“Ask me again to go to San Francisco with you,” she whispered. This time she’d say yes, she’d throw away everything to be with Jacob.
“I can’t,” he said. He stopped playing and put the guitar aside.
Daisy’s heart broke all over again. He hadn’t forgiven her for not trusting him, for thinking the worst. Why should she expect anything different? Thank goodness he didn’t allow her to suffer for very long.
“I’m not going back to San Francisco. Not for very long, anyway. There will be things to take care of, I suppose.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I quit my job,” he said. Jacob looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since she’d walked out of the house, and her heart flipped wildly in her chest. She loved him, she liked him; she could even forgive him for being a Tasker...
“You did what?”
“Well, I tried to quit. I’ve been on the phone all day, and as it stands now I’m going to work freelance for the company. I’m now a consultant. That means I can live wherever the hell I want to. My boss is very unhappy, but he’ll learn to live with the change. We’ll make it work.”
He sounded so calm, so reasonable, and the truth became clear to her. “You’re the one who bought my house!”
Jacob nodded. “I did. I also bought the old Hamilton place. We need a home of our own, Daisy, a home that’s ours, but I thought you might want to hang on to this house, too. Your sisters might want to stay here, now and then.”
The old Hamilton place was a grand two-story colonial on the edge of town. She’d always loved that house, and Jacob knew it. No one knew her the way he did.
“A home of our own?” she repeated.
“I also bought a condo in Buckhead. The Hamilton house needs a lot of work, and I wasn’t sure where you’d prefer to live, here or in Atlanta. If you want to live somewhere else just tell me. We can live anywhere, and when I do have to travel you can come with me, if it suits you. Or you can stay here and we’ll talk on the phone for hours while I’m gone, or you can visit your sisters, or stay at the condo. Whatever you want, whatever you need. You’re my number-one priority, Daisy, you will always come first. I won’t forget that again.”
Her mind continued to spin. “You bought a house and a condo? For us?”
“If you’ll have me.” Jacob reached into the open guitar case, opened a small compartment that was built into one side and drew out a small velvet box. He got on one knee so they were face-to-face. Daisy’s heart thumped. This was happening too fast! She wasn’t ready! It was too soon!
She took a deep breath and her heart resumed a fairly normal rhythm. No, it wasn’t too soon, not at all. In fact, this was overdue. They’d both waited more than long enough.
Jacob opened the box and offered it to her on his open palm. A simple diamond solitaire set in yellow gold winked at her. The stone was a good size, but was far from ostentatious. “Daisy Bell, I love you. I have always loved you. Will you marry me?”
Her heart caught in her throat; her mouth went dry. Finally she choked out a soft, “Yes.”
Jacob smiled, as he crept up the steps to take her hand and place the ring on her finger. “I hope you like it.”
“I do, very much. It’s perfect.” She kissed him, once. Again.
Jacob drew away slightly and looked into her eyes. “Good. It’s been sitting in this guitar case for seven years.” He leaned in and kissed her again, his lips soft and warm against hers.
She enjoyed the kiss for a moment then she pulled away. “Seven years? Jacob!”
He shrugged his shoulders, and with one finger moved a strand of hair off her shoulder. “Seven years. I saw the ring and knew it was right for you, so I bought it. I kept trying to plan the perfect proposal, but nothing ever seemed quite right. Besides, I wasn’t in a rush. I thought we had all the time in the world. We were so young, and all I could see ahead of us was blue skies.”
“And then my parents died,” Daisy whispered.
Jacob nodded. “Everything fell apart after that. I couldn’t give you an engagement ring right after your folks died, and I didn’t want to propose and then move to the other side of the country. My plans to come home at Christmas didn’t work out, but for a long time I still believed that we had all the time in the world, that nothing would change for us. I waited for the perfect moment, and it never came. You know the rest. I’m sorry it took me so long to put that ring on your finger, where it belongs. I love you, Daisy. I need you. I don’t care where we live, as long as I get to live with you.”
She draped her arms around his neck. “I love you, too.”
Her last name was going to be Tasker. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
She kissed Jacob again, wallowed in the kiss, and when she pulled away she placed her forehead against his and smiled.
They’d waited long enough, and this moment was as perfect as it could possibly get.
“I hope you don’t have a long engagement in mind...”
Chapter Seventeen
“I told you so,” Eunice whispered to Vivian, as they sat near the foot of the stairs, waiting. She was seated in a comfortable wing chair, as was her friend. The wheelchair was parked in her bedroom, and while she might need it by the end of the day, she didn’t need it right now. Eunice had been surprised by how much she could do when her friend pushed her.
“Don’t brag, Eunice,” Vivian responded, her voice low. “It’s not attractive.”
Vivian had moved into Tasker House a few days earlier, at Eunice’s insistence. She’d brought her little dog, Buster, with her. The mutt was not as annoying as Eunice had initially thought it would be. In fact, Buster was a very loving and loyal animal, and he was surprisingly smart. She allowed the dog to sit on the foot of the bed when they ate chocolate-covered cherries, or watched a baseball game. She and Vivian were already planning a trip to Atlanta to watch a game in person, as soon as Eunice was able to get around a bit better. With Vivian’s help, she grew stronger every day. Caleb, who loved baseball, had promised to take them.
Eunice had to admit—silently and only to herself—that she wasn’t always right. Maddy hadn’t forgiven her the way Daisy had, but she was here for the reunion. Eunice had watched and listened a lot during the reunion. Others in the family seemed to genuinely like Maddy. Maybe she didn’t dress properly, and maybe she did wear too much makeup, and goodness knows she’d never be a brain surgeon, but she was friendly and sunny. She and Ben had shared big news this weekend; they were going to have a baby. The Tasker family was growing once again. Eunice hadn’t given up on earning the girl’s forgiveness. One day.
Finally the music began. Not a recording, but a live string quartet. Eunice could get things done right and in a hurry, if need be.
Lily and Mari walked down the stairs slowly. Daisy’s sisters both wore yellow sundresses, though they were not identical. Jacob elbowed his brother in the ribs when Caleb whistled and muttered an appreciative, drawled, “Damn.” Those who were close enough to hear laughed lightly.
Eunice was not amused. Neither of the available Bell girls would be appropriate for Caleb! Mari was too young, and Lily was too harsh and outspoken. No, she’d need to look elsewhere for a bride for Caleb. And soon.
When Lily and Mari reached the foot of the stairs, Daisy appeared at the top. Eunice smiled. Her wedding gown fit Daisy perfectly. No adjustments had been required. That was a good thing, given the short time they’d had to pull this wedding ceremony together. The bride’s hair was down, simple and unadorned, and she carried white and yellow roses.
Daisy walked down the stairs slowly. Even though the foyer and the hallways beyond were filled with people, her smile and eyes were for Jacob alone. When she reached her waiting groom she whispered, before the preacher said a single word, “I do, I do, I do.”
And Eunice turned once more to her friend, a smug smile on her face. “I told you so.”
* * * * *
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Chapter One
So this was what all the secrecy, giggling and whispers had been about.
Micah Muldare sat on the sofa, looking at the gift his sons had quite literally surprised him with. A gift he wasn’t expecting, commemorating a day that he’d never thought applied to him. He’d just unwrapped the gift and it was now sitting on the coffee table, a source of mystification, at least for him.
His boys, four-year-old Greg and five-year-old Gary, sat—or more accurately perched—on either side of him like energized bookends, unable to remain still for more than several seconds at a time. Blond, blue-eyed and small boned, his sons looked like little carbon copies of each other.
They looked like Ella.
Micah shut the thought away. It had been two years, but his heart still wasn’t ready for that kind of comparison.
Maybe someday, just not yet.
“Do you like it, Daddy?” Gary, the more animated of the two, asked eagerly. The boy was fairly beaming as he put the question to him. His bright blue eyes took in every tiny movement.
Micah eyed at the mug on the coffee table. “I can honestly say I wasn’t expecting anything like this,” Micah told his son. “Actually, I wasn’t expecting anything at all today.”
It was Mother’s Day. Granted he’d been doing double duty for the past two years, being both mother and father to his two sons, but he hadn’t expected any sort of acknowledgment from the boys on Mother’s Day. On Father’s Day, yes, but definitely not on this holiday.
The mug had been wrapped in what seemed like an entire roll of wrapping paper. Gary had proclaimed proudly that he had done most of the wrapping.
“But I put the tape on,” Greg was quick to tell him.
Micah praised their teamwork.
The mug had World’s Greatest Mom written on it in pink-and-yellow ceramic flowers. Looking at it now, Micah could only grin and shake his head. Well, at least their hearts were in the right place.
“Um, I think you guys are a little confused about the concept,” he confided.
Gary’s face scrunched up in apparent confusion. “What’s a con-cept?”
“It’s an idea, a way of—”
Micah abruptly stopped himself. As a reliability engineer who worked in the top secret missile defense systems department of Donovan Defense, a large national company, he had a tendency to get rather involved in his explanations. Given his sons’ tender ages, he decided that a brief and simple explanation was the best way to go.
So he tried again. “It’s a way of understanding something. The point is, I’m very touched, guys, but you do understand that I’m not your mom, right? I’m your dad.” He looked from Gary to Greg to see if they had any lingering questions or doubts.
“We know that,” Gary told him as if he thought it was silly to ever confuse the two roles. “But sometimes you do mom things,” he reminded his father.
“Yeah, like make cookies when I’m sick,” Greg piped up.
Which was more often than he was happy about, Micah couldn’t help thinking. Greg, smaller for his age than even Gary, was his little survivor. Born prematurely, his younger son had had a number of complicating conditions that had him in and out of hospitals until he was almost two years old.
Because of all the different medications he’d been forced to take, the little boy’s immune system was somewhat compromised. As an unfortunate by-product of that, Greg was more prone to getting sick than his brother.
And every time he did get sick, Micah watched him carefully, afraid the boy would come down with another bout of pneumonia. The last time, a year and a half ago, Greg had almost died. The thought haunted him for months.
Clearing his throat, Micah squared his shoulders. His late mother, Diane, had taught him to accept all gifts gracefully.
“Well, then, thank you very much,” he told his sons with a wide smile that was instantly mirrored by each of the boys.
“Aunt Sheila helped us,” Gary told him, knowing that he couldn’t accept all of the credit for the gift.
“Yeah, she drove us to the store,” Greg chimed in. “But me and Gary picked it out. And we used our own money, too,” he added as a postscript.
“‘Gary and I,’” Micah automatically corrected Greg.
The little boy shook his head so hard, his straight blond hair appeared airborne for a moment, flying to and fro about his head.
“No, not you, Daddy, me,” Greg insisted. “Me and Gary.”
There was time enough to correct his grammar when he was a little older, Micah thought fondly.
Out loud he marveled, “Imagine that,” for his sons’ benefit. A touch of melancholy drifted over him. “You two are growing up way too fast,” he told them. “Before you know it, you’re going to be getting married and starting families of your own.”
“Married?” Greg echoed, frowning as deeply as if his father had just told him that he was having liver for dinner for the next year.
“To a girl?” Gary asked incredulously, very obviously horrified by the mere suggestion that he be forced to marry a female. Everyone knew girls were icky—except for Aunt Sheila, of course, but she didn’t count.
“That’s more or less what I had in mind, yes,” Micah told his sons, doing his very best not to laugh at their facial expressions.
Covering his face, Gary declared, “Yuck!” with a great deal of feeling.
“Yeah,” Greg cried, mimicking his brother, “double yuck!”
Micah slipped an arm around each little boy’s very slim shoulders and pulled them to him. He would miss this when the boys were older, miss these moments when his sons made him feel as if he was the center of their universe.
“Come back and tell me that in another, oh, ten, fifteen years,” he teased.
“Okay,” Gary promised very solemnly. “We will, Daddy.”
“Yeah, we will!” Greg echoed, not to be outdone.
Micah’s aunt, Sheila Barrett, stood in the living room doorway, observing the scene between her nephew and her grandnephews. Her mouth curved in a wide smile. While she lived not too far from Micah, it felt as if this was more her home than the place where she received her mail. She took care of the boys when her nephew was at work, which, unless one of his sons was sick, was most of the time.
“They picked that mug out themselves,” she told Micah, in case he thought that this was her idea. “They absolutely refused to look at anything else after they saw that mug. They thought it was perfect for you.”
“And of course you tried to talk them out of it,” Micah said, tongue in cheek. His amusement was there, in his eyes.
Sheila shrugged nonchalantly. “The way I see it, Micah, little men in the making should be as free to exercise their shopping gene as their little female counterparts.”
“Very democratic of you,” Micah commented, the corners of his mouth curving. Aunt Sheila had always had a bit of an unorthodox stre
ak. He learned to think outside the box because of her. He sincerely doubted that he would be where he was today if not for her. “Well, just for that, I’m taking all of you out for lunch.”
“Aunt Sheila, too?” Greg asked, not wanting to exclude her.
“Aunt Sheila most especially,” Micah told his younger son. There was deep affection in his voice. “After all, Aunt Sheila is the real mom around here,” he emphasized pointedly.
Clearly confused, Greg turned to look at the woman who came by every morning to take him to preschool and his brother to kindergarten. Every afternoon she’d pick them both up and then stayed with them until their father came home. Some nights, Aunt Sheila stayed really, really late.
“Aunt Sheila has kids?” Greg asked his father, surprised.
Sheila smiled, answering for Micah. “I have your dad,” told the boy.
They had a special bond, she and her sister’s son. When the world came crashing in on him when his parents were killed in a car accident while on vacation, Micah had been twelve years old. Injured in the accident, too, he’d been all alone at that San Jose hospital. She’d lost no time driving up the coast to get to him. She’d stayed by his side until he was well enough to leave and then she took him home with her. There was no looking back. She’d raised him as her own.
Greg was staring at her, wide-eyed, his small face stamped with disbelief. “Dad was a kid?”
“Your dad was a kid,” she assured him, biting her tongue so as not to laugh at the expression of wonder on the little boy’s face. “And a pretty wild one at that.”
“She’s making that part up,” Micah told his sons. “I was a perfect angel.”
“When you were asleep, you looked just like one,” Sheila agreed, then added, “Awake, not so much.”
“Can you tell us stories about when Daddy was a kid?” Gary asked eagerly.
A Week Till the Wedding Page 19
