Read Online Misfortune: Christmas With Scrooge by Peggy Ann Craig - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Peggy Ann Craig
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teenage girls but decided to leave it alone. She had another
fight on her hands. “Since you're here, it wouldn't hurt to have a
look around. See for yourself—”
“No way.”
“Why not? You may just have a change of
heart.” The look he shot her spoke volumes. “All right, wrong
choice of words but maybe you'll see something worth saving.”
He looked uneasy as his glance slid from the
girls to Laura. Then his mouth shut in a harsh grimace as he
muttered, “Make it fast.”
She couldn't help but smile, thankful for the
girl’s influence. Naturally he didn't smile back but simply
followed her, brooding.
Her quick tour included the original parlor
presently used as the TV room and library where the sculptured
built-in bookshelves were full of used books from the local book
exchange. It also substituted as their nightly group meetings room.
Across the hall was the large dining room that had no difficulty
seating all nine occupants.
Upstairs, she indicated the rooms where the
girls slept without actually showing him, knowing full well
teenager's desire for privacy. It was after she explained that one
girl, Ingrid Mansfield, occupied the small cramped quarters of the
attic that he finally asked his first question.
“Where do you sleep?”
She blushed even knowing his question was far
from personal. “Downstairs, off the kitchen.”
His brows drew together. “I thought it was a
laundry room?”
“It is.” She looked away, suddenly
embarrassed to admit she slept in a laundry room.
Dexter's brows drew together in obvious
disapproval, before shaking his head and turning toward the
staircase. “Is that all, then?”
“No, not yet.” She went over and took his arm
in her hand. “There's someone I want you to meet.”
Not certain why he allowed her to draw him
down the small corridor, but he found himself following. The feel
of her soft touch on his arm left him with an uncomfortable yet
fully aware sensation. One he would rather ignore. Knowing he
appeared inane, but not caring, he shrugged her touch away. The
action received a tilt of her beautiful profile, acknowledging the
action before she turned and knocked on a door.
Beautiful? Good Lord! Where did that word
suddenly come from? He had better watch himself. Her bewitching
ways were casting a spell on his unwarranted affections.
Affections? Where the devil were flowery
worlds like these coming from? Suddenly he had a great urge to get
out of the house. A thickness in the air had him feeling tense.
“Look, I better be going. I—” His words
trailed off as they entered one of the bedrooms and a young girl
around the age of fifteen greeted them with a smile from her
position across the foot of a bed. Around her neck was a set of
headphones she was in the process of removing.
“Dexter, I want you to meet our youngest
occupant.”
He nodded politely but indifferently at the
girl.
“No, not her.” Laura shook her head, then
gestured toward a crib against the back wall. “Her.”
Dexter frowned heavily at Laura, not very
happy about the situation, but nevertheless went over and peered
into the crib. Inside was the smallest baby he had ever seen.
Granted, she was the only baby he had ever seen. She had the
tiniest fingers, the tiniest legs, and the tiniest nose. Her big
blue eyes looked up at him with untainted innocence. Her small
unadulterated view of the world was marred by the ironic twist of
reality surrounding her.
When he turned back to Laura, his face was
the usual grim mask he continually wore. “Yours?”
She made a face but shook her head
nevertheless. “Her name's Chantal. At four months, she's our
youngest runaway.”
He glanced at the girl on the bed. “Are you
the mother?”
The girl shook her head. “I'm Jenny Fallon,
Darcy's roommate. I'm babysitting while she's out job hunting.”
“No luck, eh?” Laura addressed the girl.
She grimaced and shook her head.
“And Darcy is—?”
“The mother. Her parent's refuse to
fight on her hands. “Since you're here, it wouldn't hurt to have a
look around. See for yourself—”
“No way.”
“Why not? You may just have a change of
heart.” The look he shot her spoke volumes. “All right, wrong
choice of words but maybe you'll see something worth saving.”
He looked uneasy as his glance slid from the
girls to Laura. Then his mouth shut in a harsh grimace as he
muttered, “Make it fast.”
She couldn't help but smile, thankful for the
girl’s influence. Naturally he didn't smile back but simply
followed her, brooding.
Her quick tour included the original parlor
presently used as the TV room and library where the sculptured
built-in bookshelves were full of used books from the local book
exchange. It also substituted as their nightly group meetings room.
Across the hall was the large dining room that had no difficulty
seating all nine occupants.
Upstairs, she indicated the rooms where the
girls slept without actually showing him, knowing full well
teenager's desire for privacy. It was after she explained that one
girl, Ingrid Mansfield, occupied the small cramped quarters of the
attic that he finally asked his first question.
“Where do you sleep?”
She blushed even knowing his question was far
from personal. “Downstairs, off the kitchen.”
His brows drew together. “I thought it was a
laundry room?”
“It is.” She looked away, suddenly
embarrassed to admit she slept in a laundry room.
Dexter's brows drew together in obvious
disapproval, before shaking his head and turning toward the
staircase. “Is that all, then?”
“No, not yet.” She went over and took his arm
in her hand. “There's someone I want you to meet.”
Not certain why he allowed her to draw him
down the small corridor, but he found himself following. The feel
of her soft touch on his arm left him with an uncomfortable yet
fully aware sensation. One he would rather ignore. Knowing he
appeared inane, but not caring, he shrugged her touch away. The
action received a tilt of her beautiful profile, acknowledging the
action before she turned and knocked on a door.
Beautiful? Good Lord! Where did that word
suddenly come from? He had better watch himself. Her bewitching
ways were casting a spell on his unwarranted affections.
Affections? Where the devil were flowery
worlds like these coming from? Suddenly he had a great urge to get
out of the house. A thickness in the air had him feeling tense.
“Look, I better be going. I—” His words
trailed off as they entered one of the bedrooms and a young girl
around the age of fifteen greeted them with a smile from her
position across the foot of a bed. Around her neck was a set of
headphones she was in the process of removing.
“Dexter, I want you to meet our youngest
occupant.”
He nodded politely but indifferently at the
girl.
“No, not her.” Laura shook her head, then
gestured toward a crib against the back wall. “Her.”
Dexter frowned heavily at Laura, not very
happy about the situation, but nevertheless went over and peered
into the crib. Inside was the smallest baby he had ever seen.
Granted, she was the only baby he had ever seen. She had the
tiniest fingers, the tiniest legs, and the tiniest nose. Her big
blue eyes looked up at him with untainted innocence. Her small
unadulterated view of the world was marred by the ironic twist of
reality surrounding her.
When he turned back to Laura, his face was
the usual grim mask he continually wore. “Yours?”
She made a face but shook her head
nevertheless. “Her name's Chantal. At four months, she's our
youngest runaway.”
He glanced at the girl on the bed. “Are you
the mother?”
The girl shook her head. “I'm Jenny Fallon,
Darcy's roommate. I'm babysitting while she's out job hunting.”
“No luck, eh?” Laura addressed the girl.
She grimaced and shook her head.
“And Darcy is—?”
“The mother. Her parent's refuse to
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