“Mitch, I—”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
“Good man. Now go make that husband of yours a cup of tea or something, and tell him I said hi. Oh, and if you guys aren't doing anything on the twenty-third, the girls are planning a Christmas party and they'd like you to come. It's a potluck.”
“I think that's an excellent idea, if Paul’s up to it. Will we get to meet that miracle worker you hired?”
“Abby?” In spite of himself, Mitch smiled at the very apt description. “Yes, she'll be there.”
“You tell your daughters I said we'll be there. I'll get Paul to make his famous chili.”
Mitch ended the call and sat with cell phone in hand, staring at the windshield now covered in snow. Telling Derek to go ahead and call Peterson had been tough, but not nearly as tough as he'd expected, given he'd been up most of the night worrying about it. It actually felt pretty good, like a load had been lifted from him. Like he was finally getting himself organized and on the right track—even if it did mean giving up some of the control he'd fought so hard to keep.
Now if he could only manage to get his family on their right track, too.
And Abby on hers.
He dropped the cell phone onto the passenger seat, started the truck, turned on the wipers, and then pulled out into traffic, hands clenched around the steering wheel. He'd start by refusing her offer to stay longer.
Even if it meant lying to her about the reasons.
For her sake.
Soon.
Chapter 43
The next week passed in a blur for Abby. In between tackling the usual household chores and finishing the books for the accountant, she made treats for three separate class Christmas parties and a costume for Kiana's part in the school concert, fielded multiple phone calls and meetings with the local lawyer Gareth had recommended, made appointments for the girls with their dentist and optometrist, and slowly pieced together the family binder she’d started for Mitch.
Before she knew it, it was Friday again, and the binder sat on the desk before her in all its organized glory. It was a masterpiece, even if she did say so herself, containing everything Mitch could possibly need to help him look after his house and family, with half the binder devoted to each. Under family, there was a section for health with all of their records, contact names, and a schedule of upcoming appointments; another section for school records and extracurricular activities; and yet another for the dog. Under house, she had filed all the instruction manuals and warranties, along with the home maintenance schedule she'd found in the back of a filing drawer, in handwriting Abby assumed to have been Eve's. She'd also found a file of paint chips labeled by room, and that information had gone in as well.
It was the kind of thing she imagined Eve would have approved of and would probably have done herself, if she'd had the time. A labor of love for a family who needed all the help they could get.
Within its pages, Abby had answered every possible question and covered every contingency she could think of—and now she had no idea what to do with it. She rested an elbow on the chair's armrest, fingertips against her lips, and stared at the four-inch binder. Should she present it to Mitch now, in an offhand, oh-by-the-way manner? Leave it on the desk for him to find? Give it to him along with the keys to the house and SUV when she departed?
It should have been easy.
“Mitch, I made this to help you out once I'm gone.”
But it wasn't, and for the life of her, Abby couldn't figure out why.
“Problems?” Mitch's voice asked. She looked up to find him in the office doorway, buttoning up the sleeve on a pale blue dress shirt, tie looped over his shoulders. Instant befuddlement settled into her brain, rendering her speechless because, wow, he cleaned up nicely. Through the fog, she tried to string her thoughts back together. Tie. Dress shirt. There was a reason for those, but darned if she could remember—
Mitch frowned. “You're not ready. Did you change your mind?”
Had she changed her mind about wha—
Her eyes widened in horror. “Kiana's school concert!” she exclaimed. “I totally forgot.”
“You really don't have to do this, if you'd rather not.” Mitch did up his other sleeve. “It's been a long week for you—and a tough time. Kia will understand.”
To her shame, Abby considered the out he offered. It had been a long week—made longer by Mitch's renewed habit of not coming home until the kids were in bed—and they were only one day from the party. The date had loomed bigger and darker in her mind the closer it got, while she had steadily become more and more regretful that she’d agreed to it. What in heaven’s name had she been—
Kia twirled past Mitch into the office. “Daddy, Daddy! Look how pretty I am!” She did another pirouette and stopped in front of him. “See? I'm all white and silver and sparkly like the snow.” She pointed to her white tights and silver tulle skirt, dotted with the snowflakes Abby had stitched onto it, then to the white sweatshirt embellished with another glittering, slightly lopsided snowflake. “And Abby let me help paint the snowflake on the front of me, too.”
Not waiting for him to confirm the costume's beauty, she did three more spins and staggered to another halt, this time in front of the desk. She took in Abby's appearance, and her face fell. “You're not ready,” she echoed her father’s words. “Aren't you coming?”
And that answered the question of whether Abby could skip out on the evening.
“Of course I'm coming,” she assured the little girl, who rewarded her with another beaming smile. “I just finished in here, and it will take me two minutes to change. I'll even bet I'm ready before you get your boots and coat on.”
“A race?” Kia beamed brighter. “On your mark, get set, go!” She turned and ran from the office, yelling to her sisters that it was time to go, and at Hope to move out of the way.
Mitch grinned and shook his head. “I didn't even get a word in edgewise,” he said. “But she's right. She looks beautiful. You put in a lot of work on that costume.”
Abby shrugged and leaned down to open the bottom desk drawer. “It wasn't as complicated as it looks. Just a bit finicky getting the snowflakes onto the skirt.” Aware of his gaze tracking her, she slid the binder into the drawer and closed it again, making a mental note to retrieve it before bed and put it somewhere safer until she'd made up her mind about it. Then she stood and headed for the door, stopping when Mitch didn't give way. “Umm...”
“Are you sure you're up to this?” he asked, studying her face while he adjusted the tie and expertly knotted it.
“I promised the girls I'd go.”
“And they will understand if you can't. I'll talk to them. The accident anniversary is tomorrow, Abby, and the party, too. If you go to the concert tonight...” A gentle hand lifted her chin until she had no choice but to meet the concern in his eyes. “You need time for you.”
“I've had plenty of that in the evenings all week, while having tea by myself.” The words slipped out before she could think better of them. She pulled away from Mitch's hand and stared at his shoulder. “I'm sorry. I have no right to—”
“You have every right.” He sighed. “And I'm the one who should be apologizing. The truth is, I've been avoiding you—and the conversation we need to have.”
She knew, then. Knew why he'd taken to working late and skipping dinner with them. And why giving him the family binder was so hard. He was going to decline her offer to stay—and she didn't want to go. The realization slid down her throat to land like a boulder in the pit of her stomach. How? How had that happened? At first, she hadn't wanted to stay at all, and now she didn't want to leave. Not the girls, not the house she'd come to think of as home, and not Mitch.
Mitch. Her view of his shoulder blurred. Tall, strong, compassionate Mitch. Mitch reading stories to his youngest daughter, helping his older ones with their homework, quietly allowing Hope onto Kia's bed, holding Abby tight when her story spill
ed from her.
Air. She needed air.
Breathe, Abigail.
She did, inhaling just enough to croak, “I should get ready.”
***
The concert was a smash hit—at least, Abby assumed it was, from all the laughter and applause that surrounded her, because she didn't take in much of it herself. Oh, sure, she laughed and clapped along with the rest of the audience, and she even kept her eyes trained on the stage, but she saw nothing of what happened there. Instead, her gaze was turned inward, focused on memories of past school concerts, the brush of Mitch's suit jacket sleeve against her arm, the turmoil in her heart, and that one nagging question: How?
How had she managed to do this to herself? How, amid all the chaos and darkness in her life, had she managed to find a light as bright as the Abrams family, only to stand on the verge of losing them, too? How had she let her defenses slip that much? And, above all else, how would she ever manage to walk away?
“Kia's up,” Mitch murmured in her ear, and she yanked her attention back to the stage, where a beaming little snowflake flapped her hands in excitement and bounced in a circle.
Abby forced a smile and raised a hand in the promised wave so Kiana could see where she and Mitch were seated with Rachel and Britt. The little girl and her classmates all blurred around the edges a bit, and Abby drew a shaky breath. Beside her, Mitch leaned in again as the first chords of “Frosty the Snowman” tinkled cheerily from the piano.
“You okay?”
She nodded, not even trying for a voice while snowflakes twirled and spiraled onstage, and children wearing scarves and hats paraded behind a giant, crooked snowman that swayed perilously from side to side. According to the program, this was the final performance of the evening. When it ended, everyone would go home, and she and Mitch would have the conversation he'd asked for, and she would...
She had no idea what she would do. Grit her teeth and pretend it didn't matter? Beg him to reconsider? Tell him how she felt? The last option made her swallow a snort, given that she hadn't fully sorted it out for herself.
Liar, her inner voice whispered. You know exactly how you feel. You just don't want to admit it.
Applause broke out around her, making her jump. Mitch and the girls stood up and others in the audience followed suit, giving a standing ovation to the beaming performers returning to the stage. And then kids were swarming the floor, and parents were swarming the stage, and merry mayhem ensued amid holiday wishes and farewells that seemed to last forever and end all too soon.
The girls chattered nonstop as they trooped out to the SUV with Mitch, all vying for his attention. Abby trailed them, watching her breath fog in the cold night air and peering up at the star-studded velvet sky beyond the parking lot lights. She picked out the Big Dipper, searched for Cassiopeia, and wondered again which pinpoint of light marked her daughter's peephole.
A small, mittened hand slipped into hers halfway to the vehicle.
“Did you know that stars are angel lights?” Kia asked, turning her face toward the heavens. “The angels make them so we know they're watching us. That one”—her other mitten pointed upward—”is Mommy's light. Which one is Olivia's?”
Abby cleared the lump out of her throat. “I'm not sure,” she said. “I don't know how to find her.”
“Hm.” Kia pulled her to a stop and studied the sky with a frown. Then her brow cleared and she smiled her satisfaction. “There,” she said, pointing again. “The little one beside Mommy. And the one on the other side of her is her daddy. They're keeping each other company so they don't get lonely without us.”
Crouching beside her, Abby followed the line of Kia's arm to where three stars seemed isolated from the others around them, sitting in a crooked line, the middle one smaller than its companions. She smiled. “I do believe you're right, darling girl. Should we wave?”
“We should blow kisses.”
And they did, three each at Kia's insistence. “Because we're all family now,” she explained, and Abby very nearly shattered on the spot. She scraped herself together the best she could and stood again.
“Come on,” she told the little girl. “I'll race you to the car.”
Chapter 44
Mitch circled his office, waiting for Abby to say goodnight to the girls and come downstairs again. He'd wanted to put their conversation off until after Christmas, but given the palpable tension between them all evening and the way she'd jolted every time his sleeve brushed her bare arm, it seemed sooner would be better. For both their sakes, he had to tell her that he wasn't accepting her offer to stay longer. That he had to let her go.
Even if it damn near killed him just to think it.
He pulled the chair away from his desk and dropped into it, tipping back to stare at the ceiling and trying to imagine the house without her in it. All he could summon was a sense of emptiness. Abigail Jamieson had only been here a month and a half, and already she belonged in a way he'd never thought another woman could belong.
And yet, she didn't.
Because she deserved more than to move from the life she'd had with William to a life that paralleled it in far too many ways—and not good ones. She deserved to go to school and make her own friends and do what she wanted for once. If she stayed here, with him and his girls, she wouldn't have those opportunities. Oh, they might start off with good intentions, but with his business already struggling and Kia's needs and the girls already depending on her so heavily, it would be just a matter of time before their intentions fell by the wayside and Abby disappeared beneath the household responsibilities, the way she once had with William. And the way Eve had with Mitch.
He cringed at the memory, then set his jaw.
Nope. No way he'd do that to another woman. And no way he'd set that example for his daughters, either.
At his waist, his cell phone vibrated. He unclipped it and saw Derek's name on the screen. His thumb hovered over the “Decline” button, but he hesitated. Derek never called this late at night. What if it was an emergency? Something with Paul? He sighed and hit “Accept.”
“Hey,” he said. “Everything okay?”
“Better than okay,” Derek replied, sounding happier—and younger—than he had in months. Maybe years. “Didn't you get any of my voicemail messages? I've been calling since three this afternoon.”
“Sorry. It was Kia's school Christmas concert this evening. I haven't checked my messages.”
“Never mind. Doesn't matter. Are you sitting down?” Derek didn't wait for an answer. “I sold the shares, Mitch. Signed the papers this afternoon. I'm done. Out. Finished.”
Mitch's stomach hit the floor. He leaned an elbow on his desk, cradled his forehead in his free hand, and closed his eyes. Digging deep, he summoned what he hoped sounded like happiness for his partner. “That's great,” he said. “Seriously. I'm happy for you, Derek. Did Peterson give you what you were asking for?”
“It wasn't Peterson.”
Mitch's head came up and his eyes snapped open. “What do you mean, it wasn't Peterson? Who was it?” And why do you sound positively gleeful?
“No idea. I got a call from a lawyer on Monday with an offer twice what I was hoping for. The investor wants to remain anonymous, so all there is on the papers is a numbered company.”
The blood in Mitch's veins ran cold, and he lunged upward from the chair. “Wait, so you're saying some stranger now owns half my damned company?” His voice had risen several decibels by the last word, and he made a concerted effort to bring it under control. “You've got to be kidding me, Derek. Why would you do that without consulting me?”
“Could you have matched the offer?”
Mitch didn't respond.
“That's why,” Derek said. “But don't get your knickers in a twist, because I also retain a ten percent share in the company, so whoever is behind this only has forty. That makes him a silent partner. A silent partner with deep pockets and an awfully wide streak of generosity, I might add. You'll want
to sit down again.”
How had he—? Mitch waved away the suggestion. “Go on.”
“The line of credit has been paid in full.”
Mitch nearly dropped the phone. He sat. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. And there's been a deposit made to our operating budget. Fifty grand. Enough to bring back Trevor to run the office. I already called him, and he says he can start after Christmas. And you can hire some new guys for the extra jobs you'll be able to take on again. Before you know it, you'll be back up to where we used to be.”
Mitch opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. Then he shook his head in numbed silence. Nope. He had nothing. No words. No reaction. Nothing.
“I know, right?” Derek said, his voice carrying a gratitude Mitch was too shocked to summon himself. “I have no idea who your guardian angel is, Mitch Abrams, but you just got a whole new lease on that company's life. I have to go now—Paul's waiting for me to watch a movie with him—but I wanted to make sure I gave you the news tonight. I'll see you tomorrow for the party, and we can talk more then. In the meantime, go pour yourself a stiff drink and give yourself time to let everything sink in, okay?”
The connection went dead.
For long minutes, Mitch sat without moving, trying—as Derek suggested—to absorb everything. But he couldn't. It was simply too big. Too much. Just last week, he'd taken the books in to the accountant and told her that, in addition to having the taxes done, he needed an honest look at the company's viability... and her recommendation for a bankruptcy trustee, if necessary. Now, the company was debt free and had enough to hire staff again, and Derek had retired. Comfortably.
The floor overhead creaked as Abby moved down the hall between his girls' bedrooms.
Abby.
Mitch's pulse gave a sudden jolt.
Abby. If the business was doing better and she didn't have to take on the office end of things, maybe they could figure things out. Maybe she could find time to go to school and have a life of her own and still be a part of theirs. Of his. Maybe he could make sure he took on enough of the family load to give her the space she needed. Maybe they could make this work. Maybe—
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