An Angel for Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad
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“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,