“That’s where you’re wrong,” Trixie said, certain she’d just seen movement by the shrubs next to the main road. “This is precisely where Mitch would want to be now. He is out of prison. He doesn’t have to worry about Jordie Anne. Now, after all these years, Mitch is finally free to be with me.”
“This is Mitch Colony. Do I have any messages?”
“No, Mr. Colony.”
The front desk staff had most likely tired of his frequent calls. He’d been in Asheville for ten days and had inquired about messages at least a hundred times.
He didn’t know why he bothered. Trixie, even if she’d suspected his arrival there, wouldn’t have known where to find him.
“Thanks,” he grumbled, slamming down the phone.
He was driving himself crazy. Since his arrival in North Carolina, he’d longed to go to Trixie and ask her to forgive him. He’d wanted to talk to Brock and Rory and see if there was any chance, any hope whatsoever, that they would consider sharing Trixie with him once again.
Instead, he’d mustered up only limited courage. He’d been to Trixie’s home several times. He’d even knocked on the door once or twice, but he always ended up talking himself out of a face-to-face reunion. And he repeatedly ran before Trixie, or anyone else, answered the door.
He ran because he was afraid of what she might say when she saw him. He left because he didn’t want to feel like an intruder.
Mitch never waited around for someone to greet him because he was scared. He didn’t know if he could handle rejection from the only woman he’d ever truly wanted, the only woman he’d ever genuinely loved.
Settling his back against the bed, he had just started to relax and surf the television channels when the phone jingled beside him. Lifting the receiver, he listened before he finally said, “Yes?”
“You busy?”
“No,” Mitch replied, recognizing the voice on the other end of the line.
“Good. What’d you say you meet me and Rory for a drink?”
“When?” Mitch asked, his throat constricting with forced responses.
“Seven o’clock tonight work for ya?”
“Sure.” He didn’t have anything else to do. “Where?”
“Considering what we have to discuss, we’ll come to you.”
“Sounds fine.”
“I thought it might.”
The line went dead and Mitch hung up the phone.
“So here we go,” Mitch muttered.
This wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined reuniting with Trixie, but maybe it was for the best all things considered. At one time, Brock Sheldon and Rory Matthews had been his closest friends. The three of them had been like brothers.
Together, Brock and Rory had built a good life with Trixie. From what he’d seen, they were still head-over-heels in love with her.
What were the chances they’d allow him to reunite with their wife? Would they ever forgive him for what he’d done? Did they blame him because Jordie Anne came into their lives and threatened to destroy their family?
He knew the answer to all those questions. Jordie wouldn’t have known about the Cartwells at all if he hadn’t trusted her, if he hadn’t confided in her.
Come to think of it? If the shoes were on his feet, he’d tell Brock and Rory to fuck off. He had a feeling, based on Brock’s tone and the fact he didn’t seem interested in small talk, he was about to receive an offer for a large sum of money. They would tell him to hit the road and never look back.
The Cartwells and their significant others had a reputation of paying off troublesome people with life-changing sums. Mitch didn’t want their money. He didn’t need it.
Brock and Rory were about to discover that Mitch couldn’t be bought at any price.
“Good night, Momma. Good night, Daddy Rory. Good night, Daddy Brock. Goodnight,
wittle
sister.” Cazeron held his new microphone close to his lips. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite you in the ass tonight.”
“Caz!” Trixie leapt from her chair and rushed the small boy. “Where on earth did you hear such language?”
Cazeron ducked his head. Rory smirked and walked away. Brock saw where this was leading. Apparently, Rory had long since decided Brock would be the disciplinarian.
“Caz?” Brock tried to keep his voice firm and level. “Where’d you hear the word ‘ass’?”
“I don’t know, Daddy.” Caz kept his head bowed. He stuck his tiny hands in his pockets. “I can’t
wreally wremember
.”
Brock squatted in front of his son. “Caz, we talked about this once before. You can’t say words unless you know what they mean and you don’t repeat words unless you remember where you first heard them.”
Rory stood at the corner bar. He rested his elbow on the walnut wood while quietly observing. The amusement danced all over his expression. He was undoubtedly struggling to keep his laughter at bay.
“I
wreally
think it was Uncle Tristan, Daddy. He has a bad word problem. Ask Momma.”
Trixie grabbed his hand. “Shame on you, Cazeron! You know better than to accuse your Uncle Tristan.”
Brock stopped her before she took off to Caz’s room, towing the little boy to bed. “You’re sure it was Uncle Tristan, Cazeron?”
“Uh-huh, Daddy Brock. It was. I’m sure about that.” He nodded his head up and down as tears welled in his eyes. The little guy couldn’t stand reprimand. “It wasn’t Aunt Ansley. No, sir. Aunt Ansley couldn’t say a bad word. It was Uncle Tristan for sure.”
“Is that right?” Brock asked, standing from his stooped position.
“All right, Caz. Let’s go.” Rory cleared his throat and intervened by gathering Cazeron in his arms. “What do you say we have a powwow, champ? Would you like that?”
“Yes, sir,” Caz replied, shooting his mother a smile. “Good night, Momma. Daddy Rory will tuck me in. Okay, Momma?”
Trixie tilted his small chin toward hers. “You’re still in trouble, little guy.”
Caz faked a yawn. “I know, Momma, and I’ll never say the word again.”
“I bet,” Trixie grumbled as Rory carried him away.
“You talk to Ansley or I will,” Brock said after Rory and Cazeron disappeared upstairs. “He can’t start using foul language all the time.”
“You heard Caz,” Trixie teased. “
Uncle Tristan
is responsible.”
“Uncle Tristan my ass,” Brock grumbled.
Trixie arched a brow.
“Don’t look at me that way. I control my tongue in front of our children. And your sister has our son wrapped around her little finger. Last week he told me he is moving in with Aunt Ansley. That was after he told me that somebody on television ‘screwed like bunnies.’ Next thing you know, the f-bomb will drop and he’ll be expelled from kindergarten.”
“I’ll tell her to keep a lid on it when Caz is around,” Trixie promised, her eyes twinkling. “And I’ll make sure she passes the news on to Tristan as well.”
“He’ll love that.” Brock shook his head. “He’s so crazy about your sister, he’ll take the blame to keep her from facing my wrath.”
Trixie shuddered. “Oh I know. You’re so terrifying.”
“Smartass.” He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against him.
Trixie squirmed in his arms and glanced nervously at the window. “The curtains are open for crying out loud.”
Brock stared down the bridge of his nose. “Since when are you modest?”
“Really,” Rory said, rejoining them. “There was a time when you were our little exhibitionist.”
“Pre-kids, I had a great body to flaunt, too.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you still have all the curves in just the right places,” Brock assured her, kissing her neck and sliding his lips to her ear. “Want me to show you how much I love those curves, baby?”
“You’d need a compass to find everything now. There’s too much flab to maneuver around.”
“Don’t do that,” Brock said, releasing her ponytail holder and raking his fingers through her hair. “You’re perfect.”
“And don’t get me all worked up,” she warned him, pointing at Winter’s playpen. “Your daughter is right here.”
“She isn’t even a year old,” Brock reminded her. “I promise she won’t care if her mother and father kiss and hug.”
“She’s too interested in her new rattle,” Rory said. “She isn’t paying attention to the two of you.”
“Exactly.” Brock pursued Trixie again. “What do you say we go upstairs and let Rory watch the baby?”
“Rory didn’t volunteer to Winter-watch,” Rory reminded them, tilting his head toward the mantel clock and locking gazes with Brock.
Trixie frowned. “Got somewhere you need to be, fellas?”
“Yes,” Rory replied, still focusing on Brock. “I thought you had discussed this with her.”
“Discuss what?” Trixie’s gaze jumped between Rory and Brock.
“We have some business to take care of,” Brock replied, using the time as a scapegoat. “When, we get home, we’ll tell you all about it. Right, Rory?”
“Tell me now,” Trixie suggested. “We don’t keep secrets. Remember?”
“We’ll sit down and talk once we have more information,” Brock promised.
“This has something to do with Mitch. Doesn’t it?”
“Why would you say that?” Brock asked, turning on her quicker than he would’ve liked.
“Just a gut feeling.”
“I think it’s more than that,” Brock said, wondering now if she’d seen Mitch and failed to mention the fact.
“Trixie, have you been holding out on us?” Rory asked. “Is there something you aren’t telling us?”
“I…thought I saw him.”
“Here?” Rory asked. “When?”
“Why didn’t you mention it?” Brock asked, catching a quick glance from Rory. Yes, he realized he had double standards, but Trixie knew Brock and Rory had valid concerns about her reconnecting with Mitch. If she had seen him there, she should’ve immediately reported to them.
Trixie massaged her forehead. “It’s only been a few times.”
“Only?” Brock asked, furious. “So you’re sure he’s been here? You’re certain you’ve seen him?”
“I just said so, Brock, but…”
“But?” Rory pressed.
Trixie’s eyes watered and she bowed her head. “I think I’ve been hallucinating.”
“Oh dear Lord,” Rory said.
“Why do you think that?” Brock asked, deciding he’d rather Trixie believe Mitch was an illusion.
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Try,” Rory said, sounding cold and hard. Mitch stirred angst wherever he went, and he and Rory shared a volatile history anyway.
“I don’t know how to explain it, Rory. You have to believe me. One minute, I’m sure I’ve seen him. The next, I’m convinced he’s a figment of my imagination. It’s just that the images of him—several times by the barn, a few times by the road and next to the fence—they’re all so real.”
“But you haven’t spoken to him?” Rory asked.
“No. I’ve been afraid to approach him, scared if I do it will only confirm he’s in my mind rather than here for real, or afraid if he’s actually in Fletcher, he’s only here because he blames me for Jordie Anne’s death. Common sense tells me he’s only in my head.”
“Considering the history the two of you share? That’s one hell of an imagination you’ve got there, baby.” Brock stormed out of the room. It was a good thing seven o’clock was upon them. He couldn’t wait to talk to Mitch. And he planned to give him a good piece of his mind.
* * * *
The drive from Fletcher to Asheville seemed longer than usual, and Brock didn’t act like he was in any particular hurry to speed through the evening traffic.
“Do you think she’s telling us the truth?” Rory asked.
“What do you think?” Brock fired back, gripping the steering wheel.
“I couldn’t forgive her,” Rory said, feeling betrayed. “If she’d met him out or if something had happened between the two of them without my knowledge, I couldn’t ignore that, man.”
“Me either,” Brock snapped. “I’ve just got to trust that she saw him lurking around the barn or wherever and really believed he was an illusion.”
“When did you first have an idea he was in town?”
“I’ve had a hunch for several days. I didn’t put Pete on this until yesterday morning because I didn’t have anything solid.”
So Brock had hired the Cartwells’ pocket cop to snoop around. “What made you suspicious?”
Brock took a sharp left and followed the ramp to I-26. “Subtle clues.”
“You noticed some of our toys missing?”
“Yep,” Brock replied. “And a few DVDs.”
“The movies with Mitch in the mix?” Rory asked.
“You got it.”
“So he’s been in the house?”
“Looks that way,” Brock replied.
“That annoys the fuck out of me. What if one of us had heard him? After everything we’ve been through with Trixie and her family, he’s lucky he didn’t find himself staring down the wrong end of a shotgun!”
“That’s what troubles me most. I think the Mitch Colony we once knew is long gone. Prison changed him. And if he’s been lurking nearby, watching Trixie like some crazed stalker, even entering our home at night, there’s something the matter.”