An Angel for Emily Read online

As Emily reached the door to the outside, she was beginning to relax. Whatever was wrong with her? The man had just been hit by a car! It was no telling what a person might say after being knocked down a mountain. Maybe she’d misheard him and what he’d really said was that he felt his guardian angel had protected him. Yes, of course, she thought, smiling. Believing in guardian angels was all the rage lately. Having one meant a person was personally watched over by Heaven. A guardian angel could make a person feel very special.

  She was musing on this idea so intently that she didn’t see him until she was inside the car and buckled in her seat.

  “Now I see why you mortals sleep so much,” he said as he gave a bone-cracking yawn and Emily nearly jumped out of her skin. He was sitting in the passenger seat.

  “What are you doing in my car?” she half screamed.

  “Waiting for you,” he said, as though she’d said something odd.

  “How did you get in here? It was locked and—” She cut him off before he could say another word. “And so help me, if you say that you’re an angel and that’s why you can open locked car doors, I’ll…I’ll….” She never had been very good with threats. Instead, she opened her door and started to get out.

  “Emily,” he said as he caught her arm and drew her back in.

  She snatched out of his grasp. “Keep your hands off of me!” She drew a deep breath and tried to calm herself. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I want you to get out of my car and go back to wherever you came from. I am very sorry I ran into you but the doctor says you’re fine, so you can go home. Do I make myself clear?”

  He gave another of his huge yawns. “This isn’t your town, is it? Do you have one of those…mmmm…what do you call them? Places where you stay overnight.”

  “A hotel?”

  “Yes,” he said and looked at her as though she were a genius. “Do you have a hotel room where we can stay?”

  “We?” she asked, anger just below the surface. She was no longer afraid of him, just fed up.

  Leaning back against the headrest, he smiled. “I can read your mind, Emily. You’re thinking about sex. Why do mortals think about sex so very much of the time? If you people just used a little restraint—”

  “Out!” she shouted. “Get out of my car! Get out of my life!”

  “It’s that man, isn’t it?” he asked, turning toward her. “He let you down again, didn’t he?”

  For a moment she had no idea what he was talking about, then she nearly exploded. “Donald? You’re asking me about the man I love?”

  “Isn’t there something in this country named that? Or is that in Persia? Now, what was that? Oh yes, a duck. He’s—”

  At that, Emily doubled her fists and lunged at him as though to beat him in the chest. But he caught her wrists in his hands, then looked at her for several moments nose to nose. “Your eyes are quite nice, Emily,” he said in a low voice that made her hesitate before jerking away to lean back in the driver’s seat.

  “What do you want?” she asked heavily.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t know why I’m here. Michael told me there was a serious problem on Earth that involved you, and he asked if I’d be willing to take on a mortal’s body so I could solve it.”

  “I see,” Emily said tiredly. “And just who is this Michael?”

  “Archangel Michael, of course.”

  “Of course,” Emily said. “Whatever was I thinking? And I guess Gabriel is your very best friend.”

  “Heavens no. I’m only a level-six angel. Those two are…. Well, they don’t even have levels where they are. But when Michael asks you to do something, you do it. No questions asked.”

  “So you came to earth to help me do something—”

  “Or to help with something involving you.”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you for correcting me. And now that that’s straightened out—”

  “Emily, we are both tired. These mortal bodies are certainly awkward, heavy things and—what is it you say?—I’m asleep on my head.”

  “Feet,” she said wearily.

  “Your feet? Did you hurt them?”

  “Asleep on my feet. I am asleep on my feet.”

  “Me too,” he said. “But I think I’d really rather be asleep on my back. Could we go to your hotel now? I got you one with two beds, didn’t I? Or did they disobey me? Sometimes making mortals actually hear you is difficult. You people don’t listen very well.”

  Emily opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. Maybe if she slept, when she awoke she’d find out this was all a dream. She put the key in the engine, started the car and drove to the inn without saying another word.

  Chapter 2

  WHEN EMILY AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING, HER FIRST feeling was of panic. She was going to be late for work or she was to meet someone to talk about town business or she had to…. It was with disbelief, then blessed relief, that she realized she had the whole weekend off. She didn’t have to do anything at all until next Tuesday, and this was only Saturday.

  Turning over under the heavenly down comforter, snuggling deep into the lovely white sheets, she thought, What a strange dream I had last night, of brown-eyed angels and car wrecks and…. She drifted back to sleep without finishing her thought.

  Sunlight shining in her eyes woke her, and as she squinted up at the window she seemed to see a man standing in front of the bright light. She couldn’t see his face, but he seemed to be wearing a huge set of white wings. “I’m not awake yet,” she mumbled and moved back under the covers.

  “Good morning,” said a pleasant male voice.

  Ignoring the voice, Emily kept her eyes closed.

  “I brought you breakfast,” the voice said. “There are strawberries just picked from the landlord’s garden and tiny muffins made with carrots. And there’s cold milk and hot tea and I had the landlady make you an egg, just barely cooked so the yolk is firm. That’s the way you like eggs, isn’t it?”

  With each word she heard, the night before came back to her. Of course what she remembered couldn’t possibly be true. Cautiously, she pushed down the comforter and looked at him. He had on the same dark shirt and dark trousers from last night, and now in the light she could see that they were dirty and stained.

  “Go away,” she said and tried to snuggle back under the covers.

  “I’ve made you sleep too long,” he said as though observing a scientific experiment. As though next time he’d know to put a little less so-and-so into the formula.

  Emily knew that sleep was no longer something she was going to get. “Don’t start that again,” she said, groaning, pushing the covers back and her hair out of her eyes. Now that she was waking up, her body felt awful. She didn’t seem to remember much about last night after she drove away from the clinic, but she must have fallen into bed in…. A glance down confirmed that she was still wearing the remains of her beige evening gown, and, no doubt, the remains of her makeup.

  Holding the covers closely about her, Emily sat up in bed. “I want you to go,” she said firmly. “I’ve done my duty so now I want you to leave. I never want to see you again.”

  He acted as though he hadn’t heard her. “The tea is very hot so don’t burn yourself,” he said, handing her a pretty porcelain cup on a saucer.

  “I don’t want—” she began, but stopped at his look. There was something compelling about his eyes, she thought as she took the cup and began to sip the tea. He put the tray of food across her lap, then sprawled on the bed with her.

  Compelling eyes or not, this was too much. “Of all the presumptuous—” she began as she set the cup down and started to get out of bed.

  “I talked to a man downstairs who is with—what did he say?—the police, and he is investigating an auto accident the doctor reported to him.”

  Emily halted, one foot on the floor, and looked at him.

  “The policeman said that if I didn’t press charges there was nothing he could do about the a
ccident. However, if I were to file a complaint and they found out that you were, say, driving too fast—or worse, that you had been, say, to a party and had drunk a glass of champagne or two—well, there could be serious consequences.”

  Emily stayed where she was, frozen into ice, as she stared at him and her mind began to comprehend what he was saying. Immediately, visions of jail cells and public trials for drunken driving danced before her eyes. She remembered that police could look at skid marks and tell how fast a car was going. And as fast as she was driving last night, she was sure that she had left skid marks that would be there even after the road fell apart.

  “What do you want?” she whispered through a throat suddenly gone dry. In spite of herself, she could feel little shivers of fear run through her body.

  “Emily,” he said, reaching out his hand to her, but she pulled back abruptly. He gave a sigh. “I….” He hesitated as he looked into her eyes, and Emily had the feeling that he was trying to read her mind. Let him! she thought and glared at him.

  He gave a tiny bit of a smile and relaxed on the bed. “Come on, have a muffin. And your egg is getting cold.”

  “What do you want?” she repeated, her voice angry.

  “Let’s start with something easy,” he said, spreading butter on a muffin. “How about spending the weekend with me?”

  “You’re sick,” she said, then put the other foot on the floor and stood.

  He was in front of her in seconds, and when he put his hands on her shoulders, she began to feel calmer. “Emily, what if I were to tell you that I don’t remember who I am? That I don’t know why I was on that road last night or how I got there? What if I said that I remember nothing whatsoever from about two minutes before you hit me with your car?”

  She looked up at him, no longer afraid of him. “Then you should go to the police and—” Again the idea of an investigation flashed before her eyes. They’d want to know who hit him with a car, then they’d ask her lots of questions and, yes, there had been champagne at the awards ceremony last night, and, yes…. She thought of Donald’s political career and his involvement with a convicted drunken driver.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked. At least he was no longer saying he was an angel, she thought, so maybe there was hope that he’d remember who he really was. Surely someone was looking for him. Maybe a wife, she thought, looking up into those heavily lashed eyes.

  “There, that’s better,” he said, smiling. “Now why don’t you climb back into bed and eat? I can feel that you’re starving, so eat.”

  She did feel much calmer and was no longer afraid of him. If he’d lost his memory, maybe he was frightened himself.

  “Emily,” he said, holding back the covers for her as she slipped under them and he put the tray over her lap. “I need your help. Do you think you could spend this long weekend helping me? The innkeeper said you had paid for the room in advance and you’d lose the money if you went home now.” He handed her a buttered muffin. “I know you must have many things you want to do, things you planned to do with…with Donald.” It was as though the name caught in his throat. “But perhaps you could find a bit of time to help me.” He gave her a tiny smile of hope.

  Emily looked down at the food and didn’t answer him.

  “I don’t remember anything,” he said. “I don’t know what foods I like or how to buy clothes or what interests I have. I know it’s a lot of trouble but maybe you could help me figure out what it is I like and—”

  Emily couldn’t help herself, but she began to laugh. “Am I supposed to believe this pathetic story?” She began to peel her egg. “What is it you really want from me?”

  He gave her a grin that was dazzling. “Find out who the hell dropped me in the middle of nowhere last night and left me to die. I know the doctor said nothing was wrong with me, but I have a headache that would kill lesser mortals.”

  “We should get you to a doctor,” she said at once, starting to fling back the covers.

  But he put the comforter back into place. “I don’t want to draw more attention to myself. I….” He looked up at her. “I think perhaps someone was trying to kill me.”

  “Then you should go to the police.”

  “Then I’d have to tell them about you, wouldn’t I?”

  “I guess so,” she said and began to eat again as she thought about what he was saying. If she were involved with the police, she might as well say good-bye to her future life. Would the NLA withdraw their award?

  “I really don’t think I’m the type of person to help solve a murder,” she said. “Maybe you should hire a private detective. Really, I mean it. I’m not one of these courageous women who secretly desire to wear a gun and sneak around dirty warehouses at night. I’m more of a, well, a librarian type. My excitement is secondhand. And I like it like that!” she said with emphasis.

  “I’m not asking you to help me find the people who tried to kill me; I’m just asking you to help me get my memory back. I doubt that killers were so stupid as to leave me outside a town where I was known. In fact,” he said as he unbuttoned his cuffs, “I think I may have been tied up and put into the trunk of a car.”

  As he held out his arms before her, she saw what looked to be rope burns encircling his wrists. “There’s more on my ankles.”

  “And you don’t remember anything before last night?” she asked, finishing her milk. “Nothing?”

  “No, but this morning I seem to know a bit more. I don’t like Spanish omelets.”

  Emily had to laugh. One minute he was talking of murder and the next he was talking of Spanish omelets.

  “Spend this weekend with me,” he asked, his eyes pleading. “I want to try all the food, see all the sights, do everything there is to do and maybe something will make me remember who I am.”

  “Other than that you’re an angel, that is,” she said, unable to resist teasing him.

  “I remember that, all right,” he said lightly, looking down at the bedcovers.

  For a moment Emily thought he was going to start in on that nonsense again, but instead he got off the bed and went to the antique dresser across the room. “Look at this,” he said and proudly handed her a wallet. “It has some interesting things inside.”

  Emily wiped her hands with her napkin, then took the wallet and looked at it. Yes, there were some “interesting” things inside. For one, there was thirty-five-hundred dollars’ cash. There was a gold Visa card signed on the back by Michael Chamberlain, and there was a driver’s license from New York that, oddly enough, had no photo on it. But it did have an address.

  “The policeman had already called it this morning,” Michael informed her. “That’s one of the reasons he was here, because the information the doctor had didn’t plaid out.”

  She blinked at him. “Plaid? Oh, I see. Check out. What you told the doctor didn’t check out. I think that English must be your second language.”

  “At least the second,” he said, smiling. “Will you help me?”

  For a moment Emily’s mind whirled with all aspects such a decision would cover. Donald would, of course, be furious if he found out. But then, Donald had stood her up. In fact, if she hadn’t been so angry at him for not showing up when he had sworn that he would, she might not have hit this man in the first place.

  And, too, there was the question of what else she had to do if she told this man to go away—told him no, she was not going to help him. Forget that that might cause her to spend the next twenty years in prison; she would have a very boring weekend ahead of her. One of the reasons she liked Donald so much was that he always had ideas about what he wanted to do. He was not one of these men who stood around and let the woman in his life plan everything.

  Irene said Donald “dragged Emily around as though she were his lapdog,” but Emily liked the excitement of being around Donald and the whirlwind of activity that always surrounded him.

  So now she could go home and have to answer a thousand questions about why she�
�d returned early, or she could stay here alone all weekend. Alone. Speaking to no one. Wandering about by herself. Alone.

  “I hear there’s a craft fair in town,” Michael said. “Do you know what a craft fair is?”

  Emily’s blue eyes brightened and she smiled. “People from all over the area bring things they have made and sell them in booths.”

  “Sounds boring,” he said, glancing out the window.

  “Not at all! American crafts are wonderful! There are baskets and wooden toys and jewelry and dolls and…and just everything you could imagine. And the people are so nice and—You’re laughing at me.” Her smile left and her lips tightened. “I’m sure you’d rather see a football game.”

  “I have no idea. I wouldn’t know a craft fair from a football game. I was just thinking that you are beautiful.”

  Emily did not take that as a compliment. Whenever men told her she was beautiful they wanted something. And she knew very well what that was!

  “I don’t think this is going to work,” she said softly. “I am engaged to be married and you—”

  “And I have no idea who I am or what I am,” he said, smiling at her. “Look, Emily, you are very pretty and I think you have a very kind heart. What woman would consider helping a stranger as you’re doing?”

  “One who wants to stay out of jail?” she asked, making him laugh.

  “Well, maybe I said all that just to get your attention. Anyway, I was about to say that, for all I know, I might have a wife and half a dozen children somewhere. How would it be if I found her then had to tell her what I’d done when I wasn’t with her?”

  “I’m not sure married men in America, or anywhere else for that matter, are faithful,” she said under her breath.

  “Maybe I am. I don’t know. What about The Duck? Is he faithful?”

  “You call him that one more time and you’re on your own. You understand me?”

  Michael smiled. “I guess that means you won’t answer my question about his faithfulness.”

  “Let’s get a couple of things straight right now,” she said forcefully. “I’ll help you try to regain your memory, but there are some ground rules.”