Bridge to Forever Page 29

  They stared, each mentally weighing the other. They had similar builds—short for men, but with strong, well-proportioned muscles. Troy knew, though, that he was stronger physically, and harder in his resolve where it really counted. For all his boastful scams, Colton was weak. It was this weakness Troy planned to exploit. Big time. When he walked away from the entire mess he would have all the money, every single penny. With any luck, his former partner would be in jail.

  “Okay,” Colton muttered.

  Troy grinned to himself. “So when we doing it?”

  “Friday. I need a few days to plan.”

  “I need some cash.”

  “I gave you ten thousand.”

  “I got expenses.” Same thing he had told his mother. He still couldn’t believe she had found the money and split. No way would he admit that to this fancy boy. “Anyway, that rock I got you was worth more than ten times that.”

  “Okay, but this advance is coming out of your share.”

  Troy almost laughed at the irony. “Sure. Whatever.”

  He watched as Colton counted out three hundred dollars from his wallet.

  “I’ll wait to hear from you.” Troy began whistling as he started for his Chevy.

  * * *

  As good as his word, Damon had made an appointment with someone to outfit Mickelle. A very young-looking woman appeared on her doorstep Tuesday morning, dressed in a smart cranberry suit and carrying a large briefcase. “Are you Ms. Hansen?” she asked, her black eyes sparkling in the outside light.

  “Call me Mickelle. Would you like to come in?”

  “I’m Cindi Hecho—Cindi with two I’s.”

  “Hello, Cindi.” Mickelle led the short, dark-haired woman into the sitting room. “Hecho—what nationality is that?”

  “My parents are from Korea originally,” Cindi said, seating herself gracefully next to Mickelle on the couch. “But I was born here. My, that’s a beautiful piano.”

  Mickelle glanced over at the adjoining music room which had been built in the bottom half of a turret. “It’s a Steinway. Handmade.”

  “Nice. Do you play?”

  “I’m taking lessons. My, uh, Damon’s former wife played.”

  “I see. I don’t play at all, but I do enjoy listening.” Cindi opened her briefcase. “I guess we should get right down to work. From what Mr. Wolfe said, you need quite a few things.”

  “Just a dress really,” protested Mickelle.

  “Let me tell you how this works.” Cindi placed a large stack of laminated four-color brochures on the coffee table. “I’m what you call a fashion consultant. Together we look over these and decide what you need, and then I get it from my suppliers. Some basic items I already have out in the van, and some I’ll bring back later. If anything needs adjusting, I’ll either do it, or have it done. If you want something made just for you, we can do that too, though we’ll need a few weeks’ notice on something like that.”

  “Something ready-made will be fine.” Mickelle felt a trifle overwhelmed, but she’d known agreeing to be a wealthy man’s wife would mean changes. Her wardrobe was a place she could begin.

  The bell sounded, and Mickelle stood, trying to move graciously as she had seen Cindi do. At least her limp was gone, though her leg still sported the ugly bruise from her fight with Bryan. “It’s probably my sister. I hope you don’t mind, but I asked her to come over and help.”

  “Oh, no—the more the merrier.”

  Brionney was at the door, for once without the twins and Rosalie. “Mom agreed to watch them,” she said with a grin. “Imagine! Shopping in your own home. Can you believe us?”

  They giggled together as Brionney scanned the entryway. “Gosh, I always forget how big this place is until I come back.”

  “I know just how you feel. We have fifteen thousand square feet—I don’t see how we could ever use more. I didn’t even know there were houses this big in Utah.”

  “From what I’ve seen, Damon actually lives quite modestly compared to a lot of rich guys.”

  “I agree.” Mickelle hesitated before adding, “I hate to admit it, but I’ve really fallen in love with the turrets. It’s like living in a castle.”

  Brionney gave a long sigh. “Ah, a fairy tale come to life. You can’t beat that. And to think it was all my idea.”

  “Yeah, right. Come on, my consultant is waiting.” They burst into laughter again. Mickelle was very glad that Brionney had come.

  Cindi smiled at the newcomer as they entered the sitting room. “Hello. You’re just in time. I thought we might start with wedding dresses.”

  “What?” Mickelle arched an eyebrow. “I bet Damon put you up to that.”

  A telltale flush spread over Cindi’s olive skin. “Well, yes, but if we begin now, you can have the dress specifically made for you.”

  “Let’s get to it then.” Brionney enthusiastically reached for a brochure.

  They spent a wonderful morning planning and picking out Mickelle’s wardrobe. Several times Cindi went out to her gray van for sets of clothing which Mickelle tried on in front of the full-length mirror in the downstairs bathroom. There were no prices, and Mickelle didn’t ask.

  She enjoyed herself thoroughly. Cindi had brought all sorts of clothes in her size and Mickelle was surprised to see how wonderful the outfits looked on her. She chose several pantsuits, a few suit dresses, four blouses, and a blue and white Sunday dress that brought out the blue in her eyes. Then, with encouragement from Brionney, she added four pairs of shoes, sweats, two new swimsuits, three sweaters, and a pair of designer jeans. For her dinner date with Damon she opted for an off-white, two-piece-look dress that featured a close-fitting beaded top and a long, full satin skirt.

  “You’ve got just the right height for that dress,” Cindi said. “It doesn’t look half as good on people my size.”

  “Tell me about it,” moaned Brionney. “And now that I’m weaning the twins I’ve gained a few pounds.”

  “I’ve got something here for you, too.” Cindi pulled out another brochure from her seemingly endless supply. “You need this type of dress. See how it curves inward at your feet? And that cut diminishes the waistline.”

  “I do like it,” Brionney said admiringly.

  In the end they each bought a dress, though neither was able to keep it since Cindi didn’t have Brionney’s size and Mickelle’s dress needed hemming. Mickelle felt like a princess when trying on her dress and swirling around in the full skirt. She could hardly wait until Friday night!

  She had tentatively chosen a wedding dress as well from one of the brochures but wanted to put off a final decision for a few weeks. The dress was a close-fitting column dress, made with white satin and a white lace overlay. It had long sleeves, and once hemmed it would just brush the tops of her matching satin shoes. The wedding dress was nothing like the bulky one she had worn with Riley, but simple and elegant. Her excitement grew as she thought about wearing it when she exchanged vows with Damon.

  “I’ll bring that wedding dress and a few similar models when I return on Friday morning with your dress,” Cindi promised. She held out an invoice for Mickelle to sign. “This means you received these items. A copy of this plus the itemized bill will go to Mr. Wolfe. He said to tell you this was his wedding gift.”

  “Thank you,” Mickelle said.

  Cindi grinned. “Not me—him. Although it has been a lot of fun, hasn’t it? I love my job.”

  After Cindi was gone, Brionney sighed and gave Mickelle a hug. “I’d best get going as well. Those kids are a handful for Mom. Thanks for inviting me. I’ve never spent so much money on one dress, but boy, am I going to look good.” She strutted out the door while Mickelle laughed.

  Brionney stopped and turned as she reached the steps. “Oh, so when are you and Damon getting married anyway?”

  “I—I don’t know yet. I’m sort of waiting to see how everything gets settled with Jennie Anne.”

  Brionney stared at her for a long time before shakin
g her head. “No, that’s not it. You love him. You wouldn’t let that stand in your way. His lawyers’ll take care of Jennie Anne. What’s really wrong?”

  “I never could hide much from you.” Mickelle leaned against the door frame. Then, remembering the cameras by the door, she motioned her sister back into the house.

  In the family room, she felt secure enough to speak. “You know when Riley died how I thought I was pregnant—hoped that I was pregnant? Well, I thought now Damon and I could . . .”

  “Have a baby.”

  “He had an operation.”

  “Sometimes they can be reversed.”

  “It’s not just that. I don’t think he really has the need for another child. Not that he wouldn’t love one if I got pregnant. But I don’t want to do it just for me. I want his baby, but I want us to do it together.”

  “Have you told him how you feel?”

  “We haven’t talked about it much, but we will. Things keep getting in the way.”

  Brionney nodded sympathetically. “How is Bryan?”

  “Sullen. But at least he’s not acting out. The contract helped, I think. He hasn’t said much to anyone, though.”

  “Damon’s a good man. Bryan will come to see that.”

  “I hope it’s soon.”

  * * *

  Mickelle pondered her dilemma as she went to pick up the kids from school. The more she thought about it, the more positive she felt that she had to talk with Damon soon. We will work it out. She felt confident in her new maroon pantsuit and grateful that Cindi had given her a little speech on not saving the outfits for a special day but to enjoy the clothes immediately. “Too many women save things for a special day,” she said. “But why not make every day special?”

  She arrived at Forbes early enough to help with Jennie Anne’s reading group. Twice weekly she had been coming in to read with them, and was pleased with both Belle’s and Jennie Anne’s progress. In past weeks Jennie Anne had surpassed most children in the class in all areas of learning. Her mathematical abilities continued to delight and impress her teacher, though Jennie Anne refused to say more than two words to Mrs. Palmer personally. So far, she spoke only at reading time, or to answer questions. Nothing more. But today the teacher hurried over to Mickelle. “I can’t believe the change in Jennie Anne,” she whispered. “She talked to me today. She talked!”

  “What did she say?”

  “She asked me if I like the color blue.”

  “Her favorite color.” Mickelle glanced at the child, busily writing on a piece of paper like all the other students in the class. “I hoped she would open up to you, now that she’s with us.”

  Mrs. Palmer smiled. “You were right.” They stood in silence watching Jennie Anne for a minute before the teacher added, “Oh yeah, and the school counselor also had a chat with her as we discussed. He’ll be contacting you personally, but he asked me to let you know that he will speak on your behalf in the custody hearing, if you like.”

  “That would be great. We feel certain they’ll let her stay with us, but we plan to track down the aunt to get her signature on official papers. We’ve got somebody on that now.”

  Mrs. Palmer’s eyes gleamed with approval. “I’m so glad. She deserves it. I keep thinking that if it wasn’t for Belle and you, she would have ended up . . .” She blinked the tears away. “Well, you know as well as I do.”

  “I feel a little guilty that I thought it was her aunt,” Mickelle confessed.

  “It could so easily have been.”

  “I still don’t know what made her leave.”

  “Jennie Anne hasn’t said anything to you?”

  “Just that her uncle was back. I don’t think Nedda told her much. Every time we talk about it, Jennie Anne gets nervous.”

  “Who can blame her? I’m sure that over time she’ll open up.” Mrs. Palmer raised her voice. “Okay, class, it’s time to divide for our reading groups.”

  After school let out, Mickelle drove by her sister’s to pick up Bryan. In order to save her an extra trip to American Fork, he had agreed to wait there every day after school. She planned to move all the children to a closer school after she was married, but meanwhile it was a lot of driving—two times in the morning to take first Bryan and then the younger children, and another trip in the afternoon. She’d also toyed with the idea of moving back to her own house, since Colton was likely long gone, despite his threats, but Damon would hear none of it.

  “We don’t know that he won’t come back,” he had insisted last night.

  “Seriously, Damon. What have I got that he could possibly want?”

  He nuzzled her ear. “Everything. Besides, Belle would be heartbroken.”

  So she agreed to stay at Wolfe Estates. She admitted to herself that it would be difficult to move back into her small house, with no housekeeper or cook to make dinner. I’m spoiled, she thought. Who would have ever expected that? Me, a woman who could barely afford a washing machine last May.

  Bryan greeted her with stoic indifference as he’d since she had brought him home from juvenile detention, but she noticed he loosened up with his brother and Belle. Especially Belle.

  She smiled. Bryan might not know it, but Belle could be the answer to their deadlock. Mickelle knew first-hand that cute, intelligent, exasperating, darling, annoying Belle could change attitudes by doing nothing more than being herself. In fact, she’d been a big factor in Mickelle’s decision to trust Damon in the first place.

  Once at home, the children scattered. Mickelle went up to her room to finish hanging up her new clothes in the walk-in closet and clean out the worn or outdated outfits she’d clung to out of necessity. She sang as she worked, feeling content. Her earlier confidence had remained, and she believed she was finally ready to get on with her life.

  Cammy rang the intercom to let her know that she had arrived. “Don’t worry. Tanner let me in. I wanted to tell you that dinner will be ready at six-thirty sharp. I’ll have to leave right after, so if Mr. Wolfe is late . . .”

  “He won’t be. But if so, I can take care of it,” Mickelle assured her. Lately, Cammy had been staying to put the food on the table and to watch their reaction to her low-fat creations.

  Finished in her room, Mickelle wandered down the hall to see what the girls were up to, knowing she would probably find them in the bedroom they now shared. The door was only partially open, but when Mickelle tried to walk in, the door refused to open farther. “Belle, what—?” The door gave and Mickelle fell into the room.

  The scene before her was more astonishing than anything she had ever beheld, even after living with two boys. Every toy Belle owned was off the shelves or out of the large wooden chest. The closet was also gaping open and clothes were strewn about. Only occasional patches of the wood floor and throw rugs were visible.

  Mickelle picked her way through the jumble. “Belle, what’s all this?”

  “I was deciding what to wear for Halloween tomorrow.”

  “Where’s Jennie Anne?”

  “She and Jeremy are playing Candyland. I didn’t want to play.”

  “I thought you’d already decided to be a princess.”

  “Yeah, but what kind of princess? I could be Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Belle from Beauty and the Beast—I should be her ’cause that’s my name, but the Cinderella costume is much more beautiful.”

  Mickelle bent and picked up a pair of stretch pants. “Why are these out?”

  “It’s pretty cold at night, you know.” Belle sounded as though she were speaking to a toddler. “Dad’s gonna make me wear stuff under the dress.”

  “That’s wise.” Mickelle knew that Belle was excited. In Anchorage, Damon hadn’t felt comfortable allowing her to go trick-or-treating, since he hadn’t personally known many of his neighbors, so this was Belle’s first time.

  Mickelle was still scanning the room when her eyes came to rest on the mixing bowl in Belle’s plastic kitchenette. It was caked with a watery flour mixture
, and there was flour dusting the floor and the entire kitchenette. Belle was also powdered, as were her stuffed bear and her plastic horse. Despite the huge mess, Mickelle stifled an urge to laugh at how adorable the child looked.

  She and Damon had disagreed over whether or not Belle should be allowed to have this sort of thing in her room. He had maintained that there was no fun if you couldn’t use water and real “stuff” to play with, and Mickelle had finally agreed to allow it if Belle was held responsible for the clean up.

  This would be a big cleanup.

  “Belle, dinner will be ready in an hour and I think that you had better get cracking.”

  “Cracking?”

  “Cleaning up.”

  “Mrs. Mertz can do it.”

  “Mrs. Mertz is off now.”

  “Then tomorrow.”

  Mickelle shook her head. “That wasn’t the deal. Mrs. Mertz is not your personal servant.”

  “Dad pays her to clean.”

  “The house, not your room. Not a mess like this anyway.”

  “She always cleans it when I do this.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Belle’s lower lip jutted out. “I don’t have to obey you ’cause you’re not my real mother.”

  The unexpected words were like a blow to Mickelle’s heart, though she knew from other stepparents that it was inevitable. She forced herself to be calm. “I know that I’m not your real mother, but I love you like a real mother does, and like it or not, after your father and I get married, I’ll be the only mother you’ve got.”

  “I don’t need a mother!” Belle shouted, her round face turning rosy with ire.

  Mickelle was beginning to feel angry herself. In an instant of exasperation, she said, “No? Maybe I should leave! Would you like that? Maybe I should just get out of your way.” She doubted she was making the situation any better. Control, she told herself. Aloud, she added, “But you better think about it hard, because I bet if you think real hard, you’ll decide that even I’m better than no mother at all. Aren’t I? Well? Don’t you love me just a little?” Mickelle held her breath. Belle was temperamental. She might tell her to get lost, and then where would she be?