A Family Under the Stars Read online

  “Is there anything I can do to help you in here?” Vic asked.

  “Uh, no. But thanks. Alex, may I speak with you for a second?” Charlotte didn’t want to offend their hosts, but she also needed to make sure her daughters would be safe while at their house.

  “Dad, Com, why don’t you take Elsa and Audrey outside and show them my old tree fort?”

  “I’ve always wanted one of those,” Elsa said, then yelled to her sister in the other room. “C’mon, Audrey. They’re gonna show us the giant doll house in the tree outside.”

  “It’s a fort,” Commodore corrected. “No dolls allowed.”

  “What about teddy bears?” Elsa asked, jerking a thumb toward her little sister. Audrey, arms spread wide, did a stiff-legged walk into the kitchen, looking more like a zombie than a plush toy.

  “Fine,” Commodore said, as Vic tossed Audrey up on his shoulders. “As long as they know how to shoot a bow and arrow.”

  Both girls whooped and Charlotte tried not to squeeze her eyes shut. A couple more hours. She needed to keep it together for just a little longer. “I don’t think that sounds too safe. My children aren’t used to...”

  “We won’t use real arrows,” Vic interrupted. “Don’t worry. We’re experts at teaching kids about the outdoors.”

  Charlotte took another deep breath, then nodded because who wouldn’t trust a sweeter, slightly older Hugh Jackman? “Okay, just be careful, ladies.”

  “And speaking of experts...” Commodore suspiciously eyed the other containers she’d already pulled out as Vic and Audrey headed toward the door. “Make sure you tell her about the fruits and vegetables, Alex.”

  Then the old man gave his grandson a pointed look before following a chattering Elsa out the back door. When the screen slammed behind them, Charlotte tried not to think about the fact that she was alone once again with Alex.

  She couldn’t very well talk about what happened the last time she’d cooked a meal for him. So, instead, she tried for a neutral topic. “I should’ve asked if your family had any allergies or food restrictions.”

  “For Com, it’s not a restriction so much as an avoidance.”

  “To fruits and vegetables?”

  “Only the kind not from a can. He doesn’t trust anything without preservatives. So, did you want to talk about my grandfather’s dietary quirks or was there something you needed to tell me?”

  “Right.” How could she have forgotten that she’d actually orchestrated getting him alone so that she could speak with him? “I don’t know the most delicate way to put this because I know you all are more comfortable with dangerous outdoor activities, but I just wanted to make sure that all your guns and weapons and anything like that were locked up.”

  “Of course.” Alex crossed his arms over his chest. “Just because we live out in the wilderness doesn’t mean we’re wild savages. Com has always taken safety very seriously and passed that down to us.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise, but as a mother, I just needed to double-check.”

  “I get it. And I appreciate the fact that you’re a concerned mom. But you don’t know me all that well if you think I’d let a couple of children run around my house if it wasn’t safe.”

  She didn’t really know him at all. And now she needed to soothe his ego. “I’m sorry. You just didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who hangs out with a bunch of kids.”

  “Then you’d be pretty wrong. I coach everything from Little League to youth basketball, and every summer my family runs an outdoor day camp for boys and girls.”

  Charlotte sucked in her cheeks. Wow. She hadn’t seen that coming. Although, she probably should have. The guy had been incredibly patient with her out on the river, and his dad and grandfather had been great with her daughters so far. However, she’d grown up as an only child as well and assumed that, like her, he hadn’t been exposed to too many kids. She really needed to stop making assumptions about Alex Russell.

  Several moments of awkward silence ticked by as she tried to summon every hostessing skill she’d learned in those mandatory etiquette classes in boarding school. But he was the one who finally rescued their conversation. Just like he rescued everything else. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

  “Do all what?”

  He gestured toward the ingredients she’d set out on the faded red Formica countertop. “This thank-you dinner or whatever it is. You’ve already thanked me.”

  Heat stole up her cheeks thinking of exactly how she’d shown her gratitude that night in the tent.

  “Not like that,” he said, as if he’d sensed the direction of her thoughts, which was even more embarrassing. “I meant... Oh, never mind. What are you planning to cook, anyway?”

  Her shoulders dropped, relieved to finally talk about a subject she was more familiar with. “I’m doing an antipasto platter with marinated and roasted vegetables, Mediterranean olives, capicola, and prosciutto. Then I’ve got an arugula and parmesan salad followed by herbed gorgonzola-stuffed cannelloni in a braised short rib ragu. I was going to do lemon garlic broccolini as a side dish, but since your grandfather isn’t a fan of vegetables, maybe I’ll just serve the rosemary focaccia, instead.”

  “Sounds pretty fancy.” There went that patronizing tone again. She’d liked the guy so much better when it was just the two of them out in the wilderness and he was trying to reassure her that everything would be okay.

  “It’s actually fairly simple as long as you have access to quality ingredients. You’re lucky that Duncan’s Market in downtown Sugar Falls has a great Italian section.”

  “Charlotte. Look at our kitchen. Does this look like the kind of place where we cook up a lot of arugula and Mediterranean olives?”

  “First of all, why would you cook olives when you can buy them at the store?” She glanced around at the small enclosed space with the clean but chipped yellow-painted cabinets that had probably been installed during the Kennedy administration. The harvest-gold-colored appliances must’ve been added during the late seventies, and the linoleum flooring was all but giving up in its efforts to remain white and glued to the corners. “Second of all, this kitchen is what we in the design business call retro. And it looks like many wonderful meals were made here.”

  Alex shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on the heels of his hiking boots. “Only if you consider Hungry Man frozen dinners and tater tot hot dish as culinary delights.”

  Was he embarrassed about his humble upbringing? The last thing she wanted to do was cause the guy any unnecessary shame. Especially in his own home. Her chest constricted. Or maybe he was simply uncomfortable with having a stranger in his kitchen. Although, he hadn’t treated her like a stranger back in that tent. Or in her friend’s driveway two days ago.

  “If it’s any consolation, I kind of cheated by doing most of the prep work at Kylie’s. I’m mostly just assembling and reheating things here.”

  “Can I help?” he asked. His nearness wasn’t very helpful at all. In fact, it was distracting. But at least he wasn’t kicking her out of his house. Not that she wouldn’t go politely. She didn’t want to be in his home any more than he probably wanted her here. But Kylie and the girls had already arranged everything before she could explain to her friend that spending any additional time with the sexy river guide was a bad idea.

  “That’s okay. I’m used to working in the kitchen alone.”

  “Can I offer you something to drink?” He pulled a bottle of Coors Light out of the fridge, but she shook her head.

  “I brought some wine if you want to uncork it and let it breathe before we start the appetizers.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at her and she held her breath, wondering if she’d made yet another assumption—one that involved an outdated kitchen and three bachelors actually owning a working corkscrew. Luckily, he opened
a drawer and fumbled through some utensils before pulling one out.

  “Did you get your article done?” Alex asked, still making no move to leave.

  She nodded as she arranged the antipasto platter. “I emailed it last night so that it could be edited and go live on the website this morning. I mentioned Russell’s Sports and provided readers with a link to make rafting reservations. Hopefully, you get a little extra business for all your trouble.”

  A creak, followed by a thwerp of air sounded as he pulled the cork out of the wine. He set it on the counter and she felt his eyes on her. “You weren’t any trouble.”

  Why was he looking at her like that? As if she were wrapped in prosciutto and he wanted to eat her up. She gulped. “Still. Having all the rescue footage might have given people a bad impression.”

  “To be honest with you, Dad’s been so busy fielding online requests today, he actually let Com take some of the phone calls.”

  “You don’t normally let your grandfather answer the phone?”

  “Would you?” Alex took a drink of his beer and she tried not to stare at the way his lips caressed the bottle or how his Adam’s apple slowly moved as he swallowed.

  Whoa, she thought, the old oven must be preheating pretty quickly because it was stifling in this kitchen. Charlotte wiped her brow with the back of her hand, then adjusted her headband, tempted to throw the useless thing back in her purse. “Would I what?”

  “Never mind.” His chin tilted down and a little line appeared between his brows. “Are you okay?”

  She turned her back to him so she could rinse the arugula and order her legs to stop wobbling. “I’ve never been better.”

  Charlotte Folsom, that’s a damn lie. You’re lucky your daughters aren’t here to catch you fibbing like this.

  “Good, because I’ve never been hungrier.”

  “It’ll be another forty-five minutes or so.” Charlotte looked out the window above the sink and spotted an old wooden picnic table on the back porch. The kitchen was too narrow to accommodate any sort of seating arrangement, and when she’d first arrived, she’d noticed the dining table inside the house was covered with stacks of old fishing magazines and a small, deflated raft with a patch kit nearby. Up until that point, she’d wondered where in the world she’d serve their meal. “Should we eat outside?”

  “Where?” he asked. She still had her back to him, but could sense him standing just a few inches behind her, looking out the window over her shoulder.

  “That table right there?”

  “That’s where Com cleans his fish.”

  Charlotte couldn’t stop her nose from scrunching. “Then where do you normally eat?”

  “Either in town,” Alex jerked his thumb toward the living room. “Or in there. With the TV trays.”

  A wave of pity settled in Charlotte’s chest and she tore the leafy greens with a determination she normally reserved for kneading dough. She didn’t care how awkward things were between her and the youngest member of the Russell family, she was going to provide these men with a home-cooked meal to remember.

  * * *

  Alex had to pull the linen closet apart, but he finally found the white lace tablecloth Granola used to use for company. Charlotte had asked him to clear off the dining room table, but when she’d sent him on a mission to find something to cover the scarred oak, he’d been at a loss. After two trips outside to consult with his father and to make sure Com wasn’t teaching her funny and inquisitive daughters how to track a mountain lion, Alex shook out the delicate old material that hadn’t seen fresh air in over twenty-five years.

  The dust embedded itself in his throat, making him cough, then swear. It definitely wasn’t white anymore, and the lace had more moth holes than flowers.

  Why did they have to put on this farce of a dinner party, anyway? If Charlotte wanted them to eat a good meal, couldn’t she have just mailed them a gift card to Patrelli’s or one of the other restaurants in town? Seeing a female commandeer the sacred, masculine domain of the Russell household seemed almost unnatural—like witnessing a shark swimming down the Sugar River.

  Not that Charlotte was a shark—although she was certainly ferocious when it came to her food preparation and staging—but Alex had never so much as brought a date home to meet his family. So having a woman he’d been intimate with bustling around his kitchen playing Holly Homemaker had his gut doing a nose-dive.

  She was supposed to go back to her own world, not show up with her fancy recipes and lifestyling ways and make his world seem drab by comparison. Charlotte had already thanked him for saving her life—and her magazine article—then they’d said goodbye. The strings had been cut. Snip, snip.

  But Kylie Gregson and his grandfather had taken matters into their own hands and, somehow, he was playing host to the woman and her daughters, trying to pretend that his own family wasn’t a bunch of uncivilized hill people.

  At least they didn’t have any criminals in his family tree. Not that it was Charlotte’s fault that her ex-husband was a crook and a con artist. Alex had tried not to delve deeper into her background, but one little internet search yesterday led to dozens of articles about Mitchell Ford’s criminal prosecution and ninety-plus-year prison sentence. It also led to a few stories about her wealthy socialite parents, who were out of the country during the scandal and had been wise enough not to invest any of their millions in their son-in-law’s financial schemes. According to one of the online tabloids, the guy had so many aliases, Charlotte legally changed her and her daughters’ last names back to her maiden one and hadn’t been in contact with the jerk since.

  At least his mother’s abandonment was much less dramatic. As far as he knew. He supposed he should be grateful for that. But the fact remained that his initial instincts about Charlotte coming from money had been spot on.

  He shoved the torn lace tablecloth back into the linen closet. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed by his upbringing, Alex told himself. It was just that Charlotte was the type of woman who naturally decorated every inch of her surroundings. Like putting those big, fussy bows in her daughters’ hair and making them wear fancy dresses and patent leather sandals to a cabin out in the mountains. Clearly, the little girls couldn’t wait to ditch those bows and explore the wilds of his backyard. And he couldn’t blame them.

  Alex’s idea of spiffing things up was to scoop his grandfather’s waders and fishing poles off the sofa and shove them into the hall closet. If you didn’t count the black ostrich cowboy boots he wore for special occasions, he didn’t even own a pair of dress shoes.

  She had to be looking down her aristocratic nose at their humble bachelor pad. Like his own mother had probably done all those years ago, when she’d found herself saddled with an unwanted souvenir from the time she’d stepped outside her comfy, ritzy life. Dad never talked about Mariah Judge—what little information Alex had came from Com, who’d never made it a secret that snobs like her had no business leaving the city and imposing their high-maintenance lifestyles on simple country folk like them.

  Which was why it was so surprising that his grandfather had taken such a shine to Charlotte Folsom and her daughters. Maybe the old man suspected something had happened between them. Alex had been careful to restock the first aid kit as soon as Scooter and Jonesy and the rest of the rescue crew hauled in their supplies.

  But Com had been dropping a lot of hints lately about great-grandchildren and carrying on the Russell family name. When Matt Cooper, the police chief of Sugar Falls, announced that his wife was pregnant, his grandfather made a wisecrack about all of Alex’s buddies beating him at a lot more than poker.

  Having children and settling down wouldn’t normally be considered a competition to most people. But Commodore Russell wasn’t the least bit normal. And neither was having Charlotte in his house.

  Alex stretched his neck befor
e walking back toward the kitchen. “I don’t know how to break this to you, but the tablecloth is pretty much shot.”

  Charlotte was now wearing an apron she must have found in a kitchen drawer because Alex sincerely doubted she owned one that read “BBQ King,” let alone travelled with it. “The tablecloth? As in you only have one?”

  “How many do we need?”

  Turning around, she shook her head as if she couldn’t fathom someone not stocking shelves full of table linens. Well, Alex had news for her. Decorating for dinner didn’t exactly rank too high up on his list of necessities. But he was too distracted by the way her dress outlined her rear end as she bent over to set a casserole dish in the oven.

  The gold-colored metal door squeaked closed, warning him to pull his gaze back up before she caught him staring. She leaned against the counter and asked, “Would you mind if I looked around for something else we could use?”

  He gestured out of the kitchen with an open palm. “Make yourself at home.”

  It was too damn hot in there and Alex didn’t like the way his hormones had hijacked his common sense. He needed fresh air and a reality check so he headed outside to check on the girls.

  Audrey, the younger one, had lost one of her pink shoes and was flying down the zip line that ran from the tree fort to the other side of the backyard. The little girl didn’t talk much, but she was screaming with laughter by the time his dad caught her, and Alex looked toward the kitchen window praying Charlotte hadn’t witnessed her daughter go from acting like a teddy bear to a modern-day Tarzan.

  “Where’s Elsa?” he asked.

  Vic tossed the five-year-old onto his shoulder. “She and your grandfather went looking for something.”

  “Dad, these girls are from the city and their mom probably won’t be happy with them doing anything too dangerous.” Alex looked at the heavily wooded area behind his home and ran a hand through his hair. “I told him no mountain lion tracking.”

  Just then, Com and the six-year-old girl came traipsing out of the trees. Elsa was holding something long and twisting above her head. “Check out the snake we found.”