Blessings of the Heart (14 page)

Denial of any wrongdoing would only sound like an excuse and make matters worse. If Bree didn't get out of that house of hers pretty soon and per
sonally demonstrate the kind of upright, virtuous person she really was, there was no telling how bad the gossip would get.

Maybe she didn't care, as she'd claimed, but
he
did. She'd rescued his family, and he was going to see to it that she didn't have to pay any higher price for her good deed than she already had.

And as for himself? Mitch snorted in disgust. The price he was paying was infinitely higher than a mere reputation. Being around Brianne had cost him his heart and soul. Whether he'd ever be able to reclaim them remained to be seen.

F
or days after everyone else had left, Brianne had wandered aimlessly through her cavernous house, unable to concentrate, unable to work. Without Mitch and the boys underfoot, the place seemed more than empty. It seemed desolate.

Everything she saw, everything she touched, reminded her fondly of them—even the cookie crumbs she'd found in the boys' bed when she'd stripped off the sheets and gathered them to be washed.

“I'm hopeless,” she murmured. “Absolutely hopeless.”

She paused on the upper landing of the staircase, hugging the loose bundle of sheets and remembering the last time she and Mitch had stood there
together. Could he have been trying to say what she'd thought he was? Or was she reading more into his declaration than was really there because affection was what always developed in the stories she wrote?

Her sensible nature came to her rescue. There was no way two people could fall in love in just a few days. Those kinds of things only happened in fairy tales. She and Mitch might have felt some fondness for each other due to the stressful situation they'd been trapped in, but that didn't mean they'd found anything lasting. They couldn't have. They hardly knew each other.

The sound of an approaching car caught her attention. Now what?

Bree had missed out on her housekeeper's usual Thursday session because the phone lines hadn't been repaired in time for Bree to call and assure the older woman that the road was safe. By the time she'd finally reached her on Friday night, Emma had insisted she wasn't free again until the following Tuesday. Could she have taken pity on her part-time employer and come early, after all?

Hopeful, Bree listened. The car was slowing. She dropped the loose sheets in a pile on the entry floor and hurriedly threw open the front door.

An unfamiliar pickup truck with an extended cab had stopped in the driveway. A well-dressed man
was getting out. It couldn't be! It was. Mitch Fowler!

She gaped in awe. His hair had been trimmed and was neatly combed. A dark blue suit accented his trim frame, making his shoulders seem even broader, his waist more narrow. He was wearing a pale blue dress shirt and silk tie. Bree was flabbergasted. If she'd passed him on the street she might not have recognized him.

Behind him, a small arm was waving to her from the rear seat of the shiny black truck. It looked like Bud. She returned the greeting. “Hi!”

Mitch smiled, eyeing her. “I like that outfit. It looks nice and cool. But I'm afraid shorts aren't really appropriate for where we're going. How long will it take you to change?”

“What are you talking about?”

“It's Sunday. We've come to take you to church.”

Bree backed up, hands raised to fend him off. “Oh, no, you don't. You said you'd call first.”

“You have an unlisted phone. I couldn't call.”

“Hey, that's not my fault. You could have asked me for the number if you'd really wanted it. You were here long enough.”

He shrugged, pushed back his cuff to check his watch. “I know. My error. So, you coming with us? The service starts in forty-five minutes.”

“No way.”

“Okay. But if we backslide it'll be your fault.”

Mitch opened the passenger side door of his truck and folded the front seat forward to make it easier for the boys to clamber out.

“Come on, guys. It'll get too hot to sit in there for long. You can run around on the grass while I talk to Ms. Bailey. Just try to keep your new clothes and shoes clean, will you?”

“Yeah!” Ryan shouted. Hitting the ground, he immediately raced for the back of the house with his brother in pursuit. As always, Bud's bear made it a threesome.

Mitch was removing his suit jacket and loosening his tie as Bree asked, “Where's Barney?”

“Home.” He gave a short laugh. “I didn't think you'd appreciate riding with him.”

“That's a pretty truck. It looks new.”

“It is. I wanted something that was roomy and safe for the kids. It had to come with four-wheel drive too, so we wouldn't get stuck again. This seemed to fill the bill.” Mitch laid his jacket neatly over the back of the front seat, tossed the tie in after it and slammed the door.

“Can you afford it?”

“Yes. I told you I'm not broke. So, shall we go inside?”

“Well… The place is kind of a mess.”

“Never. Not your house.”

Brianne pulled a face. “I missed Emma's regular Thursday session last week.”

“I'll manage to tolerate the clutter, no matter how bad it is,” Mitch teased. He casually looped an arm around her shoulders. “Come on. I need a big dose of that air-conditioning you keep on all the time.”

What could she say? All her mental rehearsal had been in vain. He'd already thwarted her by not insisting she drop everything and attend church with him.

“All right. But one joke about lousy housekeeping and out you go.”

Laughing heartily, he escorted her to the door. “I wouldn't dream of it. So, tell me…what have you cooked lately?”

Bree was in a perfect position to elbow him in the ribs, and that's exactly what she did. Mitch's resulting
oof
made her giggle. “Hush. You deserved that, and more.”

“Probably.” He'd released her and was feigning injury by rubbing his ribs. Then he spotted the pile of sheets on the floor and switched to visible shock. “What happened there? Did a laundry truck wreck in your foyer?”

“I warned you…”

“Okay, okay. Let's go into the kitchen so we can
watch the boys from the windows. They may look like they've reformed, but believe me, the change is mostly on the outside.”

“I should have complimented you,” Bree drawled, eyeing him surreptitiously as he led the way down the hall. “You cleaned up nicely.”

“Told you. It's the suit.”

“I meant the boys. They look really nice this morning,” she said, suppressing another giggle when Mitch turned to give her a derogatory look.

She crossed to the kitchen sink and peered out the window above it. “Speaking of which, I don't see them.”

“Well, they can't have gone far. Not in those shoes. They're brand new. I had to sandpaper the soles to keep them from slipping on the carpet at home.”

“Did you get settled in okay? I was worried you might need some help, but I was as cut off as you were. I didn't ask for your address or phone number, either.”

“I'm in the book,” Mitch said absently. Leaning past her, he began to frown when he couldn't spot his children. “Excuse me a minute. I think I'd better go check on the kids.”

It never occurred to Brianne to let him do it alone. Once outside, she had to half run to keep up with his long, purposeful strides.

He called, “Ryan!”

She thought she heard a faint answer from the direction of the canyon where the stream ran.

“Over there,” she said, pointing.

Mitch was way ahead of her. Breaking into a run, he sped across the wide lawn, not slowing until he reached the ruptured clay knoll that was all that remained of her manmade dam. He stopped, looked over the edge.

Thirty feet below, Ryan, muddy and crying, was struggling to keep his footing on the slick slope.

Without a moment's hesitation, Mitch plunged over the edge toward the frantic boy.

So did Bree.

Brambles and sharp twigs scratched her bare legs below her shorts. Mud and slimy dead leaves squished into her sandals and between her toes. She ignored the discomfort. All that mattered was reaching Ryan and finding out what was going on.

Mitch got there first. “Where's Bud?”

Shaky sobs kept the eight-year-old from speaking clearly enough to be understood. Frantic, Mitch grabbed him by the shoulders. “Calm down. What happened? Where's your brother?”

“Down there,” Ryan said. “The bear fell.”

“In the water?” Mitch shouted.

Ryan nodded vigorously. “I—I tried to stop him. I told him I'd get it for him, like always, but—”

Before he'd finished speaking, Bree was on her way again. Wherever Bud ended up, she knew it would have to be lower down the slippery hill. She didn't even want to think about the possibility he might have jumped into the creek to rescue his teddy bear. The water wasn't deep, but it was swift. Dangerous. And still filled with debris from the flood.

Tree branches hung in her path and slapped her face, her bare arms. Saplings bent under the weight of her body as she passed over them, then snapped back like a whip.

She could hear Mitch crashing through the brush, gaining on her, but there was no time to worry about holding the branches to keep them out of his face. Poor little Bud was in danger. Mitch was on his own.

Breathless, she cried, “Bud! Where are you?”

There was no answering shout. Not even a whimper.

Closing in, Mitch echoed her call. His voice was hoarse, breaking with emotion. “Bud! Bud!”

Bree could see the slope easing. Ahead, the creek widened. White water boiled over the remains of a fallen oak. Its broken branches extended like claws, bare of leaves and reaching for the sky in one last, silent plea.

Her heart stopped. Was something small and
brown caught in the undertow beneath the tree's battered trunk? There was only one way to be sure. Grabbing wildly at passing vegetation to slow her descent, Bree threw herself over the bank and into the racing water.

Mitch read purpose in her headlong leap. He slid to a stop, gasping for breath, and flattened himself on the ground on his stomach, one hand holding fast to a snag, the other reaching out over the water toward her. “Brianne! Do you see him?”

Her head broke the roiling surface of the icy water. She coughed, gagged. There was pathos and desperation in her eyes.

“Did you see Bud?” Mitch shouted again.

“No. Just the bear,” she answered. “I felt all along the bottom. There's nothing else here.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Mitch scrambled to his feet, staggered, slipped. Wild-eyed, he stared at the water as it cascaded down the canyon.

“Go!” Bree waved her arms and yelled at him. “Leave me. It's not deep here. I can stand. I'll be all right. Go! Go!”

To her relief, Mitch followed her orders and quickly disappeared past the fallen tree. She made one last underwater foray to satisfy herself that she hadn't overlooked any clues, then pulled herself to
the bank, tossed the teddy bear onto higher ground and crawled out after it.

Remaining on her hands and knees for a moment to catch her breath, Bree shivered. It wasn't because she was chilled. It hurt to inhale, to move. Her ribs felt sore, like one of those jagged limbs might have poked them without her realizing it. Maybe it had. So what? That kind of minor injury didn't matter. Not now.

She hauled herself to her feet, pushed her wet hair from her face, then pressed a hand to her aching side, held it tight, and set off to follow Mitch down the canyon.

She couldn't see him because of the thick vegetation, but she could hear him shouting for his missing son. That was enough to keep her going.

The ground started leveling out. The streambed was lined with enormous black rocks that looked like they'd been stacked one atop the other in flat, uneven layers by some giant hand. Over time, running water had polished the exposed surfaces, making walking on the rocks treacherous.

Drawing ragged breaths, Brianne paused to listen. She could still hear Mitch in the distance. What else? Was that a child sobbing? The sound was growing louder. Bud? Anxious, she looked around, hoping, praying.

No, it was Ryan. Her heart plummeted. The older
boy was running blindly along the opposite bank, weeping as he went. He was soaking wet, like her, and muddy from head to foot. Apparently, he'd been in the water, too, and had saved himself. If only Bud were big enough, strong enough, to do the same.

More frantic than ever, Bree kept pace with Ryan by staying on a parallel course. This was a nightmare. It couldn't really be happening. She hadn't felt this helpless, this defeated, this alone, since the night her mother had died.

As always, that memory triggered turbulent, unsettling emotions that filled her mind and heart. Yet this time was different. Bree was able to picture herself, not as a child but as a
parent.

Suddenly she realized that, unlike her mother, she was capable of loving others enough to put them first, to care about them more than she cared about her needs or wants, to give them the kind of altruistic love she'd been denied as a lonely, frightened little girl. And she owed her awakening to Mitch and his boys.

None of the usual arguments surfaced to dissuade her, to make her question her conclusions. On the contrary, every beat of her heart was further affirmation that she was, indeed, a different person than she had been before she'd met the Fowlers. Before she'd accidentally fallen in love with Mitch.

It was a miracle! And the answer to her long-ago prayers for healing after her mother's untimely death. She owed her heavenly Father more thanks and praise than she'd ever be able to deliver.

Right now, however, she hoped God would understand that she had more pressing concerns. Poor little Bud was lost, maybe fighting for his life.

That thought almost made her cry out. She wanted to fall to her knees in anguish, to beat the ground with her fists and plead with God once again.

Instead, she did what she knew she must. She breathed a simple prayer and kept going. “Father, help us! Please! I'm so sorry I doubted You.”

It wasn't very eloquent or very practiced, but it was the best she could do. And it was the most sincere prayer she'd ever prayed.

As if in answer, she heard Mitch shout, “Bud!” at the top of his lungs. The call didn't sound worried or plaintive, like the others had. It was the kind of triumphant cry a father would make if he'd located his missing child.