The Cottage on the Corner (2 page)

“Better get into place.” He nudged her into the crowd of women.

Tessa glanced over her shoulder and looked straight into Charlotte's eyes. Typical of the happily married, she wanted all her friends to be happily in relationships, too.

Wasn't going to happen.

Ever.

Martha handed Tess a simple bouquet of white roses wrapped with a hot pink ribbon. One white feather peeked out from the flowers. Silky and soft looking, it added a touch of whimsy to the traditional and suited the bride's taste perfectly. Charlotte had seen the feather in a vase on the fireplace mantle at Tessa's house. When she'd asked about it, her friend had laughed and said that Gertrude thought it was from an angel's wing and would bring love and good fortune to whoever had it.

“One,” Tessa said, lifting the bouquet dramatically. “Two.”

Charlotte braced herself.

“Three!”

Girls screamed with excitement. Women jumped and clawed. Charlotte dodged, barely avoiding the bouquet. It landed in the hands of town librarian Daisy Forester. She held it up, squealing gleefully while everyone around her cheered.

Something fluttered near Charlotte's face. No, not fluttered.
Floated
. The feather, just drifting lazily in the air. She grabbed it before it could drop to the ground, tucking it into her pocket as Daisy whirled around in circles, clutching the roses like they were a winning lottery ticket.

“There we have it!” Martha announced loudly. “The next Apple Valley bride.”

People cheered and laughed, closing in around Daisy and patting her on the back like she'd done something more impressive than snatching a bunch of dying roses from the air.

Careful,
Charlotte's better self said.
Your bitter is showing.

Yep. It sure was.

Time to go.

She sidled to the left, scooted around Lesley Wagner, and nearly collided with Rod Lancaster. Tall and lean with a runner's build and a too-confident smile, he taught math at Apple Valley High. “Charlotte!” he said warmly. “I was wondering when I'd see you.”

Why?
was what she wanted to say, but her mother had raised her with manners. “Hello, Rod. Enjoying the wedding?”

“Yes, and getting ideas for my own. Wink, wink.”

“Daisy Forester just caught the bouquet. Maybe you should check in with her and see if she's available.”

Rod laughed. “You've got a good sense of humor, Char. I like that in a woman.”

“It's Charlotte.” She hated being called Char for reasons that she preferred not to think about while she was at her good friends' wedding. “If you'll excuse me, I really need to get going.”

“Before you go, I had a question for you.”

“What's that?”
Please, don't let him ask me out. Please, please,
please
don't!

“I thought it might be beneficial for some of my lower-level students to see how math can help them in the real world. Cooking seems like a good way to demonstrate that. I was thinking that we could borrow the home economics room—”

“We?” She shoved her hands in her coat pockets, felt the silky feather brush against her knuckles.

“Sure. I don't know anything about cooking, but I know plenty about math.”

Next thing Charlotte knew, Rod was explaining exactly what he knew in excruciating detail.

 

 

Maxwell Stanford wasn't sure what all the excitement was about. Sure Daisy had caught the bouquet, but he was pretty damn sure that didn't mean her longtime boyfriend was going to propose. From what Max had heard, Jerry Webber had been stringing Daisy along for five years, promising that he'd marry her as soon as he was making enough money to support them. In the meantime, he lived in Daisy's apartment, ate her food, and pretended to be writing the next bestselling murder mystery.

If a few white roses changed that, Max was going to have to reevaluate everything he knew about men.

And roses.

He waded through the throng of people and clapped Cade on the back. “You did good on this one, Cunningham. You and Tessa are going to have a lot of good years together.”

“That's an awfully nice thing to say, Stanford. Are you going soft on me?” Cade asked with a cocky grin.

“Just throwing you a bone, since I'm still a better shot than you.”

“I think I outmarked you the last three times we went to the gun range,” Cade pointed out.

“Only because I didn't want to embarrass you. You're the sheriff, after all. It wouldn't look good for you to keep getting bested by one of your deputies.”

“Bullsh—”

“Folks!” Martha Wright-Randolph's voice rose above the rumble of the crowd. “The buffet is open. We'll have dancing in the meeting hall in an hour. For now, let's all enjoy the wonderful meal provided by Apple Valley Fritters.”

Max didn't have to be told twice. He was a good cop and a decent handyman, but he sucked at cooking. A free meal anywhere was always a good thing.

He hadn't even taken a step toward the buffet tables when Martha approached and dug her too-red and too-shiny nails into his bicep.

“Max,” she purred. “How about we get our plates and find a quiet place to talk?”

Not in this lifetime.

Or the next.

He liked women. No. He
loved
them, but Martha had trouble written all over her. “I think I'll have to pass on that, Marti,” he said.

She frowned. “You didn't bring a date, did you?”

“No.” But right about then, he was really wishing he had.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned
. His grandfather's favorite saying. One that Grandpa James had good reason to know was true. Max had learned a few lessons in that area himself. He had no intention of taking a refresher course.

“Then what's the problem? You don't think I'm attractive?” She smoothed both hands down her shapely hips and smiled the kind of smile that said she knew that couldn't be the case.

“Your attractiveness has nothing to do with it. I'm just not interested.” Short and to the point. That was the only way to deal with women like Martha.

“I bet I could make you change your mind,” she purred, running her hand down his bicep.

He took a step away, nearly falling over Charlotte.

He grabbed her elbow, realizing a second too late that Rod Lancaster was holding on to her other arm and staring at her with the starry-eyed gaze of a man in love.

Were the two dating?

If so, he hadn't heard anything about it.

In a town the size of Apple Valley he should have. Unless they'd kept it secret. An interesting thought. Charlotte did tend to stay to herself, baking in the kitchen of the little cottage at the corner of Main and Wesley and selling whatever baked good she could to whomever she could.

Not the kind of life Max would have chosen, but he had to respect her for doing things her own way.

“Sorry,” he said, holding on to her arm until she regained her balance. “I didn't mean to knock you over.”

“You didn't. Much.” She laughed lightly, extracting herself from Lancaster's hand in a practiced move that barely seemed to register with the high school teacher. “If you'll all excuse me, I have—”

“To get something to eat?” Max suggested, because she didn't seem any more eager to stick close to Lancaster than he was to be around Martha. “How about we go together?”

“I was planning to—”

“Don't make me beg, sweetheart. Not in front of strangers.” He slid his arm around her waist and hurried her toward the buffet table.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, shoving his arm away.

“Just trying to keep you from announcing to my stalker that I'm going to be eating alone.”

“Your stalker?”

“Martha. She's got a thing for me.”

“She has a thing for any man with two legs, a car, and money.”

“You forgot hair. She likes men with hair.”

“Her ninety-year-old husband had hair?”

“A full head of glossy white curls,” he said, even though he'd never met the man in question.

“Really?” She eyed him from beneath thick lashes. She'd pulled her glossy brown hair into a high ponytail, and he could see the scar at her temple. He'd wondered a couple of times how she'd gotten it, but since she'd turned down his dinner offer, he hadn't thought it was any of his business.

“You never even met him, did you?” she accused, her dark eyes flashing with indignation and just a hint of humor.

“No, but telling you that I did distracted you long enough to get us into the buffet line.”

“That doesn't mean I'm going to stay here.”

He glanced at Martha. She was hanging on to Rod's arm and looking at him like he'd hung the moon and the stars just for her. “No need to. We've lost our shadows.”

“Hopefully they'll make each other very happy.”

“I'm not sure anyone can do that for Martha.” He nudged Charlotte forward, eyeing the food that stretched the length of three tables. Apple Valley Fritters Catering had done itself proud. “Looks good enough to eat,” he said, but Charlotte had stepped out of line and was making her escape.

He couldn't say he blamed her.

If he weren't so hungry, he'd have done the same.

He stayed until the last guest left the reception. Not because he had a sudden overwhelming desire to socialize, but because Cade had asked him to keep an eye on Gertrude and Alex. You didn't tell your buddy no when he was on his way to a mountain cabin to spend a couple of nights alone with his new bride. Cade and Tessa had left a half hour ago, and Max had been counting the seconds as the remainder of the guests trickled out.

“Well, that's that. The most beautiful wedding in Apple Valley history is over,” Gertrude said, tugging a cigarette from behind her ear and tapping it on her thigh as she surveyed the empty reception hall.

“Don't light up in here, Ms. Gertrude. I'd hate to have to cite you.” Max glanced at his watch. Just past one. The reception had ended a little earlier than he'd thought it might. He couldn't say he minded. He was on the schedule at work for the next two days, pulling double shifts so that Cade could have a little time off.

He liked work, so it didn't bother him, but he figured that when Cade got back, he'd take a drive to Seattle. Enjoy a nightlife that didn't shut down at ten. Bright lights, loud music, maybe a visit to Erin's. They'd met in college, hit it off right away. Neither believed in the hokey kind of love their friends had fallen into.

Which probably explained why neither had ever married.

“Come on, Alex,” Gertrude called to her nephew. “We need to leave.”

Alex didn't respond. Not surprising. Most people talked to Alex without anticipating an answer. Every once in a while, the kid shocked someone with a few words. Mostly, though, he was silent, moving through the world like a wraith.

“Alex Riley, I said we need to leave!” Gertrude barked.

Alex looked at his aunt, his expression quizzical as if he had no idea why Gertrude would be irritated.

“Okay,” he finally said, folding his hand around something.

“What do you have there?” Max asked as the boy approached.

“Angel kisses,” Alex responded, opening his fist to reveal several white rose petals.

“Angel kisses?” Max asked as they walked outside.

“The boy has a good imagination.” Gertrude opened the door of her old Cadillac and motioned for Alex to get in. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?” She scowled in Max's direction, and he shrugged.

He didn't have an opinion on it one way or another.

He knew nothing about kids, and he really wasn't interested in learning.

“Well?” she demanded. “Is there?”

“Doesn't seem that way,” he said.

“Humph!” Gertrude responded, climbing into the car. She yanked the door closed.

That sealed it. Max was on the old lady's shit list.

Hopefully not for long. He ate dinner at the Riley place once a week thanks to Tessa. She thought it was good for Alex to have more than just family around. Max thought it was good to eat something besides take-out or frozen meals.

The back window of the Cadillac rolled down, and Alex stuck his head out.

“Here,” he said, holding something out to Max.

“What is—”

“Just take the da—arn thing, so I can get out of here,” Gertrude grumbled in normal Gertrude fashion.

Max held out his hand, and Alex dropped a rose petal into it.

The window went back up, the car pulled away, and Max was left standing in the parking lot alone. He almost dropped the petal on the ground, but that felt . . . wrong, so he tucked it into his coat pocket and walked to the 1967 Corvette he'd bought the year he'd turned thirty. A birthday gift to himself, and the beginning of the end of the longest relationship he'd ever been in.

He frowned. He generally didn't waste time thinking about the past. What was done was done. There was no way to change or undo it, so why dwell on it?

Besides, he didn't regret his relationship with Morgan, and he didn't regret their break-up. Morgan had been fun for a while. She'd stopped being fun right around the time she started wanting more than a little house in a small town.

Her need for more had seemed ironic to Max, since Morgan had been the reason he'd ended up in Apple Valley. She'd been the one who'd insisted on leaving Los Angeles and returning to the town she'd grown up in. She'd inherited a house on three acres and twenty-thousand dollars. Not enough to live on, but a good little nest egg. That's what she'd said when she'd told Max she planned to move back. Since they'd only been dating a few months, Max hadn't had much to say about it. He wasn't sure if he'd have said much even if they'd been living together.

When she'd invited Max to visit for a weekend, he'd been sure he'd hate Apple Valley. He certainly hadn't anticipated living there. Small towns weren't his thing. Had never been his thing.

This wasn't just any small town, though. It was Apple Valley, and of all the places he'd been, it felt the most like home.

He pulled out of the parking lot and wound his way through town. He passed Riley Park, the courthouse, the sheriff's department, drove along Main Street and onto the long driveway that led to Ida Cunningham's house. Everything felt familiar and right—the quiet neighborhood, the empty streets, the distant mountains backlit by the setting moon.

Home.

How many years had he looked for it?

How many years had he spent wanting it?

If someone had told him ten years ago that he'd have found it in a little town in eastern Washington, he'd have laughed himself sick.

Ida's oversized white house jutted up from the center of a beautifully landscaped yard. Christmas lights shone from every window and wrapped around every tree. He'd helped her put them up, and she'd made him enough clam chowder for a week's worth of meals.

He parked in front of the garage, frowning as he caught sight of a sporty little Mazda. Not Ida's car. Probably not one of her friends' cars either. They tended toward sedans, trucks, or SUVs.

He got out of the Corvette, tucking his keys into his pocket as he walked up the stairs to his apartment door. He never locked it. There wasn't any reason. Even if someone had broken in, there was nothing of value to take. His firearms were locked safely away. His money was in the bank. He had a laptop and a television, none of them the top-notch stuff he'd had when he and Morgan had lived together. She'd kept everything when he'd moved out. He'd been happy to let her do it.

He opened the door, loosening his tie as he walked into the dark living room. Usually, Pete sauntered over, but the one-eyed cat didn't make an appearance.

Max flipped on the light and frowned. The place looked the same. Same plaid sofa and leather armchair that had been there since he'd moved in. Same green throw rug. Same curtains hanging listlessly at the windows.

Something was different, though. He felt it tugging at his gut, clawing up his spine. He didn't question the feeling. He'd had it enough times to know to pay attention.

He walked into the kitchen, turned on the light in there. A small glass sat on the counter, a piece of toast abandoned on a plate beside it. He hadn't left either there.

He turned, stalking down the hall, pulling open the bathroom door. Nothing. Spare bedroom. Empty. His bedroom . . .

Bingo!

A lump lay in the center of the bed. He could see it even without the light on. He flipped the switch on the wall, and bright yellow light illuminated the room. The lump on the bed moved. He didn't know who he expected to emerge from under the covers. Maybe one of the women he'd dated in the past year.

He wasn't expecting the blond-haired beauty who sat up and smiled at him. “Hello, Max. It's been a long time.”

“What the hell do you want, Morgan?” Because there was no way in the world she'd showed up without wanting something.

“How about we talk about it over some coffee?” she asked, dropping her legs over the side of the bed and standing. “So we don't wake Zuzu.”

“Zuzu?”

“Our daughter.”

“Our
what?!
” He crossed the room in two long strides, peeled back the blankets. Sure enough, there was a kid in the bed. A little girl. Maybe three years old. Splayed out like she didn't have a care in the world.

He turned on his heel and left.

Walked out into the hall, into the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge. Changed his mind and grabbed a soda instead.

Morgan padded into the room behind him. “I know this is a surprise.”

“A surprise?” he growled, swinging around and slamming the soda down on the counter. “A surprise is when an old friend comes for a visit. Not when your ex brings a kid to your house and says it's yours.”

“I can explain.” To her credit, she looked uncomfortable, her tan skin a shade paler than it probably should have been. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her hand shook a little as she twirled the edges of her bleached hair. When they'd met, he'd loved her processed look. Perfect body, perfect hair, perfect manicure, perfect tan. Now she just looked . . . brittle. Used up. Maybe even a little sad.

He glanced away, not all that happy with the twinge of sympathy he felt.
She'd
been the one to call it quits, and it hadn't been because she wanted to live in a bigger town than Apple Valley. By the time they'd split up, Max hadn't cared enough to make accusations or sling mud, but he'd known she'd met someone else. Probably on one of her many trips back to L.A. or to visit friends in Miami.

“Go ahead,” he prodded when she didn't continue. “Explain.”

She bit her plumped lip in the sexy little move that used to make his blood run hot. Now it just irritated him.

“Come on, Morgan. It's late. I'm tired. Get on with the story.”

“It's not a story,” she insisted. “I realized I was pregnant after I left town.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It's true.”

“How long after? Four or five months? Six?”

“A couple of weeks. I was already with Kenny. I figured that you'd rather not be burdened with the responsibility of raising a child. I mean, we
did
talk about kids, and you
did
say you didn't want them.”

True. But if he had one, he sure as hell wanted to know about it. He
didn't
have one, though. He'd always been careful for exactly the reason Morgan had said. He didn't want kids.

“That was really thoughtful of you, Morgan,” he responded, every word oozing with sarcasm. “But I'm not buying your story. The kid is Kenny's or someone else's. He dumped you. You need someone to support you, so you came here.”

“You're an ass. You know that, Max,” she said mildly. “You always have been.”

“So you told me about a thousand times before we split.”

She pressed her lips together. Probably to keep all the venom from spewing out. Then sighed. “Look, I didn't come here to dredge up the past.”

“Then why did you come?”

“To tell you about your daughter. And because I have a job opportunity in Las Vegas. The interview is next week. I can't have Zuzu with me during it.”

“Why not?”

She studied her fingernails for several seconds. “The application asked if I was married or had kids.”

“And you lied.”

She looked up, her eyes blazing. “What was I supposed to do? This is an opportunity to work at a high-class restaurant on the Las Vegas strip. Decent pay. Great tips. I even have a friend that Zuzu and I can stay with while I get established.”

“A guy friend?”

“What's it matter to you?” she snapped.

“I'm just trying to get the story straight, Morgan.”

“Yes, a guy friend. And no, we're not romantically involved. Not that it's any of your business.”

“Sure you're not.”

“We're not. We met while he was on business in Miami. His partner owns the restaurant. Derrick put a good word in for me, and he's the one who told me not to mention Zuzu during the application process. This is all on the up and up, Max. I swear. All I need is someone to watch Zuzu for a week or two. Once I get the job and get established . . .”

“No.”

“She's your kid!”

“Bullshit.”

“I haven't asked you for one thing since I left, Max. Not one. I didn't want you in my life, and I didn't want you in hers, but Tom is dead—”

“Tom?”

“My husband. I married him a year after I got to Miami,” she spat. “He died of a heart attack three months ago.”

“I'm sorry.” Losing someone was never fun. Even if you were just using that person to make your life easier. Knowing Morgan, that had been the case with poor old Tom.

“Me, too. He was a good guy, but he didn't leave much behind. I'm strapped for cash. I want to provide more for Zuzu than an ugly little apartment. This is the opportunity I've been waiting for. I can't pass it up.”

“You probably can't, but you're going to have to bring the kid with you.”

“Come on, Max. Don't be such a bastard. She's yours. I have the paperwork to prove it.” She dug a piece of paper out of her pocket and thrust it at him. “See?”

He took it. A birth certificate. Zuzu Holly Stanford. Five pounds, six ounces. Born December 25. Nearly four years ago. And there was Max's name in black and white, clear as could be, listed as her father.

“I want a paternity test,” he said, shoving the birth certificate back toward her.

“It's going to have to wait until I get back.” She grabbed a classy-looking green coat from his closet.

“You're not leaving her here until you can prove she's my daughter, Morgan. If she really
is
mine, we'll work out child support and visitation. Until then, she's your responsibility.”

“Fine. I'll take her with me. She can stay with a
stranger
while I interview for the job. If I get the job, she can stay with a
stranger
all night while I train,” she snarled.