Cowboys & Navy SEALs

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Blackness swirled around Gracie as the scene vanished. She had the brief sensation of falling through empty space and then came the flash of light. She opened her eyes, surprised to find that she was back at the arena, sitting in the same seat she was in when Sheldon first approached her. She looked around at the masses of people hollering and cheering for the cowboy riding the bull. The bright lights of the arena and the commotion were such a jarring contrast to the streets of New York that she had the eerie feeling that none of this was real. She couldn’t really be an angel, could she? Maybe she was caught up in a marathon dream that had no end. A wave of dizziness rolled over her, and then she felt sick to her stomach. She looked to her right and realized that Sheldon was studying her, a peculiar expression on his face.

Her brain felt sluggish like she was trying to swim through muddled water. She’d grown accustomed to Gertrude transporting her to various places with the wave of a hand, but this was different. This was like being thrust into another life. “What just happened? Were we really in New York?”

“I shared a memory with you.”

She tried to process what he was saying. “So, everything I just witnessed came from your head?”

He nodded.

“But it was so real.”

“Of course it was real. It happened to me.”

She scoped his perfect face, looking for a residue of the beating. Without thinking, she reached and touched the area above his right eyebrow. “There’s no scar.”

“There was for many years, but it eventually faded.”

She fought to reconcile the gangly boy with the perfect specimen sitting beside her. A thousand questions tumbled in her mind, and she hardly knew which one to ask first. “Your mother?”

Long pause. “She died two years later.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

She tried to discern the look in his eyes. Was it regret? Sadness? Anger? She couldn’t tell. He’d grown too expert at masking his feelings.

“Y-you …” the words got caught in her throat, and she couldn’t stop the tears from puddling down her cheeks. He placed a hand over hers, encouraging her to continue. She took a deep breath, trying her best to keep the emotion in check. “You took that filthy bread home to your mother ...” she gulped and then forced the words out “ … because that’s all you had to eat.” Her eyes met Sheldon’s, and for a split second, she caught a glimpse of the vulnerable boy in the shadow of his features, but it faded in the blink of an eye. “You were worried because you’d seen drops of blood on her handkerchief.”

He rocked back in surprise. “How did you know?”

“You showed me.”

A furrow appeared between his brows. “No, I took you to where I was running down the street and when I was attacked. That’s all.”

Why had he gotten so defensive all of a sudden? Mentally, she replayed the experience. “When you were running, I felt your thoughts. It was like the information was flowing into me.” She gave him a tender look. “I could feel your hunger … your fear.”

He swallowed hard, and it was as if the curtains were coming down over his features like he was retreating into himself. “I see.”

Unease gripped her. “I don’t understand. I thought you wanted to show me your past, so that I could understand who you are.”

“I did.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “But I didn’t expect you to access my thoughts. No one has ever done that before.”

Had he shown other people that experience? Other women? She’d assumed that she was special, but obviously not. Bitterness cloaked her like a blanket of thorns.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You have a funny look on your face.”

“I just think it’s interesting that you would go to all of that trouble to share a portion of your life with me, then get mad about it.”

“I’m not mad,” he countered.

“Yes, you are.”

He tightened his jaw. “No, I’m not.” He balled his fist. “Why do you always have to be so difficult?”

She glared at him, not backing down an inch. “Why do you always insist on showering me with fake charm?”

His eyes grew round. “Fake charm? What?”

It was refreshing to catch a glimpse of the real Sheldon—the one behind the perfect mask. And it was also refreshing to know that she could get a rise out of him.

He let out a derisive chuckle. “Oh, you mean the pathetic little boy fighting for his life on the streets? That boy?”

She cringed at bitterness in his voice. “That’s not what I meant.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Well, what exactly did you mean?”

Irritation bubbled up her neck and she had to fight to keep her voice from rising. “I only meant that it would be nice if you would simply be you, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I don’t think you would like that very much.”

The dangerous edge in his voice stopped her cold. It was just the medicine she needed to bring her back to reality. Her heart had bled for the boy, and her instinct was to protect him at all costs, but Sheldon was no longer that helpless boy. The ruthless man had snuffed him out long ago to the point where he was on the road to becoming a dark angel. Maybe Gertrude was right. Maybe there was no hope of ever changing him. It was a bleak thought that left a heavy knot in her stomach.

She folded her arms tightly over her chest and stared unseeingly at the action going on below. He touched her arm. “Hey.”

She ignored him.

“Hey,” he said more insistently.

She jerked around to face him. “What?”

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You’re really cute when you’re angry.”

“What? Now you’re making fun of me?”

“No, I was just making an observation.” His eyes searched hers. “I’m sorry. I mean it.”

An unexpected rush of tenderness swept over her, and she felt herself soften. “Tell me about the man.”

“The man?”

“The one that saved you.”

A tortured look came over him in the instant before his eyes grew distant. “I started out running basic errands for him—picking up items for his restaurant, washing dishes, sweeping the floors, relaying messages. Matteo became like a father to me. Had it not been for him, my mother and I would’ve been thrown into the street.”

She could tell that he was censoring the story, telling her only the parts he wanted her to know. Matteo could’ve been a character right out of The Godfather , and she got the distinct impression that he not only looked the part but acted it as well. He was a tough cookie who did little for others unless he got something in return. She figured that the only reason he took Sheldon in was because he was scrappy and brave … and Italian. She should’ve guessed right off that Sheldon was Italian with his olive skin, dark lashes, prominent nose, and high cheekbones. “You don’t have an Italian accent.”

He shrugged. “That’s what happens when you’ve been around as long as I have … and circled the globe countless times.”

“Your accent is what I call neutral Midwestern.” She cocked her head. “Did you purposefully erase the Italian because you were embarrassed about your upbringing?”

“That’s absurd,” he said, but she could tell from the way his jaw tensed that she’d hit a nerve.

She shrugged. “That’s why most people do it. I always got flack about my Southern accent when I lived in California, but I refused to change it. I figured that people could either take me as I was or not at all.”

He smirked. “That’s good to know. But not everyone has the luxury of being as self possessed as you.”

She let the jab slide with a roll of her eyes as her thoughts went back to Matteo. She wanted to ask Sheldon more about him. Her intuition told her that Sheldon’s association with Matteo was the key to finding out why he’d become a candidate for a dark angel. As she was searching for a way to broach the topic without thoroughly ticking him off, she saw him tense. She followed his trail of vision and realized that his eyes were fixed on the woman walking down the open path below their section of seats. An intense envy welled inside of Gracie as she watched the exchange between Sheldon and the woman. With as little as a look, she had some invisible hold over him that was pulling him out of her reach.

To say that the woman was beautiful would’ve been a gross understatement. Her flawless skin was pale, and her features were so perfect they might’ve been carved from alabaster. Her brown hair was nearly black, and it was as fluid as water, cascading over her shoulders and almost down to her waist. She was model thin and tall but also shapely. As far as Gracie could tell, she was the picture of perfection, without a single flaw.

When the woman broke eye contact with Sheldon and fixed a malevolent gaze on Gracie, she could almost feel icy fingers slithering around her and choking out all hope. The woman was the embodiment of darkness … a terrible darkness that had the power to rip away everything good, leaving only suffering. Panic rippled through her as she gasped and caught hold of Sheldon’s arm. He shook his head as if coming out of a daze and gave her a strained smile. “I have to go.” His voice sounded rushed … distracted.

She grasped his arm tighter. “Who is she?” she whispered, even though she already knew the answer.

“Mallory.” He gave her a sad smile. “You know how I’m always telling you that Gertrude is your guard dog?”

She nodded.

“Well, Mallory is mine. And I’m being summoned.” There was a look of resignation on his face as he let out a breath that reminded her of buoyancy leaving a balloon.

A sick dread came over her. She couldn’t stand the thought of him going with that horrible being. “Don’t go. Stay with me. We can fix this. There’s good in you. I’ve felt it.”

She almost could see the conflicting emotions battling within him as he looked into her eyes. He needed her. She could feel it. He was dangling over an abyss, and even though he was right beside her, there was nothing she could do to save him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I can’t.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek as he pulled away from her and made his way to the demon woman below. Something shifted inside of Gracie when she saw the triumphant look on Mallory’s face. A fierce determination rose in her as she met Mallory’s glare full on. Mallory might’ve won this battle, but the war was not over. Not by a long shot.