Snow Angels. Fern MichaelsЧитать онлайн книгу.
dark and cold, that’s exactly what he would’ve done. What he really wanted to do was snatch the invitation back, find another bottle of whiskey, and go back to sleep.
Seeing the expectant looks on the little girls’ faces, he blocked any further thoughts about what he should have done. This was the right thing to do. It’s what Kayla would have done had she been alive.
“Bathroom’s that way.” He pointed to a door beneath the staircase leading upstairs.
“Thanks.” Grace continued her grip on the girls, leading them to the bathroom. Once inside, she helped them remove their coats and mittens. When each had had her turn using the toilet, both girls washed their hands, loving the feel of the warm water.
“I want to take a bath, Miss Grace. I’m as cold as a frog,” Amanda announced.
Grace laughed. “Just how cold is a frog?” she asked the little girl.
“Real cold. Like a Popsicle.”
Ashley looked at her little sister. “Mommy would tell you to mind your manners right about now.”
“She would?”
“Yeah,” Ashley said. “Miss Grace, you didn’t talk to our mom, did you?”
Fearing Ashley would ask this but knowing there was no way around it, she simply told her the truth.
“And first thing in the morning, Mr. Jorgenson will take us to the van,” Grace finished explaining.
“I bet Mommy is scared ’cause she always wants to know exactly where we’re at,” Amanda said.
Grace felt as though she’d been punched in the gut with an extra large fist. “I know she’s worried, but right now there isn’t any way to let her know we’re okay, so let’s just concentrate on getting through the night.” She sounded lame even to herself.
Both girls watched her with fear in their eyes. “What if Daddy…”
“He doesn’t know we’re here. I think it might be a good idea if we didn’t talk about your daddy for the rest of the night. Are you girls okay with that?” Grace didn’t want their host asking any more questions than necessary.
Both girls nodded.
“Then let’s see if Mr. Jorgenson has something to drink, then we’ll rest,” Grace said.
With both girls following at her heels, she relaxed. They were safe for the moment and accepted her decision without question.
If she could only remember where she’d seen Mr. Jorgenson before, then maybe she would feel safe.
Chapter 3
With the girls trailing behind her, Grace returned to the kitchen, surprised to find their host pouring boiling hot water into four red mugs. “I only have the instant stuff,” he pointed out, indicating packages of instant cocoa mix next to the cups. “Milk spoils too fast.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jorgenson. I appreciate your hospitality,” Grace said. She opened four packs of the instant hot chocolate and added the contents to the cups of hot water. “This is just what the girls need, something to warm them up.” Grace stirred the hot drinks, then called the girls to the kitchen. “Sit at the table, okay?” she suggested to the two.
“Can we give the dogs some?” Amanda asked Grace, as Ashley helped her climb onto the chair.
“Never ever give chocolate to dogs! Are you crazy?” Max shouted from his position in front of the sink.
Instantaneously, both girls began to cry, their little faces masks of fear and horror. Grace hurried over to them. “Shhh, it’s okay. Mr. Jorgenson didn’t mean to yell”—Grace shot him a death look—“did you?” Her green eyes flared like sparkling emeralds.
“Uh, no. I didn’t. It’s just that anyone knows not to give chocolate to a dog.”
“Not everyone, Mr. Jorgenson. Especially a five-and an eight-year old.” If not for the worsening weather, Grace would’ve left the house immediately. The last thing the girls needed was an angry man yelling at them. That was what had brought them and their mother to Hope House in the first place. Of course, there were also the beatings, but Grace truly didn’t believe their host would resort to that behavior.
Grudgingly, he said, “I’m sorry, okay?”
“I’m sure you are,” Grace said to him, then to the girls, “Finish your drinks.”
She wanted to shout at him, tell him exactly what these two innocent children had been through in their short lives, but it wasn’t his business, and she never discussed her guests’ private affairs with strangers, or anyone else who wasn’t a member of her inner circle.
Grace used her sleeve to dry their tears. “It’s okay. Really. Let’s go to our room, and I’ll tell you a Christmas story.” Again she eyed their host with a look that she hoped shamed him.
“What about the tree? Can I still pick out the decorations?” Ashley asked, all traces of fear gone from her big brown eyes.
“Of course. Now come on, let’s get some sleep. Before you know it, morning will be here, and I want you both to get some rest. You’ll need lots of energy, so you can decorate the tree.”
The idea seemed to excite both girls, and for that Grace was extremely grateful. Max Jorgenson hadn’t shown them where to sleep, so she took the initiative. “If you’ll tell me where to find a room?”
Raking his hands through hair that Grace thought a bit on the long side, he nodded. “This way.”
Taking their hands in her own, Grace followed Max up the stairs, looking at everything and anything while trying to avoid Max’s rear view, plastered mere inches from her face.
A loft overlooked the downstairs. Shelves were lined with trophies, and covers of magazines were expertly framed and hung on the pine walls. In a built-in area that had special lights shining on its contents was an Olympic Gold Medal. It was then that Grace knew why she recognized Max.
“You’re the skier,” she stated to his back.
“Yep. That would be me,” Max answered with more sarcasm than she thought necessary.
He stopped at the end of the hall to open a door and turn on the lights. “A king-size bed. That should hold the three of you. There’s the bathroom.” He pointed to a door at the end of the huge room. Grace canvassed the large bedroom in one sweeping glance. What she saw took her breath away.
The room was the size of the entire downstairs at Hope House. Pine furniture that matched the logs throughout the house appeared to be custom-made since each piece occupied its designated location with absolute precision. Pictures of winter scenes hung on the rounded log walls. Briefly, Grace wondered how that was possible, but the physics of picture-hanging was the least of her concerns. On the large bed in the center of the room, a navy blue, maroon, and cream-colored quilt invited her to hunker down beneath its comfort for warmth. The bath was as large and extravagant as the rest of the house. A deep tub that would hold at least six people, windows that looked out into the blue-black snowy night. Grace could only imagine the view in the daylight. Navy and cream towels hung on warming rods. No expense had been spared when the house was constructed, of that she was sure.
Not wanting to appear impressed, Grace simply said, “This is very nice. Thank you.”
Ushering the girls over to the bed, she was about to help them remove their dresses when Max spoke.
“I have some flannel shirts they can wear. They’re warm.” Without another word, he left, returning minutes later with three red, green, and white plaid flannel shirts. The colors of Christmas. Grace was sure it wasn’t intentional as there were no decorations of any kind, or anything that she’d seen to indicate that her host celebrated the holiday season. To each his own. Personally, she couldn’t imagine not decorating.
However,