Kiss of an Angel (27 page)

Caitlan nodded and rinsed her cup. “I will.”

“Good.” Paula dismissed the topic as quickly as it had been brought up. Bustling to the pantry, she brought out a container of sugar and two cans of pineapple rings. “Ever made a pineapple upside-down cake?”

Caitlan smiled. “No.”

“Well, you’re about to learn.” Paula handed her an apron from a kitchen drawer, winking at her conspiratorially. “It’s J.T.’s favorite. Maybe it’ll soften him up some.”

Caitlan doubted it, but she was desperate enough to bridge the rift between them to try anything.

* * *

Paula left the house a little after two in the afternoon, once Caitlan had convinced her she’d be fine until Laura arrived home from school in an hour or so. The house was spotless, and dinner was ready to pop into the oven later that evening. The sweet, heady fragrance of the cake they’d made permeated the house.

Wandering through the big, quiet ranch house, Caitlan wondered what she could do to keep herself, and her mind, occupied so she wouldn’t think about what had happened between her and J.T. last night, and this morning. Going to the barn to see King was out of the question. Too many fresh, sensual memories lingered there. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to smell the sweet scent of hay without thinking of J.T. and the way he’d made love to her.

She thought about sketching, but discarded the idea. She wasn’t in the frame of mind to deal with the confusing visions that usually plagued her when she drew. Heading toward J.T.’s office, she decided reading a book would be the best way to divert her thoughts.

The floor-to-ceiling bookcase offered a variety of reading material. Perusing her way down the shelves, she discovered books on American history, accounting, cattle ranching, and literally a dozen other subjects. A set of encyclopedias occupied the second-to-last shelf, and below that were a row of photo albums.

Interest piqued, she sat cross-legged on the carpet and withdrew the first album. Opening the tan cover, she immersed herself in what she assumed was the Rafferty family. Pictures of J.T. and Debbie as children graced the pages, and there were even a few photographs with Randal in them. She realized Randal had the same belligerent, cocky air about him then as he did now. Picking out J.T.’s parents was easy to do. J.T. resembled his father and Debbie had the fair looks of her mother. She recognized a few shots of Frank and Paula, but other than  that no one looked familiar.

Whiling away the next hour, she went down the line of albums, seeing the progression in J.T.’s and Debbie’s childhood, all the way up to their teen years. When she pulled out the last album she noticed a cigar box tucked into the corner of the shelf, out of sight until she removed the last volume.

Sliding the album back into its slot, she picked up the box, then laid it on the carpet in front of her, debating on whether or not to open it. No tape or locks secured it, and there was nothing to indicate the contents were of a personal nature. Assuming it held more photographs, she lifted the lid and looked inside.

Her gaze inventoried a small stack of letters and papers, photographs, a lock of blond hair tied with a pink satin ribbon, and a black velvet ring box. Each piece of memorabilia shimmered with a strange life of its own, beckoning to a deep, secluded portion of her soul. Drawn by unknown forces, she picked up one of the letters and unfolded the page, realizing as she read the flowery script that it was a love letter to J.T. from Amanda. Her medallion warmed between her breasts, a tingle of warning she knew it was best to heed, but she couldn’t put the letter down. The heartfelt words wove through Caitlan, and she closed her eyes and recited the rest of the prose out loud as easily as if she’d memorized the words, or written the letter herself.

Shocked by her ability to repeat each line word for word, she quickly returned the letter to the pile. Her heart pounded in a heavy rhythm and apprehension climbed up her spine. She now realized the purpose of the medallion’s warming was to caution her, and possibly to protect her from discovering something. She ignored the warning, more determined than ever to find out what that something was. All her visions and emotions for J.T. were linked to the medallion, and she wanted to know why.

Reaching into the box again, she grasped the loose photographs and flipped through them, recognizing Amanda from her visions. The snapshots were of J.T. and Amanda as teenagers. They looked so in love with one another, Caitlan’s heart gave a sharp twist of longing. Replacing the pictures, she found sketches of J.T., the paper yellowed by years, the pencil markings smudged. Upon closer inspection, she realized these sketches were the exact ones she’d drawn from her visions a couple of nights ago. How could that be possible, when she’d never seen these sketches before? Her band trembling and her stomach clenching in trepidation, she returned the papers to their precise spot. Unable to stop herself, she touched the lock of silky hair, then fingered the ribbon. A deep, heavy pressure settled in her breast, and she swallowed back the sudden thickness in her throat. What was happening to her?

Pulling back her hand, she stared at the black velvet box. The urge to open the lid and see what it contained overwhelmed her. She chewed on her bottom lip, telling herself to put the cigar box back where she had found it and leave J.T.’s office. Without a doubt he’d be furious to know she’d gone through his personal mementos of Amanda, but stronger elements she didn’t understand guided her.

The moment she touched the velvet box her medallion singed her skin. Gasping, she quickly brought the gold pendant out from her sweatshirt, but the heat was so intense it burned through the heavy cotton material. Ignoring the increasing heat, she defiantly opened the lid. A solitaire diamond engagement ring sparkled up at her, the gold band smooth and shiny. Impulsively, she removed the solitaire from the folds of velvet and slipped it on her left-hand ring finger. Instantly, a maelstrom of sensations invaded her body and mind, pulling her into a vortex of emotions so powerful she couldn’t escape. The medallion burned like fire through her sweatshirt, then the startling heat slipped under her skin, spreading an unnerving tingle throughout her entire body. Her temples throbbed, and she squeezed her eyes shut to block the confusing fragmented visions swirling inside her mind.

“Will you marry me, Amanda Hamilton?”

“Are you sure?” Amanda whispered in a voice mingled with happiness and insecurity.

“Absolutely.” His eyes shone with love and adoration. “You’ve always been mine, Amanda....”

J.T.’s love poured over Caitlan, warm and sweet and pure. The emotion grabbed at her heart—a deep, abiding love that echoed her own devotion for him.

“Yes, John Tyler Rafferty, I’ll marry you. I’ve loved you forever....”

The buried words escaped Caitlan’s memory like a well-preserved keepsake. Heaven help her, she felt as though she
had
loved him forever.

“I want to feel you inside me. Please, Johnny ... “

Caitlan gasped when the sensation of her and J.T.’s body meshing as one cascaded over her, their souls twining in an eternal devotion that superseded a mortal lifetime. Their union coalesced love and need and longing into a glorious completion.

She blinked her eyes open, her heart pounding in her chest. Shaken by the visions and feelings provoked by the engagement ring, she started to remove the solitaire. As the band slid down her finger, tragedy rushed in on her. A sharp jolt pierced her temples.

Screams echoed in her head, her screams and Amanda’s. Or were they the same? The screech of tires, the grinding crush of metal, shattering glass, then the awful, wrenching feeling of being physically, spiritually torn from J.T....

“Where is she, Dad?” J.T. demanded from his hospital bed. A bandage swathed his forehead and a plaster cast encased his left arm. His eyes were glassy, but determination fired from his gaze. “I want to see Amanda. Now.”

Jared touched J.T.’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, son, but Amanda didn’t make it. She died instantly.”

“No!” J.T. raged, the one word overflowing with hurt and grief.

A sob caught in Caitlan’s throat as J.T.’s loss and sorrow became her own. Excruciating pain wrenched at her heart. Before another vision could cripple her ability to remove the ring, she pulled it off her finger and put it back in the velvet lining. She shoved the cigar box back onto the bottom shelf, hoping to darn the flood of images and emotions swamping her.

An emptiness enveloped her, and she buried her face in her hands, the wetness of tears dampening her fingers. “Oh, no,” she choked, unable to bear any more of this craziness. She had to contact her Superior before she went insane, if that hadn’t already happened. The visions, the identical drawings, the link to J.T., the mortal emotions, all needed explanations. And what about her falling in love with J.T.? Oh, what a mess of things she’d made!

Spurred by an urgency to find answers, she rushed from the office, swiping away the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. She opened the front door and nearly knocked down Laura in her haste to get somewhere private and secluded. She stopped short, her mind whirling in a hundred different directions.

“Oh, Caitlan, you scared me!” Laura exclaimed, her eyes wide. “I was just about to open the door and I didn’t expect ...” She frowned, her brow furrowing in concern. “Caitlan, are you okay?”

Caitlan mentally shook herself and forced a smile for Laura’s benefit. “Yes, I’m just fine.”

Laura looked unconvinced. “You’ve been crying. Did something happen while I was at school?”

“No, really, I ... I just need to get some fresh air. I think I’ll take a walk near the pasture.” Caitlan took a few steps across the porch, anxious to be gone.

Laura started toward her, a hopeful spark in her eyes. “How about if I come with you? We can talk—”

“No!” The hurt look on Laura’s face stabbed at Caitlan, and she immediately softened her voice. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but I need to be alone for a little while. How about we play a game of checkers or cards when I get back?”
If my Superior allows me to come back after I divulge all my transgressions.

“Okay,” Laura said reluctantly, her worry obvious.

Caitlan walked down the path until she was out of Laura’s sight, then she broke into a run, needing to work off the anxiety nearly smothering her. She jogged alongside the fenced-in pasture, then up and over a knoll covered with wildflowers. Exhausted, she fell to her knees, gasping for breath, wondering when her heart and soul had become so tangled up with J.T.’s life. And if she’d ever be the same again.

* * *

“Anybody home?” J.T. called as he entered the house.

No answer.

“Caitlan? Laura?” Still, no reply. He glanced at his wristwatch. Three-thirty. Paula would be gone, but where were Caitlan and his daughter? Alter checking the kitchen and the den and finding them empty, he started up the stairs. He glanced in Laura’s room first, then moved to Caitlan’s, hesitating on the threshold when he saw it too was unoccupied.

He stared at her impeccably made bed, a sudden streak of guilt assailing him for the way he’d handled things with Caitlan this morning. He’d been anything but a gentleman in her bedroom when he’d asked her about birth control, and like a coward he’d left the house before she’d had a chance to come downstairs. But, dammit, whenever he was around her she brought out feelings in him he didn’t want to deal with. He
refused
to deal with them, or label them, when she’d be gone in a few days. Yet he couldn’t quite fully convince himself that keeping his distance until she left was for the best. He couldn’t convince his body that he’d had Caitlan and she was out of his system, because she wasn’t. The soft, silky feel of her skin and the feminine scent of her would haunt him for a long, long time. Not to mention those uncanny violet eyes, her dimple, and how incredibly perfect and fulfilled he’d been with her.

Frustrated, he stepped into the room, wishing he knew more about Caitlan besides the vague tidbits she’d shared. He found himself walking toward the nightstand, where he’d seen her put her pad of paper. Amanda had loved to draw. He remembered many lazy Sunday afternoons down by the creek when she’d made him lay there while she sketched him. Afterward he’d have to sweet-talk her into showing him the drawings—she’d been that modest about her ability. Just like Caitlan.

Why had he even thought that? Shaking off the apprehension climbing his spine, he opened the drawer and withdrew the pad. His conscience argued with him to put it back unopened, but he wanted more insight into Caitlan, wanted to know who or what occupied her mind in the late hours of the night while she sketched by moonlight.

Before he changed his mind, he opened the cover. He stared in stunned disbelief at a sketch of himself as a young boy, the sensation of being punched in the stomach rendering him breathless. She’d reproduced him in precise detail, right down to the stubborn tilt to his chin and the faint lines around his eyes when he smiled. He flipped through the pages, seeing that she’d drawn him in different stages of youth and as a grown man. All the pictures were meticulously detailed—eerily so—as if she’d known him fifteen or twenty years ago.