Blessings of the Heart and Samantha's Gift Page 8

  “How much worse?”

  “Actually, quite a bit. You saved most of the cups and all the plates when you stopped the whole thing from hitting the ground.”

  “Hitting the table, you mean.” He’d paused in the doorway, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

  “I stand corrected. Where’s the rest of your wild bunch?”

  “Sleeping in front of the TV. Except for Barney, that is. I put him in the bathroom. And I’ve warned Ryan that if he lets him out again, he’ll be keeping him company in there for the rest of the day.”

  Brianne gave him an exaggerated scowl. “I hope he’s learned to follow the rules this time.”

  “Yeah, well…Ryan was trying to catch the dog to put him back when they had their accident. Would it do me any good to say I’m sorry again, or are you sick of hearing it?”

  “I think you’ve groveled enough,” Bree said with a weary sigh. “I still can’t believe what happened.”

  “I can. I should have anticipated something going wrong.” He swung his arm in an arc that encompassed that room and part of the next. “Look at this place. It’s no wonder the kids had such a hard time staying out of trouble in here. Anybody would.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

  “Well, for starters, the carpet is practically white. So is the furniture.”

  “Ecru,” Brianne informed him proudly. “The carpet is ivory, and the damask upholstery is ecru.”

  “Gesundheit.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I thought so.”

  “You would. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go get supper started.”

  “You’re cooking? After this morning?”

  “Somebody has to.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Unless you’re volunteering.”

  “I boil a mean egg. And I can roast weenies on a stick over a campfire. Does that count?”

  “Not for much.” She pushed past him and led the way down the hall toward the kitchen. “How did you expect to feed your kids if you can’t cook? They’d get pretty sick of peanut butter sandwiches if they had to eat them every day.”

  “I wasn’t worried. Little boys eat anything—except maybe fried liver or Brussels sprouts.”

  “Oh, what a shame,” Bree teased, watching his face so she could enjoy the result. “That’s exactly what I was planning to fix for supper tonight.”

  Chapter Eight

  Brianne found a package of chicken strips in the freezer and defrosted them in the microwave. She was fairly well acquainted with the way Emma had arranged the kitchen cupboards and drawers, which helped her function considerably better than Mitch did.

  He was so intent on helping her prepare the evening meal he drove her crazy. Finally, after turning around to fetch something and almost crashing into him for the umpteenth time, she decided to banish him.

  “Look, I appreciate your efforts. I really do. I’d just rather do this by myself. Okay?”

  “Okay. If you insist. Let me get one more thing and…” Moving while he spoke, Mitch wound up trying to enter the pantry at the same time Bree was on her way out. They met in the narrow doorway, jostling for room.

  Suddenly breathless, she managed to speak, “Excuse me.”

  He chuckled but failed to give ground. “What’s the matter with you? I’d think you’d have figured out by now that I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “I know that!”

  “Then why do you keep acting scared whenever I get anywhere near you?”

  “I’m not scared. You’re just in my way, that’s all.”

  “There must be more to it than that,” he drawled. “I think we should stand here like this until you decide to tell me what’s really bothering you.”

  “Don’t be silly. There’s nothing to tell.”

  Mitch’s grin spread, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You might as well give in and tell me what’s wrong. I’ve got all day—maybe several. Come to think of it, so do you.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  He’d placed one hand on the doorjamb on either side of her head. Hoping to escape, she tried to duck under his raised arm.

  Mitch was quicker. He caught her neatly and spun her to face him, holding tight in spite of her halfhearted struggles. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

  “Let go of me. I don’t want to play games.”

  “I’m beginning to think you do,” he said.

  “Well, you’re wrong.”

  “Am I?” He bent to place a chaste kiss on her forehead, then grasped her shoulders and held her away so he could better study her expression.

  “Yes,” she insisted.

  “Liar.”

  That accusation took her aback. Was it possible he could be right? Truth to tell, it was getting harder and harder to convince herself she should continue to try to evade him. Worse, he seemed to be reading that fact in her upturned gaze.

  Mitch’s hold on her shoulders softened. “I’m not a bad guy once you get to know me. I’ll admit that having the boys underfoot right now is a drawback, but I can’t do anything about that until we’re rescued. Then, after things settle down, I’d like to start seeing you.”

  “Dating me?”

  “Yes, dating you. Is that so strange?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “Why? You don’t look like a hermit.” He was leaning slightly as if inspecting her. “No long gray beard or anything.”

  She pulled a face. “I don’t get out much, that’s all. I’ve isolated myself up here because I have to have peace and quiet in order to concentrate on my writing. I’m not much for the social scene. Never have been.”

  “Well, you have to get away from your computer sometime. Besides, I haven’t dated in years. The idea of starting again feels pretty awkward to me, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. After Liz left me I considered myself still married so I didn’t look for anyone else. Then, when I found out I was getting my boys back, there was so much to do I didn’t have time to think about women.” The color of his cheeks deepened. “Not much, anyway.”

  “Why start now?”

  Mitch laughed. “I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like such a bad idea to me. Matter of fact, I’m beginning to like the thought of having someone besides the boys in my life. Maybe you and I were meant to meet like this.”

  “I sincerely doubt that.”

  “Why? Don’t you believe in divine intervention?”

  “Truthfully? I can’t say I believe in divine anything. Not anymore.”

  Softly, he said, “That’s a shame. You miss a lot of blessings that way.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Certain he was going to back off and let her walk away, Brianne stopped staring into his eyes. That’s why she didn’t realize he was going to cup her face in his hands until he was cradling her cheeks in his warm, callused palms. At that point, she wouldn’t have been able to make herself pull away if someone had yelled that the house was on fire.

  Slowly, gently, Mitch tilted her face up as he leaned closer.

  Brianne held her breath and waited for his kiss. In her heart she knew it would be wonderful.

  She was right. Instead of grabbing her and pressing his mouth hard against hers the way other men had, he kept himself in check, barely brushing her lips with his before easing away.

  Was he trembling? Yes! Her eyes widened, and her lips parted slightly as she studied Mitch’s face, searching for answers to questions she was afraid to ask. When he looked at her there was a unique intensity to his gaze that left her weak-kneed and reeling.

  With her emotions fluctuating wildly and every cell of her body attuned to the man who was still gently caressing her face, all Bree could do was stand there and absorb the precious moments. She pictured herself as a desert wanderer, dying of thirst, who had accidentally stumbled upon an oasis that held the sweetest, most refreshing water imaginable. And she wasn’t ready to force herself to stop drinking in that sweetness and turn
to face the wasteland. Not yet.

  Without conscious thought, Bree raised her hand and mirrored Mitch’s actions, drawing her fingers over his jaw and feeling the beginnings of the beard that gave the lower portion of his face a shadowy roughness. To her surprise, he clasped her wrist and stopped her.

  “Don’t,” he warned with unusual hoarseness.

  Part of Brianne wanted to remind him that their present encounter was his doing, that she was merely the blameless victim of his silly game.

  Another part of her, however, was taking the whole incident far more seriously. Judging by the intensity of Mitch’s gaze and the way he was holding her wrist so tightly, she wasn’t the only one who had sensed that something important was happening between them.

  They stared into each other’s eyes for long moments until Bree’s brain finally provided an observation that was lucid enough—and innocent enough—to give voice to.

  “You need a shave,” she said simply.

  Mitch released her wrist and stepped back, rubbing his cheeks with his palms and appearing relieved. “Apparently so. I’ve had other things on my mind lately. Know where I can find a sharp razor?”

  Her nervousness remained so heightened it was all she could do to stifle the giggles welling up in her throat. “A sharp one? Picky, aren’t you?”

  “Well, if I’m going to court you, the least you can do is help me make myself presentable.”

  “What’s your hurry? I thought you said you were going to wait until everything was back to normal.”

  “I don’t want to grow a beard in the meantime,” Mitch said with his characteristic lopsided smile. “Not that I expect us to be stuck up here long enough for that.”

  “Heaven forbid!”

  He laughed. “I thought you didn’t believe that the Lord might have thrown us together.”

  “It was a figure of speech,” she countered, making a grumpy face to add emphasis. “You’ll find disposable razors in the cabinet in the guest bathroom. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  He glanced to where the elements of their evening meal waited. “Sure you can handle this okay without me? I’ll be glad to stay and help you get organized.”

  “Being unorganized is one problem I’ve never had,” Bree said proudly. “Why don’t you go shave? And while you’re at it, see if the boys are okay, too. I’d hate to ignore them and then hear another crash.”

  “You and me both.” Mitch pointed to the counter. “I left the spices lined up over there on that end. The marinade for the chicken is in the blue bowl by the recipe card. It smells great.”

  “Good. Thanks. Bye.”

  “I’m going, I’m going,” he said, finally making his exit.

  Bree sighed. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings when all he was trying to do was be helpful, but she knew if he’d continued to hover over her, watching her every move and getting in the way, she’d have had a terrible time concentrating on anything, especially since their surprising kiss.

  No kidding! For some reason, being near Mitch Fowler was making Bree feel more and more like a radio that was only partially tuned in. The signal was there, it just wasn’t clear.

  Which reminded her. Serenity had its own radio station. She could probably get some idea of what was going on in the immediate area by listening to it.

  Encouraged, Bree flicked on the portable radio. A newscaster was speaking. “Flooding is widespread, especially in Fulton, Izard and Sharp counties. Disaster teams are being pushed to the limit. According to state records, the Strawberry River is at its highest level in forty years. Scattered showers are expected to continue through tomorrow. And in the daily farm report, corn futures for October are up a tenth, soybeans are…”

  Brianne let her mind drift. Considering all the terrible things that had been happening in the lowlands, she felt ashamed that she’d been so hard on her houseguests. After all, Mitch couldn’t help being stranded any more than she could. And his kids probably weren’t acting any differently than most children would if they were cooped up in a strange house.

  Bree continued to measure spices and stir them into the marinade for the chicken strips. Her thoughts centered on Mitch. She could still see him supporting the weight of her china cabinet, his arm muscles bulging with superhuman effort.

  Though she hadn’t been conscious of it at the time, she was able to relive the awesome feeling of warmth and power that had radiated from him as she’d helped him right the cabinet. And she remembered with chagrin how she’d berated him afterward. She wished she hadn’t been quite so cranky.

  Staring at the measuring spoon in her hand, she had to laugh at herself. She could apparently remember minute details of every moment spent with Mitch Fowler, yet she wasn’t sure whether she’d added the two teaspoons of red pepper flakes the recipe called for.

  The bowl of dark, thick marinade didn’t seem to have any flakes in it. Besides, now that she thought about it, it would probably be best to limit the hot spices for the sake of the children.

  Brianne measured half the recommended amount of pepper, stirred it into the liquid, then submerged the chicken breasts and put them in the refrigerator. There. That wasn’t so hard. As her mother had always said, anyone who could read well could cook well.

  Bree studied the rest of the recipe card. Interpretation of Emma’s handwritten directions seemed to be the hardest part of the process. Nowhere did the instructions say what to do with the meat after it had been soaked in the spices. If Bree hadn’t remembered that her housekeeper had recently prepared the dish, she wouldn’t have had a clue that the chicken was supposed to be baked.

  Pleased with her progress so far and feeling quite confident, Brianne paused for a relaxing cup of herb tea and straightened up the mess she’d made in the kitchen while the meat marinated.

  Then she took out a Pyrex baking dish and carefully arranged the chicken pieces in the bottom. They looked drier than she remembered, so she poured the extra marinade over them before covering the dish with aluminum foil and slipping it into the double oven. Later, she’d bake some potatoes in the second oven.

  Smiling, she took off the makeshift apron she’d donned at the outset of her foray into cooking. If this was all there was to feeding a big family, she certainly didn’t know what all the fuss was about.

  Chapter Nine

  By dinnertime, the aroma permeating the house was so wonderful she didn’t even have to call her guests to the table. One by one they gravitated toward the kitchen, drawn there by hunger.

  Bree tucked a tea towel into her belt to serve as an apron, the way she had before, and greeted them graciously. “The table’s all set. Just take your usual places. I’ll have everything ready in a jiffy.”

  “Need any help now?” Mitch asked.

  “If you’d get everyone a drink it would be nice,” she told him. “Ice water for me, please.”

  “Coming up.”

  “I want soda!” Ryan whined. “I always have soda.”

  Mitch ignored him and set about pouring two small glasses of milk. Bud was silent. He looked as if he was going to burst into tears when his father put a glass of milk by his plate.

  Busy peeling the foil off the top of the casserole dish, Bree asked, “When you finish there, will you get the baked potatoes, please? They’re in the top oven.”

  “Okay. That sure smells great.”

  “Thanks. Actually, I changed the recipe a little. I was afraid there’d be too much red pepper in it for the kids so I cut the amount in half.”

  Holding an empty dish to put the baked potatoes on, Mitch cleared his throat. “Uh, excuse me? Did you say you added more red pepper?”

  “No, I added less. Why?”

  “Because I told you the marinade was ready when I left the kitchen. You didn’t need to add a thing to it.”

  “What? You did not tell me that!”

  “Yes, I did. I distinctly recall pointing out that it was already in the blue bowl.”

&n
bsp; “Well, sure, but you also said you’d laid out all the spices. What was I supposed to think?”

  “I don’t know. If you hadn’t thrown me out of the kitchen you could have asked me.”

  “If I hadn’t let you into the kitchen in the first place we wouldn’t have a problem to ask about. I told you I could make dinner by myself.”

  “Fine.” Disgruntled, Mitch turned toward the oven to retrieve the potatoes. When he opened the door, a cloud of steam and smoke billowed out. “What the…”

  “What did you do?” Bree demanded.

  “Me? Nothing.” He waved the fumes away with his hand and began lifting the remains of the potatoes with an oven mitt. “I’ll bet you didn’t prick the skins before you baked these.”

  “How was I supposed to know to do that? There’s nothing in Emma’s files about baking potatoes.”

  “That’s probably because it’s so elementary.” Mitch stared at her. “Haven’t you ever cooked anything before?”

  “Not like this. And not lately, except for tonight.”

  “I wanna send out for pizza,” Ryan hollered.

  His father was not in the mood to fight with him, too. “That’s enough. We can’t send out for pizza because we don’t have a phone that works—thanks to you and your dog. And the road is washed away so the delivery guy couldn’t get it here, anyway.”

  “I’m not gonna eat that,” the boy insisted, pointing at the remains of the potatoes. “It looks gross!”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Mitch said. “I kind of like exploding food, as long as it’s done blowing up before I try to eat it.”

  Bree was not amused. “You don’t have to rub it in.” She studied the oddly shaped remnants of skin and fluffy white potato. “They look kind of like they’re double baked, only a lot rougher around the edges.”

  “They do, don’t they? Wonder if they’d be good with cheese melted on top?” Mitch put the dish aside and went to the refrigerator to look for a wedge of Cheddar.

  Brianne stood back, watching. At the mere mention of melted cheese the younger boy had brightened up. She could tell that Ryan, too, was happy about the cheese idea, though he tried not to show approval. Well, fine. She wasn’t trying to starve the poor kids. If they didn’t want to eat her potatoes without doctoring them, that was okay with her.