Part 21 (1/2)

When Angel opened her eyes, Hawk was gone.

Before she could call out, he emerged from the cabin with a basin of steaming water in his hands. He sat down again, then bent over Angel and touched the skin around her wounds with exquisite care.

She drew in a swift breath.

aHurt?a Hawk asked, lifting his fingers.

Angel shook her head. She could think of no way to tell Hawk that it was pleasure rather than pain that had made her gasp.

The gentleness of his touch radiated through her, taking away pain as surely as hot water took the inflammation from her back. The washcloth touched her again, bringing a soothing, healing heat to her flesh. With a s.h.i.+vering breath, Angel relaxed and gave herself to the sensation of his unexpected tenderness.

Hawk saw as well as felt Angel give herself to his touch. The knowledge that he had brought her something besides pain eased the talons of need and regret digging into him.

Then the easing of his own tension taught him that there was more to his desire for Angel than simple s.e.xual hunger.

He needed to know that he was capable of more than destruction and hurt. He needed to believe that being with Angel wouldnat be another kind of wounding for her, a deeper, more destructive wounding that would ultimately poison her as he had been poisoned long ago.

Hawk couldnat take back the past, wiping out his bitterness and all its consequences. He could try to explain what had happened, though, and then perhaps Angel would realize that he hadnat meant to hurt her, not really.

Not the person who was Angel Lange.

Hawk had simply been doing what he had always done since he was eighteen, using women as casually and cruelly as he himself had been used.

But how can I explain that?

When Hawk finally spoke, his voice was as calm as the soft sounds of the water as he rinsed the washcloth.

aI was twelve when my father died,a Hawk said. aThe tractor rolled on him, crus.h.i.+ng him. I tried . . . but there was nothing I could do to help him.a Angelas hands curled slightly, fingernails digging into the quilt. Hawk spoke of death so calmly, a fact like sunset, just one fact among the many facts of life.

aGrandma and I couldnat handle the farm alone, but we couldnat afford to hire a man,a Hawk said. aShe had another grandchild. A true grandchild, as she always pointed out to me. Her daughteras daughter.a Silence. Then, aJenna was eighteen when she came to live with us. She was strong, wild, and cold as a winter wind.a Instinctively Angel knew that Jenna was the woman who had taught Hawk how to hate. It was there in his voice, ice and contempt.

aThe three of us kept that farm alive,a Hawk said. aIt was brutal work. Grandma died when I was fourteen. Jenna became my guardian.a Hawk hesitated, comparing what he was about to tell Angel with her own teenage years, picnics on the beach and laughter. Innocence.

aJenna seduced me the night of Grandmaas funeral.a Angel couldnat conceal the shock that went through her.

aYou were only fourteen!a she said.

aI was man-sized and Iad been woman hungry for two years without knowing it. Jenna knew, though. She knew everything about men. She was a born wh.o.r.e. Cold-hearted s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g was her specialty.a Angel made a small sound.

aI didnat know what Jenna was then,a Hawk said, his voice rich with self-contempt. aMy body was a manas, but my judgment and emotions were those of a boy. I thought Jenna was the most perfect woman G.o.d ever made.a Hawkas near-silent, bitter laughter raked over Angelas nerves. She bit back a protest at the pain he had endured.

The pain was still caught within.

aThe truth was a bit different,a Hawk said. aThe truth was that I was the biggest fool G.o.d ever made.a Angel rose up on her elbows, twisting in order to see Hawkas face.

aYou were just a boy,a she said. aHow could you expect yourself to know about aa”aa”a ab.i.t.c.h?a Hawk suggested sardonically. aWh.o.r.e? s.l.u.t? Iave called Jenna those names and worse. All of them were true, especially the worst ones.a His eyes narrowed to glittering brown lines, but his voice was neutral when he spoke again.

aJenna told me we needed money, so I took to racing boats, cars, whatever I could get my hands on. I had good reflexes and a kidas belief in life everlasting. I won more than I lost.a Breath held, Angel waited.

aI gave the money to Jenna,a Hawk said, aand she kept the bank from closing us down during the dry years. Then we had two good years, rain and sun in just the right amounts at just the right times.a Hawk looked at Angel and realized that the washcloth had fallen from her back.

aLie down,a he said quietly.

Angel hesitated. She wanted to see Hawkas face while he talked.

Strong hands pressed gently on her shoulders.

She gave in, lying down again. But her eyes never left his face as he wrung out the wash-cloth in hot water. She hardly noticed when the cloth again rested on her back, held in place by the light pressure of Hawkas hand.

aI kept on racing,a Hawk said. aThe money was better than anything I could make working on the farm. Then Jenna came to me with a plana”sell the farm and buy a real car for me to race.a Hawkas voice was lazy, but cold contempt for himself and Jenna made every word distinct, cutting.

aI couldnat believe my luck,a he said. aNot only was I s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the hottest piece of tail in all of Texas, but she was willing to give me her half of the farm so that I could race in the big time. What more could any boy ask?a Love, said Angel.

But she said it only to herself. She was learning why Hawk thought love such a bitter sham.

aSo we went to the lawyer and signed the papers,a Hawk continued. aThe money would come to me on my eighteenth birthday, the day Jenna stopped being my guardian. We were going to get married, buy a race car, and live happily ever after.a Hawk said no more.

Angel tensed. She didnat want to ask, knew she shouldnat, she had no right . . . but she couldnat stop herself.

aWhat happened?a Angel asked starkly.

22.

At first Angel didnat think that Hawk was going to answer. Then he shrugged and began speaking again. His voice was cold and remote.

And so was Hawk.

aI came back from a race the day of my eighteenth birthday, grinning like an idiot, a s.h.i.+ny plastic trophy in my hands,a Hawk said. aThere was n.o.body in the house but a young woman. A stranger. She was pregnant, and as surprised to see me as I was to see her.a When the silence became more difficult than words, Angel said, aI donat understand.a aNeither did I. Then she told me that her husband had bought the farm from Jenna, paid cash, owned every d.a.m.n thing except the clothes on my back.a The silence stretched so long that Angel was afraid Hawk wouldnat speak anymore. Finally he did. His voice was flat, bland, as though the past no longer had the power to hurt him.

It hurt Angel, though. She kept thinking of the boy who had h.o.a.rded a Christmas candy cane and still treasured the sweet memory, a tangible symbol of someone caring for him, if only a little, and only once.

aSeems that Iad signed my half of the farm over to Jenna in that lawyeras office,a Hawk said.

Contempt and amus.e.m.e.nt laced his voice and made his eyes as bleak as a winter sky.

aSeems that Jenna had been sleeping with that lawyer for a while,a Hawk said. aSeems that I was on my own. And Jenna? Well, Jenna was gone. Big city lights and men who didnat have Texas dirt ground into the skin of their hands.a aWhat did you do?a asked Angel after a moment.

Her voice was soft, almost afraid. The Hawk she knew today would have hunted Jenna down. Then Angel realized that the Hawk she knew today wouldnat have been taken in by Jenna.

Hawk wouldnat have cared enough to hunt anyone down.

aI raced cars,a Hawk said.

The clipped words told Angel more than she wanted to know. She saw a younger Hawk driving like a man possessed, not caring about living or dying or anything in between.

aI had women, too,a Hawk said. aAs long as I was winning, anyway. Too many losses, a crash, and the women went away. Start winning again, and they came back like great, buzzing black flies.a Angel closed her eyes at the contempt in Hawkas voice, contempt for the women and for himself.