Sheltered Hearts (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 2)

by Mary Crawford

  I chuckle softly as I ask, “So, I’m guessing no Hungarian goulash for you?”

  I watch as a shiver travels up Mitch’s spine and he answers, “No, I don’t think that would be happening on my plate.”

  I pat him on the forearm and suggest, “Mitch, you don’t have to prove anything to me. The whole idea of us going out on a date is for both of us to have a good time. If you’re torturing yourself to prove a point, that kind of defeats the purpose of going out to have fun.”

  “I can appreciate that; thank you for offering, but I really want to follow through with my mission on the date tonight — especially now that I know that you love Indian food. I really think I can work through weirdness for just one night, don’t you?”

  I reach out and interlace my fingers with his and give his hand a squeeze as I murmur, “I really appreciate the gesture. It’s been a while since anyone has gone out of their way to make me happy.”

  When the hostess starts to seat us, Mr. Houser refuses to sit with us, deciding instead to sit at a nearby table. Mitch excuses himself to go speak to him while I study the menu. Well, that’s what I’m pretending to do. What I’m really doing is watching Mitch interact with the kind gentleman I met this afternoon. Mr. Houser seems so lost and alone. I wonder if that’s how my grandpa feels. I used to be really close to him until I ran away to New York with Dex Cantillate. The difference between Dex and Mitch is pretty stunning as well. I don’t remember Dex ever doing anything to help anyone except himself.

  I watch with a smile as Mitch reaches into Hope’s saddlebags and pulls out a dog-eared paperback and hands it to Mr. Houser. I fan my self a little. Let’s face it — men who read are just hot.

  Mitch brings Hope back over to the table and commands her to lay under it. “Sorry about that, I just wish he would’ve decided to eat with us. Although, I can understand why he would feel like he was intruding. It would be a bit unorthodox for him to include himself on our date.”

  I nod my head as I respond, “Let’s play it his way: we’ll do part of our date at our table, then we’ll take it to his table. Mr. Houser reminds me so much of my own grandpa that it makes me homesick. Walter is stubborn like that, too. You just have to be a little creative sometimes.”

  Mitch looks at me and shakes his head, “Is that the secret of women everywhere? You decide what you want and then just set out to get it done by being creative?”

  I wink at him and respond, “Do you think I’ll ever tell?”

  The waitress arrives and lays out the sampler plates with a virtual cornucopia of Indian food.

  “Wait a second, I didn’t even have a chance to look at the menu,” Mitch protests as she continues to unload her tray.

  “I know,” I concede. “I figured with your hang-ups, it would probably be easier for you just to dive right in. This way, if you don’t like something, you’re not all in. You can just move right on to the next dish. There will be no commitment issues one way or the other. Since I like it all, if you get attached to one dish, I’ll just eat what you don’t.”

  Mitch regards me with wide-eyed astonishment as he admits, “You know, there is a certain convoluted logic to that. I’m glad you thought of it.”

  For a self-professed picky eater, Mitch is doing an admirable job working his way through our little buffet. I think it helps that we’re talking about his last rescue and some dogs that he recently encountered at the shelter. He doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to what he’s eating. Finally, I get the nerve up to ask about something that’s been bothering me for over two weeks. “Mitch, I’m a little confused. What happens to us now? I thought I knew where we were headed and then you didn’t even try to talk to me.”

  Mitch picks at some grains of rice left on the edge of his plate as he confesses, “I may be book smart, but no one ever accused me of having a whole lot of common sense. I just blew it and I hope you’ll give me a chance to start over. For now, let’s get some dessert and head over to Mr. Houser’s table.”

  If I didn’t already have a colossal crush on Mitch, I would definitely have one now after witnessing how he treated Mr. Houser with such respect.

  When Mitch learned that Mr. Houser was retired and alone, he to offered drive him to the shelter to help work with the dogs. He explained that many of the dogs just lack opportunities to interact with people and could use some lessons in basic socialization. I really thought that Mr. Houser might actually break into tears at the thought of being able to have the dogs in life again — even only temporarily.

  Even though we invite Mr. Houser to hang out with us for the rest of the evening, he begs off citing fatigue. So, I give him a big hug and program my phone number into his cell phone and make him promise to call if he needs anything. After Mitch collects the newspapers from his stoop, sees him safely inside and double checks his locks, he meets me at the bottom of the stairs and places his arm around my waist. “I really wish I would’ve gotten to know my grandfather better. To me, he just represented a bunch of expectations. I never got to know him as a real person. I don’t even know how he met my grandma. I wish I could tell stories to my own kids like the one Lee told us tonight about Clara,” Mitch comments wistfully as we walk down the sidewalk.

  I pull him a little closer as I respond, “I’m sorry. I know what that feels like, I’ve taken my grandparents for granted too. I wish I could go back to the way things were before I ruined things between us with my bad choices.”

  Mitch reaches up and brushes some hair out of my eyes and gently kisses my temple, “Is there any reason you can’t patch things up now?” he asks as he pulls me into an embrace.

  I shrug as I bury my face in his shoulder. “I don’t know. It almost feels as if any dream of a normal family life has been so far shattered that nothing can rebuild it. I’m so different from the little girl he remembers, I’m not even sure he would recognize me.”

  “People change and grow, Red — even your Grandpa,” Mitch reasons.

  I smile against his chest as I answer, “You’ve never met Walter Walker. If you think I’m stubborn, he’s the original ‘It’s my way or the highway’ guy. Of course, he was totally right about my pig-of-an-ex, but that’s beside the point.”

  Mitch pulls away and lifts my chin until I’m looking him in the eye. “I know this sounds simple, but have you told him that?”

  “Not in so many words,” I admit, emotion breaking my voice. “The last time I saw him was during the middle of Isaac and Rosa’s wedding. It would have been a terrible time for me to talk about our private business.”

  “I understand — family stuff is hard — but if you ever need me, I’ll be in your corner,” Mitch assures me as he stops abruptly in front of a heavy wooden door. He checks his phone for a moment and then looks back up at the door. “It looks like we’ve arrived at the ‘put up or shut’ up portion of the evening,” he comments with a grimace.

  Before I can ask him what he’s talking about, he opens the heavy door. The smell of the waxed floor together with talc and the familiar stench of sweat hit me about the same time as I notice the full-length mirrors and the barre surrounding the whole room. It’s surreal to watch myself spin on my heel and run into his chest as I ask, “Did you sign us up for belly dancing lessons?” Sheer astonishment drips from every syllable as I regard him with wide eyes.

  The side of his mouth quirks up in a half grin as he responds, “I’m feeling a little crazy, but not that crazy. No, tonight you and I are going to learn the tango. Or, at least that’s what’s supposed to happen — like you’ve already discovered, I don’t have very much coordination so who knows what could really happen.”

  I lean up and kiss the bottom of his chin. “Relax. The only one I’m worried about is Hope. Won’t this to be hard on her ears? The music can get awfully loud.”

  “Believe it or not, it’s actually part of her training as a service dog. I try to expose her to as many different environments as I can. Rescue scenes can often be loud and chaotic
, so I need to know that she won’t panic around noise. If she’s sensitive to noise, then I know that I’ll need to place her in a different environment. If it gets too intense for her, I’ll take her back to the training center for the night, but I really want to see how well she does.”

  “So, what should I do with you if you panic?” I ask, trying desperately hard to keep a straight face.

  Mitch grabs both of my hands and replies, “Hold me tight and kiss me all over until I stop shaking.” There is enough intensity in his gaze that I’m not exactly sure that he’s kidding.

  IT’S FUNNY HOW IDEAS THAT YOU hatch on your couch seem inspired by some genius force, yet when you actually have to carry them out in real life, they lack the true spark you were sure was going to dazzle the world. I cringe as I feel a bead of sweat roll down the middle of my back. What in the world was I thinking? Dancing? Not only dancing but Argentine tango? Up close and personal dancing — complicated dancing! It’s official, I’ve gone completely, certifiably insane. There is no other explanation for what’s happening here.

  Jessica looks down at her tight dress in dismay as she remarks, “I admit, I figured you had something much more sedate in mind.”

  The dance instructor notices her dilemma and offers, “I’ve got some clean clothes from the lost and found that I was going to donate to charity, would you like to see if there’s something that would fit you?”

  Jessica starts to balk, “I hate to take something away from charity.”

  The instructor waves off her concerns as she admits, “Oh, that’s quite all right, It’s just a bunch of old T-shirts that we’re no longer using because we changed our studio logo.”

  I step forward with some money and hand it to the instructor as I offer, “Why don’t you let me pay for a couple of T-shirts since I didn’t give Jessica any warning about what we were going to do today.”

  The instructor takes it with a smile. “Great! Now everybody wins; you get new clothes and the charity gets extra money. Why don’t you go change, and I’m going to go grab myself something to drink. I have a feeling you and your boyfriend are going to keep me on my toes tonight.”

  While Jessica is changing, I set out to make sure that Hope is comfortable in her surroundings. I give her water and lay out a small survival blanket for her to rest on. So far, she doesn’t seem at all fazed by the environment, even though there is music playing through the speakers and it’s vibrating through the floor.

  I wish I could claim to be that calm, cool and collected when I next see Jessica. The truth is I have to remind myself to breathe. She is wearing her wild red hair up in a high, sleek ponytail and her long, elegant neck is exposed as she stands near the barre doing stretches. The cropped T-shirt she’s wearing droops down over her shoulder exposing the lacy strap of her tank top. She’s wearing a skirt that looks like it’s made up of several panels of brightly colored T-shirt material, but when she moves her legs just right, it splits all the way up to her hip. I know she complains all the time about how short she is, but I think her body is beautifully proportioned. She’s just the right height to cuddle under my arm; her head rests perfectly against my shoulder.

  I walk over to the barre and manage to croak out, “Are you excited?”

  Jessica nods as she answers, “Yes, very. It’s been a really long time since I’ve done any Latin dancing. I’ve always wanted to take formal lessons. I don’t think my classes at the Y count.”

  “Sure they do. That’s way more than I’ve ever had. You’ll have to be patient with me. I think the last dance lessons I had involved world culture day in PE in the third grade,” I confess.

  I fumble with my hands as I hold her in a traditional waltz hold. Right now, I’m cursing my tendency to show every nervous tic. I wish I could be one of those guys with nerves of steel who knows exactly what to say and how to say it. Realistically, I feel like one big ball of sweat. I’m pretty sure that Jessica can feel me shaking like a nervous Chihuahua.

  Jessica looks around the room, her eyes resting on each woman. Finally she looks at me and asks with a teasing grin, “Is there someone else you would like to dance with?”

  Her question takes me off guard and I drop her hands for a moment as I stammer a response, “No, of course not! Why would you think that?”

  Jessica giggles as she steps closer and grabs my hand and places it at her waist and positions my other hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know, you tell me. You’re treating me like I ate garlic and anchovy pizza for dinner. In case it’s a newsflash to you, I kinda like you, Mitch. Dancing is a really good excuse to get right up close and personal and Argentine tango is a really good dance for that. I don’t mind if you touch me,” Jessica instructs as she scoots her body even closer to mine.

  I’m sure that this is the spot where I’m supposed to have some witty, sexy retort. However, since the mere sight of Jessica tends to short-circuit every logical thought in my brain, the best I can come up with is, “Umm, okay… sounds good to me.” I mentally kick myself. Really? You do daring search and rescue work, you went to a good college, and you run a volunteer program with rescue animals and you can’t think of one intelligent thing to say? Fortunately, Jessica doesn’t seem to notice my lapse in conversational skills, as she rests her head on my shoulder.

  Suddenly the instructor introduces herself as Suzanne. An incongruent thought hits my brain when I hear her name. My mom used to be a huge fan of the television show, Three’s Company. Suzanne’s perky attitude reminds me of Suzanne Sommers.

  Suzanne tells us to introduce ourselves to each other and tell each other our greatest fear. I freeze a little at this instruction. It seems a little silly to be introducing myself since my hands are a fraction of an inch from some very intimate parts of Jessica’s body. I’m just about to say something lighthearted and glib when Jessica looks at me with somber eyes and admits in halting speech, “My name is Jessica Lynn Walker and I’m afraid that once you discover who I really am, you’re going to be disappointed and leave just like everyone else does.”

  I cup her face in my hands and gently kiss her before I reply. “Jessica, I don’t think you understand the difference you made in my life in just the short time that I’ve known you. I wake up with a smile on my face just because I thought of something that you said or did. I look forward to checking my phone to see if there’s a text message from you. I know I didn’t make it clear, but when I was away on the rescue, one of the things that made it easier to have a positive outlook when things were very bleak was the fact that I had someone waiting for me when I came home.”

  “What if I’m not really the belly dancing, life of the party, concert-going fiery redhead that you think I am? What if I spend most of my time doing homework, reading books and trying not to burn down my kitchen with disastrous cooking experiments,” Jessica counters stubbornly.

  I try a different tactic. I reach out to shake her hand as I say, “Hi, I’m Mitch Carver Campbell. The world sees me as some sort of hero, but I’ve been so busy making everybody else happy, I haven’t bothered to figure out what makes me happy and who I really am. I’m afraid that once I figure that out, I’m going to let a whole bunch of people down.”

  Compassion swirls in Jessica’s expressive eyes as she just shakes her head. “Mitch, I don’t see how that could possibly be true. Everything you do is extraordinary on some level. Whether you choose to volunteer at the shelter or continue your work with the search and rescue team or even if you keep your job with the school district, it’s all honorable. I don’t see how anyone could be disappointed in what you do.”

  I sigh as I try to explain, "I know it's hard to understand, but so many people need such different things from me that it's hard to balance them all. Sometimes I feel like I can’t keep everybody happy. Eventually, I'm going to devastate someone because I can't continue to juggle everything."

  Jessica runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck, "It sounds like both of us could use a little more fri
endship and a little less judgment in our lives. Regardless of how tonight turns out, I promise to be your friend through all of this, okay? You have the right to be who or what you decide to be. I'll be proud of you — no matter what."

  I briefly rest my chin against the top of her head as I pull her into an embrace. "The same is true for you, Jess. Just for the record, I'd much rather spend an evening reading books than being the life of the party."

  Whatever Jessica might've said in response is drowned out by the tapping of Suzanne's timing stick on the floor. I’m really lucky that Jessica knows what she’s doing. She immediately pulls me back into proper dance form. All I can say is that I’m glad that I really like Jessica because, it would be really awkward to do this dance with a stranger and it would be downright terrifying to deal with someone I didn’t like. Jessica wraps my arm around her so tight that my hand is nearly brushing the underside of her breast and my other hand is cupping the back of her neck. “Am I supposed to be this close or are you taking advantage of my virtue?” I joke.

  “Shh,” Jessica cautions, “Just watch in the mirror. See what she’s doing with her partner? We’re supposed to do that. You’re the leader and I’m the follower.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier if you led and I followed since you know what you’re doing?” I suggest, as I watch the instructor go through ever more complicated steps.

  Jessica giggles as she responds, “I suppose in theory, yes, but that’s not the way Latin dances work. You’re the man and you’re supposed to lead.”

  “What about equality and treating everyone fairly?” I challenge, arching my eyebrow.

  “Mitch Chambers, stop procrastinating. This is not a gender studies class and you’re not going to talk your way out of this. You’re not expected to be an expert at it the first time you try. That’s why this is called a class. You are learning to do the Argentine tango. For that matter, so am I. We’re on this adventure together, and we’ll look silly together along with every other person in this class, understand?”