Stowaway Angel

by Cheryl St. John

  Meredith danced around in a circle, her dark hair flying. “‘Dashing through the snow,’” she sang, “‘in a one-horse open sleigh! On the fields we go...’”

  “‘Laughing all the way,’” Starla joined in and together they said, “‘Ha-ha-ha!’”

  Meredith giggled.

  “Go get dressed, missy,” her dad said.

  Meredith flew toward her room. “I’m wearing my red dress. Starla, will you fix my hair?”

  “I sure will.”

  “Yippee!”

  “Meredith, dress in your warm pants and boots and we’ll pack your dress to change into,” her father called, then turned to Starla. “Think she’s a little eager to get out of the house?”

  “Maybe a little.” She helped herself to a cup of coffee. “So tell me about this event at church.”

  “Well, that’s just part of it. Elmwood’s Christmas celebration lasts most of a day. There’s a chili feed at the Waggin’ Tongue and tree decorating at the park. There will be ice skating on the lot beside the library. Robbie Perkins owns that land, and he’s made an outdoor rink he floods for the holidays. Then there’s the kids’ programs and a church service.”

  “You go to church?”

  “Usually at Christmas.” He placed a bowl in the dishwasher and wiped the counter. “The church program is a little dressier, so we’ll take extra clothing. Do you have something with you?”

  “I have an outfit in the truck.”

  “I’ll go get it for you.”

  “Will people think it’s strange if I come along? To town and church with you, I mean?”

  “Garreth already knows. We’ll have him look at those stitches, by the way. I talked to Shirley Rumford, the lady at the

  Waggin’ Tongue the night you got here, so she’s already aware. And the sheriff knows, so that means Sharon, the dispatcher, knows, so that means that by now a lot of people know.”

  “What will they think?”

  “They’ll think your truck landed in a ditch after you returned my daughter to me safely and that you’re waiting for it to be towed. Not much to think.”

  Sipping her coffee, she studied the countertop. “You’re right. They’d never suspect that after only two days, you and I would...”

  “Be kissing?”

  She glanced up to find him grinning. “Yeah.”

  “Neither would I have suspected that, sweetheart.”

  The casual endearment caught her off guard. “Charlie.”

  His eyes darkened. “My name is a weapon on your lips. Be careful how you use it. And when.”

  “Just so I do use it...right?”

  He glanced toward the other room, then strode forward and pulled her from the stool into his arms for a sweet kiss. Once he released her, she sat back on the seat and he moved to the other side of the counter, but he leaned toward her. “It’s going to be difficult to keep from kissing you the rest of the day.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TAKING A HORSE and sleigh ride was like stepping into a Thomas Kinkade painting. Russel Carter had already picked up an older couple who lived farther from town than Charlie, and together they sat squeezed onto the seats with lap blankets and coats adding to the bulk and the warmth.

  “Where did you get a sleigh?” Starla had asked Russel when they were introduced.

  “I own a second-hand-furniture store and so I travel to auctions all over the Midwest,” he replied. “When I saw this, I couldn’t pass it up.”

  “Exactly how far is it from your place to town?” she asked Charlie.

  “Eight miles,” he answered.

  “Look!” Russel called. “Plows!”

  Sure enough, on the other side of a sloping snow-laden field, two trucks with blades were pushing snow from a ribbon stretch of highway.

  The other couple cheered.

  Charlie smiled and she returned it, but it wasn’t heartfelt. Soon the highways would be clear, and the rig would have access to tow her father’s truck out. The driver would take her to the nearest garage to warm the truck and the fuel. She’d deliver the load, then head back to her life in Maine. Open her restaurant. Of course, that was the plan. This stop was just a delay. Their lives had only collided for a brief moment, but reality would resume.

  She wanted it to.

  She turned her attention to the countryside and enjoyed the scenery and the brisk air on her cheeks. This was her first sleigh ride and she meant to make the most of it.

  * * *

  THE STREETS IN Elmwood had been plowed, and the main thoroughfare was bustling with activity when Russel dropped them off in an open lot, prepared to head out to gather more country dwellers.

  “Daddy, can we skate now?” Meredith asked.

  “We’d better take our bags to the church first,” he suggested. “We don’t want to lug them around all day.”

  “Okay, and then can we skate?”

  “Do your skates fit this year?” he asked.

  She nodded. “And besides, Miss Lottie keeps a whole bunch of pairs for the kids and she’ll be there to borrow them out.”

  “Loan them,” he corrected, then said to Starla, “Lottie Krenshaw is her day-care provider. Meredith still goes occasionally when I have a job that lasts longer than kindergarten.”

  They caught a ride in the back of a pickup heading toward church and deposited their bags containing changes of clothing for that night. Then they walked toward the skating rink beside the library. Starla heard the music and saw Christmas lights strung on poles around the perimeter before she saw the ice.

  “That’d be Birdy Nichols’s contribution,” Charlie told her. “She brings a setup for music to local events, picnics, dances in the park, everything. But you’ll never hear any current music. She’s stuck in the seventies and eighties.”

  Lionel Richie’s voice, singing the words, “Hello, is it me you’re looking for?” echoed across the street, verifying Charlie’s statement.

  “She could have worse taste in music,” Starla said.

  “Yeah, like the Hansons,” he quipped.

  Starla would have responded, but a male voice called out at that moment. “Charlie! Wondered if you’d make it in.”

  A dark-haired man a good six inches taller than Charlie walked forward to greet them.

  Charlie shook his hand and introduced Starla. “Starla, this is Nick Sinclair, our former sheriff. Nick this is Starla Richards. She got stranded at my place after an incident with Meredith smuggling herself aboard Starla’s rig.”

  “I heard about that. Nice to meet you.” Starla offered her gloved hand, and Nick shook it before turning aside. “You have to meet my wife. She was right here a minute ago. There she is. Ryanne!”

  A lovely woman with riotous blond curls escaping a knit hat walked toward them, her coat stretched over a distended belly. “Hi, Charlie.”

  Charlie made introductions, and Ryanne gave Starla a welcoming smile. “I’m so glad Meredith is here. Jamie’s friend Benny is out of town, and Jamie’s been missing his playmate.” She spoke to Meredith, “Honey, Jamie is over there by the hot-dog stand.”

  “I see him. Daddy will you help me put my skates on?” Meredith asked.

  “Sure. Come on. Let’s find a bench.”

  “What size are you?” Ryanne asked Starla. “I brought my skates to loan, because I’m not skating.” She placed a mittened hand over her belly. At Starla’s reply, she said to her husband, “Nick would you mind grabbing my skates for Starla? They’re on the floor of the truck.”

  Nick kissed his wife’s cheek and went to do her bidding. “I have to find things for him to do,” she explained. “He hovers. You’d think I was the first woman to ever have a baby.”

  “This is your second?” Starla asked.

 
“My first pregnancy,” she replied. “Jamie was born to Nick’s first wife. But I don’t know how I could love him any more. You have any kids?”

  “Oh, no,” she said, glancing over to where Charlie was helping his daughter with her laces. “I’ve never been married.”

  “I was a career girl myself at one time,” Ryanne said with a smile. “Now I do both. I started an antique shop a while back, so I can set my own hours and work around being a wife and mom.”

  “It must agree with you. You look happy.”

  Ryanne smiled. “I am. So, you drive a truck, is that what I heard?”

  “Well, I drove my dad’s truck as a favor. I got out of trucking a few years back and this was a one-time thing.”

  “Isn’t that just the luck?”

  Charlie rejoined them and stood by as they continued their conversation.

  “So what do you do now?” Ryanne asked.

  “I’m opening a seafood restaurant in Maine.”

  “Oh, my! Are you the talent or the brains and money behind the operation?”

  “Both actually. I have a culinary arts, as well as a business degree.”

  “You’re my kind of girl,” Ryanne said.

  Nick returned with a pair of white skates with blade covers. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” Starla glanced at Charlie. “Got your skates?”

  He held them up and they excused themselves to find a bench.

  Charlie was staring at her as she sat and removed her boots.

  She looked up. “What?”

  “You own a restaurant?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And have a culinary arts degree?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re what, a gourmet cook?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “You might have told me.”

  “You never asked.”

  “I fixed you canned soup and grilled cheese and...pancakes from a mix.”

  “I don’t look gift horses in the mouth.”

  He sat down beside her. “All along you must have been thinking what a schmuck I am.”

  “I was not. You took me into your home and shared everything you had with me. What more is there?”

  “Uh. Class?”

  She chuckled. “You’ve got plenty of class, Charlie.”

  His eyes darkened. “You did that on purpose,” he said referring to her use of his name.

  She batted her lashes, feigning outrageous innocence, then stood. “Come on, are we going to skate?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Okay.” She shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll be on the ice.” And with that—and a sweet smile. Starla waved and skated across the ice.

  * * *

  BY THE TIME Meredith got hungry, Charlie was more than ready to go into the diner and warm up. Starla had been welcomed into the community, initiated to the rumor mill, questioned about her background and family, and she’d accepted the attention graciously. At the Waggin’ Tongue, there was more than chili on the menu, and she and Charlie chose thick, chunky potato soup and warm crusty bread.

  Christmas music played from a pink retro stereo behind the counter. Meredith sat in a booth with them and drew a tree on the frosty window glass.

  “I fixed you canned soup,” Charlie said again as they ate.

  “It hit the spot.”

  “What kind of soup do you make at your restaurant?”

  “Shrimp gumbo, tomato bisque, lentil, black bean to name a few.”

  He set his spoon aside. “The comments you made about my spices make perfect sense now. Oh, and the morning you said my pancakes were, what was it? Light and airy?”

  “A nice golden brown, don’t forget,” she added.

  “They came from a mix, and I called you Mrs. Butterworth. I was wrong, you’re Martha Stewart.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Julia Child, then.”

  “Oh, thanks.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Let it go.”

  “Not until I make you pay for not letting on. And for what you did this afternoon.”

  “You mean for saying Ch—”

  He covered her mouth with his hand, then quickly drew it away and glanced around.

  “It’s just such a handsome name,” she said teasingly.

  He had that look in his eyes, the one she recognized as desire.

  “Gramma!” Meredith squealed. “Grampa!” She shot down from the bench seat and ran toward a couple who had just entered the diner.

  Starla laid down her spoon and dabbed her mouth with her napkin.

  “My folks,” Charlie said, standing to greet them and invite them to share the booth. He sat beside Starla so his folks could slide in together opposite.

  Meredith snuggled on the woman’s lap in delight.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Starla Richards. Starla, my parents.”

  “Call us Marian and Del,” the woman said congenially. “We’re very pleased to meet you. Meredith told me all about you on the phone. She said you were as pretty as an angel.”

  Starla felt her cheeks warm. “I’m pleased to meet you, too.”

  “We’re very thankful that you brought Meredith back safe and sound,” she said. “And so sorry that you had an accident and were injured. Is your head all right?”

  Starla’s fingertips rose self-consciously to the Band-Aid on her forehead. She still had a bruise under her eye. “It’s fine. Just a few stitches.”

  “Well, I hope it doesn’t scar, dear. You’re such a lovely girl.”

  “Thank you, but I’m sure it won’t show.”

  “We were half out of our minds with worry when we got the call about Meredith being missing.” She lowered her face and kissed the little girl’s head. “It’s just too awful to even think of the possibilities.”

  Her eyes misted with tears, and her husband wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We lost a daughter, you know. Meredith and Charlie are very precious to us.”

  “Okay, Mom, this is a Christmas party,” Charlie said. “Let’s get in the spirit.”

  “Wait till you see my program, Gramma,” Meredith said, sitting up and talking animatedly. “I hold up a M and sing and everything.”

  “We can’t wait,” Marian said.

  Del sat forward and folded his hands on the table. “So how’s the soup?”

  “It’s a carb overload, but it’s wonderful,” Starla replied.

  Shirley Rumford took the McGraws’ orders and brought them water and silverware.

  Charlie resumed eating. “What spices do you think are in here, Starla?”

  “Parsley for certain, coarse ground pepper, paprika and cumin.”

  “I love cumin,” Marian said. “Do you cook, dear?”

  “Oh, Starla cooks,” Charlie said pointedly. “She’s a gourmet cook, actually. She’s opening her own restaurant in Maine.”

  “What an accomplishment for one so young,” Marian said.

  “Meaning, where’d you get the big bucks?” Charlie translated with a wry grin.

  “Charles,” his adoptive mother scolded.

  “I drove truck for several years before going to college,” Starla said. “Not much to spend money on when you’re living on the road, so I saved. My dad helped with school.”

  “Well, you should be very proud of yourself. I would love to taste your cooking one of these days.”

  “Me, too,” Charlie said.

  “I made you chicken salad,” she returned.

  “So you did.”

  Marian glanced from Charlie to Starla with a look of interest.

  Starla was grateful to see Shirley bring the McGraws’ food.<
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  “Meredith, move over now so Gramma can eat,” Charlie said.

  Meredith obediently moved to sit beside her grandmother.

  Starla was warmed by the reciprocal adoration between Meredith and Charlie’s parents. Meredith was a sweet and loving child, and the love and influence of grandparents was a blessing Starla herself had never known. The fact that these were Charlie’s adoptive parents, but his late wife’s biological parents was uppermost on her mind. She couldn’t resist studying them for resemblances to the young woman in the photograph on Meredith’s night table. It was difficult to feel out of place around them, because they were so nice.

  The conversation was pleasant, including talk of stranded motorists and holiday plans gone awry. “It doesn’t look as though you’ll be able to get back to your family by Christmas,” Marian said sympathetically. “It’s day after tomorrow.”

  “My dad and I didn’t have plans together this year,” she explained. “I was going to cook for friends, and they’ll get by without me.”

  “Well, if your truck hasn’t been pulled out and you’re still here, we’ll be more than happy to have you with us,” she said. “The local roads should be clear by tomorrow.”

  “Thank you,” Starla said, taking pleasure in the woman’s sincere graciousness. “As long as it’s not an inconvenience.”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Gramma, can I come home with you?” Meredith asked.

  Marian turned her attention. “You know that’s up to your dad.”

  “Can I go home with Gramma, Daddy?” Meredith asked hopefully. “I got a toothbrush there.”

  Charlie’s mother smiled at him, waiting for his reply.

  “Sure,” he said. “I do have those deliveries to make. It looks as though my customers will have their gifts for Christmas. I’ll come get you tomorrow when the road to town is open,” he said to his daughter. “You have to be back home with me for Christmas Eve.”

  Meredith giggled with delight and smiled up at her grandmother.

  “We can bake cookies,” Marian said.

  “With sprinkles?”

  “How about gingerbread men with sprinkles?”

  “Oh, yeah!”

  They lingered over pie and coffee, and once everyone was sufficiently warm and stuffed, they headed back outside where the light was fading. Voices raised in song floated on the cold air.