Authors: Fern Michaels
Annie's Rainbow (42 page)
Kristine made her way to her old bedroom at the end of the long hallway. Her hand trembled as she turned the flowered white-ceramic knob. She found it amazing that everything was as she remembered it. The double four-poster was polished, as were the two oak dressers. Years ago there had been dresser scarves on them, along with all the junk young girls needed or thought they needed. The cushions on the old Boston rocker were faded but fluffed up by one of the cleaning crew who had gone through the house. The windows sparkled behind the Venetian blinds. She wondered what had happened to the Priscilla curtains her mother favored for the dormer windows. Rotted, she supposed. The seat cushion on the window seat matched the one on the old rocker. It, too, was faded but fluffed up. Old toys that were probably antiques by now marched across the white shelving that covered all four walls. How strange that her mother had kept things the way Kristine left them when she went off to college. She wondered if her mother ever came into this room when she was at school just to sit in the rocker and remember happy days when she was little. Reminiscing about past birthday parties, Christmases, and, of course, all those times when she was sick in bed with a cold.
Kristine sat down on the rocker, amazed that the dry old wood didn't squeak on the shiny hardwood floor. She'd had a big old tiger cat named Solomon back then who sat on the rocker or on the window seat to wait for her to come home from school. He'd died when she was in her second year of college. Logan had never understood why she had to rush home because a stupid cat died. That was probably the only time in her life when she'd stood up to Logan and told him she didn't give a good rat's ass if he understood or not. She'd done nothing but cry for a solid week. Her first experience with death. She was back at school less than two weeks when she was summoned home a second time. Nothing in the world could have prepared her for the deaths of her parents. According to Dunwoodie, her parents' banker and trusted advisor, the barn had caught fire and her parents had rushed in to save the dogs and been overcome with smoke.
She hadn't gone back to school that semester. Instead she'd sat in her rocker for months trying to figure out where her life was going. Logan had been so supportive during that awful time. It was Logan who put the dust covers on all the furniture, Logan who did all the things necessary to closing up a house, Logan who locked the door for the last time, and Logan who drove her away and held her hand when she looked back over her shoulder, tears streaming down her cheeks.
They'd come back to Virginia fifteen years ago when Logan's elderly father passed away. Even then she was barely able to open the door and walk through her old home. Logan held her hand that time, too, while she struggled with the key.
Kristine rubbed at the tears in her eyes. It was all so long ago. Another time, another life.
As she unpacked her bag, Kristine wondered if living here with her family would be as good as the life they had led in all the foreign countries they'd lived in.
Logan's picture was the first thing that came out of her bag. She set it on the night table next to a small onyx clock that no longer told time. It would be the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes in the morning and the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes at night. “I wish you were here, Logan,” she whispered. “We should be here together.” She was jolted to awareness when she heard a loud thump and squabbling coming from the hallway.
“Now look what you did. I'm not picking it up. You were supposed to hold up your end, Tyler. God, I hate it when you act like a
priss.”
priss.”
“Stuff it, Cala. I'm soaking wet, and I'm freezing. Mike should be on the bottom and I should be on the top with you.”
“Guess what, you jerk, we're cold and wet, too. We still have three more loads to go, so get moving.”
“Do it yourself. I'll make my own fire with my own wood. I'm sick and tired of getting dumped on by the two of you. I don't give a shit if you're twins or not. So there.”
“That's enough,” Kris shouted from the hallway. “The quicker you get those fires going, the sooner you'll be warm. You won't be able to take a hot bath because there's no propane.”
“Are you saying there's no
shower?
I hate taking a bath because you just sit in your own dirty water. I hate this stinking place. I really hate it!” Cala said tearfully.
shower?
I hate taking a bath because you just sit in your own dirty water. I hate this stinking place. I really hate it!” Cala said tearfully.
“That's exactly what I'm saying. Now, get moving, and someone has to clean up all the splinters from the steps. I'll start dinner.”
“I'm not hungry,” Mike muttered.
“Me either,” Tyler grumbled.
“What could there possibly be to eat in this dump?” Cala said, blowing her nose.
Kristine threw her hands in the air. “Fine, don't eat. Starve. I've had it with the three of you.” She stared at the phone that suddenly pealed to life. A phone call! She picked up the receiver to hear her husband's cheerful voice.
“Logan! Oh, Logan, it's so good to hear from you. Is everything okay?”
“More to the point, is everything okay with you?”
“No. The kids hate it. There's no heat. They're giving me such a hard time. I guess we're all just tired. The house is fine inside. It's clean and there's some food. Tomorrow I'll get the propane. It's sleeting out, and this house is drafty. At least the phone is working. I picked up our new station wagon.” Kristine lowered her voice to a hushed whisper so the children wouldn't hear her. “This is the right thing, isn't it, Logan. Moving here, I mean.”
“Kristine, what's going on?”
“It's the kids. They're mouthy, disrespectful, and they hate it. Maybe it's first-day jitters and tomorrow will be the first day of school in what they refer to as a rinky-dink farm school. Look. You didn't call me to hear me complain. Do you miss us?”
“Of course I miss you. That's why I called. Did the furniture get there?”
“Dunwoodie said it would arrive tomorrow afternoon. Do you think I should call a plumber to install a shower? No one likes to take a bath.”
“Sure. Make sure it's all done before I get there. I hate a messy bathroom.” Logan chuckled. “Make sure you position my chair just right.”
“Yes, sir, Colonel Kelly, sir.”
“I'll say good-bye then. I'll try to call again next week. Take care of things, Kris. Love you, old girl. Let me talk to the kids now.”
Kristine crooked her finger at her oldest son. “Your father wants to talk to you.”
“Ah shit,” she heard Mike mutter. Cala sat down on the top step, her eyes murderous. Tyler leaned against the wall, shivering.
Kristine stepped over the fallen logs on the steps as she made her way to the kitchen. Her shoulders straightened imperceptibly as she slid strips of bacon into an old cast-iron skillet. Suddenly she felt better than she had in weeks. Logan would straighten the kids out in two seconds. Her husband loved her, but then she'd known that. Still, it was nice to hear the words occasionally. Now if she could just get the kids back on track, maybe things would fall into place.
What seemed like a long time later she heard movement behind her. She turned to see her three bedraggled-looking children. She smiled. “Dinner's almost ready. Change your clothes. By the time you get down here the kitchen will be warm and toasty.”
“We're sorry, Mom,” the three of them said in unison. They were just mouthing words. Their eyes said they weren't sorry at all. “Me too. Hurry now before you catch cold.”
“I'm starved,” Mike said.
“I could eat a horse,” Tyler said.
“I'll settle for three eggs, four pieces of toast, and six slices of bacon,” Cala said.
“Coming right up,” Kristine said cheerfully as she struck a match to light the logs in the cavernous kitchen fireplace.
FERN MICHAELS
is the
USA Today
and
New York Times
bestselling author of the Sisterhood series,
Mr. and Miss Anonymous, Return to Sender,
and dozens of other novels and novellas. There are over seventy million copies of her books in print. Fern Michaels has built and funded several large day-care centers in her hometown, and is a passionate animal lover who has outfitted police dogs across the country with special bulletproof vests. She shares her home in South Carolina with her four dogs and a resident ghost named Mary Margaret. Visit her website at
www.fernmichaels.com
.
is the
USA Today
and
New York Times
bestselling author of the Sisterhood series,
Mr. and Miss Anonymous, Return to Sender,
and dozens of other novels and novellas. There are over seventy million copies of her books in print. Fern Michaels has built and funded several large day-care centers in her hometown, and is a passionate animal lover who has outfitted police dogs across the country with special bulletproof vests. She shares her home in South Carolina with her four dogs and a resident ghost named Mary Margaret. Visit her website at
www.fernmichaels.com
.
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Â
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Â
Copyright © 1999 by First Draft Inc.
Fern Michaels is a registered trademark of First Draft, Inc.
Fern Michaels is a registered trademark of First Draft, Inc.
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
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ISBN: 978-0-8217-8131-9
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