One Step Away: Once Upon a Proposal

by Sherryl Woods

  “Then you have to meet them,” Ken insisted. “I know Delores would love to have you join us. She thinks you’re terrific.”

  She shook her head. “It’s too awkward.”

  “Awkward how?”

  “Me, your ex-mother-in-law, your friends,” she said, carefully avoiding any mention of the real problem—Chelsea. “Thanksgiving should be for family and friends. I’m an outsider.”

  “Not with me. And you won’t be with them, if you’ll give them a chance.”

  The invitation tempted like the lure of lemonade on a summer day. She resisted. “I can’t.”

  “It’s Chelsea, isn’t it? She’s the real problem.”

  “I never said that,” she said, shocked that he’d zeroed in on it. Even though she credited him with amazing sensitivity, she had assumed he would be blind to anything having to do with his daughter.

  “Look, I know she hasn’t behaved very well toward you. Don’t take it personally, though. She’s been difficult for all of us to handle. She threw a tantrum with Claude the other day and she adores him. And I can’t tell you the battles she and I have had over this move.”

  “You can’t blame her,” she said. “She’s been through a lot of changes.”

  “That doesn’t entitle her to behave like a spoiled brat,” he said, his expression grim. “I’m not trying to excuse her behavior, but can’t you make some allowances for what she’s going through?”

  “Of course I can.” From a nice, objective perspective she actually agreed with what he was saying. Unfortunately she wasn’t able to be objective in this situation. Still, because it was the expected reply from an adult, she said, “I understand exactly the kind of turmoil she’s experiencing.”

  Ken’s gaze narrowed. “Did you grow up in a broken home?”

  “No. I’ve just done a lot of reading on children who’ve lost parents through death or divorce.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  Beth wasn’t ready to get into her past with him. The present was complicated enough. “Just a topic that fascinated me.”

  “I see,” he said, though it was clear that he didn’t.

  He sighed and Beth felt certain he’d resigned himself to accepting her decision. Instead he reached over and cupped her face between his hands. Then, while her heart began to thump unsteadily, he slowly leaned down and touched his lips to hers. The heat was there and gone before she could savor its warmth. Just as she was about to utter an agonized plea, his mouth closed over hers again, this time with all of the hunger and persuasiveness at his command.

  Beth melted. Her resistance toppled. The only thing in her head was the need to be next to the source of the exquisite heat that made her blood flow like warm honey. When the kiss finally ended, Ken ran his thumb over her swollen lips and kept his unrelenting gaze pinned on hers.

  “Say yes,” he said softly.

  “You don’t play fair,” she murmured.

  A smile tugged at his lips. “I’ve told you before, I’ll do whatever it takes to get what I want. Right now, what I want is for you to come here for Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday. I want you with me on the first holiday I celebrate in this house. This isn’t some whim. It matters to me, Beth.”

  The words weakened her already shaky defenses. And with Ken’s vital nearness consuming all of her thoughts, Beth could barely remember why she’d been hesitant in the first place.

  “I’ll come,” she said finally. “But only if Delores will let me help.”

  “You’ll have to negotiate that part of the deal with her,” he said, looking satisfied at the relatively easy victory. “I have what I want,” he murmured just before his mouth settled on hers one more time.

  * * *

  After he’d met Steve Wilcox on Tuesday, Ken couldn’t believe he had even for a single instant been jealous of the man when he’d overheard Beth on the phone with him. It was obvious the two of them had a friendly, teasing rapport, but he was too young, too laid-back for a woman like Beth.

  Still, it had disconcerted him to see her chatting so easily with the other man, touching Steve so casually and with such affection, when it seemed she was doing everything in her power to avoid intimacy with him. The entire experience had rankled until he finally convinced himself that he would be able to find some occasion on Thanksgiving to get her alone for a long, quiet talk...and more, if she’d let him anywhere near her. His entire body ached every time he thought about what they’d shared for a few short days before Chelsea and Delores had unexpectedly turned up that afternoon a week earlier.

  Thanksgiving morning dawned with bright blue skies. He expected Claude and Harriet sometime around eleven. They were taking a crack-of-dawn flight from D.C. to Hartford, then renting a car for the two-hour drive to Berry Ridge. Chelsea had been on pins and needles since dawn awaiting their arrival.

  “You’d think it had been months instead of days since you’d seen them,” Ken said as she ran back and forth between the kitchen where the turkey was in the oven and the living room windows.

  “But I really, really miss them,” she informed him.

  Ken sighed. “I know you do, baby.”

  She scowled. Before she could say a word, he grinned. “I know, you’re not a baby.”

  “I’m not, Daddy. I’m getting all growed up.”

  “In that case, I want to talk to you about something. Come over here.”

  Chelsea approached him cautiously.

  “Up here,” he said, indicating his lap. “You’re not too big for that, are you?”

  “No.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, as if to prove it. For an instant he allowed himself to recall what a wonderful, sweet-tempered, snuggly baby she had been. If only they could recapture those untroubled days when Chelsea had felt secure and hadn’t needed to be constantly testing the limits of his love.

  He regarded her seriously. “Now, then, I want to ask you for a really big favor today. I want you to try really, really hard to be extra nice to Beth.” Chelsea’s instantly mutinous scowl dismayed him.

  “I don’t like her,” she said at once.

  “You barely know her.”

  “I don’t like her,” Chelsea said stubbornly.

  Ken fought to hang on to his patience. “Why not?”

  As he’d suspected, she had no ready answer for that. Her brow knit in concentration and a frown settled on her lips. “Because,” she said, apparently hoping the all-encompassing remark would be answer enough.

  Ken wasn’t about to settle for it. “No, you don’t. If you really don’t like Beth, I’d like to understand why.”

  “Because, Daddy, I don’t think she likes me.”

  “That’s not true,” he said automatically, even though he had no way of knowing if Chelsea might be right. After all, she hadn’t made herself very likable. And he had detected Beth’s restraint himself. “I’m sure she would love you if she got to know you. You just haven’t given her much of a chance. Since you’re growing up now, I thought maybe you could try just a little harder.”

  She frowned. “You’re not going to marry her, are you?”

  The question took Ken totally by surprise. Not because he hadn’t wondered the same thing himself, but because Chelsea had. Out of the mouths of babes, he thought wryly.

  “I don’t know,” he told her honestly.

  “I don’t want you to,” Chelsea said firmly. “I already have a mommy.”

  “I know you do, Shortstuff. And even if I do decide to get married again one of these days to Beth or anyone else, no one will ever try to take the place of your mommy.”

  “Are you sure? My friend Kevin has a stepmother and he says she’s really mean when he goes to visit. She won’t let him do anything. She says she might not be his mother, but sh
e’s still in charge when he’s in her house.”

  Ken winced as he considered the problems that family must have. He prayed he could find some way to avoid them. Maybe Harriet, who probably dealt with troubled kids from broken homes every day, would have some advice for him.

  “Well, I would never, ever marry someone who would be mean to you,” he said for now. “I promise. Okay?” He tugged on the braid Delores had plaited for Chelsea that morning. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Deal,” Chelsea said, and held up her hand for a high five.

  She scrambled down. “You watch for Uncle Claude and Aunt Harriet, okay? I’ve got to go see if the turkey’s done yet.”

  “If you keep opening that oven door, it will never get done,” he warned.

  “I don’t open it,” she shouted back. “I peek through the little window, just like Grandma does.”

  No sooner had Chelsea scampered off, than Delores turned the corner and came into the living room.

  “Eavesdropping?” he asked. Actually he was hoping she had heard. Maybe then she could offer her own insights into the awkwardness between Beth and Chelsea.

  “I was on my way in when I heard the two of you talking. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “But you didn’t budge, either, did you?”

  Ignoring the remark, she settled on the sofa opposite him. “You evaded Chelsea’s question about your feelings for Beth,” she accused.

  “I didn’t have an answer for her.”

  “I think you do. I think maybe you were just afraid she wouldn’t like it.”

  He scowled at his meddling and unfortunately too perceptive ex-mother-in-law. He’d wanted her to talk about Beth and Chelsea, not him. He should have known that would be impossible. “Okay, I didn’t want to get her all worked up over something that might never happen. She’s not ready to hear my plans.” He grinned ruefully. “Unfortunately, neither is Beth. She’s turned skittish all of a sudden.”

  He dropped the light note and looked at Delores. “You’ve seen Chelsea and Beth together. Do you think Chelsea could be right? Does Beth dislike her?”

  Delores slowly shook her head, her expression thoughtful. “I think it’s more like she’s afraid of her.”

  “Afraid? Chelsea’s a seven-year-old child.”

  “With the power to come between the two of you,” Delores reminded him. “Give some thought to that. I’m going to make sure your daughter hasn’t crawled into the oven with the turkey.”

  Ken might have dismissed Delores’s theory without further thought if he hadn’t seen yet more evidence of Beth’s wariness around his child practically the minute she walked through the door.

  She had just stepped into the foyer when Chelsea came racing out of the kitchen shouting for her Uncle Claude and Aunt Harriet. At the sight of Beth, she skidded to a stop, disappointment written all over her face. Beth’s smile, in turn, faded, her expression transformed in a heartbeat to uncertainty.

  Ken tried to smooth over the moment by explaining that his daughter had been watching for the other guests practically since dawn. Before he could say much, though, the couple in question pulled up outside and Chelsea was racing down the front walk where she was caught up in Claude’s beefy arms and swung high in the air. She squealed with delight.

  Ken glanced at Beth. She was watching the scene with an unreadable expression. Not until he looked into her eyes could he interpret what she was thinking. The desolation he saw there, though, very nearly broke his heart.

  Although he’d been about to follow Chelsea down the walk, instead he stayed where he was and took Beth’s icy hand in his own. She glanced at him, clearly startled by the gesture.

  “We’re going to work this out,” he promised her, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what needed to be resolved. He just knew that the woman standing beside him desperately needed reassurance of some kind.

  To his dismay, though, his promise didn’t seem to give her any comfort at all. Without a word, she slowly and deliberately withdrew her hand from his.

  “I’ll go see what I can do to help Delores.” With that she turned and fled, leaving him more confused—and lonely—than he’d ever been in his entire life.

  Chapter 12

  Beth wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been the giant of a man that Claude Dobbins turned out to be. The man had to weigh in at three hundred pounds and he looked to be solid as a rock and mean as an urban street fighter.

  Until he smiled, which he did a lot. Then his entire demeanor turned from fierce as a lion to gentle as a lamb. The transformation was astonishing. Beth found herself warming to him immediately, especially when she saw the way he treated Chelsea and Delores, sweeping them up in exuberant bear hugs and tickling them until they were both helpless with laughter.

  “No, Uncle Claude! No!” Chelsea squealed, her fair complexion, blond hair and petite frame a stark contrast to the huge, ebony man who was teasing her.

  “You scared of me, Half-pint?”

  “No,” she protested, flinging her arms around his thick neck. “I love you.”

  “Ditto,” he said. “Now why don’t you tell me what you and your daddy have been doing since you snuck off to the wilderness.”

  “Don’t you go pumping my daughter for information,” Ken warned him, his expression filled with tolerant amusement. “That’s a low-down, sneaky tactic.”

  “So what else is new?” Harriet asked, shooting Beth a commiserating glance. “Girl, I hope you have an endless amount of patience, because when these two get together, they are one demanding handful. You can’t believe half of what they’re saying. I’m thinking of hiring one of those NFL referees during the off-season just to keep Claude in line.”

  “What makes you think one of those guys can control him any better off the field than on?” Ken said. He launched into a litany of exploits that had confounded the officials and the opposing teams.

  “Exaggerations,” Claude retorted. “You’re making that up, my man.”

  “Well, what about...” Ken began, describing another incident and then another.

  While the others hooted at Claude’s increasingly indignant expression, Beth studied his wife. Harriet Dobbins was as much of a surprise as her husband had been. She was tall—at least six feet—and thin, with the regal bearing of someone who’d been made to go through adolescence with a book balanced on her head. Someone had taught her pride and grace, traits not always associated with such height in a woman. And, like her husband, she had a natural, all-encompassing warmth. Beth instantly felt as if she’d known her for years.

  Then Claude turned that smile of his on Beth. Brown eyes examined her thoroughly, then gleamed with approval. “Yes, indeed,” he said to Ken. “I can see why you’d be willing to freeze your butt off up here.”

  “Claude!” Harriet chided as she might a wayward child. She shot an apologetic glance toward Beth.

  He rolled his eyes. “Pardon me, Beth. My wife thinks I have no couth whatsoever.”

  “It must come from spending most of your life bulldozing over men on a football field,” Harriet shot back. She grinned at Beth. “Getting paid for his brawn instead of his brain has ruined him for civilized company. You’d never guess this man has a near genius IQ.”

  Claude scooped his wife up as if she were weightless. “This brawn is what keeps you in champagne and caviar, my dear.”

  “Put me down, you oaf. You haven’t bought me any champagne since our honeymoon.” She turned a helpless gaze on Delores. “I hope you’re proud of yourself for getting me married to this man.”

  Delores shrugged, looking unrepentant. “Must be happy enough,” she observed. “There’s a baby on the way.”

  Chelsea’s eyes widened. “A baby? When? Can I play with her?”

  “It’s goin
g to be a boy,” Claude informed her with conviction.

  “Do you know for a fact it’s going to be a boy?” Ken chimed in. “Or is that wishful thinking on Claude’s part?”

  “The man hasn’t figured out that he can’t just stand around telling my belly to produce a boy,” Harriet said, regarding her husband with obvious affection. “Me, I’m hoping for a girl, just to spite him. Besides, I think it would be kind of nice to see how he handles the boys who come to date his precious firstborn. Or what he does when his daughter decides to play high school football.”

  All of the talk of babies and families was beginning to take its toll on Beth. She glanced at Ken and saw that he was watching her, his expression thoughtful. A slow smile spread across his face. He came to sit beside her. “Getting ideas?”

  “About what?” she asked.

  “Babies.”

  “Not me,” she said so adamantly that Ken’s expression immediately shifted to a puzzled frown.

  “Why not? I’ll bet you’d make a wonderful mother.”

  The well-meant compliment brought the immediate sting of tears. Beth jumped up as if she’d touched a live wire. “I think I’ll go check on dinner.”

  “Beth?”

  She caught his worried expression and looked away. “I’ll be right back.”

  In the kitchen, she stood with her hands braced on the counter and battled the tears welling up in her eyes. Memories of other holidays that had never lived up to expectations came spilling back.

  She had tried. Oh, how she had tried to make things special for the years she had been with Peter, Josh and Stephanie. She had worked for days to prepare gourmet meals and for weeks before to make sure the house was filled with the right decorations, the right flowers, the right evocative scents or the right gifts.

  Not once in all that time had she ever received a word of thanks, not even from her husband. Peter had taken the efforts for granted. The children had been deliberately disinterested in anything she had to offer, even when she had shopped all over town to give them an impossible-to-find present she knew they had wanted. From them she received only disdain.