Charity's Angel

by Dallas Schulze

  Charity ran her fingers along the arm of her wheelchair—the wheelchair she would soon be leaving behind.

  "It's Gabe, isn't it," Diane said.

  "More or less." Charity sighed. She should have known she wasn't going to be able to fob Diane off with some thin story.

  "What did he do?"

  "He told me he was falling in love with me."

  Seeing Diane's stunned expression almost made it worth having to explain. Diane blinked, opened her mouth and closed it again and then sat staring at her as if she wasn't sure she'd heard correctly.

  "Well. The beast! How dare he! Shall we call the police?"

  "He is the police," Charity reminded her. She smiled at Diane's exaggerated indignation.

  "That doesn't mean he can say that he's falling in love with you! What kind of a fiend would do that?"

  "Okay, okay. So it doesn't seem like a serious problem to you. But it is to me."

  "Why?"

  "Why?" The simple question stumped her for a moment.

  "Yes, why? You feel the same way about him, don't you?"

  "Of course not." Her denial trailed off under Diane's stern look. "That's not the point."

  "You love him. He loves you. That seems to be very much the point."

  "But he doesn't love me," Charity cried. "That's the problem. He only thinks he loves me. It's really just because he feels guilty about the shooting. If it hadn't been for that, he'd never have noticed me at all."

  "Why are you so sure that's all it is? You're a terrific person. Why is it so hard to believe Gabe could really be in love with you?"

  Charity ran her hands restlessly over the wheels of the chair. She didn't want to hear what Diane was saying. There was nothing she'd like more to believe than that Gabe was in love with her. But all her instincts were telling her that she was going to get hurt if she didn't keep all the facts clearly in mind.

  The fact was that Gabe felt guilty about her paralysis. It wouldn't have been hard to confuse some of that guilt with something that seemed like love.

  "I just don't want to be here alone with him," she said finally, sidestepping Diane's question. "Will you come and stay?"

  "Of course I will, Char. If it means that much to you, you know I will. But I'm going on record as saying that you're going to regret it if you walk away from this without at least giving it a chance. Gabe is a great guy and he's had the good taste to fall in love with you. Don't let him get away."

  Charity nodded. It was easier to pretend to agree with Diane than to argue. As for Gabe's feelings for her, she was going to try not to think about that until she could walk. Once she was walking again, she'd see if Gabe still thought he loved her.

  Chapter 13

  Charity sank into the wheelchair with a bump. Her face was shiny with sweat, her arms ached from the effort of holding herself upright on the parallel bars, and her legs felt like overcooked spaghetti. But she was grinning from ear to ear. She tilted her head back to look at Diane, seeing the happy tears in her sister's eyes.

  "Not bad, huh?"

  "Not bad?" Diane's voice shook with emotion. "You were fantastic! I can't wait to tell Brian."

  "Maybe once he hears this, he'll stop treating Gabe like a serial killer," Charity said. She wiped her face with the towel draped around her neck.

  "Gabe is going to be so thrilled."

  "I'm not going to tell him. Not yet."

  Diane's eyes narrowed on her sister. "Why not? I know you've got some doubts about your relationship but he'll be so thrilled about this."

  "I know. But it isn't like I'm really walking yet."

  "But you're making so much progress."

  "I'll tell him," Charity said. "I just want to do it in my own time and in my own way. Promise you won't say anything?"

  Diane nodded reluctantly. "If that's what you want."

  "It is."

  ❧

  "So YOU'VE really done it." Annie's words were half statement, half question.

  "I handed in my resignation," Gabe confirmed. He leaned back in his desk chair and put his feet up on the corner of the desk, hands behind his head, as he grinned at her. "I am about to join the ranks of the unemployed."

  "You were just waitin' until we nailed Moodie, weren't you?" Annie leaned against the side of the desk.

  "Yep."

  "It meant that much to you to put him away?"

  "I wouldn't have felt good about leaving him on the streets."

  "Because of Nita?"

  "Maybe." He lowered his hands and dropped his feet from the desk. "Maybe I just wanted to go out on a positive note. And leaving Lawrence Moodie loose would not have been a positive note."

  Annie eased one hip onto the corner of the desk. She tilted her head to one side, studying him. Gabe raised his brows. "Do I have a smut on my nose? Or are you just trying to memorize my face so you won't miss me so much when I'm gone?"

  "I'm just tryin' to remember when I've seen you so relaxed. I think the last time was at Jim Briggs's wed-din' when you drank half a bowl of punch and serenaded us all with your version of 'Tangerine.'"

  "If you're implying that I had consumed more liquor than I could hold with dignity, I deny the charge," he said stiffly.

  "Dignity? You and dignity weren't even kissin' cousins that night, sugar." She dodged the wad of paper he threw at her, grinning. "You certainly proved you weren't the next Perry Como."

  "You know, the real question isn't why I'm resigning," Gabe suggested. "The real question is how I managed to live with you as a partner all these years."

  "Just lucky, I guess." They grinned at each other, in perfect accord.

  Annie's smile was the first to fade. "You know, I am goin' to miss you. This place just won't be the same without you around to annoy me."

  "Maybe you'll be lucky and your next partner will be just as irritating," Gabe suggested.

  "Impossible."

  Gabe glanced around the station house. Already he felt a certain distance from it. A good percentage of his life had been spent here—some of it good, some of it bad—and he was going to miss it. But it was time to move on. And he didn't think he'd be looking over his shoulder, wishing he'd made a different choice.

  "You goin' to join your dad and become a cowpoke?" Annie asked, breaking the slightly melancholy silence that had fallen between them.

  "I've been giving it some thought. Wide-open spaces have a certain appeal after L.A."

  "You takin' Charity with you?"

  Gabe shot her a sharp look, not at all fooled by her casual tone. Annie had been worried about his involvement with Charity from the beginning. She thought he was going to take a nasty fall. She could be right, he acknowledged ruefully, thinking of the distance Charity kept between them these days.

  "If she'll go," he admitted slowly.

  "And if she won't? Would you still go?"

  "Well, that would depend on why she wouldn't go." He picked up a pencil and turned it idly between his fingers. "If she isn't too fond of Wyoming, we could work something else out. If she isn't too fond of me, then I guess there wouldn't be much reason to hang around, would there?"

  "Any woman in her right mind would be glad to move anywhere with you," Annie said loyally.

  "Thanks. Now if I could just be sure Charity was in her right mind."

  "How's she gettin' along with learnin' to walk again and all?" Annie straightened an untidy stack of papers on his desk.

  "I guess it's going pretty well." Gabe shrugged. "She doesn't discuss it with me. But I gather everyone's happy with her progress."

  The truth was that Charity didn't discuss much of anything with him these days. She held Diane as a shield between them. Gabe could almost laugh at her obvious machinations to make sure they were never alone together. Almost.

  "You really love her, don't you?" Annie's soft question made him realize that he'd been staring at her without really seeing her. His mouth curved in a half-embarrassed smile.

  "Yeah. I really love her
."

  ❧

  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 m
oment 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.