Angel's Peak (Virgin River #10)(41)

Eight

Sean awoke in a darkened little girl’s room. He could hear Rosie and Franci talking somewhere in the house. He sat up from his scrunched position in the short bed and thought, Dang. I passed right out in a toddler bed. He pulled a couple of big picture books out from under him.

The door had been closed, but there was life in the house. He stood and stretched, then walked into the kitchen. Memories flooded him as he saw Franci making a big green salad. He loved her salads; she put absolutely everything in them. Franci stood on one side of the small island in the center of the kitchen while Rosie, now wearing jeans, a sweater and heavy socks, knelt on a bar stool on the other side. Something simmered on the stove and Rosie held a couple of wooden spoons, stirring and tossing the salad as Franci added ingredients. Then Franci had to pick up all the leaves that bounced out onto the counter.

They both turned to look at him. Franci chuckled, but tried to cover it with her hand while Rosie beamed at him. “Did you hab a good nap?” she asked very happily.

“I did,” he said. “Sorry I fell asleep. Guess I was tired.”

“We maked cookies and watched a moobie,” Rosie said.

“Jeez, how long was I asleep?” Sean asked.

“Couple of hours, I think,” Franci said. “I have some spaghetti going. You’re invited to dinner. Then of course you have to go because I have work in the morning and Rosie has school.”

“I was going to drive to Sacramento and catch a flight to Phoenix. My mother, you know.”

Franci winced slightly at the mention of Maureen. She actually liked Maureen, even if her sons tended to both idolize her and cut her a wide berth. But she wasn’t looking forward to Maureen’s reaction to Rosie. “You can use my computer to check flights, but my bet is you’re not going to catch anything tonight. You’ll probably have to try again tomorrow.”

“Might have to,” he said. “Will you ladies excuse me? I have to use the bathroom.”

“Sure,” Franci said with a grin.

Well, he thought, my being here certainly isn’t stressing Franci anymore. She thinks it’s all very funny. He went into the hall bathroom that separated the two bedrooms and lifted the lid. He yawned. He scratched his head and felt foreign objects in his hair. While he continued to aim the stream into the commode, he leaned to the left to look in the small mirror over the sink and almost had heart failure. He actually might have jumped and briefly missed the pot.

Sean had little-girl “things” in his short hair—clips, bows, ponytail bands, jeweled bobby pins. And there was something else—he scraped off some Scotch Tape. His hair was too short so some of that stuff was taped on! But that was the least of it—he had a bright red Angelina Jolie mouth that went way out of the lines. Blue eyelids and pink cheeks. He looked like a clown. He zipped his pants. Then he wet a finger under the faucet and rubbed it over his eyelid. Nothing changed, except that he saw his fingernails were bright green. He washed his hands vigorously. Oh, God—he’d been tattooed in his sleep! He took the bar of soap to his lips; no amount of scrubbing helped.

“Frannnnn-ciiiii!” he yelled.

A moment later she tapped at the door and he jerked it open. She was casually drying her hands on a dish towel while he was scowling. “Magic marker, I think,” she said, before he could ask the question.

“Why?” he asked desperately, totally stunned.

Franci shrugged. “She’s not allowed to touch my makeup. And she thinks you look wonderful.” Then she grinned.

He stiffened and pursed his lips. “I’m pretty sure I’m out of uniform.”

She chuckled. “We’ll think of something. Are you staying for dinner?”

“I can’t go out like this!”

“Okay, let’s try some fingernail polish remover on your green nails, have some dinner, and then I’ll see what I can do about your, ah, makeup. Really, Sean, rule number one—never close your eyes on a three-year-old.”

Franci managed to get the green marker off Sean’s fingernails and made progress on the “lipstick” and “eye shadow,” but he was still a shade or two off. It went well with the bluish-green of his fading black eye. She fixed him up with some cover stick from her makeup bag. “Why’d you take it off?” Rosie wanted to know.

“I can’t wear it to work,” he explained.

“But are you going to work?” she wanted to know. “You said you’re on bacation!”

“The air force has rules about boys and makeup,” he said.

“And about girls and makeup?”

“No, girls are allowed to wear makeup.”

“But why?” she asked, shaking her head. Then she turned to Franci. “Why, Mommy?”

“Because makeup is a girl thing and shaving is a boy thing. And you should never color on someone’s face without asking first.”

“Oh,” she said, apparently satisfied. “’Kay.”

And Sean said to Franci, “How do you do that?”

“Practice.” And then she smiled at him.

After a dinner of spaghetti and salad, Franci supervised Rosie’s nighttime rituals—bath, reading time, bed. Sean cleaned up the kitchen and went to her small living room to wait patiently for Franci to join him. He heard a low, faint growl and looked toward the end of the couch to see that little blond-and-white dog baring his teeth. The little bastard was wearing a tutu. “You bite me again, we’re going to have cocker spaniel soup,” he said by way of warning. Harry pranced away. “By the way, you look ridiculous,” Sean called after him.