When Angels Cry by Maria Rachel Hooley Read Free Book Online Page A

frown overtook the neutral line of his mouth.  When he opened his eyes, he peered down at the fragments in his hands.
    “I know what to do with a vase, Kaylee.  Pieces are a different story.”
    He held the collection of fragments and carried them from the foyer into the kitchen , where he set them on the counter while he rummaged for a bag.  After three d rawers , he found Kaylee’s stash.  He took a brown paper sack, opened it, and set all the pieces inside.  As he walked back through the room, he looked around with a new perspective at all the things filling her house, things that didn’t really match Kaylee at all .  It wasn’t that she didn’t go with beautiful things , exactly, or that she didn’t have money.  She was more beautiful than anything and she had more money than even his family had, but there was something deeper to her that didn’t need money.
    And, God knows, she certainly didn’t need him.
    Bastian stepped into the foyer, opened the door, and started out into the snow of a landscape too cold to melt it away .

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Fo ur
    Bastian trudged through the snow and found the drifts higher than before.  The snow blinded him and had begun cover ing his truck, not to mention his feet and on up to his calves.  He glanced at the washed -out clouds still freighted with winter.
    “I hate snow,” Bastian muttered, slogging to the driver’s door.  He brushed the recent flakes from his windshield, and the cold bit hard, reddening the flesh.  Opening the door, he slipped inside and set the bag of pieces beside him.
    He turned the key, but the starter simply clicked.  “Damn , ” he seethed.  After the second try, it was clear he wouldn’t be going anywhere.   He slammed his fist on the dash.
    “You could have left me stranded on the road somewhere instead,” he snapped.  “But no–you strand me here.”
    Bastian glanced at the bag, wondering why the talk of money had set her off.  “Damned female,” he muttered, knowing he’d have to trudge back inside because he couldn’t stay in the cold .  
    What had he gotten himself into, he wondered , retracing his steps.  He touched the knob, half expecting to find it locked, but it wasn’t.
    Bastian poked his head inside the doorway.  “Kaylee?  It’s me, Bastian.  I’m sorry to bother you, but my truck won’t start , and it’s cold out here.”  He waited, but only the grandfather clock down the hall chimed a response.
    “Kaylee?”  The clock fell silent as Bastian tentatively stepped into the foyer and stole into the living room.  In passing, he looked around the empty room and frowned.  Puzzled, he passed through to the kitchen.  Each room was just as empty as the last, which ultimately brought Bastian to the staircase in the foyer. 
    As he placed his hand on the railing, he yelled, “Kaylee?”
    Striding up the steps, Bastian found himself in a second - floor hallway with numerous doors.   He sauntered down the hall.
    “Kaylee?” he called loudly.
    “I thought you left.”
    “You would be so lucky,” he responded.  “But my truck won’t start, and it’s snowing like crazy.”  He stepped into a bathroom and found Kaylee half-sitting on the counter, dabbing a cotton ball to her bleeding temple.  “What happened?”
    “I had a nasty run - in with my dresser, and it won.”   Kaylee peered at him.
      “Let me take a look.   “Swimming in winter and hitting your head on furniture.  You’re an accident waiting to happen, aren’t you?”   Brushing the bangs from her forehead, Bastian lifted the cotton and saw a gash seeping with blood.
      “Thanks.  How bad does it look?”
    “Still bleeding, which is normal.  Head wounds bleed a lot.”  He leaned closer , and h er breath caressed his cheek as he lost himself in her eyes.  He turned and put a fresh cotton ball over the gash.
    “Is that the voice of experience?” she asked smugly, tilting her head so sh e could look