An Angel for Dry Creek (9 page)

“I've heard they do if you're nude.” Jacob poured himself a cup of coffee.

“I wasn't thinking of nude modeling.” Glory blushed.

“Kind of artistic for the folks around here,” Elmer said as he joined Jacob at the coffeepot. “But I suppose folks would do it to make a buck.” He looked at Glory. His face was suspiciously deadpan. “What do you art people pay for nude modeling, anyway?”

“I've never paid anything,” Glory protested.

“Well, you can't expect someone to do it for free,” Jacob chided her, and then paused. “Well, maybe they would for you. What do you think, Reverend, would you model for free for the little angel here?”

Matthew choked on his laughter. He didn't know if it was possible for Glory's face to turn pinker. He kind of liked it that way. “Maybe if she did one of those abstract paintings so no one would recognize me. I wouldn't want to embarrass the boys.”

“I don't paint nude pictures. I wasn't even thinking of nude pictures. I meant modeling for catalogs and things.”

Elmer nodded wisely. “Ah, underwear.”

“No, not underwear.” Glory forced her voice to stay calm. “I meant sweaters. Jackets. Clothes. That kind of
thing. But that's only one idea. The jam idea is better. Why doesn't one of you mention that to the women?”

“Guess we could,” Jacob conceded.

“There could be a big market for it if the dude ranch—I mean, the guest ranch goes into operation.”

“Don't remind me,” Elmer said.

But reminding him was exactly what Glory intended to do. It allowed her to sit back while the two older men lamented what the dudes would do to Dry Creek. She felt like fanning her face, but she knew the men would notice her behavior and remark on it, since it was still chilly inside the store. So she resolutely began to mix some oils on her palate. Blue and green. She'd use blue and green for something. She never should have thought about modeling—any kind of modeling. Even sweaters made her think of broad shoulders. And hats made her think of masculine chin lines. And belts of trim waists. No, she should wipe out any thoughts of modeling from her mind. She'd focus on the blue and green. She had the colors mixed before she realized she'd mixed the exact color of Matthew's eyes.

Matthew watched Glory bristle and pretend to ignore the older men. He wondered if he should remind her that she'd neglected to put on the smock that she'd worn yesterday when she was working with oils. It'd be a shame if she got paint on the sweater she was wearing, a light pink that emphasized the color in her cheeks. He rather liked that pink sweater—it made her look cuddly. Maybe instead of saying something he should just take her smock over to her.

It was hard to be gallant on crutches, Matthew thought, grimacing as he held out the smock to Glory. His hand had pressed wrinkles in it where he'd clutched it close to the bar of his crutch handle.

“Thank you.”

 

The day passed slowly for Matthew. Glory spelled him at the counter so he could go home and bake the cupcakes he'd forgotten to make. The church day-care staff was having a bake sale to help pay for the set design for the Christmas pageant.

“They need any bales of hay?” Elmer asked when Matthew got back. “Tell them I can donate all they need.”

“And if the manger needs fixing, I can see to it,” Jacob offered.

“I don't know if hay and a manger is going to be enough this year,” Matthew said as he hobbled behind the counter and sat down on his stool. “Everyone's got it in their head that this year the pageant needs to be special.”

“I could spray-paint the manger gold,” Jacob suggested. “Maybe put some bells on it or something. Tack on some holly, even.”

“I'll pass the word along to Mrs. Hargrove.” Matthew chuckled. “Don't know how else to jazz things up.”

“Jazz,” Glory muttered as her brush slipped. She'd been so engrossed in painting she'd completely forgotten about the Jazz Man and Linda.

 

“Saltshaker's on the stove.” Matthew called directions to Glory from his place by the sink. Tonight he was letting everyone help with the dinner. The twins were in the living room making sure the magazines were set straight. Glory had an apron on and was boiling water for pasta. They were having chicken parmigiana.

“So you're going to go with the ‘just a team' theme?” Glory asked as she bent down to locate a strainer to drain the pasta once it cooked. “Horses in harness, that sort of thing?”

“Well, I suppose.”

“So what do you want me to say?”

“Whatever you want,” Matthew said as he grinned over at her. “You're half of the team. You decide.”

“Well, this half of the team isn't so good at giving advice.” Glory found the strainer. “Look at what my advice has already done.”

“Now, that wasn't your fault.” Matthew defended her staunchly. “Linda came to you and asked for your opinion. Besides, all couples have this discussion—best to do it before the wedding.”

“Let's just hope there'll still be a wedding after I'm through with them.”

Matthew laughed.

 

“More garlic bread?” Glory offered the plate to Duane. He was wearing a suit and tie and Linda was wearing a long gray dress. The couple were obviously nervous and on their best behavior. Even the twins were sitting at the table politely eating.

Duane nodded and took a piece.

“You'll have to give me your recipe,” Linda said, smiling slightly at Glory.

“Not my recipe. Matthew made the garlic bread.”

“Oh, really?” Linda appeared interested and gave Duane a meaningful look. “So Matthew helped with the meal.”

Glory choked on the sip of water she'd taken. “No,
I
helped. Matthew cooked the dinner—garlic bread to
chicken parmigiana. I helped by boiling water for the pasta.”

“He did it all!” Linda's face lost its politeness. She was delighted. She nudged Duane. “He cooked the dinner!”

Duane groaned and looked at Matthew in disgust. “Now see what you've done.”

Matthew nodded. “I'd guess the guys tell you cooking is women's work?”

Duane nodded.

“Ever think how helpless that makes you?” Matthew helped himself to another piece of garlic bread.

“Helpless?” Duane growled. “What do you mean?”

“Well, look at me,” Matthew said. “I've had to learn how to cook the hard way. Every man needs to know how to cook and clean. The chores should be split.”

“But I thought you said being married was teamwork,” Duane protested. “I do half, she does half. Nothing that says my half needs to be meals. Besides, getting married better be about more than who's going to do the cooking!”

Matthew laughed. “It is. But I've got to warn you. Being married has its surprises!”

“Like what?”

Matthew sobered. He didn't want his failures to dampen the enthusiasm of the young couple before him. “I never knew what it would feel like to be so responsible for someone. I'd sworn to take care of that other person with all of my heart and all of my might. To do anything to keep her safe.”

Matthew stopped himself. When the dull pain of loss at Susie's death had begun to ease, the guilt had started. He hadn't kept Susie safe. His faith had not been
enough. But that was his failure. It was between him and God. No one else needed to suffer it with him. He should have sidestepped that question.

“Anyway, back to cooking.” Matthew forced himself to smile. “The twins have paid the price of my learning to cook.”

Duane cleared his throat. “Guess I could learn to cook some things. Maybe breakfast. Or spaghetti. Or something.”

“My daddy can even cook angel cake,” Josh boasted.

Glory groaned. “I'm not an angel.”

“Not even a little?” Linda asked hesitantly.

Glory shook her head. Something was going on here. She didn't like the guilty look on the girl's face.

“Well, Debra Guthert asked me about you. I think she's writing you up as an angel for the paper in Billings.”

Matthew had a sinking sensation. Debra Guthert lived in Miles City and wrote the “Southeastern” column for the
Billings Gazette.
Her column covered the ranches and small towns along the Yellowstone River, northeast of Billings past Terry and Glendive to the North Dakota border and the area south of Interstate 94 from Hardin to the Chalk Buttes. Except for a few colorful announcements from the Crow Indian Reservation, it was usually mundane things like family reunions and rattlesnake sightings. “Why didn't someone stop her?”

Matthew didn't need an answer to the question. An angel would make the Dry Creek Christmas pageant the social event of the winter. Which would mean—suddenly Matthew felt much better.

“You have to stay now.” Matthew turned to Glory.
Even Glory couldn't refuse the power of the press. “It's in print.”

Glory looked around her. Five pairs of hopeful eyes. She groaned. How could she leave Dry Creek now?

 

Matthew stared into the embers of the fire. He'd wrapped so many blankets around himself he felt like a mummy. He was warm enough. The sofa was soft enough. The house was quiet enough. But he couldn't sleep. The frozen pain he'd lived in for the past four years was shifting. He could hear the cracking inside him as surely as he could hear the cracking of the Yellowstone River when the spring thaw came. And that cracking scared him. If his pain left him, he knew he'd want to love again. And how could he love again? He couldn't take another chance on love. He'd failed one woman. He didn't need to fail another one, especially not Glory.

 

“Go ahead and call her,” Douglas urged the Bullet. The sadness in the old man's eyes was steady. “You don't know what I'd give for one last phone call with my Emily.”

Douglas was standing in the guest bedroom of his house with the receiver of a black phone stretched out to the Bullet.

What have I gotten myself into?
The Bullet didn't know what to do. He was sailing in uncharted water. He knew how to act around other hit men. He knew how to act around clients. But a friend? A new friend? He didn't know the rules.

G
lory wished she had a pair of sunglasses to hide behind. Two people had already stopped by the hardware store to ask her to sign their copy of the “Southeastern” column in this morning's
Billings Gazette.
Linda had not exaggerated. The column talked in glowing terms of the two little boys who believed an angel had come to Dry Creek for Christmas.

Mrs. Hargrove predicted that attendance at the Christmas pageant would soar now that everyone from Billings knew about the angel. In fact, it appeared that attendance might be too high. No one knew what to do with all the people they were expecting.

“We could open the windows to the church and people could stand outside and watch the pageant through them,” Jacob said. Earlier he'd noted that the “Southeastern” column might have spread farther than Billings. “They might not hear the shepherds singing, but they could at least see them come down the aisle.”

Jacob, Elmer and Mrs. Hargrove were gathered around the potbellied stove, drinking coffee and plan
ning the Christmas pageant. Mrs. Hargrove had called a substitute to take over for her in the day-care program so that she could devote herself to planning for the pageant now that it looked as if it would be such a big affair. It was already December 22. They didn't have much time to plan for all the extra people coming. Glory decided that if you didn't listen too closely to the words, you would almost think the three were planning a war. Or at least a Southern ball.

“We'll need a place for coats.” Mrs. Hargrove had a clipboard on her lap and a pencil in her hand.

“It'll be too cold. People won't give up their coats,” Matthew said from his stool behind the counter.

Matthew was, Glory would almost swear to it, sorting nuts and bolts. What else could he be doing? He had a long piece of twine and he kept attaching first one nut and then a bolt to it. She was the only one who was sane this morning, she assured herself as she added the Madonna look to her sketch. She'd found out that Lori, the little girl who wanted the Betsy Tall doll, was going to be Mary in the pageant. Glory had decided to do a rough ink sketch of the girl from memory. It might come in useful for a program for the pageant. Now that she'd decided to stay for the event, she found herself getting excited.

“There's not going to be enough room.” Mrs. Hargrove repeated her worry as she wrote a number on her notepad. “The church won't hold more than a hundred people. And that's if we put folding chairs in the aisles, open the doors to the kitchen and move the tract rack into the office.”

“The young'uns are smaller, they'll squeeze in, sit on a parent's lap—maybe even on the floor,” Elmer suggested. He rested his elbows on the table that usu
ally held a checkerboard. Today the game board was missing and a pot of coffee stood in its place.

“Maybe we could get in a hundred and fifty.” Mrs. Hargrove frowned as she added some numbers on her notepad.

“Wonder if we should charge?” Jacob asked from the sidelines. He'd stood up to get a new mug and was walking back toward the stove.

“Charge!” Mrs. Hargrove puffed up indignantly. “Why, we can't charge! It's a holy moment. Christ coming to earth. Shouldn't be any money changing hands.”

“I just thought it'd make things easier for Christmas.” Jacob spread his hands and sat back down on a straight-backed chair. “Raise a little money for the children and all.”

“Well.” The puff went out of Mrs. Hargrove, and she glanced sideways at Glory. “It would help. Don't suppose God would mind if it was for the children. Maybe we could just ask for a donation. We could get some of the things they wished for. Awful hard to see children go without at Christmas.”

Glory stopped her sketching. She'd spent some time last night sorting the pictures she'd received from the children of Dry Creek. “I'm going to place the order. I've already called my friend Sylvia. She's going to help me. I'm just waiting to find out if there are other children who want to bring me a Christmas wish. Josh and Joey said they'd spread the word.”

Matthew looked up from the ornament he was making, but kept silent. Josh had told him Glory had asked them to invite all of the children of Dry Creek to bring her a drawing. He knew Glory couldn't possibly be buying presents for all of the children in Dry Creek.
Why, there must be forty children under twelve in the area. And there'd be another fifteen or so who hoped they were young enough for an angel present. And if all the children were like his two, that'd mean the presents were at least twenty dollars apiece. It'd add up to a thousand dollars minimum.

Matthew knew he should speak out. But he couldn't. If it was anyone but Glory making such ridiculous claims, he'd have no trouble. But this was Glory. He wanted to believe in her as much as the children of Dry Creek did.

“Well, we need to have faith this Christmas,” Mrs. Hargrove said. “We might not have all of the money in the world. Fact is, we may not have much of it. But money isn't everything with God. The Lord fed the five thousand with a few loaves and fishes.” Mrs. Hargrove had a determined look on her face that said if He could do it, they could do it. “We should be able to get the children something. Christmas isn't about big gifts, anyway.”

Glory gave up. It was clear the adults in Dry Creek did not believe her. But she knew the children did, and that's what counted. “If you want, you could give out sacks of peanuts and candy.”

“Jacob and I could make popcorn balls,” Elmer said, his eyes lighting up in anticipation.

“And the angel could give out sacks of candy,” Jacob suggested.

“The children would love that.” Mrs. Hargrove spoke authoritatively as though that settled the matter. “And it would make a good picture for the
Gazette
if they send a photographer.”

Glory looked around the hardware store. The shelves had been recently dusted, but it was obvious the mer
chandise took a long time to sell. There were some hammers. An assortment of screwdrivers. A row of small household goods like toasters and irons. Even a row of doorknobs and plumbing fixtures. The people inside the store were so convinced she was penniless that she didn't know how to convince them otherwise. All they knew of her was what they'd seen in this store and Matthew's house. She had money in neither of those places. Therefore, in the eyes of the adults of Dry Creek, her resources were limited. They liked reading in the newspaper that she might be an angel, but they didn't believe she had the power to buy even a few gifts.

Matthew watched the thoughts chase themselves through Glory's mind. He wondered if she knew how expressive her face was. When she was happy, she glowed. When she was mad, she steamed. When she was embarrassed, she blushed. Right now she was feeling frustrated. Her face was a clear road map. He liked that.

“If we're going to do candy for the children, I can also get the Ladies' Fellowship to make cookies and coffee for the adults,” Mrs. Hargrove offered. “Doris June can make her lemon bars.”

“You might even set up a table and sell some of that jam I hear about,” Glory suggested. She wondered what was making Matthew frown like that. She'd been watching him out of the corner of her eye all morning.

“The ladies would love that.” Mrs. Hargrove beamed. “We could raise money for the church. Maybe we'll raise enough to get a substitute pastor for a few services next year. I do so miss having a preacher on Sunday mornings.”

Matthew kept his eyes on his ornament. He was step
ping close to quicksand. First Susie and now this. “Sounds like you do pretty good, though. I hear hymn singing every Sunday morning.”

“We take turns reading from the Bible, too,” Mrs. Hargrove agreed, and then sighed. “But it's not the same. And I've been thinking for the pageant it'd be nice to have a real preacher to at least give a small devotional. Especially with all the people coming. They'll expect—”

The bell above the door rang, announcing the entrance of Tavis, the son of the Big Sheep Mountain Ranch owner.

Matthew breathed more easily. He was saved by the bell. He didn't like the direction Mrs. Hargrove's thoughts were taking. He would rather wear angel wings than preach.

The cowboy was a distraction. In his early twenties, Tavis was lean and wiry. Since it was December, he wore his winter Stetson, the one with wool flaps that could be pulled down over his ears if needed.

“Hi.” Tavis nodded to Matthew and then to the group around the stove. His gaze slid over to Glory, and he tipped his hat. “Ma'am.”

Glory looked up from her sketch. She supposed the man in the hat was another autograph seeker. He certainly was walking toward her as if he had a mission in mind. He didn't get more than two strides toward her before Matthew spoke up.

“Can I help you?” It didn't take Matthew more than a minute to remember that Tavis was single and the reputed ladies' man of the Big Sheep Mountain Ranch. Matthew had not dated anyone in Dry Creek, so he assumed the few other single men in the area didn't even count him as competition when someone like
Glory landed in town. He supposed word of the angel had gotten to the bunkhouse at the Big Sheep just as soon as this morning's
Gazette
was delivered, and Tavis had come to investigate.

“Ah, just picking up some nails.” Tavis turned to Matthew with a wink.

Matthew grunted. It was the angel, all right. The Big Sheep Mountain Ranch bought their nails by the double case a couple of times a year. Henry had the boxes shipped directly to the ranch from his supplier in Chicago. They'd just processed an order last month. “Ran out, did you?”

“Ah, no—just wanted a handful of those little ones.” Tavis twisted his hat. He stood in the middle of the floor, not moving closer to Glory, but obviously not retreating, either. “Thought I'd, you know, hang a few pictures in the bunkhouse.”

“Oh.” Elmer busied himself with his coffee cup. “Since when do you hang pictures in the bunkhouse?”

“Aunt Francis has been trying to get us cultured, and now that the
Gazette
said there's an artist in town—well, we thought we should get a picture for the wall.”

Glory measured the cowboy with her eyes. He'd gained a few points with her by calling her an artist instead of an angel, but she hadn't worked with the guys in the police department for nothing. She knew a man on the prowl when she saw one. And this one was not just on the prowl. He was out to prove a point. She'd wager Tavis was duded up for her benefit. His Stetson was midnight black with no smudges or unplanned dents. His jeans were so new they still had the package crease down the leg. His face was freshly shaven and his hair neatly trimmed. She wondered if he'd be nearly as interested in her artwork if she hadn't
been written up in the newspaper or recommended by his aunt.

“I could paint you a scene around the Big Sheep Mountains,” Glory offered. The snowcapped mountains took her breath away each morning. The sky was pale blue today and the sun shone off the snow as if it was freshly polished silver. “But I won't have time until the pageant is all taken care of.”

“The Christmas pageant? I haven't been to that for years.”

“It's going to be special this year,” Mrs. Hargrove said, determination giving an edge to the words. “Tell everyone at the Big Sheep—this year will be special.”

“If you need any help, let us know. The boys and I are always glad to help.” Tavis managed to face Mrs. Hargrove and smile at Glory at the same time. “Lifting things—that kind of thing.”

Tavis held up his arm and flexed his muscle. “Comes from lifting hay bales.”

“We might need to have you hoist some of the visitors up on your shoulder,” Matthew suggested from the counter. He supposed Tavis was harmless. Glory didn't seem to be taking the bait. The cowboy kept flashing his smiles in Glory's direction, but she didn't beam back at him. She was polite, but that was it. “Trying to figure out how to get everyone inside the church to see it. Now that it's been mentioned in the
Gazette,
more people will be coming.”

“Well, who says you need to have it in the church?”

Matthew almost chuckled at the look of horror that spread across Mrs. Hargrove's face as she spoke. “Not have it in the church? Where else would we have it? We can't have it here. The café's closed, the school's too small and we can't have it in the street!”

Tavis twirled his black hat around in his hands. He'd gone full circle. “You could use our storage barn.”

“Your barn!”

Matthew was the first to see the possibilities. “Why not? The Big Sheep barn is huge. We could build some bleachers. There's lots of space for parking. It's right on the edge of town. Everyone knows where it is.”

“But a barn?” Mrs. Hargrove wailed.

“Jesus was born in a stable,” Glory reminded them all. She liked the idea. “That's about as close to a barn as you can get.”

“But a barn? I think you still have cows there. What'll you do with them?”

“We can move them out,” Tavis said.

“Or not,” Matthew said. “A few cows around might add atmosphere.”

“Cows in the pageant!” Mrs. Hargrove was horrified. “What will people think of us?”

“They'll think we're high society,” Elmer said as he leaned over and put another piece of wood in the stove.

“And the carol does say ‘The cattle are lowing,”' Glory offered.

“That's true.” Mrs. Hargrove perked up. “It just might work. Think your dad will go for it? He hasn't been in church for years.”

Tavis grimaced. “I know. But he'll do it for the town. Work is slow this time of year and the boys and I could do most of the setup.”

“It just might work,” Mrs. Hargrove repeated as she ripped off her old page in the notebook and started a fresh page. “We'll need ten, no, fifteen bleachers and…”