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An Angel for Dry Creek
Janet Tronstad


A REAL LIVE ANGEL IN DRY CREEK, MONTANA?Not quite. But from the first sight of Glory Beckett framed in the light of her car's high beams, Matthew Curtis could have sworn that she was a heavenly gift sent to heal both his faith and his heart. And what's more, so could the whole town! The pressures of being angelic were downright stressful. But how could Glory resist Matthew's smile or his adorable twin boys? And it looked as if it would take a miracle to convince anyone in town that she wasn't the least bit celestial, let alone that her presence in Dry Creek might even put them all in danger!









Matthew stood behind Glory, positioning her halo.


Glory looked so much like an angelic bride as she stood there that Matthew couldn’t help himself. He leaned closer and pressed his lips very lightly to the back of her neck. His kiss was more of a breath than an act.

“My hair’s falling down.” Glory tried to reach her arm up to her neck.

“You’re fine.”

“Yeah, men always say that, even when we have broccoli in our teeth.”

“You don’t have broccoli in your teeth.”

Matthew knew they still had a half hour before the performance started, but he also knew that he’d better get Glory to her place before he gave in to the urge to kiss her again. Not even that growing stack of cookies on the counter would distract the church women if they happened to look over to see him kissing the Christmas angel.




JANET TRONSTAD


Janet Tronstad grew up on a small farm in central Montana. One of her favorite things to do was to visit her grandfather’s bookshelves, where he had a large collection of Zane Grey novels. She’s always loved a good story.

Today, Janet lives in Pasadena, California, where she works in the research department of a medical organization. In addition to writing novels, she researches and writes nonfiction magazine articles.




An Angel for Dry Creek

Janet Tronstad







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Be not forgetful to entertain strangers; for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.

—Hebrews 13:2


This book is dedicated with love to my parents, Richard and Fern Tronstad.

First they gave me roots and then they gave me wings.

Who could ask for more?


Dear Reader,

Thank you for visiting Dry Creek with me. Although Dry Creek is a fictitious place, it is inspired by dozens of small communities in rural Montana. In many of these areas there is a church that adds strength to the whole community. I was privileged to grow up in one of these churches, the Fort Shaw Community Church in Fort Shaw, Montana. If you have a chance, stop in and visit the good people there. (Sunday services at 11:00, but you’ll want to go for Sunday school, too, at 9:45.) You will find a group of people who are faithful to God and each other.

When God asks us to “gather together in His name,” I believe He does so more for our good than for His. Old-fashioned fellowship—with friendships and commitments that have spanned years and even decades—strengthens our faith and enriches us deeply. Troubles shared are troubles made lighter with prayer and comfort. Joys shared are joys made brighter with common rejoicing—especially during the Christmas season when we all have reason to celebrate.

So, if you’re currently part of a church family, cherish those ties. If you are not, my hope and prayer for you is that you find one soon so that you can rejoice in the Christmas season with them.









Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen




Chapter One


Glory Beckett peered out her car window. She’d driven all day and now, with the coming of dusk, snowflakes were beginning to swirl around her Jeep. The highway beneath her was only a faint gray line pointing northeast across the flatlands of Montana. Other than the hills and a few isolated ranches, there had been little to see in miles. Even oncoming traffic was sparse. For the first time in three days she questioned her hasty decision to leave Seattle and drive across country.

She must be a sight. For ease, she’d given up on curls and simply pushed her flaming auburn hair under a beige wool cap her mother had knitted one Christmas long ago. Her lips were shiny with lip balm and she’d forgotten most of her makeup in Seattle. She considered herself lucky to have remembered her toothbrush. She hadn’t had time even to pray about the trip before the decision was made and she was on the road. She’d let the captain scare her for nothing. He’d been a cop too long. Just because a stray bullet had whizzed by her last Wednesday, it was no reason to panic and leave town.

Ever since he’d married her mother last month his worrying had grown worse. She’d reminded him she’d picked up a lot of street savvy in the six years she’d been a sketch artist for his department, but it didn’t help.

And maybe he was right. She could still feel the stress that hummed inside her, not letting up even when she prayed. The bullet was only part of it. It was the shooting she’d witnessed that was the worst of it. Even though she’d seen this crime with her own eyes instead of the eyes of others, it still rocked her more than it should. Crimes happened. She knew that. Sometimes she spent a long time in prayer, asking God why something happened. God had always given her peace before.

But prayer hadn’t been able to calm her this time. Her nerves still shivered. She didn’t feel God was distant. No, that wasn’t it. He comforted her, but He didn’t remove the unease. Not this time. Since Idaho she’d been thinking maybe stress wasn’t all there was to it. Her nerves didn’t just shudder, they itched. Something was pushing at her consciousness. Something that she should remember, but couldn’t. Something to do with what she’d seen that afternoon at Benson’s Market when the butcher, Mr. Kraeman, had been killed. Dear God, what am I overlooking? The kid who had shot Mr. Kraeman had been arrested and taken to the county jail. The investigation was closed, awaiting nothing more than the trial. The killer had been caught at the scene. She should relax.

Maybe this cross-country trip would help. She’d always wanted to just take off and drive across the top of the United States. Idaho. Montana. North Dakota. Minnesota. Right to the Great Lakes. And now that her mother had married the captain, there was nothing holding her back. It was odd, this feeling of rootless-ness.



In a small town farther east on Interstate 94, the bare branch of an oak tree rested lightly against an upstairs window. Standing inside and looking out through the window, a man could see the soft glow from the security light reflected on the snow in the crevices of the old tree. The snow sparkled like silver dust on an angel’s wing.

The midnight view out this second-story window was appreciated by his young sons, but Matthew Curtis didn’t get past the glass. All he saw was a window without curtains and his own guilt. If Susie were still alive, she’d have curtains on all the windows. If only Susie were alive, the Bible verses the twins memorized for Sunday school would have some meaning in his life. If only Susie were still alive, everything would be different. If only…Matthew stopped himself. He couldn’t keep living in the past.

“Is so angels,” Josh was saying as Matthew helped him put his arm into the correct pajama opening. Tucking his five-year-old twin sons into bed was the best part of the day for Matthew. “Miz Hargrove said so. An’ they got a big light all round ’em.” Josh was fascinated with lights.

Mrs. Hargrove, the twins’ Sunday school teacher, was the closest thing to a mother the two had these days. She was one of the reasons Matthew had put aside his own bitterness and rented the old parsonage next to the church when they’d moved to Dry Creek, Montana, six months ago. He wanted the twins to be able to go to church even if he didn’t. In Matthew’s opinion, a man who wasn’t talking to God during the week had no business pretending to shake His hand on Sunday morning just to keep the neighbors quiet.

“I’m sure Mrs. Hargrove is thinking of the angel Gabriel,” Matthew said as he smoothed down Josh’s hair. Josh, the restless one, was in Power Rangers pajamas. Joey, the more thoughtful twin, was in Mickey Mouse pajamas even though he didn’t really like them that much. Joey wasn’t enthused about anything, and Matthew worried about him. “And that angel definitely exists.”

“See,” Josh said to no one in particular. “And my angel can have ten wings if I want and a Power Ranger gun to zap people.”

“Angels don’t carry guns,” Matthew said as he scooped the twins into bed and tucked the quilt securely around them. The weatherman on the news had predicted a mid-December blizzard. “They bring peace.”

“Peace,” Josh said. “What’s peace?”

“Quiet,” Matthew said as he turned down the lamp between the twins’ beds. “Peace and quiet.” And a reminder. “No guns. Angels don’t like guns.”

Matthew kissed both twins and turned to leave.

“I want to see my angel,” Joey whispered. The longing in his voice stopped Matthew. “When can I see her?”

Matthew turned around and sat down on the edge of one of the beds again. “Angels are in heaven. That’s a long way away. Most of the time it’s too far—they can’t come down and see people. They just stay in heaven.”

“Like Mommy,” Joey said.

“Something like that, I guess.” Matthew swallowed.

“Miz Hargrove said that when God took our mommy, He gave us a guardian angel to watch over us,” Josh explained.

“I’m here to watch over you.” Matthew pulled the covers off his sons and gathered them both to him in a hug. He blinked away the tears in his eyes so his sons would not see them. “You’ve got me—you don’t need an angel.”

“We got one anyway,” Josh said matter-of-factly, his voice muffled against Matthew’s shoulder. “Miz Hargrove says.”



The night road was sprinkled with square green exit signs marking rural communities. Glory had pulled off at a rest stop close to Rosebud and slept for a few solitary hours, curled up in the back seat of her Jeep. Finally, around four in the morning, she decided to keep driving. It was quiet at that time of night even when she came into Miles City, where over 8,000 souls lived. Once she left Miles City behind, the only lights Glory saw were her own, reflected in the light snow on the ground. If all of this darkness didn’t cure her stress, nothing would.

Glory needed this time to think. The shooting at the grocery store, and the long minutes afterward when she waited for the paramedics to arrive, reminded her of the accident that had changed her own life six years ago. Gradually, sitting there in the grocery store, all of the old feelings had surfaced. The terror, the paralyzing grief and the long-lasting guilt. Her dreams had stopped the night of the car accident that took her father’s life. That night Glory stopped being a carefree college graduate and became a tired adult. She’d awakened in the hospital bed knowing her life was forever changed. Her father was dead. Her mother was shattered. And the words inside Glory’s head kept repeating the accusation that it was all her fault. She’d had the wheel. She should have seen the driver coming. It didn’t matter that the other driver was drunk and had run a red light. She, Glory, should have known. Somehow she should have known.

There was nothing to do. Nothing to bring her father back.

She tried to put her own pain aside and comfort her mother. Her mother had always seemed like the fragile one in the family. Glory vowed she would take care of her mother. She would do it even if it meant giving up her own dream.

Glory didn’t hesitate. Her dream of being a real artist wasn’t as important as her mother’s happiness. She took the job as a police sketch artist and packed away her oils. Right out of art school, Glory had wanted to see if she could make it in the art world, but the accident had changed all of that. Dreams didn’t pay the bills. She’d be willing to live on sandwiches while she painted, but she couldn’t ask her mother to do that with her.

But now, seeing her mother happy again, Glory could start to breathe. She no longer felt so responsible. The captain would take care of her mother. Maybe, Glory thought, she could even dream again. She’d always wanted to paint faces. All she needed to do was give her notice to the police department and take out her easel full-time. She had enough in savings to last awhile. When she put it that way, it sounded so simple.

The more miles that sped beneath the wheels of Glory’s Jeep, the lighter her heart felt. Maybe God was calling her to paint the faces of His people. Faces of faith. Faces of despair. All of the faces that showed man’s struggle to know God. She needed to rekindle her dream. For years she’d been—

“Dry…” Glory murmured out loud as she peered into the snow at the small sign along the interstate. Even with the powerful lights of her Jeep she could barely read it. “Dry as in ‘Dry Creek, Montana. Population 276. Five Miles to Food and Gas.”’

Glory turned her Jeep to the left. A throbbing headache was starting between her eyes, and her thermos of coffee had run out an hour ago. It was five-thirty in the morning and she wasn’t going to count on there being another town along this highway anytime soon. There was bound to be a little café that served the ranchers in the area. She didn’t have much cash left, but her MasterCard had given her a healthy advance back in Spokane and it would no doubt be welcomed here, too. She’d learned that roadside coffee was usually black and strong—just the way she liked it.



Matthew woke with the dawn and went to check on the twins. Ever since Susie had died, he’d been aware of how easy it was for someone to simply stop living. He couldn’t bear to lose one of his sons. So he stood in his slippers and just looked at them sleeping in their beds. The security light from the outside of the old frame house shone through the half-frosted window and gave a muted glow to the upstairs bedroom. He pulled the blankets back up on Joey. The electric heater he’d put in the twins’ bedroom kept the winter chill away. But the rest of the house was heated with a big woodstove, and he needed to light it so the kitchen would be warm when the twins came down for breakfast.

There were no windows in the hall and the dawn’s light didn’t come into the stairway that led down to the living room. He took one sleepy step down the stairway. Then another. He needed to add a light for the stairway. Just one more thing in the old house that needed fixing. Like the—Matthew stepped on the loose stair at the same time as he remembered it. The board’s edge cracked and his foot slipped. All he could think of as he tumbled down the stairs was that the twins would have no one to fix their breakfast.

Matthew clenched his teeth and fought back the wave of black that threatened to engulf him. Thank God he was alive. “Josh, Joey,” Matthew called in a loud whisper. The pain the words cost him suggested he’d broken a rib. That and maybe his leg. “Boys—”

He didn’t need to call. They must have heard his fall, because almost immediately two blond heads were staring at him. “Go next door.” Matthew said the words deliberately, although his tongue felt swollen. Pain continued to swim around his head. “Get help.”



Glory left her Jeep lights on so she could see to make her way to the door of the house next to the church. She had stopped at the café long enough to see that the Closed sign had fly specks on it. It didn’t look as if a meal had been served there in months. By then she needed some aspirin for her headache almost more than she needed her morning coffee. When she saw the lights on inside the house that must be the parsonage, she was relieved.

Matthew relaxed when he heard the knock at the door. The twins must have already gone for help. Maybe he’d blacked out. That must be it. Someone had turned the lights on.

Glory heard a rustling behind the door and then she saw it open slowly. She had to look down to see the small blond head, covered by the hood of a snowsuit, peek around the edge of the door. The boy must be going out to play before breakfast. “Is your father here?” she asked as she pulled off her cap. “Or your mother?”

“Who are you?” Another blond head joined the first one. This one had a scarf tied around his neck, even though his Mickey Mouse pajamas didn’t look warm enough for outdoor playing.

“My name’s Glory. But you don’t know me.” And then remembering all the warnings children received about strangers, she added, “Don’t worry, though. And don’t be afraid.”

“Don’t be afraid.” The boy in the snowsuit echoed her words slowly. Glory watched his eyes grow big. “Where are you from?”

Glory decided they didn’t get much company around here. They’d probably never heard of Seattle. She pointed west. “A long way away—over those mountains.”

“Do you like guns?” the boy in the pajamas demanded.

“Guns? No, I don’t approve of guns. Not at all.”

“And she’s got a big light behind her,” the other boy said. “Just like Miz Hargrove said. A glory light.”

“Those are my Jeep headlights. Special high beam,” Glory explained. “They’ll turn off in a minute. If I could just see your father. All I want is an aspirin and maybe a little peace and quiet…and then—”

“Peace and quiet.” The twins breathed the words out together as their faces started to beam. “She came.”

“Boys,” Matthew called weakly. Who were they talking to? He couldn’t make out the words, but surely it didn’t take that long for someone to figure out he needed help.

“We need you,” the twins said as they opened the door wide and each reached out a hand. Glory noticed they were both in slippers. “Our daddy’s hurt.”

Matthew decided he’d blacked out again, because a woman’s face was staring at him. She had hair the color of copper, and it fanned out around her face like a halo. He’d never seen her before. Maybe he was hallucinating, especially because of that sprinkling of freckles that danced across her nose. No one could have freckles like that. So pretty. He tried to concentrate, but felt the darkness closing in on him. He wondered what the perfume was that she wore. It smelled like cinnamon. Cinnamon and something else. That reminded him he hadn’t fixed breakfast for the twins. And his job at the hardware store—old Henry would be fretting mad if he called in from his vacation in Florida and no one answered the phone at the hardware store.

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.”

“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.




Chapter Three


Matthew 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.

Glory winced. The girl was playing at something she obviously didn’t even understand. And she was looking at Matthew as if she was starving and he was a super-sized hamburger. Which was ridiculous, Glory thought. Sure, he was good-looking in a rugged kind of a way. And sure he smelled like the outdoors and sure he had biceps that would get second looks at the beach and—Glory stopped herself. Okay, so the girl wasn’t so far wrong. He was worth staring at. But that didn’t mean the girl had any right to do it.

“Hey, Linda,” called the little boy, Greg. “Come meet the angel. She’s gonna get us presents.”

Linda flicked an annoyed glance down that then softened at the enthusiasm on Greg’s face. “That’s nice. But I need to talk to the angel myself.”

“I’m not—” Glory began.

“I need some advice,” Linda interrupted impatiently. The teenager looked assessingly at Glory and held out the five-dollar bill. “Some love advice.”

“From me?” Glory squeaked.

“I need to know if I should marry the Jazz Man.”

“The Jazz Man?” Matthew asked as he leaned his crutches against a wall and sat down on a chair. “You don’t mean Arnold’s boy, Duane?”

“Yeah.” Linda looked at him and snapped her gum. “He’s forming a band. Calling himself the Jazz Man.” She stood a little straighter. “Wants me to be his lead singer.”

“And he’s proposed?” Glory asked in studied surprise. She might not know a lot about love, but she did know about business.

“Yeah, why?” Linda looked at her cautiously.

“Mixing business and pleasure.” Glory shook her head in what she hoped was a convincingly somber fashion. “He won’t have to pay you if he marries you.”

“Yeah, I never thought of that,” Linda said slowly, and put the five dollars on Glory’s easel. “Thanks.”

“What’s the money for—” Glory began, but was interrupted by the bell ringing over the door again.

This time the ringing was incessant and loud. A stocky man in a tan sheriff’s uniform stepped into the store and looked around quickly. His eyes fastened on Glory.

“There you are,” he said as he walked toward Glory and put his hand on the end of the gun that stuck out of his holster. “You’re under arrest for impersonating an angel. You have the right to—”

“You can’t arrest her.” The protest erupted from all across the store.

“Oh, yes, I can,” the deputy said as he clicked the handcuffs from behind his back and picked up the five dollars Linda had left on her easel. “I won’t have no con woman plucking my pigeons. Not in my town she won’t.”

Plucking his pigeons, Glory thought in dismay. Dear Lord, what have I done now?



The Bullet leaned against the cold glass of the phone booth. The credit card company records showed the woman had stopped at a gas station in Spokane and then at a bank for a cash advance. He’d followed the usual procedure to find her. He knew loners in a new town found a bar.

“You’ll never find her that way,” the voice on the other end of the phone snorted.

“Why not? She’s a cop.”

“A Christian cop,” the voice clarified. “Religious as they come. Doesn’t drink. Try looking in the churches.”

The Bullet swallowed hard. “Churches? Me?”




Chapter Four


“Easy now,” Deputy Sheriff Carl Wall warned Glory when she stood up. He’d forbidden the others to follow them when he escorted her up the church steps and into a small office off the church’s kitchen. She’d been sitting on the edge of the desk for ten minutes now while he argued on the phone. The cuffs he’d put on her hands hung open at her wrists. The key to unlock them was in his patrol car and so he did not lock them shut. They were more for show than because he thought the woman would bolt.

“Well, there’s got to be a law against it, Bert,” Carl was saying for the second time into the phone. He twisted the cord around his chubby ginger. “We just can’t have folks going around claiming to be angels and things.”

“I never claimed to be an angel,” Glory said, even though she doubted he heard her. He hadn’t paid any attention to her the past two times she’d said it. It wasn’t because he hadn’t heard her, she figured; it was because he wasn’t listening. In her experience, hearing and listening were two different things.

“But an angel’s different from Santa Claus,” Carl argued into the phone’s mouthpiece, ignoring Glory. He’d already twisted part of the cord around his finger, so now he looped another section around his hand. “Everyone knows Santa Claus isn’t real, but folks and angels, well, that’s a different story. She’s more like a fortune-teller. Gotta be laws against that.”

Glory looked around at the office. There was a boxy window at the end of the room. Everything else was long and skinny. The whole thing wasn’t much wider than the desk. She guessed the room had been a pantry at one time, running as it did side by side the whole width of the kitchen. A bookcase lined one long wall and a chair stood to the side of the desk. A filing cabinet was tucked behind the door.

“Of course she hasn’t got wings on,” Carl sputtered in exasperation as he eyed Glory suspiciously. He untwisted the cord around his hand and rubbed the red mark he’d created. Glory pulled a book off the shelf and tried to ignore him. “But a person doesn’t need a costume to con people. Crooks don’t wear signs, for Pete’s sake.”

Glory opened the book she held. She loved the smell of old books. They were like old friends. Just holding the book steadied her. If she had to, she could call the police station in Seattle and have them vouch for her honesty. She doubted there were any laws against claiming to be an angel anyway, not even if she sprouted wings and flew off the Empire State Building.

“Well, I can’t just let her go,” Carl Wall whined into the phone. Then he looked at Glory again and turned his back to her as though that would muffle his voice. “I’ve already taken her in. I’ll look bad saying there’s no law against it now. I’m going to write her up for impersonating even if the judge says no later.”

A movement through the window caught her eye. Something was happening in the street. Glory looked at the deputy sheriff’s back and slid closer to the window. She saw Matthew, standing in the middle of the dirt street and waving a crutch around. The people from the hardware store were gathered around him and Matthew wasn’t the only one waving something. Mrs. Hargrove had a broom. Elmer had a yardstick. It looked as if Matthew was giving a speech, but she couldn’t hear it through the closed window. She braced her fingers against the frame of the windowpanes and pushed up. A puff of cold air came inside, a puff of dirty cold air, Glory decided as the dust beneath the window blew onto her coat. But she could finally hear the voices outside.

“He’ll listen to voters. That’s all he wants,” Matthew was saying. A trail of white breath rose from Matthew’s mouth. It was cold. Matthew wore a wool jacket over his shirt. It wasn’t nearly enough to keep him warm, in Glory’s opinion. “There’s no need to threaten him with any more than that.”

“But he’s got our angel,” Elmer protested.

“We don’t know she’s an angel,” Matthew said. Glory noticed he had only a slipper on his injured foot. He needed to be inside. She was pretty sure the doctor had told him to stay inside.

“But we don’t know she’s not, either,” Elmer persisted as he dipped his yardstick for emphasis. “The Bible talks about angels. It could be. We don’t know. And who wants to take a chance! Do you?” Elmer took a breath. “Do you want to be responsible for turning an angel out of Dry Creek?”




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