“This is your first taste of hell, Caleb Devereaux,” he muttered. “Get used to it.” At least he had sent the Tolson brothers on ahead to meet Satan. The fires of hell were probably already burning those vicious hombres to a crisp.
A warm breath fanned his face, followed by the fleeting touch of soft hands stroking his forehead. His eyes creaked open and an angel’s face hovered above him. She had milky white skin, huge pale blue eyes and golden hair. A whiff of lavender infused his nostrils. Did angels smell of lavender?
He couldn’t see her wings, and she wore blue rather than white. There had to be a mistake. Why had he gone to heaven instead of hell? His life was not without blemish. He had killed a dozen or more men, but never shot a man in the back, didn’t need to when he was lightning fast on the draw. As a boy, he had stolen food after escaping the clutches of his drunken parents. Maybe he wasn’t evil enough for hell, but he was hardly suitable for heaven.
“Here, drink this.” The angel’s voice caressed him.
Water trickling down his throat washed away the dusty dryness.