The Heart Remembers (An Angel Mountain Novel)

Chapter 1

A re you an angel?

I’ve never been mistaken for one before. Gabriel Angel chuckled. He held the mouthpiece of the phone away from him and called out to his friend. Hey, Ernie, this kid thinks I’m an angel.

That got a loud snort and a gruff laugh as the older, balding man hustled out of the barn, his gait more of a seesaw back-and-forth motion than a walk. He headed for the group of small buildings and a stand nearly five hundred yards away. His shrill whistle brought the black Lab bounding out after him. First time for everything, I guess.

Sorry, buddy, he spoke into the phone again. It’s called Angel Christmas Tree Farm, but we only sell Christmas trees this time of year. Interested?

Are you sure you’re not an angel? The little boy’s voice wobbled and it struck Gabriel in his chest, like a sword to his heart.

He sucked in a sharp breath. Gabriel gentled his tone. I’m pretty sure. I’ll tell you what, you find one and you let me know, okay? He could have used one a long time ago. Too bad his luck had run out.

’Kay. He sniffed loudly.

The click of the disconnection sent a hollow sensation through Gabriel. Shaking his head, he jammed the phone back on the hook.

He blew out a breath to ease the sudden painful ache. The white vapor hung in the chilly evening air, reminding him he had a full shift ahead of him.

Cold wind whipped across his face as he left the confines of the old, weathered red barn. He yanked up the collar of his black winter coat and then tugged on his gloves, shoving his fingers together to get the material to fit snugly.

Rex barked and raced toward him, kicking up the fresh layer of snow on the ground. Once at his feet, Gabriel reached down and pet the dog he’d inherited, rubbing his furry head and noting the gray hair peppering his chin hair. Look at that, boy. Can’t get much better than that, can you?

The dying sunlight hovered on the horizon and silently slipped away.

Its beauty did nothing for him but cause memories to stir, memories he’d rather bury forever.

The nights were bad.

This time of year was even worse.

He, Gabriel Angel, hated Christmas. It reminded him of everything he didn’t have any more.

Ironic, he muttered, stomping his feet to get the blood circulating in his toes. A sharp whistle sliced the air, calling Rex away again. Glancing around, Gabriel wondered how he, of all people, had ended up with a Christmas tree farm. The mountain range in the distance grabbed his attention. He walked toward the edge of the barn and took in the majestic white-capped peaks. Something old and familiar tugged at him.

Angel Mountain, he whispered, still awed and shaken by the beautiful sight. Love-hate relationship.

That’s what his late Great Uncle Thaddeus used to call it. It protected them and isolated them at the same time. It gave and it took. The land provided generations of the Angel family with the means to survive and thrive. But it did its damage, too.

How many times had Uncle Thad told him story after story of getting caught up there in a snowstorm one December, stuck in a bear trap, his ankle mangled, and his life hanging in the balance? He swore the angels watched over him, swore they surrounded him, and swore they gave him the strength to beat that chain with a rock until the links snapped.

His journey down the mountain could never be recalled; he’d woken in the hospital. Many, including his uncle, attributed it to the circle of angels who enveloped him, carrying him to safety. His story spread like wildfire and became legend. With time, a reverence clung to his uncle and to the little mountain town.

Sightings of angels and white lights at night from the mountain were reported to the police, tall tales swapped in bars, mysteries pondered on at restaurants, and miracles preached about even at churches.

People from miles around would come in the weeks before and leading up to Christmas when the tales and folklore grew. They searched for a sign. They desired answers. They longed to believe.

Just like that little boy on the phone a few minutes ago, he thought.

But Gabriel could tell them, if they only asked, there was no such thing as angels. If there had been, he wouldn’t be stuck in the limbo he’d endured for the last seven years.

No mercy. No way out.

He spoke under his breath to the kid who’d just called. No, buddy, there are no angels. Least of all me.

Night swooped down. The darkness clung to him as Gabriel wove in and out of row upon row of Christmas trees, finding just the right one for the next family and the one after that.

The small twinkling white lights strung along the poles barely gave illumination, but Ernie and his wife, Wanda, insisted, saying it gave the place a warm, cozy atmosphere.

She manned the hot chocolate and kettle popcorn stand while Ernie entertained with a yarn or two and a fiddle around the big fire pit in between collecting the money.

Gabriel worked the yard, just the way he liked it. During the week, it was just them most of the time. He didn’t bother with opening the gift shop or bringing in the extra staff. He hired eight guys to help chop and haul the trees through the week and mostly on the weekends and a couple of locals to lend the older couple a hand with the refreshments, souvenirs and candy, and music.

Each brought something special to the place. Their own unique addition to the season. Hot apple cider and s’mores on the weekends. A few of the high school wood shop guys had created wooden cutouts of Christmas scenes and all of them helped paint them with bright, joyful colors. Light and laughter bubbled to the surface.

Wanda called them a hodgepodge group who were in their own way family. He shook it off, not wanting anyone to depend on him.

He was a loner. He craved the solitude the tree farm afforded him. For most of the year, he lived and worked by himself. Quiet. His way. Lonely, he murmured, shaking away that surprising admission.

Gabriel stood up and tugged his gloves off, stuffing them in his back pocket. He blew out a hot breath. No, he wasn’t going there. He refused to give in to that weakness.

His idea of paradise was this mountain. Only without people. That was his plan. He had to work a few more of these dreaded holidays and then he’d have paid his debt to his late, great-uncle. Then, when he felt he’d earned the inheritance he’d been left, he could do things his way. No more trees. No more long hours of getting ready for the season, no more season, and no more planning for the next one.

And no more having to answer questions or listen to tall tales about angels.

Freedom!

But if truth be told, he’d rather be working, keep his mind busy.

Money wasn’t an issue. His was the only Christmas tree farm for miles and miles; he owned nearly a thousand acres, mostly wild, untamed land, hundreds dotted with trees in perfect lines growing up the mountainous region. And he owned Angel Mountain.

Uncle Thad’s doing, he murmured. Now, I’m the last Angel, stuck with it.

He’d had offer after offer to buy the place from him. But, the lone cabin on the hill suited him for the better part of the year. Hiking and camping in the mountain for weeks on end in the summer struck a chord in him he’d never found any other place in the world. He stayed to himself, kept his head down, and to his own devices.

A self-made recluse.

If only the townspeople would leave him alone.

He couldn’t turn his back when Clive needed wood chopped last winter and was laid up with a broken leg. He had a wife and three kids depending on him. Gabriel had the wood and the means to get it to them. He’d added a couple of sacks of groceries to the gift.

And when he happened to go to town a few months ago and found new mom Jenny stuck on the side of the road, clutching the red-faced, screaming baby to her, and with the hood up on her truck, he had to stop. He couldn’t leave her stranded out there all alone. It was an easy tow back to the garage. But her tears of worry for paying the repair bill forced him to stay longer and settle up with Doyle, the owner and mechanic.

Now, if only they’d be quiet about it. But, no, they heaped on praise and called him, what else? An angel.

Shaking his head, he realized the trickle of customers had died down to almost none, giving him too much time to think. Rex bounded back and forth between staying with him and heading back to the big, stone fit pit, still emitting warmth from the dying embers. Gathering his saw and oversized sled to carry back trees, Gabriel decided to call it a night and let Ernie and Wanda go home early.

He heard the slam of a car door and then another.

Late one, he said, figuring there was one more. Even so, he’d take care of it. He worried the older couple was overdoing it again.

The temperature had dipped even lower and the wind whistled wilder as he trod from the back lot and through the last row. He heard the voices before he even saw them surrounding the fire pit.

Chilly night to be out so late, little man, Ernie’s loud, scratchy voice carried. He rubbed Rex behind the ear. The boy reached out and did the same.

He insisted, a woman said in a soft tone with a lilt to it, as if she were smiling.

Here you go, Wanda said, handing them steaming foam cups. Drink up that hot chocolate. Keep your insides warm all the way to your toes. While the last of the fire will keep your outsides warm.

You’re so kind. I wish you’d take something for it.

Gabriel spotted her long hair under her bright pink knit cap first. The glow from the fire touched and lit up the blonde color, making it look like sunshine.

Of course not. You’re getting the dregs, I’m afraid. We’d have to throw it out anyway.

One thing you learn fast is you don’t argue with my wife, Ernie said, and then chuckled. Believe you me, it took me all of ten minutes of meeting her to figure that one out.

Evening, folks. Gabriel came the last few feet out of the trees and into the opening.

The woman and child jerked around to see him.

The boy gasped. Look, Mom, he must be the angel.

That kid? The one from the phone call earlier? It’s only a name. Nothing more.

But...the lights are around you…and you’re tall… There it was again, that wobbly sound.

Something clutched in Gabriel. He rounded the stone fire pit and extended his hand to the boy. Gabriel Angel. He searched the kid’s awestricken face and found him blinking in wonder. Just a simple man. Now why did he have to tack that on?

The kid looked down at his hand and then up again, his mouth slightly open. Mom?

It’s all right, honey; you can shake his hand.

Tentatively, he did and then pulled back quickly. I called you. We had to wait until Mom finished her shift.

The woman stepped around one of the pieces of wood crafted into low benches placed around the fire pit. She clutched her cup of hot chocolate in her left hand and stuck her right hand out to shake his. Holly Bennett. This is my son, Josh. We just moved to Angel Mountain for my job as a nurse at the hospital.

Her eyes sparkled in the light. Green fire. He clamped down on a strange, undefinable surge coursing through him. Angst? Or was it attraction? He didn’t want anything to do with either one. He dropped her hand. Cold seeped inside him. He hated hospitals. What kind of tree are you looking for? Gabriel fell back on business.

Her soft-looking coral lips formed a small O. He’d wounded her somehow. He hadn’t meant to. Heck,