And the old guy had always held a soft spot for Spencer. After the explosion in their newly refurbished factory, Spencer’s wishes had been presented. And Wainwright had pled his case as though Spencer were a son rather than the son of a friend.
Committed to placing Jimmy in the Mitchell home, Wainwright may have offered Chloe quite a sum to succeed. Why else would the woman have traveled across the country with no guarantee of how she would be received?
Thelma rustled around the large bedroom as Chloe stared first at the tall ceilings, then the intricate moldings and charming bay window. She gently touched the delicate lace curtains as she admired the four-poster bed and marble-topped dresser. “The room’s lovely,” she murmured. “It’s really a guest room?”
“Evan’s mother decorated every room on this floor. The men didn’t want her changing the rustic stuff in the den and the parlor’s stayed pretty much the same for generations.”
“She’s passed away, hasn’t she? Evan’s mother?”
Thelma stopped plumping the pillow she held. “Adele died… several years ago, now. And…” She stopped abruptly.
Chloe knew that Evan was single. Mr. Wainwright had given her a brief sketch about him. Evan ran the family business, in fact, devoted all of his time to it. Could that be why he was so insistent about not taking on Jimmy?
Thelma laid the pillow at the head of the bed, then checked the growing flames in the fireplace. “Gets chilly this time of year. Family had central heat installed back when Mr. Gordon, Evan’s father, was a boy. But when the wind’s howling, it’s awful nice to have a fire.”
Standing next to a wide chaise that was angled by the fireplace, Chloe agreed. “I love a good fire and I haven’t had a fireplace of my own in… well, a long time.” Not since the family home had to be sold.
Thelma crossed the room to an archway containing a door. “This opens into Jimmy’s room. It used to be the nursery.”
Chloe peeked inside, seeing that he was still fascinated by the interesting little room with its slanted ceiling, nooks, arches and cushioned window seat that overlooked the widow’s walk surrounding the upper story. “He may have trouble sleeping tonight. He’s had a lot of… changes.”
“Mr. Gordon told me all about Jimmy when the lawyer wrote. Poor little tyke. We all hoped Evan…” Thelma sighed. “Mr. Gordon’s too old to take on raising the boy himself. Wouldn’t be right for Jimmy if…well, if Mr. Gordon couldn’t see him all the way through ’til he’s old enough to be on his own.”
Chloe thought she heard a thread of worry in the woman’s voice. “Is Mr. Mitchell ill?”
Thelma shook her head. “He wouldn’t retire until a few years ago. Worked hard all his life. Too hard. A boy needs parents who can keep up with him.”
“That’s how Mr. Wainwright feels, too. When I’m taking care of Jimmy, I have to stay on top speed myself.”
A knowing smile lit Thelma’s eyes. “I’m guessing you don’t mind that too much.”
“He’s a wonderful little boy.” So much so that Chloe knew she would have to rein in her feelings. A huge part of her wished she could just take him back to Milwaukee, raise him as her own. And that was impossible. “Thelma, would it be too much trouble to make some hot cocoa?”
“Course not. I’ll bring it up directly.”
She didn’t want to cause the woman more work. “I’m happy to come and get it.”
Waving her hands in dismissal, Thelma tsked. “Don’t want to hear another word about it. You just get the little one settled.”
Chloe exhaled in relief. Thelma was proving to be an ally. “Thanks.” As Thelma left, Chloe knocked lightly on the connecting door frame to Jimmy’s room. “Mind if I come in?”
“Uh-uh.” Jimmy sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the large window. Still dressed in his best clothes, as though waiting for something that would never happen, he looked completely, inescapably alone.
“Know what I was thinking?” she asked in an encouraging voice.
He shook his head.
“We could get in our jammies, scrunch up on this amazing chair in front of the fireplace in my room and tell stories.” Chloe wriggled her eyebrows. “Might even be some hot cocoa in the deal.”
“My dad used to read me a story every night and Mommy would sing.”
Chloe sat down beside him, putting her arm around his shoulders. “You know, I seem to remember packing a few of your favorite books.”
Leaving him to change into his pajamas, Chloe did the same. By the time she’d tied the sash on her thick, fluffy robe, she heard a light knock on the door. Expecting Thelma, she whipped open the door with a smile.
Evan Mitchell’s muscular frame filled the doorway and his forbidding expression sent her smile plummeting.
“If you need anything,” he began uncomfortably. “Just ask Thelma.”
Chloe clutched her pink robe, excruciatingly aware of the matching bunny slippers on her feet. Trying to tuck them backward just pulled his attention toward the embarrassing footwear.
Straightening her shoulders, she tried to look as businesslike as possible. “We’re fine, thank you.”
He didn’t reply.
Unnerved, she tried to think of something else to say, to distract him, to remove his all-too-male presence. “Thelma’s making us some hot cocoa.”
“Right.” He glanced down the empty corridor.
Chloe fervently wished Thelma would make an appearance.
But the hall remained empty.
“I’ll say good night then,” Evan finished.
“Good night.” Rattled, Chloe shut the door and retreated to the burgundy velvet chaise. Not that she needed the heat from the fire. Touching her cheeks, she confirmed they were warm and no doubt bright red. Oh, yes. Evan Mitchell had seen past her professional facade. All the way to her pink bunny slippers.
Chapter Two
The fire was dying down and their cups of cocoa were empty. Chloe had read three of Jimmy’s books, told him several of her favorite stories and he was finally nodding off. It had been an eternally long day for her. She could only imagine how it had tired him. But the little guy didn’t complain. Instead, he had cuddled close on the chaise, listening to the stories, and trying to stay awake.
Certain that he was ready for bed, she scooped him up from the lounger.
“I’m not sleepy,” he mumbled, his head falling on her shoulder.
“I know, big guy. We’ll just rest for a while.” Chloe carried him through the adjoining door into the nursery. Thelma had made up both the child’s bed and the single bed nearby. Chloe gently deposited him on the smaller bed. Then she grabbed his stuffed dog, Elbert, and laid it close. Pulling the sheet and handmade quilt up to his chin, she kept her voice low. “Snug as a bug in a rug.”
Jimmy’s eyelids were drifting closed, but he struggled to keep them open. “Don’t go.”
“Okay.” She sat on the edge of his bed, softly singing one of the Irish lullabies her mother had sung to her when she was little.
Chloe hummed the chorus again, watching until finally the gentle rise and fall of his chest told her that Jimmy had nodded off. Quietly she returned to her room, leaving the door to the nursery open. Warmed by the dwindling fire, she crossed over to the bay window. Old-fashioned streetlights—that she guessed