Charlie's Angels

by Cheryl St. John

  He wouldn’t have asked or expected her to take him again, but she initiated the union, raising up to lower herself on his erection. How had this good fortune befallen him? he wondered, his mind in a pleasure-induced fog. Was he going to wake up any moment to find himself dreaming?

  Starla leaned forward to kiss him, then sat up to stroke their passions to a higher level. It became an erotic dance of give and take, pause and surge, an act so intensely beautiful Charlie’s throat closed with emotion. Suddenly experiencing an irrationally possessive attitude, he was jealous of any other man who had seen her body or shared physical intimacy. At that moment he wished he could have her all to himself forever. It was a dangerous thought, so he closed his eyes and his mind and just felt.

  Starla loved looking at Charlie, loved how right and natural being with him felt. Other encounters had made her feel one of two ways—like a tool for pleasure—or like a goddess on a pedestal. With Charlie she didn’t feel she was playing either of those roles. His confidence empowered her to be herself. His spontaneity endeared him to her, and his raw sensuality set her on fire.

  His wonderful hands, strong and callused, bracketed her hips and assisted her movements. At one touch or word from her, he would delay his own pleasure to accommodate her wishes, but his mounting excitement had already triggered her orgasm and she gave herself over to it.

  When she opened her eyes, Charlie was watching her. He raised his upper body to meet her for a leisurely kiss. Then in a swift display of strength, he turned her under him and spent himself in her pliant body.

  She lay beneath him, boneless and replete, one hand idly tracing his hip, her eyes closed, her mind and body exhausted. Charlie moved to her side and tucked her against him. In moments she slept.

  “Charlie?”

  “Mmm-hmm?”

  “I checked on Meredith. She’s sound asleep.”

  “Okay.”

  “I turned out the lights, too.”

  “Okay.”

  “Is it all right if I stay here? In your room the rest of the night, I mean?”

  “Definitely all right.”

  “Charlie?”

  “What?”

  “I love your hands on my skin like that.”

  “Like this?”

  “Yes. And…oh…like that.”

  “You’re so soft all over.”

  “And you’re so…well, not soft all over.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Yeah. Lucky me.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “Until what?”

  “Until…morning.”

  “Hours.”

  “Good.”

  “Your beard’s scratchy.”

  “Want me to stop?”

  “No. Don’t stop.”

  “Shall I…?”

  “Yes-s-s.”

  “Like that?”

  “Mmm. Oh. Oh, Cha-arlie.”

  Starla woke to the sound of the shower running. She glanced at the clock. Meredith would be up soon.

  She grabbed her scattered clothing from the floor, pausing only to slip on her sweatpants and sweatshirt, and carried her underwear in one fist. As she unlocked the door, she glanced back at the rumpled bed, sheets and blankets strewn off the bottom and side and experienced a twinge in her heart.

  The rest of the house was silent and she ran to the stairway and escaped upstairs into the bedroom without being discovered by Meredith. She didn’t know why it would have been so upsetting, but she’d have been embarrassed to have the child see her in Charlie’s room.

  Turning on the water in the shower, she set the temperature. After stripping off the clothing, she stepped under the spray and enjoyed the hot water buffeting her hair and body. Shampooing her hair, she thought of Charlie’s praise and attention for the scents and textures he appreciated about her. Lathering her skin, she remembered kisses and touches too numerous to count and she took pleasure in how much Charlie enjoyed her, tingled remembering how much she enjoyed him.

  Toweling off and drying her hair, she put things into perspective. Extraordinary circumstances had led to an extraordinary encounter, one that wouldn’t have happened if things hadn’t occurred the way they had.

  She was immensely grateful for the way the last few days had unfolded. It was likely she’d never see Charlie again once the weather cleared and her truck was towed. But she would always have these unforgettable memories to treasure.

  Downstairs a phone rang. She dressed in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and pulled on her socks and boots. Prepared for the day and to face Charlie, she descended the stairs.

  Meredith was on the floor in front of the entertainment center watching television. “Morning, Starla!”

  “Morning, hon.”

  Charlie was in the kitchen on the phone and as she approached she heard his side of the conversation. “That’ll be great, Janet. What time do you think Russ will get here? Terrific. We’ll be waiting. Bye.”

  Charlie hung up the phone. He looked at Starla, and a warm smile tugged his lips upward. “Good morning.”

  Her skin warmed at the look and the knowledge that passed between them. “Morning.”

  “Good night?” he asked.

  “Fishing?” she replied.

  He nodded.

  “I had a great night,” she told him truthfully.

  A pause stretched between them and if they’d been alone, they would have met in a reassuring embrace. Instead, Charlie said, “That was Janet Carter from town. Her husband has a sleigh and he’s coming by to get us.”

  “Really?”

  Meredith must have overheard, because she shot past Starla to look up at her father. “With the horse, Daddy?”

  “Yep. Tonight is the Christmas program at church.”

  Meredith danced around in a circle, her dark hair flying. “‘Dashing through the snow,’” she sang, “‘in a one-horse open sleigh! On the fields we go…’”

  “‘Laughing all the way,’” Starla joined in and together they said, “‘Ha-ha-ha!’”

  Meredith giggled.

  “Go get dressed, missy,” her dad said.

  Meredith flew toward her room. “I’m wearing my red dress. Starla, will you fix my hair?”

  “I sure will.”

  “Yippee!”

  “Meredith, dress in your warm pants and boots and we’ll pack your dress to change into,” her father called, then turned to Starla. “Think she’s a little eager to get out of the house?”

  “Maybe a little.” She helped herself to a cup of coffee. “So tell me about this event at church.”

  “Well, that’s just part of it. Elmwood’s Christmas celebration lasts most of a day. There’s a chili feed at the Waggin’ Tongue and tree decorating at the park. There will be ice skating on the lot beside the library. Robbie Perkins owns that land, and he’s made an outdoor rink he floods for the holidays. Then there’s the kids’ programs and a church service.”

  “You go to church?”

  “Usually. Meredith likes Sunday school.” He placed a bowl in the dishwasher and wiped the counter. “The church program is a little dressier, so we’ll take extra clothing. Do you have something with you?”

  “I have an outfit in the truck.”

  “I’ll go get it for you.”

  “Will people think it’s strange if I come along? To town and church with you, I mean?”

  “Garreth already knows. We’ll have him look at those stitches, by the way. I talked to Shirley Rumford, the lady at the Waggin’ Tongue the night you got here, so she’s already aware. And the sheriff knows, so that means Sharon, the dispatcher, knows, so that means that by now a lot of people know.”

  “What will they think?”

  “They’ll think your truck landed in a ditch after you returned my daughter to me safely and that you’re waiting for it to be towed. Not much to think.”

  Sipping her coffee, she studied the countertop. “You’re right. They’d never suspect that after only two
days, you and I would…”

  “Get it on?”

  She glanced up to find him grinning. “Yeah.”

  “Neither would I have suspected that, sweetheart.”

  The casual endearment caught her off guard. “Charlie.”

  His eyes darkened. “My name is a weapon on your lips. Be careful how you use it. And when.”

  “Just so I do use it…right?”

  He glanced toward the other room, then strode forward and pulled her from the stool into his arms for a delicious kiss. Once he released her, she sat back on the seat and he moved to the other side of the counter, but he leaned toward her. “It’s going to be…difficult to keep my hands off you the rest of the day.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Taking a horse and sleigh ride was like stepping into a Thomas Kinkade painting. Russel Carter had already picked up an older couple who lived farther from town than Charlie, and together they sat squeezed onto the seats with lap blankets and coats adding to the bulk and the warmth.

  “Where did you get a sleigh?” Starla had asked Russel when they were introduced.

  “I own a second-hand-furniture store and so I travel to auctions all over the Midwest,” he replied. “When I saw this, I couldn’t pass it up.”

  “Exactly how far is it from your place to town?” she asked Charlie.

  “Eight miles,” he answered.

  “Look!” Russel called. “Plows!”

  Sure enough, on the other side of a sloping snow-laden field, two trucks with blades were pushing snow from a ribbon stretch of highway.

  The other couple cheered.

  Charlie smiled and she returned it, but it wasn’t heartfelt. Soon the highways would be clear, and the rig would have access to tow her father’s truck out. The driver would take her to the nearest garage to warm the truck and the fuel. She’d deliver the load, then head back to her life in Maine. Open her restaurant. Of course, that was the plan. This stop was just a delay. Their lives had only collided for a brief moment, but reality would resume.

  She wanted it to.

  She turned her attention to the countryside and enjoyed the scenery and the brisk air on her cheeks. This was her first sleigh ride and she meant to make the most of it.

  The streets in Elmwood had been plowed, and the main thoroughfare was bustling with activity when Russel dropped them off in an open lot, prepared to head out to gather more country dwellers.

  “Daddy, can we skate now?” Meredith asked.

  “We’d better take our bags to the church first,” he suggested. “We don’t want to lug them around all day.”

  “Okay, and then can we skate?”

  “Do your skates fit this year?” he asked.

  She nodded. “And besides, Miss Lottie keeps a whole bunch of pairs for the kids and she’ll be there to borrow them out.”

  “Loan them,” he corrected, then said to Starla, “Lottie Krenshaw is her day-care provider. Meredith still goes occasionally when I have a job that lasts longer than kindergarten.”

  They caught a ride in the back of a pickup heading toward church and deposited their bags containing changes of clothing for that night. Then they walked toward the skating rink beside the library. Starla heard the music and saw Christmas lights strung on poles around the perimeter before she saw the ice.

  “That’d be Birdy Nichols’s contribution,” Charlie told her. “She brings a setup for music to local events, picnics, dances in the park, everything. But you’ll never hear any current music. She’s stuck in the seventies and eighties.”

  Lionel Richie’s voice, singing the words, “Hello, is it me you’re looking for?” echoed across the street, verifying Charlie’s statement.

  “She could have worse taste in music,” Starla said.

  “Yeah, like the Hansons,” he quipped.

  Starla would have responded, but a male voice called out at that moment. “Charlie! Wondered if you’d make it in.”

  A dark-haired man a good six inches taller than Charlie walked forward to greet them.

  Charlie shook his hand and introduced Starla. “Starla, this is Nick Sinclair, our former sheriff. Nick this is Starla Richards. She got stranded at my place after an incident with Meredith smuggling herself aboard Starla’s rig.”

  “I heard about that. Nice to meet you.” Starla offered her gloved hand, and Nick shook it before turning aside. “You have to meet my wife. She was right here a minute ago. There she is. Ryanne!”

  A lovely woman with riotous blond curls escaping a knit hat walked toward them, her coat stretched over a distended belly. “Hi, Charlie.”

  Charlie made introductions, and Ryanne gave Starla a welcoming smile. “I’m so glad Meredith is here. Jamie’s friend Benny is out of town, and Jamie’s been missing his playmate.” She spoke to Meredith, “Honey, Jamie is over there by the hot-dog stand.”

  “I see him. Daddy will you help me put my skates on?” Meredith asked.

  “Sure. Come on. Let’s find a bench.”

  “What size are you?” Ryanne asked Starla. “I brought my skates to loan, because I’m not skating.” She placed a mittened hand over her belly. At Starla’s reply, she said to her husband, “Nick would you mind grabbing my skates for Starla? They’re on the floor of the truck.”

  Nick kissed his wife’s cheek and went to do her bidding. “I have to find things for him to do,” she explained. “He hovers. You’d think I was the first woman to ever have a baby.”

  “This is your second?” Starla asked.

  “My first pregnancy,” she replied. “Jamie was born to Nick’s first wife. But I don’t know how I could love him any more. You have any kids?”

  “Oh, no,” she said, glancing over to where Charlie was helping his daughter with her laces. “I’ve never been married.”

  “I was a career girl myself at one time,” Ryanne said with a smile. “Now I do both. I started an antique shop a while back, so I can set my own hours and work around being a wife and mom.”

  “It must agree with you. You look happy.”

  Ryanne smiled. “I am. So, you drive a truck, is that what I heard?”

  “Well, I drove my dad’s truck as a favor. I got out of trucking a few years back and this was a one-time thing.”

  “Isn’t that just the luck?”

  Charlie rejoined them and stood by as they continued their conversation.

  “So what do you do now?” Ryanne asked.

  “I’m opening a seafood restaurant in Maine.”

  “Oh, my! Are you the talent or the brains and money behind the operation?”

  “Both actually. I have a culinary arts, as well as a business degree.”

  “You’re my kind of girl,” Ryanne said.

  Nick returned with a pair of white skates with blade covers. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” Starla glanced at Charlie. “Got your skates?”

  He held them up and they excused themselves to find a bench.

  Charlie was staring at her as she sat and removed her boots.

  She looked up. “What?”

  “You own a restaurant?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And have a culinary arts degree?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re what, a gourmet cook?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “You might have told me.”

  “You never asked.”

  “I fixed you canned soup and grilled cheese and…pancakes from a mix.”

  “I don’t look gift horses in the mouth.”

  He sat down beside her. “All along you must have been thinking what a schmuck I am.”

  “I was not. You took me into your home and shared everything you had with me. What more is there?”

  “Uh. Class?”

  She chuckled. “You’ve got plenty of class, Charlie.”

  His eyes darkened. “You did that on purpose,” he said referring to her use of his name.

  “We’re alone.”

  “With fifty peop
le milling around.”

  “They didn’t hear.”

  “I’m not worried about what they’ll hear.”

  “You mean…when I say your name, there’s something to be seen?”

  He looked aside and tilted his chin just slightly as he made the admission. “Usually.”

  “Only when I say it.”

  “Thank God.”

  She laughed. “You’re one of a kind…Charlie.”

  “Don’t, I warned you.”

  “Charlie,” she said with a seductive rasp.

  He flattened his lips into a line. “You are so asking for it.”

  “For what, Charlie?” She batted her lashes, feigning outrageous innocence, then stood. “Come on, are we going to skate?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Okay.” She shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll be on the ice.” And with that—and a naughty smile—she left him sitting hunched over on the bench, as though he was casually watching the skaters. Starla waved and skated across the ice.

  By the time Meredith got hungry, Charlie was more than ready to go into the diner and warm up. Starla had been welcomed into the community, initiated to the rumor mill, questioned about her background and family, and she’d accepted the attention graciously. At the Waggin’ Tongue, there was more than chili on the menu, and she and Charlie chose thick, chunky potato soup and warm crusty bread.

  Christmas music played from a pink retro stereo behind the counter. Meredith sat in a booth with them and drew a tree on the frosty window glass.

  “I fixed you canned soup,” Charlie said again as they ate.

  “It hit the spot.”

  “What kind of soup do you make at your restaurant?”

  “Shrimp gumbo, tomato bisque, lentil, black bean to name a few.”

  He set his spoon aside. “The comments you made about my spices make perfect sense now. Oh, and the morning you said my pancakes were, what was it? Light and airy?”

  “A nice golden brown, don’t forget,” she added.

  “They came from a mix, for crying out loud, and I called you Mrs. Butterworth. I was wrong, you’re frigging Martha Stewart.”

  “I’m not.”