Yes, I Do

by Gwynne Forster

  Deanna made up her mind that if Justin didn’t call her, they had spoken for the last time. She hadn’t dreamed that he’d regard her as his competition to the extent that he’d try to control her and lose his temper when that didn’t work. Well, maybe that was overstating it. He hadn’t tried to control her, but he wasn’t proud of her and he expected her to do something stupid like furnishing that big modern hotel out of his store and giving McCall’s the profits while she got peanuts. In love, she was; an idiot, she was not!

  Ten days passed, she didn’t hear from him, and she wondered if she was therefore free to marry somebody else. Was she? He hadn’t given her a ring, either. While wondering as to the efficacy of asking Justin that question, her telephone rang.

  Although trembling, she was able to keep her voice steady. “Hello.”

  “Miss Lawford, this is Robert McCall. Would you do an old man the honor of coming to my home for dinner Tuesday evening at seven? Not everyone in the McCall family is foolish, my dear.”

  Taken aback, she hesitated for a second, for she hardly knew how to answer him. “You’re very kind,” she managed when his words finally penetrated. “Yes, I would love to come if you’ll give me directions.”

  “That won’t be necessary. My car and chauffeur will be at your place at six-fifteen. Thank you so much. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”

  “Do you have my address, sir?”

  “Oh yes. It’s on the card you gave me. Goodbye.”

  She sat still, trying to imagine what he wanted. Obviously, Justin had told him about her contract with the hotel. If he wanted her to work for McCall’s that was out, but she didn’t mind his asking while she enjoyed a good meal. She looked through her closet, saw nothing that she wanted to wear and headed for the shops. She found an avocado-colored silk crepe, sleeveless with a fairly deep cowl neckline, flared from the hips and with a fitted waistline. Not too much in the presence of a senior citizen, but feminine enough for a date. When the big, custom-built Lincoln Town Car arrived at her house, it gave her a good feeling to have the respect of one of Woodmore’s icons.

  Chapter 7

  The old man greeted her warmly, and walked with her into his living room. Her eyes widened when she saw a handsome brother stand and wait for an introduction.

  “Miss Deanna Lawford, this is John Macon.”

  She accepted the introduction, retrieved her hand from the handshake and sat down. What was Robert McCall up to? She’d be wise not to drink more than one glass of wine, for it was immediately obvious that John Macon liked what he saw and wasn’t timid about going for it. She answered his questions while not allowing herself to appear interested.

  “There’s the bell,” Robert said, and when he didn’t get up, she knew that the other guest was not a woman. ‘Hi, Granddad. Sorry I’m l…

  “Deanna! I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “Hello,” she said, having heard him before he saw her. “I didn’t know you’d be here either.”

  Robert ignored them. “Deanna, John owns a printing and publishing company. One of the newest movers and shakers in the Danvers Chamber of Commerce.”

  “I hear you’re a top-flight decorator,” John said. “I’d like you to list with our chamber of commerce. To my knowledge, we don’t have a top-flight decorator.”

  “Certainly not like Deanna,” Robert said. “She just signed a contract to decorate and furnish the new Dupree Hotel.”

  “You don’t say.” John cast a quick glance in Justin’s direction, shrugged off whatever he saw and sat forward in his chair. “I’d be glad to introduce you to some opportunities.”

  “That’s so kind of you,” she said, “but right now, I have as much as I can handle. I’ll bear that in mind.”

  “It’ll take you a year to finish that hotel,” Justin said, his voice devoid of warmth or friendliness, “so it seems to me that should be enough for now.”

  “It doesn’t hurt to plan ahead,” John said.

  “Any successful businessman knows that,” Justin retorted. “I plan three seasons ahead.”

  “Really?” Deanna asked. “Most stores are only two seasons ahead at best. I can see the virtue of your tactic.”

  Deanna eyed Robert McCall with the vision of sudden understanding and took pleasure in joining his game. The cook served a memorable meal, and John Macon seemed to have decided to give Justin a run for his money and openly courted her.

  Robert served after-dinner drinks, looked at Justin and said, “Not much makes me happier that a warm circle of friends and spirited conversation. I don’t know when I’ve had such a delightful evening.”

  “Yes, I can imagine,” Justin said without the semblance of a smile.

  Deanna stood, walked over to Robert McCall and took his hand. “Thank you so much for inviting me to dinner. It was wonderful. I enjoyed every minute of my visit. I hope you’ll have dinner at my home. I’m not a bad cook.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “I’d like to leave now.”

  She felt the pressure on her arm, but didn’t turn around. She’d know his touch if she was blindfolded, but she didn’t say a word.

  “I’ll take you home,” Justin said. She glanced at John Macon at about the moment he surrendered to Justin’s advantage.

  “Your grandfather’s chauffeur brought me, and he was supposed to take me home,” she said to Justin. “You may imagine that I am not one bit pleased with you, and if I’d known you’d be there, I may not have come.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a minute. You didn’t need to be that nice to John Whatever-His-Name, either.”

  “He was gracious to me and exceedingly charming,” she said, getting some of her own. “Your grandfather wouldn’t have any other kind of guest.”

  “It is not my intention to spend another second talking about him.”

  “You’re the one who mentioned the man.”

  Justin parked the car in front of her house, cut the engine and got out, but she didn’t wait for him to open her door. “For the past ten days, I’ve been opening and closing doors by myself and with considerable success.”

  He grasped her arm and walked with her to her door. “May I have your key, please?” She gave it to him. He opened the door, held it for her and followed her inside without asking her permission.

  “Well?” she said, provoking him and not caring if she did.

  He took her hand, walked with her into the living room and switched on a floor lamp. “An engaged woman is supposed to have an engagement ring. Would you please sit down, Deanna?”

  “Why?”

  “Please.”

  She sat down, and he knelt at her knee. “You’re more important to me than McCall’s or any other person or thing on this earth. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry. If I acknowledge the truth, I was sorry the minute I hung up, and this is not the first time I’ve suffered because of my stubbornness. Can you forgive me? I love you, and I’ve lived in hell these days. I promise never again to be that selfish. I’m proud of you, and I want you to succeed. Can you forgive me and love me?”

  She gazed down at him, at the sorrow etched in his face and the sad shadows in his eyes and wanted more than anything to hold him against her breasts and comfort him.

  “I hurt, too, Justin. Terribly, because I needed your support. But I love you, and I’m willing to forget it because you’ve promised that it won’t happen again.”

  “It won’t. McCall’s will close its decorating department, and I’m offering you space on the executive floor to conduct your business. It will not be a part of McCall’s, but will have your company name and logo on the door and in all advertisements and you can pay rent for the space. I guarantee you’ll never be out of work. What do you say?”

  “It’s a deal.”

  “Now that we have that out of the way, will you marry me?”

  “I haven’t changed my mind. I want to be your wife and the mother of your children.”

  He took her left hand and slipped his
grandmother’s engagement ring on her finger. “My three children, remember? Oh, sweetheart. I love you now, and I know I will love you forever.”

  “I’ve loved you more each day that I’ve known you—through the pleasure and the pain, and I know that I will always love you,” she said, looking at the ring and gasping. “This is an heirloom!”

  “Granddad gave it to my grandmother, and when she died, he gave it to me. It’s yours now.”

  “I’ll cherish it.”

  He picked her up and carried her to bed. An hour later, he gazed down at her. “I think you were hungry.”

  “I wasn’t. I was starved, and I could use some more.”

  His grin lit up his face. “A man likes to know that his woman wants him and enjoys him.” Then he shifted his hips and took her on a fast and rollicking trip to an explosive climax.

  One month later, gowned in her mother’s white satin and lace wedding dress, Deanna walked alone up the white calla-lily bedecked aisle of Woodmore’s First Presbyterian Church behind Jennyse Lawford, her maid of honor. On the aisle end of each pew hung a bunch of white calla lilies tied with silver ribbon, a match for the silver slippers on her feet. With his grandfather at his side, Justin McCall waited for his bride and a few minutes later, The Reverend Mildred Holmes pronounced them man and wife.

  “You may kiss the bride.”

  “This is not the place for French kisses,” Deanna whispered to Justin after he stole a fast one.

  As befitted a bridal reception, the entire first floor of McCall’s department store glittered in silver and white. Silver bells dangled from the ceiling amidst clusters of silver stars and crescent moons, and globes of silver light gave the vast room an air of romance. An orchestra of women and men dressed in silver and white played the romantic tunes that Deanna and Justin had loved during their courtship. The store’s employees and numerous town citizens welcomed the newlyweds at the reception and dance, at which champagne flowed and every kind of delectable party food was served in abundance. Minutes after the cutting of the cake and Robert McCall’s sentimental toast, Deanna and Justin sneaked out, changed their clothes in a nearby hotel and headed for Interlaken, Switzerland and the luscious valley of the Swiss Alps.

  LOVE FOR A LIFETIME

  Ginger Hinds stepped out on the balcony of her hotel room in Harare, Zimbabwe, gazed up at the red, blue, and purple streaked sky and took a deep, restorative breath. Free at last! Four years of marriage behind her, and she didn’t know a thing about life. But, beginning today, she planned to make up for lost time. She smiled at the birds—at least two dozen of them in every color—resting on the edge of her balcony, unafraid of her. That’s for me, she told herself. Free as a bird. She raised her arms toward the heavens and let the breeze swirl around her body. For the next two weeks, she was going to live. She ducked back inside, got dressed, and made her way to the dining room to see what the Zimbabweans served for breakfast.

  Waiting for the elevator, she wondered how she’d let things get out of hand. For four years, she’d withstood Harold Lawson’s constant harassment and nagging. If a man wanted his wife to be a carefree playgirl and to tag along when and wherever he chose to go without regard to her own interests, he shouldn’t have married an attorney with a host of clients and fixed court dates. She had thought him obsessed with her until she figured out that he was attempting to control her with his nightly passion. He hadn’t realized, and she hadn’t had the guts to tell him, that he’d wasted a lot of time. She had compromised until she risked losing her identity—and she’d lost more than a few clients.

  When he wanted them to spend the summer hiking through the Tennessee Smokies and then start a family, and she’d refused because they had neither substantial funds nor a house, he’d told her he wanted out. She’d quickly recovered from the blow to her ego and let him have his wish. Her sister, Linda, had encouraged her to clean the slate and start over. Three months later, here she was where nobody knew her, where she was on her own, and New York was over two thousand miles away.

  She slid her tray along the shining chrome and inspected the steam table. Sawdust-like sausages, violated eggs that someone had labeled “scrambled,” crisp, greasy bacon, porridge, hard rolls, orange juice, and the most exquisite fruits she’d ever seen. Might as well live dangerously. She filled her plate with eggs, bacon, fruit, and rolls and found a corner table. A waiter brought coffee and the local paper. “Good morning.”

  Ginger glanced up from the paper and quickly looked up again. The fork she’d held in her hand clattered against her plate as she stared into his gray mesmeric eyes. Tall, handsome, and a clean-shaven, golden beige complexion. Butterflies danced in her belly, and she tried to break the gaze, but he held her transfixed. She had the presence of mind to bite her bottom lip or it would surely have dropped and left her gaping at him. She picked up the paper that had fallen to a spot beside her plate and dropped it again when she realized she was about to fan herself with it. A smile lit his unbelievable eyes, and her heart seemed to roll in her chest.

  “We seem to be the only Americans in this place. Do you mind if I join you?”

  “What? Oh. Uh…no. I don’t mind.”

  He took his food off the tray, put his plate, knife, fork, spoon, and napkin in their proper places, and took the tray back to the counter. “Thanks,” he said when he returned. “My name is Jason. Who’re you?”

  Considering her unsettling experience just looking at him, she hadn’t intended to shake hands, but he gave her no choice. “I’m Ginger,” she told him and submitted to the electrifying current that coursed up her bare arm when he took her hand.

  “Glad to meet you, Ginger,” he said, and she noticed that his deep baritone carried a Southern lilt. “What brings you almost to the end of Africa?”

  He could smile all he wanted to. She wasn’t going to tell this good-looking stranger her business. “I needed a change, something drastically different. What about you?”

  He took a sip of coffee and leaned back in the chair, and it struck her that this man knew and liked who he was. “That about says it for me, too. I got here last night, so I haven’t seen a thing. Been here long?”

  She told him that she’d also arrived the night before.

  “What do you say we spend the day together?” he asked. “It’s no fun sightseeing alone. How about it?” He frowned. “Unless you’re with someone.”

  If he wanted to know whether she had a man with her, he’d have to ask. She was about to decline, when she remembered her vow to live life to the hilt for the next two weeks, to let the sun shine on her, the water flow over her, and the breeze blow around her. To be a whole woman. “I’d love company,” she said, knowing she sounded less than convincing.

  As if unaware of her seeming reluctance, he stacked their dishes on her tray and rose. “Meet me at the desk in half an hour?”

  She nodded and sat riveted in her chair as he sauntered off. Her intuition told her that she was in for a rollicking ride, but after four years of standing still, so be it.

  Jason Calhoun stood at the reception desk waiting for Ginger. When she’d looked up from her newspaper, he’d had a wallop to the gut. He’d lived for thirty-four years, been married, in love and out of it, and for the first time in his life he knew what it was to have a woman dull his senses with a single glance. Her eyes had telegraphed a need that started a twinge in his belly, that had melted something inside of him.”

  “Ah. Here you are.” She hadn’t kept him waiting, and he liked that.

  They settled on a tour and headed for the bus. Jason hadn’t expected to be so at ease with her, not after the eviscerating experience he’d had when she’d looked up at him. “I assume you like animals,” he said, looking for a conversation opener.

  “Animals? I like puppies. But I can’t stand anything that crawls. Even the picture of a snake scares me.”

  “Good,” he teased. “When one swings out of the bush, you’ll grab hold of me.”

  From
the look on her face, she wasn’t joking. He changed the subject. “Did you leave a husband at home? Or a fiancé?”

  “Jason, if I had either of those, you wouldn’t be holding my hand, and you are holding my hand.”

  He released it. “Aren’t you going to ask about my marital status?” As she stepped on the bus, he put a finger to her elbow, then followed her to the seat she chose.

  She looked up at him. “I figure the less I know about you the better off I’ll be.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “We’re strangers, Jason. Let’s enjoy each other’s company today, and no more personal questions. That way, we’ll be as free as the birds.”

  He came close to asking what she was running from, and bit it back. “What are you scared of, Ginger? You’re a grown woman. How old are you? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? What happened to us back there at that breakfast table when we met—and something did happen—won’t erase itself no matter how much we deny it. We clicked, and I don’t plan to pretend otherwise.” She raised an eyebrow, and he added, “Pretense is a waste of time.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said, trying to shake off the effect of his words. “I’m going to enjoy myself, and I doubt that’ll be possible if I have to worry about what could be or might have been between you and me. No point in our getting enmeshed in a libidinous snare when we know we’ll say goodbye tomorrow.”

  “So you admit the possibility?”

  “Why should I deny it? You’re a smart man. Let’s just have fun. And, to answer your other question, I’ll be thirty my next birthday.”

  He mulled over her words, so different from what he would have expected of most women he’d known, women who didn’t put a distance between him and them, who didn’t want to be independent, but who lassoed and clung. He did what came naturally to him—extended his right hand to her and waited.

  “All right, Ginger. Let’s agree that this day is ours, that we’ll enjoy every second of it…together. You game? One day…for a lifetime.”