by Judith Stacy
His career as a newsboy had begun with great promise and the anticipation of rich rewards. He’d lasted about fifteen minutes on the street corner until an older boy bloodied his nose and tried to take his newspapers.
But at the ripe old age of twelve, Mitch had already tangled with more than his share of bullies and engaged in regular fistfights. Big for his age, Mitch was the frequent target of other boys trying to prove themselves.
He’d defended his street corner for four days in a row, soundly beating the older boy and his friends until they finally left him alone. Then the bastard who had the gall to insist he be addressed as “uncle” learned of Mitch’s newfound income and insisted on a cut.
Mitch could fight him but knew he’d never win. So he’d attacked the problem from a different angle. Unbeknownst to his “uncle,” Mitch recruited friends and put them to work selling papers. Mitch provided the muscle. He had no compunction about beating the tar out of anyone who stood in his way of earning money. Soon Mitch found other older boys who watched over the younger ones doing the selling. He collected the money, paid his employees, gave his bastard uncle the modest cut he expected and pocketed a tidy profit.
Mitch smiled at the memory. Then, on impulse, he reached inside his jacket pocket and drew out a small, slim book. The cardboard cover was worn thin with age, the pages dog-eared and crinkled in places.
Mitch held it in the palm of his hand, then traced his finger over the twine he’d used to thread through the holes he’d punched so many years ago when he’d made the little book himself.
He opened it. Inside, a careful listing of every dime he’d ever earned. Long ago he could have afforded something nicer in which to track his income but Mitch liked this little ledger. A reminder of how far he’d come.
Also it was a reminder of who he was and what he was. Mitch shifted uncomfortably on the seat as Rachel flashed in his mind. For the past few days he’d left the house early, eaten at the little restaurant he’d found and walked the streets of the West Adams neighborhood until it was time to meet Stuart Parker. He’d returned late each evening. He hadn’t seen Rachel at all.
What had she been doing while he’d been with Stuart Parker? Mitch wondered. Had she given in to the pressure of her friends and decided to host the luncheon? Was Chelsey still ranting and screaming at her? And Noah. Had Madeline sent him another letter?
Mitch slid the little ledger back into his pocket and admonished himself for having such thoughts. The Branford family wasn’t his concern, beyond their finances. He’d have to make himself remember that.
Hayden, the Branford’s butler, shot Mitch a look of profound relief as he opened the door and gave him entrance. Mitch knew why immediately upon stepping from the vestibule into the foyer.
Noah slouched in the doorway to the sitting room, drinking whiskey from a bottle.
Chelsey stood on the staircase, sobbing. “Why are you so determined to ruin my life?”
“Rachel!” Dr. Matthews called, following her across the foyer.
“No,” she declared, hurrying away.
“Rachel, you must listen!” the doctor said, pursuing her.
“Why is everyone trying to ruin my life?” Chelsey beseeched.
“Rachel—” Dr. Matthews called.
She spun to face him, but caught sight of Mitch and stopped abruptly.
Dr. Matthews saw him, too. “Thank God you’re here, man. Maybe you can talk some sense into this young woman.”
Rachel flushed. “I’m perfectly capable of making up my own mind—”
“She’s impossible!” Chelsey swept down the staircase, pushed her way in front of Rachel and the doctor, and turned her tearful face up to Mitch. “If you’re going to help anyone, help me! Please!”
“This is a serious issue,” Dr. Matthews said. “It must be addressed—”
“I’ve already addressed the matter,” Rachel insisted.
“You haven’t. Not to my satisfaction.” The doctor turned to Mitch. “I need your support on this.”
Rachel’s gaze bored into him, daring him to speak.
“Please, talk to her!” Chelsey wailed.
Over all their heads, Mitch saw Noah, the look on his face one of unmasked contempt. Then Mitch’s gaze swept the three other people in the foyer, all staring up at him, waiting for a response. A warm glow shot through him.
He turned to Dr. Matthews first, rested his hand on the doctor’s shoulder and guided him toward the door. “I’ll discuss the matter with Miss Branford right away.”
“But—”
“Thank you for coming.” Mitch eased him through the front door as Hayden passed the doctor his bowler and satchel. Mitch thought he saw a twitch of a conspiratorial smile on the old butler’s face.
“You’ve got to do something about her!” Chelsey rushed toward him, jabbing her finger toward Rachel. “Why won’t anyone listen to me! Why—”
“Chelsey.” Mitch spoke her name just sternly enough and just loud enough that it silenced her. “I’ll listen to your problem, but not your screaming. Go upstairs and calm yourself. Come back when you can tell me exactly what you want, along with three reasons why you should have it.”
Chelsey stared blankly at him, as if the idea of presenting a calm, thoughtful argument hadn’t occurred to her. Mitch suspected that was true.
“All right, I will,” Chelsey said. She threw Rachel another indignant look, sniffed and headed up the stairs.
A calm fell over the house at the sound of Chelsey’s fading footsteps. Hayden slipped away. Noah disappeared, leaving Mitch alone in the foyer with Rachel.
She looked irritated. She looked frazzled. She looked…beautiful.
At once, Mitch regretted the days he’d been away. He regretted the time he’d spent with Parker and the other men talking about business and the economy, labor and shipping costs. He should have been here.
“Where have you been?” Rachel demanded.
Mitch’s heart lurched. The challenge in her words was oddly appealing, causing his pulse to rise. “I was—”
“I had no idea where you’d gone, no idea what you were doing.” Her chin pushed up a little and her spine stiffened. “I’ve been here for days now, wondering what’s going on.”
She was angry and trying to hold back in true ladylike fashion. Beneath that controlled facade of hers lurked the hot-blooded woman he’d glimpsed before.
Mitch’s desire for her heated up instantly.
“I’m not used to accounting to anyone for my whereabouts,” Mitch pointed out.
“Well, things are different now,” Rachel informed him. “You’re part of this household. You can’t just go running off, not telling anyone what you’re up to.”
“Did you think I wasn’t coming back?” he asked.
His question seemed to irritate her further. “No, of course not.”
“Then why are you upset?” he asked and eased a little closer. “Because you missed me?”
She gasped. Her anger vanished and her cheeks flushed. “Well…I, uh…”
Then her gaze met and held his. Mitch’s heart hammered inside his chest. He lost himself in the brown of her eyes. He could have stayed lost there forever—happily so—if she hadn’t spoken.
“I don’t know why Dr. Matthews involved you in this problem,” Rachel told him, a hint of irritation returning to her voice. “I’ve already made up my mind.”
“I know,” Mitch said simply and headed down the hallway toward the study.
“You know?” she asked, following.
Mitch looked down at her. “You’re a smart woman, Rachel, more than capable of making a decision.”
She paused, his comment surprising her. She couldn’t recall anyone saying those words to her before. Ever.
“Oh. Well, thank you,” she murmured as she watched his big, broad back disappear into the study.
Records from other Branford holdings that had been delivered in Mitch’s absence were stacked in crates around the roo
m. Incoming mail that had accumulated lay in neat piles on the desk, waiting to be opened. He flipped through a few of the envelopes.
He looked so calm, so at ease. She’d missed him.
The notion flew through Rachel and she knew it was true. When he’d walked into the house a few minutes ago, relief had swamped her. Everyone in the room had turned to him. He’d dispatched the doctor and stopped Chelsey’s crying fit with so little effort.
A new wave of emotions roiled through Rachel. What was it, the feeling that had claimed her? She didn’t know. Her irritation with Dr. Matthews? Yes, that was it. It must be.
“Dr. Matthews wants Father to go to a convalescent hospital,” she blurted out. “He wants to send Father away.”
Mitch looked up. “And you don’t agree?”
“No, of course not,” Rachel insisted, the very idea causing her heart to ache. “Father belongs here at home, with his family. I couldn’t bear the thought of him being in a strange place with no loved ones nearby.”
Mitch just looked at her. If he agreed or disagreed with her feelings, she couldn’t tell. From his expression, his thoughts seemed to be somewhere else entirely.
Then she realized what she’d said. Mitch surely spent most of his time in strange places with no loved ones nearby. But just how he felt about it, Rachel couldn’t guess.
“Then the matter is settled,” Mitch said.
“It is?” she asked. That was it? That was all he had to say? He was giving her his complete support for no other reason than that he trusted her judgment?
He looked up at her and tilted his head a little, as she’d seen him do so many times already when he studied the journals and ledger entries. A thoughtful look, as he tried to glean everything possible from his observation.
Having that look directed at her was a bit disconcerting. It made her heart beat a little faster, for some reason.
“You carefully considered the doctor’s recommendation,” Mitch stated. “You thought it through, decided what was best for your father. Didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Rachel told him, uncomfortable beneath his stare for another reason now.
Anxious suddenly to change the subject, she walked a little closer to the desk and gestured at the stacks of mail.
“I received the weekly report from Mr. Edgars,” Rachel said.
She could see Mitch’s mind working, as if mentally searching the family records to locate the name.
“Edgars Detective Agency, the firm engaged to search for your brother,” Mitch said.
“Mr. Edgars came by the house today.”
“For the fees the man is charging, I’d expect him to hand deliver his reports etched in silver,” Mitch grumbled.
“We shouldn’t need their services much longer,” Rachel said. “Several possibilities have developed. Mr. Edgars is sure he’ll find Georgie quickly.”
“I guess that would solve many of your problems.”
Rachel sighed heavily. “I just know if Georgie were here, he’d make everything all right.”
Mitch looked at her without responding and Rachel decided he’d probably heard enough of the family problems.
But she was wrong. Mitch settled onto the corner of the desk, making himself a little shorter.
“What’s wrong with your sister now?” he asked. “Anything new?”
“She’s adamant about going back to school.”
“Maybe you should let her.”
“And she’d learn what from that?” Rachel asked. “That if she screamed loud enough, long enough, she’d get her way?”
Mitch looked at her for a moment, in that reasonable way of his. “Is something else going on between the two of you?”
“No,” Rachel insisted. But she had to look away, unable to meet Mitch’s stare.
He touched her chin, gently bringing her face around to him. “Sure?”
Rachel’s heart ached with a need to lean into his palm, drape her arms around his neck, rest her head against his wide shoulders. She imagined his strength seeping inside her, bolstering her, making her stronger, too.
Yet she didn’t do any of those things. She didn’t dare lean on Mitch—or any other man, for that matter.
When she didn’t answer, Mitch rose from the desk and left the room, then returned a few moments later with Chelsey. She’d dried her eyes but her cheeks were pink. Mitch eased onto the desk again, the two sisters in front of him facing each other.
“Chelsey,” he said, “please state exactly what it is you want, and three reasons why you want it.”
“It’s all I’ve ever wanted! I’ve always—”
“Chelsey.” Mitch’s stern voice quieted her. “I don’t need the show, just the facts.”
She looked slightly embarrassed, but continued. “I want to go back to school. I want to—”
“Don’t tell me.” Mitch gestured to Rachel. “Tell your sister.”
The two sisters faced each other looking awkward and unsure.
“I want to finish the term,” Chelsey said, “so I don’t get too far behind in my studies. And because I miss my friends. And because it’s—it’s so sad living here.”
“Now, Rachel,” Mitch said. “Give Chelsey three reasons why she can’t go back to school.”
“Because it’s not proper for you to be gone. And…and…” Rachel gulped, emotions swelling inside her. “And because it’s so sad living here and I’ll miss you terribly.”
Tears sprang to Chelsey’s eyes. “You will?”
“Yes!” A sob tore from Rachel’s throat as emotions held inside too long suddenly broke free.
“Wait—no.” Mitch hopped off the desk.
Chelsey burst into tears, too.
“I didn’t mean for you to get upset,” he said.
The sisters threw themselves together.
“I didn’t want you to cry,” he exclaimed.
Rachel ignored him and hugged her sister, both of them sobbing. They cried together for a long while, then pulled apart, swiping at their tears.
“I didn’t know you’d miss me if I left,” Chelsey said. “I’ve been so awful to you.”
“You’re still my sister.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Rachel said. She gulped. “You can go back to school.”
“I won’t disgrace the family,” Chelsey told her. “I heard those things from Mother, just as you did.”
“Go pack your things,” Rachel told her. “You can leave in the morning.”
“Thank you.” Chelsey gave her sister a big hug, then threw her arms around Mitch. She dashed out of the study.
Rachel watched her go, then turned to Mitch. More than ever, she wanted to lean against him, soak up his strength. But he looked bewildered, unsure whether or not he’d done the right thing.
Rachel smiled. “This is for the best. I can see it now. Thank you.”
Mitch shrugged. “You’re welcome…I guess.”
“I’d better let you get to work.” Rachel headed for the door, then turned back. “I thought about what you said about the luncheon, about not hosting it. But I can’t turn my back on the event.”
“You don’t sound very happy about it.”
“I’m not,” she admitted. But nothing could be done except to go forward. Otherwise, what would people say?
“Then maybe you should host the luncheon in a way that will make you happy?” Mitch suggested.
Rachel gasped softly, the notion zipping through her mind. “Change the luncheon? I couldn’t possibly do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” she told him.
He raised an eyebrow. “Because…?”
“Because it’s always been Mother’s luncheon. Her linens, her china, her floral arrangements.” Rachel drew in a breath. “Are you suggesting that I change everything?”
“Wouldn’t that make your mother proud?”
Rachel considered it for a moment. Would her mother be proud of her? If she took contr
ol of the occasion, put her own individual stamp on it, wouldn’t that show the ladies that her mother had raised a daughter who could carry on despite everything? Would that be the ultimate tribute to the memory of her mother?
And maybe, just maybe, Rachel wouldn’t miss her mother quite so much. Maybe she could actually enjoy the event.
“My goodness.” Rachel pressed her palm to her forehead as dozens of ideas swept through her mind. “I have so much to do. I’ve got to start over, completely.”
She rushed from the study. She needed her tablet. She wanted to make notes. She had to contact Claudia and arrange a shopping trip. She needed new…everything.
Rachel stopped short in the hallway as an unwelcome thought brought her plans to a screeching halt. She turned and went back into the study. Mitch waited exactly where she’d left him a moment ago.
“Can I afford this?” she asked.
Mitch thought his heart would break. The excitement, the sheer joy he’d seen on her face only a moment ago had vanished and in its place he saw the worry that he’d witnessed too many times already. The urge to take care of her, make things better for her rose in him with an intensity he’d never experienced before.
“Of course,” he said. “Get whatever you want.”
A half smile pulled at the corner of her lips. “Really?”
No, not really. The Branford family could ill afford to spend their money on a luncheon, of all things, not with all the expenses involved with running a household this large.
But Mitch couldn’t tell Rachel “no.” He wouldn’t. It was his job to handle the family finances and—short of dipping into his own funds—he’d find a way to pay for the things Rachel wanted.
“Get whatever you want. Whatever you need,” Mitch said.
She hesitated. “You’re sure?”
“I told you,” he said and gestured to the ledgers around him. “I’m very good at this.”
A big smile bloomed on her face. “Oh, this is going to be the best luncheon ever. It’s going to be perfect.”
Mitch smiled as Rachel dashed from the room. He turned and surveyed the ledgers, the accounting of the sources of the Branford funds. He’d have to find a way to make the money available to Rachel.
