His Heart for the Trusting (7 page)

Having Sara
gaze at him with huge brown eyes filled with such admiration touched a place in
his soul he didn't even know existed. 

The room
suddenly seemed to crackle with tension.  His eyes focused on her lips, and the
smooth plains of her cheeks.

Sara must have
felt it too.  She abruptly cleared her throat and looked at him teasingly.

“Well, Mr.
Broader, since you've become a pro at feeding Jonathan his bottle.  Tomorrow
we'll move on to changing his diaper.”

“I just got
used to holding him and giving him a bottle.  The next thing you'll want is for
me to give him a bath.”

She tossed him
a wicked grin.  “That's the spirit.” 

# # #

Chapter Four

“How are you
two doing in there?” Sara asked, trying her best to keep from plowing into the
bathroom where Mitch was giving Jonathan his first bath solo.  She paced the
hallway, holding a clean diaper and sleeper to put the baby in after Mitch was
done drying the Jonathan off with a towel. 

Given the
grunts and splashes she heard, Sara wanted nothing more than to march right in
the bathroom and take over.  But she held herself back.  After two nights of
bathing Jonathan, and insisting Mitch stand by to just watch, Mitch had
announced “the boys” would give it a try on their own tonight so Sara could put
her feet up and relax.

Fat chance of
that, Sara thought, pacing the hallway.  But she hadn't wanted to discourage
Mitch when it was clear things were going so well. 

After their
rocky start, Sara had hoped Mitch would open up and take Jonathan into his
heart.  For a while, Sara didn't think it was going to happen.  But these past
few days had changed dramatically.  Both father and son had taken to each other
as if they'd been together right from the start.

Progress.  That
was very good.  Unfortunately, it left her feeling a bit disjointed about what
to do with herself while she waited for success or disaster. 

Put her feet
up?  Yeah, right!

She'd paced the
hallway, only leaving to answer the telephone, which annoyingly enough, turned
out to be two wrong numbers.  She quickly bounded back to the hallway, pressing
her ear to the door when things became too quiet for her peace of mind.

It wasn't
working.  Aside from looking like an idiot with her cheek pressed up against
the freshly painted wood door, she was getting a stiff neck.

“You need any
help in there?” she called out again when her first question was left
unanswered. 

There was a
loud slosh of water and a quick, low, grunt that had Sara bursting through the
bathroom door.  She found Jonathan sitting upright and secure in his baby
bathtub, a small rubber duck tub toy clutched between his chubby fingers.

“I'm okay,”
Mitch said, getting himself upright.  “I just slipped on a little water.”

“A little?” 
She glanced at the wet floor surrounding him.  There was about a gallon of
water on the floor and another gallon of water on Mitch.  His dark hair was
slick with wetness as was his faded jeans.  Even though he'd cuffed the sleeves
of his white button down oxford shirt, that too was soaked.

“Why don’t you
take off your shirt next time…that is, if you’re going to take a bath with
him,” Sara teased, pulling a fresh towel from the linen closet and opening it
up to receive the baby.

Mitch cocked
his head to one side and pulled the baby from the tub.  “Very funny.  I think
we did pretty good for a first time.  Don't you think, buddy?”

Jonathan let
out a squeal of glee and kicked his wet legs furiously as Mitch lifted him in
the air to the waiting towel.  Sara wrapped Jonathan in the towel and held him
close.  When she nuzzled his cheek, the baby rewarded her with the sweetest
smile that reminded her so much of his father.

“Give me a
second to mop up this water and I'll get him dressed,” Mitch said.

“It’s going to
take you more than a minute to clean this up.  Why don't you let me give him
his bottle and get him to bed?  That way you can have some time in the
workshop.”

Mitch had
mentioned at dinner that he was almost done making Jonathan's crib.  He'd been
spending little snatches of time in the workshop in between his ranch work,
working with Beau on the final finishes to the barn, and working the horses. 
It amazed Sara that there was still time for Jonathan at all.  In truth, she
had feared Mitch would use his work at the ranch to keep himself distant from
the baby.  But he hadn't.

Mitch grabbed
Jonathan's little fist, and bending his head, gave it a gentle kiss.  The warm
emotion that instantly spread through her chest and lodged in her throat took
Sara by surprise.  But she welcomed the feeling.  Mitch's blue eyes were
smiling when he finally glanced at her.

“Thank you,
Sara,” he said, quietly.

She left before
she made a fool of herself by showing him just how much Mitch, the man, had
affected her by doing something so simple and pure.  What was it about rugged
men and babies?  Her heart racing, she grabbed the clean clothes she'd hastily
discarded when she raced into the bathroom, and headed upstairs to her room. 

She had to stop
this.  It had been nearly a month since she'd come to the Double T and she
feared her emotions were getting the best of her.  The last time that had
happened, she'd made the disastrous decision to leave home.

* * *

Jonathan
quickly finished his nightly bottle.  He was growing fast.  Even she could see
the change in him over the last few weeks.  Sara tucked the baby into the
cradle and closed the door.  A creak in the stairs as she descended them
sounded loud compared to the low music filtering in from the window.  Mitch
usually listened to music while he was out in the small workshop adjacent to
the foreman’s house.

Following the
sound of the music, Sara walked outside, blotting out the small spot of spittle
Jonathan had drooled on her shoulder with a dishrag as she went.  Glancing at
her shoulder, she grimaced.   

Usually when
Mitch disappeared into the workshop, Sara left him alone.  There wasn't any
reason to disturb him, and she had the feeling he relished the quiet after the
sudden invasion on his privacy.  Especially after she'd done her best to make
sure he spent some “quality” time with Jonathan.

An old 60's
tune she recognized was playing on the radio.  It was a far cry from the usual
country and western music she heard around these parts, and certainly a lot
tamer than some of the new-aged rock she'd had the occasion to sample in Los
Angeles.  Every so often, in between verses, Mitch's voice would boom over the
music on the radio.

She pushed
through the wide cross-planked door of the workshop just in time to hear him
declare that his love grows wherever Rosemary goes.  She stifled the giggle
that bubbled up her throat at the expression on his face when he saw that he'd
been caught.  Instead of shrinking with embarrassment, Mitch simply smiled a
warm and friendly grin that welcomed her into his private place.  It was the
same unabashed, childlike smile that was emerging from Jonathan.

“Gotta love the
oldies,” he said.

“Apparently you
do.”

He shrugged and
kept right on applying polyurethane to the crib he'd been tirelessly working on
in between ranch business and the horses.  Along the side ends of the crib,
Mitch had carved a cartoon design and smoothed out the edges.  It was solid,
yet delicate enough for his child to have sweet dreams in.  At the top of each
rail there were big, bright colored beads about the size of a half dollar
threaded through a sturdy piece of metal. Jonathan would have a lot of fun
playing with them when he was big enough to reach them.  The love and
artisanship Mitch put into making the crib was evident.  No wonder he was
always so exhausted when he returned from the shop. 

“It’s
beautiful,” she said, admiring all his hard work.

“If this coat
takes well, it'll only need one more sanding and a final coat of clear.  Then
Jonathan can test it out.”  

“That's good. 
I don't know how much longer he can fit in that cradle.  He’s getting so big.”

Mitch smiled. 
Taking a soft white cloth and running it around the rim of the can, he wiped
off the excess clear liquid and tapped down the lid, sealing it tight.
Carefully, as if he were holding his own child, he lifted the crib underneath a
dry section and brought it over to another area of the workshop where it could
sit undisturbed while the polyurethane set.

At a loss for
words, Sara searched her mind for some subject that would qualify as meaningful
conversation.  She came up empty and decided anything would do.  She'd
forgotten that, as a rule, cowboys didn't say much unless needed.  They were
much more comfortable with a companionable silence than the men she'd met in
California, who always seemed to want to dominate the conversation with some
sort of ego boosting news.

But since Sara
had come to the ranch, she realized Mitch wasn't like that at all.  He was
quiet about himself, didn't offer any more than needed unless she asked.  But
when he did offer something of himself, he was wide open about it.  There
didn't seem to be any locked doors inside him.  All she had to do was ask.

Unfortunately,
the typical conversations they usually had revolved around Jonathan, which
didn't leave any smooth openings to ask for more.  Sara definitely wanted to
know something more about the man whose home she shared.

Mitch was the
first one to speak.  “Never in my life have I seen so much water flying around,
all because of one little baby.  He's a slippery little thing when he's wet.”

Sara squashed
down the vague disappointment that he'd chosen the standard topic that bound
them.  Recalling how she'd found them both in the bathroom with an ocean of
water on Mitch, and then more on the floor, she smiled.  It had truly been a
mess, but to Mitch's credit, he hadn't called her for help.

“You did good,”
she praised.

They fell into
silence again and Sara debated whether to leave him alone with his project or
just watch him rearranged items in his shop. 

She watched
him.  She loved his hands, wide and callused from work.  Strong, capable hands
made a woman feel safe.  Her heart seemed to flutter like the wings of a
butterfly just thinking about what his hand would feel like on the small of her
back as he moved her through a crowded room.  Or on her face as he gazed at her
with his deep, blue eyes. 

Sara had seen
him working in the barnyard, hauling bags of feed and hoisting spools of barbed
wire onto the truck with ease.  Years of working hard had given him strength,
yet she knew firsthand how gentle he could be with Jonathan.  He had hands
built for working.  And for loving.  He'd transferred that same love and care
to his work here, crafting his son's bed.

Sara's
ex-husband had his hands manicured religiously, as did she.  A quick glance at
her own nails now had her curling her fingers under self-consciously.  They'd
been neglected since she'd come to Steerage Rock.  No longer was there the time
for pampering that was rarely broken back in Los Angeles.  Now Jonathan took up
so much of her time.

Not ready to
face the quiet of the house, Sara stayed and watched Mitch.  His dark brown
hair was getting a little too long in the front and a lock of hair kept draping
across his startling blue eyes.  With a quick swipe of his hand, that she could
swear he was barely aware of, Mitch pushed the hair aside while keeping his
mind concentrated on his work.

Dedication. 
Love.  It was both, she decided.

You needed
dedication and love to dig in roots.  That’s why she’d come home.

She'd initially
come outside to ask Mitch a question.  But as she heard the DJ come back from
commercial and spin another classic, she settled back against the workbench and
just listened.  Every so often, Mitch would start singing.

She couldn’t
hold back the smile when he finally glanced at her.

“What?  Did I
do something wrong?”

Shaking her
head, she said, “You were born in the wrong decade.”

“Nah.  You
forget I'm not from around these parts.  When I was kid, my friends and me
listened to Motown and classic rock.  It was considered classic from the 60's
and 70's even then, but we couldn't get enough of it.”

He danced
around, tools in hand, singing and smiling as if he were doing it for her
entertainment.  And maybe he was.  He seemed to take pleasure in her laughter.

“Oh, this is
one of my favorite songs,” he said, turning the radio up loud enough so the
booming bass of the music bounced off the walls of the workshop.  He came
toward her with arms stretched open wide.

“Mitch, I won't
be able to hear the baby.”

“He won't wake
up.  Besides, it's just a short song.  Come dance with me, Sara.”

Her pulse
jackhammered.  Taking in his outstretched arms and the thought of having them
wrapped around her, Sara shook her head, crossing her arms across her chest. 
“I'll pass.  I think you're doing fine for the both of us.”

“Ah, come on. 
Just one dance.  The song is half over anyway.”

Before she
could stop him, he had her on her feet and in his arms, breezing her around the
workshop floor as if she was dancing on air.  Her heart beat strong, like a
timpani keeping time to the music.

Laughing, she
let herself be taken by him.  It had been a long time since she'd laughed so
hard, or let her guard down enough to have a little fun.  Part of her, some
hidden place deep inside her head, told her that it wasn't a good idea.  But
Sara ignored it.

Her stomach
hurt from laughing so much.  Her head was spinning like a disk on a turntable. 
When the song ended, she tried to pull free, but Mitch held her tight.