The Way Home: Winter (Mandrake Falls Series Romance Book 3)

by Catherine Lloyd

  Simon threw himself on his bed. “No! Don’t wear dose tings!”

  Michael stood over him. “Then don’t wear them. I don’t care. This isn’t my job anyway.” She adjusted the sheet under her arms and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  She went in search of her luggage and found it near the front door where she’d left it. Dragging her makeup case from the pile, Michael plopped on the sofa, settling the case on her knees. She wasn’t going to skip out on her community service, but she wasn’t going to serve it here with a three-year-old nightmare and his drill sergeant uncle. She’d call her lawyer as soon as man and boy had left for church and she’d get another gig.

  Michael examined her reflection in the makeup case mirror. Horror shivered through her. Mascara smudged under her eyes and her long blonde hair looked stringier than usual. No wonder the kid stared at her like she’d materialized from the bowels of Hell. Michael began fixing the damage, slathering on expensive cleansing cream. At thirty-two, she needed all the help she could get, no expense spared. She had noticed a disturbing trend on the show lately toward hiring younger actresses to play roles a thirty-year-old would normally play. She tried not to be paranoid about it but there was a time when experience was worth more than an unlined face. Not anymore. A thirty year career for an actress had disappeared along with black and white television. Michael sighed. It was an old story, one that she and her fellow female performers griped about endlessly over plates of salad greens and skinless chicken. If the trend continued they’d all be out of a job—until they hit the granny years and were marketable again. Small wonder so many actresses weren’t leaving their future in the hands of young male producers; many of her friends were forming independent production companies of their own.

  Hudson came into the living room with Simon in tow. “My God, what happened to you?”

  “What?” Alarmed, Michael shot a look at her reflection. Every inch of her face was coated in a mask of mint-green paste. Nothing amiss. From the look on his face, she thought she’d had an allergic reaction. Michael groped for a tissue and wiped the product off. “I was just cleaning up.”

  Hudson looked uncertain. “If you say so. What did you to Simon?”

  Michael raised an eyebrow at the boy; he was wearing the shirt and pants she’d laid out for him. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Nothing. He’s dressed, that’s all. How did you do it?” Hudson grinned.

  He had an attractive smile, Michael noted as she wiped her face. The hellion aside, she could do worse. The uncle was easy on the eyes. Michael eyed Simon meaningfully. “I guess your nephew just felt like getting dressed this morning. Isn’t that right, Simon?”

  The three-year-old stuck his thumb in his mouth and nodded. Hudson gazed down at his nephew and tousled his hair affectionately. “I’m proud of you, partner. I’m going to get you to church on time for once.” He met Michael’s eyes. “Thanks.”

  Michael shrugged. “All part of the service.” She watched Simon suspiciously wondering why he gave in so easily. She wasn’t fooled for a minute by the thumb in the mouth routine—the Hellion had something up his sleeve.

  “He’s a great kid. I probably I haven’t been as firm with him as I should have been.”

  “Probably? No, it’s pretty much confirmed that kid hasn’t had any discipline. Not that I would have done much better. The only thing I know about kids is never share a stage with them. They steal focus. Actually, I should have that written into my contract. No kids, no dogs. Have you seen your kitchen, by the way?”

  “No, and I don’t want to. Whatever happened in there will have to wait until after church to deal with. Are you ready?”

  “Good grief, I’m not going.” Michael turned her attention to her mirror. After the hydrating- lift paste was tissued off, she followed with the toner and then the rejuvenating serum. Michael reached for the toner bottle. “You asked me to watch the kid and I watched the kid. I have no intention of going to church.”

  Hudson closed the lid of the makeup case with a definitive click. “You look fine. Let’s go.”

  Michael’s jaw dropped. She’d heard people say their jaw dropped but she’d never experienced it before. When Hudson shut her case like that, she could actually feel her jaw dropping. “Who do you think you are?”

  “I don’t think. I know I am your supervisor for the next eight hours. So get dressed. You’re making us late.”

  Michael’s eyes roamed over the man, scornfully. He was dressed in a white shirt and dark slacks and he was clean-shaven. Even with his hair wet from the shower, he still looked fabulous. But she was unmoved. “You amuse me, Mr. Grace. If you can’t control a three-year-old boy, how do you expect to handle me?”

  “I have a way with wayward women,” Hudson replied with a sidelong grin.

  “I’ll bet you do,” Michael purred. “But I’m not your run-of-the-mill wayward woman. You’re in over your head, sir.”

  Hudson bent over to speak to her, planting his hands on his knees, like she was a child. “Let me explain something to you, Miss Shannon. I’m not a probation officer or a policeman. I don’t have the authority to make you do anything. But as long as you are here you are under my watch, which means if I’m going to church then you are too. You’re free to make your own decision, of course, but I’ll be sure to inform the court that you were uncooperative when I file my report requesting your reassignment. They will not be happy to have to go through this expensive process again. Imagine garbage detail in New York City in January. Have you ever picked up frozen excrement before?”

  “That’s blackmail.”

  Hudson shrugged and straightened. “Okay. We’ll call it that.”

  “Fine,” Michael said through clenched teeth. “I’ll go to church. Could you please carry my bags to my room?” she asked with icy civility.

  Hudson stared pointedly at the pile of luggage on the floor and then back at her with a raised eyebrow. “I can help.” He hoisted one of the suitcases under his arm. “Good lord, how long were you planning on staying? Feels like you’ve got everything you own in here.”

  Michael flushed. Over-packing was a bad habit of hers. She never knew what to bring, so she brought it all. “I wasn’t sure what the weather would be like.”

  “Cold,” Hudson gasped, hauling the bags to her room. “The weather is cold in December.”

  Michael trailed after him burdened down with three of the smaller cases. “What I don’t understand is if your brother is so keen to have Simon go to church on Sunday, why doesn’t he take him himself? Are they on vacation or something?” She dumped the cases on the bedroom floor with a gasp.

  Hudson flashed an odd look in her direction. His nephew was clinging close to his leg, his thumb stuck in his mouth. “Simon, will you get the keys to truck for me? I forgot them on top of the dresser in my room.”

  The little boy nodded wide-eyed and trotted from Michael’s bedroom. Hudson waited until he was out of earshot before speaking. “Simon’s parents are dead. My brother and his wife were killed in a car accident two years ago. Riley was the minister at All Soul’s Church and his old congregation still expects Simon to attend. And I more or less promised I would make sure he got there. I’m Simon’s legal guardian as well as being his uncle.”

  Michael looked for a place to settle her gaze. “I am sorry. I’m such a fool. Now I feel terrible for the way I talked to him this morning.”

  “Kids need boundaries.”

  Michael lifted a brow. “You haven’t been very successful in that department.”

  Hudson’s mouth tightened. “I’m doing the best I can. I didn’t want this job. My sister-in-law has family in Florida. God knows why they picked me to be Simon’s guardian.”

  Michael realized she’d hit a nerve and had the good sense to back off. “Well, I’m sure he’ll turn out all right. In my experience, all kids are horrors until they turn twenty-one and can afford to buy dinner.”

  “Ready to go, Simon?”r />
  She jumped guiltily. The little horror was standing in the doorway and heard every word she said.

  “We’ll wait for you in the living room,” Hudson said, steering Simon away. “Don’t take all day,” he hissed and closed the door behind him.

  Michael looked longingly at the bed. Sunday was her sleep-in day. Sighing, she threw open the largest suitcase and meditated on its contents. What did one wear to a country church service?

  THE CONGREGATION contained a startling number of adoring females. Michael felt their eyes on them the moment they entered the church. At first she was assumed it was her they were staring at—they’d never seen a celebrity before—but it soon became clear Hudson was the main attraction. There was hand waving, giggling and blushing as soon as he smiled in their direction.

  Michael wasn’t used to being invisible, and she wasn’t used to the man she was with ignoring her because she took a smidge too long to get ready. After the fuss he’d made to get Simon dressed you’d think he’d be a little more understanding when it came to a grown woman. Michael smoothed the cranberry-red knit skirt over her legs. The perfect choice takes time. Besides they weren’t that late. She thought it was a good sign when they got seats near the front. Hudson whispered furiously that only the latecomers that got stuck sitting at the front. The church was decorated with evergreen boughs, scarlet poinsettias and gold and white candles. It smelled nice and it was rather serene, Michael mused. She had never been inside a church on Sunday—not a real one anyway. She’d been inside plenty on the set of Tomorrow Never Comes. They weren’t quite the same thing, she thought, listening to the service.

  Simon squirmed in the seat beside her. He’d been sitting so quietly that she almost forgot he was there. Now he was drumming his feet against the pew in front of them.

  “Knock it off,” Michael murmured.

  Simon ignored her, pretending he didn’t hear and continued to bang even louder.

  “Stop that or I’ll take you outside.” If there was one thing Michael wouldn’t tolerate, it was disrupting a performance—or in this case, a sermon—with bad behavior.

  “Dat guy is de boss of me,” Simon said pointing at Hudson. “He will get mad at you.”

  Michael glared at Hudson who was studiously ignoring them both. “He’s already mad at me and I’m mad at him.”

  Simon drummed his feet even harder. Michael caught the low drone of the congregation. She glanced around. No one would look her way, much less meet her eye. It was almost as if they felt guilty of something. No one was acknowledging Simon’s misbehavior. His shoes banged loudly.

  Michael grasped the kid’s arm firmly and pulled him out of the pew. Hudson Grace and the good people of Mandrake Falls may feel guilty about disciplining a poor little orphan boy but she didn’t. Simon protested at the top of his voice as she hauled him down the aisle. Michael felt her face grow hot but she ignored the startled looks of the congregation. She fastened her gaze on the large oak door straight ahead and kept on marching. Behavior that was tolerable—even cute—at three years of age would become obnoxious at five. Before long, Simon wouldn’t be welcome anywhere. Not that it was any concern of hers what the child’s behavior was like at five but Michael didn’t see why she should have to put up with it now. She almost had him outside when he clutched the door jamb and let out an unholy wail.

  Hudson’s voice boomed behind her. “Miss Shannon, he doesn’t have to go if he doesn’t want to.”

  Flushed from the exertion of trying to disengage Simon, Michael snapped, “He sure as hell does!”

  The congregation gasped. Michael banged open the door and dragged the shrieking child out onto the snow-covered stoop. The entire congregation followed, crowding out to see what she would do next. At last an audience, she thought sourly. Michael caught Simon around his middle and lifted him football style over her right hip. She would have preferred to be gentler but Simon wasn’t cooperating and Michael never backed down from a fight. He caught the iron railing as she started down the stairs. His grip was strong enough to almost yank her off her feet. She had to admire his tenacity. It wouldn’t get him anywhere but she admired it nonetheless.

  “No!” the three year old shrieked. “Uncle Hudson! No! I scared of dis!”

  “You’d better be afraid,” Michael grunted. He was heavy and the fur coat she was wearing was too warm for this kind of activity. The little grooming she’d managed with Hudson Grace breathing down her neck was melting off her face. “By the time I get through with you—”

  “Miss Shannon!” Hudson’s voice reached her like a whip. “Leave him alone. He’s just a little boy. He doesn’t understand.”

  “Oh, he understands all right! He knows exactly how to behave himself in church and he chooses not to. I warned him he’d have to leave if he kept up that racket. You heard him. Everyone did and you sat there like zombies. Simon refused to do as he was asked so I’m making him leave. You gave me this job. If you have a problem with me disciplining your nephew then feel free to take over right now.”

  Hudson took one look at the screaming little bundle and Michael could see by the expression on his face that taking over was the last thing he was going to do.

  “Mr. Grace, what is going on here?” An imperious voice cut through the crowd, parting it like a hot knife through butter. Michael looked up to see a large fashionably dressed woman with steel gray hair staring down at her with distaste. “Who is this woman and why is she manhandling your nephew?”

  Chapter III: Three French Hens

  HUDSON COUGHED. “Miss Shannon, this is Mrs. Letitia Murdoch. She’s the Warden of this church and my brother’s patron when he was alive. She also chairs the board of the Mandrake Falls Theatrical Society.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Michael barely glanced at the woman. She was too busy peeling Simon’s small fingers from the railing.

  “I wish I could say the same for you,” Mrs. Murdoch said icily. “This little boy has been through enough. This treatment of him in his father’s church of all places is outrageous.”

  “With all due respect, what this kid has been through is not relevant. Let me ask you this—would Simon’s mother be proud of her son’s behavior today? What is outrageous is that no one cares enough for this little boy to discipline him! Simon’s mom died and that’s sad, but Simon has a life ahead of him—preferably one that does not lead to juvenile hall. It’s not his fault he doesn’t know how to behave himself but he will never learn if we don’t teach him.”

  Mrs. Murdoch looked at her closely. “Have we met before? You look familiar.”

  Michael was weirdly pleased at being recognized at last. She was beginning to think no one in this town owned a TV. “I’m an actress.”

  “Oh my god, it’s Michael Shannon!” A voice screamed. “It is her! Michael Shannon! I thought she looked familiar. Michael Shannon plays Vickie Webber on Tomorrow Never Comes. She’s a real celebrity.” A young red-headed woman pushed forward, gushing, “What a thrill! Oh my goodness, I’ve been watching you since you joined the show as Bart Sullivan’s illegitimate daughter and now you’re in a coma. This is the most exciting moment of my life!”

  A satisfying murmur rippled through the crowd. Michael propped Simon up with her leg to free one hand to shake the woman’s outstretched one. She learned early in her career that fans must be acknowledged no matter what the situation. Dropping whatever you’re dealing with—whether it’s a forkful of linguine, a trip to the bathroom, or an unruly three-year-old was part of the job description. To do otherwise was celebrity suicide.

  “I’m so pleased to meet you,” Michael said graciously. “What is your name?”

  “Oh my god, oh my goodness, I’m Paula, Paula Dunlop. I work at the Beauty Box in town. Oh my. This is such an honor.” The woman could hardly breathe.

  “Paula, stop all that fawning and let the woman answer my questions.” The Murdoch glared and Paula shrank to one side.

  “I don’t have time to answer any questi
ons at the moment,” Michael said abruptly. She didn’t have to put up with Murdoch’s rudeness. The woman was obviously not a fan. A phrase her friend used with her child when he was acting up occurred to Michael. “Simon is in need of a time-out. Just go back inside and carry on with what you were doing.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. How can we go back to the service now?”

  “The show must go on, Mrs. Murdoch. Now, if you will excuse me.” Simon was struggling again, obviously bored with the conversation when it no longer centered on him. No one was going to rescue him so he was going to make everyone pay by screaming and thrashing his legs.

  “Mr. Grace!” The Murdoch turned on Hudson. “Why has this actress taken charge of your nephew? What do you know about her?”

  “Miss Shannon is researching a role—as a small town child psychologist. She offered to work with Simon. She’s ... ah ... very good with kids.”

  Simon’s scream split their eardrums.

  Researching a role was an excellent cover story; she was surprised she didn’t think of it. But even Hudson didn’t sound convinced about her skill with kids. She yanked Simon free of the railing. “Hudson, we’ll wait for you in the truck.” She wrinkled her nose and sniffed Simon’s head experimentally. “This kid smells like he hasn’t had a bath in weeks. That’s the first thing we’re going to do when I get him back to the cabin.”

  Hudson stood on the steps of his brother’s church, listening to Simon’s screeches fade away on the frosty winter air. Someone in the crowd sighed with relief. He knew how they felt. The parishioners were as relieved as he was by the beautiful silence. Until that moment, Hudson had no idea how disruptive Simon’s behavior had been.

  But now he did know and he would be expected to do something about it in the future. Hudson groaned. Why did he insist Michael come to church in the first place? What she said about his sister-in-law and how she would feel about her Simon’s behavior hurt like hell. He knew it was true; he was lax about discipline but the kid had lost both parents. How could he ever make that right for Simon?