He leaned back against the counter and studied her. “Actually, I think you should be in the movies.”
His comment caught her unprepared. “How so?”
With one hand, he gestured toward her. “Well. You’re probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Starla had been told she was beautiful before, and the compliment always made her uncomfortable. She tended to believe her looks were subjective; some found her striking, others just found her coloring odd. She only knew it didn’t much matter what a person looked like on the outside. “Thanks, but you didn’t answer my question. What kind of movies do you think I like?”
He crossed his arms over his chest in a relaxed posture. “Hmm. The Notebook?”
She shook her head. “You saw that?”
“No, I just figured you had. Gone with the Wind.”
“That’s everyone’s favorite, so it doesn’t count.”
He pursed his lips as he thought. “The Sound of Music.”
“Come on, you’re picking classics now.”
“Okay.” He studied her a moment. “Sweet Home Alabama.”
“Didn’t like it.”
“Mama Mia.”
“Didn’t see it.”
His eyebrows rose, then lowered as if in challenge. “The Lord of the Rings.”
She smiled. “I love all of those. Especially The Two Towers.”
“Really?” he asked. “So what are your favorites?”
“Anything Tom Clancy or Robert Ludlum wrote and everything with Denzel Washington or Bruce Willis.”
“You like action movies?”
“Love ’em.”
He chuckled. “I guess I’m your man to get snowed in with, then.”
Their eyes met and something purely male-female passed between them. An awareness. A fascination. A falling sensation made her stomach dip.
He wasn’t much taller than she, and their gazes were nearly level. If one of them took a step forward, their faces would be close enough to...
“Well.” Charlie cleared his throat and pushed away from the counter.
Starla turned away, too, raising a hand to her temple. Her head must be a little woozy yet. “Thanks for lunch.”
He nodded and went back to his work.
After about an hour Starla grew sleepy, and Meredith seemed ready to nap, as well, so she tucked her in and read her a book about a mouse that wanted a cookie, followed by the same mouse going to school. Meredith had an impressive library of hardbound books and neat shelves filled with educational toys.
Starla finished the stories and laid the books on a white nightstand beside a photograph. The woman in the frame was holding a smiling dark-haired baby, and Starla knew immediately that she was Meredith’s mother. Charlie’s wife. She was a pretty blue-eyed young woman, so painfully young looking, with a fresh-tanned complexion and dark hair that curled in wisps around her face.
Charlie’s wife.
Mixed emotions flooded her at the sight: sorrow that such a lovely, vital person had been taken before her time, empathy for a girl growing up without a mother, irrational jealousy that Charlie loved her.
Starla left Meredith’s room and climbed into Charlie’s enormous, comfortable bed. His bedroom had a vaulted-beam ceiling, warm wood everywhere and plush masculine furniture. There were no photographs in here, no signs of a woman’s touch. She wondered how long his wife had been dead. Years or mere months?
And then she wondered why she cared.
* * *
CHARLIE FIXED THEM steaks and baked potatoes for supper, and afterward Starla phoned her father from the privacy of Charlie’s bedroom.
“Starla! Are you doing okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine, Dad. It’s still snowing in Iowa. I’m not going to get the load delivered. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, honey, don’t you worry about it. All that matters is that you’re safe and staying warm.”
“I’m fine. The McGraws have a log home, and everything is run with propane, so there’s no chance of a power loss. There is plenty of food and wood and everything.”
“And they are nice people?”
“Incredibly nice. Charlie has been a perfect host. And the little girl—Meredith is her name—kept me entertained all day.”
“What about this Charlie’s wife?”
“Charlie is widowed, Dad.”
“So it’s just you and that man?”
“And Meredith, don’t forget.”
“How old is Charlie McGraw?”
“I’m not sure exactly.”
“Thirty? Sixty?”
“Thirty maybe.”
Silence.
“He’s a carpenter and he works in his shop during the day. How about you, how are you doing? Have the doctors said when you can get the cast off?”
“Probably in a few days. And then I have to do some physical therapy.”
“Strengthen the leg and all,” she said.
“Yes. But I have to take a couple of classes, too. Is Charlie nice looking?”
“Yes, he’s okay. What kind of classes?”
“Oh, it’s just a heart health thing, learning how to read food labels and shop.”
“Dad. What aren’t you telling me?”
“It’s nothing. They ran a few tests on me while I was in the hospital, and they advised me to lose a few pounds and watch my diet—don’t say you told me so. My cholesterol is a little high.”
“Are you sure that’s all?”
“That’s it, I swear.”
“If it was anything more, you wouldn’t have encouraged me to stay in Maine and have Christmas with my friends, right?”
“Right. I had something planned myself, Star.”
“I suspected that. We’ve always been together for Christmas in the past. Who is she?”
“She’s someone I met at the hospital.”
“She’s sick?”
“No, she wasn’t a patient, she’s a volunteer.”
“Oh, I see. What’s her name?”
“Edith. Do you want to do a background check? She’s a widow with a grown daughter who is a state senator.”
She was nosing into her father’s private business, but she couldn’t help her curiosity. Besides, he’d done the same with her. “She sounds really nice. I’m just surprised. You’ve never...well, dated anyone before.”
“Hard to imagine the old man dating, is it? Dating is probably the wrong word. We’re enjoying each other’s company.”
“Same difference.”
“Tell me more about Charlie McGraw. You said he’s nice looking?”
“He’s nice looking. He has really nice eyes and...” And every time she got within a foot from him, her temperature rose and her heart lost its rhythm.
“Just be careful, Star.”
“Dad, he’s a widower and he misses his wife.”
A sound brought her around to face the door—the door she hadn’t closed. Charlie stood in the opening.
“Widowed doesn’t mean dead,” her father replied.
“No, of course not,” she said distractedly, embarrassment warming her cheeks. Charlie’d heard her last words.
“Call me tomorrow.”
“I will, Dad. Bye.” She punched the button on her cell phone to turn it off and tossed it onto the bed. “Sorry,” she said to Charlie. “You know how it is. He was asking me a million questions.”
“No problem. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I came looking for my glasses and the door was open.” He gestured to a table beside an easy chair. “Reading time again.”
“More mice with cookies?”
“Oh, no, more advanced reading this time. Carpenter camels.”
“I’ve heard of carpenter ants, but never carpenter camels.”
He picked up his glasses and headed for the door. “No comparison. This camel wears a tool belt and everything. You’re welcome to listen.”
She shrugged and followed. “What else would I do?”
The camel book turned out to be part of a series, and Starla enjoyed the sound of Charlie’s voice as he read, using appropriate inflections for each of the characters. He was handsome in his gray metal-framed reading glasses, and Meredith appeared comfortably secure snuggled against his chest.
She pointed to something on a page and then toward the window and asked, “Why is the moon always different? Sometimes it’s big and sometimes it’s only part.”
Charlie launched into an explanation of the solar system geared for a five-year-old’s comprehension, to which she replied simply, “Oh.”
Continuing, he read three of the stories before telling her it was bedtime. Father and daughter disappeared for about fifteen minutes. Starla flipped through a consumer guide book until Charlie returned. He picked up the books and a pair of small white socks and laid them on the back of a chair. “The child is a nonstop font of questions.”
“I’d noticed.”
“While she brushed her teeth, I had to explain where the water running out of the faucet comes from,” he said.
“Where does it come from?”
He raised a brow.
“No, really, where does it come from?”
“We have a well.”
“Oh.” She sat forward and placed the book on the coffee table. “You have an incredible home here.”
He sat on the chair adjacent to the sofa she occupied. “Thanks.”
“Are you content to be so far away from town?” She leaned back comfortably on the sofa. “I mean, is that why you bought out here?”
“I built the house myself. Well, from a kit and with some help. But yes, I wanted the distance.” He got up and went to the kitchen, where he ran water. “I’m making coffee. Want a cup?”
“Thanks, but I’d never sleep tonight.”
He stood and leaned against the end of the bar while the coffee perked and the aroma teased her senses.
“Speaking of sleeping, Charlie. I feel guilty for taking your bed and making you use the sofa. I’ll sleep on it tonight.”
“No need.” He gestured upward. “There are two more bedrooms in the loft. I just put you in my bed last night because it was close to the tub and you were light-headed. I slept on the couch so I’d hear you or Meredith during the night. You can take your pick of rooms up there and have your privacy. There’s a bath with a shower, too.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Don’t be thanking me. My daughter is the reason you’re stuck here.”
“She’s a great kid.”
“Yeah.” He turned back to the kitchen and returned minutes later with his steaming mug of coffee and a cup of herbal tea for her.
She accepted the mug and inhaled the spicy fragrance. “Tea?”
“I keep it for my mom. She’s not a coffee drinker.”
“You’re very thoughtful. Thank you.” She blew across the surface and took a sip.
“I have to say you’re sure taking this well. I know this is a huge inconvenience. I have a feeling there’s more you haven’t said.”
At his pointed look, she admitted, “Well, there was a bonus connected to this load.”
“And now you won’t get it?”
“No.”
“Is the load perishable?”
She shook her head. “No, thankfully.”
“You don’t seem resentful. I guess that’s what I find remarkable.”
“Wouldn’t do me much good to spend a lot of negative energy being resentful,” she replied. “No one deliberately set out to sabotage my trip. Meredith is just a child and she had no idea that her actions would cause a problem. The truck ending up in a ditch was an unfortunate accident. I could probably blame myself for that, but I won’t.”
Charlie just studied her for several moments. She resisted the impulse to self-consciously reach up and touch the Band-Aid or the area beneath her eyes that had bruised. “How long have you lived here—in this house, I mean?”
“Built the house the year before Meredith was born.”
“So you and your wife built it together?”
He nodded but didn’t embellish. So far he’d never spoken to her of his wife. Meredith was the only one who brought her up.
“Tell me about your town,” she said to draw the topic away from her. “What’s Elmwood like?”
“Everybody knows everybody. One doctor, post office, a couple of eating places, a school, a pharmacy, a library. A typical little town.”
“So you have a lot of friends there.”
“I know everyone,” he replied.
She understood there was a difference. “The people at the diner seemed very nice.”
He nodded. “Shirley Rumford and Harry Ulrich. I owe them a big thanks for their support last night.”
“It seems like a great town to live in. After my mom died, my father and I never lived in one place for very long. We usually kept an apartment, but if I wanted to attend the same school all year, I had to stay with my aunt or my dad’s stepmother. When I got to be about twelve and the whole popularity peer thing happened, I grew to hate having to choose between school and being with my dad.”
“Doesn’t sound like a very stable childhood.”
“It wasn’t all that bad.”
“You and your dad are close, though.”
“Yes.” She sipped her tea. “What about your parents?”
“My biological father died before I was born. My real mother worked for Del Phillips. When she died, he took me home to his wife and family. They adopted me and raised me as their own.” At her questioning look, he said, “I kept my last name and they didn’t mind.”
“They sound like terrific people.”
“They are.”
“You’ve stayed close?”
He nodded. “They’re Meredith’s only grandparents.”
“What about your wife’s parents?”
“They are Kendra’s parents,” he said, giving her a name for the first time.
Starla worked to absorb that information. “The family who adopted you...was your wife’s family?”
Looking away, he nodded.
“So you grew up with her?”
He nodded again.
A love that had grown from his childhood. No wonder it was so painful for him to speak of her.
“What about you?” he asked, reversing the subject. “Ever been married?”
“No.”
He studied her.
“What?”
“Just trying to figure it out. You’re not exactly...”
“Young?”
“No! I was going to say hard to look at. But I guess you’re just selective, eh?”
“Something like that.”
An awkward minute passed. “Would you like to watch a movie?” he asked finally.
“Sure.”
He got up, opened a built-in cabinet beside the fireplace and rattled off titles.
“That one,” she said, stopping him when he got to The Hunt for Red October.
He grinned and took out the slim case. “I just happen to have this one on blu-ray.”
Starla slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet up under her on the couch. “All we need is popcorn.”
“I can take care of that, too.”
For the next couple of hours they enjoyed the movie and the popcorn, and then he showed her the extra footage and behind-the-scenes features and how to operate the remote.
&
nbsp; “This is great,” she said. “Do you even have to go the movies anymore?”
“Rarely. I buy these online and have them delivered to my post office box in town.”
She shook her head. “I remember when it was a big deal to go to a movie.”
“I remember when my mom used to make popcorn in a big kettle on the stove,” he said.
Starla grinned. “My aunt made popcorn balls.”
Charlie scooted the bowl aside with his foot and propped both feet on the coffee table. “So you do have some good memories of your childhood?”
She nodded. “I had fun with my cousins when I stayed with them. We used to run through the sprinkler and set up lemonade stands. Sometimes we just lay in the grass and stared at the clouds.”
“And picked out animal shapes,” he guessed.
She looked at him. “Yes.”
His eyes were dark with an unspoken sadness. “I want those things for Meredith.”
“What makes you think she won’t have them?”
“My two adoptive brothers live a few hours away, but she sees her cousins only occasionally. Five boys, by the way. I wanted to live out here to be away from people, but sometimes I wonder if that was such a good choice.”
“The town isn’t that far,” Starla pointed out. “What is it, about eight miles?”
Charlie nodded.
“And she goes to kindergarten. She’ll have friends. Looks to me like you’ve made good choices for her. She’s extraordinarily smart and inquisitive. It’s plain that she adores you and that the two of you are quite happy together here. I’d have given anything to have had a home like this when I was a kid.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Charlie stood. “I want to throw another coat of tung oil on a piece before I turn in.”
He had just closed the subject, and Starla felt as though she’d been prying. She wanted to ask him if she could come along and see his shop, but she sensed his need to be by himself.
“Do you mind if I look through the pantry and cupboards?” She got to her feet, as well. “I’d like to fix breakfast tomorrow if it’s okay. In fact, while I’m here I don’t mind cooking all the meals. No insult intended, of course.”
“I’m not insulted, but I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you. You’re our guest.”
She carried her cup toward the kitchen, set it near the sink and turned to find him behind her carrying his own. “It would just give me something to do and make me feel useful.”
Stowaway Angel Page 6
