Lois Richer - A Hopeful Heart and A Home, a Heart, A Husband - A Hopeful Heart

“You move that hand any lower and you are in trouble.”

Privately, Mitch thought he was in trouble anyway, but he decided to change strategies. His mouth touched hers softly in a whisper of a kiss that was over before it began. When she kissed him back, he followed the curve of her jaw with a tiny, feather-light brush of his mouth. His nose nuzzled the sensitive spot under one ear. That brought a tiny sigh from her. Then she edged away, pressing her palms gently against his chest.

“Thank you for a very nice evening.” Her soft voice was primly correct, and he almost burst out laughing.

Nice? Talk about a nonresponse.

“You’re more than welcome. And thank you for coming to dinner.” He grinned at her, unabashed at the color flooding her face.

Bending, he pressed a kiss to her soft, pink mouth and one on a tiny freckle just below her eye. Then he whispered in her ear, “I enjoyed it. All of it.”

When her face colored again, he grinned smugly. “You do blush a lot,” he teased her. Then, lest he hurt her feelings, he told her the truth. “I like it on you.”

They walked to the door side by side, saying nothing, both feeling the tension of the moment. At the door Mitch took her oval face in his hands and rubbed his thumb along her lips.

“Can we share dinner again?”

Waves of feeling swamped her, and Melanie was unable to think straight. A noncommittal answer, that was the best.

“Maybe,” she temporized, unsure of anything but her surging heartbeat. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to afford it if I don’t win that contest. You eat a lot.”

He grinned. “Save your allowance then, because I’m going to hold you to it,” he promised. Mitch pressed one last kiss to her mouth. Then, sighing, he dragged himself away.

“Good night,” he whispered, and pulled the door closed behind his tall figure.

“Good night,” Melanie answered to no one at all. One slim hand touched her lips in wonder.

In a trance she moved through her nightly rituals, half dazed. Mitchel Stewart didn’t seem nearly as irritating as he had two weeks ago. Nor as angry.

What Melanie recalled was the way his bad-boy looks had made her heart thump. And the black lock of hair that tumbled across his forehead. And his lazy blue eyes with their hidden flames. And the soft, caring touch of his hands.

Yawning widely, Melanie plumped her pillow and promptly fell asleep dreaming of Mitchel Stewart.

“You think this fellow is this Jean guy? The same one that Hope Langford was engaged to?” Mitch stared at his grandfather in dismay.

“Not only do I think he is the one, I’m pretty sure he plans to marry someone else. I’ve had someone looking into things for me. On the Q. T. of course.” Harry Conroy rubbed his hand wearily across his stubbled cheek. “I’m stumped, laddie. I dursn’t tell Hope about this. She’s got her heart set on a reunion, and if this guy is what he seems, that isn’t going to happen.”

“What’s his name?” Mitch asked curiously, flipping through the reports covering his grandfather’s desk. “And where’s he been for the past thirty years? Why didn’t he let her know he was alive so she could move on?”

“I don’t know, son. Those are all good questions that I’d like to ask the man myself. You don’t go abandoning a woman like Hope without a darned good reason. Leave those papers be!” Harry sounded furious, and Mitch studied him with new eyes.

“You’re pretty fond of Miss Langford, aren’t you, Gramps?” he asked quietly.

“Fond of her? I’ve spent longer than I care to think about trying to get close to the woman. But she has this barrier she always puts up. Won’t let people get too close. Leastways, not me.” He frowned.

Harry Conroy peered at his grandson. Over the years he’d gained a pretty good knowledge of human nature, and he used it to good advantage now.

“I think you’re interested in Charity’s daughter, too. Aren’t you, boy?” The faded gray eyes sparkled with hidden knowledge. “I was afraid it would never happen,” he declared happily.

“It hasn’t,” Mitch assured him quietly. “I’m not looking to get married, Gramps. You know that. Neither is she. Sure, I like Melanie. She’s sharp and witty.”

“Not too hard to look at, either,” his grandfather added.

“No, she isn’t,” Mitch agreed with a grin. “But she’s dedicated to her career as much as I am to mine.”

Harry snorted. “Hogwash,” he bellowed with disgust. “You’re still thinking about your parents, aren’t you, Mitch?” He shook his head. “Those two didn’t have a marriage, they had a battle zone. That’s not the way it’s supposed to work, boy.”

“From what I saw at Mercer, Lloyd and Jones, that’s the way it usually works,” Mitch told him soberly.

“I knew you didn’t like Chicago, Mitch, but I always thought you liked your work.”

“I hated my work there,” Mitch said hoarsely. “Bottom man on the pole wasn’t the problem. I had to take whatever they assigned, and it was always family court.” He shuddered at the memory. “I still see the looks in the kids’ eyes, Gramps. So tired. And scared.”

“Well, I’m proud of you for getting yourself out of there, son.” Harry wiped a tear away. “It’s a sad thing to see a family torn apart, that’s for sure. But it doesn’t have to happen to you. All marriages aren’t bad. Your gran and I shared some pretty happy years.” Harry stared across his desk, his eyes focused on some memory Mitch couldn’t share.

“You never knew her, Mitch, but she was the kindest, gentlest woman God ever created.”

“Sort of like Hope, you mean?” Mitch watched, stunned, as his grandfather’s head reared back and his round belly shook with laughter.

“Good heavens, no! Hope is nothing like your grandmother. If she thinks I deserve it, she can tear a strip off me. Most times, it serves me right.” He chuckled.

“Mom must have taken after your Anna, then.” When Harry frowned, Mitch rushed to make his meaning clear. “You know what Dad was like, Gramps. He never had a decent word to say to anyone, Mom included. Most of the time he was screaming vile things at her. And she took it all without telling him off. Not once as long as I hung around can I remember a time when she would retaliate.”

“No, she wouldn’t have,” Harry whispered sadly. “That was our fault. Anna and I knew your ma saw the court cases come and go, and we were afraid she would learn that retribution often paid. So we taught her that fighting back never solved anything.” He stared at the picture of the young laughing girl on his desk. “I regret that now.”

“There’s no point in regrets, Gramps.” Mitch smiled bitterly. “We can only learn from the past, and what I learned from my old man and his successors is that marriage tears people up.”

“I’m sorry ‘bout that, too, my boy,” Harry whispered as the door slammed behind his grandson. “Because I think marriage is the best darn institution God ever invented.”

He sat staring at his oak-lined office for a long moment before rousing himself to action.

“I wonder,” he murmured, shrugging into his black robes for the last session of the day. He pressed the newfangled speed dial his secretary had shown him how to use.

“Hello, Hope? I need to talk to you about something.” He waited for her response, a smile curving his lips. “I thought maybe we could go for a picnic. Haven’t had one of those in years.”

When she started to protest he cut her off.

“I’m due in court now, my dear. Let’s just plan to leave around six. I’ll pick you up. Wear pants.” Harry hung up the phone with a huge smile on his round face.

Yes, siree, this was going to be an interesting date!