Charity's Angel (7 page)

"
W
hat?" Charity and Diane spoke simultaneously, giving the word a stereo effect.

"Move in with me," Gabe repeated. "It's the perfect solution."

"I don't see how," Diane said, obviously removing him from her list of allies.

"That's because you haven't seen my place," Gabe said without rancor.

"Gabe, it's awfully nice of you to offer but you don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to," he interrupted. "I want to."

"But-"

"Before you start making objections, let me explain why it would be so ideal."

Charity subsided but her expression remained doubtful. Diane didn't even bother to look that positive. Gabe felt like an insurance salesman pitching a policy to a resistant client.

"I've got a house in Pasadena—a good neighborhood. It's one story, all hardwood floors. There're three bedrooms and two baths so we wouldn't get in each other's way."

"It sounds lovely but I don't—"

"There's also a pool out back that you could use for physical therapy. You wouldn't have to come to the hospital all the time, and my next door neighbor is a doctor," he added as a final incentive.

Diane's expression had gone from total rejection to interest. He could see that she liked the idea of having a doctor next door. Charity didn't look any more convinced than she had when he started.

"It's really nice of you, Gabe," she said. "But there's no reason for you to disarrange your life. My apartment isn't as bad as Diane makes it sound. And if it really won't do, then I can find someplace else."

"Why find someplace else when my place is so close to ideal?"

His hands braced on the foot of her bed, he leaned forward. It was important to him to get her to agree to this. She might say that it wasn't his fault that she still couldn't walk, but he would never believe it. He'd fired the shot that had put her in this hospital bed. There was a fragment of his bullet still inside her.

If he could help her, even in so small a way as giving her a place to stay, it might make it a little easier for him to sleep at night.

"You know, Charity, he could be right," Diane said thoughtfully. Charity gave her sister a surprised look. Wasn't it Diane who'd urged her to be careful about getting involved with Gabe? Seeing Charity's expression, Diane shrugged defensively.

"Well, it seems like a reasonable solution. There's no stairs to worry about and the pool would mean you could probably do more physical therapy than if you had to come into the hospital for it every time."

"I could stay with Brian," Charity suggested desperately, feeling as if a gentle trap was closing around her.

"Brian's place isn't big enough to swing a cat," Diane reminded her. "Besides, his hours are far from normal. He's as likely to be working at three in the morning as he is to be sleeping."

"I don't want to be in your way," Charity said, giving Gabe a pleading look.

"You wouldn't be," he assured her, knowing it wasn't what she wanted to hear. If she stayed with him, he could keep an eye on her, make sure she had everything she needed. Maybe in some small way, he could make up for putting her in here.

Charity looked from Gabe to Diane, seeing her fate already decided in their eyes. Staring down at the outline of her lifeless legs, she wanted to scream and pound her fists against the unresponsive flesh, demand that the feeling come back so that she didn't have to depend on other people.

She wanted to insist on going back to her apartment, her nice, safe little apartment where everything would be familiar and normal. Only nothing was going to be normal until she could walk again. If she went back to her apartment, Gabe and Diane were both going to worry about her—Brian, too, when he came home. They'd feel obligated to check on her, to make sure she had everything she needed.

She sighed. Realistically she knew they were right. Walling herself up in her apartment wasn't going to make everything right again. And staying with Gabe would give him a chance to ease some of the guilt he shouldn't be feeling in the first place.

"If you're absolutely sure I wouldn't be in your way," she said slowly, lifting her eyes to meet Gabe's. His smile made her heart beat just a little faster than it should, a reminder that this move had some inherent dangers. She was going to have to be careful that while she was regaining the use of her legs she didn't lose her heart.

❧

"I don't know, sugar. You sure this is a good idea?" Annie frowned at Gabe.

"It's a great idea. I've got plenty of room and she needs a place to stay. What could be simpler?"

"You don't think maybe you're carrying this whole guilt thing a bit too far?" she asked, settling into her favorite perch on the corner of his desk.

"She can't walk because of me, Annie."

"Now, don't go getting your dander up, Gabriel." She lifted a soothing hand.

Gabe closed his eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath, forcing the tension out of his shoulders. There was no reason to snap at Annie. She was just concerned about him.

He opened his eyes and gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

"That's okay. What good are friends if you can't snap at them now and then?"

"That's an interesting view of friendship," he said, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles.

There were any number of reports sitting on his desk awaiting his attention. In twenty minutes they were supposed to observe a lineup, and in an hour they had to go convince a store owner to testify against a suspect they'd arrested.

At the moment the only thing Gabe could think of was the fact that he was picking Charity up at the hospital this afternoon and taking her back to his house. He'd done everything he could think of to prepare the place for her to manage from the wheelchair.

"What time do you pick her up?" Annie asked, as if she'd read his thoughts.

"Five. I borrowed Levowitz's van so there'd be room to get the wheelchair in with no problem. Her sister will be coming back with us, too. I'm going to have to do something about a car," he said, frowning. "The Jag isn't going to cut it."

Annie gave him a sharp look. "Not that I wouldn't love to see you get rid of that old heap of junk," she said carefully. "But don't you think getting a new car is carrying this whole thing a bit far? The shooting was an accident, Gabriel. You wouldn't be human if you didn't feel bad about what happened, but don't go rearranging your whole life."

"Charity's whole life has been rearranged," he said shortly, wishing she'd quit looking at him like he needed a few more sessions with the police psychiatrist.

"I'm not denyin' that. But you can't make her well, Gabriel. And puttin' bars up in your house and ramps on the steps and gettin' rid of your car ain't goin' to make her walk. Only time'll help that."

"I know that," he said impatiently. "Look, everybody is busy telling me that it's not my fault she can't walk and maybe you're all right. But it feels like it was my fault, and if I can help her by giving her a place to stay while she gets well, I don't see anything wrong with that."

"Of course not. If it'll make you stop beatin' yourself up, then I'm all for it. I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"I'm not going to," he said grumpily, tired of having his motives questioned. He was simply helping a friend. There was nothing all that complex about it.

Charity smoothed her fingers nervously over the skirt of her dress, checking that it was lying smooth over her knees. Diane had brought the dress to the hospital yesterday. The full skirt draped over her legs, falling almost to her ankles when she was seated, which of course was the only position she was in lately, she thought painfully.

She'd thought she was anxious to leave the hospital, until the time actually came to get dressed and pack. Then she'd suddenly realized how safe and secure she felt there. No one stared at her when the nurses wheeled her down the halls because chances were they were in a wheelchair, too. No one stared and wondered what was wrong with her. They had then-own problems to deal with.

But once she left the hospital, she wouldn't be normal anymore. She'd be in the real world where people who walked were normal and people in wheelchairs were something less.

It took all her willpower not to beg the doctor to let her stay, just another day or two. If she willed it hard enough, surely she could get the feeling back in her legs. He was wrong in thinking she was ready to leave. She wasn't ready at all. She wanted to stay here where she was safe and insulated.

As long as she was in the hospital, her paralysis was a temporary thing. Once she left, she'd be forced to start learning to manage in the real world. And every new skill she picked up, every problem she conquered, would be another sign that she wasn't ever going to walk again. It was as if learning to cope without the use of her legs would cut her off from ever using them again.

But there was no way she could explain her confused fears to anyone else. And even if she could make them understand, she couldn't expect them to keep her in the hospital just because she was afraid to leave.

So she'd struggled into the dress, trying not to look at her legs even when she had to lift them to put them in place. She hated touching them, hated feeling the lifelessness of them. That was something else she hadn't told anyone.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make the connection between these unresponsive limbs and her legs. Her legs moved. She could feel blood pumping through them and hot and cold air against them. She could feel the swish of a skirt or the scrape of shrub brushing against them.

Now, sitting in her room, waiting for Diane, she smoothed her skirt again, unable to feel the pressure of her hand against her knee. If it hadn't been for the fact that she could see her legs, could touch them, she wouldn't have known they were there.

She looked away from them, fighting back tears. She had to believe that she was going to walk again. If she didn't believe that, then she would surely go crazy. The only thing that kept her sane was the thought that this whole thing was just a temporary nightmare. Soon the world would be back to normal. She'd be able to go on with her life again.

She heard Diane's voice greeting one of the nurses and forced the fears into the back of her mind, tilting her mouth up in a smile that didn't reach her eyes. If she could just keep pretending everything was going to be all right, then surely it would be.

Perhaps Diane sensed her nervousness or maybe she was uncertain about this move herself. She kept up a cheerful patter all the way to the lobby, talking to the nurse who was pushing Charity's wheelchair when Charity's responses were slow in coming.

Charity could feel her stomach starting to churn as the elevator door slid open and she was wheeled out into the lobby. The light seemed much too bright and there were far too many people. She knotted her hands together on the arms of the wheelchair, fighting the urge to beg the nurse to take her back to her room.

They stopped at the lobby desk where one of the volunteers cut the plastic I.D. band from her wrist, making a small ceremony out of it. The woman probably thought she was going to get up out of the wheelchair as soon as she was wheeled outside, Charity thought. She had no way of knowing that for her, leaving the hospital was more frightening than staying.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself
, she ordered herself sternly. It could certainly be worse.

At the moment that was cold comfort indeed.

The doors whisked open with an electric whoosh and Charity was outside for the first time in two weeks. The air was hot and dry, tightening the skin on her cheeks, harsh to lungs accustomed to the air-conditioned atmosphere of the hospital. She squinted against the sun that poured over the pavement beyond the sheltered area in front of the hospital.

A slightly scruffy blue van pulled up in front of them, blocking her view of the circular drive. The driver's door slammed and then Gabe was walking around the front of the vehicle, his long stride filling Charity with a sense of her own inadequacy.

She looked up at Diane, her hand reaching up to clutch her sister's sleeve, ready to go back into the safety of the hospital, anything to keep from having to face a normal, walking world.

"Madam, your chariot awaits." Gabe stopped in front of her and swept a theatrical bow, one hand extended toward her, a pure white rose held in his long fingers.

"Oh." Charity's hand trembled slightly as she reached to take it from him. "It's beautiful," she said softly, raising it to her face.

"Its beauty pales before thine," he told her, pressing one hand to his heart and giving her such a soulful look that laughter dried the tears trembling on her lashes.

She felt better suddenly. Looking into his eyes, the fear receded. Somehow it was hard to be afraid when Gabe was there.

"Thank you, Gabe."

"
De nada
," he said, shrugging as he straightened. "I raided Jay's prize rose bushes again."

"Won't he be upset?" Charity knew that Jay Baldwin was the doctor who lived next door to Gabe and a good friend as well as neighbor.

"Not if no one tells him who did it," Gabe said, with a smile.

"My lips are sealed," she assured him.

The nurse wheeled her over the curb where the van waited. Gabe pulled open the door, and Charity stared at the step as if it were a viper. How many times had she stepped in or out of cars in her lifetime and never given it a thought?

But Gabe didn't give her a chance to dwell on the fact that she couldn't take the step for herself.

"Allow me." Bending, he scooped her out of the wheelchair and into his arms as if she weighed next to nothing.

Startled, Charity's wide eyes met his, only inches away. She couldn't feel the arm under her legs, of course, but she could feel the one across her back, hard and strong, as if he could hold her forever.

Even more startling than the easy strength with which he held her was the sudden awareness she felt, a tingle that started in the pit of her stomach and worked its way up to catch in her throat.

For a moment Gabe's arms tightened around her, his eyes more gold than green, and she wondered if he felt the same shiver of awareness. His eyes dropped to her mouth and she felt the impact of that glance as if it was a kiss. Her breath caught, her heart beating too quickly.

The sound of a car horn in the street broke the fragile tension. Gabe blinked, his hands shifting as he turned toward the van. An instant later he'd set her on the seat. Charity felt a real sense of loss when he drew away.

She shook her head. It wouldn't do to start imagining things. She had enough problems without adding a pathetic crush on Gabriel London to them. This was exactly what Diane had warned her about, and she'd dismissed the warnings. Now she knew she had to be on her guard. It shouldn't be hard to remember just why Gabe was so concerned. All she had to do was look down at her legs to be reminded.