Glory looked down at the man in dismay. She could see he’d fallen down the stairs and his leg was at an awkward angle.
“Where’s your phone? We’ve got to call 911,” she said as she turned around to the twins. “We’ll need an ambulance right away.”
The boys just looked at her expectantly. The one had already taken off his scarf and the other was halfway out of his snowsuit. “Can’t you just make daddy all better?” one of them finally asked.
“I’m not a doctor,” she said quickly as her eyes scanned the living room. Old sofa, wooden rocker, plaid recliner, Christmas tree with lights but no ornaments—ah, there, on the coffee table, next to a magazine, was a phone. She dialed the numbers: 911. Nothing. Glory shook the phone. She must have dialed wrong. She tried again: 911. Still nothing. What was the matter? There was a dial tone. Surely—then it dawned on her. There was no 911 here. Probably no ambulance, either.
“Who’s your nearest neighbor?” Glory put down the phone and turned to the boys. She could already feel her hair flying loose as a result of the static from taking off her cap earlier.
“Mr. Gossett,” the boy in the Power Rangers pajamas finally said, but then he leaned closer and confided, “But you won’t like him. He drinks bottles and bottles of whiskey. I seen them. Miz Hargrove says he’s gonna go to hell someday.”
“Well, just as long as he isn’t planning to go today,” Glory said as she pulled her knit cap over her head and walked toward the door.
The next time Matthew woke up he was in the clinic in Miles City. He’d recognize the antiseptic smell of a clinic anywhere. And the gruff voice of Dr. Norris in the background.
“My boys.” Matthew croaked out the words. His mouth felt as if it was filled with dry sand.
“Don’t worry, your boys are fine,” Dr. Norris said as he turned around. “At least for the moment.”
“What?”
“Your angel is unloading the vending machine downstairs on their behalf,” the doctor said with a smile as he leaned over Matthew. He picked up a small light. “Open wide. We need to check for concussions.” The doctor peered into Matthew’s eyes.
“What angel?” Matthew asked, and then brightened. “Oh, you mean Mrs. Hargrove. I was hoping someone would think to call her.”
“That’s not Mrs. Hargrove,” the doctor said as he frowned slightly. “At least, not the Mrs. Hargrove I know. I assumed Angel was a family nickname.”
“For who?” Matthew asked, bewildered.
“I meant I assumed you called the woman Angel and that’s why your sons…” The doctor’s voice trailed off and then he added suspiciously, “It’s not like a five-year-old to call a woman Angel.”
“What are you suggesting?” Matthew started to rise. The room tilted, but he bit his lip and kept going. “And why you would let my boys just go off with a stranger—”
“Don’t worry.” The doctor put his arm around him and forced him to lie down again. “I’ll have the nurse go bring them here. I’m sure it’s just some simple misunderstanding. The woman certainly looked harmless enough.”
Harmless isn’t how Matthew would have described her a few minutes later. She was too pretty to be harmless. Her copper hair was still fanning around her face. This time he saw her gray eyes more clearly. They looked like a stormy afternoon in summer when the blues and grays swirled together without quite mixing. And his sons were looking at her as if they were star-struck. “What are you doing with my boys?”
“What am I doing?” Glory said, dumbfounded. Whatever happened to thank you? Thank you for getting that grumpy Mr. Gossett up in the early-morning hours so he could get help from Mr. Daniel, who ran the volunteer fire department’s medical transportation unit. Thank you for writing a fifty-dollar check so the volunteer department would respond to your request, since you were new in town and not on the “paid” list. Thank you for following along in the Jeep the forty miles into Miles City just so the twins could be with you.
“What am I doing?” she repeated, trying to keep her voice calm. “You mean when I’m not emptying my last quarters into the machine out there so that Josh can get a package with only yellow M&M’s in it?”
“They don’t make them with only yellows,” Matthew said. She reminded him of fire. The way her hair shone in the fluorescent light.
“I know,” the woman said wearily.
“You asked me what I wanted,” Josh said simply. “I thought it’d be easy for you, since you’re—”
Glory held up her hand to stop him.
Matthew watched as Josh closed his mouth. The woman had more powers than he did, Matthew thought to himself ruefully. He could never get Josh to close his mouth when he wanted to speak.
“That might be the wrong way to say it,” Matthew said, easing back to the bed. He needed to clear his mind. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done, of course.”
“You’re welcome,” Glory said politely. She needed to remember the man was disoriented. Disoriented and not nearly so naked now that the doctor had wrapped a wide white bandage around his rib cage. She wondered if he remembered that she’d been the one to gently run her fingertips over his chest to check for broken ribs before she put a blanket over him and they waited for the fire department to come. His chest was the kind that would inspire her if she were a sculptor.
“It’s just—” Matthew bit his lips. “I don’t know who you are. And with all the strange people around lately…”
“She’s not strange people,” Josh protested. “She’s—”
“I’m Glory.” Glory interrupted the boy and gave him a stern look. “Glory Beckett.”
“She’s an angel,” Joey said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
“And she’s got a glory light,” Josh added. The boy literally glowed with pleasure.
Glory bowed her head. She’d been through this explanation already. Four times. And that was before the requested M&M’s miracle. “I’ve got special beams on my Jeep. That’s all it is. No angel magic.” She turned to look at the man in the bed. Now he’d really be worried. “I’m sorry, this isn’t my idea.”
“I know.” Matthew smiled, and then he started to chuckle until he felt the pain in his ribs. “But you haven’t tried to argue with the logic of our Mrs.—”
“Your Mrs.?” Glory interrupted stiffly. She should have known there would be a Mrs. somewhere in this picture. “If I’d known you were married, I’d have tried to locate your wife. But the twins didn’t mention—”
“Married? Me? No, I meant our Mrs. Hargrove,” Matthew echoed, his smile curling around inside himself. He liked the way her lips tightened up when she talked about him being married. “Mrs. Hargrove isn’t married. I mean—” he fumbled “—of course, Mrs. Hargrove is married, but not to me. I’m not, that is. Married.”
“I see,” Glory said, and drew in her breath. “Well, that explains the boys. A single father and all.”
“Oh,” Matthew said ruefully. The woman hadn’t been thinking of his being married at all. At least, not in those terms. “Is there something wrong with the boys?”
“Of course not,” Glory protested. “They’re wonderful boys.” She’d already grown to like them. “They’re bright—and warmhearted.” She stopped. Sometimes, looking at children, she’d feel the pain again from the accident that had robbed her of the chance to be a mother. She was determined to fight that pain. She refused to be one of those sentimental women who either wept or gushed over every child they saw. She cooled her enthusiasm. “And they have good bone structure.”
Glory patted the twins on the head. She was safe with bone structure.
Josh scowled a minute, before Joey poked him with his elbow.
“Is that something angels have?” Joey asked hopefully. “That good bone stuff?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Glory said as she knelt so that she was at eye level with the boys. “Angels aren’t worried about bone structure. I don’t even know if God created them with bones. Although I suppose
with those big wings and all they’d have to have something like bones….”
“See, I told you,” Josh began. “She knows—”
Glory held up her hand. “The only thing I know about angels is what I’ve read in the Bible. I wouldn’t know an angel if I met one on the street.”
“You wouldn’t?” Joey asked sadly.
“Not a chance,” Glory assured him. She started to reach out to ruffle his hair again, but then pulled back. Maybe little boys didn’t like that any more than she’d liked it as a little girl. “But you don’t need an angel. You’ve got a father—” She eyed Matthew a little skeptically and then continued determinedly, “A good father—and you’ve got Mrs. Hargrove, and each other.”
“We don’t have a dog,” Josh said plaintively.
“Well, maybe someday you can get a dog,” Glory said. She was handling this pretty well, she thought. “Wouldn’t you rather have a puppy than an angel?”
Glory didn’t look at Matthew. She knew she had no right to even suggest he get the boys a puppy. But it seemed like a small thing. And they really were very nice little boys. Josh was already starting to beam.
“Can it be a yellow dog?” Josh asked, looking at Glory as if she had a dozen in her purse. “I’d like a yellow dog.”
“Well, I don’t know if today is the day,” Glory stalled.
“I don’t want a puppy.” Joey shook his head and looked at Josh. “A puppy hasn’t been in heaven. He can’t tell us what our mommy looks like.”
Joey looked expectantly at his father. “Mommy used to sing to us and make us cookies.”
“Oatmeal with extra raisins,” Matthew assured him. The trust in his son’s eyes made him forget all about his cracked rib and his sprained knee. If he had been wearing more than this flimsy hospital robe, he would have walked over to them and hugged them no matter how his ribs felt. “And she loved you both very much.”
“I don’t even care about the cookies,” Joey said bravely. “I just want to know what she looked like.”
“Well, surely you have pictures.” Glory turned to look at Matthew.
“There was a fire,” Matthew said. The fire had burned down the first house they’d lived in after they moved away from Havre. At the time, it felt as if the fire was just finishing the job fate had already begun. He hadn’t known the twins would miss a few pictures this much.
“Well, your father can tell you what she looked like,” Glory offered softly. For the first time, she wished she was an angel. She’d give those little boys a puppy and a cookie-baking mother, too.
“But I can’t see her,” Joey said. “Telling isn’t seeing.”
“I can help you,” Glory said without thinking.
“What?” Matthew and Dr. Norris both asked at the same time and in the same disapproving tone.
“I can help them see their mother,” Glory said, turning to Matthew. She would do it, she thought excitedly.
“Look, I guess it’s fair play after all they’ve put you through,” Matthew said indignantly. “But I won’t have you making fun of their make-believe.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Glory protested. How could such a distrustful man raise two such trusting sons? “And I can help. I’ve drawn hundreds of pictures from descriptions I’ve been given.”
“You could?” Matthew asked, and then blinked suspiciously fast. “You really could draw a picture of the boys’ mother—of Susie?”
“Yes,” Glory said. Why was it that the same dreamy quality in the boys’ eyes irritated her when it was mirrored in the eyes of their father, the man who had been married to the woman she was going to paint? She squared her shoulders. She didn’t have time to worry about a man. She was an artist now. She was going to paint a masterpiece. The face of one of God’s creations. “It’ll be my pleasure.”
“Hallelujah,” Dr. Norris said as he bent down and swabbed Matthew’s arm. Then, as he stuck a needle in Matthew’s arm, he added. “Sounds like maybe she’s an angel after all.”
Matthew grunted.
Glory swallowed her protest. She was the only one who saw the self-satisfied nod the twins exchanged.
The Bullet kept his eyes averted. He wore his cap pulled low over his forehead even though the musty darkness shadowed his face. The inside of the parked limo was damp and the rain slid silently over the windshield. A streetlight overhead cast a feeble glow inside the car, outlining the man next to him.
“You’re sure she’s a new hit?”
“Not technically,” the man finally admitted. His words were low and clipped. “But she’s as good as…the other try was nothing…a gang shooting—slid by easy.”
“I charge extra for repeats,” the Bullet said, his lips drawing together. He didn’t like it when clients tried to get gang kids to do their dirty work. “Extra for cops, too.”
“She’s no cop,” the man said impatiently. “Draws pictures. That’s all.”
“Still, they look out for their own,” the Bullet pressed further. “She got any cop training? Guns, anything?”
“Naw. She’s easy.”
The Bullet grimaced. “I’ll settle for fifteen,” the Bullet said. “Half up front.”
The client nodded and held out a paper bag full of cash. “Here’s seventy-five hundred, Mr. Forrest Brown.”
The Bullet froze. Nobody knew him by name. He was the Bullet to all of Seattle. If he knows who I am, he knows where I live. My God, he knows about my Millie!
Chapter Two
“You best behave yourself,” Mrs. Hargrove whispered to Matthew as she leaned on the counter of the hardware store. Matthew was sitting on a folding chair behind the counter with his leg propped up on a trash can. He wasn’t feeling too well, and Mrs. Hargrove’s powdered violet perfume didn’t help.
“I assure you…” Matthew started, but he didn’t have a full head of steam going and it was almost impossible to stop the older woman without one. Besides, truth to tell, he didn’t really mind her scolding him. Listening to her gave him time to watch Glory set up an easel with the twins’ help in the front of the store.
“Humph,” Mrs. Hargrove said, turning to follow the aim of his eyes before continuing, “You may be a man of the cloth—”
“What?” Matthew jerked himself back to the conversation. That was his secret. No one here was supposed to know. “What do you mean?”
Sweat broke out on Matthew’s forehead. He had hoped no one here would ever find out. How could he explain that his faith was tied in knots? He used to love the ministry, knowing he was helping people find God’s mercy. He’d known he needed to leave the ministry when he no longer believed in that mercy, when he couldn’t even pray in public anymore. That last morning, he’d just stood in the pulpit, unable to speak. Finally the choir director figured out something was wrong and had the choir start a hymn. But the hymn didn’t help. He was still mute. All he could remember were the words of the prayers he’d prayed for Susie and the confidence he’d had. The words of those prayers rose like bile in his throat. His prayers had turned to dust when she died. How could a man with no faith be a minister? “I’m not a minister. Not anymore…”
“But a man’s a man in my book,” Mrs. Hargrove continued, and pointed her finger at him. “And that woman over there is a sight more tempting than a real angel would ever be. And don’t think other people haven’t noticed.”
“What other people?” Matthew looked around. The only two other people in the store were Elmer and Jacob, two semi-retired ranchers who stopped by the hardware store every morning for their cup of coffee. They were arguing across the checkerboard Henry kept by the woodstove. When Matthew looked at them, Elmer lifted his bearded face, gave him a slow knowing wink, stood up and then started walking toward the counter.
When Elmer reached the front of the counter, he looked squarely at Matthew. “Heard you got yourself an angel.”
“She’s not an angel,” Matthew protested automatically.
Elmer nodded solemnly. “Looks like an
angel to me. You lucky dog. Got an inside track with her, since she’s staying at your place.”
“Staying at my place—” Matthew echoed in panic. He hadn’t given any thought to where Glory would stay. The only hotel around was back in Miles City. That would be too far. But where would she stay at his place? He supposed she’d have to stay in his room. The old house had only two bedrooms, and the sofa was too lumpy for a guest. No, he’d have to take the sofa. Which was fine, but he worried about her up in his room. He couldn’t remember if he’d put his socks away last night or not. Last night, nothing—try the past week. Socks everywhere.
“She can’t stay at my place. I’m single,” Matthew said, relieved to remember the fact. Glory would never see his dirty socks. Or the calendar on his wall that was stuck back in September even though it was December 19. “It wouldn’t be proper, would it, Mrs. Hargrove?”
Matthew smiled confidently. Being single did have certain advantages.
“I would ask her to stay with me. She seems like a very nice lady,” Mrs. Hargrove said earnestly, and then shrugged her shoulders. “But I can’t.”
The smile that was forming on Matthew’s lips faded. “Why not?”
“The twins love the Christmas story,” Mrs. Hargrove explained. “They’d be very disappointed if they couldn’t keep the angel in their house. Besides, the doctor says there’s no way you can get up those stairs, so it’s perfectly proper.”
As though that settled the matter, Mrs. Hargrove ran her finger over the plastic jug of wrenches standing on the counter. “Doesn’t that Henry ever dust anything in here? Decent folks wouldn’t shop here even if they had any extra money.”
An Angel for Dry Creek Page 2
