He was silent for a long time, staring into the flames.

"Charlie?" she said.

"Yeah, she believed in me." He looked up, and their gazes met through the flickering firelight. Angelina blinked away the tears threatening to spill free when she saw the despair in his eyes. He frowned and looked away. "She believed in me, and the only thing her belief got her was dead. Remember that, Sister."

A tear slid down her cheek, but Angelina ignored it, concentrating instead on keeping her voice calm. Now that she had got Charlie talking, she had to keep him talking. "Tell me more."

He shifted his shoulders as though to relieve their tension. She continued to gaze at him, but he avoided looking at her, staring instead at the night sky above them. When he spoke again his voice was gentler, though the anger still came through loud and clear. "Yes, my ma loved me-are you satisfied? But her husband, my stepfather, hated me. She wasn't strong enough to stand against that kind of hate, not even for her children. He told me every day of my life what a worthless, no-good, little Reb I was, and he turned out to be a whole lot righter than my ma in the end."

"But-" Angelina faltered to a halt, her mind trying to comprehend what Charlie was telling her. "I don't understand. How could you have been a Reb as a child?"

"You don't understand because you don't know the politics of Bloody Kansas. Ever heard of the Missouri Border Wars, Sister?"

Angelina was unable to speak as hope sprang to life within her. For some reason, maybe the alcohol, maybe the events of the past few days, Charlie had decided to tell her something about his past. She didn't dare speak and break the spell. Instead, she shook her head and pulled her bedroll tighter around her neck to ward off the increasing chill.

"I didn't think so. I suspect they skipped that lesson in Mexico-isn't a very pretty story. The wars have been goin' on for a long time on the Kansas-Missouri border. Some are still fightin' the good fight now and then, even though the big war's been over for ten years now. My family was right smack in the middle of it all. We didn't own any slaves, but my ma's family did once. And my pa's family was from Mississippi. He ran off when me and my brother Bill were just kids. Ma wasn't the type of woman to raise two hellions like us on her own, so she married the first man who asked."

Charlie took another few swigs from his bottle and a pull on the cigar as if fortifying himself for the rest of the story.

"Richard Bakker, his name was, and a more sorry son of bitch never breathed on this earth." He looked over to gauge Angelina's reaction. When she merely raised her eyebrows and nodded her encouragement, he continued. "Old Dick was a Jayhawker of the highest order. That means he was from the Kansas side of the fence and an antislavery fanatic. Now, I'm not sayin' that slavery was right. But slavery was never an issue at our house. We could barely afford to feed ourselves. Dick took it into his head to beat some sense into the two little Rebs under his charge."

Angelina shifted uneasily. She didn't like the way this story was proceeding.

"Should I stop, Angelina?"

Swallowing deeply, she twisted her fingers together and prayed a silent prayer for strength. "No, go on."

Charlie nodded and moistened his throat once again. "Bill didn't take too well to the beatin's. He turned mean as a cornered rattler. I-" He shrugged. "Well, I just decided to get even. When I was old enough, I sneaked out and rode with the guerrillas raiding over the border into Kansas. Ever heard of Quantrill?"

Angelina's eyes widened in horror. Stories of the atrocities of Quantrill's Raiders had even reached Mexico, especially after their attack on Lawrence, Kansas. "You didn't-"

"Not with him. The man was a lunatic. The James boys weren't much better. No, I rode with some friends from around home, and Bill, of course. Once he found out what I was up to, he had to come along, too. We had our own little band. Quiet, but thorough. Then Dick found out what we'd been doin', and all hell broke loose."

Charlie lapsed into brooding silence. Angelina waited a few moments, half afraid to hear what had happened. When she could no longer stand the steady swish-swish of the liquor in the bottle as Charlie tilted it up and down every few seconds, she spoke. "What did he do?"

Charlie's gaze flicked to hers, almost as though he'd forgotten she was there. He stared for a few more minutes, then lit another cigar before continuing. "He broke my ma's arm."

"What?" The word burst from her mouth. "What did she do?"

"Nothin'. He knew Bill and I were too big to beat on anymore. And it hadn't done much good anyway. So he broke Ma's arm while he held a gun on us to keep us away. We had a half sister Annie. He threatened to drag her out of bed and do the same if we didn't get lost. By then, the war had started, and we were itchin' to sign up anyway. Bill and I packed and left that night. Joined up with Mosby and spent the rest of the war learnin' how to be real guerrilla fighters."

"Did you ever go back? To Missouri, I mean."

Charlie laughed. "Oh, yeah, Sister. We sure did."

Angelina frowned at his laughter, so out of place in such a serious situation. "Did you come to see your mother and Annie?"

Charlie stopped laughing and took another drink. "I never saw my mother alive again. I saw Annie once more before she died. She was only thirteen years old."

Angelina gave a sharp gasp of pain. "Oh, no, Charlie. I'm so sorry. How did they die?"

He ignored her question as though she had not uttered a word. "After the war Bill and I stayed out east for a while. Ma was dead and there was no reason to go back. When we did-" He trailed off and leaned his head back to stare at the stars for several moments. Then he sighed, long and deep.

Angelina ached to go to him. But something in the way he held himself, tense, almost angry, told her such a movement would be a mistake. Instead, she sat quietly and waited for him to finish.

"We came back and found a town full of Yankees smack in the midst of Missouri. We spent a year there terrorizin' folks."

"Why?"

Charlie's head snapped back up, and suddenly she stared into angry black eyes. "Why not, Sister? The Yankees killed everything I ever loved. Doesn't the Bible say, 'An eye for an eye?'"

"It also says, 'Turn the other cheek.' I prefer that version."

"You would."

"You said Yankees killed everything you ever loved. Does that include your mother and sister?"

"That's right. Bill, too, though I can't say I loved him much. He was too deep down mean."

"How did it happen? Maybe I could understand better why you've done what you've done if you told me." When he continued to stare at her without speaking Angelina tried again. "You'd feel better for sharing your troubles with me."

"I've shared quite a bit with you tonight. But I don't feel none better." He shifted his body until his back was to her. The odor of cigar smoke reached her again, tinted with the scent of whiskey. "Go to sleep, Sister. Just go to sleep, and leave me alone."

Despite his words, Angelina got up and crossed the short distance between them. She reached out a tentative hand to touch him, but stopped only inches from his shoulder when his ruined voice broke the stillness. "I won't be responsible for what happens if you touch me, Sister. I've never been a mean drunk, but there's a first time for everything. If you know what's good for you, you'll go back to your own side of the fire and keep your mercy to yourself."

Angelina pulled her hand back, but she didn't move any farther. "Why can't you admit you're hurting?" she whispered.

"I finished hurtin' a long time ago. Now all that's left is hate. People who think there's anything else inside me wind up sorry in the end."

"I can't believe that."

"Believe it, Sister. Save yourself a lot of grief. Now get away from me. I don't need you and I don't want you here."

Angelina flinched at the ferocity of his words. She returned to her bedroll and listened to the night as thoughts filled her mind. Charlie had shown her a part of himself tonight, but not nearly enough. She now understood his burning hatred for Yankees. But there was more hidden within Charlie than the story of Richard Bakker. She sensed, if she could learn the rest of his secrets, she just might find a way to help him heal.

She glanced at Charlie again. He still sat turned from her, staring out at the darkness, keeping company with his cigar and his bottle. She snuggled deeper into her bedroll and closed her eyes. Charlie was right, he'd shared enough of himself for one night. She knew well the virtue of patience. Though her father called the same trait stubbornness, tireless patience and faith in what she believed to be right had stood her in good stead for most of her life. Relying on that trait, she would merely wait for a better opportunity to discover more about Charlie's past.

On that thought, she drifted off to sleep. Though she should have been exhausted past the point of dreams, such was not the case. She had only closed her eyes when the dream began. Sighing, she gave herself up to the images. This dream was familiar and comforting. She had been having such dreams since that first time, some ten years ago-the night she'd realized she would dedicate her life to God. Since that night, whenever she needed guidance, her angel came and spoke to her-the golden angel with the voice like sin.

Angelina shifted in her sleep and moaned. No, that was not right. Her angel was golden, but his voice always sounded like music-beautiful, ethereal music.

The angel stood before her, tall with long, shining hair. He wore white that was so bright it hurt her eyes to look at him, and when she looked into his eyes a sheen of holy light from within him shone directly into her soul.

"I needed you and you came," she said. "I don't know how to help him. He's hurting so badly inside I ache. Show me the way to make him whole."

"You must learn for yourself what is missing in his life. Only then will you be worthy."

Worthy?

Angelina wrinkled her brow in confusion. This dream was taking a new direction. In the past, the angel had always guided her to do what was right for everyone involved. He had never spoken of worth before. Even in the very first dream, he had only said she must follow God's path. Then he had shown her the convent in Corpus Christi.

"Worthy of what?"

"You will see. You believe God has given you a mission, Angelina?"

"Yes."

The angel nodded. "Do your best. Find your way."

"My way?" What was all this talk about her worth and her way? "What about Charlie?" she demanded.

The angel only smiled and disappeared.

Angelina awoke to the sun shining onto her face with a force reminiscent of the angel's holy light. Her

head pounded, and her mouth tasted like Texas dust. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn

she'd been the one imbibing cigars and whiskey the night before.

"Thanks a lot, angel," she muttered. "I need help with Charlie, and you show me what it feels like to spend a night partaking of whiskey and cigars. Am I supposed to sympathize with him? If he feels like this, I certainly do."

Angelina glanced over to where she'd last seen Charlie. She caught her breath.

He was gone.

Throwing the cover off her legs, she jumped to her feet. The two horses turned their heads to look at her,

placid eyes reflecting their lack of concern for her predicament. The sight of the animals gave her pause,

though.

He can't have gone far if he's left Gabe, she thought.

Despite the increased pounding in her head from her too sudden movements, Angelina stalked over to Charlie's saddle. His saddlebag gaped open, exposing about eight cigars and a nearly full bottle of whiskey. The bottle Charlie had been indulging in the night before leaned against the saddle, only a small amount remaining at the bottom.

Angelina took another quick glance around. No Charlie. Without giving herself any more time to think, she snatched up the cigars and snapped each one in two, then tossed the fragments into the fire. She wasn't sure what the angel dream meant, but she was certain she had to save Charlie from himself. The first order of business was to get rid of the evils of smoke and drink.

The dry earth drank the rest of the whiskey without a whisper of complaint, and Angelina smiled as she shook the last drops from the bottles.

"There," she said in satisfaction. "That's the first step."

Hands clamped down on her wrists, and she dropped the bottles into the dirt with a shriek.

"And what's the next step, Sister," a gravelly voice whispered in her ear. "Gonna shoot me in my sleep?"

Chapter Nine.

Beneath Charlie's fingers the bones of Angelina's wrists were fragile, almost childlike. He recognized that, even as his grip tightened.

Angelina winced slightly and turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. Her eyes, only inches away from his own, held no fear. Surprise flooded him. Most men cowered when his anger flared.

"Let me go."

Her voice was calm, level. She turned her entire body to face him and they stood, too close, his fingers still clasping her wrists. The thought shot through his mind that, to any observer, they might seem to be holding hands. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

"What the hell you playin' at, Sister?" he growled, still holding her fast. "Those cigars and that whiskey cost money. You gonna buy me some more?"

"Hardly. You don't need the evils of alcohol and tobacco added to your other vices. I decided to do you a favor and get rid of temptation."

Shock rendered him speechless. His emotions must have shown on his face, for Angelina took advantage of his lapse in concentration to yank her wrists from his now slack fingers. She retreated several paces and put her hands behind her back. Charlie let her go, though he watched her warily.

"Since when did you become my keeper?"

"I-uh-" She trailed off and then looked toward the horses with a shrug.

"Don't tell me. I can figure some things out for myself. After the sad story I told you last night, you decided I needed motherin'." The anger he'd felt when he'd seen her destroying his property rushed back again at the thought of her pity. He wanted a lot of things from Angelina Reyes, and most of them would earn him the permanent place in hell he deserved, but her pity had never been on his list. "Poor old Charlie," he said in disgust. "Lost his mama, and now he needs someone to look after him. Well, I don't. I've been takin' care of myself for years, and a lot of others, too. You want to be a mama, find a nice young man to take care of that task. Don't look my way, 'cause I don't need you, Sister. I don't need anyone."

Her soft brown gaze slowly came back and rested on his face. "You're wrong. We all need someone. God sent you to me. To help you. All you have to do is let me."

This time his mouth came open in amazement. "What? You told me God wanted you to go home to your family. When did He change His mind?"

She took a step toward him, her hands coming forward to clasp together in front of her breasts. Her face took on an expression of earnestness and hope that made him want to jump on his horse and ride, alone, for the border.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you the entire truth before. I was afraid you wouldn't understand. But I'm here to help you. I wasn't sure at first if I was right about what I was supposed to be doing. I've never had to interpret God's will before. Usually my an-" She stopped and bit her lip as though considering her next words. "Well, you have to understand about visions and callings. Sometimes people not of the church have a difficult time understanding."

"Try me," he said, despite the clamoring of an inner voice to the contrary.

Angelina bit her lip some more and hesitated. Finally she let out a sharp sigh before speaking. "I saw my angel last night, and though I'm not exactly positive I understood everything he said, I do know I'm supposed to help you."

"Your angel?"

"Yes." She paused and swallowed hard, obviously uncomfortable with her revelations. When Charlie nodded his encouragement, she continued, a hesitant smile lifting the corners of her lips. "I-I've never told anyone but religious people about my angel. I don't know why I'm telling you. He-uh-he always comes to me in my dreams whenever I need guidance."