One Step Away: Once Upon a Proposal

by Sherryl Woods

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  She grinned happily. “Close enough,” she said as she headed for the kitchen. She stopped long enough to wink at him. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” he muttered in the direction of the closing door.

  “I heard that,” she called back cheerfully.

  Before he could think of anything to counter her convictions about his interest in Beth Callahan, the phone rang.

  “Yeah?” he growled.

  “Hey, buddy, you okay?” Claude Dobbins asked worriedly. “You didn’t go and break something else on that ice up in Vermont, did you?”

  “No, you just caught me at a bad time. I was considering strangling my ex-mother-in-law.” He figured Dobbins, an all-pro offensive lineman who’d been the target of Delores’s matchmaking efforts himself, would understand.

  “You touch a hair on that sweet woman’s head and I’ll personally break your other knee,” the three-hundred-pound man said.

  “Since when did you start taking her side?”

  “Since I realized that marrying Harriet was about the smartest thing I ever did and it wouldn’t have happened if Delores hadn’t given me a shove.”

  “I don’t recall your having the same attitude when we were trying to get you into your tux before the wedding. Making a fast getaway to Tahiti was mentioned more than once.”

  “I’ve wised up since then.” He fell silent and Ken could hear him taking a deep breath. “Besides,” he blurted out, “Harriet and me, we’re gonna have a baby. That’s what I called to tell you.”

  Ken felt the unexpected sting of tears in his eyes. Though Claude had claimed to disdain marriage and everything associated with it, he’d spent his off-the-field free time working with half a dozen children’s charities. He was a natural with the kids, sick or well, rich or poor. “Hey, man, that’s just about the best news I’ve ever heard.”

  “Good enough that you’ll be the baby’s godfather?” he asked, an oddly hesitant note in his voice.

  “You name the time and place.”

  “Thanks,” he said, his relief evident. “We couldn’t think of anyone we’d rather have. Think Delores would be godmother? Harriet’s got her heart set on it.”

  “She’s right here. I’ll let you ask her yourself. When’s the baby due?”

  “Next May.”

  “Smart move. It won’t interfere with the football season. That’ll keep the coach happy. Let me get Delores, so you can tell her.”

  “Wait one sec, buddy. What’s this I hear about you buying a house and finding a new lady in Vermont?”

  Ken groaned. “I’m going to strangle my ex-mother-in-law, after all.”

  “No house or no lady?”

  “There is a house. Plenty of room for the soon-to-be-enlarged Dobbins family to visit. As for a lady, Chet Mathias introduced me to a woman who is going to handle all the renovations and the decorating. That’s it.”

  A sudden vision of Beth Callahan flashed through his head. His pulse automatically kicked into overdrive. The reaction made his voice less emphatic when he added, “Don’t go listening to everything Delores says. The woman has a wild imagination. It comes from those romance novels she reads all day.”

  “I heard that,” the woman in question hollered from the kitchen.

  Dobbins was chuckling in his ear. “Oh, brother, I can’t wait to see how this scene plays out. I’m gonna get me a front row seat and laugh my head off, just like you did to me.”

  “Go to—”

  “Tsk-tsk. You shouldn’t let a little innocent teasing get to you. Isn’t that what you were always telling me? Now let me talk to the finest woman in the western hemisphere.”

  “Only if you promise you won’t start conspiring against me.”

  “The only promise I ever made was to keep the defensive tackles from nailing your sorry butt on a football field,” Claude informed him. “And if I hadn’t been sidelined for that one damned play back in August, you’d still be the best quarterback in the NFL. I’m never going to forgive myself for that.”

  Ken had heard the self-accusations long enough. “Stop it. They dislocated your shoulder, for God’s sake. It’s the only play you’ve missed in the entire ten years we were together.”

  “And just look what happened,” he said miserably.

  “Claude Dobbins, if you don’t knock it off, I’m going to start praying that Harriet has quadruplets. You won’t sleep from May right on through next season’s Super Bowl.”

  “Look, man, I know you don’t blame me, but you can’t deny that if I’d been in there, things would have been different.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. There’s no point speculating. Believe it or not, I’m okay with this. It’s not the way I would have chosen to end my career, but it sure as hell beats spending an entire season getting intercepted or sacked on every other play and winding up fired.” He glanced up gratefully as Delores came back into the room. “Now, here’s my ex-mother-in-law.”

  She shot him a puzzled look, but accepted the phone.

  While she talked to Dobbins, Ken drew in a deep breath and tried to put aside all the memories his friend had stirred up. He picked up the photos from the new house and headed for Chelsea’s room. The important thing now was to think of the future. For both of them.

  * * *

  Despite the teasing of his ex-mother-in-law and his best friend, Ken headed back to Vermont two days later. To his astonishment, he was suddenly looking forward to studying wallpaper samples and choosing paint. Maybe he’d go completely off the deep end and do some of the remodeling himself, especially if Beth Callahan would pitch in and work by his side.

  He tried not to let himself worry too much about Chelsea’s uncharacteristically stubborn behavior. She had professed no interest in looking at furniture for her room or in selecting a color scheme. She wouldn’t even go to the store to look at swing sets. Her teacher had called again yesterday afternoon and asked if there was anything going on at home that might explain why she’d gotten into a fight on the playground and another in the lunchroom. Despite the fact that he was uncomfortable with airing his problems to anyone other than family, he had to tell the woman about the impending move. He couldn’t say for certain, but he was almost sure he’d heard her utter a sigh of relief. He’d left for Vermont feeling frustrated and angry and uncertain.

  Delores had suggested grounding the seven-year-old for her rotten behavior, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. He’d kissed her goodbye this morning and tried desperately not to notice the accusing expression in her big gray eyes.

  When she’d shouted after him, “I hate you. I want to go live with Mommy,” Ken had thought his heart would break. If he had thought for an instant that letting her live with his ex-wife would put things right, he would have let her go.

  But Ken knew better than anyone that Pam didn’t want their daughter in Hollywood with her. Because of that knowledge and the terrible guilt it stirred in him, he vowed to make allowances for Chelsea’s behavior. She would get over it soon enough and be back to her sunny, normal self. He hoped.

  He was still worrying about his daughter when he drove down the deeply rutted lane to his new house. This time he’d come in his four-wheel-drive wagon, a far more practical vehicle for these roads than his sports car. He figured he might as well get it to Vermont. He’d bring the sports car later. Maybe the different car explained why Beth didn’t spot him at first. Because she was totally absorbed in her conversation with the roofer, he had time to study her and try to analyze why she, of all the women he’d met, made his heart thump unsteadily.

  She was wearing the snug-fitting jeans he’d hoped to catch her in one day. They curved over an enticing bottom and slim hips, then smoothed over perfect thighs before being tucked
inside high, sturdy boots. A bulky, fur-lined jacket disguised the shape of her torso, but Ken found he remembered it well enough just from the hints he’d gotten from the fit of that soft sweater and tailored blazer she’d worn the last time he’d seen her.

  The collar of her coat was turned up around her ears and a knit cap was pulled down to meet it, leaving only stray tendrils of brown to curve against her glowing cheeks. Even from where he sat observing her, he found it amazing that her hair could catch the sunlight and shatter into so many different shades from sparkling gold to radiant red, all deepened by the basic brown.

  She blew on her bare hands to keep them warm as she talked. It was so cold, her breath was visible. He suddenly had the strangest urge to march across the yard and snatch her gloves from her pockets and insist she wear them. Or, perhaps, to just take those frigid hands in his own until they were warm again. He couldn’t help wondering if they’d be soft or if there would be calluses from the work she pitched in to do.

  Where had this crazy attraction come from? he wondered yet again. He wasn’t sure whether he was drawn to her physically, whether he was attracted by her competence, or whether he was intrigued by the vague hints of vulnerability she so rarely allowed to show. It would be easy to dismiss it as simple, straightforward lust, but the truth was, she’d engaged his mind almost as quickly as she’d taunted his hormones. Too few women had ever done that.

  Given the flurry of activity inside and outside the house, Ken was suddenly oddly hesitant about intruding. Beth looked thoroughly at home amid the chaos and the workmen. He felt as if he’d suddenly grown an extra pair of hands as he stood awkward and uncertain beside his car. He told himself he might have left, satisfied that there was progress being made, but just then she spotted him and made leaving impossible.

  “Hi, there! I didn’t expect to see you back here so soon.” Her boots crunched over the ice-topped layer of snow as she walked over to join him.

  “I told you I’d only be gone a few days. Come here and get in the car where it’s still warm. You look frozen.”

  She laughed. “I’m used to this. It’ll have to drop another thirty degrees before it really bothers me.”

  “It’s already below freezing.”

  “It’ll get colder. Trust me.”

  Ken shivered. “I’ll never get used to it. I think I still have California blood.”

  “You’re from California?” she said with a look of surprise.

  “Los Angeles.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  He grinned. “Not so amazing. It’s a big city. Lots of people are from there.”

  “You don’t understand. That’s where I’m from, too. I’ve only been living here a couple of years now.”

  Ken suddenly felt yet another invisible thread tying them together in a way he couldn’t explain. “I guess that means we should have dinner tonight and talk about old times.”

  A sudden wariness flashed in her eyes. “I can’t do dinner tonight.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Not used to being turned down, are you?”

  “Not for long,” he said mildly. “Okay, you don’t have to say which it is, can’t or won’t, as long as you agree to breakfast tomorrow instead.”

  “Sure,” she said readily. “Seven o’clock?”

  Ken couldn’t remember the last time he’d been awake at seven, much less functional. “Seven?” he repeated doubtfully.

  She grinned. “You wouldn’t want me to report late for work, would you? The crew here starts at eight.”

  “I admire your dedication, but couldn’t you be late, just this once?”

  “What kind of example would that set?” she chided.

  He sighed. “Seven o’clock. Just don’t expect me to be coherent.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Hutchinson. I don’t expect much from most men.” She glanced toward the crew she had working. “Unless, of course, I’m paying them to do a job.”

  Ken watched her stroll back into the fray with an increasingly familiar sense of bemusement. Despite the humorous tone she’d adopted, he suspected there was a very real trace of bitterness in her comment about men. He wondered who had hurt her and how high the wall was that she had built around her heart.

  It didn’t matter, he decided. He’d been climbing over everything from backyard fences to the hulking linemen of opposing teams his whole life. A few shaky feminine defenses shouldn’t pose any kind of real hurdle at all.

  Chapter 6

  Beth wasn’t sure what had made her insist on a 7:00 a.m. breakfast meeting with Ken. It was obvious the man didn’t consider that a civilized hour for social chitchat or business talk. Maybe she was hoping to catch him while his brain was still a bit muddled. She liked the prospect of having the upper hand for once.

  Or maybe she simply wanted to see him when his hair was still provocatively tousled from sleep, so she could let her imagination conjure up images of being beside him in bed. Gillie, who had taken one psychology class in college and considered herself an expert on human behavior, would have a field day with that one.

  She had dressed with care. She had chosen a soft green sweater the shade of spring leaves to wear with her jeans. She’d slid her feet into a pair of flats and left her more practical boots and heavy socks in the car for the trip to the work site. She’d also caught herself taking extra care with her makeup. She had added a rare touch of eye shadow and mascara, even as she scolded herself for being ridiculous. She’d debated leaving her hair down, but at the last second she had wound it into a knot atop her head. As if to punish herself for her absurdity, she’d twisted it even tighter than usual.

  Now, as she stood in the hallway outside Ken’s suite, her stomach felt as fluttery as a teenager’s on a first date. Only when she had spotted him beside his car the day before had she realized how much she had looked forward to his return. She was anticipating this breakfast even more and that terrified her. She knew where this breathless, edge-of-the-precipice feeling could lead—straight to heartache. Damn her lack of control over her own emotions and damn Gillie Townsend for encouraging her to risk everything on a man whose personal life was essentially a huge question mark.

  She clutched her attaché case more tightly, reassured that there were enough papers inside to keep any conversation focused on business for the hour she had allotted for this meeting. Satisfied that for now she had her emotions and the next sixty minutes under control, she finally rapped on the door.

  “Come on in. The door’s open,” he called from somewhere deep inside the suite.

  Beth stepped through the doorway, then hesitated. Ken was nowhere in sight, which meant he was in the bedroom. Or perhaps he had just stepped out of the shower, his body still slick with water. Her blood sizzled as she considered that possibility. Heat climbed into her cheeks just as he poked his still-damp head around the door between the rooms.

  “I’ll be right out. Breakfast’s on its way. Sign my name, if I’m not out when it gets here, okay?”

  With her gaze fixed on the tiny sliver of bare chest she could glimpse through the partially closed door, she nodded. Unconscious of the gesture, she ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips.

  When she realized with a start that Ken’s eyes had locked on her mouth, she blinked, then looked hurriedly away. She heard his deep chuckle as the door clicked shut. The man, blast him, obviously knew the effect he had on her. In fact, he probably deliberately set out to provoke her responses.

  Fortunately, breakfast arrived just then, a rolling cart laden with fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes, toast, orange juice and coffee. She was still staring at it with open-mouthed amazement when Ken joined her.

  She glanced at him. “Expecting an army?”

  “I wasn’t sure what you’d like. Besides, I always have a hearty appetit
e in the morning.”

  Unbidden, an image of his probably very busy nights filled with steamy sexual encounters flashed through her head. “I can imagine,” she muttered.

  He grinned, as if he had guessed the very wicked direction of her thoughts. He pulled out a chair for her at the table that had been set up in front of the window. As she sat, his fingers skimmed her shoulders, sending shock waves ricocheting through her. Such an innocent gesture to stir a response that was anything but innocent, she thought. To regain her equilibrium, she reached for her attaché case. Ken’s hand closed over hers. Her heart thundered.

  “Leave it,” he commanded, his voice a whisper against her cheek. “Doing business over breakfast is bad for the digestion.”

  “I thought that was what power breakfasts were all about,” Beth countered. “Besides, we don’t have much time.”

  “Sure we do,” he contradicted. “All day, in fact. I’m planning to come out to the house with you when we’re through here.”

  “You can’t,” she said without thinking. How would she ever get anything done with him in plain sight, when she had barely been able to get him out of her head when he’d been in another state?

  “Oh?” he said, regarding her with more amusement than offense.

  She scrambled for an argument he wouldn’t see straight through. “I mean, won’t you be bored just standing around in the freezing cold watching other people work?”

  “You do it all the time, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but it’s my job.”

  “And it’s my house. Besides, I intend to do more than stand around. I thought I’d pitch in.”

  She regarded him as if he had just announced an intention to build a skyscraper single-handedly. “Can you do that?”

  “Depends on what needs doing, I suppose,” he said cheerfully, his gaze challenging her to argue. He held out the platter of bacon and eggs. “Care for some?”

  Beth shook her head. “No, the fruit and toast are just fine.”