“What, my yearbook?”
“Yeah. Unless you don’t want me to.”
“Well, no, I don’t care. I just have to remember where it is.” Pushing to his feet, he opened one of the cabinets built into the wall beside the fireplace, revealing books and picture albums. He found what he wanted and after glancing at the cover, handed it to Starla.
She rolled onto her stomach and opened the book.
“McGraw,” she said, flipping to the index pages and running a finger down the names. Charles was listed on half a dozen pages, and she started with the first one.
It was the football team, and a young Charlie posed with one knee on the ground, his helmet under his arm, in a row of other players. His face was slimmer, his hair longer, and he wore a serious expression.
On the next page she located Charlie wearing a tux and standing beside the dark-haired girl who would become his wife, the same person in the photo on Meredith’s dresser. She wore a floor-length dress with slender straps over her shoulders and they posed on the dance floor with a dozen balloons overhead.
“Partners Kendra Phillips and Charlie McGraw, Elmwood High’s inseparable duo, are in step as usual,” the caption read.
Kendra wore her hair in an upswept style and a radiant smile lit her features. Charlie’s hand was touching her waist. Starla forced her gaze away and quickly located the next picture of him in the rows of seniors’ head shots. Charlie’s good-natured smile was in place on a much younger version of the same man. Beneath his likeness, she read, “Honor roll, student council, varsity football, Y-club.” Scrawled around and under were dozens of signatures, “Stay cool” and “You’re the man” written in youthful script.
A fascinating peek into his past. There was a lot about Charlie McGraw that she didn’t know.
Starla flipped through the pages, glancing at autographs that read, “You and Kendra are a cool couple” and “Kendra is lucky to have you.”
His high school sweetheart.
Starla closed the book. He’d said it was uncomfortable to talk about his wife, and it was really none of Starla’s business, so she kept her thoughts and questions to herself. She wanted to ask when he’d first known he loved Kendra and about the things they’d done together as a young couple.
Somehow she pictured them crazy in love and sneaking away at every opportunity to do fun stuff. Starla hadn’t stayed at one school long enough to have a real boyfriend. “Honor roll, huh?”
“You’re dying to ask me something,” he said.
She shook her head.
“Yeah, you are, go ahead.”
It probably wasn’t cool in a casual relationship such as this to wonder about the other person’s past partners. Charlie certainly hadn’t questioned her. “It’s none of my business, Charlie.”
He picked up the glass he’d refilled and drank. “You’re wondering about my wife.”
“I’m curious.”
“Everyone said we were perfect for each other.”
“You made an attractive couple.”
“My mom used to talk about us getting married before either of us had ever mentioned it. She’d say teasing things like, ‘If you had changed your name to Phillips, then Kendra wouldn’t even have to change her name when you got married.’ And we’d chuckle over it. Our names were always linked.
“And when we got to high school, because we lived in the same house, we of course walked together and went home together, and everyone saw us as a couple. At home we were able to talk about things. She was a good sounding board. A good friend.”
Charlie fell silent. When he glanced at Starla, she gave him a tender smile. He moved the food tray aside and leaned toward her for a kiss. On his lips she tasted salt from the crackers and the sweetness of the iced tea.
Starla had never known the sense of home and comfort she had experienced here with Charlie and his daughter. Her heart cried out for this strong tender man, but her head warned her of the brevity of his visit.
When Charlie smiled and looked into her eyes, she wished she was brave enough to tell him her feelings. But she wasn’t. As long as they kept things like this nobody got hurt.
She settled comfortably into the blankets. Charlie’s strong hand caressing her shoulder soothed her, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the moment.
Starla awoke with a start. Morning light filtered through the blinds. The delicious aroma of coffee stirred her senses and she pushed up onto one elbow.
Charlie had obviously showered and dressed and now carried two mugs toward her. “Morning, sleepyhead.”
“What time is it?”
“Early yet. Barely seven.”
Holding the blanket to her chest, she accepted a cup, and he sat on the floor with her.
She felt self-conscious with her hair ruffled, and quite likely there were sleep creases on her cheek. Charlie’s eyes showed only appreciation, however, as his gaze moved over her. He sipped from his mug and Starla did the same, the rich flavor of the brew awakening her taste buds and warming her. “Mmm, this is good.”
“You fell asleep in front of the fire and I didn’t have the heart to wake you. I put enough logs on to keep you warm all night before I headed to bed.”
She would be leaving. Her heart dipped as though she’d plummeted in an elevator. Did he share the same bereft loss she felt at the thought? The same urgency to cram as many memories as possible into the short time they had left? Of course not. She was only a winter diversion.
“I should shower,” she said.
“Not on my account.” He leaned to close his mouth over hers for a quick kiss.
“Starla,” he said.
“Hmm?”
“Did your dad have expectations for you? I mean, what did he want you to do with your life?”
She studied his earnest face for a moment. “He taught me his business. We ran it together for a couple of years after I graduated high school. I wasn’t happy, and he knew it. He knew I wanted roots. When I told him I wanted to go to college, he gave me his blessing and a bank account.”
“How did you tell him?”
“I just laid it out as plainly as I could. I’d found all the information on the colleges I wanted to try for and showed it to him.”
“He wasn’t disappointed?”
“He was happy for me. He didn’t really know what to do with a daughter on the road all those years. He did his best. We were a team. But he was okay with me taking a new direction.”
“But you’re close now?”
“As close as we can be when he’s never in one place. Why do you ask? Are you thinking about Meredith? You have an entirely different situation. She’s secure and confident in the home you’ve provided for her.”
He nodded.
She threw off the piles of covers, then stood. “I’m going to shower.”
Charlie got up too. “The roads are clear. I’m going to load the Jeep. Want to find some breakfast here or eat in town?”
“Whatever you’d like. I’ll call and arrange for the tow.”
* * *
SITTING IN THE Waggin’ Tongue, Charlie remembered the first time he’d seen Starla. It had only been four days ago, but everything had changed in that short time. It felt as if his whole life had been altered.
Starla’s cell phone rang. She answered and gave the caller directions to Charlie’s road. “Okay, that’s great. Thank you.”
She switched off the phone. “Day after tomorrow.”
This was Christmas Eve. The day after Christmas she’d be gone. An empty feeling yawned in Charlie’s gut and he fought back an adolescent urge to hit something.
“I feel responsible for the bonus you lost,” he said, his throat thick with the things he couldn’t say.
“You’re not.”
“But I wan
t to repay you somehow. I could make up the difference in what you lost.”
“Don’t insult me, Charlie,” she said, her tone the most severe he’d ever heard.
“But my daughter is the one who—”
“Unforeseen circumstances,” she interrupted. “If I’d had you come to meet me instead of driving back here, maybe I would have missed the worst of the storm and you’d have been the one stuck somewhere for a few days. Who knows? It just happened, and my dad understands. There’ll be another bonus. Trust me, he’s not hard up.” She glanced over the menu. “Why have truck stops never heard of fruit?”
“There’s a strawberry waffle.”
“And the strawberry glaze comes from a can.”
“There’s orange juice.”
“I’ll have juice and toast.”
When Shirley sauntered over she asked, “Where’s Meredith?”
“Spent the night with my folks,” Charlie replied.
The woman didn’t say anything, but Charlie knew where her thoughts traveled.
Starla ate her toast and drank a cup of coffee that didn’t taste nearly as good as the cup she’d shared with Charlie that morning.
They ate and Charlie paid, and then he delivered his projects. Starla got to see a beautifully constructed rocking chair, a small chest with drawers and decorative legs, and a wall shelf. Each piece was uniquely crafted, the wood smooth and finished with detailed carved designs. Charlie was a craftsman, but an artist, as well.
His customers paid him and called holiday greetings. He drove to a grocery store and they shopped, Charlie buying fruit and vegetables and asking Starla to pick up ingredients to cook a meal that evening. She did so and they paid and loaded the groceries.
He drove to a brick home in a lovely neighborhood and parked in the driveway beside a basketball hoop.
Disappointment dampened her spirits. Their brief interlude was over. The end was almost here.
“Is this where you grew up?” she asked, working to sound more cheerful than she felt.
He nodded and took her hand as she got out of the vehicle.
Charlie opened the door without knocking and ushered Starla inside the house. Marian Phillips was a collector. Every wall and each surface was covered with a collection of something, from teddy bear figurines to miniature Victorian houses. She had several pieces of furniture that bore Charlie’s signature carvings.
“Hello!” Charlie called.
“Out here,” was the reply.
He took her coat and hung it beside his in a closet, then led Starla through a doorway into an enormous kitchen. The walls were covered with spatterware pots and utensils, and braided rugs covered the floor. It was a warm and inviting room with a round table and cushioned chairs, a china cabinet and even an old wooden high chair holding a doll.
Meredith jumped up from the table where she’d been coloring with marking pens and ran to hug her father.
Marian was stirring something aromatic on the stove. “You’re just in time for lunch. Starla, I hope you like minestrone.”
“I adore minestrone.”
Meredith released her dad and immediately hugged Starla around the hips. “I missed you, too!”
“Well, thanks, sweetie.” Starla touched Meredith’s hair with affection. The child’s spontaneous gesture touched her deeply. Children were a new experience for Starla, and she had grown fond of this special one in the short time she’d known her. She swallowed an unexpected lump in her throat and blinked away the threat of tears.
Marian ushered them onto chairs at the table and pushed an intercom button. “Del, it’s lunchtime. We have guests.”
“Be right there.”
“He’s putting together another model airplane,” she said. “As though there aren’t enough in his den. Ah, well, it keeps him busy.”
Meredith climbed onto her dad’s lap and batted those big blue eyes up at him. “It’s Christmas Eve, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a special night tonight.”
Charlie nodded.
“Daddy, can I be ungrounded from my book just for tonight? Will you read it to me for a Christmas story?”
Silence hung in the room and Starla’s and Marian’s attention focused on Charlie.
He’d taken the book away as punishment. No doubt he was torn, wanting to let Meredith enjoy her book on this special night and yet knowing he needed to be firm in teaching her the consequences of her actions.
“Meredith, what you did was wrong,” he said. “You could have been badly hurt. You didn’t know Starla was a nice lady who would bring you home.”
She nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh. I knew she was a angel lady, and angels are good.”
“She was a stranger to you,” he insisted.
The child’s expression clouded and a tear rolled down her cheek.
Charlie resolutely stood his ground. “Starla was hurt because she brought you back. She lost...some of her paycheck because her load is late. All of that is very serious.”
Starla felt like the bad guy now, though she knew Charlie was right and that children learn by the results of their behavior. She probably wouldn’t make a very good parent, because she’d have given in immediately.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I won’t never do it again.”
“I forgive you, Meredith,” he said. “You’re just a little girl who can’t imagine the bad things that could happen. But I have told you many times that you have to ask permission and that you must stay away from people you don’t know. Those are the reasons for your punishment.”
Meredith didn’t cry or display a temper. She simply leaned trustingly against Charlie’s chest, her hair touching his chin, and splayed her hand on the front of his shirt.
Starla’s heart tugged with empathy for the child and admiration for the man. She glanced at Marian and read similar feelings in the expression on her face. The woman quickly brushed at her cheek and resumed stirring the soup on the stove.
Charlie met Starla’s gaze then, and it was plain in his eyes how difficult it was for him to disappoint his daughter in any way. But he obviously loved her so much that he knew the rules were imperative. The glimpse into a very personal part of their lives reinforced feelings of admiration and affection that had taken root in her heart when she hadn’t been looking. At the same time, she felt even more like an intruder.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
STARLA GOT ANOTHER glimpse into Charlie’s life when his father showed up at the table. He was a delightful gentleman, and Starla recognized qualities in both of the Phillipses that had led them to take in a child and raise him as their own. They quite obviously loved him as their son. And Meredith held the unique position of being the offspring of both their beloved children, biological and adopted.
Marian’s soup was delicious, and Starla told her so. “You used cumin,” Starla said with an appreciative smile.
“Don’t you love it?” Marian replied. “It’s such a robust seasoning.”
Charlie rolled his eyes.
Starla laughed. “Marian, you speak my language!”
Charlie chuckled and caught Meredith’s spoon before it fell off the table, placing it back in her bowl as though it was second nature to run interference at the dinner table.
“Wait til you see our gingerbread man cookies,” Meredith said. “I got some to bring home, and Gramma gots some to save for tomorrow.”
“There’s enough for each of us to have one for dessert, too,” Marian said.
Meredith clapped her hands and Charlie caught her glass of milk before it tipped over and placed it farther back on the table.
Meredith chattered about their baking and playtime, and Starla recognized the importance of the older woman in Meredith’s life. She had missed special times
with her mother, but remembered her aunt fondly for those reasons. Every girl needed a maternal influence.
The soup was so good that Starla ate a second bowl before accepting a cookie from Meredith. Marian poured her a glass of milk.
“Oh, my,” Starla said in appreciation. “This one has silver buttons.”
“You can eat ’em!” Meredith said. “They’re candy!”
“This is the best gingerbread man I’ve ever seen.”
Charlie bit the leg off his and walked the cookie around as though it had a limp.
Meredith giggled and bit the leg from her cookie to mimic her father.
Marian placed a tray laden with fudge, divinity and chocolate-covered pretzels on the table. Wide-eyed, Meredith immediately leaned forward, and Charlie halted her with, “One of each, and that’s it.”
Eventually Starla helped Marian with the dishes, enjoying the chore because of the woman’s pleasant company. Del returned to his model planes, and before long Charlie bundled up Meredith to leave. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Mom.”
Marian kissed his cheek, hugged Meredith and gave Starla a warm hug, as well. “I can’t wait to see you again tomorrow. You’ll get to meet Charlie’s brothers and their families. They’ll be here late tonight.”
Starla was touched by her sincere invitation. “I bought a few things at the store. May I bring a dish?”
“Certainly,” Marian replied.
Settled in the Cherokee on the way home, Starla said, “So I get to meet the brothers.”
“Both of them.”
“Older or younger?”
“Older. They were in junior high when the Phillipses took me in. I think I was in fourth grade.”
“You said you never knew your dad, but you remember your mother?”
He nodded. “I was lonely and miserable for some time after she was killed and after the Phillipses took me in. But they treated me so well and were so understanding that it was hard not to love them and feel loved in return. I owe them my whole childhood and upbringing. I never had to go to a foster home. It could have been a lot worse, but they gave me a home and a family.”
“It’s an incredible story,” she agreed. “They are terrific people.”
Stowaway Angel Page 12
