An Angel for Dry Creek (5 page)

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.

M
atthew stared at the glass coffeepot in his hand. He'd come to the hardware store at eight o'clock just like any other regular working day. But never before had the coffeepot been so sparkling clean and never before had a can of gourmet hazelnut coffee stood beside it. Old Henry was fussy about his coffee, and he always made it plain and strong. “Nothing fancy,” he'd often say. “My customers are ranchers, not ballet dancers.”

Glory and Matthew had shared a ride to the store after dropping the twins off at the church's nursery. “I think your customers might like some of these coffee flavors,” Glory said.

“Coffee flavors?” Matthew hadn't slept well last night and he wanted his coffee thick and black with no frills. It wasn't the sofa that had kept him awake or even the pain in his knee. No matter how many times he turned over on the old sofa, his mind kept wandering back to dreams of Glory. Now he needed a good kick of coffee to keep him awake.

“You know, orange, raspberry, chocolate,” Glory replied as she pulled the three bottles out of her purse. She hadn't slept well last night. She assured herself it was the creaking of the old house that had kept her awake and not the picture that stayed in her mind of Matthew adding more wood to the fire last night. She had gotten up this morning determined to make good progress on her painting today. That meant coffee.

“That's nice,” Matthew said as he tried to hide as much of the white doily under the sugar bowl as he could. He'd have to tell Elmer and Jacob that the doily was a Christmas decoration. He expected they'd tolerate the concept of a few holiday decorations more kindly than the idea that their domain was being citified. Citified wasn't popular here. As it was, the two old men spent half their time here arguing about the dude ranch over on the Big Sheep Mountain Ranch. Anything that smacked of change and city people was suspect. And coffee flavors. The next thing you knew she'd want a…

“Cappuccino machine—that's what we need,” Elmer said a half hour later. He was sipping his orange-flavored coffee most politely and beaming at Glory as she set up her easel. “I've always had a hankering to have one of those coffees.”

“I don't even know if they have a cappuccino machine in Miles City. We'd have to send to Billings to buy one,” Matthew protested.

What was wrong with Elmer? Once he'd complained because Henry put a different kind of toilet paper in the bathroom. And yet, here he was, wearing a new white shirt, the kind he only wore to funerals. “And no one's complained before. You've always liked the usual.”

“But sometimes it's good to have a change,” Glory said from her place by the window.

“Yeah, don't be such an old stick-in-the mud,” Jacob said as he peered into his coffee cup suspiciously. Apparently Jacob didn't find anything too alarming in his cup, because he took a hot, scalding gulp. “Ahh, none of us are too old to try something new.”

“I thought I'd set Susie's sketch up in the display window, too,” Glory said. It had occurred to her last night that most gas stations wouldn't take checks. She could use some cash. “I might get another order for a portrait.”

Matthew swallowed. He'd prefer to rearrange these receipts and dust the merchandise all morning. Anything to put off looking at the picture of Susie.

“I've got the sketch ready,” Glory said. She'd placed the drawing of Susie on her easel. She'd drawn Susie smiling and holding a plate of oatmeal cookies almost level with her chin.

“I see that,” Matthew said as he stood and hobbled over to the sketch. He took a deep breath. He felt the rubber band squeeze his heart. He'd been unable to cry at Susie's funeral. He'd just sat there with that rubber band squeezing the life out of him. This time he'd take a quick look and be done with it. He felt as if he'd been called upon to identify someone in the morgue. It wasn't a duty he wanted to prolong.

“That's her,” Matthew said in surprise. He'd expected an identification picture of Susie, something that looked like a passport photo where you see the resemblance but not the person. But Glory was good. It was Susie's eyes that smiled at him from the paper.

“I wasn't sure about the cheekbones,” Glory fretted.
She didn't like the stillness that surrounded Matthew. “I think they might be a little too high.”

“No, it's perfect. That's Susie.”

Matthew braced himself for the inevitable second wave of pain. Susie had trusted him to save her life, trusted his faith to make her well. He'd never forgiven himself for letting her down. Somehow he hadn't prayed hard enough or loud enough to make any difference.

“Did she have a pink dress?” Glory interrupted his thoughts. Matthew's face had gone white and she didn't know what else to offer but chatter. “I thought I'd paint her in a pink dress with a little lace collar of white.”

“Pink is good,” Matthew said as he turned to walk away on his crutches. The sweat cooled on his brow. He'd made it past the hard part. He'd seen Susie again. Seen the look of trust on her face. He'd promised he'd take care of her and he had failed. He had told her God would come through for them. But he'd been wrong. In the end, Matthew had bargained bitterly with God to let him die. But God had not granted him even that small mercy. Matthew kept his face turned away from everyone. He'd fight his own demons alone.

“You like pink, do you?” Elmer said as he walked over to Glory.

“Who, me? No, I'm more of a beige-and-gray type of person,” Glory said. She didn't like the closed look on Matthew's face or the ramrod straightness of his back when he'd turned around. But he'd made it clear he didn't want to talk.

“Beige—gray—that's good,” Elmer murmured as he leaned closer to Glory.

Matthew hobbled stiffly back to the counter and sat back down on his chair. The air cooled the remaining
sweat off his face as he watched Elmer make his moves. The old fox. Matthew took a deep breath. Today he'd rather watch the nonsense with Elmer than hold on to his own pain. He wanted to live in today and not yesterday. It made him feel better to know he wasn't the only one being charmed by Glory. No wonder the old man drank his orange coffee as if he enjoyed it. “No checker game this morning, Elmer?”

“Checkers—ah, n-no.” Elmer stammered a little. “I thought I'd sit and talk a bit with the ang—with Miss Glory.” Elmer gave a curt nod in Glory's direction. “Get acquainted, so to speak.”

“That's very friendly of you,” Glory said. She'd watched Matthew make his way to the counter and had relaxed when he turned to face them. When he started watching them, she turned her attention to Elmer. The old man was safer. She didn't mind company while she painted and almost welcomed it while she set out her brushes as she did now. Since Matthew had approved the sketch, she'd move on to the first stages of the oil painting.

“My pleasure,” Elmer said, and then took another dainty sip of his orange coffee. “It isn't often we have a young woman visiting—at least, not one your age.”

“Hmm,” Glory murmured pleasantly. She'd need to mix some blue with that mauve to get the eye color right.

“Your age,” Elmer repeated. “And what might that be?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Ah,” Elmer said.

Matthew watched as the older man marked down a figure in a little notepad he pulled out of his pocket.

“And your birthday?”

“March 15.”

“Good month,” Elmer said as he nodded and marked another figure in his notepad. “That means you were born in oh three, fifteen, ah, 19…ah…?”

“Say, what are you doing?” Matthew demanded in surprise as he hobbled over to Elmer and stared at the older man.

“What?” Elmer bristled as he slid the notepad into his jacket pocket. “Just making conversation.”

“You're planning to buy a lottery ticket from your daughter in L.A., aren't you?” Matthew said in amazement. “And you're getting some lucky numbers.”

“It's all right.” Glory looked up at the two of them and smiled. “At least that way, he'll have to call her.”

“Yeah,” Elmer said smugly as he patted the notebook in his pocket. “It'll be our family time. Nothing better than talking to your family.”

Matthew grunted. “You've got better things to talk about than numbers and lottery tickets. Besides, her numbers aren't magic. She's not an angel.”

“And how do you know that?” Elmer lifted his chin. “She could be. The Bible says we sometimes entertain angels unaware. Right in Hebrews 13:2. I looked it up.”

“But the angels aren't unaware.” Glory didn't like the direction this discussion was going. She was as earthbound as anyone. “And an angel? I assure you, I'm not one.” She was just finishing up the right eyebrow on Susie's picture. Eyebrows were important character pieces. They could make a face look innocent, bewildered, sad. Glory had settled on innocent for Susie.

“You could be,” Elmer stubbornly insisted. “You just might not want us to know.”

Matthew snorted. “An angel wouldn't lie.” He didn't know why he cared, but it gave him a funny feeling to have people talk about Glory as though she was an angel.

Not that the people of Dry Creek didn't need an angel. Fact is, they needed a whole troupe of angels and a basket of miracles, too. He didn't begrudge them their hope. It's just that he, of all people, knew the disappointment that came when expected miracles didn't happen.

The bell over the door rang as the door swung open and a half dozen little children in snowsuits walked in. A huge gust of wind and Mrs. Hargrove came in behind them.

“Josh! Joey!” Matthew recognized his sons, or, at least, he recognized their snowsuits. There was much flapping about before the hoods were down and the young faces looked around the hardware store.

“There she is!” Josh shouted to his friends, and pointed at Glory.

Matthew tensed.

“Hi, there.” Glory looked up at the children and smiled. Their bright snowsuits made a lovely study in color. Blue. Red. Pink. Even a purple one. “I should paint you all sometime. Just like this.”

“I see you do have everything set up,” Mrs. Hargrove said in satisfaction as she stepped out in front of her charges. “I was hoping you did. The children have never seen a real artist at work. If you don't mind them watching. I thought it'd be educational.”

Matthew relaxed. That's why they were here.

“And she's an angel, too,” Joey boasted quietly.

Matthew bit back his tongue. If Josh had done the boasting, he'd have corrected him in an instant. But it
had been so long since he'd seen Joey care enough to speak up about anything, he didn't have the heart to correct him.

“Well, maybe not quite an angel,” Matthew did offer softly. “Sometimes a good person can seem like an angel to others without really being one.”

“Josh said she'd take our pictures to God,” said another little boy, Greg, glancing sideways at Glory. “For Christmas.”

Glory put down her brushes and turned to face the expectant faces looking at her. She noticed that most of the pockets had a piece of paper peeking out of them.

“I'd be happy to take your pictures,” Glory said as she stepped forward. It had been a long time since she'd done this much Christmas shopping, but it'd be fun. Sylvia, she knew, would enjoy being her go-between and Glory had enough in her checking account to cover it. “Just be sure you put your full names on the pictures—first and last.”

“Last, too?” one of the boys asked, his forehead puckering in a quick frown. “I can't write my last.”

“Maybe Mrs. Hargrove can help you,” Glory said. “But I do need first name and last name so the right present gets to the right child.”

“I thought God knew our names,” a little girl in a pink snowsuit said suspiciously as she stepped out of the leg of her suit. “If you're his angel you should know, too.”

“I'm not an angel,” Glory said.

“Then why do you want our pictures?” the little girl demanded.

“She'll give your pictures to your parents.” Mrs. Hargrove stepped in front of the children. “It's your
parents that—” She stumbled. Glory could see why. Those shining little faces looked up with such trust.

“My parents already said I won't get no Betsy Tall doll,” the girl said. “They said it's too ex—cen—sive.”

“Expensive, dear.” Mrs. Hargrove corrected the pronunciation automatically. “Too expensive. And I'm sure there are other dolls.”

The hope was beginning to fade on the young faces.

“I'd be happy to take your pictures,” Glory said again softly. She held out her hands and the children quickly stuffed their pictures into them.

“Mrs. Hargrove will help me figure out who's who,” Glory assured the children.

Glory was watching the children and didn't hear Matthew coming up next to her.

“I'll help with the pictures,” Matthew whispered in her ear.

Glory jumped. Matthew startled her. He was so…well, just so close. He unnerved her. She pulled away slightly. “I don't need help. I'm fine. I can take care of it.”

“How? You're not an angel.”

“Just because I'm not an angel doesn't mean I can't buy a few gifts.”

“For children you don't even know?”

“I know them now.” Glory shrugged. What was it with this man? Didn't he believe anyone could do something for someone else just because?

The bell over the door rang again, and this time a teenage girl slipped inside. She had a tiny gold ring in her nose and a streak of red dye going through her hair. Fashion, it appeared, hadn't neglected southeastern Montana.

“Linda.” Matthew greeted the girl carefully. “What can we help you with?”

“What do you think, big guy?” Linda cooed softly. The girl lifted her eyes to Matthew. She was holding a five-dollar bill in her hand and she waved it around.