A Hopeful Heart and A Home, a Heart, A Husband. Lois Richer
with.
“Well, many of them do have some assets when they enter the residence and they do get the help they need, as well as visits from caring families. But some of these folks are not mobile, and it’s difficult for them to do their banking. Usually the family takes it over, and when they see how expensive it is to look after Grandma or Grandpa, many begin to resent every dime they lose.”
“But the money isn’t theirs,” Mitch protested indignantly.
“I know, but when you begin to think of something as part of your inheritance…” Her voice died away. “Mr. Harcourt is one of those fellows who is quite capable of operating a motorized cart. It would get him out of the residence and to coffee with his friends. He’s not wealthy and his family think it’s a silly, wasteful expenditure, and so he sits, day after day, gradually growing more depressed.”
The conversation had become dull and gloomy, and Melanie suddenly felt guilty for dumping all her problems on him.
“I’m sorry. This isn’t a very happy subject, and I tend to harp.” She smiled at him, trying to lift the tension. “Exactly what kind of law do you practice?”
He knew she was trying to lighten the atmosphere, and he went along with it. “Corporate. Litigations are my preference, although I do agreements for sale, probate wills, boring stuff like that.” He grinned that sexy smile again, and Melanie felt her spirits lift.
“Do you ever practice family law?” Her inquiry was innocent enough, but his reaction was totally unexpected.
“No.” Curt and abrupt, his answer did not encourage speculation.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
His charming smile was once again in place, a facade he hid behind, Melanie suddenly realized.
“I hate that end of the business,” he told her. “Men and women who swore to love each other suddenly become bitter enemies, each trying to outdo the other in nastiness. Pulling children’s lives apart so they can hurt each other.” He shook his dark head. “I won’t be part of that.”
Melanie heard the underlying hurt and suspected that Mitch had been a product of just such a scenario, perhaps as a small child. He wasn’t talking about it.
“Don’t you want to get married yourself? Have a family someday?” She studied him curiously, noting the flush on his high cheekbones.
“No. Well, yeah. Maybe. I’m not really the type.” The words spilled out helter-skelter, and he frowned. “If I ever did, I’d go into it with a no-escape clause. So far I haven’t found anyone I want to be tied up that tightly with. What about you?”
“I always thought love and marriage would just happen, but lately work takes up more and more of my time, and truthfully, I just don’t know how I could fit a family in with that.” She grimaced. “Those residents are important to me. I don’t know if I could give them all up for a mere man.” She grinned teasingly.
“We’re not going into that man thing again, are we?” He groaned. “I already apologized three thousand times.”
“And that’s not nearly enough.” She smiled.
“You should talk! You called me out of shape, remember?”
“And?” She raised one eyebrow meaningfully. “If the shoe fits…”
“Time to go,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Before war breaks out.”
Melanie gratefully picked up her purse and moved to the door. She felt like a liar, because she knew she’d give up her so-called career in a minute for a loving husband and the warmth and comfort of a family of her own.
As they strolled along the street, Mitch took her hand in his and drew it through his arm.
“I think we’ll make good neighbors.” He grinned at her. “The really neighborly thing to do would be to invite me in for coffee.”
The hint was hard to miss, and surprisingly enough, she didn’t want to bid Mitch good-night just yet.
“Well, since you did take me out for dinner, I suppose it is the least I can do.” Melanie deliberately made the invitation as unappealing as possible, pretty sure he would jump at it. She didn’t want to seem too eager, after all!
They sat among the flickering candles on her patio, sipping the rich Colombian brew Melanie favored. In the dark, it seemed easier to talk.
“My mother often let me stay up in the summer and have chocolate milk on the porch. This reminds me of those times.” Her voice was soft and filled with memories, and Mitch seemed loath to break the spell of quiet contentment.
“She probably wished I’d go to bed, but she and Hope and Faith never tried to talk me out of my daydreams. I will always be thankful for their love and care. I guess that’s why I choose to work where I do.” She smiled happily. “Seniors have so much life and love and knowledge to contribute, if only someone would take the time to listen.”
“You were lucky,” he told her. That hard tone had frozen the emotion in his rumbly voice. “Some kids never get the chance to experience any of that.”
“But you had your grandfather. Didn’t you ever come visit?” Melanie searched her mind, trying to remember Mitch from some foggy distant encounter.
“Not very often. We lived too far away, and my parents couldn’t afford it. Gramps came to visit us once or twice a year for a week or so, but that’s all. After I was on my own, I’d come out as often as I could get away. We kind of developed a bond then.”
Melanie could tell the subject was closed, but she longed to ask him about his childhood, his parents, his background. One minute he was so charming and friendly, and the next he had closed up like a clam, cold and hard.
Soft music flowed on the evening air as someone on another patio below them enjoyed the cool evening air.
“Do you dance?” he asked suddenly.
Melanie stuttered over her answer. “Not very well. I, well, it’s been ages, and…”
Tall and dark in his denim shirt and pants, he stood before her. She tipped her head to look at him.
“Don’t tell me you’re uncoordinated, Melanie, or I will be forced to make some remark that will draw the battle lines between us. Again. May I have this dance?” he asked. His eyes glinted in the candlelight. “I have to get my exercise, you know.” And then Mitch tugged her gently from her chair without waiting for a response. “Here, put your arms around me like this.”
Melanie let Mitch push her bare arms around his neck and then stood silent while he wrapped his around her slender waist. She was nervous and sure he knew it.
“No fancy moves,” he reassured her. “Just swaying to the music.”
They swayed gently, moving slowly to the music. As he held, she was aware of his warmth and strength, the spicy scent of his cologne and the momentary brush of his beard-roughened cheek on her own. Her skirt swished around her legs as his foot grazed hers. It was wonderful and exciting, and yet they did nothing but move leisurely around the tiny terrace.
She was relaxed, Mitch knew as he inched one hand a fraction lower on her hip. It felt so good to hold her like this, close but not too close, her soft presence filling the night air. His chin fit perfectly on top of her head, and he could just catch the soft, intriguing scent of her perfume. Against his neck, her silky hair caressed and enticed him. He bent his head and pressed the tiniest kiss to the soft skin of her collarbone.
Melanie Stewart was every inch a woman, soft and curvy, yet caring and concerned. She interested him. No one had ever said the things she had and been allowed to get away with it, and yet this fiery woman continued to hold his attention.
“What did you think of Hope’s problem?” he asked finally, not wanting to break the companionable silence but