She watched his face in the firelight. She smiled as he made donkey noises to make his sons giggle when he told of Mary and Joseph’s trip to Bethlehem. The two boys looked up at their father with rapt attention.
Glory felt the happiness squeeze into her heart. She’d never thought she’d love someone like Matthew. Someone strong and good and kind. Someone who took in a stranger like her just because his sons thought she was an angel. How many ways do I love you, Matthew Curtis? she asked herself. How many ways?
“No,” she heard Matthew say to Josh. “The wise men couldn’t just call the cops. Besides, they weren’t lost. They were following the star.”
The Bullet patted his very red stomach and hitched up his very black belt. He circulated through the little café and gave out candy canes to everyone. He even posed for pictures with some of the diners. He hoped all of the jolliness would pay off.
The Bullet had spent the day planning. The more he thought about when to shoot the woman, the closer he came to realizing he couldn’t do it. He just wasn’t up to pulling another trigger. He’d be a marked man, of course. But he was so tired of killing people.
He was going to march outside to the pay phone and call Millie. He’d spend Christmas with her and then head down to Mexico. She might even come with him.
The air was brittle, and the Bullet needed to take his gloves off to punch the numbers on the telephone. He’d expected Millie to pick up on the first ring. But the phone rang right through to the message.
He heard Millie’s breathless voice. “Forrest, if that’s you, your uncle stopped by. We’re out to dinner.” A giggle. “He said to tell you he’s taking real good care of me.”
The Bullet’s mouth went dry. This client that knew Forrest’s name would know he used an old uncle as a screen for his trips. Since the Bullet had no uncle, that left only one conclusion. The client had Millie. The Bullet let the knowledge slice through him.
Chapter Thirteen
The early-evening light filtered into the church. Glory could hear the women outside in the church kitchen as they put the coffee on to brew. Through the open door she saw the kitchen counter piled high with cookies. Lemon bars. Gingersnaps. Sugar cookies. Plus trays and trays of date bars. Glory wished she was out there chatting with the ranchers’ wives she’d just met—Margaret Ann and Doris June. But instead she was the angel, so she was inside the costume room listening to Matthew’s quiet breathing as he helped her adjust her wings. The bare overhead light was bright and, once Matthew had pushed some choir robes out of the way, she could see herself in the old full-length mirror.
Glory wrinkled her nose at her reflection as she circled her head with garland. She’d loosely pulled her hair up on top of her head to help keep the garland in place. Tiny flecks of gold fluttered down on her nose. Not that it mattered. She was already covered with specks of glitter from when Matthew had hooked her wings onto the harness she wore under her white angel gown. The wings had been recently dipped in glitter.
Glory blew a strand of hair off her forehead, knowing she had to be careful what she touched. Mrs. Hargrove had unearthed a pair of long white gloves so that Glory could point with a white finger when she said, “Behold…”
“Not many angels look like they’re ready to swear,” Matthew observed mildly as he bent the flap on Glory’s left wing to attach it more firmly. “Well, I expect the Archangel did a time or two—all that wrath and destruction.”
“They all would look that way if they had to fly around in wings like this.” Glory cautiously flexed a shoulder. She had a tiny little itch under the harness.
Matthew chuckled. “I doubt they could even get off the ground with those wings.”
“Now you tell me.”
“They’ll do fine in the swing, though.” Matthew cleared his throat. He thought he was doing pretty well with the chitchat. No one would know his hands trembled from adjusting Glory’s wings. She wasn’t an angel; she was a goddess. Her flaming red hair, more copper than gold, was gathered on top of her head. But it was so fine, wisps of hair circled her head. She scarcely needed a halo. Her hair floating around her sparkled as much as the glitter. Matthew leaned just a little closer to her hair and breathed deeply.
“Peaches?”
“My shampoo,” Glory answered. She had forgotten her lipstick and rouge, but she had remembered her favorite matching shampoo and lotion.
Matthew nodded. “I’d better pin your garland on better. Wouldn’t want the halo to slip when you’re out there.”
Matthew stood behind Glory, positioning her halo and noticing once again the graceful line of her neck. Swanlike didn’t begin to cover it. Glory looked so much like an angelic bride as she stood there that Matthew couldn’t help himself. He leaned closer and pressed his lips very lightly to the back of her neck. His kiss was more of a breath than an act.
“My hair’s falling down.” Glory tried to reach her arm up to her neck. That’s all she needed. “I just felt it fall.”
“You’re fine.”
“Yeah, men always say that, even when we have broccoli in our teeth.”
“You don’t have broccoli in your teeth.”
“I know. It’s my hair.”
Matthew decided he was a rat all the way. He put his hands up to Glory’s hair and did what wasn’t necessary. He pretended to smooth it back up. Her hair was silky soft. He smoothed it again. “There.” His voice was little more than a whisper. “Your hair’s fine.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s time we got you to the barn.” Matthew’s voice was thick. He knew they still had a half hour before the performance started, but he also knew that he’d better get Glory over to the barn and away from this small room before he gave in to the urge to kiss more than her neck. Not even that growing stack of cookies on the counter would distract the church women if they happened to look over into the small room and see him kissing the Christmas angel the way he wanted to right now.
Glory stood in the door of the barn. Matthew had walked over with her, refusing to use his crutch so that he could hold a blanket around her shoulders even though it was almost impossible to do so with her wings jutting out behind them. The night was cold and starless. Fluffy snowflakes were beginning to fall. When they got to the door of the barn, Glory had had to enter sideways so that her wings would not be bent.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Glory said to Matthew as he bent to unhook the hem of her white gown that had caught on a nail by the door.
“I’ll get a hammer and come back and smooth that over,” Matthew muttered as he stood. “Yours won’t be the only hem it catches.”
Matthew was right. Glory looked around. There was an abundance of long, flowing robes. She’d never seen such a colorful array of little boys in bathrobes, most of them dragging along the barn floor. Some had pastel-striped robes; some had white cotton robes; some had plain colored robes. All of them had a striped dish towel wrapped around their heads with a band of red material holding it in place. Several boys had a wooden staff in their hands. Two of the boys even had leashes. Leashes? Glory looked again. If there were leashes, there must be—Yes, there they were. The animals.
“Come see,” Josh called excitedly to Matthew and Glory. “We’ve got sheep!”
“I’ll believe this when I see it,” Matthew whispered to Glory as they walked over to where a group of boys stood.
“Don’t knock it. The sheep are as real as the angel.”
Glory had never realized that a dog wrapped in a fluffy white towel could look so much like a sheep in the shadows.
“Hey, Glory,” a woman called to her from the front of the bleachers.
Glory turned and recognized Debra Hanson, the nurse from Dr. Norris’s office, who had promised to bring the boxes of toys Glory had ordered.
“I got them, honey,” Debra said in a stage whisper as Glory walked closer. Debra snapped her gum and spoke with a Southern accent. She wore a red scarf wrapped around her head like
a turban and a long black coat. Christmas bell earrings shimmered as she spoke. “Where do you want me to put them?”
Glory looked around. She’d like to surprise the children. “Behind the stable.”
“I’ll tell the boys.” Debra turned and smiled at a couple of the hands from the Big Sheep Mountain Ranch. She raised her hand to wave and used one of her red-tipped fingers to summon the men over to her. They came eagerly.
Glory decided her boxes were in good hands, so she could mingle. Since this was a barn, there was no backstage area. The six-foot-high, ten-foot-wide stable was the only structure. The actors were in plain sight doing last-minute errands. One little choir angel had a nose-bleed, and one of the older shepherds took him outside to get some snow to put on his nose. One of the boys was teasing Mary about the makeup someone had put on her. Mrs. Hargrove was muttering to herself.
Glory decided Mrs. Hargrove was the one who needed rescuing the most. “Everything looks ready,” Glory said reassuringly when she came near the older woman. Glory had noticed the musicians from the café setting up their small sound system at the side of the stable.
Mrs. Hargrove had abandoned her usual gingham dresses and wore a green wool suit with a hat. She was rubbing her hands so fiercely Glory feared for the woman’s skin.
“It’ll go all right,” Glory added. “The pageant will be just fine.”
“Well, not with him here,” Mrs. Hargrove seethed. “It’s practically blasphemy!”
“Who?”
“Him.” Mrs. Hargrove jerked her head in the direction of the Santa Claus who had entertained diners at the café earlier.
“Oh, he’s all right,” Glory said. Linda had told her the man was an old cowboy who was down on his luck. He certainly looked down on his luck with his fake white beard and red stocking hat. His shoulders slumped as if he carried the weight of the world. Even at that, though, he was handing out candy canes. “He’s just cheering folks up.”
“Folks don’t need cheering up! This is Christmas.” Mrs. Hargrove pursed her lips.
Just then the girl who was playing Mary tugged on Mrs. Hargrove’s arm.
“Yes, dear?” the older woman said as she leaned over.
Mrs. Hargrove’s voice softened when she talked to the girl and Glory could see why. Lori was all pink and blue in her costume. She looked sugar sweet, except for her eyes.
“Johnny Ellis stole the dish towels!” The girl’s eyes snapped with anger.
“Dish towels?” Mrs. Hargrove seemed disoriented.
“The swaddlin’ clothes!” the girl wailed, and burst into tears. “For my baby!”
Mrs. Hargrove soothed the girl and then straightened herself for battle. “Just wait until I get my hands on Johnny Ellis.”
The girl stopped crying and perked up significantly when Mrs. Hargrove left.
Matthew came over and stood slightly behind Glory. She would have known he was there by the smell of his aftershave even if she hadn’t heard the quiet thumping of his crutches. She’d noticed the pleasing scent at dinner and wondered if he was meeting someone special at the pageant. Not that it was any of her business, she reminded herself.
“Boys can be so annoying, can’t they, Lori?” Matthew said sympathetically.
Glory was inclined to agree, but she didn’t expect the girl to nod her head so vigorously.
“Thinks he’s so smart—ordering me around saying he’s my husband,” Lori said.
“Well, he won’t be your husband for long,” Glory consoled her. “After the pageant he goes back to being plain Johnny Ellis.” Glory couldn’t resist a little consciousness-raising. “Besides, just because he’s your husband doesn’t mean he gets to order you around.”
“Yeah.” The girl brightened. “I could order him, too.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Glory said, but it was too late. Lori had gone off to find Johnny Ellis.
Glory looked at Matthew. He was a constant surprise to her. Just when she thought his head was filled with hammering loose nails she found out that he’d had time to watch over the little children.
She fought the impulse to adjust Matthew’s tie. It didn’t need adjusting, not really. But he wouldn’t know that and it would give her a good cover as she leaned closer to smell his aftershave.
Fortunately, she was saved from her own foolishness by Mrs. Hargrove, who fluttered by gathering up children like a mother hen circling her chicks. “It’ll be time to start soon. I’m having the children go to the back of the barn, by the far bleachers, so we can file in when we start the Scripture reading.”
“I better get up in the hayloft, then.” Glory picked up her long skirts.
“Let me go with you,” Matthew said. “Make sure your skirt doesn’t get caught on those narrow stairs.”
“Oh, I asked Tavis to help her.” Mrs. Hargrove looked down at a clipboard that she had picked up from somewhere. “Someone needs to go up with her and help her with the swing. You’re on crutches.”
“I’ll help her,” Matthew muttered as he positioned the crutches under his shoulders. A look of stubborn determination settled on his face. “I’m the one that knows how to add the extra train to the outfit so that people won’t be looking at the angel’s legs. Besides, I don’t trust Tavis alone with the angel around all that hay.”
“Well.” Mrs. Hargrove studied Matthew with a bright, pleased look in her eyes. Then she took the pen off the clipboard and made a couple of check marks on her list.
There was a rail instead of a wall on the inside of the stairs leading to the overhead hayloft, and it was just as well. Glory could never have squeezed between two walls with her seven-foot wingspan.
“Ever wonder why angels just appear?” Glory muttered as she twisted her shoulders so her wings wouldn’t be dented. “They can’t get around in these things, so they have to—puff—appear out of nowhere. Puffing is a lot easier than flying.”
Matthew looked down at her. He had half hobbled, half crawled to the top of the stairs and stood waiting for her. He leaned his crutches against the wall of the hayloft and reached down a hand to Glory. “Here, let me help you.”
The smell of dry hay greeted Glory when she stood on the floor of the hayloft. The decorators for the pageant had not come up here. It was still ready for cattle. Several bales of hay were broken and strewn around. A pitchfork stood upright, embedded in one bale. Straw and wisps of hay lay all over the rough wood floor.
The hayloft was dim. The bright light from downstairs filtered through the end of the hayloft and gave everything a warm cast. Glory looked around. While she and Matthew could see the people down below, no one from down there could see the two of them. It was a perfect place for—Glory pushed the thought aside. She knew this ex-minister would never kiss an angel. Best not to even think about it.
Ten minutes later Glory was sitting on a bale of hay watching Matthew. Men! He had spent the entire past ten minutes going over every inch of the swing that she was going to use. “You’re making me nervous. Besides, Tavis has already checked everything.”
Matthew scowled up at her from where he was crouched by the ropes.
“It’s even got a safety rope. See?” Glory pointed to her backup rope.
Glory sighed. Mention of the safety rope only gave Matthew another thing to check out.
People were filling up the bleachers down below them. Glory saw just the tops of everyone, but she could tell people had dressed up for the occasion. She saw black Stetson hats and gray Stetson hats. The men who didn’t have Stetson hats wore hunter-green caps. And the women’s hair—from gray to towheaded—was shiny and curled.
The only one who stood out was Santa in his bright red cap. He’d stopped giving out candy canes and sat at the end of one of the far bleachers. The old man must be tired. Glory could think of no other reason why he seemed to be staring up at the hayloft where she was.
Just then a crackle of static sounded through the barn.
“It’s—” Elmer’s voice came
out over the loudspeaker “—time.”
The rustle of the audience stilled. Elmer stood beside the manger. Someone turned off a few of the lights.
Elmer cleared his throat. “I want to thank all you friends and neighbors for coming to celebrate the birth of our Lord. The children of Dry Creek have worked hard to prepare for this pageant, and so have the adults.” Elmer paused. “We may as well get to it.” He bent his head over a Bible and began to read. “‘And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed….”’
Glory smiled. Elmer’s grandfatherly voice was perfect for the reading.
The band’s sound system must have been more than a microphone, because the sound of a symphony filled the barn as Joseph started to walk the length of the barn leading a young heifer that was carrying a very pregnant Mary. The girl’s long robe fell against the heifer’s side and the heifer kept swishing its tail trying to get rid of the annoyance.
“‘And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem.”’
The heifer stopped in front of the wooden storefront that said Bethlehem Inn. A boy wearing a white butcher’s apron came out of a door in the storefront. He was carrying a chicken under one arm and a No Vacancy sign under the other. The chicken was squawking indignantly at being carried, and when the boy went to hang the No Vacancy sign on the larger sign, the chicken escaped and flew to a perch on the very top of the stable. The boy stood watching the chicken with his mouth open.
There was silence. Mrs. Hargrove cleared her throat loudly. There was more silence.
Finally Mary spoke from her position on top of the heifer. “Does that—” she pointed to the sign the boy still held “—mean there’s no room in the inn?”
“No…” The boy regained his lines. He repeated loudly, “No room in the inn.”
Mary nodded, satisfied. “I thought so. We’ll stay in the stable.” And then she slid to the floor, took the heifer’s rope and said with an unmistakable tone of command, “Joseph, you bring the bags. And don’t forget the baby things.”
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