by Judith Stacy
“What are you two doing?” Rachel asked.
They turned, both looking ill at ease. For a few seconds Rachel thought they might not tell her.
The two of them exchanged a look, then Noah nodded.
“Noah sent a letter to Madeline,” Mitch said.
Stunned, her gaze bounced between the two of them. Noah had written to Madeline? After all these months of not corresponding with a single one of his friends? He’d taken this giant step forward—and he hadn’t told her?
But he’d told Mitch, obviously. And at the moment, Rachel didn’t care. She didn’t feel slighted or left out. She was only glad that Noah had made the effort. She was pleased, too, that he’d chosen Madeline. Rachel had always known there was something special between the two of them. And Madeline had confirmed her suspicion with the letters she wrote twice a week, every week, since the train accident.
“Hayden took the note to her house a few minutes ago,” Noah explained. “I asked Madeline if I could call on her.”
Apparently, he was anxious to receive her reply since he and Mitch were standing at the window speculating about when it might be expected.
“You think she’ll let me, don’t you?” Noah asked. He turned back to the window. “I’ve been awful to her all these months and she—Madeline…”
Rachel’s heart rose in her throat as she gazed out the window and saw Madeline heading down their driveway.
She hadn’t bothered with hat or wrap. She took long, striding steps, leaving Hayden trailing her in the distance. Her jaw was set, her lips pressed together, her eyes narrowed. In her fist was a crushed note card.
Rachel and Mitch exchanged a troubled look as Noah raced out of the room. They followed and reached the foyer as Madeline threw open the front door and froze Noah in front of her with a piercing glare.
Madeline drew back her fist and struck Noah across the chest.
“Is that all you thought you were to me? An arm?” She screamed the demand. “Did you think that I wouldn’t want you, or care about you or—or—”
She burst into tears.
Noah pulled her against his shoulder and leaned down to press his cheek to hers. Then he wrapped his arm around her.
One arm was enough.
“Thank you.” Rachel gestured across the lawn to where Noah and Madeline strolled beneath the palms. “You made this possible.”
Seated close to her at the little table on the terrace, Mitch shook his head. “Should have known everybody would end up crying.”
Another wave of emotion swept through Rachel and she touched her finger to her eye. Still sobbing against his shoulder, Madeline had let Noah guide her from the foyer into the sitting room. Rachel had seen a tear on her brother’s cheek. She’d cried then, too. Only Mitch had remained dry-eyed, but she’d heard him gulp hard a time or two.
Now Noah and Madeline were walking through the gardens and Rachel sat with Mitch on the terrace, a pitcher of lemonade between them, chaperoning the young couple.
“They’re well suited for each other, don’t you think?” Rachel sighed. “They belong together.”
“Then why are we out here chaperoning them?” Mitch asked. “What’s the harm in them holding hands or sharing a kiss?”
“A kiss? That would only complicate things,” Rachel said.
“It would certainly improve my day,” Mitch grumbled.
Rachel giggled. He always knew what to say to make her feel better.
She marveled at how he’d known what to do with Noah and with Chelsey. Mitch had no training, no instruction, not even a model of what a father, brother or husband should be. He had only the slightest inkling of how a family should care for each other.
But he’d been wonderful. Not just a good provider and protector. He’d also been kind and caring, and a tremendous emotional support for Rachel during some of the most difficult decisions she’d ever had to make.
How had Mitch known these things? Did they, somehow, come naturally to him? Did that mean he wanted a wife, a family? Rachel found herself wondering that so often now.
Not that it would have any consequence in her own future, since he was leaving in a year—or perhaps less.
“How did your meeting go with Albert Taft this morning?” she asked. Mitch had told her that the older man had offered to sell him the quarry.
“We’re working out some details,” he said.
“What sort of details? I thought Mr. Taft was anxious to get rid of it,” Rachel said.
“There are always details, Rachel,” Mitch said. “Disposition of the tools and equipment. Outstanding debts. Bills that are due. Assets on hand.”
“I suppose I should write some of this down,” she said, “for when I get my factory.”
“You’re still thinking about that?”
“Of course,” she said.
“And the string of lovers to go along with your new lifestyle?”
“Would that bother you?” She couldn’t resist asking.
“Damn right,” Mitch grumbled. “Considering that I’m your husband and I never even get to see your—”
“Don’t start asking about my underwear again.”
“I wouldn’t have to ask if you let me—”
“Hush. Here come Noah and Madeline.”
Rachel sat a little straighter in her chair as the young couple approached.
“I’m going to walk Madeline home,” Noah said.
The two of them simply could not be seen on a public street without a chaperone. Rachel wasn’t surprised when Mitch volunteered.
They exchanged goodbyes and the three of them set off together. Rachel eased into her chair once more and sipped her lemonade.
Mitch fit in so well here with her, with her family. He made it seem effortless and she was sure it wasn’t. It was yet another of the things she liked about him.
Another of the reasons she loved him.
Rachel forced away the aching in her heart. Yes, she loved Mitch. Perhaps she’d even loved him from the first moment she’d walked into her sitting room and seen him standing next to the tea service. She loved him now, and she would love him forever. Love, her mother had always said, never died.
But Mitch had made it clear he didn’t feel the same about her. He didn’t love her. He’d told her he was leaving, even written the date in their contract.
While he was here, though, he intended to be a good husband, a good member of her family.
But that’s all she could ever expect from him. He was here to fulfill his duties. She’d have to resign herself to that and factor it into the decision she’d make when Georgie came back.
When they returned home, Noah looked more tired than on the first day he’d ventured out of the house. Mitch supposed seeing Madeline and spending the afternoon with her had taken a toll.
On the way back home, Noah had told him that he’d asked Madeline if he could call on her. She’d said yes, of course. She’d offered to have some of their other friends over, young people Noah hadn’t seen in months. But he’d declined. He wasn’t quite ready for that. Madeline had understood.
“I’m going upstairs for a while,” Noah said, grasping the railing and pulling himself onto the first step. “I’ll be down later to work on the books.”
“Forget it,” Mitch said. “I’ve had enough for today myself.”
Noah looked greatly relieved and headed up the stairs but stopped and turned back.
“Thanks,” he said, “for…well, for everything.”
“Madeline’s a special young woman. You’d better not let her down again.” Mitch grinned. “Next time she might give you a real thrashing.”
Noah smiled and headed up the stairs.
Mitch went to the study, even though he’d told Noah he wouldn’t. He didn’t intend to do any work, he just liked being in the room. Ledgers and journals arranged in even stacks. Entries printed carefully in straight columns. Figures added up correctly. No errors.
Yet the stories behind th
e company books appealed to him just as much. The man who’d started the company. Decisions. Plans. Prospects. Hope for a better future. The workers. Their daily grind. Their faith in the owners. Their hope for a better future.
His own future came to mind, as it had for so many years now. Mitch settled into his desk chair. The details of the purchase of Albert Taft’s quarry were almost all hammered out. The man had been surprised by some of the aspects of the transaction Mitch had brought up, which was probably one of the reasons the quarry was doing so badly to begin with. But he was agreeable with most everything. Within another week or so, they should close the deal.
Rachel crowded into Mitch’s thoughts. Mental images of her had always been pleasant, until the night of the engagement party when he’d seen her alone with Nick Hastings. When she’d turned and seen Mitch, a flash of something—sorrow, regret, guilt, maybe?—had crossed her face. Hastings had stepped forward with a handshake and a word of congratulations on their marriage, then gone on his way.
Mitch’s heart still ached at the memory. He’d never experienced raw, unbridled jealousy. But then, aside from his mother, he’d never loved another person before.
During his lifetime his emotions had run the usual gamut. Friendship, responsibility, anger, envy, the need to protect, to fix things, to take charge. But never love.
So it was no small wonder that he hadn’t realized he loved Rachel right away. He’d lusted after her—and still did—and he’d worried about her and he’d driven himself to the edge trying to make things better for her.
He hadn’t realized he loved her until that night at the party when he thought he might lose her. Now he had to do something about it.
Mitch sat forward in the chair. How would he tell Rachel he loved her? And, more importantly, how would he get her to believe it?
It helped that he was already married to her, he decided. That gave him an advantage. So what should his next move be?
He could simply tell her. The idea stunned Mitch with its simplicity. Just say the words. But as he pictured himself making his announcement, it seemed the moment called for something more.
Jewelry? He’d never given her a real wedding ring. He could get down on one knee and profess his love. Mitch drummed his fingers on the desktop. That idea didn’t feel right, either.
With a quick intake of his breath, Mitch realized what he should do. He’d write it down for her. He wrote excellent reports. Concise, accurate, to the point. Yes, that would do nicely.
He pulled a fresh tablet from the desk drawer, located a new pencil and wrote “I love you” on the paper. Then he added Rachel’s name at the top, so she’d know he meant the words for her, and signed his name at the bottom for clarity.
Mitch sat back. For a profession of love, it looked a bit sparse. He drew a heart in the corner. Then, so she’d understand the breadth of his love, he drew three more hearts, one for each corner.
He frowned down at the paper. It looked like the work of a schoolboy who had a crush on his teacher. He turned to a fresh page.
After pondering a new approach for a moment, Mitch decided to simply list all the things he liked about Rachel. That would convince her of his love. He went to work, but stopped after fourteen numbered items. It looked like a shopping list.
He tried again with another page. Back to the report idea, he decided, and set to work detailing how her beauty had taken him by surprise upon his arrival at the house, how he admired her commitment to her family, how she’d made him feel at home, how the sway of her hips had tantalized him, how her kisses had taken away his breath, how the feel of her breasts in his palm had excited him, how speculation over the color of her underwear had nearly driven him mad, how all he could think of was getting her into bed and—
Mitch stopped abruptly. He reread his report and mumbled a curse. He’d forgotten to put in that he loved her.
“Damn…”
The report method wasn’t working. He’d left out the most important part, plus he’d gotten himself so worked up he could hardly think straight.
Mitch shoved the tablet into the drawer. Now what? Maybe if he—
Rachel breezed into the study.
“Mitch, I’m going over the menu for next week. Do you want chocolate—”
“I love—”
“—cake again?” Rachel stilled and looked hard at him. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
She tilted her head. “You said something.”
“I, uh, I said I love—” Mitch gulped “—chocolate cake.”
“Oh.” Rachel drew back a little. “Well, then, I’ll keep it on the menu.”
Mitch forced his lips into a thin smile. “Fine. Good. Thanks.”
She nodded and left the study.
Mitch leaned forward and thudded his forehead against the desktop. “Stupid…stupid…stupid…”
He sat up and drew a breath, consoling himself with the thought that even if he’d gotten the words out, Rachel probably wouldn’t have believed him. Not after all the times he’d told her his only interest in her was collecting his fee and securing her social connections.
He’d have to think of something big, something grand. Something she’d believe.
And he’d better do it quick. Before Georgie showed up asking for her decision.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“What now?” Rachel asked, though Claudia hadn’t spoken a word. The look on her face as she crossed the foyer was enough to make Rachel realize that something was very much amiss with her friend.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Claudia said, giving her a little smile. “I just came by to ask about one of the receipes you used at the La-La luncheon. The baked squash your cook prepared was delicious. Might I use that recipe?”
“Of course,” Rachel said, leading the way down the hall.
They found the kitchen empty when they walked in, the time of the afternoon when the staff had finished with lunch but hadn’t started supper preparations yet. The room still smelled good, though, the scent of roasted meat and oatmeal cookies lingering in the air.
Rachel fetched a cookbook from the shelf near the back door and carried it to the worktable where Claudia had pulled up a stool.
“I’m sure it’s in this book,” Rachel said, settling onto the stool beside her. “I just have to—”
“Something’s wrong.”
“I knew it.” Rachel closed the book. “What is it?”
Claudia twisted her fingers together for a moment. “Graham bought us a house.”
The purchase of a home for a newlywed couple was expected. It was the groom’s gift to his new bride. But Rachel had a very bad feeling about Graham’s purchase.
“The home is in Pasadena,” Claudia said, the words seeming painful to speak.
“Pasadena? Why would Graham go to Pasadena to—”
“I haven’t even seen the house.”
“He bought it without you—”
“It’s next door to his mother.”
Rachel gasped and reeled back. “Oh, Claudia, no…”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “I don’t want to live in Pasadena. It’s too far away. I won’t be able to visit my mother, or you, or any of my friends. And I don’t know if I like the house—he didn’t even let me see it. And—and his mother…”
Rachel patted her shoulder, though it was woefully inadequate to assuage Claudia’s anguish.
“I don’t blame you for being upset.”
Claudia’s sorrowful expression deepened. She looked miserable. And with good reason.
“Are you sure you still want to marry Graham?”
Claudia straightened on the stool. “Of course. He’s the perfect husband for me.”
“But you don’t seem very happy anymore,” Rachel said.
“I have to marry him. What will people say?”
“What difference does it make what people say?”
Claudia gasped. “I can’t believe those words came out of your mouth.”
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Neither could Rachel. But she believed them with all her heart. What difference did it make what people said? The important issue was happiness.
Thinking back over the time since Mitch had come into her life, Rachel could see that the opinions of others had slowly become less and less important to her. So slowly, in fact, that she hadn’t realized how much she’d changed until this moment, looking at Claudia, knowing she was making a terrible mistake but was too concerned about the opinions of others to do anything about it.
“Father has spent a fortune,” Claudia said. “And Mother has planned for my wedding for years. Years.”
“Your parents want you to be happy,” Rachel said.
“And what about everyone else in the city? How will it look if I cry off from an engagement to Graham Bixby?” Claudia’s voice rose. “My family will be talked about forever. It could affect my father’s business.”
“I understand that, but—”
A knock sounded at the back door.
“—none of that is worth you throwing your life away in a marriage you don’t want.”
“It’s not that simple, Rachel,” Claudia declared.
The knock came again. Rachel looked around and, still not seeing any of the kitchen staff, answered the door expecting to see a local grocer with a delivery.
Instead she found a tall, good-looking man dressed in work clothes and sporting a day’s worth of whiskers.
“Afternoon, ma’am,” he said, dragging his hat from his head and favoring her with an open, easy smile. “My name’s Leo Sinclair, and I’m hoping you can tell me where I can find Mitch Kincade.”
It took only a few seconds to place him. She stepped back from the door. “You’re Mitch’s friend. He spoke of you. Please, come inside. I’m his wife.”
Leo froze in the doorway. “You’re his—his wife, did you say?” he asked, looking thoroughly amused.
Something about Leo’s open, honest face made Rachel smile. “Yes. I’m Rachel Branford—Kincade.”
Leo’s grin broadened as if he were privy to some private joke, and he bowed slightly. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Kincade, and my sincere congratulations on your recent nuptials.”
