Wish Upon a Cowboy (37 page)
"I don't understand," she said and leaned into him, still reeling from the tingling sensations coursing through her.
He caught her face between his palms and stroked her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. Smiling into the green eyes that had captured him from the first, he said, "Love is the real magic, Hannah. And you are the love."
Then he kissed her and the sparkle of magic that surrounded him enveloped her as well enclosing them in a world all their own.
And the circlet gleamed as when it was new.
The End
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Wish Upon a Cowboy
by Maureen Child, originally written as Kathleen Kane
Copyright 2000 by Maureen Child
About the Author
USA TODAY
bestselling author
Maureen Child
has been nominated for six prestigious RITA Awards from the Romance Writers of America for her sexy, heartwarming romance novels and has had the pleasure of seeing one book (
A Pocketful of Paradise
) made into a CBS-TV movie called The Soul Collector. Visit Maureen online at
MaureenChild.com
and
Facebook.com/MaureenChild
.
When the Halo Falls, CHAPTER ONE
FORTUNE, NEW MEXICO, 1885
"There's no point in rumbling thunder at me," Patience Goodfellow muttered, throwing a dark look heavenward. "You sent me here and I'll handle the assignment as I please."
Overhead, the night sky shimmered with banked lightning hidden behind a wall of clouds rolling across the star-studded blackness. Wind kicked up out of nowhere, sending dust devils dancing across the wide main street of Fortune.
Deliberately, Patience reached up and gave her halo a defiant tilt. Heaven knew, she'd gone toe to toe with her superiors on more than one occasion over the last couple of centuries. Yet they still sometimes resorted to tawdry displays of power in a futile attempt to intimidate her.
Which was most certainly a waste of their time and hers. Patience was not a woman — er, angel — to back down from any situation in which she thought she was right. And with that thought firmly in mind, she turned her back on the heavenly temper tantrum and moved off down the dark street.
For pity's sake, she thought. One would think one would have the support of one's superiors when one was confronted with a problem, wouldn't one? She scowled to herself and wondered if perhaps she hadn't thrown one too many "ones" into that thought. Then she dismissed the whole notion along with the still-rumbling heavens.
"Ask a simple question and you get enough noise to wake the dead," she murmured.
Rain pattered all around her, but Patience remained as dry and warm as she had for more than two hundred years. She turned her face up and imagined the cool, slick feel of raindrops sliding down her cheeks. Opening her eyes, she frowned slightly, then shrugged. True, she sometimes missed the simple pleasures of being alive. But on the other hand, there were certainly compensations — her dress wasn't soiled, her hair wasn't soaking wet, and she certainly didn't have to worry about stepping into a puddle.
Still, indulging her mind in its attempt to wander wasn't solving her problem.
"And you were absolutely no help," she muttered again, shooting one last disgusted glance skyward.
All she'd wanted was a touch of advice. But as expected, she'd only received the usual sorry speech about free will.
"What in heaven is the purpose of assigning guardian angels to human beings if we're not allowed to interfere in their best interests?"
And heaven knew, Brady Shaw, gambler, womanizer, and all-around bounder, desperately needed guidance. A flicker of warmth stirred in her heart as she drew the man's image up in her mind. She'd been Brady's guardian angel since he was eleven years old. And by the time she was assigned to him, he'd already worn out three perfectly good angels. Her predecessors had given up on him, but even when he was a child, Patience had seen something noble in Brady. Something that had touched her heart and made her want to do anything in her power to help him. Now that he was a man, though, that streak was buried so deeply inside him, she wasn't sure that even he knew it existed anymore.
"But it does," Patience muttered firmly, refusing to accept the alternative. She'd watched him grow, seen him make poor choices and recover again only to make more of the same. She'd ached to help him. She'd whispered advice in his ear, as guardians often did, but he'd chosen not to listen. And now he was so firmly entrenched in his solitude, she wasn't at all sure she could make him hear her anymore.
"Which is exactly why I asked permission to show myself to him," she snapped, knowing very well that heaven was still listening.
A bolt of lightning scratched the sky and a rumble of thunder shook the wooden buildings around her.
"Pestilence!" she muttered and tried to kick at a rock in her path. Naturally, her foot sailed right through the obstacle, which only infuriated her more.
After all, it wasn't as if she would be the first angel in history to be seen. Hadn't there been annunciations and proclamations for untold centuries? And hadn't mankind always benefited from them? For pity's sake, all she wanted to do was show Brady that he wasn't alone.
But even as she thought it, she knew that wasn't the whole truth. Which was, most likely, the problem on high.
She loved Brady Shaw. Always had. And she suspected everyone in heaven knew it. From the moment she first saw him, it was as if their souls had touched. As if they'd been meant to be together. Although, of course, that could never be. It was forbidden for an angel, especially a guardian angel, to fall in love with the mortal in their charge.
But there had been rumors, over the centuries, that some angels had found love where it was least expected. So it wasn't at all surprising that her superiors didn't want Patience revealing herself to Brady. No matter how desperately he might need her. And he did need her, she thought, feeling that ache in her heart again.
Sighing, she continued on down the street, toward the closed and shuttered dress shop. As she did most nights, she glided directly through the wall of the small store and wandered among the stacks of merchandise.
A purely feminine ribbon of want rippled through Patience as she admired all of the finery. When she was alive, she'd worn mostly black with the occasional gray dress — like the one she was wearing now — to liven things up. But then, that was hardly surprising. When she was alive, the Pilgrims, as so many people thought of her people today, were much too busy trying to stay alive in a hostile new country to worry overmuch about their appearance. Besides, as she recalled, the elders of her church had considered "fripperies" to be just a bit decadent.
So much had changed over the last two hundred years, she thought with an inward sigh of regret that she couldn't take advantage of those changes. Today, there were so many lovely colors for women to choose from. So many different types of adornment.
And once again, her imagination took flight. She saw herself as Brady's fiancée, strolling arm in arm with him along the dusty street, nodding to their friends, smiling secretively at each other — happily planning a wedding that would be just lovely. So clear was the dream, she could almost feel his hand on hers, sense the warmth of his touch, the shine in his eyes.
Then her own eyes opened again and she was alone in the darkness, surrounded by fripperies she would never wear. Regrets fluttered through her and Patience sighed heavily, shifting her gaze to the hats lining one wall of the store. In among the straws and velvets, she spied a froth of white lace attached to a crown of artificial pink roses.
"Oh," she said softly, moving toward it. "Isn't it lovely?"
A bridal veil. Patience had never been a bride, though she'd attended many weddings over the last two hundred years — never as a guest, of course. Merely an observer. Her gaze moved over the cloth flowers and she had to marvel at the genius behind them. Imagine, being able to have the beauty of spring flowers all year round. And what a delicate touch the milliner had displayed in attaching the lace to those flowers, she thought, already reaching for it.
Her hand, though, slipped right through the delicate material. She frowned thoughtfully and stared down at her empty hand. One more disappointment this night. But perhaps… Giving in to temptation, Patience tossed a quick look around the empty, dark shop, as if checking to be assured she was alone.
"Silly," she said, with a guilty chuckle. "Who would be watching?"
She turned toward a long, oval mirror and studied her reflection. After all, just because no human was able to see an angel's reflection didn't mean it wasn't there.
A tall woman with long, curly black hair stared back at her. Her long, gray dress was, she supposed, serviceable, though hardly attractive, though she really couldn't blame its effect entirely on the fabric. Her figure was hardly lush, after all. Small breasts, narrow hips, a too long neck — no, even in life, Patience had never been one to stir up feelings of lust in men.
Although she'd once been called a "handsome woman" and had never really been sure if that was a compliment or not. After all, men were handsome, weren't they? But as she studied her own good, but unremarkable features, she wondered what Brady would think of her.
Shaking her head, she reached up and plucked the shimmering golden halo off her head. As soon as she did, she waited, half expecting another lightning bolt to shoot right through the roof and sizzle her on the spot. Halos were never to be removed. Without a halo, an angel was visible — and in trouble. Guiltily, she set it to one side and watched as the glow of heavenly light dimmed, leaving it looking like no more than a tarnished brass circlet.
She waited another moment or two and when retribution didn't come crashing out of the sky, Patience determinedly reached for the veil again. This time, her fingers curled around the rose wreath firmly and Patience set it carefully atop her head. The pink flowers stood out in stark relief against her black, curly hair and she smiled to herself, imagining walking down a flower strewn church aisle toward a grinning Brady.
White lace billowed around her shoulders and bunched up beneath her ears. Patience tried unsuccessfully to smooth it down then gave the excess lace a tug. But it appeared to be stuck beneath the mountain of hatboxes piled on the tabletop. It didn't budge. She tugged again, scowling fiercely at the stubborn bit of lace. How could she possibly get the full effect of how she looked if the confounded material wasn't in place correctly?
Giving one more mighty yank, Patience smiled when the veil flew free, pulling the bottom box on the stack askew at the same time. The lace settled gently around her shoulders, but she had no more than a moment to enjoy her reflection. In the next instant, the dislodged pile of boxes toppled over. She ducked instinctively, but the heaviest of the lot smacked into Patience's head and stars burst in front of her eyes.
She groaned tightly and fell to one side, her elbow tipping the halo off the edge of the table. Patience lay still and quiet on the littered floor and the halo rolled away, off into the shadows.
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