An Old-Fashioned Romance

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “You ready?” he asked.

  She nodded, taking her coat from the peg behind the door. Breck locked her apartment door and then began walking toward the street, where she could see Reese’s pickup parked.

  “You look great,” he said, smiling at her and placing a hand at the small of her back. Breck felt herself blush and hoped he would think it was just the cool night air.

  Opening the passenger door first, Breck was startled when Reese simply spun her around to face him, placed his powerful hands at her waist, and lifted her into the pickup seat.

  “Don’t want you to tear your skirt,” he explained before closing the door.

  “Thank you,” Breck offered, blushing with the delight borne of his rather heroic gesture.

  “I hope you like steak,” Reese told her as his pickup’s engine roared to life, “and company.”

  Breck felt her heart sink to the pit of her stomach. He’d invited someone else?

  “Sure,” she said, forcing a smile and trying to sound delighted.

  “Good. ’Cause we’re going to Bulls Eye’s, and my mom is meeting us there,” he explained. Breck glanced at him, her mouth gaping open in astonishment. Oh, it wasn’t the fact that he was taking her to the most expensive steak house in the city that shocked her: it was the fact that his mother was meeting them there! His mother?

  “Your mother?” she couldn’t help asking.

  “Yeah,” he said, smiling. “She ran up to check on me today and decided to stay the night. I told her I had a date…but how could I leave her alone? You know?”

  Breck shivered with excitement at his referring to their dinner as a date. Still, his mother?

  “Of course you couldn’t,” she said. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

  “Oh, I would’ve just given her a book or the remote or something, and she would’ve been glad to stay home. But…” he continued, “she found out I was going with you. That’s why she wanted to come.”

  Breck felt nauseated. “Why would it matter that it was me?” she ventured.

  “Really?” he chuckled. “Are you kidding? You’re the pumpkin sweater girl. I suspect she wants to see what kind of a girl would get me to go the extra mile for a birthday gift.”

  “Oh. I see.” Breck swallowed hard. All at once her excitement about the evening had disappeared. His mother, for Pete’s sake!

  The rest of the way to the restaurant they talked about nothing in particular—the Broncos’ last game, the Allen case, other things in the news. Breck thought her knees would fail her when, at last, they did arrive and Reese took her hand to help her down out of the pickup. He did not release her hand as he locked up the truck and started into the restaurant either. Her hand burned warm and tingly when he held it, and even when they entered Bulls Eye’s to be greeted by Reese’s mother, he did not let her hand go.

  “Hey, Mom,” Reese said, kissing his mother affectionately on one cheek. “This is Breck. The pumpkin sweater girl.”

  Reese’s mother was a short, plump, merry-looking woman. Her eyes seemed to smile along with the rest of her face, which was framed by brown hair with just a hint of gray. She wore a bright red sweater under a denim jacket, a jean skirt, and a pair of red Ropers. She was absolutely the friendliest, most approachable‑looking woman Breck had ever met.

  “Oh, hello!” Reese’s mother greeted, throwing her arms around Breck’s shoulders in a familiar hug. “I’m so glad to meet you…Breck, is it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Breck said, smiling. “And it’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Thatcher.”

  “Oh, call me Marjie,” she said, laughing.

  “And I’d like to thank you for the beautiful sweater. I’ve never seen anything like it! It’s so perfect,” Breck said.

  “You’re welcome. Aren’t you a sweetheart?” Marjie cooed, delighted by the praise.

  As the waitress led them to their table, Marjie said, “I hope you don’t mind my comin’ along on your date tonight, Breck.”

  “Oh, of course not,” Breck told her. And, surprisingly, she realized she meant it.

  “I just swung up to town to check on Reese and do some shoppin’ today…didn’t think that he might have plans.” Breck watched as the small woman squiggled into her chair at their table. It was like some sort of strange white light radiated from her. Breck would have sworn that she illuminated the room all on her own.

  “Now, don’t eat like a bird, Mom,” Reese said as the waitress handed them all menus. “I mean for you to go home well-fed and rested.”

  “And I mean to go home that way,” Marjie said, opening her menu and happily sighing.

  Breck was feeling quite comfortable considering the circumstances. The more she thought about it, the more she realized how sweet it was that Reese was taking his mother to dinner with them.

  “Reese tells me you’re related to the McCalls out at El Costa Lotta,” Marjie said as she flipped a page on her menu.

  “Oh, yes. Jackson McCall was my great-grandfather,” Breck explained.

  “Good horses comin’ out of there these past couple of years,” Marjie said, nodding. “Ol’ Goose was from the McCall place, Reese,” she added.

  “He was a good horse for kids,” Reese said.

  And then, it all became clear to Breck. How could she have been so naive? So blind?

  “You’re a farm boy!” she exclaimed, looking to Reese in astonishment. She could see it now—the polite manners, the sauntering way of walking, the pickup, the knowledge of the McCall ranch. Instantly, she felt like a cloud had been lifted from her mind.

  Reese and his mother both chuckled. “It’s been a long time since anyone called me a boy, Breck,” he told her.

  Breck giggled. “It just explains so much.” Immediately she wished she wouldn’t have said anything at all.

  For Reese instantly asked, “Like what?” His tone seemed a little defensive, and when his mother reached over and patted his arm, Breck feared she might have offended him.

  “Well…like your good manners, your old pickup…things like that,” she stammered.

  He sighed and smiled at her. “It shows, huh?”

  “It better show!” Marjie said. “I worked hard raisin’ you into a gentleman.”

  Breck couldn’t quit smiling at Reese. It was like the last piece to the puzzle—the puzzle that was the man Reese Thatcher—had just been pressed into place. All this time Breck had tried to put her finger on just what was different about Reese other than heavenly good looks, success, strength—other than the obvious. Now she knew—and she loved him all the more for it! Yes, loved him, she admitted to herself.

  ❦

  The meal was delicious, the conversation happy and light, and Breck began to dread its end. She concluded that Marjie Thatcher was an angel—a hard-working, old-fashioned girl who loved her family. Reese seemed to relax in his mother’s presence to a state that Breck had certainly never witnessed, and it was wonderful—like sitting before a warm, cozy fire on a cold winter’s night.

  Breck was just finishing her last bite of chocolate cake when Marjie asked, “So, Breck…what are your plans for Thanksgivin’?”

  Truly taken by surprise and not foreseeing what was about to come next, Breck stammered, “Oh, I…uh…” For in truth, she had no plans. With her parents in Europe and brother, Jake, overseas, she had simply reconciled herself to sitting at home with a turkey potpie.

  “So you don’t have plans?” Marjie prodded.

  “Well, not really. My parents are in Europe this year, and my brother is in the military, so I thought I might just—”

  “Reese!” Marjie interrupted, turning to her son. “You have to bring her out to the farm for Thanksgivin’!”

  “Oh! No, no, no,” Breck assured her. “I have a ton of people that I can—”

  “No. I won’t hear of it. You’ve got to come with Reese out to the farm and have Thanksgivin’ with us,” Marjie insisted. “Besides, if Reese is given the responsibility of bringin’ our guest…t
hen he won’t be able to find an excuse not to come.”

  “Mom,” Reese scolded, “don’t force her to come if she doesn’t want to.” He was shaking his head and smiling—amused at his mother’s insistent manner.

  “She wants to come. Don’t you, Breck?” Marjie said.

  This was uncharted territory for Breck. An invitation to Thanksgiving? From her boss’s mother? What was she supposed to do?

  “I couldn’t possibly impose like that, Mrs. Thatcher. It just isn’t done and—” Breck began to argue.

  “Impose? Are you kiddin’? We would love to have you! You’ll come out for the whole four days, won’t you?” Marjie continued, “Reese, you are givin’ her those days off, aren’t you?”

  “Four days?” Breck exclaimed.

  “Yes, Mom…she has the whole time off,” Reese chuckled. “But maybe she doesn’t want to come.”

  “You do want to come, don’t you?” Marjie pleaded.

  “I-I can’t possibly…” But the refusal stuck in Breck’s throat like a horsefly, for the look on Mrs. Thatcher’s face was so sincere—so pleading—and she knew refusal would hurt her. Reese’s also wore an expression that said she should not deny his mother. A kind of please don’t hurt my mother’s feelings sort of expression.

  “Of course you can!” Marjie announced, finally. “You can drive up on Wednesday night with Reese. Can’t she, Reese?”

  “Of course,” Reese said, smiling at Breck. She knew he could sense her squirming under the pressure of the situation.

  “Just pack up a few things and spend the weekend with us! I promise it will be worth your time,” Marjie assured her.

  “But, Mrs. Thatcher…I just couldn’t. It would be…” Breck stumbled over her words like they were choking her. For one thing, she couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful than spending four days in the company of Reese Thatcher. Add to it the fact that just being out of the city would be the stuff of dreams—but she couldn’t possibly accept. Could she?

  “I won’t take no for an answer,” Marjie said, smiling. “And, furthermore, I won’t go home here in a few minutes so that Reese can take you out parking, if you don’t agree.”

  Again Breck’s mouth gaped open in astonishment—her face as red as Marjie Thatcher’s sweater.

  “Mom,” Reese scolded, “quit trying to bully her into it.” Then, smiling, he turned to Breck and said, “Come on, Breck. Just agree to it so we can go somewhere and park.”

  Breck could only sit, silent. Was he kidding? Was his mother kidding? But when they both looked at her—eyes smiling with mischief—she knew they had only been teasing her.

  “Oh, please say yes, Breck,” Marjie pleaded at last. “It will be a Thanksgivin’ you’ll never forget. I promise.”

  Breck looked into the woman’s twinkling eyes. How could she refuse to go?

  “Okay…I guess it would be all right,” she managed.

  Reese’s mother clapped her hands together, delighted. “Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Now, Reese…I’ll just be on my way,” she began, standing as if she were leaving. “I’ve got my key to the house, and I’ll just put my little self sound to sleep in your guest room for the night. You and Breck finish up your evenin’.”

  “You’re leaving?” Breck asked.

  Marjie smiled, hugged Breck, kissed Reese on the cheek, and said, “Of course. I’ve spoiled your evenin’ enough already.”

  As quick as that, she was gone. She was gone, and Breck sat stunned—unbelieving she’d been talked into going to her boss’s parents’ house for Thanksgiving.

  “Don’t worry, Breck,” Reese said, motioning to the waiter to bring him the bill. “It’ll be fun.” Still she couldn’t speak. Reese chuckled. “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m just wondering…” Breck began, “how I got here.”

  Reese put a hundred dollar bill on the table with the tab, stood, and pulled Breck’s chair out for her. “That’s my mother for you,” he sighed. “When she likes somebody…she doesn’t hide it. She’ll be gushing on about you for days now.”

  “But I didn’t do anything,” Breck reminded him.

  “That’s the point,” he said. “You were just you.”

  Breck noticed the way the women in the restaurant followed Reese’s every movement as they walked between tables and past booths on their way out. She couldn’t help the feeling of pride that swelled in her at being on the arm of such a man. On top of everything else, he treated his mother like a queen. Breck decided not to let discouragement or uncertainty overtake her. For the moment, she would just bask in his presence—bathe in everyone else’s envy.

  “How are your stitches healing?” Reese asked as the pickup hummed along the interstate.

  “Fine,” Breck said. “The redness is gone, and it doesn’t hurt nearly as much now.”

  “It left a nice bruise though,” he noted. And it was true. Breck had tried to forget about it. But, yes, her cheek was a lovely color of mingled purples, yellows, and greens. “It still ticks me off.”

  “At least she’s not around the office anymore,” Breck said. “It was worth getting a shiner just for that to happen.”

  Reese’s silence implied that he wasn’t sure he agreed with her. Therefore, she let the subject die.

  “I’m planning on leaving the Wednesday morning before Thanksgiving,” he suddenly told her. “I’ll okay the day off for you too.”

  Looking to him, she said, “I just don’t think I can—”

  “Oh, there’s no squirming out of it now, baby,” he chuckled. Breck was a bit caught off guard by his rather endearing term. “Mom will have me skinned alive if I don’t bring you now.”

  He’d called her baby, and she’d loved the way he said it—so naturally—as if he truly meant it!

  “You better bring some warm clothes. There’s already snow out at the place,” he said. “And I’ll tell Mom you’ll bring some pumpkin pies.”

  “Oh, no!” Breck argued. If there was one thing she knew, it was that a woman needed to feel like she was the queen of her own castle. “Can’t I bring something else?”

  “No way!” Reese said, with the lack of understanding akin to a man. “Mom has to taste your pie.”

  Reese parked the pickup in front of Breck’s apartment building, and she felt the cold rain of disappointment begin to envelop her. Her night with Reese was over.

  He got out of the pickup, opened Breck’s door, helped her out, and began walking with her toward her apartment. When they reached the apartment door, Breck pulled her keys from her purse and began to fiddle with them.

  “Here,” Reese said, taking the keys from her. He opened her door and let her step inside.

  “Thank you for dinner,” Breck said, feeling suddenly very shy—like a high school girl returning from her first prom.

  Reese leaned in the door toward her. “You’re not mad at me, are you?” he asked.

  “Whatever for?” Breck asked, her attention falling to his mouth.

  He grinned and said, “For bringing my mom to dinner with us.”

  Breck shook her head and smiled at him. “No. She’s adorable. And it was so fun to watch the two of you together.”

  “Yeah, but now you’re all committed to Thanksgiving. Heck, I’m all committed to Thanksgiving,” he said.

  Breck thought it odd that he should refer to himself as being committed to be with his family on the one holiday that most families tried to be together.

  “Don’t you usually go home for Thanksgiving?” she couldn’t help asking.

  Reese sighed. “That’s a long story, Breck.” She knew this was a sensitive subject, something he wasn’t ready to reveal to her. Nor should she expect him to. Then looking at her, his eyes narrowing, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, he said, “That’s a soft-looking sweater you’re wearing.”

  “Thank you,” she said, uncertain where he was going with this compliment.

  But as he stepped through the door and reached out, taking
her by the waist with one hand and brushing her sore cheek with the other, she began to hope—to hope and to tremble.

  “And your poor little stitches,” he mumbled as he seemed to look intently at her cheek for a moment. “You know,” he continued, “it would make me feel a lot better about what happened on Monday if you kissed me good night.”

  “It would?” she whispered, awed by his suggestion.

  “Oh yeah,” he assured her, his grin broadening to a smile.

  “But you’re my boss,” Breck reminded him.

  “So?” he chuckled. “It isn’t like we haven’t done it before.”

  Breck felt his arms around her then, pulling her against his strong body. She looked up at him, her mouth moist with the desire for him to follow through with his implication—to kiss her.

  “Hmm. This is a soft sweater,” he whispered a moment before she felt him playfully kiss her upper lip. She gasped quietly, as he then kissed her lower lip twice in succession before finally pressing his mouth to hers in a tender, yet powerful exchange. Breck felt an overwhelming heat travel up the length of her spine, spreading throughout her limbs. The feel of Reese’s roughly shaven face against the flesh of her face as he kissed her served to somehow further elevate her temperature, and she worried that she might melt dead away in his arms.

  His kiss became driven—impassioned for a moment—then he simply pulled away from her, sighed heavily, and said, “And now…I better be going.” Smiling at her, he added, “I guarantee you my mom did not go to bed when she got back to my place. She’s waiting up to make sure I didn’t let you squiggle out of coming for Thanksgiving.”

  Breck was speechless. All she could do was smile and nod at him. He turned and began walking down the sidewalk to his pickup.

  As Breck watched him, he turned to look at her and said, “I’m beginning to like Friday nights, Miss McCall.”

  Breck smiled and waved as he drove away. What was happening? Could it be that she’d actually managed to capture Reese Thatcher’s attention? Or had she simply captured his mother’s attention somehow? All mothers wanted their sons to have nice girls in their lives. Still, Reese had kissed her again—and it was rapturous! She dared to hope then—dared to hope that Thanksgiving would be special. She just hoped she’d be able to find the courage to follow through with it. The girls would help her with that. Yes—the girls would help her find the strength.