Charity's Angel

by Dallas Schulze

  "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 w
ith 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.

  ❧

  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 stren
gth 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.