Charity's Angel (9 page)

❧

Gabe tried to concentrate on the paper but found his attention drifting to the patio. Was it warm enough for her to be out there, he wondered, frowning. Maybe she should have a wrap of some sort. The fact that the temperature was hovering in the mid-seventies and he was wearing running shorts and a T-shirt didn't register with him.

She was sitting awfully still. Was she in pain? Maybe trying to hide it? He'd already learned that Charity was quite adept at concealing what she was feeling. He hadn't known her long but circumstances had accelerated their acquaintance a bit.

She'd looked so frightened yesterday when he picked her up at the hospital. He'd taken one look at those wide green eyes and wanted to snatch her up and hold her close, promising that nothing would ever hurt her again.

He shifted uneasily, frowning at the newspaper he wasn't reading. He wondered if Annie was right—if maybe he was letting his feelings of guilt get twisted into something more dangerous.

The problem was that he liked Charity. The guilt was still there, gnawing in his gut every time he looked at her in that wheelchair. But it wasn't just guilt that had made him open his home. Nor was it guilt alone that made him want to put his arms around her and protect her.

He liked her. Worse, he was attracted to her. And it wasn't just those wide green eyes or the inviting fullness of her lower lip, though he had to be honest and say that those attributes didn't hurt. But there was more to it than that.

He liked the way her eyes could smile, even when her mouth didn't move. He liked the way she didn't have to fill every moment with conversation. He liked the way she nibbled her lower Up when she was thinking. In fact he liked just about everything he'd learned about her. He wished now that he had followed his impulse to ask her out months before this whole nightmare started.

Charity had wheeled the chair over to a rather scraggly planter box that sat on one corner of the patio and was nipping faded petunia blossoms from the plants. Somehow Gabe doubted that she was paying any more attention to what she was doing than he was to the paper he was supposedly reading.

A stray shaft of sunlight found its way through the lowered overhang and caught in her hair, turning it to pure gold. She looked rather like an angel he'd seen in a painting once, all soft and gentle. It was a wonder that a woman with so much to offer wasn't already involved with someone.

How do you know she isn't?

The paper crackled a protest as Gabe bundled it shut, his brows hooked in a frown. It had never occurred to him that Charity might be involved with someone, but there was no reason why she shouldn't be. The thought was not at all pleasant."

Of course, if there was someone in her life, surely he would have been to see her while she was in the hospital. He would have been consulted about her move into another man's house.

Unless the scum had deserted her when she didn't immediately regain the use of her legs. Maybe he'd been afraid she'd be permanently paralyzed, and he'd cut and run just when she needed him most.

Gabe's scowl grew fierce. Charity certainly deserved better than a guy like that. He was just contemplating the great pleasure it would give him to plant his fist squarely in the unknown boyfriend's face when it suddenly occurred to him that he didn't even know there was a boyfriend. He was furious with a man who might not even exist.

He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, rumpling it into even shaggier waves. God, this past couple of weeks must have taken a bigger toll than he'd thought. His imagination was getting out of hand.

He looked at Charity again, shooting to his feet when he saw her leaning forward, trying to turn on the outlet that fed water to a leaky length of hose. He all but sprinted through the kitchen and onto the patio. Didn't she realize she could fall?

"Here. Let me help with that."

Charity glanced up, startled by his sudden appearance. "I can get it."

"You shouldn't have to." Gabe took the hose from her and turned the outlet on with a quick twist. Water shot out the end of the hose as well as in delicate streams from several leaks along its length. "Where did you want it?"

"I just thought I'd put a little water on these petunias, if you don't mind. They looked a little dry."

"Probably extremely dry," he said, setting the end of the hose in the planter she'd indicated. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a gardener. Jay had some extra plants and he stuck them in here. I just don't remember to water them."

Looking at the desiccated soil, Charity thought that was self-evident. The Gobi Desert probably had a similar water content.

Gabe stood next to her, watching the water run into the planter. But she knew he was really waiting to see if she was going to do anything else that might require his assistance, like maybe blowing her nose.

He'd been hovering like a mother hen all morning. She appreciated his concern, really she did, but she wasn't completely helpless, and having him lurking over her shoulder was going to drive her crazy.

"Are you hungry or anything?" Gabe asked.

"I just ate," she reminded him, torn between the urge to laugh and the urge to hit him. Did he have to stand there looking so damned healthy? She felt frustrated and unattractive enough without him standing around looking so... so male.

"Yeah. Right." Gabe stared at the'hose again. "You're not too cold or anything are you?" He gave her an anxious look.

"It's seventy-five degrees out here."

"Right. You're probably not cold."

"No, I'm not."

Silence while they both stared at the hose again. Charity waited.

"Are you thirsty? I could get you something to drink."

"No, thank you."

She'd thought that she had her voice under control, no hint of the fact that she was grinding her teeth allowed to show. But Gabe seemed to sense something. He shot her a quick look.

"Am I hovering?" he asked after a moment.

Charity considered saying no. She considered it for all of five seconds. But the thought of having him lurk over her every minute of the day brought thoughts of actual violence to mind. For his safety as well as her sanity, they had to come to some sort of understanding.

"Yes," she said, letting out the breath she'd been holding.

"Am I driving you crazy?"

"Yes." But she softened the affirmative with a smile. "It's not that I don't appreciate it," she added quickly. "I mean, it's nice that you're so concerned and all but..."

"But you're going to hit me if I don't go away," he finished for her, his mouth curving in a rueful smile.

"Well, not too hard."

He hooked one foot around a battered lawn chair and dragged it across the cement. Sitting down, he stretched his long legs out in front of him, meeting her eyes with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry."

"Don't be." Charity was relieved that he was taking it so well. After all, he'd been trying to be helpful. It seemed rather ungrateful of her to complain.

"I just want to be sure that you know I'm here in case you need anything."

"Believe me, I know you're here."

Gabe laughed. "That bad, huh?"

"No, not really. It's just that I'm a little self-conscious about... about this thing," she said, running her fingers over the arm of the wheelchair.

"You seem to be managing pretty well."

"Thanks." She sighed, wishing she could appreciate the compliment. She didn't want to manage the wheelchair pretty well. She wanted to be rid of the thing.

Staring out at the back lawn, still green from the winter's rains, she wanted to feel the grass under her bare feet. Hell, at the moment she'd settle for being able to feel her feet at all.

Maybe she sighed or perhaps Gabe read some of what she was feeling in her expression. -

"You know, you don't have to pretend that everything is great all the time," he said quietly. "If you ever want to scream or throw things, don't feel you have to pull back because of me."

Charity's startled eyes met his. Sometimes it seemed as if he knew her; knew what she was thinking, better than he had any right to. For a moment she wanted to take him at his word, wanted to let some of her fears and frustrations out.

But she stifled the urge. She couldn't admit how frightened she was that the paralysis wasn't temporary, that she'd never walk again. She had to believe she was going to walk, had to believe that she was only trapped in the hateful chair for a short time. Admitting to fear would be admitting there was something to be afraid of. And there wasn't. This was all temporary. It had to be.

"I'm not really the screaming, throwing things type," she said lightly.

Gabe nodded, wondering if she was even aware of the way her hand was clenched into a fist on the arm of the chair. But he wasn't going to be the one to point it out to her. He knew what it was to cling to the ragged edge of control; to feel that if you let go, just for an instant, you'd somehow never find your way back to sanity again.

"I meant it when I said you were to consider this your home," he said.

"I know you did. I appreciate it." She also appreciated the change of topic. It would be all too easy to let go of her feelings of fear and anger, but she wasn't sure she'd be able to get them under control again if she ever once loosened her rigid hold on her emotions.

"Don't hesitate to change things around, if you need to," Gabe continued, watching the water run into the petunias.

"Well, I don't think I'm up for any heavy-duty furniture moving," she said dryly, hitting the chair lightly for emphasis.

"I can move furniture, if you want something changed."

"Thanks, but I don't think that will be necessary."

"And feel free to invite people over, friends or whatever," he said with a vague wave of his hand.

"That's generous of you, but I doubt if I'm going to feel much like entertaining." She rubbed the arms of the wheelchair absently.

"I just thought there might be someone you wanted to see." Gabe slanted her a sharp look and then returned his attention to the flowers. "I mean, someone special. A boyfriend, maybe."

The words were not quite a question, but Charity answered as if they were. "There's no one special."

Gabe felt a wave of relief. Strictly because he hadn't liked to think of her being deserted by someone she cared about, he told himself.

Charity stared at the redwood fence that surrounded the yard, wondering if what she'd said was entirely true. Could she really say there was no one special in her life? Her feelings for Gabriel London were perilously close to special.

What a disaster that would be; to fall Jn love with a man who felt, at best, friendship, and at worst, pity. Not that she was going to do anything that stupid. It was her legs that were paralyzed not her common sense.

❧

Charity was amazed by how quickly life settled into a routine of sorts. It seemed that she was living proof of the endless human capacity to adapt.

Gabe stayed home for two more days, managing to resist the urge to hover. She was reluctant to admit it, even to herself, but Charity was glad to know he was there, just in case. Of course, she would have just about died rather than call on him for help, but it was nice to know that in an emergency there was someone there.

It surprised her to realize how quickly they'd established a certain routine. Gabe was up long before Charity made it out of the bedroom, and he had coffee brewing and breakfast made. He either ate breakfast with her or sat with her while she ate.

That half hour first thing in the morning was one of the few things she looked forward to. The more she knew Gabe, the more she liked him—his sense of humor, his ability to laugh at himself.

Most of all she liked their breakfasts together, because it was one of the rare occasions when she could almost feel normal. Sitting at the table made it possible to forget that she was sitting in a wheelchair; that she could not just get up and walk away at the end of the meal.

Moments like that were few and something to be treasured.

❧

Life settled into certain patterns. There was a comforting rhythm to the days. It was something to cling to when her mind began to drift to less pleasant thoughts, like the fact that her legs were still unresponsive.

Most of the time she managed to keep her spirits up. She tried to focus on how lucky she was to be alive at all. There were compensations. If it hadn't been for the shooting, she would never have gotten to know Gabe London as anything more than an attractive man who came into the jewelry store.

And while she might regret the circumstances, she couldn't regret her growing relationship with Gabe. On closer acquaintance, he was, if possible, even more attractive than when he was merely a customer. The charm that was so readily apparent was more than skin-deep.

He'd told her to treat his home as her own. It was more than a polite offer. From the moment she moved in, he acted as if the house was as much hers as it was his. Not once did he make her feel like an unwanted guest. It might have been a guilty conscience that drove him to offer her a place to stay, but you'd never know it. She was to make herself comfortable, he'd said.

But how could she feel comfortable in his home when she wasn't even comfortable in her own body? The question made Charity sigh. She'd been out of the hospital for a week now, and despite daily sessions with either the physical therapist or Diane, there was still no feeling in her legs.

Patience, everyone kept counseling. She had to give her body time to heal. In time she'd regain the feeling in her legs. She'd always considered herself an unusually patient person but she was finding it a difficult quality to hold on to.

Looking out the open window, she watched Gabe pushing an old-fashioned reel mower across the lawn. The soft clickety-clack of the reels and the rich scent of freshly cut grass filled the air.

Charity blinked back tears. She could go out on the patio where she could really savor the scent. If she wanted, she knew Gabe would wheel the chair out onto the grass for her or carry her out and set her on the sweet green lawn.

But she didn't want to be settled onto the grass like an infant. She wanted to run across it, feel it cool and soft beneath her bare feet. She wanted to roll on it; dance on it; revel in the feel of it. Instead she was trapped in this damned chair.

She knotted her hand into a fist, pounding it lightly against the arm of the wheelchair. Anger was good, the therapist had told her. Anger and frustration could be turned into determination. Despair was something else entirely, though. Despair was self-defeating, the first stage of giving up.

Easy for the therapist to say, Charity thought irritably, turning away from the window. She had two perfectly good legs. What did she know of how it felt to look at your legs and wonder if you were ever going to stand on them again.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," she whispered, trying to banish the dark mood. "You'll walk again. It's just a matter of time."

She thrust her fingers through her honey-colored hair, massaging the ache that had settled into the back of her neck. Most of the time she managed to keep a positive attitude; to believe everything was going to be all right. She'd smiled and looked cheerful until her face ached.

Everyone seemed to accept her good cheer at face value. Except maybe Gabe. Sometimes she caught him looking at her with something in his eyes that made her wonder if he saw through to the fear she was trying so hard to keep at bay.

She suspected that Gabe saw a great deal more than most people. That lazy smile and those never-quite-serious eyes made it easy to think of him as a lightweight. But you couldn't live with someone without getting to know them and the Gabriel London she was coming to know was a man of deep feeling.

A man who stirred her emotions far more deeply than was wise. Charity rubbed her fingers absently along the arm of the wheelchair. She was beginning to fear that while she was regaining the use of her legs, she was losing her heart.