Mitch reached the conclusion because he was like him. He saw himself in the guy.
“What’s the problem here?”
Ansley shot him a wink. “Hi, baby.”
His lips twitched. “Who is this guy?”
“Meet Mitch Colony,” Ansley said, acting bored. “Mitch, meet Tristan Voorhees, my husband.”
“Your husband?”
“That’s right,” Ansley said, somewhat smug. “One of them anyway.”
“Cripes,” Mitch grumbled. “Is it hereditary?”
Tristan smirked, but his gaze held Mitch’s on a dare. “What do you need, Mr. Mitch Colony?”
“I’m looking for Trixie.”
“You must be the reason Brock took a last-minute vacation.”
“Where’d he go?”
“Hard to say,” Tristan replied. “What’d you need? I may speak with him a little later.”
“When will they be back?”
Tristan shrugged. “Couldn’t tell ya.”
“Are the kids with your parents?” Mitch asked, swinging his gaze to Ansley.
“Mitch, what exactly are you doing here?”
“I love your sister and I…well, I want to tell her.”
“I see,” she said, giving Tristan a quick glance. “Tristan, do you have the keys to the house on ya?”
“Yeah, I’ve got ’em.”
“Unlock the front door,” she said. “I want to show you something, Mitch. Come on.”
She led the way into the house with Mitch and Tristan on her heels. Mitch wasn’t sure of her purpose, but he had a feeling he’d soon find out.
They walked through a galley-style kitchen that led to a cozy den. She immediately took a sharp left and went upstairs. They then walked down a long hallway lined with framed family photographs. They passed several bedrooms before they finally came to two double doors with polished brass lever-style handles.
“Prepare yourself, Mr. Colony,” Ansley said, a wicked gleam in her eyes.
She gave the doors a shove and opened up a magnificent bedroom, a suite Trixie obviously shared with Brock and Rory. These private quarters would soon be his as well, regardless of what Brock and Rory did to try and stop him.
“What’s your point?” Mitch asked, turning on Ansley.
She walked straight to the bookcase encasing the large flat-screen television. Once there, she collected several framed snapshots and a photo album.
Turning to him, she thrust her arms forward and said, “Here. Go on. Take them. I want you to see what you’re trying to disrupt.”
“You’ve got it all wrong, Ansley. I don’t want to mess up things for Brock and Rory or Trixie for that matter.”
“I think you do,” Ansley said, persistently jabbing her arms forward.
Finally, Mitch took the pictures and sank to a bench located at the end of the bed. Setting aside the framed images, he opened the album.
Ansley leaned over his shoulder. “That’s their wedding day. Brock and Rory were so proud.”
Mitch stilled at the picture. Trixie looked so beautiful. Her golden hair was piled high on her head and ringlets framed her face. A fitted off-white gown was rather plain, but on Trixie’s body, the wedding dress looked elegant, absolutely divine.
He flipped several pages of wedding photos before he came to a large eight-by-ten photograph of Trixie in a hospital bed. Holding a baby in her arms, Trixie was surrounded by her family. Her sisters, her mother and fathers, and Brock and Rory were there.
“That’s Caz,” Ansley told him. “A few pages over are the pictures of Winter’s birth.”
“What’s your point?” Mitch bit out, angrily slamming the photo album and rising to his feet.
Ansley grabbed one of the snapshots and waved it in his face. “This is Trixie now. This is her family. This is her life.”
Mitch’s eyes burned as he looked at the image before him. Little Cazeron looked up at his mother with a big chocolate-covered smile spread across his face. Rory and Brock were standing on either side of Trixie and baby Winter was cradled in her arms.
His heart clenched. He was physically pained by what he saw, not because he felt as if he were a threat to the happiness displayed before him, but because he knew in his heart of hearts, he belonged in that painted picture of perfection. Trixie’s family was his family.
Why Brock and Rory couldn’t see he belonged with them was a question for which he’d soon demand answers. As soon as he found them, he’d make them understand. Surely they’d see what he easily noted in the pictures.
Trixie was satisfied, but she wasn’t as happy as she could be. There was something missing in her eyes, something significant. That something was him.