She sighed. “I suppose you could be right. I find this whole area very confusing. There aren’t any neighborhoods like I’m used to back home. People just seem to build whatever kind of house they want, wherever they want it, no matter what the places next door look like.” Realizing how that comment had sounded, she pulled a face. “Sorry. No offense meant.”
“Don’t worry about it. You can’t help it if you have more money than good sense.” He followed his comment with a smile so she’d realize he’d been joking.
“Hey, I’m not that wealthy.”
Mitch’s smile grew. “Good. Maybe there’s hope for you yet. Are you famous? Maybe I’ve read something you wrote.”
Delayed reaction but predictable questions? “I doubt that. I write women’s fiction. And I didn’t get rich doing it. My father passed away several years ago, and I inherited a bundle. After that, I left Pennsylvania and moved down here to Arkansas to get away from the sad memories.”
Mitch hefted the heavy bucket with ease and started toward the edge of the lawn where the forest began. “Can’t run from those,” he said wisely. “I ought to know. No matter where you go, your past goes with you, mistakes and all.”
A jolt of uneasiness hit her as she fell into step beside him. “I hope you’re wrong.”
“Not about that. Experience is a great teacher,” he said soberly. “Well, nice to have met you, Ms. Bailey, and thanks for the water. If you ever feel like slumming, just follow this streambed about half a mile. You’ll find us at the bottom of the draw.” He smiled. “Bye. Gotta go.”
She raised her hand tentatively in reply. She’d have done more, but a flock of butterflies had just launched themselves en masse at the sight of his dynamic parting grin, and she was busy wondering if his last glimpse of her was going to feature her keeling over in a dead faint. The notion wasn’t very appealing.
“Phooey. I don’t swoon,” Bree whispered, wresting control of her body from her topsy-turvy emotions. “I’m just a little woozy from the heat and humidity, that’s all. I’ve never fainted and I never will.”
Besides, that poor man is saddled with two little kids, she added, silently reinforcing her growing conviction that Mitch was anything but appealing. Children. Eesh! And the oldest was only eight! What a nightmare!
Bree shivered. As far as she was concerned, the man might as well have confessed to being in league with the devil himself!
By the time Mitch got to his cabin, he’d managed to spill half the contents of the bucket. Considering the rough, overgrown terrain he’d had to cover on his trek down the hill he was surprised to have salvaged that much.
As he approached the cabin, he could hear shouts and squeals of laughter. That might not be a good sign but at least it proved the boys hadn’t mutinied and wandered off in his absence.
The minute he pushed open the door, his children froze in mid-motion, looking as if they were sure they were guilty of some awful crime and expected him to mete out immediate punishment.
Instead, Mitch set the bucket down and paused to assess the mayhem. Ryan had pulled the narrow end of a flat sheet over his shoulders and tied the corners so the fabric draped behind him like a long cape. Bud had apparently been trying to sit on the part that dragged the floor while his big brother pulled him around the room. Bud’s raggedy old teddy bear was perched on the sidelines like an audience at a sporting event.
Judging by the swirls of dust on the wooden flooring and the boys’ grubby faces and hands, they’d been playing their little game for some time. Their expressions were priceless!
Mitch wanted desperately to laugh. They were just typical kids having a good time. He wasn’t about to play the ogre and spoil their fun.
He pointed. “You missed a couple of places.”
“Huh?” Ryan frowned.
“That’s an ingenious way to sweep the floor but it doesn’t do the corners very well. I suggest we use a mop for those.”
“Uh, okay.”
Mitch could tell the boy’s mind was working, struggling to comprehend Mitch’s surprising parental reaction. Finally, Ryan’s thin shoulders relaxed, and he untied his makeshift cape.
“Little kids get bored real easy,” the eight-year-old said. “You have to keep ’em busy or they get into trouble.”
“I can see that.”
For an instant Mitch glimpsed the child behind his eldest son’s tough-guy facade. It couldn’t have been easy for Ryan to act as a pseudo parent while his flaky mother, Liz, ran around doing as she pleased. There was no telling how often she’d gone off on a tangent and left the boys alone much longer than she’d originally intended. Still, that lack of responsibility on her part may have been a blessing in disguise because it had led to them not being with her when she’d had the horrible accident that had taken her life.
“I may need you to help me understand your brother,” Mitch said. “Especially since I haven’t seen either of you for such a long time. I’m not used to having kids around. I’ve really missed you guys.”
“Then why didn’t you come get us?”
Ah, so that was what was eating at Ryan. “Because I didn’t know where your mother had taken you,” Mitch explained. “Even the police couldn’t find you. I spent every cent I could lay my hands on to hire private detectives. I’ll say this for your mom, she hides really good.”
“We moved a lot,” the boy replied, eyes downcast.
“It’s okay. I won’t bug you about it,” Mitch promised. “But if you ever do decide you want to talk about anything that happened while you were gone, I’m willing to listen, okay?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Mitch would have pursued the subject if there hadn’t been a strange scratching noise at the door. He immediately assumed it was a marauding raccoon or possum, but before he had time to warn the boys, Bud had run to the door and thrown it wide open.
“Don’t!”
Mitch started to shout, then stopped, startled, when he realized their visitor was a puppy. At least he thought it was. There was so much mud and so many leaves and twigs stuck in its dull brown coat that its age wasn’t the only thing in question.
Mitch’s protective instincts came to the fore. “Close the door. You don’t know where that thing has been. It could be sick.”
The advice came too late. Bud was already on his knees beside the pitiful little dog, and Ryan was patting it on the head while it shook and whimpered. Whether Mitch approved or not, it looked like his boys had themselves a pet.
He strode quickly to the doorway and scooped up the skinny pup so he could look it over. Poor thing. He could feel every one of its ribs beneath the matted fur. Chances were good it was covered with fleas, too. If any stray ever needed a home, this one sure did.
“Okay. First things first,” he said firmly. “Ryan, you grab a rag and wipe down all the furniture with clean water from the bucket. Bud, you help him. And do a good job of it, guys, because you’ll only get one chance. As soon as you’re done we’re going to use the rest of the wash water to give this dog a bath.”
Hearing the boys’ mutual intake of breath he added, “That is, if you want it to live inside with us. Of course, if you don’t…”
“We do!” Ryan shouted. Grabbing Bud by the hand, he hurried him off with a breathless command, “Come on,” leaving Mitch and the dog behind.
“You guys found him. What do you want to name him?”