Charlie's Angels

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. He paused to scoop a gloveful of snow, then, once inside the cab, he turned off the engine and dabbed the snow on the woman’s forehead. She had a cut about an inch long that looked fairly deep. He stuffed the keys in his pocket and unbuckled her. After wrapping the blanket around her, he slid her out of the cab as gently as he could and struggled up the bank with her held in his arms. He slipped to his knees twice, but retained his hold on her.

He was sweating by the time he got her into the back of the Jeep, covered her wound with a fresh blob of snow, tied it with his wool scarf and closed up the back.

Fearful of backing off the edge of the road if he tried to turn around, he carefully backed the Jeep along on the highway until he was certain the access area he reached was wide enough to back into and head out going forward. Perspiration cooled his forehead as he got the vehicle turned around and drove toward home. He would never make it to the town’s clinic in this weather without another accident. He couldn’t see the road. Meredith was uncharacteristically silent, a blessing, because the hazardous trip took all his concentration.

He had no idea how badly the woman was hurt, or if he’d done her more damage by moving her, but he didn’t think so. She’d been wearing her seat belt; her head had probably hit the steering wheel or the side window.

Grabbing his phone, he called the sheriff’s office. Sharon, the dispatcher answered. “I have Meredith,” he said. “She seems fine. But the truck the woman was driving slid off the road and the driver’s unconscious. She has a pretty bad cut on her forehead. I have her with me, but I can’t make it to town.”

“Where are you?”

“I’ll be at my place in a few minutes.”

“Okay. I’ll let Bryce know and I’ll call Dr. Kline. He can use Sheigh Addison’s snowmobile and come out to your place.”