Chapter Three
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”âGrace shot him a death lookâ“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, touched by his suggestion, she was too startled to offer any objection. “That's very kind of you, Mr. Jorgenson.”
“Max. Mr. Jorgenson was my father,” he said from his position at the doorway.
Surprised once again, Grace glanced at him, then recalled his earlier hostility and wondered what had caused the sudden change of heart. Probably realized he was stuck with them for the remainder of the night and was just trying to make the best of a bad situation. The man was like a faucet. Hot one minute and cold the next.
Staring at him, Grace spoke in low tones, hoping he'd take the bait. She needed some quiet time for her and the girls. They'd had enough excitement for one night. “Okay, then, Max it is.”
He lingered in the doorway. Grace wanted him to leave, but something told her he had more to say before calling it a night. She continued to stare at him, while the girls each took a flannel shirt from her. “You can change in the bathroom,” Grace said to the expectant girls.
“Why do they call you Miss Grace?”
Ah-ha! She wondered when he'd ask. “For some reason they took to calling me that, and it stuck. Myself, I think it's just a matter of respect. They're good girls.”
Max wrapped one jeans-clad leg in front of the other, hands crossing his massive chest. “Why Miss Grace? Is there something wrong with being called âMother'?”
Grace smiled, knowing where he was leading and determined to take him there via the long route.
“No, I don't think there is anything wrong with it at all. I couldn't imagine calling my own mother anything else.”
He took two long strides, and suddenly he was in the room. Two feet in front of her. “Yet you won't allow your own children to address you as such?”
Grace took a deep breath, then offered a slight smile of defiance. “They're not my children.” There, now he knew.
“I get it. They're your husband's,” Max asked, a hint of annoyance overshadowing his handsome features.
Enjoying the verbal duel, Grace said, “I'm not married.”
Max shook his head. “Look, lady, I'm tired. Either tell me what I want to know, or first thing in the morning, I'll have no choice but to contact the authorities. A lone woman out on a night like this. Two kids who don't belong to her. You tell me, what would you think if the situation were reversed?”
Grace realized he was right. She'd enjoyed toying with him for some odd reason, but to do so at the girls' expense was totally out of character for her. This man had allowed three complete strangers into his home. No matter how rude or inquisitive, it was wrong to let him think she was anyone other than herself.
Giving her a brutal, and very unfriendly stare, he raised his winged brow in question. “So?”
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have led you to believe the girls belonged to me. They came to me, rather their mother came to me, for help. I gave them a place to stay. Tonight, I took the girls to see
The Nutcracker
at Eagle Valley High. I thought it would give them a chance to enjoy the Christmas season and offer their mom a much-needed respite. And then I encountered the roadblock on my way home. You know the rest of the story.” Satisfied with her answer since she hadn't betrayed Stephanie's confidence, Grace waited for Max to say something. Anything. When several seconds passed, and he still hadn't spoken, she did.
“You look at me as though I've . . . committed a crime or something! What?” Grace asked, beyond flustered, not liking these feelings one little bit.
“I'm trying to decide if you have. Or not.”
They stared at each other across the bed. His blue eyes darkened as he held her verdant gaze. Grace held his infuriating stare with an equally wicked one of her own. It was as though they were playing a game. Dueling eyes.
Max's stare wavered for a second. Watching him with a professional eye, Grace detected a glimmer of sadness behind his hard glare. Like a wave slamming against her, Grace surmised this man had known sorrow. A very deep and personal sorrow. Why hadn't she noticed it before? She didn't know. Maybe the fact that her carelessness had caused two little girls and their mother unnecessary worry? Blinded by her own stupidity. Pure and simple. There was no other explanation for her not seeing between the lines where this angry man was concerned.
Tearing her glance away from Max, Grace walked over to the bathroom and knocked on the door. “Are you girls finished in there?”
When she didn't get a reply, she knocked again. “Amanda? Ashley?”
Max was behind her now, concern etched on his face. “I have a key around here somewhere.”
“I don't think the door is locked.” Grace tried the knob. Sure enough, it turned in her hand. She stepped inside, fearful that something had happened to the pair. When she didn't see them, her heart skipped a beat. Then another.
“They're not in here!” she shouted to Max. “Is there a door...?”
“This is the only way in or out.”
“Ashley! Amanda!” Grace called. “This isn't funny.”
A noise, something that sounded like a “shhh” came from the direction of the oversized tub. Grace looked at Max, who'd come up behind her. She placed a finger to her lips. He nodded. She walked over to the tub, where both girls were huddled, their arms wrapped tightly around each other.
“Amanda, Ashley,” Grace stated softly as she stared down into twin sets of brown eyes.
“We got scared, Miss Grace,” Ashley explained.
“It's okay, there's nothing to be afraid of,” Grace coaxed.
“We're afraid of him,” Amanda said, pointing a small finger at Max, who stood behind Grace.
Momentarily at a loss for words, Grace didn't know what to say. Both girls had been through so much. Max wasn't a friendly man at all; no wonder they were terrified of him.
With an air of exasperation, Max said, “Hey, I promise not to bite, okay?”
Grace thought he could've chosen his words better, could've softened his tone somewhat, but at least this was a start.
“See? Mr. Jorgenson isn't angry,” Grace said, as both girls began their climb from the tub.
As innocent children often do, Amanda said the first thing that came to mind, “Then why doesn't he have a Christmas tree? You said all happy families have Christmas trees. Isn't Mr. Jorgenson happy? Does he have a family?” Amanda asked Grace.
Good questions,
she thought, eyeing their host. “I'm afraid that's Mr. Jorgenson's personal business, sweetie. It's one of those questions that your mother wouldn't want you to ask.”
“It is?” Amanda looked to her older sister for confirmation.
“I think so,” Ashley said, sounding as unsure as Grace felt.
“Let's not worry about Mr. Jorgenson right now, girls. It's really, really late. At this rate we won't have much time to sleep before it'll be time to get up and go back to the van. Now, let's get you all snuggled up in this big comfy bed, and I'll tell you a Christmas story.”
Both girls jumped on the bed and slid beneath the covers, eyeing Grace expectantly.
“Once upon a time . . .”