The Night Angel by T. Davis Bunn Page B

his mouth. Leaves me wishing I was a better man.”
    “You are very good indeed.” Her voice had turned so husky she scarcely recognized it. “A rare man, and a friend.”
    His pale eyes glimmered. “He’ll come home to us safe and sound, ma’am. Don’t you worry.”
    She wiped her eyes, tried hard for a smile, and asked Gerald if he could tell Falconer she was there. Gerald immediately rose to do her bidding.
    “Mama and I made you provisions,” she said when Falconer appeared in the doorway.
    “Then I shall feast indeed. Please give her my sincere thanks.” He bowed his head slightly in her direction but did not meet her gaze before turning back into his room. Serafina could see the satchel he was packing on the bed.
    “Papa has the papers and the gold ready for you in the front room,” she said, raising her voice and keeping it as steady as she could.
    “Gerald!” he called.
    “Here.”
    “Go fetch them, if you would. And then it’s probably time to leave for the Langstons.”
    The slender man left without another word.
    Serafina set the food beside his satchel. “What you said back there . . .”
    “Lass.”
    “Yes?”
    “We are friends, are we not?”
    “Yes.” Her heart wrenched with the bittersweet truth.
    “Then there is no need for you to say anything further. Is there?”
    Her voice emerged hoarse and low. “Promise me you will come home.”
    Falconer finally turned to look at her. And smiled. “Home. What a nice thing to say to a man who has wandered all his life long.”
    “Wherever you are, however far you travel, you must always remember that. Our home is yours, John Falconer. A room is always here for you, a place at the table, a . . .”
    They shared a long look. Two friends with a world of memories and caring between them. Then he went back to packing his belongings. He looked to be carrying just one satchel. In went the Book. A single change of clothes. The food. A brace of pistols. Powder and shells. She pointed at the small metal box he put in next. “What is that?”
    “Percussion caps. For priming the pistols.” His movements were as easy as his speech. “New-fangled invention. But they speed up the loading process, so I suppose they might prove useful.”
    “Were you ever afraid of anything?”
    “What a question. Of course.”
    “I don’t believe it for a moment.”
    “I face fears every day.”
    He was silent for a long moment, and something in the downward cast to his shoulders left Serafina certain he was thinking of her. Which only left her more helpless and worried. “What was the first thing you were frightened of?”
    “The dark.”
    She laughed. “Just like any child.”
    “No, not really.” He straightened after fastening the satchel.
    “I told you once of my early days. How I was apprenticed to a ratter. When the rage was on him, he’d send me into cellars alone. I hated those times. Eight years old was too young to be sent into a cold, dark place, my hands too full of cages to even carry a light.”
    “Stop, please,” she whispered. “It is too terrible.”
    His gaze refocused upon her. “I have God now, you see. God and good friends. They see me through so much. Even this sad day of farewells and wishes I shall never share with another.”
    She was weeping so hard now she could hardly speak. “I’m so sorry.”
    “Shah, lass.” Hearing the soft word from him, so full of affection, only caused her to weep the more. She could see his hand reach for her, then fall back to his side. “Shall I tell you a secret?”
    She took a long moment to reply, “Only if it is a nice one.”
    “That it is, lass.” He leaned closer, and she could smell his masculine scent. “God spoke to me about you.”
    She wiped her face with both hands, knowing she looked a mess and not really caring. Only wanting to see him clearly, her dear friend. “What did He say?”
    “That you are right in what you have decided about us.”
    “Oh, Falconer.”
    “Shah,