Blessings of The Heart. Valerie Hansen
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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, weeping 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.
Chapter Four
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