A Convenient Proposal

by Lynnette Kent

  “I guess that makes sense. We did have an agreement. You wouldn’t want to jeopardize your payout.” He dropped his own hands to the arms of the chair. “This has all been about making a baby for you. I should’ve remembered.” Shaking his head, he gave a harsh chuckle. “Instead, I’ve made a fool of myself. Again.”

  THREE WEEKS BEFORE Zelda’s wedding, the Campbell clan gathered for dinner on Sunday night—just the immediate family—to celebrate the first ultrasound of Kathy’s baby. Seated around the big dining room table, they passed the print of the scan from hand to hand, making comments that ranged from the ribald to the ridiculous. Rosalie wiped tears from her eyes with her napkin. Jake brought out champagne to toast the new Campbell son. Kathy’s baby was, very definitely, a boy.

  Griff had escorted Arden from the cottage, of course. They were, in the eyes of his family, an engaged couple with a shared future ahead of them. And they’d become very good at keeping up the pretense. In public.

  In private, their relationship had taken a long step backward. Those rules they’d talked about in the beginning—no prying, no confessions—were back in full force.

  Tonight, Arden seemed even quieter than usual. She held the ultrasound print for about five seconds before passing it on to Dana, on her other side, without comment. Then she looked down at her plate again.

  Following her gaze, Griff saw that she only toyed with her roast chicken. He put an arm along the back of her chair and leaned close to speak into her ear. “Feeling okay?”

  She nodded without looking at him. “Fine.”

  He couldn’t confront her about that lie in front of the family. Later, when they walked out to the cottage, he tried.

  “What were you thinking,” he asked, as they lingered on the porch, “when you were looking at the ultrasound?”

  “I don’t know.” She glanced away from him. “Cute, sweet…the usual.”

  Griff turned her around with a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think so. More like, ‘How will I survive the next hour until I can be alone?’”

  “Not at all.”

  “You wore that exact same look when we left the little girl with her mother at the mall. The one you found under the rack of coats. It was as if something terribly precious had been taken from you.”

  She walked to the end of the porch. “I want a child, you know that. Seeing other people’s babies, I—I have to work hard not to be jealous.”

  Griff went to stand behind her, and couldn’t resist closing his arms around her. “You’ll have a baby of your own soon enough.” His laugh sounded harsher than he intended. “We’re working on it. That was part of the deal, remember?”

  She moved, turning to face him. Her expression was a portrait of despair. “Yes. I remember.”

  Then her hands linked behind his neck and pulled his head down. Their mouths met, fused, consumed.

  Once they made it inside the house, the sex was hotter than ever.

  ARDEN ARRIVED AT Dr. Loft’s office with time to spare, but then had to wait for an hour, due to the doctor’s attendance at an emergency. Between trying not to think about the reason she was there in the first place and worrying about what the doctor might have to say, she had reached a high state of tension by the time her name was called.

  Waiting another thirty minutes in the small examining room didn’t help, even though she didn’t have to take off any of her clothes this time. Arden couldn’t read, couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t relax. She could only sit and fret.

  Finally, a knock on the door preceded the doctor’s entrance. “Hi, Arden.” Dr. Loft smiled widely. “I’m glad to see you because I have good news.”

  Arden sat up straighter. “Really?”

  “The ultrasound looks great,” she said. “No adhesions or blockages, no inflammation, nothing that should prevent a normal pregnancy from coming to term.”

  “What…what about the other baby?” Arden asked in a low voice.

  “We often don’t know why a baby is lost. Stress, or a defect in the fetus itself…there’s no easy way to tell. But what I can say is that you’re in good shape, and I see no reason you shouldn’t have a healthy baby soon. It’s just a matter of time.”

  Arden lifted her shoulders, making room for the deep breath she pulled in. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “I’m sure you are.” The doctor rose from her stool. “I’ll get you a prescription for prenatal vitamins, and you can call to set up a test when you think you might be pregnant.”

  “One more thing.” Arden clenched her hands into fists.

  Dr. Loft turned with her hand on the doorknob. “What’s that?”

  “I’d like to get fitted with a diaphragm. For birth control.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It had been one hell of a week.

  Now that Griff had returned, his dad increased the surgery load at the clinic and okayed a heavier appointment schedule on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, with farm visits set up for Tuesdays and Thursdays. Emergencies, as always, got fitted in immediately.

  As a result, the workday stretched until seven-thirty or eight, or even later if a patient needed supervision or a farm emergency required more time. Griff spent all Tuesday night at the clinic, treating a collicking pony. If the pony hadn’t cleared his intestinal blockage by noon on Wednesday, the owners would have had to take him to the state university for surgery. Wednesday included two spays and three castrations, plus six regular appointments every hour.

  Griff called Arden on the drive home, explaining that he’d sleep in his own room at his parents’ house rather than disturb her. But he hadn’t made it past the couch in the den before collapsing, asleep before he hit the cushions.

  Tonight, Friday, his sisters had abducted Arden for the evening, citing “girl stuff.” Griff hated to think what that might mean, other than he wouldn’t be able to spend the evening making love to his “fiancée.” Sex was the only way they could really communicate anymore.

  And he hated to waste the whole night at home alone. He wasn’t in the mood for a bar or a restaurant filled with strangers, so he decided to check in at the country club. Not his usual hangout, but he would probably see somebody he knew to talk to.

  Wearing the required jacket, though not the optional tie, he strolled into the club as if he spent every Friday night there.

  “Good evening, Dr. Campbell.” The manager, who’d been there as long as Griff could remember, stepped out of his office to shake hands. “We’re glad you stopped by. Can I get you a table in the dining room?”

  “Thanks, Harris. I thought I’d just eat in the lounge, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course. I’ll send Thomas in to take your order.”

  The General’s Den, as the lounge was called, had once been the bastion of the male members of the club, a center of social intercourse on evenings and weekends. There wasn’t much of a crowd these days, but Griff said hello to the three patrons present, all of them his dad’s age, then settled into a secluded corner seat with a view of the basketball game on TV, and a tall, cold beer.

  As he ate, he gradually picked up on the unmistakable sounds of a party coming from down the hallway.

  “Hey, Vince, what’s going on?” he asked, when the bartender brought a refill for his beer. “Sounds like a frat mixer.”

  Vince rolled his eyes. “More or less the same thing. It’s a bachelor party for Al McPherson, in the club room. Open bar plus kegs of beer. We’ll be hauling them out in wheelbarrows.”

  Griff didn’t comment. To himself—and to Arden, if the subject arose—he would admit that he missed his best friend and hated knowing that he couldn’t be Al’s best man. Not that they’d ever thought in those terms…until Griff and Zelda had gotten engaged.

  But maybe Al was already in love with Zelda at that point, and hated the assumption that he would be the best man. When had things changed among the three of them? How, Griff wondered, had he missed the signs?

  As he indulged in the club’s si
gnature dessert—banana bread pudding—he watched a giant cardboard mock-up of a wedding cake roll past the door of the lounge, complete with lacy “icing” on the sides, plus a pair of dolls in wedding dress on top.

  “The strippers,” Thomas said, taking away Griff’s empty plate. He was only about seventeen, still young enough to grin when he added, “Wish I could be in there when they jump out.”

  “You’ll get your chance.” Griff made a mental note not to attend his own bachelor party, should there be one. There was only one woman in the world he wanted to see naked, and she didn’t jump out of cardboard cakes. Thank God.

  Inevitably, Al’s party spilled out of the club room. Inebriated revelers, most of them friends or acquaintances of Griff’s, wandered into the lounge to watch the ball game and harass the bartender. The older patrons soon abandoned the scene, but Griff couldn’t resist remaining as an observer. None of the drunks had noticed him. As long as he kept his mouth shut, he wouldn’t get into trouble.

  Then Al wove his way into the room. He patted a few backs, called for a double whiskey, neat, then turned around and fixed his bleary gaze on Griff’s face.

  “You,” he said loudly. “What’re you doin’ here?”

  Griff got slowly to his feet. He kept his voice down, as he did when he talked to Igor. “Leaving.”

  But his old friend stepped in front of him. “Runnin’ away again?”

  “My specialty.”

  “No, your specialty is screwing up my life.”

  “Don’t do this,” Griff begged. “Let it go.”

  That wasn’t going to happen. Al had always brooded over his hurts, then exploded to release the pressure. “Do you know how long it took her to get over you leaving? Huh? It was six weeks before she’d talk to me on the phone.”

  Leaning against the wall, Griff folded his arms. Maybe the solution was to let him talk it out.

  “Then I finally got her to say yes, plan a wedding, get started on our life together and what happens? You show up again. Only this time…” He wiped a hand over his face. “This time, you bring another woman with you…one who has every guy in town panting over her.”

  Behind Al, the lounge had gone quiet, except for the TV. So they all heard Griff when he said, “Shut up, McPherson. Not another word.”

  But Al wasn’t listening. “And Zelda goes crazy. Absolutely insane. ‘He wants me to be sorry,’ she says. ‘He’s trying to make me jealous.’ And damn if it didn’t work. I couldn’t—”

  “That’s enough.” Griff grabbed him by the shoulders, turned him around and pushed him toward the door. “The party’s over for you, buddy. You’re going home.”

  They got as far as the entry hall before Al recovered his balance and his instinct for self-defense.

  “Oh, no, you don’t. I’m not lettin’ you order me around.” He pivoted, then started swinging.

  Griff ducked, but didn’t hit back. “Give it up, Al. You never could beat me in a—”

  He saw the last punch coming, but reacted a second too late. Knuckles slapped into flesh. Pain bloomed on the side of his head from ear to nose.

  What he hadn’t counted on was the shove in the chest that followed, and the crack of his skull against the floor.

  Or the black hole he fell into after that.

  ARDEN HAD ACCEPTED Kathy’s invitation to join the Campbell sisters’ “girls night out” for only one reason—by going, she could avoid an entire Friday evening alone with Griff.

  His hectic week at the office had worked to her advantage, because he’d been too tired in the evenings to do much more than eat dinner and go to bed. He certainly hadn’t been his usual eagle-eyed, perceptive self.

  She believed she could hide the truth from his sisters, too. Especially since Kathy had promised champagne as the drink of choice for the evening. A glass or two would keep Dana and Lauren from noticing anything off in Arden’s mood. And she figured she’d get a boost of her own from the bubbly, at least enough to evade Kathy, who would be staying sober because of her baby.

  Then she walked into Kathy’s charming bungalow and found that girl’s night included Griff’s mother, which created a much more dangerous situation. She might not be as insightful as her husband, but any hint of a threat to Griff’s welfare would put her on alert.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” Arden said as she gave Kathy her coat. “I missed a couple of turns.” Because she’d been musing over her deception with Griff rather than watching where she was going.

  “Arden.” Rosalie Campbell caught her hands and squeezed. “I just got here myself. I’m so glad you decided to come.”

  “Champagne,” Kathy said, offering a glass to each of them. “Dana and Lauren are already ahead of you. Drink up.”

  Once they were all seated in the living room, the conversation developed in a predictable direction.

  “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you this week,” Rosalie began. “Semester exams are as onerous for the teachers as they are for students. And I haven’t seen Griff at all. But I’m still fielding questions about you from everybody in town. You’re a concert violinist, and you never said a word? I’m just so amazed. And delighted, of course.”

  Arden took a gulp of champagne. “Mrs. Campbell, I know you must feel I’ve been deceptive—”

  Dana nodded. “Dad stomped around all day Sunday, muttering, ‘I knew she was hiding something. I knew it.’”

  Rosalie gave her daughter a disapproving glance. “That’s overstating the case. But…why, Arden? Did you have a reason for keeping your career a secret?”

  She explained about her retirement. “You saw what happens when people learn that I play,” she said. “And, really, it’s pretty painful to have given up what was once my entire life.”

  The four women nodded in sympathy.

  “I avoid most music,” she told them honestly. “I’d rather not have to think about what I can no longer do. It’s not a good coping mechanism, I admit. Perhaps I can improve with time.”

  Lauren, sitting beside Arden on the couch, put a hand over hers. “I do understand. I used to play basketball—I had a college scholarship and just knew I could lead a championship team. Then I blew out my knee in a skiing accident. I haven’t watched a basketball game since. It would hurt too much.”

  “Exactly.” Arden breathed a sigh of relief. Her story had been accepted. “Keeping the secret avoids situations like last weekend, where I can’t get out of performing.”

  Then Kathy spoke up. “But why did you stop playing? What caused you to retire?”

  After drawing a deep breath, she explained about her hearing loss.

  “Now I understand.” Griff’s mother nodded. “And I’m sure Jake will, as well. There have been times when he asked me not to mention his profession at a party or in a crowd. People try to get him to deliver a diagnosis in the middle of dinner.”

  “You play the piano beautifully, of course.” Rosalie brought up the subject again as they gathered around the dining room table to fill their plates from a buffet of Kathy’s favorite appetizers. “Couldn’t you have continued your career with that instrument?”

  The question required more creative truth telling. “I don’t have a professional repertoire on the piano.” Pretending a calm she didn’t feel, Arden spooned artichoke dip onto her plate and added crackers. “I couldn’t compete at the same level as before.”

  “But you would still have your music.”

  “Perhaps I can move in that direction. But my retirement occurred at the same time as my broken engagement. There was just too much to deal with.”

  “How awful.” Griff’s mother folded her into a hug. “You went through a terrible time, didn’t you? And call me Rosalie,” she whispered. “It’s past time I said that.”

  Blinking back tears, Arden set her plate on the table and rested her hands on Rosalie’s shoulders, gingerly returning the embrace. She couldn’t remember the last hug she’d received from her own mother.

  While they
ate chicken Kiev and wild rice for dinner, the conversation became more general, and Arden found herself diverted for minutes at a time from her preoccupation with a barren future. The champagne did seem to help, and she allowed herself to drink more freely than usual. After all, she didn’t have to worry about harming a baby anymore.

  Once they’d each had a substantial helping of Kathy’s “better than sex” cake, they relaxed again in the living room with refilled glasses of wine.

  “I had an ulterior motive for asking y’all over tonight,” Kathy announced.

  Dana groaned. “I am not scrubbing your kitchen floor.”

  “And don’t put me down for the bathrooms, either,” Lauren said.

  “Of course not.” Kathy frowned at her sisters. “You two wouldn’t get anything clean enough to suit me.”

  A sisterly pillow fight ensued, as the girls threw couch cushions back and forth, while Arden and Rosalie ducked, laughing.

  Kathy stockpiled the pillows thrown at her behind her chair, where no one could reach them. “Mom, could you bring out the books?”

  Rosalie went to a closet, returning with large, flat volumes of wallpaper samples, plus thick piles of fabric swatches.

  Kathy looked at Arden. “My Jimmy is totally color-blind. Ask him how a room looks, and he says ‘Fine, darlin’. Do these socks match?’ And of course they don’t, because one is blue and one is green. So when I decorate, I have to solicit other opinions. And now that I’m getting into the fourth month with Junior here—” she placed a hand on the slight mound at her waist “—I thought I’d start getting ideas on the nursery. So tonight we’re havin’ a decor orgy, so to speak. Dig in, girls, and show me what works for you.”

  With cries of delight, Lauren and Dana slid from their chairs to the floor and began leafing through wallpaper pages. Rosalie started with fabrics. The samples, mostly from children’s collections, featured animals of every description, toys, clouds, clowns, castles and farms, cities and parks, fields and mountains, printed in colors from pastel to bold and bright, in every imaginable style and design.