Charity's Angel (8 page)

❧

Gabe handed Charity the end of the shoulder seat belt, smiling in response to her murmured thanks. He wondered what had put that sudden bleak look in her eyes. Not that she didn't have reason enough. But a moment before, when he'd been holding her in his arms, her eyes had been full of promise, deep green and warm, like a tropical sea.

He shook his head as he walked around the front of the van. The only thing he needed to be concerned about at this point was getting Charity home and getting her well. The fact that holding her had been like holding a piece of heaven was not important right now.

❧

No one had much to say during the drive to Gabe's house. Gabe pretended to concentrate on his driving. Charity stared out the window, pretending that nothing was wrong, that she'd be able to get out of the van without help. Seated in the back, Diane stared at the wheelchair folded into the space next to her, wishing she could just slide open the door and push it out onto the freeway, along with her sister's need for it.

The house was, just as Gabe had said, in a nice neighborhood, middle-class and tidy—the sort of place where children played in the streets, moving out of the way of the van before reclaiming the best skateboarding surface around.

Gabe pulled into his drive and shut off the van. For the space of several seconds, no one said anything. It was as if they were all just realizing that this was really happening.

Charity's fingers knotted together in her lap. She couldn't do it. If she'd thought it was hard to leave the hospital, it was nothing compared to the thought of getting out of this van. Gabe would put her in the wheelchair and everyone would be able to see that she couldn't walk.

"We're here," Gabe announced in a tone of forced good cheer.

"It's very nice," Diane said.

Charity didn't add anything to the stilted conversation. Her chest felt tight, as if all the air was being cut off. She couldn't do this. They were all wrong to say that she was ready to leave the hospital. They had to take her back. Right this minute.

She looked at Gabe, ready to ask him to turn the van around, when the passenger door was pulled open.

"You all turned to statues or what?" Startled, Charity turned to look at the owner of the gravelly voice. Seated in the van, she looked slightly downward into a pair of deep brown eyes set in a square-jawed face. He wasn't handsome, not by any standard, but there was a sort of homely appeal in his features.

"I'm Jay Baldwin, Gabe's neighbor." He held out his hand and Charity took it automatically. "And the owner of the rose bush that came from," he added, gesturing to the rose that lay in her lap. He shot Gabe a threatening look. "I was thinking of calling the police to report the theft but I had a feeling they already knew."

"It was on my side of the fence," Gabe said virtuously.

"Funny, that bush is a good five feet from the fence."

"It sprawls," Gabe said.

"Ha. It would have to crawl to get that far."

Jay tugged open the back door, his eyes skimming over Diane's perfection with apparent indifference. "You must be the sister," he said, reaching for the wheelchair.

It was a new and not particularly welcome experience for Diane to hear herself described—and dismissed—as "the sister."

"Diane Williams," she said, but he only nodded as he lifted the chair out, unfolding it with a few practiced moves. It was obvious that he didn't care to pursue the acquaintance any further.

"You're not going to be able to maneuver in and out of a high seat like this on your own," Jay said, opening Charity's door. She unbuckled her seat belt in au-tomatic obedience to his gesture and found herself unceremoniously lifted and set in the chair with a minimum of fuss.

There was no opportunity to say that she didn't need to worry about getting in and cut of the van because she was going back to the safety of the hospital. No chance to feel self-conscious or awkward. One minute she was sitting in the van, the next she was being wheeled up the concrete walkway.

"Gabe's house is better for wheelchair access than most but you'll still have to learn how to handle this thing."

"I don't want to learn how to handle it," she snapped. They were the first words she'd spoken since Jay's arrival.

"Of course you don't." Jay shoved open the front door and pushed her into a wide entryway. "Nobody does, but you're luckier than most."

"Lucky?" At the moment she wasn't feeling particularly lucky.

"It's only temporary for you."

Charity felt a weight slip from her shoulders. Of course it was only temporary. She'd lost sight of that today. She'd begun to think she was always going to be in this chair.

She turned to grin up into Jay's square face. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." He grinned down at her, the expression transforming his features from homely to roguishly attractive. Diane, walking in the front door, caught sight of him and stopped so abruptly that Gabe, following on her heels, bumped into her. Diane blinked, a slightly dazed look in her eyes as she moved out of the doorway.

For the next thirty minutes Gabe showed Charity around the house, familiarizing her with the layout as well as the changes he'd made to make it easier for her to manage on her own. Since she'd already rejected the idea of a live-in aide, he'd made a few strategic modifications.

Bars had been installed in the bathrooms, as well as a hanging bar over her bed so that she could pull herself up and get into the wheelchair without having to call for help. There was one step leading down into the living room and he'd installed a ramp over that so that there wasn't any room in the house where her wheelchair wouldn't go easily.

The only blight on the tour was the antipathy between Diane and Jay. When it came up that Diane had been a model, Jay's upper lip had shown a faint but definite tendency to curl.

"How interesting,'.' he said with total insincerity. Airhead, his eyes said.

"I'm sure being a doctor is much more interesting," Diane snapped. Prig, her eyes flashed back.

From then on, any conversation that involved the two of them was more in the nature of a verbal boxing match.

Ordinarily Charity would have been intrigued by any man who didn't simply fall head over heels for her sister. That Jay Baldwin, who was not particularly tall, dark or handsome, showed no sign of succumbing to Diane's fatal charm would have amused her no end.

At the moment, nerves and the exhaustion of her first day out of the hospital were catching up with her. She'd never have believed how tired she could get after only a few hours out of bed, and all of them spent sitting down, at that. But tired she was, bone deep and muscle weary.

When Gabe noticed her pallor and suggested that she ought to get to bed, she didn't even bother to put up a token argument. Nor did she protest when Diane offered to help her into bed. She'd practiced getting in and out of the wheelchair at the hospital; remembering to set the brake, lifting first one leg and then the other off the footrests, then using her arms to pull herself into the bed. But tonight she wasn't sure she had the strength to make the switch from chair to bed.

Once she'd managed to convince Diane that she was really and truly settled in and didn't need her big sister to spend the night holding her hand, Charity was alone. She listened to the murmur of voices from the living room as Diane and Jay bade Gabe good-night. She felt more isolated and alone than she'd ever felt in her life.

Pressing the back of her arm over her eyes, she forced back the frightened tears. Crying never did anything but make her eyes red.

"Charity?" Gabe's voice was quiet as he tapped on the door. Sniffing, she wiped her eyes and dragged herself higher against the pillows before calling to him to come in.

"I just wanted to make sure you have everything you need." He stayed near the door, his hands pushed into the pockets of his jeans.

"Everything," she said and then winced at the forced cheerfulness in her voice.

"The bell there is in case you need me." He nodded to the decorative brass bell that stood on the nightstand.

"Oh. How thoughtful." She reached out to pick it up and the clapper pinged gently. She held it against her chest.

Gabe was relieved to see a genuine smile light her face. She looked so small lying there in her pink nightgown, her hair drawn back from her face. He'd had to push his hands in his pockets to keep from gathering her up in his arms and kissing the uncertainty from her eyes.'

"I'm a light sleeper," he said when the silence threatened to stretch too long. "The least sound will wake me."

"That must make you uncomfortable to sleep with," Charity said without thinking. Hearing her words, she stared at him, eyes round, her fair skin flushing.

"I haven't had too many complaints," Gabe said slowly, his mouth curving in a suggestive grin.

"No, I don't suppose you have." And then she flushed even deeper. It had to be the shock of leaving the hospital that had addled her brain, she thought, wondering if this was a good time to fake amnesia and pretend to forget the past few minutes.

Gabe sensed her embarrassment and swallowed the comment he'd been about to make. If she got any redder, she was likely to explode. But she looked less waiflike than she had a few minutes ago.

"Well, I'll let you get to sleep," he said briskly. "Just remember to ring if you need me. Good night."

"Good night." Charity watched the door close behind him and waited for the loneliness to close in around her again. But it didn't. Rubbing her thumb lightly over the polished brass surface of the bell, she felt her mouth curve in a smile. She didn't feel alone anymore.

W
hen Charity woke the next morning, for one blissful moment she didn't remember where she was or why she was there. Sunlight poured in through the window, spilling across the bed. From where she lay, she could see a slice of bright blue sky and a fluffy white cloud.

Maybe because for1 the first time since the robbery she was waking in a home, not a hospital room, her first urge was to get up and go to the window. She wanted to throw it open and draw in a deep breath of fresh air.

She threw back the covers, eager to do just that. And reality came crashing over her, shattering the sparkling mood, making the blue sky seem gray and overcast. Instead of sitting up and swinging her legs off the bed, she was stuck lying there like a bundle of old rags.

The disappointment was so acute, she felt tears burn her eyes. She forced them back and drew in a deep breath. Crying wasn't going to change things, she reminded herself briskly. The doctors said she just needed time to heal. If she kept up with her physical therapy and clung to that hope, she'd be walking again before she knew it.

Shoving the covers out of the way, Charity reached for the bar Gabe had hung over her bed, and pulled herself into a sitting position. Glaring at the wheelchair, she began the rather arduous task of getting herself ready to face the day.

Well, there was one thing for sure, she thought an hour later, she certainly wasn't going to be making any impulsive trips anywhere. Just getting washed and dressed had taken more time than she'd ever dreamed.

Her back hurt with the strain of constantly stretching for things that were just out of reach. Her arms ached with the effort of compensating for all the things her legs would no longer do. Too bad she'd never learned to walk on her hands, she thought with a touch of black humor.

Now that she was dressed, she wasn't at all sure she wanted to leave the dubious sanctuary of her room. Gabe had told her that he was taking a couple of days' leave to make sure she got settled in. She appreciated his concern though she would have preferred some time alone to find out just how awkward she was going to be. But she could hardly have told him to stay away. After all, it was his house.

Charity eyed the plain wooden door like a track star eyeing the high hurdle. She could do this. After all, it wasn't as if Gabe hadn't already seen her in the wheelchair. She just had to go out and smile and show him that she was capable of managing on her own-she hoped—and he could go on about his own business. He probably had all sorts of things he wanted to do around the house.

❧

But it seemed that all Gabe had to do was watch over his house guest, which he did quite thoroughly. From the moment Charity pushed the wheelchair into the kitchen were he'd been drinking coffee, there wasn't a need he didn't anticipate.

He got a box of cereal from the cupboard for her, though it was on a shelf low enough for her to reach and he'd already told her that she was to make herself completely at home. He got the milk from the refrigerator before she had a chance to think of it. The sugar appeared as if by magic, as did a glass of juice and a slice of buttered toast, neither of which she particularly wanted.

When she was finished, he cleared the table. When she mentioned that she might go out on the patio, he opened the sliding door for her. Once outside, she drew a deep breath of fresh air, relieved to be alone. Until she happened to glance back at the house and saw Gabe sitting in a chair by the window, reading the paper in a place that just happened to put him where he could keep an eye on her.

Charity turned her head to hide a grin. She suspected he was going to drive her crazy, but there was something rather sweet about his concern.