Fallen Angel (Hqn) (14 page)

“Whatever is relevant. How are you feeling about having taken on this enormous responsibility? Do you ever feel overwhelmed? Unsure?”

He shrugged. “I understand it’s a big responsibility, but it doesn’t
feel
like it, if that makes sense.”

“It does.”

“I guess I get… Sometimes I’m not sure what I’m doing is the right thing for her,” he admitted. “I don’t know exactly how much I’m supposed to be doing, other than providing a home for her, making sure she’s fed, that she gets medical care. I feel like I have to help her get to know the world. I’ve been taking it a little at a time. I feel bad about having to go back to work, even though I know she’s fine at the house on her own. She seems to find ways to keep herself occupied. I’ve given her free rein over my bookshelf, brought her more books from the library—whatever she asks for, or that I think would interest her. She reads all the time. I’ve shown her television because she asked. I’m not big on it myself. But I think she needs to start having some sort of cultural context if she’s ever going to be able to function.”

“Absolutely,” Ruth agreed. “Angel told me about you taking her to the grocery store, and out to Bitsy’s for dinner. That you’ve taken her to a few of the local galleries and discussed talking to them about selling her art when she’s ready. She likes being out, meeting people. She’s eager. And it’s good for her to get out. I also think it’s good that you’ve been taking things slowly, but she may be ready for a little more exposure to the world.”

“I agree that it’s good for her. So, what am I missing?”

“I don’t know that you’re missing anything. From what Angel says, you’ve been wonderful with her. I don’t think you need to doubt yourself, Declan. There isn’t any set protocol for this sort of thing. Her situation is pretty unusual, and there’s a lot you’ll have to play by ear.”

“There’s nothing that’s really startled her so far. She’s incredibly adaptable.” He was always amazed by her.

“I wouldn’t have expected her to make this kind of progress, knowing what her life has been,” Ruth said, “but she seems to be adjusting. She’s developing normal relationships, which is often a concern with a history of this sort of ritualized trauma. She’s told me she talks with Georgia, the waitress at Bitsy’s, and she has a favorite checker at the market. And then there’s you.” Ruth paused for a moment before leaning forward, folding her hands over her knees. “Have you two discussed sex since the night she climbed into your bed?”

“Jesus. She told you about that?”

His face was steaming hot. This was not a conversation he wanted to have with anyone. Especially his father’s girlfriend.

“I’m sorry, Declan. I know this can be uncomfortable. But Angel feels very attached to you, and I believe that needs to be addressed.”

His fingers flexed, his fists balling up. But she was right. He forced his hands, his jaw, to relax. “Okay. Okay.”

This was worse than having “the talk” with his father when he was twelve. Not that he was prudish, by any means. He’d had plenty of sex with plenty of women. But this was different. Most of the sex he’d had had been fairly meaningless. He’d pretty decisively never developed a real connection to any of the women he’d dated or slept with. But Angel…he was becoming attached to her, too. More than attached. He didn’t want to think too much about it.

“Angel has an extraordinary view on sex,” Ruth went on. “Her perspective is completely pure. I mean that she hasn’t been contaminated by being told it’s something dirty, or to be ashamed of. She sees sex and desire as something beautiful, even precious. A gift she wants to share with you, specifically.”

He shook his head. Were they really having this conversation? “Look, I’m not some kind of pervert.”

“Angel doesn’t think so. Neither do I.”

“You keep talking about how innocent she is.”

Ruth nodded. “In certain ways. But by
innocent
I don’t necessarily mean childlike. You’ve lived with her in your home for over two months. You’ve talked with her. You know how bright she is. How sharp her instincts are, her insights.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“That you can have an adult conversation with her about it. That discussing these things with her might be more constructive and conducive to her growth than ignoring the topic, or treating her as though there’s something intrinsically wrong with her desires.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t mean to make her feel bad.”

“And I don’t mean to make
you
feel bad. This isn’t about rubbing your nose in anything. I don’t operate that way. Just be open to talking with her, Declan. You’re both adults. We have to treat her as an adult if she’s to find her place in the world.”

“That makes sense, I guess. It does.”

Why did he feel as though Ruth was trying to give him permission to be with Angel? It was too weird.

He
did
want to be with her. No question about it. But that didn’t mean he had to do more than recognize it. He didn’t have to act on it. Angel may be an adult, physically, but she was still an innocent young woman who’d been isolated from the world. A virgin, for God’s sake. Could she have the maturity to make intelligent decisions about her own life? Wasn’t that why she was still basically under his care?

It wouldn’t be forever. Eventually Angel would be capable of caring for herself. She would move on, make a life for herself.

He didn’t want it to be without him.

But wanting to be with her was crazy. Wasn’t it?

Or was it?

He still didn’t know what to think. What to feel. If he should allow himself to feel anything.

Too damn late for that.

That was the truth. He cared for Angel. More than cared. He wasn’t ready to look at how deep those feelings ran. He never had, not since Abby. But it had been over six years. How long was he going to carry that shit around with him? The bitterness. The loss. The need to remain completely shut down, a wall between him and every other person on the fucking planet.

Angel had broken through that wall already.

He was right. It was too damn late.

* * *

D
ECLAN
STOOD
ON
THE
PORCH
, throwing an old tennis ball for Liam, trying to work on a small carving of a trout between throws. The dog never tired of this game. He’d probably chase the ball until he dropped, if Declan’s arm didn’t wear out first. But it kept Liam happy, and it created a sort of meditative state for him, too. He’d been playing with the dog for a good half hour. Angel was inside now, cleaning up from dinner. She’d insisted, even though she’d been the one to cook. She was a good cook. It was nice to come home to a hot meal.

And Christ, was he really that guy? The kind that goes to work all day and comes home to dinner and a beautiful woman? Had he ever wanted to be that guy? Had he ever thought he could?

Having Angel around was making him question himself too much for comfort. But he liked having her there. Too much for comfort.

He lifted his arm, ball in hand, and Liam watched him with absolute concentration, his body tensed for the throw. Declan pitched the ball and Liam raced after it, his big, pink tongue lolling. He went back to the piece of wood in his hand, shaping the tiny scales, while Liam ran for the ball and came loping back.

He’d spent the week trying not to think about his conversation in Ruth’s office, but of course, it was all he could think about. He couldn’t escape the realizations he’d had that day. About Angel. About himself. No matter how practiced he was at keeping a lid on his emotions it kept coming up.

Liam nudged the ball with his big nose, and Declan rolled it under his booted foot, holding it there.

“That’s enough, boy. You’re gonna wear us both out.”

Liam watched the ball longingly for a few moments, then sat down at the bottom of the stairs, wagging his stumpy tail. Declan let his gaze rest on the trees, highlighted by the lowering sun. The air was getting misty with the first of the evening fog, bringing the rich, loamy scent of the woods to life. He took a deep breath, held the cool air in his lungs.

The issue of sex kept coming up, too. Not that Angel had tried to get back into his bed again. Not that it was anything new. But he thought of her constantly: while he was at work, when he was with her, when he was alone in his bed or in the shower. He’d stopped resisting that pull, figuring it was better to work it out of his system. Not that it ever seemed to help for more than a few minutes.

He groaned. He had to stop this physical obsession he had with her. Somehow.

He rubbed his fingers over the wood, letting the rough texture bite into his skin. Why couldn’t he calm down? It hadn’t gotten any better. If anything, it was more intense as he and Angel got to know each other. They were comfortable together now, despite the hot zing of chemistry between them. Despite how much energy it took for him to resist the absolute driving fucking
need
to touch her. Be with her. Some days he didn’t know how much longer he was capable of resisting. Not that he’d jump on her out of the blue. But if she came into his bed again…

Liam jumped up and Declan knew Angel had come out onto the porch.

“Declan, may Liam have a little beef stew? I saved some of the meat for him.”

“Sure.”

She came to sit next to him on the porch steps. He did his best to ignore the heat emanating from her body. The smell of her hair. The tightening in his groin.

“Dinner was great. Thanks, Angel.”

“You’re very welcome. I like to cook for you.”

“Liam likes it, too.” He patted the dog’s head, who only had eyes for Angel, hoping for another bit of meat.

She was in one of the sundresses she’d taken to wearing. She loved anything with flowers on it, and he’d taken her shopping at a local boutique recommended by Georgia and bought her a good dozen. The shopping had overwhelmed her, but she’d loved it.

All too aware of the rise of her full breasts above the edge of floral cotton, he realized he’d never thought to suggest she buy a bra. Not that he minded.

“I brought a paper towel for you, Declan. I know how slobbery Liam’s toys get.”

“Thanks.”

He set his unfinished carving down on the stair, took the paper towel, wiped his hands. They sat quietly together then, listening to the sounds of the forest settling in for the night: the soft chirping of the birds, the quiet sigh of the wind in the leaves. They did this often, both of them content in the still evening air.

“What are you working on?” she asked him, picking up the half-finished piece.

“It’s a trout. A steelhead, like the ones my dad and I used to catch.”

“Is this for him?”

“What? No. I don’t know.” He took it from her, rubbed his thumb over the grooves in the wood.

“Oran would like it, I think.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

He looked up and Angel’s blue gaze was soft on his. She rubbed her arms, pulled her hair around her shoulders. Even in the dying light, it still looked like spun silk. Golden. Shining.

“Are you cold, Angel?”

“No. I’m warm enough. I don’t want to go in until the sun is done setting. I don’t want to miss it. I’ve always loved the sunset.”

“Do you miss it?” he asked her, not even certain why he felt a need to bring it up. “Do you miss your old life, Angel?”

“Sometimes. I still miss my garden, but my leg is so much better, I hope to plant here soon. A new garden will soothe me.”

“But you need soothing.”

He looked at her closely. Her face wore her usual sweet expression, but her sky-blue eyes were serious, and there was a small frown on her lovely mouth. Her hands twisted together in her lap.

“Yes. I miss The Grandmother. I know you think it’s strange. But I do. She was all I knew my entire life.”

“For most of it, anyway. Do you remember anything before that yet?”

“Small flashes sometimes.” Her golden brows furrowed. “I sometimes see things just as I’m falling asleep. A woman with hair the same color as mine, and my eyes. She has warm hands. But when she talks to me I can’t understand what she’s saying. And then it goes away.”

“Your mother, maybe?”

“Maybe. How would I know?”

He nodded. He still had only the faintest grasp on what it was like to be her. Someone with a lost past. A lost family.

“There had to be good times in your life, Angel.” He wanted there to be. He couldn’t stand to think of her in some constant, utterly miserable existence. Fucking awful to think of her like that.

“There
were
good times. When The Grandmother felt well we would talk in the evenings about what I had read that day.” She took the ends of her long hair, twisted them between her fingers, her gaze going distant. “She knows so much. I loved when she taught me about the ways of herbs, the ways of the birds and the earth. And when she was ill, I liked to care for her…not that she was sick, of course, but the taking-care-of-her part. Is that odd?”

“I don’t think so. In my mind it means you’re empathetic. It’s a good trait.”

Angel smiled, that lovely, brilliant smile, and then it dimmed. “It wasn’t all good, Declan.”

“I know.”

“There are many things I haven’t told you. I’ve talked to Ruth. I know you have some bits and pieces, but there’s more.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“But I do. I want you to know. Is that all right?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

She reached out and took his hand in hers. Her fingers were warm. The heat of her was there, but he pushed those thoughts aside to listen. His stomach was pulled tight. He knew whatever she had to tell him was going to be hard as hell to hear. Hard to have her looking right at him while she told him this awful shit, but he wasn’t going to turn away from her.

“You know I was with her from a very young age. Ruth and I have figured that I was about five years old. I remember being afraid of her, The Grandmother. Well, I was always afraid of her, but at first there was nothing but the fear. She did some…terrible things to me.” Angel stopped, her grip tightening on his hand. “She started giving me the herbs—the drugs—even then. She would drug me and sit me on her lap by the fire and tell me things. I suppose she was teaching me her ways, her beliefs. That was how it started. I didn’t even know at first there were other people. The compound. She kept me to herself for a while. Maybe as long as a year. Maybe more.”