The Cottage on the Corner (9 page)

“I've been in the frigid Northwest for long enough to get acclimated to the weather.” His knuckles brushed her jaw as he released his hold. “Before I go, I need something from you.”

“You do?” Her heart fluttered, her stomach flipped.

They were close. So close that she could smell coffee on his breath, feel the heat of his body through her jeans. He had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. Bluer than the Montana sky in the summer. A woman could lose herself in those eyes if she let herself.

He nodded slowly, his gaze dipping to her lips. “A business card,” he said.

It took about thirty seconds too long for the words to register. When they did, she stepped back, took a deep breath of cold air. “You want baked goods for something?”

“I want to be able to check in while you have Zuzu. I wanted to call earlier and realized that I didn't have your number.”

“Oh. Right.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a business card. “Here you go.”

“Thanks. I should be off the clock by eleven.” He slipped the card into his pocket. “If that's not going to work for you, I can ask Ida to take care of Zuzu until I get home.”

“That's okay. I'll keep her until your shift ends.” The words slipped out before she realized that she was going to say them.

What she should have said, what she needed to say was
Yes, please ask Ida
.

Max smiled, flashing straight white teeth.

Of course.

He couldn't have crooked teeth. Or be missing a tooth. Or better yet, missing several. He had to have perfect teeth, perfect body, perfect reputation. Aside from his womanizing ways. Those were legendary in Apple Valley.

“You're a lifesaver, Charlotte,” he said, and she had the odd feeling that he actually meant it. That he wasn't just saying words to make her happy so that she'd keep helping.

She knew all about guys like that. She'd been married to one for years.

“I don't have a crib,” she said, because she was beginning to think that Max could be more trouble than Zim and Zuzu combined.

“She slept in a bed last night without a problem.”

“Oh.” So much for using that as an excuse to take back her offer. “You'll have to wake her up in the middle of the night, though. That will be hard.”

“I hadn't thought of that.” He frowned. “Want to bring her to my place tonight? You can put her in bed there.”

“I . . . don't know.”

“Her suitcase is there. Her clothes. I didn't check through it, but she might have some toys.”

“I—”

“Charlotte!” Zim poked his head out the car window, his white hair standing up straight around his head. “Zuzu is awake, and she says she has to use the bathroom.”

“Again? She went right before we left the house.”

“She's three. How big is her bladder supposed to be?” Zim griped.

“I have no idea,” Charlotte muttered. “And I don't want to find out. I'd better get going. I'll see you later, Max.”

“You want me to take her into the school? I can bring her to the bathroom before I go back on shift,” he offered as she yanked the car door open.

“That's okay. I can manage.” She unhooked Zuzu's straps and lifted her from the seat.

“What's that?” Zuzu poked at the doll Charlotte was still holding.

“A doll.”

“For me?”

“Yes.” She handed Zuzu the doll. “Max brought it for you.”

“I brought a coat, too,” Max cut in, holding out a little pink coat that looked like it was from the 1950s.

“No coat!” Zuzu shook her head, her black curls flying wildly.

“Yes coat,” Max insisted.

“She's going to have an accident while you sit around discussing the thing,” Zim broke in.

“I'll put the coat on her later.” Charlotte took the coat. “Thanks, Max.”

She ran for the delivery door, terrified that Zuzu would prove Zim right.

No
seemed to be Zuzu's word of the night.

No coat.

No shoes.

No dinner.

No bed.

She looked pretty determined about that one, the pink dress and blue leggings that she'd insisted on changing into when they'd arrived at Max's house rustling as she ran from the living room into the kitchen.

“No, no, no,” she chanted, ducking under a stainless-steel and Formica table and plopping herself on the floor.

Charlotte was tempted to do the same. Only she wouldn't plop herself down on the floor. She'd sit on the old love seat, munch on the cookies she'd packed, and open the romance novel she'd snagged from the box under her bed. Who cared if the little she-devil was still awake when Max returned? He could deal with putting her to bed and getting her to sleep.

Charlotte would just sit and read and eat cookies and pretend that Zuzu wasn't her responsibility.

Only she was, and Charlotte couldn't stomach the idea of not doing the best she could for the little girl. She'd let her stay up until nine-thirty, but it was time for bed. And, doggone it, the kid was going.

She crawled under the table, snagging the back of Zuzu's dress before she could escape. “Hold on, girlfriend. You're not going anywhere.”

“I'm finding Mommy,” Zuzu said, her big blue eyes wet with tears.

All Charlotte's frustration seeped away as she looked into the little girl's face. “Max is going to find her, but right now you have to go to bed.”

“I need to say good night to my mommy,” Zuzu insisted, sticking her thumb in her mouth, tears rolling down her cheeks. Charlotte figured that she'd be crying too if she'd been dropped off in a strange town, left with strange people, and not told when she would see her mother again. For all Zuzu knew, her mother was gone for good.

“I'm sorry, sweetie,” she said gently, pulling Zuzu into her lap and pressing the little girl's head to her shoulder. Little arms wrapped around her neck, and Zuzu's silky hair brushed her jaw. Charlotte's heart thumped loudly in acknowledgment. God, she'd wanted this. She'd wanted to mother a child so badly, had begged for years to be allowed just one kid. There'd been a few times when she'd contemplated going off the pill and lying to Brett about it. A few times when she'd thought that he was away so much, he wouldn't have noticed a pregnancy or a child.

She'd hadn't given in to temptation, because she hadn't wanted to bring an unwanted child into the world. She knew how that felt. Knew exactly what it was like to be the one who wasn't wanted. She'd lived the first ten years of her life with a father who hated her and a mother who refused to acknowledge it.

Her throat felt thick with tears, her eyes hot and gritty. She'd made it through the twenty-seventh without crying, but she wasn't sure she was going to make it through the twenty-eighth.

Yes, you are! Because you are not three, and you are perfectly capable of controlling yourself.

Her brain had a lot more faith in her ability to hold the tears back than her heart did. It ached and throbbed as she scooted out from under the table, Zuzu still in her arms.

“I really am sorry, Zuzu,” she murmured. “I don't know how to get in touch with your mommy. If I had her phone number, we could call her, but—”

“I know!” Zuzu's head popped up, her face so close to Charlotte's that their noses almost touched.

“Know what?”

“Look!” Zuzu grabbed her hand and led her down a narrow hallway, the old wooden floor creaking under their feet. The apartment wasn't fancy or posh. The walls were bare, the furniture old but functional. Charlotte didn't know what she'd expected from Max's place, but it hadn't been the plain and simple and obviously outdated decor.

Seriously? The guy never had a hair out of place, and up until he'd arrived at the school fresh from cow wrangling, she'd never seen a wrinkle in his clothes. He drove a beautifully restored vintage Corvette for God's sake, washed and polished every weekend if rumors were to be believed. Shouldn't his apartment reflect that? Maybe be decorated with fancy furniture and stainless-steel appliances.

Zuzu opened one of three closed doors and dragged Charlotte into a bedroom. Dark furniture with heavy lines took up most of the space. A small throw rug lay on the floor at the end of a huge bed. There was a closet on one wall, a window on another, a dresser on the third. No photographs. No pictures. Nothing personal. Still, Charlotte was certain the room was Max's.

Zuzu let go of her hand and dragged a little black suitcase out from under the bed. Faded and worn, it looked like it had been a lot of places before it had arrived in Max's apartment. Zuzu unzipped the front pocket and stuck her hand inside, her tongue sticking out just a little as she concentrated on retrieving whatever it was she thought was there.

“Need some help, Zuzu?” Charlotte knelt on the floor beside her, but Zuzu shook her head.

“I've got it,” Zuzu responded, pulling out a tattered business card. She slapped it in Charlotte's hand with a happy grin. “My mommy's number.”

“Really?” Charlotte read the card skeptically. Morgan Fairmont, Psychic Consultant. Cell phone number. No address. If Max hadn't mentioned Morgan's name earlier, Charlotte wouldn't have believed Morgan Fairmont, Psychic Consultant was Zuzu's mother.

“Let's call her.” Zuzu rushed from the room. Charlotte ran after her. The girl knew how to find trouble if given the opportunity. She'd pulled every tissue out of the box in Charlotte's bathroom, squirted toothpaste all over the sink, smeared it all over the mirror when she tried to clean it up, and somehow managed to do it all while Charlotte was cleaning the meatloaf pan and packing up a plate of food for Max.

She skidded into the living room right on Zuzu's heels, just managing to wrestle the telephone from the little girl's grasp.

“I think I'd better make the call,” she panted, dialing the number that she found on the card. The phone rang a half a dozen times before voicemail picked up. A woman introduced herself as a psychic advisor. Charlotte didn't recognize the voice, of course, but Zuzu bounced up and down with excitement.

“Mommy!” she shouted. “Hi, Mommy!”

Poor little kid. All excited because she heard her mother's voice. Meanwhile, her mother didn't seem all that keen on hearing Zuzu's voice.

There was nothing Charlotte could do about it, so she let Zuzu leave a rambling message on the machine. It wasn't the same as actually having a conversation with her mom, but it seemed to make Zuzu happy. Fifteen minutes later, the little girl was tucked into bed sound asleep.

Thank God.

She glanced at the clock. Max's shift ended soon, and she'd be free to go home. She'd probably appreciate the silent empty space a lot more than she had the previous night.

Or maybe it would just feel more empty and more silent.

She walked into the living room, dragged her purse from the floor, and pulled out the cookies she'd packed. One dark chocolate oatmeal. One raspberry filled. One snickerdoodle. Three cookies almost seemed excessive, but after the day she'd had, she figured she deserved it. She'd tucked the book into the side pocket of her bag, and she took it out, too. Usually she'd be prepping for the next day's orders. Since she wasn't home, all she could do was sit and wait.

It was a strange feeling. One she didn't really like. The last few years had been hectic, one season of life changing to another and another so quickly that she'd barely had time to catch her breath. She'd thought the pace would slow down in her new home, but she'd been busier than ever. Starting a small business had been easy. Keeping it going had been the hard part.

She kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the love seat, propping a pillow behind her back, and opening the book. Something about a highland prince. She'd gotten the book from the library's ninety-nine-cent bin. A hot guy in a kilt. Why not?

She bit into the first cookie, her heart nearly stopping as something moved in her peripheral vision. She jumped to her feet, saw an ugly old tomcat slithering out from under the couch. The thing had one eye, patchy fur, and a tail that looked like it had been chewed up and spit out.

She'd never been much for cats. This one was particularly hideous.

“Tell you what,” she murmured, backing up and climbing onto the love seat again. “You stay there. I'll stay here, and we'll both be happy as clams.”

The cat didn't seem to understand.

If he did, he didn't care. He stalked the rest of the way across the room, jumped onto the love seat's armrest, and crouched right next to Charlotte's head.

“Please don't bite my face off,” she whispered, trying really hard not to move her lips. Just in case.

The cat growled low in its throat, its body vibrating.

Maybe not a growl. A purr.

She turned her head slowly, looked into one golden-green eye and a face that only a mother cat could love. The cat meowed, butting his big head against her shoulder.

“What?”

He meowed again.

“Are you hungry?”

He jumped off the armrest and slithered into the kitchen. Charlotte would have ignored him, but she thought he really was hungry, and she hated to see anyone or anything go without food.

She dropped her book on the couch, left the cookies on the side table, and walked into the kitchen. The cat was there, batting at the cupboard under the sink. Sure enough, a plastic container of cat foot stood front and center there.

“Where's your dish?” she asked, as if the cat could answer.

He just stared at her, his one eye unblinking.

She lifted the cat food, found two shallow dishes behind it. One for food and one for water? Maybe Max had put them away when Zuzu arrived. Knowing her, she'd have probably eaten cat food and flung water all over the place.

“All right, guy. I'm going to feed you, and then you can go hide under the couch again.” She filled a bowl with food, filled the other with water, and set them on the floor near the sink.

Good enough.

She settled back onto the love seat, opened the book, took a bite out of the raspberry-filled cookie. It tasted like heaven, the buttery shortbread melting in her mouth, the raspberry filling tart and just a little sweet.

“Perfect!” she murmured as she turned to the first page and met McAllister McDermott, the last of the McDermott clan. The guy had to find a spouse posthaste or lose his leadership position.

“Big problem,” Charlotte muttered as she finished off the raspberry-filled cookie and took out the dark chocolate oatmeal.

“Meow!” the cat replied, jumping back up on the armrest.

“I thought we had an agreement.” She stared at the beast's ugly face. Maybe it wasn't so much ugly as unfortunate in a kind of scruffily cute way. “Go back under the couch.”

The cat settled onto its belly, stretching its paws out so they were within a millimeter of Charlotte's hair. She planned to push it off, but it started that growly purr again, and she didn't have the heart to do it.

She turned back to her cookie and book instead. Maybe she'd find out who the highland guy's love interest was before Max got home. Otherwise, it might be a year before she had time to pick up the book again.

Outside, the wind howled beneath the eaves. Cold air seeped through the window behind Charlotte. She slipped into her coat, shoving her hands in the pockets and frowning as she felt something soft. She pulled out the white feather, smoothed her fingers over it and returned it to her pocket. Tessa might want it back. Or Gertrude. She'd have to try to remember to ask.

The wind blew again, frigid air seeming to find its way through the old walls. She didn't dare walk down the hall to look for a blanket. She was afraid she'd wake Zuzu. She grabbed the jacket she'd draped on the back of a kitchen chair when she'd arrived, tucking leather around her thighs. It smelled like Max. Spicy and masculine with just a hint of the outdoors.

She shivered, told herself it was because of the cold, and tried to focus her attention on the book as she waited for Max to return.

 

 

Charlotte was going to kill him.

Max glanced at the dashboard clock for the tenth time. As if somehow looking at it could change the numbers. One in the morning.

Charlotte was definitely going to kill him.

Or at least take a piece out of his hide.

He pulled into the driveway in front of his apartment. No sign of Morgan's car. He'd been half hoping that she'd be there when he returned or that she'd returned at some point and taken Zuzu with her. Seeing as how Charlotte's station wagon was there, it didn't seem likely that had happened. Lights spilled out of the living room window. Charlotte was probably pacing the floor, ready to bolt.

He jogged up the stairs and walked into the apartment, expecting to be greeted by an angry woman. Nothing. Not a sound. No screaming kid. No complaining baker. Even Pete didn't make an appearance.

He glanced around the living room, saw a mound of fur on the love seat. No. Not the love seat. Pete was lying on his leather jacket, which was lying on Charlotte. Her head slumped forward, a book lax in her hands. A cookie lay on the table beside her.

Pete looked up as he approached, glaring out of his one good eye. “She fed you, didn't she?” Max murmured, shooing the cat off of the jacket.

Charlotte shifted, the book falling onto the floor. There was a guy on the cover. A guy dressed in a kilt, carrying a sword and looking like some Scottish he-man. No guy had muscles that big. Unless he took steroids.

“Charlotte?” He nudged her shoulder, and she sighed, shifting so that the jacket fell away. Her coat had fallen open, her T-shirt twisting beneath her and pulling up to reveal a pale taut abdomen.

Max's stomach clenched, heat roaring through his veins at the sight. He wanted to run his finger along the sliver of flesh, feel the silky warmth of her stomach.