The Millionaire's Proposal

by Janelle Denison

  “Consider yourself exceptionally virile.” Her tone was droll.

  He glanced up, his mouth quirking with a smile. “I suppose that’s good to know, but I have to admit this is quite a surprise.”

  “No doubt,” she said bitterly. “Don’t worry, Ford, I don’t want or expect anything from you, except your silence that you’re the baby’s father.”

  Seeing the determined look on her face, a cold, hard knot formed in his stomach. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  That chin of hers lifted. “I’m keeping my baby-”

  He stood, approaching her. “Of course you’re keeping my baby-”

  She stepped back, her hand resting protectively on her still flat tummy. “I’m raising my baby on my own-”

  He closed the distance between them, until he had her cornered between him, and the counter. “I’ll be damned if I let you raise my baby on your own.”

  She went on as if she hadn’t heard him, though the touch of nervousness in her gaze spoke volumes. “And it would make things much simpler if you just relinquished all rights as the baby’s father.”

  Fury boiled within him. “I’ll just bet it would,” he said in a dangerously low voice. Did she think he was such a monster that he’d abandon his own child and willing give up his parental rights? Well, she was about to learn exactly what a villain he could be. For him, there was only one solution to their predicament. An unnegotiable one. One she’d surely oppose.

  “We’re getting married,” he stated.

  She gasped in outrage. “This is the modern world, McCabe, and I don’t have to do any such thing!” She followed that up with a jab to his chest with her index finger. “The last thing I want is to marry you. My baby and I are better off on our own.”

  “Our baby,” he said through gritted teeth, though his attempt at a compromise made little difference in her eyes. Did she even remember that he’d been an integral part of creating that baby she carried?

  She tried to inch around him, but he wasn’t about to let her escape on the last word. He had too much to lose. Bracing his hands on either side of her on the counter, he trapped her within his arms. She instantly looked peeved at his tactic, but he didn’t care.

  “Dammit, Grace, quit being so unreasonable. You live in a small town, the people of which have narrow-minded views on illegitimate pregnancies. I believe that fits under the heading of one of those things that hasn’t changed around here.”

  “I’m a big girl, Ford. Not only can I take care of myself, I’m prepared to handle the trials of being an unwed mother.”

  “Well, I refuse to allow my child to grow up with the stigma of being illegitimate,” he said adamantly. “Did you think about the repercussions of that, Grace?”

  He could see by her startled expression that she hadn’t.

  Old, bitter memories reared their ugly head, making him more determined to legitimize the child Grace carried. “I’m sorry to ruin your plans, but I’m not keeping the parentage of our baby a secret. I want to be a part of this child’s life, and I’ll be damned if I’ll shirk my responsibility to my son or daughter.”

  She looked unswayed, mulishly so. No, she didn’t trust him at all.

  He shifted his stance, but his arms remained banded on either side of her. “If we don’t get married, our child will be ridiculed, an outcast, and suffer the consequences of our actions. I’ve been there, Grace. I’ve been illegitimate, and I refuse to allow that to happen to any child of mine.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but he pressed his fingers over her soft lips, not wanting her to interrupt, or argue. This was one debate she would not win.

  “So, I’m not giving you a choice in the matter, not when it comes to my baby’s welfare.” Her expression turned stricken, tearing at his heart. Hating the strife between them, he gently strummed his fingers along her cheek, gratified when she didn’t flinch or jerk away. “The last thing I’d ever want to do is trap you in a marriage you don’t want. But no matter how you feel about me, think about that innocent baby and what kind of life it would have carrying the stigma of being illegitimate.”

  “I wouldn’t allow that to happen.” Her voice was small, not nearly as confident as it should have been.

  A sad smile touched his mouth. “Oh, you could try and shelter our child from taunts and whispers behind his or her back, but take it from someone who has lived that hell first hand—there’s always someone who isn’t afraid to speak their mind, regardless of anyone else’s feelings.”

  She swallowed and looked away, but not before he’d glimpsed the confusion filling her luminous brown eyes. She knew what he spoke of was the truth, because she’d heard and witnessed the personal taunts cast his way as a youth. There were people in Whitaker Falls who would respect Grace and the child she carried because of her relation to Dr. Ellis Holbrook, but there were others who would express their cruel opinions without any thought to who they hurt.

  Ford moved away from Grace, giving her the breathing room she seemed to need, but still kept his gaze on her. “We’re getting married, Grace, and this baby will have my name and grow up with a mother and father who will love him or her.” His ultimatum was firm and indisputable. “I’ll expect nothing less, so you might as well get used to the idea of being Mrs. Grace McCabe.”

  She kept her lips tightly compressed and said nothing—she obviously knew there was nothing she could say that would make him change his mind about them getting married. The baby she carried changed everything between them, and he wouldn’t accept no for an answer.

  “And because I’m such a nice guy, I’ll give you a week to get used to the idea of being married to me,” he said, suspecting she’d need those seven days to get her affairs in order, and to break the news to her father.

  “How gracious,” she muttered.

  He remained ruthless. “I’ll set up a private appointment with Reverend Jones for next Saturday at one. Invite whomever you’d like.”

  Her lips curled up at the corner in mockery. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

  He ignored her sarcasm, but couldn’t overlook the devious glint in her eyes. She was playing the complacent female for him right now, but he wasn’t about to chance that she’d pull a stunt that would leave him standing at the altar without a bride. “If you decide not to show up, then I’ll be putting an ad in the Whitaker Falls Weekly announcing the impending arrival of our baby so there’s no mistaking whose child it is that you’re carrying.”

  She glared, the slightest bit of hope he’d detected in her gaze dwindling to resolve. “You really are wretched.”

  Chapter Five

  “What are you doing here on your wedding day?” Darcy chastised as Grace entered her shop the following Saturday morning.

  “It’s better than sitting at home,” Grace replied, setting her purse on a clear spot on the work bench behind the counter. She offered Darcy what she hoped came off as a cheerful smile, though she was feeling anything but. She’d had a horrible morning, and her plans for the afternoon certainly didn’t offer much comfort. Her and Ford’s “appointment” with Rev. Jones had her insides twisting with nerves. “The quiet is enough to drive me insane lately, and I’d rather keep myself busy here.”

  Darcy nodded in sympathetic understanding, and clipped the stem of a yellow daisy before pushing it into the floral arrangement. Needing an outlet for Ford’s ultimatum, Grace had confessed everything about her relationship with Ford to Darcy, who’d become one of her best friends over the past few years. She’d shared her past with Ford, his secretive return, to her unexpected pregnancy, and finally the news of her upcoming nuptials. Darcy had been a sympathetic listener, which Grace had desperately needed a week ago when she’d been so confused and overwhelmed by everything.

  She was still feeling confused and overwhelmed—especially after her tension-filled visit with her father that morning—but she was resigned to marrying Ford. The argument Ford had issued on his child’s behalf was strong
and solid, motivated by painful memories of his own upbringing. She and Ford might be at odds, but she couldn’t fault him for insisting on doing the honorable thing and legitimizing his child.

  What Grace found difficult to forgive was the fact that Ford had lied to her and deceived her that first night he’d returned—even if only for the purpose of being “cautious” in his approach. She’d trusted him, had surrendered to emotions and needs and made love with him, and he’d betrayed her with half-truths. His deception made her wonder what else he might be hiding, and that disturbing thought made her realize how little she knew about the man Ford had become, and how the past eleven years had shaped him.

  Not wanting to dwell on any other secrets her husband-to-be might be harboring, she picked up an invoice from the wooden table and perused the order for a “cheer me up” bouquet to be sent to Mrs. Lord, who’d broken her leg two days ago.

  “What time is Ford supposed to pick you up?” Darcy asked, casting her a curious look.

  “He’ll be at my house at twelve-thirty, so I’ll head back around twelve.” That had been the extent of her conversation with Ford the past week—a brief phone call to confirm the time of the appointment with Rev. Jones, and when Ford would be at her cottage to pick her up. Glancing at her gold wrist watch, she noted the time, figuring that gave her another hour to try and relax her churning stomach.

  Darcy headed toward the glass enclosed refrigerating unit. “Well, since you’re here, it saves me from having to drive out to your place for a delivery.”

  Grace watched Darcy return with two square floral boxes, and frowned. “To deliver what?”

  Her friend grinned enthusiastically. “These.”

  Grace stared in stunned surprise at the two floral items Darcy produced from the boxes. One was a lovely crown of pink roses with baby’s breath, and the other was a lush, gorgeous handheld bouquet of the same design. Thin, streaming ribbons of pale pink and white matched the outfit she’d told Darcy she’d be wearing today for her wedding when her assistant had casually asked a few days ago. She’d decided on a simple pink linen skirt and matching jacket with a white silk blouse, and the headdress and bouquet Darcy had made complimented the colors perfectly. She lightly fingered the soft petal of a rose and breathed in the delicate fragrance of the fresh flowers, touched by the sweet gesture. “Oh, Darcy, you shouldn’t have.”

  “Oh, I didn’t.” A wry smile canted Darcy’s mouth. “Your fiancé came in earlier this week and ordered them. He asked me to find out what you’d be wearing, and to make sure the pieces matched.”

  Grace’s breath caught, and she silently damned Ford for being so thoughtful and wreaking additional havoc to her already jumbled emotions. She didn’t want him to be nice and sweet, which only served to chip away at her resolve to keep her feelings out of the marriage she’d agreed to. They were marrying for practical reasons, for their baby’s sake, and she had to keep that important fact foremost in her mind.

  “You know,” Darcy began thoughtfully, capturing Grace’s attention. “For all the gossip I’ve been hearing this week about Ford McCabe and what a trouble-maker he supposedly is, I just don’t see it myself. He comes across as very respectable, quite the gentleman, and gorgeous to boot.”

  “You weren’t around when he was a hell-raiser of the worst sort and causing trouble for everyone.” She absently curled a finger around the satiny ribbon from the bouquet, fearing the strings on her heart would become just as ensnared by Ford’s charm and romantic persuasion if she wasn’t careful. She glanced back at Darcy, who waited to hear more. “‘Respectable’ is the last word anyone in Whitaker Falls would use to describe Ford. When he was a teenager he stole regularly from the Cash and Carry market, went joyriding in George Godwin’s rebuilt ‘57 Chevy and wrecked it, set fire to Ken Olsen’s barn and nearly killed one of his prized Quarter Horses, and though he was never caught, everyone assumes he’s the one who busted in the windows of the After Hours bar and did over ten thousand dollars’ worth of damage to the place.”

  Grace ticked each transgression off on her fingers, but her mind lingered on that last misdeed. She’d made the same assumption as everyone else about the break-in to After Hours. Ford had had a personal vendetta against the bar where his mother worked and spent her paychecks on booze, and practically lived her life, so it hadn’t been difficult to deduct who the culprit had been. After Hours had since become a rundown, shady bar that catered to a more unsavory clientele, hurting the other respectable establishments in that same strip of shops and businesses. The shop tenants were hoping the new property owner of the buildings, who had yet to be named, would do something to restore order to the shoddy place.

  Grace followed up her monologue on Ford’s delinquent childhood with, “He lied, stole, damaged property and generally caused trouble wherever he went. That’s what everyone remembers when they hear the name Ford McCabe.”

  Darcy continued working on the vibrant bouquet for Mrs. Lord. “I’ll admit that’s quite a track record, but people change, Grace.”

  “I know that,” she admitted quietly. “But folks only remember the rebellious way he was and how much strife he’d caused. It might be unfair and judgmental, but I suppose those bad memories are all they have to go on.” Even she could easily recall the reckless, recalcitrant kid he’d been, but she also remembered the vulnerability and loneliness in his eyes when she’d first met him. Beneath all that tough rebellion had been a boy aching to be loved, and accepted. She’d given him both, at the expense of her own reputation.

  The irony of how history was about to repeat itself wasn’t lost on Grace.

  It was evident Ford had changed. His confidence and wealthy appearance showed a man who’d gained success. Yet, like everyone else, Grace felt so uncertain of him, his motives for returning, and why he’d chosen the very town that had spurned him to build such a sprawling, permanent kind of home.

  And then there was her father, whose opinion of Ford hadn’t changed or softened at all over years. If anything, his bitterness and hatred had only grown for the man he believed was responsible for Aaron’s death, his wife’s demise, and tainting his young daughter’s reputation. There was no forgiving, no compromising, and certainly no understanding how Grace had gotten herself into her current predicament.

  Grace’s chest banded with the awful possibility that she’d driven a permanent wedge between her and her father. Needing to release the pressure of holding in her father’s disappointment of her actions, she said, “I finally told my father this morning about me and Ford.”

  Darcy immediately glanced up from her task of arranging fern in the floral bouquet. “Nothing like waiting until the last minute,” she said wryly. “How did it go?”

  “Horribly.” She couldn’t stem the rush of tears that filled her eyes. She’d remained strong and adamant in front of her father while he’d ranted and raved and cursed Ford like a madman. Ellis’s face had flushed with anger, and he’d clutched his heart as if she were breaking it. She’d remained immune to his theatrics and rage, refusing to allow her father to heap guilt upon her, but now, her fortitude dissolved. She’d needed her father’s support, if not his understanding, and she’d gotten nothing but grief.

  She swiped at a tear that escaped the corner of her eye. “He was furious about me marrying Ford, of course, and totally devastated about me being pregnant with Ford’s child. He all but disowned me.”

  “Aww, Grace,” Darcy murmured, compassion glimmering in her eyes. “I’m sure your father will come around.”

  “I’m not too sure about that. In his eyes, I’m marrying the enemy, the man who destroyed his family and is now stealing his daughter, too.” She sniffled, and drew a breath that seemed to shudder right to the depths of her soul. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of a day or two before the entire town finds out I’m Ford’s wife and that I married him because I’m pregnant with his baby. Considering how everyone feels about his return, I might as well wear a scarlet letter on my ches
t.”

  Darcy laughed lightly at Grace’s attempt at humor. “I’m sure there will be people who will be shocked, and your marriage will no doubt fuel the gossip, but a few weeks from now I’m sure the novelty of you being married to the town’s bad boy will lose its appeal and everything will settle back down to normal.”

  Grace shot her friend a dubious look.

  Darcy wasn’t the least bit daunted. “Grace, if Ford really has changed, then people have got to acknowledge that and accept him for the person he is now.”

  Grace remained silent and watched as Darcy made a big fat bow out of red ribbon for Mrs. Lord’s bouquet while one very important question persisted in her mind . . . who was Ford now?

  The bell above the door tinkled, and Grace and Darcy turned to see who’d entered the flower shop. Despite her dreary morning, Grace found an easy smile radiating within her at the sight of one of her most favorite people, Marie Tedder, who owned the popular Marie’s Cafe in that strip of businesses near After Hours. She’d known Marie all her life, and the plump older woman was the closest thing she’d ever had to a grandmother.

  Marie’s green eyes lit up as they took in Grace’s pink suit. “Well, don’t you look as pretty as a picture today?”

  Grace’s cheeks warmed, and she suddenly felt too self-conscious in her wedding attire, as casual as it was. “Marie, what are you doing here?” she asked, taking the attention off herself.

  The older woman pushed through the low swinging gate to the work area and set a white bakery bag on the wooden bench. “Well, my joints were stiffening up some, so the bossy old man told me to take a walk, and since I had two cinnamon twists leftover from this morning’s batch, I thought I’d come see my two favorite girls.”

  “You’re a sweet thing, Marie,” Darcy said, enthusiastically opening the bakery bag and pulling out a fresh, fragrant twist for Grace, then one for herself.