Midnight Sons Volume 2 Page 10

  “Hi, Dad,” she said, craning her neck to look up at Bethany. “Dad usually reads me this story, but you do it better because you love it, too. I don’t think Dad likes romance stories.”

  “Dinner’s ready,” Mitch announced. “Are you sure you won’t try to eat something, pumpkin?”

  Chrissie’s frown said that was a terribly difficult decision. “Maybe I could eat just a little, but only if Ms. Ross will stay and have dinner with us.”

  Before Bethany could offer a perfunctory excuse, Mitch said, “There’s plenty, and we’d both enjoy having you.” He wanted to be certain she understood that he wouldn’t object to her company; if anything, he’d be glad of it.

  He saw her gaze travel from him to Chrissie and then back. He leaned against the doorway, hands deep in his pockets, trying to give the impression that it made no difference to him if she joined them or not. But it did. He wanted her to stay.

  “I…It’s thoughtful of you to ask. I, uh, haven’t eaten yet.”

  “Oh, goodie.” Chrissie jumped up and clapped her hands, bouncing with glee. Then, as if she’d just remembered how ill she was supposed to be, she sagged her shoulders and all but crumpled onto the bed.

  In an effort to hide his smile, Mitch returned to the kitchen and quickly set the table. By the time Chrissie and Bethany joined him, he’d brought the casserole to the table, as well as a loaf of bread, butter and some straight-from-the-can bean salad.

  Dinner was…an odd affair. Exciting. Fun. And a little sad. It was as if he and Bethany were attempting to find new ground with each other. Only they both seemed to fear that this ground would be full of crevices and strewn with obstacles. He’d take one step forward, then freeze, afraid he’d said something that might offend her.

  He noticed that Bethany didn’t find this new situation any easier than he did. She’d start to laugh, then her eyes, her beautiful brown eyes, would meet his and the laugh would falter.

  Following their meal, Chrissie wanted her to finish the story. Since Mitch was well aware of how the story ended, he lingered in the kitchen over a cup of coffee.

  He’d just begun washing the dishes when Bethany reappeared.

  “Chrissie’s decided she needs her beauty sleep,” she told him, standing at the far side of the room.

  Mitch didn’t blame her for maintaining the distance between them. Every time she’d attempted to get close, he’d shoved her away. Every time she’d opened her heart to him, he’d shunned her. Yet when he’d desperately needed her, she’d been there. And although she’d accused him of settling for any woman who happened to fall into his arms, she was the only one who could fill the need in him.

  “I imagine you want to get back home,” he said, experiencing a curious sadness. He dumped what remained of his coffee into the sink. The way her eyes flickered told him she might have enjoyed a cup had he offered one.

  “Stay,” he said suddenly. “Just for a few minutes.”

  The invitation seemed to hang in the air. It took her a long time to decide; when he was about to despair, she gave him a small smile, then nodded.

  “Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  His heart reacted with a wild burst of staccato beats. He poured her a mug, grabbing a fresh one for himself. His movements were jerky, and he realized it was because he felt afraid that if he didn’t finish the task quickly enough, she might change her mind.

  He carried the mugs into the living room and sat across from her. At first their conversation was awkward, but gradually the tension eased. He was astonished by how much they had to talk about. Books, movies, politics. Children. Police work. Life in Alaska. They shared myriad opinions and stories and observations.

  It was as though all the difficulties between them had been wiped out and they were starting over.

  Mitch laughed. He felt warm and relaxed, trusting. Alive. She seemed curious about his past, but her occasional questions were friendly, not intrusive. And she didn’t probe for more information than he was willing—or able—to give her.

  He brought out a large photo album and sat next to her on the sofa, with the album resting partially on his lap and partially on hers. Mitch turned the pages, explaining each picture.

  He wondered what Bethany thought about the gap in his past. It was as if their lives—his and Chrissie’s—had started when they came to Hard Luck. There wasn’t a single photograph taken any earlier than that. Not one picture of Lori.

  He turned a page and his hand inadvertently brushed hers. He hadn’t meant to touch her, but when he did, it was as if something exploded inside him. For long seconds, neither moved.

  Slowly Mitch’s gaze went to hers. Instead of accusation, he found approval, instead of anger, acceptance. He released his breath, tired of fighting a battle he couldn’t win. With deliberate movements, he closed the photo album and set it aside.

  “Mitch?”

  “We’ll talk later,” he whispered. He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and gently pulled her forward. He needed this. Ached for this.

  He kissed her slowly, sweetly, teasing her lips until her head rolled back against the cushion in abject surrender.

  “Mitch…” She tried once more.

  He stopped her from speaking by placing his finger against her moist lips. “We both know Chrissie manipulated this meeting.”

  She frowned.

  “She’s no sicker than you or I.”

  Bethany blinked.

  “Let’s humor her.”

  Her eyes darkened. “Let’s,” she agreed, and wound her arms around his neck.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” Bethany said to Ben. It had taken a lot to convince him to speak to her students.

  Ben had resisted, claiming he wasn’t comfortable with children, never having had any himself. But in the end Bethany’s persistence had won out.

  “You did a great job,” she told him.

  Ben blushed slightly. “I did, didn’t I?” He walked around the room and patted the top of each desk as if remembering who had sat where.

  “The children loved hearing about your job,” she told him. “And about your life in the navy.”

  “They certainly had lots of questions.”

  Bethany didn’t mention that she’d primed them beforehand. She hadn’t had to encourage them much; they were familiar with Ben and fascinated by him.

  Bethany wasn’t especially proud of the somewhat devious method she’d used to learn what she could of Ben’s past. Still, inviting him to speak to her students was certainly legitimate; he wasn’t the only community member she’d asked to do so. Dotty had been in the week before, and Sawyer O’Halloran had agreed to come after Thanksgiving. She found herself studying Ben now, looking for hints of her own appearance, her own personality.

  “Haven’t seen much of you lately,” he said, folding his arms. He half sat on one of the desks in the front row. “Used to be you’d stop in once a day, and we’d have a nice little chat.”

  “I’ve been busy lately.” In the past week, she’d been seeing a lot of Mitch and Chrissie.

  “I kinda miss our talks,” Ben muttered.

  “Me, too,” Bethany admitted. It was becoming increasingly difficult, she discovered, to talk to Ben about personal things. Her fear was that she’d inadvertently reveal their relationship. The temptation to tell him grew stronger with each meeting, something she hadn’t considered when she’d decided to find him.

  Ben stared at her a moment as if he wasn’t sure he should go on. “I thought I saw you with Mitch Harris the other day.” It was more question than statement.

  She nodded. “He drove me to the library.” He’d said he didn’t want her walking. The piercing cold continued, but temperatures weren’t as low as they’d been earlier in the week. Bethany could easily have trekked the short distance; Mitch’s driving her was an excuse—one she’d readily accepted.

  “Are you two seeing each other now?”

  Bethany hesitated.

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nbsp; “I don’t mean to pry,” Ben said, studying her. “You can tell me it’s none of my damn business if you want, and I won’t take offense. It’s just that I get customers now and again who’re curious about you.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like Bill Landgrin.”

  “Oh.” It embarrassed her no end that she’d had dinner with the pipeline worker. He’d phoned her several times since, and the conversations had been uncomfortable. Not because of anything Bill said or did, but because she’d gone out with him for all the wrong reasons.

  Bethany walked from behind her desk and over to the blackboard. “I don’t know what to tell you about Mitch and me,” she said, picking up the eraser.

  Ben’s face softened with sympathy. “You sound confused.”

  “I am.” It was easy to understand why people so often shared confidences with Ben; he was a good listener, never meddle-some and always encouraging.

  With anyone else, Bethany would have skirted around the subject of her and Mitch, but she felt a connection with Ben—one that reached beyond the reasons she’d come to Hard Luck. It wasn’t just a connection created by her secret knowledge. Since her arrival, Ben had become her friend. That surprised her; she hadn’t expected to like him this much.

  “I’m afraid I’m falling in love with Mitch,” she said in a breathless voice.

  “Afraid?”

  She lowered her gaze and nodded. “I don’t think he feels the same way about me.”

  “Why’s that?” Ben leaned forward.

  “He doesn’t want to be attracted to me. Every time I feel we’re getting close, he backs away. There’s a huge part of himself he keeps hidden. He’s never discussed Chrissie’s mother. I’ve never really questioned him about her or about his life before he moved to Hard Luck, and he never volunteers.”

  Ben rubbed one side of his face. “But we all have our secrets, don’t you think?”

  Bethany nodded and swallowed uncomfortably. She certainly had hers.

  “Mitch lost his wife, the mother of his child. I don’t know the details but whatever happened, it cut deep. I can tell you because I was living here when Mitch and Chrissie first showed up. Mitch was a wounded soul. He’s kept to himself. He’s been here more than five years, and I’ve hardly ever seen him smile. Until now…You’re good for him and Chrissie. Real good.”

  “He and Chrissie would be easy to love.”

  “But you’re afraid.”

  She nodded.

  “Seems to me you two’ve come a long way in a short time. I could be wrong, but not so long ago all you did was send these yearning looks at each other. Now you’re actually talking, spending time together.” He paused. “I heard he told Bill Landgrin a thing or two recently.”

  “Mitch did?”

  Ben grinned broadly. “Not in any words I’d care to repeat in front of a lady, mind you. Seems to me he wouldn’t have done that if he wasn’t serious about you himself. Give him time, Bethany. Yourself, too. You’ve been here less than three months.”

  Bethany exhaled. “Thank you for listening—and for your advice.”

  “No problem,” Ben said. “It was my pleasure.”

  Smiling, she closed the distance between them and kissed his rough cheek.

  Ben flushed and pressed his hand to his face.

  She felt so much better, and not just because Ben had given her good advice. He’d said the things her own father would’ve said.

  The irony of that didn’t escape her.

  Chapter

  7

  December 1995

  “Hi.” Bethany felt almost shy as she opened her front door to Mitch that Saturday night. Chrissie was with them so much of the time that whenever Bethany and Mitch were alone together, an immediate air of intimacy enveloped them.

  “Hi, yourself.” Mitch unwound his scarf and took off his protective winter gear. He, too, seemed a little ill at ease.

  They looked at each other, then quickly glanced away. Anyone watching them would have guessed they were meeting for the first time. Tonight, neither seemed to know what to say, which was absurd, since they often sat and talked for hours about anything and everything.

  This newfound need to know each other, as well as the more relaxed tenor of their relationship, came as a result of Thanksgiving dinner with Sawyer and Abbey. The four adults had played cards after dinner. Two couples. It had seemed natural for Bethany to be with Mitch. Natural and right. Conversation had been lively and wide-ranging, and Bethany felt at home with these people. So did Mitch, judging by the way he laughed and smiled. And somehow, whatever he’d been holding inside had begun to seem less important.

  They’d all enjoyed the card-playing so much that it had become a weekly event. In the past few weeks Bethany had spent a lot of time in Mitch’s company, and she believed they’d grown close and comfortable with each other. But then, they were almost always with other people. With Chrissie, of course. With Sawyer and Abbey. The other O’Halloran brothers. Ben. Margaret Simpson. Rarely were they alone. It was this situation that had prompted her to invite him for dinner.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said self-consciously, rubbing her hands on her jeans. “I hope you like Irish stew.”

  “I love it, but then I’m partial to anything I don’t have to cook myself.” He smiled and his eyes met hers. He pulled his gaze away, putting an abrupt end to the moment of intimacy.

  Bethany had to fight back her disappointment.

  “I see you got your Christmas tree,” he said, motioning to the scrawny five-foot vinyl fir that stood in the corner of her living room. She would’ve preferred a live tree, but the cost was astronomical, and so she did what everyone in Hard Luck had done. She’d ordered a fake tree through the catalog.

  “I was hoping you’d help me decorate it,” she said. It was only fair, since she’d helped him and Chrissie decorate theirs the night before. Chrissie had chattered excitedly about Susan’s slumber party, which was tonight. Bethany wondered if Abbey had arranged the party so Bethany and Mitch would have some time alone. Whether it was intentional or not, Bethany was grateful.

  “Chrissie said the two of you baked cookies today.”

  “Susan helped, too,” she said. Bethany had offered to take both girls for a few hours during the afternoon; Mitch was working, and Abbey wanted a chance to wrap Christmas gifts and address cards undisturbed.

  Mitch followed her into the kitchen. They were greeted by the aroma of sage and other herbs. The oven timer went off, and she reached for a mitt to pull out a loaf of crusty French bread.

  Mitch looked around. “Is there anything you need me to do?”

  “No. Everything’s under control.” That was true of dinner, perhaps, but little else felt manageable. Mitch suddenly seemed like a stranger, when she thought they’d come so far. It was like the old days—which really weren’t so old.

  “I’ll dish up dinner now,” she said.

  He didn’t offer to help again; perhaps he thought he’d only be in the way. With his hands resting on a chair back, he stood by the kitchen table and waited until she could join him.

  The stew was excellent, or so Mitch claimed, but for all the enjoyment she received from it, Bethany could have been eating boot leather.

  “I imagine Abbey’s got her hands full,” she said, trying to make conversation.

  “How many kids are spending the night?” Mitch asked. “Six was the last I heard.”

  “Seven, if you count Scott.”

  “My guess is Scott would rather be tarred and feathered than decorate sugar cookies and string popcorn with a bunch of girls.”

  “You’re probably right.” She passed Mitch the bread. He thanked her and took another slice.

  Silence.

  Bethany didn’t know what had happened to the easy camaraderie they’d had over the past few weeks. Each attempt to start a discussion failed; conversation simply refused to flow. The silence grew more awkward by the minute, and finally Bethany could stan
d it no longer. With her mouth so dry she could barely talk, she threw down her napkin and turned to Mitch.

  “What’s wrong with us?” she asked.

  “Wrong?”

  She gulped some water. “We’re so polite with each other.”

  “Yeah,” Mitch agreed.

  “We can hardly talk.”

  “I noticed.” But he didn’t suggest any explanations—or solutions.

  Bethany met his eyes, hoping he’d do something to resolve this dilemma. He didn’t. Instead, he set his napkin carefully aside and got to his feet. “I guess I’m not very hungry.” He carried his half-full bowl to the sink.

  “Oh.”

  “Do you want me to leave?” he asked.

  No! her heart cried, but she didn’t say the word. “Do…do you want to go?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Bethany stood up, pressing the tips of her fingers to her forehead. “Stop. Please, just stop. I want to know what’s wrong. Did I do something?”

  “No. Good heavens, no.” He seemed astonished that she’d even asked. “It isn’t anything you’ve done.”

  Mitch stood on one side of the kitchen and she on the other. “It’s my fault,” he said in a voice so quiet she had difficulty hearing him. “You haven’t done anything, but—” He stopped abruptly.

  “What?” she pleaded. “Tell me.”

  “Listen, Bethany, I think it would be best if I did leave.” With that, he walked purposefully into the living room and retrieved his coat from the small entryway closet.

  Although the room was warm and cozy, Bethany felt a sudden chill. She crossed her arms as much to ward off the sense of cold as to protect herself from Mitch’s words. “It’s back to that, is it?” she managed sadly. From the first day in September, Mitch had been running away from her. Every time they made any progress, something would happen to show her how far they had yet to go.

  His hand on the doorknob, he abruptly turned to face her. When he spoke his voice was hoarse with anger. “I can’t be alone with you without wanting to kiss you.”