Zuzu let go of her hand and dragged a little black suitcase out from under the bed. Faded and worn, it looked like it had been a lot of places before it had arrived in Max’s apartment. Zuzu unzipped the front pocket and stuck her hand inside, her tongue sticking out just a little as she concentrated on retrieving whatever it was she thought was there.
“Need some help, Zuzu?” Charlotte knelt on the floor beside her, but Zuzu shook her head.
“I’ve got it,” Zuzu responded, pulling out a tattered business card. She slapped it in Charlotte’s hand with a happy grin. “My mommy’s number.”
“Really?” Charlotte read the card skeptically. Morgan Fairmont, Psychic Consultant. Cell phone number. No address. If Max hadn’t mentioned Morgan’s name earlier, Charlotte wouldn’t have believed Morgan Fairmont, Psychic Consultant was Zuzu’s mother.
“Let’s call her.” Zuzu rushed from the room. Charlotte ran after her. The girl knew how to find trouble if given the opportunity. She’d pulled every tissue out of the box in Charlotte’s bathroom, squirted toothpaste all over the sink, smeared it all over the mirror when she tried to clean it up, and somehow managed to do it all while Charlotte was cleaning the meatloaf pan and packing up a plate of food for Max.
She skidded into the living room right on Zuzu’s heels, just managing to wrestle the telephone from the little girl’s grasp.
“I think I’d better make the call,” she panted, dialing the number that she found on the card. The phone rang a half a dozen times before voicemail picked up. A woman introduced herself as a psychic advisor. Charlotte didn’t recognize the voice, of course, but Zuzu bounced up and down with excitement.
“Mommy!” she shouted. “Hi, Mommy!”
Poor little kid. All excited because she heard her mother’s voice. Meanwhile, her mother didn’t seem all that keen on hearing Zuzu’s voice.
There was nothing Charlotte could do about it, so she let Zuzu leave a rambling message on the machine. It wasn’t the same as actually having a conversation with her mom, but it seemed to make Zuzu happy. Fifteen minutes later, the little girl was tucked into bed sound asleep.
Thank God.
She glanced at the clock. Max’s shift ended soon, and she’d be free to go home. She’d probably appreciate the silent empty space a lot more than she had the previous night.
Or maybe it would just feel more empty and more silent.
She walked into the living room, dragged her purse from the floor, and pulled out the cookies she’d packed. One dark chocolate oatmeal. One raspberry filled. One snickerdoodle. Three cookies almost seemed excessive, but after the day she’d had, she figured she deserved it. She’d tucked the book into the side pocket of her bag, and she took it out, too. Usually she’d be prepping for the next day’s orders. Since she wasn’t home, all she could do was sit and wait.
It was a strange feeling. One she didn’t really like. The last few years had been hectic, one season of life changing to another and another so quickly that she’d barely had time to catch her breath. She’d thought the pace would slow down in her new home, but she’d been busier than ever. Starting a small business had been easy. Keeping it going had been the hard part.
She kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the love seat, propping a pillow behind her back, and opening the book. Something about a highland prince. She’d gotten the book from the library’s ninety-nine-cent bin. A hot guy in a kilt. Why not?
She bit into the first cookie, her heart nearly stopping as something moved in her peripheral vision. She jumped to her feet, saw an ugly old tomcat slithering out from under the couch. The thing had one eye, patchy fur, and a tail that looked like it had been chewed up and spit out.
She’d never been much for cats. This one was particularly hideous.
“Tell you what,” she murmured, backing up and climbing onto the love seat again. “You stay there. I’ll stay here, and we’ll both be happy as clams.”
The cat didn’t seem to understand.
If he did, he didn’t care. He stalked the rest of the way across the room, jumped onto the love seat’s armrest, and crouched right next to Charlotte’s head.
“Please don’t bite my face off,” she whispered, trying really hard not to move her lips. Just in case.
The cat growled low in its throat, its body vibrating.
Maybe not a growl. A purr.
She turned her head slowly, looked into one golden-green eye and a face that only a mother cat could love. The cat meowed, butting his big head against her shoulder.
“What?”
He meowed again.
“Are you hungry?”
He jumped off the armrest and slithered into the kitchen. Charlotte would have ignored him, but she thought he really was hungry, and she hated to see anyone or anything go without food.
She dropped her book on the couch, left the cookies on the side table, and walked into the kitchen. The cat was there, batting at the cupboard under the sink. Sure enough, a plastic container of cat foot stood front and center there.
“Where’s your dish?” she asked, as if the cat could answer.
He just stared at her, his one eye unblinking.
She lifted the cat food, found two shallow dishes behind it. One for food and one for water? Maybe Max had put them away when Zuzu arrived. Knowing her, she’d have probably eaten cat food and flung water all over the place.
“All right, guy. I’m going to feed you, and then you can go hide under the couch again.” She filled a bowl with food, filled the other with water, and set them on the floor near the sink.
Good enough.
She settled back onto the love seat, opened the book, took a bite out of the raspberry-filled cookie. It tasted like heaven, the buttery shortbread melting in her mouth, the raspberry filling tart and just a little sweet.
“Perfect!” she murmured as she turned to the first page and met McAllister McDermott, the last of the McDermott clan. The guy had to find a spouse posthaste or lose his leadership position.
“Big problem,” Charlotte muttered as she finished off the raspberry-filled cookie and took out the dark chocolate oatmeal.
“Meow!” the cat replied, jumping back up on the armrest.
“I thought we had an agreement.” She stared at the beast’s ugly face. Maybe it wasn’t so much ugly as unfortunate in a kind of scruffily cute way. “Go back under the couch.”
The cat settled onto its belly, stretching its paws out so they were within a millimeter of Charlotte’s hair. She planned to push it off, but it started that growly purr again, and she didn’t have the heart to do it.
She turned back to her cookie and book instead. Maybe she’d find out who the highland guy’s love interest was before Max got home. Otherwise, it might be a year before she had time to pick up the book again.
Outside, the wind howled beneath the eaves. Cold air seeped through the window behind Charlotte. She slipped into her coat, shoving her hands in the pockets and frowning as she felt something soft. She pulled out the white feather, smoothed her fingers over it and returned it to her pocket. Tessa might want it back. Or Gertrude. She’d have to try to remember to ask.
The wind blew again, frigid air seeming to find its way through the old walls. She didn’t dare walk down the hall to look for a blanket. She was afraid she’d wake Zuzu. She grabbed the jacket she’d draped on the back of a kitchen chair when she’d arrived, tucking leather around her thighs. It smelled like Max. Spicy and masculine with just a hint of the outdoors.
She shivered, told herself it was because of the cold, and tried to focus her attention on the book as she waited for Max to return.
Charlotte was going to kill him.
Max glanced at the dashboard clock for the tenth time. As if somehow looking at it could change the numbers. One in the morning.
Charlotte was definitely going to kill him.
Or at least take a piece out of his hide.
He pulled into the driveway in front of his apartmen
t. No sign of Morgan’s car. He’d been half hoping that she’d be there when he returned or that she’d returned at some point and taken Zuzu with her. Seeing as how Charlotte’s station wagon was there, it didn’t seem likely that had happened. Lights spilled out of the living room window. Charlotte was probably pacing the floor, ready to bolt.
He jogged up the stairs and walked into the apartment, expecting to be greeted by an angry woman. Nothing. Not a sound. No screaming kid. No complaining baker. Even Pete didn’t make an appearance.
He glanced around the living room, saw a mound of fur on the love seat. No. Not the love seat. Pete was lying on his leather jacket, which was lying on Charlotte. Her head slumped forward, a book lax in her hands. A cookie lay on the table beside her.
Pete looked up as he approached, glaring out of his one good eye. “She fed you, didn’t she?” Max murmured, shooing the cat off of the jacket.
Charlotte shifted, the book falling onto the floor. There was a guy on the cover. A guy dressed in a kilt, carrying a sword and looking like some Scottish he-man. No guy had muscles that big. Unless he took steroids.
“Charlotte?” He nudged her shoulder, and she sighed, shifting so that the jacket fell away. Her coat had fallen open, her T-shirt twisting beneath her and pulling up to reveal a pale taut abdomen.
Max’s stomach clenched, heat roaring through his veins at the sight. He wanted to run his finger along the sliver of flesh, feel the silky warmth of her stomach.
“Idiot,” he admonished, nudging her shoulder with a little more force. “Charlotte! Wake up. I’m home.”
She screamed. Not a little delicate squeak of surprise, either. A full-fledged, I’m scared out of my mind, scream of terror that made the hair stand up on the back of Max’s neck.
“Charlotte?!” He touched her cheek, and her eyes flew open, her cheeks pink from sleep. God, she was beautiful.
“What’s going on?” She jumped up, nearly ran him down trying to put some distance between them.
“You screamed.”
“I did?” She frowned, snatched the book from the floor, and shoved it in her purse.
“Loudly. I’m surprised it didn’t wake Zuzu.”
“For your sake, I’m glad it didn’t.” She shoved her feet into shoes. “What time is it?”
“A little after one.”
“Your shift ran late.”
“I had to book a couple of teenage vandals. They spray painted the side of the school.”
“They’re in jail?” She took a plastic-covered plate out of the fridge. There was food on it. The kind that didn’t come from a box or a fast-food joint. His stomach growled, and she smiled. “Hungry?”
“Just a little.”
“Then I’m glad I brought you dinner.” She put the plate into the microwave oven.
“What is it?”
“Meatloaf. Mashed potatoes. Peas. Zim wanted carrots, but I thought Zuzu might like to chase little green balls around her plate for a while.”
“Did she?”
“Yes. She managed to get them all over my floor, in her hair, and on the ceiling while she was at it.”
“The ceiling?”
“She has a good pitching arm.”
He laughed, relaxing for the first time in what seemed like hours. He’d made a mess for himself, taken on a responsibility that he wasn’t ready for, but Charlotte’s easygoing attitude made him think that things might just work out okay. “I’m sure Morgan will be happy to hear it. Although, knowing her, she’d probably prefer it if someone told her that her daughter had model potential.”
“Zuzu might. She’s an awfully cute little girl.”
“Morgan doesn’t believe in cute. She believes in beauty. In her world, it gets people what they want.”
“Interesting philosophy of life,” Charlotte said on a yawn. “Speaking of Morgan. Zuzu gave me this.” She walked into the living room and returned with a business card in hand. “I wasn’t sure it belonged to your Morgan, but Zuzu insisted on speaking to her mother, so we called the number.”
“She’s not my anything, but that is her name.” He studied the card. “She must have decided to try her hand at something new while she was in Miami. Did she answer when you called?”
“No, but Zuzu heard her voice on voicemail and thought that she did.”
“That’s something then.” He tucked the card into his wallet. He’d call in the morning, in the afternoon, at night. He planned on calling incessantly until Morgan answered. He wanted to know when she was coming back for Zuzu, and he wanted to know it yesterday.
The microwave beeped, and Charlotte took out the plate. “Go ahead and sit down. You want a soda or anything?”
“I’m fine.” And the food smelled great. His stomach growled again, and Charlotte smiled again.
“You’d better eat, and I’d better head home.”
He grabbed her hand before she could go. “There’s plenty here for two. Let’s share.”
“I don’t think—”
“Scared?” he asked, his fingers sliding along her wrist, resting on the warm skin at the base of her palm.
“Of what? You?” She laughed, but the sound was shaky and uncertain.
“Maybe.” He tugged her so close their knees touched. “You didn’t tell me why you screamed.”
She brushed invisible lint from her jeans, refusing to meet his eyes. “I was asleep. You woke me up. I screamed. Seems pretty straightforward to me.”
“I’ve woken up plenty of people, and none of them screamed like Freddy Krueger was after them.”
“Probably because most of them hadn’t spent fifteen hours with a three-year-old and a crotchety old man,” she said dryly, tugging away from his hand.
“That scary, huh?” he asked, even though he knew that wasn’t the real reason she’d screamed. If he pushed too hard, she’d leave, and he wasn’t ready for that.
There was something . . . nice about having Charlotte around. Pleasant. Easy.
And just a little exhilarating, too.
“Scary enough to give me nightmares, I guess.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but he had a feeling that it did.
“Where are you from, Charlotte?” he asked, because suddenly he wanted to know where she’d come from, what she’d left behind.
“Apple Valley. Same as you.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Do I?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and frowned.
“You’re a smart woman, so yeah. I think you do.” He took a bite of meatloaf and nearly groaned. It was that good. “Damn, you can cook!” he muttered, shoveling another bite into his mouth.
“That’s what Brett said the first time I cooked for him,” she said, and then pressed her lips together as if she’d said too much.
“Who’s Brett?”
“He was my husband. He died a couple of years ago.”
She was young to be a widow, but he’d known a few women who’d lost husbands at younger ages. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” she responded with absolutely no emotion in her voice. “He was a Marine. Then a truck driver. He died of kidney cancer.”
“Where’d you guys meet?”
“Why do you want to know?” she asked.
“Curiosity?”
“It’s kind of late for an attack of curiosity, isn’t it?” She hitched her purse up on her shoulder. “And I think we’re both tired. I’d better head out.”
“I’ll walk you down.” He stood, but she shook her head.
“And leave Zuzu up here by herself?”
“I’m offering to walk you down to your car, Charlotte. Not drive you home.”
“I know, but trust me, that little girl can get into trouble in about five seconds flat. You’ll both be better off if you stay up here.” She smiled and walked out of the kitchen.
He didn’t follow.
She had a point. Zuzu was a little kid, and kids knew how to get into big trouble. He’
d been called out plenty of times to find a missing child or to help one who’d been hurt doing some stupid stunt or another. Sometimes things ended well. Sometimes they didn’t. Knowing that was enough to keep him in the kitchen as the front door opened and closed.
He listened for her car engine, heard it rumble to life.
She’d be home in a few minutes and would probably be thrilled to have her house to herself again.
He settled into the chair again, dropping a piece of meatloaf on the floor as Pete slunk into the room. The cat batted it around for a minute before gobbling it up. Fun times!
After a double shift, he was just tired enough to appreciate being home alone.
Not alone. Zuzu was there.
And Pete.
He tossed the cat another piece of meatloaf.
The rest he was going to eat. After all, it wasn’t often that he got a good home-cooked meal from a pretty young woman. He’d gotten his share from the older citizens of Apple Valley after Morgan had left him. Pity feeding. That’s what Ida had called it. Max called it trolling. Every one of the ladies had brought a tidbit of information about a daughter, sister, granddaughter, or niece along with the meal.
A few were fair cooks. None of them had cooked like Charlotte. Even the peas tasted special, and in Max’s estimation that was a damn hard thing to do.
He scooped up potatoes, walked to the fridge, and surveyed the nearly empty shelves. He needed to go to the grocery store. He might be able to live off fast food and coffee, but Zuzu couldn’t.
He filled a glass with water, sat back down at the table.
He’d make a list of everything he needed. Make sure he took it with him when he went shopping. That was the only way that he’d remember that shopping for Zuzu was different than shopping for himself. Little kids needed good nutrition, right? Vegetables. Fruit. Whole grain bread. At least, that’s what he thought a little girl like Zuzu should be eating.
He could call Charlotte. She seemed like the kind of person who would know. She’d probably babysat hundreds of times during her life. He opened his wallet and almost took out the business card he’d tucked in behind his driver’s license.
Charlotte had already done enough for him, though.
The Cottage on the Corner Page 9
