Jingle Bell Blessings (2 page)

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.

“Good night.” Rattled, Chloe shut the door and retreated to the burgundy velvet chaise. Not that she needed the heat from the fire. Touching her cheeks, she confirmed they were warm and no doubt bright red. Oh, yes. Evan Mitchell had seen past her professional facade. All the way to her pink bunny slippers.

T
he fire was dying down and their cups of cocoa were empty. Chloe had read three of Jimmy's books, told him several of her favorite stories and he was finally nodding off. It had been an eternally long day for her. She could only imagine how it had tired him. But the little guy didn't complain. Instead, he had cuddled close on the chaise, listening to the stories, and trying to stay awake.

Certain that he was ready for bed, she scooped him up from the lounger.

“I'm not sleepy,” he mumbled, his head falling on her shoulder.

“I know, big guy. We'll just rest for a while.” Chloe carried him through the adjoining door into the nursery. Thelma had made up both the child's bed and the single bed nearby. Chloe gently deposited him on the smaller bed. Then she grabbed his stuffed dog, Elbert, and laid it close. Pulling the sheet and handmade quilt up to his chin, she kept her voice low. “Snug as a bug in a rug.”

Jimmy's eyelids were drifting closed, but he struggled to keep them open. “Don't go.”

“Okay.” She sat on the edge of his bed, softly singing one
of the Irish lullabies her mother had sung to her when she was little.

Chloe hummed the chorus again, watching until finally the gentle rise and fall of his chest told her that Jimmy had nodded off. Quietly she returned to her room, leaving the door to the nursery open. Warmed by the dwindling fire, she crossed over to the bay window. Old-fashioned streetlights—that she guessed had been converted from oil—softly illuminated the brick-paved street below. She hadn't imagined such quaint places still existed. As she studied the engaging landscape, she spotted a lone figure walking up the lane. When the man reached the Mitchell home he turned and headed to the tall oak on the knolled rise of the lawn.

Unable to take her eyes from the man, she glimpsed his face when he stepped beside the gas light in the yard. Evan Mitchell. She shouldn't be surprised. After all, it was his home. Continuing to watch, she saw him sit on a stone bench that curved around the tree. Evan just didn't seem like the sort of man to take solitary nighttime walks. Fleetingly she wondered if he was cold.

Not that it should matter to her. His behavior had been utterly frigid. Still, she wondered why he sat alone, what drove him out in the chilly night. Wisps of clouds drifted, allowing some moonlight to filter downward. Evan looked up in the direction of the light. His expression was so bleak, Chloe's hand flew to her mouth to stop an automatic cry of distress. What was troubling him so deeply?

Not that he would confide in her. Nor should she want him to. Evan was the enemy, the man who decided Jimmy's fate. But the part of her that always reached out to others refused to stay quiet. Was it possible that Evan had issues that she needed to learn? Issues he had to resolve before accepting a child in his life?

The questions stilled. Because Evan Mitchell dropped his head in his hands. And Chloe couldn't intrude on his private moment any longer.

 

Even though the soft feather bed was incredibly comfortable, Chloe couldn't sleep. Literally tossing and shifting in the bed, she'd twisted the sheets and lace crocheted coverlet into a tangled mess. But sleep was impossible with the mass of conflicting thoughts racing through her mind. Hearing a sudden cry, she bolted upright. Remembering the small set of wooden stairs beside the mattress for climbing in and out of the tall bed, she clicked on her lamp so she could find them. Untangling herself from the covers, she grabbed her robe and raced into the adjoining room.

Jimmy was sitting up in the bed, looking terrified.

Immediately, Chloe reached out to pull him into her arms. Rocking him back and forth, she imparted all the comfort she possessed. “It's okay,” she murmured. “You're safe. I'm right here.” He shook with a convulsed sob and Chloe's eyes filled. If only she could take his pain for him. Rubbing his back, she held him until he was finally still. Pulling back slightly, she smoothed the dark hair from his forehead. “Was it a dream?”

He nodded, a jerky motion. “And when I woke up I didn't know where I was.”

“I wasn't having much luck sleeping either. I'd probably go to sleep faster if I wasn't alone.” She rubbed her chin as though in deep concentration. “Do you suppose I could sleep on the extra bed in here? It would really help me out.”

This time when he nodded, he looked up at her with relief in his big brown eyes.

She eased the tears from his cheeks with her fingers. “I know I'll feel safe in here with you.”

He sniffled.

“Okay, better get that bug snug again.” He dutifully laid back down and she tucked him in. “If it wouldn't keep you awake, I'd kind of like to keep the little light on.”

“It's okay,” he agreed gratefully.

She smoothed his hair once more. “Thanks.”

Climbing into the bed she guessed once belonged to a nanny, Chloe actually did feel better. She had been worried about Jimmy being alone, frightened in the strange house. She smoothed the blanket in place, leaving her arms out. Now, if she could just get Evan Mitchell out of her thoughts. Sighing, she realized that wouldn't be nearly as easy.

 

Early morning sunlight invaded Chloe's face. Scrunching her eyes, she reached for the sheet to cover them. Awareness hit at the same instant. Immediately, she looked at Jimmy's bed. It was empty. Fear filled her chest. Surely he hadn't run away. He didn't know anyone in Rosewood.

Blinking, she focused again and saw his pajamas thrown across the bed. Next to them was his stuffed dog, Elbert. Jimmy wouldn't have left his treasured friend behind.

Although reassured, she dressed quickly so she could look for him. Evan Mitchell wouldn't welcome a curious, roaming child in his house.

Once downstairs, she headed toward the kitchen, but paused when she heard voices in the dining room. Walking slowly, she approached the group.

“You must be Chloe,” a gray-haired man boomed in a deep voice. He stood up, keeping Jimmy close to his side.

“I'm Gordon Mitchell, Evan's father. Sure pleased to have you here.”

Surreptitiously glancing around, she didn't see Evan, and relaxed. “Thank you.”

Thelma poured another mug of coffee and handed it to Chloe. “Morning. How'd you sleep?”

“Very well, thanks. It's a beautiful room.” She glanced at Gordon. “A beautiful house.”

“Too empty, though.” He patted Jimmy's shoulder. “Need some young energy to fill it up again.”

Unwilling to discuss Evan's refusal in front of Jimmy, Chloe sipped the bracing brew.

Jimmy knelt down. “Did you see the dog, Chloe?”

A calm golden retriever seemed delighted by Jimmy's attention, waving a beautifully plumed tail and pushing his muzzle into Jimmy's hand.

“I don't remember seeing him yesterday,” she mused.

“Bailey was with me,” Gordon explained. “Hunting. But he pined for Evan the whole time.”

“He's Evan's dog?” Chloe asked in surprise.

“Bailey's usually camped out by Evan's side, clinging like thistle. Jimmy's pretty special to have tempted him away.”

“French toast this morning.” Thelma winked at Jimmy.

“Thought I might find somebody who'd like it.”

“Sounds great.” Chloe slipped into a chair. “How did your hunting trip go, Mr. Mitchell?”

“Best part of it is the guys. We tell the same stories we've told each other for the last fifty years, and now that we're getting on, some of 'em even sound new again.” His dark eyes crinkled with kindness.

Although she could see the resemblance between the two generations of men, Gordon exuded warmth, friendliness. Chloe wanted to relax, but she was still facing a major confrontation.

The thought apparently conjured up the man in question. Evan stalked into the room, crossing over to the sideboard to pour a mug of coffee. Bailey jumped up and ran to his side. Evan rubbed the dog's head. As he did, Evan turned, his gaze narrowing first on Chloe, then Jimmy and finally his father.

Thelma pushed open the door from the kitchen, holding a large platter. She placed the French toast in the middle of the table. “Eat it while it's hot.”

Chloe turned to Jimmy. “Looks good, doesn't it?” Hoping Evan wouldn't open with an argument, she speared one piece.

Gordon passed the pitcher of warm syrup. “Thelma dusts the toast in powdered sugar, but I still like my maple syrup. How 'bout you, Jimmy?”

“I like syrup,” he replied in a tiny voice.

Knowing Jimmy was nervous, she patted his leg. “Me, too.”

Evan continued to stare at his father.

Gordon met his son's gaze, his voice deceptively casual. “I was just about to invite Chloe and Jimmy to stay for a while. Won't be long 'til Thanksgiving. Holidays are always better with children, more family.”

A vein in Evan's muscular neck bulged, while his lips thinned into an angry line. He pushed back his chair, scraping it loudly over the wide planked floor as he rose. “I have to get to work.”

His boots rang loudly as he left, and the sound of the door slamming echoed through the house. Bailey whined, then laid down next to the front door, apparently waiting for his master.

“Did I make him mad?” Jimmy asked in an even smaller voice.

“Of course not!” Chloe rushed to reassure him. “He probably has problems at work that are on his mind, that's all.” She glanced at Gordon. “It's a family business, isn't it?”

Gordon nodded. “Mitchell Stone. My great-grandfather started the quarry with not much more than a land claim and a box of dynamite. A few men agreed to work with him in
exchange for shares in the company. A lot of their descendants are fourth-generation employees now.”

Chloe glanced upward at the elegant chandelier, just one of the impressive fixtures in the obviously expensive home. “So your family built all this up themselves?”

He chuckled softly. “First house wasn't much more than a tar shack. The way I heard it, my great-grandmother threatened to dig enough stone out of the quarry herself to build a decent house. But in time, they built a small wood cottage—it's the carriage house we use for a garage now.”

“I think Thelma mentioned that you're retired?”

“Yep. Evan's in charge now.”

Chloe swallowed, hating to pry, but needing to know as much as possible about Evan. “Is that a good thing?”

“He lives and breathes work. Since the recession, Evan's done everything he can to keep the place together so no one loses their jobs. It's a Mitchell trait, I suppose.” Gordon absently tapped his fingers against the tabletop. “Feeling responsible. Can't let go when…”

Chloe waited quietly.

But Gordon glanced up, reined in his memories and lifted a mug of coffee. “So, it's settled. You and Jimmy will stay here. I'd like to show you around town. See the school, the church. People are friendly in Rosewood. Not much like a big city.”

“Milwaukee's not small, but it is down to earth,” Chloe replied. “Kind of the best between a small town and a big city.”

“You have family there?”

Chloe nodded, thinking of her mother, worrying about her.

“My father passed away when I was in junior high school. My younger brother, Chip, is in the army—he and his family are stationed in Germany. And my mother lives in an extended care facility. She has COPD—it's a chronic pulmonary
condition. Because of it, she can't live on her own. If she had a bad episode and no one was around, it could be…” she glanced down at Jimmy, then up to meet the understanding in Gordon's eyes. “Since I work full-time, it's safest where she is.”

“Much extended family?”

“They all live pretty far away in the rural part of the state. But Milwaukee still clings to its ethnic roots. We have areas that are primarily German, Romanian, Hungarian. Makes neighborhoods friendly.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“Rosewood has neighborhoods like that?”

He smiled. “Pretty much the whole town. We're a dying breed, but we don't cotton to superstores, tourist traps. So far, we've been able to keep them out. The news always says mom-and-pop businesses can't survive, but they do here.” Gordon chuckled. “Sounds like I'm about a century old with my reminiscing.”

Chloe was liking him more and more. “I noticed the town was pretty when we were driving through.” She lowered her lashes, trying to hide some of her anxiety from Jimmy. “But I was too nervous…driving in an unfamiliar rental car to pay very much attention.”

“Then we need to take care of that.” He turned to Jimmy, who was adding even more syrup to his plate. “What do you say? After breakfast, we check things out?”

Jimmy appeared shy but pleased.

While she was looking forward to their tour, Chloe didn't know how it was going to help matters. The look in Evan's eyes that morning had said it all. He wasn't about to change his mind.

 

Evan studied the latest financial report. Mitchell Stone was sinking as though pummeled by its own boulders.

Perry Perkin, their chief financial officer, shoved both hands in his pockets. “Numbers won't get any better by staring at them.”

“Yeah.” But he had to turn around the profits. The employees depended on him, most were like family. “Construction business is picking up. Got two new orders this week.”

“Small ones. Evan, you know they aren't going to carry the payroll.”

“Recession hit everyone, Perry. It'll take time for bigger deals to roll in.” Mitchell Stone had operations all over the hill country and in other parts of the state. Even though most of Texas hadn't been hit as hard by the recession as the rest of the country, new construction was still down. And many of their orders had been national as well as international, customers that still remained on shaky ground. “We'll make the payroll.”