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Holidays. Little boys and holidays. The combination used to fill him with joy. Now the dread was inescapable. Still, he couldn’t, in good conscience, turn Spencer’s boy and this woman out in the night. “Dinner should be ready in about an hour. Thelma will show you to a guest room.”
Chloe’s delicate features brightened.
“Just for the night,” Evan cautioned. “I haven’t changed my mind and I’m not going to.” Wainwright could send a dozen beautiful women and it wouldn’t matter. His ability to love a child had died with his son. And there was no resurrecting it.
Chloe found herself tiptoeing as she wandered past the entry hall. After Evan Mitchell’s rather abrupt dismissal, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself. He had mentioned dinner and staying the night. Should she bring in their suitcases? No, she told herself. Plunking them on the floor of the immaculate entry or parlor seemed like a terrible idea, especially since hers was a Salvation Army classic. And she wasn’t sure where the back entrance was.
Jimmy hadn’t emerged since the kind-looking woman had led him away. The scent of sweet fruit and browning pie crust melded with savory vegetables and something else. Beef? Maybe it was stew.
Chloe’s stomach growled. “Just like one of Pavlov’s dogs,” she muttered to herself. She could read a highway sign announcing the next Dairy Queen and suddenly be swamped with a craving for ice cream.
“Chloe?” Jimmy questioned, his voice floating out from deeper in the house. Even from the distance, she could hear the anxiety coating his words.
“We’re in the kitchen,” Thelma added in a louder voice. “Down the hall to the left. Just pass through the dining room.”
Chloe followed her directions, pushing open a swinging door at the end of a long passageway. For a moment she thought she’d stumbled into the kitchen of the Keebler elves. Bright bursts of color caught her attention, pulling her gaze to the limestone counters, the cozy eating nook, the massive stove.
Several pies cooled on the wood sideboard in front of the slightly opened window. Despite the charm of the room, Chloe wanted only to see Jimmy, to make sure he was all right.
She placed an arm over his shoulders. “How we doing, big guy?”
He scooted close to her without replying.
And Chloe wished she could make everything better for him.
“That young man is a super worker,” Thelma told her, winking at Jimmy. “Helped me roll out the pie dough.”
Chloe squeezed his shoulder. “That’s great, Jimmy! I’ve never been able to make a decent pie crust.”
“Cold water’s the secret,” Thelma continued as though they were old acquaintances. “Ice cold. Otherwise the shortening melts down, makes it tough and the crust falls apart.”
“I’ll try to remember that.” She bent down, closer to Jimmy. “You getting hungry?”
“I’m afraid I’ve given him quite a few samples of the pie fillings,” Thelma confessed. “I knew something was off with the banana cream. So we had to taste that one at least three or four times.”
“It was good,” Jimmy finally offered.
“It smells delicious,” Chloe agreed with a smile for the older woman. “Do you always make this many pies at a time?”
“We have a bake sale every year to raise money for the Angel Tree.” She paused, then quieted her voice. “It’s for the holidays, you know.”
Chloe guessed the fund was to buy toys for children who wouldn’t get them otherwise. And she appreciated Thelma’s discretion around Jimmy. He’d had more than his share of untimely discoveries.
“Since Evan didn’t introduce us, I’m Thelma, the housekeeper. My husband, Ned, is the… well… he’s pretty much the everything-else man. Keeps up the gardens, the cars, whatever needs fixing.”
“I’m Chloe Reed. I work for Holden Wainwright.”
Thelma started to reach out her hand, then realized it was covered in flour. “Pleased to meet you. And I’ve thoroughly enjoyed meeting Jimmy. Ned’s eaten so many of my pies over the years, he automatically says they taste good no matter what I put in them. The Mitchell men don’t like their pies too sweet and Jimmy here helped me balance out the lemon meringue.”
Jimmy wasn’t distracted, though. His expression was pensive, anxious, worried. And Chloe felt sure he must be exhausted. As kind as Thelma seemed, she was another stranger.
“Would you mind if we walk around the grounds?” Chloe queried.
“Fresh air might do you both good.” Thelma dusted the flour from her hands, then wiped them on her apron. “Back door’s right over here. You’ll find doors in most every room on this level—French doors open out from the front room. And upstairs, there’s even a door that leads out and down the staircase from the bedrooms. There’s three sets of stairs in the house.” She pointed to the one in the kitchen. “We call this one the back stairs. Used to be just for the servants. As for all the doors, I guess a few hundred years ago people felt they might need to get away in a hurry.” She chuckled. “There I go, running off at the mouth. Takes a little while to get the feel of the place, but then it seems right homey.”
“I’m sure it is,” Chloe agreed, edging toward the door.
Thelma smiled. “There’s a nice swing out back. Actually two. One on the porch, another under the oak tree. Can’t miss either.”
“Thank you.” Chloe still gripped Jimmy’s hand as they stepped outside. The air was clean, tinged with the faint aroma of burning leaves. She guessed that out in the country people didn’t have to worry so much about air pollution.
“Let’s find the one under the tree,” Chloe suggested. As Thelma had said, it was easy to see the glider swing. It sat beneath a tall oak tree that had already lost many of its leaves. Jimmy clung to her hand as she guided him to the cozy-looking spot.
Once seated, Chloe gently urged the glider into motion. “We can rest before dinner if you’d like to.”
“Then what?”
Immediately, she wondered if the child had guessed or overheard Evan’s intentions. “Then we’ll be all stuffed and we’ll get a good night’s sleep.”
“Here?”
“Sure, big guy. That’s where we are.”
Shoulders hunched, Jimmy’s head dropped forward, his shiny hair nearly obscuring still-childish features. “I like sleeping in my own room.”
A room he would never again occupy. The house was being sold, along with the majority of its contents. Only photos and sentimental items were being boxed up for storage. All of Jimmy’s life, all of his memories. The thought dried her throat, stung her eyes. But Jimmy didn’t need sympathy. He needed someone strong to lean on. If that wasn’t going to be Evan Mitchell, that left only her. Despite being solely responsible for her mother’s care, Chloe couldn’t abandon this boy. Even if it meant taking on a forceful, obstinate man like Evan Mitchell.
Dinner was more formal and somber than Chloe expected. Thelma served them in the dining room, then retreated to the kitchen to eat dinner with her husband. And Evan Mitchell wasn’t a very entertaining host. He sat at the head of the table, while she and Jimmy faced each other across the long, banquet-sized table.
Thelma had served them each generous helpings of stew, along with freshly baked biscuits.
“Thelma’s oven must stay busy,” Chloe ventured. “She was making pies and now these biscuits.”
“Umm,” Evan replied so sparsely, he might not have even spoken.
Chloe smiled encouragingly at Jimmy, then tried again. “I understood that your father lived here with you.”
“It’s the family home. We share it.”
“Isn’t he joining us?”
Evan looked annoyed by her questions. “He’s hunting quail with friends out near the Markham ranch. They make a day and night of it.”
Chloe dipped her spoon into the savory stew. “This is delicious. Don’t you think so, Jimmy?”
He scrunched his narrow shoulders together, the sweep of his dark hair hiding his eyes. “Guess so.”
Trying to lighten the glum atmosphere, Chloe took some butter for her biscuit. “Have Thelma and her husband been with you long?”
“Curious, aren’t you?” Evan replied. Then he glanced over at Jimmy. “They’ve been here as long as I can remember.”
“Came with the house?” she questioned, hoping to infuse some cheer into the conversation.
Evan looked at her as though she’d suggested swallowing a bucket of mud.
“Just kidding, of course,” she tried to remedy. “I haven’t had any experience with household employees.”
“They’re not just employees,” he replied sharply. “They’re family.”
Chastened, Chloe stirred her spoon aimlessly. “Of course.” If not for Jimmy, she would have fervently wished for a hole to appear in the floor so she could vanish.
Silence reigned, interrupted only by the scrape of spoons against the bowls. The clinking of china when a coffee cup was returned to its saucer. The last time Chloe had felt this uncomfortable at a dinner table, she’d been twelve years old and painfully aware of the boy sitting across from her. He was fourteen and she had a terrible crush on him. In turn, he considered her a complete nuisance. Seemed she hadn’t progressed much from then.
Thelma eventually cleared their dishes and then brought in dessert plates. “Lemon meringue,” she announced. “Had some good help making this one. Wasn’t hard to decide which one to keep for dessert.”
Jimmy glanced at the housekeeper, a furtive, slightly pleased look.
Thelma winked back at him.
Chloe wished the width of the table weren’t so broad. She would have liked to squeeze his hand in encouragement. Instead, she smiled at him. Lifting her gaze she caught Evan studying them.
He didn’t blink. The woman didn’t act like a mere estate representative. Which made him that much more distrustful. Evidently, she stood to profit if she convinced him to accept the guardianship. Wainwright had the funds.
And the old guy had always held a soft spot for Spencer. After the explosion in their newly refurbished factory, Spencer’s wishes had been presented. And Wainwright had pled his case as though Spencer were a son rather than the son of a friend.
Committed to placing Jimmy in the Mitchell home, Wainwright may have offered Chloe quite a sum to succeed. Why else would the woman have traveled across the country with no guarantee of how she would be received?
Thelma rustled around the large bedroom as Chloe stared first at the tall ceilings, then the intricate moldings and charming bay window. She gently touched the delicate lace curtains as she admired the four-poster bed and marble-topped dresser. “The room’s lovely,” she murmured. “It’s really a guest room?”
“Evan’s mother decorated every room on this floor. The men didn’t want her changing the rustic stuff in the den and the parlor’s stayed pretty much the same for generations.”
“She’s passed away, hasn’t she? Evan’s mother?”
Thelma stopped plumping the pillow she held. “Adele died… several years ago, now. And…” She stopped abruptly.
Chloe knew that Evan was single. Mr. Wainwright had given her a brief sketch about him. Evan ran the family business, in fact, devoted all of his time to it. Could that be why he was so insistent about not taking on Jimmy?
Thelma laid the pillow at the head of the bed, then checked the growing flames in the fireplace. “Gets chilly this time of year. Family had central heat installed back when Mr. Gordon, Evan’s father, was a boy. But when the wind’s howling, it’s awful nice to have a fire.”
Standing next to a wide chaise that was angled by the fireplace, Chloe agreed. “I love a good fire and I haven’t had a fireplace of my own in… well, a long time.” Not since the family home had to be sold.
Thelma crossed the room to an archway containing a door. “This opens into Jimmy’s room. It used to be the nursery.”
Chloe peeked inside, seeing that he was still fascinated by the interesting little room with its slanted ceiling, nooks, arches and cushioned window seat that overlooked the widow’s walk surrounding the upper story. “He may have trouble sleeping tonight. He’s had a lot of… changes.”
“Mr. Gordon told me all about Jimmy when the lawyer wrote. Poor little tyke. We all hoped Evan…” Thelma sighed. “Mr. Gordon’s too old to take on raising the boy himself. Wouldn’t be right for Jimmy if…well, if Mr. Gordon couldn’t see him all the way through ’til he’s old enough to be on his own.”
Chloe thought she heard a thread of worry in the woman’s voice. “Is Mr. Mitchell ill?”
Thelma shook her head. “He wouldn’t retire until a few years ago. Worked hard all his life. Too hard. A boy needs parents who can keep up with him.”
“That’s how Mr. Wainwright feels, too. When I’m taking care of Jimmy, I have to stay on top speed myself.”
A knowing smile lit Thelma’s eyes. “I’m guessing you don’t mind that too much.”
“He’s a wonderful little boy.” So much so that Chloe knew she would have to rein in her feelings. A huge part of her wished she could just take him back to Milwaukee, raise him as her own. And that was impossible. “Thelma, would it be too much trouble to make some hot cocoa?”
“Course not. I’ll bring it up directly.”
She didn’t want to cause the woman more work. “I’m happy to come and get it.”
Waving her hands in dismissal, Thelma tsked. “Don’t want to hear another word about it. You just get the little one settled.”
Chloe exhaled in relief. Thelma was proving to be an ally. “Thanks.” As Thelma left, Chloe knocked lightly on the connecting door frame to Jimmy’s room. “Mind if I come in?”
“Uh-uh.” Jimmy sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the large window. Still dressed in his best clothes, as though waiting for something that would never happen, he looked completely, inescapably alone.
“Know what I was thinking?” she asked in an encouraging voice.
He shook his head.
“We could get in our jammies, scrunch up on this amazing chair in front of the fireplace in my room and tell stories.” Chloe wriggled her eyebrows. “Might even be some hot cocoa in the deal.”
“My dad used to read me a story every night and Mommy would sing.”
Chloe sat down beside him, putting her arm around his shoulders. “You know, I seem to remember packing a few of your favorite books.”
Leaving him to change into his pajamas, Chloe did the same. By the time she’d tied the sash on her thick, fluffy robe, she heard a light knock on the door. Expecting Thelma, she whipped open the door with a smile.
Evan Mitchell’s muscular frame filled the doorway and his forbidding expression sent her smile plummeting.
“If you need anything,” he began uncomfortably. “Just ask Thelma.”
Chloe clutched her pink robe, excruciatingly aware of the matching bunny slippers on her feet. Trying to tuck them backward just pulled his attention toward the embarrassing footwear.
Straightening her shoulders, she tried to look as businesslike as possible. “We’re fine, thank you.”
He didn’t reply.
Unnerved, she tried to think of something else to say, to distract him, to remove his all-too-male presence. “Thelma’s making us some hot cocoa.”
“Right.” He glanced down the empty corridor.
Chloe fervently wished Thelma would make an appearance.
But the hall remained empty.
“I’ll say good night then,” Evan finished.
