Charlie's Angels

163 Pages·2016·1.04 MB·English

by  John Cheryl St

“I’m not an angel. I’m just a person,” Starla explained.
Meredith opened her book. “This is the mommy and daddy,” she said, pointing
to an artist’s rendition of a couple in a house with a roaring fireplace. “The
daddy has lots of work to do. He comes home too late at night and the mommy
and the little kids are sad, ’cause they miss him.” She turned a page. “See, they
decorate the tree, but the daddy isn’t there.
“Then the beautiful angel on top of the Christmas tree hears how sad they are
and she comes to life,” Meredith continued. “She sprinkles miracle dust on the
mommy and daddy. The daddy kisses the mommy under the mistletoe, and then
he stays home and opens presents with the kids. See, the angel looks just like
you.”
The woman glanced over at the white-robed apparition. “Meredith, I’m not an
angel. How am I going to convince you?”
Meredith just shrugged. The angel lady probably had to keep it a secret in case
everybody wanted miracle dust and there wasn’t enough!
Charlie’s Angels
CHERYL ST.JOHN
Books by Cheryl St.John
Silhouette Special Edition
Nick All Night #1475
Marry Me…Again #1558
Charlie’s Angels #1630
Harlequin Historicals
Rain Shadow #212
Heaven Can Wait #240
Land of Dreams #265
Saint or Sinner #288
Badlands Bride #327
The Mistaken Widow #429
Joe’s Wife #451
The Doctor’s Wife #481
Sweet Annie #548
The Gunslinger’s Bride #577
Christmas Gold #627
“Colorado Wife”
The Tenderfoot Bride #679
Silhouette Intimate Moments
A Husband by Any Other Name #756
The Truth About Toby #810
Silhouette Yours Truly
For This Week I Thee Wed
Silhouette Books
Montana Mavericks: Big Sky Brides
“Isabelle”
Montana Mavericks
The Magnificent Seven
CHERYL ST.JOHN
A peacemaker, a romantic, an idealist and a discouraged perfectionist are the
words that Cheryl St.John uses to describe herself. The author of both historical
and contemporary novels says she’s been told that she is painfully honest.
Cheryl admits to being an avid collector who collects everything from dolls to
Depression glass, brass candlesticks, old photographs and—most especially—
books. She and her husband love to browse antiques and collectibles shops.
She says that knowing her stories bring hope and pleasure to readers is one of
the best parts of being a writer. The other wonderful part is being able to set her
own schedule and have time to work around her growing family.
Cheryl loves to hear from readers. You can write her at: P.O. Box 24732, Omaha,
NE 68124.

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
C
hristmas was for families. Charlie McGraw glanced around the cheerfully
decorated interior of the Waggin’ Tongue Grill. A two-foot artificial tree sat at
the corner of the counter by the cash register. Lighted garlands had been draped
around the window opening that looked into the kitchen, and from the back
Harry Ulrich’s off-key baritone could be heard humming a tune that switched
between “Jingle Bell Rock” and “Yellow Submarine” every other stanza. Finally
Charlie’s attention wandered to the other patrons.
Snippets of excited conversation drifted his way, making it obvious
that Kevin and Lacy Bradford and their two kids had just returned from a
shopping trip. Just in time, too, if the snow blowing across the nearly empty
parking lot was any indication. Heavy snow had been falling and drifting for
most of the day. Charlie wouldn’t have brought Meredith out in this weather
without his four-wheel-drive Jeep Cherokee.
At another table, Forrest and Natalie Perry took turns picking up a
spoon that their chortling baby girl threw onto the floor. Their son, Wade,
chattered while finishing off a dish of ice cream. The Perrys lived within
walking distance of the Waggin’ Tongue.
Charlie glanced at his five-year-old daughter. That morning he’d
wrestled her curly dark hair into a fabric-covered elastic band, but strands were
trailing down her neck already. He should take her shopping when the weather
cleared. Try to get in the holiday spirit. Have her pick out some gifts for her
grandparents.
With school closed for two weeks and no kindergarten diversion,
Meredith was bored and had taken to following him around his workshop,
asking at least ten rapid-fire questions a minute. His responder had been on
autopilot most of the morning.
“If a doctor cut open your neck, could he see hiccups?” she asked
now.
“He could probably see muscles moving or something. I really don’t
know. I think hiccups come more from your chest.”