by Marta Perry
“I’m sorry.” Ellie’s eyes darkened with sympathy. “I have an address from a Christmas card, if that’ll do you any good. I think she was moving, but her mail might still be forwarded. So I guess a letter could reach her.”
“I’d really appreciate it.” A few-months’-old address was better than nothing.
“I’ll get it for you.”
As the woman moved away, the bell on the door jingled.
Anne turned. Mitch stood in the doorway, and her heart was suddenly thumping loud enough for her to hear.
Chapter Ten
What exactly is Anne up to now? Mitch had glimpsed her from the window where he was supervising Davey’s reluctant cleaning. He’d expected her to turn into the station and had been ridiculously disappointed when she’d gone past. And somewhat surprised when she’d walked into the gift shop.
Her slightly guilty expression told him she was doing something she thought he’d disapprove of—some sleuthing, in other words. If she had some reason to believe Ellie knew something, he wanted in on it.
“I’m helping a customer. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Ellie gave him a wary look. He didn’t think she disliked him; the uniform raised that response in people sometimes. Ellie was generous with others, cautious with him.
“I know.” He responded with a bland smile. He turned to Anne. “I’m surprised to see you out already. You must be feeling better.”
“Yes, I’m fine.” That faint flush in her cheeks probably wasn’t from the fever. She was embarrassed at being caught.
“Excuse me, Chief.” Ellie brushed past him to lift down a dried-flower wreath, which she held out to Anne. “What about this one?”
Anne touched it gently. “It’s beautiful. Did you make all these yourself?”
Ellie smiled at the praise. “And the baskets. Some of the pieces are on consignment from local artists.”
Anne had managed to get more out of Ellie in two minutes than Mitch had in two years, he thought. But he didn’t think she had come in here just because she liked Ellie’s crafts.
“I’ll take this one. And I’d love to have that address, if you don’t mind writing it down for me.”
Ellie glanced from her to Mitch, then nodded. “It’ll be in my files in the office. I’ll get it.”
When she’d disappeared, he lifted an eyebrow at Anne. “Address?”
“It seems she received a Christmas card from Marcy Brown.”
“She just happened to volunteer that information?”
“No, of course not. I asked her.”
He suppressed a flicker of irritation. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t go around town asking questions of everyone you meet.”
“I didn’t do any such thing.” Her eyes snapped. “I happened to run into Pastor Richie, and he suggested I talk with Ellie. Apparently she and Marcy struck up a friendship in the singles group, and he thought they might have been in touch.”
Mitch winced. Looked as if he owed her an apology. Again. “Guess I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” She sounded as if she wanted to hold on to her annoyance a bit longer. “And how did you know I was here?”
He gestured toward the station next door. “I was standing at the window, supervising.”
“Supervising what?”
“Davey’s window washing.”
He liked the way her face softened at the boy’s name. It would be nice to imagine that it did so at the mention of his name, but he doubted it.
“He’s been testing the limits to our arrangement, and Wanda refuses to have anything to do with this project.”
She actually smiled. Apparently he was forgiven. “You’ll do a better job of it, anyway.”
“I doubt it, but it’s nice of you to say so.”
They were standing close together, so close that he could smell the faint, flowery scent she wore. He had to fight the urge to step even closer.
She looked up at him, and her blue eyes seemed to darken. “I’m sure—”
Ellie bustled in from the storeroom or wherever she’d been, her gaze darting from one to the other of them. “Found it.” She waved a slip of paper at Anne.
Anne turned to her with what Mitch suspected was relief. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”
The woman shrugged. “No problem. I’ll box up the wreath for you.”
Ellie busied herself at the far end of the counter, and an uneasy silence grew between him and Anne. What was she thinking? Was she remembering the moment when they’d kissed? Or was she wishing he’d leave her alone?
Anne glanced up at him. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work.”
That seemed to answer the question. He shrugged. “Yeah, I’d better get back to the station. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You will?” She looked startled and not entirely pleased at the thought.
Well, she’d just have to lump it. “I promised Kate a while ago I’d paint the sunroom for her. Davey and I are going to work on it tomorrow, since it’s Saturday.”
“I see.” She managed a smile, but it didn’t look particularly genuine. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“One more bite, sweetie.” Anne spooned cereal into Emilie’s mouth as morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows. “We need to get you dressed, because Mitch is coming.”
Emilie smiled, cereal dribbling onto her chin, just as if she remembered who Mitch was and looked forward to seeing him.
“There. All done.” She wiped away the cereal and put the bowl in the sink. Whether or not either of them wanted to see Mitch was beside the point, anyway. He was coming, and she couldn’t do anything about it but try and handle his presence better than she had the day before.
That encounter in Ellie’s store had been a miserable display. She’d let her confused feelings for Mitch make her uncomfortable and awkward in his presence.
She had to cope with the attraction she felt for him, and she had to do it now. She couldn’t go on this way.
Emilie banged on the high chair tray with both fists, as if in emphasis, and Anne lifted her out. She smoothed the fine, silky hair off the baby’s forehead.
Maybe the most important question to ask was whether she still believed him to be Emilie’s father. She tried to look at it as an attorney, instead of seeing it personally, but she couldn’t separate the two.
Anne had grown to know him too well during her time in Bedford Creek. She’d seen the man behind the uniform and the shield, and she liked what she saw.
Integrity. That was the word for it. Every moment she spent with him made her more convinced he was a man of integrity. Every moment lessened her conviction that he was Emilie’s father.
She put her cheek against Emilie’s soft one. If her father wasn’t Mitch, who was it? Time was ticking away, and she didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. Was she letting her tangled feelings for Mitch distract her from what was really important here?
Well, if so, that was coming to an end. Regardless of what she might feel for him, the truth was that there would never be anything between them. Everything else aside, Mitch’s attitude toward having children made it impossible.
Being Emilie’s mother was a full-time job, and giving Emilie the warm, close family relationship Anne had never had herself would fill the empty spaces in her heart. She didn’t need or want anything more.
A clatter on the front porch told her the workmen had arrived. Ignoring the way her heart lurched, she went to open the door with Emilie in her arms.
“Good morning.” She caught Emilie as the baby made a lunge for Mitch. “I see you’re ready to work.” She was going to be pleasant, she told herself. She would act as if none of the events of the last few days had happened.
Mitch had a stepladder balanced on one broad shoulder, and he carried two cans of paint in the other hand. His faded jeans had definitely seen better days, as had the T-shirt that stretched across his chest, showing every muscle.
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“We’ll have the sunroom looking brand-new before you know it.” A smile warmed his face, erasing the remnant of annoyance over their last meeting.
A tingle ran along her nerve endings. Her heart didn’t seem to have listened to the lecture she’d just given.
She focused on Davey with a welcoming smile. The boy carried a bucket filled with painting gear and wore a disgusted expression. Obviously, this wasn’t his idea of the way to spend a Saturday.
She waved toward the sunroom that adjoined Kate’s kitchen. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be upstairs getting Emilie dressed if you need anything.”
He nodded. “Come on, Davey. This way.”
The boy trudged after him down the hall as if headed to his own execution. Suppressing a smile, Anne started up the stairs. Mitch had his work cut out for him in more than painting.
Half an hour later, Anne admitted the truth. She was delaying returning downstairs, delaying seeing Mitch again; she didn’t want to put her resolution to the test. But it was time for that to stop. She picked up Emilie and headed downstairs.
“Goodness, you two are fast.” They’d already stacked the furniture in the middle of the room and covered it with a drop cloth.
Mitch looked up from opening a can of paint. “I’m paying this guy by the hour, so I’ve got to get my money’s worth.”
“Looks as if you’re doing that.”
Anne realized Davey’s gaze was directed at the baby with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. She smiled at him. “This is Emilie.”
He jerked a nod in response, then came closer. “She’s pretty little, isn’t she?”
“She’s almost nine months old.” She bounced the baby. “This is Davey, sweetheart.”
He took another step closer. “Can she say my name?”
“Probably not. She doesn’t say much yet.” She tried not to think about the moment when Emilie had looked at Mitch and said “Da-da.”
“I never been this close to a baby before.” Tentatively, Davey held out one rather dirty hand toward Emilie.
With a happy gurgle, Emilie lunged forward and latched her fist around his finger, smiling.
“Looks as if she likes you,” Anne said.
Davey looked at the tiny hand, then up at Anne. “She does, doesn’t she.”
A smile spread across his face, changing him from the sullen, angry delinquent into a little boy who liked being liked.
That smile… Her heart warmed at the sight. Somehow seeing a smile like that from the boy made Mitch’s efforts seem worthwhile.
“I’m sure she does.” She glanced at Mitch. Had he seen what she had?
His gaze met hers and he nodded slightly, as if they shared a secret. The intimacy of his look closed around her heart.
She cleared her throat. “I’ll put Emilie in the playpen here in the kitchen. That way she can watch you paint without smelling the fumes. They wouldn’t be good for her.”
Davey nodded gravely, as if storing that information for possible future use. He detached his finger carefully.
“You watch,” he said. “You’re going to see some good painting.”
He returned to the sunroom with determination. Whether it would last or not she couldn’t guess, but it was nice to see.
She plopped Emilie into the playpen, sliding it over so the baby had a view of the sunroom. Emilie seemed to enjoy the unusual activity. She clutched the playpen’s mesh and watched every movement with wide blue eyes.
Mitch paused, roller in hand. “Have you heard anything from Kate yet?”
She’d nearly forgotten. “She called last night. It looks as if her sister didn’t break her hip, after all. She’s badly bruised, so Kate plans to stay and take care of her a bit longer, but she sounded very relieved.”
“I’ll bet. Kate loves her independence, and I gather the sister can be pretty bossy at times. Kate will be glad when she can get home again.”
“She asked about you.” Actually, Kate had asked if Mitch was taking good care of her. “I told her you’d be coming to paint today. She kept saying you didn’t need to do it and she could manage herself.”
He grinned. “That’s Kate. She’s always doing kind things for other people, then is surprised when they want to do something for her.”
Was that behind Mitch’s friendship with his elderly neighbor? Maybe Kate had been kind to him at a time when he needed kindness.
“She’s a good friend,” Anne said.
He nodded, smoothing the roller along the wall in a swath of pale yellow. “The first year I came back, she invited me to spend Christmas with her. Alex and his son had gone away, and I didn’t have anyone else. She made it sound as if I did her the favor.”
Anne leaned against the door frame. “I’m sure she enjoyed it as much as you did.”
“She didn’t eat as much.” He paused, a reminiscent look in his eyes. “She kept saying she loved to see people eat what she’d prepared, so I made her happy.”
“Turkey and all the trimmings?”
“What else would you have for Christmas?”
“Hamburger and fries.” The words were out before she knew it.
Mitch stared. “Why on earth would your folks serve that?”
It was clearly not the mental image he had of her family life. She shrugged. “They didn’t. They’d gone away for the holidays…Gstaad for skiing, I think. The housekeeper didn’t want to fix a big dinner just for the two of us, so we hit the burger hut instead.”
“Sounds like some of the Christmases I remember as a kid. I always figured other people got the magazine-picture type of Christmas dinner, with the whole family around the table and the father carving a turkey.” His voice betrayed the longing he’d probably felt as a child for that kind of Christmas.
Her heart clenched. She knew something about lonely holidays. “My ideal of Christmas was always the one in Little Women, where they all sacrificed to give to others and didn’t need anything but each other to be happy.” She’d reread that story every year at Christmastime.
“I remember it.” His eyes met hers. “I’m sorry.”
She knew he wasn’t talking about Louisa May Alcott.
She bent over the playpen to hand Emilie a toy. “Actually my happiest Christmases have been the last few, once I figured out what it was we were celebrating.”
“I wanted a bike for Christmas.” Davey’s voice startled her. She’d nearly forgotten the boy was there. “I asked for one last year, but my dad didn’t have the money for it.” He sat back on his heels. “It wasn’t his fault, you know.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t,” she said gently. Her heart hurt for him. “Maybe you’ll be able to make enough money to buy a bike yourself.”
Davey shot a glance at Mitch, then stared at the paintbrush in his hand. “Maybe.” He didn’t sound very optimistic.
Mitch reached over and touched the boy’s shoulder lightly. Davey let the hand stay there for a moment, then pulled back.
Mitch looked at Anne, his smile a little crooked, and she knew he was as touched by the boy as she was. The sudden rapport, the sense of knowing what he was thinking—where had that come from? And what was she going to do about it?
“I’ll start some lunch.” She escaped to the other end of the kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator door to cool her face.
She’d never intended to let her guard down, never intended to see so deeply into someone’s heart. She leaned her head against the edge of the refrigerator door. She and Mitch had begun to open up to each other in a way she hadn’t expected. Now that he’d come so far into her life, how was she ever going to get him out again?
Anne pulled the mail from the box and checked it quickly. All for Kate. There was nothing that could be a response to the letter she’d sent to Marcy Brown’s last known address.
Shivering a little in the cold wind, she closed the mailbox and hurried back inside. Emilie was napping, and the house was too quiet. She stacked the mail on Kate’s hall table. Some
thing to do, she thought. She desperately needed something constructive to do.
Maybe Mitch’s inquiries had gotten somewhere. But then, he’d have been in touch immediately.
She’d avoided him for the last few days. Maybe he’d been avoiding her, too, and for pretty much the same reason. After all, they both knew there couldn’t be anything between them. The kind of closeness they’d experienced on Saturday could only be bittersweet in light of that. It was safer not to see much of each other, safer not to take the chance of wanting something she couldn’t have.
She glanced at the phone. She’d called Helen in Philadelphia yesterday. Helen was the only one of her friends who knew the whole story, and so the only one she could talk to about it.
But Helen had been involved in dealing with a runaway in crisis, and Anne hadn’t wanted to tie her up with her worries. So she’d just asked Helen to keep on praying about the situation.
“Always, child.” Helen’s voice was as warm as her heart. “You know I’m always praying for you and that dear baby God has given you. Trust Him.”
Anne was trying so hard to trust.
If only she could think of something useful she could do. She’d tried Cassie again, but the woman hadn’t remembered anything more. Then Anne had gotten a list from the pastor of everyone in the singles group. But no one seemed able to help. It was as if poor Tina hadn’t made any impression at all in Bedford Creek. And Marcy Brown had disappeared, leaving no trace but a single Christmas card.
She walked restlessly back through the house to the kitchen and picked up the teakettle—
She stood still, kettle in hand, staring out the back window. Why was the shed door standing ajar?
She blinked, leaning a little closer to the window. Mitch had put the stepladder away in there on Saturday; she’d watched him do it. She’d seen him close and latch the door. Now it stood partially open.
Her heart began to thump. She should call the police, she should—
Now, wait a minute. The rational side of her brain kicked in. It was the middle of the afternoon. She was in Bedford Creek, not the big city. Why was she letting her imagination run away with her?