Brianne stood back, watching. At the mere mention of melted cheese the younger boy had brightened up. She could tell that Ryan, too, was happy about the cheese idea, though he tried not to show approval. Well, fine. She wasn’t trying to starve the poor kids. If they didn’t want to eat her potatoes without doctoring them, that was okay with her.
While the cheese and milk were heating in the microwave to make a quick sauce, Mitch got busy scraping the marinade off portions of chicken and cutting them into bite-size pieces for the boys. He cautioned them to wait politely until everyone had been seated before beginning to eat.
Brianne brought a hot dish of canned corn to the table and took her place. Having all of them together at the small kitchen table made things crowded but doable. After what had happened at breakfast she certainly didn’t intend to serve the children in the formal dining room and spend all her time worrying about drips on the rug. And she could hardly throw them outside again, since the rain had resumed.
As soon as Mitch returned with the cheese sauce and sat down, Bree took the first bite of her chicken. The initial taste was delicious. By the time several seconds had passed, however, her tongue started to prickle.
That was just the beginning. In less than ten heartbeats the roof of her mouth was on fire. When she breathed, her sinuses felt like she was inhaling pure flame and being seared from the inside out.
Eyes tearing, she grabbed her glass of water and gulped it dry, looking at Mitch just in time to see him sample his entrée. He raised one eyebrow and saluted her with his fork, evidently surprised that it tasted so good.
By the time Bree said, “Don’t!” it was too late. His face reddened, his dark eyes widened and his nostrils flared.
Bree couldn’t tell if his expression was one of shock, aggravation, panic—or none of the above, since he’d covered his mouth with his napkin and was snorting like a walrus with a bad cold.
One thing was certain. Even though Mitch had scraped the extra marinade off the chicken he’d cut up for the children, they mustn’t be permitted to taste it.
Brianne moved to snatch their plates an instant before Mitch did. That set up a clamor from the hungry boys reminiscent of a henhouse being raided by a ravenous fox.
Ignoring the ruckus, Bree and Mitch made a mad dash for the sink and began gulping down cold water. She glanced at him, expecting a tirade. To her surprise, he looked amused.
“I—I’m sorry,” she blurted, chancing a smile.
Mitch drew another glassful of water. “No problem.”
There was something about the mischievous twinkle in his watering eyes and the twitch at the corners of his mouth that made her giggle. That was all it took to set him off.
He began to roar. Brianne joined him. They chuckled and snickered and laughed and hooted until both were gasping for air.
Tears rolled down Bree’s cheeks. She drew a shuddering breath and said, “Oops,” which started Mitch off again, nearly doubling him up.
Finally, he managed to regain his self-control. Laying a hand on Brianne’s shoulder, he said, “Maybe you’d better retire from cooking while we’re still on our feet.”
“The exploding potatoes were a nice touch,” she countered, bringing more chuckles.
Together, they looked at the table. Both boys were sitting there, unmoving, holding their empty forks in their small fists and staring at the adults with bewildered expressions.
“Maybe we’d better get clean plates for their potatoes,” Bree said, reaching into the cupboard. “Will that be enough supper? All they had for lunch was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
“It’ll be fine. Put gobs of cheese on his food and any kid will be satisfied,” he said. “They could live on the stuff. That, and peanut butter.”
Bree winked at Mitch. “Peanut butter on baked potatoes? Yuck.”
“Hey,” he said, “if I had the choice of another helping of your special chicken or a peanut butter flavored spud, I wouldn’t have any trouble choosing.”
“You’d pick the potato?”
“Oh, yeah.” He nodded solemnly. “No contest.”
Mitch had his children bathed and in bed by nine. Ryan was the only one who had argued, and even he had started to doze off almost immediately.
As soon as Mitch was sure they were both sleeping soundly he went downstairs. He’d convinced himself that he was merely looking for something with which to make a list of the items he’d need to replace or repair.
Pen and paper he found easily. When he continued to wander through the downstairs rooms, he was forced to admit he also wanted to see Brianne.
Noticing a light in the library, he headed in that direction. Bookshelves blanketed three walls. On the fourth, French doors opened onto the covered terrace where Bree had taken the children when they’d been caught in the rain while playing outside.
Could that really have been less than twenty-four hours ago? Mitch marveled. How time flew when you were having fun!
The heavy library door was ajar. He cautiously gave it a push, and it glided open effortlessly, quietly. Mitch smiled as Brianne looked up. “Hi. Mind if I join you?”
“No. Not at all.”
She was seated on one end of a leather sofa, her feet bare, one leg tucked partially beneath her. She closed the book she’d been reading and laid it aside, then leaned out to peer past him. “Are you alone?”
“Yes. Even Barney’s sleeping, thank goodness.”
As Bree watched the tall man saunter across the room, she got goose bumps wondering if he was going to join her on the couch. When he chose to sit in a chair, she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Given the choice, she opted for disappointed.
Mitch leaned back, stretched his legs out in front of him with his ankles crossed and sighed. “Boy, what a day this has been. I’m beat.”
“I know what you mean.”
“So, what were you reading? A cookbook?”
“Very funny. Actually, I don’t own a cookbook—which was part of my problem tonight. This book is a mystery.” Come to think of it, so is cooking, she thought.
“Ah. Is that the kind of book you write?” he asked.
“Not exactly. My stories are mostly romantic, although I do occasionally work in an element of suspense.”
“Love stories? You write love stories?”
“You don’t have to sound so shocked.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Mitch assured her. “I’m sure the folks who write science fiction haven’t been to outer space, either.” The moment the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. “I mean… I didn’t mean…” He began to mutter to himself and shake his head.
“I’m not that naive, Mr. Fowler.”
“I’m sure you’re not.” Flustered, he realized he’d insulted her again.
The absurd look on his face made Bree laugh. “I think you’re bumfuzzled.”
“I’m what?”
“It’s one of Emma’s favorite expressions. Near as I can tell, it means something between frazzled and confused.”
“Sounds about right. Think I should go out and come in again so we can start this conversation over?”
“That won’t be necessary.” She eyed the paper in his hand. “What are you doing?”
“Making a list. I want you to tell me exactly what was broken.”
“Why?”
“Because I intend to replace the busted pieces.” His face reddened slightly. “And I’ll probably have to buy you a new bathroom door, too, thanks to Barney. He’s scratched the inside pretty badly.”
“I’ve been afraid to look.”
“Don’t. It’s not a pretty sight. You’ll be glad to hear that the rest of the room is okay, though. Apparently, the only thing he likes to chew is telephones.”
“I suppose I should be thankful.”
“I sure am.” Mitch paused, pen poised, waiting for her to answer his original question. “Well? Which dishes were broken?”
Hearing the fine Frenc
h china referred to as dishes amused Bree. “You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do. I’m serious about this.”
“Okay. Let me put it this way. A few years ago, hand-painted Limoges plates were selling for well over five hundred dollars.”
“Each?”
“Each. And that’s if you can find any for sale that match the original set. Of course, the ones signed by the artist can go for double that amount.”
“Oh, boy.”
“I told you, you didn’t want to know.”
“You’re right,” Mitch said, shaking his head. “No wonder you were so concerned. Looks like my son’s going to be working off that bill until he’s fifty or sixty years old.”
“I don’t think that’s really fair.”
“I have to teach him responsibility.”
“Within reason,” she countered.
Mitch smiled. “Why are you defending him? I thought you didn’t like kids.”
“I don’t.”
“You may think you don’t. But I’ve seen you dealing with my boys, and you certainly don’t hate them. The dog, maybe, but not the kids.”
“Even the stupid dog was starting to grow on me—until he ate the cell phone antenna,” she admitted with a wry smile.
“Then liking the children can’t be far behind.”
“Why? Because they’re little animals, too?”
That brought his full-bodied laugh. “You do have an odd way of looking at things, lady.”
“I’ve been told that before.”
“I imagine you have.” Staring at her, he sobered. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”
“No.” It was barely a whisper.
“Then I’m a fool. And to prove it for sure, I’m going to come over there and kiss you again.”
Brianne knew she should tell him not to. She also knew that if she put off doing anything for a few seconds there would be no need. It would be too late. What was the matter with her? Where was her common sense? She was beginning to think and act just like one of the lovesick heroines in her novels.
She closed her eyes. What would she do if she were writing this scene instead of living it? That was the easiest question she’d asked herself in a long time. The first thing she’d do was go back to the beginning of the story and make sure there were no children in the picture. Marriage was hard enough without adding the complications of offspring. She ought to know. She’d overheard her father and mother scream at each other often enough about having a daughter they didn’t want. The memory made her suddenly feel queasy.
“Mitch.” She opened her eyes. “We need to talk.”
He sat next to her, whispered, “Later,” and gently stroked her long, golden hair.
Their lips were almost touching, his breath warm on her face. Trembling, Bree waited. The feather-light kiss she was expecting came, followed without pause by a heavier, more insistent pressure.
Her heart leaped, danced, raced. It was as if Mitch had breached her soul through that simple contact. She wrapped her arms around his neck, meeting him with an eagerness that rivaled his.
Being so near to him left her breathless, and when he pulled her even closer, she wondered if the world had suddenly tipped off its normal axis. Her world certainly had! It didn’t seem to matter what kind of touch, what kind of kiss, Mitch bestowed upon her. Everything he did was so astounding, so amazingly perfect, she could hardly believe she wasn’t dreaming.
Lost in the moment, Brianne was surprised and flustered when he broke contact and set her away from him without warning. This wasn’t the way a perfect love scene was supposed to turn out!
She blinked to clear her vision. Mitch was standing there, staring at her as if he’d never seen her before.
“I’d better go,” he said, his voice raw with emotion.
“Why?”
“Because it’s getting late.”
The lame excuse hurt so much she couldn’t bring herself to argue. “I suppose you’re right.”
“See you in the morning, then?”
“I’ll try to have breakfast ready around eight, if that’s not too late.”
Frustrated, tense, Mitch combed his fingers through his hair. “Eight is fine. After we get the kids fed I think I’ll go ahead and hike down the dirt road a ways, like I said before. Maybe I can see enough to tell how bad the damage is. It’s possible a four-by-four could get us out of here if anybody knew we were stranded.”
Are you in that much of a hurry to leave? she wondered. She refused to swallow her pride and ask. Instead, she said, “That’s a good idea. I keep checking the telephone. The line is still dead.”
“Too bad we messed up your cell phone.”
A lot of things are too bad, Bree mused. Like the fact that we’ll have nothing in common, nothing to hold us together once this calamity is over.
Mitch was edging toward the library door. Brianne wanted to reach out to him, to beg him to take her in his arms, to kiss her again. Instead, she remained quiet and let him go.
She’d known him for what—two days at the most? Yet she was yearning for him like a silly teen with her first crush. That wasn’t sensible. Nor was it normal. At least not for her.
Slowly shaking her head, she sighed. It might not make any sense, but it was a fact. She was so enamored of Mitch Fowler, constant thoughts of him were driving her crazy. It had been bad enough before he’d kissed her. Now that he had, she wondered how she was going to cope, how she was going to resist making a blithering fool of herself around him.
A vivid image popped into Bree’s mind and immediately struck her funny. She saw herself clad in a long, flowing white gown. Beautifully hued ribbons were streaming from her hair, and she was leaping through a field of wildflowers in slow motion like a ballerina, eventually throwing herself headlong into Mitch’s strong, open arms.
The exaggerated spectacle reminded her of the reunion of long-lost lovers in an old movie—combined with a recent TV commercial for the latest allergy medicine!
“May cause unwelcome side effects,” she quoted. “And may be habit forming!” No kidding.
There was no use arguing with herself about that. She was already having to deal with plenty of unwelcome side effects when Mitch was nearby, like fluttering heartbeats, sweaty palms and an inability to form sane thoughts. The only good thing about being so dithered was that those strong feelings would eventually help her write better love scenes.
As for the idea that she’d already gotten in the habit of having Mitch underfoot, could that possibly have happened in such a short time?
The answer was a resounding, disconcerting yes.
Chapter Ten
Brianne had never been one to stand by and let circumstances run her life. This time was no exception. When she finally gave up and went to bed that night, she’d narrowed her choices of action to two that were workable.
The way she saw it, she could either try to keep Mitch and his family with her long enough for their initial attraction to wear off, or she could hurry his departure and save herself the heartache she was afraid would eventually come once he realized how incompatible they were.
A soft sound in the hallway outside her bedroom caught her attention. She strained to listen. She couldn’t tell if she was hearing a child’s sniffling or if Barney had escaped and was nosing around. Either way, the situation called for investigation.
She pulled a light cotton robe over her gown, went to her door and eased it open. Bud was standing there, barefoot, clad in a T-shirt that was miles too big, hugging his bear and wearing the most pitiful expression she’d ever seen.
Brianne smiled and instinctively dropped to her knees so they’d be at the same eye level. “Hi, honey. What’s the matter? Couldn’t you sleep?”
He shook his tousled head, his lower lip quivering.
Maybe his silence was due to her lack of rapport with small children, but as far as Bree could recall, the little boy had never talked much in her presence. Consid
ering the trauma he’d been through recently, it wasn’t surprising he was shy.
Unsure how to comfort him, she decided to start with the obvious. “Are you hungry?”
Again, he shook his head.
“Then what’s the matter? Can you tell me?”
Tears began to fill Bud’s limpid eyes, making them seem larger and more expressive than ever.
The little boy looked so small, so lost, Bree couldn’t resist reaching out to him.
The moment she opened her arms, Bud dropped his teddy bear and threw himself at her, clinging as if he were adrift at sea and she held the only lifeline. His little arms went around her neck and clasped tightly as he buried his face against her shoulder.
“Oh, baby,” she crooned. “It’s okay. Don’t be scared. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Limitless love poured from her soul and bathed them both in its grace. Brianne couldn’t believe what was happening. There wasn’t a maternal bone in her body, so what was she doing on her knees in the middle of the night, hugging a frightened, lonely little boy? This experience with the Fowlers was certainly getting complicated.
She began to rock in place, soothing Bud with softly uttered sounds while she mulled over the kinds of support she’d already decided to offer. Helping Ryan would be easy. All she had to do was arrange for tutoring to bring him up to grade level. And Mitch would benefit from her generosity in regard to his lost cabin and personal possessions, so he was taken care of. The question was, what in the world could she hope to do for Bud?
The unspoken answer filled her heart and mind. You’re doing it. Just love him.
I can’t love him, Bree argued. I can’t. It’s not in me. I don’t understand children. I never have. Look at the way I was brought up. I’d ruin any kid I tried to raise. I know I would.
Tears misted Bree’s vision as she held the needy six-year-old close and kissed the top of his tousled head. This was all wrong! She had her future sensibly planned. It wasn’t supposed to include any children.
Maybe I can buy Bud a bicycle or something, she reasoned.
Immediately, her conscience twitched uncomfortably. Shame on you. This is not about money, this is about love.
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