Angel's Dance Read online

  Angel’s Dance

  By Heidi Angell

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2013 Heidi Angell

  Published through Smashwords by Angell Enterprises,

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  Dedication Page

  Nearly four years ago, two weeks before Christmas, I was “let go” from my work-from-home job. Two weeks later, the day after Christmas, I got an acceptance letter for representation through Emerantia Parnell’s agency for this wonderful series. I would like to thank her so much for representing my book and beginning this path that I am on now. Although she was not able to find me a contract with a publishing house that I wanted to work with, she helped me know that there were others who were interested in this story. I want to especially thank my friend Linda Ryals Smith, who introduced me to blogging, and the concept of self-publishing. She has always been so supportive and kind, sharing with me everything she has learned over the years, and sharing my work through her blog!

  Four years and five books later, I am beginning to make it as a writer. I want to say thank you so very, very much to all of you who have read and enjoyed my books, posted reviews, shared with your friends, given me a voice on your blog, and believed in me as a writer.

  But finally, I want to dedicate this book to my husband and my boys. You have loved and supported me; tolerated the stress and the late hours, helped around the house, at events, and with your opinions. Without your love and support I could never do what I do. I know it isn’t always easy, but it has always been worth it. I love you.

  Prologue

  “Welcome to my home, Mr. Yarbrough,” Clear offered her hand to the handsome British man standing outside her door. As she took in his dress slacks, wine-red dress shirt sans tie, and the black sports coat; she mentally thanked Anne for recommending the yellow summer dress, and classy white strappy heels. She had originally planned to dress in her usual jeans and tank top. It seemed practical enough to her. After all, she was a rancher, not a debutant. Yet as she watched the man look her up and down and smile appreciatively, Anne’s words came back to her.

  ‘The British have expectations. If you aren’t a thoroughbred, how can you sell them?’ The comment had seemed absurd yesterday, but under the meticulous gaze of her guest, Clear could see how right Anne was.

  “Please, come in and have a seat.”

  “Thank you Ms. Angel.” He walked elegantly through her foyer, scrutinizing everything. “You have a lovely home,” he nodded approvingly.

  She smiled at him as they entered the living room. “Would you care for a drink?” she asked politely. He nodded as he carefully propped himself on the couch as if posing for a modeling shot. Clear had to turn quickly to keep from laughing aloud, and to hide the smirk on her face.

  “Yes, a dry sherry would be nice,” Mr. Yarborough acquiesced.

  As Clear prepared the drinks, she was once again grateful for Anne’s tutelage. Six months ago she had known almost nothing of wines and liquors. Anne had instructed her thoroughly in the finer points of entertaining in her preparation to front the ranch.

  They were both pleased with the results. Clear was mostly pleased that fronting the ranch kept her busy enough to avoid thinking about a certain detective. Anne was pleased because Clear had been an adept learner and with her softer, more refined image the price of her horse stock had nearly doubled. It was all in the packaging, as Anne said. The horses hadn’t changed, but Clear’s refinement had brought in a whole new market. Posh businessmen were more impressed with Clear after her lessons than they could have ever been with Clear’s foreman. It was a shame, really. Her foreman was an expert on horses; but these wealthy people only saw a rough old cowboy and could not appreciate his wisdom, as Clear could.

  Clear brought her attention back to this particular wealthy client as she carefully offered him the dry sherry. “So, did you enjoy the afternoon?”

  The man accepted the proffered drink and sipped, to test the quality. Then smiling, he leaned back in the chair. “You have a wonderful ranch. The horses….” he eyed her again, “are magnificent creatures. Some of the best breeding I’ve seen, actually. I’m particularly interested in one or two specifically trained by you.”

  Clear smiled. “Well, I’m flattered, but I only train two or three a year and the two I am currently working on are already spoken for,” she informed him.

  “That is a shame,” Mr. Yarbrough frowned.

  Clear was surprised at how quickly things had moved on to business, but was also rather pleased. Most of these types of clients preferred to socialize for hours before even beginning to discuss business. However, the frown on Mr. Yarbrough’s face was not a good sign.

  “I assure you that Mr. Smith, my foreman, is an excellent trainer. I wouldn’t trust such fine stock with someone who was not,” she smiled warmly.

  “Mr. Smith, yes,” Mr. Yarbrough rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “He is an… interesting man. Quite good with the animals, I am sure, but… he lacks a certain….”

  ‘Snobbery’, Clear thought, but when she spoke it was all sweetness and naiveté, “He is an excellent trainer. He taught me everything I know.” ‘Well, almost everything,’ she silently amended, then added in a conciliatory tone; “However, if you are willing to wait, I can promise you two of my horses that I train next year.”

  “I had hoped to leave with one today.” The man sighed somberly, and Clear realized that he was working her. Every movement, sound and word from this man was well planned and precise.

  Clear held her patience. “I’m afraid that would be impossible, the horses I am currently training would not be ready for another two months anyway. If you truly want a horse today, one of the ones Mr. Smith showed you, perhaps? That could easily be arranged, but all others are still in training at this time.”

  The man smiled at her as if he had her right where he wanted her. He opened his mouth to speak, but anything he had been about to say was drowned out by a terrible banging at the front door.

  Clear was as startled as Mr. Yarbrough. For a split second she sat gaping like a fish at the racket coming from her front door. Who the hell would dare come banging at her door at this hour? As Mr. Yarbrough turned a questioning eye on her, she slammed her mouth closed so quickly her jaws clicked and she winced. She tried to smile as she leapt up.

  “I am… so sorry, I can’t imagine who that could be!” Trying not to trip in the stupid strappy heels, she faltered as she rushed down the hall. She was not having any trouble imagining what she was going to do to whatever idiot was banging on her door and ruining her deal! Throwing open the heavy front door, Clear was ready to let fly an absolute tirade. She stopped and stood in shock at the sight before her.

  Chapter One

  Grant was pacing maniacally at her front door. He was turned away from her and when she opened the door he turned on her. For a moment her breath was taken away. His dark hair was curling about his head like a halo, wet from the rain. Rivulets ran down his cheeks and glistened on his jaw like tear drops.

  Lost in the moment, she suddenly became very angry with herself that she could so easily be swept back up, then the anger turned on him. How dare he show up here like this after they hadn’t talked in months?! Not a phone call, not a letter, not a chance meeting in town, nothing!

  “What the hell
are you doing here!” she growled, trying to ignore the shock and pain in his deep blue eyes.

  “I need your help!” he demanded hoarsely, a defensive look flickering across his handsome features. He looked her up and down, noting the summer dress and heels with a look of surprise. “Am I interrupting something?

  “As a matter of fact you are!” she snapped. “I am in the middle of….” as she tried to think what to say, Mr. Yarbrough came to the foyer.

  “Is everything alright?” He eyed Grant up and down. Clear couldn’t help a stab of satisfaction as Grant glowered, doing the same to Mr. Yarborough. Whatever this looked like, Grant wasn’t very happy.

  “Everything is fine,” Clear assured with a smile. “I’ll be right back in.” Mr. Yarbrough looked uncertainly at Grant again. He hovered for a moment before returning to the living room.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything important, but as I said, I need your help. It’s important.”

  Clear scowled at him. “Lieutenant Anderson, unless you are interested in buying horses, there is nothing for us to discuss.” She began to close the door, when suddenly he was blocking the doorway, preventing her from closing the door.

  “Please,” his eyes pled even more than his voice.

  “Now is not a good time. I’m not doing that anymore! I know you’ve talked to Anne.” She tried to move him by closing the door on him.

  “Clear!” his voice broke, “It’s my daughter…. She’s missing… I’ve tried every other resource… please.” She realized that not all of the rivulets running down his face were from the rain.

  She let go of the door. “What… what happened?” she asked tentatively.

  “I don’t know, but she’s been missing for three days…”

  Clear groaned inwardly. How could she possibly refuse this? “Come in… go in the library. I’ll be there in a minute.” She pushed him into the library then rushed back down the hall. Mr. Yarbrough was standing uncertainly in the middle of the living room. He had obviously been listening, although she wasn’t sure how much he had even heard.

  “Is everything alright?” he asked again.

  “Actually I’m afraid it isn’t. My friend has a family emergency that I really must attend to. I am truly sorry, but I’m sure you understand. Perhaps we can re-schedule this meeting for a late brunch tomorrow?”

  Mr. Yarbrough shrugged nonchalantly. “Very well, I am sorry about your friend’s troubles. How about ten tomorrow morning?”

  “That should be fine,” Clear agreed, handing him his coat as she ushered him out the door.

  “I look forward to tomorrow, then…”

  He barely got the words out of his mouth before Clear had closed the door on him. She leaned against the door a moment trying to collect her thoughts and feelings. Just thinking about talking to Grant made her feel weak in the knees and sick in her heart.

  She shook her head trying to be strong, opened the library door, and found Grant crouched on the floor, leaning against the wall crying.

  Her heart collapsed and she ran to him and hugged him. He cried and talked and she cried and held him and they held each other and cried themselves to sleep.

  Clear awoke early in the predawn dusk. Her legs were numb and her back was killing her. She felt disoriented. She knew that she was not in her bed, but was not certain where she was. As her eyes adjusted to the dark she realized she was in the library. The cobwebs slowly dissipated reminding her of the events from the night before. Putting her hand tentatively in her lap, she felt Grant’s curly hair. She ran her fingers gently through it, reviewing what he had told her the night before. Absentmindedly she continued to stroke his hair.

  His daughter had been missing four days as of today. She had left for school that morning and had never made it to school. Her mother had not even realized she was missing until later in the evening. The police had already checked into the case, but there were no leads. No one had seen or heard anything. Her friends said she hadn’t been complaining about home and nothing was missing from her room, so it didn’t seem that she had run away. There were no leads and Grant was desperate for her help. As a cop, he knew that the longer someone is missing the less likely it is that they will be found alive. He was distraught beyond reason, begging her to go with him to Chicago and help him find his daughter.

  Chicago, far larger than any city she had yet experienced. Could she handle it? Clear was terrified by the idea. Her past experiences in large towns had been overwhelming to the point of debilitation, and those cities were nothing like Chicago. Not committing to anything last night, she had merely listened to his pain as he sobbed out the story in jumbles and pieces. She had held him through an emotional breakdown, but knew that he would be more collected when he awoke and would want answers this morning.

  She could tell him that she had accomplished blocking it all out, but deep down she was ashamed of the cowardly thought. It was true that she had learned to block it out. As of last night she had not had a vision in months. But when Grant had broken down she had gotten most of the information from what he wanted to say more than what he actually did say. She could literally feel his heart breaking. The guilt over not being there for his daughter, the anger and rage at who would dare to touch his daughter; Clear even now knew what the girl looked like, all from him.

  But she was terrified of the pain she might feel in Chicago. More importantly, she was afraid that she would not be able to help, being overwhelmed by all the chaos around her. What if she could not help? The idea of spending such close and intimate time with him was both thrilling and agonizing. She could not let him hurt her again. Her duties at the ranch barely registered in her brain. She was not considering that at all.

  He shifted beneath her and a breath of hot air escaped his lips and seared her skin through the dress. How could he not know or care how deeply he hurt her and then come here begging for her help. How could she travel with him to Chicago and be around him for days on end without any hint of love? Her heart was breaking as much, if not more than his, as she sat there holding him. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes and she quickly swiped them away.

  When she stopped caressing his curls, he stirred gently. It was time for him to get off her anyway, so she gently shook him to wake him. He didn’t budge. Sighing in exasperation, she carefully pulled his arms from their vice-like grip around her waist. No wonder her back was killing her!

  She squiggled out from under him and stretched like a cat. Every muscle screamed in protest from the actions. Groaning, she padded quietly to the kitchen. Her brain was too foggy to think, so she decided to make some coffee. She breathed deeply, inhaling the intoxicating scent as it brewed, and tried to calm her fluttering heart. As soon as it was done, she poured a mega mug and moved into the den curling up on the couch and cradling the hot mug in her hands. It was too hot to drink, but she felt solace from the heat. Rain pitter-pattering gently on the window reached her ears, and absentmindedly she wondered how much more they would get. It had been an unusually wet winter, and spring seemed to be promising the same. She let her thoughts run over her randomly and merely followed the flow of consciousness loosely.

  Chapter Two

  Grant awoke face-down on the floor with a sour taste in his mouth. The pungent smell of coffee filled his nostrils. He was disoriented and in pain. Knowing he was far too old to pass out on the floor, he mentally kicked himself as he struggled to his knees. He knelt for a moment getting his bearings. He was definitely not at home. Hazy images of Clear holding him as he sobbed swam in his mind and he grimaced. How could he fall apart like that in front of her? His shame burned his face.

  He crawled over to a chair in the room and pulled himself slowly and painfully to his feet. Running his hands through his hair, he tried in vain to straighten it up a little bit. He was not sure where Clear had gone. Opening the door quietly, he moved down the hall toward the kitchen. A counter light was on. Looking around the kitchen, a feeling of dread crept over him. T
he last time he had gone searching for her in this house, he had found her bathed in blood. Shaking the chills away, he looked past the gloom into the den. She was curled up on a corner of the couch clutching a huge cup. Steam simmered above the rim. She looked at peace with her eyes closed. He wondered if she had fallen asleep. Grant moved quietly forward to remove the cup when he realized that tears leaked from her eyes. He stood quietly watching her. She was so beautiful that it hurt to watch her cry. He wondered what private torments fluttered beneath the placid face to cause such large tears.

  He eased down onto the seat next to her. Her eyes flashed open and those large sad eyes stared at him, unaware of the tears trembling on her cheeks. He reached out gently and made to swipe them away, but she pulled back and swiped at them herself.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped. Her voice was raspy and full.

  “No, I’m the one who should apologize,” he murmured. “Especially if you are crying because of me.”

  She rolled her eyes and scoffed, “No, I often sit in the dark crying for no reason.” She bit her lip and sighed. “That was rude.”

  “I can understand why you might not want to help me.”

  “Do you?” she queried, looking deeply into his eyes for a moment. She broke contact just as he began to feel squirmy. She stared into the kitchen. “You’re right, I don’t want to help you.” Her voice was dead pan.

  His heart dropped like a stone. He deserved as much, but he thought she would. To hear her say no hurt more than he could imagine. What would happen to his sweet little girl?

  “I’ve thought of so many reasons why I shouldn’t, of so many ways to tell you no… of all the progress Anne and I have made…. You know, I don’t even have visions anymore. I don’t even have to try and block them. I’ve never slept so well. I could have refused on that alone.”