Angel's Rest

chapter EIGHT





The first time Gabe had met Jack Davenport was when he’d sauntered up to his isolated prison cell, announced that he was a colleague of Gabe’s brother Matthew at the CIA, and asked if he was really worth the $3 million ransom Jack had just paid his captors. When Gabe responded that he might not be, but the prisoner in the next cell who wanted to renounce his terrorist ways and reveal some particularly valuable secrets most certainly was, Jack did some quick thinking, scheming, and executing—in both a literal and figurative sense.

By “killing” both John G. Callahan and the recalcitrant terrorist and silencing some of their captors with bullets and others with cash, they had managed to protect the information in such a way that enabled the eventual apprehension of four sleeper cells on American soil and the disruption of terror plots that would have cost thousands of American lives.

Jack Davenport was a true unsung American hero. He was also Gabe Callahan’s best friend. Pam knew that, too, so he wasn’t too terribly surprised to hear the whoop whoop of helicopter blades on Christmas Day or to see Davenport land the bird on the helipad next to Eagle’s Way.

Just because he wasn’t surprised that his friend had come, however, didn’t mean he was happy to see him.

Gabe was in a full-fledged funk, and it had nothing to do with the fact that today was Christmas Day. Gabe hadn’t managed to get past the events of Christmas Eve.

A whole soup of emotions flavored his mood. Embarrassment. Anger. Guilt. Shame. Mortification. Guilt. Humiliation. Guilt. Guilt, and more guilt.

He couldn’t believe how he’d acted. He’d all but attacked Nic, ripping her clothes right off her body. He recalled the shock in her eyes. Her tears.

He was a sorry son of a bitch. What he’d done to her was unforgivable. It went against everything he believed, and the only saving grace was that she had responded enthusiastically.

He’d picked up the phone half a dozen times to call her and apologize. He’d picked up his car keys more times than that, thinking to do it in person. Each time he’d chickened out.

What could he say to excuse himself? He’d taken her like an animal, then told her to leave. He simply couldn’t find the words to express his sorrow and his shame.

Which meant he could add coward on top of the other charges stacked against him.

As he watched Davenport power down the bird, he tried to banish all thought of Nicole Sullivan from his mind. The last thing he needed was to spill those particular beans to Jack.

Knowing his friend, he went into the kitchen and put a pot of coffee on to brew. Jack strolled inside a few moments later, and as a way of saying hello, asked, “What do you have to eat in this shack?”

“How about a Denver omelet? Appropriate, wouldn’t you say?” Gabe was finally hungry himself.

“Excellent choice. I’ll chop peppers. You do the onions.”

As Gabe handed over bell peppers from the fridge, he decided that Jack Davenport must have been born giving orders. A tall man with movie-star looks—Jen used to say that he had no choice but to become a spy because he looked so much like a young Sean Connery—Jack was the definition of a leader of men. Brilliant, decisive, cold-blooded when the situation required, and loyal to a fault, Jack earned the respect of everyone who knew him. Gabe would gladly follow him into any battle.

After breakfast, he followed him into the great room, where Jack sat in an overstuffed easy chair, kicked off his shoes, and crossed his feet at the ankles atop an ottoman. He eyed the boxer, who hadn’t bothered to lift his head off the dog bed Gabe had added to the room’s decor. “Looks like I need to charge you a pet deposit. What’s his name? Lazy?”

“He’s a stray who won’t stay away. Not my place to name him.”

Davenport snorted, then sipped his coffee and sighed with satisfaction. “Eagle’s Way is one of my favorite houses. I should spend more time here.”

“How many houses do you have?”

“Four, domestically. If you count internationally, that brings it up to six.”

“That’s obscene.”

“Hey, you don’t have room to talk. You’re no pauper.”

“I don’t have six houses.”

Jack shrugged. “What can I say? It’s the life of an international playboy.”

Now it was Gabe’s turn to snort. Jack Davenport was the most dedicated, hardworking American patriot Gabe had ever known.

He wondered when Jack would get around to telling him why he’d come to Colorado on Christmas Day. He had no intention of asking. Experience had taught him that Jack Davenport did things at his own pace, and that the fastest way to get the information he wanted was to keep his mouth shut.

“What can you tell me about Celeste Blessing?” Jack asked.

Okay, he’d surprised Gabe with that. “What do you want to know?”

“I read the local rag. I know about the spa venture and that she talked you into some design work. What sort of person is she? Is she a player?”

Gabe considered the question. “She’s unique,” he finally replied. “I like her a lot. I’ve never seen her be anything but kind. I wouldn’t call her a player, but I do think there is more to her than meets the eye. She claims to be a retired schoolteacher, but she apparently has serious cash. There’s no denying that she’s been a force for good in this town.”

“Interesting.” Jack took another sip of his coffee, then his mouth twisted with a rueful grin. “I can definitely tell you there is more to her than meets the eye. I don’t know whom she knows, but she managed to track me down.”

“You’re kidding.” Gabe was shocked. Jack fiercely protected his privacy. “I didn’t tell her anything.”

Jack waved that away. “Never thought you did.”

“What did she want?”

“She asked if my family had any journals, diaries, or other written documents that might contain clues about the town’s big mystery.”

“The Cellar Bride?” Gabe pursed his lips and nodded. “Smart thinking. Did you have anything?”

“Possibly. I found a stack of letters from Daniel Murphy to my great-great-grandfather. One of them told of a runaway bride. I didn’t look into it any further. My plate is plenty full from dealing with contemporary murders—I don’t have time to concern myself with historical ones. We’ve had a really sticky situation going on of late with some of your old friends in the Balkans.”

“We should have killed more of those dirtbags when we had the chance.”

“I completely agree. Anyway, I brought the letters with me. Figured the local historical society had more use for them than I do.”

Jack drained his coffee cup, then set it aside. Gabe sensed the change in subject even before his friend said, “Pam called me.”

“I figured as much when you showed up here out of the blue. Don’t you have something better to do on Christmas than babysit an old friend?”

“Actually, I do.” Jack shifted his stare away from the sad excuse of a Christmas tree and met Gabe’s gaze. “I’m headed to one of those other homes I mentioned for a week or so of R, R, and R.”

“Rest, relaxation, and …?”

“Rum. It’s my place in the Caribbean. I just stopped by here to see if you wanted to tag along.”

Gabe rose to his feet. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as you can throw your swimsuit, flip-flops, and a toothbrush in a bag. Although”—Jack gestured toward the tree—“it’s probably best to go ahead and take that down before we go. Fire hazard, you know.”

Emotional hazard, he meant, and he was right. No sense running away from Christmas just to find it waiting for him when he got back. Half an hour later, all sign of the holiday had been returned to boxes and stored out of sight. “What about the dog?” Jack asked. “If he was smaller, we could take him with us, but he won’t ride easily in the bird.”

Gabe looked at the boxer, who responded with a lazy thump of his tail against floor. The obvious person to call for help here would be Nic, but he’d rather eat glass than make that call here in front of Jack. “I’ll text somebody in town to come get him. The letters, too.”

“Excellent. Then let’s roll. I want to watch the sunset from my beach cabana with an umbrella drink in my hand.”

As they left the house, Gabe turned to his friend. “Jack … I … thanks.”

“Merry Christmas, Gabe,” Jack Davenport said with a grin. “You can call me Santa.”


The mouthwatering aroma of roasting turkey wafted through Sarah’s house early in the afternoon on Christmas Day as Nic heard her cell sound the arrival of a text message. She flipped open her phone, checked the message, and her chin dropped. “A text? He sends me a text?”

Sarah looked over her shoulder. “Who sent you a text?”

“That jerk!”

“Your ex?”

Apparently. If she even could be considered an ex. After all, it hadn’t even been a one-night stand. She hadn’t even had a night. “Gabe Callahan.”

“You’re calling Gabe a jerk? Why?”

“Look.”

Nic shoved her phone at Sarah who read aloud. “ ‘Leaving town. Dog @ EW. Code 195847362. Pls get him & letters for C.’ I guess EW means Eagle’s Way, and I guess C is for Celeste? What letters?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. He’s got a lot of nerve. This is Christmas! He shouldn’t expect me to drop what I’m doing and run up to his precious estate.”

Sarah handed back Nic’s phone. “Maybe it’s a trick. Maybe he’s trying to lure you up to his lair. I think he has a thing for you. He looks. I’ve caught him watching you.”

Nic stared at the screen on her cell. She hadn’t told the girls about the Christmas Eve event. What had happened at Eagle’s Way was personal and private and … devastating. For that short time, she’d become a part of Gabe’s pain, and it had destroyed her.

It wasn’t the sex that had left her quaking like a stand of aspens on a breezy day while she drove back to town yesterday. To be honest, sex with Gabe Callahan had been the most thrilling—if not satisfying—of her life. But afterward, to see him lose it, to watch him break down and mourn from the depths of his soul, had literally changed something inside her. Yesterday, through his grief, Gabe had shown her love with a capital L. Love like she’d never experienced.

If it hurt him that much to lose it, think of how wonderful it must have been to live it. How different from her own marriage it must have been.

She’d mourned her marriage and the dreams it had represented when it ended. She had loved Greg, or at least she’d loved the man she’d believed him to be. But even at the very worst of it, she’d never felt even a tenth of the emotion that Gabe had demonstrated yesterday. It had taken her years to recover, to get to the point where she could be ready to try again. If she’d needed years, Gabe Callahan would need decades. Chances were he’d never be ready to love again.

She wasn’t willing to play those odds. How could she compete with a dead woman? She couldn’t, so she wasn’t going to try. She’d played second fiddle enough in her life already. She refused to do it again.

“He might look, Sarah. He might even be willing to taste. But I want more than that. I deserve more than that. I won’t risk my heart for anything less.”

Sarah’s eyes widened and she drew back. “Whoa there, girlfriend. I wasn’t suggesting you fall in love with the man. I was thinking more along the lines of a kiss beneath the mistletoe.”

“Yeah, well, mistletoe can kill you.”

Sarah tilted her head and studied Nic for a long minute. “All right. What am I missing here? What aren’t you telling me?”

Nic debated how to respond. She and Sarah had a long history of sharing the highs and lows of their love lives. Ordinarily she would at least admit that something had happened, even if she didn’t provide details. This time was different. She didn’t have the words to explain what had happened yesterday even if she’d wanted to do so. Instead, she dodged the question by saying, “Believe me when I say that Gabe Callahan is unavailable. I didn’t realize just how unavailable until lately. I don’t think that sending me this text was his ham-handed way to ask me for a date. I think it’s just what he said. Gabe Callahan has left the building … and he’s neglected to take along his dog.”

The skeptical look in her best friend’s eyes told Nic that Sarah wasn’t buying her claim. “I’ll let it go for now. It is Christmas, after all. That said, I’m no dummy. I know there is more to the story of this text message than what you are telling me. Don’t think that we won’t revisit the subject.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, in the meantime, speaking of mistletoe …” She nodded toward Sarah’s entry hall, where one of the more interesting residents of the county, the mountain man known by only one name—Bear—crooked his finger in an attempt to lure his woman beneath the mistletoe. Patricia Robertson, who prior to joining Bear in his yurt northeast of town had worked for NASA as an honest-to-God rocket scientist, giggled like a schoolgirl as she allowed her lover to bend her over backward in a thorough kiss.

“Isn’t love amazing? You know what Patricia told me this morning when I asked how she could stand living on the mountain in winter with only a wood stove for heat? She said all she needed was a rug, a blanket, and a Bear to keep her warm.”

“Ahhh …”

When the kiss broke up and Bear set Patricia back on her feet, they saw Sarah and Nic watching. Bear winked, and Patricia said, “Missed your chance, girls. He’s mine.”

Nic thought about that moment an hour later as she drove toward Murphy Mountain. How powerful the force must be to have compelled Patricia to abandon her career to live in the back of nowhere with a man who considered indoor plumbing a luxury. She envied those lucky enough to find it. She wondered if they realized just how blessed they were.

She wondered if Gabe considered himself blessed or cursed.

In the big scheme of things, which was worse? To have that sort of love for a short time and lose it, or never to have known that depth of love at all? Obviously the answer would be different for different people, but since Nic believed that life should be lived to the fullest, she’d rather have a great love and lose it than never experience it. Of course, what she wanted most of all was a grand love that lasted the rest of her life.

“Hey, it could happen,” she murmured aloud as she stopped at Eagle’s Way’s gate and rolled down her window to input the security code. “Just not with the likes of Gabe Callahan.”

And yet, as she continued up the drive toward the house, a subtle tension stirred within her. Could Sarah have been right? Would he be waiting for her, an apology at the ready? If so, how should she respond? What should she say? What did she want to say to him?

Except for telling him what she’d thought of his text message, Nic drew a blank. She’d have to see what he said first and go from there.

As it turned out, she need not have concerned herself with the question. Unlike yesterday, the house was dark. No smoke rose from the chimney. No Christmas carols floated on the air.

Taped to the front door, she found a folded note with her name written across the front. She yanked it off the door, opened it, and read: He’s in the mud room. Same security code as the gate. Sack of letters on the workbench. G.

“I was right the first time. He is a jerk.”


For the next week, Nic quietly fumed and tried her best to put Gabe Callahan, jerk, out of her mind. She told herself that she refused to let him ruin her holidays, so on New Year’s Eve, when she would have preferred crawling into bed early with a good book, she packed an overnight bag and joined her friends at Cavanaugh House for a previously planned event.

As she donned the Christmas gift Sage had given her in the bedroom Celeste had assigned to her, Nic glanced in the mirror and finally shook off her blue mood. Okay, maybe Sage’s idea wasn’t so stupid after all. Feeling delightfully silly, Nic headed downstairs. At the second-floor landing, she paused and eyed the banister. Dressed like this, she was tempted to slide her way to the ground floor.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sarah said from the ground floor below. “I wanted to do it, too.”

Nic looked at her friend and laughed. “Oh my gosh, Sarah. You look ten years old.”

Like Nic, she wore fleece footed pajamas, green frogs against a pink background print. “I think I look darling.”

“You do look darling. We both look darling.”

“That yellow looks good on you. I love the puppies.”

“Thank you.” Then, indulging in her inner child, she balanced her butt on the banister and slid her way to the floor. She and Sarah both were laughing when they entered Celeste’s drawing room to find Sage and Celeste already waiting for them. Noting the prints on their pajamas—butterflies for Sage and angels for Celeste—Nic shook her head and asked, “How perfect. Where did you find these, Sage?”

“A little store in New England. The owner bought one of my butterfly paintings, and she sent me my pair with a note saying that my work inspired her.”

“Well, I love my pair,” Celeste said, holding out a foot and wriggling it. “They’re so soft and warm and perfect for a slumber party. Now, y’all take a look at the sideboard and tell me if I’ve forgotten anything.”

Nic spied chocolate chip cookies, chocolate cake, pimento cheese sandwiches, popcorn, peanuts, chips, crackers, and party mix. “I get a stomachache just looking at all that food.”

“Not me,” Sarah said, filling a plate with fats and calories. “I’m starving. I was running late leaving Gunnison, and I didn’t stop for dinner.”

Celeste offered her a kindly smile. “I’ll bet your mother loved her room. Meadows Place is a wonderful facility.”

Earlier today, Sarah had taken her mother to a memory-care assisted-living facility for a week of respite care—Sarah’s Christmas gift from Celeste. Sarah had been reluctant to keep the reservation until Nic and Sage lobbied long enough to convince her that Ellen Reese would enjoy the activities the five-star facility had to offer. “It’s a great place, Celeste, and a too-generous gift.”

“Nonsense. Every woman deserves a week of pampering now and then.”

“Here, here,” Sage said, snagging a cookie off Sarah’s plate. “Now, what’s this big surprise you promised us, Celeste? The one that’s supposed to make us forget we are sitting in footie pajamas drinking hot cider with nary a man in sight on New Year’s Eve?”

Nic tossed a piece of popcorn at her. “Hey, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t this sleepover your idea? Didn’t you buy these PJs specifically for tonight?”

“Yes. You’re right. My bad. It’s because of the date from hell last New Year’s Eve.”

Sarah spoke to Celeste. “If we stay up late and get silly, ask her to do her imitation of Gareth Hollingsworth the Third.”

“No.” Now Sage threw popcorn back at Sarah. “I promised I wouldn’t make fun of him anymore. It wasn’t kind.”

“He’s a man. You don’t have to be kind.” Nic dropped down into her favorite chair in the room, the wooden rocker that felt like it had been made for her butt. “Except when it comes to Colt Rafferty. I love this chair. The man is an artist with wood.”

Sage wrinkled her nose, her usual reaction to the mention of Colt Rafferty. The woman had a competitive streak a mile long when it came to her art. Nic found it amusing to watch.

“The surprise, Celeste?” Sage repeated before Nic could think of a good way to tease her further about Colt.

Celeste nodded and lifted an envelope from the mantel. “As you may know, a few weeks ago I contacted Jack Davenport in search of any information he might have regarding our Cellar Bride. As a result of that query, he provided me letters written by Daniel Murphy to Jack’s great-great-grandfather, Lucien Davenport. One of them proved quite illuminating.”

“Awesome,” Sarah said.

Celeste continued, “Nic, would you read it aloud for me?”

Nic wiped her fingers on a paper napkin, then accepted the envelope from Celeste. Paper crinkled as she carefully removed a folded sheet of paper and opened it. She read aloud:

Dear Lucien,

I hope this missive finds you and your family well. For my part, I have some hard news to share.

Previously, I mentioned I had met the love of my life, a bonny lass by the name of Miss Winifred Smith, whom I came to call Angel after hearing the sweet, celestial sound of her voice as she lifted her voice to the Lord in church. On the day we were to wed, my angel disappeared. She is lost, Lucien. My angel is lost.

I am lost.

My world is ended and Eternity Springs has assigned the blame to me. They believe she forsook my love for another, and in a jealous fit I pushed her off the falls above town. They name me a murderer. It is a lie, Lucien. A brazen lie. I loved her more than life itself.

I am heartbroken. I am lost. As lost as my lost angel. Please pray for me.

Your friend,

Daniel

“Wow,” Sage said.

Nic blew out a breath. “There’s a photograph in the envelope. Look.”

Nic held up a sepia-toned photo of a lovely young woman. Around her neck she wore a silver locket engraved with the silhouette of an angel’s wings. Sarah said, “That’s the locket Zach found with the remains. It’s her. The Cellar Bride was Winifred Smith.”

“Daniel Murphy’s lost angel,” Sage spoke in a soft tone.

As Nic stared at the photo, sadness filled her heart. “She’s been here all along. At Cavanaugh House.”

“Not Cavanaugh House,” Celeste said. “Not any longer. I’ve been searching for the perfect name for our healing center and spa, and now I have found it. My dear friends, though our winter is far from over, spring waits on the horizon. Old wrongs will be righted and healing will come to Eternity Springs. The first step has been taken here, at Angel’s Rest.”

“Angel’s Rest,” Sage repeated. “I like it.”

Sarah pursed her lips in thought, then nodded. “It’s a great name. It’s a perfect fit.”

Nic met Celeste’s gaze. “We need to tell Zach. We need to bring her back and give her a proper burial.”

“We will.” Celeste’s smile warmed the room. “In good time. As soon as Eternity’s long winter is over.”

For a long moment, the room remained silent but for the hissing and crackling of the fire. Then Celeste, being Celeste, shifted from wise woman to girlfriend and said, “Now, how about we pop in the DVD? I have a hankering to see the new year in with Bond, James Bond. Sarah? Pass me the cookies, would you, please?”