One Step Away: Once Upon a Proposal

by Sherryl Woods

  “Hanging up my clothes.”

  “Shouldn’t you be up there helping her?”

  “She says I just get in the way.”

  Ken doubted Delores had said any such thing. If anything, he suspected Chelsea had learned that expression from Pam. He had planned to try to put in a couple of hours working, but after reading the forlorn expression on his daughter’s face he abandoned that plan.

  “Run up and get your grandmother. We’ll go for a ride so you can see the town. Tell her we’ll stop somewhere for lunch.”

  A smile spread across Chelsea’s face. “And we can look for a puppy.”

  “Drop that for now,” he warned gently.

  Her grin didn’t waver. “We’ll see,” she said blithely.

  She said it in that adult way that often took him totally by surprise. She was definitely Pam’s daughter, all right. Somehow he couldn’t find much comfort in that.

  “Bundle up,” he called after her.

  He put on a shirt then grabbed his own jacket and scarf from the back of a chair and tugged on a pair of boots. “I’ll be outside warming up the car,” he shouted. “Don’t be long.”

  “We’re hurrying, Daddy. We’ll be there really fast.”

  Outside as he sat shivering in the icy car, Ken wondered if he dared take them by Beth’s house. Perhaps they could persuade her to join them. Then he thought of the possibility she would refuse and decided now was not the time for Chelsea to suffer another rejection. Maybe it was better if they made this strictly a family outing, he conceded, trying to ignore the sense of disappointment the decision sent through him.

  The roads had been plowed and sanded since the previous day, making the drive relatively easy. As they passed the house he had learned belonged to Roger Killington, the tactless, but well-intentioned bank president, Chelsea apparently caught sight of a sign he hadn’t even noticed before.

  “Daddy, doesn’t that sign on the tree say Puppies?”

  He groaned and wished for an instant that his daughter’s spelling skills weren’t quite so advanced. “Yep. Very good,” he said, and kept right on driving. He caught Delores’s smirk. “Don’t say it.”

  “Did you hear a word from me?” she remarked agreeably. “I’m just along for the ride.”

  By the time they reached town, it was almost noon. The shops along Berry Ridge’s main street were about as busy as they ever got. It was too cold to linger on the sidewalk chatting, so most people ducked into the stores when they ran into neighbors. Most places kept a couple of chairs around for these impromptu visits.

  Feeling surprisingly at home, Ken pointed out the general store, a gallery of local arts and crafts, an old-fashioned candy store and ice-cream parlor, a model train shop, a combination bookstore and card shop, and the bakery.

  “Where’s the toy store?” Chelsea demanded.

  Knowing she was referring to the kind of superstore that he hated, he gave her a sympathetic look. “Sorry. The closest big store like that is twenty miles away. But several of these stores have toys.”

  “I’ll bet they don’t have electronic games,” she said derisively. “And I’ll bet they don’t have Barbie.”

  “I guess you won’t be wanting to look around, then,” he said. “We might as well go have lunch.”

  Chelsea started to argue, then fell silent. Ken had planned to make the twenty-mile drive to the nearest fast-food outlet, but just then he spotted Beth’s car half a block from the bakery and guessed she was there having lunch. When a space by the curb opened up just in front of him, he pulled in.

  Chelsea shot him an appalled look. “I want a hamburger.”

  “You can have one.”

  “But where? I don’t see McDonald’s.”

  “Sorry, kiddo. You’ll have to make do with the kind they have here,” he said, leading the way toward the bakery.

  They were almost to the door when he felt Delores’s hand on his arm.

  “Are you sure this is such a good idea?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “I’m not blind, young man. I saw her car. I also heard the two of you arguing this morning. This doesn’t strike me as the place to try making up. Word will be all over town by nightfall.”

  Ken recognized there was some truth in that, but he was determined to try to normalize things between himself and Beth, no matter what it took. He also wanted her to spend some time with Chelsea. Perhaps here, in public, there would be the kind of buffer that would ease the situation.

  “It’ll be fine,” he reassured Delores.

  She muttered something that sounded like “Men,” and rolled her eyes.

  The bakery wasn’t all that large, but at the moment it was crowded. It took him a minute to spot Beth in the booth at the back, sitting all alone and looking every bit as dejected as he’d been feeling. Plastering a smile on his face, he determinedly headed her way. He was already shrugging out of his jacket.

  “Hi,” he said cheerfully as he approached the table.

  Her head snapped up. “What are you doing here?”

  “We came to have lunch. Mind if we join you? All the other tables are taken,” he said, not waiting for a reply before nudging his way onto the seat beside her.

  Temper flared in her eyes, but she gave a reluctant nod, probably because she caught the sympathetic expression on his ex-mother-in-law’s face.

  Once they were all settled, Lou came over to take their order, her observant gaze pinned mostly on Beth. “You want me to hold that order of chowder for you until their food is ready?”

  Beth was silent for so long Ken guessed she was warring with herself between politeness and a desire to flee as quickly as possible.

  “I’ll wait,” she finally said with an air of resignation.

  With the ordering out of the way and his immediate tactical goal accomplished, Ken was suddenly at a loss about how to proceed. Fortunately, Delores smoothed the way by commenting on the plans for the house. In no time the two women were caught up in a discussion of the appliances needed for the kitchen. Ken listened happily, certain that this was the first step toward a permanent thaw.

  Chelsea, unfortunately, was clearly bored by it all. As the talk of refrigerators and stoves and washers and dryers went on, he watched her expression grow increasingly sullen. She picked up her fork and tapped it again and again against the Formica-topped table.

  “Stop that, sweetie. We’re trying to have a conversation,” Delores said.

  When that didn’t work, she forcibly removed the fork from Chelsea’s tight fist and without missing a beat went right on discussing the merits of trash compactors. Ken watched the incident with admiration.

  Then, in an action as unexpected as it was sudden, Chelsea hit her glass of cola and sent it streaming straight toward Beth. The sticky, dark liquid splashed over Beth’s clothes and into her face. Ken didn’t have a doubt in his mind that Chelsea had sent the glass flying deliberately. Neither, if the expression on her face was any indication, did Beth.

  Lou came rushing over with a washcloth, which she handed Beth, and a towel she used to mop up the rest of the spill, clucking all the while. “Accidents happen around here all the time,” she said briskly. Her kindly gaze fell on Chelsea. “Don’t you worry about it. I’ll bring you another drink.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” Ken said. “I don’t believe Chelsea really wanted that one.” He met his daughter’s gaze. “Did you?”

  Her lower lip trembled.

  “You might tell Beth that you’re sorry,” he said more gently when Lou had gone.

  She shook her head.

  “Chelsea!”

  She finally lifted her head and looked at Beth. “I didn’t mean it.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” Beth said quietly.

>   The comment was gracious, but Ken knew without a doubt that she didn’t believe what she was saying. She and Chelsea watched each other as warily as a couple of enemy warlords meeting for the first time.

  Ken suddenly felt like the negotiator who’d forced a meeting and now anticipated being shot...probably twice.

  Chapter 11

  After an endless weekend during which she’d had plenty of time to contemplate Chelsea’s deliberate spilling of her soft drink, Beth forced herself to go back to Ken’s house. The only way she was going to survive this ordeal was by taking it one day at a time, one hour at a time. She felt as if she were in a recovery program. In those, however, a person was advised to avoid all contact with the troublesome substance. She was going to have to face her demon every single day and try to emerge from the meetings emotionally unscathed.

  For the first time since the work had begun, she felt it necessary to ring the doorbell when she arrived. Delores, not Ken, greeted her, which settled her nerves somewhat. Then Delores added that Ken had gone out for the morning to take care of some business. The only thing that might have filled her with a greater sense of relief would have been the news that Chelsea had gone with him. Unfortunately, the little girl was standing right beside her grandmother, her expression solemn and distrustful.

  “Chelsea and I are going to bake some cookies. Would you like some when we’re through?” Delores asked.

  “I’d love some,” Beth said, keeping her gaze on Delores so she wouldn’t have to deal with all of the conflicting emotions Ken’s daughter stirred in her.

  “With tea or coffee?”

  “I’d love a cup of coffee, but don’t go to any extra trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble. I brewed a big pot this morning. I can’t wake up without it. And when this one gets going,” Delores said, smoothing Chelsea’s blond hair, “I need to be fully alert.”

  “My grandmother bakes the very best cookies in the whole world,” Chelsea volunteered, startling Beth with the friendly overture. For once there seemed to be no guile in her eyes, no resentment, just a sparkling anticipation of the morning’s planned activity.

  “I’ll bet she does,” Beth said, smiling at the childish enthusiasm despite herself. “What kind are your favorites?”

  “Chocolate chip. But pretty soon we’re going to bake Christmas cookies with red icing and sprinkles.” Her expression suddenly turned belligerent. “Just like we did at my real house last year,” she said as if to emphasize that this house would never be accepted as her real home.

  Delores sent Beth an apologetic look. “She’ll adapt before you know it,” she said.

  Beth shook her head. “Not necessarily,” she said.

  Apparently something in her voice conveyed far more meaning than the words alone, because Delores gave her a penetrating look. Before she could explore the remark, though, Chelsea tugged on her hand.

  “Let’s go, Grandma. I want to have lots and lots of cookies for Daddy when he gets home.”

  “In a minute,” Delores began, but Chelsea’s expression turned mutinous.

  “Now,” she insisted, earning a warning glance from her grandmother that effectively silenced her. She retaliated for the rebuke by glaring at Beth.

  Delores sighed and gave Beth a look that was full of regret. “We’ll talk more later,” she said to Beth, obviously intent on keeping peace.

  It was a tactic that Beth could have told her wouldn’t work in the long run. Instead, wishing that the warm, older woman could become a friend, Beth simply nodded. She had recognized at once that they would never have the chance, if Chelsea had her way. The child seemed ready to do everything in her power to make sure that Beth remained a safe distance from everyone in her family.

  As Beth went into Ken’s office and tried to get to work, she reminded herself that a seven-year-old who had just been through a traumatic divorce probably needed reassurance that those still around her wouldn’t be taken away. Emotionally, she probably required all the extra attention, especially in a new place where she had yet to meet friends. It was probably to be expected that she would view any stranger as a threat.

  The generous, caring, rational side of Beth could accept all of the time-honored psychological explanations for Chelsea’s behavior. The vulnerable, fragile part of her was terrified to open her heart to yet another child who seemed intent on rejecting her love.

  Seated behind Ken’s desk, she went over another batch of invoices, comparing them to the prices she’d originally been quoted and to the shipments stacked across the room. As she was shuffling papers, she found a note from Ken asking if there was any way possible the wallpapering in the dining room could be completed by Thanksgiving. He’d promised Chelsea an old-fashioned meal at home and didn’t want to disappoint her.

  Beth thought of her own plans for the holiday. She’d been invited to Gillie’s, as usual, and to the Killingtons’ for their annual celebration for family and business associates. Given her present mood, she would be wise to turn them both down. She wasn’t fit company for anyone. She couldn’t help wondering if she would have felt that way if Ken had asked her to join them for Thanksgiving dinner.

  Releasing a sigh, she picked up the phone and called the wallpaper hangers and made arrangements with the owner, Steve Wilcox, to come in on Tuesday to do the dining room as a rush order. The other rooms would be done the following week.

  “You’ll have that place finished in time for Christmas,” he promised.

  “Thanks, Steve. You’re an angel. Anything you can do to speed things along would be greatly appreciated.”

  “Remember that the next time I ask you out,” he teased.

  The man was gorgeous in an offbeat, artsy sort of way, with his thick brown hair drawn back in a ponytail and his chiseled features. He was also funny and hard-working. But he was barely twenty-five, for goodness’ sake. At the moment she felt about a hundred years older. “You know perfectly well I’m too old for you.”

  “That’s your opinion, not mine.”

  She laughed. “You are good for my ego, I’ll give you that.”

  “Oh, my, I’ve scored two points in one morning. I’d better quit while I’m ahead. Add ’em to my score.”

  “I wasn’t aware we were keeping score.”

  “I am. I figure there’s probably some magical number I’ll eventually accumulate and you’ll break down and say yes.”

  “Isn’t there some lovely young woman your own age you’d rather go out with?”

  “I haven’t met a woman in the entire state of Vermont who can hold a candle to you.”

  “Ah, Steve, you have definitely mastered the fine art of flattery. You’re making my head spin.”

  “That’s the idea,” he said. “See you in the morning. Eight sharp. You bring the coffee. I’ll work on my seduction technique.”

  “It’s a deal,” she said, smiling to herself as she hung up.

  “Who’s the admirer?” Ken said.

  Beth’s head snapped up. He was leaning against the doorjamb, his posture lazy. His eyes, however, had a dangerous, predatory gleam in them. “I didn’t know you were back.”

  “I got here just in time to hear you tell some man he was making your head spin.”

  He sounded downright disgruntled about it, too, she thought with a tiny glimmer of satisfaction. “That was Steve Wilcox. You’ll meet him tomorrow. He’s the man I hired to hang your wallpaper. He’ll have the dining room all set for Thanksgiving.”

  “Thanks,” he said automatically. “I thought it was the plumber I had to worry about.”

  “All of the guys are buddies.”

  “Buddies?” he said doubtfully.

  She shrugged. “Why not? It is possible for men and women to be friends.”

  “I suppose.”

 
“Planning a big gathering for Thanksgiving?” she asked, hoping to get off the subject of her social life before he discovered how studiously she had avoided having one up until she’d met him.

  “Delores, Chelsea, two close friends from D.C.” He paused and waited until her gaze met his. “And you, if you don’t already have other plans.”

  “I’ve been invited to two parties that day,” she said hurriedly, hoping to evade temptation.

  He watched her closely. “You said invited. You didn’t say you’d accepted the invitations.”

  “No,” she agreed, wishing the man didn’t have the perceptiveness of an expert psychic. “But if I go anywhere, I should accept one of those.”

  “Because they asked first?”

  She shrugged. “That’s what Miss Manners would advise.”

  “You’re not just using that to avoid joining us?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you’re suddenly uncomfortable in this house,” he said, straightening. He walked slowly across the room, then perched on the corner of the desk so his thigh was brushing hers. “I can’t tell you how much I regret that.”

  Even though she knew what was smart, even though she recognized that an honest answer had danger written all over it, she couldn’t help admitting, “Me, too.”

  “Then come for dinner,” he repeated persuasively. “You’ll really like Claude Dobbins and his wife. They’re good people. Delores takes full credit for their marriage. Claude was a confirmed bachelor and Harriet was one very unhappy lady until Delores took charge. They’re expecting a baby in the spring.”

  “They sound really special.”

  “They are. Claude’s my best friend. He’d do anything in the world for me, Delores and Chelsea. It goes both ways.”

  “It must be nice to have friends like that,” she said, thinking of her own best friend, who’d let her walk right into this hornet’s nest with a single father even though Gillie knew her background. Gillie had been mysteriously elusive the past few days. Perhaps she’d gotten wind of how things were going between Beth and Ken and had decided to lay low.