bright-cut grate and chimney crane reflected the flames like marcasite jewelry. Bare roots hung like stalactites from the ceiling, and there were two crystal candelabra. Luxurious rugs covered the dirt floor. The soothing aroma of peppermint tea permeated the air and made the place homey.
It wasn’t heaven. It was a mud hut. But parts of it were heavenly.
“She’s awake,” her guardian angel said from across the room. He sat on a tall chest of drawers, his bare legs crossed, drinking from a porcelain tea cup.
“Welcome back, Beverly.” The dark-haired angel handed her a cup of tea, the eggshell-thin porcelain a contrast to his powerful bearing. He was thoughtful as well as intriguing and mysterious and sexy. Lovely qualities in a man.
But could she call an angel a man? This steaming mix of highlander, Celtic warrior, and rock star had retractable wings. His arms were bare. He wore a black leather vest embossed with dandelions and closed by toggles of silver and leather. His dark eyebrows and lashes framed unearthly green eyes. His straight thick hair, a dark cherry wood color, fell to his mid back, secured from his face by an elaborate silver clasp and picks.
She remembered his hands on her skin, his warm insistent mouth on…everything. I am not in love…. The song from the pub came back to her. But I’m open to persuasion.
There was something very wrong with this picture.
She was drinking tea by a cozy fire in a dirt-floor hut with window boxes on the inside, attended by two virile, decidedly unangelic angels—a scenario described in no guide to the afterlife she knew of. This was far beyond any New Age promise of what-your-mind-can-conceive-you-can-achieve hot tub nirvana.
She liked her afterlife clothes, though. The elegant cloth soothed her skin, unlike the cheap polyester she could usually afford. And the tea! Peppermint perfection.
The golden angel watched her, detached, as though he didn’t know her. As if he’d never saved her life. Maybe he was in trouble for not saving her this time. Maybe the cabinet where he perched was some kind of guardian angel penalty box.
“I’m sorry I fell off the cliff,” she told him. “I don’t know how it happened. But thank you for saving me the other time.”
“What do you mean?” His eyes glimmered quizzically, just as when he’d stared at her in the backseat of her dad’s Rambler.
“When you pulled me from the wreck.”
“Goldenrod?” The dark angel was not amused. “Do you know this human?”
“Not in the least,” Goldenrod said. “But apparently you do.”
Beverly’s cheeks burned.
“Joking!” Goldenrod raised his hands defensively. “Dandelion, I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
Goldenrod? Dandelion? They had to be kidding. “I saw you,” she said. “They said I was hallucinating. They said Lord Dumnos pulled us from the car. But I knew it was you. I’ve always known you were real.”
“Car?” Goldenrod shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
“The accident on the Ring road four years ago,” Beverly said. “You rescued me and my little sister.”
No comprehension on his face.
“When I was a child I often saw you at a distance, watching over me.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve never seen you before today.”
She wasn’t crazy. “But you’re my guardian angel.”
Goldenrod turned red-faced, and Dandelion burst out laughing. “I’ve heard Goldy called many things. Never an angel.”
Beverly glared at Goldenrod. Why was he lying?
“Beverly,” Dandelion said. “We’re no angels, and you’re not dead. You’re alive.” His gaze slipped from her eyes to her lips and quickly shifted away to the fire. “Very much alive.”
Every inch of her body agreed, but her mind couldn’t process the information. “If I’m not dead…if you’re not angels…”
Sun and moon. Her hand shook, and the teacup clattered against its saucer.
Goldenrod jumped off the chest. “May I present Prince Dandelion of the Dumnos fae,
It wasn’t heaven. It was a mud hut. But parts of it were heavenly.
“She’s awake,” her guardian angel said from across the room. He sat on a tall chest of drawers, his bare legs crossed, drinking from a porcelain tea cup.
“Welcome back, Beverly.” The dark-haired angel handed her a cup of tea, the eggshell-thin porcelain a contrast to his powerful bearing. He was thoughtful as well as intriguing and mysterious and sexy. Lovely qualities in a man.
But could she call an angel a man? This steaming mix of highlander, Celtic warrior, and rock star had retractable wings. His arms were bare. He wore a black leather vest embossed with dandelions and closed by toggles of silver and leather. His dark eyebrows and lashes framed unearthly green eyes. His straight thick hair, a dark cherry wood color, fell to his mid back, secured from his face by an elaborate silver clasp and picks.
She remembered his hands on her skin, his warm insistent mouth on…everything. I am not in love…. The song from the pub came back to her. But I’m open to persuasion.
There was something very wrong with this picture.
She was drinking tea by a cozy fire in a dirt-floor hut with window boxes on the inside, attended by two virile, decidedly unangelic angels—a scenario described in no guide to the afterlife she knew of. This was far beyond any New Age promise of what-your-mind-can-conceive-you-can-achieve hot tub nirvana.
She liked her afterlife clothes, though. The elegant cloth soothed her skin, unlike the cheap polyester she could usually afford. And the tea! Peppermint perfection.
The golden angel watched her, detached, as though he didn’t know her. As if he’d never saved her life. Maybe he was in trouble for not saving her this time. Maybe the cabinet where he perched was some kind of guardian angel penalty box.
“I’m sorry I fell off the cliff,” she told him. “I don’t know how it happened. But thank you for saving me the other time.”
“What do you mean?” His eyes glimmered quizzically, just as when he’d stared at her in the backseat of her dad’s Rambler.
“When you pulled me from the wreck.”
“Goldenrod?” The dark angel was not amused. “Do you know this human?”
“Not in the least,” Goldenrod said. “But apparently you do.”
Beverly’s cheeks burned.
“Joking!” Goldenrod raised his hands defensively. “Dandelion, I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
Goldenrod? Dandelion? They had to be kidding. “I saw you,” she said. “They said I was hallucinating. They said Lord Dumnos pulled us from the car. But I knew it was you. I’ve always known you were real.”
“Car?” Goldenrod shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
“The accident on the Ring road four years ago,” Beverly said. “You rescued me and my little sister.”
No comprehension on his face.
“When I was a child I often saw you at a distance, watching over me.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve never seen you before today.”
She wasn’t crazy. “But you’re my guardian angel.”
Goldenrod turned red-faced, and Dandelion burst out laughing. “I’ve heard Goldy called many things. Never an angel.”
Beverly glared at Goldenrod. Why was he lying?
“Beverly,” Dandelion said. “We’re no angels, and you’re not dead. You’re alive.” His gaze slipped from her eyes to her lips and quickly shifted away to the fire. “Very much alive.”
Every inch of her body agreed, but her mind couldn’t process the information. “If I’m not dead…if you’re not angels…”
Sun and moon. Her hand shook, and the teacup clattered against its saucer.
Goldenrod jumped off the chest. “May I present Prince Dandelion of the Dumnos fae,
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