by Gina Wilkins
"Sight-seeing," he told her succinctly. "Get your purse."
Groaning, she tugged off her white lab coat and got her purse.
"Well?" she asked him when they were in her car and on their way. "Where are we going?"
"I've found something really interesting. Ever heard of the Quapaw Quarter?"
"You're taking me to see the Quapaw Quarter?" she asked in bewilderment.
"Yes. It's an area of downtown Little Rock full of old homes ranging in architectural style from the pre-1836 Territorial Period to the 1940s. Many of them are Victorian mansions or large cottages, and some have been completely restored to their former magnificence. About five hundred homes and buildings in the six-square-mile area have been renovated or fixed up, with a total investment of some twenty million dollars. There are—"
"Clay!" Spring loudly interrupted. What was going on? Clay always liked to talk, but now he was positively chattering!
"Yes?"
"What are you quoting?"
He looked sheepish. "A publication that I picked up from the Quapaw Quarter Association. Did you know that there are a thousand members of the Quapaw Quarter Associ—"
"Clay, I know about the Quapaw Quarter. They have tours of some of the restored old homes every Christmas and every spring, which I've been on several times. This is why you kidnapped me from my office?"
"Just wait, Spring," he told her mysteriously.
Thoroughly confused, she leaned back against her seat and waited, noting in surprise that he was holding the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip.
Clay drove slowly down Broadway, pointing out some of the restored homes, such as the Bankston House, the Thompson House and the Foster-Robinson House. He turned on Twenty-first, taking them over to Spring Street, a name he pointed out gleefully.
"I was well aware it was here," Spring told him, but he ignored her, chatting away like a tour guide to a true foreigner. She frowned when he pulled into the drive of a gray frame Victorian cottage on Spring Street. "Why are you stopping?"
He dangled a key in front of her, his eyes not quite meeting hers. "Private tour."
"We're going inside?"
"Yep. The realtor is holding my Rolex, all my credit cards and my firstborn child hostage until I return the key."
"Why?"
"So I won't take the key and run, I guess. I thought it was kind of silly. After all, the key's not worth that much, and it would be pretty hard to steal the house—"
"Clay, why are we going into this house?" she asked, holding on to her patience with an effort.
"You and I are both interested in restoring old homes, and this one is really nice. Restoration was begun a couple of years ago. Then the couple who'd started had to sell and move away, so nothing much has been done since, but it has a lot of potential. Wait until you see the gingerbread trim inside. Wonderful!"
Her heart had started to pound, but she told herself not to read too much into this odd private tour. For all she knew, Clay could just be sight-seeing, as he'd told her.
He kept up a running commentary as he led her onto the front porch, with its quaintly delicate columns, and to the door, a heavy wooden one with a lead-glass fanlight above it. "This house and most of the others in the Quarter have been researched and the information kept on file by the QQA, the Quapaw Quarter Association. They also keep a library of books on the art of restoration and preservation of historic houses, hoping to encourage more people to take on these homes as family projects."
Though part of her mind followed his words, another part of her noted in growing fascination that there was a nervous edge to his voice and that his hand was shaking so hard he had trouble fitting the key into the lock. Her own hands began to tremble. In fact, she was trembling all over as she followed him inside.
"Look at that staircase. Isn't it fantastic? And these floors. They need sanding and refinishing, of course, but they're—"
His voice broke. Shoving his shaking hands into the pockets of his jeans, he went still, staring at her with eyes that were shadowed by deep emotion.
"Clay?" she whispered, unable to look away from his face to notice any of the features of the house. "What is it?"
He took a deep breath and looked down at his sneakers. "Did you ever want something so very much that you thought you'd die if you didn't get it? Want it so much that you were afraid to even ask for it for fear of being turned down?"
"Yes," she answered, her voice raw. "Yes, I've wanted that much." You, Clay. I want you that much. And I'm so afraid to hope.
"I need you so much. Spring." He shot her a quick glance, looked away, then slowly turned his eyes back to her. "All my life I've wanted to be loved. The kids love me and my friends love me, and for the past few years I've thought that was enough. Until I met you. I almost died after you left, Spring. For four long months I lived in misery, so lonely that I felt like there was a gaping hole inside me. It scared me to realize that you were the only one who could fill that void. And I resented you for a while for making me need like that again, after considering myself satisfied for so long."
"Clay, I-"
"No, wait, sweetheart, let me finish." He laughed, a bit weakly, and shrugged. "I've been practicing this speech for a long time."
She nodded and blinked against a sudden rush of tears as he continued.
"I didn't want to say anything right away because I wanted you to get used to having me around all the time. In California there were always other people with us or around us, but here it's been pretty much just the two of us. I thought you'd know by now whether you wanted to have me around full-time. And I've been checking out Little Rock and the surrounding area because I wasn't sure at first if I'd be happy here, but now I know that it's a great place to live and...and raise a family."
His voice had cracked again, sending the tears in a fresh cascade down Spring's pale cheeks. She had to bite her lower lip to keep from interrupting him before he was finished.
"There are some excellent counseling facilities for adolescents here, most of which I visited last week. And Gil—Dr. Random—has asked if I might be interested in going into partnership with him. He seems to think that the two of us could make a real difference around here, maybe publish some material that could be applied nationwide. I told him I would certainly think about it. I have to admit I'm tempted to take him up on it.
"We wouldn't have to live here, of course. Your apartment is very nice, or there are many beautiful newer homes in west Little Rock, closer to your office than this. I'd be happy anywhere if you were there with me."
He took one more deep breath, then blurted out, "What I'm trying to say. Spring, is...will you marry me? Please say you will, Spring."
"Yes," she whispered, and then said it again, louder, throwing herself against him. "Yes, yes, yes!"
Staggering, he caught her and spun her around in a joyous circle. "You will? Oh, God, Spring, you don't know how happy you've just made me!"
Laughing and crying all at once, she cupped his face between her hands and kissed him. "How could you possibly be so surprised? Didn't you know I would marry you?"
"Oh, sweetheart, I'm not that self-confident. Ever since last weekend you've been acting a bit distracted and I was starting to get scared that you were growing tired of me. That you were ready for me to go back to San Francisco and let you get back to your sane, normal life."
"You idiot," she told him lovingly. "I was distracted because I was scared. I heard you talking to Frank on Saturday about returning home in about a week, and I was afraid that you were planning to leave without me."
He laughed softly and held her close. "God, we're so insecure when it comes to each other. That's exactly the way I reacted four months ago when I thought you were calmly making plans to return to Little Rock without a backward look at me. It's going to take a legal, binding, double-ring ceremony for me to get over my fear of losing you. Spring. When will you marry me?"
"Whenever you want," she answered simply
. "And you don't have to live in Arkansas if you really don't want to. Clay. I decided four months ago that I would move to San Francisco if you wanted me to."
"You'd be willing to give up your friends, the practice that you've worked so hard to build?" he asked, seemingly stunned by her offer.
"Of course. Aren't you offering to do the same thing for me?"
He kissed her thoroughly, then drew back to smile down at her. "Thank you. But I like it here. I'm perfectly happy to move. It'll take me some time to get everything settled, but most of it can be done long-distance. I've already been talking to Frank about setting up a foundation for long-range money management so that Halloran House can be run without my day-to-day help, or interference, as some people might call it. And I can sell my house easily enough."
"Don't sell it yet," Spring urged him suddenly, her fingers gripping his T-shirt. "Lease it for a year."
He frowned, puzzled. "Why?"
"Because I want you to be very sure when you do sever that connection to San Francisco. If, at the end of a year, you're not as happy here as you were in California, I want you to tell me. We'll move—there, or anywhere else you want to go. As long as we're together, I don't care where we live."
"That's not necessary, darling. I know what I'm doing."
"Please, Clay. For me."
"All right, Spring. I'll lease the house. But at the end of one year I'll be selling it. I've found my home here, with you."
"I love you, Clay."
"I love you," he murmured against her lips, and then his mouth took hers in newly confirmed possession, his tongue touching hers in a mating dance that made the upcoming ceremony a mere formality. In their minds and hearts they had already made their lifetime commitment to each other.
His body growing taut with desire. Clay smiled down at her with an expression she recognized, her body responding quite physically to the silent invitation. "I haven't shown you around the house yet, have I? Particularly the bedroom."
"No, you haven't. Show me our house. Clay."
"Our house? You like it?"
"I love it. I can't wait to put on jeans and a work shirt and start remodeling with you. How are you at hanging wallpaper?"
"I'm hell on wheels at wallpaper. It's going to be a lot of work, Spring."
"It's something I've always wanted to do. I even have my own set of tools, thanks to my sister Autumn."
He had to stop to hug her again. "You are terrific, did you know that?"
"I'm perfectly willing to be convinced."
"Oh, I intend to convince you, darling. If it takes a lifetime."
"I suspect that it will."
There was another surprise waiting for her in the large, almost completely renovated master bedroom. In front of the native-stone fireplace—a mate to the one in the living room—a handmade quilt had been spread invitingly. A silver ice bucket held a bottle of champagne, and two crystal glasses with beribboned stems waited for a toast. A dozen red roses in a tall crystal vase perfumed the room, masking the faint dustiness of the empty house.
"Oh, Clay." She turned to him, her eyes filling again at the blatant sentimentality of his gesture. "What would you have done if I'd said no?"
"Poured the champagne over your head, thrown you onto the quilt and made love to you until you were too weak to argue with me," he returned promptly, holding out his hand. "Come here, sweetheart. Let's toast our very brief engagement."
"How brief?" she asked with interest, placing her hand in his and allowing him to lead her across the room and seat her on the quilt.
"As brief as your practice and my settling of affairs will allow," he replied, popping the cork and pouring two bubbling glasses of champagne. "To a long and happy life together, my love."
She touched her glass to his and lifted it to her lips, unable even to taste the expensive wine in her excitement and joy.
Clay took only one swallow from his glass, equally oblivious to the taste, his gaze fastened on the flushed, happy face of his future wife. His nerves, which had been tight with anxiety earlier, began to thrum with another type of anticipation. Still having trouble believing in his good fortune, he wanted to further seal their commitment in the most basic manner of all. He wanted to make love to her, to bury himself deep inside her and remind himself over and over that he had every right to be there, that she was his and he was hers and he would never be lonely again.
Her eyes met his, and he watched her read the message he was sending her, watched her eyelids grow heavy, her lips soften and glisten as she moistened them with just the tip of her tongue. A groan started deep in his chest and forced its way through his throat. He set his drink down abruptly and reached for her, barely giving her time to set her own glass safely out of the way.
And then he was kissing her and holding her, and she was holding him, loving him, needing him, filling that lifelong void inside him. Filling it so perfectly that it would never open again. And because he'd craved that feeling for so long, he felt his eyes filling with tears of happiness and gratitude. Spring kissed away his tears, even as he did hers, and then sweetness turned to passion and tenderness to hunger and they were tossing aside clothes and reaching for each other. His thrust took him deep, deep inside her, and her arch forced him even deeper until neither of them could tell where one left off and the other began. They were one, and they would have settled for nothing less.
The words he muttered into her ear as he rocked against her, inside her, were disjointed and not particularly clever, punctuated by ragged gasps and broken sighs, but she knew what he was telling her and her clenched hands and sinuous movements answered him in kind. By the time they shuddered together and cried out their fulfillment, there was no further doubt of their love or commitment.
It seemed like a very long time later when Spring stirred, sighed and lifted her head to smile at Clay. "I hope no one else decides to check out this house in the next few minutes," she told him, lying nude alongside him on the rumpled blanket.
He chuckled. "Good point. Though the realtor assured me that I had the only key, I guess there's no need to press our luck. Maybe we should get dressed."
"I love this bedroom." She looked around the room with pleasure, anticipating many happy times there with Clay.
"There are two other bedrooms you haven't seen yet. Think we can come up with a use for them?" Clay asked hopefully.
"I'm sure well think of something," she answered, picturing two blond children with blue-green eyes and beautiful smiles and unusual taste in clothing.
"Someone once told me that I'll be better with kids once I've had some of my own."
She winced as she remembered their quarrel. "That someone sounds like an idiot. You're already great with kids."
"I'd still like to have a family with you. A boy and a girl. Or two boys. Or two girls. Or three or four of each."
She laughed and shook her head firmly. "Two sounds like plenty."
"Just think—we can all wear matching outfits!"
She groaned and hid her face in his shoulder. By the time she came up for air, he had grown serious, looking steadily at her, as he spoke. "I'm not going to be all that easy to live with, Spring. I get so wrapped up in young people's problems sometimes that I tend to ignore everything else, and I can't promise you that won't ever happen with you. It's a part of me that I can't seem to change, and I don't know that I even want to try."
"I don't want you to change, Clay. I love you exactly the way you are. You are a caring, loving, sensitive man, and your concern for young people is one of the reasons I fell in love with you. I care about them, too. I'd like to help you, if I can. I won't feel neglected if I'm involved, too."
"That sounds wonderful," he told her with a smile. "I promise, though, that I'll always be there for you and our children when you need me. All you have to do is ask and I'll drop everything else. Got that?"
"Got it. And I believe you, darling. You're already giving up so much to move here to be with me."
"Just keep reminding me, darling." She gave him a brilliant smile as she reached for her clothes.
"I intend to." He reached out and caught her hand, tugging her back down in a sprawl across his chest. "Believe me, sweetheart. I intend to."
Epilogue
Her mother's antique lace gown fell in soft folds to strike Spring at midcalf—it had fallen almost to Summer's ankles, when Summer had worn it for her wedding ten months earlier. Fortunately, the sisters were almost the same size except in height, so the dress hadn't needed altering. A white hat and her grandmother's pearl earrings—returned to her earlier that day by Kelsey—completed her wedding outfit. Spring checked her appearance one last time in the full-length mirror in the bedroom that had been hers while growing up. In only a few minutes her wedding would begin.
As Spring had wished, it was to be a relatively small, informal affair on her mother's beautifully kept, flower-decorated back lawn. They'd waited until early evening so that the August heat would have dissipated a bit, though it was still very warm. Her parents, relatives and close friends—some fifty people in all—would make up the audience. Summer and Autumn were to serve as bridesmaids, while Derek and Dr. Gil Random, Clay's new partner, would stand beside the groom.
"Are you nervous, honey?" Lila Reed asked softly, faded violet eyes focused on her eldest daughter's serene face.
"A little. But I don't have one doubt that I'm doing the right thing," Spring assured her mother. "Clay is the best thing that ever happened to me, Mom."
"Just be happy, Spring." Lila hugged her daughter, then stepped back, surreptitiously wiping her eyes.
"I will be." Spring picked up the bouquet of colorful flowers that Clay had provided for her—a beautiful but unusual mixture, of course—and turned toward the door. "I'm ready. Is Daddy waiting in the hall?"
"Yes, and he's ready to get this over with. He's just as nervous this time as he was when he gave Summer away."