The Trouble With Angels Page 0,24

sheer bliss over her face.

"Mom, look. Aren't they the most beautiful creatures you've ever seen?"

"Sweetheart, I don't think it's a good idea for you to be standing up there like that."

"I'm fine. People do this in the movies all the time."

"Can I help you?" a deep, resonant male voice asked from behind her.

Maureen turned around, prepared to apologize for the way Karen had instantly made herself at home, but the words never made it to her lips. Before her stood the embodiment of every cowboy hero she'd ever dreamed about as a teenage girl. He was Gary Cooper, John Wayne, and Clint Eastwood all rolled into one hunk of a man. He stood at least six inches taller than Maureen, and his hat added an additional four or five to that. His face was as tanned as soft leather and marked with the most striking pair of blue eyes Maureen had even seen.

"I'm Maureen Woods," she said when she could manage to stop staring. Her business acumen rescued her, and she stepped forward and offered him her hand. "I believe we talked yesterday."

"Thom Nichols," he said, removing his glove in order to shake hands with her. His palms were covered with thick calluses. "You're the divorcee, right?"

"I didn't tell you that," Maureen said defensively.

"No, I don't suppose you did," he said. "No offense meant."

"How'd you know?"

He removed his hat and slapped it across his thigh. "Can't rightly say. It must have been something you said."

"What are the horses' names?" Karen asked, jumping down from the corral.

"First off, they aren't just horses. The black one out there is Midnight, and he's a gelding. The spotted one's a mare named Thunder. The one in the corner's a roan. These are all terms you'll be learning later as part of the class."

"How long have you been operating Nichols's Riding Stables?" Maureen asked.

"A year or so now."

"Dad." A girl raced from inside the barn and stopped abruptly when she saw her father with Karen and Maureen.

Thom placed his arm around the girl. "This is my daughter, Paula."

"Hello, Paula," Maureen said.

"Hi." Karen raised her right hand in greeting. From the look she gave the other girl, one would think Thom Nichols's daughter was the luckiest girl alive.

"Why don't you give Karen a quick tour while I talk to her mother?" Thom suggested.

"Sure. Come on," Paula said, immediately taking charge. "Our cat, Tinkerbell, just had a litter of kittens, and I found them in the barn."

"Really? I've never seen newborn kittens before."

"That should keep those two entertained for a few minutes," Thom said. "Why don't I pour us each a cup of coffee and describe the riding course to you, and then you can decide if you want to sign Karen up for lessons or not."

Actually a cup of coffee sounded wonderful. "I don't mean to interrupt your morning. It's just that Karen was so excited, she all but dragged me out of bed at five-thirty. I'm sure you and your wife have better things to do than entertain me."

"It's no bother," Thom assured her, leading her toward the house. "By the way, I'm a widower."

Chapter Six

"Why would such a thing happen to Madge?" Bernard asked, leaning forward on the hard, plastic hospital chair and wringing his hands. "She was in so much pain already. Did God think she needed more?"

"I don't know why God allows anyone to suffer," Paul confessed to the older man. He felt bitterly inadequate to comfort the long-standing church member. All Paul had to offer Bernard was his presence, and frankly he wasn't sure he was doing anyone a favor. Least of all Madge and Bernard.

Paul checked his watch. It was close to four. He'd been at the hospital the better part of three hours. Most of that time had been spent waiting for word from the doctors. They'd come ten minutes earlier with the news that Madge was resting comfortably.

"She isn't, you know," Bernard murmured.

"Isn't?"

"Resting comfortably."

"I'm sure she's sedated," Paul said.

"Yes, but the pain's still there. Beneath all that medication the pain's there."

Paul understood. Pain was a fiend, ever present, ever ready to devour one's strength. One's peace of mind. One's serenity. It had eaten away at Barbara like a voracious monster, never satisfied, never content, until Paul couldn't bear to see the suffering in his wife's eyes any longer.

"She's sleeping now," Paul said gently. "Let her rest. Go home and rest yourself."

"I couldn't sleep."

Paul knew about that as well. He'd felt guilty about sleeping when he knew Barbara