My Lucky Stars (5 page)

“Mmm,” he said, grinning at her. “That’s going to melt if you don’t finish it.”

“I don’t want to. I’m tired.” Cadie pushed the glass away and leaned on her mom.

“When it’s bedtime, she goes downhill fast,” Ellen said.

Ben glanced at Tara’s bowl. Only a few noodles and some broth remained. “If you’re ready, I’ll grab our check and we can get going.”

“Sure,” Tara said. “And thanks for dinner. I’ll send you some money for it when I get home.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ben raised his hand to get their waiter’s attention.
Let’s just get you home—to
your
home that is. Or to Boulder or wherever it is you’re going.
Instead of getting more comfortable having her with them, he felt like things were getting progressively more awkward as the evening wore on.

Ben took care of the bill, and they bundled up and headed for the elevators. He looked at Tara skeptically. “I’ll take the stairs with you if you’d like.”

She hesitated as the elevator chimed then opened. Ben noted that it wasn’t very full, and only two other people were waiting to get on. It wouldn’t be nearly as crowded this time.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay.”

They got on, and she stood to one side, her hands clasped in front of her, eyes shut tight, lips moving silently the whole ride down. Ben thought she was doing pretty well until she opened her eyes just before they stepped off. Wild panic filled her expression, and he realized how difficult the ride must have been for her.

“Are you all right?” he asked as they made their way toward the doors.

“I think the cold air will actually feel good right now.” She tried to smile.

“Then do you mind if we stop by the nativity scene on our way out?” Ellen asked.

“Cadie can hardly walk,” Ben said. His sister was really pushing things as far as he was concerned. Didn’t she realize she had not one but two weary travelers, not to mention her own daughter—nearly asleep on her feet? Ben reached down and picked up Cadie, this time cradling her in his arms. She turned her face into his chest, and he experienced another glimpse of what he’d come to think of as imagined fatherhood. He could have a little girl this age, a little girl like Cadie.

But he didn’t.

“It’s really not that much out of our way,” Ellen said. She led them down the street, through the Temple Square gate, and past the visitors’ center. She found a spot in front of the nativity while Ben and Tara—limping along in a pair of ridiculously high heels—caught up.

“I love Christmas,” Ellen gushed. “Love this place.” When she looked up at Ben, her eyes were full of unshed tears. “I’m going to miss Utah so much.”

Ah
, Ben thought.
So that’s what this is all about. Great. I’m going to be dealing with an emotional female the next few days. No wonder Dallin went on ahead and agreed to let me drive his family out.

“How could anyone miss this cold?” Tara muttered, and Ben wasn’t sure whether she meant for them to hear her.

Cadie stirred in his arms and began to fuss. “I want to go to bed. I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Ellen,” Ben said. “We need to get go—”

“In a minute, Benji.” Ellen’s head tilted back as she stared past the nativity, up to the second floor of the visitors’ center and the statue of the
Christus
that was visible through the large glass window. “Can’t you feel it—the spirit that’s here?”

Ben couldn’t honestly say he did. He didn’t feel much of anything but annoyed right now. Ellen was wiping her eyes, getting all weepy on him. Cadie continued to whine, and she wiggled so much he set her on the ground. On his other side Tara was muttering under her breath about the cold and everything else.

“Ellen,” he said, firmer this time. “Let’s
go
.”

“All right.” She let out a long sigh and turned away from the nativity. “Don’t you just love Christmas?” she said to Tara.

“No,” Tara said, sounding as if she’d reached the breaking point herself. “I don’t. I think it’s a depressing time of year.”

Ellen’s mouth opened, and even in the dark Ben could see the shock in her eyes.

But he was trying to contain a smile. It was the first thing Tara had said all evening that he completely agreed with.

Five

“Down, Coulter, down,” Ellen scolded the large black Labrador that met them at the door.

Tara held her purse up in a feeble attempt to fend off the dog’s curious attention, but the bag was no match for the slobbery tongue and paws that poked at her. If Ben noticed her predicament, he didn’t try to help but instead carried his duffel right past them and into the main part of the house.

Left a lone hostage in the entryway, her purse held over her head, Tara stared down at the beast. It raised one paw, placing it on her skirt, and its tongue lolled from its mouth a good three inches. A big strand of dog drool rolled from the side of its mouth and landed on her shoe.

“That’s it!” Tara pushed the paw away and brought her purse down squarely on the dog’s nose. It let out a surprised, pathetic whimper and turned tail.

“And stay there—wherever it is you’re going,” Tara said. Straightening her skirt, she walked forward and found herself at the entrance of a vaulted great room. A large fireplace took up most of the wall on one end, with the kitchen opposite. Several expensive-looking pieces of furniture resided in between, and Tara felt a measure of relief at seeing them. She’d been worried—the past half hour or so—just what she’d gotten herself into. Ellen seemed mostly normal, but her kid was on the wild side, and if there were two more at home like Cadie . . . well, they could have been taking her to some run-down shack in the middle of the wilderness. That they’d driven up so close to the mountains had only made her more anxious.

Walking to the nearest sofa, Tara sank onto it then immediately jumped up when something shrieked at her. Cadie ran over and grabbed a doll from the spot where Tara had tried to sit.

“You hurt Missy.” She held the doll close, examining her for signs of damage.

“Sorry,” Tara said then glanced around to see if Ben or Ellen were nearby. Seeing that they weren’t, she added, “Maybe you shouldn’t leave your toys where people sit.”

“We don’t
sit
here. We bounce.” To emphasize her point, Cadie stepped up on the sofa and began jumping.

“Cadie,” Ellen scolded as she walked by.

Right, I’ll bet you bounce, little monster.
Tara gave Cadie a smug look.

“If you’re going to jump on the furniture, take your shoes off,” Ellen said.

Cadie flung the look right back at Tara, just before she flung her shoes across the room.

“She really is a good girl,” Ben said, coming to stand beside Tara. “And Ellen’s a great mom. She and I had a little—different—upbringing. We learned pretty young what was really important and what wasn’t. Ellen understands that kids like to jump on furniture, and it’s not such a big deal.”

“We just have to make sure we buy high-quality couches.” Ellen put her hand on the back of the leather sofa. “And Cadie would never jump on someone else’s furniture, but this is her
home
, and she’s allowed to be a child here.” She and Ben exchanged a meaningful glance that Tara nearly missed, tired as she was.

Ellen handed a bundle of folded flannel sheets to her. “Most of my things are packed, but I did keep out an extra nightgown.”

“Thanks,” Tara said.
This is a
nightgown
? It must weigh three pounds. How lovely. I’ve been taken in by the flannel family.

“The bathroom is the second door on the right.” Ellen stepped back, pointing toward a hall where boxes were stacked. “I’ll find a towel for you, but I’m afraid I don’t have any extra toothbrushes.”

“No problem,” Tara said. “I keep one in my purse.”

Ben arched his eyebrow at this, but Tara met his gaze without flinching. Good oral hygiene was important, not to mention one never knew when a dinner date might turn into something more. And in those situations, fresh breath could be critical.

“Well, then, if you don’t need anything else . . .” Ellen said.

She looks tired—exhausted
, Tara thought, noting the dark circles under Ellen’s eyes.
See what motherhood does to you.
She could hear a baby crying in the other room, and Cadie was doing her best to wrench her mother’s arm from its socket as she begged for a bedtime story. The dog had returned and was nudging Ellen’s side, vying for attention too.

“Thank you for everything,” Tara said, drudging up what little energy she had left to give Ellen a sincere smile.

Ben scooped up Cadie and carted her off down the hall. “I’ll tell you a story tonight,” he said. “A
really scary
one.”

Cadie squealed and kicked her legs. Ellen followed. Tara made her way to the bathroom, stepped inside, and shut and locked the door. She leaned against it for a second, relishing the privacy, realizing she hadn’t been alone since early that morning.

She looked around the small room, noting it was stripped bare, save for the roll of toilet paper, a soap dispenser, and a hand towel. Even the shower curtain was gone, leaving her no alternative but to clean up as best she could without a shower. Leaning forward over the sink, she turned on the water and began washing her face, freeing her skin from the excess of makeup she’d applied that morning. She had more foundation, eye shadow, mascara, and lipstick in her purse as well, so she could reapply everything in the morning—just before she caught a plane to Denver.

The water was soothing, and as her foundation washed away, Tara felt a little of her stress leave as well. She certainly wasn’t at a Boulder spa as she’d planned, but she also wasn’t stuck at the airport. A little sleep, a few more phone calls, and by this time tomorrow her side trip to Utah would be a quickly fading memory.

She took out her toothbrush and toothpaste and cleaned her teeth then found her hairbrush and began brushing out the self-induced ratting she’d done earlier. Mid-stroke she looked down at the flannel piled on the toilet lid.
At least I’ll be warm.
With that thought, she changed her clothes quickly, slipping the nightgown over her head.

Once on, it billowed out around her, the pattern of tiny red hearts and blue flowers trailing in lines to mid-calf. The gown was probably supposed to be longer, but she had a good couple of inches on Ellen. The eyelet-edged sleeves were a little short as well. Tara stared at her reflection in the mirror, feeling like she was ten again.

“Gertrude’s Mystery,” she muttered, thinking of her friend Jane Warner—now Jane Bryant—for the second time that day. Tara pulled the brush through her tangled hair again and remembered those nights she’d spent at Jane’s house—some more frequent than others, depending upon who she was dating at the time—when she’d often teased Jane about her flannel nightgowns.

“You’ll never catch a man wearing that sort of thing,” Tara had said on more than one occasion. “Where do you find those gowns, anyway? In the granny section of the store, beside the big panties?”

“Stop.” Jane threw a pillow at Tara. “Be nice, or I won’t let you sleep here.”

“Sure you will,” Tara said. “Because you
are
nice and sweet and—everything else that sort of sleeping attire implies.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jane asked, frowning at her.

“I mean you’re innocent—like a sweet little girl. Problem is, guys aren’t looking for sweet. They’re after spicy. Look how well Victoria’s Secret does.”

“That may be so,” Jane said. “But I’m not a Victoria’s Secret kind of girl, so why would I want to attract a guy who’s after that?”

“Because
all
guys are after that.” Tara had sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward, earnestly wanting her poor, misinformed friend to understand
Guys 101
, which she’d so obviously missed in high school.

“And when they get that thing they’re after,” Jane mused, one hand on her chin, deep in thought. “That leaves you . . . here. Spending the night at my house, because you don’t want to be around the guy because he doesn’t treat you right. Nuh-uh.” She shook her head. “No thank you to that plan. I’m more of a—” She paused then spun around, her flannel nightgown twirling with her. “
Gertrude’s Mystery
kind of girl. The guy I choose is going to have to marry me before he sees what’s beneath this flannel.”

“Won’t happen,” Tara had predicted.

But it had.

Tara stopped brushing and studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Four years had passed since Jane’s wedding. Grandma nightgowns notwithstanding, Jane had married a great guy, and she’d married him on her terms, keeping her standards.

A knocking on the bathroom door made her jump and pulled her from the memory. Tara opened the door. Instead of Ellen, Ben stood there, a towel and washcloth in his outstretched hand. He stared at her for a few seconds before speaking.

“Ellen said to tell you that you’re welcome to use her bathroom since there isn’t a shower curtain in here anymore.”

Tara took the towel and washcloth from him. “Thanks. It would be nice to shower in the morning. I’m too tired now.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

Tara held the towel to her chest, waiting for him to leave.

Several awkward seconds passed, and Tara wondered if she’d missed something when Ben finally said, “Night, then.”

“Good night,” she said, closing the door softly as he turned to go. Despite her tiredness and the less-than-stellar impression he’d made, a slow smile formed on her lips. She glanced down at the flannel gown, swishing it back and forth.

Gertrude’s Mystery indeed. Maybe there’s something to Jane’s logic, after all.

Because Ben Whitmore had just noticed her more in the last two minutes than he had the entire evening.

* * *

Tara rolled on her side and was surprised when her arm flopped over the side of the couch. With a California king all to herself, that almost never happened.
But I’m not
in
my bed.
Hearing the sounds of shrieking children nearby, she opened one eye, and it didn’t take long for her to remember where she was—and
wasn’t.