she met his gaze. “And regardless of his health, Mr. Wainwright doesn’t know anything about little boys. He’s never had children of his own. However, he does know that Jimmy needs more than an ailing elderly acquaintance or a soulless boarding school to be happy.”
Evan knew the amount of love little boys needed. He didn’t want or need a reminder. Five-year-old Sean had filled his heart and life. The emptiness was a piercing, never-ending reminder. Looking away from Chloe, he saw the shadows on the front lawn lengthening. Chloe could hardly drive to San Antonio in the fast-approaching darkness. And Rosewood’s only bed-and-breakfast was full because of the approaching holidays.
Holidays. Little boys and holidays. The combination used to fill him with joy. Now the dread was inescapable. Still, he couldn’t, in good conscience, turn Spencer’s boy and this woman out in the night. “Dinner should be ready in about an hour. Thelma will show you to a guest room.”
Chloe’s delicate features brightened.
“Just for the night,” Evan cautioned. “I haven’t changed my mind and I’m not going to.” Wainwright could send a dozen beautiful women and it wouldn’t matter. His ability to love a child had died with his son. And there was no resurrecting it.
Chloe found herself tiptoeing as she wandered past the entry hall. After Evan Mitchell’s rather abrupt dismissal, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself. He had mentioned dinner and staying the night. Should she bring in their suitcases? No, she told herself. Plunking them on the floor of the immaculate entry or parlor seemed like a terrible idea, especially since hers was a Salvation Army classic. And she wasn’t sure where the back entrance was.
Jimmy hadn’t emerged since the kind-looking woman had led him away. The scent of sweet fruit and browning pie crust melded with savory vegetables and something else. Beef? Maybe it was stew.
Chloe’s stomach growled. “Just like one of Pavlov’s dogs,” she muttered to herself. She could read a highway sign announcing the next Dairy Queen and suddenly be swamped with a craving for ice cream.
“Chloe?” Jimmy questioned, his voice floating out from deeper in the house. Even from the distance, she could hear the anxiety coating his words.
“We’re in the kitchen,” Thelma added in a louder voice. “Down the hall to the left. Just pass through the dining room.”
Chloe followed her directions, pushing open a swinging door at the end of a long passageway. For a moment she thought she’d stumbled into the kitchen of the Keebler elves. Bright bursts of color caught her attention, pulling her gaze to the limestone counters, the cozy eating nook, the massive stove.
Several pies cooled on the wood sideboard in front of the slightly opened window. Despite the charm of the room, Chloe wanted only to see Jimmy, to make sure he was all right.
She placed an arm over his shoulders. “How we doing, big guy?”
He scooted close to her without replying.
And Chloe wished she could make everything better for him.
“That young man is a super worker,” Thelma told her, winking at Jimmy. “Helped me roll out the pie dough.”
Chloe squeezed his shoulder. “That’s great, Jimmy! I’ve never been able to make a decent pie crust.”
“Cold water’s the secret,” Thelma continued as though they were old acquaintances. “Ice cold. Otherwise the shortening melts down, makes it tough and the crust falls apart.”
“I’ll try to remember that.” She bent down, closer to Jimmy. “You getting hungry?”
“I’m afraid I’ve given him quite a few samples of the pie fillings,” Thelma confessed. “I knew something was off with the banana cream. So we had to taste that one at least three or four times.”
“It was good,” Jimmy finally offered.
“It smells delicious,” Chloe agreed with a smile for the older woman. “Do you always make this many pies at a time?”
“We have a bake sale every year to raise money for the Angel Tree.” She paused, then quieted her voice. “It’s for the holidays, you know.”
Chloe guessed the fund was to buy toys for children who wouldn’t get them otherwise. And she appreciated Thelma’s discretion around Jimmy. He’d had more than his share of untimely discoveries.
“Since Evan didn’t introduce us, I’m Thelma, the housekeeper. My husband, Ned, is the… well… he’s pretty much the everything-else man. Keeps up the gardens, the cars, whatever needs fixing.”
“I’m Chloe Reed. I work for Holden Wainwright.”
Thelma started to reach out her hand, then realized it was covered in flour. “Pleased to meet you. And I’ve thoroughly enjoyed meeting Jimmy. Ned’s eaten so many of my pies over the years, he automatically says they taste good no matter what I put in them. The Mitchell men don’t like their pies too sweet and Jimmy here helped me balance out the lemon meringue.”
Jimmy wasn’t distracted, though. His expression was pensive, anxious, worried. And Chloe felt sure he must be exhausted. As kind as Thelma seemed, she was another stranger.
“Would you mind if we walk around the grounds?” Chloe queried.
“Fresh air might do you both good.” Thelma dusted the flour from her hands, then wiped them on her apron. “Back door’s right over here. You’ll find doors in most every room on this level—French doors open out from the front room. And upstairs, there’s even a door that leads out and down the staircase from the bedrooms. There’s three sets of stairs in the house.” She pointed to the one in the kitchen. “We call this one the back stairs. Used to be just for the servants. As for all the doors, I guess a few hundred years ago people felt they might need to get away in a hurry.” She chuckled. “There I go, running off at the mouth. Takes a little while to get the feel of the place, but then it seems right homey.”
“I’m sure it is,” Chloe agreed, edging toward the door.
Thelma smiled. “There’s a nice swing out back. Actually two. One on the porch, another under the oak tree. Can’t miss either.”
“Thank you.” Chloe still gripped Jimmy’s hand as they stepped outside. The air was clean, tinged with the faint aroma of burning leaves. She guessed that out in the country people didn’t have to worry so much about air pollution.
“Let’s find the one under the tree,” Chloe suggested. As Thelma had said, it was easy to see the glider swing. It sat beneath a tall oak tree that had already lost many of its leaves. Jimmy clung to her hand as she guided him to the cozy-looking spot.
Once seated, Chloe gently urged the glider into motion. “We can rest before dinner if you’d like to.”
“Then what?”
Immediately, she wondered if the child had guessed or overheard Evan’s intentions. “Then we’ll be all stuffed and we’ll get a good night’s sleep.”
“Here?”
“Sure, big guy. That’s where we are.”
Shoulders
