Page 67 of Mistletoe Season
He looked down at his phone. “The Kevin Lindsey family?”
“Hmm... they live way back in the mountains. It might be something I should do on my own.”
His expression asked an unvoiced question.
“Kevin is a good man, but he’s a deep mountain man. Suspicious. Gruff.” She put the truck in gear. “His wife has been in prison for two years now because of drugs. And he’s trying to do the best he can with their children, but his house... well, it’s backwoods. Primitive.” She sighed. “I don’t even know if they have running water.”
Arran didn’t respond immediately, forcing Charlie to send him a glance from her periphery.
“Do you suppose I’ve never seen poverty?”
His voice held no blame, but she felt guilty nonetheless. “Maybe not this kind.”
She felt him studying her before he answered. “I am guilty of making wrong assumptions about Luke and his world when Ellie became engaged to him, so I imagine there are some misconceptions about my world too.” He paused. “The royal life isn’t always what people think or see on social media. Our responsibilities as servant leaders send us into some of the most vulnerable populations of our country. Several communities within my oversight of Bredon and the Western Isles are a few of the poorest in Skymar.” His voice softened. “My father has been a good example of such tangible and person-driven leadership.”
She turned up a road that would soon shift from pavement to gravel. “I can’t imagine the weight of serving an entire country.”
“You have the same heart of service, though.”
His gentle encouragement pulled her gaze back to his.
There was no doubt Arran’s life and hers had massive differences, but something about being the same at heart? Well, maybe the variances in their worlds weren’t so great after all.
Not where things mattered most.
Besides, if Ellie had proven Charlie’s ideas about a princess wrong, why wouldn’t Arran prove her ideas about princes as incorrect too?
The road rose sharply ahead of them, large trenches from rainwater causing the truck to continue up the loose gravel at an angle. Forest hemmed them in on either side, narrowing their view and the road even more.
“This is impressive,” Arran murmured.
“If you call this impressive, then I’m about ready to knock your socks off.” She slowed in preparation, as the next curve in the road would give them a view of the house. “This is family land. Kevininherited it from his grandfather, so no matter how much people try to convince him to move down closer to the road, he’s determined to stay.”
The small wooden house, complete with a sagging front porch, came into view. It was nestled against the mountainside, and chickens ran loose in the yard. As the truck approached, four hounds ran toward them, howling into the air.
Charlie killed the engine and turned to Arran. “Maybe you should wait here until they know who’s visiting.”
He tilted his head but didn’t respond.
“In the mountains, folks are highly suspicious of strangers, and Kevin will know me. He respected my dad. Dad helped Kevin put a new roof on his house a few years back.”
And with that, she hopped from the truck, pulled her coat close around her, and marched toward the house, dodging the dogs and chickens as she went.
***
Perhaps Arran’s previous experiences hadn’t fully prepared him for the poverty of Appalachia. The small ramshackle house looked fragile, with trees crowding in on all sides. Despite the early afternoon time, the thickness of the forest gave the day a later feel, evoking shadows within the layers of trees. Arran kept his focus on Charlotte as she dodged the dogs to make her way forward, her loose hair swishing against the back of her new coat. He grinned. She’d even worn some ankle boots with her jeans to dress them up a bit, he guessed. She absorbed Ellie’s tips like the intelligent woman she was.
Charlotte had barely crested the porch steps when the front door of the house opened and the silhouette of a man filled the threshold.
Was he holding a rifle in his hand?
After a brief exchange, Charlotte turned to Arran with a smile and waved him forward.
Despite the apparent fragility of the outside of the house, Arran stepped into a surprisingly cozy room. Warm too. Very warm. A woodstove at one corner of the house proved the culprit. Dim lights glowed into a log-hewn walled living room, complete with a couch, chairs, a small television, and a worn rug in the center. A small bookshelf sat nearby, cluttered with books of various heights and levels of wear.
A movement from the couch pulled Arran’s attention to two little girls, both with blonde hair, freckled faces, and big brown eyes staring back at him.
“Kevin, this is my friend, Arran St. Clare.”
