Angels Fall

  A SPRING STORM dropped eight inches of wet, heavy snow, and turned the lake into a frothy gray disk. Some of the locals plowed through it on snowmobiles while kids, bundled into shapeless stumps in their winter gear, entertained themselves building snow peo-ple around the verge of the lake.

  Lynt, with his wide shoulders and weather-scored face, took breaks from his snowplowing duties to refill his thermos with Joanie's coffee and complain about the wind.

  Reece had experienced it herself on her walk to work that morning. It blew like wrath down the canyon, across the hike, sparking fresh snow as it burned ice through the bone.

  It beat at the windows, howled like a man bent on murder. When the power died, Joanie herself yanked on coat and boots to trudge outside and fire up her generator.

  The roar of it competed with the scream of the wind and the thunder of Lynt's snowplow, until Reece wondered why every mother's son and daughter didn't go raving mad from the unrelenting noise.

  It didn't stop people from coming in. Lynt turned off his plow to settle in with an enormous bowl of buffalo stew. Carl Sampson, with his cheeks red from the wind, puffed in to sit with Lynt and chow down on meatloaf, and stayed to eat two pieces of huckleberry pie.

  Others came and went. Others came and lingered. They all wanted food and company, she understood. Human contact and something warm in the belly to remind them they weren't alone. While she grilled, fried, boiled and chopped, she, too, felt steadier for the hum of voices.

  But there wouldn't be voices and contact once she finished her shift. Thinking of her hotel room, she fought her way down to the mercantile on her break for spare batteries for her flashlight. Just in case.

  "Winter's got to take her last slap," Mac told her as he rang up her batteries. "Going to have to reorder these. Had a run on them. Close to running out of bread, eggs and milk. too. Why is it people always load up on bread, eggs and milk in a storm?"

  "I guess they want to be able to make French toast."

  He gave a quick, wheezing laugh. "Might be they do. How you doing down at Joanie's? Haven't made it down there since this hit. I like to get by all the businesses that re open when we get socked. Being mayor, it just seems the thing to do."

  "Generator's going, so we're still in business. You, too."

  "Yeah, don't like to close the doors. Lynt's got the roads clear enough, and the power should be back up in a couple hours. I checked on that. And she's already passing. The storm."

  Reece glanced toward the windows. "It is?"

  "Time the power's back, she'll be done. You'll see. Only real trouble we've had from this is the roof of Clancy's storage shed caving in. His own fault anyway. It was due for repair, and he didn't get it shoveled off. Tell Joanie I'll be down to check on things first chance."

  IN JUST OVER an hour, Mac's predictions proved on target. The wind tapered down to an irritable mutter. Before another hour had passed, the juke—which Joanie refused to run on her generator— whined back on, hiccuped, then offered up Dolly Parton.

  And long after the heavy fall of snow and brutal wind left town. Reece could see it raging in bruised clouds in the mountains. It added, she thought, to their fierceness, gave them a cold, aloof power.

  It made her grateful she could stand in the warmth of her hotel room and look out at them.

  She mixed up vats of stew according to Joanie's recipes, grilled pounds and pounds of meat and poultry and fish. At the end of every shift, she counted up her tip money, then tucked it in an envelope she kept zipped in her duffel bag.

  Sometime during the day or evening, Joanie would stick a plate of food under Reece's nose. She'd eat in a corner of the kitchen while meat smoked on the grill, the jukebox played and people sat at the counter and gossiped.

  Three days after the storm, she was ladling up stew when Lo strolled back. He made a small production out of sniffing the air. "Something sure smells good."'

  "Tortilla soup." She had finally convinced Joanie to let her prepare one of her own recipes. "And it is good. Do you want a bowl?"

  "I was talking about you, but I wouldn't turn down a bowl of that."

  She handed him the one she'd just prepared, then reached up for another bowl. He slid up behind her, reaching up as she did. A classic move, Reece thought, as was her easy side step. "I've got it. Your mother's back in her office if you want to see her."

  "I'll catch her before I head out. Came in to see you."

  "Oh?" She filled the next bowl, sprinkled on the cheese she'd grated for it, the tortilla strips she'd fried. She thought wistfully how much better it would have been with fresh cilantro as she set it on a plate with a hard roll and two pats of butter. Shifting around, she put it in line. "Order up," she called out, then took the next ticket.

  Maybe she could talk Joanie into adding cilantro, and a few other fresh herbs, to the produce order. Some sun-dried tomatoes and arugula. If she could just—

  "Hey, where'd you go?" Lo demanded. "Can I come, too?"

  "What? Sorry, did you say something?"

  He looked a little put out, and surprised with it. She imagined he wasn't used to having a woman forget he was there. Boss's son. she reminded herself, and offered a quick smile. "I get caught up when I'm cooking."

  "Guess you do. Still, business is pretty light today."

  "Steady though." She got out the makings for a bacon cheeseburger and a chicken sandwich, kept moving to set up the two orders of fries.

  "Damn! This is good." He spooned up more of the soup.

  "Thanks. Make sure to tell the boss."

  "I'll do that. So, Reece, I checked the schedule. You're off tonight."

  "Mmm-hmm." She nodded at Pete when the bantamweight dishwasher came in from his break.

  "Thought you might want to take in a movie."

  "I didn't know there was a movie theater in town."

  "There isn't. I've got the best DVD collection in western Wyoming. Make a hell of a bowl of popcorn, too."

  "I wouldn't be surprised." Boss's son, Reece reminded herself again. Tread carefully between friendly and dismissive. "That's a nice offer, Lo, but I've got a lot of things to catch up on tonight. You want a roll with that soup?"

  "Maybe." He edged a little closer, not quite crowding her at the grill. "You know, honey, you're going to break my heart if you keep turning me down."

  "I doubt that." She kept it light as she flipped the grill orders, then got him a roll and a plate. "You don't want to get too close to the grill," she warned. "You may get splattered."

  Instead of taking the soup out to the restaurant as she'd hoped, he just leaned back against the work counter. "I've got an awful tender heart."

  "Then you want to steer clear of me," she told him. "I stomp all over them. I left a trail of bleeding and bruised hearts all the way from Boston. It's a sickness."

  "I might be the cure."

  She glanced at him then. Too good-looking, too full of charm. Once upon a time she might have enjoyed being pursued by him, even caught for a while. But she just didn't have the energy for games. "'You want the truth?"

  "Is it going to hurt?"

  It made her laugh. "I like you. I'd prefer to keep liking you. You're my boss's son, and that makes you the next thing to the boss in my lineup. I don't sleep with the boss, so I'm not going to sleep with you. But I appreciate the offer."

  "Didn't ask you to sleep with me yet," he pointed out.

  "Just saving us both time."

  He spooned up soup, ate in a slow and thoughtful way. His smile was the same—slow and thoughtful. "Bet I could change your mind, you give me half a chance."

  "That's why you're not getting one."

  "Maybe you'll get fired, or my ma'll disown me."

  When the fryer buzzed, she let the potatoes drain in the baskets while she finished the sandwiches. "I can't afford to get fired, and your mother loves you."

  She finished the orders, put them up. "Now go on out, sit at the counter and finish your soup. You re in the way. r />
  He grinned at her. "Bossy women are a weakness of mine."

  But he strolled out when she started on the next ticket.

  "He'll try again,'" Pete told her from the sink in a voice that still said Bronx even after eight years in Wyoming. "He can't help himself."

  She felt a little harried, a little hot. "Maybe I should've told him I was married, or a lesbian."

  "Too late for that now. Better tell him you've fallen wild in love with me." Pete sent her a grin, showing the wide gap between his two front teeth.

  She chuckled again. "Why didn't I think of that?"

  "Nobody does. That's why it'd work."

  Joanie came in, stuck a check in the pocket of Pete's apron, handed another to Reece. "Payday."

  "Thanks." And Reece made a decision on the spot. "I wonder it when you have a chance you could show me the apartment upstairs. If it's still available."

  "Haven't seen anybody move in, have you? In my office."

  "I need to—"

  "Do what you're told." Joanie finished and headed out.

  Left without a choice, Reece followed. Inside, Joanie opened a shallow wall cabinet emblazoned with a cowboy riding a bucking horse. There was an army of labeled keys on hooks. She took one out, passed it to Reece. "'Go on up, take a look."

  "It's not time for my break."

  Joanie cocked a hip, fisted a hand on it. "Girl, it's time it I say it's time. Go on. Stairs out the back."

  "All right. I'll be back in ten."

  It was cold enough even with the snow rapidly going to slush that she needed her coat. She was grateful for it once she'd climbed the rickety open stairs and unlocked the door, Joanie was obviously frugal enough to keep the heat off upstairs.

  She saw it was essentially one room with an alcove where an iron daybed was nestled, and a short counter on the street side that separated a little kitchen. The floors were random-length oak that showed some scars, while the walls were an industrial pasty-flesh beige.

  There was a bath that was actually slightly larger than the one in her hotel room with a white pedestal sink and an old cast-iron claw-toot tub. Rust stains bloomed around their drams. The mirror over the sink was spotted, the tiles a stark white with black borders.

  The main room held a sagging plaid sofa, a single faded blue armchair and a couple tables holding lamps that had obviously been tlea market bargains.

  She was smiling even before she turned to walk to the windows. A trio of them faced the mountains, and seemed to open up the world. She could see the sky where the blue streaks were fighting to overtake the dull white, and the lake where that blue was shimmering against the gray.

  The snow people were melting into deformed hobbits that spread low over the winter-brown grasses. The willows were shabby bent sticks, and the cottonwoods shivered. Shadows shifted over the snow-laced peaks as the clouds gathered and parted, and she thought she saw a faint glimmer that might have been an alpine lake.

  The town with its slushy streets, its cheerful white gazebo, its rustic cabins spread out below her. Standing where she was she felt a part of it, yet still safe and separate.

  "I could be happy here," she murmured. "I could be okay here."

  She'd have to buy some things. Towels, sheets, kitchen supplies, cleaning supplies. She thought of the paycheck in her pocket, the tip money squirreled away. She could manage the essentials. And it could be fun. The first time she'd bought her own things in nearly a year.

  Big step, she thought, then immediately began to second-guess herself. Was it too big a step, too soon? Renting an apartment, buying sheets. What if she had to leave? What if she got fired? What if—

  "God, I annoy myself," she muttered. "What-ifs are for tomorrow. The moment's what matters. And at this moment, I want to live here."

  As she thought it, clouds parted and a beam of fragile sunlight arrowed through them.

  That, she decided, was enough of a sign. She'd make a try here, for as long as it lasted.

  She heard footsteps on the stairs outside, and the bubble of fear opened in her chest. Groping in her pocket, she closed her hand around her panic button, gripped one of the tacky table lamps with the other.

  When Joanie opened the door, Reece set the lamp down as if she'd been examining it.

  "Ugly, but it gives decent light," Joanie said, and left it at that.

  "Sorry, I took longer than I meant to. I'll go right down."

  "No rush. We're slow, and Beck's on the grill. Long as it's nothing too complicated, he can handle things. You want the place or not?"

  "Yes, if I can manage the rent. You never said what—"

  In shirtsleeves, her stained apron and her thick-soled shoes, Joanie took a quick pass around the room. Then she named a monthly figure that was slightly less than the hotel rate.

  "That's including your heat and lights, unless I find you've gone crazy there. You want a phone, that's on you. Same thing if you get it into your head you want to paint the walls. I don't want a bunch of noise up here during business hours."

  "I'm pretty quiet. I'd rather we do it by the week. I like to pay as I go."

  "Doesn't matter to me as long as the rent's on time. You can move in today if you want."

  "Tomorrow. I need to get some things."

  "Suits me. Pretty sparse in here." Joanie's eagle eyes tracked around the room. "I probably have a few things sitting around I can bring up. You need help moving your stuff, Pete and Beck'll give you a hand with it."

  "I appreciate it. All of it."

  "You're paying your way. You got that raise coming."

  "Thanks."

  "No need for gratitude on something that was agreed on from the get-go. You do the job and you don't cause trouble. Don't ask questions, either. Now I figure that's either because you were absent the day they handed out your portion of curiosity, or you don't want questions asked back."

  "Is that a question or a statement?"

  "But you're not stupid." Joanie's hand patted her apron pocket where Reece knew she kept a pack of cigarettes. "Let's get this said. You got trouble. Anybody with two licks of sense can see it just by looking at you. I guess you've got what they like to call issues."

  "Is that what they call them?" Reece murmured.

  "The way I see it, if you're working through them or just standing still, it's your business. But you don't let it get in the way of your job, so that's mine. You're a good worker, and you're a better cook than I ever had behind the grill. I figure on making use of that, especially it I figure you're not going to go rabbiting off some night and leave me flat. I don't like to depend on anybody. You just get disappointed that way. But I'm going to make use of you, and you'll get your pay on time, and a reasonable rent on this place. You'll get your time off, and if you're still here in another couple months, you'll get another raise."

  "I won't leave you flat. If I need to go, I'll tell you beforehand."

  "Fair enough. Now I'm going to ask you straight out, and I'll know if you're lying. You got the law after you? "

  "No." Reece combed her fingers through her hair and let out a weak laugh. "God, no."

  "Didn't figure you did, but you might as well know some folks around here are speculating on that. People in the Fist like to speculate, passes the time." She waited a beat. "You don't want to say what it is behind you. that's your business, too. But it might help it someone comes looking for you, you tell me whether you want them to find you, or be pointed in another direction."

  "No one's going to come looking for me. There's only my grandmother, and she knows where I am. I'm not running from anyone." Except maybe herself, she thought.

  "All right, then. You've got the key. I got a duplicate in my office. You don't have to worry about me coming up and poking