Angels Don't Cry

Over her dead body…

Angel Lowell’s twin sister, Aiden, always got what she wanted—including Angel’s boyfriend, Drew Maitland, lock, stock—and marriage… Now Aiden is dead, and Drew and Angel have returned to Crossfield, Texas, to save the small town they had all once called home. It might be time for Angel to forgive the past…and live for the future…

The ten years apart have only deepened Drew’s need, and he has vowed that this time Angel will be his. But even if he can convince Angel to take a second chance on him, something—or someone—is determined to keep them apart. How can he protect the woman he loves from an evil they can’t even see?

Previously published.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Epilogue

Copyright

Prologue

Someone was calling to her, whispering her name softly, like the wind sighing through the trees.

Angel! Angel!

Ann Lowell moaned softly, her head moving from side to side on the pillow. Images danced through her unconscious—dark, threatening visions of a sky lit with lightning, of water deep and cold and black as it closed over her head, of blinding, numbing terror—

With a gasp Ann sprang upright in bed, her eyes staring blindly into the shadowed recesses of her bedroom. Her heart seemed to stop for a moment, then slammed against her chest in rapid, painful beats, temporarily driving away the memory of what had awakened her.

The storm, she thought weakly as she sagged back against the pillow, dazed and shaken. But...what storm? Moonbeams softly drenched her bedroom. The night sky outside her window was clear and starry.

A dream then—

No, not a dream. A feeling. A premonition. Her twin sister was in trouble. The revelation came to Ann quickly, startling her into alertness. She could sense the fear, could almost smell it. It was all around her, chilling her like a winter mist, settling over her like a dark and heavy shroud.

Something had happened to Aiden. Ann knew it as surely as she knew herself to be safe and sound in her own bedroom. She closed her eyes tightly, letting the sensations wash over her. The pulsing terror of her dream had given way to a strange calmness. Ann could feel herself sinking into a dangerous lethargy, a dark serenity that lulled and beckoned as though she were being pulled into a deep and dreamless sleep. Through it all came an unbearable sense of sorrow and loneliness...and betrayal. Strong, tearing emotions that for one brief moment were almost tangible. And then they began to fade....

“Aiden!” Ann screamed her sister’s name aloud as she bolted upright in bed. Again and again she sought to capture the elusive link with her twin, sought until sweat broke hot on her skin, until her knuckles whitened where she clutched the quilt ever tighter, until she knew with certainty it was too late to say I forgive you.

“Oh, God.” With shaking hands, she shoved aside the cover, reaching automatically for the telephone before she realized there was no one to call. Aiden and Drew had been divorced for a long time. Whether they kept in touch or not, Ann had no way of knowing. At any rate, she was not the one to call Drew Maitland.

She glanced at the bedside clock. Midnight. Midnight, and she had no idea where her sister was. Rising from her bed, she belted a robe around her as she walked to the window, staring blindly down at the garden.

She waited.

Her vigil at the window continued until the first lavender light of dawn stained the eastern sky, until the weak, winter sun broke through the horizon. Until nothing remained of the night before except memories. Still, she watched and she waited.

But the call from Cozumel, Mexico, did not come until two days later.

Her sister was dead.

One

Six months later.

Like its sleek, graceful namesake, Drew Maitland’s dark green Jaguar prowled the quaint, narrow streets of Crossfield, Texas, with a careful, almost contemptuous observance of the posted speed limit. A traffic light turned red, and the car lunged to a halt, the powerful engine idling and thrumming impatiently. Tinted windows obscured the driver from curious, prying eyes, but the anonymity was only an illusion. Already the news had spread.

Peering between parted curtains at her front window, Wilma Gates hurriedly dialed the number of the house next door. Bernice Ballard answered on the first ring.

“You’ll never guess who that car belongs to,” Wilma challenged by way of greeting.

“Humph. Looks like one of those foreign jobs,” Bernice noted in disapproval. “Probably one of those hotshots from the development company that’s been nosing around here. They all act like they’ve got money to burn—”

“He’s with Riverside Development Company all right, but you’re never going to believe—”

“—I swear, the way they breeze into town, acting like they already own the place, making offers right and left for river-fronted property, telling us what we should do with our town—”

“It’s that Maitland boy!” Wilma practically shouted, trying to recapture control of the conversation.

“—Not that I’ve got anything against progress, mind you, but I just think— Who!”

“You remember Drew Maitland, don’t you?” Wilma asked smugly, noting the silence on the other end with immense satisfaction.

Bernice finally found her breath again. “Well! I never thought that boy would have the nerve to show his face in this town again.”

“Nerve was one thing Drew Maitland was never short on,” Wilma remarked dryly. “Remember all those pranks he used to pull, instigating all those wild parties down by the river? Not to mention what he did to Ann Lowell and her sister. Although I can’t say Aiden’s part in that whole sordid mess surprised me any. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but she always was a wild one. Ann was so sweet and courteous. It was such a shame, her having to leave town like that.”

“Well, it seems mighty peculiar to me, that company sending him down here to do their business. Ann’s property is one of the pieces they’ve been trying to buy for months. I can’t imagine she’d want to do business with Drew Maitland. I know ten years is a long time, but people around here don’t forget things. There’s still talk about what he did—”

“People love to talk, you know that.” Wilma pushed her face closer to the window as she strained to catch a last glimpse of the green car as it swooshed through the intersection. “Nothing Drew Maitland does should surprise anyone here in Crossfield anymore. I declare, when he walked into that church at Aiden’s memorial service, I half expected the roof to collapse.”

“Oh, I know,” Bernice agreed piously. “But to give the devil his due, he did sit in the back and he left before the service was over. At least he spared poor Ann that much. I don’t think she even knew he was there until I—well, I happened to mention to her at the cemetery that I thought it was him. Poor little thing turned pale as anything. I thought she was going to pass out cold—”

“And who could blame her, a shock like that—”

“Wilma! He’s turning left down River Road. You don’t suppose he’s actually going out to the farm? Surely even he wouldn’t have that kind of gall—”

“Call Gail! If he’s going to the farm, he’ll have to pass by her house...”

* * *

Ann stood under the dappled shade of one of the giant black locust trees lining the sidewalk of the Crossfield, Texas, city hall. She was late, but she couldn’t seem to muster the courage needed to close the distance between herself and the crowd milling about outside the arched loggia as they waited for the town meeting to begin.

The breeze shifted, stirring the branches overhead and loosening a shower of tiny, white blossoms from the fragrant clusters. The heady scent filled her with nostalgia for long, lazy summer days, for moon-drenched nights by the river, for a time when she had been young and innocent and head over heels in love.

She shook her head slightly, trying to dispel the feeling, but ever since her cousin had called her at the university that morning with the news, Ann’s mind had refused to register anything but all those elusive memories and those two, fateful words. “Drew’s back.”

All day, in anticipation of seeing him at this meeting tonight, Ann had tried to prepare herself. “It doesn’t matter,” she reminded herself over and over again. “It’s been ten years. Nothing lasts that long. Except maybe hate.” Or love. Luckily she felt neither of those emotions for Drew Maitland anymore. What she felt for him now, and for what he was trying to do to her town, was contempt.

How like him to imagine he could waltz back into Crossfield after all these years and change everything to suit his needs, his own self-serving ambition. She’d once been almost destroyed by his selfishness, but not this time. This time, she wouldn’t run away. He didn’t know it yet, but Drew Maitland was in for the fight of his life.

Bracing her shoulders with renewed determination, Ann crossed the lawn to the sidewalk leading up to the white stucco building. The excited chatter of the crowd filled the air like a swarm of angry bumblebees. Ann had never before seen such an enthusiastic turnout for a town meeting. But then, Crossfield had never before been threatened by a big city developer, she reminded herself grimly.

“Ann! Over here!”

Ann looked up to see Viola Pickles, president of the local Historical Society, waving a picket sign as she bore down upon Ann with resolve. Every time Ann saw Viola, she wondered if the little woman’s sour disposition was the result of her forty years as a junior high school teacher or a self-fulfilling prophesy of her name. Ann was only too aware of the impact and expectations a name could elicit. For that very reason, she’d changed hers a long time ago.

“Ann, I need to talk to you before the meeting,” Viola said urgently, clamping down on Ann’s arm with surprising vigor. “Have you heard about the representative Riverside Development has sent down here?”

“Yes, I heard,” Ann replied curtly, extricating herself from the clawlike grasp as she continued toward the steps, ever mindful of the curious stares, the whispered comments behind hands.

Viola blinked once behind the large, black-rimmed glasses she wore as she struggled to keep pace with Ann. “You already know about Drew Maitland?” There was a faint note of disappointment in her tone.

“Jack called me this morning between classes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Viola, I really do have to run—” Ann started up the steps with the older woman trailing her like a lost puppy.

“This isn’t going to change your position, I hope.” Viola’s voice rose in corresponding increments as Ann’s longer legs widened the distance between them. “There’re a lot of people counting on you to represent us. We don’t want Crossfield razed to make room for shopping malls and condos! You tell them that, Ann!” Viola called after her as Ann opened the glass door and stepped inside the air-conditioned corridor.

Her high heels clicked against the black and white mosaic tile floor as she hurried across the lobby to the council chambers, pausing outside the door for a moment to take a deep breath.

Go on, open the door. she commanded herself. Get it over with. You’ll probably find he’s nothing like you remembered. You won’t feel a thing.

“Famous last words,” she muttered as she reached for the knob and turned it. She opened the door, stepped inside, and stopped, her eyes sweeping the room with one frantic glance.

The blood pounded in her ears. Her stomach gave a violent quiver. Her knees began to tremble as a powerful relief flooded through her. He isn’t there. It had all been a mistake. Drew hadn’t come back.

“Ann! Over here! We’re saving you a seat!” At the sound of her name being called, Ann stepped into the large room where dozens of folding chairs had been set up for the town meeting. The Historical Society had grouped themselves toward the front of the room, and several of the matrons were emphatically motioning her to join them as they zealously brandished placards with messages ranging from NO BULLDOZING IN CROSSFIELD to simply RIVERSIDE DEVELOPMENT GO HOME.

With a reluctant sigh Ann started toward them, noting that the only vacant chair left in the whole room was smack in the middle of their group between Bernice Ballard and Wilma Gates, who were staring at her with avid curiosity. Like a horde of locusts, they descended on her as soon as she sat down, stinging her with questions from every side.

“Have you seen him yet?”

“What’s he like now?”

“What did he have to say for himself?”

“What’s he look like?”

Before Ann could open her mouth to answer, the side door opened into the council chambers. Mayor Sikes walked into the room, followed by Drew Maitland, and the entire Historical Society took a collective breath.

“Drew...” His name slipped through Ann’s lips on her own suspended breath as a thousand memories—images from a lifetime ago—cascaded through her. Stolen moments by the river, forbidden longings during hot, sleepless nights. And love, so powerful and enduring that it hadn’t gone away...even after he’d married her sister.

Oh, God, why now? Ann thought desperately. Why now, when he was ten years too late? Why now, when all that was left between them were the memories? And Aiden. Always Aiden. She was almost a physical presence in the room with them, reminding Ann anew that this man had broken both their hearts.

Wilma Gates found her voice first. “Oh, Lord, he’s still a handsome devil,” she said reverently, smoothing back a wisp of her bluish gray hair. “And still wild as the wind, I don’t doubt.”

“Girls, we’ll have our work cut out for us opposing him,” Bernice predicted, her seventy-year-old eyes snapping with excitement. “That boy could charm the bloomers right off a virgin, I’ll wager.”

Ann’s face flamed at that particular observation, her mind flying back to one moonlit night on the bank of the river, a night when she’d been lying in Drew’s arms, their clothes strewn in the grass around them. She had stopped him, of course, before they’d gone too far. After getting dressed, Drew had held her in his arms again, telling her it was all right, that he’d wait for her until she was ready.

He hadn’t waited, though, Ann thought bitterly. In the end, he hadn’t waited for her.

She watched him walk through the room, stopping to talk with old friends and acquaintances, shaking hands and smiling, his dress and demeanor both elegantly understated. Her gaze slipped over him taking in with reluctant precision the beautiful cut of his gray, double-breasted suit, the stark white of his shirt splashed with the silk brilliance of his tie.

Older, perhaps a bit harsher-looking than she remembered, Drew Maitland was still the most compelling man she’d ever known. His eyes were as blue as the summer sky, and his light brown hair was still thick and sun-streaked and made for a woman’s fingers.

What riveted her attention most, though, was the air of total self-confidence, which she remembered only too well. As an adolescent full of insecurities and self-doubts, she’d been drawn to him for his inner strength and confidence as surely as she’d been attracted to his astonishing good looks.

The combination was still just as devastating, she thought with a warning quiver in the pit of her stomach. And still just as dangerous.

Beside him, Crossfield’s short, rotund mayor strutted and blustered with self-importance, looking like nothing so much as a bantam rooster in a coop full of hens as he back-clapped and smiled his way through the crowd. The comparison was inevitable, and Mayor Sikes fell short in more than just stature.

Completely undaunted, however, the mayor stepped to the podium and briskly rapped his gavel against the scarred wooden top as he called the meeting to order. There was a last-minute scramble as the stragglers from outside dashed in, and then the shuffling of feet and the low rumble of voices reluctantly faded away as everyone turned with anxious, expectant expressions to face the front of the room.

For good measure Mayor Sikes cleared his throat a couple of times as he surveyed the room over a pair of antiquated bifocals perched on the end of his nose. “Folks, we’re going to go ahead and get started here. As most of you already know, a company called Riverside Development has shown a great deal of interest in our community of late...”

As the mayor rambled on, Ann shifted restlessly against the cold back of the metal chair. Unconsciously she crossed her legs as she fervently tried to keep her eyes focused straight ahead. To avert her gaze even fractionally would bring Drew into her line of vision, and every time she looked at him, her heart seemed to stop.

“...I know we’re all anxious to hear the latest word from Riverside,” the gravelly, grating voice droned on. “But first, there are one or two other matters of business we need to address. Last month Bernice Ballard requested the addition of a Stop sign at the corner of Elm and Pecan. The council and I have taken that request under serious consideration...”

As the mayor’s voice droned relentlessly on, Drew found his attention straying. Not far. Just a few feet away, where Angel Lowell sat rigidly facing the front of the room, apparently absorbed in every word being spoken. An ironic smile touched his lips as he noticed the legion of women surrounding her and the protest signs they were holding.

It had been his idea to come to Crossfield to try to smooth the way for the multimillion dollar project Riverside Development had in mind. For months now, since they’d gone public with their plans, Riverside had met with steady opposition from a number of Crossfield citizens and property owners in the area. As vice president of public relations for the huge conglomerate that owned Riverside Development, Drew had seemed the perfect choice to deal with the lingering antagonism his company had generated. After all, he’d grown up here, and even with his cloudy past, he had a better chance of gaining their trust and support than an outsider would.

But at that time he hadn’t realized his antithesis would be the one person who had good reason to despise him and everything he represented. He knew Angel had rebuffed every offer Riverside had made for her property along the river. That hadn’t surprised him in the least. He knew how much that land had meant to her father. But no one had bothered to inform him until today that she was also a member of the Crossfield town council, that she represented the contingent of Crossfield citizens who were adamantly opposed to change.

He let his gaze slide over her, greedily detailing each lovely feature—that glorious red hair, worn long now judging by the thick twist at her nape, and eyes that were still the most beguiling shade of green he’d ever seen. She’d grown so incredibly gorgeous, he thought, with a sharp tightening in his stomach. So womanly.

The past ten years had added a poise and self-confidence that were astonishing, a maturity that was breathtaking. She had always been beautiful to him, more beautiful by far than any woman he’d ever known. She and Aiden had been identical in appearance, yet he’d never once mistaken one for the other. Not once. That hadn’t been an excuse he could use.

With a bitter tinge of regret, he tried to look away, but his gaze kept coming back to her. He had the sudden urge to spirit her away from here, to take her somewhere quiet and romantic where the lights were dim and he could slide his hand along the creamy expanse of her legs, so stunningly displayed beneath the hem of her short skirt. He longed to trace his finger along the neck of her silk tank top, exploring the soft fabric that only hinted at the enticement hidden underneath. But most of all, he wanted to remove, one by one, the pins that held in place that prim knot of hair and watch the fiery cascade tumble down her back in wanton abandonment. He wanted to kiss her long and hard until everything and everyone spun away from them.

With a healthy dose of reality, he tamped down that reckless urge. He was here to do a job, he reminded himself grimly. And that job required him to make peace with Angel Lowell, win her over, sell her on the prospect of the future. Better to keep their past out of it.

He saw her gaze shift, and for one brief moment found himself hopelessly sinking into those endless green depths. She quickly shuttered her eyes, closing him out, and he reluctantly turned his attention back to Mayor Sikes, who was exuberantly introducing him. Drew stood and took the podium.

He smiled warmly as he let his gaze roam the audience. “As I recall, the last time I was brought before a Crossfield town meeting had something to do with Halloween night and an outhouse placed on top of city hall. I must say, my task here tonight is a bit more pleasant than it was that night.”

The tension in the room began to evaporate as everyone laughed their approval. Ann felt the corners of her own mouth twitch. She remembered how Drew and her cousin, Jack Hudson, had struggled to load Fannie Taylor’s outhouse into the back of Jack’s old pickup truck while she and Aiden had kept lookout. How they’d managed to get it on top of city hall, she’d never dared ask.

Mayor Sikes had been livid, and he’d insisted Jack and Drew come before a town meeting and publicly apologize to Fannie and to the whole town. Now he was laughing more uproariously over that incident than anyone else, his belly shaking like the Pillsbury Doughboy in a pin-striped suit.

Drew let the laughter subside, his own grin fading as he surveyed the crowd once more, his gaze pausing briefly on Ann before sweeping on. But she’d felt a warming impact from even so fleeting a glance from those blue, blue eyes.

“As most of you know, Riverside Development is a division of Braeden Industries of Dallas, the firm I’ve been employed by since graduating from UT. My background in Crossfield gives me a unique appreciation of small town values and concerns. At the same time, my long-time standing with Braeden Industries and now with Riverside Development enables me to tell you without hesitation that they can bring much to this community.”

Drew’s commanding air of self-confidence had an immediate effect on the crowd. Except for the smooth, liquid tones of his voice, a dropped pin could have been heard in that room.

Ann bit her lip in consternation as she took in the absorbed faces around her. He had them in the palm of his hand already, she thought with a sinking heart. He was seducing every last one of them without batting an eye. Even Viola Pickles’s austere features were tempered, and Bernice and Wilma looked positively enraptured.