Snowed in with the Single Dad

by Melinda Curtis

  She didn’t have to look far for an answer. It was there in his dark eyes—him. Mitch Kincaid, former defense attorney.

  “Go to sleep, Laurel. Don’t worry.” But there was nothing restful in his gaze. It energized. It magnetized. It crystallized the attraction between them until it was an almost-tangible thing.

  “I can’t sleep with you looking at me,” she grumbled, feeling restless and unsettled once more. It had nothing to do with how Mitch stared at her. Nothing to do with how much she’d enjoyed his kiss.

  “You didn’t have a problem with me looking at you this morning at the trading post.” He’d recognized nothing, all right. As an attorney, he was probably trained to identify nothing and know it meant something.

  Laurel huffed her answering smile out of existence, hoping the babies wouldn’t get any ideas. “Now I’m really not going to be able to go to sleep. It’s getting hot in here. I should go upstairs.”

  “Hotness.” He chuckled, the sound fading slowly into a sigh. “All kidding aside, I won’t be able to get any rest if I can’t check on you.”

  The babies heaved a heartfelt sigh, getting ideas about couches and kissing.

  “I guess that means we’ll have to talk about something else.” Something besides hotness and watching her back. Laurel cast about her brain for a topic. Pacing was out, as was anything to do with Gabby, dresses or Hollywood. “How did your town council meeting go today?”

  He took his own sweet time answering. “Shane surprised me. He always comes across as something of a...”

  “Jerk,” she finished for him, not upset in the slightest. “The word you’re looking for to describe my cousin is jerk. Although I prefer intense. But I assure you his heart is in the right place.” Just like Mitch’s. “Shane has always been in competition with the world, but especially with our oldest cousin, Holden.” Holden was a Wall Street financial guru who’d always considered himself better than others. “There was this one time I thought Shane had Holden beat.” She warmed to her story, tension easing as she recalled the bittersweet memory. “It was Christmas, and we were all trying to find the perfect gift for Grandmother Estelle, because she had cancer.”

  “She was wife number four?”

  “Yes.” How did Mitch know that?

  “And what happened this fateful Christmas?” Head tilted back against the cushions, eyes half-closed, he took a break from staring at her to study the fire.

  For the moment Laurel could breathe easier.

  “My brother Jonah started it all by writing a play we performed on Christmas Eve.” His was the most heartfelt gift and hadn’t involved a parental credit card. “Meanwhile, Cousin Holden hired a Victorian choir to sing. Cousin Bentley got wind of the choir and hired a Santa Claus and a horse-pulled sleigh. And Shane, not to be outdone, hired an organ grinder with a live monkey.”

  “Clever,” Mitch said flatly.

  “Yes, because Grandma Estelle used to call us her barrel of monkeys, and Grandpa Harlan used to say we were his favorite circus act.” There was something wrong with Mitch’s reaction to her story. Was she reading him right? Or was she getting a concussion? “Grandma Estelle was thrilled with everyone’s gift, but the monkey was clearly her favorite. She laughed and laughed. And then her poodle chased the monkey up the Christmas tree, which toppled into the fireplace and nearly burned the house down.”

  “And Harlan was upset.” Not a question.

  “Fuming.” Laurel nodded, wondering what bothered her about Mitch’s responses to her story. “He told us we’d ruined his Christmas. He disappeared for hours.” Laurel had imagined he’d gone to his country club to have a drink with his buddies and complain about his spoiled, unruly grandchildren. “Meanwhile, everyone was pointing fingers at everyone else. It took a while for tempers to ease.” And Laurel hadn’t been the only one trying to smooth ruffled feathers. “In the end, we all apologized, and Christmas went on, but Holden doesn’t let Shane live it down.”

  “And of course, you always tried to keep the peace between the two.”

  She nodded.

  “But that was the last time you saw your grandmother.” Mitch spoke with such certainty.

  It gave Laurel pause. In fact, all his comments had the feel of affirmation, not reaction. “You’ve heard this story before. From my grandfather.” She pushed herself up higher against the cushions. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Mitch rolled a shoulder in a half shrug. “You know why.”

  The confidentiality agreement.

  Laurel wanted to find his copy and rip it to shreds. “But I was telling you a story you knew, and you didn’t say anything.” She gathered her knees in the circle of her arms. “What else have I told you that you’ve heard before?”

  “Laurel.” He reached across the cushions and found her foot beneath the quilt. “You know there are things I can’t tell you.”

  “Secrets about my grandfather’s past? Or confirmation that you know mine?” Intellectually, she recognized he’d given his word and sworn an oath. Emotionally, it pressed on her chest and held her to the couch cushions. Why? Because she wanted to love this man and to do so she needed no secrets between them. There were too many secrets in her life already.

  “You and I, we value the truth and a promise.” He followed the sweep of her ankle to her knee. “We develop relationships based on trust and reliability. And I...” His hand fell away. “I can’t always give you the truth right now, the whole truth and nothing but... And that’s no way to begin a relationship.”

  He’d held her hand while they watched her babies on a sonogram screen. He’d talked her through a panic attack. He’d kissed her on a crisp, snowy slope. He’d as much as promised he’d have her back.

  And now he wanted to draw a line? Set up boundaries?

  “The relationship boat has sailed,” she said. His voice had been imprinted on her brain. His touch on her soul. His heart... “We began something with you knowing this... And your prejudice against my family... And your abhorrence of my clothes... And...”

  He kissed me anyway.

  And she’d let him, although she knew when he found out the truth about her past pretending and scheming he’d no longer look at her the way he was now. It wasn’t just a stupid piece of paper standing between them anymore. It was her lying, and the truth was just waiting to tumble out and for her to be judged and found wanting.

  “We can be friends.” His voice enticed with a compromise. One that couldn’t last once the truth was out.

  She couldn’t sit with him any longer. Laurel got to her feet, edging past his sleeping daughter to stand out of reach. “I may be reluctant to hold my ground when others’ feelings and well-beings are at stake, but at least I’m honest with myself about who I am and how I feel.” Her words felt hollow. All too often she’d pretended to be someone else, stuffing her feelings deep inside.

  Laurel rushed toward the stairs, pausing on the bottom step. “And do you know what the irony is? I’ve been marveling that you see me. Me. Not Ashley. But when we first met, you were just like the rest of the world. You judged me by how I looked, by the facade, the once-wealthy Monroe who wears leggings in the mountains instead of snow pants. Did it ever occur to you that I can’t fit in pants that don’t have elastic waistbands?” That she was sensitive about her expanding waistline and her body? Even if she knew she shouldn’t be?

  He said nothing, but he looked shocked.

  “I’m having twins. I’m going to be as big as a whale in a few months. Allow me the right to pick and choose what I wear.” To follow her instincts and her heart. To work hard to make amends when the details of her pregnancy became worldwide news. She left him, hurrying up the stairs in case Mitch decided to stop her.

  He didn’t.

  Laurel’s feet felt heavy. He wasn’t coming after her.

  Laurel’s heart felt heavy. He wasn’
t falling in love with her. He didn’t think he should while Grandpa Harlan’s nondisclosure agreement was in place.

  She made it to her room and collapsed on her bed, falling asleep on a damp pillow, waking only when someone opened the door to her room. “If you value your life, Mitch, you’ll go away.” She pulled the quilt over her head.

  “Harsh words for a woman who claims to have patience.” Odette stomped across the room toward the bed, legs rustling—no doubt—because she wore sensible snow pants. “Did you make this? I found it downstairs.”

  Laurel rolled over and sat up. Odette was holding the copper scarf Laurel had been working on yesterday.

  She must have left it in the common room. “Yes, that’s mine and it’s beautiful.” Yes, that was mutiny in Laurel’s voice. The combination of disappointment in Mitch and lack of sleep made her cranky. “I took some silver thread I had and wrapped it around the yarn. Go ahead. Tell me I suck.”

  Odette stared at her hard enough to drill holes. “So certain.”

  “Yes, I’ve enjoyed learning a new skill, but I’m ready to move on.” From knitting and Mitch. And speaking of moving on, she tossed off the covers and glanced into the bathroom, stopping when she saw what was there.

  Or rather what wasn’t there.

  “Where’s my dress?” The pink gown wasn’t hanging on the shower curtain rod.

  Laurel did a quick survey of the main room and a surprised, if scowling, Odette. And then she darted back into the bathroom and pulled the shower curtain aside to make sure the dress hadn’t fallen in the bathtub. It hadn’t. “Thank heavens.” But... “Where’s my dress?”

  A door opened.

  “You mean this one?”

  Laurel poked her head out of the bathroom.

  Odette took the pink dress from the closet and held it up.

  “What’s it doing in the closet?” Anger skittered across her skin. Mitch had secrets he couldn’t share. He didn’t want to start a relationship with untold truths between them. And yet he couldn’t honor this one thing. She marched to the closet. “I told him...”

  The top shelf had been removed and the clothes rod had been raised to near the ceiling, so the pink evening gown’s hem wouldn’t touch the floor.

  Oh, Mitch.

  Her heart tried to reattach the halves she hadn’t realized were cracked apart.

  After her fall, she’d showered and then spent several hours downstairs under the watchful eyes of everyone, reclining on the sofa. Mitch must have taken the opportunity to move the rod.

  And of course, he didn’t tell me.

  “Is this your work?” Odette spread the delicate skirt, studying the rhinestones.

  “It is.”

  The old woman raised sharp gray eyes to Laurel’s face. “What on earth do you need me for?”

  Laurel looked from the sunflower quilt on the bed, to the coppery knitting, to the dress. “You have an eye for color and composition.”

  “So do you.”

  Odette stretched to hang the dress in the closet once more. “This should be in a garment bag.”

  “I can’t...” Laurel’s throat threatened to close. “I can’t close it up like that.” As it was, she was having second thoughts about shutting it in the closet.

  Odette stared at Laurel’s pajamas. “Did you make those, too?”

  “Yes.”

  She fingered a cuff of Laurel’s long sleeve and let out a lengthy sigh. “You don’t need me.”

  “I do,” Laurel insisted. “At least let me be the judge. Let me watch you work.”

  Odette’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll get tired of me. I have a temper.”

  “If you haven’t noticed—” Laurel crossed her arms over her chest and stared the older woman down “—I’m patient.”

  After a moment Odette laughed and headed for the door. “I’ll see you later this morning.”

  She was out the door before Laurel remembered to ask about Flip, the woman who’d accosted her at the mercantile. She hurried out into the hall, but Odette was already gone.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MITCH POURED HIMSELF a cup of coffee and yawned.

  But yawning didn’t stop the wondering about what might have been and what might still be. What might have been with Laurel had he not accepted Harlan’s buyout offer? What might be if Laurel decided to stay in Second Chance?

  “Laurel has a tremendous imagination,” Harlan had said. “It can take her places.”

  Laurel needed a man who could go with her to Hollywood, New York or Milan. She needed a man who wasn’t worried that his daughter’s head might spin out of orbit from exposure to all that fashion and all those celebrities.

  Mitch stared at the town’s application for historical significance, his head spinning. The process required learning the town’s history. He knew more about the history of the Monroes than that of Second Chance. What good did it do him?

  Earlier, he’d heard Odette come in, greeting Zeke. She’d gone upstairs to visit Laurel.

  He’d practically told Laurel he’d watch out for her. And then what had he done? Let her out of his sight.

  Mitch made sure he was in Odette’s path when she came downstairs. “How is she?”

  “She’s prickly about you.” Odette pushed past him without breaking stride. “That’s how she is.”

  Mitch returned to the kitchen table and the small print and narrow empty boxes on the historical application. Would it help if he sent in a copy of the history report Gabby had done on the town last year? If he asked Laurel, she’d say yes and point out how proud his daughter would be to be part of such an effort. If Shane saw Gabby’s report, he’d laugh. His high-paid consultant would probably laugh, too.

  Mitch shelved the idea.

  Gabby shuffled out of her bedroom, wailing like a wounded ghost, “Dad.” She had dual shiners and her nose was swollen.

  “It doesn’t look so bad.” Just like she’d gone three rounds in a mixed martial arts championship bout and lost.

  She wailed again and shut herself in the bathroom.

  Laurel would’ve attempted to make peace.

  Mitch took his paperwork to the check-in desk, filling out a box or two. Mostly he stared out the window as the rising sun chased away shadows outside but did nothing to warm or brighten the muddled emotions inside Mitch.

  “Roy and I have an idea about the doctor.”

  Mitch jumped. “Holy ninja.” He hadn’t heard Shane come down the stairs.

  Zeke startled awake in his wheelchair, flinching as if his broken leg hurt. “What’d I miss?”

  Shane laughed. “That never gets old.”

  “I almost fell off my stool.” Mitch curled his fingers around the pen. “You’ve got to stop walking around my home like that.”

  “No can do.” Shane grinned. “It’s emotionally satisfying to scare the living daylights out of you.”

  Of course, Shane wouldn’t stop sneaking around. That would be the equivalent of waving a white flag and wearing a pair of jeans and a sweater like a normal dude.

  Mitch shook his head. “At least clear your throat or something when you leave your room, so you don’t give me a heart attack.”

  “Speaking of heart attacks and doctors...” Shane reached for his thin jacket hanging by the front door. “When you told me about Laurel’s doctor you mentioned she had a day off. We should call and see what that day is.”

  “First, we should call and see if she’d like to meet with us.” Shane was always jumping the gun.

  “Hopefully, the roads won’t be closed for our trip.” Shane put his jacket on, not bothering to zip it up. He dared Mother Nature the same way he dared Mitch.

  “What trip? Are you leaving?” Hope sprang in Mitch’s chest.

  “No.” Shane waved to Zeke. “We’re going to interview that
doctor of Laurel’s.”

  “Dr. Carlisle? But...she’s not interested in the job!”

  “She will be.” Shane slapped Mitch on the back. “Your other rooms here are inhabitable, right?”

  “Yes.” They were dusty, but otherwise ready for guests. Before Mitch could ask who Shane expected to fill them, he was out the door.

  Mitch’s coffee mug was empty. He carried it into his kitchen.

  “Dad.” Gabby stood awkwardly near the sink. “I look hideous.” Her gaze strayed to the pantry.

  He stroked her hair. “I give you a lot of freedom, trusting you’ll make good choices. Somehow, we’re going to have to rebuild that trust.”

  “Okay.” Her word was so faint he could barely hear her. “Can you tell Mom? You know, she’s going to call when she doesn’t get a picture of me with my braces off.”

  Or a text, or a message from Gabby on social media.

  “It’s your job to tell your mother.” Mitch shook his head. “You can call her from the house phone. When you’re wrong, you need to admit it.”

  Gabby’s eyes teared up and her lower lip trembled. “But...”

  “Good morning.” Laurel stood near the check-in desk, wearing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Or Mitch, for that matter. “And goodbye. This is a courtesy announcement. I’m feeling fine and going over to Odette’s.”

  “By yourself?” Mitch’s temples began to pound. It was too soon for her to venture out on her own. “Wait. I’ll go with you.”

  “No, thanks.” She disappeared into the small kitchen alcove, probably to make her morning tea.

  Gabby sniffed, reminding Mitch he had to finish one hard conversation before he started another.

  “Honey.” He took his daughter by the shoulders. “We need to talk about your punishment.”

  “You have my phone,” Gabby said mulishly as if that was punishment enough.

  He didn’t like that she was still missing the point. “You weren’t supposed to have it for two more weeks.”

  Gabby shuffled her feet.

  “You have a choice—sit in the common room, go over to the diner or ask Laurel if you can go with her to Odette’s.” He was hoping for option three.