An Angel for Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

your father here?” she asked as she pulled off her cap. “Or your mother?”

      “Who are you?” Another blond head joined the first one. This one had a scarf tied around his neck, even though his Mickey Mouse pajamas didn’t look warm enough for outdoor playing.

      “My name’s Glory. But you don’t know me.” And then remembering all the warnings children received about strangers, she added, “Don’t worry, though. And don’t be afraid.”

      “Don’t be afraid.” The boy in the snowsuit echoed her words slowly. Glory watched his eyes grow big. “Where are you from?”

      Glory decided they didn’t get much company around here. They’d probably never heard of Seattle. She pointed west. “A long way away—over those mountains.”

      “Do you like guns?” the boy in the pajamas demanded.

      “Guns? No, I don’t approve of guns. Not at all.”

      “And she’s got a big light behind her,” the other boy said. “Just like Miz Hargrove said. A glory light.”

      “Those are my Jeep headlights. Special high beam,” Glory explained. “They’ll turn off in a minute. If I could just see your father. All I want is an aspirin and maybe a little peace and quiet…and then—”

      “Peace and quiet.” The twins breathed the words out together as their faces started to beam. “She came.”

      “Boys,” Matthew called weakly. Who were they talking to? He couldn’t make out the words, but surely it didn’t take that long for someone to figure out he needed help.

      “We need you,” the twins said as they opened the door wide and each reached out a hand. Glory noticed they were both in slippers. “Our daddy’s hurt.”

      Matthew decided he’d blacked out again, because a woman’s face was staring at him. She had hair the color of copper, and it fanned out around her face like a halo. He’d never seen her before. Maybe he was hallucinating, especially because of that sprinkling of freckles that danced across her nose. No one could have freckles like that. So pretty. He tried to concentrate, but felt the darkness closing in on him. He wondered what the perfume was that she wore. It smelled like cinnamon. Cinnamon and something else. That reminded him he hadn’t fixed breakfast for the twins. And his job at the hardware store—old Henry would be fretting mad if he called in from his vacation in Florida and no one answered the phone at the hardware store.

      Glory looked down at the man in dismay. She could see he’d fallen down the stairs and his leg was at an awkward angle.

      “Where’s your phone? We’ve got to call 911,” she said as she turned around to the twins. “We’ll need an ambulance right away.”

      The boys just looked at her expectantly. The one had already taken off his scarf and the other was halfway out of his snowsuit. “Can’t you just make daddy all better?” one of them finally asked.

      “I’m not a doctor,” she said quickly as her eyes scanned the living room. Old sofa, wooden rocker, plaid recliner, Christmas tree with lights but no ornaments—ah, there, on the coffee table, next to a magazine, was a phone. She dialed the numbers: 911. Nothing. Glory shook the phone. She must have dialed wrong. She tried again: 911. Still nothing. What was the matter? There was a dial tone. Surely—then it dawned on her. There was no 911 here. Probably no ambulance, either.

      “Who’s your nearest neighbor?” Glory put down the phone and turned to the boys. She could already feel her hair flying loose as a result of the static from taking off her cap earlier.

      “Mr. Gossett,” the boy in the Power Rangers pajamas finally said, but then he leaned closer and confided, “But you won’t like him. He drinks bottles and bottles of whiskey. I seen them. Miz Hargrove says he’s gonna go to hell someday.”

      “Well, just as long as he isn’t planning to go today,” Glory said as she pulled her knit cap over her head and walked toward the door.

      The next time Matthew woke up he was in the clinic in Miles City. He’d recognize the antiseptic smell of a clinic anywhere. And the gruff voice of Dr. Norris in the background.

      “My boys.” Matthew croaked out the words. His mouth felt as if it was filled with dry sand.

      “Don’t worry, your boys are fine,” Dr. Norris said as he turned around. “At least for the moment.”

      “What?”

      “Your angel is unloading the vending machine downstairs on their behalf,” the doctor said with a smile as he leaned over Matthew. He picked up a small light. “Open wide. We need to check for concussions.” The doctor peered into Matthew’s eyes.

      “What angel?” Matthew asked, and then brightened. “Oh, you mean Mrs. Hargrove. I was hoping someone would think to call her.”

      “That’s not Mrs. Hargrove,” the doctor said as he frowned slightly. “At least, not the Mrs. Hargrove I know. I assumed Angel was a family nickname.”

      “For who?” Matthew asked, bewildered.

      “I meant I assumed you called the woman Angel and that’s why your sons…” The doctor’s voice trailed off and then he added suspiciously, “It’s not like a five-year-old to call a woman Angel.”

      “What are you suggesting?” Matthew started to rise. The room tilted, but he bit his lip and kept going. “And why you would let my boys just go off with a stranger—”

      “Don’t worry.” The doctor put his arm around him and forced him to lie down again. “I’ll have the nurse go bring them here. I’m sure it’s just some simple misunderstanding. The woman certainly looked harmless enough.”

      Harmless isn’t how Matthew would have described her a few minutes later. She was too pretty to be harmless. Her copper hair was still fanning around her face. This time he saw her gray eyes more clearly. They looked like a stormy afternoon in summer when the blues and grays swirled together without quite mixing. And his sons were looking at her as if they were star-struck. “What are you doing with my boys?”

      “What am I doing?” Glory said, dumbfounded. Whatever happened to thank you? Thank you for getting that grumpy Mr. Gossett up in the early-morning hours so he could get help from Mr. Daniel, who ran the volunteer fire department’s medical transportation unit. Thank you for writing a fifty-dollar check so the volunteer department would respond to your request, since you were new in town and not on the “paid” list. Thank you for following along in the Jeep the forty miles into Miles City just so the twins could be with you.

      “What am I doing?” she repeated, trying to keep her voice calm. “You mean when I’m not emptying my last quarters into the machine out there so that Josh can get a package with only yellow M&M’s in it?”

      “They don’t make them with only yellows,” Matthew said. She reminded him of fire. The way her hair shone in the fluorescent light.

      “I know,” the woman said wearily.

      “You asked me what I wanted,” Josh said simply. “I thought it’d be easy for you, since you’re—”

      Glory held up her hand to stop him.

      Matthew watched as Josh closed his mouth. The woman had more powers than he did, Matthew thought to himself ruefully. He could never get Josh to close his mouth when he wanted to speak.

      “That might be the wrong way to say it,” Matthew said, easing back to the bed. He needed to clear his mind. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done, of course.”

      “You’re welcome,” Glory said politely. She needed to remember the man was disoriented. Disoriented and not nearly so naked now that the doctor had wrapped a wide white bandage around his rib cage. She wondered if he remembered that she’d been the one to gently run her fingertips over his chest to check for broken ribs before she put a blanket over him and they waited for the fire department