One Step Away: Once Upon a Proposal

by Sherryl Woods

  “Don’t you want to make new friends? You can learn to ski here. There’s already snow on the ground.”

  “I hate snow!”

  This from the child who’d practically caught pneumonia the year before when she’d built an entire snow family in their yard, then snuck out of the house after dark in an attempt to spend the night with them.

  “You know that’s not true,” Ken replied, clinging to a last shred of patience. “It’s just that this is something new. I know you’ve already had a lot of changes in the past few months, sweetie, but this one will be for the best. You’ll see. Now put your grandmother back on the line.”

  Pam’s mother had pitched right in when her daughter had run off and abandoned them after the divorce. She had come over every day to be there for Chelsea after school, had left dinners for the two of them in the refrigerator and hadn’t even hesitated when he had asked her to move in to baby-sit while he made this trip. She was all alone since her husband had died and she enjoyed helping out. Delores Jensen possessed all the calm stability that her daughter had lacked. Ken genuinely loved and respected her.

  When she had taken the phone from Chelsea, he asked, “How is she really feeling about this move?”

  “It’s not the move she’s fighting. Not really. It’s all of the changes. She’ll be fine, once you’re settled in up there.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, oddly in need of reassurance.

  “Ken, you’re doing the right thing. A new start will be best for both of you,” Delores said firmly.

  She muttered a curse he hoped Chelsea wasn’t still around to hear.

  “Honestly, when I see the disruption my daughter has caused this family, I could just shake her,” she said.

  “You can’t blame Pam for going after what she wants,” he soothed with more goodwill than he realized he held toward his ex-wife. “She probably should have done it years ago. Instead, she married me and tried to be satisfied with being a wife and mother. She wanted to be on the big screen, not in some amateur little theater.”

  Delores sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I suppose I can always hope she’ll be a better actress than she was a wife.”

  “Hey, she’s bound to be. She fooled me all these years into thinking she was happy.”

  His ex-mother-in-law chuckled at last, just as he’d intended. “She didn’t deserve you, you know.”

  Ken laughed at that. “The truth of it is, she probably deserved something better. If you believe all the tabloids, I wasn’t anybody’s idea of a perfect husband, Delores. I just hope I can make up for that by being a decent father.”

  “You always have been. Nobody who knows you ever believed all that junk the tabloids printed about you being a playboy. You never looked at another woman once you and Pam got married.”

  “You sound so sure of that,” he said, grateful for her faith in him.

  “I know you. Now, tell me about the house. Will there be room for me to come visit?”

  He laughed. “The place has five bedrooms.”

  She gasped. “Oh, my! I thought you wanted something small that wouldn’t require much upkeep.”

  “I’m afraid I got caught up in the excitement of the moment.”

  “Meaning the real estate agent was either beautiful or incredibly persuasive.”

  “Neither.” He thought of Beth Callahan’s generous mouth and thick, curly hair. “Not exactly, anyway. She didn’t want me to have the house.”

  “Why on earth not?”

  “I think she found me lacking in some way.”

  Delores Jensen chuckled. “She must have been blind.”

  “You’re prejudiced.”

  “Hey, I saw that calendar you posed for, remember. I’m not too old to recognize a hunk when I see one.”

  “I don’t think it was my physique that turned her off.”

  “Then what was the problem?”

  Ken recalled the way Beth Callahan had talked about the house, the way her eyes had lit up when she’d described how suitable it was for a large family. “I think she was hoping for that TV family. You know the one. With John-Boy.”

  “The Waltons?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a slow smile. “That’s it.”

  “Doesn’t she realize they’re just make-believe?”

  “I doubt it. Something tells me that Beth Callahan has some very old-fashioned ideas about family.”

  “I see,” Delores said, sounding as if she’d just made an intriguing discovery.

  “Forget it,” he said hurriedly.

  “I didn’t say a word.”

  “You didn’t have to. Your reputation as a matchmaker is legendary. Half the bachelors on the team refuse to even meet you since you fixed up Claude Dobbins and practically escorted him all the way to the altar.”

  She ignored the gibe. “Beth Callahan, huh? I can hardly wait to meet her.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” he muttered to himself.

  “I heard that,” she said, laughing. “Will we see you tomorrow?”

  “I may stay on a couple of days to get the renovations under way. Is that a problem for you?”

  “Of course not. You know I love staying with my baby.”

  “Then I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know my exact plans.”

  “Sure you don’t want me to drive Chelsea up?” she teased. “I’d be happy to. Maybe I could give you a little advice on decorating...or anything else that might come up.”

  “Good night, Delores.”

  “Is that a no?”

  “That is definitely a no.”

  The very thought of his ex-mother-in-law getting a look at Beth Callahan sent a shudder down his spine. He hadn’t been joking about her penchant for matchmaking. What he hadn’t said was that she seemed determined to choose the most incongruous people to pair off. Somehow, though, the pairings worked. Right now, he couldn’t imagine a more unlikely couple than prissy Ms. Callahan and the reportedly daring, reckless playboy of the Washington Redskins. It would probably be a challenge Delores couldn’t resist.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning Beth was still astonished by her uncharacteristic behavior. She wasn’t particularly proud of herself. In fact, she couldn’t imagine what had gotten into her. She’d taken one look at Ken Hutchinson, made a judgment about what kind of man he was and completely lost her head. She had not only been downright rude to a man who had done nothing to deserve it, but she had been totally unprofessional in a way that could have destroyed the good reputation she had worked so hard to attain in a tight-knit New England community that wasn’t won over easily.

  Every time she thought about her actions, she shuddered. Never before had she tried to talk a client out of buying a house. Nor had she ever boosted the price in an ill-considered attempt to block a sale. And all just because she didn’t think he deserved to own it. Her license could have been yanked if he had wanted to make an issue out of it.

  There was no question that he had known exactly what she was up to. She had been able to read the awareness in his expression. If she were lucky, maybe he would just chalk it off to momentary lunacy. Or, more likely, he would make her pay at some point down the line.

  That was probably it, she decided with a sudden flash of insight into the man who had battled wits with her the day before and won. He had struck her as an advocate of the don’t-get-mad, get-even school of retribution. That hard glint she had detected in his eyes definitely didn’t suggest he would be the type to forgive and forget.

  Yet his rare flashes of humor that she had observed were at odds with her overall impression. In many ways, the evidence of a wry wit was even more disconcerting because it had almost tempted her to like him. And in liking him, she would underestimate him, she realized belatedly. It
was probably one of his more successful business ploys.

  The man apparently also had a streak of stubbornness equal to her own. The harder she had tried to foul up the sale, the more insistent he had become about concluding it. She wondered if he even wanted the blasted house or if he’d just enjoyed sparring with her. She supposed she would know for sure when it was time for the final papers to be signed in—she stole another furtive glance at her watch—about five minutes.

  As she sat outside the office of the Berry Ridge bank’s president, waiting for her client’s arrival, she couldn’t help glancing at the time every ten seconds, hoping that Ken Hutchinson wouldn’t show up. Maybe even now he was on his way back to wherever he’d come from, having a good laugh at her expense. The humiliation would have been worth it just to keep him out of the Grady place and to keep her from having to face the oddly conflicting feelings she felt in his totally, undeniably masculine presence.

  Naturally, however, he strolled through the door right on time. His punctuality grated, even though she knew she ought to be grateful he hadn’t kept her waiting, prolonging the uncertainty.

  As she took a good long look at him in his tight-fitting jeans, flannel shirt and heavy winter jacket that would have made him a solid candidate to model for the L.L. Bean catalog, her heart thumped unsteadily. She blamed it on disappointment at the now inevitable loss of her favorite house.

  The truth was, though, that some seriously deranged part of her found the man attractive, despite the way he’d run roughshod over her the day before. She would hate to be up against him in a cutthroat business negotiation. She had seriously underestimated both his skill and his determination. Under other circumstances, she would have admired those very traits in him. As it was, she floundered unsuccessfully for any logical explanation for the odd, fluttery sensation he caused in the pit of her stomach. Nerves? Maybe. Fascination? All too likely, she decided ruefully.

  As Roger Killington, the stuffy, middle-aged president of the Berry Ridge bank, invited them into his office, she tried to gauge his reaction to the area’s newest prospective resident. Roger was also president of the Chamber of Commerce and cared a great deal about maintaining the town’s upscale serenity. She doubted if that vision included wealthy playboys. Berry Ridge had been gentrified, not turned into some Aspenlike ski resort for the jet set.

  To her bemusement, however, Roger was beaming at Ken Hutchinson as if they were old friends.

  “The minute you told me yesterday that you were working with Beth, I knew you’d find exactly what you were looking for. She’s the best,” Roger told him. He beamed at her with almost fatherly pride, which belied some of the battles they’d had about the town’s future.

  Beth managed a weak smile.

  “She does have a way about her,” Ken conceded, turning that impudent grin of his on her. His eyes sparked with another display of that humor that warmed her when she least expected it.

  Oblivious to the byplay, Roger asked, “So, what did you choose?”

  Ken glanced at Beth. “What did you call it? The Grady place?”

  Beth nodded.

  Roger’s expression lit up. “That’s terrific. I’m less than a mile away. Maybe we can put together a touch football game in the meadow once the snow melts in the spring. I know half the men in the area will get a big kick out of playing with one of the best. Maybe you could get a few of your teammates up here. We could raise some money for charity.”

  Roger was so caught up in his plan, he apparently didn’t notice Ken Hutchinson’s reaction. The man’s handsome, chiseled face had turned gray, even though he managed to keep his expression bland. What was going on here? For the first time Beth began to wonder exactly who Ken Hutchinson was.

  She didn’t have to puzzle over his identity for long. With what was for him an unusual lack of tact, Roger was oblivious to Ken Hutchinson’s discomfort. He pulled what looked like a football program out of his desk drawer.

  “I knew I had this someplace. Found it at home. Would you mind signing it? My son will be thrilled. He’s a huge fan. Hasn’t stopped talking about that terrible game back in August.” Suddenly he wound down and his voice faltered. An expression of sympathy spread across his face. “Jeez, I’m acting like a jerk. You’d probably like to forget all about that day. How is your knee?”

  Although she was hardly a sports fan by anyone’s definition, Beth was beginning to piece together the clues. She added what Roger had said to the faint limp she’d detected as she’d watched Ken Hutchinson going through the house the day before. She decided her client must be some sort of football celebrity who was recovering from a serious injury. She glanced into Ken’s expressionless face, then met his eyes and realized the torment this conversation was putting him through. Even though she didn’t understand the details, she jumped in to try to ease the awkward situation.

  “Roger, as you just said yourself, I’m sure Mr. Hutchinson would rather talk about something else,” she said firmly. “Perhaps we should get down to business.”

  Roger looked taken aback by her sharp tone, but his innate diplomacy finally surfaced. “Of course. Sorry.” He slid the unsigned program back into his desk drawer. “I have all the papers right here.”

  Arrangements for the transfer of the title took less time than it took to select a ripe melon this time of year. Beth had to swallow hard as she took the pen in hand to sign the papers. And with her client’s steady gaze pinned on her, her signature was disgustingly shaky.

  When the deal was closed, it required all of her will to keep the ridiculous resentment she felt out of her voice as she congratulated Ken Hutchinson on his purchase. She drew the keys to the house from her purse and handed them to him.

  “I hope you’ll be very happy here,” she said in a voice so low and unenthusiastic she drew a surprised look from Roger. “If that’s all, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Whoa!” Ken Hutchinson said, latching on to her arm with a grip that had probably served him well on a football field. “Trying to run out on me?”

  Beth lifted her startled gaze from the hand resting on her arm to his eyes. “Is there a problem?”

  “We haven’t discussed the renovations. It’s my understanding that you can handle those for me. Chet said that was part of any deal you made.”

  Dear Heaven, this wasn’t a twist she’d anticipated. Even as she started to speak, guilt sliced through her. “Really, Mr. Hutchinson...” Catching the warning look in his eyes, the guilt won. She allowed the protest to die on her lips and hoped she could come up with something really good before she was forced to continue to see this man who so unexpectedly and unfortunately stirred her senses.

  “Ken,” he insisted.

  “Mr. Hutchinson,” she repeated stubbornly.

  His eyes sparkled with mocking laughter as he matched her stubbornness. “Ken.”

  Beth gave up that fight, saving her energy for trying to make him see reason. “Fine,” she said agreeably. “Ken. As for the renovations, I’m sure you have your own ideas about what you’d like to do to the house.”

  He smiled blandly. “Nope. I don’t have a clue.”

  “But surely...” Her voice faltered.

  “I was counting on you.”

  The look in his eyes threw her. There was nothing innocent about it. Rather, it was warm and very masculine, almost speculative. It took her a minute to gather her thoughts and remind herself sternly that he was interested in her professional skills, nothing more. It still struck her as a bad idea.

  “Well, of course, I can recommend local men who are qualified to do anything you’d like with regard to repairs,” she offered as a compromise. “As for the interior, I suspect our tastes are very different.”

  “Afraid I’ll want AstroTurf in every room, Ms. Callahan?” he inquired cheerfully.

  She could feel the rush of bl
ood into her cheeks. “No, of course not. It’s just that—”

  “Look, let’s cut to the chase,” he interrupted with that more familiar brisk tone that didn’t make her pulse buck. “I can give you whatever budget you need and carte blanche to make whatever choices you think best.”

  “I can do anything I want?” she repeated slowly, not quite believing her ears. Temptation rose to crowd out all of her logical arguments.

  “Anything,” he confirmed.

  “Pink marble and lots of velvet?” she suggested, testing him.

  He swallowed hard, but nodded. “If you think that’s appropriate.”

  She found herself laughing at the brazen lie. “You must figure you’re safe on that score. Choosing pink marble and velvet to decorate a house for someone like you would ruin my reputation forever.”

  He grinned back at her. “I was counting on that.”

  “I’m sure you were,” she said dryly. “Okay, exactly what do you want me to handle?”

  “Everything.”

  At the prospect of working closely with this man for the weeks, maybe even months it would take to complete renovations on the Grady place, alarm bells went off in her head. Still, it was the opportunity she’d dreamed about to restore the house to the country-style showplace it must have been around the turn of the century. And she’d just about run out of graceful ways to try to turn the job down.

  She glanced at Roger and had to smother a laugh at his expression of bemusement. No doubt he couldn’t imagine any sensible businesswoman saying no to an opportunity this incredible.

  “You realize it could take some time to get everything done. When will you want to move in?”

  “As quickly as possible. If you can make a couple of bedrooms livable in the next week or so, the rest can move along at a slower pace.”

  “Two rooms in a week?” she repeated with disbelief. “That’s not possible.”

  “Sure it is,” Roger said hurriedly. “You’re a miracle worker, Beth. You know you can get the guys in town to do anything for you.”

  “For a price.”