"Thanks. I wouldn't have known."
He waved away her thanks, torn between wanting her to leave if she was going to leave and wanting to prolong their time together.
She stood, ending his dilemma.
He wished she would take the few steps to reach him and touch him. Touch his hair maybe. His face. Give him few more kisses to last him a lifetime. Fill his head with the scent of her.
She was either strong-willed or leaving him wasn't tearing her apart the way it was him. The time spent in each other's arms meant nothing to her. He meant nothing to her.
He could ask her to talk to him, but she would say the same things she had before. He could ask her to stay and make a bigger fool of himself. He stood.
"Well, that's it, then." She turned toward the door. '"Night."
"'Night." The door opened and closed. She was gone.
Mitch stood watching the darkness beyond the screen. He walked onto the porch, but she was already gone from sight.
Twenty
Mitch had moved the refrigerator and the microwave into the laundry room temporarily, while the kitchen was under construction. Meals would have to be simple, and trips to the café would be in order for that week.
On Monday morning Mitch and his crew tore out the old plaster walls and hung the vinyl wallpaper- look-alike paneling that Heather had selected in Billings. Mitch spent the next two days installing new cupboards and the dishwasher and range. Subcontractors handled the electrical and plumbing throughout, while his crew kept up with the touch- up work and laid a tile floor.
He worked from morning to night with minimal breaks for food and water. At noon each day he used the phone in the study, telling Heather he'd pay for the calls he was making.
"I've found a nanny for the girls," he announced on Thursday afternoon. Heather was cleaning out the refrigerator, which was still operational and not that old. Her father must have replaced it out of necessity within the last few years.
"You did?"
"She can't get here for another week. She's coming from Germany."
"A few of my co-workers have had nannies from other countries," she said. "Seems they change them often. Does this one speak English?"
"I understood her fairly well on the phone," he said. "She has good references."
"What will you do until she gets here?"
"My sister-in-law Leanne has agreed to help me until then."
"Well, that's good."
"Yep." That said, he went back to work.
Their conversation had been at a bare minimum all week, but then, the remodeling had created chaos, and no one wanted to see it finished more than she did.
Thursday night, sitting alone in the nearly finished kitchen, Heather imagined a family gathering in the new room for hectic meals and cozy evenings. She hoped someone with children would move in. It was a great place for kids.
The phone rang and she picked it up.
"I know it's late," the woman from the realty company said. "But we have an offer."
Heather's heart pounded. "Already?"
"The party's been interested in the land for some time. It's a substantial offer. I think you should consider it."
"Well, of course I will." She listened to the woman and the offer and hung up the phone with completely torn feelings. This was what she'd wanted, what she'd worked toward. The offer would more than cover the contracting, pay Mitch, and give her something to invest. She could even buy a house in San Francisco if she wanted to.
She walked through the house, seeing the improvements she and Mitch had made together. Except for the old furnishings, it looked nothing like the house of her childhood, nothing like the place where those bad memories of Montana had been carved.
Everywhere she looked brought a thought of something one of the kids had said or done, an image of Mitch's hands touching the wood or the fixtures'.
Obviously it was more than the bad memories driving her away: She still had the urge to run.
She finished packing her clothing and personal items, planning to be ready to leave on Saturday morning. She really needed one more day to pull things together.
She should be happier about the offer, and her lack of enthusiasm bothered her. But then, no one had been in a cheerful mood all week. The kids had gone around wearing sullen expressions and Mitch had barely spoken to her.
She felt like the Wicked Witch of the West.
She felt miserable.
By Friday the kitchen was bright and functional, looking nothing like the outdated room it had been only last week. Heather was amazed at the speed of the progress and the beauty of Mitch's woodworking skills. But that day she took the kids into Whitehorn for lunch, needing to get away.
A slim, pale girl with bleached hair sat on one of the booths at the counter, chain smoking and sipping coffee. "Good thing they got that Gavin Nighthawk behind bars," she said to the waitress who filled her cup. "This town wasn't safe with him on the loose."
"I heard that Garrett Kincaid went to visit him in jail and hired him that fancy lawyer, Elizabeth Gardener." The elderly woman who spoke from the first booth was one Heather had noticed every time she'd entered the Hip Hop. Her frizzy hair had the appearance of a dandelion gone to seed, and her gaudy jewelry looked like something the twins would select from the dime store for a Halloween get-up. "They're getting him released on bail."
The young woman at the counter, whom someone called Audra, gave her a hateful glare. "Everyone knows you just sit there all day and make stuff up. Nighthawk is going to prison. Maybe the elecùic chair."
"All right, ladies," Janie Austin said in censure. "We have customers and some of them are children."
"Thank you," Heather said softly, when Janie came to take their order. Janie leaned down to listen to her speak. "I only know a little about the situation and we're leaving tomorrow, but I think the twins will be living here and I wouldn't want them frightened."
Janie nodded her understanding. "You know," she said, straightening and sliding an order pad out of her pocket, "these are some of the most well-behaved children I've ever waited on. I don't even think Taylor and Ashley are the same girls who came in here at the beginning of summer."
"Oh, it's the same us," Ashley told her with a serious nod. "We just don't act like hooligans no more, least not when we can help it."
Janie laughed in delight. "I think I'd like to treat you all to a free ice cream after you eat your lunch today."
"Aw-right!" the kids chorused.
Heather and Janie laughed at their enthusiasm. Heather couldn't wait to tell Mitch. She ordered a meal to take home for him.
She took the children to the library, where they found a comfortable spot, and she read them the books they brought her until she was hoarse. The librarian smiled pleasantly as they filed out.
"Think we can swim this afternoon?" Patrick asked on the drive home.
"I suppose you can," Heather agreed.
She supervised a couple of hours in the pool, then led them into the house for naps.
She was sitting on the porch with a glass of tea when a battered truck came up the drive and parked on the gravel area. Martin Rollins got out and took his time crossing to the house. "Things sure look in a might better repair around here," he said. He removed his hat, squinted up at the roof and glanced at the outbuildings.
"Come see the kitchen," she offered, and led him into the air-conditioned house.
His faded blue eyes took in the newly remodeled room and he voiced his approval. "I decided on a couple of horses, and I thought I'd better see about the papers. Don't want nobody to think I came by 'em illegally."
She led him into her father's office and opened one of the few files remaining in a desk drawer. "If you can make any sense of these, you're welcome to look. There are bills of sale as well as registration papers."
"We'll need to make this legal," he said.
"I've checked into it," Heather assured him. "I'll have the papers notarized."
<
br /> After several minutes he selected two sheets of paper. "I have the vet and feed bills here—made a list—so you can see I'm not stealin' from ya."
"I wouldn't think that."
From the pocket of his overalls, he pulled the papers, and a stack of photographs almost fell from his fingers. "I forgot. . .the missus sent these for you, too."
Heather accepted the black-and-white pictures and studied them. They were photos of a gathering in town, although the buildings looked nothing like those there today. In the center of one picture, her father and mother smiled at the camera.
Heather touched the image of her mother with an index finger. She had only a few photographs of her. "They look so. . .happy."
"Yep," he replied. "I expect they were. Your pa took it hard when she died. I think he tried hard, for your sake, but I never saw anybody change so much. Seemed like each year he just got crankier and stayed away from people more."
Heather placed the photos on the desktop and hugged herself. "I hated it here."
"Figured that. You never visited him."
"He didn't miss me."
"Seems like he did. He told me about you—about how successful you were in San Francisco."
"He did?" she asked in surprise.
"Showed the missus a Christmas card with a picture of your oldest one year."
"Well, I'll be darned. . . Well, I never missed being here."
He looked at her oddly, then gathered his papers, and they discussed the final details, as well as how he would handle selling the rest of the stock for her, and she saw him to the door.
"Wish you were stayin'," he said. "You'd make fine neighbors."
She waved him off. The rest of the day her newfound knowledge gave her pause for thought. She hadn't been as insignificant to her father as she'd believed, not if he spoke of her and showed her cards to Mrs. Rollins. Why couldn't he have shown her a little concern or attention while she'd been growing up? Why couldn't he have cared enough to notice how miserable she was? Too little too late. Way too late.
Heather banished the thoughts from her mind and made dinner. She and the kids ate, with lively conversation that helped fill the void left by Mitch's absence from the table. He worked until past dinnertime, then took his meal and left to clean up.
"Mom!" Jessica called to her from the other room as Heather stood trying to figure out the new dishwasher. "Come quick!"
She hurried into the living room. "What?"
"Up here!" Jessica ran up the stairs.
Heather followed her, wondering if this was a true emergency or another one of those kid things.
"There's something in this closet!" She pointed into the closet in the boys's room.
"Like what?"
At the same time she asked, Heather heard pounding coming up the stairs, and the twins were squealing in their most eardrum-piercing pitch.
Mitch appeared in the doorway. "What?"
"In there!" Taylor said. "A mouse or something!"
Mitch stepped past Heather into the near-empty closet.
Heather reached inside and pulled the chain on the light for him. No light came on, and she looked up to see that the light bulb was missing. A little niggle of suspicion clawed at her chest. The light had worked when she'd been packing.
The door closed behind her, blocking out the light, and a clicking sound met her ears. Children's voices whispered, then disappeared.
"What the—" Mitch bumped into her, then moved away, and she heard him rattling the doorknob. "Taylor! Ashley!"
Stunned for a moment, Heather gathered her thoughts.
"The door's locked," he said.
She tried it herself, as though he wasn't capable of knowing. A shiver of panic traveled up her spine and the stifling darkness closed in around her. She pounded on the door. "Jessica! Jessica!"
Mitch's hands closed over her fingers. "Heather, it's okay."
His hands and his words calmed her enough to strategize her thinking. She wasn't eight years old. She wasn't helpless. She wasn't alone. She took a deep breath. Reason came back. She could handle this. She could handle anything. "Wait."
She moved to the back of the closet and groped on one of the shelves until her fingers came in contact with a dusty box. Opening it, she felt the utility candles and matches. Within seconds, she had a candle lit.
Mitch blinked.
Both of them glanced around.
"I think they did this on purpose," Mitch said.
She rolled his suggestion around. "Jessica?" she asked. "Jessica's never done anything like this."
"Are you suggesting Taylor and Ashley put her up to it?"
"I don't know." She took a minute to look around. "These weren't in here before. I packed the boy's things out of here yesterday." The objects she mentioned were two sleeping bags and a brown sack.
Mitch opened the bag and reached inside, withdrawing a sandwich in a plastic bag. "Smells like peanut butter and jelly."
He actually had half a smile on his face. That got her dander up. "You can't think this is funny!"
"You gotta admit, they must have thought it out."
"But for what purpose?"
"Maybe they want us to talk. We haven't done much of that lately."
She looked away.
"Maybe they want us to think."
Heather pounded on the door again. "Jessica Elizabeth Johnson, you open this door right this minute! If you open it now, I won't punish you. It will just be a joke. If you don't open it right now, you will be in big, big trouble, young lady. I'm going to count to five."
Mitch snickered and she wanted to turn around and hit him.
"One.Two. Three."
Silence.
"Four. Jessica, do you hear me?"
Nothing.
"Five!"
Her mind raced. "Andrew!" she said in near panic. "Where is Andrew?"
"I'm sure he's right there with them."
Heather looked around the inside of the dimly candle-lit closet. She opened the sleeping bags and found two cans of soda and a flashlight. Her heart sank. "How long do they plan to leave us in here? Mitch, break this door down."
"Are you nuts? I've seen how this place is constructed. That door is solid oak." He folded one of the sleeping bags and took a seat. "Might as well get cozy."
Fuming, Heather dripped a little wax on the wood floor well away from them and stuck the candle in it upright. "I'm saving the flashlight batteries."
"A person would think you'd done this before," he said jokingly. "How come you had candles ready? Maybe you planned this."
"I didn't plan this." Insulted, she took a seat, as he had. "I've done this before."
He studied her strangely.
"My father's housekeeper used to lock me in here. Same damned closet." She snorted derisively. "Does life come full circle or what?"
"That's awful," Mitch said, suddenly sober. "That's cruel."
"Yes," she replied. "It was."
"Are you claustrophobic?" he asked, genuine concern etching his brow.
"Not really. I hated it. I hated the darkness at first. That's when I figured out to hide candles in here. I'm not exactly comfortable, mind you. But I'm not going to go berserk on you."
"Heather, I'm so sorry. I had no idea." He got up and pounded on the door so hard it hurt her ears and she covered them. "Taylor! Ashley! Open this door or you're never getting ice cream again until you're old ladies with no teeth!"
There was no response from the other side of the door.
Heather held her mouth in a grim line and grappled with her memories. Mitch sat back down.
A few minutes of silence passed. A soft rustle caught their attention and a piece of paper slid underneath the door toward them.
"Open the door!" Mitch said sternly. "Jessica, open this door!" Heather demanded to no avail.
She reached for the paper. A note was neatly printed in Jessica's ten-year-old penmanship. She read aloud.
"You are scaring Andrew. He's ju
st a baby, so please stop yelling and pounding. We turned up VeggieTales loud, so he can't hear you. We can't hear you neither. We will let you out tomorrow. That should be enough time for you to think about stuff. Please, please, please think more about staying here. Taylor says she will eat peas and carrots. Ashley says she will eat peas and carrots, too, and she won't throw any more tanterms.
"Patrick says he will learn to spell so he can write stuff for you, like the groshery list. I will help you clean and cook.
"Love from your children.
"It's signed by all of them. Except Andrew." Teary-eyed, Heather passed the note to Mitch.
Twenty-One
Mitch looked over the letter and set it aside. "I'm sorry, Heather," he said to her. "You didn't put them up to it, did you?"
"No."
"Well, then, don't be sorry." A few minutes passed. "Man, Heather. I can't believe what you just told me. You always said that Montana wasn't for you," he said softly. "Is this why? The bad things that happened to you here?"
She took a breath. "I thought so. I was lonely here. My father was an alcoholic, and he ignored me after my mother died. The woman who took care of me was abusive."
"She hit you?"
"Sometimes. Mostly she confined me to my room. If I was really bad, she locked me in here." Heather glanced around. "I hated my father for not stopping her. For not loving me enough to care what happened to me. Maybe he was just too miserable to look beyond his own suffering. Now that I'm an adult, I don't believe he knew she locked me away. But he locked me up in his own way—by shutting me out."
She scooted back against the wall, her anger gone. "This week I realized that the bad memories are mostly faded away now."
"They must be," he said. "You're handling this."
"This isn't the same house it was then. I'm not the same helpless girl. I'm an adult. I'm in control of my life. And I make choices for myself and my children."
"That's pretty sane thinking."
"Yeah, well, I've spent quite a few hours in counseling. That's what helped me make the break from my husband."
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