Angels in the Snow Read Online Free Page A

separate the tiniest traces of color hidden within its whiteness. No, it had a faint bit of green in it. Or maybe it was blue. And just a smidgen of black, to gray it ever so slightly in places. Taking up her pallet knife, she began to spread the white paint, adding just the faintest touches of green, blue, black . . . as needed. And like a woman possessed, she began to smear paint across the canvas, working faster and faster until the entire surface was covered. Washed in a sea of white.
    Feeling weak and almost breathless from the effort, she finally stepped back and studied her artistic accomplishment. She stared at the whitened canvas for a long time and finally began to laugh, but it wasn’t a mirthful laugh. Instead it was filled with self-doubt and deprecation. “Claire, you have totally lost it now.” She threw down her pallet knife and wiped her hands on a damp rag, then collapsed on her bed in hopeless tears.
    Several hours later, she awoke to a darkened cabin and the sound of the howling wind. But as she rose to check on the nearly dead fire, she thought she heard another sound as well. A quiet moaning sound—or perhaps it was simply the wind crying out of pure loneliness. Or maybe . . . maybe she was simply losing her mind altogether. She stood silently before the door, straining her ears to listen. And once again, she felt certain she was hearing another sound, something other than the wind.
    She opened the door to a blast of cold and snow, and there huddled on her porch, just a few feet from thedoor, was some sort of animal. She started to back up and close the door as she remembered how Lucy McCullough, the owner of the small store, had recently told her about a rabid raccoon that had turned vicious on a family that had been “foolish enough to feed the durned thing.” But this looked bigger than a raccoon. The animal slowly lifted its head, and despite its coating of snow, Claire could tell it was of a canine nature. But even so, she wasn’t sure if it was wolf or dog—although she felt fairly certain there were no wolves in these parts. The animal moaned again, appearing to be in pain.
    “Are you hurt?” she asked softly.
    The animal struggled to its feet; she was certain it was a dog—some sort of shepherd mix. Still, she wasn’t sure what to do. What if it was vicious or rabid? It walked slowly toward her, and when it got closer to the light coming from inside the cabin, she could tell by its eyes that it wasn’t going to hurt her. She wasn’t even sure how she knew this, but somehow she just did.
    “Do you want to come in?” She held the door open wide, but the nearly frozen dog just stood there in front of the door, as if it were afraid to actually step inside.
    “I won’t hurt you,” she promised, kneeling by the shivering dog. She carefully reached out her hand, keeping her fingers tucked into her palm the way Scott had once shown her long, long ago. The dog looked at her with soulful brown eyes, and she gently stroked his head. “Come on in, fella,” she urged. “Come warm yourself by my fire.”
    She coaxed him into the cabin and shut the door against the storm. “You wait here while I get a towel todry you with.” She quickly wiped the snow off her bare feet and went to retrieve a couple of towels. Then, speaking in a calm voice, she led the dog over to the fire where she gently toweled him dry with one towel and, making a bed of the other, helped him to lie down. He looked up with appreciative eyes.
    “What in the world are you doing out on your own on a night like this?” she asked as she looked through her cupboards for what might possibly be an appropriate meal for a half frozen dog. Finally deciding on a can of stew that she figured they both could share since she hadn’t eaten dinner, she searched out a couple of earthenware bowls to use for the dog’s water and food. She warmed the stew just slightly before generously filling his bowl.
    The dog’s tail began to