Читать книгу An Angel for Dry Creek - Janet Tronstad - Страница 10

“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.”

“Henry doesn’t notice the dust,” Matthew said. He wondered if Glory had noticed how dusty it was in the hardware store. Of course she’d noticed, he thought. He could see her frowning at the window beside her. It could use a good washing. He’d started to clean up Henry’s store now that the man was gone to his daughter’s in Florida for a long winter vacation, but Matthew had started in the back, in the stockroom.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Hargrove,” Matthew said as he reached for his crutches. “I think I best get my bottle of window cleaner and—” Matthew nodded in the general direction of Glory.

But before Matthew could stand, Glory came over to the counter.

“I’d like to buy a brush,” Glory said. The hardware store looked as if it could use some business, and she assumed they had a fine-tip brush that could serve her uses. “Make that a dozen and a can of turpentine.”

“Brushes are over there,” Matthew said, and started to rise. “Most of them are for real painting—I mean, not for artists, but there might be one or two small enough.”

“You just sit back down,” Mrs. Hargrove said as Matthew fitted the crutches under his arms. “You aren’t in any shape to be fetching brushes.” Mrs. Hargrove walked toward the shelf and returned with a dozen paintbrushes. Glory put her platinum plastic card on the counter. “I assume you take credit cards.”

“Some days that’s all we take,” Matthew said as he pulled out the credit card duplicator and picked up the phone for verification.

Matthew punched in the numbers of Glory’s credit card. He didn’t want to admit it, but hers was the first platinum card he’d ever processed. Most people in Dry Creek thought they were rich if they qualified for the gold card. “Is there something different about a platinum card?”

“Different?”

“Your numbers aren’t taking,” Matthew said as he punched another number to speak to an operator. “Maybe I’m doing something wrong.”

“Oh.” Matthew’s frown had grown deeper as the operator on the other end spoke.

Matthew hung up the phone. “Your card’s been canceled.”

“Canceled? How could it be canceled?”

“It seems you’re, ah, dead.”

“Dead! But that’s ridiculous. I mean—how?”

“They didn’t say how it happened,” Matthew offered. He didn’t want to think of the implications of Glory trying to run a fraudulent card through his system.

“There’s no ‘how’ to it,” Glory snapped. “It hasn’t happened. I’m perfectly healthy, as anyone can see.”

“Perfectly,” Matthew agreed. She did look healthy, especially with the indignant flush on her cheeks. Maybe she’d simply missed a payment or two and that was the reason they were canceling her card.

“Can I use your phone?” Glory finally said. She’d call the captain. He’d said he’d take in her mail while she was gone. He could solve the mystery. “Collect, of course.”

Matthew handed her the phone, and Glory turned her back slightly to make the call.

“Thank God you called,” the captain said when he heard her voice. “I was worried.”

“I just called two days ago,” Glory protested. “I’m fine, except for my credit card.”

“Ah, yes. I canceled your card. Not as easy as you’d think. I had to claim official business and tell them you’d died.”

“You what?” Glory protested and then, remembering her audience, turned to give a reassuring smile to Matthew and Mrs. Hargrove. She didn’t want them to think she was broke, let alone dead. She turned her back to them.

“Someone jimmied your mailbox yesterday,” the captain said. “Took your credit card bill.”

“The bill—they can have it.”

“With the bill, someone can trace you,” the captain pointed out patiently. “Find out what hotels you’re staying at. Where you’re buying gas. It’s not that hard. Someone real sophisticated will find a way to get your charges the same day you make them. By now, they probably know what state you’re in. Remember that shot. First the shooting at the grocery store and then that shot coming the next day so close to you. I don’t like it. Not with someone taking your credit card bill.”

“Surely you don’t think—” Glory sputtered. “Thank goodness I haven’t used the card since Spokane. But I can’t believe—It was probably just some kids breaking in.”

“They didn’t break in to the other mailboxes in your building.”

“Maybe they got tired. Thought of something better to do.”

The captain was silent. “Maybe. Then I keep wondering if something wasn’t fishy about that shooting at Benson’s. Could be more was happening than you’ve remembered.”

“Just the butcher standing by the meat counter. Had a package of steaks in one hand and the time card of one of his assistants in the other.”

“We checked the name on the time card. The clerk didn’t have a dispute.”

“Least, not one they’re talking about,” Glory added.

“No extra keys on him, either,” the captain continued. “If it was a robbery, there was no reason to shoot the man. He wasn’t holding anything back.”

“But if it was a robbery, why wait to make the hit when the armored transport had just made the pickup to go to the bank?”

“Ignorance?”

“Yeah, and anyone that ignorant wouldn’t think to trace a credit card.” Glory pushed back the prickles that were teasing the base of her spine. The captain was paranoid. He had to be. She hadn’t been the only one at Benson’s. She’d already told the police everything she knew. Besides, the bullet that had gone whizzing by a day later was gang related. The department was sure of that.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll go ahead and call the credit card company.”

“Good.” Glory took a deep breath. “When can I use the card?”

“Ten days. Takes them that long to verify,” the captain said hesitantly. “I’ll wire you some money. Your mom and I are heading off for that trip we told you about, but we’ll drop it on our way. Tell me where you are.”

“Dry Creek, Montana,” Glory said. She looked over her shoulder. Matthew and Mrs. Hargrove were trying to look inconspicuous, a sure sign they’d overheard everything.

“Trouble?” Matthew said sympathetically as Glory hung up the phone and turned around. He could see she was embarrassed. “Don’t worry about the brushes. Henry runs tabs for people all the time. You can pay when you can.”

“No problem. I’m expecting a money order to come here to the post office, maybe even tomorrow,” she said brightly.

Matthew looked at Mrs. Hargrove. Mrs. Hargrove looked at Matthew.

“We don’t have a post office,” the older woman finally said.

“No post office?” Glory said as her stomach started to sink. “Can I borrow the phone again?”

The captain’s phone rang seven times before the secretary came on the line to say he’d just walked out the door to leave for his vacation.

“Can you leave a message just in case he calls before he leaves?” Glory asked. She wished she’d brought the captain’s new unlisted home phone number with her. She hadn’t bothered, because her mother and the captain were going to be on their trip.

After she left the message, Glory turned around. She was stuck. Stuck in Dry Creek. Unless. “I’d be happy to work in exchange for the brushes. The store looks like it could use some more help.”

Matthew hesitated.

“I’m willing to work for minimum wage.”

“I wish I could,” Matthew said apologetically. “But we’ve already got a dozen job applications in the drawer. There aren’t many jobs in Dry Creek this time of year. There’d be an uprising if I gave a job to an outsider when so many people here want one,” Matthew finished lamely. Maybe he should chance the anger of the townspeople.

“I didn’t know it was that bad.” Glory said.

“We get by.” Mrs. Hargrove lifted her chin. “In fact, there’s talk of starting a dude ranch over on the Big Sheep Mountain place.”

“That’s just talk,” Elmer said sharply. “The Big Sheep’s been a cattle ranch for more than a hundred years. Started out as the XIT Ranch and then became the Big Sheep. We’ve got history. Pride. We don’t need a bunch of city folks messing things up with their Jeeps and fancy boots. You know as good as me, they won’t stay inside the fences. They’ll scare the elk away. Not to mention the eagles. Before you know it, the Big Sheep Mountains will be empty—no animals at all, not even the cows.”

“Better that than empty of people,” Mrs. Hargrove replied as she tightened her lips. “It’s old fools like you that can’t make way for progress.”

“Old fool? Me?” Elmer protested. “Why, I rode in the Jaycee Bucking Horse Sale last May. On Black Demon. Nothing old about me.” He sighed. “Ah, what’s the use. You’re just worried about your son’s family.”

Mrs. Hargrove nodded slowly. “He said they’d have to move come spring if something doesn’t open up. He’s worked for the Big Sheep Mountain Cattle Company for ten years, but this rustling has them in a bind. They’re losing too many cattle and they’re going to start laying off hands.” Mrs. Hargrove refocused on Glory as though just remembering she was there. The older woman settled her face into a polite smile. “I don’t mean to go on about our troubles. We get by just fine. God is good to us.”

“Of course,” Glory said carefully. She knew a wall of pride when she bumped into it, and Mrs. Hargrove had it in abundance. Matthew did, too. She hadn’t given any thought to how Matthew managed on his salary, but now she remembered the frayed collars on the twins’ shirts and the mended pocket on Joey’s jacket. She’d have to send him some money when she got home. In fact—

“How about a check? I can pay for the brushes with a check,” Glory offered in relief. She wasn’t totally stranded, after all.

“A check is fine,” Matthew said heartily. He’d remember to pull it out and replace it with cash from his own pocket before he took the checks to the bank. He had no doubt her check would bounce as high as her credit card had and he didn’t want to embarrass her further. “It’s $12.64 for the brushes and turpentine.”

“Good.” Glory started to write the check. “And I’ll add a little extra for you—”

“You don’t need to tip someone who works in a hardware store,” Matthew said stiffly. A red flush settled around his neck. “The service is free.”

“Of course,” Glory said quickly. There she’d gone and offended him. She finished the check. “Twelve sixty-four exactly.”

Glory counted the checks in her checkbook. She had ten left. That was enough to pay for meals and a hotel for a few nights.

“Where’s the hotel from here?” she asked. She couldn’t remember seeing one, but there must be one. Every town had a hotel.

“There’s no hotel here,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she nudged Matthew.

“Oh. Maybe a bed-and-breakfast place?”

There was a long pause as Mrs. Hargrove nudged Matthew again.

Matthew finally said, “I’m sure there’s someone in town with an extra room who would let you—”

“Well, aren’t you in luck, then,” Mrs. Hargrove said with a determined enthusiasm. “Since Matthew hurt his knee, his room will be empty. The doctor says he can’t climb the stairs with his sprain, so I’m sure no one will think anything of it. Besides, the twins are good chaperones.”

Matthew felt trapped and then guilty. The least he could do was provide her lodging. “We’d be honored to have you stay with us for a few days.”

“There’s no one who does this more like a business?” Glory asked. The thought of staying in this man’s room made her feel uneasy. She’d smell his aftershave on the pillows and see his shirts in the closet. “I can pay.” Surely one of those families that wanted a job would take in a boarder for a few nights. “I’ll even throw in a turkey for Christmas dinner.”

“I’m afraid there’s only Matthew and his boys,” Mrs. Hargrove said.

Glory bent her head to start writing her check. “How does one hundred dollars a night sound?”

“One hundred!” Matthew protested. No wonder she had financial troubles. “We’re not the Hilton. Besides, you’d be our guest.”

Glory had finished the check by the time he finished. No wonder he had financial troubles. “I can be your guest and still pay a fair price.”

“No, there’s no need,” Matthew said.

“I insist,” Glory said as she ripped off the check and presented it to him.

Matthew raised his eyebrows at the amount of the check. He supposed it didn’t matter what amount she wrote the check for when it was going to bounce anyway, but three hundred dollars was a lot to pay for several nights’ food and lodging.

“Consider it a Christmas present,” Glory said grandly. “For the twins.”

“They’ll appreciate it,” Matthew said dryly.

Glory flipped her wallet to the plastic section. “You’ll want to see my driver’s license.”

“Henry doesn’t bother. He knows the folks here who write checks,” Matthew said as he took a sidelong look at the driver’s license anyway. He was pleased to see she was Glory Beckett. She might be a bad risk from the credit company’s viewpoint, but she wasn’t a thief. That is, unless she was so polished she had gotten a fake driver’s license to go with her story.

“He doesn’t know me,” Glory said as she moved her driver’s license so it came into Matthew’s full view. “You’ll want to write down the number.”

“All right,” Matthew said as he noted her driver’s license number.

“Good,” Glory said as she put her checkbook back in her purse and turned to walk back to her easel.

“You’re not going to cash those checks, Matthew Curtis,” Mrs. Hargrove demanded in a hushed whisper as they watched Glory sit down to her easel across the store in front of the display window.

“Of course not,” Matthew agreed as he slipped the checks out of the drawer.

Carl Wall, the deputy sheriff, was running for reelection and his campaign slogan was No Crime’s Too Small To Do Some Time. He’d happily jail an out-of-towner for writing a bad check and brag about it to voters later.

Ten minutes later, Glory repositioned the easel. Then she arranged her brushes twice and turned her stool to get more light. She was stalling and she knew it. She suddenly realized she’d never painted a portrait as agonizingly important as this one. The sketches she’d done of criminals, while very important, were meant only for identification and not as a symbol of love.

“Do you want your mother to be sitting or standing?” Glory asked the twins. The two identical heads were studying the bottom of a large display window. They each had a cleaning rag and were making circles in the lower portion of the window while Matthew reached for the high corners, standing awkwardly with one crutch.

“I don’t know.” Josh stopped rubbing the window and gave it a squirt of window cleaner. “Maybe she could be riding a dragon. I’ve always wanted a picture of a dragon.”

“Mommie’s don’t ride dragons,” Joey scolded his brother. “They ride brooms.”

Matthew winced. Susie had been adamantly opposed to celebrating Halloween and, consequently, the twins had only a sketchy idea of the spooks that inspired other children’s nightmares.

“No, sweetie, it’s witches who ride brooms.” Mrs. Hargrove corrected the boy with a smile as she picked up a cleaning rag and joined Matthew on the high corners. “Maybe you could have a picture painted of your mother praying.”

“No,” Matthew said a little more loudly than he intended. His memories of Susie praying tormented him. He knew she would be heartbroken that her death had brought a wedge between him and God, but his feelings were there anyway. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never understand how God could have answered his prayers for so long on the small things like good crops and passing tests but when it came to the one big thing—Susie’s recovery—God had let him down flat. No sense of comfort. No nothing. He’d expected his faith to carry them through always.

Matthew didn’t feel like explaining himself. His arms were sore from the crutches and he hobbled over to a stool that was beside Glory. “I want the twins to remember their mother laughing. She was a happy woman.”

“Well, that’d make a good picture, too,” Mrs. Hargrove said, and then looked at the twins. The twins had stopped wiping their circles and were listening thoughtfully. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The twins nodded.

“Okay, smiling it is,” Glory said. This Susie woman sounded like a saint, always smiling and praying and baking cookies, and Glory had no reason to resent her. None whatsoever, she thought to herself. “I assume she had all her teeth.”

“What?” Matthew seemed a little startled with the question.

“Her teeth,” Glory repeated. “If I’m going to paint her smiling, I need to know about her teeth. Were there any missing?”

“Of course not.”

“Were any of them crooked?” Glory continued. “Or chipped? Did she have a space between the front ones?”

“They were just teeth,” Matthew said defensively. Why did he suddenly feel guilty because he couldn’t remember what kind of teeth Susie had? He knew her image was burned onto his heart. He just couldn’t pull up the details. “Her eyes were blue—a blue so deep they’d turn to black in the shadows.”

“Eyes. Blue. Deep,” Glory said as she wrote a note on the butcher paper she’d stretched over her easel. “And her nose, was it like this? Or like this?” Glory sketched a couple of common nose styles. “Or more like this?”

“It was sort of like that, but more scrunched at the beginning,” Matthew said, pointing to one of the noses and feeling suddenly helpless. He hadn’t realized until now that the picture Glory was going to paint was the picture that was inside his head. He’d spent a lot of time trying to get Susie’s face out of his mind so he could keep himself going forward. What if he’d done too good a job? What if he couldn’t remember her face as well as he should?

“Pugged nose,” Glory muttered as she added the words to the list on the side of the paper. “Any marks? Moles? Freckles? Warts?”

“Of course not. She was a classic beauty,” Matthew protested.

“I see,” Glory said. She tried to remind herself that she was doing a job and shouldn’t take Matthew’s words personally. “I have freckles.”

Glory winced. She hadn’t meant to say that.

“I noticed them right off.” Matthew nodded. “That’s how I knew you couldn’t be an angel.”

“I see,” Glory said icily. Couldn’t be an angel, indeed. Just because Susie didn’t have freckles. She’d show him who couldn’t be an angel. “Any other identifying facial marks?”

“I liked the way your hair curled,” Matthew offered thoughtfully as he remembered lying on his back after his fall and looking up at Glory. “It just spread all out like a sunflower—except it was brass instead of gold.” He had a sudden piercing thought of what it would be like to kiss a woman with hair like that. Her hair would fall around him with the softness of the sun.

“I meant Susie. Did she have any other identifying facial marks?” Glory repeated.

“Oh,” Matthew said, closing his eyes in concentration. Could Susie have had freckles after all? Even a few? No, she’d made this big production about never going out in the sun because her skin was so fair—like an English maiden, she used to say. What else did Susie always say? Oh, yes. “Peaches and cream. Her skin was a peaches-and-cream complexion.”

“Well, that’s a nice poetic notion,” Glory said as she added the words to her list.

“What do you mean by that?” Matthew opened his eyes indignantly. Glory had gone all bristly on him, and he was trying his best to remember all the details just as she wanted.

“It’s just that peaches have fuzz—and cream eventually clots. The whole phrase is a cliché. It doesn’t describe anything. No one’s skin looks like that. Not really.”

“Well, no,” Matthew admitted. “It’s just hard to remember everything.”

“True enough.” Glory softened. She had gotten descriptions from hundreds of people in her career. She should know not to push someone. Often a victim would have a hard time recalling the features of their assailant. She imagined the same thing might be true when grief rather than fear was the problem. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll do it one step at a time. We’ll be done by Friday.”

“But Friday’s not the pageant. You’ve got to stay until the pageant,” Josh said solemnly. “They’ve never had a real angel before in the pageant.”

“I’m not an—” Glory protested automatically as she turned to the twins. They both looked so wistful. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay. Even though I’d love to see my two favorite shepherds in their bathrobes.”

“How’d you know we’re wearing bathrobes?” Josh demanded.

“She’s an angel, that’s how,” Joey said proudly. “She’s just an undercover angel, so she can’t tell anyone. Like a spy.”

“Do you know everyone’s secrets?” Josh asked in awe.

“I don’t know anyone’s secrets,” Glory said, and then smiled teasingly. “Unless, of course, you do something naughty.”

“Wow, just like Santa Claus,” Josh breathed excitedly. “Can you get me a Star Trek laser light gun for Christmas?”

“I thought we talked about that, Josh,” Matthew interjected. “You know Santa is just a story.”

“I know,” Josh said in a rush. His eyes were bright with confidence. “But she’s an angel and she can tell God. That’s even better than Santa Claus. God must have lots of toys.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Matthew said. He’d have to sit down with Josh and explain how the universe worked. Whether he asked God or Santa Claus for a present, it didn’t matter. Neither one of them could buy Josh a gift unless it could be found in Miles City for twenty dollars or less.

“Can you tell God?” Josh ignored his father and whispered to Glory. “I’ve been a good boy, except for—well, you know—the bug thing.”

Glory didn’t think she wanted to know about the bug thing. “I’m sure you have been a good boy,” she said as she knelt to look squarely at the boy. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you draw a picture of this laser gun and color it. That way, if you want to send God a picture, He’ll know what it looks like.”

“Me, too,” Joey asked. “Can I make a picture, too?”

“Why not?” Glory said, and included him in her smile. Even if her credit card wouldn’t live again by Christmas she could send a check to one of her girlfriends. Her friend Sylvia ran a neighborhood youth center and would be visiting that huge toy store in Seattle anyway. Even though most of the kids Sylvia worked with were more likely to own a real pistol than a water pistol, Sylvia insisted on treating them as though they were ordinary children at the holidays. The kids loved her for it.

“But…” Matthew tried to catch Glory’s eye.

“Daddy needs one, too,” Joey said. The twins both looked at her with solemn eyes. It had taken her several hours to figure out how to tell them apart. Joey’s eyes were always quieter. “But Daddy’s old.”

“No one’s too old for Christmas wishes,” Glory said.

“Really?” Joey smiled.

It was dusk by the time Glory finished her sketch of Susie and they all went home for dinner. Glory offered to cook, but Matthew declared she had already done her work for the day. Glory was too tired to resist. Sketching Susie had been difficult. Matthew had never wanted to look at the full face of the sketch, and so she’d pieced it together an eyebrow at a time. Even when she’d finished, he’d pleaded fatigue and asked to look at the sketch on the next day.

Matthew went to the kitchen to cook dinner, leaving Glory on the sofa with a Good Housekeeping magazine.

“I’ve learned to be a good cook,” Matthew said a little bleakly as he sat down a little later and leaned his crutches against the dining-room wall. The smell of burned potatoes still hung in the air even though all the windows were now open. “Dinner doesn’t usually float in milk.”

“Cereal is all right,” Glory assured him. She’d realized when the smoke drifted into the living room that dinner would be delayed.

“I like the pink ones,” Joey said as he poured his bowl full of Froot Loops.

“I always keep cornflakes for me,” Matthew said as he handed the box to Glory. “I’m afraid we don’t have a wide selection.”

“Cornflakes are fine,” Glory said. “I often eat light.”

Matthew chided himself. He should have realized. She lived on the road, likely by her wits. Of course she ate light. He should have made sure she had a decent meal.

“We’ll eat better tomorrow, I promise. Something with meat in it. And if you need anything, just ask.”

“I will,” Glory assured him, and smiled.

Her smile kicked Matthew in the stomach. The sun shone about her when she smiled. No wonder his sons thought she was an angel.

“Daddy?” Joey was looking at Matthew.

Matthew pulled himself together. It was time for grace.

“Hands,” Matthew said and offered his hand to Joey on the one side. He didn’t realize until his hand was already extended that Glory was on his other side.

“I’ll say grace,” Josh offered as he put one hand out to Joey and the other to Glory. He looked shyly at Glory. “I washed. I’m not jammy.”

“I know.” Glory smiled softly as she reached easily for his hand. His small hand snuggled trustingly in her palm. She held her other hand out to Matthew. His hand didn’t snuggle. Instead, it enveloped her. She swore her pulse moved from her wrist to the center of her palm. She wondered if he could feel the quickening beat in her. What was wrong with her? He’d think she’d never held a man’s hand before. Not that she was holding his hand now. It was prayer hand-holding. That’s all. Just because his thumb happened to caress the inside of her finger.

“Okay, Daddy?” Josh asked again, looking at his father. “It’s my turn to say grace.”

Matthew nodded his permission. What was wrong with him? Even Josh was looking at him funny. Matthew was beginning to think he’d never held a woman’s hand before. Glory’s skin was softer than fine leather. She must use some kind of lotions on her hands because of her work in paints. That must be it. Just lotions. He cleared his throat. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Josh bowed his head and carefully screwed his eyes closed. “Thank you, God, for this day and for this food and for our comp—” Josh stumbled “—comp-any. Amen.”

“Thank you, Josh,” Glory said when he looked up again. “I’m honored to be your company.”

“If there’s anything you need…” Matthew offered again.

The only thing she needed, she thought later that evening, was some more paint. The twins had been put to bed and she was sitting on the sofa reading her magazine and talking with Matthew as he sewed a button on Josh’s winter coat. The light from the two lamps made round circles on the ceiling and bathed Matthew in a yellow glow. She hated to tell the twins, but it was their father who looked like the angel. His chestnut hair waved and curled all over his head and down to his collar. Forceful cheekbones sloped down to a square chin. He was the most manly-looking man she’d seen in a long time. Not that, of course, she assured herself, there was anything personal in her admiration.

“I best get the fire banked for the night,” Matthew said.

“Let me do it,” Glory said as she set aside the magazine. “Rest your leg. Just tell me how and it won’t take a minute.”

Matthew pulled himself up by holding on to the bookshelf and then put one crutch under his arm. “No need, I can do it.”

“But I’d like to help,” Glory protested as she rose. “You’re in no condition to be banking a fire.”

“I’m fine,” Matthew said. “It takes more than a sprained knee to stop me.”

Glory looked at him. A thin sheen of sweat was showing on his forehead and it was definitely not hot in the room. “You’ve got more pride than sense.”

“Pride?” Matthew said as he hobbled over to the woodstove. “It’s not pride. It’s learning to take care of yourself. I’ve learned not to rely on others. I can do whatever I need to do to take care of me and my boys.”

“Without help from anyone,” Glory said dryly. Relying on others was the key to trust. Trust in others. Trust in God.

“We don’t need any help,” Matthew said as he lifted the grate on the stove. “It’s best not to count on anyone else. I can do what needs doing.”

“Can you?” Glory said softly as she watched Matthew reach down and pick up several pieces of wood. The fire wrapped golden shadows around his face. His frown burrowed itself farther into his forehead. She had no doubt Matthew could do everything that needed to be done in raising his sons—everything, that is, except teach them how to have faith. For how can you have faith in God if you can’t trust anyone, not even Him? No wonder the boys clung to the belief she was an angel. It would take an angel to bring healing to their little family.

The Bullet folded his socks and put them in an old duffel bag that was carefully nondescript. No logos. No fancy stripes. Just brown.

“My uncle…” the Bullet said as he added a sweater. “He’s sick. Spokane.”

Millie nodded. She’d just come back from her job at Ruby’s Coffee Shop and sat on the edge of the bed with her back straight and her eyes carefully not looking at the socks. She always looked so fragile with her wispy blond hair and slender body.

“I—ah—I’ll be back soon,” the Bullet continued. She knows where I’m going. Oh, not the location. But she knows the why. “A week or so is all.”

Millie nodded again and stood up. “Better take another sweater. It’s cold in Spokane.” She walked to the closet.

“No, let me.” The Bullet intercepted her. He didn’t want Millie to be part of any of this, not even the packing.

“Don’t go. You don’t have to go.” Millie turned to him and spoke fiercely.

“I already told my uncle I was coming,” the Bullet said slowly. It was too late to change his mind.