“I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Then she clenched her hand to her stomach, pushed away from him and rushed to the bathroom.
Where she stayed for several hours.
“Can I get you anything?” Jeremy asked outside the door.
“Can you help me get to bed?”
He opened the door, and his face looked panicked. “You’re really sick.”
She looked up from the cold tile floor and nodded. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to bed. He lay her down and covered her up. “Thanks, I’m freezing.”
He felt her forehead. “But you’re burning up. There’s a doctor who lives in the building. I’m calling him. He’s made house calls for the kids before.”
She tried to nod, but it hurt to move her head. She couldn’t remember ever being this sick.
***
The doctor looked at the thermometer. “You’ve got a temperature of 103. With the vomiting and … other problems,” as he discreetly put it, “I think we’ve got a case of food poisoning here, especially how it just suddenly hit you. What have you eaten?”
“She had chicken pot pie and apple pie last night,” Jeremy said.
The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Chicken? If it wasn’t cooked properly, it could be salmonella.”
“Veronica cut up the apples and the chicken with a big knife and she was saying bad words. I don’t think she was doing it properly,” Lizzie informed them.
“The same knife? For the chicken and the apples?”
Lizzie nodded.
“There’s your likely answer.”
“Your stepmother poisoned you?”
“Not on purpose,” Shaw whispered. Or was it?
“Is Snow going to die like Mommy did?” John asked, tears welling in his eyes.
And that’s the last thing Shaw heard before she fell asleep.
***
Shaw woke to the feel of soft lips against hers. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw Jeremy standing over her.
Surrounded by the kids, with stunned looks on their faces. “It worked! Daddy kissed her and she woke up! Daddy kissed Snow White!” one of them whispered.
Jeremy was leaning over her, smiling. “That’s because I like Snow very much.”
Shaw sat up, grinning at their funny nickname for her. She rubbed her eyes. “Wow, everyone is here.” The kids were surrounded by the animals, all watching her.
“We were worried. You’ve been asleep for sixteen hours.”
“I have?”
“Are you feeling better?”
She nodded.
“Then you better call King Productions because they need an answer about the tour. I told the kids you might be leaving us. They understand.”
But one look at their frowns told her they did not understand at all.
Neither did she. She slumped back in bed and closed her eyes. She thought she’d always wanted a spot in a production more than anything. But now, she didn’t know what she wanted. She opened her eyes and saw seven sweet little faces staring at her; and one seriously handsome face, etched with concern. And that’s when she knew what she wanted. She shook her head. “I’m not going. We’ve still got to learn how to whistle
The Star Spangled Banner
. Or do the bunny hop. I promised, and I don’t go back on my promises.”
The kids jumped up and clapped and danced around the room while Jeremy kissed her again. Then his phone rang and he answered it. “Veronica? No. We definitely don’t want any cookies. Shaw’s been very sick from the meal you made Sunday. Lizzie said you used the same knife on the chicken and the apples?” He paused for a moment. “Well, I seriously suggest you taking a food safety course before taking a job at any bakery. Good luck, Veronica. I wish you the best.”
“Did she purposely try to kill me?” Shaw asked, only half kidding.
“No, but it might have been a deep dark wish. She knows there’s no future with me. She knows I love you.”
“And so do we, Snow!” said Jenny, as the seven children, two cats, dog, birds and ferret piled onto her bed.
“Just promise you won’t be a bad stepmother like Veronica’s been to you,” Maddy said.
Shaw laughed. “I think you’re getting ahead of yourselves.”
But Jeremy raised an eyebrow in a way that suggested they knew exactly how things would play out. And it would be the role of a lifetime.
Goldie
Goldie Lockston counted the children that danced past her in a conga line led by a singing woman in a rabbit costume and sent up a silent prayer of thanks that she was in charge of one dog for the week instead of seven energetic children. Yikes. Goldie wasn’t the biggest dog lover in the world, but at least she had a place to stay for a few days.
It’s not that Goldie was homeless; she was more than welcome to live with her parents. That’s where her bills went. That’s where her cello from seventh grade was stored, and homeless people certainly did not own cellos. Technically, on job applications and census forms she listed her parents’ address as her permanent address. But she couldn’t live there. Her mother still hounded her to get a real job instead of chasing her ‘silly art dream.’ And to ‘stick to a curfew if you’re living under my roof, young lady.’ Plus, there wasn’t a very big art scene in her hometown unless the paint-your-own-pottery store counted. Which it did not. Living at home at age twenty-five just wasn’t an option.
So, she and her pink luggage set moved from place to place when friends had the room to spare. It’s not like she was sleeping in cars or under bridges.
That
was homeless. And she hated the word ‘squatter.’ It made her think of the time she’d peed in the woods during her family’s camping trip in the mountains. She’d been terrified a bear would grab her the entire time.
No, squatter wasn’t the right word either. Serial houseguest? Mobile tenant? One thing was sure, she’d learned how to pack light: one suitcase for her clothes, one for her art supplies. Her purse was stuffed with essentials like makeup, travel-sized toothpaste, and mouthwash. It was a fine setup.
She fingered the key in her hand and tightened the grip on her luggage. This particular arrangement was riskier than usual, but who’d ever find out? Aurora had been desperate for someone to fill in for her pet-sitting service, and Goldie needed a break from the oh-my-god-yes-yes-more passion fest unfolding in her friend Ariel’s apartment. Luckily, the guy who lived here had told the doorman at Grimm Towers to expect a pet sitter to stop by, so she’d had no trouble getting in the building.
She took a deep breath and opened the door to the apartment. She rolled her eyes as she walked into the grand marble foyer.
People really live like this?
Setting down her suitcases, she took in the giant crystal chandelier and marble columns. The mortgage on this place for a month could probably keep her living comfortably for a year.
Some people truly live in a different world
, she thought.
A high-pitched whine from the other end of the apartment caught her attention. That must be Miss Sniggles, her charge for the week. Aurora told her Miss Sniggles had to be fed twice daily and let out every four hours. She hadn’t exactly asked Goldie to stay overnight to complete the job. But it was the perfect way to escape the love nest taking over Ariel’s apartment. Besides, Aurora was spending the weekend with her guy upstate. She’d never find out. And really, it was almost like a bonus service. It was round-the-clock dog sitting. Some people would get premium pay for this, and all she was doing was crashing for a few days. She nodded to herself, pleased with her generous spirit.
Kicking off her shoes, she slid across the marble floor, ala Tom Cruise in
Risky Business
. Sure, this was kind of risky, but she’d be out of here before next Saturday at five when the owner was due back. Usually, people knew when she was crashing at their place. This was the first time she was, technically, an uninvited guest. She wrinkled her nose at the phrase. It made her sound like a roach, or something to be caught in a trap.
She followed the sound of the whimpering dog and pushed open a door at the end of the hall. That’s right, she’d forgotten. Aurora had told her the dog had its own room.
Its own room
. And this dog was small enough that a shoebox would have sufficed for a doghouse. A teacup Chihuahua? Is that what Aurora had called it? And it was lounging on a miniature canopy bed. For the first time in her life, she’d met a dog that had it better than her. She was glad she wouldn’t be meeting the man who lived here; she might be tempted to lecture him on the foolishness of excess.
But still, the tiny dog prancing at her feet was adorable. It couldn’t help that it was a pampered plaything for some rich guy. She picked up the pooch and the little thing fit in her hand. “You are such a cutie!” She’d been expecting something big like a German shepherd, not a stuffed animal come to life. A crystal-studded dog leash hung from a peg on the wall, along with itty-bitty coats and clothes for the dog. She read the name engraved on the dog tag. “Miss Sniggles? Oh, you poor thing.” She patted the dog’s head then set her down, trying to imagine what kind of guy owned a pet like this.
The dog trotted after her as she inspected the apartment, its little claws tapping on the floor. One thing was for sure, Goldie needed coffee. Ariel and her boyfriend were very expressive in their lovemaking. A pillow wrapped around your head only blocks out so much of that, and now she was crabby and tired and more than a smidge jealous. It’d been a while since she’d been in a similar position. Or positions, from the sound of it last night.
Besides the dog, nothing about the apartment gave her any insight into the man who lived here. There was no exquisite art hanging on the walls, no photos. The place featured functional, quality furniture and zero clutter. The apartment looked like it’d been plucked from a designer magazine.
No soul
, she whispered to herself.
She opened a cupboard and started searching for coffee. It was a little weird going through a stranger’s things. But Aurora had told her Blake Behr always said for her to help herself to anything she wanted while watching the dog. Surely, he’d extend the same courtesy to Aurora’s fill-in girl. This guy must love his coffee—he had at least a dozen different kinds to choose from.
Goldie had never tried Brazilian coffee, so she ground the beans, dumped them in the gold plated filter—
Seriously?
—and waited for the caffeine kick she so desperately needed.
While the coffee brewed, she inspected the kitchen with its gleaming stainless steel appliances, expensive cookware, but very little food. These cupboards were practically empty, except for old crackers, sardines and olives.
She looked at Miss Sniggles. “I think we’re ordering out, kiddo.”
The coffee finished brewing and she poured herself a cup. She was the only women she knew who drank her coffee black. Fancy creams and flavorings for her brew weren’t appealing. For someone who lived a fairly nomadic life, she was quite picky in her tastes.
She warmed her hands on the mug and inhaled the scent. “Nice.” But she spit out the first sip. “Ugh. Too strong.” She dumped the pot in the sink. Searching through the coffee choices, she picked a Columbian roast.
She made up another pot while the dog curled up in the corner and snored softly. The apartment was immaculate; she’d have to be sure to clean up after herself Saturday morning. Staying with other people usually meant you put away your stuff and tidied up immediately, but maybe this week she’d cut herself some slack and do it all at the end.
The last of the coffee dribbled through the filter, and she poured herself another cup. Taking a sip, she frowned. “Yuck. Way too weak.” Maybe she wasn’t destined for coffee today.
“I’ll try one more time.” She chose a French blend and crossed her fingers that the third time would be a charm. Miss Sniggles was awake now, dancing around Goldie’s feet. “Do you have to go out?”
The dog yipped at her.
Goldie got her leash and poured herself a cup of coffee in a travel mug. She took a sip. “Perfect!” Carrying the dog was easier than following her teeny-tiny steps. They crossed the street to Sherwood Park, and Miss Sniggles immediately relieved her thimble sized bladder. Goldie let her sniff around while she inspected the park. It was a nice late-summer day, and she’d love to paint a few watercolors while she had the chance. She preferred oils, but canvases were a lot bulkier to haul around than sheets of watercolor paper. The owner of Naughty or Nice bakery had agreed to let her hold an art show there in a few weeks, and she wanted to have as many framed paintings and note cards for sale as possible.
She took Miss Sniggles back inside and carried her suitcase of supplies out to the park. A portable easel, a folding chair, and her water colors all fit inside. People were always surprised to see her unpack all that gear from her suitcase. She set up her palette and scanned the park for inspiration. On a sunny late September day, it wasn’t hard to find beautiful scenarios, but she liked to capture the unexpected. Most people might be tempted by the sight of colorful trees and use their burnt umber and sienna to recreate a panoramic view of the park. Goldie always focused on the overlooked. She spotted a forgotten Frisbee nestled under the leaves and started painting that; the perfect image of a summer just passed.
Dabbing her brush in the paint and swooping it along the paper, she wondered what was next for her after this dog-sitting gig. She really should have some sort of five-year plan. That’s what all the financial planning articles she’d read at Ariel’s had advised. Getting by day-to-day was becoming difficult. She’d been selling her artwork online and at the occasional show. It would be a dream to do this full time and to have her own little place to live—she certainly didn’t need a luxury apartment like Blake’s. A simple studio would do. But even that was a stretch right now. The term starving artist had more than a thread of truth in it.
She finished two paintings, pleased with her work, and went back to the apartment. She wandered from room to room, trying out the chairs and sofas, looking for the perfect spot to curl up and read a book. She finally found the ideal recliner in a den, and kicked up the footrest. Trying to concentrate on her book, she was distracted by an unfamiliar sense of dissatisfaction. She should be thrilled with this set up—alone for a week! No distractions, no inadvertent voyeurism. She was more solo than Han.