Cheryl St.John - Charlie's Angels

The shoulder of her pink sweater was soaked with blood. “I’m going to get you a clean shirt. I’ll bring a pan of water and a cloth. You can clean up and change. Can you do that?”

She glanced down at her sweater. “Sure. I didn’t get blood on your furniture or carpet or anything, did I?”

“No. You may have some inside the cab of your truck, though. I don’t really remember. I was in a hurry to get you both out.”

He found the smallest sweatshirt he owned, which happened to be a faded gray and emblazoned with Iowa Hawkeyes, filled a pan with warm water and suds and handed her a washcloth. “I’ll be in the other room. Call if you need me.”

He helped her sit up and left.

Meredith would be getting hungry. He should think about finding something to eat. He opened a cupboard and listened to the sound of water splashing behind him.

“I don’t know if this stain will come out,” she called. “Would you mind soaking it?”

“I’ll give it a shot. Looks like a nice sweater.”

“My dad gave it to me. He likes me in pink.”

He doubted there was a color of the rainbow she didn’t look good wearing. She was probably even more appealing in nothing at all.

Closing the cupboard, he opened the refrigerator and stared inside. Why had he thought that? He was going to be cooped up with her for the time being; he’d better control his thoughts—and his hormones.

“Your name’s Charlie?” she called.

“Yeah.”

“Charlie, I’m finished.”

He went to get the sweater, warm from her body, and the pan of sudsy water. She swam in his gray sweatshirt, and had pushed the sleeves up to reveal slender forearms.

Back in the kitchen, Charlie used the same pan to fill with cold water and soak her sweater. First he rinsed the soft fabric under the faucet until the water stopped running pink, then he plunged it down in the water.

“Add a little salt,” she called.

“Salt?”

“It’s supposed to help take out blood stains. I read that somewhere.”

“Okay.” He poured a teaspoon in and swished it around. Martha Stewart, he wasn’t.

Meredith appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Can I talk to the angel lady now?”

“Her name is Starla. Can you call her that, please? And while you’re at it, maybe you should tell her you’re sorry for making her come back here in a snowstorm.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

He dried his hands and stepped to the doorway. Meredith crossed the living room and paused beside the sofa.

Starla’s blond head moved as she turned to look at the little girl. “Hi,” Starla said. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. Did the doctor do that to you?” Meredith pointed to Starla’s forehead.

“Yes. Does it look pretty bad?”

Meredith nodded. “Does it hurt?”

“No, he gave me a shot of novocaine before he stitched it. Do you think I’ll be able to play the violin after they take out the stitches?”

Meredith eyes widened. “I don’t know. Daddy?”

Charlie chuckled and joined them, sitting on a chair. “It’s an old joke, honey. I’ll bet Starla didn’t play the violin before she hit her head.”

“Were you tricking me?” Meredith asked.

“Yes, I was.” Starla turned her attention to Charlie. “You didn’t happen to grab my phone, did you?”

He shook his head.

“I need to call my dad. He’s expecting to hear from me, and he’ll be worried, especially if he calls and my phone just rings and rings.”

“No problem.” Charlie grabbed the cordless phone from the counter between the kitchen and living room and handed it to her. “Use mine.”

“It’s long distance,” she warned.

“And you’re here because of me,” he replied in the same tone.

She took the phone and punched in numbers.

“Come on, Meredith, I’ll fix a snack.”

“But I didn’t getta say it yet.”

“Say it after she makes her call.”

She followed him to the kitchen.

For once when he would have welcomed Meredith’s chatter to cover the conversation in the other room, the child remained silent. Bits of Starla’s side of the conversation floated to them as she explained what happened. “I swear, I’m all right… I know…well, I don’t know…how long it will be before they can get here to pull it up… The highway’s closed, anyway… I’m so sorry…make it up some other way. Maybe if I call… I know what this meant to you… Yes, I’m perfectly fine…yes, it’s just a truck…some other way… Daddy….”

Charlie got the impression that something more than a few days’ travel was at stake. Was she in some kind of trouble?

He put together grilled cheese sandwiches and mugs of hot tomato soup, and carried a tray into the other room.

Starla sat up, but she only took a few bites. She sipped the cup of tea he brought her, then nestled back down into the covers.

“Starla?” Meredith said timidly.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I got in your truck and made you get in a accident.”

“The accident wasn’t your fault, honey. They call them accidents because they’re nobody’s fault.”

Meredith didn’t seem reassured by those words, but Charlie stayed out of the dialogue.

“It’s okay,” Starla said, somehow understanding the child needed forgiveness. “I’m not mad at you.”

Meredith nodded. “Okay.”

Meredith picked at her food and Starla drifted into sleep. After cleaning up their dishes, Charlie held his daughter on his lap.

“It’s time to talk now,” he told her.

She nodded gravely and raised innocent wide eyes that immediately filled with tears. “I did a naughty thing, huh, Daddy?”

“Yes, you did. It was a dangerous thing. There are rules about strangers and about going anywhere by yourself, and the rules are to keep you safe. Do you understand?”

She nodded. To her credit, she didn’t use an excuse. “I’m very, very sorry.”

“What do you think is a fair punishment?”

They’d had similar conversations in the past, so she understood the concept. “I shouldn’t get to play with something I really like for a whole year.”

Time was a concept she had a problem with, however. “I think a week will do. What should that favorite thing be?”

She glanced aside, then up at him. “My angel book.”

She loved that book, so not having it for a week would be stern punishment. “I think that’s fair.”

“I must have left it in the angel lady’s truck.”

“We’ll get it tomorrow.” She nestled her head against his chest and he rocked her. “I love you with my whole heart.”

“I love you with my whole heart, too, Daddy.”

He picked up a book and read it to her, then just held her until she fell asleep. Eventually he carried her to her bed and tucked her in, pausing to touch his face to her cheek and smooth her dark hair.

He wouldn’t have been able to go on living if anything had happened to his Meredith.

Back in the living room, the woman still slept. Charlie added a log to the fire and sat across from her. She had a few dark streaks on her cheek and in her hairline. He got a wet cloth and dabbed it on her face.

She opened her eyes. That incredible blue gaze wreaked havoc with his senses every time she turned it on him.

“There was still some blood,” he explained.

Her eyes drifted shut.

He removed the dried blood gently, smoothing her hair back from her temple with the cloth. Her hair was so pale and fine; it darkened visibly when it got wet. The skin of her temples seemed almost translucent, and her brows were fair and shaped like wings. Her golden lashes lay against her cheeks in soft curls.

He’d never seen anyone so exquisite—there was just no other word for her—beautiful didn’t cut it, couldn’t describe those striking cheekbones and hair that begged to be touched. His fingers itched to learn just how silken and soft it would be.