Read Online Blessings of the Heart and Samantha's Gift by Valerie Hansen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Valerie Hansen
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certainly can’t object to that.”
“Of course not.”
“Then charge up your cell phone and let’s get to it. After all, you don’t want to be stuck with us any longer than necessary.”
Put that bluntly, her attitude sounded really hostile. Okay, so she wasn’t crazy about muddy shoes and dogs with fleas. That didn’t mean she was necessarily at odds with the people who owned them, even if she had inadvertently implied as much.
If that truly was the impression she’d given—and apparently it was—she owed Mitch Fowler an apology. With him standing so close, however, she found she was unable to sort her random thoughts into any semblance of order, let alone form a coherent sentence. If she intended to explain without making matters worse, there was only one thing to do.
Marshaling what was left of her willpower, Brianne seized upon the need to recharge the cellular phone as an excuse to move away from him.
“I didn’t mean to sound unfriendly,” she said, busying herself fitting the phone into its charger. “It’s just that this house is very special to me. Why can’t you understand that?”
“Oh, I understand, all right. Lots of people like to put on a show to impress their neighbors.”
“Being wealthy is not a sin.” Bree was adamant. “Neither is having nice things and enjoying them.”
“That depends on what level of importance you give to your possessions.” Mitch folded his arms across his chest, his stance wide and off-putting. “My late wife had that problem. When I couldn’t give her everything she wanted, she left me cold.”
“If all she cared about was money, why take the boys? Why not keep in touch so she could collect child support?”
Mitch shook his head slowly, solemnly, and stared into the distance. “I’ve asked myself the same question a thousand times.”
“You must have been frantic. Was that when you sold the house Ryan told me about?”
“Yes. That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you. No amount of money matters when more critical needs are at stake. My boys mean everything to me. Possessions can be replaced. People can’t. Nothing is more important than family.”
“I suppose that’s true in some families.”
Studying her closed expression, Mitch decided to press her for details. The worst that could happen was that she’d refuse to answer. “Not in yours?”
“Not that you’d notice. My parents fought all the time.”
“Do they still do it?”
“No, but only because they’re both dead.”
“I’m sorry,” Mitch said.
“Hey, it’s okay. My mother took the coward’s way out. She swallowed enough sleeping pills to go to sleep forever. After that, I’d kind of hoped Dad would mellow, but he got even meaner. He didn’t have Mother to argue with anymore so he started trying to pick fights with me. When I’d refuse to play his mind games he’d get furious and start to throw things—usually Mother’s good china or one of the beautiful little ceramic statues she’d collected.”
“That was his problem, not yours. Did he die of natural causes?”
“My father died of meanness,” Bree said flatly. “He was in the middle of delivering a tirade to some of his so-called friends when he collapsed. They called an ambulance but it was no use. He never regained consciousness.”
“Like I said, I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be. My parents made their own choices.”
Moisture began to blur Bree’s vision. She averted her gaze. This was the first time since the night her father had died that she’d cried for him. And she’d run out of tears for her mother long before that. Showing this much emotion was foreign to her. Doing so in front of a stranger was unthinkable, yet there was something about Mitch Fowler that had made her open her heart and bare her most painful secrets.
Sighing deeply, Mitch nodded and said, “This time, I know exactly what you mean. We aren’t responsible for the wrong choices of others, you
“Of course not.”
“Then charge up your cell phone and let’s get to it. After all, you don’t want to be stuck with us any longer than necessary.”
Put that bluntly, her attitude sounded really hostile. Okay, so she wasn’t crazy about muddy shoes and dogs with fleas. That didn’t mean she was necessarily at odds with the people who owned them, even if she had inadvertently implied as much.
If that truly was the impression she’d given—and apparently it was—she owed Mitch Fowler an apology. With him standing so close, however, she found she was unable to sort her random thoughts into any semblance of order, let alone form a coherent sentence. If she intended to explain without making matters worse, there was only one thing to do.
Marshaling what was left of her willpower, Brianne seized upon the need to recharge the cellular phone as an excuse to move away from him.
“I didn’t mean to sound unfriendly,” she said, busying herself fitting the phone into its charger. “It’s just that this house is very special to me. Why can’t you understand that?”
“Oh, I understand, all right. Lots of people like to put on a show to impress their neighbors.”
“Being wealthy is not a sin.” Bree was adamant. “Neither is having nice things and enjoying them.”
“That depends on what level of importance you give to your possessions.” Mitch folded his arms across his chest, his stance wide and off-putting. “My late wife had that problem. When I couldn’t give her everything she wanted, she left me cold.”
“If all she cared about was money, why take the boys? Why not keep in touch so she could collect child support?”
Mitch shook his head slowly, solemnly, and stared into the distance. “I’ve asked myself the same question a thousand times.”
“You must have been frantic. Was that when you sold the house Ryan told me about?”
“Yes. That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you. No amount of money matters when more critical needs are at stake. My boys mean everything to me. Possessions can be replaced. People can’t. Nothing is more important than family.”
“I suppose that’s true in some families.”
Studying her closed expression, Mitch decided to press her for details. The worst that could happen was that she’d refuse to answer. “Not in yours?”
“Not that you’d notice. My parents fought all the time.”
“Do they still do it?”
“No, but only because they’re both dead.”
“I’m sorry,” Mitch said.
“Hey, it’s okay. My mother took the coward’s way out. She swallowed enough sleeping pills to go to sleep forever. After that, I’d kind of hoped Dad would mellow, but he got even meaner. He didn’t have Mother to argue with anymore so he started trying to pick fights with me. When I’d refuse to play his mind games he’d get furious and start to throw things—usually Mother’s good china or one of the beautiful little ceramic statues she’d collected.”
“That was his problem, not yours. Did he die of natural causes?”
“My father died of meanness,” Bree said flatly. “He was in the middle of delivering a tirade to some of his so-called friends when he collapsed. They called an ambulance but it was no use. He never regained consciousness.”
“Like I said, I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be. My parents made their own choices.”
Moisture began to blur Bree’s vision. She averted her gaze. This was the first time since the night her father had died that she’d cried for him. And she’d run out of tears for her mother long before that. Showing this much emotion was foreign to her. Doing so in front of a stranger was unthinkable, yet there was something about Mitch Fowler that had made her open her heart and bare her most painful secrets.
Sighing deeply, Mitch nodded and said, “This time, I know exactly what you mean. We aren’t responsible for the wrong choices of others, you
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