Charity's Angel (17 page)

The problem was how to convince Charity that he really did love her.

He'd never had occasion to tell a woman he loved her until now, which meant he was far from being an expert in the matter, but he hadn't expected his declaration to strike terror in Charity's heart.

That she didn't believe him was obvious. She was sure his feelings were more guilt than love. And for some reason he couldn't begin to fathom, she had the odd notion that she wasn't the type of woman he could love. It was funny, really. He'd never thought of himself as having a particular "type." Of course, now that he'd gotten to know Charity, it was perfectly obvious that she was his "type."

What wasn't so obvious was how she felt about him. There'd been moments when he was almost sure she loved him. But the rest of the time he wondered if he was just imagining that she felt the same way.

Give her time, he told himself, reining in his impatience. The past few weeks had been rough on her, to put it mildly. She'd been shot, lost her ability to walk and most of her independence. No wonder she wasn't ready to jump into a relationship. He'd wait until she was walking again before pressing the issue.

Once she was walking again, he'd be able to convince her that his feelings went far deeper than guilt. And once she understood how much he loved her... Well, he had to trust to fate for anything beyond that.

He just had to be patient.

❧

Gabe repeated that promise all the way home. Having made the commitment to leave the force, he wanted to run in the door, sweep Charity up in his arms and ask her what she thought of living in Wyoming. But that would be a less-than-prudent course of action, he reminded himself.

He flipped on the turn signal and eased the battered old Jag onto the off ramp. She felt something for him. She wouldn't have responded the way she had when he kissed her if she hadn't felt something. He just had to give her some time and a little space.

He'd worked late, and despite the extra hours of daylight that summer brought, it was nearly dark by the time he turned onto his street. He pulled the Jag into the drive and flicked off the engine but he didn't get out immediately. Rolling his head, he tried to ease the ache in his neck from too many hours of paperwork.

Then he sat and stared at the lights in the house as if he might find answers in their soft glow. If he could just be sure that Charity loved him, the waiting wouldn't be so difficult.

Sighing, he pushed open the car door and eased his long legs out of the low-slung car. He wasn't getting any closer to knowing her feelings by sitting in the driveway. As he shut the Jag's door, it suddenly occurred to him that' Diane's compact wasn't in the drive. Nor was it parked in the street. Which meant that, chances were, sh.e wasn't home.

Gabe slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and considered the idea. Charity had made it a point not to be alone with him since Diane moved in. He wasn't sure if she was afraid he'd kiss her again or that he'd tell her he loved her. He hadn't tried to force the issue.

Right now the most important thing was for her to get well. He wouldn't do anything to distract her from that. And if, when she learned to walk again, she chose to walk out of his life, he'd just have to accept it. Just as he'd accepted her need to use Diane as a shield to keep him at a distance.

But Diane wasn't home. Did that mean Charity had decided it was safe to let him a little closer? Or did it just mean that Diane had something else to do tonight?

He pulled his hands from his pockets. He wasn't going to find out anything by standing here staring at his house.

❧

The minute Charity heard Gabe's car in the driveway, her stomach tightened. She reached up to pat her hair. Diane had twisted it into a smooth French braid at the back of her head, leaving a few tendrils loose to frame her face.

She bit her lip. Didn't most men prefer women with their hair down? Maybe the French braid was too severe. What if Gabe thought it looked overdone? She lifted her hands, on the verge of pulling the careful braid apart.

She curled her fingers into her palms, forcing herself to lower her hands. Her hair was fine. Gabe wasn't going to worry about her hairstyle. He probably didn't know a French braid from a French fry.

What was he doing out there? Had she imagined hearing his car? God knows she was nervous enough to imagine almost anything. Moving to a mirror, she checked to make sure her makeup was okay. She'd checked it less than ten minutes ago but it never hurt to be sure. She certainly didn't want to greet him with mascara smeared under her eyes or her lipstick on crooked.

She'd chewed most of the lipstick off, actually, and her fingers were trembling too much for her to risk putting on a fresh layer. Well, at least chewing her lips had given them some color.

She turned away from the mirror, smoothing her hands over the skirt of her jade-green dress. The dress had been a present from her sister. Diane's own style might lean toward the flamboyant but she knew Charity's taste was a little more traditional. Charity had fallen in love with it the moment Diane pulled it out of the box.

The bodice was a simple cut, sleeveless with a neckline that allowed a tantalizing glimpse of the upper curves of her breasts. The waist was nipped in with a matching narrow belti From there the skirt fell in extravagantly gathered folds to just below her knees.

It was the sort of dress that never went out of style and never looked dated. Exactly the dress to wear on a night when your confidence needs every boost it could get, she told herself. She just wished her confidence felt a little more boosted.

Where was he? She glanced at the front windows, nibbling on her lower Up. Should she look and see if she'd really heard him pull in? But what if he was out there and saw her peering out the window? She'd planned this evening too carefully to spoil it just because she was impatient.

She knew exactly how she wanted him to see her when he walked in the door. Poised and confident, standing on her own two feet. She looked down at the feet in question, wiggling her toes inside her soft flats.

She didn't think she'd ever be blas6 about seeing her feet planted firmly on the floor again. It was a miracle—a miracle that she'd paid for with sweat and pain and more than a few tears. Except for that first movement, every inch of progress had been fought for. But when she'd taken her first trembling step, all the agony had suddenly seemed a small price to pay.

One of the hardest parts had been not telling Gabe every detail of her progress. She knew how much her recovery meant to him, and she'd wanted to share every step of it with him.

But she was already too close to him. Charity simply didn't have the confidence Diane did that Gabe's feelings for her would survive much past her regaining the use of her legs.

Not that she expected him to throw her out of his life the minute she could walk again. It would be more gradual than that—a slow drawing-away as he realized how much of his feelings had been guilt rather than passion.

She'd accepted that that was the way it was going to be, but she'd promised herself tonight. She pressed her hand over her stomach, trying to subdue the butterflies there.

Tonight was her last night in Gabe's house, and she knew exactly how she wanted it to go. She hadn't even told Diane what she had in mind. As far as Diane knew, she just wanted a nice, romantic dinner with Gabe. She hadn't told her sister she was leaving before morning. Let Diane argue with her when Charity turned up on her doorstep tomorrow morning.

She sighed, knowing Diane was going to think she was an idiot. But really, what was so wrong with doing it this way? Better to leave now before Gabe had to ask her to go.

And if she was wrong and he really did love her? Well, it wasn't as if she was going to refuse to see him. She was moving out, not going into hiding.

Just when she'd convinced herself that she'd imagined the sound of his car, Charity heard Gabe's key in the lock. Immediately she felt almost sick with nerves. She didn't need to look in the mirror again to know she'd paled.

She'd planned this but now that the moment had arrived, all she wanted was to beat a quick retreat. She could go and hide in her bedroom. If Gabe knocked, she could tell him she was sick—something simple and believable like the plague, maybe.

But she'd never get away before the door opened, and she did not intend his first glimpse of her on her own two feet to be her back as she scuttled out of sight. She drew a quick breath and straightened her shoulders. She leaned unobtrusively against a small side table. From the way her knees were shaking, she had some doubt about their ability to continue supporting her.

Gabe pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway. Charity heard the door click shut behind him, and her fingers tightened over the edge of the table. Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to greet him standing up. She'd wanted to show him that she was completely recovered, that there was no need for him to feel guilty anymore. But it wouldn't do much to convince him if she collapsed into a heap on the carpet.

She stiffened her knees and drew in a deep breath as she heard Gabe's footsteps crossing the foyer.

His attention was caught first by the beautifully set table. Jay and Diane had manhandled the kitchen table to its current position next to the wide back windows. They'd argued about everything from who should take which end of the table to how to get it through the doorway, but the positioning was worth listening to them.

Looking out over the backyard, with only the soft glow from the pool lights to break the darkness, it certainly had more ambience than eating in the kitchen. Diane had provided a red tablecloth, and Charity had set it with the china Gabe said had belonged to his grandmother. Two candles, as yet unlit, promised a romantic glow.

Gabe's brows rose slowly as he studied the table. The few seconds gave Charity a chance to will the strength back into her legs. His gaze left the table, shifting unerringly to where she stood across the living room.

Oddly, the first thing that struck him was that he'd never seen her looking more beautiful. The green dress made her skin look like porcelain and brought out the color of her eyes until they glowed like emeralds.

Hard on the heels of that thought was the stunning realization that she was standing. Standing. He sucked in a quick breath, feeling his heart jump in his chest. My God, she was standing! His disbelieving eyes swept over her, trying to absorb the reality of what he was seeing.

She took a step toward him, leaving the support of the small table she'd been holding. It wasn't a long step, and there was a certain stiffness in her movements that told him she didn't quite trust in the miracle.

It wasn't until she'd taken another step that the reality of it hit. He felt joy well up inside him, his chest aching with the force of it.

Charity stopped, uncertain in the face of his silence. Why didn't he say something? Do something?

"You're walking." The words taut, as if they couldn't begin to express what he wanted to say.

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Awhile." She linked her fingers together in front of her. Was he going to be upset that she hadn't told him sooner? "I wanted to surprise you."

"You certainly did that." There was nothing to be read from his tone, and she wondered again if she'd made a big mistake in presenting it to him this way. He moved toward her.

Charity waited. She couldn't have taken another step if her life depended on it. She felt as if she were frozen in place.

Gabe stopped in front of her, but she couldn't seem to lift her eyes from the wedge of skin left bare by his open collar. Was he furious with her? Did he think she'd kept the extent of her progress from him in an effort to keep him feeling guilty? Until this moment, it hadn't even occurred to her that it could look that way.

"Gabe, I-"

"You're walking," he said again, as if confirming it to himself. Something in his tone brought her eyes to his face, and she forgot the tangled apology she'd been going to offer. His eyes blazed with happiness— a green-gold fire that washed over her, driving out any doubts she'd had about his feelings.

He caught her hands in his, holding them out away from her sides as he looked down at her. His blatant pleasure made it impossible to feel self-conscious.

"I can't believe it. You're walking."

His grin was infectious and Charity felt her own mouth curve upward. How could she have thought, even for a moment, that he'd be concerned with anything more than that she was walking again? The one thing she'd never doubted was that Gabe wanted, with all his heart, to see her back on her feet again.

"I'm not running marathons yet."

"It's only a matter of time." He released her hands but only to grasp her by the shoulders. "You're walking."

He couldn't seem to quite grasp the miracle, even with her standing right in front of him.

"What do the doctors say? The therapist?"

"They're delighted with my progress. I'm not quite up to speed yet but everyone insure it's just a matter of time."

"Are you sure it's a matter of time?" he asked, remembering the doubts she'd had about making a recovery.

"Yes." She gave a shaky laugh, "I guess walking at all seems like such a miracle that I've just accepted that I'm going to make it all the way. In a few weeks all this will seem like a dream."

"A dream." He repeated her words, wondering if she planned on him being a part of that half-forgotten dream or a part of her future. But this wasn't the time to worry about that.

"I can't seem to grasp that you're standing here. Standing!" He ran his hands up and down her bare arms as if to reassure himself that she wasn't a figment of his imagination. He grinned down at her. "You look stunning."

"Because I'm standing?" she asked, surprised by the almost flirtatious tone of the question. Diane was the Williams sister who flirted, certainly not quiet Charity. But she didn't feel like quiet Charity tonight.

Gabe's eyes widened slightly, as if he was surprised by the question. Awareness flared to life in his gaze, followed by a warmth that made Charity's skin feel hot.

"The fact that you're standing only enhances your loveliness." There was just enough playfulness in his tone to keep the compliment from sounding exaggerated.

Charity flushed, feeling the warmth spread from her cheeks, down her throat, settling in the pit of her stomach.

"Flattery will get you an extra serving of chocolate mousse pie," she suggested.

"Chocolate mousse pie?" Gabe's eyes flicked over the beautifully arranged table—set for two, he noticed. "Where's Diane?"

"You're never going to believe it, but she and Jay went out to dinner. Together."

"The airhead and the prig?" Gabe's brows rose, expressing his amazement.

"I nearly fell over in a faint. I think they're secretly attracted to each other."

"Like gunpowder and matches," Gabe muttered. To be honest, he didn't really care if Diane and Jay tore each other to pieces. He and Charity were alone, and the walls she'd so carefully erected to keep him at a distance had vanished without a trace. For the moment he couldn't ask for anything more.

"Are you hungry?" Charity's question brought his attention back to her. He wondered if she realized his hands were still on her shoulders. Her skin felt as soft as it looked. Hungry? Yes, but food wasn't the first thing that came to mind.

"Starved," he said with a smile. It took a conscious effort to release her. "Do I have time to change?"

"Yes. I'll set dinner out."

"Do you need help?"

"No, thanks."

"You won't try to lift anything too heavy?" He hesitated, clearly doubtful about the idea of leaving her on her own.

"I cross my heart," she promised solemnly.

"If you need anything, yell."