The Cottage on the Corner (14 page)

 

 

She was going to die. On the way to church, in the middle of the icy street, her face planted in the boxes of coffee cakes she was carrying. Her body would probably be discovered right around the time the women's mission team was scheduled to meet. Some hapless woman would swerve to avoid Charlotte's frozen body and drive into the copse of trees to the left of the road. Or worse, swerve to the right and head down the steep hill that led to Riley Park.

Either way, the accident and Charlotte's frozen carcass would be the talk of Apple Valley for the next century or two.

Not a pleasant thought, but she couldn't avoid thinking it.

She hadn't realized just how steep the road to Apple Valley Community Church was until she started walking it. She hadn't realized how cold she was going to get until she'd been out in the wind for about ten minutes. She glanced back at her good-for-nothing station wagon and its good-for-nothing tires. It would take longer to get back to the car than to get to the church, so she'd just have to keep walking forward.

“If I survive this, I'm joining a gym,” she vowed, her breath forming a cloud in front of her face. “And I'm working out every day, so that the next time the stupid car won't make it up the stupid hill, I can jog the mile and a half to the church and avoid freezing to death.”

Of course, if she had a heart attack from overexertion, she wouldn't have to worry about freezing.

She readjusted the pile of boxes. Six coffee cakes for the ladies' mission meeting that was going to be at the parsonage at eight.

The parsonage that was at least another tenth of a mile past the church.

A tenth of a mile that she was going to have to walk in the freezing cold on the slick road.

She groaned and kept walking, the distant sky tinged pink with dawn, the mountains gray-blue. Ice coated the trees and grass, sparkling in the faint morning light. If she hadn't been near dead from cold and exertion, Charlotte might have stopped and admired the view.

Since she was both, she trudged forward, the boxes getting heavier with every step. An engine broke the silence, purring up behind her. She stepped to the side but didn't stop walking. If she did, she didn't think she'd start again.

Max's Corvette rolled past, stopped a few feet away.

Perfect. Just the person she wanted to see at seven in the morning when she was ice cold, out of breath, and about to die.

The driver's window unrolled and Max stuck his head out. “Need a ride?”

“Yes.”

“Hold on.” He jumped out of the car, keys jingling in his hand as he jogged to her side. He took the boxes. “It's ten degrees, Charlotte. You should have stayed in your wagon and called for help.”

“Called who? Everyone I know is retired. I didn't want to wake them up this early in the morning.”

“So you'd rather freeze to death?”

“Not particularly.”

He laughed quietly and opened the passenger door. “Go ahead and turn the engine back on while I put these in the backseat.”

He tossed the keys into her lap and closed the door. She didn't even try to put the keys in the ignition. Her fingers had frozen about five minutes into her walk.

“Charlotte!” Zuzu squealed from behind her. “You going to see the nat-ivy with us?”

“The nativity?” Charlotte asked, smiling at the little girl. “Is that where you're going?”

Zuzu nodded and held out a takeout cup. “I have chocolate.”

“Is it good?”

“It would be better if I had cookies,” Zuzu responded as Max got into the car.

“Zu, I told you that you weren't having cookies.” He took the keys and started the engine. “Besides, you already had a doughnut.”

“Mommy gives me cookies,” Zuzu claimed.

“Mommy isn't here,” Max responded, and Charlotte was pretty sure he added
damn her
under his breath.

“Charlotte will give me cookies.”

“Max said no. Besides, I don't have any cookies with me. Just coffee cake.”

“Were you heading to the church?”

“The parsonage.”

“Mission meeting this morning, right? Ida said she couldn't watch Zuzu until it was over.”

“You haven't found a babysitter yet?”

“It's been a little harder than I thought it would be. I'm going to interview a couple of people Friday when I have the day off.”

She wanted to ask if he thought he'd still have Zuzu after the weekend, wanted to ask if he'd heard from Morgan, but Zuzu was in the backseat, and she wasn't sure how she was feeling about her mother being gone. “Have you contacted any of the local daycares?”

“There's one in town, and it's full. Besides, I don't know how long she's going to be here.” He turned up the heat and handed her a disposable cup. “Have some coffee.”

“I'll wait until I get home.”

“Charlotte, your teeth are still chattering. You need to warm up. Drink the coffee.”

“Drink it!” Zuzu chimed in.

The cup
did
feel warm, and she
was
freezing. She took a sip. It was nice and hot, black and bitter. Not her normal morning drink, but the heat wound its way down her throat and settled in her stomach. “Thanks. That was nice and warm.”

She tried to hand it back, but Max shook his head. “Drink the rest. I've had so much coffee, I'm getting jittery.”

“Long night?”

“Early morning. My phone rang at five-thirty.” He glanced in the rearview mirror, and she knew without asking that Morgan had called.

“That was good, right?”

“Wrong. Some people don't deserve . . .” He glanced in the review mirror again. “Now's not the time. We can talk about it at dinner Friday night.”

Dinner. Yeah. She'd been trying to forget about that.

Sure, she'd convinced herself that it would be a good thing, but she could already hear the gossip. She really didn't want to be the center of that.

He pulled up in front of a small clapboard house that had served as the parsonage for as long as the Apple Valley Community Church had existed. At least that's what Ida said. According to her, the first pastor of the church had wanted to give his wife a home of her own, and he'd asked the congregation if he could build on the church property. They'd wanted to build the place for him and had planned a huge house with fancy everything. Before construction could begin, the pastor made it clear that he and his wife didn't need anything big. Just a two-bedroom cottage that would be warm in the winter and cool in the summer.

Charlotte had been in the house during both seasons, and she'd say that the builders had fulfilled the pastor's request. Over a hundred years later, the cute little bungalow was perfect for Natalie and Jethro Fisher.

“Stay here,” Max said. “I'll bring the coffee cakes to the house.”

“That's okay. I can manage.” She jumped out of the car and ran around to the back, nearly slipping on ice in her haste.

She needed to slow down.

She did
not
want to fall on her butt in full view of Max. He lifted the boxes from the backseat and handed them to her. They didn't seem as heavy now that she didn't have to cart them up a hill.

The front door opened before she reached it, and Natalie Fisher appeared in the doorway. “Charlotte! I was hoping that was you! Where's your station wagon?”

“At the bottom of the hill. It decided it didn't want to make the drive.”

“That hill is a bear to walk up, isn't it? But it looks like a hunky hero drove to your rescue, so I guess things worked out just fine,” Natalie said, smiling and waving in the direction of Max's Corvette.

Hunky hero?

Is that the way pastors' wives always talked?

“Yes, I guess they did,” she mumbled in response. “Where would you like me to set up the coffee cakes?”

“I'll take care of that.” Natalie took the boxes. “Since you didn't charge me a dime, I wouldn't feel right having you do any more work.”

“I was happy to donate the cakes, and I enjoy setting things up when I deliver a product.” She liked the tables to look a certain way, have a certain feel. She wanted her customers to enjoy every part of the experience. The look, the taste, the smell of the food she'd delivered.

“I'll make sure it looks very pretty,” Natalie said. “But I can't take advantage of you by asking for more than you've already given our mission committee. Besides, I wouldn't want to keep Max waiting for his damsel in distress.”

“I'm not a—”

“Just a joke, Charlie. Thank you so much for these.” Natalie hefted the boxes. “Will we see you Sunday morning? Alex Riley is going to play special music in honor of Tessa and Cade's wedding.”

Probably not, but Charlotte didn't feel all that comfortable admitting that she'd rather sleep in than attend service. “I'll have to look at my schedule.”

Natalie laughed, and Charlotte smiled. “Sorry. I didn't mean to sound like I was rebuffing a dinner invitation from a loser.”

“At least you didn't lie. You know Isaac Millwood?”

“The guy who owns a farm on the east end of town?”

“That would be the one. I saw him in the park and asked if we'd be seeing him Sunday. He said he'd love to come to church, but his cows get lonely if he leaves for more than twenty minutes.”

“It could be true.”

“It could be. If he
had
any cows. Now I really had better let you go. Doesn't Max have a little girl he's taking care of for a while?”

“Zuzu. She's in the car.”

“Is she?” Natalie glanced toward the Corvette, something lonely and sad flashing across her face. She and Jethro didn't have children, but if the rumors were correct, they wanted them.

Charlotte knew exactly how it felt to long for a baby, to want to parent and not be able to.

She touched Natalie's arm. “Why don't you go say hello?”

“Not this morning. I have too much to do.” Natalie offered a brittle smile. “Thanks again, Charlotte. The committee is going to enjoy these!”

She walked into the house and closed the door with a firm snap that echoed on the still morning air.

He should have finished his coffee.

That's what Max was thinking as Charlotte walked back to the car. He was also thinking that Charlotte had a decidedly sexy way of moving. Smooth. Elegant. Just a hint of hips beneath her frilly apron and short winter coat.

“Charlotte!” Zuzu called from the backseat. “Let's go see the nat-ivy!”

“I think Charlotte is just going to want to go back to her car, Zu,” he cautioned.

“Why?”

“Because she's busy.”

“A girl is never too busy to haves fun,” Zuzu intoned.

“Where'd you hear that?”

“Mommy.”

Of course. That had been Morgan's philosophy when they'd met—have fun, do what makes you feel good, enjoy life because you only live it once. Those had been the reasons why she'd moved to L.A. in the first place, why she'd moved back to Apple Valley, why she'd finally sold her parents' home and left town for good.

He wasn't there to judge, but he sure as hell didn't agree. Especially when it came to parenting. Pursuing fun for the sake of fun was fine and dandy when you had no one to worry about but yourself. Once a kid entered the picture, things were supposed to change. Priorities were supposed to change.

“Charlotte is not a girl,” he said as Charlotte climbed into the car. “She's a woman.”

“
Who
is a woman?” Charlotte asked.

“You.”

“Uhm. Thanks?” She reached for her seat belt, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon filling the air as she moved.

“God, you smell good,” he said.

Yep. He should have had the rest of the coffee.

She raised an eyebrow, her mouth curving into a half smile. “Okay.”

“What I mean is . . . you smell like cookies. Or scones. Or something equally delicious.” She tasted that way too.

His gaze dropped to her lips.

He wouldn't mind tasting them again. He wouldn't mind at all. He leaned toward her, and he was pretty sure she leaned toward him. They were a hairsbreadth away from each other, staring into one another's eyes.

“This is a really bad idea,” Charlotte whispered, but she didn't back away.

“Why?” he asked, because he couldn't think of one reason.

“I don't date.”

“And?”

“You date lots of women.”

“I
used
to date lots of women. I haven't been out with anyone in a couple of months.” He lifted a strand of her hair, let it slide through his fingers. It felt like spun silk, smooth and cool to the touch. “You have beautiful hair, Charlotte.”

“And you are a flirt.”

She was probably right about that. He did flirt with women. He
liked
women. All women. Older, younger, thin, round, pretty, plain. He appreciated good mothers and good teachers and good cops, and he enjoyed letting women know that they were admired, because there weren't enough men in the world who did that.

“It's not flirtation if it's true,” he said. “And you do have beautiful hair, and you do smell like something delicious. Something that I would very much like to—”

“
I
would very much like to go to the nat-ivy,” Zuzu cut in.

Charlotte laughed nervously, scooting away so that she was nearly pressed against the car door. “That's a good idea. We should probably do it.”

He'd planned to take her to her car, but if she wanted to see the nativity, he wouldn't complain.

The church sat a ways back from the road, its white siding gleaming in the rising sun. Behind it, a cemetery stretched along the hillside, gray headstones poking up from the lush, well-manicured lawn. Reverend Fisher worked hard to keep up with the church and grounds, but it was a big job. One that Max had helped with on a few occasions. He loved the community spirit that held Apple Valley together. It reminded him of family. Or what family should be.

The nativity sat in the center of the church's front yard, a lone spotlight shining on the carved wooden scene. It wasn't at all magical up close. Just a backdrop made of plywood and an old manger. Max had helped Jethro Fisher drag it out of storage and had perched the carved angel on top of a rickety frame. He'd done a little stabilizing when Jethro wasn't looking, because he'd been afraid the figure would crash down onto some unsuspecting parishioner's head.

“There it is!” Zuzu squealed as he parked the car. “The nat-ivy.”

“Nativity,” he corrected her, just like he had about ten dozen times since she'd seen it from his window.

“Yep! There it is. Let's go.” She unsnapped her car seat straps and tried to squeeze into the front seat.

“Hold on, kid. Let us get out first,” Max ordered, more amused by her enthusiasm than annoyed.

“Can you hurry up?” she asked. “Please?”

Charlotte laughed. “At least she has manners.”

“She needs to have patience,” he replied.

“That's kind of hard when you're three.”

“I'm going to be four on Christmas,” Zuzu interrupted, half her body hanging over Charlotte's seat. “I'm going to have a big party with a thousand balloons.”

“Are you?”

Zuzu nodded, her tangled hair flopping over her face. He probably should have brushed it before he brought her out.

“Yes!” she said with one last emphatic nod. “And we're going to go to church, too, and we're going to sing happy birthday to the baby Jesus, and we're going to give him a balloon. So let's go see him and tell him.”

“We probably should,” Charlotte said solemnly. She opened her door and got out, taking Zuzu's hand and helping her exit the car.

“You know what, Charlotte?” Zuzu continued as they walked to the nativity.

“What?”

“I was thinking something portant.”

“Important?” Charlotte asked, still holding on to Zuzu's hand, the icy grass crunching under their feet, their arms swinging a little. They looked . . . right together. Connected. As if they'd known each other a long time.

Max
felt like an interloper, not quite in sync with their steps or their conversation. He crossed the yard with them, the sun nudging the horizon, Apple Valley sleeping snug and peaceful below. Christmas lights sparkled, streetlights burned bright, a few cars meandered along Main Street, their headlights muted in the purplish predawn light.

“Yes. Important,” Zuzu repeated perfectly.

“Are you going to tell me what?” Charlotte asked.

“I was thinking you would make my cake for my birthday. I was thinking it could be a big huge giant cake with pink flowers and—”

“Zu!” Max cut her off. “Charlotte is way too busy at Christmastime to bake a cake for you.”

Zuzu's face fell, and he felt like the worst kind of scum for stealing her dream of a big cake.

“The thing is—” he started to explain.

“Of course I have time to bake you a cake, Zuz,” Charlotte cut in.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” Charlotte scooped her up and walked the last several feet to the nativity, whispering something to Zuzu as they went. Whatever it was, it made the little girl happy. She squealed with delight when Charlotte set her down in front of the carved figures.

He hated to burst either of their bubbles, but it didn't seem fair to offer Zuzu something she wasn't going to get. No way was a big cake from Charlotte in the cards. Zuzu would be back with her mother soon, and they'd all go on with their separate lives.

Somehow that didn't sound quite as great as it had a couple of days ago.

“You shouldn't have told her that,” he murmured in Charlotte's ear. “She's going to be disappointed when it doesn't happen.”

“Who says it won't?” she whispered, her gaze on Zuzu, her face soft with longing.

He wanted to ask her what had happened with her husband, how long they'd been married, why they hadn't had children. He knew she wouldn't answer any more than he'd answer a question about why he'd stayed single. “Christmas is five weeks away. She's not going to be here that long.”

“If she isn't here, I'll bring the cake to her.”

“You'd drive a cake to Las Vegas for a kid you barely know?”

She finally met his eyes, her hair gleaming in the rising sun, her eyes dark and so filled with sadness, his heart lurched and the air just kind of caught in his chest.

“I know Zuzu,” she said. “I took care of her for sixteen hours, remember?”

“Sixteen hours doesn't make for a lifetime commitment.”

“No, but it's enough to make someone a cake.”

“Not when they're a thousand miles away. It would take days to get to Las Vegas and back. You have a business to run.”

She shrugged. “I usually have all my orders filled by the twenty-third. If Zuzu is back with her mom, I'll make sure I finish on the twenty-second. I can leave that evening and easily be in Vegas by Christmas.”

“What if she goes back to Miami? That's the kind of thing Morgan does. She hops from one place to the next, trying to find whatever it is she's looking for.” For all Max knew, Morgan would decide to take Zuzu on a trip to Europe.

“Then I'll take a plane and have the cake shipped.”

“It's really sweet of you to want to do that, Charlotte, but I still think it isn't a good idea to get Zuzu's hopes up.” He glanced at the little girl and frowned. “Besides, you don't want to spend Christmas away from home.”

Charlotte couldn't see any reason why she
wouldn't
want to spend Christmas away. As far as she was concerned, Christmas was just another day on the calendar.

“Why not? It's not like I have family to spend the day with. I don't even have a cat to worry about,” she said without thinking.

Oh, God
.

That sounded pitiful, and from the look on Max's face, he thought it
was
pitiful. Which was the absolute
last
thing Charlotte wanted. She didn't need anyone's pity. Living alone was a heck of a lot easier than living with someone else.

“What I mean,” she said quickly, “is that I'm not tied down. I'm free to go do what I want and be where I want. If I want to spend Christmas in Vegas, I can. Maybe I'll go to the Strip, do a little gambling.”

“Maybe you will, but the way I see things happening,” he said, his voice low and just a little rough, “you'll make this huge cake for Zuzu and deliver it to whatever hotel Morgan is staying in. She may or may not thank you, and she may or may not let Zuzu eat it. Then you'll check into a motel for the night and drive back home the next day.”

That sounded about right.

Except she'd probably sleep in her car. It would be warm enough in Las Vegas, and it would save her money.

No way would she admit that to Max. He probably had tons of plans for Christmas. Breakfast with someone, lunch with someone else, dinner with a third person. Charlotte could have had the same. She'd been invited by just about everyone she knew, but spending time with happy families, happy kids, and happy couples on Christmas Day wasn't exactly her idea of a good time. She preferred her quiet undecorated house and her romance novels. Neither of those things ever disappointed.

The fact that she felt that way probably did make her pitiful, but she didn't care. She'd decided to be herself after Brett's death, to enjoy the things she enjoyed and to not apologize for them.

“I take it from your silence that my description is pretty much how things are going to pan out. Which is a shame.
If
you go to Vegas, you should live it up a little.”

“I've been to Las Vegas, and I lived it up plenty while I was there,” she murmured, not really wanting to go into the reason
why
she'd been there.

“What'd you do? Slots? Blackjack?”

Got married to a guy who was already married.

“We went to a couple of casinos, but I don't remember much about what we did there.” Mostly she'd watched her new husband lose about a thousand dollars of the money she'd saved for their wedding and honeymoon. She hadn't been all that offended at the time. She'd wanted him to have fun. It had taken her a couple of years to realize that he should have wanted her to have fun, too.

“So you were with friends?”

“You could say that.”

“I could but you won't?”

“Something like that.”

“You're a mystery, Charlotte. You know that.” He brushed the hair away from her temple, uncovering the scar that she'd had for nearly two decades. The pad of his finger slid across the raised edges of the old wound, and her pulse jumped, every nerve leaping to attention.

“There's nothing mysterious about me,” she said, her mouth so dry she was surprised she got the words out.

She wanted to feel hard muscle and warm skin and the heady touch of callused hands against her flesh, but that would be a huge mistake.

Wouldn't it?

She wasn't so sure. Not when the sun was peeking over the mountains and the grass was sparkling with frost. Not when the air held winter's chill and a hint of Max's spicy cologne. Not when she thought about another Christmas sitting in her house alone with a book while the world celebrated miracles and love.

She was a fool for even entertaining the idea of throwing herself into Max's arms.

Not that he was asking her to.

She walked to the carving of Mary. Whoever had made the nativity had whittled a face into hardwood and created something that was both beautiful and haunting. Even with the paint fading from time, and the carving shallow from years of Decembers spent out in the winter weather, the visage was beautiful.

“What's mysterious,” she said, desperate to change the subject, “is how this thing has stayed in such good condition for so many years. Ida told me it's been around since the church was built.”