“How?” Jeremy asked, interested once again in the conversation. Bryan said nothing, but he was listening.
Mickelle cleared her throat. “One day soon after Damon and I met, I went to the graveyard to talk to him. Your father, that is.”
Damon recalled the day well. He had followed her to the graveyard. He had been afraid that day, afraid that she would not be able to let go of the past, but instead, whatever she had experienced there had given her peace. He had always wondered what had happened.
“I felt your father,” she continued, her battered face bright with the memory. “I could tell that he was sad for the way he had lived his life. I told him about Damon, and I felt that he wished us well.” Mickelle paused before rushing on. “How you react to this situation is up to you, Bryan, but I love Damon. I need him. I can’t tell you how happy I am to have discovered someone who loves me and you two as much as he does. I know we can make it work if we try.”
For an answer, Bryan stood and walked stiffly from the room.
Damon’s jaw tightened at the rude response, and started after him, but Mickelle’s hand on his halted his movement. “He’ll be more reasonable later,” she told him. “He always reacts like this.” Then she added in a softer voice, “Just like his father.”
Damon conceded to her wishes, though he wanted to talk some sense into Bryan. Mickelle deserved all the happiness she could find, and this child was not making it easy for her. A part of him wanted to love Bryan so entirely that he would have to forget his anger; the other part wanted to turn him over his knee and spank him. But he was not Bryan’s father, not yet, and he doubted that the boy would listen to him anyway. He had no choice but to let him go—for now.
After making arrangements to stay with Brionney and Jesse for a few weeks, Damon drove Mickelle to Wolfe Estates, where Belle was indeed waiting at the front window. Damon waved at her before taking the car around to the garage.
Belle met them in the mudroom, where Damon and Mickelle removed their shoes before going into the kitchen. “Are you okay, Mickelle?” she asked. “Oh, you look awful! I mean, I wish I could have been there to help you. I was so worried!” She began to cry, and Mickelle hugged her tightly.
“I’m okay, honest. Don’t cry Belle. And guess what? Now I get to stay with you!”
“I know!” chirped Belle, her tears instantly forgotten. “You get to stay forever and ever. And Dad says my piano teacher will come to the house and we’ll get to take piano lessons on the Steinway now! It sounds so great! Wanna come see me play a song right now?”
“Belle!” her father warned. “Kelle should be resting.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Mickelle said tiredly. “Belle, I’d love to here you later. My knees are a bit shaky.” She leaned heavily on Damon as he led her into the family room adjoining the kitchen. He helped her settle into one of the plush blue leather couches.
“I can pick out a few books for you in our library,” he offered.
“We have lots of books,” Belle informed her. “My mom read a lot.”
Damon grinned apologetically, but Mickelle wasn’t offended. “I would love to read some of your mother’s books.”
“I’ll bring you a stack and you can pick!” Belle disappeared before the words were out of her mouth.
“What about you?” Mickelle asked. Her bright eyes peered out at him from the bruised wreckage of her face. Damon steeled himself not to grow angry again, but the thought of her enduring such a nightmare still made him furious inside.
He forced his voice to remain calm. “I’m not going anywhere. I have a meeting at one, but I think Jesse can handle it.”
“I’ll be fine,” she insisted.
He went to the built-in wall unit and retrieved a wool blanket. As he spread it over Mickelle he said, “I guess I do need to take Belle to school. And I have a few documents to give to the police.”
He felt her stiffen and rubbed her shoulders lightly so as not to hurt any of her wounds. “You’re safe here. I have a guy coming any minute now to work on the alarm system.”
“I don’t think Colton’ll be back. At least not here.”
“Are you sure it was Scofield?”
She hesitated, then nodded once. “He’s the only one who knew about the ring. Anyone who was mad at me, anyway.”
Damon didn’t speak. He still didn’t see the man who had bested him the night before as Cover Boy Scofield. To his thinking, the man would be too concerned about his hair to learn how to throw a punch.
There were tears in Mickelle’s eyes. “I’ve been thinking . . . about the money—my insurance money. I wonder if it’s there at all.”
“You think he took it?”
She lifted her shoulders. “Why else did he bother to get it for me? Isn’t that what he does?”
“Well, the police haven’t found him yet, or they would have called.” He sat on the couch, gently taking her in his arms. “And the money isn’t important. You are.”
She laid her head against his chest. “You wouldn’t say that if you had to scrape by as I have these past years, but I appreciate what you’re trying to say.”
“All that’s over now, Kelle,” he said, wanting to wipe the sadness from her face. “I’m going to take care of you. I am.”
“I know that.” She hesitated before continuing. “And I hope that you also understand that I have to depend on myself a bit.”
“I do.” He rested his chin on her head, his heart full of love and another feeling he couldn’t describe.
They sat in silence for a moment, which was broken when Tanner entered the room, hands deep in the pockets of his baggy pants. “Hey, Tanner,” Mickelle greeted him with a smile.
He smiled back, but his brow furrowed. “Boy, I’m sorry about what happened.”
“Me too,” she said, grimacing. “Thanks.”
“But I am glad about you and Dad. I wanted you to know.”
“Thank you, Tanner. I know it’s going to be an adjustment, but I think we’ll have a lot of fun, too.”
“Yeah. Except for Bryan.”
This was the opening Damon had been waiting for. “Maybe you can help there.”
Tanner appeared doubtful. He took a hand from his pocket and pushed the hair out of his eyes.
“He does look up to you,” Mickelle said helpfully.
Tanner shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll try.”
“Thank you.” She paused before adding, “ Hey, do you need a haircut?”
Damon examined his son and saw that his hair was a little long. Like his own. But he understood that her real reason for asking was to change the subject, to help Tanner feel at ease.
“Kinda.” Tanner pushed his hair back again. “Would you cut it? I like the way you did Bryan’s.”
Mickelle laughed. “I was copying your style—really short on the sides, longer on top.”
Tanner grinned and shrugged. “I guess that’s why I like it.”
“You really cut hair?” Damon asked Mickelle.
“I cut my boys’ hair.”
“I thought you were just teasing when you offered to cut mine the other day.”
“I know.”
“Well, I’d love it if you . . . I mean when you feel better . . . Only if you want to . . .”
She reached up to run a hand through his hair. “I’d love to cut your hair, Damon.” She laughed, sounding really happy. He kissed her, and Mickelle returned the kiss, adding only a soft, “Ouch.”
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I keep forgetting.”
“I’ll be better soon.”
Tanner’s face reddened. “I, uh, missed the bus waiting for you guys—didn’t want to leave Belle before you got here.” He thumbed toward the kitchen as though Belle were there. “Do you think you could take me, Dad?”
“Sure. No problem.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled, turning away.
“Uh, Tanner, just a minute.” Mickelle sat up a little straighter.
�
�Yeah?”
“I’ve been wondering . . . about the Snail. You did such a nice job repairing her, and she works really well, but . . . since we got the Metro we just haven’t been using it as much. Station wagons are such gas hogs—at least the Snail is. I was wondering if maybe we should donate it to the National Kidney Foundation. They can sell it and get some money for whatever they need. It seems sort of appropriate with Rebekka going back to France to marry Marc, you know, with his kidney problems and all. Maybe the Snail will help someone like him.”
At the sound of Rebekka’s name a wistful look came to Tanner’s face. Damon knew too well that he had cultivated a major crush on his former nanny, and still wasn’t accustomed to the fact that she was marrying the love of her life, a man who was her childhood crush.
“I don’t mind. That’s nice.” Tanner thought a moment, a wide grin covering his face. “As long as I don’t have to ride in it.”
They shared a laugh so spontaneous and familiar that Damon’s heart sang with happiness. This was the life he had imagined with Mickelle. Despite last night’s events, he was determined they would all be happy—and safe.
“Go get your books,” he told Tanner. “When you’re ready, I’ll drive you to school.”
He watched the boy go, feeling a measure of pride in his son. That was one good kid.
Mickelle echoed his sentiments. “I thank Heavenly Father for him quite regularly, you know. He’s been good for Bryan and Jeremy. And me.”
Damon refrained from kissing her, but only just. Instead, he contented himself with caressing her hand.
Belle soon returned, not with a few books, but with her Little Tikes plastic shopping cart full. “I wasn’t sure which ones you’d like,” she said, parking the yellow and orange cart in front of Mickelle. “I liked the covers on these.” She began shoving them into Mickelle’s lap.
“Later, later.” Mickelle held up a hand. “First I think I’ll take a whack at your hair while your Dad takes Tanner to school. Would you like a ponytail? A French braid? I’ll need a brush.”
“French braid,” Belle answered immediately. “I have my brush in my backpack.” Books forgotten, she rushed over to the bar in the kitchen, where her red backpack stood next to an empty bowl of cereal. She lugged it over, obviously unaccustomed to such a heavy load. Once back at the couch, Belle pulled out her pink brush, but not before also bringing to light a shimmering green dress and a pair of yellow socks, both of which stuck to the brush.
“Trying on clothes again, Belle?” Mickelle asked.
“Again?” Damon repeated. “Why are you taking extra clothes to school?” From the corner of his eye, he saw Tanner enter the kitchen with his own backpack. Damon held up a hand, signaling him to wait. He needed to get to the bottom of this.
Mickelle’s stitched brow wrinkled in dismay. “Belle, I thought you said your daddy knew about the clothes.”
“He does.” She blinked innocently at Damon. “Remember, Daddy? I told you I was going through my clothes?”
“Oh, yeah, but you said nothing about taking them to school.”
“Well . . .” Belle paused, as though carefully choosing her words. “I thought that maybe since I can’t wear those clothes anymore, maybe some other kid could and—”
“This dress looks like it fits you great!” Mickelle exclaimed, holding the shimmering forest green dress up to Belle. “So would that one you had in your pack yesterday—” She broke off so suddenly, Damon glanced at her to make sure she was all right. “I knew there was something odd about your backpack yesterday after school—and there was. You didn’t have anything in it! Belle, you’ve been giving things to Jennie Anne, haven’t you? You’re the reason she has new clothes. And that’s why her backpack was so full yesterday.” Mickelle didn’t sound angry, more amazed, and, if Damon read her correctly, a trifle proud.
Damon wanted to know more. “Please explain,” he demanded, more gruffly than intended.
Belle’s bottom lip quivered, and her huge brown eyes filled with tears, making the slight amber color in them stand out more noticeably. “It’s just that . . . well, they all laughed at her ’cause of her clothes. It makes me feel so bad. For her, I mean. And for us too, ’cause people shouldn’t say those things to other people.”
“So you decided to share?” prompted Damon.
“I got so many, and she doesn’t have anything. I don’t mind sharing. Except that I forgot shoes. None of my shoes would fit her anyway. I tried to give her mine yesterday, but her feet are still bigger, even though she’s my size. That’s probably ’cause she’s older.”
Damon didn’t know what to think. On one hand he was grateful Belle was willing to share, but on the other, he wasn’t looking forward to replacing the items. Who was this Jennie Anne anyway? For all he knew, she could be a youthful manipulator, taking advantage of Belle and her innocence.
He opened his mouth to question his daughter further, but suddenly Mickelle opened her arms and pulled Belle close. “I am so proud of you,” she said. “I think it’s a wonderful thing you’ve done. You’re a wonderful friend. As soon as I’m well, you and I will go together to find some shoes for Jennie Anne.”
Belle grinned, her tears vanishing so quickly that Damon wondered if they had been contrived. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Belle had used tears to get out of a bind. But what was Mickelle doing supporting her actions? Sitting on the couch and staring back and forth between them, he felt as though there was much he had missed in this conversation and in the days that he and Mickelle had been apart. He met Mickelle’s eyes. “This little girl really needs help?”
She nodded. “Definitely. She—oh!” Her hand went to her mouth. “Jennie Anne’s supposed to come over today to play with Belle after school! Well, every day, really. I’m supposed to help her with her reading.”
“We’re paying her to come,” Belle added importantly.
Damon blinked several times in silence. “Let’s get this straight. You’re watching a little girl every day and paying her to come and learn? And Belle is providing a new wardrobe?”
“It’s a long story,” Mickelle offered, giving him a crooked smile that made him want to take her in his arms.
“That’s okay. It’s a long drive to Belle’s school. Maybe she can tell me about it. You can fill in the gaps later.”
“Be glad to,” murmured Mickelle. She winked at Belle.
“I know some of it,” Tanner volunteered. “I’ll tell you on the way. But if we don’t go soon, I’m going to miss all of my first class instead of just some.”
Damon eased off the couch. “Somehow I think I’m going to enjoy this.”
He had a rough picture of it already. Even amidst panic attacks and problems with romance, Mickelle was able to look beyond her own needs and get things done. On the other hand, he hadn’t been able to finish even half his normal workload.
I’d better marry her quick, he thought. Before I ruin my business.
He was smiling as Belle asked worriedly, “Jennie Anne can still come here, can’t she?”
“I don’t know,” Mickelle responded. “We’ll probably have to tell her aunt about the change, but that’s kind of hard when she’s supposed to come home from school with you.” She glanced up at Damon. “You don’t think we can just bring her here, do you? And then tell her aunt about the change when we take her home?”
“Well . . .” He would hate having someone take his child anywhere without prior knowledge. “We could call her.”
Mickelle shook her head. “I don’t know her number. And she doesn’t know ours.” She paused and then added thoughtfully. “Or where we live, either.”
Damon shook his head, unable to believe that any child would be allowed to go somewhere without contact information. “If this child is supposed to be with Belle, and the aunt doesn’t know where they’re going to be, I don’t think it matters much where they end up.”
Mickelle frowned. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of�
��where Jennie Anne will end up.”
Damon bent down and kissed the top of her head, which looked as though it might hurt less than her face, and then squeezed Belle’s shoulder. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said confidently. “We’ll work something out.”
He felt their eyes on him as he led Tanner out to the garage, and he wondered if he could live up to all his promises.
Chapter Seventeen
Mickelle had a quiet and relaxing morning. She saw the live-in housekeeper, Mrs. Mertz, several times as she went about tidying the kitchen and was more than happy to put down her book when the woman approached. The older lady was tall and strong-looking, with short, gray-streaked blond hair and a pinched face that was considerably more appealing when she smiled.
“Mr. Wolfe tells me you’ll be moving in,” she said a bit hesitantly. “Does this mean you won’t need my services any longer?”
“Not at all,” Mickelle assured her. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin with a house this size. I’m happy to have help. Tell me, which of the empty rooms do you think would be best for my boys? They’ll want their own, of course, but I’ll want them close enough to be able to check on them.”
“You’ll be in the master bedroom?” asked Mrs. Mertz.
Mickelle felt herself color, though she certainly had done nothing of which to be ashamed. “Yes. Eventually. When Dam—Mr. Wolfe and I are married.”
“There are two more rooms in the wing that Mr. Wolfe and Belle share that might work for your boys, although you might not want them that close.”
“Oh, I do.” Mickelle grinned, and then admitted sheepishly, “I’m a bit overprotective right now. You see, I lost my husband and . . .”
“And then last night.” The older woman shook her head, her pinched face abruptly full of sympathy. “You’ll be safe here.” She hesitated, twisting the dusting cloth in her hands, before adding in a much softer voice, “My husband died two years ago. So I . . . I know what it’s like.”
“What did he . . .? Do you mind me asking?”
Mrs. Mertz gave a wry smile. “Old age. He was fifteen years older than me. He smoked, too, which never helped anyone.” She sighed. “I miss him a lot. It helps, finding the gospel.”
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