“And, I really do have to work.”
“Right,” he bit out. “We’ve established that we both have to work. If you don’t want to babysit, I understand. No hard feelings.”
“If I don’t take her, what are you going to do with her?”
“Bring her to work with me.”
“You can’t bring a baby to the sheriff’s department.”
“I can’t leave her at home alone, either,” he said impatiently. He wasn’t winning any prizes for diplomacy this morning, that was for sure.
Charlotte didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze was on Zuzu, her eyes soft with the kind of longing he’d seen in other women’s eyes when they’d looked at engagement rings. “I guess she can stay with me for a while.”
“I have a long shift today. With Cade out of town—”
“We’ll work it out. As long as you don’t mind me taking her on deliveries.” She reached for Zuzu. To his surprise, Zuzu reached right back. Her little hands clutched at Charlotte’s shoulders like she was her only hope of salvation.
“That’ll be fine. I have a car seat for her. Let me grab it.” He didn’t run outside, but he came close. He’d dealt with a lot during his time on the LAPD, but he’d never had to deal with a screaming toddler. If he had, he’d probably have resigned long before his injury had forced him to take a leave of absence. He’d let Morgan convince him to move to Apple Valley while he recovered from a gunshot wound to the shoulder. He’d never regretted it. Although, right at that moment, he’d rather be facing well-armed L.A. gang members than spend one more minute listening to Zuzu’s screams.
Charlotte followed him outside. She looked relaxed, in control. Thank God one of them was. “How about a diaper bag?” she asked.
“What the hell is that?” He dragged the car seat from his Corvette.
“A bag with diapers and clothes and stuff in it? The thing mothers and fathers everywhere pack before they take their kids anywhere?”
“I’m not a father, so I wouldn’t know anything about that, but the kid is toilet trained, so you don’t need to worry about diapers.” He’d figured that out about three hours after Morgan left, and he’d been eternally grateful for it.
“Good to know, but she is wearing pajamas.”
True. Zuzu had fallen asleep for an hour, and he’d fallen asleep with her. He must have slept through his alarm, because he hadn’t woken until she’d started screaming for her mother again. Fortunately, Ida had been willing to watch the toddler while he took a shower and got ready for work, but he hadn’t had time to deal with finding clothes that worked or thinking beyond getting her to someone who could watch her while he was on duty.
“I think she’ll live,” he muttered as he stalked back to Charlotte’s little house. It looked cheerful, the flower boxes she’d put in the windows winter-bare, but still bright white and pretty. If he’d been in a better frame of mind, he’d have appreciated her effort more. As it was, he just wanted to toss the car seat into her living room and leave.
“You’re full of good cheer this morning, Max. No wonder Zuzu’s been screaming.”
“She was screaming because her mother dropped her off with a stranger and left town. She’s scared, and I don’t blame her, but right now I’ve got to get to work. I don’t have time to deal with it.” He ground the words out as he dropped the seat onto the floor.
He didn’t wait for her to respond. He didn’t say good-bye to Zuzu. He didn’t even glance in their direction again. He was afraid if he did, Zuzu would start crying and Charlotte would change her mind.
She was his last hope, his only hope, and if he screwed this up it would be his own damn fault.
He hurried back outside, the violet-blue sky streaked with pink and gold, a cold breeze whipping dead leaves across the sidewalk in front of Charlotte’s house. Across the street, This-N-That Antiques was dark, a lone light shining from the apartment above it. Max thought he heard piano music spilling out into the morning. He wasn’t sure. His ears were still ringing from Zuzu’s screams.
Zimmerman Beck peeked out the window of the house next door to This-N-That, his white hair standing up around his wrinkled face. Probably collecting details for the gossipmongers. Most of the time, Max didn’t mind being talked about. It came with small-town living. Right then, the last thing he wanted to do was be the center of a juicy piece of news.
He needed some time to decide what he wanted to say before he started answering the questions that he knew were going to come. Last night, giving Morgan a chance to run had seemed like a good idea. The longer he had Zuzu, the more he was questioning his choice and his sanity.
She wasn’t his kid, couldn’t be his kid.
Could she?
That was the question he needed answers to.
Until he knew 100 percent for sure, he couldn’t just let the kid go off to Vegas to stay with strangers. The problem was that now she was in Apple Valley staying with him. She needed her mother. Not some jaded cop who’d seen just about everything and didn’t have room for sweet or tender or loving.
If he’d wanted those things, he would have married and had a kid years ago.
He climbed into the Corvette, telling himself that he wasn’t going to look at Charlotte’s little house as he drove away. Of course he did. She and Zuzu were standing in the window. Charlotte held Zuzu’s hand and made her wave as Max pulled out of the driveway. As if he really were Zuzu’s father, and she was saying good-bye while he headed off to work.
More than likely she was saying good riddance and hoping he’d never return. One thing he’d learned about little Zuzu, she was young, but she was smart as a whip. During the hours he’d had her, she’d managed to drag her suitcase from the bedroom where he’d put it, unlock the door, and almost escape down the stairs while he was in the bathroom. She’d dialed 911 and told the operator that a strange man had her. She’d locked herself into the guest room and screamed until she threw up. The kid was a bona fide genius. At least she seemed that way to Max. He was overtired, though, and coffee-less, so he could be giving her more credit than she was due.
He returned the wave halfheartedly and sped down Main Street. Not the best move for an officer of the law, but he wanted to get to the office, get in his cruiser, and head out on patrol. Hopefully none of the good citizens of Apple Valley would have the guts to ask him about Zuzu while he was in uniform.
He almost laughed at the thought. Would have laughed if he weren’t so wrung out from the kid’s antics. The way things worked in his adopted hometown, he’d be answering questions all day. He’d deal with it. After he had a cup of coffee.
He pulled into the alley beside the sheriff’s department and parked. Two other cars were already there. Emma Bailey’s and Deputy Cain Lincoln’s. Emma worked dispatch and was probably waiting impatiently to razz Max about Zuzu’s late-night 911 call.
She was going to be waiting a long time.
Working in a small town was simpler than working in the city. There was still protocol to be followed, but the environment was friendlier and more relaxed. If he wanted to jump into his cruiser and take off without punching in, no one would care.
And he did want to do that.
He jogged to the back lot, climbed behind the wheel of a marked SUV, and pulled away from the station.
Dear God in Heaven, the kid knew how to scream.
Charlotte rubbed her forehead and eyed the little hellion. Things had been fine for the first few minutes after Max left. Then Charlotte had tried to put Zuzu down so she could pack the boxes for her delivery.
Big mistake.
Huge mistake.
Now Zuzu was screaming loud enough to wake the dead.
“Don’t cry, Zuzu,” she said, reaching for the little girl.
Zuzu must have thought she meant the opposite, because she backed away and ratcheted up the volume, the sound drilling through Charlotte’s head and making her want to grind her teeth and block her ears.
The doorbell rang, the sound mixing with t
he cacophony of noise Zuzu was creating. Hopefully Max had returned. Maybe he’d realized how inept she was and come back to get Zuzu.
She scooped the toddler into her arms and hurried to the door. She didn’t even bother asking who it was. She didn’t really care. As long as it was someone who knew how to deal with screaming kids, she’d be happy. She swung the door open, looked into Zimmerman Beck’s wrinkled face.
“What’s going on here?” he asked, shuffling into the house, his rheumy gaze on Zuzu.
“Zuzu is screaming her head off, and I’m trying to pack up for my first delivery. That’s what’s going on.”
“Well, I’m not deaf, young lady. I can hear the child screaming. She yours?”
“No!”
“Then she’s Stanford’s.” He spat Max’s name like it tasted bitter on his lips. He didn’t particularly like Max. Then again, he didn’t particularly like anyone. Crotchety and a little mean, he had a reputation for complaining about everyone and everything in Apple Valley.
“I don’t know whose she is,” Charlotte responded honestly. The last thing she wanted to do was fuel the fire of Zim’s ire. He’d go on a rant about single parents or deadbeat dads or mothers not taking responsibility for their kids. Charlotte already had a headache. She really didn’t need Zim adding to it.
“Well, why’s she crying?” Zim demanded.
“I don’t know.”
“She hungry?” Zim cocked his head to the side and looked at Zuzu.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you know, then?”
“I know that if she doesn’t stop screaming, I’m never going to get the muffins packed up for the historical society. If I don’t do that, I’m going to be out money and product.”
“Give her to me.” He took Zuzu and looked into her red face. “Pretty little thing, aren’t you, doll?”
Zuzu stopped midscream, her mouth hanging open as she studied Zim’s face. Finally she stuck her thumb in her mouth.
“There you are. Good girl. Now how about you and me find something to eat while Charlotte does her work?” He carried Zuzu into the kitchen, and Charlotte followed.
The silence was . . . heavenly. She’d have stood with her eyes closed listening to it if she’d had the time. She grabbed boxes from the pantry while Zim took eggs from the fridge. “Mind if I scramble a couple of these?”
“Go ahead.”
“You sit here, doll,” Zim said, setting Zuzu on one of the mismatched kitchen chairs. They’d been there when Charlotte moved in, and she hadn’t seen any need to get new ones. Zuzu’s chin barely cleared the tabletop.
“I think she needs a high chair. She can’t reach the table.”
“I can. I’m a big girl,” Zuzu said as clear as a bell. She got on her knees, her little hands clutching the table edge. “See?”
“So you talk, do you?” Zim smiled and ruffled Zuzu’s hair. “But you’re not big enough to sit there yet. We’ll have a picnic on the floor instead. There’s a blanket on the couch in the living room. You go look for it. Bring it here when you find it.” He set Zuzu on the ground, and she raced away, her black hair bouncing, her pajama-covered feet padding on the floor.
“You’re really good with her, Zim.” Surprising, because Zim wasn’t known to be good with anyone.
“Why shouldn’t I be? Had myself two daughters once upon a time.”
“You did?”
“Would I be saying it if it weren’t true?” He scowled and cracked four eggs into a bowl. “Both the girls died from the same cancer that took their mother. Michelle in o-five and Rachel in o-seven.”
“I’m so sorry, Zim. I had no idea.” She’d known him for nearly two years, and he’d never mentioned his family. Neither had anyone else in Apple Valley.
“Not something I like to talk about. A man should never live long enough to bury his wife and children. That’s the way I see things, but I’m thinking God doesn’t see it the same way since I’m here and they’re not.” He shrugged and poured the eggs into a hot pan. Obviously, he knew how to cook. That was another surprise. Based on the fact that he showed up on her doorstep every morning looking for leftover baked goods, she’d assumed that he had no skills in the kitchen.
“I really am sorry, Zim.”
“Sorry doesn’t bring people back. Zuzu!” he called. “Did you find the blanket?”
“Yes,” she squealed, rushing back into the room, Charlotte’s afghan dragging along behind her. The ivory throw had been a wedding gift from Charlotte’s mother. Brett had sneered at the simple homemade gift, but Charlotte had loved it.
She still did, so she tried not to wince as Zuzu dropped it onto the floor and sat on top of it.
“We eating?” she asked, cheeks pink from her screams, her big blue eyes still wet from tears. It was hard to believe such a tiny little package had created such an abundance of noise.
“In just a minute,” Zim responded. “I’m going to make you some toast. Then you’ll get a nice big plate of food to fill your tummy. Does that sound good?”
“Yes!” Zuzu said emphatically, her curls shaking with the force of the word.
She was probably starving. Poor kid.
Zim disappeared into the pantry that Charlotte had created out of an old mud room. It had taken months, but she’d managed to remove the useless old sink, repaint all the walls, put up shelves. She’d pulled from her savings and bought a new fridge and new freezer. They’d been a good investment. Business had been growing steadily since she’d moved to Apple Valley. Another six months of hard work, and she should have enough money saved to open a storefront on Main Street.
“You have bread in here, Charlotte?” Zim called.
“It’s out here.” She opened the old bread box that Tessa had given her. She must have realized how much Charlotte had loved the box. She’d wrapped it up and given it to her for her birthday. Now it sat in a place of honor on the counter. She took out a loaf of bread and handed it to Zim.
“Perfect!” He took two pieces and put them into the toaster. “How about fruit?”
“Fruit?”
“She’s a little girl. She needs good nutrition. She needs fruit. Bananas, maybe. You have bananas, right?” He shot her a hard look, and she was pleased to admit that she did, indeed, have bananas.
“Go ahead and grab one. Cut it up into slices, then cut every slice in half. You don’t want Zuzu to choke.”
“I’m not choking,” Zuzu said.
“And we’re going to make sure you don’t. Ms. Charlotte is going to cut your bananas up. You like bananas, don’t you?”
“Yes!” Zuzu clapped her hands, and Zim smiled.
Charlotte would have smiled too, but she was beginning to feel like a stranger in her own home. Zim and Zuzu had known each other for less than ten minutes, and they already seemed to be best buddies.
Not that Charlotte needed a best buddy. She didn’t really need a good buddy or a mediocre one, either. She was content and happy to be on her own. She enjoyed quiet nights and peaceful mornings. There was always the remnant of her dreams, though. The ones she’d thrown aside when she’d discovered Brett’s betrayal—love that lasted forever, children. No matter how much she tried to drive the dreams out for good, they always reared their ugly heads when she was the most tired and the most stressed.
Right at that moment, she was both.
She grabbed a banana from a basket hanging near the pantry door, cut it up just the way Zim had said. Her body ached from hours of being on her feet. Making the cake for Tessa and Cade’s wedding had taken a lot out of her. Physically and emotionally.
Which seemed silly.
It had been three years, after all. Brett was dead and gone, his ashes interred in a cemetery near his other family in St. Louis.
“Hurry it up, Charlotte. This little girl can’t wait forever,” Zim barked as he buttered toast and put it on a plate with scrambled eggs.
“Done.”
“It’s about time,” he mutter
ed, scooping bananas onto the plate with Zuzu’s eggs and toast. “Here you are, doll. You’re all set.”
He set the plate on the afghan and handed Zuzu a fork. Zuzu held it with one hand and grabbed egg with the other. Little bits of yellow dropped onto the afghan and the floor.
Nice.
Charlotte marched into the pantry, absolutely refusing to say a word about the mess. After years of being married to a man who’d wanted every piece of furniture dusted every day, every floor swept or vacuumed or cleaned, every surface wiped down, she had a penchant for a neat house that even she’d admit was a little crazy. A place for everything and everything in its place. That’s what Brett had always said. It had been cute the first two or three times. After a dozen or so repeats of the same, it hadn’t been cute anymore.
He hadn’t been cute, either, when he’d lifted furniture to make sure no dust bunnies were hiding underneath, checked behind doors to see if she’d remembered to sweep there.
She frowned, dragging down boxes from the shelving unit that she’d installed in the pantry.
She assembled two boxes and filled them with muffins. Pumpkin, lemon poppy seed, carrot cake. She filled another box with fresh bagels. Plain and whole wheat. She’d wanted to make sesame, but Ida had said too many of the historical society members had partials and sesames would get stuck under their teeth.
“Those look mighty good,” Zim said as she tucked the last bagel into the box. “They smell even better.”
“I just finished making them. They’re still a little warm. Want one?”
“Actually, I had a hankering for one of those pumpkin muffins of yours. If you have any to spare.” He eyed the cooling racks spread out across the huge kitchen island. Another expense that had been well worth it, the molded cement surface easy to clean and difficult to damage.
“You know I do.” She grabbed a muffin and placed it on a plate. “How about some coffee?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” He didn’t wait for her to pour it. Zim had spent so many mornings in her kitchen, he rarely asked or waited for anything anymore. He knew where the mugs were, the cream, the sugar that he loved to scoop into his cup.
The Cottage on the Corner Page 4
