Stowaway Angel Read online

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  STARLA HUNG UP all their wet clothing, threw hats and gloves in the dryer and made hot chocolate while Charlie lit a fire in the fireplace, found a stand for the tree and set it up in the living room.

  Meredith danced around the room singing “Jingle Bells” and “Up on the ‘Houseroof’” with accompaniment of a tambourine.

  Carrying a laden tray into the room, Starla placed it on the cocktail table and called for them to come warm up.

  The tree wouldn’t have fit beneath an ordinary ceiling, but the vaulted expanse allowed the breathtaking spruce a perfect spot. “I’ve never seen such a big tree inside a home,” Starla said. “I saw one like this at a church when I was a kid.”

  Charlie perched on the sofa and picked up a steaming mug. “Sorry, we didn’t have any marshmallows.”

  “If I’d have had time I could have made some.”

  “Made marshmallows?”

  She nodded.

  “How in the world do you make marshmallows and who would want to?”

  “It’s not that difficult and I’ve done it a time or two.”

  He raised an eyebrow and tasted his cocoa. The warmth slid all the way to his toes. He looked at Starla in pleasant surprise.

  “I found the cinnamon in a cupboard. Hope you don’t mind that I used it.”

  His gaze must have slipped to Meredith’s cup because Starla said quickly, “No, hers is without. She might hate it.”

  He smiled. “You’re right.”

  She had made thick chicken salad sandwiches and handed each of them a plate and a napkin. Meredith sat at the cocktail table as though it was a dining table. “This is yummy, Starla. You’re a good cooker.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced at the tambourine on the edge of the sofa, then at Charlie. “I brought my iPod along and I have a few Christmas selections. Do you mind if I use your dock?”

  He chewed appreciatively and swallowed. “Not at all. Holler if you need a hand.”

  “I think I can figure it out. Where are the tree ornaments stored?”

  “There’s a storage room at the back of the house. After we eat, you two can help me find things and bring them in.”

  “Do we got a angel for the top?” Meredith asked.

  “Honey, we have a star, remember?”

  “A star is like you, huh, Starla?” the girl said. “Star. Starla.”

  “Almost the same,” she replied.

  The sandwich was delicious. “What’s in this? It really is good.”

  “Curry. I rummaged through your spice cabinet. A lot of them are out-of-date, you know. If you buy prepackaged spices, you should make sure you have fresh ones.”

  He glanced at her. He and Meredith ate pretty simply. Macaroni and cheese and hot dogs didn’t call for a whole lot of added flavors. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  She looked at him and glanced away self-consciously then, as though she felt silly for saying anything.

  Charlie enjoyed a second mug full of spiced cocoa before Meredith became impatient. He carried the dishes to the kitchen, then gestured for the girls to follow him.

  In the spacious storeroom, he moved aside cartons and bins to get to the boxes on the shelves in the back. He handed Meredith a small container and Starla a larger one, then stacked several in the hallway so they could come back for them.

  When all the containers were spread out and opened in the living room, Meredith helped Starla select music while Charlie untangled twinkle lights. The lights took longer, so they ended up helping him and then giving advice while he strung them on the tree.

  From his position atop the ladder, Charlie paused for a moment and listened to the upbeat version of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” “Who is this group?”

  Starla opened a box and took out several packages of glass ornaments. Without looking up, she answered, “I forget.”

  “You didn’t forget, who is it?”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear. “The Hansons.”

  “The Hansons? You mean those blond-haired adolescents who had a group all those years ago, for about a month?”

  She threw a bow at him. “Don’t laugh, this is a good album. I didn’t hear you playing any Christmas music.”

  She had him there. He’d basically ignored Christmas, except for the extra jobs he’d taken on. Any Christmas music in the house would have been Kendra’s and he certainly didn’t want to listen to it and be reminded of their last years together.

  “I like it, Daddy.” Meredith was humming and unwrapping ornaments instead of using the tambourine, so that was a plus, he conceded.

  Once the lights were strung to his satisfaction, they hung decorations. All of Meredith’s offerings were on the lower half in a charming cluster arrangement. Starla discovered a shoebox filled with handcrafted items made of Popsicle sticks, construction paper and cotton balls. “My, where did these lovely creations come from?”

  Meredith smiled and lowered her head beside Starla’s, one shiny head of hair so dark, the other so light that Charlie stared at the contrast. “I made them!” his daughter told her proudly. She turned to Charlie. “Where’s the new ones I made this year?”

  “Stuck on the fridge, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She scampered off to get them.

  Starla watched her go before picking up a snapshot of Meredith framed by painted craft sticks. Globs of glitter sparkled on each corner. Meredith looked younger, but her charming dimpled smile was just the same.

  Each item in this box had been packed in tissue as carefully as the glass balls had been. She pictured Charlie storing them the year before. As a single father, he bore the heavy responsibility of raising a daughter and seeing to her physical and emotional needs, but it seemed that he managed the task well. He adored her and Meredith obviously felt the same about him. Christmas must be a sad-sweet time for them both without the wife and mother they’d lost.

  Starla looked up and found him observing her again. He was a lucky man to have his daughter and this home. But there was a weariness about him, a sadness that seemed to weigh him down. She recalled Meredith’s words that first night when Starla had discovered her in her sleeper. He’s sad, she had said. That’s why you have to help. If you sprinkle some of your miracle dust on him so he can be happy again, I know he’ll find me a new mommy.

  Meredith was very perceptive for her tender years. He was sad. But he didn’t seem to be in the market for Meredith’s new mommy. He was grieving his wife. Starla understood that well. Her father had mourned her mother for years and years, only recently enjoying the company of another woman. Many times Starla had felt bad in thinking that her father spent more energy grieving his dead wife than he had providing a home environment for his daughter. Charlie obviously knew the importance of security for his child.

  He was attracted to Starla, no doubt about it; there was a simmering physical attraction between them. But that’s all it was. He wasn’t in the market for anything more, and she was wise enough to keep that in perspective.

  “You want to hang these on the tree?” she asked.

  He took a few steps toward her and accepted the box. “Did you put up a tree at your place?”

  She nodded. “Brought one home the first week of December. I love Christmas.”

  “A real one?”

  She nodded.

  “Anyone there to water it?”

  That was something she hadn’t even thought of, now that he mentioned it. She certainly didn’t want a fire hazard sitting in her apartment. “Oh, wow. I’d better call my friend Geri to go over and take care of that.”

  “He has a key?”

  “She,” Starla corrected, “has a key. Excuse me.” She ran upstairs to get her phone and place a quick call to her girlfriend. After
visiting for a few minutes, she returned to find Charlie and his daughter hanging the last ornament. The tree twinkled with colorful lights, but the decorations barely filled the branches. “I think we need to string some popcorn.”

  “What for?” Meredith asked.

  “For a garland. Haven’t you ever strung popcorn?”

  The little girl shook her head.

  “Do you have regular popcorn?” she asked Charlie. “Not the microwave kind, I mean.”

  “In the freezer. I have several bags I got from one of the nearby farmers.”

  “Needles and thread?”

  “Sure.”

  “We’re set, then.” She found a heavy kettle in the kitchen, added oil and popped the corn on the stove.

  “I never had that kind of popcorn afore,” Meredith said, listening to the popping sounds with awe.

  “Believe it or not, this used to be the only kind of popcorn there was,” Charlie said.

  “Really?”

  “Really. Because there were no microwaves yet.”

  “Where were they all?”

  “Not invented.”

  “Wow. Did they get invented when I was born?”

  “Before you were born.”

  “And we live-ded here in this house, right?”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “Did my mama decorate the tree then?”

  Charlie nodded. “Yes.”

  “Did she make popcorn for the tree?”

  He shook his head. “No. Let’s carry the bowls into the other room.”

  In the living room, he tended the fire while Starla threaded needles and showed Meredith the art of stringing the corn. Meredith ate more kernels than she got on the thread and eventually curled up on the sofa and slept.

  “We wore her out.” Charlie covered her with a fleece blanket and sat beside Starla to help.

  “Coming up with a million questions a day is exhausting,” she replied with a smile.

  He chuckled and she enjoyed the sound, intuitively knowing he didn’t do it often. “I was beginning to wonder if you could do that.”

  He glanced up. “Do what?”

  “Laugh. Well, that wasn’t exactly a laugh, but a little sound of amusement did slip out.”

  “Ha-ha. Was that better?”

  “It’s okay to laugh, Charlie.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Phil.”

  She looked down at her task. He had a way of making her feel foolish, but she couldn’t seem to hold herself back from talking to him and enjoying his company. She must be some kind of sucker for a handsome face and a sad story, because he possessed both and she found him fascinating.

  A couple of minutes passed.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She looked up to find him studying her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  He dropped his thread full of kernels into the bowl between them and set it on his other side so nothing separated them. “For being a jerk when you’re being serious.”

  “We don’t know each other very well,” she replied, keenly aware of his nearness. “I should keep my comments to myself.”

  “How boring would that be?”

  She shrugged.

  “All kidding aside,” he said. “I need someone to tell me the truth about myself from time to time.”

  “I wasn’t criticizing.”

  “I didn’t take it that way.”

  She looked into his eyes and admired the color, so dark and yet so vivid and so different from his daughter’s. He sat close enough that she could smell wood on his hair and clothing, the spicy scent that always clung to him, and it affected her as it always did. “I’m a little uncomfortable with how close you’re sitting.”

  “Uncomfortable because you don’t like it? Or because you do?”

  Getting right to it, was he? She could be straightforward and unashamed about her feelings. Her stomach dipped, but she admitted, “Because I do.”

  “You’re outspoken. I like that about you.”

  “I’m honest with myself and don’t try to be something I’m not.”

  “I don’t think you could be,” he replied. “It would show in your eyes.”

  “The windows to my soul?” she said with a smile.

  “Something like that.”

  “What about you?” she asked. “Aren’t you honest with yourself?”

  “You have to know who you are to not kid yourself,” he answered.

  “Who are you?”

  “Who knows.”

  “Maybe you only have to know what you want.”

  His gaze moved across her face, touching on her lips and back to her eyes. “Maybe. How are you in that department?”

  “I know what I want.” She licked her lips and took pleasure in watching his copper gaze smolder. “And I think you do, too.”

  The corner of his wide mouth raised in a grin. “Your psychic abilities again?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “All right, Madame Starla. Read my mind.”

  She closed her eyes in pretend thought. Excitement quivered through her. “You want to kiss me.”

  She heard his quick intake of breath.

  Starla opened her eyes and found his gaze dark, his eyes hooded. His nostrils flared with his breathing.

  “How did I do?” she asked barely above a whisper.

  “You’re good with mind reading. How are your precognitive abilities?”

  She hadn’t had fun like this or enjoyed another person’s company so much for longer than she cared to remember. Charlie was challengingly witty and surprisingly funny. “It’s not an exact science, you know, but there’s a good chance I can predict something here and there.”

  “Shoot.”

  The words formed in her mind. Heat sluiced through her veins and she felt a tremor begin deep inside. “You’re going to kiss me.”

  “There’s always the chance that what you’re saying put the idea in my head, and I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.”

  “There’s also the chance that you’ll talk it to death and Meredith will wake up before you’ve used the opportunity.”

  He laughed then. A real laugh that melted her bones. He took her shoulder in his strong grasp, turning her toward him. “You’re fun.”

  She didn’t need much urging. “I was thinking the same about you.”

  He leaned forward and she slid her arm around his neck to meet his lips.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHARLIE DIDN’T KISS as though he was out of practice. His lips tasted salty from the popcorn. He moved his hand from her shoulder to slide it into her hair.

  Her heart lurched and butterflies swooped in her belly.

  If the fact that he looked good and smelled great was pushing her over the edge, she’d be in total free fall after experiencing the kiss. What was it about him that drew her in and focused all her senses acutely on the exquisite pleasure he created? Keep your cool, Starla. Don’t make a fool of yourself.

  A completely, devastatingly, incredible first kiss. Starla didn’t think she’d ever been kissed like this.

  “What are we doing?” he rasped on a throaty breath. He glanced aside and Starla followed his quick gaze to the opposite end of the wraparound sofa where Meredith lay sleeping soundly.

  Starla turned her attention back to Charlie. She wanted to kiss him again more than she wanted to breathe. “Just a kiss,” she said softly.

  “If that was just a kiss, then what’s outside is a just a few flurries.”

  She couldn’t resist a smile. The afternoon took on a momentous quality that she recognized as one of those moments she would remember forever as an event that had changed her life. The music
had stopped, so there wasn’t even a song to cover the sound of their heightened breathing or the rapid beat of their hearts. Charlie smelled like wood and sunshine, and she tasted him on her lips.

  Take it easy, Starla. Don’t go glamorizing a kiss into something it’s not. I won’t. I’m a big girl. But I want more.

  “What am I thinking?” Charlie asked on a whisper.

  She studied his eyes. “That your daughter could wake up any moment?”

  “Didn’t cross my mind until a moment ago.”

  “That I can’t really read your mind?”

  He shook his head.

  She dared to hope when she responded, “You’re thinking about kissing me again?”

  “As much as I want that—” his smile faded “—I really can’t handle a complication.”

  Despite his words, Charlie raised his hands to her shoulders and pulled her close to cover her lips with his once more briefly before moving over toward the tree.

  Starla finished the strands of popcorn while Charlie packed the ornament boxes and carried the cartons back to storage.

  By then Meredith was awake and she helped Starla hang the homemade garland on the tree. Evening cast its winter darkness and, together with the snow, encased them in the privacy and peace of the warm comfortable log house.

  Starla had never enjoyed preparing for Christmas as much as she was enjoying this time with the McGraws. And they weren’t even her family, she thought as she realized how remarkably at home she was feeling. She’d happened into the comfort and security of an intimate haven.

  Charlie, Meredith, their loving relationship, the house, the snow and the overall mood all played a part in the feelings of cocooned serenity and salvation.

  Dangerous maybe. Probably. Undoubtedly. None of this was real. None of it was secure. She was a stranger passing through their lives. She would be gone soon and they would go on as if she’d never been here. But as long as she knew that, as long as she kept it in perspective, why shouldn’t she enjoy her time here for what it was?

  She intended to. And she intended to make the most of it in the short time she had. Why shouldn’t she?