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She wasn’t kidding herself about missing her family. Thanksgiving was always a huge, boisterous affair, like every other celebration with the Henderson and Cochran families. An ache in her chest started and before she could stop it, a tear gathered in her eye and slid down her cheek. Another one followed and a few more after that. Unfortunately they passed under a streetlight just as Mitch looked at her. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
It might have been the beautiful night, or the sudden longing for her family, or the endearment he used, but before she knew it, she was wrapped in his arms and sobbing on his chest. “I miss my family.”
Instead of another I-told-you-so tirade, he ran his palm up and down her back. “I know. It would impossible for you not to miss them.” He reached into his pocket and produced a handkerchief. “It’s clean,” he said.
“Thank you.” She wiped her face and took a deep breath. “I like it here. I really do. And I plan to stay.” She stuck her chin out. “But I do miss them on days like this.”
Mitch placed his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. “Days like this I miss my family, too.”
“Your wife?”
“Sadly, not as much as I should. We were married less than a year. Most of that time she was sick with carrying Ian.” He looked up at the stars. “What I miss is my parents and the life we had. They always made a big fuss on Thanksgiving Day, also. Ihkáa always made many Crow dishes. Père made sure his favorite French foods were on the table, too. And, of course, I had to have turkey. It was a combination of Crow, French, and American.” He shook his head. “I try to keep Ian aware of his heritage.”
“That’s why he goes to the reservation every summer?”
“Yes.”
“So you called your father by the French word for father and I assume Ihkáa is the Crow word for mother?”
“It is. As I said, it was a combination life.”
“It sounds like a wonderful one.”
He turned them and headed back to her house. “It’s getting late, and I’m sure after all the cooking you did today, you must be tired.”
“Yes, I am. And tomorrow’s a work day.”
“I thought school was closed tomorrow.”
“It is. But I have to work. I have plenty of papers to grade, and I have to start planning the Christmas concert and pageant.”
“You are amazing, Miss Cochran.” They reached her doorstep. He turned her and took her into his arms. “I hate to say this out loud, but I’m beginning to believe you do mean to stay.”
“Even after my tears?”
He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. “Even after your tears.”
Her breathing grew rapid and her heart began to pound. Despite the cold air, she felt warm, parts of her body even warmer. Mitch slid his palms up her arms until he reached her shoulders then drew her close. His head shifted and he took her mouth in a searing kiss. Again her toes curled, and she had the desire to fling off her coat. Heck, even her dress and undergarments. She’d seen enough of her parents kissing, and her cousins and their spouses, to know where something like this would lead.
Mitch pulled away and kissed her jaw. “So sweet.”
Her knees started to buckle, and he wrapped a strong arm around her waist to hold her up, taking her lips once more. His tongue nudged her lips until she gasped and he slid in, again touching all the spots in her mouth that set her on fire. She slid her palms up his chest and circled his neck, playing with the hair at his nape.
He released her mouth and closed his eyes. “You better go inside.”
“Yes. I don’t believe it’s proper for the new teacher to be standing at her front door kissing her student’s father.”
He grinned and pulled back. “I agree.” He turned and headed down the path, then looked back. “I’ll pick you up for church Sunday. Don’t work too hard tomorrow.”
With a slight salute, he was gone, disappearing into the shadows until he was half a block away and under a streetlight. Now that she’d lost his warmth, she shivered with the cold and let herself into the house.
What was that all about? She shrugged out of her coat, untied her bonnet, and placed them both on the hook by the door. She unhooked her half boots and, tucking her feet under her bottom, sat on the sofa. Spying the whiskey bottle on the table, she poured a tiny bit into one of the glasses still sitting there. She swirled the brown liquid around then held the glass up. “Here’s to you, Papa. Your little girl is all grown up.”
She gulped the whiskey down in one swallow and began to cough and sputter as the liquid burned all the way down her throat to her stomach.
“Maybe not so grown up, after all,” she rasped, trying to catch her breath.
Chapter 8
