“Sit down before you fall down. What’s going on?” He looked over Davey. “I thought you were—” Hurt. Mitch turned away, struggling with a temper he hadn’t let go in years. A temper born of fear that shouldn’t be his.
Davey wasn’t his child. He had a mother. A mother who would soon leave and take Davey with her.
He felt a small hand grasp his. “I’m sorry, Mitch. Me and Mom were just tickling. I almost—” He pulled at Mitch’s arm, trying to get him closer.
When Mitch bent closer, Davey whispered. “I almost told her about the porch. I didn’t want to get you in trouble.”
Mitch knelt before the boy, studying him closely. “Don’t ever lie to your mother, Davey.” He looked over the boy’s head at her. “I’m the one who showed you. I don’t care if she gets mad at me. But now that she’s better, she’s the one you have to listen to.”
Her blue eyes softened in gratitude.
Mitch looked away. He didn’t want her soft. He wanted her gone.
“Mitch…” Davey whispered earnestly. “Mom’s gonna want me to take a bath.”
A bath. Why hadn’t he stopped to think about baths? Neither of them could tolerate his daily dip into the icy mountain stream.
Davey looked disgusted.
“She’s right, you know. You need one.”
“Aw, Mitch…”
He stood up and looked at Perrie. “Sorry. I use the stream most days. But it’s too—”
“Cold,” she supplied, smiling fondly. “I know. I remember.”
“I forget. You’ve lived here before.”
Her lashes swept down, avoiding a topic difficult for both of them. “It’s been a long time. Things change.”
“Not around here.”
Her eyes opened wide. “I’m glad to hear it. This place is special. Magic.”
Then why didn’t you come back when— Mitch quashed the question. The boy watched them, gaze avid. It was the first civil conversation they’d had.
He changed the subject. “I could rig you a shower outside, the way I do when I guide.”
“Guide? You’re an outfitter like Grandpa?”
He shrugged. “Sort of. I travel with the seasons. Should be in South Texas right now for dove and quail, but this would be the first winter Cy’s place would be—”
Blue eyes went dark with grief. Tears glistened.
She wore her emotions on her sleeve. He could tell her it was the road to disaster.
Her voice was barely a whisper. “Where is he buried?”
He bit back the words of recrimination. “You know the grandfather spruce?”
Her gaze locked on his. “The one that looks out toward the sunrise?”
Mitch nodded. “I scattered his ashes there.”
“I’m so glad. It was his favorite place.”
If you knew that… Suddenly, Mitch was back there, watching the man who’d cared when his own father had hated…watching Cy’s eyes darken with pain and feeling so helpless.
Remembering the desperate three-hour trip he’d made into Cora to phone her. A call to grant the only wish that really meant anything to Cy. To see this woman…just once more.
Mitch glanced down at Davey. Cy would have loved him the most. But thanks to her neglect, Cy had never known Davey existed.
He looked back at the woman who’d refused to even come to the phone, the woman he’d wanted to crawl through the phone lines to yank out of her pampered, selfish existence. If Cy hadn’t been so sick, Mitch would have gone to Boston and dragged her here himself.
Instead, he’d watched the man who’d brought him back from hell die alone. Unwanted by anyone but a man whom no one else wanted, either. Unmourned by his own blood.
He had to get out of here. Away from her.
The boy was leaning on his leg. He jerked his hand away from Davey’s hair as if burned. For Davey’s sake, he had to clamp down on his contempt.
Voice carefully calm, he spoke to the child. “I’ll be done in a few minutes. Can you wait for breakfast?”
Davey’s blue eyes were clear and guileless. “Want me to help, Mitch? Mom, are you hungry?”
“I can fix your breakfast, sweetie.”
“I said I’d fix it,” he snapped. “Get back into bed.”
Then he turned on his heel and left, placing distance between him and the woman he did not understand.
Chapter Three
Perrie hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep again until the cabin door opened. Mitch stood there, clean shirt on—charcoal plaid this time—dark hair slicked back, gleaming like mink.
She saw his displeasure, quickly masked, that she was on the sofa instead of back in bed. But he didn’t say anything, just turned and headed toward the kitchen.