Page 2 of Rocky Mountain Devil
Yes, angelic beings had been discussed regularly in his world, but he’d never seen a real angel until now, and shehadto be real. Her wings were hidden, but she shimmered with the light of the sun behind her, and he waited cautiously for her to speak, to be sure he didn’t scare her away. Around them, the children from his kindergarten class ran and screamed, laughing and burning off energy before they got pulled back into the portable trailer that was their classroom. But here in the sandbox he’d found a quiet refuge.
She tilted her head to one side, long white-blonde hair in pigtails glowing in the sunlight as she examined him. Her pale blue eyes sparkled, and she nodded firmly as if happy with what she saw.
And then she spoke, and even her voice was different than the other children’s. Sweeter, and kinder, and perfect.
“Want to build a racetrack?”
Definitelyan angel. A mere girl would have suggested making a castle, or something equally silly.
Rafe held his hand up, his two favourite Hot Wheels offered like a sacrifice. “Want one?”
Her eyes widened and her smile threatened to blind him. But instead of taking one of his slightly battered toys, she reached into her pocket then settled next to him in the sand. Rafe waited as she lifted her hand and showed him two more vehicles. “I’ll trade.”
They both considered carefully before exchanging—her black truck for his green one. Then they worked together, shaping the sand into circles for the track and racing their new trucks loudly over the course.
Everything went well up until Jacob MacHalden, the biggest boy in the class, plopped down in the middle of their most exciting race yet. Plopped down and deliberately kicked everything apart with his feet before offering an evil grin as if daring either of them to complain.
Something in Rafe went hot, then cold, then hot again.
He’d spent years begging to go to school like his brothers, and the first days had been a lot like he’d expected. His mama had said there’d be lots of kids for him to play with, which was true. His brother Mike, who was ten years older than him, had warned Rafe might not always like the other kids, which was also true.
After a week, Jacob was already on Rafe’s limited but growing do-not-mess-with list.
His brother Gabe, who was eighteen and all grown up, had told him sometimes people wouldn’t be nice, but it was up to him to not lose his temper. And that throwing tantrums was for babies, and that he expected Rafe to deal with troubles without ever throwing a punch…
Gabe had a lot of things to say, but that was okay. Rafe kind of worshipped him. He’d doanythingto make his biggest brother proud.
So all those things were running through Rafe’s mind as he glanced at the angel beside him and saw her lower lip quiver. What he wanted to do was punch Jacob, hard, for ruining their fun. What heshoulddo was something else that would make Gabe happy.
But as he watched, an expression came into those pale blue eyes he hadn’t expected. Between one moment and the next, his angel grew claws, leaping from his side to land her slight, delicate frame on top of the class bully, her shrill scream echoing through the playground.
Her name was Laurel Sitko, and she was the new pastor’s younger daughter. He foundthatout when they were both hauled into the principal’s office and their families had to come get them.
He didn’t remember much about that visit other than standing close enough to Laurel the back of their hands brushed. She secretly caught his fingers in hers and squeezed before letting go.
Oh, and he remembered she refused to apologize.
“But he wasmean, Daddy, and happy about it,” she told Pastor Dave in front of Jacob’s mom, the principal, Gabe and God, because God had to be there since the pastor was.
“We still don’t punch people, even if they’re mean.” Pastor Dave looked stern, but he hugged Laurel tight after she’d promised to not punch Jacob again. Although, she looked pretty satisfied that the bully’s right eye was already turning a dark shade of blue.
That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
June, twelve years ago
Rafe was tight inside from trying not to cry when he spotted her. Laurel stood in the hallway outside the church hall after the funeral, fingers clutched. Seeing her lips quiver didn’t make it any easier, and he clenched his hands into fists and fought for control.
The past three days had been like nothing he’d ever experienced in all his eight years. His ma hadn’t said much because she was busy crying. Mike—he wasn’t saying anything because he was dead. They’d had birthday cake for him, and a couple nights later Mike had gone out, and Rafe had gone to bed like usual, and that was the last time he saw his brother.
“A terrible accident” and “taken far too soon” people said over and over and over until Rafe wanted to scream.
His big brother Gabe, who was twenty-one and past grown up, had knelt beside him and choked out that if he wanted to cry, that didn’t make him a baby…
For once Gabe didn’t have a lot to say.
Neither did his dad, or anyone, except for Laurel’s dad who had just said a bunch of words during the funeral about how Mike was gone but he’d sure shone bright while he was on earth.
While he liked Pastor Dave, Rafe hadn’t wanted to listen to anyone talk about Mike right then. He wanted his brother back, but he was old enough to know that dead was dead.
