Christmas With Carlie. Julianna Morris
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level with Annie. “Would you like to wash your face before you eat?” she asked gently.
“Okay.” Annie put her fingers in Carlie’s outstretched hand.
“Is that all right?” Carlie queried, looking up at him. “I can take her through the food line when we get back. Just let me know if she has any allergies.”
“It’s fine. Neither of the girls have allergies.”
Yet Luke was perturbed as he watched his daughter leave with her. Damn it, he was Annie’s father, but she’d refused to let him help her, either in the limousine or after they’d arrived.
Sometimes he questioned whether Beth and Annie blamed him for their mother not being there. Sometimes he even wondered that himself. If he hadn’t been so open-minded about Erika staying in the service, she might still be alive.
Open-minded?
He snorted at the thought. Hardly. More than anything he’d wanted to keep Erika at home. Even the media had known he wasn’t open-minded. What was the headline that had become so popular...the Beauty and the Autocrat?
It hadn’t been fair to his wife. While beautiful, she’d also been a brilliant, decisive army officer. Luke didn’t see himself as autocratic, either—he just tried to make sure the people he cared about were safe and didn’t lack for anything. There was nothing wrong with that. Nonetheless, he’d wanted to be supportive of Erika’s career choice.
The irony was that his wife had raised the question of resigning her commission after the girls were born. He’d tried not to influence her, so now he would always wonder what might have happened if he’d followed his instincts and asked her to stay home.
* * *
“IS THAT BETTER?” Carlie asked Annie, drying her cheeks with a towel.
The youngster heaved a sigh. “I guess. But my eyes are scratchy.”
“You’ll probably forget about it when you eat.”
They were in the lounge area of the restroom and Annie patted the cushion she was sitting on. “This couch is funny.”
“It’s called a fainting couch. They used to be popular back in the 1800s, which is when the concert hall was built. What do you know about Poppy Gold? That’s the name of this place.”
Annie shrugged. “Papa told Aunt Nicole that it’s a tourist town.”
Carlie knew she was biased, but Poppy Gold was a whole lot more than just a tourist town. “It’s a Victorian village, Annie, which means it was built long ago when Queen Victoria ruled England. People visit here and stay in our homes and hotels. We have lots of fun things to do and I think you came at the best time of all. Christmas is my favorite time of year.”
“I used to like it, too. But, um, I’m not sure anymore.”
“Maybe we can make it your favorite again. Will you give Poppy Gold a chance?”
Annie chewed her lip for a long minute. “I’ll try.”
Sadness went through Carlie. The child couldn’t be more than six, yet her eyes were much older.
Out in the main hall, Carlie took her through the food line, letting her carry her plate to the table where Beth and her father were sitting.
Luke murmured a “Thank you,” along with his daughter.
“You’re welcome to eat all you like,” Carlie said, winking at Beth and giving Annie a smile meant just for her.
Over at the serving table, she got back in line.
“Lots of turkey curry salad,” she told the server, someone on Sarah’s staff she didn’t know well.
“It’s my favorite, too.” The woman put three large scoops onto the plate and sprinkled them with roasted cashews. “What else can I get you?”
“One of the turkey-and-cranberry-cream-cheese sandwiches. And some green salad so I can pretend I’m eating healthy again.”
“You got it.”
Plate filled, Carlie joined her aunt Polly at a table along the wall.
Aunt Polly clucked at her. “I was trying to ignore that curry salad. Your hips can stand it—mine can’t.”
“Sorry.” Carlie ate a forkful. “Would it help if I said it was terrible?”
“Nope, because I’d know you were lying.”
It was a lie. The food that Sarah and her catering staff prepared was always fabulous.
Carlie periodically looked over at the Forrester family, noticing that Annie and Beth were talking to each other, but Luke didn’t seem to be talking to anyone. He was eating, though, and drinking large amounts of the specially blended Poppy Gold coffee.
Carlie’s tension grew as the meal progressed. Being six-year-olds, Annie and Beth were slow eaters, but they would finish eventually. If they weren’t in their suite soon, she’d have to go to plan B to keep them busy. Fortunately, her phone rang as she was swallowing a last bite of custard-rhubarb pie. It was Bill Blalock saying the Yosemite suite was ready for the Forresters.
“Thanks, Bill. Great timing—they just finished.”
“Their luggage is already in the cottage and Christine will personally escort them in a guest shuttle. She’s outside the concert hall as we speak.”
“Terrific. I’ll let them know.”
She got up and crossed the hall to where the Forresters were sitting. “Hi. I just got the call that your rooms are ready. A shuttle is waiting outside to take you there.”
Luke Forrester nodded. He wore a slightly mellower expression, possibly aided by food and coffee.
Time would tell what kind of guest he’d be. But at least he did have two adorable daughters.
“YOU’RE IN THE Yosemite suite,” Christine Saunders explained as she stopped the electric shuttle in front of a Victorian. “The door opens off the garden on the south side. Breakfast will be delivered by our caterer, Sarah’s Sweet Treats, and Housekeeping will come each morning to clean. Is anytime after eight too early, or would you prefer later?”
Luke stared at the young woman who’d driven them from the concert hall. “Are you saying we don’t have the entire house?”
“Er, no, Mr. Forrester. The John Muir Cottage is divided into several different suites, but the Yosemite is the largest and has private access. Please be assured, the walls are well insulated, so it should be very quiet.”
His temper began to rise again. It had been on a short fuse for the past year, and when he was particularly tired, it was even worse.
“It was my understanding I’d rented the entire house.”
Confusion flitted across her face. “Did someone at Poppy Gold tell you that?”
“I didn’t speak to anyone here. My executive assistant made the arrangements. She said—”
Luke stopped abruptly and gritted his teeth. Actually, all Tilly had said was that they were staying at the John Muir Cottage. Which, despite being called a cottage, was actually a large, rambling Victorian. He’d simply assumed they’d have the entire house and all the amenities he was accustomed to having when he traveled.
Damn it, Tilly knew the locations where he took the girls always had a full staff, from housekeepers to nannies. She’d mentioned they’d have to eat out for lunch and dinner, but that was all.
“Mr. Forrester, I assure you the Yosemite suite is quite spacious,” Christine explained earnestly. “There are three