Wounded Wings (Cupid Chronicles) (5 page)

“Why?”

“I . . . I can’t . . .” He shook his head. “It just felt like I should go. This isn’t my home.”

Michael swallowed. “Well . . . maybe . . . did you ever consider that it could be? Maybe your destiny is here? In New Destiny?”

As Elijah stared at him, his deep brown eyes filled with such pain, he wondered at the wisdom of Gabriel’s teachings in this instance.
Did
the end always justify the means?

Because, at that moment, it sure felt like an inexcusable violation of the Angelic Commandments to be lying to one of his own kind—fallen or not—and it hurt like hell.

Chapter 6

Elijah glanced up as Sharla burst into the kitchen a week later with a piece of paper in her hand. “Here you go, Eli.” When he made no move from his station at the stove, she waved the paper in his face. “Your paycheck? Don’t you want it?”

He glanced at his vichyssoise then back to her. “Sure. Just set it by my keys, will you?”

Her eyebrow shot up. “Keys?”

He nodded. “On the cabinet in your office.” He offered her a small smile and a taste of the creamy soup as he pulled it off the burner. “I know, why do I need keys, right?” He let her ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over the mouthful and answered, “I’m still walking to the motel, but I’m hopeful Troy will get my car running someday.”

He didn’t stop to examine why, for the first time here in New Destiny, the drab, uninspired décor of the motel room filled him with a deep, aching loneliness. He’d been on his own for months now—incommunicado with the angelic realm—caught between the angel and human worlds, not really fitting into either. A brutal reality.

Sharla squeezed his shoulder, bringing him back to the present. “You know, Eli, I have a spare room I could rent to you above my garage if you wanna move out of that crappy motel. It’s not much, but it’s yours for say . . . one day’s pay a week and your help with some yard work? You’d be on your own for food and such, of course.” She grinned. “Though I may beg you to cook for me there, too.”

A home? Even temporarily? He hadn’t planned on— “Whadya say, Eli? Come on, I don’t bite.” She reached out and patted the back of his hand. “Much.”

“Well . . .” He studied her earnest gaze. “Maybe just for a little while?”

She did a little fist pump. “Great.” She leaned over and tapped his cheek. “I’m excited to have the company. And the free yard work.”

She moved to go, but paused and pivoted back at the kitchen door. “Oh, I almost forgot. Elva Hunter wanted me to let you know you were outbid by an anonymous bidder at the charity auction. Also, Sam Fuller is out there and he’s asking to speak to you. Something about needing your advice on a personal matter. Sounds serious.”

Elijah watched the door swing several times behind her retreating back as he digested her words. Who in the world would outbid him on a hideous hand-knit cardigan bearing an abstract representation of the Grand Canyon? And that was describing it nicely.

Really.

It seemed every time he turned around, his efforts at doing good deeds were being thwarted. By the time he showed up at the church bazaar and bake sale, everything was sold out to, again, a mysterious buyer. The animal shelter didn’t need him. Even Dog wasn’t coming around as much, as though he was getting his food somewhere else. And now this.

He had the worst luck at redemption.

It seemed the only good he could do was with his baking and with . . . he shook his head in denial . . . the last thing on earth he wanted to do.

Sharla poked her head back in the door. “Eli? Mr. Fuller is waiting. His personal matter?” She waited, her eyes obviously imploring him to let her in on the big “matter.”

Behind him, Scott and Maura stumbled in the back door, giggling like a couple of high school kids.

Sharla’s gaze shot over his shoulder.

Yes, “matter” number one if he was counting. Which he wasn’t.

Somehow, word had gotten around that he had a knack where love was concerned, as much as he cowered in the kitchen and avoided the questions. But those seeking a love connection always seemed to find him. And once they did, he couldn’t turn anyone away. The angel—or heck, maybe it was the humanity now—in him wouldn’t allow it. If he had the wisdom, he shared it, no matter how it pained him to delve into his own personal hell.

And, with that, he ignored the couple behind him and pressed past Sharla into the dining area to find out what Mr. Fuller needed. As if he didn’t know.

A second letter had come from Mr. Ben Simon at the
Arizona Country Times
. He was verifying his expected date of arrival and said he was “very much looking forward to his first visit to New Destiny and all the wonderful things it had to offer.”

Naomi hugged the letter to her chest. Was she reading too much into it? He said he was “very much” looking forward to being there. She’d been thinking of every way she could to make sure that Vi’s Sweet Spot made it into his article as a major attraction in New Destiny. This town may be a little spot of dust in the middle of nowhere, but it was smack-dab on the route to the Navajo Nation, Window Rock Monument, and Navajo Veteran’s Memorial Park, and she fully intended to take advantage of getting Vi’s business on that map. And she was going to use Mr. Simon, and his stomach, to do it.

She owed Vi no less for saving her life.

She tucked the letter away in her purse and got back to icing the cake she had been decorating for little Josue Martinez’s birthday. No significant business had come their way since the 50/50 split with Eli and Sharla, even after their debut of “gourmet” designer cupcakes. (Really just bigger, prettier versions of what they already made, but they could charge more for them like the big city cupcake boutiques.) It was becoming painfully, if not financially, clear that something had to change. Soon. And Mr. Simon was her ticket. She supposed she should let the Chamber of Commerce members know about the letter, but really, she was the one who’d done the legwork in contacting him in the first place and gotten this ball rolling. She’d contact them later.

She forced her concentration to the racecars she was piping onto the buttercream, and the boy with the gapped-tooth grin who would be blowing out the candles on this cake came to mind. He was Emma’s friend, another child who has known suffering, battling cystic fibrosis. But he was a happy kid from a positive and loving family. Lucky, maybe luckier than most.

Naomi finished the last car on his cake with a sigh. She was happy she could provide the cake for his party. A small thing for his happiness. But, she couldn’t help but wonder sometimes, would she be doing more good for children like him if she used her nursing degree? Was she wasting a gift to repay a debt? Which was more important?

The front door sounded its delicious jingle, interrupting her wayward thoughts.

A man’s voice hummed along with the familiar lyrics.

She glanced up and smiled when she spotted Sam Fuller.

He smiled back and started singing, though the door’s jingle had long stopped. “And I think I’ll have a slice . . . give you a kiss and gaze into your eyes . . .”

“Uh, I don’t think those are the lyrics.”

He shrugged. “Sounded good anyway.”

She giggled and came around the counter, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Hey, Sam. What brings you by?”

His smile faltered as he all of a sudden seemed nervous. “Actually, I came to see Vi. Is she here?”

“Oh.” She paused. “Sure. I’ll get her for you.” Why was Sam Fuller looking for Vi? He’d never set foot in the bakery to the best of her memory, always enjoying the baked goods and his company at the diner.

He offered a small nod and pivoted to study the display case.

Naomi ducked into the back and found Vi elbow-deep in soapy water washing cake pans. “Hey, Sam Fuller is out there. He wants to speak to you.”

Vi glanced up, her green eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Me?”

“Yes.”

Vi reached for a dish towel then absently patted her hair. “Tell him I’ll be out in a minute, will you?”

“Sure.”

Naomi returned to the front of the store and found Sam studying the cover of the latest
Arizona Country Times
she had on the counter. He set it down. “Rumor has it one of their reporters is coming to town in a few weeks.”

She nodded.

“That’d be good for the whole town,” he continued.

She nodded again. Yes, the publicity would be good for them all, but she was focused on Vi now. And, by the thunderstruck expression on Sam’s face when she stepped through the door, so was he.

“Sam,” Vi said with a smile. “What a nice surprise. What can we do to help you?”

He fidgeted a bit with his hands before tucking them into his front pockets as his eyes darted between Vi and Naomi. Why was he nervous? “Hey, Vi. I was hoping . . .” He cleared his throat. “Um, can I speak to you for a moment?” He glanced at Naomi. “Alone?”

Oh. Naomi felt herself flush. “I’ll just go . . . do that . . . thing. In the back.” She quickly darted into the back room, avoiding Vi’s confused stare.

What was going on there? Naomi rolled up her sleeves, ignoring the puckered scar on her left arm staring back at her, and tackled the dishes Vi had left behind.

Ten minutes later, Vi reappeared looking like a teenage girl with a silly grin on her face.

Naomi really didn’t want to ask. She bit her tongue as she wiped down the counters. But, somehow, it just slipped out. “So . . . ?” She glanced over. “What did Sam want?”

“Oh, just to ask me out on a date.” She said it like it was an everyday occurrence. Which it wasn’t.

Naomi stopped cold. “A date?”

Vi glanced at her sharply. “Yes. A date. Surely you’ve heard the term?”

“But . . .” She didn’t quite know what to say. What could she say? Vi was a grown woman. She could do whatever she chose, see who she liked.

But Naomi couldn’t ignore the thrumming pain that coursed through her at the thought of Vi with another man. Her husband, Paul, had been the only father Naomi had ever known. A good man. Great, really. Something not easily forgotten even after being gone for five years.

But, more than that, she’d had Vi to herself for all these years. She wasn’t sure how she felt about sharing her again.

But, it was only one date.

She sucked it up and smiled. “Well, Sam is a great guy. I hope you have fun.”

“Thank you, baby.”

The front door sounded again, quickly followed by Delaney’s twangy, “Hey, y’all!” as she pranced into the back and helped herself to a cookie cooling on one of the racks with a grin.

“That’ll be a buck,” Naomi teased her.

Delaney bit and chewed, leaning her hip on the counter. “Yeah, okay, put it on my tab.”

“We might just have to start you one with the way you sneak all the goods. Plus, we can’t afford to lose much more business now that we’ve lost half at the diner.” Naomi tried not to sneer in disgust.

Delaney swallowed as her gaze moved between Vi and Naomi. “What? Sexy Dr. Love over there putting a crimp in your game?”

“Excuse me?” Vi spoke up. “What’s that mean? I’m not up on all the young folk’s terms. Who’s Dr. Love, and what’s a crimp and whose game? I’m confused.”

Naomi tilted her head. “She means Eli.”

She knew all about the shenanigans of
Dr. Love
. She’d heard how he’d encouraged Scott to ask Maura out and how great it was going, as well as some other couples. Stupid, dumb luck was all that was. But, the gullible folks in town thought he had some super soul mate mojo.

“Eli?” Vi repeated. “What’s he got to do with this?”

Naomi shook her head, disgusted, and waved her hand for Delaney to explain.

Delaney grinned and snagged another cookie before launching into details. “Well, that fine ass cook over there . . .” She glanced at Naomi’s face. “Well, he is!” She raised a brow suggestively at Vi. “Turns out he knows a thing or two about the love game. He doesn’t like to advertise it, and he isn’t always willing to give the information, but he is
always
right on.” She stared at each woman meaningfully. “He got Scott and Maura together. And George and Tilly. And Stephanie and Eric. And—”

“Eric Rodgers?” Naomi interrupted. “The self-proclaimed bachelor for life?”

“The one and only.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding.” Delaney pointed with her half-eaten cookie for emphasis. “And now I’m going to ask him about me and Beau,” she added, a blush painting her cheekbones. She didn’t give Naomi a chance to react and rushed on. “I’m tired of that man tip-toeing around our flirting. I really like him.” Her eyes implored Naomi for reassurance and acceptance.

She reached out and brushed the back of Delaney’s hand. “That’s great, Delaney. I hope it works out. It’s about time he got serious with a nice girl.”

Delaney’s smile was instantaneous and brilliant. “Thank you, Naomi!”

The two women hugged. When Delany stepped back, she grinned at Vi. “I hope it works out with you and Sam, too.”

Vi’s smile faltered. “Well, thank you. But how did you know about that?”

“Oh. I was at the diner and saw Sam talking to Eli.” She bit her bottom lip as the energy in the room changed. “I promise I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” She raised her hand to swear. “But I heard Sam asking Eli about wanting to ask you out for a long time now but being nervous since Paul . . .”

“Oh, my.” Vi put a hand to her mouth.

“What did he say?” Naomi trapped Delaney’s eyes.

“Who? Eli?”

She nodded.

“Well. . .” She paused as uncomfortable silence filled the room. “Um, he said he felt that Sam should follow his heart and ask her out, and something about that theirs could be the love of a lifetime.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” Naomi enunciated each word between gritted teeth. So now “Dr.
Love
” was horning in on Vi’s love life, too? Wasn’t their business enough?

“But I could’ve misheard,” Delaney rushed on to explain as her eyes got wide.

“No. I’m sure you heard just fine.” Naomi rounded the island separating her from the door and Eli’s neck and threw off her flour-covered apron.