This Time Forever (37 page)

“Why are you making so many cookies?” Jeremy asked.

“We’re going to take some to the Wolfes.”

Bryan looked up from the table, where he was devouring a sandwich. “Why?”

“Because they’re nice people,” Mickelle said. “Look at what they did to our car.”

“Tanner’s the one who bashed into it,” Bryan reminded her.

“Yes, but they didn’t have to change the wiper blades, fill it with gas, or wash it, did they?”

“The blinker works, too,” Jeremy added.

Bryan frowned. “Well, after the way he treated you . . .”

Mickelle put her hands on her hips. “Bryan, that was all a misunderstanding, and I’m not going to hold it against them forever. Goodness, wouldn’t we hate it if our Heavenly Father held our mistakes up to us for the rest of our lives? The Wolfes are nice people, and I’d say it’s about time we started reaching out to others. Don’t you agree? We are supposed to serve others. That’s how we can be happy.”

Bryan looked at her, amazed. “Yeah, I guess. We haven’t taken cookies to anyone since before Dad . . . can I put in the chocolate chips?”

“Oh, no, we’re out!” Jeremy wailed. He knelt on the counter, searching the cupboard. “And it’s Sunday. We can’t go to the store on Sunday.”

“That’s okay,” Mickelle said. “Your aunt will have some. Why don’t you two run over there while I finish the dough? I’ll call and let her know you’re coming. We’ll need two bags because I’m making a double batch. Tell her we’ll bring some over to them, too.”

An hour and a half later found them in the Snail, driving to Alpine. Mickelle almost wished it would rain so she could use the wipers again and relive the feelings the discovery had given her.

She didn’t feel nervous until she turned into the long driveway leading to the Wolfe place. The immensity of the house seemed to mock her purpose. What was she thinking, bringing homemade cookies to a multimillionaire who certainly could hire someone to make his cookies?

The way the porch wrapped around the circular portion of the house still reminded her of a castle.
Right . . . and Damon’s a knight.
She smiled at the thought.

“I get to ring the bell!” Jeremy shouted. He bounded up the porch stairs and pushed the button. The low bongs Mickelle remembered from her previous visit echoed through the house. Her heart thumped loudly and her hands, holding the plate of cookies, grew moist.

The door opened, and one of the most beautiful women Mickelle had ever seen came into view, regarding them with large gray eyes. Her oval face and high cheekbones were framed perfectly by dark auburn hair. Her skin was smooth and unflawed. She was completely and totally feminine, except in the slightly squared jaw that showed a streak of stubbornness.

Rebekka, I’ll bet,
Mickelle thought, her stomach sinking. This woman was perfect for Damon, and she would obviously resent their visit.

Rebekka wore a close-fitting teal skirt that skimmed the floor and a matching light-weave sweater. She looked elegant and ethereal. Mickelle was grateful she had remained dressed in her black broomstick dress; it might wash out her face, but it still set off her figure. Even so, she wished she had chosen another color. How long had it been since she had worn anything but black or dark gray? Once the black had seemed to go with the desperate, longing feelings inside, but now the color made her uncomfortable. She was the same black blob she’d been on the night she had met Damon.
Well,
she thought,
at least I’m not wet.

The gray eyes flicked over Mickelle and then to the boys. “You must be the Hansens.” Her voice was soft and velvety, and her French accent so slight as to be almost unnoticeable. She turned back to Mickelle. “You look like your sister.”

Mickelle was flattered. She had always thought her sister was beautiful. Did Rebekka see her that way? She finally found her voice. “Are you Rebekka?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I thought you moved out,” Jeremy said. Normally, Mickelle would have censured him for saying it aloud, but she wanted to ask the same question herself.

Rebekka gazed at him with amusement. “I did. But I’m still going to the same church. After the meetings, Damon invited me over to spend some time.” She paused before adding pointedly, “May I help you?”

“We brought some cookies!” Jeremy said, hopping from one foot to the other excitedly.

“Could we speak with Damon?” Mickelle asked.

The gray eyes regarded her coolly. “Sure. I’ll go get him. Please, come in.”

Mickelle and the boys entered, and Rebekka closed the door behind them before gliding across the entryway. When the other woman had safely disappeared around a corner, Mickelle looked about her. The entryway was nothing short of huge, with shiny wood floors and elaborate moldings. A wide, curving staircase with a carved railing led to an upper floor. They could also see into a beautiful living room that filled the curving turret and looked more like a picture than anything else.

“Did you ever see a piano so big?” Bryan whispered.

Mickelle saw him pointing toward a room that adjoined the exquisite living room. Sure enough, a concert grand piano filled half the room. Surely it was horribly expensive, and she wondered what it sounded like. Could it actually be a coveted Steinway? Of course, at that size, any brand of piano would be far beyond her budget.

The entryway was open to the high ceiling—at least two full floors, with a beautiful crystal chandelier reflecting the sun from the stained-glass windows above the door. She had seen places like this on television, and was amazed at how open it was. Almost like being outside.

Before she had taken it all in, Damon appeared, wearing dress slacks and a shirt, as though he had been to church and had removed his suit jacket. To her relief, Rebekka was not with him, only Belle, who ran eagerly toward Jeremy and Bryan.

“Come on!” she shouted. “I’ll show you our pool.”

“No swimming on Sunday,” Damon warned.

“’Course not, Daddy. Besides, my arm, remember?” Belle looked at the boys’ feet. “Take off your shoes first,” she commanded imperiously. “We always take off our shoes in the house. Put them by the door.”

Mickelle noticed that Damon wore slippers over his socks, and that beneath her dress, Belle was bare-footed.

The next moment the children were gone, and Mickelle was left alone with Damon, feeling more than awkward. He looked so familiar to her, so handsome, and yet he was basically a stranger.

“What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the plate in her hands.

“Last night I went to the store,” she began. “It rained. And my wipers worked.” Tears threatened to form in her eyes, and she blinked them away impatiently. “So I made you some cookies to say thanks. Pumpkin and chocolate chip.”

Just then, Tanner appeared from around the corner. “Dad, the cookies are ready, I think.”

Damon flashed Mickelle a smile. “Seems like today is a day for cookies,” he said. “Come on.”

“Wait . . . my shoes.”

“You don’t have to take them off. That’s only for the kids.”

But Mickelle slipped out of her black pumps anyway, and with one foot pushed them beside the door. To her embarrassment, there was a wide hole in her thick black tights, and two of her middle toes stuck out. Only clear fingernail polish around the edges of the hole had prevented it from growing any wider.

She flushed and looked up to see Damon smiling. “Don’t worry about it.” He shook off his slippers and lifted his left foot for her inspection. On the heel was a large hole. “It happened when I pulled them on this morning, but I was too lazy to change. By the time I got home from church, they were holey and hopeless.”

Mickelle grinned at him. “Don’t you mean hopelessly holy? They must have listened hard at church.”

He laughed, a whole-hearted sound that filled Mickelle with warmth. “You can put your shoes back on if you want.”

She refused to be embarrassed. “Hey, what’s a little free air conditioning?”

So in her holey tights, Mickelle followed Damon to a spacious kitchen, where he picked up a padded oven mitt and removed a batch of cookies from one of two ovens. Mickelle watched him for a moment, but then was distracted by the size of the kitchen and the adjoining family room. The entire top floor of her house could fit into this space! The numerous cupboards and cabinets were made of carved oak, glistening with fresh lacquer. The floor was a fine blue ceramic tile, the long banquet table and padded chairs looked like something from an expensive showroom, and she had never seen so many counters. The ceiling was so high that she wondered how anyone cleaned the cobwebs. Would cobwebs even be allowed in this mansion?

The family room was equally attractive, with plush blue leather furniture and elegantly carved wooden table accents. Huge curtainless floor-to-ceiling windows let in ample amounts of light and overlooked the outdoor pool, the pool house, and a green lawn carefully sculptured with flower beds and pink dogwood trees. This was a room to be lived in! A room where family could gather. She could almost see her whole extended family here, talking and laughing while the children darted in and out, playing tag.

Mickelle stopped short. What on earth was she thinking? No one in her family besides Brionney would ever see this house. She refocused her attention on the people in the room. Tanner had joined Rebekka at the bar, watching as she poured tall glasses of milk. Mickelle’s nervousness returned as she again noticed the beauty and grace of the other woman.

“I guess you’ve met Bekka,” Damon said.

“Yes, we’ve met.”

“Damon likes to use nicknames,” Rebekka explained with an engaging smile.

“It’s easier.” Damon set the hot baking pan on top of the gas stove and began to remove the cookies. “They’re chocolate chip,” he announced unnecessarily. He raised his voice an octave. “Belle, the cookies are out!”

Within seconds Belle raced into the kitchen, sliding to a stop on the slick tile. “Cookies, cookies! I want the biggest!”

“Would you like some cookies, boys?” Damon asked as he gave Belle a plate with a large cookie on it.

“Daddy makes them with us every Sunday,” Belle explained. “They’re the best cookies in the whole wide world! But you have to eat them very hot.” She took a big, gooey bite and followed it with a swallow of milk.

The boys accepted cookies from Damon, and Rebekka passed them each a glass of milk.

“Sunday’s the only day our cook’s not working,” Damon said. “She doesn’t like me messing about in the kitchen when she’s here.”

“That’s an excuse,” Tanner informed Mickelle. “He’s done this on Sundays even when we don’t have a cook.”

Damon pretended to ignore his son. “Would you like a cookie?” he asked Mickelle, his amber eyes full of amusement.

Suddenly, the absurdity of the situation overcame Mickelle’s nervousness. “I would,” she said, seating herself on a barstool. “That is, if you’ll taste one of mine. I won’t poison you if you won’t poison me.”

“Agreed!” Damon replied with a laugh. He set a plate with a hot cookie before her and then removed the foil from the plate she had brought. “They’re still warm,” he said, as though impressed.

Mickelle bit into her chocolate chip cookie and chewed in amazement. “Why, Damon, these
are
great!”

“I told you!” Belle exclaimed. “But I like them the best super hot. When’s the next batch coming out, Dad?”

“Patience, Belle,” Tanner muttered.

“Would you like some milk?” Rebekka asked Mickelle politely.

Mickelle felt her confidence drain away. Why did she so resent this younger woman? It was certainly none of her business whom Damon dated. Mickelle was going to be Belle’s sitter, after all. Nothing more. She didn’t
want
anything more.

Still, she couldn’t help noticing with a tiny bit of satisfaction that Belle sat as far away from Rebekka as possible—unlike Tanner, who could barely wrench his gaze from her face.

“Yes, thank you. I’d like some milk.” Mickelle waited until Rebekka handed her the glass before looking toward Damon, who was busy devouring his second pumpkin cookie.

“These are wonderful!” he said after swallowing. “You should go into business.”

“I like cooking, but not
that
much,” Mickelle replied. “Besides, Mrs. Fields has pretty much cornered the cookie market. Although after tasting yours, I think you could give her a run for her money.”

Rebekka laughed. “What do you bet Damon would make a million from it?”

“You just hate me ’cause I’m so good-looking,” Damon said.

“Daddy, I hate it when you say that!” Belle groaned. “Now can I taste some of those pumpkin things before you eat them all?” Damon passed her the plate, and Belle took a tentative bite. “I like them,” she announced. “They’re much better than Rebekka’s cookies. Hers always taste strange.”

“Hey, you can’t be good at everything,” Rebekka said, smiling at Belle.

Belle didn’t look at Rebekka, but added, “Mickelle is good at soccer, too.”

Rebekka frowned for an instant. “How nice.”

“I like Rebekka’s cookies,” Tanner said. “She can’t help it if the French eat a different kind than we’re used to.”

From bad to worse,
thought Mickelle, feeling an unexpected sympathy for Rebekka. “Uh, Tanner, where do you want me to pick you up at school? In the front?”

“Yeah, I’ll wait outside.” He looked at her hopefully. “You’ll be in Dad’s car, right? Until you get your new one, I mean.”

She threw Damon an amused glance. “Yes. Although I have to tell you that the Snail is working really well. You must have a great knack with cars. At least with Bugs and Snails.”

Everyone laughed, and Tanner’s grin grew so wide that it threatened to break his face. “I like cars,” he said.

Mickelle pushed the plate of pumpkin cookies toward him. “These are for you, too. A thank-you for doing such a great job.”

Tanner bit into a cookie. “Mmm, good.”

Rebekka rose from her stool. “Well, as much as I’m going to miss you all, I’d better get going.” She looked at Mickelle, as though waiting.

Mickelle read her thoughts as clearly as if she had spoken: Rebekka wanted her to leave.
If he were my boyfriend, I wouldn’t want him alone with me either. Or any woman.