The Billionaire's Healer (Braxton Family Saga Book 2)
Page 10
“Sarah?”
“Yes Westley?”
“Sarah, I love you. Will you be my wife?”
Her face paled, then flushed a bright pink. She stared at him wide-eyed, one hand covering her mouth.
He caught her free hand and raised it to his lips. “I’d thought I couldn’t love again until I met you. I was only half alive. I had everything that money could buy—but none of it mattered until you came along.”
At last she said something. “I love you too, Westley.”
“So you’ll marry me?”
She punched him abruptly on the arm.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Do you know what I’ve been through the past few months? I thought you didn’t want me anymore!” She sniffled and looked down at her lap. “It was hell,” she added in a quiet voice.
“Oh, my dear.” Westley kissed the tear tracks on her cheeks, kissed her mouth, salty with tears. He pulled her close and kissed her hair. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you much sooner. We kept the leadership change a secret because we didn’t want stock prices to free-fall, but I should have told you I loved you long ago.”
He kissed her brow. “I thought of it. I wanted to tell you, but not over the phone. I guess I never quite got up the courage.”
He stood up. “I’ll be back in a minute, I want to show you something.”
He came back with a small red velvet case, knelt before her, and opened it. A ray of sunlight reflected off the contents and lit up the room.
“If you don’t like it we can have it re-set. Or change it altogether. I just want you to be happy.”
It was a pink diamond in a filigree setting. The stone wasn’t so huge as to be vulgar, but it sparkled like the heart of the universe was on fire.
Sarah looked at it. She knew it cost more than everything she owned. It was beautiful, though. She appreciated Westley’s tact in not showing her the ring until now. He was an unusually perceptive and tactful man. It was one of the reasons she loved him. One of the many reasons.
So they loved each other. Was that enough? Sure, for now Westley thought he’d be happy in Hannahs Branch, but maybe it would gall on him after a while. He’d miss the restaurants and the culture and all the hustle and bustle of the big city. Her whole state didn’t have anything like that—the closest thing was Washington D.C., and that was over two hundred miles away.
On the other hand, he was a grown man and ought to know his own mind. It was all very well to make predictions about what might happen, but you couldn’t know. He might die. She might die. The seas might rise and drown the world.
And she loved him so.
“Please, say something.” Westley was still on his knees in front of her.
She looked down into his face, his dear face that she had imagined a thousand times during the long days (and nights) of their separation. She took the ring box from him and closed it, placed it on the couch beside her.
There, that was better.
She cupped her hands around his cheeks and looked deep into his eyes.
“Yes, Westley, I will marry you.”
Chapter 16
Sarah Braxton, née Abbot, was in her garden. It took a lot of work to wake it up from its winter sleep and get it ready for planting, but she was up to it, as was her new assistant.
She dug her spading fork into the ground, turning the winter mulch into the rich soil. It would be all the better for its time lying quiet.
She looked over at the new house taking shape next door. It was considerably larger and more magnificent than her own little place, but the architect supervising the construction saw to it that the work was top-notch. Even though the new house was quite large, it was perfectly proportioned. It fitted into its surroundings as if it had grown there.
The last few weeks had been an adjustment and no mistake. At first she had wanted to hold the wedding in Hannahs Branch—it would be so exciting for everyone—but when Westley explained the media frenzy such an event would cause, she had changed her mind.
They’d ended up eloping to the Caribbean. They’d taken a tour of the islands in Westley’s yacht, cruising along and stopping wherever the fancy took them. Sarah was glad the crew quarters were at the other end of the boat, because the master stateroom had gotten a little noisy sometimes. Well, every night.
She smiled at Westley. He was picking the dead leaves off the strawberry plants, which were already growing in. He smiled back at her.
It was all going surprisingly well.
Sarah heard rustling in the rosemary bushes off to the right. “Please don’t tell me it’s that dog again,” she said to herself.
It was that dog again. What Sarah didn’t expect was the sound of hysterical barking.
“Shoo. Shoo.” Sarah could tell the speaker was trying to be inconspicuous, but You’s barking made that impossible.
She and Westley followed the sound. The dog had graduated from barking to snarling and growling. The voice dropped all attempts at being quiet.
“Help! Help! This dog is trying to kill me!”
“And who are you?” Westley asked.
“Uh… nobody. I was just passing by and this dog attacked me!” The man was skinny, with hollow cheeks and a long, pointy nose. The tip of it quivered as he turned his indignant gaze to Westley.
“Passing by with a fancy camera, looks like,” Sarah said.
“You appear to be correct, my dear,” Westley said.
Rex Beauregard the Third produced a truly vicious-sounding growl and leaped at the man, who tried to flee but tripped instead on a tree root, dropping his camera on the way down. The dog grabbed it and ran away.
“That’s my camera!” The man tried to get up but only tripped again. “I’ll sue! That dog stole my camera!”
“How unfortunate.” Westley didn’t seem upset at all.
“Trespassing is a crime we take very seriously in these here parts.” Sarah tapped the handle of her spading fork thoughtfully.
“Perhaps we should call the sheriff,” Westley said.
“Will you look at this,” Sarah said. “Seems like Mr. Nobody dropped his wallet too.” She showed it to Westley. “A press pass for Glenn Norris, of The Daily Enquirer.”
“One of the more notorious tabloids.” Westley glared at the man.
“Everyone alright over here?” It was Tom Jenkins, with his 12-gauge shotgun.
“Come on in, Tom,” Sarah said.
Glenn Norris had been trying to bluster, but paled when he saw the gun.
“You want me to shoot him for you?” Tom’s Southern accent had gotten very thick all of a sudden. “It’d save Sheriff Montgomery some trouble. We could tie cement blocks to his legs and toss him in the swamp. I can get a couple from next door faster’n lickety-split.”
“Nah. Them alligators are rambunctious enough as it is. We should bury him out by Old Man Norton’s barn, just t’otherside of that big poison ivy patch. Have to be deep so the hogs don’t get at ‘im.”
“We can borrow Fuller’s backhoe,” said Tom.
“I declare that sounds like fine idea,” said Sarah.
Norris whimpered and tried to crawl away.
Tom raised the gun and fired.
Norris finally managed to get to his feet and ran for the gate as fast as he could.
“Well dagnabbit, looks like I missed.” Tom raised the gun again.
They heard a car start, tires squealing and engine roaring as it raced off.
“He keeps that up he’ll get a speeding ticket.” Tom’s accent was back to normal.
“While I applaud the results, wasn’t firing the gun a little dangerous?” Westley asked.
“It’s just rock salt,” Tom replied with a grin.
“Thank you, Tom. It was a fine coincidence the way you turned up like that.” Sarah said.
“Well, we saw You run up all excited and carrying that camera. We figured something was going on.”
“Once word of this incident gets
out I doubt many reporters will want to come back here. He might try to sue, but he has no evidence.” Westley bared his teeth in a predatory smile. “Besides, I keep packs of attack lawyers for just such occasions.” He turned to Tom. “Thank you.”
“Glad to be of service.”
Westley said, “I’d like you to be the first person we invite to our wedding reception. We eloped because of, well, reasons like him.” He waved an arm in the direction of the departed reporter. “But the party’s on Thursday two weeks from now. You and your whole family will be very welcome.”
“Thank you kindly. The missus will be delighted.” Tom nodded to Westley and Sarah and headed off home.
Westley looked around on the ground for anything else the reporter might have dropped. “Have you seen this?” he asked Sarah.
Someone had dug a You-shaped hole under the fence behind the rosemary bushes. That explained a lot.
“Should we block it up?” he asked.
Sarah wrapped her arm around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. “No, let’s leave it. We might need his help again someday,” she said.
“As you wish,” Westley replied.
Check out the First Braxton Family Saga Book!
The Long Ride
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About the Author
JANE KEELER is the author of many fine romances. She writes across a number of genres including billionaire, Regency and second chance. She loves writing romances because "they have a quality that brings passion to the fore, while tugging at the corsets of convention".
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