Charlie's Angels. Cheryl St.John

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.