The Cottage on the Corner Read Online Free PDF

do.
    She started to cry.
    Not just silent tears. Loud wails that drilled into Max’s skull and made him want to put her in his car and go after Morgan.
    He’d made his choice, though. He liked to think he was the kind of guy who never made rash decisions. He’d keep the kid until he knew for sure she wasn’t his, because sending her off with a mother who planned to hand her over to the first person she met in Las Vegas wouldn’t work.
    â€œSorry, Zuzu. You’re stuck with me for a while,” he muttered as he scooped her into his arms and walked down the stairs. Zuzu’s suitcase sat in the middle of the driveway, a car seat beside it. At least Morgan had thought to leave that.
    He picked up the case, but left the car seat where it was. He’d deal with it in the morning. The kid was still wailing and shoving at his arms like he was some kind of monster set on devouring her.
    He carried her into the apartment and dropped the suitcase on the floor.
    â€œCalm down, kid. I’m not going to hurt you,” he muttered.
    She didn’t seem convinced. He set her down in the kitchen, opened up the cupboards, looking for something Zuzu might want to eat. Maybe if she had food in her mouth, she’d stop screaming.
    Protein bars didn’t seem like a good choice.
    Dry pasta? Nope.
    He didn’t have any cereal. No cookies. Nothing but a box of saltines. He pulled them out of the cupboard.
    â€œWant a cracker, Zuzu?” He ripped open the package, and that seemed to be just enough to get the kid’s attention. She stopped crying, walked to the dinette set, and scrambled up into one of the chairs.
    Quiet. Finally.
    He put a cracker in front of her.
    Pete chose that moment to make an appearance. He slithered into the kitchen and wound his way around Max’s legs.
    Zuzu took one look at the old cat and started screaming again.
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    Sleepless nights weren’t all that bad.
    Sure, Charlotte was going to be tired by the end of the day, but she’d finished all her morning baking before the sun rose. Now with it just peeking out from behind distant mountains, she had enough time for a quick cup of coffee before she headed out on deliveries.
    It was always good to be ahead of the game.
    As an added bonus, it wasn’t the twenty-seventh anymore.
    â€œThank God for that!” she muttered, grabbing a black marker from a drawer and scribbling out the date on the calendar that hung from the kitchen wall. It was childish, she knew, but it always made her feel better to do it.
    She plugged in the coffeemaker, humming a little to convince herself that she really was happy that she’d been up all night.
    After all, things could be a lot worse. She could still be living in Billings, making boxed potatoes and precooked meatloaf for the residents of Maple Ridge Convalescent Center. She hadn’t minded the work. As a matter of fact, she’d loved the elderly men and women and the stories they’d told. Lives lived long and well. Lives lived with regrets and struggles. She’d make breakfast or lunch or dinner, and walk out into the dining room to chat.
    She’d loved the job. What she’d hated was going home.
    She poured fresh coffee into a chipped mug that had been left behind by the house’s last tenants. There’d been plates, too. Old cups and jelly jars. A Crock-Pot that she used on occasion. Not that she had anyone to cook for but herself.
    A woman alone was a powerful thing. That’s what Mary had always told her. Charlotte figured her friend had the experience to know. A widow since her husband’s death during the Korean War, she’d never remarried, never had children, never done any of the things that women of her generation had been expected to do.
    She’d been content and happy about that. Even at the end of her life, when she’d had no one but Charlotte to visit her in the convalescent center in Billings, Mary hadn’t