Perrie stopped struggling. But she couldn’t seem to stop the ache inside her chest.
When he carried her inside, she reached down to stroke her son’s hair.
“Are you better, Mom? Can you stay in here with us? We’ll cook you some fish. I caught one of them. Mitch showed me how.”
Perrie tried to reassure him with a smile. “Sweetie, I…”
Before she could steady her voice, Mitch spoke up. “Your mom needs more sleep so she can get well. Maybe tomorrow.”
She was forced to be grateful for his intervention. At least he was kind to her son.
Arms stiff as though carrying an unwelcome burden, he walked back to the room that smelled of her grandfather’s pipe. He laid her down, then turned away.
“He was the best man I ever knew,” she whispered.
“Too bad you broke his heart.” With long strides, he left the room, closing the door behind him.
Perrie curled up in a ball and buried her face in the pillow so Davey wouldn’t hear her cry.
Davey stood on a chair beside him, tracing designs in the corn meal with his fish. “Mitch?”
Mitch watched the grease, waiting for the bubbles to signal that it was ready. “Yeah?”
“Why don’t you like my mom?”
Mitch glanced over to see the boy’s brow furrowed, his blue eyes dark and sad. The kid was too smart. How did you tell a child about betrayal? “What makes you think I don’t like her?”
Davey shrugged. “Your voice just gets sorta mean when you talk to her.”
Mitch exhaled in a gust. “I don’t know your mom. She’s been sick ever since she got here.”
“I can take care of her if it makes you mad.”
Oh, hell. “It doesn’t make me mad.” Not exactly. If only she weren’t such a contrast, so damn beautiful…and such a cold heart. And if only her lying there so still and pale didn’t make him remember another fragile blonde who had died in his arms…
“I miss my room and my toys. I want to go home.” Davey dropped the fish. His bottom lip quivered.
Aw, man. He didn’t know anything about kids. Awkwardly, Mitch reached out and patted the boy’s shoulder.
Davey latched on with both arms around Mitch’s neck, his breath coming in short gasps and snuffles. “I don’t like this place. I want my mom to get better and take me home.”
Deep within Mitch stirred memories. All alone on a dark highway, everything familiar lost. Deep, wracking guilt mingled with rage and bitter knowledge that he could never go home. Nowhere to go, no one to care. He’d been sixteen and had wanted to cry himself. But he’d known somehow that if he ever started, he’d never stop. So instead, he’d started fights and gotten drunk.
Poor kid. Mitch pulled him up off the chair and wrapped his arms tight around the small body. Davey’s legs wrapped around his waist, and he cried in earnest.
Mitch’s rusty, unused heart ached, but he didn’t try to tell the boy platitudes. Maybe it would turn out all right; maybe not. You just had to keep going, no matter what.
So Mitch simply held him.
When the boy’s sobbing slowed, Mitch leaned back. “Not much I can do about getting you home right now. Looks like we’re stuck together. Might as well make the best of it. You know how to play checkers?”
Davey’s shoulders sagged. “No.”
“Then it’s time you learned. After we eat, I’ll teach you. Now you still want to fry some fish?”
Davey leaned against his chest again for a moment.
Mitch closed his eyes and stroked once across soft blond hair.
The boy drew in a shuddery breath, lifted his head and nodded.
Mitch set him back on the chair as though he was dynamite, set to blow. He turned his face away quickly. “Good.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s fry yours first.”
After ten games of checkers and another excursion to the porch, finally, Davey was asleep. Mitch grinned, looking at the tousled blond hair. He was going to have to convince the little guy that the porch was for extreme circumstances, not regular use. But it gave Davey such pleasure that it was difficult to say no.
He was a great kid. Mitch didn’t understand how a woman who could raise such a terrific child could be so thoughtless toward her grandfather in his time of need. She must have been ashamed of him in her fancy new life.
From what Davey said, his father hadn’t been around much. Except for his mother, the boy spent most of his time around servants. He was full of stories about pranks he’d played on the maids and jokes the butler had taught him, but he didn’t have much to say about his father.
Mitch turned, checking on Perrie one last time before he went to bed himself. For a moment, he stood there, studying her. Trying to understand her.