Blue eyes went wide. “He could still hear me?”
Did he know that for sure? “I think so. Somewhere, a part of all creatures lives on.”
“Even Grandpa Cy?”
Sorrow struck Mitch like a blow he hadn’t seen coming. Cy would have loved this child so much. Damn her for keeping the boy away until it was too late.
But blue eyes were watching, waiting for an answer.
“Yes.” Mitch had no doubt of this. The old man’s spirit hovered in every inch of these woods. “I think Grandpa Cy can hear you if you want to talk.”
“I’m gonna go tell Mom. She’s really sad that he’s gone.” Davey looked ready to run back to the cabin. “Can we go back now and tell her?”
No, he wanted to say. You go on. I don’t want to be anywhere near her.
But he didn’t say it. Rising, he turned to lead the way back, noticing the clouds moving in, heavy and darker than the ones that brought the sporadic afternoon showers, a deeper, gun-metal gray. Mitch resisted the urge to groan.
It could snow any day of the year here, even in the middle of summer. Early October wasn’t too soon at all, but the last thing he wanted was a new reason for them to stay or for him to need to stay with them.
Sometimes Mother Nature was a cold-hearted witch.
“Come on, son. We’ve got a storm rolling in.” Mitch pulled Davey up on his back and took off with quick steps.
Chapter Five
Perrie fastened the sheet more tightly around her waist, securing it with one of the clothespins she’d been using, wishing she had longer legs and it weren’t trailing the floor behind her. Thank goodness for the clothespins—and that Mitch had left them right where Grandpa had kept them. She wished she could take off the t-shirt she wore and wash it, too, but she had nothing else to put on. Maybe Mitch would loan her something, but she wasn’t about to look through his belongings.
She had felt enough like an intruder, going into his room to gather up the neat stack of dirty clothes he’d placed on a stool in the corner. She’d hesitated at the doorway, uneasy about entering the room that resembled a monk’s cell more than anything. But in the end, she couldn’t be rude enough to wash their clothes and not his.
One more garment to wring out by hand and hang on the line outside that Grandpa had strung years ago. Then she could sit down. Before she fell down.
Drawing in a deep breath, she twisted and squeezed again, thankful it wasn’t Mitch’s jeans this time. Those had taken every ounce of her too-watery muscles. The man had some very long legs.
The cabin door opened suddenly. “What the devil are you doing?” Mitch’s voice boomed out.
Perrie didn’t turn, just kept twisting and squeezing. “I should think it would be obvious.”
Then he was at her side, removing the shirt from her hands. “Go sit down.” His strong fingers finished the job with quick, efficient motions.
“What are you doing, Mom?”
Perrie turned toward her son’s voice. “Washing our clothes.”
“Take your mom over to the couch, Davey. She needs to sit down.”
Perrie bristled at being ordered around like a child. She glanced up at the man whose shoulder she barely reached, seeing eyes gone stormy. “I’m not a child. I don’t need a keeper.”
“Could have fooled me. Now go sit down or I’ll carry you there myself.”
For a split-second, she remembered being carried last night. Remembered leaning into that broad chest. She hadn’t dreamed that, nor the need she’d felt to know what turned those eyes so dark with sorrow.
And for another brief flicker, she saw that he remembered it, too. A muscle flexed in his strong jaw. His nostrils flared. Stormy eyes glowed hot—
Perrie stepped back, reaching for Davey’s shoulder. Turning too quickly, she stumbled over the trailing edges of the sheet, the awkward movement jerking the fabric down and popping the clothespin off. Grasping at the sheet with one hand, she reached for the edge of the sink with the other.
Strong hands pulled her upright, up against a hard, powerful frame.
With a gasp, Perrie felt the pressure of breast to ribs, hip to belly. She lifted her gaze in shock to see the same war going on in him.
She drew herself back with exquisite care, pulling the sheet tightly between her breasts, feeling spark-shot and shaky.
Perrie forced herself to straighten. “Our clothes were dirty. They needed washing.”
“Me and Mitch could go to the car and get our other clothes, couldn’t we, Mitch?”
Mitch tore his gaze away from Perrie, glancing down at her son. “There’s a storm coming. You stay here and help your mom.” For all the fury in his eyes when he looked at her, his tone was gentle with her son.