave her?

With no one.

The darkness pressed in on her. She remembered those days after her own mother had left.

“You’re sixteen now, kid. Take care of yourself.”

“Mama, not yet. I can’t. I’m not smart like you.”

“With a body and face like yours, you’ll do fine.”

“Please don’t go.” Missy had pleaded more.

Mama had left anyway.

In the trailer alone, with no way to support herself, to finish high school, with no skills, Missy had turned to men. They liked her body. She had learned early to lean on them.

What if Phil left and no other man ever found her attractive again?

She was so pathetic, clinging to Phil as though he was the last man on earth. What if this was the rest of her life? What if she never enjoyed sex again? What if she kept on being jealous of her own daughter?

Missy heard Phil exit the washroom and walk toward their bedroom.

He stopped in front of Angel’s door.

Angel’s doorknob rattled, ever so slightly, but Missy heard it.

She held her breath. Don’t go in there.

He continued toward Missy’s room and the breath she’d been holding flew out of her. She rolled away so Phil would think she was sleeping.

He hadn’t gone into Angel’s room tonight, but he’d thought about it.



AFTER MIDNIGHT, ANGEL lay on her bed, watching the headlights of a car sweep across her ceiling.

She couldn’t sleep, not with her mind traveling a mile a minute with memories of Neil. She picked up a stone from the bedside table. Neil had given it to her because somehow time and the elements had shaped it into a heart.

He’d said it reminded him of her, of how time and life had shaped her into a truly good person.

Horse poop. It had done no such thing. As she rolled over, though, she clutched the stone.

The night lay still around her. She couldn’t breathe.

Someone stirred in Mama’s room. She knew what was coming. Or who.

Here we go again.

Phil’s footsteps whispered along the bare floor in the hallway.

He stopped at her door.

She flipped a sheet over herself and gripped it.

Come on in, Phil. I’d love to clock someone right now. Come in, buddy. Give me a reason to hit you.

He moved on, his footsteps entering the bathroom. She heard the door close.

When she’d come home on Christmas break, he’d played the same game every night.

A couple of minutes later, he retraced his steps, stopping outside Angel’s door long enough to turn the doorknob.

The door wasn’t locked. He could enter if he wanted to, and Angel would fight him tooth and nail.

After rotating a few degrees, the knob returned to its normal position and she heard Phil move on.

He was teasing her, letting her know that while he was in this house, he was the boss. He controlled everything.

Only because Mama let him. She owned it.

Angel uncurled her fingers, releasing the bedsheet she’d been gripping.

If Mama wasn’t bright enough to protect herself, Angel would have to do it for her.

At 1:00 a.m., she gave up trying to sleep. She sat on the bed and hung her head, tired of trying so hard to forget.

She dressed in the outfit she’d arrived in. Tomorrow, she’d unpack the saddlebags she’d left in the hallway.

Quietly, she stepped out of the house. These nights Angel haunted hallways and streets. After Neil’s death, she’d walked the many paths and trails of the campus every night, because to stay in bed with no distractions from thoughts of Neil and her own guilt in his death was murder.

In a strange way, it soothed her that Ordinary, Montana, never seemed to change. The street Missy had lived on for the past several years, in Harold’s house, was more upscale than what Angel had grown up in.

She rushed through the poorer part of town, where their old trailer still sat, and headed toward Main Street to see what the brouhaha about Chester’s was all about.



TIMM STOOD AT THE FRONT window of his apartment above the newspaper office trying to catch any hint of breeze to cool off.

He had a gift for insomnia. Probably did it better than anyone else he knew.

Glancing toward the end of Main Street, he watched several of Chester’s bikers drift out to their bikes, some of them none too steady on their feet.

The sheriff should be sitting out there every night, arresting them. But really, what could he do when he worked a twelve-hour shift every day and had only one deputy to take over for the night?

That issue needed to be addressed in Timm’s bid for mayor.

A movement from the other end of Main caught his eye. Angel Donovan. What the hell? He’d warned her that the town wasn’t the same one she’d grown up in now that Chester’s drew the worst clientele from the next county.

She always had been stubborn, though.

She was out there, in the dark, alone and he didn’t like it one bit.

She just had to pull old tricks and court trouble. She had a real talent for it.

He pulled on a shirt and jogged downstairs. He let himself out of the office, locking the door behind him.

From the recess of his door, he watched her. No need to tell her he was there. With a little luck, nothing would happen and she would wander home.

As Angel passed on the opposite side of the street, the bar’s door opened and a bunch of bikers stepped out.

Timm watched and waited for her to move on, but she didn’t. She’d always had too much curiosity for her own good.

A couple of the bikers mounted their hogs parked out front. Another one noticed Angel and wandered over. She stood her ground.

For God’s sake, Angel, do you have to stand up for every fight? Walk away. Run.

She didn’t.

He’d watched her fight since she was old enough to understand the names kids called her mother.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” the biker said, his voice tobacco-roughened, his posture aggressive he-man. “Who are you?”

His gaze traveled her body, slowly, as if he already owned it. The hair on Timm’s arms rose. He shifted his stance, ready to defend Angel.

“No one,” she answered, obviously not impressed by the bruiser. He had a layer of fat padding his belly, but enough muscle on his bare arms to bully.

“Let’s party. Come on.” He turned but when she didn’t follow, he looked back at her. “I wasn’t asking.”

Timm straightened away from the wall. Bastard was going to cause trouble, all right.

“No, thanks,” Angel said. “Not if you were the last Neanderthal on earth.”

For God’s sake, Angel, don’t be stupid. Grit and balls are admirable in life, but with a guy like this?

The biker didn’t take her comments well. He grabbed her arm, and Timm shot out of the doorway.

As a teenager, he’d been helpless because of his injuries and had watched her fight her battles alone. He wasn’t helpless now.

“Get your hands off her,” he ordered.

At the same moment, Angel kicked the biker’s shin and he slapped her.

Timm was on the guy in an instant. Not a fair fight. A hundred and eighty pounds of intellectual versus a two-hundred-and-thirty-pound wrestler look-alike.

Timm smashed the heel of his hand against the bruiser’s nose.

“Angel, run!” he shouted.

The biker slammed his fist into Timm’s jaw and he saw stars and staggered, but caught himself before he hit the ground.

Angel jumped her attacker and grabbed a fistful of hair.

“Move on.” A voice called out from across the street. Brawny Chester Ames, with a good set of biceps, a tough attitude and a baseball bat in one hand, ran toward them and shoved the bat into the guy’s ribs.

With a roar, the biker pushed Angel away from him and spun around.

Chester held the bat raised and ready to do serious harm if the guy didn’t leave.

“You want to drink in my bar again, you go on home and stop bothering her.” Chester ground out the words. “Now.”

The biker hesitated. Chester waited. Timm bounced on the balls of his feet, ready to try to take the guy down if he dared to touch Angel again.

When the guy finally walked to his bike without a word, the breath whooshed out of Timm. Then he cursed his lack of control. He’d been too angry—he knew better than to be so emotional—and because of that emotion, he’d lost the fight. Sensei Chong had taught him how to fight smart, how to remain calm and rational.

He looked at Angel. What was it about her that called up so many feelings? That cost him his precious self-control? He only knew that he’d gone into a rage when the biker had hurt her.

Chester approached Angel. “Why are you out here this late at night?”

“Hey, Chester,” she said, her tone soft and affectionate, raising Timm’s hackles. Had she been with him at some point? But he was old enough to be her father.

“You shouldn’t be here alone,” Chester scolded, his tone stern like a father’s, easing Timm’s tension. A bit.

“I’m not alone.” She gestured toward Timm.

Chester eyed him dubiously, and not as a friend. He returned his attention to Angel. “D’you want a drive home? I can be ready in ten minutes.”

Before she could answer, a flash of possession roared through Timm, and he interjected, “I’m taking her home.” He wasn’t much better than the Neanderthal Chester had chased away.

Chester gave him a cold look, nodded, then crossed the road to go back inside.

Angel confronted Timm with her fists on her hips. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching out for you.” He stepped closer to her. “Making sure you don’t get hurt. I saw you from my window.”

Before she could respond, he said, “The next time I tell you to run, do it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. I don’t run away from battles. I’m not a damsel in distress who needs a man to rescue her.”

“And yet, you just needed two of us.”

Framed as she was by the streetlight, Timm saw her cheeks fill with color.

“That guy was typical of Chester’s clientele.”

“I can take care of myself.”

His jaw ached where he swore he could feel bruises forming already. “I don’t doubt it, Angel, but why would you put yourself in a situation in which you would have to?”

“That’s my business.” She strode away and turned down a side street.

She got under his skin, made him angry, but he trailed her home. He hadn’t liked seeing her hurt. No woman deserved that.

She spun to face him. “Why are you following me?”

“Seeing that you get home safely.”

“I told you, I can take care of myself. Stop following me.”

“No.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Tough. That biker could circle back, looking for you.”

He trailed her to her old neighborhood. The landscape changed from well-to-do to not on the flip of a dime. Heads, you’re rich. Tails, you’re poor. Heads, you live on pretty, tree-lined streets. Tails, you live behind the ugly, industrial feed store.

She stopped at the trailer she’d grown up in. After Missy and Angel had moved to Harold’s house, no one else had taken up residence. It stood lonesome, threadbare, neglected. Even so, it didn’t look much worse than the other trailers on the dead-end street.

What are you thinking, Angel?

He’d had so much room in the four-bedroom brick house where he’d been raised, yet it hadn’t been enough to separate him from his father on the nights he drank. On those occasions, the house had been claustrophobic. So, how had Angel felt in this little tin can while her mother’s boyfriends cycled through Missy’s revolving door?

Had those men ever bothered Angel once she became a teenager? God, he hoped not.

“How did it feel to grow up in there?”

She stared at him for a protracted minute. Then swearing, she picked up a stone and tossed it at the trailer, where it pinged off the metal loudly enough to awaken a nearby dog.

After a couple of barks, someone yelled and the barking stopped. The night turned quiet again, still and hot.

Breathless and waiting.

In front of the trailer at the end of the short street, Timm spotted the red tip of a burning cigarette. Was that a man? Was he watching Angel?

Timm’s muscles bunched and tightened, waiting for trouble.

He stepped closer to protect Angel if he had to, but at that moment she moved on, cutting through the trees and someone’s backyard to access the next street.

He followed her until she reached the short sidewalk to her mother’s house.

“Good night, Angel,” he called softly.

Nothing but the gentle click of her front door closing behind her answered him.



ON TUESDAY MORNING, Timm finished proofreading a hard copy of the Wednesday issue of the paper, then sat at his desk in the storefront to input the changes he’d made.

Megan and Mason, a pair of his reporters, had written excellent articles. He had to remember to tell them so.

As soon as he finished, he sent the file off to the printer in Billings.

They would print twelve thousand copies overnight and deliver them to Ordinary and other small towns throughout the county early tomorrow morning.

On page one was the announcement for the meeting he planned to hold on Thursday night. The town had a problem with Chester’s bar and it was time they organized and did something about it.

As important as the issue was, Timm’s mind had only been half on the job. The other half had been thinking about Angel.

He was a fool. He didn’t rate even a second thought from her, while he fell right back into his old crush the second she came to town.

As if his mind had conjured her, Angel walked into the newspaper office wearing dark jeans and a white T-shirt, the sun behind her skimming her body with loving hands. On anyone else the clothes would look normal, but on Angel? Well…wow.

“What can I do for you?” With her in his space, Timm was surprised that his brain functioned well enough to string together a whole sentence.

“Hey,” she said, her eyes hard, as though she thought he’d kick her out or something. “Do you have any copies of the latest issue?”

“Sure,” he answered. “That would be last Saturday’s. Here.”

He pulled one from a pile under the counter.

“Or you can wait for tomorrow for the next edition.”

“This will do.” Angel reached into her pocket. “How much?”

“Nothing. The next issue comes out tomorrow, so this one’s dated.”

Slow to pull out her hand, she stared at him as though he were a liar.

“Honest,” he said. “Anyone who walks in here on a Tuesday gets Saturday’s paper free.” Not that anyone ever did come in on Tuesday for last week’s paper, but Angel didn’t need to know that.

“Thanks,” she said. “Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?”

He handed her both. Without a word, she approached the small tables he provided for people to use when filling out ads or obits.

When she sat, her low-riding jeans gaped away from her back, just far enough to bare a tiny fraction of skin. Timm’s hands recalled the feel of holding her last night when he stopped her from burning her bike.

He tried not to pay attention to Angel, but couldn’t stop himself from counting the pages she turned too quickly before finally stopping.

Reaching under the counter, he unfolded the paper and thumbed through the same number of pages. She’d stopped at the want ads.

Angel needed a job.

If she’d bothered to finish her degree, she could do a hell of a lot better than anything available in the want ads in Ordinary. A fresh spurt of disappointment ran through him. The woman had wasted a great opportunity. Probably spent too much time partying with men the way she had as a teen.

He’d seen it all from his bedroom window as he’d watched the world go by. When boredom nearly killed him, Papa would move him for a few days to the apartment above the newspaper offices, where he could watch the happenings on Main Street.

All the while, he kept a journal, chronicling his feelings of isolation and the yearning to be normal and his observations of his fellow man’s behavior, as seen from a bird’s-eye view. That journal, about to be published, was paying off for him now.

When he’d turned twenty, he’d moved to the apartment for good.

He read the list of job openings: Bernice’s Beauty Salon, the New American diner and Chester’s Roadhouse. Even a wild girl like Angel wouldn’t work at the Roadhouse.

Angel put the notes she’d taken in her pocket. She folded the newspaper neatly and handed it to Timm along with the pen.

By way of thanks, she nodded then walked out of the office and turned left toward the beauty salon and the diner. Appeared as though she was being smart, keeping away from Chester’s at the other end of Main.

Good.

At that moment, Sheriff Kavenagh entered the office.

“Cash,” Timm said. “How’s the law-enforcement business today?”

Cash barely noticed Timm. He was watching Angel walk down the street.

“Angel’s back,” he said, a big grin flashing. The sheriff was a good-looking guy. He and Angel had made a handsome couple for a while before Angel headed off to college.

Timm wondered if they’d ever—

Probably.

His inner bully resurfaced. He didn’t want Cash sliding around on the playground of Angel’s body. Or any other man. It seemed that where Angel was concerned, Timm was one big lusting, jealous male hormone. And that bothered him.

Get a grip.

Cash finally turned to Timm and said, “You hear things around town. You know anything about a bike that’s stranded on the side of the road out past Sadie Armstrong’s place?”

“Angel rode in on it last night.”

“Why did she leave it on the road?”

For some reason he didn’t look at too closely, Timm didn’t want to tell the sheriff about Angel trying to set fire to that bike. “She ran out of gas.”

“Yeah? She should have gotten Alvin to tow it.”

“I picked her up when I saw her stranded,” Timm said. “It was already dark. She’ll probably take care of it today.”

“Someone tried to burn it.” Cash didn’t look happy. “Idiot could have started a fire. I need to find out who did it and put the fear of God into him. Give him a ticket. He could have burned up a fair portion of the countryside.”

Now was the time for Timm to admit that Angel was the culprit. He was normally an honest man. Why protect Angel? She was a big girl and plenty capable of taking care of herself. As far as Timm could tell, Angel’s attitude hadn’t changed one bit while away. So why was she worthy of his protection?

He held his tongue.

“So Angel’s back,” Cash mused, with a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “She’ll perk up the town.”

Timm stepped around the counter, edgy today, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. “The town’s already perked up enough with the bar full of bikers every night.”

Cash grew serious and nodded. “I know. Williams had to break up another fight there last night. His report said it happened about ten. He’ll be on shift again at eight tonight if you want to talk to him.”

“Thanks,” Timm answered, walking beside Cash to the open doorway. “I’ll interview him for Saturday’s paper.”

Sweat beaded on Timm’s forehead and he fingered the button at his throat, tempted to open it. He might have come to terms with his scars, but he doubted that anyone in town wanted to see them.

“I’m organizing a town meeting for Thursday night at the Legion Hall,” he said. “We need to get Chester’s closed down.”

“Good luck with that. He’s not breaking any laws.”

“I know.” Timm had looked at the problem from every angle. “All I can do is gather the citizens and mount a protest.”

Cash pointed a finger at Timm. “You be careful. Those bikers aren’t going to be happy about this. Watch your back.”

Timm nodded. He wasn’t worried for himself, but what if they bothered Ma, or his sister, Sara, now that she was home from school?

“You’ll get a lot of support,” Cash said, stepping onto the sidewalk. “The townspeople respect you, Timm. As future mayor, you know they’ll listen.”

Timm smiled. “I’m not mayor yet.”

“Don’t worry. You will be.”

“We’ll see.” The election was in two more weeks and Max Golden, his only competition, was a popular guy. “I don’t like to make assumptions.”

Cash was right, though. As publisher of the most well-read small-town newspaper in the state, he held a good position. People respected a man when he was good at his job. Timm had been born to use his brain and, with the paper, he got to use it all—creativity and research and reporting the facts. Yeah, he did his job well.

He’d see if that parlayed into votes.

“Will you come to the meeting?” Timm asked. “It would look good if you showed up. Seven o’clock.”

“I’ll still be on duty, but if nothing’s going on in town, I’ll be there.” Cash walked away.

Timm focused on the building at the end of the street. Six months ago, Chester had rented the last two storefronts on Main and had turned them into one large space.

Any new business in Ordinary should have been a relief to the town. In the summer, they usually appreciated tourist dollars, but that source of income had dried up this year a few months after Chester’s grand opening, when the bikers had appropriated the bar as their own.

Main Street pretty well became theirs after eight every night.

Timm’s concern had nothing to do with money or tourists, though.

For him, this fight was personal.




CHAPTER THREE


ANGEL ENTERED BERNICE’S Beauty Salon.

Bernice was a good person—she’d never looked down on Angel.

“Hey, honey,” Bernice said with a smile, stopping the sweeping she’d been doing and resting one hand on her ample hip. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Angel. How’s school?”

It had been good, but had ended badly. Angel’s smile felt sickly, but she hoped it looked normal. “Good. I’m home for the summer and then heading to the city for a job.”

Angel looked around. The shop hadn’t changed one bit in the time she’d been gone. Red geraniums dotted the windowsill and a monster jade plant stood in one corner.

“You getting your hair cut?” Bernice asked.

Angel shook her head.

“Good. Don’t think Missy or the men in town would like that much.” She laughed.

“Bernice, I’m here about the job you have open.”

Bernice’s smile fell. “Honey, I hired a girl yesterday.”

From the back of the room, a teenager Angel recognized, but whose name she couldn’t remember, stepped out with another woman and walked her to a salon chair.

When the woman unwrapped the towel from her wet hair, she looked at Angel. Her mouth fell open, then quickly closed.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Angel Donovan. What are you doing in town?”

Elsa. Scotty’s daughter. Scotty owned the hardware store. The town liked him, but disliked his daughter.

Elsa had hated Angel in high school, even though Angel had been a few years behind her. Didn’t matter. Boys and men of any age were attracted to Angel.

Angel tipped her head and smiled. If it felt a little mean, so be it. This was Elsa, after all, herself the meanest woman in town.

“My mama lives here, in case you’ve forgotten.” Angel turned toward the front door.

Before she could open it, Elsa said, “William married me, you know.”

Angel turned back. “That’s nice.”

“We have three beautiful children and a perfect life.”

“Fine, Elsa. Let’s get it all out now, ’cause I’ll be in town for the summer and I’m not taking crap from you for the next three months.” She stood, arms akimbo. “To confirm what you’ve always suspected, Bill and I made out one night after a football game.”

Elsa’s face contorted into a mask of rage. “Proving you’re no better than your mother.”

“Who were you? Snow White? You’d been dating Bill for two years—you were still dating him—when you got busy with Matt Long and wound up pregnant. Behind Bill’s back. After that, he wanted revenge. You’re a hypocrite, Elsa, no better than any other woman in town, including me and Missy.”

Angel stomped out of the shop. She was so tired of the fight. It would never end as long as she lived in Ordinary. She stood on the sidewalk to get her rowdy anger under control, then crossed the street toward the diner.

When she stepped inside, the old familiar scents assailed her—bacon and eggs, grilled-cheese sandwiches, burgers.

Within seconds, all conversation seemed to stop.

Someone yelled, “Hey, Angel, when did you get back?”

Sam Miller sat in a booth across from the counter.

Angel walked over and leaned her hip against his table.

“Hey, Sam, how’ve you been?” Angel smiled at the three men with him even though she didn’t know them. By the glances skimming her body, they liked her. Men always did.

Except for Timm Franck.

So what? You don’t want him attracted to you anyway.

She’d been celibate since Neil and planned to keep it that way here in Ordinary. No men. No hanky-panky.

She wrapped up the pleasantries, then made her way to the cash register. George, cook and owner of the diner, asked her what she wanted to order.

There was a time when George had been one of Missy’s boyfriends, but that had changed once Angel had become a teenager and George had wanted to switch daughter for mother.

Both Missy and Angel had booted him out of the trailer and had told him to never come back.

He still gave her the creeps.

The words I’m here about the job stuck in her throat. Could she work here every day with George watching her the way he was looking at her now—with greed?

She almost decided to take the job so she could put him down the first time he tried to touch her, by “accident,” in passing, the way he used to before Angel learned how to fight back.

Man, she would enjoy giving him a piece of her mind.

She wasn’t in town to fight old fights, though, despite what had happened with Elsa. She was here for Mama, and she needed money to leave the second she got Phil out of her mother’s life.

“I changed my mind. I don’t want anything,” she muttered, then left the diner.

Fuming, she strode down the sidewalk to Chester’s Roadhouse, betting that he’d still have enough affection for her and her mom to give her a job.

She’d come home broke. She’d wasted her money on that bike, thinking that she would have her degree in a couple of months and would get a full-time job.

Then Neil…then Neil had—

Chester needed a bartender. Angel hadn’t gotten her degree, couldn’t do much else, but bartending was something she did really well. She made people happy.

A niggling feeling caught her unawares. Someone was watching her. She stopped before entering the bar and glanced around.

Timm crossed the street toward the diner, looking at her. When they made eye contact, he changed direction and approached her.

What could he possibly have to say to her that they couldn’t have said fifteen minutes ago in his office?

Sunlight did good things for Timm. It warmed his light brown hair to honey and highlighted that face that had matured into strong planes and angles.

He was taller than she’d remembered, and lean. For a nerd, he walked with a surprising athletic grace.

When he got close enough for her to see his eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses, she realized they were chocolate-brown. He wasn’t fast enough in masking his look of admiration of her.

It warmed her. It shouldn’t have.

Timm fit into this town too well.

She didn’t.

“Hi,” she said. Brilliant. Wow, it wasn’t like her to be tongue-tied. But she didn’t want to say anything that would make her look stupid in front of this guy. He was too smart.

“Sheriff Kavenagh saw your bike out on the highway,” he said.

Angel swallowed. Shit. All she needed was to be fined or arrested for starting a fire during a drought.

“So you told him I tried to burn it?” She couldn’t help the aggression in her tone.

“No,” he said. He shifted his gaze away from her, studied the shops across the street, wouldn’t look her in the eye.

“You didn’t? Why not?”

He shrugged. “I was there to stop the fire, so no problem.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled. There was a whole lot more she should say, but the words wouldn’t come out. “Well. I gotta go.” She stepped toward the Roadhouse door.

“The bar’s not open for another hour.” Something in his voice—disapproval, maybe—set her hackles on edge.

“I’m heading in for a job.”

“You don’t want to do that.” The helpful man of a minute ago was gone, replaced by a hard-edged judgmental prude.

“How is it any of your business?”

“I plan to close this place down.”

“Why would you close Chester’s?”

“You saw the bikers last night. They’re ruining the town. Decent people stay away.”

The implication being that she wasn’t decent. Surprise, surprise. The town’s attitude hadn’t changed about her. Why should it have?

Timm had always seemed different, though—smarter—and she was disappointed to find he was no better than the rest of Ordinary’s residents.

Obviously, attending college made no difference in how the townspeople viewed her. They still had her pegged as the trailer-trash girl with the slutty mother.

“Great talking to you,” she said, her sarcasm tainting the sunny day.

Without a word, his expression flattened, and he turned and walked away.

Angel opened the door of Chester’s Roadhouse, irritated by Timm’s assessment of her. Seemed that, in his eyes, the bar was exactly where she belonged.

Stepping into the dark interior, Angel shook off her funk. She gave her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness. It was at least ten degrees cooler in here than outside, thank goodness. Must cost Chester a fortune to air-condition, though.

The place smelled like beer.

Chester had spent his money freely decorating the huge room. Red leather and oak booths lined two walls. The center of the room housed chairs padded with the same upholstery surrounding large round tables.

Angel approached the bar.

Chester was doing well for himself. The bar must bring in good money.

“Hey, Freddy,” she said to the bartender, recognizing him from school. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been?”

“Hi, Angel.” Freddy was a good guy, not too handsome, but not ugly, either. He leaned on the bar and assessed her. “You’re looking well. College treated you okay?”

Angel ignored her spurt of guilt for not finishing and smiled. “I did all right there.”

“What can I get you? Bar isn’t open yet, but I can pour you a soft drink.”

“Thanks, but nothing. I’m here to see Chester.”

Freddy indicated a nearby archway. “Down the hall, last door on your left. Should be open.”

Angel made her way to Chester’s office, where she found him sitting in a leather office chair behind a huge desk covered with piles of papers.

She rapped on his open door. “Hey, Chester.”

He looked up, startled, and smiled. “Angel. I didn’t have a chance to talk to you. When did you blow back into town?”

Angel smiled. “Last night. I’m here for the bartending job in the paper.”

Chester leaned back in the chair and wrapped his fingers behind his head. It made his biceps look huge. Angel totally understood Mama’s crush on him.

“How’s Missy?” he asked quietly. He always asked about Mama.

“As good as can be, considering who’s living with her right now.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” He frowned. “Hey, I thought you finished college. Is the economy so bad you can’t get a job even with a degree?”

Angel sat in the chair in front of the desk. “I’m hanging around for the summer. To help Mama with the wedding and to take care of her place while she and Phil take a honeymoon.” The lies rolled off her tongue easily. If she felt any guilt about lying to a good friend like Chester, she ignored it.

Chester shuffled papers on his desk. He blushed the way he always did when Missy was around.

“So, I see you’ve got Freddy working behind the bar. What hours do you need me for?”

“Freddy’s going to night school.”

“No kidding? What’s he studying?”

“He wants to be an accountant.”

“Cool. I can mix drinks. I worked as a bartender in Bozeman when I was at school. Do you need a reference?”

“Nah. I trust you, Angel.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “I need a bartender for the evenings—from six until one-thirty. There’s usually a bit of cleanup after the bar closes, but you’d be out by two, latest. I’m usually here until three, going through the receipts and counting the cash, so you’ll never be alone.”

He stood to walk her out. “You’ll be a great asset here, Angel. With your looks…” Chester grinned. “You’re a hell of a lot prettier than Freddy is.”

Angel laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty good at having fun, too.” She knew her place. Knew exactly her value. Here in Ordinary, she was a party girl, through and through.

She left the bar after agreeing to start work that evening and walked down the street to the candy store, Sweet Talk. While she was home, she would reconnect with the only other family she had.

Two years ago, she’d found out that she had a half brother—Matthew Long. Matt’s dad and Missy had had a relationship for years when Matt was young and Angel had been the result of that affair. Mama had never told her who her father was.

Not kosher of Mama to sleep with another woman’s man, but so like Missy.

Fortunately, them both being only children meant that Angel and Matt had latched onto each other. From the very beginning, he’d insisted that he was her full brother—there was nothing half about their relationship, he was her brother in every way that counted. She couldn’t imagine being closer to him than she was now. And she adored his wife and children.

In fact, she needed to pick up candy for her nephew and niece, thus the visit to Sweet Talk. For six-year-old Jesse, she chose a chocolate rabbit that wore a housecoat and carried a candle and a book, all decorated with icing sugar dyed in pastels. For two-year-old Rose, she bought a small chocolate rabbit with pink lips and a pink icing dress. Adding to her purchase, she selected a bag of humbugs for Jenny and salted Dutch licorice for Matt.

She tipped her head through the doorway to the candy-making room and waved to the owner, Janey Wilson. Looked as though Janey was about to pop out another kid. How many were Janey and C.J. up to now? Four? Five?

Angel returned home to ask Mama if she could borrow her car to drive out to Matt’s ranch.

Angel stepped into the quiet house. She’d noticed that the garage door was open and the car gone. Nuts. When she walked into the kitchen, she found that she wasn’t alone.

Phil sat at the table, drinking coffee.

He glanced up when she entered, his eyes skimming her body before settling on her face.

His demeanor always surprised her—so mild-looking, yet there was something behind his pale eyes that sat wrong with Angel. Something like…a banked hunger, as if he could never get enough to satisfy his cravings.

Not a tall man, why did he seem so much bigger than he actually was? Wiry strength threaded his forearms, though, and crafty knowledge gleamed in his eye. Angel would be a fool to underestimate him.

“Where’s Mama?”

“Grocery shopping.”

Phil had a mass of grocery-store coupons spread neatly across the table. Angel felt vaguely nauseous. Mama was still hoarding those stupid things?

“Don’t tell me you collect coupons, too?” Angel asked, her tone derisive.

“Why not? If you work at it hard enough, you can save a lot of money.”

Angel turned and poured herself a cup of coffee. Mama had pinched every penny until it squeaked and her obsession with discounts and coupons had sparked a loathing for them in Angel.

“What’s so wrong with using coupons?” Phil asked.

She wasn’t about to tell him that they reeked of poverty, and reminded her too much of growing up in that crummy old trailer.

Phil stacked the detergent coupons on top of each other and fastened them with a paper clip. Then he picked up assorted coupons and fastened those together.

Control freak.

“Why did you clip those?” Angel asked, despite not wanting to care. “They’re different products.”

“They’re only good until the end of the month, so your mother and I will watch for specials and use them before the expiry date.”

Cheapskate.

Almost as if he’d read her mind, he peered at her sharply. “No one handed me an education. I get by in this life however I can.”

They both heard the car rumble down the driveway along the side of the house.

A minute later, Mama walked in the door. Still a beautiful woman, voluptuous and sensuous in the way she moved, she looked tired this morning.

Angel knew she’d put those dark circles under Mama’s eyes with her attitude toward Phil. Despite knowing it was the right thing to do, Angel felt a worm of disgust at her own behavior crawling under her flesh.

She looked out the window. The barely driven Grand Am Mama had inherited from Hal sat inside the garage.

“Phil, can you close the garage door?” Missy’s arms were full of groceries. “It’s sticking again.”

Phil stood and took the two full grocery bags from her and placed them on the counter.

“Any more bags in the car?”

“One more.”

“I’ll get it.” He left the kitchen.

Okay, so he was more a gentleman than Angel had given him credit for.

Missy hugged Angel. “Can I get you some lunch?”

“I can make my own.”

“I know, but you’re home and I want to do it.”

Angel stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Mama, can we talk?”

A flash of fear flittered across Missy’s face. “About what?”

“Phil,” Angel rushed on, determined to say something before Phil returned.

The garage door screeched.

“No,” Missy breathed.

“Mama, please,” Angel said, but heard Phil on the stairs. A second later, Phil entered with the last bag. It joined the others on the counter.

Angel’s frustration mounted.

“How much did we save?” Phil asked Missy.

“Four-thirty-five.” Missy smiled at him, obviously absurdly relieved that Angel hadn’t been able to vocalize her thoughts about Phil.

“Good girl.” Phil caressed her hip and she preened under his attention. Phil sat at the table again.

Angel turned away.

Missy pulled a frying pan out of a cupboard.

“What are you doing?” Phil asked.

“I’m making an early lunch for Angel.”

“So this is what you’re planning to do here?” He directed the question toward Angel. “Have your mother cook for you?”

“I didn’t ask her to cook,” Angel said, hating the way Phil questioned everything Missy did.

“I want to make her lunch, Phil.” Missy’s placating tone grated.

Phil stared at Angel with a thunderous frown and asked, “Are you planning to freeload off your mother?”

“What about you?” she snapped. “Are you working?”

“No.”

“Then you’re freeloading,” she shouted.

“Angel, he can’t work,” Missy explained. “He has a disability.”

“Yeah? I didn’t know they considered being brain-dead a disability.”

Phil surged out of his chair.

Missy slapped a restraining hand on his chest and held him back. “Angel!” Distress rode high in her voice.

Phil breathed loudly and stared at Angel with something close to hatred in his eyes.

The plastic clock on the wall ticked a loud cadence in counterpoint to Angel’s hard-driving pulse.

“Go ahead,” Angel said. “Take a swing at me, big man. Prove to Mama who you really are.”

Too clever to show his hand, Phil retreated, his thin smile bordering on insolence.

“While you live in my house, Angel,” Missy said, “treat Phil with respect.”

Angel reeled from the disappointment on Mama’s face. What? Had that really happened? Had Mama taken a man’s side against Angel? Mama and she were a team. The Donovan girls against the world.

What were they now? A crowd of three, with Angel the odd person out? Shocked, she left the kitchen, shaken by Mama’s need to defend Phil over her.

She sat on the bed in her room and hung her head, so scared. What if she lost Mama?

Phil was too clever. Angel led with her emotions, going off like lightning, while Phil calculated every angle, every advantage.

A short time later, she heard Phil leave. Wherever he was going, it was without the car.

She rushed to the kitchen.

Mama sat at the table with her cheek resting on one hand, looking so despondent that Angel put her arms around her from behind and whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry, Mama.”

She couldn’t bring up the issue of Phil again today. She’d handled it all wrong. Time to regroup and figure out how to do it better.

Missy patted her arm and said, “I know, honey.” There was a subtle but tangible distance in her.

Abruptly, she stood and said, too brightly, “Let’s have lunch.”

Throughout the meal, Missy maintained that distance. For the first time in their lives, the chatter between them was uncomfortable, made more so with her forced gaiety and Angel’s equally forced responses.

God, how was Angel going to get rid of Phil? For the first time, it occurred to her that if it came to a showdown, Mama might choose Phil over her. The prospect seemed impossible, but Angel could never have predicted her mother’s earlier behavior.

Oh, Mama, I don’t want to lose you.

Angel swallowed the last mouthful of her sandwich, and it felt like sawdust clogging her throat.

Refusing to believe that anything would come between her and Missy, she forced the dire thoughts from her mind.

They’d be okay. They always had and always would be.

Deciding to stick with her original plan to visit Matt—and to put some space between Mama and her—Angel asked to borrow the car. Before leaving, she kissed Mama’s forehead. Her responding smile was so vague it chilled Angel.

What was going on in Missy’s mind these days? Was it only the outburst between them and Phil that had her distracted? Or was something else bothering her?

Angel worried that question all the way to her brother’s place with no resolution.

Matt’s ranch was large and prosperous. Matt and his wife, Jenny, worked hard for what they had.

As she drove up the lane, Jesse ran out of the stable.

“Auntie Angel,” he screamed when he realized who was in the car. A second later, Matt stepped out into the sunlight with a big grin splitting his face.

She stepped out and Jesse threw himself against her legs, wrapping his arms around her. He was getting so big. She adored this little guy.

Her blue funk fell away.

Here, with these people, she found a peace foreign in every other area of her life.

This was a good family that Matt had made work by overcoming all of the pain and sorrow of his past. Angel wondered whether someday she would be able to do the same for herself. She planned to. Somehow.

“Where are Jenny and Rose?” she asked, her voice muffled by Matt’s chest because he’d wrapped his arms around her tightly.

Angel loved having an older brother. Maybe if she’d known about him in high school, she could have gone to him for advice when boys started to sniff around her once she’d started to develop this double-edged sword of a killer body. Maybe things could have gone differently for her….

“I can’t breathe,” Jesse wailed against her thighs, and Matt pulled away, laughing.

“How long are you staying this time?” Matt asked.

“I’m staying in Ordinary only a few weeks.” She refused to call it home. As soon as she figured out how to deep-six Phil and Missy’s marriage, she was getting out of here and staying away. She’d warned Matt enough times that she wouldn’t end up in Ordinary permanently. At some point, he would have to believe her.

They all entered a house that smelled like bananas.

They found Jenny and Rose in the kitchen. Half a pot of chicken-noodle soup sat on the stove and a loaf of banana bread cooled on the counter.

Angel spotted the mix box in the recycling bin in the corner of the kitchen. Jenny was a terrible cook. She did nothing from scratch.

She rushed to give Angel a big hug, but not before Angel noticed her belly and hooted.

“Another baby?”

“Yes,” Jenny said, beaming.

Women everywhere were having babies, while Angel…well, none of her encounters with men seemed to last long enough to reach the let’s-commit-and-make-babies stage. She swallowed her sorrow.

Enjoy your niece and nephew.

She walked to the table and kissed the little blond-haired, blue-eyed doll sitting in the high chair.

Rose giggled and kicked her feet. “Up, Auntie Angel.”

Angel lifted the tray away from the chair. It looked as though more noodles had ended up on it than inside her niece.

Rose kicked her feet and said, “Angel. Up. Peese.”

Angel laughed and blew her a raspberry. “Hold your horses, squirt.”

Rose blew a raspberry back at Angel, sending spittle flying. Angel made a show of jumping out of the way, and Rose giggled.

Angel unbuckled Rose’s belt and lifted her into her arms, sniffing her kid scent of powder and baby shampoo and chicken-noodle soup.

She kissed Rose’s nose. “What are you up to today?”

“I played dollies and bocks and pee-peed in my potty.”

“You did?” Angel exclaimed.

Rose nodded emphatically. “Big girl now.”

“You certainly are.”

Rose picked up a strand of Angel’s long hair. “I grow up pitty like you.”

No, don’t. It’s too much. It’s a burden. I want to be loved for myself, not for my face and my body.

She wanted the same for Rose, to be loved for the beautiful person she was inside. “Auntie Angel?”

“Yes, Rose?”

Rose spread her hands, as if puzzled. “What you bring me?”

Everyone laughed and Angel sent Matt and Jenny a wry smile.

“This habit of bringing gifts every time you show up is going to have to stop,” Matt said.

“Sure,” Angel said. “Next time. Come on. There’s something for each of you in the car.”

Matt wrapped his arm around her as they walked outside.

Here is where I feel at home, where I’m accepted and loved, completely and utterly. On Matt and Jenny’s ranch, she wasn’t trashy Angel Donovan. Here, she wasn’t Missy’s daughter. In this house, she was a good sister-in-law, a loving sister and a world-class aunt.



WHEN PHIL RETURNED TO the house, Missy still sat at the kitchen table, exactly where she’d been when Angel had left, with her head in her hands, trying to figure out what to do.

“Hey, babe,” Phil said. “Come on.” He walked down the hall to their bedroom.

Missy followed him, less and less happy about their afternoon “dates,” as Phil called them. Why couldn’t Phil ever get enough no matter how often she satisfied him—every night, most mornings and every afternoon?

Her frustration grew. Maybe today she could change that. How? For a woman who knew as much about sex as anyone could, she was drawing a blank. She had to make this work with the man she was about to marry.

When she entered the room, Phil was naked from the waist up and unbuckling his belt.

His pants dropped to the floor. Skinny legs. Small chest. It was hard for Missy to whip up enthusiasm day after day.

Phil’s face turned hard. “Where’s the car?”

Warily, Missy said, “Angel took it to visit Matt.”

She pulled off her blouse and Phil stared at her breasts. She swore he liked them better than her face.

“You shouldn’t have let her take it.” His lips pulled back into a snarl. Phil was angry. Could she use it to charge up the sex?

She dropped her pants and the tiny scrap of red lace of her thong. She turned her back to him and climbed onto the bed, hoping that the sight of her would excite him to new heights.

“Hurry up,” he said. “Get under the blankets.”

She didn’t want to hurry, was sick of hurrying, of giving and not getting. She turned onto her back but didn’t climb under the covers. Instead, she bent her knees and spread her legs. Go down on me, Phil. He never had before. She wasn’t sure what he would do if she asked. She needed satisfaction today.

“Please,” she whispered. Phil, honey, give an inch.

He shook his head, pulled off his boxers and lay on top of her, entering her without foreplay.

He worked on top of her while Missy pictured massive biceps, big penises, large hands rough on her skin, anything to excite herself.

“Do that thing,” Phil ordered.

“What thing?” she asked, trying to spike his anger, trying to spark an unpredictable reaction, hoping he would get a little rough with her.

“Move your muscles inside.”

She did and he shook. His arms trembled and he dropped onto his elbows.

He was done.

“Thanks, babe.” He breathed heavily in her ear.

For a second, she held him close to bind him to her, afraid to let go. Phil, I need you. Angel will be gone soon. Then all I’ll have is you.

In only one more week, they were getting married. Then everything would be fine. It had to be. She had no one else.

Phil rolled off her. “Move, babe.” She did and he slid under the covers.

Missy opened the drawer of the bedside table and handed him a big cotton hankie. “Here,” she said. “Don’t mess my sheets.”

He took it, cleaned himself, handed it back to her and said, “Wake me at four.”

As if she could forget. He did the same thing every day. Such an overgrown boy. A child in a man’s body. What had happened to him when he was a kid?

Missy had asked, but Phil wouldn’t talk about it.

She showered, dressed, then returned to the kitchen, where she stood in front of the window, frozen by her own unanswered needs.

The grass needed mowing.



TIMM SAT IN FRONT OF his computer. There was something he needed to know, not quite sure why he felt guilty delving into Angel’s business.

He was a reporter. Reporters were naturally curious people.

He looked up the bike’s license plate. It had been a Montana plate. His memory was one asset that worked in his favor as a journalist.

Angel owned the bike. Even more curious, he typed her name into an internet search engine and found an article dated nearly three months ago.

Young Man Dead—DUI

Both Neil Anderson’s motorcycle and his girlfriend, Angel Donovan, came away from a single-vehicle accident with minor scratches.

Neil, a promising young student at Bozeman University, wasn’t so lucky. He died on impact when he was thrown and his head hit a tree.

At the autopsy, he was determined to have had a blood alcohol level higher than .08.

Close friends and family of the victim expressed shock, since Anderson never drank and didn’t frequent bars.

The officer who investigated the crash stated that Montana has the highest incident rate of alcohol-related car accidents in the country.

Timm jumped up from his desk to pace. Angel hadn’t changed. He’d watched the impetuous fool try to burn a bike—scratched and dented, maybe, but nearly new. He remembered the party girl she used to be. Clearly she’d gotten the Anderson kid started on drinking. Timm was a fool to like her, to defend her, to lie to Cash through omission.

So, she was burning the bike…because? Probably because it had killed her friend.

Angel was wrong, though. The bike hadn’t killed her friend. She had.




CHAPTER FOUR


ANGEL, MATT, JENNY and the children sat amid the detritus of cannibalized chocolate animals. They’d fought the good fight, but hungry mouths had prevailed.

Jenny stood to take the kids to the washroom to clean up, leaving Angel and Matt alone.

“Matt, I need to talk to you.”

At her serious tone, he nodded. “Let’s step outside.”

They wandered to the corral, where Masterpiece joined them at the fence. Angel scratched the horse’s jaw, while Matt took a caramel from his shirt pocket, unwrapped it then offered it to Master.

“What’s the problem, sis?”

“I need to ask your advice. About Phil. And I hate to ask because I know you probably don’t like Missy.”

“I never had anything against Missy. Your mom doesn’t have a bad bone in her body. She just lacks good judgment.” He leaned back against the white fence and crossed his arms. “Besides, that relationship gave me you. You’re my only blood relative on this earth, except for my children.”

The sun glinted from hair a dozen different shades of brown and blond. He studied her and she felt his affection like a gentle stroke.

“Shoot, Angel. What’s bothering you?”

“Mama’s going to marry Phil at the end of next week. It’s why I came back.”

Master nudged her shoulder and she scratched his forehead. He closed his eyes and pushed against her palm. “I have to stop it, Matt. Phil doesn’t love Mama.”

“I don’t get a great feeling from the guy, but if Missy wants to marry him, that’s her decision. How do you think you can stop her?”

“I don’t know.” Frustration ate a hole in her gut. “Any ideas?”

“Have you told Missy about your concerns?”

“She knows how much I dislike Phil. You know me. I’m mouthy and come out swinging. I haven’t had a chance to tell her about the way he stops by my bedroom in the middle of the night and rattles my doorknob, but I don’t want to hurt her.”

Matt straightened away from the fence. “He does what?” His voice had gone flat with a dangerous depth.

“He doesn’t come into my room. He just pretends that he will.”

“Come on. I’ll drive into town and have a talk with him.” When he said talk, Angel had no doubt that Matt had no intention of simply talking.

On impulse, she threw her arms around him. “I love you, Matt. You’re the best big brother.”

His arms snapped around her. “I love you, too, girl. I’m not going to let Phil get away with that shit.”

Angel pulled back. “It’s okay. Don’t get into a fight over it. I just need to convince Mama to not marry him.”

Matt shook his head. “I don’t know what to say other than to be honest and tell her what’s happening.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll try it again—she didn’t take it well earlier when I said how I felt. Mama’s being pretty stubborn right now.”

As Matt walked Angel to her car, he said, “You call anytime day or night if Phil threatens you. Got it?”

“I can handle Phil.” She climbed into the car.

“Uh-uh. I think there’s a hell of a lot more to that guy than meets the eye. Don’t trust him, Angel. Don’t turn your back.”

“You really think he’d hurt me?”

Matt leaned on the open window. “Don’t know, but my gut tells me he can’t be trusted. Be careful.”

Angel kissed his cheek and nodded. “Say goodbye to Jenny and the kids for me, okay, big bro?”

“Will do.”

Angel drove away, feeling worse. His assessment of Phil was much the same as hers, but Matt’s interpretation went a step further. So, if Phil could be a danger to her, could he also be one to Mama?



AT A QUARTER TO SIX that evening, Angel headed to work at Chester’s Roadhouse.

Since returning from Matt’s, Angel hadn’t had the chance to talk to Mama, because Phil was hanging around. She wanted to confront Mama alone, so she and Phil wouldn’t have a chance to form a united front against Angel.

Cash Kavenagh pulled up in his cop car and grinned at her through his open window. “Hey, Angel.” He pulled off his aviators and his hazel-eyed glance skimmed her body. “You’re looking as good as ever.”

She grinned right back. She liked Cash. She remembered one heavy petting session she’d had with him before she left for college.

His smile told her that he was remembering that particular evening, too. Cash was handsome and a couple of years older than she and he’d sure known his way around a kiss and a woman’s body, but Angel was glad they hadn’t taken it all the way. She’d already started to want more for herself, to shake off Ordinary’s expectations of her.

She wandered closer to his cruiser. “Hey, Cash. How’s it going?”

“Timm told me that bike out on the highway is yours. Said you ran out of gas. Listen, sorry to be the one to break it to you, but someone tried to set it on fire.”

She widened her eyes and tried to look surprised.

Apparently it worked. She had no idea why Timm had covered for her, but she appreciated it.

“Maybe it was one of the bikers who hang out here these days. They drive in from Harris County.”

Angel nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“Alvin will pick it up free of charge if he can use the bike for parts.”

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“Want me to go ask him now?”

“That would be great, Cash. If you don’t mind.”

Cash jerked his thumb in the direction of the bar. “You’re not heading in there, are you?”

“Chester gave me a job as a bartender. Evenings until closing.”




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