Blessings of the Heart and Samantha's Gift (6 page)

Brianne was still cleaning up the aftermath of the disaster in her kitchen when Mitch burst through the door. Startled by the wild look on his face, she froze in mid-motion. “What’s wrong?”

“Remember that new pond? The one I was complaining about when we first met?”

“Yes.” Keeping her wet hands suspended over the sink, Brianne scowled. “What about it?”

“It’s gone. Empty. Your dam’s got a hole in it big enough to drive a bus through.”

“That’s impossible. I hired a professional to do the grading. He came highly recommended.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, it looks like the wind knocked a big tree onto the spillway. The water backed up till it was forced out the wrong side of the dam. Without any natural vegetation to strengthen that clay bank once it started to wash, nothing could have stopped it.”

“Oh, no.” Brianne’s heart felt like it was lodged in her throat. Hands trembling, she looked out the door past the angry man. “Where are the kids?”

“Outside. I’ll need you to watch them while I hike down to the cabin—or what’s left of it. Looks like that water cleared everything out of the canyon. You can still see where some of the tree roots pulled right up out of the ground.”

Brianne closed her eyes for a moment and tried to imagine the probable results of an onslaught like that. “What about your cabin? Do you think it’s okay?”

Shaking his head, Mitch answered without hedging. “Not a chance. That’s why I want to go check it out by myself. No sense scaring the kids if I don’t have to.”

“Of course not.”

His shoulders sagged momentarily. “We must have a real busy guardian angel. If we’d stayed home last night we’d have gotten a lot muddier than we were when we showed up here.”

Reading the veiled anxiety in his gaze before he turned away, Bree knew exactly what he meant. Mitch’s whole family could have been wiped out while they slept. And because it was her dam that had failed, their loss would have been her fault!

She dried her hands and followed him outside. “If it turns out as bad as you think, I’ll make full restitution, I promise.”

The look he gave her was unreadable. He said, “Lady, possessions don’t matter to me. All I care about is my boys. Just look after them for a little while and try not to set your house on fire while I’m gone. Okay?”

What do you do with two restless little boys and a hyperactive dog? Bree found the answer to that question by letting them continue to play outside. Unfortunately, it began to drizzle before a half hour had passed.

She called, “Over here!” motioned for them to follow, and ran for cover beneath the patio overhang.

“We can’t play in the rain,” she said, gathering her ragtag little group together. “We’ll wait here for a few minutes and see if it stops, okay?”

To her relief, no one argued. Bud hunkered close beside her to shelter himself and his bear. Ryan shrugged and plopped down in a nearby garden chair.

Barney, however, was not happy to be still for more than a few seconds. Springing off the ground, he grabbed Bud’s teddy bear in his sharp little teeth and took off running.

Suddenly bearless, Bud let out a squeal that sounded like a baby piglet abruptly separated from its mama. Before Bree could do more than bend down to comfort the hysterical child, his older brother had darted into the rain, wrestled the stuffed toy away from the dog and returned it.

Brianne smiled at the eight-year-old. “Thanks.”

“No problem. The kid’s nuts about that bear, so I help him keep an eye on it.”

“I can see he is.” She laid her hand on Bud’s damp curls and absently stroked the hair off his forehead. “I suppose it’s natural for you boys to want to hang on to things that make you feel secure. It must be rough coming to live with your daddy after such a long time.”

“It’s okay,” Ryan muttered, shrugging as he spoke. “Not like we had a choice or anything.”

“I don’t think your father did, either,” Bree reminded him.

The boy made a guttural sound of disgust. “He didn’t have to sell our house and make us live in a dump.”

“You mean in the cabin?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t even have a bathroom.”

“Well, then, maybe it was for the best that you had problems last night. I’ll bet there’s something better waiting for you.”

“Right.”

She couldn’t have missed the boy’s sarcasm if she’d been blindfolded and wearing earplugs. “Sounds like you don’t think so. Why not?”

“’Cause Dad spent all his money lookin’ for us.”

“How do you know?”

“He said so.”

Brianne’s stomach knotted. That was exactly the kind of dire economic situation she’d feared Mitch Fowler was in. The probable loss of his cabin and its contents was the final straw. If anybody ever needed financial aid, he did. The hardest part would be convincing him to accept it. As soon as he came back for the boys, she planned to have a serious talk with him.

Barney started barking, then ran and hid behind Ryan. Bree attributed the dog’s nervousness to distant thunder, but in seconds the real reason was clear.

Soaking wet, Mitch lunged out of the forest, made a noise like a bear suffering a migraine and threw down an armload of muddy supplies. His face was even redder than it had been the first time Bree had seen him, meaning he was either totally spent from his hard climb or he was even more furious than before. Both theories were plausible. Either was likely.

Ordering the children to stay put, Brianne jogged across the wet lawn to speak with him privately.

“I’m glad you’re back. The kids were getting bored. I’m surprised you made the trip so fast.”

“It wasn’t hard.” Scowling, he wiped his muddy hands on his jeans and eyed the meager pile of belongings he’d brought up the hill. “See that? That’s all there is left. I was lucky to salvage that much.”

“Was there a lot of water damage to your cabin?”

“What cabin?”

“It’s gone?” Until then, Bree had refused to let herself consider total destruction.

“Along with everything except what you see in front of you. Looks like a couple of big trees washed down the canyon and pushed the cabin off its foundation. After that, there was no way it could withstand the flood.”

“It’s all my fault. I’m so very sorry.”

The intensity of the rain was increasing, and she paused to wipe her face with her hands and push her wet bangs out of her eyes. When she looked at Mitch he was bending over, picking up a handful of rags.

“We should get inside. Want me to help you carry that stuff?” she asked.

“No. I’ll handle it. I’m already dirty, and you’re not. But you’re right about going back to the house. I’ve been hearing thunder in the distance. The way my luck’s been running lately I’ll probably be struck by lightning if I stay out here.”

If he could make jokes in the midst of such a hopeless situation, he was probably not as angry as she’d thought. That was a good sign. It meant he’d be in a better frame of mind to accept the aid she planned to offer.

She led the way toward the overhang where the Fowler boys waited. Ryan had picked up the raggedy dog and had taken charge of his brother, too. All were present and accounted for. Even Bud’s bear.

Rather than go inside through the French doors by the patio and track mud into her library, Brianne circled to the rear of the house and stopped at the kitchen.

“Leave your wet shoes out here by the door and give your daddy the dog,” she told the boys. “You can go turn the television on again if you want, just be sure you stick to watching kid shows.”

As soon as she was sure they were following her orders she glanced at Mitch, wondering how to tactfully suggest that he hose down the dog—and himself—before coming inside. Her gaze settled on the muddy rags he was holding. “I’ll dispose of that trash for you. Just drop it out there.”

“Humph!” He snorted. “If I did I’d be throwing away the only extra clothes the kids and I have.”

“Those are your clothes?”

“Yes. At least they’ll give us a change. I figured that would beat my being stuck in your guest bathroom again. Old Barney’s not much of a conversationalist.”

“I suppose not.”

Kicking clumps of red-clay mud off the sides of his boots, Mitch said, “I guess I should be thankful he’s outgrown the chewing stage. So, tell me where the washing machine is, and I’ll start a load.”

“It’s…” Purposely blocking the doorway, Brianne couldn’t make herself move out of his way. She pulled a face as she scanned his full length. “Never mind. You can’t come in like that. Take your boots off and leave them out here. I’ll bring you a towel and washcloth.” Her mouth twisted tighter at one corner. “Those jeans will just have to do until something else is washed and dried.”

“You want me to stand out here in the rain? You really are picky, aren’t you?”

“It’s not picky to have an immaculate house and want to keep it that way. I wouldn’t dream of coming into your house if I wasn’t spotlessly clean.”

Chuckling and shaking his head, Mitch sat on a step and started to unlace his hiking boots. “I don’t think that’ll be much of a problem for a while. At the moment, I don’t seem to have a house to worry about getting dirty.”

B
rianne measured the proper amount of laundry detergent into her gleaming white washing machine, then yielded to a strong impulse to add more soap.

Planning ahead while she worked, she closed the lid on Mitch’s recovered clothes. The first thing she’d need to do was make a few calls and find him another place to live. Then she’d either offer to drive him down to get his car or arrange for a tow truck to pull it out so he’d have wheels again.

What if I can’t find a new house for him right away? she asked herself. Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. Whatever happened, they weren’t staying here. No way. The whole Fowler family was one big disaster waiting to get worse.

Brianne started toward her office while she mulled over the events that had dropped Mitch Fowler and his kids in her lap. The image of having two children sitting on her lap was amusing. And scary. As far as she could recall, this was the first time in her life she had ever imagined herself anywhere near children—anybody’s children—let alone rambunctious little boys.

Makes me feel sticky already, Brianne thought. She suspected she’d be finding smears of pancake syrup here and there for months to come, and little maple-flavored fingerprints. How those kids managed to get any nourishment was a mystery. It seemed like most of their meal had wound up spilled on the table, the chair seats, the floor or the lawn. And no telling how much their scruffy dog had gobbled up. Or soaked up!

Having Mitch’s family as guests in her home had certainly been interesting. It was going to take weeks to get the place straightened up and running smoothly again. Thank heavens their visit was almost over!

She seated herself at her desk, picked up the telephone and held the receiver to her ear. No dial tone. Hmm. Well, there was always the cellular phone she carried in her purse. She dug it out and began to dial.

When Mitch got himself cleaned up and came looking for her, she was in her office. The door was ajar so he knocked on the jamb. When Bree gazed at him, he could have sworn her eyes had the mesmerized look of a deer staring blankly into the headlights of an oncoming car.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I couldn’t find you another house.”

“Is that all? Hey, don’t worry. We’ll make do. I’ve got a little…”

“No—no road.”

“Sorry. I don’t understand.” Concerned, he approached her desk. “Take it easy. Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as what’s already happened.”

“Yes, it can.” Recovering from her shock, she stared at him. “The people at the Realtor’s office say there’s no road. Not anymore. The stretch between here and Serenity was washed out by the storm. Nobody can go to town and nobody can get up here to rescue us. We’re stranded.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bree held out the phone. “Here. Call somebody and ask them yourself.”

Apparently, she was serious. “I don’t believe this.”

“You don’t believe it?” Bree snapped. “It’s my worst nightmare.”

“Well, thanks a lot.”

Thunderstruck at first, Mitch quickly began to consider alternatives. Finally he said, “Look. This can’t be as serious as you make it sound. I’m sure we’ll be able cope for a little while longer.”

“How?”

“By using our heads. All we have to do is set up some sensible rules and make sure everybody abides by them. You’ll see. It won’t be so bad.”

Bree was tempted to throttle him, especially when he picked up a pencil from her desk, handed it to her and said, “Here. Make some notes. Where shall we start?”

That was an easy question for her. “With the muddy dog. It stays outside. Period.” She focused on Mitch, and her scowl deepened. “Where did you leave it this time?”

“In the guest bathroom, like before.”

The resolute look on the man’s face dared her to challenge him. Bree stared back with the same rigid resolve.

Mitch yielded first. “Look. Barney is terrified of storms. He was shaking all over when I brought him in. I wouldn’t dream of leaving him outside, alone, in weather like this. The poor little guy hasn’t hurt a thing, and he’s scared to death.”

“Well, you don’t have to act like I was trying to be mean,” she countered. “I simply want my house to stay reasonably clean. If you’ll be responsible for Barney, I suppose he can live in that bathroom for a little while longer.”

“You’re all heart.”

“Remember, I am the one who invited you in out of the rain in the first place.”

“And I’m grateful. Just keep in mind that you’re also the reason I have no home. I wouldn’t be here if I had any other choice, you know.”

“I know.” Being reminded of her part in their current dilemma helped Bree gain control of her temper. “I am glad you came to me for help. Now, what other rules can we jot down? How about, everybody takes his shoes off at the door? I imagine little boys love to run in and out of the house. If there’s a mud puddle within miles they’re sure to find it.”

“You’ve got that right,” Mitch said. It was going to be a real challenge to keep this woman satisfied about the condition of her fancy house, rules or no rules. How sad that she gave material possessions such undue importance.

Mitch’s conscience kicked him in the gut. It couldn’t be easy for her having his family underfoot. And as long as the bad weather persisted there wasn’t a thing he could do about leaving, although he found it hard to believe they were stranded. The Ozarks weren’t that primitive. There had to be options they were overlooking.

He held out his hand. “Give me that cell phone.”

“The battery’s almost dead.”

“What about the other phone?”

“The regular one isn’t working. I imagine the line is down. Why? What are you going to do?”

“Call the fire department and tell them we need rescuing.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Brianne said. “I won’t let you report a false emergency. If things are as bad as I think, the police and fire departments have their hands full already.”

“I never said I was going to claim this is an emergency,” Mitch insisted. “I just want to explain the situation up here and get put on their waiting list.” One eyebrow lifted. “You certainly can’t object to that.”

“Of course not.”

“Then charge up your cell phone and let’s get to it. After all, you don’t want to be stuck with us any longer than necessary.”

Put that bluntly, her attitude sounded really hostile. Okay, so she wasn’t crazy about muddy shoes and dogs with fleas. That didn’t mean she was necessarily at odds with the people who owned them, even if she had inadvertently implied as much.

If that truly was the impression she’d given—and apparently it was—she owed Mitch Fowler an apology. With him standing so close, however, she found she was unable to sort her random thoughts into any semblance of order, let alone form a coherent sentence. If she intended to explain without making matters worse, there was only one thing to do.

Marshaling what was left of her willpower, Brianne seized upon the need to recharge the cellular phone as an excuse to move away from him.

“I didn’t mean to sound unfriendly,” she said, busying herself fitting the phone into its charger. “It’s just that this house is very special to me. Why can’t you understand that?”

“Oh, I understand, all right. Lots of people like to put on a show to impress their neighbors.”

“Being wealthy is not a sin.” Bree was adamant. “Neither is having nice things and enjoying them.”

“That depends on what level of importance you give to your possessions.” Mitch folded his arms across his chest, his stance wide and off-putting. “My late wife had that problem. When I couldn’t give her everything she wanted, she left me cold.”

“If all she cared about was money, why take the boys? Why not keep in touch so she could collect child support?”

Mitch shook his head slowly, solemnly, and stared into the distance. “I’ve asked myself the same question a thousand times.”

“You must have been frantic. Was that when you sold the house Ryan told me about?”

“Yes. That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you. No amount of money matters when more critical needs are at stake. My boys mean everything to me. Possessions can be replaced. People can’t. Nothing is more important than family.”

“I suppose that’s true in some families.”

Studying her closed expression, Mitch decided to press her for details. The worst that could happen was that she’d refuse to answer. “Not in yours?”

“Not that you’d notice. My parents fought all the time.”

“Do they still do it?”

“No, but only because they’re both dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Mitch said.

“Hey, it’s okay. My mother took the coward’s way out. She swallowed enough sleeping pills to go to sleep forever. After that, I’d kind of hoped Dad would mellow, but he got even meaner. He didn’t have Mother to argue with anymore so he started trying to pick fights with me. When I’d refuse to play his mind games he’d get furious and start to throw things—usually Mother’s good china or one of the beautiful little ceramic statues she’d collected.”

“That was his problem, not yours. Did he die of natural causes?”

“My father died of meanness,” Bree said flatly. “He was in the middle of delivering a tirade to some of his so-called friends when he collapsed. They called an ambulance but it was no use. He never regained consciousness.”

“Like I said, I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be. My parents made their own choices.”

Moisture began to blur Bree’s vision. She averted her gaze. This was the first time since the night her father had died that she’d cried for him. And she’d run out of tears for her mother long before that. Showing this much emotion was foreign to her. Doing so in front of a stranger was unthinkable, yet there was something about Mitch Fowler that had made her open her heart and bare her most painful secrets.

Sighing deeply, Mitch nodded and said, “This time, I know exactly what you mean. We aren’t responsible for the wrong choices of others, you know.”

Bree didn’t stop to analyze whether it was his gentle tone of voice or their empathetic words that drew her to him. All she knew was that Mitch reached out to her and she responded.

One moment they were standing there commiserating, and the next they were sharing a tender embrace. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had hugged her to offer comfort with no strings attached.

The feeling was one of peace, yet exhilaration; innocence, yet awareness; solace, yet perplexity. Listening to the sure, solid thudding of his heart as her cheek lay against his chest, Bree was certain of only one thing. She didn’t want to let go.

Minutes passed. No one spoke. They didn’t step apart until they heard the sound of approaching footsteps and the clicking of tiny claws on the tiled hall.

By the time the children and Barney appeared in the doorway, Brianne was on one side of the room, and Mitch was on the other.

“Hey, Dad, can we have a cookie?” Ryan asked.

“You’ll have to ask Ms. Bailey. This is her house. And put that dog in the bathroom. I told you he has to stay there.”

“Okay, okay.”

The boy turned sparkling dark eyes to her. “Can we have cookies? Please?”

“I suppose so. If you eat them at the kitchen table,” Bree said. The bouncy little dog had ducked beneath her desk and disappeared from sight. She circled to the opposite side and bent to try to keep an eye on it.

“Aw. We’ll miss cartoons,” Ryan whined. “Mama used to let us eat on the floor by the TV.”

Mitch took over the conversation. “There were a lot of things your mother let you do that I don’t intend to permit. Might as well get used to it. We’re guests in this house, and I expect you to behave that way. If you want cookies, you’ll eat them when and where Ms. Bailey says. The choice is yours.”

“Okay. The TV’s been actin’ funny, anyway. It keeps goin’ on and off by itself. We’ll go watch till it quits again, then we’ll have cookies. Come on, Bud. Come on, Barney.”

The adults glanced at each other across her desk as the two boys sped down the hall.

“Have you noticed any fluctuations in the electricity since last night?” Mitch asked.

“No. But I probably wouldn’t in the daylight. I threw the circuit breaker that powers my computer early last night when the storm started brewing. I haven’t turned the computer on since, so I don’t have any easy way to tell. That wouldn’t be why the regular telephone didn’t work just now, would it?”

“No. Phone lines are separate. Better leave your computer disconnected, though. If we are having power surges they could fry your appliances.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Speaking of frying, I still smell burned pancakes.”

“Are you sure that’s not the odor of wet dog?” Mitch paused, sniffing and scowling. “I didn’t see Barney leave with the kids, did you?”

“No. The last time I saw him he was crawling under my desk. By the time I came around here to check, he was gone.”

“Well, he has to be somewhere. Stand back. I’ll find him for you.”

Bree wasn’t about to leave the search to Mitch. After all, her office was her personal sanctuary. She looked about the room, chasing shadows. Her random survey led her to the cellular phone charger, where she paused. That was funny.