Blessings of the Heart (4 page)

He bent to pet it. Barney threw himself on the floor at the man's feet and rolled onto his back in complete surrender.

Mitch laughed as he scratched the dog's exposed belly. “Now that's the kind of love and respect I want from my boys. I wish they were as easy to win over as you are, little guy.”

Barney licked his hand.

“Yeah, all I have to do is figure out a way to show them how much I care, prove how much I've missed them, and make them behave—all at the same time.” He snorted in derision. “The way things have been going, I figure that shouldn't take more than twenty or thirty years.”

 

When Bree returned, the cookies and cocoa were gone and Bud was sporting a sticky chocolate mustache. She could tell the children were fighting sleep.

“Okay, guys. Time for bed,” she said. “Use your napkins to wipe off your faces and hands, and let's go upstairs.” Thankfully, there was no suggestion of rebellion this time.

Ryan made the choice of sleeping arrangements for himself and his brother. “We don't need separate beds. We're used to sleepin' together,” he said matter-of-factly. “He'd get scared if he woke up and I wasn't there. You know how it is.”

Brianne smiled. “Actually, I don't. I never had any brothers or sisters.”

“Who'd you play with?” The eight-year-old
looked astounded. Mimicking her motions, he turned down one edge of the embroidered coverlet while Bree did the same on the opposite side of the double bed.

“I had a few friends I used to hang out with,” she said. “We'd jump rope or swim or maybe go shopping together.”

“Girl stuff. Didn't you ever wrestle or play ball on a team or nothin'?”

“Afraid not. My father tried to teach me to play baseball like a boy, but I never managed to please him.”

“Bet you didn't even have a dog, huh?”

“No. My father didn't like animals very much, either.” She grew pensive. “There was a stray cat I made friends with once. It was gray, with white paws and a white star on its chest. By being very patient, I finally managed to get it to trust me enough to take food out of my hand.”

“What happened to it?”

“I don't know. It disappeared.”

“Probably died,” he said sagely. Pausing, he lowered his voice and added, “So did our mother.”

“I know. Your father told me. I'm sorry.”

The boy opened his mouth as if to speak, then quickly shut it and looked away.

Brianne helped Bud climb into bed. She stood aside so Ryan could join him before she carefully
pulled the sheet over them both. Bud curled into a ball around his teddy bear, his eyes tightly shut. Ryan looked at her.

She tenderly stroked his damp hair off his forehead. “If you ever decide you want to talk about your mother, I'll be glad to listen.”

“There's nothin' to talk about. She's dead. That's all there is to it.”

Bree could see his lower lip quivering in spite of his tough-guy affectation. Of course he was hurting. He was a little boy who'd spent the past few years of his short life mostly with his mother. And now she was gone. Forever. There must be some way to comfort him.

“Maybe you'll see your mother in heaven some day,” she offered. To her chagrin, Ryan's eyes began to fill with tears.

“That stuff's for suckers,” he said, swallowing a sob.

Perched on the edge of the bed, Brianne took his small hand and gazed at him. No matter how lost, how far from God she'd felt since her mother's death, she knew she should try to give the child some semblance of hope. “Oh, honey, Jesus said heaven was real. Who told you it wasn't?”

“My mama.”

“How about your daddy? What does he think?”

Ryan shook his head. “Mama said he was stupid 'cause he believed all that ch-church stuff.”

“I see.”

Brianne's vision misted with tears of empathy, of sympathy, for everyone involved. She wished mightily for the words to reassure the grieving child but found none. There was no way to go back and change things for Ryan and his brother, any more than she could change the painful facts of her mother's demise, no matter how much she wanted to. All she could do at this point was continue to offer honest compassion and hope for the best.

She leaned down to kiss his cheek, then stood. “Go to sleep, honey. You've had a rough night. I'll see you in the morning, okay?”

The child sniffled and nodded.

“Good. Sleep tight.”

Fleeing the room, Bree barely made it to the hallway before tears spilled out to trickle down her cheeks. She leaned against the wall and dashed them away.

“Those poor children. What can I do? How can I help them?”

Thoughts of turning to prayer immediately assailed her. She disregarded the urge. All the prayers in the world hadn't helped her come to grips with her mother's suicide. Where had God been when she'd been a lost, grieving twelve-year-old, weep
ing for the one person who had truly loved her? How could she hope to help anyone else cope with tragedy when she hadn't been able to help herself?

The only positive thing was what Ryan had said about his father. If Mitch Fowler was committed to Christ enough to raise his late wife's ire, that was a definite plus. At least he'd be able to counsel his children based on his personal faith, which was a whole lot better than the self-centered reactions she'd gotten from her father in the midst of her despair.

Bree didn't see the Bible as a magical cure-all the way some people did, as in, “Take two verses and call the doctor in the morning,” but she did believe it could be useful for sorting out life's problems, including how best to raise kids. And judging by what she'd learned so far, Mitch was going to need all the help he could get, human or otherwise.

Bree pushed away from the wall and straightened. Though she didn't understand what her part in the children's healing might be, she felt included somehow.

That, alone, was a miracle.

A rather disturbing one.

D
eep in thought and barely watching where she was going, Bree almost crashed into Mitch at the base of the stairway. “Oh! You startled me!”

“I didn't mean to,” Mitch said. He grinned amiably and propped one shoulder against the archway leading into the kitchen. “I heard the buzzer on the dryer. Nobody seemed to be around so I fished my clothes out, got dressed and came looking for the boys.”

“They're upstairs, asleep.”

“Which is where you'd be, too, if we hadn't showed up. I really am sorry.”

“It's okay,” Bree said.

The only clear thought she could muster was that it should be illegal for any man to look as casually
appealing as Mitch Fowler did at that moment. His dark hair was tousled. His jeans were snug from the clothes dryer. And his clean short-sleeve pajama top left altogether too much arm muscle showing.

“I still feel responsible. At least let me clean up the mess we made by the front door.”

“That's not necessary. I already soaked up the water. I have a woman who comes in twice a week to clean. She'll polish all the floors when she comes on Thursday. Nobody but me will see them till then.”

“You live here all alone?” He was frowning. “In this great big house?”

“Yes.”

Bree hurried past him into the kitchen, knowing without a doubt that he'd follow. She opened the refrigerator to check her food supplies, using the door as a convenient physical barrier between them. “Do you think you'll be staying for breakfast?”

“I hadn't thought about it. Are we invited?”

“If you like pancakes, you are,” she said, leaning in. “I usually eat an omelette, but I seem to be a bit short of eggs.”

“You're sure we won't be a bother?”

Bree had been bending to peer behind a carton of milk and hadn't heard him clearly when he'd spoken. The low rumble of his voice had, however, sent a shiver zinging up her spine. She straightened
abruptly to ask, “What?” and found him standing close behind her. Very close.

Acting on instinct, she held her breath to listen for his answer. If her pulse hadn't been hammering in her head like the percussion section of an overzealous high school band, she might have been able to hear what he was saying. Not that her befuddled brain could have translated his words into relevant concepts.

Her senses were bombarded by his clean, masculine scent, his overpowering presence and his exhilarating voice. Plus, his warm breath was tickling the tiny hairs behind her ear. Considering all that, Brianne figured she was lucky to remain standing, let alone hope to make sense of anything he said.

Awed by her reaction to his innocent nearness, she wanted to climb into the refrigerator and pull the door shut behind her. Instead, she sidled away and rounded the center island workstation to put something more solid between her and the attractive man.

Mitch paused and watched her, his stance wide, his arms folded across his broad chest. “I'm not dangerous, you know.”

“Of course you're not! Whatever gave you the idea that I thought so?”

“You did. The way you're acting. I had no idea you were here all alone. And I didn't cook up some
nefarious plan to steal the silver or kidnap the rich heiress, if that's what you're thinking. Believe me, I'd much rather be back home in my cabin, sleeping peacefully and listening to the rain drumming on the tin roof.”

“I—I'm sure you would.”

“Then if you'll just tell me where my boys are, I'll go and join them.”

He sounded put out. Brianne did her best to keep her voice pleasant. “First door on the right, top of the stairs. There are two double beds in that room. I hope it's okay. Ryan picked it out.”

“It'll be fine.”

“The boys are sharing. If you need more room, the sofa makes into another bed, and there's extra linen on the shelves in the walk-in closet. Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks.” Mitch started to leave, then paused. “Forget about breakfast. We'll be out of your hair first thing in the morning.”

“There's no need to rush off.”

“Thanks, but now that I think about it, I want to see how badly the cabin is damaged and dig my car out so I can go to town for more supplies. The earlier I get started, the better. That is, providing the rain has stopped by then.”

“Wait a minute. What about the boys? You don't intend to drag them around in the woods with you
like you did tonight, do you? I can watch them for you.” Bree couldn't believe the idiotic offer she'd just blurted out!

“They're not babies.”

Oh, well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “They're still way too young to be traipsing up and down hills with you like they're on some lost safari.”

“Good point.” Mitch considered alternatives for a moment while he searched for truth in Brianne's beautiful blue eyes. Maybe she hadn't been trying to get rid of him the way he'd thought. She
was
right about some things, like the boys' physical limitations.

“Okay,” he said, “I might have breakfast here, then go out alone, if you wouldn't mind keeping the kids for a couple of hours.”

“Of course not,” she said, amazed that she honestly meant it. “They were wonderful tonight.”

Mitch snorted a wry chuckle. “Are we talking about the same two—an eight-year-old with a giant chip on his shoulder and a six-year-old with a teddy-bear fixation?”

“Sounds like the ones I met. What I don't understand is how you could let their mother just take them away from you the way she did.”

“It's a long story.”

“I have all night.”

He decided it wouldn't hurt to at least try to explain. “When I met Liz I thought she was the most amazing woman I'd ever known, always fun to be with, always exciting. I didn't realize she was also unstable and flighty. Unfortunately, once she got it into her head that she'd be happier away from me, she was almost impossible to locate. She was too unpredictable.”

Even from halfway across the room, Bree could see the muscles of his jaw clenching. Perhaps she shouldn't have probed so deeply but she was interested in learning more about the children's lives. “That's it?”

“Pretty much.”

“What about school? Didn't Ryan go to school?”

“Not often. He'll have some catching up to do this year but he's smart. He can do it. Bud was too young until recently, so he didn't miss as much.”

“How about getting them a tutor?”

“Why? Were you planning on funding a private recovery effort?” There was a stubborn edge to his voice when he added, “I assure you, Ms. Bailey, I can take care of my family without anybody else's help.”

If he had been the only one involved, Bree wouldn't have considered speaking her mind. It would have been easier to simply give up and walk
away. It would also have been wrong. Like it or not, she found herself in a position to aid those poor little boys, and she intended to take every advantage of it. If that included alienating their hardheaded father for their sakes, so be it.

She boldly rounded the end of the workstation island and approached him. “It's not what you think that matters, Mr. Fowler. What's important is what's best for your sons. Don't let your pride keep you from accepting whatever assistance comes your way.”

Mitch made a rumbling sound low in his throat and shook his head. “Since you seem to have all the answers, suppose you tell me how to get those three years of my boys' lives back.”

“Believe me, if I had the ability to fix the past, your children aren't the only ones I'd help.”

“You think I need fixing, too, I suppose?”

“Actually, you may,” Bree said with the lift of an eyebrow and a wry smile, “but I happened to be referring to myself just now.”

“Oh?”

“Never mind. It's not important.”

Heading for the doorway, she'd planned to walk out past him. If the overhead lights hadn't flickered at that moment she would have kept going. Instead, she hesitated and sucked in a quick breath. “What was that?”

“The storm is probably causing power problems,” Mitch said calmly. “It's not unusual up here in the hills.”

Losing her electricity and having to grope around in a pitch-dark house alone didn't frighten her one bit. Having to do it with Mitch Fowler underfoot, however, was a decidedly unsettling thought!

“Everything is unusual here,” she said. “For such beautiful country, the Ozark Mountains certainly have a lot of drawbacks.”

“That's a matter of opinion. If you had a gas generator for backup, like I do, you wouldn't have to worry about whether or not you lost power.”

Bree huffed in mock disgust. “I don't suppose you brought your generator with you.”

“It's much too heavy to carry,” Mitch said as if explaining to a simpleton. “Don't you have a flashlight?”

“Yes! I know there's one around here somewhere. Let me see…” Turning in a slow circle, Brianne frowned. “I think I may have put it in the pantry.”

“Then I suggest you go get it.” He looked at the lights as they flickered repeatedly. “Soon.”

Bree had traveled less than three paces when the lights flashed one more time. Then everything went black.

“Don't move,” Mitch warned. “Let your eyes adjust to the darkness first.”

“I know that.” Tension was making her sound waspish.

“Excuse me. I was just trying to help.”

“I know that, too,” Bree said. “You stay put. I'm used to this place. I can find my way around.”

“Make use of the lightning. You'll be able to see a little better when it flashes. It'll help you get your bearings.”

“Is that more of your homesteading wisdom?”

Mitch chuckled softly. “No. Just plain male logic. Something women don't understand.”

She was glad he couldn't see the exasperated face she was making at him. “Next, you'll be telling me that female logic is an oxymoron.”

“Isn't it?”

If Mitch hadn't known he was in the company of a well-bred, refined lady he'd have sworn he heard her give him a raspberry!

The sky outside the kitchen windows was alive. Clouds glowed a misty gray, dimming and brightening unevenly as if lit from behind by some monstrous, out-of-control searchlight.

Brianne knew which direction to walk, she just wasn't sure how many steps remained between her and the pantry. Extending her arms in front of her
so she wouldn't hit anything headlong, she groped her way toward the door.

Mitch waited and watched as best he could. She reminded him of a sleepwalker being illuminated by a strobe light, and he wasn't comfortable with what little he could discern. What was she doing? Didn't she see the door?

He blurted, “Look out!”

“What?” Bree turned her head in his direction. That moment's inattention was a mistake. Before another flash came to guide her, she'd jammed the end of her middle finger into the leading edge of the half-open pantry door.

“Ouch!”

“That's what I was trying to warn you about,” Mitch said. He reached her side quickly, touched her arm lightly. “Are you all right?”

“No. It hurts.”

“I figured that much,” he said wryly. “Let me see it.”

Brianne allowed him to take her hand, but only because it would have been silly to pitch a fit or try to evade him in the dark. “See it? How do you propose to see anything? In case you haven't noticed, there's no light in here.”

To her dismay he began using his hands instead of his eyes to survey her sore finger, bring another ouch.

“Does it hurt when I do this?”

“It hurts, period,” she said, tugging against his firm grasp. “Quit trying to help so much, okay?”

“You are the most stubborn woman I've ever met.”

His exasperation amused her. “Thank you. I do my best.”

“You should put ice on that finger, just in case,” Mitch said, caressing her hand as he spoke. “The joints might be swollen by morning if you don't.”

It was all she could do to continue to sound flippant while he was stroking her injury so tenderly. “I'll live. But thanks for your concern.”

The overhead lights suddenly came on, temporarily blinding her. She blinked, squinted against the glare, looked down. Her finger didn't appear to be injured at all, now that she could see it.

Before Mitch could argue, she jerked her hand from his grasp and held it up. “I'm fine. See? Well, I'd better run while the lights are working.”

“What about the flashlight?”

“Don't need it now.”

“What if you do later?”

Already through the door into the hall, she ignored his question and called, “Good night.”

 

Mitch stood there dumbfounded, watching her retreat and wondering why she was in such an all-fired hurry. What made her tick, anyway?

Pondering that thought, he frowned. She had sounded serious when she'd talked about the past, about wishing she could go back and fix her old problems, but given what he already knew about her, her negative attitude didn't make any sense. The past was past. Gone. Beyond changing. Everybody knew that.

Besides, what kind of terrible problems could a beautiful, wealthy woman like Brianne Bailey possibly have? Certainly none as serious as the ones he'd been dealing with for the past three years. No kidding!

Comparing their lives, he pictured her and smiled. The woman had everything—looks, money, a career, a beautiful place to live. Yes, she was alone, but she didn't have to be. She seemed to prefer solitude.

Boy, not him. Mitch knew he wouldn't trade having his boys with him for all the money in the world. Finding them had cost him dearly, both emotionally and monetarily, yet he'd do it all again, and then some, if necessary.

His gut clenched. God, he loved those kids. Being separated from them had been the worst thing that had ever happened to him.