Chapter 29
Mitch had instructed John to tell Mary that he would call her immediately. “Tell her she won’t recognize the number.” He disconnected from John and fumbled the phone in his haste to call his mother-in-law.
Dylan laid a hand on his shoulder in a silent gesture of support.
She could hear his mother-in-law’s phone ringing. After the second ring, he growled, “She’s gotta have the damn thing in her hand. Why doesn’t she answer it? Come on, come—”
Then Dylan heard the woman say, “Mitch? Finally.”
“Is Andrew hurt? Is he sick?”
“It’s Hank. He’s had a heart attack.”
Mitch reached for Dylan’s hand and squeezed. It’s not Andrew, he mouthed with visible relief. But he automatically switched to concern for his father-in-law. “How bad is it?”
“We don’t know yet. They’re running tests.”
“What happened?”
“He got up, had coffee. I was making breakfast. Everything was normal, then he just…” Her voice began to hitch.
“He dropped to the floor. He was gasping, like choking, grabbing at his chest. I called 911. Seemed like forever, but it wasn’t long before they got here.
They started an IV and carried him to the ambulance. By the time I got to the hospital—”
“How long ago was that?”
“A little over an hour. I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I’m sorry. My phone is… Never mind all that. How’s Hank? Is he conscious?”
“Yes. He’s stable now.”
She told Mitch they’d done an EKG and had been told to expect further tests. The typical maddening hurry-up-and-wait of the ER.
“Sounds like they’re on it, Mary. That’s good.” He was looking at Dylan anxiously as he asked, “What about Andrew while this is happening? Did he see Hank in crisis, all that?”
“No, thank heaven. I hadn’t gotten him up yet. After the ambulance left, I scurried around and left Andrew with my neighbor.”
“Mrs. Gibbons? Next door?”
“I couldn’t bring him with me, Mitch,” she said.
To Dylan, her tone sounded defensive, which explained the panicked look Mitch flashed her at the mention of the neighbor. “No, no, I get it. I’ll be on my way in five minutes. In three minutes.”
“Mitch?”
“What?”
“I’m afraid.” Her voice broke altogether. “I can’t lose Hank. Not after Angela. How much more am I supposed to give up?”
Dylan had been watching Mitch and reading his swiftly changing expressions: the relief to learn that it wasn’t Andrew’s emergency, instantly replaced by worry over his father-in-law’s condition, then the guilt of not being reachable when he was most needed.
Now, he seemed moved that Mary had exposed her vulnerability to him when their relationship had often been adversarial.
“I know the feeling,” he said softly. “Believe me, I do. Tell Hank I’m on my way and will be there as soon as I can. In the meantime, if you have to call me, use this number.”
After exchanging rapid goodbyes, they disconnected. Mitch took a moment to absorb it all, cupping his hand over his mouth and chin, squeezing his eyes shut. Perhaps he prayed to the God he claimed to have denounced.
But the moment was fleeting. He shot to his feet, bent down, and scooped his jeans and T-shirt off the floor where they’d been flung the night before. “Mrs. Gibbons? She’s a hundred and ten years old! Andrew will be scared. Hell, I’d be scared.”
Dylan scrambled off the bed, took him by both shoulders, and held on tightly. “Andrew will be fine. But if he’s upset when you arrive, then you need to calm down. The worst you could do is to charge in there like a wild man. He’ll take his cues from you.”
He inhaled a series of deep breaths. “You’re right.
Of course you’re right. What are you, a shrink or something?
” He gave her a quick smack on the lips, then reached around her and took his pistol from the nightstand.
With his clothing tucked under his arm, he headed out of the bedroom, affording her a view of his tight, bare butt.
“Meet me at the front door in three minutes.”
“On your way through town, you can drop me off at my office. I’ll find a way home.”
“Oh, no,” he said over his shoulder. “You’re coming. I’m not leaving you at the mercy of Malone and gang.”
She halted in the process of stepping into her panties. “I don’t have any clothes.”
“Wear last night’s. Or hit Beth’s closet and chest of drawers. She won’t mind. Three minutes.”
Following the second time they’d made love, she had thought she was replete, that she only wished to lie there forever, feeling sublimely boneless and drowsy. But then he’d issued her an invitation to join him in the shower, and she couldn’t resist his naughty grin.
Naked, he was simply magnificent. Although she’d been careful of his wound, she couldn’t keep her hands or mouth off him.
His Excalibur—and its adjacent sword—got extra attention that eventually had brought him to his knees.
He’d warned her that he intended to explore every inch of her, not exclusively by hand, and he’d stayed true to his word.
Being all wet and soapy had made the foreplay incredibly erotic and had led, inevitably, to them joining, moving against each other, her clinging, him clutching, until the shower stall walls had echoed their climactic cries.
After drying, she’d replaced the closures on his abdomen that had been sacrificed to sex, then, exhausted, they’d crawled onto the bed and instantly had fallen asleep.
Now she was relieved that she was at least clean, because she had time to do nothing more than rinse her mouth out with toothpaste, secure her hair into a ponytail, and dress.
She put on her skirt from the night before, but raided Beth Bowie’s closet in search of a top that was more suitable for daytime than her silk blouse. She also found a pair of sneakers to replace her ravaged evening pumps.
When she joined Mitch in the main room, he gave her an approving once-over and picked up a child car seat where it sat near the front door. “I keep a spare here.”
His expression was intent, his manner all business.
He made quick work of locking the door and replacing the key beneath the porch floor plank, then plowed into the swampy forest, which to Dylan didn’t look any less menacing in daylight than it had the night before.
Mitch navigated it with the ease of a wraith.
The borrowed sneakers made the going easier for her.
After opening the garage, he installed the child seat in a drab, gray two-door car. “It’s not pretty, and the blanket in the back seat smells like wet dog. His name’s Mutt.”
“Yours?”
“John and Beth’s.”
He secured the garage with his disreputable-looking pickup inside, then they jounced along the rutted track that led to the highway. He turned west onto it and drove aggressively, speeding up to pass any vehicle not going fast enough to suit him.
He was wearing his game face, the one he’d displayed last night when he’d taken her elbow and hustled her away from the commotion outside the restaurant. A man on a mission. The focused, special ops soldier face except without the makeup.
Quietly, she said, “You really should drop me in town, Mitch.”
He didn’t even take his eyes off the road. “There’s a Quick Stop a mile up ahead. I’ll get us some coffee.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“The breakfast burritos aren’t bad.”
“It would be for the best.”
“Forget it, Dylan.”
“I’ve already imposed on John and Beth to an embarrassing degree.
” She looked down at the pull-on top she’d pilfered, and thinking about the bed she’d had to leave unmade made her cheeks hot.
“Dealing with your family situation is going to be difficult enough. You don’t know what to expect, and matters could change in an instant. I shouldn’t intrude.”
“You’re not intruding. I’m giving you no choice.”
“Which will require an explanation.”
“I’ve got ninety miles to think of something.”
He steered into the parking lot of the convenience store, put the car in park, but kept the engine running.
He cupped the back of her neck and pulled her toward him.
“I’m not going anywhere without keeping you in sight.
” He kissed her, and this time it was more than a smack.
It wasn’t a lingering kiss, but the kind that counted all the same.
And when it broke, to underscore his intention, he said, “That’s settled. ”
He pulled into the driveway of the Duvalls’ house, saying to Dylan, “The old lady lives next door.” He got out and jogged across the connecting lawns, counting on Dylan to follow him, which she did also at a jog.
He rang the doorbell, and, for extra measure, knocked and called out, “Mrs. Gibbons. It’s Mitch Haskell.”
A few seconds later, from within the house he heard Andrew exclaim, “Daddy!” followed by pounding, running steps on a hardwood floor.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Mrs. Gibbons called out.
She apparently had more door locks than the Auclair jail, and each one seemed to challenge her dexterity. Mitch muttered out the side of his mouth, “If the house were to catch fire…”
“Shh,” Dylan said just as the door was pulled open.
Andrew pushed against the screen door just as Mitch pulled on the outside handle, so that his son literally tumbled into his waiting arms almost before he could crouch down to catch him. Never mind that his exuberant welcome probably dislodged a few of the closures.
Mitch hugged him tightly, rocking to and fro. “Glad to see me?” Andrew nodded against his neck.
Looking on, Mrs. Gibbons said, “Mary called and told me to expect you. Andrew’s asked me about every sixty seconds how many more minutes before you’d get here.”
“Well, now I’m here, you can stop asking,” Mitch said to Andrew as he covered his face with kisses.
The boy giggled over his affection, then angled his head back and said solemnly, “Grandpa’s sick.”
“I know. But the doctors are going to get him well.”
That concern dealt with and dismissed, Andrew asked, “Can we play cars?”
“For sure. But later. We’ve got stuff to do first.”
It was then that Andrew noticed Dylan. He looked at her curiously. Mitch said, “This is my friend, Dylan. Dylan, this is my rock star, Andrew.”
“Hello, Andrew.”
He just stared at her until Mitch gave him a squeeze. “What do you say?”
Andrew said hello, then shyly buried his face in Mitch’s neck. He introduced Dylan to Mrs. Gibbons, then said to her, “I’m sure Mary has already thanked you, but I want to also. I appreciate you looking after him.”
“He’s welcome to stay for as long as need be.”
“That’s very generous and kind of you, but I’m taking him off your hands now.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Gibbons turned to Dylan as though looking for confirmation of that startling announcement. Going back to Mitch, she said with uncertainty, “Mary said nothing about that to me.”
“She and I haven’t had a chance to talk about it yet. Soon as I gather up some things for Andrew, I’m going to the hospital straight from here.”
“Oh,” she said again, nervously reaching for the top button of her blouse and twisting it. “Mary packed a bag for him before she left for the hospital.”
“Great. I’ll just take that.”
“Well, all right, I guess. Come in. I’ll fetch it from the back room.”
“We’ll wait here, thanks.”
Looking disapproving, she turned and headed down a hallway. “It smells like oldness in there,” Mitch mumbled.
Dylan gave him a chastising look. “She’s not a hundred and ten.”
“My mistake,” he whispered. “She’s a hundred and twelve. And how hot is it in there? Andrew’s hair is damp with sweat. It smells like Mutt’s blanket.”
“I want to go,” Andrew said.
Mitch patted his back. “Don’t worry, buddy. We’re going.”
“Here we are.” Mrs. Gibbons reappeared pulling Andrew’s small suitcase.
“Thank you so much,” Mitch said. He felt resistance when he tried to take the handle from her.
“Mr. Haskell, I’m not sure Mary—”
“We all owe you for looking after Andrew until I could get here. Thanks, Mrs. Gibbons.” Still holding Andrew against his chest, he turned to Dylan and tipped his head toward the Duvalls’ house. “We’ll make a pit stop, then be on our way.”