Jingle Bell Blessings

“Curious, aren’t you?” Evan replied. Then he glanced over at Jimmy. “They’ve been here as long as I can remember.”

“Came with the house?” she questioned, hoping to infuse some cheer into the conversation.

Evan looked at her as though she’d suggested swallowing a bucket of mud.

“Just kidding, of course,” she tried to remedy. “I haven’t had any experience with household employees.”

“They’re not just employees,” he replied sharply. “They’re family.”

Chastened, Chloe stirred her spoon aimlessly. “Of course.” If not for Jimmy, she would have fervently wished for a hole to appear in the floor so she could vanish.

Silence reigned, interrupted only by the scrape of spoons against the bowls. The clinking of china when a coffee cup was returned to its saucer. The last time Chloe had felt this uncomfortable at a dinner table, she’d been twelve years old and painfully aware of the boy sitting across from her. He was fourteen and she had a terrible crush on him. In turn, he considered her a complete nuisance. Seemed she hadn’t progressed much from then.

Thelma eventually cleared their dishes and then brought in dessert plates. “Lemon meringue,” she announced. “Had some good help making this one. Wasn’t hard to decide which one to keep for dessert.”

Jimmy glanced at the housekeeper, a furtive, slightly pleased look.

Thelma winked back at him.

Chloe wished the width of the table weren’t so broad. She would have liked to squeeze his hand in encouragement. Instead, she smiled at him. Lifting her gaze she caught Evan studying them.

He didn’t blink. The woman didn’t act like a mere estate representative. Which made him that much more distrustful. Evidently, she stood to profit if she convinced him to accept the guardianship. Wainwright had the funds.

And the old guy had always held a soft spot for Spencer. After the explosion in their newly refurbished factory, Spencer’s wishes had been presented. And Wainwright had pled his case as though Spencer were a son rather than the son of a friend.

Committed to placing Jimmy in the Mitchell home, Wainwright may have offered Chloe quite a sum to succeed. Why else would the woman have traveled across the country with no guarantee of how she would be received?

Thelma rustled around the large bedroom as Chloe stared first at the tall ceilings, then the intricate moldings and charming bay window. She gently touched the delicate lace curtains as she admired the four-poster bed and marble-topped dresser. “The room’s lovely,” she murmured. “It’s really a guest room?”

“Evan’s mother decorated every room on this floor. The men didn’t want her changing the rustic stuff in the den and the parlor’s stayed pretty much the same for generations.”

“She’s passed away, hasn’t she? Evan’s mother?”

Thelma stopped plumping the pillow she held. “Adele died… several years ago, now. And…” She stopped abruptly.

Chloe knew that Evan was single. Mr. Wainwright had given her a brief sketch about him. Evan ran the family business, in fact, devoted all of his time to it. Could that be why he was so insistent about not taking on Jimmy?

Thelma laid the pillow at the head of the bed, then checked the growing flames in the fireplace. “Gets chilly this time of year. Family had central heat installed back when Mr. Gordon, Evan’s father, was a boy. But when the wind’s howling, it’s awful nice to have a fire.”

Standing next to a wide chaise that was angled by the fireplace, Chloe agreed. “I love a good fire and I haven’t had a fireplace of my own in… well, a long time.” Not since the family home had to be sold.

Thelma crossed the room to an archway containing a door. “This opens into Jimmy’s room. It used to be the nursery.”

Chloe peeked inside, seeing that he was still fascinated by the interesting little room with its slanted ceiling, nooks, arches and cushioned window seat that overlooked the widow’s walk surrounding the upper story. “He may have trouble sleeping tonight. He’s had a lot of… changes.”

“Mr. Gordon told me all about Jimmy when the lawyer wrote. Poor little tyke. We all hoped Evan…” Thelma sighed. “Mr. Gordon’s too old to take on raising the boy himself. Wouldn’t be right for Jimmy if…well, if Mr. Gordon couldn’t see him all the way through ’til he’s old enough to be on his own.”

Chloe thought she heard a thread of worry in the woman’s voice. “Is Mr. Mitchell ill?”

Thelma shook her head. “He wouldn’t retire until a few years ago. Worked hard all his life. Too hard. A boy needs parents who can keep up with him.”

“That’s how Mr. Wainwright feels, too. When I’m taking care of Jimmy, I have to stay on top speed myself.”

A knowing smile lit Thelma’s eyes. “I’m guessing you don’t mind that too much.”

“He’s a wonderful little boy.” So much so that Chloe knew she would have to rein in her feelings. A huge part of her wished she could just take him back to Milwaukee, raise him as her own. And that was impossible. “Thelma, would it be too much trouble to make some hot cocoa?”

“Course not. I’ll bring it up directly.”

She didn’t want to cause the woman more work. “I’m happy to come and get it.”

Waving her hands in dismissal, Thelma tsked. “Don’t want to hear another word about it. You just get the little one settled.”

Chloe exhaled in relief. Thelma was proving to be an ally. “Thanks.” As Thelma left, Chloe knocked lightly on the connecting door frame to Jimmy’s room. “Mind if I come in?”

“Uh-uh.” Jimmy sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the large window. Still dressed in his best clothes, as though waiting for something that would never happen, he looked completely, inescapably alone.

“Know what I was thinking?” she asked in an encouraging voice.

He shook his head.

“We could get in our jammies, scrunch up on this amazing chair in front of the fireplace in my room and tell stories.” Chloe wriggled her eyebrows. “Might even be some hot cocoa in the deal.”

“My dad used to read me a story every night and Mommy would sing.”

Chloe sat down beside him, putting her arm around his shoulders. “You know, I seem to remember packing a few of your favorite books.”

Leaving him to change into his pajamas, Chloe did the same. By the time she’d tied the sash on her thick, fluffy robe, she heard a light knock on the door. Expecting Thelma, she whipped open the door with a smile.

Evan Mitchell’s muscular frame filled the doorway and his forbidding expression sent her smile plummeting.

“If you need anything,” he began uncomfortably. “Just ask Thelma.”

Chloe clutched her pink robe, excruciatingly aware of the matching bunny slippers on her feet. Trying to tuck them backward just pulled his attention toward the embarrassing footwear.

Straightening her shoulders, she tried to look as businesslike as possible. “We’re fine, thank you.”

He didn’t reply.

Unnerved, she tried to think of something else to say, to distract him, to remove his all-too-male presence. “Thelma’s making us some hot cocoa.”

“Right.” He glanced down the empty corridor.

Chloe fervently wished Thelma would make an appearance.

But the hall remained empty.

“I’ll say good night then,” Evan finished.