His Shotgun Proposal

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  Drawing a deep breath, Rose opened the letter first and unfolded two sheets of stationery, all of which bore the imprint of the Royal Balahar seal and Zak’s bold signature. She had become very familiar with his handwriting over the past couple of months and felt the increased rhythm of her heartbeat just at the sight of his name penned across the page. She and King Zak had much in common—Cade, Serena, a common interest in the future of the Sorajhee-Balahar alliance. And now, now perhaps, they would share a son as well. Sharif. His, by adoption. Hers, by birth. She smoothed the paper and read:

  Queen Rose of Sorajhee and Texas,

  Greetings from Balahar and the family of Al Farid. I trust my daughter and your son, Kadar, are in good health and happiness as I write this to you. I admit my heart is heavy with Serena’s absence, but also light with knowledge that she is happy in her marriage. I hope to see them and you soon. Yes, Rose Coleman—El Jeved, I have discovered the truth and herewith, pass it to you. As you know, Abdul-Rahim, the trusted advisor of Azzam El Jeved discovered that Queen Layla paid the sanitarium for all the years of your confinement there. You were drugged to a state of irrationality, appeared at times lost to sanity and reason, and could not, therefore, be released. Layla was always obsessed with you, jealous because she was first promised to Ibrahim, before he married you. You stole Ibrahim from her. Or so she chants in the world of madness she has entered. Sadly, Azzam mourns her loss of reason, even as he accepts responsibility for your losses. He has aged many years in only months and, I believe, feels deep sorrow for all that has come to pass, especially the death of Ibrahim at Layla’s direction, which he feels he might have prevented. He is a weak man and wanted the throne of Sorajhee more than he wanted truth. Now, however, he would welcome correspondence from you (he has told me this, himself) and would not protest a visit from his nephews, your sons.

  However that may be, I know you await anxiously for the news we have discussed many times since you saw the picture of Sharif at Serena’s and Kadar’s wedding here. It is as you knew it to be. Sharif was brought to Nadirah and to me by your sister-in-law, Layla, as you already know. She told us then he was a foundling child, the son of her handmaiden, and as we were eager to have a son, we adopted him. Abdul has uncovered the evidence to support your belief Sharif was indeed the child you birthed after being confined in the sanitarium. Layla stole him away that same night and delivered him here to the palace in Balahar. It is a cruel irony that you were forced to mourn the child that was stolen from you while Nadirah and I rejoiced in our great good fortune. Perhaps, however, you will come to believe that all works for good, and that my son, who is also the son of El Jeved, will one day be all you could have dreamed for him. Sharif is a good son, but headstrong and proud…like his fathers. I have not told him yet of his true heritage, but await your consult on the passing of this momentous information. As you will find, I have sent pictures of him as a child and as a young man, so that you may see him as you were denied during his growth years. It is also my hope to bring him to you in only a few weeks, so that you may know him as he is now. I confess, although I did not (would not?) see it before, he is very similar to Ibrahim as a young man. This, I feel, is what first brought him to your recognition. While I fear you must be weary of secrecy, I must ask that you share our plans to visit only with Serena, your brother, Randy, and perhaps, your other sons. The alliance is still fragile at times in our countries and I prefer to shroud the trip in secrecy for safety. It makes travel more tiresome, but seeing you again will soon refresh my spirit. I confess, with all modesty, that I hope you will look forward with pleasure to seeing me, as well as your fourth and last son, Sharif. With all sincerity.

  His signature completed the letter and, through a mist of tears, Rose thought it was the nicest, best signature she’d ever seen. Sharif was her son. He was coming to her. For the first time in her life, she would hold him in her arms. A fourth son. Ibrahim’s son. Zak’s son. She stroked the thick envelope that contained his pictures. Later, she would open the packet and see him as a child, as a young man. Zak was very kind to send them. He was, she thought, the kindest man she knew. Or perhaps, she was so happy today, any kindness would seem the best she’d ever known. It was a glorious day and she placed the letter and unopened packet gently into the bag from Wilson’s, the only department store in town. She’d bought a new blouse for Vi before she and Abbie had lunch, but now she wished she had bought gifts for everyone. She had received such a blessed gift, it seemed to her everyone should receive something special on this special day. A son. Over the past few months, she had received the precious gift of being reunited with her brother and his family, with Alim, Makin and Kadar, with a life she’d feared would never again be hers. But today…ah, today, she’d been given back the child she’d thought lost forever. Picking up the bag, Rose started for the door again, ready now to join Abbie in the Bridle Bright Boutique across the street. But once outside on the sidewalk, Rose stopped suddenly and laughed aloud. And then, she laughed aloud again. How many women, she wondered, learned on the very same day that they were about to become both a mother and a grandmother?

  “…I’LL ONLY BE STAYING in the area another day or so.” Abbie had fallen into conversation with the woman in the gift shop. She was a perky brunette, about the same age as Abbie, and had seemed eager to exchange a few words, no matter the topic. The gift shop wasn’t busy on a weekday, she’d said. There wasn’t a lot of traffic on the weekends at this time of year. The fall was better for business, or so she’d been told. Cooler temperatures was the reason. That, and more retirees passing through on their way to warmer climates for the winter. She didn’t work at the gift shop once school started, though. She eventually introduced herself as Barbie Owens, a fifth grade teacher at Bridle Elementary School. Abbie said she was a teacher, too, only at the secondary level. Or rather, she had been. She wasn’t returning to her former position in the fall.

  “I can see you’re trading the classroom for motherhood,” Barbie said, her friendly Texas drawl as pleasant a distraction as the gift items on the store shelves. “When’s the baby due?”

  “September,” Abbie said, and felt a jolt as she realized how quickly the time was passing. “Too soon, really. I haven’t even begun to get things ready.”

  “I expect the baby will arrive whether you’ve gotten things ready or not. I sort of feel the same way about school starting again. The kids will come that first day whether I have the bulletin boards decorated or not.” She laughed. “I guess that’s really not the same thing at all, is it? I don’t have any children yet. Haven’t even been anywhere to meet my Prince Charming. One of these days, though, I’ll get out of this two-horse town and see a bit of the world. I’ll probably miss my fifth-graders, though. I love being a teacher.”

  “I liked it, too,” Abbie said, picking up a stuffed bear that was all fluffy and soft and a patchwork of pastel colors. She didn’t have much money, but maybe it was time to spend what she had on a gift for the baby. The bear somehow made it seem almost real to her that in a little over four months she would be holding her baby in her arms. A single mom. Just her and her baby. And, of course, all of the baby’s interfering, overbearing uncles. “I’m hoping to find another position, though,” she continued as if her thoughts hadn’t strayed elsewhere. “Maybe at semester.”

  “I’ll bet they’d hire you in a heartbeat up at the high school. Teachers don’t stay long in Bridle because they can make better money in Austin.”

  Abbie looked up, met Barbie’s friendly brown eyes. “I’m not staying in Bridle,” she said. “But thanks.”

  Barbie shrugged. “It was just a thought, and it probably wouldn’t have worked out anyway. You’ll want to stay home with your baby at least for the first year. People say that’s the most important year, since they grow so fast and learn so much.” The bell over the front door jangled as someone entered and Barbie’s eyes widened before she leaned over the counter to whisper to Abbie, “That woman who just came in? Sh
e was married to a sheikh. That’s like a king over in Saudi Arabia, or some country near there.”

  Abbie nodded, started to offer to introduce her to Rose, but Barbie leaned to one side of the counter to make sure her excited whisper couldn’t be overheard. “It was all over the news a few months ago that she escaped from a sanitarium in France and came over here to live with her sons. They’re just down the road at the Desert Rose ranch. You should drive by there before you have to leave the area, see if you can spot one of the Texas sheikhs. That’s what we call them here. Handsome.” Barbie sighed dramatically and whistled under her breath. “Lord, they are fine. But we’re not just talking handsome, either. I’ve heard they have real charisma, too. I’m dying to meet one of them.”

  Abbie didn’t want to burst Barbie’s illusions, but it seemed dishonest not to speak up. “Two of them are married,” she said. “Happily, too, it appears.”

  Barbie sighed, long and low. “Figures,” she said. “On the other hand, that means one is still available. I could get lucky, still yet.”

  Rose moved toward the counter and her smile seemed to light up the whole shop. “Isn’t this a delightful place to spend an hour or so, Abbie? Do you love it as much as I do? We should buy something for the baby while we’re here.”

  Barbie’s gaze swung to Abbie, dropped to her waistline—or lack thereof—and swung back to Rose, who smiled and turned to look at a grouping of greeting cards before moving on down the aisle. “Let me guess,” Barbie said in a tone clearly disappointed that Abbie hadn’t given this information at the start. “You’re married to one of the princes and expecting a little Texas sheikh of your own.”

  “No,” Abbie answered, wishing for a return of the friendly spark in Barbie’s eyes and smile. “I’m not.”

  “This,” Rose said out of the blue. “We’ll get this for the baby.”

  Abbie blinked as Rose returned, carrying a rocking horse, nearly half as big as she was. With a trill of laughter, she placed it on the counter in front of the younger women and stepped back to admire it. It was black, a squat, stuffed, furred fabric horse on rockers. Some clever store owner—familiar with the area’s Arabian horse ranches—had made a costume of red and silver to turn the plain rocking horse into an Arabian. “See, Abbie?” Rose couldn’t disguise her delight with the horse. “Someone’s dressed it in Arabian show garb. Isn’t that perfect?”

  Abbie thought it was awfully large compared to the melon-sized shape of her stomach. But then in her mind’s eye, she caught a glimpse of a dark-eyed, dark-haired toddler rocking back and forth and back and forth on the rocking horse. Her gaze fell on the price tag and she felt a jolt of amazement that a toy could cost so much. Her toddler, she decided, could learn to ride on a stick horse. “I’m not sure my baby needs a rocking horse,” she said.

  “Maybe not, but my first grandchild does. We’ll take it,” she said to Barbie who, probably realizing the size of the commission, recovered her bubbly voice just in time to say, “Will that be cash, check or charge?”

  ABBIE AND ROSE STOOD SIDE BY SIDE at the back of the Jeep Cherokee, looking at the pile of shopping bags surrounding the Arabian rocking horse.

  “We did some damage today, didn’t we?” Rose said, sounding as delighted with her purchases now as when she’d started the spending spree. After the rocking horse decision, she’d concluded that she should get something for Hannah and her expected twins, too. There was only the one rocking horse, but Barbie was certain more could be specially ordered, so Rose specified the costume colors—each different so her grandchildren would know whose was whose. At the counter, she’d seen Barbie staple the receipts to the order forms with a see-through toy train and had to buy one of those for Jessie to use in the office.

  After that, Rose was on a roll and had decided she should get a few practical items for the babies, as well. So back to Wilson’s they had gone, where she bought a plethora of layette items, more than Abbie could ever imagine a dozen babies needing, much less only three. Then it was on to the other boutiques in town, to make sure they hadn’t overlooked a hidden treasure along the way. About the time Abbie started to wonder if they’d need to rent a trailer to get everything back to the ranch, Rose returned to the Bridle Bright Boutique, where she’d insisted upon treating Barbie to an ice cream just because she’d been so helpful. Abbie had savored her single scoop of vanilla, held the patchwork bear—her only purchase—and hoped someday her child would know that at least one person had celebrated the news that a grandchild was coming.

  But as they stood, looking into the gift-laden Jeep, Mac came out of the house and the pleasant aura of the day vanished. He had a ready smile for his mother, but it faded quickly when he realized Abbie was standing beside her. “Been shopping, I see,” he said, following their gazes. “What is that?”

  “An Arabian rocking horse for my first grandchild. Isn’t it terrific?”

  Mac growled something, Abbie wasn’t sure what.

  “I knew you’d like it.” Rose patted his arm. “Carry it into the house for Abbie, would you, please?”

  His glance cut to Abbie, angry still and unforgiving, but he began taking shopping bags out of the car and placing them on the ground at his feet, until he could lift the rocker out. “It’s heavy,” he said.

  “That’s so the baby won’t tip it over,” Rose told him pleasantly. “Take it into the family room so everyone can see it, then later, you can move it up to Abbie’s room.”

  “Abbie doesn’t have a room here anymore.”

  Her heart gave a jerk. Had he thrown out her things? Packed them so she would have to leave right away?

  “What?” Rose said before Abbie could ask. “Whose bright idea was that?”

  “You’ll need to ask her brothers,” Mac said, backing up with the rocking horse in his arms. “They moved her things out to the guest house, lock, stock and barrel this afternoon.”

  Abbie was glad—for some stupid reason—that it hadn’t been Mac. “I wished they’d asked me if I wanted to move out there,” she said, although that was like wishing they’d mind their own business. “Where are they now?” she asked with a sigh.

  “Couldn’t tell you,” Mac replied as he headed for the front door. “They seem to have been keeping tabs on my whereabouts all day, but I haven’t been inclined to do the same for them.”

  They’d been stalking Mac, like a bunch of two-bit detectives. Abbie was mortified. She would send them packing the minute she saw them. She would. “I’m sorry they bothered you,” she said, grabbing a couple of the shopping bags and following him toward the house. “I’ll talk to them.”

  He stepped back, waiting for her or someone else, to open the door for him and the rocking horse. “You do what you please, Abbie. I’m planning to stay as far away from anyone named Jones as long as possible. At least until the wedding. After that…well, we’ll see how it goes.”

  “This Jones will be gone before that. I’m leaving just as soon as I can make arrangements.”

  “Probably shouldn’t say things like that when there’s a witness present.” He indicated his mother, who was still getting packages out of the car, with a coolly indifferent nod. “Be harder to save face later.”

  “I’m not concerned with saving face,” she snapped, irritated by his attitude, his tone of voice, just the fact that he was standing there holding a rocking horse that, until this moment, had been a cause for joy instead of rancor.

  “If you say so.” He shifted the toy in his arms. “Could you get the door?” he asked. “This is beginning to get uncomfortable.”

  She wanted to borrow Jessie’s phraseology and tell him to “eat dirt, and die,” but instead she reached for the doorknob and said nothing at all.

  He, on the other hand, didn’t have the sense to quit while he was ahead. “I know this will come as no surprise to you, but the wedding plans have been pushed along very efficiently while you were out—” he glanced pointedly at the bags she held “—spending my mother’s mon
ey.”

  “Makin,” Rose said, coming quietly up behind them, two shopping bags in each hand. “Abbie was kind enough to allow me the pleasure of buying a few gifts for my grandchild.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she was delighted to give you that pleasure, Mother.” He raised a wickedly dark eyebrow and, either because she recognized the don’t-go-there message in his expression or because she didn’t want to further embarrass Abbie, Rose said nothing more. She just took her purchases inside, followed by Mac with the rocking horse.

  Abbie thought about turning on her heel right then and there, and walking away. Off the ranch. Out of Texas. But it galled her to think about giving Mac that much satisfaction, so she followed him into the house, resolved to keep a stiff upper lip, no matter what he said or did to make her uncomfortable. But inside the big house, she was greeted like one of the family, fussed over and included in Rose’s enthusiastic recounting of their big shopping trip to Bridle. All the women and a few of the guys gathered round to admire the rocking horse and tease Rose about becoming a grandmother, and she didn’t seem to mind in the least. Her happiness was contagious and Abbie’s spirits responded with a decided lift. At least until she happened to look up and catch a glimpse of Mac’s expression and the regret so evident in his dark eyes.

  Her presence here in the midst of his family had cost him something more than self-respect, she realized. They had taken her in because he had declared that they should. He could more easily have branded her a liar and her child an interloper. He could have stood firm and his family would have stood with him against her. But instead, however reluctantly and whatever his motives, he had claimed responsibility, given her child the right to be born a Coleman, to share at birth in this large, extended and loving family. And now she was encircled in their acceptance, and he was on the outside.