A Season of Angels Page 0,86

were any number of times he could have seduced me and didn't."

"I see."

The strain in her father's voice produced a small smile. She shouldn't have told him that part. Any father would have reacted the same.

"He's so damn noble I could cry . . . and have," she said, clenching her fists.

"I take it he's the one who insisted you not see each other again?"

Monica nodded. "He never said he loved me, but I know he does. He loves me so much he was willing to send me away rather than take the chance of hurting me."

"Monica," her father pleaded, "why didn't you bring him to meet me?"

It was a question that had plagued her as well. One she'd repeatedly asked herself the last few days. Chet had claimed he wanted it to end before there were more regrets, but she'd stewed in them for days. She feared Chet had assumed she was ashamed of him and that simply wasn't the case.

"I don't know why I didn't introduce you. I guess I was afraid you'd think ill of him, or me."

"But, Monica, you love this man. That would have been enough of a character endorsement for me. Your mother and I raised you and if you can't judge a man's worth by now then you wouldn't be our daughter."

"Oh, Dad, I wish I'd done so many things differently and now it's too late. Forgive me for not trusting you. I've been wrong about so much."

Her father patted her knee once more. "There's a special man for you. Remember how hurt you were when you learned Patrick was engaged."

Patrick. She'd nearly forgotten about him. It was laughable to think she'd been anything close to loving her former boyfriend. Her pride had been hurt at Patrick's surprise announcement. Far more than her ego was involved this time, and Monica sincerely doubted that she'd ever be the same again.

Chapter 16

"Hey, man, you don't look so good," Lou, the Blue Goose bartender said as he poured Chet another shot glass of Kentucky bourbon.

"If you're looking for a pretty face," Chet muttered, "call Trixie."

"You got the flu?"

"Yeah," Chet said, thinking that would get Lou off his back. He wasn't interested in company or conversation.

"Then get the hell out of here," Lou continued. "No one wants to be sick for Christmas."

Christmas. It was just another day like all the others as far as Chet was concerned. Christmas was for families and he didn't have one. No one bought him gifts, and there certainly wasn't anyone he cared enough to buy one for other than . . . His thoughts came to a grinding halt.

Funny how a woman could mess up a man's mind. He'd known Monica what . . . two, three weeks? He'd lost count and within that short amount of time she'd managed to worm her way into his heart until she was like a virus that had spread to every part of his body.

He couldn't eat or sleep for want of her. He couldn't close his eyes without his head filling up with thoughts of her. Nor could he get the image of her out of his mind. The one of her standing at the end of the pier, the wind ruffling her hair, her beautiful eyes bright with tears . . . and love. A love so damn strong it was like a torchlight beaming directly at him.

That final picture of her would haunt him to the grave. He didn't know how he was going to get through the rest of his life without her.

The rest of his life. Chet nearly laughed out loud. What life? That was the real question. He was sick to death of the endless lies, the constant need for charades, flirting with disaster.

That's how it'd started with Monica. A game, because she irritated him. One diversion too many and this time he was paying the piper in spades.

The empty days stretched out before him, followed by cruel nights staked out in some dark alley or a cheap hotel room crawling with loneliness.

The rest of his life was reserved in hell. He was born there and had spent a good majority of his carelessly lived existence there, except for one brief furlough with a preacher's daughter. Just long enough for him to taste what could have been his, so he'd know exactly what it was he'd thrown away.

He emptied his drink, slapped the money down on the bar, and stood. The room spun and he shook his