Blessings of the Heart and Samantha's Gift

by Valerie Hansen

  She’d rarely cooked for anyone but herself, nor had she ventured beyond the most simple fare. If she wanted a more elaborate meal she waited until one of Emma’s regular visits and had the accomplished housekeeper fix a big dinner with plenty of leftovers that would last for several days. Not only did it simplify Brianne’s daily chores, it gave her nutritious food to fall back on if, as often happened, she got so engrossed in her writing that she forgot to defrost anything.

  Now, however, she was faced with feeding a full-grown man who looked like he could easily consume three times the amount she usually did, and two boys who were so fussy they might refuse to eat anything at all. Given those considerations, she hoped plain pancakes were going to be satisfactory.

  She had the batter mixed and was heating the griddle when Mitch and Ryan returned from exercising the dog.

  “Smells great,” Mitch said with enthusiasm.

  “I’m not cooking anything yet.”

  “You will be.” His grin warmed her from head to toe. “How’s your hand this morning? Any soreness?”

  “No. I’d forgotten all about it.”

  “Good. Can I help you do anything?”

  The offer took Bree aback. So did his dazzling smile. “Oh, well…I suppose you could set the table. My everyday dishes are in that cupboard over there.”

  “Gotcha. I’ll find ’em.” He handed Barney off to his eldest son. “Go put the dog in the bathroom and wash your hands while you’re in there. Then get your brother.”

  To Bree’s surprise, Ryan didn’t argue. She arched a brow as she watched him quickly leave the kitchen. “That was easy.”

  Mitch chuckled. “We’ll see. He hasn’t followed my directions yet. I need to wash, too, so I’ll go check on him. Be right back.”

  Her instinctive, unspoken retort was, Don’t hurry. It was hard enough to concentrate on cooking when she was alone. Having Mitch underfoot made it a hundred times harder. That was one of the reasons she’d chosen to make pancakes. They were simple. You just fried them and stacked them up. No sweat.

  She spread a thin coating of oil on the griddle, then poured four circles of batter. So far, so good. Maybe she wasn’t going to botch breakfast after all. Hurrah!

  It had occurred to her to wonder briefly why she was so concerned about making a favorable impression. Her guests had arrived looking and acting like shipwreck survivors. Under those circumstances they could hardly find fault with her hospitality, even if she didn’t feed them anything fancy. So cooking was not her forte. So what? As far as she was concerned it was far better to provide well-prepared, simple fare than to try to make something complicated and chance failure.

  The stack of cooked pancakes had grown so tall by the time Mitch and the boys returned, Brianne had put one plate on the table and started to fill another. Mitch immediately went to work setting the table and assigning seats.

  “The syrup is in the pantry,” she told him. “It’s that room over there. Where I hit my finger last night.”

  Ryan jumped to his feet. “I’ll go get it!”

  “No. You sit. I’ll get it as soon as I pour your milk,” his father said.

  “Aw.”

  Flipping the pancakes that were sizzling on the grill, Bree had to chuckle to herself. That sounded more like the Ryan Fowler she knew. The kid was a study in defiance. Attached to his personality, the word stubborn took on a much more intense meaning.

  “I made a pot of coffee, too,” Bree told Mitch. “I didn’t know if you liked it or not, but I do.”

  “Me, too.”

  His voice seemed farther away and muffled. She glanced over her shoulder. The pantry door stood open, and he was nowhere to be seen.

  A second later, he stuck his head out. “Where did you say the syrup was?”

  “It’s in there somewhere. I’m not sure exactly. I don’t eat pancakes that often.”

  Mitch disappeared again. “I don’t see it. But I did run across the flashlight we were looking for last night. It’s on the shelf just to the left of the door, about shoulder height, in case you want it.”

  “I want syrup,” Ryan whined.

  Frustrated, Bree left the stove and hurried across the kitchen. “I know the bottle’s in there. It has to be.”

  “Okay.” With a shrug, Mitch stepped aside. “Show me.”

  It didn’t help that the pantry was barely big enough to accommodate them both. Bree sidled past him, rapidly scanning the shelves and wondering why the room temperature had suddenly risen dramatically.

  She brushed her hand across her damp forehead to push back her bangs and made a sound of disgust. “This can’t be. Syrup bottles don’t just walk off.” In the background she could hear Ryan complaining. Mitch, however, seemed amused at her predicament.

  “We can always eat them with butter and sugar,” he suggested. “That should taste good.”

  Brianne rolled her eyes. “I have regular maple syrup. Somewhere. All I have to do is figure out where.”

  “Hey, Dad,” Ryan shouted.

  Mitch answered, “In a minute. We’re still looking.”

  “Dad!”

  “Not now, Ryan.”

  “But, Dad…”

  “Ryan, if you don’t…”

  Mitch stuck his head out the door for emphasis, then bolted from the pantry with a guttural noise that reminded Bree of his attitude the first time he’d banged on her door. That was when she smelled the smoke.

  Her first thought was that the boys had set her kitchen on fire. One quick peek, however, told her that the error was hers.

  Black smoke was billowing from the griddle and what was left of the pancakes she’d temporarily forgotten to tend. Mitch had grabbed a towel and wrapped it around the handle so he could move the flat pan off the stove and into the sink without getting burned. If the ventilating fan hadn’t already been turned on to clear the air as she cooked, they probably wouldn’t have been able to see across the room.

  So much for the perfect breakfast. Disappointed, Bree stood there and shook her head. Bedlam reigned. Ryan was screeching. Bud was sobbing. Mitch was muttering to himself and running cold water over the steaming, smoking mess as well as using the stream to cool his smarting fingers.

  It was in the midst of all the distraction that Bree remembered where she’d last seen the syrup bottle. In the refrigerator. With a sigh she retrieved it and set it in the middle of the table.

  “Leave that for later,” she told Mitch. “I found the syrup. Come and eat.”

  He turned with a scowl. “Where was it?”

  “In the fridge.”

  “Terrific.”

  “My sentiments, exactly. It probably won’t surprise you to hear that I don’t cook often.”

  “No kidding.”

  “You don’t have to rub it in.”

  “Sorry.” A smile began to lift one corner of his mouth. “Are you through cooking for now, or shall I go get the garden hose and bring it inside just in case?”

  “I’m through.” She put on a mock pout.

  “In that case, I guess it’s safe for me to sit down.” Taking the only empty chair, Mitch proceeded to serve the boys, then pass a platter to Bree.

  She took two cakes and handed it back to him. “Can I get you some coffee? I made plenty.”

  “Thanks. I take it black.”

  “Coming up.”

  She’d poured Mitch’s cup and was about to add a dash of cream to her own when she saw Ryan reach for more syrup and tip over his glass of milk. He let out a screech that sounded like a deranged owl caught under a lawnmower.

  The white puddle spread rapidly across the table, pooled around the bases of glasses and disappeared under the plates.

  Mitch immediately jumped to his feet, juggling the boys’ breakfasts to rescue them and glaring at his son.

  Bree grabbed a handful of paper towels and rushed to the source of the mess. She righted the empty tumbler and dabbed at the milk.

  While she was mopping up Ryan’s pl
ace, a rivulet of spilled milk reached the far edge of the round table and began to dribble into Bud’s lap. When he saw that his resident teddy bear was getting wet he clutched it to his chest and screeched in pure anguish.

  Mitch shifted both plates to one hand long enough to grab the back of the boy’s chair and slide it away from the table. That helped. Milk continued to drip, but Bud was no longer directly in its path.

  The paper towels Bree had started with were thoroughly saturated. She held them in place like a dam and reached her free hand to Mitch.

  “Get me more towels. Quick! Before this runs all over the floor.”

  “Too late,” he said, glancing at the spattered tile. “Don’t worry. Ryan will clean it up.”

  “It wasn’t my fault the stupid milk fell over,” the boy argued.

  Mitch was about to contradict him when he noticed movement below. He blinked, stared, shouted, “Hey! Who let the dog out?”

  “The what?” Bree peered under the table. Her eyes widened. Barney was not only licking up the spill, he was standing directly beneath a waterfall of milk that was splashing his head and back. “What’s he doing in here?”

  Ryan jumped down, dropped to his hands and knees and went into action. “No sweat, lady. I’ll get him.”

  “No! Don’t chase him, he’ll…”

  The dog darted through the archway and disappeared in a blur. Ryan was in hot pursuit.

  Left behind, Bree shouted, “Don’t you dare let him shake!”

  By this time, Bud had quieted down. He was making questionable use of his napkin, alternating between drying his bear and wiping his runny nose.

  “Paper towels! Now!” Bree yelled at Mitch.

  His answer didn’t sound a bit amiable. “Stop screaming.”

  “How else can I make myself understood with all this noise? I’ve never heard anything like it.”

  “Hey, the kids didn’t set the place on fire. You did.”

  “Only because I got distracted helping you,” she argued. “I’ll take care of this mess. You go help Ryan catch that blasted dog before he trails milk all over the house.”

  Mitch stiffened and gave her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. Don’t throw the extra pancakes away while I’m gone. We’ll put sugar on them, roll them up and take them outside to eat.”

  “I wish you’d thought of that in the first place,” Bree grumbled.

  Scowling, he nodded. “Yeah. Me, too.”

  The impromptu picnic took place half an hour later. Mitch had buttered the pancakes, warmed them in the microwave, then added sugar before rolling them up and wrapping one end in a paper napkin.

  His children seemed relieved to be eating outside. He certainly was. The less time he was forced to spend inside Brianne Bailey’s oh-so-perfect house, the better he’d like it. No wonder the boys couldn’t seem to stay out of trouble. Hanging around the estate was like trying to live in a pristine model home without giving away your presence.

  Everything was arranged artistically, from the books on the coffee table to the pots and pans hanging in the kitchen. Little wonder she lived alone. No one else would be able to put up for long with her suffocating ideals.

  Mitch saw that the dog was starting to wander off toward the forest, followed closely by both boys, so he called, “Hey! Don’t go too far.”

  Naturally, all three ignored him. He wasn’t surprised about Barney, but the other two were supposed to listen. Rather than bellow at them when he didn’t have to, he decided to follow and see what they were up to.

  They’d halted at the edge of the pond Mitch had objected to when he’d met Bree. The first thing he noticed was that Ryan was teaching his brother how to pitch rocks into the void.

  The second thing he noted was the void. After the storm they’d had last night, that pond should have been full, or nearly so. Instead, it was little more than a brown puddle in the bottom of a clay-walled crater.

  Mitch’s heart sank. The dam hadn’t held. And his cabin was at the bottom of that hill. At least it had been. No wonder the water had come at them so fast and hard!

  Brianne was still cleaning up the aftermath of the disaster in her kitchen when Mitch burst through the door. Startled by the wild look on his face, she froze in mid-motion. “What’s wrong?”

  “Remember that new pond? The one I was complaining about when we first met?”

  “Yes.” Keeping her wet hands suspended over the sink, Brianne scowled. “What about it?”

  “It’s gone. Empty. Your dam’s got a hole in it big enough to drive a bus through.”

  “That’s impossible. I hired a professional to do the grading. He came highly recommended.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, it looks like the wind knocked a big tree onto the spillway. The water backed up till it was forced out the wrong side of the dam. Without any natural vegetation to strengthen that clay bank once it started to wash, nothing could have stopped it.”

  “Oh, no.” Brianne’s heart felt like it was lodged in her throat. Hands trembling, she looked out the door past the angry man. “Where are the kids?”

  “Outside. I’ll need you to watch them while I hike down to the cabin—or what’s left of it. Looks like that water cleared everything out of the canyon. You can still see where some of the tree roots pulled right up out of the ground.”

  Brianne closed her eyes for a moment and tried to imagine the probable results of an onslaught like that. “What about your cabin? Do you think it’s okay?”

  Shaking his head, Mitch answered without hedging. “Not a chance. That’s why I want to go check it out by myself. No sense scaring the kids if I don’t have to.”

  “Of course not.”

  His shoulders sagged momentarily. “We must have a real busy guardian angel. If we’d stayed home last night we’d have gotten a lot muddier than we were when we showed up here.”

  Reading the veiled anxiety in his gaze before he turned away, Bree knew exactly what he meant. Mitch’s whole family could have been wiped out while they slept. And because it was her dam that had failed, their loss would have been her fault!

  She dried her hands and followed him outside. “If it turns out as bad as you think, I’ll make full restitution, I promise.”

  The look he gave her was unreadable. He said, “Lady, possessions don’t matter to me. All I care about is my boys. Just look after them for a little while and try not to set your house on fire while I’m gone. Okay?”

  What do you do with two restless little boys and a hyperactive dog? Bree found the answer to that question by letting them continue to play outside. Unfortunately, it began to drizzle before a half hour had passed.

  She called, “Over here!” motioned for them to follow, and ran for cover beneath the patio overhang.

  “We can’t play in the rain,” she said, gathering her ragtag little group together. “We’ll wait here for a few minutes and see if it stops, okay?”

  To her relief, no one argued. Bud hunkered close beside her to shelter himself and his bear. Ryan shrugged and plopped down in a nearby garden chair.

  Barney, however, was not happy to be still for more than a few seconds. Springing off the ground, he grabbed Bud’s teddy bear in his sharp little teeth and took off running.

  Suddenly bearless, Bud let out a squeal that sounded like a baby piglet abruptly separated from its mama. Before Bree could do more than bend down to comfort the hysterical child, his older brother had darted into the rain, wrestled the stuffed toy away from the dog and returned it.

  Brianne smiled at the eight-year-old. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. The kid’s nuts about that bear, so I help him keep an eye on it.”

  “I can see he is.” She laid her hand on Bud’s damp curls and absently stroked the hair off his forehead. “I suppose it’s natural for you boys to want to hang on to things that make you feel secure. It must be rough coming to live with your daddy after such a long time.”

  “It’s okay,” Ryan muttered, shrugging as he spoke. “No
t like we had a choice or anything.”

  “I don’t think your father did, either,” Bree reminded him.

  The boy made a guttural sound of disgust. “He didn’t have to sell our house and make us live in a dump.”

  “You mean in the cabin?”

  “Yeah. It doesn’t even have a bathroom.”

  “Well, then, maybe it was for the best that you had problems last night. I’ll bet there’s something better waiting for you.”

  “Right.”

  She couldn’t have missed the boy’s sarcasm if she’d been blindfolded and wearing earplugs. “Sounds like you don’t think so. Why not?”

  “’Cause Dad spent all his money lookin’ for us.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He said so.”

  Brianne’s stomach knotted. That was exactly the kind of dire economic situation she’d feared Mitch Fowler was in. The probable loss of his cabin and its contents was the final straw. If anybody ever needed financial aid, he did. The hardest part would be convincing him to accept it. As soon as he came back for the boys, she planned to have a serious talk with him.

  Barney started barking, then ran and hid behind Ryan. Bree attributed the dog’s nervousness to distant thunder, but in seconds the real reason was clear.

  Soaking wet, Mitch lunged out of the forest, made a noise like a bear suffering a migraine and threw down an armload of muddy supplies. His face was even redder than it had been the first time Bree had seen him, meaning he was either totally spent from his hard climb or he was even more furious than before. Both theories were plausible. Either was likely.

  Ordering the children to stay put, Brianne jogged across the wet lawn to speak with him privately.

  “I’m glad you’re back. The kids were getting bored. I’m surprised you made the trip so fast.”

  “It wasn’t hard.” Scowling, he wiped his muddy hands on his jeans and eyed the meager pile of belongings he’d brought up the hill. “See that? That’s all there is left. I was lucky to salvage that much.”

  “Was there a lot of water damage to your cabin?”