by Anita Higman
“Oh? What happened?” She lifted her hand. “I’m sorry. That’s really none of my business.”
“No, it’s all right. I don’t mind talking about it.” Hayden took a sip from his cup. “The short version of the story is that...I found out my fiancée was already married.”
Lane’s hand rested over her heart. “Oh, no.”
“I was blind.”
“I guess we’ve all had our turns at that.”
Hayden laced his fingers on the table. “Yes, but it seems like I’m making a lifetime habit of it.”
“I’m sure that can’t be true.”
His brows furrowed. “It sure feels that way sometimes.” Hayden’s expression softened. “By the way, do you happen to remember that evening we went bowling?”
“Yes, I do remember that.” Flashes from the evening came back to her. “As I recall, I was terrible at it. I’m sure I was the worst bowler in history, and you, I’m sorry to say, sprained your ankle trying to impress me with your ballerina-like maneuvers.”
He laughed. “Yeah, it was a pretty crazy night.”
Lane finally let her body relax. “What made you think of it?”
“Well, it was the night I’d planned on proposing to you.”
Hayden had definitely gotten her attention. “I never knew.”
He leaned towards her.
“What changed your mind?” Lane hated to come off too pushy with her questions, but she had to know. “Were you scared?”
“No, not really.” Hayden rubbed his neck. “As I’m sure you remember, I grew up pretty poor. And, well, my father made me promise I’d make something of myself. He’d wanted me to concentrate on my education and then find a career that would make a lot of money.”
“And that’s what you did.” Lane felt her words escape more as a confirmation than a judgment. She too had made mistakes over the years and knew what it was like to not be paying attention to what was important.
“I got a degree in business, and I made the money my father always dreamed I’d make. But I pushed love aside for the making of money.” He glanced away and his hands grasped the table as if in pain.
Lane felt sorry for him. Perhaps he truly regretted walking away from their relationship. All their hours of heart-sharing. Their laughter and their kisses. Memories of their joy came back to her along with the pain of losing him. When Hayden had stopped calling and she realized the relationship was truly over, she’d cried on and off for several months. Those thoughts returned now, but without the anger. Without the despair.
Hayden sighed. “The terrible irony was that the day I bought my parents a new home to replace that drafty little house they’d always lived in, my father up and died of a heart attack. Just like that. My mother lives in the house now, but my father never even got to see it.”
“I’m so sorry.” Lane reached out to him and touched his hand. “I had no idea that your father died.” Why hadn’t anyone told her?
He covered her hand with his. “It’s been almost a year since he died.”
“I wish I had been there for you.”
Hayden squeezed her hand. “I know you would have come had you known.” He paused for a moment and then said, “So, tell me about your life. I heard you didn’t get married.”
“No. Never did. About five years ago, though, the man I was dating did propose to me. But I couldn’t marry him.”
“I assume it wasn’t because he was already married.”
Lane chuckled. “No. I just didn’t love him. And I’ve discovered that it takes both people participating in the whole love thing to make it work right.” She grinned. “Imagine that.” For a moment, Lane went quiet, wanting to enjoy the warmth and strength of his hand. His touch had not been forgotten, but it had been missed. And she hadn’t realized how much until that moment.
Hayden caught her gaze. “But I also heard you’ve made a nice life for yourself. Being an image coach sounds like a good career choice for you.”
“I do like it. I enjoy helping people make adjustments in the way they present themselves. And then when they reach a particular goal, it thrills me.” Lane took another sip of her latte and realized her cup was almost empty. She hated for the evening to end. “So, did you move to Houston?”
“I did.” Hayden set his cup aside. “And it’s been good, but I’ve missed some of my old friends in Humble as well as the town. But most importantly, I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
“So, do you ever wonder about us? You know, what could have been?”
“Yes, I have wondered. Many times.” Lane smiled.
“And what have you concluded?”
“That I don’t want to spend the rest of my life without love... especially when it’s so...” She wanted to say, “So close to me,” but she hesitated, not wanting to be too bold. She looked into Hayden’s sparkling gray eyes and saw the same qualities she’d grown to love—the same compassion and goodness that had first attracted her to him. It was all still there. Success had not changed him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t stay in touch all these years. Another mistake on my part. But then after so much time went by, I thought maybe you’d gotten married. I imagined you with two children, a boy and a girl. And they would both be wonderful like their mother, and they’d both have great manners.”
Lane chuckled. “That’s nice.”
Hayden looked at her, his expression filled with longing. “I wanted to ask you something else.”
“Yes?” Lane took in a deep breath and held it.
“I was wondering if...if we could begin again.”
Lane reached out to him. No more hesitation. “The answer is yes.”
“Well, that is good news.” Hayden’s face brightened. “Very good news. So, do you think you might like to see a play downtown next weekend?”
“Yes, I would like that very much.” She felt a smile coming on. He brought both of her hands to his lips and kissed them.
Lane thought she’d never felt so warm, and hope had never felt so good.
Chapter Forty-two
Trudie waited on the couch, dressed in her finest outfit, twiddling her fingers. She’d never been the kind of person to twiddle, but waiting for Mason to take her to his family reunion put her on edge. Even though Lane’s coaching had made her more comfortable in her own skin, now that the official day had come to meet the rest of Mason’s relatives, she felt that she might not only forget all the coaching, but that she might dissolve into a little puddle of panic.
The doorbell rang, making her jump. When she saw Mason standing on the welcome mat, some of her worries melted away. “Hi.”
Mason grinned. “Are you ready? You look beautiful.”
“I’ve been ready since ten this morning.”
He chuckled. “Trudie, it’ll be okay.”
“But what if they all hate me?”
Mason pulled her into his arms. “They can’t possibly. They have good taste like I do. And my mother already loves you.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He kissed the tip of her nose.
Mason had the most romantic way of disarming her. “All right. I surrender.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
After locking up, Mason escorted her down the sidewalk. “Have I told you I like your car?”
He laughed. “Yeah, every time you ride in it.” Mason opened the passenger door to his 1969 Corvette Stingray, and she got all snuggly in the seat.
Mason went around to the driver’s side and scooted in next to her.
“It has such character.” Trudie ran her hands along the seat. “Truly a classic.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Mason said as he looked right at her. “When I first saw it, I found it to be irresistible.”
He had such an intense, romantic stare—like the one Clark Gable gave Vivian Lee in Gone with the Wind—Trudie could have melted right there in her little seat. But she refused to be dissolved so easily. “Yes
, but sometimes there’s such a thing as buyer’s regret.”
He shook his head. “None whatsoever. I’m holding onto this baby until I go to heaven.” Mason leaned over and kissed her full on the mouth.
Okay. All right. Melting was now an option.
Chapter Forty-three
Mason pulled up to his mother’s home and parked by the curb.
Trudie saw the house and gasped. “You grew up here?” She stared at the delicate adornments on the eaves and the dollhouse features.
“I most certainly did. What do you think?”
“I think it’s amazing. I mean, who lives in a gingerbread house? Except in fairy tales.” She turned to look at him. “You must have loved growing up in it.”
Mason cocked his head. “Well, sometimes my brother and I got a ribbing or two on the bus from being picked up here. They used to call me Hansel.”
“I hope they didn’t call your brother Gretel.”
“They did. But only once.” Mason raised an eyebrow.
Trudie laughed.
“But I can appreciate the architecture. Especially since I no longer have to be picked up here on the school bus.”
She grinned. “Did both your parents like the design?”
“Actually, it was Mother’s idea, not my father’s. After several years of marriage he told my mother that since his profession wouldn’t be as easy on the family as other professions, to compensate, he wanted her to choose whatever house plan she liked.”
“I wonder what made her choose something so whimsical.”
“Well, you’ll understand when you get to know her better.” Mason slid out of the car and came around to open her door.
Trudie wondered what that comment might mean, but she didn’t think negatively about it, since any woman who would choose to live in a gingerbread house had to be wonderful.
Mason helped her out, and they strolled along the curving stone path up to the round top front door. He lifted the doorknocker and gave the door a few hard raps.
Trudie half expected to see an elf or a hobbit greet them at the door.
Within seconds Mrs. Wimberly, a portly woman with a cherubic face, emerged from the house, throwing a tea towel over her shoulder and enveloping Trudie into her soft folds. “It’s so lovely to see you again, Trudie. What a precious young woman you are.”
“Thank you. It’s good to see you again too, Mrs. Wimberley.”
“Oh now, pish, posh. No formalities here. Please call me Mom. Come on in. My sisters have made enough to feed the whole town of Humble.” She scurried inside, her tea towel swishing back and forth cheerfully.
As they followed her, Mason whispered to Trudie from behind. “See? She loves you already.”
Trudie grinned, thinking of Mrs. Wimberley’s kindness in letting her call her Mom, but not feeling altogether deserving of such an intimate gesture so soon. Mason’s mother was indeed charming, though, like a loveable fairy godmother. All she lacked was the wand.
As they bustled through the house, Trudie tried to memorize every detail of the décor. The rooms were decorated with lots of overstuffed furniture and cozy-looking knickknacks. It was just what Trudie had expected from such a warm and welcoming lady. They stepped into the kitchen, which appeared to be the central hubbub of the house.
Within seconds Trudie was engulfed in relatives, mostly aunts of every shape and size, hugging her and generally loving on her.
Mason cleared his throat. “Ladies.”
Everyone quieted down. “Everybody, this is Trudie Abernathy. Trudie, this is Aunt Lydia, Aunt Grace, Aunt Lorelei, and over there by the door is Aunt Beckie and Justina, who are the family’s twins.”
Mrs. Wimberley took hold of Trudie’s arm. “I have five sisters and only two of us married, so I’m afraid our beloved Mason grew up in a world of women. Pity him, dear.”
Trudie chuckled.
“No child was ever loved so much, though.” Mason spread his palm over heart.
“Ahhhh,” all the aunts sighed together.
Trudie smiled. Apparently Mason knew how to schmooze his aunts, and they adored him for it.
He stepped over to the big soup pot on the stove. “So, where’s Uncle Franklin?”
“Oh, you know, he’s always a little skittish when we all get together.” Mrs. Wimberley pulled a pan of cornbread out of the oven. “I think he’s hiding out somewhere. With so many hens in here, he probably thinks he’ll get pecked.”
Several of the aunts chuckled.
Trudie followed Mason over to the pot of soup that was bubbling on the stove. Whatever was cooking smelled heavenly. “May I help you with lunch?”
Mrs. Wimberley shooed them on. “No, dear, but thank you. I just want you to enjoy yourself.”
Trudie looked into the huge pot. “Is this gumbo?”
“Gumbo Surprise,” one of the twins said. “We start with a secret family recipe, but then each of us brings a surprise to put in the pot. So, the gumbo is a little different every time.”
“But it’s always good.” Mrs. Wimberley wriggled her eyebrows. “Now, Mason, why don’t you give Trudie a tour of the house while we finish up.” She handed them cups of cocoa loaded with mini-marshmallows.
“Thank you.” Trudie took a sip. Oh, the ladies knew how to make it right. “It’s very good.”
“Yes, it is.” Mrs. Wimberley beamed. “But that isn’t a secret family recipe. I just got it off the Internet.”
Trudie laughed.
Mason turned to her and motioned to the hallway. “Shall we?”
“I’d love to see the rest of the house.” Trudie circled her arm through his.
They went through a long hallway, and then Mason turned and headed into a large bedroom. “This was my room growing up.”
Trudie set her cocoa down, bounced on the bed a little, and then went around to each item in the room, studying it. She pointed to the baseball trophy. “So you loved baseball?”
“I guess all boys do. What’s not to love about it?”
Trudie touched the photo of Mason with his parents. They were all laughing. “I like this one.”
Mason walked over to her and looked at the same photo. “That’s one of my favorites.”
“I can see why.” She looked up at him. “I was wondering...how has your mom been since the funeral? She seems to be recovering well, but I know how people try to be strong for everyone else.”
“She took it hard at first, but her sisters have stayed by her side constantly.”
“I only have one sister, but I know how indispensable they can be.”
Mason set his mug down on his desk. “And Dad told her he didn’t want her to grieve too long. He said we’d all be together again someday, and that all would be well. And since she knows that to be true, her grief hasn’t been overwhelming.”
“I’m glad.” Trudie gazed back at the wall. Among the family photos were some from high school. One picture in particular stood out— Mason was surrounded by a crowd of beautiful young cheerleaders. They were all either kissing his cheek or puckered up ready to do so.
Mason took the photo off the wall. “That one is my least favorite.”
Another twinge of uncertainty rose in Trudie’s heart. So many women. The world seemed to be full of beautiful women, and they were all in pursuit of Mason Wimberley!
“My brother put that on the wall, and I never had the heart to take it down since he was the one who put it there. It always made him chuckle.” Mason slid the photo into the drawer.
Trudie touched his hand. “I would hate for you to put away a memory that’s linked to your brother.”
“Don’t worry. I can put away this photo without putting away the memories of my brother.” He shut the drawer and turned his gaze back to the wall of family photos.
Trudie wished now she’d kept her expressions in better check. Mason must have seen her twinge of pain. Perhaps he’d even seen a flash of jealousy. Someday she would need to talk to him about her concerns. But how
would one say it? You’re too handsome for me? She wasn’t sure if she could spend her life watching women young and old drooling over him. Trudie knew she’d be lucky if gawking was all they were interested in doing. Some women would no doubt want more.
Like the women at the gallery. Trudie looked back at the wall of photos with Mason, but her mind continued to fret. Those women who’d surrounded Mason that evening at the gallery weren’t interested in his views about art. Actually, they’d journeyed to the next level—the pawing mode. Perhaps at gatherings she would forever be shoved aside like an old shoe. Or maybe people would feel sorry for Mason for getting stuck with someone who wasn’t quite up to par in the beauty department. There was indeed a pecking order when it came to attractiveness. The question was—could she deal with being substandard every day of their marriage?
Mason turned her around to face him and then lifted her chin. “You look deep in thought. And I don’t think it has anything to do with family photos or baseball.”
Trudie took in a deep breath and went over to sit on the bed. The time had come. “I guess we need to talk.”
“Okay.” Mason sat on the bed next to her.
“Well, I...” Trudie ran her hands along the soft bedcovers. “You know, I can’t think straight when you sit next to me like that. You know, so close.”
“I’m a good foot away from you.”
“You’re just too close...too gorgeous.” Trudie blurted out the words before she’d filtered her comment.
Mason chuckled but didn’t budge. “Thank you for the compliment, but why do you think I want to sit on the bed anyway?”
“Because your legs are tired?” Trudie knew her voice had gone weak as skim milk.
Mason shook his head. “No. It’s because I want to be near you. Very near you. If we were married, we certainly wouldn’t just be sitting on this bed.”
Trudie felt her face go white-hot.
“My point is, don’t you realize that whatever thoughts you’ve had along those lines, I’ve been thinking the same thing about you? I’m just as attracted to you as you are to me. Well, maybe a lot more.”
Trudie puckered her brows. “Well, that thought certainly never crossed my mind.”