Free Down Home Carolina Christmas by Pamela Browning Page A

relax,” she said invitingly, batting long clumpy eyelashes.
    â€œNah, honey, we’re on our way out of here,” Whip said, easing toward the door.
    â€œHow about you?” Modean asked, rubbing sequins against Luke’s upper arm and losing a few in the process.
    â€œNo, thanks,” Luke said, hurrying after Whip. He’d never much liked sequins, anyway.
    â€œY’all come back, you hear?” called Modean as Luke and Whip made their escape.
    The night air was freshening, the wind picking up so that the temperature seemed almost cool. Luke wondered if a storm was in the offing.
    â€œWow, this Southern hospitality is unbelievable,” Whip said, grinning at Luke as he jerked his head back toward the door, where they’d left Modean and Rita to seek other company.
    â€œNot so I’ve noticed,” Luke said, reminded of Carrie’s antagonism toward him earlier. He surveyed the parking lot for Tiffany’s limo, previously parked under the biggest oak; it was gone. He considered phoning her, then rejected the idea as soon as it surfaced. The prospect of yet another evening in Tiffany’s presence while she sang the praises of Peyton Kirk held no appeal, and he might be subjected to her hangers-on, as well. She’d brought along a wearisome business professional and an agonizingly shy personal assistant, two females who bored Luke to the max.
    As Luke drove out of the parking lot, he glanced at his watch. With the difference in time zones, it was still too early to chat up any of his friends in California. There was nothing to do but head back to the mansion, which was a house, not a home. His life had been a succession of such abodes since he’d left Garrett Falls, New Hampshire, and embarked on a career that had led him from bit parts on TV to supporting movie roles and then starring in major motion pictures. He should be accustomed to this way of life by now.
    Unfortunately he wasn’t.

    T HUNDER RUMBLED in the distant night sky, and Carrie, who was watching television in her parlor with Killer sleeping in her lap, paid little attention until rain started pouring down. Torrents swept in from the west, filling the gullies alongside her driveway, splashing through the downspouts, drenching her garden.
    She transferred Killer to his basket in the kitchen. Then she went out on the screened porch and switched on the outside lights, pleased that her vegetables were getting a good watering. Lightning forked across the sky, precipitating a crash of thunder. The porch light flickered and went out momentarily, and when it came back on, she spotted water dripping from the ceiling.
    She regarded it with dismay. Sure, the roof was old, but she’d thought it would be a couple of years before she had to replace it. Killer, revived by the noise and the hope of a snack more appealing than rabbit kibble, joined her, twitching his whiskers with interest.
    â€œGuess I’d better grab a bucket,” Carrie said in resignation as she nudged Killer back into the hall with her foot. “You stay away from there, you. That’s all I need, damp little bunny prints tracked over my clean floor.”
    The rabbit hopped toward his food dish as Carrie dug around in the lower kitchen cabinets trying to find her great-grandmother’s old canning kettle. She finally dragged it out and positioned it under the leak, then went back inside and headed upstairs to make sure there were no leaks there.
    To her horror, several more streams of water poured from the rafters in the attic. Water had trickled over a trunk that had belonged to Great-Grandmother Smith, and another, older leak had stained the heart pine floor.
    Springing into action, Carrie pushed the trunk to the dry area in the dormer and tugged at a velvet Victorian settee until it was positioned away from the leak. She stuck a wastebasket under one stream of water. Then, after upending several boxes, she located an old set of