Angel

"Find everything in order?" Blanche inched closer, so he could smell her perfume. She also obstructed his view of the bed.

Flustered, Danny started backing away from the unexpected (though not unwelcome) aggression.

"Why yes. Everything appears to be in order." He passed the closed door to the attic and hurried down the stairs, Blanche following closely behind him. Up the stairs, Cole gently released the hammer on his pistol as he heard Danny walking down the stairs.

Blanche opened the front door to let him out. "Thank you for warning us. We'll be careful." She held the doorjamb with one hand and leaned forward and waved with the other.

Danny tipped his hat. "Always a pleasure to see you Miss Howard."

* * *

"That was close," said Cole, as Blanche rebandaged his wound. It opened up again during his trip up the attic stairs and soaked his shirt with blood.

"Ohhh ..." he huffed as Blanche cinched the bandage.

"That's better," she pronounced. "And yes, we were lucky. We probably won't be that lucky next time."

"There won't be a next time."

"Oh?"

"I'm going to leave as soon as I'm able."

"I see."

"I'd like you to come with me. You want to be with me, don't you?"

There was nothing to be gained by mincing words. She found it exciting to imagine running away with an outlaw, but of course it was entirely out of the question. Besides, he was right when he said his options were to run or to surrender, be tried and hung.

"I do. But you have to turn yourself in. I couldn't look you in the eye if you didn't."

He didn't answer. His head slumped to the side and he was soon fast asleep.

* * *

It had been a week since Cole showed up at Blanche's doorstep, and the first day he was able to walk without assistance. The visit from the deputy told them that had precious little time left. Cole resolved to make the most of it, considering every day was another day in heaven. He had long ago resigned himself to hell, so being in heaven, even if for a short time, was a blessing.

Blanche stopped in his room to check his wound, and saw him limping around his bedroom, using his hand to steady himself. He stopped when she came in. She was wearing what looked like men's pants that were shortened and tailored for her and a tattered plaid shirt. Her hair was wrapped in a bandana. He decided she would look good if she was wearing a burlap bag.

"My mother and I are going out to forage mushrooms. We'll be gone for the afternoon. Are you going to be all right by yourself?"

"Of course. Don't worry about me."

Blanche and Florence went mushroom hunting, and were delighted when they found morels that popped up after a recent rain, and both her and her mother filled their wicker baskets to brimming. They stopped when the sun was about to set. They stepped over felled trees and waded through lush stands of ferns as they made their way back to the farmhouse. All seemed to be in order when they got home, except that Cole wasn't there.

Blanche panicked briefly before she had the presence of mind to check the stable, and finding Cole's horse happily eating hay, she knew he couldn't be far. She went into the kitchen to prepare the mushrooms for dinner, and was scrubbing the dirt off when Cole appeared at the kitchen door with a string of fish slung over his shoulder.

"I've been staring at the pond from my bedroom window so I decided to see if there are fish in it. Apparently there are," he said, holding up a dozen perch. "I'm going to go out back and clean them and then clean myself up as well." Other than the sponge bath administered by Blanche, he hadn't taken a bath in a month.

It almost felt normal, having a man in the house again. But Blanche reminded herself that it was just an illusion -- a man on borrowed time. After her husband died in the war, she had the sense that she would die a widow, and yet this man had reminded her that she still had a lot to offer someone else, and maybe she shouldn't be so hasty in secluding herself. It was nice to have Cole as company, and why shouldn't she enjoy the moment? They were so few and far between.

Invigorated, she went out to the garden and gleaned a handful of small potatoes and carrots. She carefully washed them, and then diced them up with her assortment of wild mushrooms, ready to sauté in chicken fat as an accompaniment to the fish. As Blanche was finishing her prep, Cole came in with the fish, cleaned and deboned. He laid them on the kitchen counter, proud that he had finally made a contribution to the household. Blanche noticed that his hair was washed and slicked back wet, was clean shaven, and was wearing her late husband's clothes, which were a size too small. Cleaned up, he was a very handsome man.

"It looks wonderful," said Florence, coming into the kitchen and noticing the bounty of their combined efforts. Food shortages continued after the war, and it had been a month of Sundays since the three of them had enjoyed such a meal. Blanche spooned a healthy dollop of butter into the pan, and then put in three filets to cook. Cole couldn't help but watch over Blanche's shoulder, taking in the seductive aroma of the sizzling fish.

Blanche continued until she had enough fish for the meal, planning to salt the remainder to put down for a future meal.

It was Cole's first meal at the dining room table, and Blanche used her good china to serve it.

"It looks and smells delicious," Cole said, feeling content for the first time in forever. There wasn't any drinking, cussing or whoring going on, just a quiet dinner.

They ate in silence, remembering the last time they had enjoyed a fine meal. Each bite was savored, chased by wine that was saved for a special occasion. They all eyed the last remaining portion on the platter, but it was Blanche who spoke up, sliding the last filet on Cole's plate.

"You're our welcome guest, Cole, and you deserve the last piece of fish because you caught it."

The depth of her gesture was immediately felt. Cole, a man who suffered many depravities that no one should experience, was brought to the verge of tears. She said he was welcome as a guest. He was used to being shunned, spit at, or beaten, so kindness was a new experience for him.

He ate the last morsels with a satisfyingly full stomach, finally at peace with himself. He desperately wanted this to be home. Blanche was his angel, and he was living in her temple.

* * *

It had been three weeks since Cole appeared on Blanche's doorstep, and two weeks since he started walking on his own. He already overstayed his self-imposed departure date, as he had vowed to leave once he was able. But neither he nor Blanche made any mention of him leaving, and the household evolved to include him in the day to day activities.

Cole was out back, splitting wood while Blanche was nearby tending the garden. He was shirtless, and Blanche watched out of the corner of her eye as he swung the ax with ease, the muscles in his broad shoulders rippling. Blanche's feelings toward Cole evolved from compassion to something more -- a tenderness -- and affection.

She was pulling carrots, shaking the dirt off them, when Cole winced in pain after his last swing of the ax. She dropped the vegetables on the ground and dashed over, moving his hand away from the point of pain. His wound had started to tear open, and there was a trickle of blood running down his side.

"Let's get you inside and fix you up," she said, exercising her maternal instinct.

He followed her, clutching his side, as they went into the kitchen. Cole sat down on a kitchen chair and Blanche knelt next to him, cleaning the wound and then wrapping a clean cloth bandage around his waist.

"Thank you," he said, putting his larger hand over hers.

She stopped what she was doing and looked at him, as if they were seeing each other for the first time. Gone from his eyes was the hostility and suspicion and in its place was appreciation and a longing for something more.

He could see that she shared the same sentiment, and in an impulsive move, gathered her petite body in with his muscular arm and kissed her on the lips. Her lips instinctively started to move apart, but then conscious thought intervened and she pushed herself away.

"In polite company, a man asks permission before kissing a lady," she admonished him.

His eyes softened. He wanted so to please her.

"May I kiss you?" he asked.

"Yes ... yes you may," she replied breathlessly.

Cole stood up and pulled her tight against him. The kiss was explosive for both of them, a smoldering passion now ignited when their lips met. Feelings long forgotten flooded Blanche's mind -- feelings of true affection and lust, the latter exciting her and making her knees tremble. For Cole, this wasn't the carnal desire he felt for Millie, or the other barmaids he'd been with, but a desire fueled by deep affection.

He made tender kisses on her cheeks and then her long neck, with her practically swooning in his arms. Before passion got the better of them, Blanche straightened up. "I ... I don't know what got into me ..."

"I do," Cole replied.

"My mother should be coming back from the neighbors soon." Florence had walked to the nearest neighbors, about a half mile away, to swap foraged mushrooms for freshly laid eggs. As if on cue, she entered the kitchen, seeing Cole's naked upper body with a new bandage around his waist.

Blanche recovered her wits. "Cole had his wound open again when he was chopping wood."

Florence was perceptive. What her daughter said was true, but she could see that Blanche's usually neat hair was disheveled and her clothes were slightly askew.

"I see," she answered, though giving her daughter a knowing look.

* * *

Dinner felt awkward. All three of them sensed that something in their dynamic changed. Food was passed around in silence, and little eye contact was made. Blanche pushed her food around her plate, though Cole still showed a healthy appetite. Dinner was cleared, with Florence cleaning the pots and pans left from Blanche's cooking, with Cole and Blanche retiring early, both lost in their own thoughts about what happened in the kitchen that day.

Cole was sitting upright in his bed, gazing out the darkened window to see the moon's reflection on the small pond. He thought about his brother, and how terrible it must have been to be killed in such a fashion, and the fate of his cohorts, either on the run or in jail. He wanted no more of that life, now having seen the pleasures of genteel society and the love of a good woman. His thoughts of leaving were now put into the back of his mind, though he had no solution to his eventual discovery, and then jail. He just knew he didn't want to run.

Blanche was in her own bedroom, though the bed was still made. She was sitting on it, wondering how she could have fallen for a man who had no future. But her common sense gave way to darker thoughts -- his powerfully built body, his crushing embrace, and his fervent kisses. Her thighs tingled, and her body, as if detached from her mind, left her bedroom for his, opening his door without knocking and seeing him naked from the waist up, dark hairs curling on his chest, and old scars from the war marking his left shoulder, the place where a Yankee bayonet ran him through at Vicksburg.

His head moved slowly to acknowledge her presence. She opened the covers and slid in next to him. She was wearing a nightgown, with nothing on underneath, and the action of getting under the sheet made her garment ride up her legs, exposing her thighs to his touch.

There was no mistaking her intention. He rolled on his good side, suppressing a grunt from the pain of his twisting motion. Cole was a brave man, and faced death many times, but the thought of touching his angel made his hand tremble. He reached that last inch, finding her bare leg under the covers, teasing her soft skin with his ruddy hand, the roughness of it exciting her. There was no doubt now that she wanted him inside her. She wanted to give herself to him.

Her foot touched his leg and he knew she had opened her legs for him. His fingers danced up her thigh to find a curly thicket of hair, slick with her essence.

She sighed deeply as she felt his fingers probe between her legs, and her thighs parted more, allowing him to plunder her sex. Cole's experience in matters of love were evident, as he found and exposed her hardened nub, and pinched it between his fingers. She gasped at the sudden burst of pleasure and closed her eyes, lifting her knees up and wantonly spreading her legs wide apart, yielding to his ministrations. His thick fingers found the puffy lips, passing the slickened entrance, and honing in on the spongy tissues of her g-spot.

"Oh my heavens!" she exclaimed. Her late husband was disinterested in foreplay, and no one had ever touched her with such intimacy ... and such purpose.

Cole tried to resist hurrying, though his baser instincts told him to strip off her flimsy nightgown and take her. No one had ever taught him how to make love to a proper woman, and his many experiences with women of ill repute left him at sea as to how to proceed. Blanche could sense his hesitation, and her lust guided the two of them. She let the straps of her nightgown fall off her shoulders, exposing the tops of her full, rounded breasts. Cole's lips gravitated towards them, kissing the top of each of them before seizing a long, erect nipple in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it, while still fingering her below.

He felt the muscles in her vagina contract as he sucked on the nipple, and her back arched slightly, pushing his fingers deeper inside her. They were both well past the point of no return. He lowered his shorts and rolled on top of her, his erect manhood pressing against her thigh. She wanted him ... wanted to be one with him ... and reached down, grasping his penis in her hand and guiding it to her wet slit and then thrusting her hips upward to envelop his entire length.

"Cole ... Cole ..." she murmured, as his hips found the same rhythm as hers, his burgeoning cock swelling with each thrust. The delicious friction continued until her thighs tingled and a sudden warmth overcame her, followed by an explosion of light and color as she climaxed. Her pleasure became his, as he thrust one final time, sending his seed deep inside her. He was panting heavily, and his side was now aching, but the pain was masked by the overwhelming sense of pleasure and satisfaction from their unexpected union.

As Cole rolled off, she felt his spend trickling out of her and down her inner thigh. Somehow she knew he would forever be a part of her. She lay there, eyes staring upwards at the ceiling, living only in that moment and oblivious of the consequences of what they had just done.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast Florence sensed something was different between Blanche and Cole. Nothing was said, but nothing needed to be, as there was a shared intimacy evident between the two lovers. The three of them carried on as if nothing happened, but Florence knew that they were in murky and uncharted waters.

"When I was at our neighbor's yesterday they mentioned that two of the robbers were captured. They were given a copy of a wanted poster tacked up outside the sheriff's office. One of the captured men must have confessed. The poster has Cole's name and face on it." Florence's statement hung over the breakfast table like a dark cloud.

"Maybe it's time I'm moving on." Cole pushed his plate away, his appetite gone. "I'm ready to go."

There was silence. Then Blanche spoke.

"Looks like you have a choice. It's me and the wagon, going to town, or it's you and your horse, without me."

Cole understood the import of Blanche's choice. Choose her, and probably jail and hanging, or run, and be gunned down in some squalid hiding place.

"Where's the wagon?" Cole asked. He was tired of running.

* * *

The wagon was rolling down the road, the wheels creaking under the strain of the undulating surface. Perhaps road was too generous a term for the rock strewn pathway through the thick forest. Tall jack pines lined the roadway, making for cooler travel even with bright sunshine and a cloudless sky. The travelers could hear a light breeze blowing through the branches of the majestic conifers.

"I wish I had met you before the war started ...," Cole said wistfully as the wagon bumped along. He felt like a man walking the last mile. He knew giving himself up in town would likely result in his hanging, but hoped, just like his meeting Blanche, that fate would intervene to spare his life.

"I was married before the war," Blanche said, stating the obvious.

Cole corrected himself. "You're right ... maybe before you met your husband."

"I would have liked that."

"Life's like a poker game. You have to play the hand you were dealt. I'm afraid I came up bust on my draw," Cole said forlornly.

"The hand's not over Cole. I'm going to put in a good word for you. And besides, you didn't have a hand in the bank manager's death."

"True, but they could pin a number of robberies on me."

"Let's just see ..."

Without warning, Cole and Blanche were thrown forward, almost tumbling out of the wagon. The front left wheel went into a deep, water filled hole, bringing the wagon to an abrupt stop. Cole was able to catch Blanche with his arm before she was pitched off. Cole made sure she was all right and then climbed out to assess the damage.

He got on his knees and peered at the under carriage. "Looks like the front axle is detached from the wheel. We're going to have to walk back to the house so I can get the tools to hopefully fix this."

It was a good five mile walk back. Blanche wasn't sure Cole would make it on his own with his repaired wound. Cole thought that maybe he got a temporary reprieve.

"Is there any other choice?" Blanche asked.

"Not that I can think of."

Cole helped Blanche out of the wagon, and the two of them started to retrace their route back to the house, leading their horse down the rock strewn road. The noise of a swift rider's hoofbeats suddenly came up from behind them. Cole reached for his gun before realizing that he'd left it at the house. They turned around to see that it was Danny Harden, grinning from ear to ear.

"Look what I found here," he said. He pointed his revolver at Cole. "I figured you were hiding something Missy, being so nice to me and all, and lo and behold here's the fugitive we've been looking for."

He hopped off his horse, brandishing his weapon.

Blanche jumped between Cole and Danny. "Wait, I can expl ..."

Danny hit her in the stomach with the butt end of his pistol. She doubled over in pain, dropping to the ground on her knees. He glared at her, his eyes burning with hate.

"Shut up bitch. You can tell the judge."

He started nervously pacing around her, kicking up dust with his boots.

"Now here's how I see it. I'm riding down the road and I see this outlaw raping this helpless woman. He tries to run and I shoot him in the back after ignoring my order to stop."

He leaned over and used the barrel of his gun to push the strap of Blanche's dress off her shoulder. Cole looked as if he was going to lunge for him.

"Unh huh," the rogue lawman admonished his prisoner, pointing the gun at Cole's forehead. "I wouldn't do that."

Keeping his gun pointed at Cole, Danny went back to his horse, fishing through his saddle bag for a short length of rope.

"Turn around," he told Cole.

He bound Cole's wrists together and then turned him around so they were facing each other. Cole suddenly felt as if he was transported back in time to the war, when he was engaged in hand to hand combat for his life.

"One of our deputies shot one of the robbers in the left side. That's all he could remember before he was shot himself, presumably by you."