morgue and you're here, like this." He gestured to her legs.
"You did the right thing," she said, her soft voice firm. "You didn't see them the way I did. They would have shot that poor old man. And it wouldn't have stopped there."
"That's what I tell myself." Gabe's mouth twisted ruefully. "Sometimes I almost believe it."
"You should believe it all the time."
Gabe only shrugged again, but the lines that bracketed his mouth were less deep, his eyes a little less bleak. Inside he was marveling at her generosity of spirit. She was lying in a hospital bed—where he'd put her—without the use of her legs, and yet she was concerned that he not feel guilty.
She should have hated him. Instead, she was trying to make him feel better. It didn't ease his gut-deep guilt. Nothing could. But he felt his interest in her deepen.
They talked, more easily than either of them would have expected. Gabe had spent some time in the hospital when he had his appendix removed, and they compared notes, coming to the conclusion that hospitals had their good points but the food definitely wasn't one of them. Neither could explain why the nurses woke you to take a sleeping pill.
Gabe's description of the lengths to which he'd gone to try and get a full night's sleep made Charity laugh, something she hadn't done much of the past few days.
He didn't stay long. Charity murmured a protest when he said it was time he left. In between bouts of sleep, the days had been longer than she would have thought possible.
"I don't want to tire you,'' he said.
"I'm not tired." But a yawn punctuated the sentence. Seeing Gabe's smile, she grimaced. "All I do is sleep," she muttered crossly.
"Probably the best thing for you."
"Now you sound like my doctor. You don't have a medical degree tucked in your pocket, do you?"
"You've guessed my secret." His smile faded, his eyes searching her face. "I'd like to come again, if you wouldn't mind."
"Are you kidding? I've considered begging strangers in the hall to come and talk to me. My brother and sister come in every evening but that still leaves a lot of hours to be filled."
"What about your parents?"
"Mom and Dad are off somewhere in the African bush doing whatever one does in the African bush. They don't even know I'm in here. Which is just as well. Mom would want to dose me with some of her foul-tasting herbs and Dad would be cross-examining the doctors."
"They sound great." It wasn't hard to read through her complaints to the very real affection she felt for her parents.
"They are," she admitted, wishing suddenly that Seth and Josie Williams would walk into the room. They'd be driving her crazy inside of an hour, but there was a certain comfort in their eccentricities.
She yawned again and Gabe stood up. This time she didn't protest when he said he had to leave. No doubt he had better things to do than entertain her.
"Thank you for the flowers."
"Thank my neighbor. I stripped his rose bushes before coming over here." Gabe shrugged. "He's probably waiting for me with a shotgun. I'll have to bribe him by promising to help him haul in a load of manure next spring."
"You can assure him that they were greatly appreciated," Charity told him, reaching out to touch one soft blossom.
"That'll console him." He hesitated, pushing his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his smile fading. "Are you sure it's all right if I come again?"
"Yes. But don't feel you have to. What happened was an accident. You weren't to blame. Besides, it isn't as if I'm stuck this way for life," she added with a forced smile.
Charity was torn between relief and regret when Gabe left. Regret because she didn't really expect to see him again. And relief because she didn't have to keep the happy face in place anymore—at least not until Diane and Brian came to visit in a few hours.
She watched the door close behind Gabe and closed her eyes against the sudden hot sting of tears. Tears she was determined wouldn't fall. She hadn't cried
"You did the right thing," she said, her soft voice firm. "You didn't see them the way I did. They would have shot that poor old man. And it wouldn't have stopped there."
"That's what I tell myself." Gabe's mouth twisted ruefully. "Sometimes I almost believe it."
"You should believe it all the time."
Gabe only shrugged again, but the lines that bracketed his mouth were less deep, his eyes a little less bleak. Inside he was marveling at her generosity of spirit. She was lying in a hospital bed—where he'd put her—without the use of her legs, and yet she was concerned that he not feel guilty.
She should have hated him. Instead, she was trying to make him feel better. It didn't ease his gut-deep guilt. Nothing could. But he felt his interest in her deepen.
They talked, more easily than either of them would have expected. Gabe had spent some time in the hospital when he had his appendix removed, and they compared notes, coming to the conclusion that hospitals had their good points but the food definitely wasn't one of them. Neither could explain why the nurses woke you to take a sleeping pill.
Gabe's description of the lengths to which he'd gone to try and get a full night's sleep made Charity laugh, something she hadn't done much of the past few days.
He didn't stay long. Charity murmured a protest when he said it was time he left. In between bouts of sleep, the days had been longer than she would have thought possible.
"I don't want to tire you,'' he said.
"I'm not tired." But a yawn punctuated the sentence. Seeing Gabe's smile, she grimaced. "All I do is sleep," she muttered crossly.
"Probably the best thing for you."
"Now you sound like my doctor. You don't have a medical degree tucked in your pocket, do you?"
"You've guessed my secret." His smile faded, his eyes searching her face. "I'd like to come again, if you wouldn't mind."
"Are you kidding? I've considered begging strangers in the hall to come and talk to me. My brother and sister come in every evening but that still leaves a lot of hours to be filled."
"What about your parents?"
"Mom and Dad are off somewhere in the African bush doing whatever one does in the African bush. They don't even know I'm in here. Which is just as well. Mom would want to dose me with some of her foul-tasting herbs and Dad would be cross-examining the doctors."
"They sound great." It wasn't hard to read through her complaints to the very real affection she felt for her parents.
"They are," she admitted, wishing suddenly that Seth and Josie Williams would walk into the room. They'd be driving her crazy inside of an hour, but there was a certain comfort in their eccentricities.
She yawned again and Gabe stood up. This time she didn't protest when he said he had to leave. No doubt he had better things to do than entertain her.
"Thank you for the flowers."
"Thank my neighbor. I stripped his rose bushes before coming over here." Gabe shrugged. "He's probably waiting for me with a shotgun. I'll have to bribe him by promising to help him haul in a load of manure next spring."
"You can assure him that they were greatly appreciated," Charity told him, reaching out to touch one soft blossom.
"That'll console him." He hesitated, pushing his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his smile fading. "Are you sure it's all right if I come again?"
"Yes. But don't feel you have to. What happened was an accident. You weren't to blame. Besides, it isn't as if I'm stuck this way for life," she added with a forced smile.
Charity was torn between relief and regret when Gabe left. Regret because she didn't really expect to see him again. And relief because she didn't have to keep the happy face in place anymore—at least not until Diane and Brian came to visit in a few hours.
She watched the door close behind Gabe and closed her eyes against the sudden hot sting of tears. Tears she was determined wouldn't fall. She hadn't cried
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