Weeping Angel by Stef Ann Holm Read Free Book Online Page A

dry.”
    The woman’s name made Frank frown. He’d been trying to forget about her all evening, but that forlorn look of hers had periodically popped into his mind—predominantly when he’d been appreciating the songs Pap heralded from the upright. “What does she have to do with any of this?” Frank asked, not certain he wanted to know.
    â€œShe was set on marrying Pray until he ran off.”
    Frank took a moment to absorb what Pap was telling him. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want to feel any sorrier for her than he already did. Having sentimental feelings for a woman was bad news, and he made it a practice to write himself out of the headline. Then Pap’s meaning dawned on Frank, and he snapped his head toward his friend. “You’re fixing to go after the piano teacher?”
    â€œThat fanciful notion has crossed my mind more than once, so I’ve decided to act on it.”
    â€œNo shit?” Frank smoked his cheroot a minute. “Damn,” he muttered and lifted his brows. “Well . . . damn. I’m not anyone to stand in your way, Pap, but I’ve seen warmer women in this town. When Miss Marshall walks, I can hear the ice cracking off her skirts.”
    â€œI’ve never noticed.” Pap removed the last fly trap and broke into a leisurely smile. “But I have noticed how pretty she is. Haven’t you?”
    â€œNo,” Frank replied too quickly. But he had noticed—less than twenty-four hours ago. He’dthought she dressed like a mail-order catalog on foot, but with nice features to go with the rigid trimming.
    A sappy expression lit Pap’s face. “Her hair is shiny brown. Kinda matches the color of Cobb Weather-wax’s mule. She has velvety skin with no freckles. Probably uses store-bought toilet soap. And her lips look made for kissing.”
    â€œJesus, Pap,” Frank choked. “What’s the matter with you?”
    â€œNothing. I’ve just been thinking. I’m going to be forty this year, and it’s time I find myself a wife. Me and Miss Marshall have a lot in common.”
    Frank said sarcastically, “You don’t have hair the color of Cobb’s mule, and frankly, your skin looks sun-weathered.”
    Pap put an empty fly trap back on its hook. “I know I’m nothing exceptional, but Miss Marshall needs someone. Especially after you took her piano.”
    Frank jerked his legs off the table, his boots thumping onto the floor. “That’s a line of bull. I didn’t steal the piano from her.” He ground his cheroot under his heel. “And who the hell are you to talk? You’ve been drooling ever since you got that upright out of the crate. Guilt hasn’t stopped you from playing it non-stop for the past nine hours.”
    â€œWho said anything about guilt?”
    â€œYou did.”
    â€œNo I didn’t. I don’t have anything to feel guilty about. I didn’t take the piano away from her.” Pap walked toward a tall cupboard in the corner. “But you must be feeling guilty since you brought it up.”
    â€œI didn’t bring it up.”
    â€œWell, you must have felt some kind of remorse, else you wouldn’t have said she could use this one.”
    â€œI was trying to be accommodating,” Frank insisted, unable to cover his annoyance. “She looked like she was going to cry.”
    â€œI hope you don’t have a call to make her want to cry again, Frank, now that you know my intentions.”
    â€œI . . . hell. Yeah, right.” Frank went for his glass, then remembered the mug was empty. He considered pouring a second Hennessy, but he’d set his limit on one per night. Any man surrounded by liquor for a living could easily suffer from bottle fever, so he never swilled on the job. An evening cognac quenched his thirst, and an occasional beer tasted too good to resist with his breakfast-lunch