An Angel for Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.”

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