“Maybe it’s because Rory and Brock rarely let you out of their sights. Ever thought of that?”
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
“I try to help when I can,” Ansley replied. “Explain this paranoia of yours. When did it start? Who do you think is watching you?”
“Ansley, please. I’m not kidding. I think someone may be following me. Sometimes, I feel like someone has been in the house. I’ve even had items missing from one room only to show up in another.”
Ansley shook her head. “Maybe it’s because of the recent Jordie Anne fiasco. Ever considered that? The whole incident was more disturbing than any of us cared to admit.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with Jordie Anne.” Trixie thinned her lips and finally relented. She went back to the kitchen sink and stared outside once more. “I know someone is watching me.”
Ansley immediately joined her. “Wait a minute. You’re serious?” She brushed Trixie’s hair away from her shoulder. “Honey, you’re safe here. You know that.”
“It’s not about feeling safe. It’s about being watched and I’m certain someone is out there.” She grabbed Ansley’s arm and stared into her eyes. “And I think I know who.”
“What?” Ansley looked stunned. “Who?”
Trixie glanced over Ansley’s shoulder and surveyed the room behind them. “Mitch.”
“Oh, honey,” Ansley said, resting her hand over Trixie’s. “Mitch isn’t here. He wouldn’t wait in the shadows if he were out there somewhere. He’d show his face, wrap his arms around you, and hold you close. You know that. Right now, he’s probably—”
“Off somewhere licking his wounds?” Trixie asked, irritated.
“That’s not what I was suggesting. It’s just…well, after everything Jordie Anne put him through, I don’t think he would come here right away.” She hesitated before she continued. “Trixie, Mitch may never return to Fletcher. He caused you enormous heartache. Even in the man’s absence, he represented a dark cloud over this family. If Mitch comes here, it will be years down the road.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Trixie said, certain she’d just seen movement by the shrubs next to the main road. “This is precisely where Mitch would want to be now. He is out of prison. He doesn’t have to worry about Jordie Anne. Now, after all these years, Mitch is finally free to be with me.”
Prologue Three
“This is Mitch Colony. Do I have any messages?”
“No, Mr. Colony.”
The front desk staff had most likely tired of his frequent calls. He’d been in Asheville for ten days and had inquired about messages at least a hundred times.
He didn’t know why he bothered. Trixie, even if she’d suspected his arrival there, wouldn’t have known where to find him.
“Thanks,” he grumbled, slamming down the phone.
He was driving himself crazy. Since his arrival in North Carolina, he’d longed to go to Trixie and ask her to forgive him. He’d wanted to talk to Brock and Rory and see if there was any chance, any hope whatsoever, that they would consider sharing Trixie with him once again.
Instead, he’d mustered up only limited courage. He’d been to Trixie’s home several times. He’d even knocked on the door once or twice, but he always ended up talking himself out of a face-to-face reunion . And he repeatedly ran before Trixie, or anyone else, answered the door.
He ran because he was afraid of what she might say when she saw him. He left because he didn’t want to feel like an intruder.
Mitch never waited around for someone to greet him because he was scared. He didn’t know if he could handle rejection from the only woman he’d ever truly wanted, the only woman he’d ever genuinely loved.
Settling his back against the bed, he had just started to relax and surf the television channels when the phone jingled beside him. Lifting the receiver, he listened before he finally said, “Yes?”
“You busy?”
“No,” Mitch replied, recognizing the voice on the other end of the line.
“Good. What’d you say you meet me and Rory for a drink?”
“When?” Mitch asked, his throat constricting with forced responses.
“Seven o’clock tonight work for ya?”
“Sure.” He didn’t have anything else to do. “Where?”
“Considering what we have to discuss, we’ll come to you.”
“Sounds fine.”
“I thought it might.”