hair appeared over her. “Are you okay, lady? You made a great meteorite.” The cherubic-looking little boy frowned. “But I think you broke the rifles off a bunch of my men.”
Then he brightened. “They need to go to the…the….” He looked quizzically at Catherine.
“The infirmary?” she suggested, struggling to keep a straight face. This was one cute, huggable kid.
“Yeah, that’s it. The in-fur-mary.” He scooped up a handful of the injured and swept them into a basket. Making a passable sound as an ambulance siren, he raced out of the room.
Catherine turned to the sound of pounding footsteps on the stairs and soon it was Will’s concerned face that peered down at her. “Are you hurt?”
“Not so much that I have to go to the in-fur-mary,” she said, struggling to her feet.
Will reached out a hand to help her but turned his head toward the back of the house. “Charley, you get in here and apologize to Ms. Stanhope right now!”
Silence.
“If you don’t, these toy soldiers are going MIA, now,” Will ordered in a passable chief commander’s voice.
A squeak in the floor was the only sound of movement. Catherine got to her feet, wiped off a couple plastic soldiers that had imbedded themselves in the folds of her shirt, and waited.
Charley’s tousled head peeked around the corner of the dining-room door. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes danced despite the inevitable scolding that was about to come.
Catherine fought her urge to smile.
Will seemed to have no such trouble. He was fuming. “Please come over here and apologize. I told you not to set up camp where you’d be in the way.”
“I didn’t think anyone would mind now that Gram isn’t here,” the child said, looking repentant.
Gram? There he was again, referring to Abigail as his grandmother.
Charley scuffed the soles of his battered tennis shoes on the highly polished floor. “I’m sorry, lady. I didn’t mean to trip you. I’ll pick ’em up and take them outside.”
Will put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Charley, did you know that Ms. Stanhope owns this house now?”
The child’s eyes grew wide. “Gram gave it to you? You’re lucky…”
Catherine expected him to add “so now you much be rich” or some other childish leap of logic.
Instead he added, “…because you’re Gram’s real granddaughter. You’re not like me. I’m just her pretend grandson.” Longing filled his eyes.
Her heart melted in her chest at the child’s earnest statement. “Thank’s for reminding me of that. I had Abigail as my gram for a long time.” She reached out to touch the boy’s silken hair. “You’re a very sweet boy, Charley. Thank you.”
Will cleared his throat. “Charley, get this mess out of sight, will you? You can set up in the kitchen.” As Charley busied himself on the floor, Will took Catherine’s arm and led her into the sunroom off the main living room.
“Are you okay? Any puncture wounds from your battle with the soldiers?”
When she shook her head, he continued. “You’ll have to excuse Charley. He and Abigail really clicked when he came to live with me. He asked her if he could call her ‘Grandma,’ but she told him her favorite grandchild in the whole world called her ‘Gram’ and that he should, too. He has the same first name as her husband and she liked that. I hope you don’t mind.”
Mind? How could she mind an orphaned child, a child like she had been, seeking love?
“Charley came to me so eager for affection and Abigail liked having a child in the house. Frankly, Charley was fascinated with Abigail, and I took advantage of the fact. With his mother gone, Charley hasn’t had many women in his life and he adored her.”
“That’s fine, Will. He’s adorable. In fact he…” She’d almost said “looks a lot like you,” but stopped herself.
She didn’t even want to hint at the fact that Charley’s uncle was pretty adorable himself.
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