JACOB'S PROPOSAL

by Eileen Wilks

  She closed her eyes and held him tightly. He'd trusted her. With a memory, a sliver of himself that went all the way down. Her voice, when she spoke, wasn't steady. "The police came to the door when my father died, too. I remember it so well…"

  "It isn't the sort of thing you can forget." He stroked her hair.

  She wanted to comfort him, but he was comforting her. "One of the policemen was so young, he had a pimple on his chin. I remember that, and the smell of the pot roast my mother had fixed for dinner. I still can't stand the smell of pot roast." She remembered, too, the searing, total disbelief. "I was so sure they had the wrong house, the wrong family. That it couldn't really be my father who had died."

  He rested his cheek on the side of her head. "I couldn't believe it at first, either. Maybe if they'd let me go to the funeral, it would have sunk in… I waited for her the next weekend, and the next. I think I had it fixed in my head somehow that I'd gotten the wrong weekend, that she'd come if I just waited patiently. Finally Ada noticed how much time I was spending by the window on Saturdays, and had a talk with me." He shook his head slightly. "Not too bright, was I?"

  Oh God. She wanted to go back and hug the small boy he had been, but all she could do was hold on to the man he was now. "You were only five."

  Neither of them spoke for a while. They stood beside the window, arms and bodies loosely joined, and watched rain smearing the glass. The air was cold. Every part of her he wasn't touching grew chilly, and she shivered.

  Jacob stirred. "You're cold. I should have made you climb back in bed right away."

  "Not without you, tough guy. You're cold, too, even if you haven't noticed."

  He smiled and went with her, and when they lay together, their shared warmth made a cozy nest in the covers. Claire felt drained and sleepy and oddly happy. He was relaxed now, his big body loose and calm, cuddling her. And suddenly, answers were easy, and obvious.

  She loved him. She was good for him, or could be. Claire smiled and touched the soft ends of his hair. "Jacob? The answer is yes."

  He went taut again, still. Waiting.

  Now her heart pounded. Now, she felt the edge she'd slipped quietly beyond between one beat of her heart and the next, and the dizzy whoosh of the wind as she fell. "Yes," she said again, breathless with speed and certainty. "I'll marry you. If you still want me."

  "Claire." His arms tightened, bruise-hard. "Claire, you won't regret this. I'll make sure of that." He kissed her, slow and thorough. "We'll pick out rings tomorrow."

  * * *

  "Diamonds," Jacob announced – then, belatedly, glanced at Claire. "If that's all right with you?"

  She nodded. At some point between parking in the dim, chill light of a late winter afternoon and walking inside the equally chilly elegance of the jewelry store, she seemed to have lost the power of speech.

  The dapper little jeweler smiled. "Diamonds are always an excellent choice. If you would follow me—?"

  Martin's, the small brass placard in the window of the store read. The carpet here was thick, the lighting subdued, the crystal placed on casual display emphatically art, not commerce. It was the sort of place that would never dream of sowing price tags among the merchandise.

  The lack of those little white stickers made Claire nervous.

  Jacob, on the other hand, was entirely at ease. He seemed to regard this trip to select their rings as a pleasant break in the real business of the day. She didn't know why his relaxed attitude irritated her, but it did.

  "I didn't speak too quickly, did I?" he asked, low-voiced. "You can have whatever you want."

  She managed a smile. "I like pretty, shiny things. Diamonds certainly qualify."

  "Good." He tucked her hand in his arm. "I have an urge to dress you in diamonds. Diamonds … and skin."

  Her heartbeat picked up. She felt the pulse of it in a place she wasn't supposed to notice in public. "Don't let me trip," she said lightly as they followed the jeweler across the thick, snowy carpet. "I'm afraid I'll turn an ankle. I don't think they've mowed in here lately."

  He chuckled. "Martin can be pretentious, but he does know his stones. We'll find you something pretty and shiny."

  And expensive, she added silently. But then, once she married him and the trust was dissolved, Jacob would be a very rich man. He could afford the best.

  They were being waited on by the owner himself. Martin had waved his assistant aside when Jacob entered, obviously recognizing a valued customer. Jacob steered her to a niche with two plush chairs where Martin waited behind the nearby counter. The jeweler's head was bald and slightly damp, as shiny as the stones displayed in the case where he awaited them.

  Claire's palms were damp, too. She wiped them surreptitiously on the linen of her skirt as she seated herself and wondered if she'd lost her mind. What had seemed clear and necessary last night was looking more and more like lunacy this afternoon.

  "White gold or yellow?" Martin asked. "I do have a few pieces in platinum, but the selection isn't good, not in the already-set rings. You did say you wanted something immediately?" He glanced at Jacob.

  They were to be married next weekend.

  "Yellow gold," Claire said as firmly as if her mind weren't whirling with doubts. Then she glanced at Jacob, her eyebrows lifting in delicate humor. "If that's all right with you?"

  The glint in his eyes said he recognized and appreciated her small joke. "Of course. It's your ring."

  "Won't you wear one, too?"

  "I—" He blinked, startled. "Yes, of course."

  It obviously hadn't occurred to him. Claire put a hand on her stomach, where the doubts seemed to be lodged at the moment.

  "A double-band ceremony," the jeweler murmured. "Lovely. It does limit us slightly, but yellow gold and diamonds…" He bent and unlocked one of the cabinets. "Yes, we have a nice selection. What sort of setting? Simple, ornate – perhaps something a touch avant-garde?"

  "Not avant-garde," Jacob said, then smiled at Claire. "Sorry. I need to let you answer once in a while, don't I?"

  "I like simple styles." She thought about Jacob's hundred-year-old house and fifty-year-old convertible. "Maybe a little old-fashioned."

  So what if Jacob hadn't planned to wear a ring? He'd agreed once she'd brought it up. He was willing to compromise, and that was important in marriage. He wasn't forcing anything on her. She'd said yes of her own free will.

  But she hadn't expected to be rushed to the altar in seven days.

  "And your sizes are—?"

  "Six," Claire said. He was so alone. Did he even know how much he wanted people around him? That he wanted, craved, family? He'd kept that big old house when his brothers moved out. He'd gathered people to live in it with him – Ada and Cosmo and Sonia. Ada would stay – if she lived. Sonia would retire soon, and Cosmo already had plans to move out, to own a gym. And Jacob would help him do that.

  Claire wanted to be the one who stayed. Forever. And the very thought of it had her heartbeat spiking in terror, and she didn't know why.

  Martin set a small tray of rings reverently in front of them. "I have a stone in mind I think will be perfect. Rather large, but exquisitely simple."

  She made a vague sound of agreement.

  Jacob was marrying her for money, not love, of course. Money, and the undeniable passion that flared between them. He wasn't thinking of forever. Only three nights ago, she'd actually been relieved to learn that he didn't love her. How could so much change so quickly?

  "If you would hold out your hand?"

  She hardly noticed as the jeweler slipped a ring on. Last night, saying yes had been easy. She loved him. He needed her. Given time, he might well come to love her, and last night, in the private darkness they'd shared, answers had formed and flowed easily. Now, in the light of day, nothing seemed easy. Claire's hand closed tightly.

  "The ring is not to your taste?" Martin asked.

  "Oh, ah … it's very nice."

  "Nice." Martin's voice was carefully uni
nflected. "Yes, this is quite a nice stone. Two point six carats, and flawless."

  The diamond was gorgeous. It was also huge, even bigger than the diamond earrings Ada wore to clean house … those gorgeous, gaudy trinkets that Jacob must have spent a fortune on.

  He was capable of love, of the most extravagant sort. Just look at what he was doing for Ada, what he planned to do to help Cosmo.

  "Do you want something larger?" Jacob asked. "A different cut or setting?"

  "If the diamond was any bigger I'd have to start working out with Cosmo before I could lift it. It's a beautiful ring. I just…" She turned to look at him. His eyes were frowning, intent. He wasn't taking this business of getting a ring – of getting married – as lightly as it seemed.

  Suddenly she knew what she wanted. She laid a hand on his arm. "Would you mind if we skipped the engagement ring and just got plain gold bands? Matching bands?"

  "If that's what you prefer." He spoke casually, but beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt the muscles in his arm tightened. "I did rather like the idea of you wearing my ring."

  How did she explain a purely emotional decision? "The wedding rings stand for the real promises we'll make. They're what count. An engagement ring – well, it seems like a promise to make a promise. As if I were hedging my bets, leaving room to change my mind." Her fingers closed on his arm as she willed him to understand. "I'm not."

  For a long moment he said nothing, and nothing showed on his face – except the intensity with which he studied hers. Then the muscles beneath her hand relaxed, and a smile lightened his eyes. "Plain gold bands it is, then. Though I hope you'll still let me buy you a diamond." His voice dropped, turning husky. Intimate. "One you can model for me. Later."

  Heat rose in her cheeks … and elsewhere. She nodded.

  Martin, to give him credit, didn't turn a single one of his remaining hairs at the prospect of losing such a lucrative sale. He showed them several sets of matching bands with the same care and courtesy as he'd offered the huge diamond. He did perk up noticeably when, after they'd selected a pair of rings in heavy gold, Jacob asked to see some necklaces. "Something shiny," he said. "And special."

  Claire left the store with a diamond necklace tucked into her purse and hope lifting her heart.

  Loving Jacob was a risk, but it was one her heart had already taken. Marrying him was an even bigger gamble. It was no wonder nerves kept playing jump-rope with doubts in her stomach. He didn't love her now, but she mattered to him. He might come to love her in time. He wasn't like her – emotional and impulsive and still, to her shock, capable of tangling herself up in hopelessly romantic longings.

  He was eminently worthy of being loved. He needed to be loved – just as he would need time to trust, time to grow into love. He wasn't a man who could tumble willy-nilly into the delicious, frightening place she found herself. She accepted that.

  But it was scary, being here alone.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  «^»

  Everything was working out, Jacob told himself as he settled behind the wheel. Claire was promised to him now, even if she wouldn't wear his ring until after the wedding.

  She'd been awfully damned quiet this afternoon, though. She wasn't sure of him yet. He wasn't fooling himself about that, and pushing her into a sudden marriage wasn't the best way to handle things. He ought to give her time to adjust, to trust him more. But he couldn't. If he gave her time, she might change her mind. Ken Lawrence would be locked away, and once the danger was past, what would Claire need him for?

  But he would have to be careful, very careful, not to push too hard. Claire had loved another man once. She'd given herself to that man, promised to marry him, but it hadn't been enough. Nothing would have been enough, of course. Lawrence had been flawed, sick. In his sickness, he'd tried to force Claire to stay with him.

  Jacob didn't want to remind her of Ken Lawrence. Ever. But he wanted, badly, to make Claire stay.

  He'd driven the Chrysler today, wanted the comfort for her, the power for himself. The leather seats were sticky-hot from the sun. He switched on the air conditioning and hunted for a way to get Claire talking to him again. "Why don't we swing by the hospital and see if your cousin is awake?"

  She flashed him a smile. "I'd like that. Thank you."

  It was perverse of him to be annoyed by her gratitude, and foolish to be alarmed when she fell silent again. Her troubled expression didn't mean she was changing her mind about him. She had plenty of other things to worry about.

  Her hands fiddled restlessly with a button on her jacket. "Jacob, about the wedding…"

  Something cold and sharp sliced into him. "Yes?"

  She sighed, and her hands stilled. "I just wish Danny could be there. Even if he's been released from the hospital by next weekend, he won't be strong. He may not be able to attend."

  "I've been thinking about that. Danny shouldn't be alone when he's released, whenever that is. He should stay with us for a while, whether he's up to attending our wedding or not."

  She reached for his hand and squeezed it. "Thank you. I'd been worried about that, but I didn't like to … I didn't feel I could burden you with a houseguest in need of medical attention."

  "We're not roommates," he said curtly. "We're getting married. It's going to be your house, too." Because his anger was too sharp, he took a moment to smooth out his voice. "Has your mother called back to let you know if she'll be able to make it here for the wedding?"

  "Oh, she'll be there. You couldn't keep her away. My stepdad, too. Mom says Carl wants to give me away. I'm glad. Maybe it will finish healing the rift I caused when I was a mad, bad and crazy teenager."

  "You weren't all that bad. Crazy, maybe. After what you said about the tattoo you almost got, I'd have to agree with that." He hesitated. "Was your mother upset when you called to break the news?"

  She chuckled. "She hit a ten on the shock scale when I first told her, but she bounced back. Her main regret is that she can't be here to drive us both crazy planning a huge wedding."

  "Looks like Cosmo will handle that for her. He's been pestering me with questions all afternoon. Do you mind him taking over?"

  When they had told Ada and Cosmo they were getting married, Cosmo had been first astounded, then dramatically grieved that Jacob was "stealing the finest flower in the city" out from under his nose. And then he'd thrown himself enthusiastically into planning the wedding. Ada had slid Jacob a single, narrow-eyed glance and promised to have a talk with him later.

  "Not a bit," she said cheerfully. "Though I'm glad I talked him out of the doves. Did Ada manage to get you alone for that talk?"

  "Not yet," he said grimly. It was only a matter of time, however. "I'm not planning to tell her why I'm marrying, but she'll figure it out when the trust is dissolved."

  "She won't like what you and your brothers are doing for her?"

  "Ada is the most cussedly independent female on the face of this planet. She hadn't planned to let me know she was ill, much less accept any help. I guess she thought it would be time enough for me to learn about her condition when she didn't wake up some morning." Anger and remembered fear knotted his gut. "I found her collapsed on the stairs instead."

  "She did accept your help in the end, though."

  "Not exactly." He glanced at Claire. "She agreed to let me set things up and fly her to the institute for treatment, but she doesn't know I paid for everything, or how much it cost. I want to keep it that way."

  "But – can you do that?"

  "I told her the insurance covered most of it, and she assumes her savings took care of the rest. I manage her savings and retirement money," he added. "I took some out of her savings and sent it to Varens – enough to cover what she thinks was the deductible."

  "Jacob." She seemed to be struggling with some emotion. "Jacob, I think you should tell her. Maybe she won't like accepting help, but—"

  "No." His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "If she finds
out, she's likely to refuse to go back for another treatment."

  "Oh, surely not! And it would make her feel so good to know how you – all of you – feel about her."

  "Ada is not a sentimental woman. She knows we care."

  "Even a woman who isn't openly sentimental wants to feel loved," she said quietly.

  "You don't understand." He struggled to find a way to explain without revealing things he had no right to speak of. "When I was young, my father made it – difficult – for her to work in that house. But she wouldn't leave. First she stayed for my sake, later because of Luke and Michael, too. But she had to be tough, emotionally tough, to survive. She's family, yet she isn't."

  "It's hard for a woman to devote herself to raising other women's children."

  Her perception triggered a memory he wasn't expecting. The words came out before he had time to think. "He fired her once."

  "Your father?"

  "Yes." Twenty-five years later, the anger was still there. "After everything Ada had given up for us, the son of a bitch fired her in a fit of temper." He shrugged, trying to diminish the power of the memory. "We got her back, of course. But she always knew it could happen again. She stayed with us, but she had to protect herself. Ada can't stand to be dependent on anyone."

  Claire was silent a moment. "Love, understanding and acceptance … those are pretty powerful gifts. I think I envy Ada."

  Jacob's brows pinched together in an uneasy frown. She kept harping on love. He didn't trust that slippery word; his father had been "in love" with every one of his wives. "I've been talking too much. For blocks, I guess, since we seem to have arrived."

  The hospital was a multistory building that had grown precipitously over the past decade, taking over the entire block it rested on. Late-afternoon sun painted the rows of windows a hard gold and stretched shadows behind the live oaks that flanked the parking lot in the next block. Jacob finally found a space near the west end of the lot. He pulled into it, but didn't cut off the engine.