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“Glad my mishap could entertain everyone. Trust me, Mitchell wasn’t entertained.” And why that caused her chest to tighten, she hadn’t a clue.
“Now that I believe. Our good doctor likes to keep his distance.”
“Except at your club?”
Nan shrugged. “Well, yeah. There, he gives his play partner his full attention and no one has walked away from a scene unhappy. He’s still grieving for his wife.”
Liana’s laughing face popped into Lillian’s head and a pang gripped her stomach. Grief she could commiserate with and now understood Mitchell’s compassionate patience with her presence better. It seemed they shared one thing in common after all. “Yeah,” she sighed, “that must be rough.”
Mitchell returned to his Craftsman house on an acre of land just inside Willow Springs city limits Saturday morning, a day earlier than he’d planned, and he wasn’t happy about it. Grabbing his duffel out of the back of his Tahoe, he flicked the garage door opener before walking out and crossing the drive to enter the house through the side door. After cranking up the heat, he poured himself a stiff whiskey and padded over to an eight-by-ten-inch picture of Abbie perched on the fireplace mantle. The quiet retreat he’d planned around their anniversary had been interrupted and then, because he was spending more time thinking about a pair of haunted purple eyes instead of his wife’s loving blue gaze, frustration prompted him to cut it short. And that did not sit well with him.
He’d met Abbie at a Valentine’s party at a Denver club, married her on February fourteenth a year later and she died on February fifteenth seven years after that. Eight years was not enough; at the time, he’d thought a lifetime wouldn’t be enough. Looking at her shy expression, cloud of blonde hair and bright blue eyes, she was nothing like Lillian, and yet, he found himself comparing the two women way too much after saying goodbye to Lillian.
The flashes of pain-driven determination he’d caught crossing her bruised face more than once got to him in a way he couldn’t define, at least, not yet. Whatever the extent of that bastard’s abuse, she didn’t cower from it, and he didn’t care for the pinch of guilt pricking his conscience whenever he questioned whether he should have pressed her for answers. None of my business. That’s what he’d been telling himself since bringing her into his cabin. He didn’t want to get involved with her or her problems, so why had he wrestled with sleep the past few nights, and why couldn’t he shove aside the regret and shame he’d caught in her dark eyes before she would don a polite mask of indifference?
“You know, baby,” he murmured to Abbie’s picture as he traced a finger over her face, “I think you would have liked Lillian’s grit in the face of her trauma. You were always more compassionate than me.”
Mitchell remembered Lillian’s anger when he’d called her baby, and the defiance etched on her pale face as she lay in the snow under him and refuted being raped. He wasn’t a shrink, but there was no arguing the woman was bottled up tight in denial. But again, not his problem. She was likely gone by now, hundreds of miles away and possibly giving him the finger in the rearview mirror. Why that image tugged at the corners of his mouth, he couldn’t imagine.
Tossing back his whiskey, he strode to the antique roll top desk in the corner and flipped through a week’s worth of mail. Seeing nothing pressing, he considered giving his mother a call and then opted to put it off until the next day. He and his sister couldn’t have asked for better parents growing up, and now that his dad was gone and he’d made the move to Montana, he made sure he kept in touch with both of them.
Mitchell grabbed his bag of dirty clothes and carried it into the laundry room off the kitchen, which was in the middle of a renovation. He’d purchased the dated house for a good price and spent his down time remodeling, which was why it was taking so long. He’d left Denver, and his prestigious position as the head of a trauma center, for a slower, calmer pace of life, hoping the drastic change would help him move on from losing Abbie. Now, over eight months later, the jury was still out on whether that was the right decision.
After starting a load of wash, Mitchell debated whether to go out for something to eat or settle for a frozen dinner and opted for the diner, which was as good as a home-cooked meal. Afterward, maybe he would drive out to The Barn and socialize. He enjoyed his new friends and their private club even more than the people and venue he’d left behind. Here, there were no pitying looks or well-meaning condolences that kept his grief at the forefront. The changes he’d made in his life hadn’t been easy, but overall, the small town of Willow Springs and the people who welcomed him into their close-knit group were proving a good fit for him.
Neither snow nor frigid temperatures kept people home much in Montana, as demonstrated when Mitchell parked in front of Dale’s Diner an hour later and he could see the Saturday night crowd through the window. Hungry for Gertie’s chicken fried steak smothered in cream gravy, he entered the diner looking for an empty seat or someone he could join at their table. Instead, his eyes zeroed in on the woman perched at the counter, her cascade of dark auburn hair familiar enough to give him a jolt.
Why the hell was Lillian Gillespie still in town?
“Grab that last stool at the counter, Doc, and I’ll be right with you,” Barbara, the waitress tossed out as she breezed by him carrying a laden tray. “We’re swamped tonight.”
“Thanks, and no hurry, Barbara.” Seeing no way out of it, not if he wanted to eat tonight, Mitchell slid onto the seat next to Lillian, removed his hat and tunneled his fingers through his hair. Her small gasp indicated she was as surprised to see him as he was at finding her here. “Didn’t Mort get your car fixed?” Those striking eyes narrowed, and her soft lips tightened in annoyance. Yeah, that sounded rude, but he’d been unprepared for his gut-wrenching reaction at seeing her again.
“Yes, he did. I wasn’t aware that meant I had to leave right away,” she stated in a frigid tone.
He sighed, reaching up to squeeze her shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I wasn’t expecting to see you here, is all.”
She shrugged under his hand and averted her eyes. “I didn’t plan on sticking around, but I met a few people who convinced me this was a nice place to hang for a while.” She faced him again, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t worry, Doctor Hoffstetter, I promise not to intrude on your space.”
Gertie snatched a steaming plate off the ledge and set it down in front of Lillian in time to hear her remark. Scowling, she pointed a finger at Mitchell. “Are you being rude to one of my customers?”
“No, ma’am, I leave that up to you,” he drawled. “I’d like the chicken fried steak with the works, please.”
“Hmmph, as if I didn’t already know that.” Turning her back on them, she called out, “Get me another special, Ed!”
A wide smile lightened Lillian’s face and Mitchell was taken aback by how it transformed her from cute to eye-catching attractive. The smattering of freckles decorating her pert nose below her large, expressive eyes added to the overall appeal of her looks, but the fading, yellow-tinged bruises reminded him of her troubles.
“She’s one of the reasons I like coming in here. I get a kick out of her. She has a knack for making you feel welcome while grumbling.” Looking at her plate filled with meatloaf, baked potato and green beans, Lillian added, “And she insists on giving me enough food for three meals.”
Thinking to make up for his earlier insensitivity, he waited until she swallowed a bite of meatloaf before running a finger over her marred cheek. “Want me to beat him up for you?”
She leaned into his hand without realizing it and Mitchell’s cock stirred with an unwelcome quick jolt of lust. “Not necessary but thanks.”
Controlling himself, he trailed his finger down to the small cut in the corner of her mouth. “The person who did this, was he a friend then lover before revealing his true nature? That’s often how abusive relationships begin.”
She paled at that question and
then reddened as she moved her head enough to lose his touch. “He’s an asshole who enjoys wielding power over people to get what he wants.”
