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.”

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