Charlie's Angels Page 3

  She looked at Meredith. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “I’m really sorry about this,” the man said to her. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’ve been out of my head with worry.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Look, I can come get her.”

  Starla glanced at the clock on the dash. “No, I’ll bring her back. I’d rather do that than sit here and wait. We’ll be there in an hour and a half or so.”

  “The weather’s getting worse,” he said. “Take your time.”

  “I’ll drive carefully. I have to find a place to turn around.” It was easy for him to tell her to take her time. She was the one losing precious hours needed to deliver her load on schedule. They exchanged cell phone numbers and he told her to let Meredith call him if she wanted and he’d pay for the charges.

  Starla buckled in, pulled out onto the pavement and watched for an Exit sign.

  “Can we listen to your music some more?” Meredith asked.

  Starla flipped on the CD player, and music filled the cab.

  “Is this angel music?”

  “Nope. It’s a soundtrack.”

  “Oh. Some angels don’t have wings that show, isn’t that right?”

  The windshield wipers cleared two arcs and Starla peered into the driving snow and spotted the green sign indicating an exit. “I wouldn’t really know about that.”

  Within minutes they were headed back the other direction.

  “Do you know my mommy?”

  Starla kept her attention on the white blur of road and sky. “I don’t think so. I don’t know anyone in Elmwood.”

  “No, my mommy’s in heaven. She’s a angel, too.”

  She absorbed that information with equal measures of understanding and sympathy. “Meredith, I’m not an angel. I’m just a person. I was a baby once and I went to school, just like you.”

  The child straightened in her seat, settled the book squarely on her lap and opened it. “This is the mommy and daddy,” she explained, pointing to an artist’s rendition of a couple in a house with a roaring fireplace. “The daddy has lots of work to do, and he goes to his job with his beefcase.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “He comes home too late at night and the mommy and the little kids are sad, ’cause they miss him.” She turned a page. “See they make cookies, but the daddy isn’t there. And they decorate the tree, but the daddy isn’t there.”

  Starla was listening, but her concentration was on her driving.

  “Then, the beautiful angel on the top of the Christmas tree hears how sad they are and she comes to life. See, she looks just like you.”

  Starla glanced over at the white-robed apparition. Pale blond hair would be a comparison, she supposed.

  “She sprinkles miracle dust on the mommy and daddy. The daddy comes home and kisses the mommy under the mistletoe, and then he stays home and opens presents with the kids. Isn’t that a nice story?”

  “Very nice. What do you like the most about the story?”

  “That there’s a mommy and a daddy. Two of them.”

  The yearning in the child’s voice was plain. “Sometimes a daddy is enough,” Starla said. “Especially if he loves you as much as a mommy and daddy put together. That’s how much my dad loves me.”

  Meredith picked up on that right away. “Is your mommy a angel, too?”

  “She died when I was twelve. I was older than you, but I still had only a dad for a lot of years. He taught me to drive a truck.”

  “He did? What else?”

  “He taught me how to load and fire a weapon. He made me go to a martial arts school.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That’s where they teach you to protect yourself.”

  “Oh. Can you flip guys and stuff, like the Power Puff Girls?”

  “Nothing that fancy,” she replied.

  “But you’re a angel, can’t you just zap bad people?”

  “Meredith, I’m not an angel. How am I going to convince you?”

  Meredith shrugged.

  The questions continued until Starla asked Meredith to read the book to her again. The child tired and fell asleep for about half an hour, then woke groggy. “Where are we?”

  “We’re almost there.”

  “Can I call my daddy?”

  Starla punched the numbers and handed her the phone. “Tell him we’re on the highway, not far away now.”

  “Hi, Daddy…he wants to talk to you.”

  “Hello,” Starla said into the phone.

  “They’re closing the highway and the interstate,” he told her.

  Her heart sank. She would be trapped. “Great.”

  Ice was pelting the windshield and freezing now. She had slowed to a crawl and could barely see. The sun had set long ago, and the darkness was lit by the snow and her two beams of headlights that were growing dimmer by the minute. “Sleet must be freezing to my headlights. I can barely see in front of the hood.”

  “Can you make out any landmarks?”

  “Not really. Wait, there’s a sign up ahead. It’s covered with snow, I can’t tell. I think it’s the Elmwood sign.”

  “You’re only a quarter mile from my place if it is,” he told her.

  “Okay, I’m watching. It’s slow going.”

  “That’s okay. You’ll see a grove of trees on your left.”

  “I’m passing them now.”

  “Look up ahead to the right now. Go slow around the curve.”

  “I’m going slow.”

  “I’m in a Cherokee at the end of my drive with my headlights on. Can you see anything?”

  She couldn’t. “No…no…wait, we’re sliding!” Starla dropped the phone to grab the wheel with both hands and guide the rig around the curve. She felt the trailer slide, jackknifing toward her. Momentum and treacherous ice jerked the wheel out of her control, sending the cab toward the ditch.

  Grabbing Meredith’s pink coat, she flung it over the child’s head and held it there to protect her as the truck slid sideways. An enormous jerk knocked her against the door, and pain wracked the side of her head. Starla’s vision faded to blackness.

  Chapter Three

  Through the falling snow and the darkness, Charlie made out the headlights as they veered abruptly. He held the phone to his ear and shouted: “Hello! Hello!”

  His daughter’s crying could be heard, a sound that terrified and assured him at the same time. “Meredith?”

  He threw the Jeep into low gear and guided it slowly and carefully onto what he hoped was the pavement. The four-wheel drive pulled the vehicle through the buildup of snow, but would do precious little if he hit a patch of ice like that truck had, so he crept forward slowly. He couldn’t see where the road was supposed to be, and the phone poles on the other side of the ditch gave him pathetic guidance. As long as he didn’t get too close to those, he should stay on the road.

  “Daddy?”

  “Meredith, are you all right?”

  “Da-addy!”

  Her sobs tore at his already overworked heart.

  “Meredith, talk to Daddy. Are you all right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And the lady? Is she all right?”

  “She covered my head with my coat, so I couldn’t see nothing. I’m scared!”

  “I’m on my way, baby. I’m almost there.”

  “Hurry, Daddy!”

  “It’s okay, sweetie. Can you see the lady?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Charlie was afraid to ask anything more. How would Meredith know if the woman was alive or dead, and what difference could she make in either case?

  “She gots blood on her head,” she volunteered finally, then whimpered.

  Oh, Lord. “Okay, I’m almost there.”

  He could see the headlights clearly now. The semi had slid from the road and was in the shallow ditch, right side up, thank goodness. Charlie parked on what he hoped was the side of the road and got out, plunging into snow halfway up his
calves to make his way down the bank to the cab. The truck engine thrummed, loud in the snow-silent night.

  He got to the door and found it locked. He pounded on the metal. “Meredith! You have to unlock the door!”

  A moment later a sound indicated she’d found a power lock. He yanked open the door to hear her terrified cries. Unfastening the seat belt, and pulling himself up, he scooped her into his embrace and comforted her, running his hands over her head and limbs. She seemed perfectly unharmed.

  The driver, however—the beautiful young woman with the silver mane of hair, sat slumped toward them, her seat belt fastened across her breasts, a crimson rivulet streaming from a gash on her forehead, down her temple, a stain spreading on the shoulder of her pink sweater.

  “Meredith, I’m going to take you to the Jeep and come back for her.” Hurriedly, he shoved the child’s arms into her pink coat, carried her up the incline and deposited her in the back seat. “Put your seat belt on. I’ll be right back.”

  Wide-eyed and hiccuping from her recent near-hysterical crying, the child nodded her acquiescence.

  Charlie opened the rear of the Jeep, took out an old plaid blanket, and plowed his way back down the bank. He paused to scoop a gloveful of snow, then, once inside the cab, he turned off the engine and dabbed the snow on the woman’s forehead. She had a cut about an inch long that looked fairly deep. He stuffed the keys in his pocket and unbuckled her. After wrapping the blanket around her, he slid her out of the cab as gently as he could and struggled up the bank with her held in his arms. He slipped to his knees twice, but retained his hold on her.

  He was sweating by the time he got her into the back of the Jeep, covered her wound with a fresh blob of snow, tied it with his wool scarf and closed up the back.

  Fearful of backing off the edge of the road if he tried to turn around, he carefully backed the Jeep along on the highway until he was certain the access area he reached was wide enough to back into and head out going forward. Perspiration cooled his forehead as he got the vehicle turned around and drove toward home. He would never make it to the town’s clinic in this weather without another accident. He couldn’t see the road. Meredith was uncharacteristically silent, a blessing, because the hazardous trip took all his concentration.

  He had no idea how badly the woman was hurt, or if he’d done her more damage by moving her, but he didn’t think so. She’d been wearing her seat belt; her head had probably hit the steering wheel or the side window.

  Grabbing his phone, he called the sheriff’s office. Sharon, the dispatcher answered. “I have Meredith,” he said. “She seems fine. But the truck the woman was driving slid off the road and the driver’s unconscious. She has a pretty bad cut on her forehead. I have her with me, but I can’t make it to town.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’ll be at my place in a few minutes.”

  “Okay. I’ll let Bryce know and I’ll call Dr. Kline. He can use Sheigh Addison’s snowmobile and come out to your place.”

  “I’m almost there.” Charlie hung up and focused on getting the Jeep onto his property. Once he hit his drive, there were no more drainage ditches to fear. He found the path and drove along the length of gravel, clear to the front of his garage where he used the remote to open the door. He pulled into the safe dry garage and breathed a sigh of relief.

  After getting Meredith out of the back seat and placing her inside the house, Charlie went back for the young woman. He carried her through the mudroom, across the kitchen and into the great room where he laid her on the leather sofa. After hurriedly running back and hitting the button to close the garage door, he turned on indoor lights and checked her head.

  The snow had helped to slow the flow of blood from the wound. He grabbed clean kitchen towels and applied pressure to the cut. Meredith stood nearby, her eyes wide with fright, her dark hair curling wildly around her stricken face.

  Charlie reached for her with one arm, and she flung herself against him. He sat on the floor beside the sofa to hold his baby and keep pressure on the woman’s cut.

  He’d never been so frightened in his entire life. Almost losing this child had been a gruesome experience. He hugged her warm little body close, felt her trembling and inhaled the wonderful child scent he so loved. His heart couldn’t contain his gratitude at having her safe in his embrace. His eyes stung.

  “Are you so, so mad, Daddy?” she asked in a tiny voice.

  “We’ll talk about that later. Not right now.” He kissed her hair, her soft cheeks. Closed his eyes and thanked God with his whole being.

  They were still sitting like that when he saw a headlight flicker across the lawn and heard the rumble of the snowmobile’s engine cut. “Why don’t you go to your room and rest on your bed for a little while?” he said to his daughter.

  Obediently she got up and headed for the hallway.

  Charlie let Garreth Kline in. “She’s right here.” He led the young doctor to the sofa.

  “What’s her name?” the tall dark-haired man asked.

  Charlie realized he didn’t know and told him so.

  Garreth took a penlight and raised one of the woman’s eyelids at a time. “Her pupils are equal and reactive.” He removed the cloth to examine the cut. “This needs a couple of stitches. Miss? Can you hear me? Miss?”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Knocked out, I’d say. Took a good whack on the head there.”

  “Are those medical terms?”

  Garreth ignored him and rubbed his knuckles against her sternum. “Can you wake up and look at me?”

  Her eyelids fluttered open.

  “Hi. I’m a doctor. Do you know your name?”

  She frowned, but she said softly, “Starla.”

  “Good. Starla, you have a cut on your head. I’m going to numb the area first, and then I’ll suture it.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes.

  The doctor tugged on latex gloves and prepared a syringe. Charlie washed his hands in case Garreth needed his help, but then just stood by as Garreth neatly closed the wound, tied a knot and clipped the thread. “She’s going to have a whopping headache,” the doc said, removing the gloves and placing supplies back in his bag. “Do you have any Tylenol?”

  Charlie found a bottle.

  “She should rest, in case she has a concussion. If she falls asleep and isn’t responsive, or if she vomits, call me.”

  “What am I going to do with her?” Charlie asked.

  “Just keep her comfortable. And don’t let her drive.”

  Charlie shook his head. “Funny.”

  Garreth shrugged. “Seriously. Looks like you’ve got yourself a house guest for the duration of the storm.”

  Charlie studied the woman on his sofa, then looked at Garreth, whose eyes held a twinkle.

  “The situation doesn’t look all that bad, Charlie.”

  “I just had one of the worst scares of my life. I need some time to recover.”

  “Meredith’s okay? Should I have a look at her?”

  “I’d appreciate that, thanks.” He led the way to his daughter’s room. “Look, honey, Dr. Kline is here.”

  Meredith sat up on her bed, a worn blue bunny hugged to her chest. “Is the angel lady okay?”

  “She’s fine,” Garreth told her. “She just got a bump on the head and a cut. How about you? Did you bump your head?”

  Meredith said no. “The angel lady covered my head up with my coat. I was scared.”

  “She was protecting you, you know that, right?”

  Meredith nodded. “That’s what angels do. That’s what Aunt Edna’s angel did. Protected her from a car crash.”

  Charlie exchanged a look with the young doctor. Janet Carter’s aunt would tell the story of the angel in the car to anyone who would listen, and anyone who’d ever met her had heard the tale. What that old lady’s story and his daughter’s experience today had in common, he couldn’t imagine, but Meredith had found a comparison. Confirmation of h
er theory, apparently.

  With his penlight, Garreth checked Meredith’s pupils. He felt her arms and legs and pushed lightly on her chest and her stomach. She seemed to have no pain anywhere. “Looks like you came through without a scratch,” he said to her.

  She nodded gravely. “But my daddy’s mad.”

  “I’m sure he’s more glad to see you safe than he is mad.”

  She gave her father the resigned look of a condemned prisoner. “We’re gonna talk ’bout it later.”

  “Well, I’ll leave you to that,” Garreth said, straightening and heading into the other room.

  Charlie followed him. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Your lady vet’s snowmobile has come in handy more than once.”

  “I had dinner with her once, she’s hardly my lady vet.”

  Garreth only shrugged. He made his way back to the patient. “I’m leaving now, Starla. Charlie is going to watch out for you. You’re in good hands. If you need anything, he’ll call me.”

  She opened her eyes and nodded.

  Garreth pulled on his coat and gloves. “Call if you need me.”

  Charlie closed the door behind him. Slowly he made his way back to the exquisite woman on his sofa. She was here because of his daughter. Had been injured returning his precious Meredith. “I’m really sorry about this,” he said.

  Her lids raised and she focused those unusual blue eyes on him. Something in his chest fluttered. “That’s okay.”

  “Do you have a headache?” he asked.

  She licked her lips. “Either that or there’s a little guy with a jackhammer inside my skull.”

  “The doc said you could have some Tylenol. I’ll get it for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  He went for water, shook a couple of capsules out of the bottle and secured the childproof lid.

  “How’s Meredith?” she asked.

  “She’s just fine.”

  “She didn’t get any bumps?”

  “No.”

  “What about the truck?” Her eyes held grave concern.

  “In the ditch. Snow up to the wheel wells. It’s not going anywhere.”

  “I was afraid of that. Was it still running?”