The Cottage on the Corner (19 page)

“Told me what?”

“That you're not beautiful. Because whoever it was,” he murmured, bending down so that they were eye to eye, nose to nose, breath to breath, “was either blind or lying.”

“Max—”

His lips brushed hers just like they had in the attic. Only this time, she couldn't seem to stop herself. She stepped right into his arms, her hands sliding inside his unbuttoned coat and settling on his firm waist.

He tasted like mint and coffee with just a touch of something dark and exotic and absolutely addicting. She could make a cupcake with those flavor profiles, and every woman in town would beg her for them. She moved closer, intoxicated with the moment and with Max.

He broke away, rested his forehead against hers. His eyes were the deepest blue of a dusky summer sky. Looking in them made her long for the time when she'd been young enough and naïve enough to believe in heroes and in happily-ever-afters. If she could go back to those times, she'd let herself relax into whatever spending time with Max might bring.

“You hooked me with that cupcake, didn't you, Charlotte?” he murmured.

She laughed shakily and stepped back because she sure as heck couldn't keep staring into his eyes. “Why? Are you about to propose?”

“Not quite,” he muttered, raking a hand over his hair and scowling. “But I can't seem to stop thinking about you. That's got to mean something.”

“It means we've spent too much time together lately.”

“Maybe so.” His gaze swept from her head to her toes and back again.

“
Absolutely
so. You and I are
not
a good match, Max. No cupcake in the world can change that.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow and smiled, cupping her elbow and leading her back toward home. “I don't suppose you'd like to explain your reasons for saying that.”

“You're adventurous. I'm a homebody.”

“I'd be a homebody too, if I had the right person to go home to.”

“No, you wouldn't. You'd get bored and head off into the wilderness to hunt or fish or whatever macho guys do when they're tired of the routine.”

“I don't know what other guys do when they get bored, but I can tell you what I'd
like
to do.” His hand slipped from her elbow to her hand, his finger twining through hers. There was something really comfortable about walking up Main Street with Max. Something homey and warm and delicious about the Christmas lights and the darkness and the man walking beside her. “I'd like go into the wilderness with a woman I cared deeply about. I'd like to build a fire and make a bed out of sleeping bags and lie under the stars with her. We wouldn't even have to talk if we didn't want to. We'd just listen to the world and watch the night together.”

That sounded nice.

It sounded like the best romance novel she'd ever read, the best story she'd ever been told. It sounded like Christmas cookies and hot chocolate and marshmallows roasted over a fire. “If that's true, whatever woman you decide to care about is going to be very lucky.”

“Why wouldn't it be true?” His thumb slid across the tender flesh on the inside of her wrist, and she shivered.

“People say all kinds of things that aren't, Max. You've been a police officer for long enough to know that.” She kept her tone light even though her heart was beating frantically.

“True,” he responded. “Speaking of which, I'd be remiss if I didn't ask why you were staring into Nick's shop in the middle of the night. You're not planning to turn to a life of crime, are you?”

His question surprised a laugh out of her. “Not unless renting a storefront on Main Street is against the law.”

“A storefront, huh? I hadn't heard about that.”

“No one has. Only Nick knows that I'm considering it.” At first the idea had been too new to share. Then she'd been afraid to say it for fear that she wouldn't be able to make the dream come true. “I figured there was no sense in mentioning it until I was certain it was going to happen.”

“Are you certain now? Because news like you opening a store on Main Street is going to make a lot of people happy. If I start spreading it, and it turns out to be false, I'll have to explain myself to a lot of people.”

“You can save yourself the hassle and not tell anyone.”

“What fun would that be?” he asked with a grin.

She shook her head, but returned the smile. “You're an interesting guy, Max.”

“Glad you think so.” He led her up the front walk to her porch, waiting as she shoved keys into the lock, and opened the door. “I bought a lock for your back door. It's in the Corvette. How about you get it for me and lock yourself into the car while I check out the house?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Just in case.” He handed her keys.

“In case of what, Max? I was home until an hour ago.”

“A lot can happen in an hour. You saw how quickly Cade opened your back door.”

True. She had.

He nudged her toward his Corvette. She went because she figured he was a lot more capable of handling an unwanted visitor than she was. Not that she thought anyone was going to be inside the house.

She
hoped
no one would be in there.

She grabbed the lock from the Corvette, glancing at Zuzu's car seat squeezed into the back of the vehicle. The little girl loved cookies. Charlotte would make her some in the morning. Sugar, because every child she'd ever known loved sugar cookies. Maybe she could even have her over and let her help decorate them. Max could bring her to the house, and they could spend the morning . . .

No! They could not spend the morning decorating cookies with Zuzu.

Not tomorrow. Not the next day. Not ever.

It was hard enough keeping
Max
at arm's length. No way would she ever be able to do that if she spent more time with Zuzu.

She scowled.

No more spending time with either of them.

No dinner Friday night. No walks along Main Street when the sun was down. No trips into the wilderness to lie under the stars and listen to the night.

What was the point of putting herself in temptation's way? She'd just avoid it until she got over whatever bee was buzzing around in her bonnet. Probably just Christmas depression. There had to be a clinical name for it. Holiday blues or something.

Whatever the case, she wasn't going to wrap herself in the warm strong arms of the best-looking guy in town just to make herself feel better.

She slammed the door to emphasize her decision and stalked across the yard. Frozen grass crunched under her feet, the frigid air stinging her cheeks. She'd always loved winter, and in Apple Valley it seemed even more wonderful. The fresh air, the decorated houses, the distant mountain peaks white with snow. She had never felt more at home than she did there. If things worked out the way she wanted, she'd spend the rest of her life there in her little house.

She wasn't going to let anyone steal away the sense of security she had there. Whoever had broken into her house and gone through her things had another thing coming if he thought Charlotte was going to be scared away. Not that the break-ins seemed particularly threatening.

She walked inside, hung her coat in the closet near the front door. Max's footsteps tapped on the attic floor, the old boards creaking beneath his weight. In another house at another time, the sounds might have been creepy, but right then they were comforting.

When Max walked down the stairs, she tried really hard to keep her focus on the lock she was still holding. She managed to do that for about thirty seconds before she met his eyes.

He smiled the kind of easy smile that she had only ever seen a few times, and her heart did the same silly little flip and jump it did every time she looked at the man.

She was a mess.

Pure and simple.

When it came to Max, all bets were off, every promise she'd made to herself just kind of floating away.

“Didn't I tell you to wait in the car?” he asked mildly.

“You won't be here every time I come home, Max. I figured I had to get used to checking the place out myself.”

“I see,” he responded, taking the lock from her hand.

“What?”

“You're more scared of me than you are of whoever has been breaking into your house.”

“That's not true!” she protested, even though he was absolutely right.

“Sure it is, but Ida just called and she's wondering if I'm ever getting back. I need to install the new lock and head home.” He walked into the kitchen and tore open the package.

“I can figure the lock out,” she offered. Of course, she didn't have one tool to speak of, and she was fairly confident that she'd need a few to do the job.

“This won't take long. Want to get me a screwdriver?”

“I would if I had one.”

“Do you have
any
tools?”

She shook her head, and Max sighed.

“What am I going to do with you, Charlotte?” he murmured, running his knuckles along the ridge of her cheekbone. His hand drifted down the side of her neck, his fingers tangling in the ends of her hair.

Right at that moment she could think of a dozen things he could do with her, and not one of them had anything to do with tools or locks. They were
that
close to kissing again, and she could honestly say that she wanted that more than she'd wanted anything in a very long time.

He dropped his hand, fisted it. “I'll get my toolbox from the car,” he muttered and left the room.

Thank God
.

Right?

Right!

She'd just make her way up to the attic while he got his tools. She'd clean up the mess the intruder had left while Max installed the new lock. She'd been too chicken to do it earlier, but with Max in the house, she felt ready to face the job. Once he left, she'd crawl into bed and get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow she'd have a clearer perspective and a little more self-control.

She hoped, because if she didn't, she might end up doing something she'd regret.

Probably
regret.

Maybe
regret?

Darn it all!

She'd had everything figured out until Max walked into the kitchen.

She'd just have to figure it out again.

That was all there was to it.

First though, she had to go up into the attic and face her demons.

It took less than twenty minutes to install the new lock.

As soon as he finished, Max packed up his tools and headed for the front door. Ida hadn't been upset when she'd called, but she'd sounded tired. At her age, she couldn't afford to be worn out by daily childcare.

He had to find a caregiver for Zuzu, and he had to do it soon. There was no other solution to the problem except for bringing her to Las Vegas and handing her over to her mother.

He knew intellectually that he should do it as soon as he took Zuzu in for the paternity test. As a matter of fact, he woke up every morning telling himself that he'd reserve seats on a weekend flight to Las Vegas. By his second cup of coffee, he'd usually forgotten all about it.

The odds were high that Zuzu wasn't his. If he handed her over to Morgan, the kid would be someone else's problem, and he could go on with his life.

That was what he wanted, but somehow he kept letting the days slip by without making arrangements.

“Charlotte?” he called from the front door. “I'm heading out.”

“Hold on!” Her voice drifted down from the attic stairway, and her feet pounded on the wooden steps. She rushed into the living room, her hair coated with a layer of dust, her shirt speckled with it.

“What have you been doing?” he asked, brushing the powdery stuff from the crown of her head, his mind-of-their-own-fingers lingering in the silky waves.

Her cheeks flushed, her gaze dropping for a fraction of a second before she met his eyes again. “Once I got started cleaning, I couldn't stop. I was under the bed, pulling out boxes that were stored there.”

“What's in them?”

“It looked like clothes and photos.”

“From the old owner?”

“It could be. Mary once told me that she'd left a lot of family things in the attic.”

“Mary?”

“The former owner. It's been decades since she lived here, though. It would be a miracle if there were anything of hers left.”

“You'll have to let me know when I see you Friday.”

“About that . . .” She paused, her steady gaze suddenly jumping away. “I was thinking—”

“It's too late at night for thinking, Charlotte.” He cut her off because he didn't have time to listen to all the reasons why they shouldn't go to dinner. He knew them all. He'd thought of every one of them. He still wanted to go. He thought Charlotte did too. She was scared, though. He could see the fear in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders. No woman should have to feel that way because she was going to have dinner with a man. No man should ever make a woman nervous about going out and enjoying herself.

Some guy had done that to Charlotte.

It had probably been her husband. If he'd been another kind of guy, he would have done a background check on the deceased just to see what kind of guy Brett had been.

“It's morning, Max,” she reminded him. “And it's never too late to use our brains. As a matter of fact, there's no time like the present to make sure we're doing it.”

He brushed the dust from her nose and her cheek, watching as her eyes widened. He could see her pulse racing in the hollow of her throat, and he touched his finger to the spot.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked.

“I'm not afraid. I'm cautious,” she corrected.

“Because your husband was a bastard? What'd he do? Beat you? Is that where you got this?” He traced the scar that ran along her temple, following it into her thick hair.

She stiffened, her eyes flashing. “Brett never laid a hand on me. I would have had him thrown in jail and divorced his butt the first time he did.”

“He
was
a bastard, though, right?” he prodded, because he wanted to know. Maybe he even needed to know.

“Why does it matter?”

“He
was,
” he concluded, and she scowled.

“You want to know the truth, Max? The scar is from my father. He beat my mother from the day they married until the day he died. When he couldn't take whatever pissed him off out on her, he took it out on me. Brett was nothing like him, and he was everything like him. They were both self-centered egotistical men who cared more about themselves than they could ever care for anyone else.” She nearly spat the words, her cheeks red, her eyes blazing. “My father was a bastard. My husband was a bastard. My track record with men is abysmal, and the last thing I want to do is throw myself into a relationship and then find out that I've made another mistake.”

“Sounds like you're carrying a boatload of shit around, Charlotte,” he responded.

“I'm not.” She took a deep breath, brushed her hand over her hair, her fingers touching the scar he'd just traced. He didn't think she even realized what she'd done. “But I'd be a crazy if I didn't learn from my mistakes.”

“I get it,” he said.

He did, but he wasn't going to let Charlotte spend the rest of her life in the safety of her kitchen, baking cakes and cookies for Apple Valley while life passed her by. She deserved a lot better than that. She deserved a man who could teach her what it meant to be loved completely and to love completely. No holds barred. No reservations.

“Thanks.” She smiled.

“No problem. I'll see you Friday.”

“I thought we just agreed—”

He bent his head intent on shutting her up in the most enjoyable way possible.

He meant the kiss to be as light as the last two had been, but she moaned softly as his lips brushed hers, her hands skimming across his abdomen and settling on his waist. Fire raced through his blood, and he pulled her closer, his hands burrowing in her hair as he angled her head, tasted strawberries and chocolate and sunshine. Lost every thought in the sweetness of her lips, the feel of soft curves pressed close.

God, she felt good.

He wanted to back her into the house, lower her onto the couch . . .

He broke away, his breath heaving, his pulse thundering.

Charlotte looked dazed, her lips pink and lush from the kiss.

“I'll see you Friday,” he repeated before he turned away and jogged to his car.

Charlotte had already closed her front door by the time he got in the Vette and shoved the key in the ignition. The living room light went out as he prepared to back out of the driveway. Knowing Charlotte, she was probably already in the kitchen starting her baking for the day.

He didn't call her and tell her to go to bed.

He considered doing it, though.

The fact was, it wasn't his business what she did, but he thought he might want it to be. That was a little surprising. Even with Morgan, he hadn't much cared what she did with her free time. When they were together, they were together. When they weren't, they were free to do what they wanted. As long as they were faithful to each other.

He
had been, but he could have done a lot more to make their relationship work. He could admit that. He could also admit that he hadn't wanted to. He'd wanted Morgan from the moment he'd laid eyes on her. They'd been happy together. Until they weren't.

Then they'd been happy apart.

Easy in the relationship. Easy out.

He backed out of Charlotte's driveway, frowning as he neared Zim's house. A car was parked at the curb. He pulled up beside it, peering through his window and looking straight into Daisy Forester's face. He motioned for her to roll down her window as he rolled down his.

If her car hadn't been completely dark, he'd probably be seeing cheeks flushed deep red. As it was, he could only make out her dark eyes and pursed lips. “Hello, Max!” she said. “You're out and about late.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“We got new inventory today. That always takes a while to organize and put away.” Her gaze skittered away, then darted back. “Once or twice a year I spend hours and hours shelving things.”

“Good to know,” he responded. “Of course, that doesn't explain why you're sitting outside Zim's house at nearly one in the morning.”

“I saw your car in Charlotte's driveway.” She paused.

She'd probably seen plenty more, too, and she'd probably already made a list of every person she wanted to share the information with.

Let her do it.

The gossips would always talk, and he'd given up caring about three minutes after he'd arrived in town.

He waited for Daisy to continue.

And waited and waited.

Finally he ran out of patience. “I have to get back home, Daisy. If there's something you needed to talk to me about, how about you go ahead and do it?”

“Oh. Right.” She smiled, but she looked anything but happy. As a matter of fact, he'd venture to say that she looked decidedly
un
happy. “I did want to ask you something.”

“Okay,” he prodded, biting back impatience. Daisy was the kind of mousy, easily intimidated woman that he tried to be careful around. He didn't want to scare the life out of her. On the other hand, he couldn't wait forever. “Go ahead. What do you want to know?”

“Umm. Well, Charlotte's house. I heard someone broke into it. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Is she okay? She wasn't hurt by the monster who robbed her, was she?”

“She wasn't robbed, and she's fine.”

“If she wasn't robbed, what was the purpose of someone breaking in?”

“That's a good question, Daisy. I don't have an answer.”

“Is that why you were at her place? Were you looking for evidence? Fingerprints? DNA? Did you call in a team to search for clues?”

Obviously, she'd been watching too much
CSI
. Or maybe she'd just been reading too many murder mysteries. “This is a petty crime, Daisy. Nothing to call in backup for.”

“But you did find something, right? You have some way of tracing the fiend.”

Fiend?

Did anyone besides Daisy use that word?

“I'm not at liberty to say.”

“Why not?” she demanded. “I'm a citizen of this town, and I have every right to know what's going on in it.”

“Sorry, Daisy, but that doesn't include knowing every bit of information about the cases we're working on.”

“I still think—”

“I need to head out. If you have any more questions, call the station and speak to Emma.”

“She's a dispatcher. What's she going to be able to tell me?”

“You can leave a message with her, and either Cade or I will get back to you.”

“But you're here right now. Why not just—”

“I really do have to go, Daisy. I'll see you later.” He closed his window and drove away. He knew Daisy well enough to know that she'd hound him for hours if he let her.

He didn't have time for that. Not any day of the week at any time, but especially not in the wee hours of the morning when Ida was waiting for him to return.

He glanced in his rearview mirror to make sure that Daisy hadn't decided to follow him. Her car was still sitting at the curb. No headlights. No interior light. It didn't look like she planned to drive away anytime soon.

Odd.

Daisy was a creature of habit. She worked six days a week, spent evenings watching TV with her boyfriend, and was in bed by ten on weeknights. That information came from Ida who thought Daisy could do a lot better in the man department.

Max hadn't spent a lot of time contemplating the situation, but the fact that the librarian was parked at the curb outside Zim's house was suspicious enough to get him wondering. She'd been awfully curious about the break-in at Charlotte's house and very pushy about getting answers to her questions.

Criminals often returned to the scenes of their crimes, and Charlotte's house sat catty-corner to Zim's. Daisy had a perfect view of the place from her car.

Not that Max was ready to make any accusation, but he
was
going to call Cade in the morning, see what he thought of the situation. Daisy out in the wee hours of the morning was
not
normal. That was for sure.

Not that much of life had been normal since Morgan had popped back into his life and thrust Zuzu into his arms.

He glanced at the dashboard clock. The kid would be up in about five hours. She'd be raring to go, too. There was no slow speed with Zuzu. Everything was full steam ahead. Maybe that's the way all kids were. He didn't have enough experience with them to know.

He pulled up to Ida's garage. A light shone from the living room window in the apartment, splashing out onto the driveway and gleaming on a little pink tricycle. It hadn't been there earlier in the day. Ida must have been shopping. She really needed to stop buying stuff for Zuzu. There was no way they'd ever be able to get it all on the plane to Las Vegas.

He could ship it there, but he had a feeling that once he handed Zuzu back to Morgan, the two would disappear from his life again, leave whatever hotel Morgan had been staying in without bothering to give him a forwarding address. He shouldn't care. He wasn't a kid kind of guy. He never had been.

But Zuzu wasn't just any kid.

She was kind of growing on him, and he'd worry about her when she was gone.

He ran up the apartment stairs and opened the front door.

Ida sat on the sofa, old Pete in her lap, his body flopped across her narrow thighs.

“There you are!” Ida said cheerfully. “Pete and I were just discussing whether or not I should call you again.”

“What was Pete's opinion?” He lifted the old tom and set him on the floor. Pete gave him a disgusted look and meandered into the kitchen. He was probably hoping for a refill in his food dish, but knowing Ida, she'd fed the cat at least twice already.

“He said we should.”

“And yours?” He helped her to her feet. She barely reached his shoulder. For some reason that always surprised him. Ida had energy to spare, her personality always making her seem larger than life.