by Stacey Keith
His thoughts returned to Maggie, as they always did when he was alone.
After the things he’d said to her… Jake took a long draw off the cigarette and then flicked the ash, watching the heat devils that shimmered over the parking lot. He’d rebuked her for being the very things he loved about her the most. Her kindness. Her compassion, especially for the little things. Even little people.
Funny how before he’d met Maggie, Jake always figured with his money, women considered him a real catch. What a joke. At the end of the day that asshole Todd was probably a better catch. At least he wasn’t afraid to have kids.
For the rest of his life, Jake knew he would regret losing Maggie. There had to be some way to make her understand that he could be a better man.
The singing behind him stopped. Jake put out his cigarette, threw the stub into the trash can and then turned to go back up the stairs. He heard a car door slam in the parking lot, followed by the beep of a remote. A woman wearing a gleaming black dress and carrying an oversized handbag hurried up the walkway.
His heart beat a little faster.
It wasn’t her. Of course not. His mind was playing tricks on him.
But as she drew closer, his mind kept telling him one thing while his eyes told him another. But no, Maggie would never come all the way to Palestine for him.
The woman saw him and froze. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun with loose cascading tendrils just like the night of Mason’s wedding. She wore strappy heels and a silver bracelet.
His heart stuttered.
Maggie.
There was a roaring in his ears, so he couldn’t be sure whether she called to him or said anything at all. She was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen as she stood there with her dark eyes wide and her lips slightly apart. He hurried toward her. If he was being given a second chance to love her, he wasn’t going to blow it.
Maggie melted into his arms and he buried his face in her hair. His heart gave a throb of fierce, hot joy.
Mine.
“You’re here,” he murmured between kisses. “Am I dreaming?”
Tears slipped down her cheeks. They made her eyes appear even more radiant. “I wasn’t sure you wanted me to come,” she whispered.
“I always want you. Till the day I die I’ll want you.” He felt her fingers in his hair and her soft lips pressed against his face. “I’m so sorry.”
“Just don’t stop holding me,” she said. “When you left—”
“You never have to worry about me leaving again.”
She smelled like sugar cookies. Breathing her, touching her—he just couldn’t get enough. And he couldn’t lose her again. She was everything—his friend, his lover, the stars in his universe. With Maggie, he could accomplish anything. Do anything. Become the man he knew he could be.
A man who deserved such a goddess.
Maybe Loretta actually made it into heaven, because he could feel her smiling.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The fifty-foot blue neon sign that spelled out The Regal glowed majestically against the night sky. After ten months of work, Jake’s popcorn palace was finally restored to her former glory and she wore it like the diva she was—a little nip and tuck here, a sumptuous new wardrobe there—and she was ready for her fabled close-up.
Jake stared up at the custom-made reproduction sign he’d spent a fortune on and said to Mason, “So what do you think?”
“I think you’re crazy,” Mason replied. “I think you’re the craziest sonofabitch I know.”
“That sounds about right.” Now that his techpark was almost finished, it was time to start hearing more proposals from startups, which was his favorite part of his business. He liked discussing them with Maggie. Jake shoved his hands in his pockets. For the hundredth time, his fingers traced the cool smoothness of the diamond ring he had waiting there, a ring so big and shiny, even Coralee had gasped, “Sweet Jesus, that thing could call down the mother ship.”
“I think I’m nervous,” Jake said.
“Wait. Did I hear you say you were nervous?” Mason grinned at him. “I’ve never seen you nervous before.”
“I always thought weddings were a sign of mental illness,” Jake confessed. “Right up there with mad cow disease.”
“Gee, thanks,” Mason said. “Give it up for us married guys.”
“I just want everything to go smoothly.” After all, it was an important night. Correction: the most important night. Not only was he proposing to Maggie, but he was officiating over the grand opening of the Regal, and the ceremony began in about ninety minutes. Half of Texas had RSVPed to his invitation. After the drinks and dancing, he and the Mayor of Cuervo were going to do a talk on historical preservation, followed by a screening of Singin’ in the Rain.
None of that was as important to Jake as getting this proposal right, which was why he was glad to have everybody here supporting him. Dillon and his lovely fiancée. Uncle Marty and Aunt Pearl. And every member of his Cuervo family, too.
Asking Maggie to marry him filled Jake with the kind of racing excitement that old Jake would have laughed at him for. As he and Mason walked into the Regal’s lush, beautiful lobby, that excitement made him sweat. He couldn’t believe he was actually doing this. Him. Jake Sutton: loner.
Now here he was about to get married. If Maggie said yes. Would she say yes?
“Look at you,” Mason said. “Are you ready to do this thing or what?”
Jake shot the cuffs on his tux jacket and then reached up to adjust his bowtie. Only staff, family, and a few select friends were here so far, but he needed to find Maggie, and now everybody was going to see what a nervous wreck he was.
Coralee, new co-owner of Sweet Dreams, was lighting chafing dishes in the corner. She’d almost single-handedly organized the catering for the event. Her presence at the bakery gave Maggie the freedom to travel with him, which made them both happy.
Coralee saw him and gave a big attaboy thumbs up.
Maggie’s voice echoed from somewhere in the auditorium.
Jake smoothed his hair. He had this. “Okay,” he told Mason. “I’m going in.”
“Do you need me to write the words on your hand?” Mason asked.
“Bite me.”
He started toward the center aisle. Doak and Priscilla were pretending to admire the ceiling mural, but the minute he looked over, Doak gave him a smile and a wave. Priscilla clapped one hand over her mouth and followed him with wide, excited eyes. Cassidy and her daughter Lexie sprinted across the lobby, obviously trying to act casual but failing, and then everybody seemed to appear out of nowhere, so by the time Jake found Maggie, he had quite an entourage.
She was standing by the stage with Pete, going over some of the last-minute details. Pete was in on the secret, too, so when he spotted Jake, he stammered, blushed and practically ran up the aisle to watch from a safe distance.
This is it, Jake thought. His heart was pounding so hard, he felt like it might bust a rib.
Maggie turned toward him, sleek and curvy in a floor-length red satin gown. Her eyes went past him to the people gathered at the entrance to the auditorium, but he could tell she still wasn’t getting it yet.
There would be kids. He knew that. If she couldn’t have them herself, they could adopt. And there would be the occasional misunderstanding. But Jake would promise always to see her. To listen. To respect her, stand by her and love her for as long as he lived.
Taking a deep breath, he dropped to one knee in front of her. Already he could hear the excited murmurings of everyone in the theater. Maggie’s puzzled expression turned to one of bursting joy.
“Marry me, Magdalene Roby,” he said.
She fanned herself furiously to keep from crying. He took the ring out of his pocket and presented it to her. For as long as he lived, Jake knew he would remember her soft gasp
and that look of wondering bewilderment.
She gave him her hand and he slipped his ring over her finger.
“Yes,” she said. “Oh, my darling, yes.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award winning author Stacey Keith doesn’t own a television, but reads compulsively—and would, in fact, go stark raving bonkers without books, most of which are crammed into every corner of the house. She lives with her jazz musician boyfriend in Civita Castellana, a medieval village in Italy that sits atop a cliff, and she spends her days writing in a nearby abandoned 13th century church. But the two things she is most proud of are her ability to cook pasta alla matriciana without burning down the kitchen and swearing volubly in Italian with all the appropriate hand gestures.
